Work Text:
Corey loves his job at the animal shelter. Sometimes he stays late because it’s better than going back to an empty house. Tonight, though, there is nothing left to do, aside from just general tidying up. His boss tells him he might as well clock out early, so he grabs his coat and bag and prepares to leave. His phone buzzes just as he goes to walk out the door, and he pauses to check it. It’s a series of texts from Mason.
Received 7:48
Hey, just letting you know that I’m in the visitor car park.
Received 7:49
I thought we could go out to the diner?
Received 7:49
If you’re not too tired from work.
Received 7:49
If you are I get it, that’s totally fine, I can just drop you home.
Corey smiles fondly at his phone, then looks up and scans the car park. He can see Mason’s car, and Mason too, looking down at his screen anxiously. He taps out a reply to put him out of his misery: Will you let me have pancakes and waffles? His phone pings to say the message has been sent, and he sees Mason’s face light up as he reads it.
God, he’s adorable.
Mason doesn’t appear to see him when he walks over, but he doesn’t jump when Corey opens the trunk and shoves his bag inside. “Hey,” he calls from the front.
“Hey!” Corey slams it shut and skips to the passenger seat, jumping in excitedly. Mason looks as great as always, wearing a navy shirt and black skinny jeans. Corey feels a little shabby in comparison, wearing old blue jeans and a plain, grey T-shirt that’s covered in various animal hairs, but as soon as he closes the door Mason leans over to greet him with a kiss, so he surmises that he can’t be that repulsive to look at. Or maybe Mason is just amazing, that’s equally possible.
“Good shift?” Mason asks, reversing out of the parking space as soon as Corey puts his seatbelt on, and he sounds like he actually wants to know so Corey begins ranting about people who abandon animals and the fox they have in because he got caught in a bear trap, and how cute the baby kittens are but how they need so much care. Mason listens attentively, asking questions here and there but mostly just nodding and humming. They reach the diner just as Corey finishes explaining about how to give a corn-snake a bath.
“Sorry,” Corey says as they get out. He hadn’t meant to ramble for so long, but Mason just grabs his hand and spins him under his arm like they’re dancing, making him laugh.
“I love listening to you talk,” Mason confesses, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Corey leans against him, and presses a kiss to his jaw as they amble towards the diner entrance. “When you talk about stuff that you love, you just get really…intense. I love it. I love seeing you so passionate.”
Corey blushes and pulls away under the pretence of opening the door, but really so he can catch his breath that Mason’s stolen from him. The friendly atmosphere from the diner hits them just like the warm air and soft background music does when they walk in, and Corey immediately drags Mason over to his favourite booth towards the back of the room, even though Mason knows it’s his favourite and would have gone there anyway.
They slide into opposite sides and Corey slips his coat off, relishing how cosy the diner is. They’ve barely sat down when Joyce, the only waitress in the entire place, comes over with two menus – more of a formality than anything else, because Joyce knows their orders practically off by heart by now. “I’ll be back for your orders in a few minutes,” she says as she sets the menus down in front of them, and goes to check on the few other patrons – one man who’s eating an entire plate of beans, a deputy, and two teenage girls who are trying to fix what looks like a Polaroid camera.
They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, hands linked under the table while they both read through the menu, for no reason other than it’s just something to do, until Joyce returns to the table with two massive chocolate milkshakes and then Mason gives their order, which is exactly the same as always except Mason orders Corey’s three pancakes in the ratio two chocolate chip and one blueberry, rather than two blueberry and one chocolate chip like he usually has.
“You remembered my pancake texts,” Corey says when Joyce has gone, touched that Mason paid attention to his midnight ramblings about how he might be pregnant because he had started liking chocolate chip pancakes more than blueberry pancakes recently.
Mason looks a weird mix of embarrassed and affectionate. “I remember all of your texts,” he confesses. “I mean, not word for word, because you send me so many texts, dude, but I remember pretty much anything you tell me in them.”
Corey unlinks their fingers under the table so they can hold hands on top of it instead. “You’re incredible,” he tells Mason softly, staring into the human’s eyes. He thinks he could get lost in them, he understands now why people say that they’re the windows to the soul. Mason shows everything in his eyes, all his love and hope and pain and anguish, though right now Corey can only see the first emotion in the dark brown pools.
Mason begins tracing spirals on the back of Corey’s hand. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Corey can’t stop the stupid grin from breaking out on his face at that, so he ducks his head and laughs when Mason starts trying to coax him to look at him, squirms away when Mason starts playing footsie with him because he’s so ticklish and they both know it. Joyce shakes her head at them both when she comes over with their meals; Mason’s sandwich with the weirdest combination of fillings, and Corey’s breakfast for dinner. Corey looks up to thank Joyce but he’s still smiling when he does, so Mason counts it as a win for himself and digs into his sandwich triumphantly. Corey just shakes his head and starts slathering butter on various foods.
“I don’t get it,” Mason says, with his mouth full. “The wolves all eat like it’s their last meal, and Malia does too, and I get that. In the wild, that’s how carnivores behave, they eat as much as they can whenever they can. But you…” He gestures to Corey, who is halfway through his massive plate of food and showing no sign of stopping anytime soon. “Chameleons aren’t known for their voracious appetites.”
Corey swallows his mouthful of food before answering, because unlike Mason he has table manners. “Dr. Deaton reckons that all supernatural creatures have faster metabolisms, no matter what they are, because of accelerated healing and enhanced senses and stuff.” Corey proves that point by proceeding to demolish the rest of his food in record time. Mason is kind of impressed, honestly.
“How does that work? Like, are you constantly using your super senses?” Mason makes no secret of the fact that he loves learning about the supernatural stuff, and he constantly asks Corey about how it all works. Luckily for both of them, Corey blossoms under attention, and he’ll never admit to it but he likes to feel like he can contribute something of worth.
“Kind of.” Corey munches on his hash brown. “I mean, you’re constantly using your ears, right?” At Mason’s nod, he continues. “But your brain doesn’t register everything that they hear, because that would just be way too much information.” Mason nods again. “It’s like that. It’s basically always there, but just not…consciously.”
“How does your brain decide what’s important, though, when you can hear and smell and see so much more?” Mason finds this stuff fascinating, wishes you could do supernatural biology as a degree. You probably could, but you’d end up in a psych ward, probably.
“I don’t know. I don’t talk to my brain.” Corey gestures between them with a bit of toast crust. “I guess it just does it on a bigger scale?”
Mason nods and scribbles that down in his brain’s notepad, right next to the note that talks about how cute he finds the crease between Corey’s eyebrows when he thinks hard about something. His mind notebook isn’t exactly organised by topic. If it was, the majority of it would now be filed under ‘Corey’, probably, because ever since they started dating, his boyfriend preoccupies most of his thoughts.
They both finish their meals and stack their cutlery, plates and glasses to make Joyce’s life easier. She beams when she sees it, and touches both of their shoulders affectionately before taking the pile. “If Joyce stabbed me I would probably thank her for it,” Corey says absently. Mason whole-heartedly agrees, and they leave the booth discussing the perks of being killed by Joyce.
Mason pulls out his wallet to pay, not even paying attention to Corey’s protests, and he thinks Joyce might catch the tail end of their conversation because she gives them something of an odd look before handing over a bill that is clearly half of what it should be, because as the only waitress Joyce does what she wants here. Mason shakes his head and gives her a stupidly generous tip to make up for it.
They head back to Mason’s car, Corey conveniently forgetting to put his jacket on so he has to snuggle into Mason’s side for warmth for the 30-second walk. Some people would call his boyfriend ‘extra’, but anyone who knows Mason would immediately call him a hypocrite if he dared use that term for anyone else.
Mason left his phone in the car while they ate, mainly because he keeps taking pictures of Corey whenever he can and it’s starting to verge on creepy, and now he opens it to see three missed calls from his mom. He pulls a face and shows Corey the screen, who immediately loads up the car’s built-in system while Mason pulls out onto the main road.
“Mason!” It’s his dad who answers, because Corey called the home phone. “Your mom was starting to get worried.”
“Yeah, sorry, I was talking to Corey.” Mostly true. His parents would freak if they knew he’d left his phone in the car; they had a big thing about being constantly reachable in case the worst happened. He can’t really explain to them that he’d probably be fine, though, because his best friend was a werewolf and always seemed to know when he was in danger, not to mention that his boyfriend can turn them both invisible so they can escape almost any situation.
“No worries. Is Corey coming back tonight?” Mason glances over at his boyfriend, who nods excitedly. “Yeah, if that’s alright.”
“Of course. Will you be joining us for a film?”
“Depends on the film,” Corey chimes in. Mason’s glad he feels like he can talk to his parents; his mom is awesome, an absolute sweetheart inside and out, and Corey naturally felt at ease around her, which is just another reason she’s such a great paediatric surgeon. His dad is a teddy bear around his family, but as a lawyer he’s gotten slightly too good at projecting a stern and unforgiving demeanour, and Corey with his natural fear of people (especially authority figures) had been terrified of his dad at first.
“Blade Runner. The original.”
Corey inhales sharply, and Mason laughs. “I think that’s a yes,” he confirms for his dad’s benefit, who can’t see Corey’s grin and might have interpreted the gasp for horror. “We’ll be back in ten.”
“See you then, son.”
Mason forgot how long the damn film was. His parents always insist on watching the Director’s Cut, too, but he can deal because he has Corey pressed into his side, clutching his hands and squeezing whenever something exciting happens, and he doesn’t mind that they can’t make out because his parents are there because he rarely sees Corey so engrossed in something that isn’t work or school related. He’s glad that Corey likes his jobs, and it’s always easier to do well at school if you can focus on the work, but he worries sometimes that Corey is too focused on his GPA and getting into college and doing ‘well’ in life. So, yeah, it’s cool seeing him getting so wrapped up in the film even though he’s probably seen it a thousand times before.
When the credits start rolling his mom excuses herself to finish washing up the dishes, and Corey is an angel so he offers to help and they disappear into the kitchen together. His dad heads upstairs to make the spare room up, though Mason knows that Corey won’t be sleeping there tonight. He’s not sure if his dad knows that and is just choosing to pretend, or if he genuinely believes that his teenaged son has that much self-control. Doesn’t matter either way, because Mason has a boyfriend who he can sneak into his room undetected literally whenever he wants. He offers to help but his dad snorts and says he can handle it, so Mason sits on the couch for a few minutes before going to help in the kitchen.
“Thanks for helping with the dishes, sweetheart.” Mason’s mom hands him the drying cloth.
“No problem, Mrs Hewitt.” Corey corrects himself before she can. “Vanessa. Sorry. Force of habit.”
Vanessa smiles in the lovely comforting way she naturally projects. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it will become default by the time you two get married.”
“I’m not so sure,” Corey laughs, then – “Wait, what?”
“I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you.” She hands him a plate and he dries it automatically, hanging on to her every word. “He thinks you’ve hung the moon, Corey. Trust me, this isn’t puppy love, no matter what people like to say whenever they see teenagers dating. You two, you’re going the distance.” She hands him another plate like she hasn’t just said some of the best words he’s ever heard in his life. Corey dries it like he’s not doing cartwheels internally.
“He’s my universe,” he says simply, after a few seconds’ pause, and Vanessa understands him perfectly because she embraces him, wet, soapy hands be damned.
He swears he sees tears when she pulls away, but when he focuses all he can smell is pure happiness coming from her. They go back to the dishes, in silence until Vanessa speaks again. “Oh! Corey, I feel like I don’t need to have this conversation, because I know you’re a very safe and careful person, but you and Mason are using protection, aren’t you?”
Corey chokes on his own saliva and sets the plate he’s holding down hurriedly so he doesn’t drop it.
Mason chooses that moment to come into the kitchen, and rushes to him straight away, patting him on the back. “You okay?” he asks, before turning to his mom, who’s scrubbing at the remnants of a pasta bake. “What happened?”
“Oh, I was just checking that you two are being safe,” she says nonchalantly, rinsing the dish out and holding it up to the light.
Mason frowns at her for a second. “What are – oh my God! Mom! No, just…Mom, no.” Now he understands why Corey is so brilliantly red. “Mom, you can’t do that to Corey. He’s delicate.”
Corey squawks in protest, which doesn’t really help his case, and takes the dish without really thinking about it, drying it methodically. Vanessa sighs. “Ah, the son I should have had,” she says fondly, pulling the plug and draining the sink. “Pass me that towel, Mase.” She dries her hands and regards them both; her own son, who can’t quite look her in the eyes, and the kid she’s come to think of as her son, who’s making sure every inch of the dish has been dried. “Sorry if I embarrassed you both. But I’d rather have you both embarrassed and safe than if you were both perfectly happy but not using proper protection.”
Mason can never stay mad, or even mildly annoyed at his mom, for longer than a few minutes. “I know,” he says, grasping her hand. “Just give us some warning next time. Like I said, Corey’s fragile.”
Corey sets his towel down and snorts. “What does that make you, my knight in shining armour?”
“I can deal with that,” Mason says, a little smugly. “I think you’d make a brilliant damsel in distress.”
Vanessa interrupts before Corey can come up with a sassy retort. “No antiquated misogynistic tropes in this house, please!” Then, without warning, she pulls the two of them into a bear hug. “Aw, my boys,” she murmurs, rocking them slightly. Mason shoots an alarmed glance at Corey, but he just shrugs and closes his eyes, basking in the parental affection he doesn’t otherwise get.
“What’s going on here?” his dad suddenly booms, entering the kitchen and eyeing the hug curiously. “A family hug? Without me?”
“Dad, no!” Mason cries, but it’s no use. Benjamin Hewitt enters the fray as a late contestant, squashing them all. Maybe his parents are more perceptive than they let on; he’s never mentioned anything about Corey’s home life to them, but they seem to know exactly how to give Corey both loving affection and the space he needs, whenever he needs it.
The hug gets broken up when a shrill timer goes off. They all jump apart, confused, apart from his dad who delightedly exclaims, “Ah! My muffins!” and goes to grab the oven mitts.
Corey is beginning to look slightly overwhelmed by life, so Mason grabs his hand and says they’re heading to bed now. His dad bids them a goodnight, preoccupied with pulling his muffins out of the oven, and his mom winks when she tells them to have a good sleep. Mason can’t decide whether to laugh or cry at that, so settles for leaving as quickly as possible with no reaction. “Goodnight, Vanessa! Goodnight, Ben! Thank you for letting me stay the night!” Corey blurts as he get pulled towards the stairs, and Mason thinks maybe Corey will kill him one day with how goddamn cute he is.
Mason’s room is messier than usual, but Corey doesn’t seem to notice and heads straight to the bed, flopping down on it dramatically. He sinks into the puffy duvet, leaving Mason to kick dirty laundry to the side so it’s not as easily noticeable, and then grabs some clothes for them to sleep in.
“You kept Bloop?”
Mason looks over and sees Corey sitting up, staring at the lump of blue clay, with something like confusion in his eyes. “Of course I kept Bloop,” he says, picking her up from his desk. “You made her. And then you gave her to me.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a finger along the bumpy surface of Bloop’s back affectionately.
“I…” Corey shakes his head. “She’s terrible, Mason. I mean, I know she’s my child, but look at her. She looks nothing like a whale.”
Mason looks at Bloop. Corey was, truthfully, godawful at art. He couldn’t draw or paint if his life depended on it, and unfortunately that had been their art course this year. Subsequently he had been forced into some kind of art workshop at school a couple of weeks ago to try and bring his art grade up to a pass, at least, and they’d both been kind of cautiously optimistic about it. It was only a day, and it was working with clay, which Corey had never done before. Maybe he’d be great at it!
From the workshop he had created Bloop. She was meant to be a blue whale, but looked more like a really deformed blobfish. Corey had attempted to save her with blue paint, so people might at least nod when he told them it was a blue whale, but he had been running out of time and the paint was kind of patchy so it looked a little weird, and more like she was white with blue patches. Mason remembers waiting by his car with Liam, the beta getting antsy because he wanted to get home, when Corey had finally appeared from the art block, cradling something wrapped in paper in his arms. He looked shell-shocked, and he climbed into the back of Mason’s car without a word to either of them. When Mason attempted to ask how it had gone, he had only handed him the package and said, “She’s a monster.”
Liam laughed for ten minutes straight after he saw Bloop. Mason loved her immediately, and took Liam’s joking suggestion that he should name it to heart, and so Bloop had been christened. When Liam managed to calm down enough, he asked Corey if Bloop had gotten him a pass, at least. Corey stared at him for an uncomfortably long period of time, before whispering, “Bloop got me an A,” and that was the final straw for the two of them. They started laughing so hysterically that Mason didn’t dare drive for another ten minutes.
“I think she’s awesome,” Mason says. “I might leave you for her.”
“Have fun sticking your dick in that,” Corey says, eyeing Bloop as if she’s going to turn rabid and attack them both any second now.
“You caught me. I’m only dating you so I have someone to stick my dick in.” Mason places Bloop back in her spot on the desk, patting her gently. He’s aware that his relationship with the clay blob-whale is vaguely ridiculous, but he also knows that deep down Corey is exploding with happiness that he’s kept her, whatever else his facial expression might be saying.
Corey stares at Bloop for another second, and a smile grows on his face. He falls into the duvet again, sighing, and does a snow angel movement. “I’ll sleep here tonight,” he murmurs, wiggling happily.
Mason rolls his eyes and throws sweatpants at his head, then bounds over to the bed and the chimera. “Super senses didn’t save you there,” he mutters, watching Corey trying to figure out how to deal with such a complicated enemy.
He finally frees himself, and tries to look threatening, but just ends up grinning when he sees Mason. “Chameleons aren’t apex predators,” he says in what Mason assumes is meant to be an impression of him.
“Neither is a pair of sweatpants,” Mason deadpans, and then cracks up laughing at Corey’s expression. He’s never seen him look so offended before. “Sorry,” he manages through his giggles, and grabs Corey’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.
Corey’s eyes soften at the gesture, but he tries valiantly to keep up the haughty act. “I will not accept any verbal apologies,” he informs him, and when Mason begins to climb on top of him he drops the act completely, face lighting up. “Shirt off,” he demands, tugging at the buttons of Mason’s top so Mason undoes them hastily before Corey forgets he has super strength and rips another of his shirts. “Yeah,” he breathes as Mason leans back down, and Mason wants to laugh at how cute he is but then they start kissing so every thought he’s ever had flies out the window. He makes sure his door is shut, knowing his parents won’t come in without knocking, and pushes Corey down into the mattress.
An hour later, they’re settling down under Mason’s ridiculously fluffy duvet, sweatpants pulled on more for anyone else’s sake than their own. Corey is pleasantly sore, feeling an ache that his chimera abilities can’t heal, and drapes his arm over Mason.
“—tion?”
“Hmm?” Corey kisses the back of Mason’s neck in apology for not listening properly.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Go for it.”
“Why do you hate being the little spoon? You’re pretty…submissive in every other position in bed.” He’s pretty sure Corey can hear the grin in his voice because the next second he gets a playful swat to his arm.
“I get claustrophobic,” Corey says nonchalantly, but the way he shuffles to be even closer to Mason is anything but casual. Mason grips the hand that he can reach, a silent invitation to continue. “It’s not a problem so much when I’m awake. But if I wake up and there’s something around me heavier than like, a blanket, it freaks me out.” He swallows. “Reminds me of being buried by the Dread Doctors.”
“Oh, crap, sorry, I didn’t think.” Mason should have figured that out, but honestly, he met Corey properly after the creepy holes had been discovered so he’d never put two and two together. He feels Corey shrug.
“It’s fine.” Three breaths, in and out, then: “It would probably be good to talk about it,” he admits in a small voice, and Mason wants to cheer because this is real progress from Corey, the guy who was so used to being ignored by everyone that he gained the ability to turn invisible, the boy who still sometimes can’t believe that he has people who care for him now.
“Whenever you need to,” Mason reassures him. “Should probably get some sleep now, though.”
“Hmm, agreed,” the chimera yawns, and presses a kiss to his shoulder-blade that makes Mason shiver. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
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