Chapter Text
Mason turned off the alarm clock at six in the morning, his still-closed eyes begging for more time lying in that bed, even if he wasn't asleep. He wasn't sure if what he needed was more rest or just not having to get up to start the day.
He tried to relax as he counted second by second until he had completed two extra minutes lying on the bed with his face covered by the sheets. It was a cool morning even though it was still the last days of summer, one in which the heat waves recorded in the UK had alarmed everyone only about three weeks ago. Less than a month later, the clouds in the sky and the cool morning winds had returned, as per the usual schedule after a break.
What a coincidence , he thought.
He glanced at the window, the dim light coming through its curtains and the way it reflected on the floor. Maybe the weather didn't really had any connection to his life, but it was an interesting coincidence that the temperatures he was most accustomed to were returning exactly in the last few weeks of preparation with his team to start the season. Just as the cold mornings, hot, unsweetened coffee, the unbearable tone of his alarm clock and training sessions were returning, so was life returning to normal. It was an idea he longed for at the same time it repelled him, but he was familiar with the feeling of being comfortable in discomfort.
With little desire to do so, he got up and walked to the closet, grabbed the previous day's clothes and didn't bother to look in the mirror. Occasionally, shaving was also too demanding an activity for his mood in the morning, as was occasionally brushing his teeth in the evenings. It was pathetic, and a bad habit too, but a few weeks ago Erin had sent him one of those infographics about mental health in which they said that during depression it was normal to lose the energy to do even the simplest things, and that had resonated with him as he thought about many of the things that used to be routinely done, like trying to comb his hair in the mornings, shaving, or brushing his teeth. It had been a long time since he had done it as consistently as he should have, and that had worried his best friend as she saw him every day arriving at training looking worse every time. She told him so, and in therapy he talked about it, but it wasn't as if he wasn't aware that there was a problem, he just didn't have the energy to fix it, even though he had made an effort to hide the loss of these habits in front of his mother on the time he had spent at her house this summer.
He ate the leftovers from last night's dinner for breakfast, turned on the TV even though he wasn't watching it, and continued that morning without stepping into the shower, but instead splashing his face in the sink and drying it immediately; he had grown a slightly longer beard than he usually did after a week of returning to his apartment, but he wasn't one for much facial hair either, so he decided that the shaving could wait until the evening, if he had the energy or mood then. Lately it was hard to muster both, but he was trying to get better at it and not make a big deal out of it.
''Low mood'' is what he preferred to call it, so that his mother wouldn't have to worry about him in addition to herself. He knew that at some point the therapy sessions would have to bring better results, maybe medication, and he would be okay again, regardless of how much time he needed for that. While that was happening, he had to try to put on the best face for those around him, especially his family. After all, they were all going through a difficult time as well.
The hope that things would be okay again at some point was the kind of thought that got him back on his feet every morning, but he knew he couldn't avoid his responsibilities forever, and getting back to the daily routine was also part of the process. The season was about to begin with the team, and although everyone was aware of the recent events in his personal life, there was no better way to try to turn the page than to focus on the team's goals, even if the first week of practice he had to awkwardly accept dozens of condolences from his teammates that only reminded him of everything he didn't want to remember.
That morning, upon his arrival at Cobham, he accepted a couple more from those teammates who had just returned from vacation upon arriving at the club on the way to the locker room, where he tried to project the cheerful attitude more usual to himself as he chatted with some of his closest teammates. The team's five new players had been introduced a few days ago in press conferences with the media and some fans, but that day would be their first meeting with the rest of the players, which made the atmosphere around them a mixture of hopeful and nervous feelings.
Mason didn't really feel connected to those emotions. In fact, it was hard for him to feel connected to any emotion in the past few months, but the discomfort of overthinking that problem only made him more fearful of the sneaky roots of the anxiety crises, the ones he had been managing to control throughout July. August was beginning, and he didn't want any more problems; he expected a quiet and boring month, like every day used to feel before: the everydayness was one of those things he couldn't appreciate until he missed it, the things that weren't new and the evenings watching TV for hours without any other thought in his mind. Time did not run backwards, unfortunately.
He glanced up at the bright cloudy sky. He hoped that most of the boys were used to the European climate, because England seemed to have grown tired too quickly of the sun and heat of that summer, and ahead of them awaited an autumn full of clouds.
—All right, lads, I want you to welcome our new players, —said the manager, pointing to the five men standing next to him— We hope you receive them in a good way and we also hope they are enthusiastic about joining this project for which we have worked and will continue to work, I can assure you that you are in a team that takes this seriously and that will fight hard to achieve great results this season... Well, as you know, these years have not been easy for us, but we have tried to improve... and we have succeeded. Okay? We've done it. As you may have heard, —he said, addressing the new members of the team— last season we were very close to getting a place in the Europa League, our first international tournament in a few years, and we were very, very, close, but... well, the last few games were extremely complicated and luck was not on our side. The important thing is that we now know our potential; the goal this year is to reach it to the maximum, and to return to competing in international tournaments. I am sure that with your help we will be able to achieve it.
The man's words were followed by a round of applause from his players, who formed a half circle in front of him and the other five.
—Thank you, boys. Well, I guess we can skip any more introductions, I'll give you a few minutes to get ready before we start, don't take too long —he winked.
The rest knew what that meant. As was customary with the team, the newcomers had to receive a couple of slaps and pats on the back from their teammates, but not before promising to sing at dinner during their first game and giving everyone else a hug. Mason struggled to remember their names as he approached to greet them: the tallest was Édouard Mendy; the new goalkeeper, the older, small-eyed one was Thiago Silva; defender with a great run in other teams, the blond was Timo Werner; one of the Germans who would be expected to score the goals, while in his same position would be the long-lashed Hakim Ziyech, and the other German, the pale, blue-eyed one, Kai Havertz.
He wanted to show them a good impression as he approached. They would probably know absolutely nothing about him, and Mason certainly preferred it that way, so he gave them a friendly smile and words of welcome before each greeting.
They seemed friendly, Édouard had a smile that was infectious in the few words he exchanged with him, Thiago hugged him tighter than he expected, and Timo and Hakim approached with a nervous laugh.
—Hey, welcome, mate —he said, as he approached Kai Havertz.
—Thanks —nodded the other, with no expression on his face.
And he didn't intend to notice it too much, he wasn't even really concentrating on what he was doing at the moment, but barely having touched his back to bring him closer, Kai had stepped back as if it had been something of a surprise.
—Oh, I'm sorry —Mount rushed to say.
—No, no, sorry, no problem, no, I don't know why I did that —he laughed without looking at him.
—Don't worry, it's okay, uh... well, welcome to the team —he said, offering him his hand. Havertz shook it quickly, smiling as he looked at him.
—Thank you, thank you, it' s nice to meet you.
—Same to you, Kai.
—Okay, uh...
—Mason.
—Mason, thank you... —He smiled quickly. It took him a couple more seconds to notice that he hadn't let go of the other's hand and to do so immediately, given Mount's questioning look— Uh, well, I think I'm going to go on with the others.
—Sure, I hope they don't scare you —he smiled, to which Kai responded with a shy laugh.
And he walked off towards the place where the rest of his teammates were.
Mason watched him discreetly as he greeted the others, pretending to tie his shoelaces. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable with his gaze, but he was registering as carefully as he could the way that, unlike with him, Kai didn't seem to act strangely toward any of his other teammates or to be uncomfortable with physical contact.
Maybe I just took him by surprise.
Kai had also seemed distracted in his own mind when approaching him, and perhaps that was the reason he had reacted that way with him. He would have understood anyway if he wasn't the kind of person who liked hugs, but he seemed comfortable with them when approaching others. He also didn't seem to be the kind of person who would be rude to him for no reason, so he was confident that it was probably just an accident.
Yes, probably an accident. Mason noticed, after his coach's return to the field, that maybe he was thinking about it too much, and he didn't know why, but it didn't bother him. It was one of those moments when he wasn't lost in his own negative thoughts and his mind was finally distracted by other stuff. That was good, it was the way he missed living, just thinking about the present. That was also what his therapist often encouraged him to do, to concentrate on the present, and every time he managed to do that he felt a little more at peace with himself. As he started with the training exercises with the rest of his teammates, he decided to return his gaze to where Havertz was, and to his surprise, he frequently found Kai's eyes on him as well.
He had noticed it since the introductory talk, even though he wasn't paying as much attention: although he was now concentrating on the trainer's words, Kai's gaze was on him.
Kai's gaze followed him at times, which he could notice at the corner of his eye and ended the moment he looked back at him.
During training, that had been a constant and he couldn't help but take notice, though it wasn't really annoying: realizing that there was something on his mind that caused him interest was a reason to be glad, even if it distracted him from wondering why Kai was looking specifically at him without speaking a word to him. Mason watched him out of curiosity; because he wanted to know if doing so was still reciprocal and because his slim, tall physique was unusual for someone in his position, plus he found his facial structure interesting, but Kai was looking at him too, and he wasn't sure why.
—Uh, Mase, are you okay? do you need anything? —Trevoh asked as he approached him. He had found him at the end of practice looking intently at his own shirt, hoping to find some reason that might explain the look on the new guy's face.
—Uh... yeah. Yeah, yeah, don't worry, it's all right —he nodded— Well, just... Is there something wrong with me?
His mate inspected him from head to toe, confused.
—Uh... no. Not that I can see it, I think. Is there something I should be looking at?
—No, no, it's, it's just a silly doubt... but everything's okay, don't worry about it.
—Are you sure? I saw you standing there for a while, so...
—Was it a long time? Well, uh, I guess I didn't realize it. Okay, uh, it's okay, it's all right.
—Huh, okay —his mate kindly smiled— And, well, hey... Have you been... okay? You know, about...
—About my dad, yeah, uh... —If there was one topic he didn't want to bring up, it was that one. Come on, he was getting a little distracted that day, why did he have to talk about it? His heart was quickly feeling a twinge that would take him a while to forget again. He swallowed discreetly; Trevoh wasn't to blame for it, he was trying to be nice. He had to be nice about it— Well, I've been better. It's, it's hard, but I'm making progress. I think I'm making progress —or so I think, he thought.
—I'm glad to hear that, man. You know, I've lost some people too, well, a lot of people I didn't know that well, I mean, it happened when I was a kid living in Sierra Leone, so... well, like, I mean, you know if you need to talk to someone, I'm always here, Mase.
—Thanks, Trev. Really appreciate it —he nodded, a half smile forming on his face— I wish I knew what else to tell you but....
—Don't worry, just... just remember that the whole team is with you, okay? If you want to talk to someone, we're here for you.
—Sure —he smiled— Thanks, mate.
Trevoh pressed his palm against Mason's shoulder in a supportive gesture before heading back to the locker room with the rest of his mates.
The reality was that, while he appreciated the gestures of support, talking about it was something he both urged and begged to avoid. It was necessary, his heart was asking for it, but now that he wanted to stop having blue days on a daily basis, a part of himself became fed up with the subject, with repeating it every week in therapy, with giving explanations every time someone asked about it, and dealing with the pain of remembering everything even when three months had passed since it had happened.
And when he thought that sort of stuff he felt he was disrespecting his father's memory. That the mourning should last longer, and that he should let that feeling of misery and desolation take over his mind again, because just forgetting it wasn't possible, and he didn't want to do that to his father.
He sighed, while, in the dressing room, he dried his hair with his towel and rubbed his eyes in front of the mirror of his locker. His eyes looked like that of someone who hadn't slept in days, even though his time at home in the last few months was mostly used for sleeping. Perhaps going out occasionally in recent days was the reason for feeling so tired again, but he had to get used to normal life eventually.
Now that he had returned to London after a whole summer at his mother's house in Portsmouth, his team had the whole season ahead of them and the hope of the fans recovering to support them in a new chapter of the Premier League.
Last season had been cathartic; with an excellent start led by Thomas Tuchel, the team had managed to stay at the top of the table for almost the entire season, securing a place in the Champions League for months after almost ten years without participating in international competitions. It seemed impossible to stop dreaming at the time; but the problem had only come at the end of the season, and Mason knew how much he had to do with it.
When on the morning of the first of May his father had unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack, the whole world collapsed for Mason. The team granted him permission to leave practice with the team and travel to his hometown to mourn his loss, but that week, which passed between the complete disbelief in his mind and the emptiness he felt in his soul, could in no way be enough to heal his heart. Not a week, not two, no month or three months later, and no one could have known more than his team and their fans, when after his return from Portsmouth, his ability on the pitch seemed to fade along with his liveliness.
His family suffered and cried at home, his mother dealt with depression with the help of a psychiatrist, but he, at Cobham, simply looked like a living dead during the last weeks of the season, as his team went from second in the table to third, to fourth, to sixth, and finally to finish the season in seventh place in the table: without any chance of fighting for a place in the international European competitions.
It had been a couple of months now, including the whole summer, and the memories of that May were so blurred that he could barely remember what was going on around him in those moments, it was like a blank in his memory, and in a way he preferred it that way.
He closed his locker and left his towel on one of the racks by the dressing room door. His hair was still a little wet as he walked down the path that led him between the dressing room area of the club to the health care building. He walked slowly, as the afternoon was still showing a decent amount of light and his mates were just beginning to leave Cobham. He decided to wait for a while sitting by the building, without going inside, waving goodbye from a distance to some of the guys on the team while through his headphones the music played loud enough to distract his mind from thoughts of any kind. Lately it was a little easier to listen to music that didn't bring bad feelings to his mind, since Erin was in charge of choosing the songs he added to his playlist, and fortunately, their tastes were similar enough.
He took the opportunity to send her a thank you message for the latest album she had suggested.
At 6 p.m., unlike most of his mates, he was still inside the club's facilities. There was usually no one in the waiting room; it wasn't as if any of his mates were going to give him weird looks or even hint about it, but he knew well that, of the few of his teammates who attended psychological therapy at the club, he had never seen a single one in the waiting room before going in for a session.
It was a kind of code that no one had written; somehow, no one wanted to be seen in such vulnerable situations as finding out that something wasn't right in their life. Mason had grown accustomed over the past few months to accepting the vulnerability of telling the whole world that he wasn't okay, but for a few months now, that vulnerability had been so common that it had become a habit to the point where it no longer mattered to feel vulnerable.
And he didn't like feeling that way, but thinking about changing it, changing anything, was the kind of plan that took too much energy, and if he had to choose what things to spend the energy he could muster on occasion on, he'd rather use it to slowly get back into his normal routine. Something much calmer, was all he wanted to do, really.
Part of that daily vulnerability had been caused by how much the media had talked about his private life after his father's death. The team had done well last season, but when the team's young star player had to leave and upon his return seemed to have completely forgotten how to play football, it was obvious that the media would wonder what had happened.
And then, through his family's Instagram posts, they had found out all about it. During that week, between the funeral and the burial, he hadn't even looked at his social media, but when he had to pack up to go back to London he knew: suddenly his father's death was all over the sports papers.
Condolences came pouring in, from everyone he came across, and they only brought back the horrible reminder of what was a fact; that his father was no longer in this world. He was gone, and that thought could not leave him at any time of the day, not even at games, which he eventually had to watch from the bench when his coach recognised that the emotional pain had hit him like an injury, and thus he could no longer play.
It made sense that the media had found him to blame for the team's losing hopes of qualifying for the Europa League, and while they sympathised with him and spoke decorously about his father's passing, they did point to his role in the team's collapse in the Premier League. And that hurt so much to hear so often that it had made him feel at some point that he wished he could stop existing for a while.
He didn't want to die, did he? He just wanted to take a nap so long that it would shut everything down for a while, and that after that time, he could wake up and everything would be better. Everything would be normal again, and I could avoid going through all the pain, but that wasn't possible. The normality he knew would never return to his life, because his father couldn't come back from death.
—Mase? —Ben called out to him, coming out of the office.
—Uh, yes, just a moment.
That's where Ben had appeared.
Chilwell had been one of his best friends since arriving in London years ago, and although their professional paths had diverged when Ben decided to go to university and pursue a degree in psychology, life had brought them back together when a vacancy in the mental health department at Chelsea FC had opened a little over a year earlier. No one at the club knew that the two were close friends, let alone that Mason had done everything he could to make sure his friend could secure the vacancy and join the health team, but when Mason urgently needed to seek psychological care on the orders of his own head coach, things had to change.
So, although the mental health managers had assigned Ben as his therapist because of his speciality, the problem with treating him was his friendship and the ethical issues it would bring in that situation. Luckily, Ben was not the only ally he had within the club. Every week, when his session was scheduled to begin, Ben would walk out of the office to leave him alone with Jack Grealish, who had actually been the one in charge of his psychological therapy sessions for the past three months.
—Do you consider this a temporary problem for you or do you feel it could become a much more serious problem than it is now? You can think of it as a wound, it exists and it will heal, but some wounds take way too long to heal —Jack asked. He had put aside his notebook several minutes ago and was just watching him attentively from the opposite sofa. He usually used only a small part at the beginning of the session to make a couple of notes, but the rest of it his attention was on what Mason had to say. He was grateful for that.
—It's just, I guess it's in me, you know? I don't want to ruin the things that make me happy, I don't want to stop doing the things I've loved, but it scares me that... sometimes I can't even listen to some of the songs I like because....
—...they remind you of your father?
—Not exactly... I mean, some of them remind me of him, but some of them just... remind me of this, of this moment. They remind me of the moment I'm going through and the situation I'm still in. I don't like to be reminded of that, because thinking about it sometimes makes me feel really bad. Really, really, really bad.
—Does the moment you're in make you feel bad?
—Uh... Sort of. Sometimes it does, uh... —he sighed— there are days lately where I feel really good, where I feel like everything makes sense again and that everything is going to be okay, but there are other days where I just feel awful because I can't be sure about it; I don't know if everything's going to be okay. I don't know when am I going to feel better, or if my life is going to be okay again or if it's just getting worse, because my mother's... she's so depressed and I don't know exactly how she feels, I can't be sure how she's progressing even though I call her or talk to her, I can't be sure that she's going to do the right thing or that she's going to be safe and sound or that her mental state will improve, and that's... God. Thinking about all that reminds me that just as everything can be right, everything can be wrong, while I can have no idea about it, and then it can all end in the worst way?
—But you cannot know that, can you?
—No, I cannot know that.
—Well, because of the distance, I mean, Portsmouth is just over two hours away from London, you can't be aware of everything and you can't be as close as you'd like to be to know everything that's going on with your family, but you can talk to them. For now you can try to monitor how things are going at home each week, and rely on that to reassure you a bit. Your mother has been getting better, hasn't she?
—Uh, I think so. I mean, a fortnight ago she had another crisis, since then there hasn't been another emergency so far. Everything's quiet, there's no bad news, it's just that not having good news doesn't make me feel that calm either.
—For now, quiet might be good news —Jack nodded.
—It's just that there's still a space for doubt, and... it's a big space, you know? —he said. Jack nodded, picking up his notebook and quickly writing down some word Mason couldn't make out— That space is... it could be as big as the chance that everything will be okay and work out in the end, but it might not. I hate that I can't stop worrying about it, but how am I supposed to when I can't know how the hell my life will go on? Not knowing what's going to happen now is hell —he laughed bitterly. His eyes felt the urge to tear up, but he'd learned to control that.
—Uncertainty —Jack replied—. Uncertainty is part of everyone's life, and it's usually an ever present one. Mason, well, we've dealt with this in past sessions, but... Understanding uncertainty is extremely important.
—I know, I know. I know, it's just something I don't... want.
—Would you like to talk about that feeling?
—I... I don't know, I don't think so, uh, sorry... I mean, this whole situation... I trust that it will pass at some point and I know I can't just rush it, so... I guess I just have to be more patient —he sighed. He let his arm fall into his lap, then looked at Jack— Could we talk about it next week?
—Okay. It's a good thing you're honest if that's all you want to say for now, okay? But —he pointed to the clock hanging on the wall beside him— we still have some time left in the session. Are there any more topics you'd like to address? What about what we talked about last session? About the pressure with the club and the fans, did you reflect more on that?
Mason sighed, sinking unwillingly a little deeper into the couch he was sitting on. He looked at the window, which looked out onto the garden outside the building. By the white picket fence in the background, lavender flowers swayed in the wind.
—Well, I think things still feel pretty much like that. You know, it's... it feels like everyone's getting more and more on me.
—What do you mean?
—Well, it's like... it's like, since what happened last season, everybody's watching me closely and hoping that my grief is over soon and my recovery is quick, so that the club has a chance again to compete for something, but... really, it feels like everybody's expecting a lot more from me just because it was my fault that we didn't qualify last season.
—Mason, remember what we talked about; what happened wasn't "your fault".
—Well, maybe, but at least that's what everyone thinks.
—Okay, let's talk about " everyone". Who are these people?
—Well, it's been implied by all the media... and all the fans on my Instagram account.
Jack sighed to that.
—Well, Mason, just because a bunch of people say it doesn't make it true, okay? Remember that reality exists in everyone's universe in different ways, but you are the person closest to the events, and your truth should be the most important in this case. Listen, if I may give you a perspective: I am also a fan of the club, and I believe that the responsibility to qualify was the responsibility of the whole team, not yours.
—And we know that the whole team got screwed up after I broke down, so... — I was the catalyst. I catalysed the whole mess when I stopped functioning after my father died. And now I think everyone's waiting for me to finish crying so I don't fuck it up again . He didn't say any of that out loud; he thought about it, his mind kept talking when his mouth didn't, and stopped when he noticed how much that thought hurt deep in his heart. He didn't want to worry Ben, who Jack was going to talk to about his progress for the weekly reports the club asked for. He wanted his friend to be calm and he wanted to show Jack progress as a patient. Was it progress if he could stop his thoughts before they did more damage? It seemed to him that it was — It's hard to get that idea out of my head. I don't want to let everyone down again and... I just wish this could go faster.
Jack nodded slowly. He leaned forward, both hands together on his knees.
—Mason, you have to understand that what you're going through is grief. The passing of a loved one is one of the most difficult experiences people go through in their lives. I know football doesn't wait, but it seems to me that if there's one time you can allow yourself patience, this should definitely be it.
Mason sighed. He took his eyes off Jack and looked at the ground instead.
—I guess so.
—Would you like to end today's session here?
—I'd appreciate it —he said, sitting up uncomfortably in his place— I'm sorry, Jack, it's just....
—Don't worry, you don't have to explain. It's fine, I'll see you next week, okay? —he clarified, as they both got up from their places.
—I really appreciate it. I know it's not ideal, I'm just a little tired today. But I'm fine, really, I'm fine.
—Don't worry, this doesn't mean any negative for the weekly reports, if that's what you're worried about —he assured, with a sympathetic smile— Overall, your progress is still there, Mason, and don't worry, it's not linear anyway. There are good days and bad days along the way.
Mason nodded. Jack's kind expression assured him that he could trust his words, and part of him felt it was his place to do so. At times like that he just wanted to be able to go home to bed after long days, and to do it at ease was something he appreciated more than his tired face could express.
—Thanks for understanding, mate.
He took the bus home with Erin; while they couldn't always go to practice together in the morning, they tried to go home together whenever possible. His best friend had been living in the apartment complex across the street from his for a few months, when her parents had finally allowed her to rent a flat with some of her teammates. She and Mason had planned to move in together someday from the first moment their friendship had been born, when they met on the team five years ago, but Erin's parents weren't so sure about the idea of letting their daughter live with a man who wasn't even her boyfriend, even more so when, in fact, they wished he was.
In reality, Erin was much further away from a romantic relationship with Mason and much closer to one with one of the four girls with whom she shared an apartment. Specifically, that new girl who had arrived to the team only a couple of months ago straight from Russia.
—So, how's it going with Alsu? —Mason asked, playfully approaching her friend.
—Smooth sailing... —she sighed.
—Uh... Are you serious or are you being sarcastic?
—What do you think?
—Oh, I see. I guess there hasn't been much progress.
—No. Unfortunately, it's all pretty much business as usual —she shrugged—. It would be so much easier if she were British. Or American, or Australian, or from anywhere other than Russia, you know?
—Yeah, I get it —he nodded, slung his backpack over his shoulder—. Well, don't let that disappoint you too soon, at least you two talk a bit more, don't you? I saw you leave the dining hall together today. Alone.
—Yep —she said, kicking a rock out of the way with a smile,—. We've been talking quite a bit these days, she's improved her English a lot.
—Are you helping her at home?
—Yes, she practices English with all of us... yesterday I helped her open a jar, by the way.
—Hey, look at you! You're quite the lady in conquest!
—I have my moments —said Erin, shrugging her shoulders— but, what about you? How you been today?
—Uh, good. I've managed to focus on other things these days and... I think you were right, getting back to playing is a big help for that.
—It'd better, innit? How is it going with the new boys?
—They were just introduced today, actually. They're quite nice, there are two Germans and the other three are from different countries, but it looks like they'll soon get used to the playing style.
—Are there any hot ones?
—Erin!
—What? I'm just asking what i will have to ask at some point...
—Pretty straightforward, perhaps... —he sighed, looking around, clear, before answering—. I don't know, Er, actually... I don't know exactly how I feel about talking about... that stuff yet.
—Oh. I see, I understand, don't worry —she nodded, giggling slightly as they looked at each other again—. Take your time.
—Sorry, it's all pretty weird, you know.
—Seriously, I get it —she smiled— When I told my sister I was a lesbian, I was fifteen, and so far I've never told her when I like someone.
—Hey, I'm not going to do that with you, huh! No, I won't take that much time, it's just... —he sighed—. I don't know exactly how to process my feelings yet or if it is the right word... you know, bisexual.
—It's normal, don't worry, Mase. Besides, everything that... happened recently, I guess... it's difficult.
—Yeah, sort of... but, hey, all the guys seem nice. At least one of them spent the whole training session looking at me.
—Oh, that's new —she looked at him— and did you like that?
—No, I don't know. I don't know, I mean, he literally just looked at me, and not like, in a romantic way or anything, but more like, he looked at me weird. It's funny, he has a very easy face to remember, but maybe he just looks like someone I know, I just can't remember who. I've been trying to remember the whole training.
—Maybe you were attracted to him because of familiarity, then.
—I wasn't attracted to him, let's be clear —he replied quickly—. It's just that he seems shy and his physique is... unusual. He's just unusual.
—Yeah, sounds like he is —she grinned.
—Haha, that's funny.
—I don't know, mate, but I hope you and that unusual guy can start to become friends, he seems to interest you at least a little bit, and if it distracts your mind, I like him.
—Yeah, I guess. Well, at least his face kept my mind occupied today, certainly.
—Erin smiled suggestively, making him laugh once more before shifting the conversation to less important topics. They talked about the ins and outs of their day to day lives, as they did after every training day on the walk from the bus stop near the apartment building condo they lived in to the exact spot in front of their buildings.
They joked and chatted leisurely until they reached the place where their buildings faced each other and they had to separate, to take the rest of the way to their respective flats.
—See you tomorrow, Mase. Wish me luck with her —Erin whispered, crossing her fingers.
—You don't need it. You can do it!
—You trust me too much —she smirked, which soon turned into a more serious expression— Hey, and... I trust you too, okay? Mase... remember to try and have some time for self-care, relax when you do, you can put on a TV series or something, just... just try to have something to distract your mind, okay?
—Thank you, Er. Seriously, thanks for your concern, and... I will do that. I'm going to try today.
—You know you can call me any time, right?
—I know.
She nodded, lips slightly pursed, to pull her mate in for a hug.
—I'll see you tomorrow at practice, mate.
—See you.
Erin still showed him both fingers crossed before passing the door of her building, as a sign of wishing him good luck, and he responded in the same way.
He hadn't actually told her that in the last two days, when they hadn't been able to see each other as often, he had once again forgotten to wash his face before going to bed, and that, along with an uncontrollable impulsivity that led him to finish off what was left of the peanut butter in the jar he'd bought last week, had caused a small outbreak of pimples near the hairline of his forehead.
I didn't want to worry Erin, especially when she had things to worry about too. The girls would be starting the season with three new recruits as well; among them, that Russian girl who had her best mate head over heels, but the scenario wasn't necessarily encouraging. The adaptation was not going smoothly, and although the results in the preparation matches had been favourable, the new girls still had a lot to learn about life in England. The image of Kai came back to her mind for a second.
He knew he came from some mid-table German team, and that made him wonder if he would have lived in a small town too, if he would have learned English there. Would he be ready for life in England? Would he already have a place to live in London? And if not, maybe he could be a good flatmate, he seemed like a nice person.
You don't even know him, you idiot.
Well, any of his mates in that age range surely would be. It didn't necessarily have to be Kai. Maybe he was overthinking it.
Erin would probably know better than him how to propose to someone else to be roommates: initially, living together in a small flat was the idea they'd both fabricated for moving to London when they'd been accepted into the club's academy, however, things hadn't gone so smoothly when they'd discussed the idea with their parents. Mason's parents had accepted it calmly, but Erin's parents didn't think it was the best idea for their daughter to move to a faraway city and live with someone who was nothing more than her best mate, so they had ended up choosing apartment buildings that were opposite each other. Of course, as tempting as it had been for Erin to lie to her parents and pretend that Mason had been her boyfriend since she was fifteen, she had refused.
Why? Because from the moment she'd told her best mate that it was actually women she was attracted to, she'd made it clear that she didn't want to keep a secret forever. Someday she was going to tell her parents, and there would be no lies involved in the process... it was just that, after years, she still didn't feel the right time to do it.
And Mason really understood her: if straight relationships were complicated, she knew from her best mate that trying to have that kind of connection with someone of the same gender raised the difficulty even higher, and that was also why he was barely comfortable enough to talk about his feelings for other men or approach the subject only in confidence with her best mate. It had been several months since he had come to the conclusion, after many therapy sessions, that he was also emotionally and physically attracted to men. Discovering this had not been easy, it had taken him many years to get to the point where he could allow these emotions and actions to happen without restriction, but admitting it to himself had been an equally long process, all the more so as there was always in the back of his mind the uneasiness and the constant thought that his attraction to women was still there, It had not diminished at the rate that his attraction to men was increasing, and perhaps if he just concentrated on that he could avoid the problems that an out-of-the-norm sexual orientation implied, because even though denial would be stupid, it was also true that he didn't even have the capacity to think about further conflict.
Now, at present, the problems arising from his father's death had taken up enough of his mind to prevent him from thinking about himself for the past few months. Now, the summer was over, the holidays were over and the time of mourning had to end one day: that was what he kept telling himself, and since the water was calm again, his mind started to allow himself some things again, like thinking about some other things that had nothing to do with his mourning.
A few weeks ago he had gone back to eat at his favourite café; he had tried again those blueberry pancakes that had once been a Monday routine, and had enjoyed them again as he had before. He had started listening to new music, songs that could not remind him of the past, and creating memories with them that he could relate to taking a leisurely walk to the local park, to shopping for food in different places than he used to go before, or to taking a shower again where the music was so loud that he could not think of anything else but rinsing the soap off his body and feeling the steam of the water.
These were not things he enjoyed on a daily basis, nor did he have the energy to do so often, but he was relearning to live again in the day to day and enjoy the little things in his routine, without feeling as if he was failing to mourn forever.
So, at times like that, a few hours after arriving home, he found himself on his living room couch, in a position that wouldn't look very comfortable to anyone watching, a box of cereal at his side and his mind completely lost in the fifth episode in a row of one of the series that the guys on the team had been discussing all week. It wasn't the kind of show he was used to watching; superheroes weren't his style, but it had been a long time since he'd given a series like that a chance.
And, honestly, it wasn't as bad as he would have imagined.
It was enough to have kept him the whole afternoon-evening in the same place, eating without noticing until he'd emptied a quarter of the box and doing so in an unusual combination with nothing but pure water. Still, it had been enough to keep his attention entirely on the screen. He glanced at his phone: the clock read ten o'clock at night, and the windows overlooking the small backyard of the apartment building now gave way to no more than the darkness of night and the dim lights of the surrounding buildings that managed to get through the filter of his curtains. The entire flat was dark, and though curiosity was urging him to play the next chapter, he knew that turning off the television and getting ready for bed would be adding a point of responsibility, so he did so.
He pressed the button that left the screen black, picked up the cereal box from the floor and, before going to the kitchen, made the decision to take a moment to pick up the fallen eyelets from the floor, gather them into a napkin and carry them to the rubbish bin. Seeing that piece of paper there, with what he had collected from the couch, brought a smile to his face, because it might not seem like much, but it was a step, and it was one that took more effort than anyone would have thought. Still, leaving the cereal box on the table and turning on only the lights on the stairs leading up to his room instead of the one on the door was one of those things he still allowed himself to neglect: his energy was not unlimited, but things could be taken one step at a time.
It seemed to him that the amount of cereal he had eaten was enough to be considered dinner, so it would not be necessary to take more than a last glass of water before climbing the stairs to his room.
The nightly efforts were becoming even more exhaustive than his day-to-day, and it wasn't as if his body was resenting it, but his brain was asking him to begin the restful activity of lying in bed and watching short videos that made him laugh for a couple of hours before going to sleep, but that wasn't what he wanted to do when he remembered the way Erin's face saddened every time, before she said goodbye, she asked him to take care of himself, and it wasn't a question of safety, it was a question of self-care.
He looked over his shoulder, to see his back to himself in the bathroom mirror in his room. Sometimes, when he did so, he was aware of himself again.
He was aware that the life he was living was his own, that what was happening was part of his doing, and for some reason, that didn't feel right. The uncertainty about the future and the insecurity of what was left of his life, which was supposed to be a long time, was the kind of restlessness that should have made him lose his mind ever since he had moved out of his parents' house years ago, ever since he had decided to leave school and take up football, but it hadn't been like that then. He didn't know why, but a few years ago, when that had happened, the future had seemed bright and full of possibilities, there was no danger that made it seem overwhelming. Something had changed and it now provoked a sense of fear. Perhaps it was in the realisation that life could actually be much shorter than expected, or perhaps in the knowledge that every moment of fulfilling his dreams was a second wasted without those he loved most. Everything that seemed so vast and secure when he was younger was also fragile and volatile. So knowing that he was in charge of his own future didn't bring him the slightest peace of mind. It had been years since he had stopped living in his parents' house, and that meant that the things that happened to him no longer had anything to do with them - or with her, for that matter....
He still wasn't used to no longer counting his father as part of that unit he had so long called his family, because although he was still his father, he was... no longer... there. He no longer existed in this world, the one he called father no longer existed, now he was just a memory. A big memory, too fresh and too vivid in his mind to stop thinking of him as a person he would still see and hug again. And now he was crying again, as he hadn't been able to stop crying at least once a day for the last four months.
And he had to sit for a moment on the couch next to his bed. Resting his body on it and sinking his face into his hands, to support his head as he should and to wipe away the tears that fell like raindrops in the English skies from his eyes.
He spent a few minutes in that position, but his tears were not a sea. In fact, what kept him like this was that pain in his chest he felt every time he was aware of it all over again, that this was his life, and he couldn't change it. He remembered everything that brought him back to reality in those moments; he remembered the breathing exercises Ben taught him, he remembered the sessions with Jack, he remembered Erin telling him to take care of himself, asking him with a sincere look.
Remembering that. That's how he was able to stand up after a couple of minutes.
He got up from that couch, and with his best mate's words in mind, he walked to the bathroom: looking in the mirror was one of those things he often avoided, because it usually ended up in memories and thoughts full of the anxiety and depression he was trying to leave behind, but he tried again.
He looked at his own eyes in the mirror, one and the other, deeply: the redness around them from tears, the way their tearing seemed more pronounced, the expression they made; he could almost connect with the feelings that were there, even though they were hidden for long periods of the day. He knew, because it was himself: that in his eyes there was a deep sadness that seemed to have no end, if the reason for it was never going to have a solution; that in his eyes, the ones he saw in the mirror, there was denial, heaviness, fear, and above all, there was pain.
He knew it, that reflection was himself, but when he was aware of it all, when he saw it so clearly, he felt as if his own mind was asking for help, because he really wanted to stop being in that place, and he was sick of feeling like that.
He sighed, looking at the tap that he turned on to let the water fall into his hands, feeling the way the liquid and its freshness made his hands transmit that tranquillity that emanated from them to his whole body. A small smile formed on his lips thanks to that sensation, and he washed his hands calmly. He then proceeded to wash his face as well and while his skin still looked wet in the reflection, he ventured to use his shaving cream and pick up the razor again, after all those days.
Mason smiled again at what he saw in front of him. Hell, he'd even brushed his teeth before bed; it was the most decent effort he'd made in the last few days, and though that feeling that would never go away still lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, he could at least ignore it for bedtime.
He had never been able to break the habit of keeping the bathroom light on when he went to sleep, because darkness was a condition he did not need to endure: the indirect light helped him to sleep calmly, and that regret in his heart always subsided gently after he regained his composure. He covered his whole body with the sheets until he could no longer see the slightest trace of moonlight coming through his window and closed his eyes, to let the tiredness he carried every day on his shoulders go in a breath.
His body was beginning to let go, to free itself from the burden of the day to give way to unconscious imagination, when he heard it. That sound was the sound of the door to the kitchen windows.
For a moment he wondered whether he should be alarmed; whether it would be necessary to get up and check, or whether he could sleep on and ignore it all, now that he really felt the sleep on his eyelids, but after a few moments' hesitation he accepted what he knew: of course he should get up. It might be the third floor in his building, but there were all sorts of people who wouldn't hesitate to climb whatever they had to in order to steal what they could.
Plus he had a tree right in front of the back windows of the flat; his damn kitchen had huge windows that he'd never gotten curtains for, and Erin had told him a thousand times, told him to do it. But there was security around the buildings, it wasn't a particularly dangerous area, so why would anyone go in there? What if there really wasn't anyone there? Maybe it was just a squirrel or a bird... were squirrels awake in the middle of the night? As he made his way down the steps to the kitchen he wondered if he should take something with him in case there really was a person trying to get into his flat, so he went back upstairs as quickly as he could and grabbed an umbrella from his room. With this in hand, he went back down the steps, avoiding making as much noise as he could, since the noises below had also ceased.
He kept his body close to the wall that separated the stairs from the kitchen, trying to listen for the slightest noise that would let him know if whatever had rattled his windows was still outside or perhaps inside: the sound was now a constant but very low tapping on the wood of his furniture.
A mouse? A squirrel? He was ready to start a chase downstairs in his flat, but as he leaned his body to peer behind the wall, he had encountered what he had least expected to see:
That was Kai Havertz, sitting on his kitchen counter and swinging his feet, which were dangling from it.