Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

LEO

I watch as Mason strides away from me with an air of defiance, his head held high and his backpack bouncing against his broad shoulders, I can't help but seethe with frustration. With him gone, the silence is oppressive, punctuated only by the hum of nearby wildlife. We're isolated out here, cut off from the rest of the world by the vast expanse of nothingness surrounding us. He knows there's nowhere to go, but still he's spitting his dummy out and storming away from me like a baby.

I know Mason is expecting me to drop everything and chase after him, to try to salvage what's left of our tattered relationship. But the truth is, I'm exhausted from the constant rollercoaster of his emotions. He's always like this - whenever things don't go his way, he storms off, leaving me to pick up the pieces. His tantrums are a familiar refrain, a predictable pattern that I've grown tired of trying to navigate.

Our relationship has been rocky for years. No matter what I do, I can't seem to find the magic formula to make Mason happy. It's as if I'm stuck in a never-ending cycle of disappointment, no matter how hard I try. I know he blames me for the lack of sex in our relationship, and it's painful to see the hurt in his eyes when I turn him down again. But the truth is, my job has become so stressful, that it sucks the life out of me, leaving me drained and washed-out at the end of every day. The last thing I need is to have someone clinging to me, suffocating me with their need for a quick shag.

It's not that I'm averse to intimacy, but the truth is, I feel like Mason has reduced our relationship to a shallow transaction. He wants me to be his piggybank and his plaything, always throwing cash at him and expecting me to be ready to fulfil his desires on demand. Ten years of being together has worn down the romance, and what's left is a dull routine of obligation and duty. Our relationship has lost its spark, its sense of adventure and excitement. I miss the carefree days when we were just friends, before the romance turned into a chore.

In the early days, our relationship was built on shared dreams and a sense of adventure. I was the one who encouraged Mason to leave his dull desk job and pursue his passion for art, convinced that his creativity would flourish without the suffocating constraints of a 9-to-5 routine. At first, he was hesitant, worried about me shouldering the financial burden alone, but I could see the spark in his eyes dimming with each passing day. He was suffocating under the weight of regularity, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing the vibrant, artistic soul I had fallen in love with.

For a while, our arrangement worked, and I'd catch glimpses of the spark that had initially drawn me to Mason when we were teens. I would walk into our flat, he'd greet me with a radiant smile, his eyes glowing with creativity, and he'd proudly showcase the vibrant paintings that covered our walls. The air would be thick with the scent of paint fumes and his tools would be scattered around the room.

I've been working 16-hour days, 6 days a week, and it's taken a toll on our relationship. I feel like we're not connecting as much as we used to, and I miss the little moments we shared before. Despite knowing Mason loves me deeply, I can see the distance growing between us, and it hurts me. I wish Mason could understand the toll my job is taking on me and our relationship.

Honestly, I know I need to put in the effort to reignite the passion with Mason, but whenever I try to get into the mood, I start feeling anxious and cheapened. It's like my body is on autopilot, and I'm just going through the motions. Mason would never force me to do something I don't want, but even though he says he understands where I'm coming from, I don't think he truly gets it. When I try to talk to him about how I'm feeling, he just tells me that I need to relax.

I wanted Mason to prove to me that he doesn't just crave luxury holidays, that he craves quality time with him. So, instead of sending us away to some exotic destination for our anniversary, I suggested we stay in the UK and spend a weekend camping together. I wanted proof that Mason values our relationship over material possessions and expensive getaways. But when I presented my idea to him, he moaned and whined, and it was clear that his heart wasn't in it for the right reasons.

I'm facing the daunting realisation that I might be losing the one person who truly understands me. We used to connect on so many levels, but lately, it feels like we're just going through the motions. I've realised that we have fundamentally different ideas about what constitutes a healthy relationship - he thinks it's all about grand gestures and romantic getaways, while I believe it's about genuine communication and emotional intimacy. When we fight about these things, he says I'm being unreasonable and he's just trying to show his love in his own way. But the more we argue, the more I feel like we're drifting apart. And now, I'm left wondering if there's any way to bridge the gap between us.

I decide to distract myself by trying to fix the engine. The smell of burnt rubber and oil greets me, a pungent reminder of all the things that need attention. I lift the hood, and a wave of heat hits me, making my skin prickle. The steam hissing from the engine is like a physical blow, forcing me to fan it away with my hands.

I think of myself as a self-proclaimed car ignorance expert, with a total lack of mechanical smarts. I'm a fully grown man, but my uselessness is palpable as I fumble with the knobs and wires. As I twist one particularly stubborn piece of metal, the engine sputters and coughs, then dies with a defeated wheeze. I let out a string of curses as I stare at the mess I've made, my anger and frustration simmering like a pot about to boil over. I slice my finger open on a sharp edge as I try to yank out the broken part, and instinctively stick it in my mouth to staunch the bleeding.

I slam the hood shut, the metal echoing through the air. The heat is suffocating, and I'm starting to feel like I'm trapped in a never-ending nightmare. I've had enough of this. I need to find Mason, so we can just go back home. I stalk off towards the distant trees, I can't shake the thought that Mason might be wandering around somewhere, desperate for a break from the blistering sun. The thought sends a surge of worry through me, and I quicken my pace, anxious to find him before he collapses from heatstroke.

I trudge down the country road, sweat drips down my face like rain, stinging my eyes and making me squint against the blinding sunlight that reflects off the tarmac. The minutes tick as I scan the roads and the gaps in the trees for any sign of him, my anxiety growing with each passing second. I can only assume Mason hasn't gotten far – his fair skin would already be starting to look like it's been cooked in a slow oven, and I know he'll be desperate for shade by now. My mind conjures up images of him stumbling along the verge, his eyes squinting against the bright light, his pale hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

I quicken my pace, and I can feel the blood pumping beneath the surface of my skin, feeling like it's been set aflame. I'm starting to regret not bringing water or a hat, but all I can think about is finding Mason. Just as I'm about to collapse beneath the shady branches of a tall oak, the air thick with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers and mud, I catch a faint moaning noise. The sound sends a shiver down my spine as I push aside the branches and hurry towards it, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. The world around me blurs into a haze of heat and dust as I strain my ears to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"Mason?" my voice echoes off the trees as I call out for him. I'm taken aback when I see him lying naked in a tangled mess of decaying leaves and twigs, his t-shirt tied around his forehead like a bandana. A mixture of amusement and concern washes over me as I take in the absurdity of the situation. His usually pale skin slightly pink from the heat and his chest rises and falls with laboured breaths. Despite his dreadful appearance, something about his predicament strikes me as ridiculous – the image of him, tangled in leaves like a statue, is almost comical. I try to suppress my laughter, but a snort escapes my lips as I rush to help him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask, dropping to my knees beside him. I reach out and touch the back of my hand against his chest, and it sticks to his skin like glue. The sensation is unpleasantly familiar – as if I'm touching warm, sticky wax.

Mason groans and attempts and fails to roll over onto his side, muttering, "Too hot, too hot, too hot."

I raise an eyebrow at his explanation. "Clothes were making me sweat. Needed to lay down and cool off?" he tells me, his tone laced with scepticism. He looks up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Do you want me to help you up? I don't like that you've got your bare ass cheeks on a pile of rotten leaves, what if a bug crawls up there?"

"Least somethings up there," Mason snaps at me.

I roll my eyes, "Can we talk about this later when we aren't stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way to get help?"

Mason huffs as he sits up and whips the t-shirt off his head, "No. We should talk about it now…" I hear Mason shouting at me, but all I can focus on is the way his sweat is dripping down his chest and trickling towards his stomach. His stomach, even at our age, is still as hard and tight as it was when he was twenty-one. The way his skin is taut where his hip bones jut out from his body. And finally, the way his cock, even while soft, is thick and lo…

Mason's words crack through the air, I'm caught off guard by the intensity of his anger – and, I admit, a flicker of embarrassment shoots through me as I realise I've been gazing at his naked body instead of listening to his words. His face is red and twisted with rage, his eyes blazing like hot coals as he shouts at me. "Oh my fucking God, are you being serious right now?" he thunders, his voice echoing through the air like a storm cloud bursting forth. The sudden stillness that follows is intense, as if even the trees themselves are holding their breath in anticipation of what will come next.

I'm caught off guard by the flush spreading up my neck, my heart racing with embarrassment as I realise I've been staring at him with an intensity that's uncharacteristic of me. I've seen him naked and sweaty before, but never like this – never with the same visceral response that's stirring within me now. The sound of his sharp breathing fills my ears, and I'm acutely aware of the scent of his sweat-drenched skin, like a primal pheromone drawing me in. Mason's fingers snap in front of my face, breaking the spell, and I jerk my gaze away from his limp dick resting against his thigh. For a moment, our eyes lock, and I feel the weight of his anger and my own guilt.

I meet Masons gaze, a tidal wave of emotions crashes over me, threatening to engulf me whole. His eyes, a deep shade of blue, now seem to hold an emotion I haven't seen for a while. I can see the fine tremors of anger still vibrating through him, but it's tempered by a softness in his eyes that takes my breath away – a look that speaks of love and longing, of devotion and desperation.

My voice cracks as I force myself to meet his gaze, my eyes burning with a mixture of emotions as I ask the question that's been festering inside me for what feels like an eternity. "Do you still love me?" The air is heavy with tension, thickening like a fog that refuses to lift, as I wait for his response. My mind is a jumble of doubts and fears, uncertainty that threatens to consume me whole. I'm torn between the desire to know the truth and the desperate need to retreat from the vulnerability that comes with asking such a question.

"What?" he asks, confused. "Of course, I do."

I gaze into his eyes, I search for any flicker of the love we once shared, any hint of warmth that might still linger. The words spill out of me like a prayer, a plea for him to recall the tender moments we've shared, the laughter, the whispers in the dark. "Think about it deeper," I say, my voice low. "Do you still feel that spark when we're together? Do I make you happy?"

I give him some time to answer and as the seconds tick by in a stilled silence, I'm almost convinced I know my answer.

Mason's fingers brush against mine, a shiver runs down my spine and I involuntarily I almost jerk my hand away. But when I turn back to him, I'm met with a sight that takes my breath away, tears streaming down his cheeks like rain-soaked rivulets, his eyes red-rimmed and raw. "Leo, I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. He squeezes my hand tighter, his grip like a vice as he continues, "I just don't know what's changed. We used to be so close, we'd share everything, our doubts and fears were always easily communicated. Now I feel like we're strangers."

I take a couple of deep breaths, just to give me an extra moment to think about my next words, but before I can open my mouth, I feel rain drops starting to drop against my body. Looking up to the sky, I can't help but laugh. I don't know why I expected the sunny weather to last, we're in England, of course it decides to start pissing it down.

"Right, get up," I tell Mason and help him stand up from the pile of rotten leaves. "We need to get out of here and find shelter somewhere."

Mason ignores me, but he does walk ahead of me, naked I must add. "Want to put your clothes back on?"

"Nope," is all he says and then we walk back to the car in silence, the air filled with stilled awkwardness.