-Eric-

"We need to jump him," Mason offered off-handedly, though there was a strange seriousness to his expression when he peered up from the monitor. He did, at the very least, briefly furrow his brows while pondering to himself, as if to at least humor the idea of reconsidering such a harsh stance.

This was most likely due to the sheer bewilderment on my face as I turned to frown at him, which I didn't really bother hiding at all.

But then he doubled down anyways, gleefully taking the opportunity to be unhinged: "Think about it... an eye for an eye. He's messing with you, so we slash three of his tires. And we break his windows for good measure."

"Are we jumping him or his car?" I mumbled sarcastically, sighing to myself when he just nodded along in agreement. As if I was suggesting both. "Wait, Mason, no..."

See, I enjoyed talking absolute shit despite knowing I wouldn't partake in most of the literal crimes I bitched about in the heat of the moment. Murder? Arson? Armed robbery? Yeah, sure it was fun to talk like that. But that was all it was. Shit talking.

Knowing myself, I wouldn't make it in prison, especially if I went in for something as cliché as arson. I'd have no real rep to hide behind, and I wasn't naïve enough to just assume I wouldn't get shanked, regardless of how likeable I could come across when I tried really fucking hard. Maybe if I was emotionally prepared and had some kind of currency to trade for protection, but my options were already slim as it was and the only options left felt... grim. Morbid, really.

So, yeah, I was just spewing nonsense whenever I threatened to set Shawn's office ablaze. It was never meant to be anything more than that, lest I actually have to endure the consequences of my own reckless actions.

Mason, though? That giant idiot was not joking about beating Shawn up.

"So, both?" he retorted, perking up at the thought. And I shut it down, obviously, which only resulted in him flashing me that one expression he reserved specifically for moments where he was disappointed in my life choices, allowing his brows to furrow deeply as he openly judged me. "Wow. You're just going to let him step all over you?"

I chuckled to myself at the foolish notion of defiance, unable to fully wrap my mind around the absurdity of potentially jumping an attorney. But then I realized that, quite unfortunately, Mason wasn't laughing along. Not even a chuckle. Oh boy.

"Uhm, I don't think so," I finally supplied, releasing a stale, awkward laugh. "Wow. Sometimes I forget how petty you can be when something pisses you off."

"I prefer the term selectively confrontational," Mason countered, and he didn't seem to have any intentions of backing down.

"That doesn't help," I expressed through a wince, though I couldn't say it hadn't come in handy when we were younger; while I was certainly the more outgoing and social of the two, that didn't necessarily mean I was great at calling people out on their shit. Not unless there were multiple exit routes within my line of vision, anyways.

And so, that had inevitably led to a lot of trouble situations throughout the years, ranging from disagreements to full-blown scrap fights.

Thought, not by me.

While I was prone to avoiding confrontation, Mason seriously didn't mind getting his hands dirty; this, somehow, resulted in him consistently taking over whenever shit got a bit too real. I could still recall the countless of times he'd landed himself in trouble due to picking a fight with some jerk who'd bothered someone in our friend group, the punishments ranging from detentions to suspensions.

To a chipped tooth once, which he had to get filled in.

And it wasn't even that we asked that of him, because we seriously didn't. Hell, we actively tried to discourage him, but it didn't really matter much if he'd set his mind to intervene—that was just how Mason was.

"Then?"

"Then, what?"

Mason rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. You can't just skirt around this, Eric. Not everything goes away with time."

I quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay, technically that's not true. But how much time are we talking here? And are you willing to suffer through it?"

I huffed, knowing Mason definitely had a point. Except, I'd already tried clearing the air with Shawn and that hadn't done much good. If anything, I was clearly digging myself into a deeper hole simply by proxy of existing anywhere near him.

And how was I meant to confront that exactly? There was rationale, and then there was everything Mason wanted me to do about this. Avoiding any confrontation, as expected, was at the very top of my list.

"Should I just quit, then?"

Mason scoffed. "No. You should get even."

"How?"

"Should I look up kerosene prices online? Amazon probably does one-day shipping," he replied after a few moments of contemplation, finally smirking over at me. Thank God.

And yes, Mason was being sarcastic. But he also sort of wasn't, clearly growing frustrated with my inability to just confront things head-on. Except, he should know better than expecting that from me. I was all talk, no bark. "No, w-we're not doing that," I replied... just in case that wasn't clear.

He grumbled, releasing a tired sigh. "You know I always have your back, but there's not much I can do here, bro."

Which, yeah. Of course. But also, what did he expect me to do about it?

"Dude. He already kicked my ass once," I snapped, shuddering at the mere reminder of that embarrassing night. Luckily, it hadn't devolved into anything even remotely as serious since then; however, I was certainly not trying to fuck around and find out. "I'm not down for a repeat."

Mason's eyes widened with dawning realization. "He did what?"

I grumbled. "He—oh."

Mason pointed at my face, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. "Is that how you got that bruise? From this Shawn dude?"

I flashed a curious expression before halting altogether, realizing that I legit hadn't told him what happened the night of the party. When asked about it, I'd off-handedly mentioned getting into a scuffle, but that was about the extent of it. "Uh..."

He glared. "Report him to HR."

"It happened before I was hired," I countered, wincing at the way the realization dawned on his face.

"He jumped you and you agreed to work for him?" Mason half-yelled, rubbing at his temple in frustration. "What the hell did you expect would happen?"

I shrugged, trying hard not to flinch. "I—I don't know?"

He sighed, shooting me a dirty glare. "Where's your sense of self-preservation?"

"Listen."

"No. You listen," Mason retorted, leaning forward to glare at me with the intensity of someone who craved vengeance. "You have to get back at him."

"Yes, yes. I know."

He shook his head, glaring me into silence. "Don't just dare say yes to appease me. You have to humiliate him. We're past getting a forgiveness out of him. You said you wanted to see him burn, right?"

I frowned. "Does Bennett know you get like this?"

Mason waved me off disinterestedly. "Not the point. I'd help you plot, but I have homework to do you," he explained before pointing at me borderline threateningly. "You better come up with something good. I want to feel uncomfortable with how cruel you're being. Now, let me get back to my shit; I need to catch up on my assignments today if I want to be able to see Bennett tomorrow."

Ah, yes. Bennett. "He'll survive if you don't turn up to that goddamn gym every single day," I complained, opening my mouth to elaborate before realizing he was narrowing his eyes, eerily quiet.

"Do you not... like him?"

I forced a weak smile, internally screaming at this unfortunate development. "Me? No way! I-I think he's great," I promised, rather shakily, which wasn't necessarily a lie. Still, I probably wouldn't readily admit it if Mason didn't have a metaphorical gun pressed up against my back.

"That's what I thought," Mason muttered before focusing back on his assignment. "Anyways, you should go get us some takeout."

I groaned at the suggestion, shutting my eyes in protest. I was usually down, but I'd had a long day today and we had instant ramen cup noodles in the closet. "I'm sleeping. Don't you see me sleeping?"

"Pick it up and I'll pay," he offered.

A weak grumble escaped my mouth as I sat up to glower at my friend, except he didn't even bother glancing back at me. Now, why would he make an offer he knew I couldn't resist? "I can get whatever I want?" I tested the water while struggling to shove my foot into my shoe without untying it.

Mason sighed at that. "...if you must."

Fine.

"Thanks! Text me what you want," I replied before he could change his mind, stretching as I got off the bed.

"Wings!" he yelled just as I left, clearly not wanting to bother with texting.

"Yeah, yeah."

---

In retrospect, it might have been a good idea to check if the small diner was open at all today. Or at least peeked out the window, considering it was right down the street from where we lived.

I wearily walked up to the main entrance after crossing the street, gazing down at the hastily written sign announcing they'd be closed for the next few days due to a family emergency. And just as promised, the inside of the building was barren and dark. There were a few cars in their parking lot, but I was almost certain they belonged to students that hadn't been able to secure a parking pass for this semester.

Hopefully they wouldn't get towed.

In any case, there were a few other places that sold wings, though this one was easily the best in the area. And closest, which was key considering I was on foot. I took a picture and sent it to Mason with an emoji that aptly conveyed my disappointment, warily debating how long it would be until he replied.

Ugh.

Mason was great, truly, but he was absolutely atrocious at checking his phone. It could be anywhere between a few hours to a few weeks before he realized I'd even messaged him in the first place. And even then, all I'd get is a shameless serving of "oh, haha. I didn't see this". The jerk.

I paced back and forth on the sidewalk, leaning against the lamppost while waiting for him to respond. There were a few places to eat nearby, but I didn't feel like picking. "You better answer soon," I muttered down at my phone, wondering if perhaps this was a lost cause. After a few minutes I tried calling once, twice... thrice? Nothing.

Straight to voicemail.

"If you could answer your—!" I started to yell before jolting as I caught sight of someone frowning while walking past. He was faintly familiar, having probably been in one of my general classes before. Warren? William?

"S-sorry," I apologized, flashing a weak smile at the brunette, though he probably thought I was losing it. "Just... my roommate. He never answers his damn phone."

He chuckled. "Nah, you're good."

Then, he approached the door as well, releasing a tired sigh. "Closed, huh?"

I nodded my head. "Seems that way, doesn't it?"

The stranger snorted, sheepishly rolling his eyes before turning to look at me. "Eric, right?"

"Oh... yeah," I replied, nervously grinning in response because... I definitely didn't remember his name. The more I looked at him, the more I recalled sitting near him in a past class, though. He had a nice jawline, which was the one thing I'd noticed even back then. "We've been in a class together, right?"

He nodded his head, cracking a smile. "Yeah. I'm Wyatt."

---

A/N: Thank you for reading. Also, Wyatt is the MC of the third book. :')