The school week had come to a close, leaving Saturday in it's wake. The night clung to the atmosphere, brandishing itself with a labyrinth of stars. The pale moon fell into the skyline beneath a layer of wavering clouds, until it was like the faded ink of an elder book. Alaska peered up fleetingly, pondering for a moment what it would be like to navigate the maze of constellations proudly shining over her.

"Come on, Alaska," a boy whined, clutching the sleeve of her jacket in his hand. He gave her a gentle tug, deepening his frown when his efforts had little to no effect on her. His voice was crisp, ornately flourishing in intricate mirth like sunlight beaming through cracks in the clouds. Alaska tilted her head back to him, curiously glancing over him.

His voice was albeit happy, constrained, tight in the way a straightjacket was. Alaska pursed her lips, watching Mason's sandy hair get swept up in the city's breath. "Are you alright?" She asked. "You seem..." she paused, searching for the right words with furrowed brows. "You seem like you're holding your breath," she finally said.

Mason smiled back at her like he was trying not to cry. The little grin grew on his cracked lips, akin to flowers blooming from cracks in the sidewalk. Alaska's heart halted it's rhythm briefly, and her stomach formed a pit at the pitiful smirk. The roots of his wildflower beam were tangled in languishing ache, it was such a prominent pain she could feel it in her bones.

He shook his head, a scoffing laugh accompanying him nonchalantly. Alaska watched as he pulled out a flask from the inside of his two sizes too big jacket. "I'm fine, I just got into a fight with my dad before I left today," he excused, opening the metal bottle and taking a long swig. The slim lines around his mouth deepened when he wrinkled his nose from the taste of the alcohol. "God, that's strong," he mumbled lightly before outstretching the flask to Alaska.

"You're a terrible liar. You know that, right?" Alaska rose an unconvinced eyebrow at him. Mason in his usual state of luminance was a blinding array of hues. Spending time with Mason was the only time Alaska was sure she knew just how beautiful colors were. His presence was a splendorous creation only fathomably compared to standing inside a rainbow. Today was different, too different to just derive from a fight with his dad. "You'd never make it on broadway," she rolled her eyes at herself, with a pointed look to the street sign reading 'Broadway street' beside them.

"Guess I'll have to stick to singing in the shower," Mason quipped in return, jiggling the flask at her. His face was bathed in the city's glow, a reverie come to life. His jaw softly shaped his features, and his pale eyelashes accentuated the golden tint of his hickory gaze. What made him so handsome though was the energy he exuded. An elusive, nearly unattainable warmth embodied the boy.

With narrowed eyes, Alaska took the flask from him. "You know you can talk to me if you want to, right?" She rose the flask to her lips, but paused before sipping from it. Alaska and Mason didn't pry into each others lives much, they didn't need to. They knew each other too well to keep secrets, though they had a policy. They wouldn't talk about their troubles unless the troubled one initiated. Their system had treated them well so far, and Alaska didn't intend to break it now.

It was only when Mason nodded that Alaska finally took a sip from the flask. The sip of whiskey enveloped her tongue, drowning her tastebuds in a bittersweet, oaky spice. The warmth flushing her cheeks clashed with the cool night air. Rose pigment dappled her features, bleeding into the hues of the city.

Autumn leaves spiraled in the wind, crawling into a chasm of despair the closer they got to the ground. Alaska sometimes felt like the orange leaves and their color diminished right before her eyes. Some took the fall with grace, and settled onto the ground in acceptance of their death. Others mourned themselves, and fought to remain in the blustering air for as long as possible.

Alaska wrinkled her nose as well as the whiskey imprinted it's sour taste in her tongue. "This tastes like the stuff my mom buys," she muttered, handing him back the flask. Alaska didn't make a habit of taking her mother's booze- the woman all but counted each damn drop from the bottle. There had been occasions where she snagged a half empty bottle to add some fun to her and Mason's evenings though.

Mason nodded his head to the storefront they stood in front of. An old fashioned arcade a lot of teenagers frequented, mostly because playing the games while high was trippy. "Let's go inside," he said after a shiver rattled his body.

——

An hour or so had passed since they went into the arcade. The 80s were manifested in the place, with cerulean carpets gilded by neon yellow shapes and blazing green triangles. The pattern screamed, shouting in a voice the youth of a past generation created. So long as Alaska ignored the questionable stains riddling the flooring, she loved it.

The whiskey from Mason's flask had provided the kids with a splendorous buzz. They were looming over a clunky machine that showcased fuzzy animation of a white line across a black background. They had already visited the photo booth, and Alaska now had a folded up collection of pictures in her wallet. Her hand was wrapped lazily around one of the joysticks, and jerking back and forth as they played a vigorous round of Pong. Little white lines reflected in her irises, and the multicolored lights played over her head.

"Damn!" She exclaimed, a frown stretching over her lips as Mason scored a point. His motions were much more frantic beside her, rooted in a competitive spirit that Alaska simply could not conjure. The alcohol had drawn outside of the lines on their cheeks, and turned every part of their faces maroon. To be fair, the unrestrained laugher they'd spewed the whole night had helped.

Alaska's mouth was aching from the sheer amount of smiling she'd done tonight. The muscles in her face were getting a workout they didn't often, and her wayfaring friend called joy reconciled with Alaska again. Her body was exhausted, and for once her ribs did not hurt from a plethora of violet hues- but instead from the effort of her laughter. Mason always brought out this side of her.

She glanced over to him and the smile spreading over her lips was unstoppable.  A hurricane of amusement unleashed a torrent of laugher from her throat. "Why are you so focused?" Alaska's voice was small, renegading through her chuckling in pure euphoric whispers. Mason's dark eyebrows were scrunched together, like two caterpillars and his eyes were zeroed in on the machine.

Mason refused to turn to her and instead planted his stare soundly on the screen. "Because I intend on winning," he crookedly smirked, tilting his head as if honing in even further. While Alaska was still distracted, caught in a fit of elusive happiness, Mason scored another point on the game.

The machine made a little dinging sound, declaring a point won for Mason. The score was 7 - 10, and it certainly was not in Alaska's favor. She gasped in mock surprise, jerking her head back to the game to deflect the next shot he tried to take. "You bitch!" She said, shoving the boy's shoulder softly. "I wasn't paying attention," she complained lamely, earning only a stoic shrug.

"You also just suck at this game," he chuckled in return, relenting just long enough to glance cockily at Alaska.

"I do not," her voice rose an octave with her lie, going up like a ballon was attached to it. What made this all the more unconvincing was Mason scoring the final game point, and the machine singing him a little victory tune.

"Hah!" Mason rose his fist triumphantly, pride exuding from him at his win. "Pong, bitch," he added, gesturing down at the machine. His voice was electrified, and volts of tipsiness carried currents of enthrallment to his cadence.

Another voice interrupted their conversation, one belonging to a boy a bit older than them. He had a stupid grin on his face, and attracted Alaska and Mason's attention by tripping with every step. The very sight of him was enough to force Mason to stifle a chuckle. The red haired boy's eyes were unfocused, caught in the hazy colored lights as a smile traipsed across his lips.

His lanky arm reached out, and pointed as the Miss Pac-Man machine. "Miss Pac-Man is a vessel of light made by god himself," he told them, shifting his stare over the girl and boy but didn't seem to actually see them. Alaska recognized the boy as their school's star football player, Brennan Perez. And Brennan was higher than the trees, and the sky- and hell, god himself. "She is what Jesus died for," he righteously claimed, pumping his fist indignantly. "I can't even see straight after looking at her," he finished before walking right past them.

Alaska struggled to get a breath in between laughs, and her hands fumbled to hold onto the side of the pong machine. The cool surface slipped through her fingers easily, causing her to sink to the ground. She panted, sucking in and out to try and get some air and ended up wheezing instead. Tears pricked her eyes, and blurred her vision until the world around her was a swirl of obnoxious hues.

"Was that Brennan Perez?" Mason breathlessly asked, joining Alaska with a slow descent to the floor. Alaska clutched her shirt, letting the fabric sink through her fingers as she nodded wordlessly. Mason's fist collided into the ground, hitting down twice to express a joy his strained voice could not.

The moment was one for the ages. The type of memory which would live in your mind as a keepsake of your youth's beauty. It was the deep rumbling of laughter in your chest, bearing the same exuberant happiness as daylight. It was screaming the lyrics to your favorite song while driving with the windows down. It was the aroma of your final walk home from school at the end of the year, when the flowers were beginning to bloom. It was comfort, and it the poignant luster of warmth was Alaska's home.

Mason was Alaska's home, at least her favorite part of it.

It took minutes for the kids to finally calm down, and settle into an easy silence. Alaska's shoulders were slumped against the leg of the machine, stealing away the coolness of the metal. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, being deeply touched by pleasant exhaustion. She listened to the tune of Mason breathing, taking in his more even chest.

At some point he had draped his legs over her's, and laid his back on the ground. Ever prominent traces of a smile laced his light expression, subtly quirking his lips up. Alaska was sure she could almost see the outline of Brennan walking past them replaying on Mason's closed eyelids.

"You know, maybe Brennan had a point," Alaska offered up, beginning the play with Mason's bunny soft hair. Her fingers drifted through the sandy strands soothingly; Alaska's casual affection started and ended with Mason.

He opened one eye and squinted at her skeptically. "What?"

Alaska cleared her throat, depriving her face of amusement and dawning a facade of seriousness. "Maybe Miss Pac-Man is just a subsidiary of Christianity, and the game itself is Jesus propaganda masquerading as innocent fun."

"Are you suggesting God is indoctrinating us via a yellow blob?"

She stared out distantly, thinking over his words before nodding. "That is exactly what I'm saying."

Mason grimaced, and half heartedly snorted. "You're a mess, Slick," he retorted while closing his eyes again. Alaska's scoff came like clockwork, earning a smirk from Mason who knew she rolled her eyes without even opening his. The nickname's origin was written by a moment where Alaska had been anything but slick. Who knew telling a boy who wanted your number that you were amish in a frenzied panic was a bad idea?

"Seriously, what would you do without me?" He chuckled. If Alaska had been sober, she would have detected the wavering uncertainty hanging on Mason's tongue.

"I don't know. Die probably, but only after writing a dramatic memoir about your death, or disappearance."

"Oh, so there's no world where I just stop being friends with you?" Mason questioned, opening his eyes only to narrow them incredulously. Specks of amusement peppered his beautiful eyes, prevailing against the pestering darkness within them.

Alaska furrowed her eyebrows. "Obviously not, you'd wouldn't be able to cheat off anyone's math homework without me."

"That's a good point," Mason nodded, forcing away a smirk. "That's really all I keep you around for. And how are you planning to die?"

Alaska shrugged like was the easiest question she had ever been asked. "Broken heart, or doctor assisted suicide."

"Why doctor assisted?"

"Because driving off the side of the road is too morose, and I don't want to die alone."

Mason's mouth pulled into a straight line and instantly the atmosphere changed. The feeling of the moment rippled, as if fate had tossed a pebble across the night. The whirring excitement skipped across the surface of all their worries, bringing light to each of the kid's drowsy aches for a second.

"Really though, you might have to live without me at some point." Mason's demeanor was suffocating, it even cut through Alaska's foggy brain and reminded her of earlier. The slow, constant thrumming of sullen blue in Mason's voice was drowned Alaska. It filled her ears, getting stuck in them and muffling any other distraction.

Alaska carefully ran her thumb down the side of his face, and traced the corners of his frown. She peered down at her best friend, her colors, her home, and arched an eyebrow. Worry became her, engulfing her now swiftly beating heart. "And why is that?" She sheepishly questioned, savoring the warmth of his skin against her cold fingers. Alaska could have sworn Mason's eyes became glassy.

"Nothing lasts forever."

The words were bursting capillaries under Alaska's skin. She searched his face, reading each line for an explanation to his vague rambling. Her body was stalled, frozen in the purgatory of his voice and the context that already made Alaska feel ill.

Mason sighed, and sat up so his shoulder was pressed into Alaska's. Once again, he plucked his nearly empty flask from his jacket and took a long swig. "I mean, at some point you'll go and do great things with piano or poetry," he shook his head distantly, gazing out onto the room blankly.

"And I'll stay here." He tried for a smile, but it only came off as forced. His white teeth were still pearly, his eyes still warm, his skin still flushed, but his vibrance was gone. He pointed to the ground. "Right here, with the vomit stain over there because I'm so tired I could not imagine standing up."

Alaska wasn't soothed by his half hearted laugh. In fact, it only instilled her with a deep rooted sense that something else was wrong. A million thoughts overtook her head, and each revolved around the worst cases she could imagine. She had a habit of rushing to the worst possibility.

"What are-"

"Are you kids drinking?" The shrill accusation poured from the mouth of the man who earned the arcade. He was a beer gutted, balding asshole who tended to take his anger out on his patrons. He had popped out from the backroom, and was now red faced and rushing to the phone hanging on the wall. "I swear, no one under thirty has any respect anymore. I'm calling the damn cops."

Anything he said after that was muted to Alaska and Mason. They booked it out of the arcade, running as fast out of there as their feet could handle. Their shoes smacked against the pavement, echoing through the city as if yelling for it's attention. They kept running and running until the arcade was too far away for them to even see.

They skidded to a stop, scraping the soles of their shoes over the harsh concrete. Alaska placed her hands on on her knees, awakened again from the adrenaline coursing through her. The cool air graciously fanned her warm face, and brushed through her tousled hair. She breathlessly turned around, with a quickly fading smile.

For, when she faced Mason, he had tears pouring down his cheeks. The moon lit the streams running over his face, making them shine even in the dim night. He pressed both his shaking hands to the sides of his head and pulled his hair back. His lip quivered, and only when he finally managed to speak did Alaska understand .

And with the simple words Mason spoke, which bore a weight insurmountable, Alaska's world became grey.

"I'm dying Alaska. I'm sick."

~do you like Alaska's friendship with Mason better than her friendship with Birdie and Thatcher?~

Hello lovely readers! It's been awhile- that's my bad... i lost inspo for some time, but i'm getting back into things! I have a lot planned for the next few chapters, and I hope you guys can forgive me for taking so long to update! That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter still! What did you think? I'd love to hear any opinions or thoughts you had while reading! And thank for for reading, and taking the time to understand a bit more about Alaska's past! If you liked it, it would mean a lot if you gave this chapter a vote! And of course, have a wonderful day/night!