Page 118 of Home Grown Talent

“That’s not the person I want to be,” Mason said hoarsely. “I don’t want to keep compromising on who I am. I want to be myself.”

Owen leaned in and kissed him tenderly. When he pulled back, he said, “You’re already yourself, Mason. What you did today was so fucking brave and beautiful.” He paused, then added, “For what it’s worth, I’ll be one hundred percent behind you, whatever path you choose. And that stands, regardless of what happens between us in the future.”

Mason frowned. “Sorry, what? What do you mean by that?”

Owen flushed a dull red and shrugged, glancing away. “Just… you’re a lot younger than me, and the way you feel right now may not be how—”

Mason pressed his hand over Owen’s mouth to stop him saying another single word. His heart was racing with something that felt like anger and fear together. “Hey!” he said. “Don’t—just don’t—”

Gently, Owen’s fingers encircled his wrist and tugged his hand away. “All I'm saying is that I need you to know that I’ll have your back, whether we’re together or not.”

“But—but you just said you loved me,” Mason croaked.

Owen’s expression grew anguished. “I do love you,” he said. “I love you so fucking much, Mason, and that’s not going to change for me. But it might change for you, and—”

“No, it fucking won’t!” Mason cried.

Owen blinked.

“It’s not going to change for me either,” Mason said, glaring at him. “So bad luck, you’re stuck with me!”

“But how do you know it won’t change?”

“How do you?” Mason retorted.

Owen’s blue gaze searched his face. At last he whispered, “I just do.”

“Yeah? Well, same here,” Mason replied. “Guess we’re just going to have to trust each other on that one.”

Owen was quiet for a long time, considering that. Then he smiled, a crooked sort of smile. Tentative and hopeful.

“I guess we are,” he said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Owen said, much later, as they sat at the kitchen table eating spaghetti al limone, “I think you’ve done absolutely the right thing, but how do you think your mum will deal with it?”

Mason, who had just told Owen about Min’s intervention with Frieda a few days before, swirled the same few strands of spaghetti around his fork, over and over, as he considered that. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “But like I told her, I’m not going to cut her off tomorrow. I want to give up modelling, but I won’t stop taking jobs until I’ve got a plan sorted out for what I’m going to do next.” He felt a surge of excitement, the stretching of wings too long clipped. “You’ve made me realise that it’s my life, and that it’s okay to make plans without considering what Frieda or Kurt might think about them. It’s helped that the girls have been so supportive.”

Across the table, Owen beamed, his eyes so bright and fond that Mason couldn’t help but smile too. “Any ideas on what you might want to do?”

“It’ll be something with food, I know that much, but I’m going to think it through carefully. I’m not making any sudden decisions. Besides, the lease on this place has another six months to run, and I need to cover the rent.”

Owen shot him a glance. “You’re giving this flat up?”

Mason shrugged. “I’ll have to get somewhere cheaper. This is… expensive.”

“London’s expensive,” Owen pointed out.

Mason chuckled without much humour. “Yeah.”

Owen shifted in his seat. “I know it’s probably too soon but”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“maybe when you get to the end of your lease, you could move in with me? Beckenham’s not as trendy as Clapham, but it’s nice.”

Mason’s heart began to race. It was too soon, no doubt about it, but the thought of moving in with Owen, of sharing his well-loved house and garden, filled Mason with sudden fierce happiness.

Before he could reply, Owen looked up and said, “Don’t say yes or no right away. Just—put it in your pocket for now, okay?”

“Okay,” Mason breathed, though he suspected his helpless smile probably gave away his true feelings on the subject.

After a bit, Owen said, “What about your dad? Have you spoken to him about your plans?”