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MASON

The first time Mason saw him was at the mall, a mundane place for such beauty.

Mason hated crowds, and most people, but the only photography shop he trusted sat in a corridor off the second floor and it was worth the risk. He wished he’d gone earlier in the day but he’d gotten caught up in the darkroom, and now he was weaving around too many bodies, his frustration building as four slow walkers casually strolled in front of him.

Eye twitching, Mason glanced at the cheesy art-deco fountain beside him and almost tripped over his own two feet.

An elfin prince sat alone on one of the benches in front of it, his long dark hair spilling around him, the light catching his impressive bone structure. Mason had never seen anyone like him and his fingers curled, aching to capture the sharp angles of that face and pry secrets from those gray eyes. But he didn’t talk to random people, so he trudged into the store. By the time he left, the prince had disappeared.

The second time Mason saw him was at home.

Allowing Ollie, a virtual stranger, to rent a room in the enormous house his grandmother had left him wasn’t exactly above board but it would help pay the lawyer bills and some of the property taxes. He questioned himself all the way up to moving day, wondering if he’d made the right decision as he peered out a window at the van in his driveway.

And going stock-still when his elfin prince stepped out of it.

This is kismet, Cricket.

It took a few seconds for Mason to come back online and after more spying throughout the house, he decided to lurk on the porch, staying far out of the way and pretending to take pictures of the sky while grabbing whatever sly shots he could.

The prince’s beauty was like a cool breeze on a hot day, refreshing but not cold because his sultry eyes opened his face, making him accessible, approachable, and Mason could tell from the few close-ups he’d taken, and from the conversation he’d overheard, that he might have a chance with him…with Rain . If he was interested.

And he was, but he’d never act on that interest.

The third time Mason saw him was at work.

In the five months that Ollie lived upstairs, Mason had been tempted to ask about Rain countless times, but he’d waited too long and lost his chance when Ollie had gone into treatment. Although he didn’t miss the continuous whirring of the treadmill, Mason found it strangely lonely without him. Like Gran, Ollie had understood Mason’s quirks, finding them charming even when he took constant photos around the house, but Ollie was gone and so was his rent, which meant Mason had to rely on wedding photography. He dreamed of one day having his own exhibition, making a name for himself, living off his art, and while he did sell photographs on his website it only brought in enough to pay the phone bill, so his backup plan had become the main plan.

While excruciating, weddings were plentiful and paid well. After photographing one a few years ago, word of mouth had regular inquiries popping up in his mailbox, his talent balancing his lack of social skills. Although he tried his best, he knew he came off as taciturn and disinterested; interacting with so many people throughout the day and dealing with a loud chaotic party always wore him out, but he did care and his pictures showed it.

Thankfully, that day’s wedding was at The Pointe, one of the better halls. Not only was it local, but their ma?tre d’ and venue manager also kept things running smoothly. Mason respected that because it meant fewer problems for him during the event and, as predicted, once he arrived he sailed easily through the first look, ceremony, and most of the formals. But as he was circling the bride and groom in the foyer, Mason grabbed a reflection from a mirror on the wall and did a double take once he checked the viewfinder, resisting the urge to turn and stare.

Rain stood in the back of the room, almost in shadow, watching. His uniform tux made it clear that he was part of the staff, and while it fit the others terribly, his somehow looked high fashion. Too bad he wasn’t much over five foot five because if he had height, then he’d be an incredible model. But that didn’t deter Mason, and he felt a tug in his chest as his brain exploded into light. Images of Rain in various poses and locations spun through his mind, the ideas multiplying like rabbits, and it was all he could do to wave the bride and groom off to their suite.

But before he could sort himself out, Rain sprung up in front of him.

“Hi. Do you remember me?” he asked, his tone low and seductive, every move flirtatious and flowing, including the way he held out his hand. “I’m Rain, Ollie’s friend.”

Mason found it humorous; how could anyone forget Rain?

“I remember you.” Slowly, he took the offered hand. It seemed too delicate and soft for him to hold. Shaking it once, he quickly pulled away.

“So, I work here now.” Rain gestured around himself and Mason felt a rush of emotion, but he couldn’t put a name to it. His creative well kept overflowing and he began to short circuit; he needed some alone time before the reception. Stepping back, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I have to take more pictures.” And a few seconds later he was around the side of the building, wrestling with his brain.

Of course, Rain didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night, which he both liked and hated. A part of him wanted to hear that sensuous voice again, see Rain up close, but then he’d need to converse, and people were not his thing, photography was. Photos didn’t lie, cheat, or bully; they only told the truth. Sometimes that truth was inconvenient or difficult to see, but Mason appreciated that.

Yet he still couldn’t keep his eyes off Rain. That kind of beauty needed to be captured, documented, worshipped, not ogled by the staff and wedding guests, and Mason’s body started moving on its own, snapping the occasional picture whenever Rain looked away or had his back turned. At least he had enough self-control to mask them as wide shots, and with the crazy celebration around him, he doubted that anyone would notice.

By the time the event ended, Mason was more than wrung out. Seeing his elfin prince had thrown him for a loop and his overstimulated mind circled the same question - why did Rain have such an effect on him? But he couldn’t answer that by standing around at The Pointe, so he said a perfunctory goodbye to the bride and groom and left as quickly as possible, using the downstairs exit and hurrying back to the comfort of his grandmother’s house. That was his safe space, his haven, and the luxurious basement apartment had been her last gift to him.

You’re a good boy, Cricket. A talented boy. And you deserve a place to call your own.

Gran had been the only family to love him because she’d been spurned as well. They’d made a great team of oddball artists and she’d believed in him more than he believed in himself. He only continued to reach for his dreams because, wherever she was, he wanted to make her proud, and even though it had been almost eighteen months since she passed, he still missed her beyond words. Every time he thought of her an ache bloomed in his chest which began to stab as he lugged his equipment to the front door and found another letter from his parents’ slimy lawyer taped to it. Gritting his teeth, he ripped it down and went inside, dumping his equipment on the couch.

Although he knew what was in the envelope, he still burned with anger when he reluctantly opened it and read the pages inside. His parents and brother had been contesting the will and fighting dirty, claiming that Mason had unduly influenced his grandmother into leaving him everything. In this new attack they offered to settle for either the house or its contents, and they were being gracious enough to let Mason choose.

Why couldn’t they leave him alone? They never cared about him or Gran, and that’s why he had the house and they didn’t.

While he couldn’t tear the letter to shreds, he could crumple it in his fist, and he poured all his rage into that ball of paper before tossing it onto the table. He’d send it to his lawyer in the morning and maybe Stanley would do something instead of telling him to wait. According to Mason’s research, his parents could delay things for years, draining him of resources, and he wondered if a better lawyer would make a difference. But to get one he’d have to call around and also earn double what he was making, which seemed insurmountable.

On autopilot, he picked up the pile of equipment on the couch and went to his studio. The apartment was so spacious that it was easy to miss the nondescript door next to the darkroom; it probably looked like a closet to others but to Mason, that closet led to Narnia. Built to his specifications, the studio took up a third of the basement’s square footage, and he was incredibly grateful to have this slice of perfection in his life.

Removing all the SD cards, batteries, and lenses from his cameras, he put everything on the spacious shelving that ran along one wall before settling down at a huge desk opposite it. Clicking the mouse, he woke the computer, put his first card in the reader, and sat back, waiting on the transfer.

Despite his family’s attack, his mind never strayed far from Rain. Now that he worked at The Pointe, Mason would see him again; maybe next time he’d catch that stunning face in the sunlight.

His phone trilled and he glared at it. Hoping for spam, his glare intensified as a text from his brother sat across the screen.

Accept the settlement. Stop acting crazy or we’ll get serious about this.

The worst part of promoting his photography business was that, even after all the blocking, his family could still reach him via his public email and phone number. Last month his mother had called so many times that his fight had overrode his flight and he’d ended up telling her off in anger, but it changed nothing.

He wished he had someone to screen his calls and messages as well as help him with the social aspect of booking clients because Mason was tired. Tired of trying to get his photography career off the ground. Tired of seeing the same wedding over and over. Tired of being bullied, for his brother was a bully just like their father, and just like Mason’s peers.

Home hadn’t been a safe space but school had been even worse. Due to his family’s behavior, he hadn’t talked much, and his quiet staring had made him an outcast and a target, especially during the first two years of high school when an upperclassman had tortured him daily. The day that asshole graduated had been one of the happiest of Mason’s life, and years later he’d been overcome with schadenfreude when that same bully had been arrested for multiple DUIs and sentenced to a few years behind bars.

However, the effects remained, teaching Mason that he could only rely on photography and that other people were dangerous.

But not all other people. There were a few exceptions and Rain seemed to be one of them.

The computer beeped, ripping Mason from his musing, and he straightened, scanning the files and searching for Rain. Putting whatever photos he found in a separate folder, he flicked through them, wondering what Rain would look like posed under proper lighting, his features carved out in highlights and shadows, his stormy eyes speaking to Mason, telling him everything.

His mind spun again, saturated with ideas, and it took a moment for Mason to realize that there was something off with the picture he’d been staring at. Rolling the mouse, he enlarged it and the bigger it got, the higher his eyebrows rose.

Turned away, Rain held a tray in his delicate fingers, and his head was angled toward the mirror on his right.

Where his reflection stared straight into the camera.

The fourth time Mason saw him, he felt a strange sense of jealousy.

Booked many months ahead, Mason knew that he wouldn’t return to The Pointe for a while and over that time Rain had slowly become a permanent fixture in his mind, taking up residence in a way that bothered him; however, the obsession had some benefits. It had sparked a fountain of creativity that Mason hadn’t felt since he’d first picked up a camera. Unfortunately, most of the ideas needed Rain as an active participant and Mason wasn’t the type of photographer who asked beautiful men to model, so he’d resigned himself to candids only.

But he’d have a chance to take more tonight, which was great because he wanted to add to his collection.

Turning, Mason studied the wall behind him. He’d been tidying the darkroom, which was the size of a walk-in closet, and while three of its four walls had been covered with his favorite photos, the space beside the door was all Rain’s.

To be fair, it had started innocently enough. Mason had put up a few pictures as inspiration, a focal point for all the new ideas. He’d tried cross processing the color film and loved how the grainy high contrast made Rain vibrant and mysterious, the purple hue giving it an otherworldly touch, so he’d added it, and with each experiment the collage grew. Now it was taller than Mason and it gave him a strange sort of comfort, like he’d created a shrine.

Mason’s phone beeped, the alarm telling him that it was time to leave, and he gathered the camera equipment he’d put by the door. Everything had been charged and tested. Not only did he have film and mirrorless cameras, but he also had backups of each, along with a few lenses and a bag of accessories. Too many things could go wrong on a job; it was good to be prepared.

That’s my Boy Scout.

Twenty minutes later he was at The Pointe, bracing for another noisy event with a bonus bossy mother-of-the-groom. Capturing more photos of Rain would be the only highlight of this grueling day.

Grabbing his gear and the stepstool he kept in his trunk, Mason strode in through the glass doors, taking a left into the main room and looking around at the staff as they set a large number of tables. This job was too big to handle alone but his old assistant had moved away and he hadn’t been able to find anoth-

His brain went offline as his gaze stopped on Rain. Today his hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and he looked sultry, like a futuristic assassin, his eyes lined to feline points and resting firmly on him.

That made sense. Last time, he could barely talk and had run away; however, there wasn’t any judgment in Rain’s gaze, only curiosity and interest.

That also made sense. He’d overheard enough conversations from both Rain and the staff to know that Rain was promiscuous, but Mason didn’t want Rain for sex. He wanted Rain on film, spread out for the camera, making love to his lens.

And he might be staring, so he continued to look around the room and then headed upstairs. Placing his things on the table by the bridal suite, he took out two cameras, and as he sorted through his bag of reflectors he could feel someone come up behind him.

No, not someone. Rain.

“Need any help?” The pitch of his voice and the way he asked indicated that he was offering his assistance with anything .

Freezing, Mason tilted his head, wanting so badly to snap a picture, but he wasn’t sure what to say and he had a lot to deal with, so he went with the option that was easiest for him.

“No.” Knocking on the door, he let himself into the bridal suite, knowing that wherever his Gran was, she had a frown for him. Her love had made him a mildly productive member of society but he still had trouble conversing normally, never mind speaking to someone he had a fixation on. He only needed to see Rain; talking to him was a little above his pay grade.

Despite his rudeness, Gran must’ve lent him a hand, because even with the sizable guest list and the groom’s mother ordering him around, the event went smoothly. The bridal party took direction well and the couple were very much in love, so they were jovial and kind, not minding Mason’s taciturn personality at all; however, Rain was an even bigger distraction than Mason had expected, and he spent his minuscule downtime catching sly photos once again. While he made sure to keep his angels clean, deep inside he knew that Rain knew, for his spine straightened whenever the camera turned his way, as if he could feel it.

“Mrs. Rushio sent me up to tell you the bridal party is doing shots at the bottom of the stairs.” Marci’s tone told him that the groom’s mother was leaning on her last nerve too, but she remained impeccably professional. While Owen Parker managed the venue, Marci was the heart of The Pointe, a top-notch ma?tre d’ who ran events like an efficient machine. All of the clients loved her; the staff both adored and feared her, and somehow Mason had been hired to shoot her wedding. He hadn’t figured out how he felt about that, but people who worked in the industry only picked the best, so he should be a little proud.

Following her orders, he caught up to the group right before they toasted, getting in the middle of their circle and aiming the lens up into the connection of their glasses, slightly underexposing the last few pictures, the creative boost from Rain inspiring him in all facets of his photography.

As if thoughts could summon, his elfin prince appeared, taking the empty glasses and giving Mason a sultry glance before heading to the kitchen. Stunned, Mason dropped his reflector bag and the discs spilled out across the floor but he paid them no mind. Pressing the shutter, he took as many photos as he could before the swinging door blocked Rain from view.

Grabbing his elbow, Mrs. Rushio demanded a few pictures outside with her son, and Mason hastily grabbed his reflectors before scrambling after her. Thoughts still on that smoky gaze, Mason’s mind spun with ideas, and he channeled that into the present, taking photos that made the groom’s mother undeniably happy. By the end of the night, he had a flurry of requests for business cards and a hefty tip.

Social battery on empty, he took the first opportunity to slip out, wishing he had enough energy to find Rain but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to speak if he did. Between Rain’s distracting beauty and being run ragged, Mason’s brain had tilted on its side, so he didn’t realize he was missing a reflector until he got home.

Scowling, he rubbed his chin. It wasn’t a long ride back but he didn’t want to be snapped up for conversations by the staff, or worse, Rain. Wait, didn’t Ollie say that everyone went to a bar after work? Trusting that information, Mason waited ninety minutes, and when he pulled up to The Pointe again his lips quirked.

It was dark with only a few lights on in the back and he saw no one as he wandered in through the side door, crossing empty rooms. Always with a camera, he snapped a few photos, wanting to process them so the spaces looked haunted, his echoing footsteps only adding to the ambiance as he went downstairs to where he’d dropped the reflectors. It took him a moment to see that the missing one had been placed on the flat end of the banister. Picking it up, he inspected it, glad that it hadn’t been stepped on.

A distant muffled cry had his head swiveling, some instinctual part of him knowing that it was a cry of pleasure, its timbre strangely familiar.

Was that…Rain?

Curiosity roared, along with something else Mason couldn’t define, something that made his teeth clench and his stomach burn, and he crept down the hallway, stopping outside the storage room. Another cry confirmed that Rain was definitely in there with someone, its volume telling Mason that they weren’t anywhere near the door.

Good, because Mason needed to see .

Glad that the hallway was pitch dark, he slid inside silently, but he could’ve paraded in and slammed the door because it sounded like there were more than two people back there. The slapping of skin on skin, the grunts, and Rain’s breathy moans soaked the room in sex. Wrinkling his nose, Mason waited until his eyes adjusted to the distant light, moving forward slowly until there were gaps in the piles of chairs, showing him a threesome.

The fire in his stomach intensified as he recognized the other men. The floppy-haired one constantly got people’s drink orders wrong and still propositioned the guests despite Marci’s policy, and the stockier one with the man bun always wandered into Mason’s shots. Rain’s tastes were questionable at best.

But Mason wasn’t here to judge, he was here to witness and document. Taking a deep breath, he grasped his camera and shifted so he could see only Rain. Double-checking that all settings were silent, he zoomed in on that pleasure-soaked face. The lines on Rain’s forehead made it seem like he was concentrating but his plush open mouth told a different story, and Mason snapped photo after photo of his rolled-up eyes, his bitten lips, and the seductive drape of hair over his limbs. Even the harsh fluorescent lighting was kind to Rain, playing over his quivering body and strumming Mason’s brain until it sang.

But his stomach still churned, demanding attention, and he sat back, trying to figure out what was wrong when understanding cried out along with Rain.

Mason was jealous. Because Rain belonged to him .