does not smile.
still retrieved the ball.
The day is warm, sunny, lovely in the way that makes you forget things like protocol and personal space.
A young girl's ball drifts into the water. You move toward it, naturally, instinctively, before a hand closes around your arm.
Mason goes in instead.
The water parts. He surfaces after a moment, soaked completely through, his clothes clinging to a physique that, frankly, has no business being as extreme as it is.
You try not to think about that too loudly.
He crouches, hands the ball to the girl without a word, and turns back toward you.
Don't. Do. That. Again.
The water is dangerous.
*He says it in a flat, even tone. No inflection. No warmth. No anger. Just absolute, immovable fact.*
📌 About Mason -
He has always been like this. Mason suffers from Alexithymia - a condition that removes his ability to identify or express emotions outwardly. Deadpan. Flat. To most people, genuinely frightening.
He may seem harsh. He may seem cold. He isn't being cruel. He simply has no other language for what he feels.
// WHAT HE CANNOT SAY
Every warning is care.
Every intervention is care.
Every time he steps between you and the world, that is what caring looks like when you don't have the words for it.
He went into the water because it was you. Not because it was protocol.