Content Warning:
This chapter explores themes of mental health, emotional pressure, relational insecurity, and supportive dynamics between friends. It includes references to crying, anxiety, and interpersonal conflict. While there are no explicit descriptions or high-risk situations, it delves into intense emotions that may resonate with personal experiences. Reader discretion is advised.
Maeson
After Vane leaves the room, I collapse onto the bed, feeling useless. How is it that whenever someone asks me for advice, I can offer three different versions of appropriate actions and decisions, but when it comes to responding to the girl I like—not pulling away when everything pointed to the perfect moment to kiss her—my insecurity takes over and all my wisdom jumps off the balcony, leaving me like a clueless idiot asking questions I shouldn't even be asking?
I should've said things differently. Let go of my fears. Not assumed. She's been honest about her feelings, and her actions have always spoken louder than her words—at least until now. She told me clearly that she likes me. But she was also clear that her boundary lies in preserving her freedom of choice. And I can't believe I gave her the impression that I wanted to take that away. She doesn't deserve that from me—or from anyone. My fears can't be allowed to damage what I feel for her.
I decide to go after her, but just then I find Zane about to knock on my door. He looks at me, confused, and gives a crooked smile. I let him in without saying a word. I need him.
Zane
Maeson lets me in. And even though I came fully intending to ask for advice, I know he needs me more right now. I see it in his eyes. In that quiet way he has of asking for help.
I sit beside him on the bed and let him stay silent, giving him the space I know he needs to talk about what he's feeling. For Maeson, being on the receiving end of support is hard.
"These days… these weeks. My mind doesn't have the control it usually does," he says, drained.
I look at him for a moment.
"And is it just your mind's control that worries you?" I ask, knowing there's more underneath.
"Bro, I just… I don't know how to handle this…"
A small tear escapes, and I realize this is bigger than he thinks. It's not the trip, not Vanessa, not his confusion. It's the weight he's been carrying for years.
"Mase, you know I love you. And without you, the band never would've happened. You were—and always will be—the one who saw that you, Shawn, Con, and I could work together. And all of us," I say with certainty, "are eternally grateful for you. But from day one, you've carried more than your share. You're not responsible for making everything work. But without you, nothing would. That's for sure."
Maeson turns and hugs me. He lets out the cry I know he's been holding in for months. I let him be. For me, the fact that he feels safe enough to express his emotions with me—and not just the calm exterior he always presents—is a gift.
Once he's let it out, he starts to talk.
"It's everything. I feel like I always have to be composed for everyone. But when we got here, I thought it would be different. I don't know… away from my family, from constant comparison. But the day I saw her, everything changed."
"You mean Vanessa?" I ask, not wanting to assume.
"Yeah. She came into my life like a hurricane and stirred emotions I thought I'd never feel. With her, I can be more than just calm. With her, I feel like I can suffer, laugh, and show a thousand versions of myself that I've kept chained up." He pauses. "The problem is, letting all this out without preparing myself has made everything confusing. I don't know where to draw the line with what I feel. And I'm making more mistakes than I'm used to."
I look at him calmly, with love.
"Mase, that's just being human. It's not about being perfect. No one is. And pretending to be only wears you down."
I decide to ask, to help him look deeper inside.
"What have you done, said, or felt that's pulled you out of your center? You can trust me."
He starts telling me about the day he saw her at the airport without knowing who she was, the curiosity she sparked in him, which only grew at the beach. Then, when we invited Vanessa to see art, how he felt jealous for the first time watching her interact with Konnor—even though he'd only known her for two days—and how it brought back memories of constantly competing with his brother. Then their talk outside the café, the way she gave him calm and empathy, letting him be vulnerable with a stranger who didn't feel like one. When Vanessa sang, the emotions that overtook him, how it felt like watching an angel—not because of her voice, but because of how she delivers the words. When he saw Konnor wanting to kiss her, his protective instinct took over, and he felt guilty for reacting that way. The doubts he has about what she's hiding, the pain he senses in her story—things she's not ready to share, but that he wishes he could fix. How she's always there for him when he needs her, but he's terrified of letting that happen. And how he feels like all his friends have problems he doesn't know how to fix: Shawn and Wenn drifting apart, my emotional mess, and Konnor's apparent issue with alcohol.
I let him say it all, without interrupting. Because I know talking about this isn't easy for him.
When he finishes, he looks at me, like he's hoping I'll hand him the solution on a silver platter. But I tell him the only truth I know.
"Brother, you're not anyone's savior. And I say that with all the love in the world. You have to stop trying to fix everyone else's problems and allow yourself to feel without guilt."
He looks at me, saying nothing. Like he's analyzing why I didn't give him the answer he wanted.
"I don't have the solution. Only you can find that, when the time is right. But Mase, give yourself a break. You're human. You have a thousand talents. You're the best friend I could ask for. But you need to understand that messing up is part of being alive."
He takes a deep breath and says:
"I just need to find balance in my emotions. I don't want to stop feeling. I just don't want to feel everything all at once, because all I end up with is confusion."
"Then start by writing what you feel. Organize every wild thought and emotion into clear ideas. Talk to me or whoever you need, whenever you need. Give yourself space to breathe. Let the rest of us handle the band's paperwork. You don't have to do it all alone."
Maeson looks at me with a smile, like he's fully embracing the advice.
"And about Vane. You should talk to her. If what you've told me is exactly how it happened, then she's been clear about how she feels about you, and she's not judging you. She just seems afraid of getting hurt. Give her space, but don't leave her confused. Talk…"
I fall silent for a moment, thinking about what I just said, and feel like the biggest hypocrite on the planet—because if there's one thing I haven't done, it's talk to Emma about what I'm feeling.
"What's wrong, man? I know that look."
I glance at him and give him a soft punch on the arm.
"Seriously? What did I just say about trying to fix everyone else's life?"
Mase chuckles quietly.
"Hey, we just started talking about it. Besides, I can't help it. Just tell me. I promise I'll only listen and give advice if I can."
I tell him everything. How I clearly feel more for Mel than I wanted to admit. And how I messed things up completely with Emma.
"I think you should talk to Emma in person, from the heart. These things happen, and as long as you haven't acted against your relationship, she might be able to understand. You can't handle this over text. After the concert, we've got some time before we travel for the new EP promo. What if you go see her then?"
I think about it for a moment. It sounds like a sensible plan. But the problem is, I don't know what to say. Before these past few weeks—before Mel—talking to Emma was easy: mutual care and love, no conflict. Almost too perfect. But now, for the first time in our year together, I don't know how to start the conversation.
"Maeson, honestly. I don't know how to talk about it, because I don't even know where I stand with what I feel."
Maeson thinks for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully before answering.
"Look, Zane. Sometimes we get so tangled up that we start believing everything we feel is wrong. But it's not. What matters is being honest, even if it's scary. If you don't know where you stand, say that. Shared uncertainty is better than silent confusion."
His words hit me with a clarity I didn't expect. I stay quiet, processing. And not knowing how to keep the conversation going, looking for a way to ease the tension we both felt, I glance at him and suggest:
"What if we keep talking… but while we play something? Maybe it'll help us loosen up a bit and stop spinning in circles."
Maeson nods, amused. He turns on the console, and within minutes we're holding controllers, tossing comments between laughs and the occasional frustration of losing the game.
For a while, we stop being the guys who carry everything. We're just two friends, two brothers, playing like the world isn't so heavy.
In the middle of virtual gunfire and racing tracks, the conversation flows with less weight.
"Sometimes I feel tangled up in everything," I say, eyes still on the screen.
Maeson lets out a sigh and replies:
"Believe me, I do too. No one teaches us how to feel, right? But the fact that we're talking about it—that's something."
I glance at him and laugh, because it's true. At least we can share the chaos.
At the end of the match, Maeson sets the controller down on the table and looks at me with a serious but friendly gaze:
"Are you going to talk to Melissa too? Maybe it would help to put words to what you're feeling—not just with Emma."
I pause, thinking about his question, feeling like somehow he's right. Maybe Melissa could understand what I can't even sort out in my own head.
I'm about to answer, trying to process what he just said, when a scream echoes from downstairs, slicing through the air like a gust of cold wind.
Maeson and I lock eyes, and without another word, we leap off the bed and rush out of the room, leaving our conversation suspended in midair.
My heart pounds as we race down the stairs, with no idea what's waiting for us outside.