LINES CROSSED. (BWWM)

Mason

I didn't expect Emily to jump for joy at the idea of Amina staying with me for a while—but I at least thought she'd have the decency to be understanding. That was wishful thinking.

The moment Amina stepped into the shower, I took the opportunity to call Emily. I barely got Amina's name out before Emily exploded through the phone like a damn volcano.

"You've got her staying with you now?" Her voice shot through my eardrum like glass. "What the fuck, Mason?"

"I'm just trying to help her," I said calmly. "She's going through some shit, and she needs a place to crash."

"Bullshit. You're trying to fuck her."

I clenched my jaw so hard I felt the tension travel up my skull. Emily was beautiful, sure—but her insecurity was like poison. Sharp. Sour. Controlling. And right now, it was oozing through every syllable she spit.

"She can't stay there!" she screamed.

"And why not?" My patience was snapping.

"Because she's not your problem. Let one of her other desperate friends take in her stray ass!"

That was it.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Emily." I didn't raise my voice, but she felt the shift. She went quiet, just for a beat.

Then came the threat. "If she stays, I'm done with you."

"Okay then," I replied flatly. No hesitation.

"Wait... Are you serious?" Her voice cracked, that manipulative whine leaking in now.

"If you're asking me to choose between you and Amina," I said coldly, "you're always going to lose."

The silence on her end dragged on. Long and bitter. I hung up. I wasn't about to waste another breath.

When Amina asked me earlier about Emily, I didn't tell her the truth. I couldn't. I wasn't about to admit that Emily and I ended things because of her staying here. That was only part of it, anyway.

The truth? I should've ended things with Emily the first week we started dating. Everything she did—every laugh, every kiss, every complaint—I compared it to Amina. It was like trying to replace sunlight with a flickering lamp. And it only got worse.

By week two, I was comparing their bodies. Their skin. The way they smelled. The way they made me feel without even trying. And today, when I saw Amina again, held her in my arms—I knew. Nothing else mattered. Not even pretending to keep distance anymore.

I looked over at her, seated at the counter, nibbling on her grilled cheese. She looked so soft, her lashes fluttering when she glanced up at me.

"What?" she asked, already blushing. Her warm brown cheeks gave her away.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

She tilted her head, still chewing. "You don't owe me an apology, Mase."

"I should've been there for you," I told her. "The way you've always been for me."

She shook her head. "You're here now, Mason."

Those three words hit me harder than I expected.

When she stood to take her plate to the sink, I reached for her, gently pulling her toward me by the waist. She stopped—now standing between my legs, eyes shifting everywhere but mine.

"Look at me."

The command came out more stern than I meant it to—but she obeyed, her gaze locking into mine. She was biting her lip, trying not to smile.