Chapter 7: The Real Us, At Last

Too close. His warm breath brushed my neck.

I was completely stunned.

Mason pressed my hand against the wall, then took off his glasses. (This wall-pinning moment was straight out of a K-drama, but in real life, it felt both ridiculous and weirdly electric. I could practically hear my own internal monologue: Is this really happening on a college campus?)

He looked right at me.

"Autumn." At this moment, Mason called my name in a particularly seductive way.

"I’m not young at all—we’re very suitable."

He said it like a promise, his eyes never leaving mine. I believed him.

After speaking, he deliberately blew on my red ear.

My heart rate exploded.

I really didn’t understand—wasn’t Mason an innocent freshman?

He seemed to see my thoughts and curled his lips in a smile.

"I thought you liked innocence, so I acted that way. But seems not—you seem to like the real me more."

That day, I turned beet red.

I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks. I ducked my head, unable to meet his gaze.

Back in the dorm, my roommate saw my face and was shocked—she thought I’d made great progress, like kissing.

She started grilling me for details.

She pounced on me as soon as I walked in, firing off questions faster than I could answer.

I stopped her bouncing around and told her everything that happened today.

She listened, eyes wide, then let out a low whistle. Here we go.

"Looks like Mason’s not as innocent as he seems," my roommate commented.

Then she asked what I thought.

I was toast. What could I think? Definitely not okay—just that little bit from Mason already left me dizzy. Clearly, I was no match for him.

Before, I was afraid Mason would lose out. Now, I worried I would.

"It’s fine, I’ll urge him to study more—he’ll get annoyed by me."

She just rolled her eyes.

"Autumn, you really are something."

She tossed a pillow at me, laughing. "You’re hopeless, but I love you anyway."

Story of my life.

So in the days that followed, I stuck to this plan. When Mason asked if we could eat together, I said studying was important, just eat something casual. When he asked if we could listen to music together, I said, okay, let’s listen to GRE listening.

But surprise—Mason actually listened with me, and said he’d always be there.

He didn’t complain, didn’t tease. He just settled in, headphones on, ready to help me study.

Desperate times. No choice, I could only send him the awards I’d received—after all, I’d gotten quite a few scholarships.

I sent him pictures of my certificates, hoping it would inspire him—or maybe intimidate him a little.

With a living example, I thought it would motivate Mason to study, or at least make him annoyed by my nagging.

But I miscalculated—the effect was negligible.

No, it was none at all.

Mason just grinned: "You’re amazing, big sis."

"Having a girlfriend like you is really great."

Impossible to resist. He said it with a grin, and I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I tried to stay serious.

This was simply an unbeatable flirting tactic.

The more he did this, the more I felt I couldn’t fall for him.

But looking at our chat, all my messages with Mason were about studying.

He still enjoyed chatting.

It was already like this—what else could I do?

Really hard to deal with.

After thinking for a long time, I became especially depressed.

I couldn’t focus in class.

I was lost. My mind kept drifting, replaying our conversations, wondering what I was supposed to do next.

So after class, I didn’t leave. I told my roommate I wanted to be alone, then lay on the classroom desk, dazing out.

The classroom was quiet, sun streaming through the windows. I closed my eyes, hoping for some clarity. The light was warm, but I felt cold.

After a while, I heard someone sit down next to me. I thought it was my roommate coming back to check on me.

She even blocked the sun for me.

I wanted to tell her my troubles, so I sighed.

"The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m a jerk for stringing Mason along."

Then a voice came out that almost made me jump from my seat.

"You know it’s not good to string me along." Busted.

It was Mason himself.

I immediately scooted several seats away, putting distance between us.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

Mason looked helpless.

"You weren’t replying, so I had to come find you."

He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. I couldn’t stay mad at him. Not with that smile.

With his long legs, I couldn’t escape as he approached, blocking the sunlight for me, then said:

"Turns out, when I was thinking of you, you were thinking of me."

My heart was going nuts.

At that moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

Only Mason.

To stop myself from getting swept away, I immediately lowered my head.

Seeing me lower my head, Mason quickly asked, "Are you unhappy? How about I tell you a story?"

I didn’t answer, so he took it as consent and started the story.

He said, "Once there was a hunter. He hunted in the woods, met a fox, shot the fox, but he died. Guess why."

I thought hard, but couldn’t figure it out.

So I asked, "Why?"

He leaned in again, our distance closing.

"Because the fox said: I’m a reflex arc."

Total dad joke, but it actually made me feel better.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing a little. Mason always knew how to make me smile, even when I didn’t want to.

Then, Mason said, "I remember everything you said."

That mattered. Yes, I’d once told Mason I had a strange habit—when I’m unhappy, I like to hear dad jokes, the cheesier the better.

He really remembered what I said.

After a long silence, I still didn’t know what to say.

Mason was bolder and more straightforward than me.

He started: "I get it, Autumn. Maybe after last time, you felt I wasn’t what you thought. But can’t you try to understand me, too? I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you my feelings are real."

"If it’s about that girl, I don’t like her—not at all. Never had anything ambiguous with anyone."

"As for the rest…"

Mason paused, then said, "Most girls would love to date a younger guy. Only you keep running away."

There was a lot of helplessness in his words.

He looked at me, searching my face for a reaction. I felt my resolve slipping.

In the end, all that helplessness turned into one sentence: "Forget it, I’ll walk you back."

I couldn’t help it. He stood up, offering me his hand. I hesitated, but took it anyway.

I didn’t expect Mason thought this way about me, or that he was so serious.

The more he was like this, the more afraid I was.

I had to control these emotions.

Every time I pulled away, Mason just got closer.

Because he couldn’t get a date with me for so long, today he came straight to my dorm.

This time, I really couldn’t escape.

At that moment, I was carrying books, planning to go to the library with my roommate.

No escape. She shot me a look, mouthing "Go talk to him!" before darting away.

Seeing me, Mason ran over and said, "Do you want to watch the basketball game?"

Before, Mason had told me there was a basketball game today, hoped I could watch in person.

At the time, I didn’t reply—chose to play dead.

Because I didn’t want to find an excuse to lie to Mason.

Then, I saw him wearing a basketball uniform, covered in sweat.

A thought popped up: did he come to find me during halftime?

Mason confirmed my guess.

He said, "Ran over during halftime to find you. Not much time—are you coming or not?"

He reached out to invite me.

That made my already unsettled heart beat even faster. My brain told me to be rational.

But my roommate had already decided for me.

She put my hand on top of Mason’s.

"Go, she definitely wants to. After that, you two can eat together," she said to Mason.

Then to me: "He came all this way for you—you can’t say no."

I tried to protest, but she was already pushing us out the door.

So, I had no choice but to go to the basketball court.

I sat in the stands.

The gym was packed, the buzz of excitement electric. I scanned the crowd, feeling a little out of place. So loud.

Mason was playing basketball on the court, attracting all eyes.

He moved with an easy confidence, the ball gliding off his fingertips. Every time he scored, the cheers got louder.

Seemed like every girl was watching him.

Weird mix of proud and jealous. I heard whispers, giggles, the occasional "He’s so cute!" It made me oddly proud, but also a little jealous.

Soon, I heard girls beside me say, "Why is number 9 playing so fiercely today? Looks like he’s targeting number 2."

Number 9 was Mason.

Number 2 was the sophomore who’d asked why I was still at school.

Obviously, Mason was targeting him, to stand up for me.

During the game, Mason frequently looked over at me.

Every time our eyes met, my heart skipped a beat. I tried to play it cool, but I knew he saw right through me.

It was obvious. I knew what that meant.

There’s a saying on the basketball court: the first person a guy looks at after scoring is the one he likes.

All I could think was: Mason likes me.

But then the doubts crept back in.

Mason is younger than me—I can’t hurt him.

So the next time Mason looked at me, I chose to avoid his gaze.

Mason crushed it.

His performance made many girls scream for him.

I saw several girls go up to give him towels and water.

Totally unprepared. Looking at myself, I only had a book in hand.

I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong in his world. The self-doubt crept in again.

This self-blaming emotion made me lower my head, but I still wanted to see who Mason took water and a towel from.

So, I looked up again.

I saw Mason refuse everyone, bring his own water and towel, then walk straight toward me.

Right in front of me. He came over and squatted down.

"If you’d come earlier, I could have widened the score even more."

He winked, his grin infectious. I couldn’t help but smile back. My defenses crumbled.

Amid the crowd’s teasing, I barely heard a few sentences:

"No wonder, so the lack of drive in the first half was because of this."

"Turns out he went to find his girlfriend."

Let them stare. I could feel eyes on me, whispers following us as we left. I tried to ignore them, focusing on Mason instead.

…

I couldn’t stand such a scene, so I tried to avoid everyone’s gaze.

Mason saw I was uncomfortable and handed me his jacket.

He handed me his jacket, a silent gesture that made me feel included, protected.

I saw his lips move and could roughly tell what he said.

He said, "My hands are gross—hold this for me?"

So, under everyone’s gaze, I was led out of the basketball court by Mason.

Walking behind him, I dared to look at him openly.

We walked all the way to the sink, where he went to wash his hands.

It would take a while.

So my gaze became even more direct.

But I never expected Mason would suddenly turn around, so our eyes met.

My gaze was direct—so was his.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. It was like he was daring me to see the real him. I saw him, really saw him.

"I… I just saw something on your jersey." My lame excuse didn’t fool Mason.

He chuckled, leaned down close to me.

"Did you see? I’m a straightforward person. Maybe I don’t like what you like."

"But I like you. Isn’t that enough?"

"Every look I gave you on the basketball court was proof—I like you."

I couldn’t shake it. His words echoed in my mind long after he said them.

In the end, I didn’t go eat with Mason.

I made up an excuse, but the truth was, I was scared—of him, of myself, of what might happen if I let myself fall. Classic me.

So when I went back, my roommate scolded me, asking why I was being so pretentious. Mason seemed so nice—handsome, sunny, gentlemanly, and most importantly, treated me especially well.

She waved her phone in my face, listing all his good qualities like she was reading from a checklist. She wasn’t wrong.

I knew all that, and realized I couldn’t control my feelings.

But precisely because of that, I had to be extra cautious. I couldn’t be sure if it was just the sense of companionship from Mason that made me like him, or if I was just used to his kindness, creating an illusion.

I have a problem—I’m always a three-minute enthusiast.

If this time was also just a fleeting passion, that would be unfair to Mason. He deserved better.

If before I was hung up on the age gap, now I was hung up on my feelings for our future.

I needed to sort myself out.

I needed to really confirm my feelings, to respond to Mason’s sincerity.

So, I decided to hit pause—to see if it was real, or just habit.

I told Mason about this idea.

He agreed.

He said he understood, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. I wanted to reach out, but I held back.

Yeah, right. I thought this would make me rational, but I ignored the fact that feelings can’t be rational.

That day, I was looking for thesis materials with a male classmate from the same advisor, until late.

The library was nearly empty when we left. I hugged my books to my chest, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. The silence was heavy.

The classmate was worried about my safety going back alone, so he wanted to walk me back.

On the way, we chatted about thesis topics, and he suddenly confessed:

[Autumn, we’re about to graduate. I… I’ve always liked you. I heard you don’t like younger guys—I’m the same age as you.]

I was stunned. Before I could reply, I heard a familiar voice behind me. Not now.

[Autumn.]

I turned and saw Mason standing under the streetlight.

I didn’t know what he was holding.

He walked over, looked at me, then at the other guy.

[Hello, I’m Autumn’s pursuer—the younger one she doesn’t like. Mason O’Connor.]

He said it with a calm confidence that made my heart ache. It hurt.

The male classmate didn’t expect Mason to appear, and got very nervous and embarrassed.

I wanted to say something to ease the atmosphere.

Then I heard Mason say: [I hope you can always be free and follow your heart.]

He handed me the food he’d brought—my favorite takeout, still warm. It smelled amazing.

After speaking, Mason handed me what he was holding, then turned and left.

Only then did I realize, Mason walked so fast, I couldn’t catch up.

He must have been really frustrated. I couldn’t blame him.

He was so outstanding, yet just because he was younger, I rejected him for no reason.

Every time, it was Mason accommodating me.

He didn’t know if I would like someone else during this time.

But even knowing my resistance and distance, he still brought me food when he came to find me.

Because when I started looking for materials, I had posted an Instagram story saying I’d be too busy to eat dinner.

What a joke. All my so-called persistence was self-centered, and after it ended, I even acted like I was being rational.

Love is rationality after impulse.

I’m the most ridiculous person in the world.

I walked back to the dorm alone.

On the way, I walked and felt sad.

The campus was quiet, the streetlights casting long shadows. I hugged the takeout to my chest, feeling emptier than ever.

Finally, unable to stand it, I sat on an outdoor bench, opened my phone, and started Spotify.

My and Mason’s accounts were still linked.

We had listened together for 890 hours.

Not just time, but also chat history.

Scrolling to the beginning, looking all the way back, those memories surged up again. It hurt to remember.

Countless nights, we exchanged playlists.

Talked about ordinary things.

Shared our lives.

Sharing is something only done out of liking, so all my hesitation didn’t make sense.

But I realized it too late. Too late.

I just wanted to cry.

Then my phone started playing music.

Was it Mason playing music for me?

Weird. Then I realized, besides my side, there was also music behind me.

I turned and saw Mason.

He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes soft.

"I saw your classmate walking back alone. I asked him, and only then found out you were alone—not safe," Mason said.

He always worried. His voice was gentle, but I could hear the worry beneath it.

What else could I care about? Even if I was crying ugly, I rushed over and hugged him.

Let them stare. I didn’t care who saw. I just needed him, right then, right there.

"Mason, I know now—I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. Not because of dependence, not because of habit, just because I like you."

"I can’t like anyone else—in the whole world, I only like you."

I hugged Mason tightly, afraid he would leave again.

Mason didn’t speak. I thought he didn’t want to hear it, and wanted to explain more.

He pressed a finger to my lips. At that moment, Mason made a shush gesture.

Now only music was left.

[Not too many questions, do you want to be with me?]

The lyrics floated between us, the answer hanging in the air. It was everything.

Then Mason stopped the music and asked me, "What was the lyric you just heard?"

"Not too many questions, do you want to be with me."

I said it softly, my voice trembling.

Hearing my answer, Mason smiled.

He pulled me closer, his arms strong and warm.

"Okay, I’ll be with you."

He said it simply, but it felt like a promise. I believed him.

Extra

I graduated.

The ceremony was bittersweet—caps tossed in the air, hugs with friends, a thousand photos snapped in front of the campus fountain. But Mason was right there, cheering me on. He was my biggest fan.

But Mason and I were still inseparable, not at all worried about graduation season.

We made plans for the summer—road trips, concerts, lazy afternoons in the park. The future felt wide open, and I wasn’t scared anymore.

After everything before, I trusted Mason enough, and he trusted me enough.

We learned to communicate, to be honest, to let each other be ourselves. That was the real magic. That’s what mattered.

This made my roommate very envious—at the last party, she wouldn’t let us leave.

She dragged us to the center of the dance floor, insisting on one last group photo before we all scattered for the summer.

She grilled Mason: "What do you even see in Autumn?"

At this moment, Mason answered while massaging my waist, sore from writing my thesis.

He grinned, his hands gentle. "Actually, I noticed Autumn a long time ago. When she came to collect homework, she gave me a very special feeling." He remembered.

"Very serious, very cute, and she’s excellent."

She wasn’t done. Roommate had another question.

"If so, why did you look for her on the confession page?"

She arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying his innocent act. She saw right through him.

Now Mason showed a smug smile.

"Because I already knew that person was Autumn."

He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile. He got me.

Only then did I find out—the day we matched, Mason happened to be walking beside me, saw me matching on Spotify Listen Together, so he tried matching too.

He’d noticed me before I even realized it. Fate, or maybe just good timing.

And somehow, it actually worked.

Later on, he pretended to be an innocent freshman, studied the things I liked, and really prepared for rock music.

Overachiever. He watched YouTube tutorials, memorized playlists, even read reviews just to have something to talk about.

But who knew I would ask about talk shows that day.

When I first asked and he didn’t hear, it was because he was memorizing rock knowledge.

And I thought he wasn’t interested in what I said.

That’s how I ended up in this mess. Figures.

We both laughed, shaking our heads at how complicated we’d made things.

"So you planned it all along."

Busted. Mason raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, but in the end, you still liked the real me more."

He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. The real Mason—I really do like him a lot. Finally.

Then Mason leaned close to my ear and whispered so only I could hear:

"Actually, I was really angry that day, but later I saw you log into Spotify, scrolling through our chat history, and I softened."

"None of that matters. Being with you is what I want most."

"Autumn, being with you is the most important thing for me."

I smiled, leaning into him, finally at peace with everything that brought us here. Home.

(The End)