When the Noise Fades

Bleachers and Boundaries

Mason Reed’s POV

Baseball practice is the only time I feel like I can breathe. Or at least pretend I’m not running my mouth nonstop.

I’m warming up on the field with Roman and Jessie—Jessie pacing, Roman calm as ever, me trying not to miss a single pitch while also being ridiculously loud about everything.

“Come on, Reed! That swing was tragic!” Jessie barks after me, shaking his head like he’s personally offended.

“Tragic? Nah, dramatic! I gave it flair,” I argue, tossing the bat down and stretching my arms over my head.

Roman just snorts. “Flair doesn’t win games.”

“I know,” I admit. “But it makes losing more entertaining.”

I glance up at the bleachers and see her. Naomi. Mimi. Sitting there with Lena—Roman’s sub—chatting quietly while Cassie waves from her perch like she owns the world.

I feel the corner of my mouth tugging up without realizing it. She’s… calm. Focused. Not impressed by the chaos on the field, not laughing at the stupid things Jessie and I are shouting. Just watching.

And I want her to see me—not the clown, not the prankster, not the guy who makes Roman shake his head in exasperation—but me.

Which makes no sense because I don’t even know what “me” really is without noise.

I jog over to the bleachers. “Hey,” I say casually, sliding my bat under my arm. “Thought you’d like front-row seats to the show.”

She looks up, calm as ever, and gives me that small, sideways smile. “I think I’ll survive.”

“You think?” I tease, lowering myself to sit beside her.

“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s mostly background noise.”

I raise a brow. “You like background noise?”

“Sometimes,” she says softly. “Depends on the company.”

The corner of my chest tightens, and I shove it away because I don’t care that much, not really… right?

Practice kicks off, and I get back to warming up, throwing, swinging, all while sneaking glances at her. She’s sketching now, pencil moving faster than my attention span should allow.

Every time I glance at her, there’s this subtle pull. A weight I don’t want to acknowledge.

Roman’s on first base coaching, Jessie pitching. Both of them shout advice, corrections, playful insults. I keep trying to focus, but Mimi’s quiet presence nags at me like a splinter under my skin.

Then Cassie and Lena get… too loud.

Cassie’s cheering for me, I think, though her voice carries across the field. Lena laughs a little too hard at something Cassie said, and suddenly Roman’s head snaps up from first base. Jessie’s mid-pitch, cursing under his breath.

“Don’t you girls start a riot,” Jessie shouts, waving a hand.

Roman groans. “Seriously. Sit down. Now.”

And just like that, chaos erupts. Lena and Cassie get up to lean over the railing, yelling something about hitting the ball harder, and suddenly Jessie’s rushing toward Cassie while Roman lumbers after Lena.

I’m left standing, bat in hand, staring at the empty bleacher spot where Mimi is still, but now a little unsettled by all the commotion.

Practice wraps after a few more innings. Roman calls the group together. Jessie yells something about “disciplinary measures” and I just laugh, shaking my head.

Mimi approaches me as the others start packing up. “You… didn’t say anything,” she says quietly. Her pencil is still tucked behind her ear, sketchbook clutched to her chest.

“What?” I ask, brushing off my hands.

“That. The yelling. The chaos. The… crazy group thing?” she clarifies, tilting her head. “I thought maybe you’d… I don’t know… scold them or join them. Or—something.”

I grin, because the truth is I didn’t want to. “I have my methods,” I say casually. “Sometimes that’s watching and surviving. Sometimes that’s letting the others handle it.”

“You’re not like them,” she observes.

I almost laugh out loud. Almost. “You mean loud, bossy, obsessive?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I mean… calm. You didn’t get swept up, didn’t yell, didn’t feel the need to—perform.”

Her words hit harder than a home run.

I shake my head, leaning back on my hands. “Yeah. Well, that’s because… I don’t always need to perform.”

She studies me for a long beat. “Do you ever stop performing?”

I shrug. “Depends on who’s watching.”

She smiles faintly. “Good to know.”

We walk out together toward the parking lot. The field behind us is quiet now, the bleachers empty except for scattered equipment. The air smells like freshly cut grass and the fading sweat of a dozen overworked teens.

“I like baseball,” she admits softly. “But I like it better when it’s… quieter.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Same.”

We walk a few more steps, side by side, neither of us talking. Neither of us needing to.

And for once, I don’t want to ruin it with jokes or pranks.

I glance at her. “You… you’re easier to be around than you seem.”

She glances at me. “Thanks. I think.”

I smirk. “I think I want to keep figuring that out.”

Her smile twitches like she’s debating whether she should be worried about that statement. I just grin.

Because Mason Reed doesn’t ease slowly into things for the sake of subtlety. He eases in because he can’t help it.

And right now… Mimi is the first person I actually want to do that with.

We’re halfway across the parking lot when she finally asks.

Not abruptly. Not accusing.

Just… quietly.

“Mason,” Mimi says, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her sketchbook. “Can I ask you something without it being weird?”

I glance over. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

She exhales, relieved. “Okay. Earlier. After the girls got loud.”

I nod, slowing my pace so we’re walking side by side.

“When Roman and Jessie took them aside,” she continues carefully, “they came back… crying. And sore. And everyone acted like it was normal.” She hesitates. “It didn’t look like anyone was angry. But it also didn’t look like… nothing.”

I stop near my car.

Not because I’m cornered—but because this deserves my full attention.

I turn to face her. “You’re not wrong.”

Her eyes lift to mine. Curious. Not afraid. Not judging.

Just trying to understand.

“They weren’t hurt,” I say slowly. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“But they were spanked,” she says plainly.

I don’t deny it.

“Yes.”

She waits. Doesn’t rush me. That alone makes me choose my next words carefully.

“There are… understandings,” I say. “Between some people. Rules they agree to. Boundaries they choose.” I pause. “Sometimes that includes consequences when lines get crossed.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Like… discipline?”

“Like accountability,” I correct gently.

She considers that. “And they agreed to it?”

“Beforehand,” I say immediately. “Always beforehand.”

That seems to matter to her. I can see it in the way her shoulders ease a fraction.

“So it wasn’t… anger,” she says.

“No,” I answer. “It was correction. And reassurance. The noise wasn’t the real issue—it was that things were getting chaotic, and both of them needed grounding.”

“Grounding,” she repeats softly.

“Yeah.” I give a small shrug. “Different people need different things to reset.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, eyes drifting toward the darkened field.

“And Jessie and Roman…” she says carefully. “They’re… trusted to do that?”

I nod. “They wouldn’t do it if they weren’t.”

“And you?” she asks, turning back to me. “You weren’t involved.”

“No,” I say. “Not my place.”

That seems to surprise her more than anything else.

“You didn’t step in,” she says.

“Because it wasn’t mine to handle,” I reply. “Respect matters. For everyone involved.”

She studies me then, really studies me, like she’s rearranging pieces of a puzzle.

“That seems…” she searches for the word, “…structured.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

“And no one’s being forced,” she adds.

“Never,” I say firmly. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t be anywhere near it.”

She nods once.

Not agreeing.

Just understanding.

“I don’t think I’d be comfortable with that,” she admits softly.

My chest tightens—not because she said it, but because I’d been holding my breath waiting to hear it.

“That’s okay,” I say immediately. “You don’t have to be.”

She looks at me, surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” I repeat. “Not everyone’s wired the same way. And no one gets dragged into something they don’t want.”

Her lips curve into a faint, relieved smile. “Good.”

We stand there for a moment, the quiet stretching—not awkward, just thoughtful.

“Thank you,” she says finally. “For explaining it without making me feel stupid.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “You’re not stupid. You just… see things most people ignore.”

She smiles at that.

And as we start walking again, I realize something a little terrifying and a lot honest:

I don’t want to rush her into anything.

I want her to trust me first.

To feel safe asking questions.

To stay.

And maybe—someday—if she ever chooses to understand more…

I want to be the one she asks.