Page 132 of Contested

Sebastian took in the sight, his gut pulling down, trying to take him with it.

Marcos was too large for the bed. His feet sat too close to the end, and his shoulders took up too much space under the blanket. His uninjured hand lay loose near his hip, palm half-open, fingers moving slightly as if searching for something even while the rest of him stayed heavy with medication.

Sebastian stepped toward the bed, his eyes not leaving Marcos. “Hey.”

Marcos’ head shifted a little, and a grin slipped onto his face.

“Hi,” Marcos replied, dragging the word out for several seconds as his voice wavered and cracked. His right hand, with plaster covering his fingers, rose and reached toward nothing as Sebastian came to stand on the left side of his bed.

“You’re awake,” Sebastian said, unsure of what else to say.

Marcos hummed, then fell silent.

For a moment, Sebastian thought he had already drifted off again. His head turned against the pillow, then a low groan came out of him, long and full of something Sebastian couldn’t place. Pain or confusion. The general complaint of someone whose body had been dragged through hell and then was handed too many drugs to stay coherent.

“Seb.” His voice came out low and sharper, then became more frantic. “Seb. Voy a suicidarme. I think I’ve gone blind.”

Sebastian stifled a laugh, reaching out and grabbing Marcos’ uninjured hand, gently squeezing it and rubbing his thumb along it. “You have a bandage over your eyes.”

Marcos’ breathing caught, then he let all the air out of his lungs in a heavy sigh. “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

Sebastian grinned. “You handled the thought of being blind pretty well.”

“Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah.” Marcos shook his head each time he said it. “I would’ve cried.”

He lifted Sebastian’s hand up and waved it slowly in the air, and Sebastian watched him, letting his arm be moved around to Marcos’ content.

The movement was ridiculous. Slow and uncoordinated. Sebastian let it happen because Marcos’ hand was warm, because his fingers still had some strength in them, because he was awake.

“How many drugs are you on right now?” Sebastian asked, and Marcos chuckled.

“None. No drugs here. I’m clean. You can’t tell my mum I’ve taken drugs. It was only once.” Marcos laughed at himself again. “No, it wasn’t. I did so many drugs.”

“Okay.” Sebastian struggled to keep himself together. “Your family are on their way up to see you, so maybe don’t talk too much.”

“I won’t be able to hear them anyway.”

“Why?”

“I can’t see, Seb.” Marcos shook his head again, then gasped. “No. Bao.”

Sebastian’s Vietnamese name fell from his lips continuously until Marcos ran out of breath.

Sebastian stood very still, biting the inside of his cheek, his heart forgetting how to beat properly. “I’ll let that one slide.”

“Oh, oh, Seb.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrow, his hand still being waved around by Marcos. “Yeah?”

“Did we win?”

The question hit harder than Sebastian expected.

Maybe because Marcos sounded so hopeful. Maybe because the game had become unimportant the second Marcos hit the ground.

Sebastian let out a breath through his nose. “We didn’t. Lost by sixteen.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” Marcos went quiet, his arm stilling.