Page 75 of Contested

Back then, that had just been life.

Sebastian watched as Marcos shifted, his jaw working as though he was deciding if he should say something or not. His fingers moved near the edge of his plate, then stopped. When he spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I never really saw people with you at games when we were younger.”

Sebastian’s heart thumped loudly against his ribs, and his pulse was heavy in his fingertips. He swallowed. “Yeah, well, as I said, they were busy. They came when they could.”

He hated how defensive that sounded.

Marcos didn’t flinch from it, which made Sebastian feel worse. He only nodded again, slowly. “I always had at least one of my parents there,” he said quietly. “And always Paula.”

Sebastian forced a smile and tried not to think about what it would have been like to look across a junior ground and know someone had come just to watch him. Sitting there through rain, bad umpiring, shit coffee, and teenage boys throwing themselves around as if any of it mattered to the wider world.

“I don’t know why I never assumed she was your sister,” Sebastian said, keeping the focus on Marcos.

“Yeah,” Marcos said, finishing off his sandwich and pushing the plate away, before he brought his hands back together in front of him. “Can I ask a question?”

“You don’t have to ask if you can ask a question.”

“I know, it’s just…more personal, I guess.”

Sebastian straightened, letting his shoulders roll back. “Okay.”

Marcos didn’t ask straight away. He looked at his hands, then at Sebastian, then down again. The silence that followed was not like the earlier one. This one knew where it was going before either of them said anything. Sebastian felt it moving through the room and toward the thing they had both been circling since Marcos stepped through the door.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Sebastian stared at him. “That’s not really personal,” he said with a smile. “Pretty sure I’ve asked you that question.”

“I have more.” Marcos’ mouth pulled tight, though upturned.

“Uh, okay.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “I don’t really know. You were there. I was a little drunk. I’d just been punched in the face. There were a lot of emotions. I…wasn’t really thinking.”

The simplicity of it made Sebastian feel stupid. There had been alcohol in him. There had been blood, pain, humiliation, anger, and the sudden unreality of Marcos appearing on the street when Sebastian had least expected to see him. There had been too much in his body and nowhere good for it to go.

But none of that explained why Marcos had become the place it went.

“Why did you get in a fight anyway?” Marcos asked.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around the edge of his plate before he made himself release it. “I…was at a gay bar. Well, I was leaving one.” Sebastian tilted his head. “And some people don’t like gays. Threw a glass at me.”

He got to his feet before Marcos could respond, grabbing both plates and walking around the counter to place them in the dishwasher. The motion was too quick to look casual, but sitting still felt worse. His mind wandered back to that night before Marcos had found him walking the street.

He’d only gone out for a few drinks to clear his head. That was all it had been meant to be. A place where he didn’t have to be Sebastian Nguyen from the Mustangs, didn’t have to think about the contract, the position change, Marcos fucking Reyes taking ruck, the pressure of a season that hadn’t even started yet and already felt like it had a hand around his throat. No one had recognised him—one of the benefits of wearing glasses off the field and looking just different enough from the version of himself that people yelled at through fences and screens.

He’d barely left the building when a jackass had tossed a glass in Sebastian’s direction and followed it up with a punch.

Sebastian had pushed him off, tasted blood, and kept walking because it wouldn’t have been worth it to get into a fight.

“That’s shit,” Marcos said.

Sebastian glanced over.

Marcos’ face had gone tight, the easy embarrassment from a moment earlier replaced by something heavier he clearly didn’t know where to put. He looked angry and unsure at the same time, as if the right reaction hadn’t come into his mind fast enough. His hands were flat on the counter now, fingers spread, and his eyes stayed on Sebastian like he was worried looking away might make it seem as if he didn’t care.

“Yeah. Ruined my shirt. Fucking hole in it.” Sebastian leaned on the counter, his eyes still on Marcos.

The line did what he needed it to do. It made Marcos blink, then breathe out in something that might have been a laugh if the room had been lighter.