Chapter Four #2
After a short while, Sebastian turned his body, directing Marcos toward a building to their right, and Marcos followed the motion.
They shuffled up the steps together. He had no idea how much help Sebastian actually needed, but he thought it was better to be safe than sorry.
He didn’t need his ruck-rover injuring himself further before they even got to pre-season games.
The building’s glass doors reflected them as they approached: Marcos in running gear, sweaty and too large beside Sebastian’s neater clothes and damaged face. The sight looked wrong enough that Marcos avoided it after the first glance.
Sebastian pushed through the large glass doors and gave a half-hearted wave to the man sitting at the reception desk. The man eyes lifted, gaze touching on Sebastian’s face, then Marcos’ arm around him.
Sebastian directed Marcos toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby.
Marcos’ eyes scanned around him. Pristine floors and polished walls. A front desk with a large flower arrangement. The light was white and clean, bouncing off every surface until the whole place felt expensive in a way that made him aware of the sweat dripping from his body.
He let out a low whistle as they reached the elevator and called for it.
Sebastian shook his arm free from Marcos’ grip and pulled away from him. “Alright. I’m good. Thanks.”
Marcos looked him up and down, shaking his head. “I’ll take you up.”
“I’m fine.”
“Come on,” Marcos drawled. “I have a chance to see inside the elegant Sebastian Nguyen’s apartment. Not gonna give that up.”
“Elegant?” Sebastian questioned, turning to look at Marcos with a look Marcos had never seen him wear.
There was still annoyance in it. That seemed to be Sebastian’s natural setting. But something else sat under it now, pulled loose by alcohol or exhaustion.
“Living in a place like this, you’d have to be,” Marcos pointed out.
Sebastian’s gaze stayed on Marcos until the elevator door opened, and Marcos felt something shift, though he couldn’t pin it down. All he knew was that it felt softer.
Marcos stepped into the elevator after Sebastian and watched him press thirty-two.
“Wow,” Marcos murmured, letting out another whistle.
“Shut up.”
Marcos grinned before pursing his lips together and tilting his head to stare at the ceiling as the elevator rose.
The silence stretched the entire ride up.
It should have been awkward. Maybe it was.
Marcos didn’t know. He was too busy noticing the way Sebastian stood with his right shoulder slightly forward, protecting something on his left side.
Once Marcos saw it, he couldn’t stop seeing it.
The careful breathing. The way his hand hovered near his ribs, then dropped when Marcos looked.
The doors opened on the thirty-second floor.
Sebastian stepped out first, and Marcos followed him down the hallway a few steps behind. The carpet softened their footsteps. The walls were quiet and plain, every door spaced evenly. Marcos suddenly felt too sweaty again.
Sebastian stopped outside his door.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Sebastian stood back, gesturing into the apartment.
Marcos raised an eyebrow, confused at the sudden acceptance, but didn’t say anything.
“Shoes off,” Sebastian said as Marcos crossed the threshold.
Marcos obliged, toeing his shoes off and sliding them to the side before stepping further into the apartment. The door shut behind him.
The small hall opened into a large living area with the kitchen set off to one side. Marcos came to a stop without meaning to.
This wasn’t a small one-bedroom apartment. This was basically a house sitting in the sky.
Everything looked clean and organised, not in a way that suggested no one lived there, but in a way that suggested Sebastian kept everything exactly where it belonged.
The kitchen bench was clear except for a fruit bowl, a coffee machine, and a glass sitting near the sink.
The couch was low and expensive-looking, set in front of a large television mounted on the wall.
An entertainment unit sat beneath it with a PlayStation set up and a few controllers placed beside it.
“Huh,” Marcos said quietly, then his gaze moved on.
The windows dominated the space. The city spread out beyond them, still bright against the night.
Towers lit in clean lines, roads carrying headlights in slow streams below.
Farther out, the black shape of the gardens cut through the glow, and beyond that the night opened wider.
Marcos could see why someone would pay stupid money to live here.
He could also feel how quiet it was.
At home, there was always something. Becca moving too loudly or Paula tapping his doorframe. Diana calling from the kitchen and Greg dropping keys into the bowl near the entry. The television on, a chair scraping, water running, someone’s phone playing a video in the next room.
Sebastian’s apartment had nothing other than the low hum of the fridge.
“You saw. You happy?” Sebastian asked from the hall behind Marcos.
“Thrilled,” Marcos said with a grin.
He heard Sebastian shift behind him and turned, accidentally knocking into him.
Sebastian inhaled sharply, his hand shooting toward the left of his chest, slipping underneath his jacket.
“You good?” Marcos asked, reaching out, but Sebastian took a step back and shook his head.
“Fine. It’s nothing.” He rolled his left shoulder, and his jacket slid back with it.
Marcos stretched his arm further before he fully registered what he saw on Sebastian’s white shirt.
A dark patch had spread through the fabric near his lower chest along with a hole in the material.
“?Qué carajo?” Marcos caught Sebastian’s arm and peeled the jacket back. “You’re bleeding? Why didn’t you say anything?”
It didn’t look like a lot of blood. A small patch, low enough that it would have been hidden by the jacket if Sebastian hadn’t moved wrong. But when Marcos’ finger touched the edge of it, the fabric was wet.
Still bleeding.
Sebastian pulled away again, stepping past Marcos toward the kitchen. “It’s nothing. Stop pretending to give a shit.”
The words hit sharper than Marcos expected.
Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because he’d just run across half the inner suburbs and then dragged Sebastian out of the street. Maybe because the blood had made something cold move through him without him realising he cared.
Marcos watched Sebastian. The softness from the elevator was gone. The usual sharpness had come back, raised around him.
“Stop being so arrogant. I’m trying to help you.” Marcos leaned toward Sebastian again, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Sebastian shot back, spinning to meet Marcos’ gaze.
“Whatever. Just stop being a pain in the ass.”
Sebastian’s head was tilted up to compensate for the height difference, which was more obvious now that they were only a few inches from each other. Marcos tracked Sebastian’s eyes darting between his own before dipping, then coming back up again.
Sebastian’s jaw worked once. He sighed, looking over to the couch and loosely gesturing toward it. “Fine. Just let me sit down.”
Marcos gave Sebastian a bit of space so he could get past and walk to the couch. Marcos followed cautiously, watching him closely as he gently peeled his jacket off and lowered himself onto the couch.
It cost him. He hid most of it, but not enough. His mouth tightened. One hand pressed flat to the cushion for balance. The jacket came off too slowly and landed beside him in a heap.
Marcos pointed to the wooden coffee table. “Can I?”
“Sure,” Sebastian said, and Marcos settled on the table, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.
From this close, the bruises looked worse.
The one along Sebastian’s jaw had deepened, its edge uneven under the skin. The one near his eye had started to swell. The bloodstain on his shirt had spread more, clearer now that the jacket was off.
Marcos held his gaze. “Do you have first aid stuff?”
“Cupboard above the fridge,” Sebastian said, his face settling back to something softer as he watched Marcos.
A sharp twist made itself known in Marcos’ stomach as he glanced back at Sebastian, but he decided to ignore it and get to his feet.
He found the first aid kit exactly where Sebastian had said it would be and brought it back, sitting in front of him again.
Marcos popped it open and let out a long exhale. Alcohol wipes, a few bandages, gauze, and tweezers.
He turned back to Sebastian, eyes landing on the bloodstain. “You’re gonna have to take the shirt off.”
Sebastian stared at Marcos, unblinking. For a moment, Marcos thought he’d argue.