|| Chapter Twenty-Four || Marcos – “When the season ends”
|| Chapter Twenty-Four ||
Marcos – “When the season ends”
The morning light shone through the large window and filled Sebastian’s bedroom.
He squeezed his eyes shut against it.
For a few seconds, he tried to ignore the whole thing. The brightness. The warmth beginning to gather across the sheets.
He rolled over, facing away from the window, and his arm fell over Marcos’ chest.
Marcos was still there.
That was what he focused on.
Not the light. Not the stiffness low in his back or the dull, pleasant soreness through his thighs. Not the faint reminder of the night before sitting in his body every time he shifted. Marcos was still there, warm under his arm, his chest rising slowly beneath Sebastian’s forearm.
Sebastian breathed in slowly and let his chin rest on Marcos’ shoulder.
“Do you not have fucking curtains?” Marcos muttered, his arm falling over his eyes.
“No. But usually, I’m up by now,” Sebastian replied, and Marcos groaned, his free hand running up Sebastian’s back.
“On the weekend? You’re insane.”
“I go for an early morning run. It’s nice.”
“Estúpido.” Marcos scoffed. “Night is better.”
Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Did you call me stupid?”
“Oh, you speak Spanish now?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Come on. That’s an obvious one.”
Marcos hummed. “Alright. How about—eres guapo por la manana.”
“Nope. None of it.”
Marcos pulled Sebastian in closer and let out a small laugh.
Sebastian shifted so his head was lying on Marcos’ chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. Marcos’ hand kept dragging across his back, slow and idle, fingers travelling up toward his shoulder blades and down again.
The quiet of the morning settled around them, and Sebastian leaned into it.
They had gone to bed not long after they had finished on the massage table. They hadn’t packed it up. They’d just collected their clothes, showered, then gone to bed.
There was no argument about sides. Marcos had crawled in like he belonged there badly enough that Sebastian had almost said something sharp just to balance it out.
He hadn’t. He had let Marcos pull him against his chest instead, let himself feel the heavier arm around his waist, the heat of him along his back, and the strange pressure of knowing he had spent years trying to keep this part of himself away from every other part, only to end up here.
In his own bed with Marcos Reyes.
His rival. His teammate. The man he had wanted long before he was old enough to be honest about it.
“I should head home soon,” Marcos said, and Sebastian groaned. “Dad will lose his mind that I didn’t come home last night.”
“Really?” Sebastian asked, tilting his head.
“Yeah. Plus, Becca is probably already waiting for me.”
“Got something special planned?”
“Spanish lessons.”
“Wow. And none for me?”
Marcos chuckled and nodded, not making an attempt to get up. He held Sebastian tighter, his hand continuing to trail along Sebastian’s spine.
Sebastian should have moved. Should have rolled away first, found clothes, made the whole thing easier to leave.
Instead, he pressed his face lightly into Marcos’ chest and stayed still. Marcos’ heartbeat was steady under his ear.
There was something unfair about how easy he made it seem in this moment. Heavy beneath Sebastian, hand warm on his back, breathing even despite the light in his face and the day waiting on the other side of the room.
Sebastian had spent years imagining exposure as a single terrible moment.
A photo. A headline. A teammate’s face changing. A family member’s voice going wrong. Harsh words from a crowd.
He had not spent much time imagining the opposite.
A knock broke both of them out of the trance they were in.
Sebastian propped himself up, head turned to the side, listening.
“You expecting someone?” Marcos asked, still not moving, looking unbothered.
Sebastian’s heart had picked up pace as he glanced back at Marcos.
It was a stupid thing to worry about. Whoever it was wouldn’t know Marcos was with him. The apartment was private. The door was shut. Marcos was in his bedroom, and no one had any reason to come this far unless Sebastian let them.
Still, the thought came sharp at the front of his mind.
“Oh, my God. Are you expecting another man after I’m gone?” Marcos joked, and Sebastian hit his shoulder.
“No. Shut up.” Sebastian’s brow furrowed as another knock came.
“I wouldn’t be jealous.”
“Oh, good. I’ll keep that in mind,” Sebastian said, rolling over Marcos and getting out of bed. “Just stay in here.”
Marcos’ eyes ran over Sebastian’s body as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and smirked. “Like a good boy?”
Sebastian glared at him. “Stay here. And shut up.”
Marcos raised his eyebrow and lifted his palms in surrender.
Sebastian turned on his heel and marched out of the bedroom, threading through the apartment toward the front door. His pulse had not settled by the time he reached it. If anything, it had worsened. He could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, in the too-tight set of his shoulders.
He glanced through the peephole. “What the fuck?”
Sebastian swung the door open, and before he could even say anything, Loren pushed past him.
“‘I’ll try,’” she said in a poor impression of him. “Trying includes responding to my messages.”
“Shoes,” Sebastian said shortly, closing the door. “And I was going to. I was busy.”
Loren scoffed, pushed her shoes off, and tossed them against the wall. “Then say that.”
“I don’t need to—”
“What if I needed you?” Loren almost yelled, though swallowed the sound. “Fuck, Seb.”
Sebastian’s eyes darted down the hall toward his bedroom, heart pounding harder. “You would’ve called,” he said quietly.
“Right. ‘Cause it’s so easy to talk when you’re crying.”
Sebastian froze. The irritation dropped too quickly, leaving a hollow space beneath it. “What happened?”
Loren spun, arm thrown out in a harsh gesture toward the massage table. “What the fuck is this?”
“Nothing. Loren, what happened?” Sebastian pressed, stepping toward her.
“The cancer spread.” Loren inhaled sharply, her voice cracking on the next words. “They don’t think he has long.”
Sebastian’s mind went blank, as if every thought had stepped back at once and left him standing there with nothing useful in his mouth.
“I didn’t know—”
“Because you didn’t fucking call!” Loren yelled, the Vietnamese slicing through the air as a tear slipped from her eye.
Sebastian took a step back. He kept his gaze on Loren, his breathing now matching his pounding heart.
His father’s illness had been there for months in the background of things he was supposed to handle better.
Something he thought about when Loren texted, when his mother called, and he let it go to voicemail, when he promised himself he would ring back after training and then after dinner and then tomorrow.
“You said you’d try,” she said, wiping her face and turning to face the window. “And I actually thought you would.”
“I am—” He cut the lie off before it had fully formed. “I will. I’m…”
“Worrying about yourself.”
“Is that so bad?”
“No.” Loren sighed, watching Sebastian again. “It’s what you’ve always done.”
“That’s not fair.” Sebastian’s voice rose, and his jaw flexed.
“When has this ever been fair?”
The words landed between them with enough force to make Sebastian look away.
“Look.” Sebastian inhaled deeply. “I’ve been busy. With training. With other stuff. I didn’t know it was that bad. You said it wasn’t. I… I’ll… call.”
“This isn’t just about Dad, Seb. Or Mum. Do you know how fucked this is for me? All the shit I’ve got going on, I still have to show up for them.”
“I know.” Sebastian shifted his weight. “But, like, you also barely reach out.”
Loren scoffed. “I used to. All the time. But you never cared. Or bothered. Why would I reach out to someone who doesn’t want me around?”
“That’s not—I don’t not want you around.” Sebastian’s eyes darted toward his bedroom, then back to Loren. “Look, can we not do this now?”
“Why? So you can not answer me again?” Loren pressed, rubbing her hand down her face. “God. You make it hard to not be angry at you sometimes.”
“Yes. I’m shit. I get it. But can I meet you in like ten—”
A thud from down the hall cut Sebastian off. Loren’s gaze snapped to the hallway.
“Fuck.”
“What was that?” Loren questioned, stepping toward the hall, eyes bouncing between it and the massage table. “Oh. Oh. Right. You’re busy.”
“That’s not—”
Loren didn’t wait to listen to what he said and headed toward his bedroom.
Sebastian was right on her heel. His hand went to her shoulder, but she shrugged it off as she came to stop outside his door.
“What the fuck?” Loren muttered, turning to stare at Sebastian.
His face was burning as his fists clenched at his sides, looking past Loren and into his room.
Marcos was standing next to the bed, only in his underwear, a trophy from Sebastian’s shelf in his hand as he was placing it back where it looked to have fallen.
His shoulders were tense, his eyes too wide, and one hand came down in front of himself like that would somehow help when he was standing there in nothing but black underwear in Sebastian’s bedroom.
“Hi,” Marcos said quietly, an awkward smile on his face while he tried to cover himself.
“Loren, please,” Sebastian started, before his voice broke in English. “Please.”
“Bao, what is going on?” Loren asked, her voice softer.
Sebastian’s heart struck hard at the name. His pulse was heavy in his fingertips, and the ringing was loud in his ears as heat enveloped him.
He hadn’t heard Loren call him that for years.
Usually, it was the name his grandparents used, mostly because they refused to call him by his English name.
A name that belonged to kitchens, family arguments, birthdays when he was younger, and the version of himself who had learned how to split his life into pieces.