|| Chapter Twenty-Six || Marcos – “I’m fine”
|| Chapter Twenty-Six ||
Marcos – “I’m fine”
LATE AUGUST
A light blinked above Marcos.
The inconsistency of it was making his eye twitch.
It stayed on for ten seconds, flicked off, came back on for two, then disappeared again.
Not enough to make the hallway dark when it was turned off, and not enough to make it fully lit when it was on.
It was just enough to keep dragging his attention upward when all he wanted was to stare through the vending machine’s glass and try to will something worth eating into it.
He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face, then over his neck, keeping his eyes closed until his hand came to rest by his side.
When he opened them, nothing had changed.
The light still blinked.
The vending machine in front of him still had nothing he wanted.
It sat half-empty at the end of the hall in the hotel where the Mustangs were staying, humming to itself quietly.
A few packets of lollies sagged behind the glass, alongside a few chocolates.
Two gross-looking protein bars sat in the bottom row, and a single packet of sour cream chips sat in the top corner.
Someone had clearly tried to shake the machine at some point, because it was angled slightly away from the wall.
It was the night before the final game of the season, and they were playing Marcos’ old team, the Bendigo Bandits.
Marcos had no idea why they were staying at a hotel in Bendigo when it was only a few hours away from Melbourne, but he wasn’t one to argue with the club’s travel choices. He did what he was told, and got on the bus, then put his bags in the room they had assigned him and Parker.
He had tried to sleep, which did not go as planned.
Now, he was standing barefoot in a hotel hallway close to midnight, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, staring at food he didn’t want because that was easier than letting his thoughts stop him from sleeping.
His eyes scanned through the options again, slower this time, as if that would make the choices any better.
Nothing.
He groaned and leaned his forehead against the glass of the machine. Cold pressed against his skin.
The fact he was awake wasn’t because he wasn’t tired. He was. His eyelids were heavy and struggling to stay open, and his feet had dragged every step of the way down the hall. His body wanted sleep. His brain wanted the rest.
He should have been asleep hours ago.
But every time he closed his eyes, Bendigo was there.
Not just the jumper or the colours. The people and their voices and the way Marcos’ name used to be threaded through it all. It was the way the rooms had sounded before games and how the field had been his home ground for two years before the Mustangs.
The rhythm of his teammates that still lived in his bones.
Faces he had trained beside, played beside, lost beside.
Men he had celebrated with after the kind of wins that made a season feel like they were going to make it to the grand final.
Or worked harder with through each loss so they could climb their way back up the ladder.
Tomorrow would be the first time he’d play against them since the move to the Mustangs.
The fixture had placed them together only once, right at the end of the season, which had seemed lucky back in March when Marcos had been too busy figuring out the Mustangs to think about the Bandits.
Then the season rolled forward, wins and losses piling on top of each other. Training sessions and drills blurred together. And the Mustangs’ climb up the ladder had placed too much pressure on the final round for anyone to think this was just another game.
Now Bendigo was here. Or, rather, Marcos was back here.
Marcos tapped his forehead once against the glass, a rough sound escaping him, then he straightened.
“Can’t sleep?”
Sebastian’s voice came from his left, and Marcos turned to see him walking down the hall.
It looked as though Sebastian had already been trying to sleep.
His hair was sticking up in all directions, flattened on one side and wild on the other.
His sweatpants looked twisted, and his shirt had been put on in a rush, inside out.
Marcos noticed that last part and had to bite down on the immediate urge to tell him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Marcos said with a shrug. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sebastian came to stand next to Marcos, leaning on the wall.
Marcos hummed. “Yep. Kinda weird that you’re dreaming of me, though.”
“True. Usually, you don’t have clothes on in my dreams.”
“Oh?” Marcos’ eyebrows raised. “I’d love to hear more about those.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Maybe one day. What are you doing?”
“I wanted chips, but these are all shit. And Parker wanted something, but I forgot what it was.”
“They have sour cream.” Sebastian leaned across, pressing his finger to the glass, his shoulder resting against Marcos.
“I’d rather starve.”
Sebastian spun, his back now against the vending machine, and the space between him and Marcos was less than an inch.
Marcos’ breath caught, and he swallowed hard.
It had been a while since they had been alone like this.
Really alone. Not in the brief, stolen way of corridors and locker-room corners, not with teammates nearby or cameras around or the club sitting too close to whatever they were trying to keep between themselves.
The hotel hallway wasn’t exactly private, but it was empty and quiet.
Too late for most people to be walking around unless they also happened to be overthinking the game tomorrow.
Sebastian was close enough that Marcos could feel the warmth of him through the small gap between them. Feel Sebastian’s breath on his lips.
He would only need to lean in a fraction to kiss him.
He wanted to.
It had been too long, and the pull in his chest was next to impossible to resist. Especially when Sebastian’s eyes flicked to Marcos’ mouth, quick and clear before he brought them back up again.
Neither of them moved.
The vending machine hummed behind Sebastian. The light above them blinked off, then on again.
“You’re nervous,” Sebastian stated with a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look.”
Marcos scoffed. “When have you ever seen me nervous?”
“When you came to my apartment to kiss me comes to mind.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Marcos lied. “I was in pain. You’d punched me in the face earlier that day. Just to remind you.”
“Yeah. That was a good punch.” Sebastian tilted his head, smirking.
Marcos shook his head. “Why are you awake?”
“I asked you first.”
“You didn’t ask shit.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and bit his lower lip. “I spoke to my dad earlier today. So, I’ve just been thinking. You?”
“I haven’t spoken to your dad today.”
Sebastian punched Marcos’ shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough for Marcos’ body to shift before he adjusted himself and leaned even closer to Sebastian.
“Okay, okay,” Marcos said with a laugh. “I’m just thinking about the game tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Sebastian gave a sharp nod. “We need to win to make the top eight.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking about, but it’s now on the list. Thank you.”
“Shit, sorry.” Sebastian chuckled, eyes darting down before meeting Marcos’ again. “Your old team.”
“Yeah. I haven’t spoken to any of them since I left.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m just a bad friend.”
“That would check out.”
“Wow. Fuck you.”
Sebastian laughed again, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the smile lit up his face.
It looked wrong in the hotel light. Too unfamiliar in a way that hit Marcos harder than it should have, hooking itself under his ribs and pulling him down.
Sebastian tired, hair ruined, shirt inside out, smiling like he had forgotten to hold half of himself back for once.
“I’m kidding,” Sebastian said “You’re alright.”
For a moment, they stared at each other, the hum of the vending machine filling the stale air.
Marcos’ fingers picked at the stitching of his pants to stop himself from reaching out. The distance between him and Sebastian stayed too small.
“So, how is your dad?”
“He’s…alive,” Sebastian said carefully with a slow nod, and Marcos narrowed his eyes.
“Should he not be?”
“Oh, uh.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “He’s sick.”
“Shit.” Marcos’ arm twitched, begging to reach out, but he forced it still. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Sebastian paused, then shook his head. “It’s not, actually. But…it’s fine.”
“Is he gonna be okay?”
“For now.” Sebastian nodded, his gaze falling between them.
Marcos followed it.
Sebastian’s hand shifted from his side and found Marcos’.
The touch was small. Barely anything. Fingers first, then his palm.
It was gentle. Sebastian didn’t grip onto Marcos’ hand or pull it closer or do anything more than let his hand settle into Marcos’.
The warmth spread quickly, and Marcos’ let his fingers close around Sebastian’s to stop it from escaping
They didn’t say anything else or move any closer.
They just stood there with each other, hand in hand, silence wrapping around them.
Marcos’ thumb moved once over Sebastian’s knuckle, and a grin flickered on Sebastian’s face.
“Where the fuck is my chocolate?”
Parker’s voice sliced through the air, and Sebastian dropped Marcos’ hand before he had even registered what Parker had said.
Marcos’ head snapped down the hallway.
Parker was sauntering toward them, running his hand along the wall as he did, hair flattened on one side from his pillow and his shirt riding up at the front. He looked half-asleep, and yet his voice was sharp and too loud for the hour.
“Dude, I thought you got mugged or something,” he said, his grin wide. “I’ve been waiting on my Mars bar.”
“They don’t have any,” Sebastian answered for Marcos, stepping to the side away from the vending machine, creating space between him and Marcos.
The motion was quick and practised. Sebastian’s shoulders reset into something neutral, his hands falling loose at his sides as if they had never been touching Marcos at all.