Did I say something stupid?
|| Chapter Twenty-Nine ||
EARLY OCTOBER
Traffic moved in a steady flow below Marcos.
His eyes tracked the headlights as they moved between buildings, small and bright from this high up, red and white lines slipping along the roads before disappearing behind corners and towers.
The city looked different from Sebastian’s apartment.
A sea of light against the blackness of the night, everything smaller than it actually was, flattened by distance.
He took a sip of the whiskey Sebastian had poured him, and it slid easily down his throat, almost warming him as it went.
Marcos turned away from the window, eyes scanning the living room.
Nothing had changed since the last time he’d been here, except the massage table had been packed away.
The television still threw a blue light over everything while the racing game idled on the screen, faint music playing through the speakers and filling the quiet space of the apartment.
Vodka, gin, whiskey, and mixers were placed on the coffee table in a line-up that Sebastian had made far too neat. All of them had been tried. A small glass poured of each until they had both settled on drinking the whiskey.
The card game Marcos had brought sat with them, opened but not used yet. The red box glinted against the television’s light.
Marcos sighed and took another sip of his drink before walking around the couch and taking his seat.
His shoulder ached as he shifted it, a dull pull across the joint that made his mouth tighten.
His fingers had mostly healed as well, though they were still taped together, the stiffness more annoying than painful now.
“I can’t believe I missed my mouth,” Sebastian said as he walked back into the living room, pulling a shirt on.
“I can’t believe you spilt almost the whole glass.” Marcos chuckled, watching as Sebastian poured himself another drink and sat down at the other end of the couch.
“At least I haven’t broken any bones.”
“Wow. Low blow.”
Sebastian smirked, then swung his legs onto the couch, and Marcos did the same. They each had a leg between each other’s while the other rested beside. Sebastian shifted a little, and his sock brushed Marcos’ leg.
Marcos glanced down at Sebastian’s white socks, and Sebastian raised his eyebrows, which earned him a gentle kick in the thigh.
The knock tugged through Marcos’ shoulder, and he ignored it.
It was easier being here now than it had been the first few times. Marcos had been here enough to know which cupboard Sebastian kept glasses in, where the spare towels were, which side of the couch Sebastian automatically took.
He knew enough to be comfortable.
Sebastian leaned forward and grabbed the box, turning it in his hands. “Alright. So, how do we play this thing?”
“Just sit it between us, and we take turns asking each other questions,” Marcos instructed.
Sebastian had already pulled a card out before he placed the box in the nook between their legs. “Do I seem like someone who would get a name tattooed on myself?” he read, glancing up to Marcos. “Oh, I get it. It’s just to get to know each other.”
Marcos lifted his good shoulder and grinned. “About time, right?”
Sebastian hummed. “Alright. So, am I?”
“I don’t think you’d ever get a tattoo.”
“Really?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Do you not think I’m cool enough?”
“So, you would?”
“Not of a name, no. But I would get something. It would be meaningful.”
Marcos nodded as Sebastian set the card aside.
Marcos picked up one of his own. “When I was a child, what do you think I wanted to be when I grew up?”
“AFL player. Easy.”
“Not the whole time.” Marcos shook his head. “I wanted to be a doctor for a bit.”
“What happened to that?” Sebastian asked, tilting his head.
“Consistent Cs in all subjects with the occasional F.”
“Occasional F?” Sebastian shook his head.
“Like you never failed a subject.”
“Hey, I was almost a straight-A student. Except for science. I hated science.”
Marcos watched him over the edge of his glass. “You hated science and still nearly got straight As?”
Sebastian’s mouth shifted like he was trying not to look too pleased with himself. “Well, science was mostly Bs.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
Both of them laughed, and the night settled more after that.
The answers came more easily, and the more whiskey they drank, the less stiff their words became.
The warmth of the drink came to rest in Marcos’ chest, and the television kept humming in the background as their legs pressed against each other.
The questions ranged from simple, stupid things to things that might have been harder to answer if it weren’t for the alcohol.
“What’s your favourite food?”
“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve done?”
“Is there someone you’re missing?”
“When’s the last time you cried?”
Sebastian had answered his favourite food was mi?n gà because his grandparents used to make it for him to cheer him up.
Marcos had said the stupidest thing he had done was trying to drift his father’s car when he first got his license and almost flipped it.
Felicity’s name was brought up when Sebastian said he missed her, and Marcos sat in silence while Sebastian told him the story of what happened.
The last time Marcos had cried was in the hospital when he had been alone, and the reality of his injuries had set in, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to play in the next season.
Both of them knew they couldn’t really call it a game, but neither of them said anything as they continued to take cards and ask questions.
Marcos learned that Sebastian had wanted a dog when he was younger, but his grandparents had said no because they were too busy and didn’t think Sebastian could care for it properly.
Sebastian learned Marcos had once tried to cut his own hair before a junior final and had screamed hard enough that Diana had taken him to a barber to get it fixed.
Marcos’ hand found Sebastian’s leg at some point. One minute they were talking, the next his fingers were running down the outside of Sebastian’s calf, slow and idle over the skin where his sweatpants had pulled up.
The next card bent slightly in Marcos’ taped fingers when he pulled it from the box.
“What do my shoes say about me?” Marcos asked, brow knotting. “Some of these questions are weird.”
“I have no idea,” Sebastian said with a laugh. “That we have the same-sized feet.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Prove it.” Marcos lifted his leg up, and Sebastian rolled his eyes, doing the same.
They placed the soles of their feet together, and both of them leaned to the side to see properly. Sebastian’s foot pressed evenly against his. Same length. Same width.
“Fuck,” Marcos muttered, dropping his foot back down.
“Told you. Same size.” Sebastian lowered his foot, too, with a stupid grin on his face. “That was also possibly the gayest thing we’ve done.”
Marcos laughed, then groaned as his shoulder shifted wrong.
The pain wasn’t sharp, but it caught him in the wrong place, pulling down through the joint and across his chest until he had to pause with his hand braced lightly against the couch.
“Alright, I know I’m hilarious, but don’t hurt yourself,” Sebastian said, reaching for another card.
Marcos waved him off with his good hand.
Sebastian dropped his gaze to the card. “What are you most scared of?”
Marcos considered it briefly, relaxing his shoulder again, then he clicked his tongue. “Oh, I fucking hate spiders.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I can’t deal with them.” Marcos shook his head. “Freaky little fuckers.”
Sebastian cooed, “That’s adorable.”
“Shut up.” Marcos nudged him with his foot before picking up another card. “What’s something you’ve been scared to tell me?”
He looked up and saw that Sebastian’s face had changed.
The easy amusement faded first. Then his mouth tightened. His eyes moved to the card in Marcos’ hand, then away from it. His fingers worked over the glass in his hand once before he set it down on the coffee table.
Marcos raised his eyebrows and waited.
For a second, Sebastian looked like he might make a joke. Marcos could see it forming. The quick flicker behind his eyes before they settle on something else. A smirk that didn’t quite arrive, and a breath that didn’t become words.
“Uh.” Sebastian cleared his throat and his eyes fell to his hands. “Do you remember when you were in the hospital?”
Marcos nodded. “I do. It became very boring, very fast.”
A smile flickered on Sebastian’s face. “Do you remember what you said when I came to visit?”
Marcos tried. He had pieces of the hospital, though most of them were blurred at the edges.
Waking with bandages over his eyes. His mother’s hand against his cheek as she prayed quick and low in Spanish.
Becca scolding him for not being a better player and getting out of the way.
Paula sitting next to his bed, resting her hand on his arm to let him know she was there.
Greg coming up with too many excuses about what happened before agreeing with Paula that Marcos should have been better.
Marcos also remembered Sebastian coming to see him.
His voice first, then his hand in Marcos’. The warmth he had brought into the room before telling Marcos about the loss. He remembered how hard the drugs were hitting him and how everything became one blurry memory.
Though that was about it.
“Not really.” Marcos tilted his head, then asked, “Did I say something stupid?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, no.” He took a deep breath, fingers working over each other. “It was nothing. Something about ships.”
Marcos’ brow knotted. “Okay?”
“Sorry.” Sebastian chuckled, though it sounded too forced to be real. “Uh, I… I got offered a contract.”
Marcos’ face relaxed, and the corners of his mouth pulled. “That’s great. You were worried about the one-year—”
“It’s for Sydney. Storm.”
The smile on Marcos’ face fell.
The music from the television was the only thing that filled the apartment as he stared at Sebastian, whose eyes stayed on the space between them.
“Oh,” Marcos finally said, blinking too fast too many times. “I mean, that’s… Have the Mustangs—”
“I’m taking it.”
Marcos’ hand went still on Sebastian’s leg.
He hadn’t realised it was still there until it stopped moving. His fingers rested against Sebastian’s calf, suddenly too aware of the warmth beneath his fingers, of the couch beneath him, of the glass in his other hand and the way his taped fingers didn’t sit properly around it.
His throat worked once.
Sebastian wiped his face. “It’s more money, which I can use to help my dad. It’s ruck.” He paused and let out a deep breath. “And, uh, it’s a four-year contract.”
Marcos’ chest rose and fell too fast, trying to make room for the air that didn’t seem to be filling his lungs. His heart felt lost beneath it all.
“My family is gonna move, too,” Sebastian continued. “Well, my parents and Loren. Not for me. But for my dad. That’s where he wants to be. So, I can maybe try to… I don’t know. Fix things before he…”
Marcos shook his head once, then nodded a few times. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. No. It’s… It’s a good thing.”
The words scraped on the way out. He meant them. It was a good thing.
That didn’t make them easy to say.
Marcos nodded again, because maybe if he did it enough, the rest of him would catch up.
“And we will still talk, you know?” Sebastian kept talking. Kept trying to make it better. “Like, text and call. See each other when we’re playing in the same state.”
“Yeah. We’re…. We’ll still stay friends.” Something hard pulled at Marcos’ heart at his own words.
It sounded ridiculous the second he said it, sitting on Sebastian’s couch with his hand against Sebastian’s leg, whiskey on the table, the city outside, and a year of everything they had done pressed into the space between them.
Friends didn’t feel like this. Friends didn’t hurt like this.
Friends didn’t make his whole body want to reach for Sebastian and hold on hard enough that leaving became impossible.
“Yeah. Friends,” Sebastian echoed, his mouth twitching as his hand ran across his mouth.
Marcos stared at his glass, and drank. The whiskey no longer felt warm.
For a while, neither of them moved. The apartment held the silence too well. Too immediate. The only sounds were the faint hum from the fridge, buried underneath the music from the game idling beside them.
Sebastian didn’t reach for another card, and even behind his glasses, Marcos could see tears welling.
None of them fell.
After a minute, Sebastian took the glasses off, setting them on the coffee table, and ran the back of his hand over his eyes.
Marcos was the first to move, swinging his legs off the couch and straightening. He scooped Sebastian’s legs up as he did, laying them across his lap, and started running his fingers along Sebastian’s ankle and calf, his hand shaking slightly.
Sebastian’s skin was warm beneath his fingers, the thin cotton of his sock soft under Marcos’ palm whenever he slid lower, and his calf tensed when Marcos’ thumb pressed into the muscle.
“Rivals again,” Marcos mumbled, and a choked sound came from Sebastian.
“Gonna be weird beating you again.”
“You wish.” Sebastian sniffled, and Marcos pulled his legs closer to his body. “This is a good thing, Seb.”
“I know.” The words wavered, but Sebastian continued, “It’s what I want.”
“Good.”
Marcos took a deep breath, then leaned, letting himself lie over the man he loved, his head resting on Sebastian’s chest, hands coming up on his stomach.
Sebastian shifted under him, not away. His body took Marcos’ weight with a small exhale, one arm moving instinctively around his back before settling there. Marcos closed his eyes against the steady rise and fall beneath his cheek.
He could hear Sebastian’s heart. Feel the gentle thumping against the side of his head.
Marcos pressed his fingers lightly against Sebastian’s stomach. “What else do you want?”
Sebastian’s hand ran down Marcos’ back, palm flattening against him. “I don’t know.”
Marcos swallowed. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.” It was barely audible, and Sebastian’s voice cracked as he spoke.
Marcos nodded once against his chest. “Okay.”
Marcos stayed where he was, stretched awkwardly across the couch with one shoulder starting to complain. He didn’t shift. He let the discomfort sit there because it was nothing compared to the rest of it.
Sebastian’s breathing evened slowly beneath him, and the night pressed on around them.
Neither of them spoke. They let the warmth of their bodies tangle as they held each other. Everything outside the apartment’s walls could wait. Everything that was going to happen wasn’t happening tonight. So, they let themselves have the moment.
Have each other.
For as long as they could.