Page 24 of Contested

Sebastian’s eyes flew open. His breathing became sharp as he scanned the room.

The coffee table was straight now. The couch was lined up with it perfectly. The first aid kit could be packed up and put away. The wrappers from the wipes and bandage could be thrown out. The coaster could be carried carefully to the bin so the glass didn’t spill. Everything in front of him was simple.

The kiss wasn’t.

He couldn’t line that up with anything. He couldn’t make that clean or push it back into place. Couldn’t take Marcos’ mouth off his, or the pressure back, or the look on Marcos’ face when Sebastian asked why he had kissed him back. Couldn’t make himself stop wanting the answer.

His fists tightened.

Then he kicked the couch.

“Đồ ngu!” he yelled as the couch slid across the tiles, skewing out of place. “Mày ngu quá.”

The words tore out of him sharper than he expected, rough in his throat and aimed nowhere except back at himself. The couch sat crooked now, and the sight of it fed something ugly instead of settling it. Pain flared beneath the bandage, sharp and immediate, but the anger hit faster.

Sebastian’s hand came down hard on the side of the coffee table, and he shoved it. The table slid, tipped onto one edge, then slammed back down against the tiles with a crack of sound that filled the apartment.

The first aid kit fell. Gauze, tape, alcohol wipes, and the tweezers slid on the tiles. The coaster followed, hitting near his foot, and the small shards of glass skittered across the floor.

Sebastian stepped back, chest heaving.

He had taken the first soft thing Marcos had ever given him and ruined both of them with it.

His breathing filled the apartment, harsh and uneven, while the anger kept building with nowhere useful to go.

How could I be this stupid? The thought circled once, then again, getting harder each time it came back.

Sebastian stood in the middle of the living room with his fists clenched.

The mess around him didn’t seem like enough.

Sebastian’s hands tightened.

He wanted to do more.

The thought came fast and ugly. He wanted to kick the table again. Wanted to send it into the entertainment unit hard enough to crack something. Wanted to sweep his arm across the kitchen bench and hear the glass near the sink break against the floor. Wanted noise, damage, something outside himself that looked as bad as the inside of his chest felt.

He took one step, then stopped.

His breath came hard through his nose. The urge sat in his shoulders and down his arms, making his fingers ache with it. For a second, he could almost feel himself giving in. The quick heat of it. The satisfaction of action before consequence had time to arrive.

But he knew he couldn’t.

He had spent too much of his life trying not to be that person. Trying not to be the kind of man who let anger make choices for him. On the field, it was useful until it wasn’t. It made him faster, sharper, harder to move. Then it tipped too far, and suddenly the ball stopped mattering, and the only thing left was the need to hit back. He knew that edge too well. He’d lived beside it for years.

He squeezed his eyes closed until colour flickered behind them, then forced his hands open. His palms stung where his nails had dug in, small crescent marks pressed into the skin. He looked at them, flexing his fingers slowly, then dropped his hands to his sides.

He didn’t touch the mess. Sebastian stepped around it carefully and walked out of the living room.

The rest of the apartment hadn’t changed.

The hallway beside the kitchen was still neat, still quiet, still exactly how he’d left it before going out and ruining his night. His shoes were near the front door, one turned slightly from where he’d followed Marcos into the hall. The kitchen bench was clear apart from the glass he hadn’t touched. The surfaces were clean. The walls were bare except for the framed print he’d bought because the apartment had looked too empty without something there, even though he’d never really cared about it.

Every clean line made the living room behind him feel louder.

Sebastian kept walking.

His bedroom door was half-open. He pushed it and flicked the light on as he stepped inside.