Page 28 of Contested

Another knock.

This one was harder. More insistent.

Sebastian threw his head back, dropped the controller onto the cushion, and let out a long exhale. He swung his legs off the couch and stood, making no effort to rush to the door. His stomach pulled. His knuckles throbbed with the shift of his hand, and he flexed his fingers once before letting them hang at his side.

Maybe by the time he reached it, whoever it was would have left. Or maybe it was his sister, in which case he didn’t really care if she had to wait out there for a few more minutes.

The tiles were cold on his bare feet as he dragged them across the living room and down the hall. The cool night air seemed to have seeped into the apartment, and being away from the warmth of the couch made Sebastian wish he’d worn a shirt. He reached the door, and with a small sigh, he swung it open.

Sebastian’s first instinct was to throw a punch. His second was to slam the door.

He did neither.

He just watched Marcos.

Marcos was breathing heavily. Which, even on the field, Sebastian rarely saw. Sweat ran down his face and soaked into his singlet. His shorts were riding up on his thighs, stuck to the skin higher than they should have been. His hair was straighter than ever as the dampness weighed it down.

Then Sebastian saw the bruise that had formed, running along Marcos’ cheek.

They stayed staring at each other for a full minute. Neither of them speaking or moving. Sebastian’s hand was resting on the door as if he were going to close it. Marcos’ eyes were wide as he tried to drag in as much oxygen as he could.

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.

Then, despite himself, he stepped to the side.

Marcos slipped past, body turned, chest toward Sebastian so he could fit through. The smell of him hit Sebastian fast, and it wasn’t bad. It was just Marcos. And Sebastian silently cursed at himself for being drawn in by it.

The door clicked shut, and Sebastian turned. Marcos was already standing in the living room, shoes off, neatly lined up in the hallway.

It didn’t matter that Marcos remembered to do that.

Sebastian forced himself to think that, then followed Marcos’ footsteps into the apartment, watching him take in the sight. Not the clean, pristine, elegant version he had seen before. But one that had collapsed alongside Sebastian.

Marcos spun slowly, scanning everything. His attention stopped on the television for longer than anything else, the racing game glowing across the screen.

Then his eyes came back to meet Sebastian’s.

Marcos was still breathing heavily, though it seemed different now. Not as though he was trying to drag oxygen in after running, but trying to calm himself down. His chest rose and fell beneath the wet singlet. The bruise on his cheek sat darker in the television light.

Still, neither of them spoke. The music from the game filled the space around them, a gentle piano sounding out a melody that wasn’t being heard.

Sebastian took a step closer, leaving him only one more away from Marcos. His mind wasn’t landing on a single thought. His fist was still itching to be thrown again. To make the bruise bigger. To release all of this anger that was festering.

Sebastian’s hands curled at his sides, and the motion sent pain through his knuckles. Marcos’ gaze dropped to them, then came back up.

Then Marcos’ breathing stopped.

He moved.

Sebastian flinched, bracing himself—

It wasn’t a punch.

Marcos’ lips collided with his.

|| Chapter Seven ||

Marcos – “I did kiss back”