Page 72 of Contested

Sebastian cut himself off before he wasted breath on a complaint and dragged the car back into line while Marcos’ grin widened without him taking his eyes off the screen.

The final stretch became less about racing and more about whether either of them could sabotage the other without making their own car useless. Sebastian got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Marcos got Sebastian’s knee hooked over his thigh, pinning him awkwardly while Sebastian mashed the accelerator and cut around the last corner.

Sebastian crossed the line first.

“Easy,” he said as his body twisted on top of Marcos.

“Mad cheater,” Marcos muttered, wiggling himself free, but not completely.

They were still a little entangled. Sebastian’s shoulder was against Marcos’ chest and one of Marcos’ legs was trapped partly under his. The game music kept playing, bright and stupid through the television speakers, while Sebastian let himself stay.

Marcos looked at the screen, then down at the controller. “I didn’t know you liked gaming.”

“Yeah, well…” Sebastian lifted a shoulder. “We don’t really know each other.”

The words landed more heavily than he had meant them to.

Marcos hummed, lifting his hand and running it down Sebastian’s arm. “I guess. I’ve spent most of my life thinking you were a stuck-up prick.”

“Wow.” Sebastian pulled away, raising his eyebrow. “Is it because I’m better at football than you?”

“Okay—”

“And apparently racing games, too.”

“See,” Marcos said, shaking his head with a smile. “This is why I thought that.”

“Fair point.” Sebastian leaned his head on the back of the couch. “You’re pretty arrogant yourself.”

Marcos squinted one eye. “Are you saying I’m not smart?”

“You don’t know what arrogant means?” Sebastian tilted his head. “You’ve called me arrogant before.”

“I’ve just heard people say it. Tried to learn from context.”

“Yeah. To be fair, you did use it wrong.”

“You gonna bully me for technically being trilingual?”

“There’s a third language you know?”

Marcos nodded and moved his hands in a specific way in front of his face.

“Sign?” Sebastian asked, reaching his hands out and touching Marcos’. “For fun?”

“My sister’s deaf.” Marcos shifted his fingers so Sebastian could slip his between them. “Born deaf. I started learning as soon as I knew.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

“You started learning sign language when you were five?” Sebastian’s mouth fell open as he watched Marcos, who shrugged.

“I sort of learned in school. I had a teacher who knew it, and my dad set it up.”

Sebastian’s gaze dropped to their hands.

Marcos’ fingers were slightly bigger than his, broader through the knuckles, but they moved with a precision Sebastian had not expected. He had seen Marcos use his hands for football, for starting fights, for shoving through contests, for tapping the ball into clean air while bodies crashed around him. This was different. It made the same hands seem capable of a kind of patience Sebastian hadn’t seen from him.