Page 92 of Contested

Not normal, because normal wasn’t even close to what they were, but steady enough that Marcos had stopped feeling like the floor might shift underneath him every time Sebastian looked his way. They came to training, did the work, spoke when they had to, and sometimes when they didn’t.

They still followed the program set out for them by Jacob, running drills and spotting each other in the gym, sitting near enough in review that no one noticed, because everyone had stopped thinking it was strange for Marcos and Sebastian to close without looking like they were about to start swinging at each other.

But there was something underneath it all now that the others couldn’t see.

Sebastian’s hand could rest against his ribs while correcting his form, and no one would look twice if it lasted a second longer than it should have. Marcos could lean over Sebastian during a set and talk low enough that only Sebastian heard him, and the rest of the room would take it as training noise.

Then there was the hand that lingered too long. The gaze that held through the locker room before one of them turned away. The smirk Sebastian gave when Marcos made a joke to the team and looked his way wanting to know whether Sebastian had laughed as well.

Those things mattered, though Marcos hated that he kept thinking about them.

He and Sebastian weren’t anything.

That was the cleanest version Marcos could give himself. They were teammates who had slept together once, except even that was not clean because of the edges around it. Sebastian’s apartment stayed with him in pieces: the couch, the kitchen counter, the grilled cheese, Paula staring at him later and telling him not to be stupid.

All of it came back at odd moments. While he was loading plates for a squat or when he was stretching his hamstrings against the wall. While Jacob was talking through centre clearance structures and Sebastian stood across from him with his arms folded, looking exactly like himself and nothing like the person who had looked up from beneath Marcos with his tongue out, waiting.

They had not seen each other outside of the club since.

Marcos kept telling himself that wasn’t a bad thing. He also kept telling himself to stop thinking about it.

He’d had hookups before. This shouldn’t have been any different. He didn’t need to know what it was, and Sebastian probably didn’t either. Though, the past few weeks had gone by too quickly for him to work it out properly. They had beaten the Geelong Rams the night after Sebastian’s apartment, then the Richmond Lions after that, which should have given everyone a chance to breathe and had instead done nothing but encourage Jacob to make training worse.

More drills. Harder skirmishes. More progressive overload in the gym. Longer days.

Three wins in a row had put the Mustangs back into the competition and dragged them up the ladder far enough for people outside the club to start paying attention again, but inside the club, the mood was different. No one wanted to be the player who let the run slip.

The team hadn’t started to complain properly yet. Everyone was still running on the high of momentum, and the strange relief of seeing them at a higher position on the ladder.

But there were grumbles now. Quiet ones. A few comments in the locker room about lives outside the club taking a hit. Someone missing a family dinner. Someone else forgetting to answer messages for a few days.

Marcos felt it, too. Less time at home. Less time with family. Less time to let his mind actually roll over what was happening in his life. A part of him didn’t mind, though, because it was afraid to examine it too closely

Sebastian slipped past Marcos and toward the cable machine, grabbing the attachment first and adjusting the pin, barely glancing at the weight.

“Kinda light,” Marcos pointed out, and Sebastian furrowed his brow.

“I’m not trying to go for a PR.”

“Still.” Marcos grinned.

Sebastian let go of the attachment, and the weight dropped with a loud clang. His expression didn’t change as he stepped toward Marcos, but something in his eyes did. A small, private flicker, that was there and gone before Marcos fully caught it.

Someone laughed behind Marcos before Parker’s voice cut through the gym. “You two gonna kiss or fight?”

Marcos turned to see a few heads snap in their direction, with a few muffled pockets of laughter coming through.

“Depends how much you’re gonna pay for one or the other,” Marcos joked, causing a few more people to join in on the laughter.

Marcos turned back to Sebastian and noticed he’d taken a step back, the space noticeable immediately. It had been a stupid joke, but something had shifted in Sebastian that Marcos couldn’t quite understand.

Sebastian started his set as Marcos eyed Parker, who had already shoved Corey, who was blocking some plates and moved on from what was said. Marcos’ brow furrowed, and he glanced at Sebastian, who finished his rep.

He set the handle back without a sound and stepped aside. “Your turn.”

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By the time April turned into May, the Mustangs had started to look like a team other clubs needed to plan for.