Page 117 of Contested

“Yeah, I do. Tea is disgusting.”

“Alright, I’ll tip it out—” Loren reached to grab the cup, but Marcos pulled it toward him.

“No.” He took another sip. “It’s mine.”

Loren stared at him, then looked to Sebastian.

In that moment, Sebastian felt both his worlds shift, inching closer together.

Not colliding. But close enough that Sebastian could feel the movement.

He wasn’t ready for it. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever.

But his sister stood in his kitchen, putting her own baggage aside to make him tea. To show she cared. He could do that, too. He would.

Loren turned back to the counter, and Marcos’ knee stayed firm against his. Sebastian dropped his gaze to the tea, breathing through the strange pressure in his chest, and let the silence hold for a little longer.

|| Chapter Twenty-Five ||

Marcos – “Why are you awake?”

MID JULY

“Oi,” a man’s voice cut across the field, sharp in the morning air. “Are we listening?”

“Yep,” Marcos called back, followed by a laugh. “Sorry. We’re sorry.”

A gust of wind rushed across the ground, whipping around Marcos and Sebastian as they stood in the centre square of the Mustangs’ oval. The morning had come in cold and bright, the kind of winter air that sat against the skin and made every pause feel longer than it should. The grass was still damp enough to darken the toes of Marcos’ boots, and every time the wind came through, it tugged at the loose fabric of the training top they had given him for the shoot.

Lights, microphones, and a camera were set up around them, looking out of place on the oval despite the club branding thrown over half the equipment. A few members of the crew moved between stands, adjusting angles, fixing cables, and talking in low voices to each other as if Marcos and Sebastian were the issue and not the fact that none of this looked like football.

They probably were the issue.

It was early Tuesday morning, and most of the team were in the gym, with a couple of them doing drills at the far end of the field. Marcos could hear the occasional thump of a ball and the distant call from one of the assistant coaches, but all of that felt separate from the strange little production built around him and Sebastian.

They had been chosen to film a promotional piece for the club.

Two young players. Rivals turned teammates. A threatening duo.

That was how the media team had said it.

Marcos had managed not to laugh at the time, mostly because Sebastian had stood beside him with a blank expression that meant he was very close to saying something that would get them both in trouble.

Neither of them wanted to be there, and it was hard to pretend they did. The fact that they couldn’t keep a straight face while filming wasn’t helping, and the director was starting to get frustrated with them. It probably didn’t help that every instruction sounded worse once Sebastian repeated it under his breath, or that Marcos kept staring at him when he knew he shouldn’t.

“We’re just going to take five,” the director said, voice less sharp now that he had their attention.

Marcos waved him off and turned to Sebastian, who was kicking at the ground. “How are things with your sister?”

“They’re fine. We’ve called each other almost every day,” Sebastian said, his voice low, and his eyes staying on the ground.

Marcos nodded, watching him.

It had been a few weeks since that morning at Sebastian’s apartment, and Sebastian had not said much about it. Marcos hadn’t pushed, partly because pushing Sebastian rarely worked and partly because he could still remember the look on Sebastian’s face when Loren had found him in the bedroom.

Since then, they hadn’t seen each other outside of the club and games. They had still been messaging each other. Sending each other stupid videos and talking about nothing in particular. Nothing personal, though. Nothing which required anything from either of them.

That was all. No apartment. No bed. No mornings together.