Page 38 of Contested

When and where?

The message sent. He dropped the phone onto the bed beside him and lay still for another moment, staring at the line where the wall met the ceiling.

Marcos’ face tried to come back again.

Sebastian sat up before it could settle.

The morning shifted around him as he passed through it. A quick shower before pulling on a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt. A light breakfast because he didn’t have the energy to eat anything more than some toast.

He was scrolling endlessly on his phone when another text from his sister came through.

Now? @ Stella’s

Sebastian stared at the message, then sent back a thumbs up.

He pulled his shoes on, grabbed his keys, and locked the apartment behind him.

Stella’s was a short walk from his building and had become neutral ground for them after he moved to the city. They didn’t meet often. Loren lived a few hours away, and Sebastian rarely made the effort to travel back. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to see her; it was that most of the time when they spoke, the conversation turned into a lecture on how he should talk to their parents more and come home to see them.

Which he did. Sometimes. It was okay in small doses. Sebastian and his parents had never seen eye to eye, and the longer they spent with each other, the more obvious that was.

The street outside was already moving when Sebastian stepped onto it. Morning had settled into the footpaths, people crossing around each other with coffees in hand, work bags over shoulders, students huddled groups with too much noise and throwing half-hearted apologies at people they bumped into. Traffic crawled and surged in the same breath, music thudding from one car window before disappearing at the lights.

Sebastian joined the flow with his head down. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as his fingers worked at the stitching. He couldn’t completely stop his mind from dancing around from one thought to another, or pulling a memory of Marcos’ face watching him from the couch, or standing in his doorway.

Each time he forced one thing out, another took its place. Each one clearer than the last.

The way Marcos’ chest rose and fell before he stepped to kiss Sebastian. The pressure of Marcos’ lips. The way it had felt to have Marcos’ hands on his face, in his hair, on his throat. How Marcos had smelled and how he tasted.

Sebastian’s fingers dug harder into his pocket’s stitching, enough that his fingernail bent back too far and he hissed in pain. The sound caught on the wind and melted away in the chaos of the morning.

He continued through the city, weaving around people and turning down streets until he walked under a green awning with a sign reading Stella’s. The front windows were open to the morning, and the smell of coffee rolled out with the sound of cups, machines, and people talking over one another.

He pushed through the door and scanned the crowded café. He couldn’t see Loren. He walked to the counter and ordered a cappuccino for himself and a latte for Loren, then found a table off to the side, sitting against the wall.

The conversation around him blurred into a distorted mess in his head as voices overlapped, plates and cutlery clattered, and chairs scraped. It did nothing to dull what was already happening in his mind, and he was soon picking at the edges of the wooden table.

His gaze shot up when the server came to place the drinks on the table. Her glasses perched high on her nose, and she flashed a quick smile at Sebastian before walking back behind the counter.

Sebastian’s eyes dropped both drinks, pushing the latte in front of the other seat and looking down at the froth of his own drink, watching the artwork swirl as the liquid settled.

“Hey.” Loren’s voice came low and controlled, cutting through everything else.

Sebastian lifted his eyes, meeting hers.

Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her round glasses framed her face as she stared back, sinking into the seat opposite him. Loren and Sebastian looked too similar, and despite their age difference, they had been mistaken for twins before. He always said it was because she looked more masculine.

She disagreed.

“Hey,” Sebastian said, adjusting himself on his seat, shuffling back and straightening.

“You still remember what I liked,” Loren pointed out, picking up the latte and taking a sip.

“I have my moments.”

Loren placed her mug back on the table. Her gaze ran over him, slow and careful, stopping exactly where he didn’t want it to stop. The bruises under his eye and along his jaw, which had almost completely faded, but were still visible. His knuckles when his hand shifted around the mug.

“What happened to your face?”