He runs the night through his head over and over again, looking for the crack in his armor.

He doesn’t know how it happened—one minute, he was just going over to stir the chili and the next, he was kissing some guy. Sebastian didn’t decide to kiss him—he didn’t want to kiss him. Sebastian does not want to kiss guys.

He also didn’t necessarily not want to kiss him, but that doesn’t mean he wanted to. He just, maybe, a little bit, didn’t not want to.

He can’t figure out what he did that led to that—led to Matt pressed against him, mouths together, and his own hands winding in his shirt, fisting the material so hard that the spoon he’d held clattered against the floor without either of them noticing.

His head hurts; his chest feels tight and his whole body thrums with leftover adrenaline. He wants to run or punch or—

He didn’t want to kiss Matt then, and he doesn’t want to kiss him now.

Sebastian knows, for a fact, that he doesn’t want to kiss any guy, no matter how good looking or nice or smart that guy is. He isn’t gay.

His body clenches, and he releases the muscles slowly, one by one.

The chili on the stove is bubbling, boiling too fast and likely ruined. He wants to care; he really, really wants to care, but Sebastian doesn’t. The burgers he was making sit ready for the pan, perfectly spiced and thick. He was sure that the new rub he’d made, plus the tweaks to the chili he’d started yesterday and finished while listening to Matt talk, was going to be the best chili cheeseburger ever made. He was confident that it would be so good, Matt would forget about any weirdness from high school and the way that he kept accidentally and literally running into him.

Sebastian’s stomach churns. He has lost his appetite completely.

For a second, he entertains the idea of calling Matt and telling him that he doesn’t think anything happened and it didn’t mean anything and actually, he would really appreciate it if Matt didn’t say anything. His fingers twitch at his side, looking for the phone, before he dismisses it completely. It’s true, that nothing really happened and it didn’t mean anything, but Sebastian thinks that pointing that out might make it seem like it did actually mean something. He pushes that impulse to the side and tries, for just a second, to pretend like he’d never even walked into the grocery store that night.

He wraps the patties in cling wrap and puts them in a Tupperware container. He then turns the heat off the chili, watching as the bubbles fade slowly and then fast, suddenly going cool and congealing without the fire beneath.

He cleans the mess up in the kitchen, shoving away spices and ingredients wherever they’ll fit. He wipes down the counters and table and cleans the utensils he is dirtied and he tries very, very hard not to think too hard about what has happened.

When everything is all put away, Sebastian goes to the living room and turns on the TV. It’s still paused on some action movie he’d been watching the other day, a really low-budget mob flick that bragged about great cinematography even though Sebastian had to squint through half the scenes, convinced they were all filmed in the dark and then turned to black and white.

He tries to follow the plot, but he can’t recognize half of the characters and his mind keeps jolting back to Matt and Matt’s mouth, like a rubber band, slapping and stinging his wrist again and again.

Sebastian gets through the entire movie and then halfway through another one before he gives in to the thoughts rolling around in his head.

He lets himself, briefly, consider what it would mean to kiss Matt on purpose.

Earlier, it had been an accident. They were just close to one another—an accident, Sebastian hadn’t meant to crowd Matt so much or be close enough that their bodies were practically pressed against one another—and it confused things. Matt’s used to being close to guys, probably, and Sebastian’s so not used to being close to guys that his body probably just assumed it wasn’t. He probably just kissed him—or let himself be kissed, or whatever it was that happened but it was definitely not on purpose—because he was confused. And close.

But—

Sebastian entertains, just briefly, the idea of kissing Matt.

He had liked learning about Matt. Sebastian doesn’t remember what the guy was like in high school, but if he was anything like he is now, he’s not really sure why the guy had so much trouble. Matt’s a nerd, sure, Sebastian’s not dumb enough to not see how excited that Matt got talking about freaking engineering, even if he did try to hide it, but it’s not in a stupid or dorky way. It was, well, kind of sweet. Matt liked talking about what he did, probably because he likes what he does, and Sebastian likes that. He likes that Matt would blush and stammer, but also roll his eyes and call Sebastian out, like he had in the bar.

Sebastian thinks that, maybe, that would translate into the way that Matt kisses. Before, they had barely touched lips—just pressing them, just accidental and soft and something that Sebastian thinks was a little too gentle for him to even really consider a kiss. Sebastian thinks a guy like Matt can probably really kiss though. He can probably channel that excitement and passion and let it out. Maybe it’d be a shove, like the Matt from the bar, where he kisses him hard and purposeful, like he’s got something to say and the other guy has to listen. Or maybe it’d be like the passion in his work, all firm and long and sure, aware of the other guy’s interest so keenly, but letting go fully as soon as he’s shown that he was into it, too. Or it could be the quieter Matt, the one that blushed in the kitchen, or the one that politely responded to him when he was pulling him over on the side of the road. Maybe it’d be that kind of kiss, that kind of Matt, where he let himself be led and pulled, giving in.

Sebastian doesn’t know what kind of kisser Matt is.

He thinks that’s a little unfair, considering technically they did kiss.

The thought surprises him, and Sebastian flounders for a second, unsure where to land. He wants to go to sleep and forget any of this night ever happened.

However, he also can’t shake the way he felt before the kiss, when he was just listening to what Matt was saying and watching how he gestured and smiled, unaware that Sebastian was watching.

There’s a softness to the kind of fun that is just being with someone else, listening to them talk. He liked being in his small, cramped kitchen with Matt, making burgers. He liked it and he doesn’t always like that. He doesn’t think it’d be fair to ignore that.

He thinks he’ll see him again—of course he will, the town is so small, and Sebastian’s already seen him three times in as many days—and he’ll invite him over again, or out for a beer, or something. He’ll make sure to stand farther away and not get confused or confuse Matt, because Matt deserves a friend in this town and Sebastian held a role in preventing that when they were younger.

He’ll just suck it up, and he’ll stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss Matt, because even though he doesn’t want to kiss Matt, it’s still kind of rude to think about kissing your friends. He’s also determined to make sure that before Matt drives back to his life and doctorate up in Wichita, the two of them will become friends.

Sebastian manages to fall asleep that night, though it takes concentrated effort and more time than he’s spent on just falling asleep in a long time. The morning drags on as slowly as the night did, and it scrapes against Sebastian, who alternates every five minutes with thoughts about Matt and thoughts about why he shouldn’t have any thoughts about Matt.

Luckily, once he makes it into work for his afternoon shift, there’s not really any time for him to obsess. Carlisle’s called in sick because of his kids and so Sebastian struggles to get done with his paperwork and regular duties in time to help Carlisle out with his. Their workloads are more these days, now that school’s back in session, and tensions are higher. He works straight through his lunch, only taking a ten minute break here and there to refill his coffee mug in the station’s kitchen. He doesn’t even make it over to the coffee shop to get his latte, which puts him in more of a mood than Sebastian would like to admit.

When Billy calls him into his office and asks him to work a second shift that night, he’s barely even surprised. He just nods, begs off for an hour lunch break, and goes to Amelia’s.

He gets the patty melt, because it’s the best, and a slice of carrot cake, because he’s tired and as long as he’s focused on how good the food tastes, his mind doesn’t have the room to wander. It occurs to him, as he’s waving down the waitress for the check forty-five minutes later, that he doesn’t come to Amelia’s all that often. He hasn’t been in a few months, now that he’s thinking about it. He tries very hard not to dwell on the fact that he’s only there because he heard about how Matt liked to come in during high school.

He gets back to the station, does some more paperwork and drives around town checking the local places that teenagers tend to gather to smoke or loiter. It’s a slow day, and the heat of the Kansas autumn is starting to lift. The stifling humidity of the summer has given way to the softer, windy fall and it makes patrolling a hell of a lot more bearable.

He gets back to the station a little after dark, going straight for the small kitchenette and its disgusting, gurgling coffee machine. One of these days, they’re going to have to remember to budget for a better pot, or he’s going to have to just shell out the money himself. It’s getting to be a bit unreasonable.

The station at this time of night is something just shy of peaceful. With the quietness surrounding him and the windows open, Sebastian can hear the crickets.

Billy’s gone home by now and so has the secretary. He’s got a rookie at a desk in the corner, scribbling on a notepad. Sebastian has no idea what she’s doing, but she looks concentrated and frustrated, and he has half a mind to offer her a cup of coffee when the phone rings.

Sebastian startles, a slosh of his hot coffee splashing out of the mug and onto his hand. He curses under his breath and sets the mug down, shaking his hand out. He wipes it on his pants as he crosses the room and picks up the black landline.

Hand still burning a little, he gets out a clipped, “Sheriff’s station.” It comes out harsh and rude but he managed to stop himself from just griping a what? into the receiver and he counts that as a win.

There’s a loud crowd on the other end of the line, voices and music blurring together to create a wall of sound so loud that Sebastian has to pull the phone away from his ear a little ways. He frowns but waves off the rookie’s concern when she stops writing to gape at him.

“Hi. This is the Sheriff’s Station, right?” a voice asks.

Sebastian freezes.

His hand curls around the receiver, tightening its grip. His heart starts hammering in his chest as if it’s got a mind of its own, battering and stretching against his ribcage. He takes a few breaths and tries to calm down his nervous system.

“Matt,” he says. He snaps his eyes open when he realizes he’s let them fall closed and tries to wrap his head around what the hell his body is doing. “I’m glad you called.”

“Oh, Deputy Anders. Hello.”

“Hi.” He swallows and turns, pivoting away from the rookie’s eyes, hunching over the phone a little. He feels ridiculous but his pulse is slamming and this is as good a time as any to actually deal with the whole be a nice guy and friends with him plan he’s aiming for. He clears his throat and barrels forward, trying to somehow keep the embarrassment he feels from his voice. It’s not Matt’s fault that he accidentally let himself be kissed. “I’m sorry about the other night.”

Sebastian hesitates, aware that he can still be heard, and then rushes to continue, “It’s just that, you know, I didn’t mean to do anything and I don’t do anything, actually. I mean I didn’t. I mean, we didn’t. I just shouldn’t have acted weird or anything, not finishing the burgers. You should come back and we can finish. The burgers! We can finish the burgers. They’ll be good, I’m really sure. Cause, you know, we’re friends...or we could be. Should be. So, yeah, and—”

“Deputy Anders.” Sebastian stops, halting suddenly when Matt practically yells his name through the receiver. Sebastian winces.

“What?”

“Good Lord, please, shut up! I don’t have time for this. I need you. Right now.”

A heat too much like fire flushes through his whole body, singeing his toes with flames and his head with fever. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no time for you to be—” He stumbles with his words, stuttering through a few options before exasperatedly sighing out, “a baby gay or whatever it is you’re doing. Are you on duty?”

Sebastian nods before squeaking out, “Yes.”

“Good. Get to the bar now. We need a Sheriff.”

Matt hangs the phone up abruptly. The dial tone fills the silence he leaves behind, and Sebastian stands there, holding the receiver up to his ear for a good thirty seconds before he manages to shake himself out of whatever it is that’s going on with him.

The rookie sets down the pen she’s using and looks up again. “What’s up?”

“Got a disturbance call from the bar,” Sebastian says. It’s maybe, technically the truth.

Sandra, he thinks her name is, perks up at that. “Can I go?”

His body jolts and his hands twitch at his side. “Oh, no,” he says, trying to keep his tone even and casual. “It can get pretty rowdy—I’ll go ahead and handle that.”

Sandra narrows her eyes. “I can handle myself, Deputy.”

“I’m sure you can,” Sebastian agrees. Normally, he’d let her go, or at least let her come with him, but—well, Matt had called him. “I was asked for specifically. You hold down the fort.”

She huffs out a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

Sebastian offers her a smile that seems to fall flat when what she wanted was a case, but she smiles back so he figures he’ll let her take the next case that doesn’t involve his soon-to-be friend.

The night lays heavy outside when Sebastian climbs into the patrol truck, turning the engine over and pulling out of the parking lot.

The drive to the local bar doesn’t take long, or much energy. It’s the only one in town and Sebastian’s been familiar with the place for almost a decade now. Not to mention, he’s called in a few times a month to break up some sort of fight or take someone too drunk to get home back to the station to sober up safely.

And, hell, he was there a few nights ago—breaking up a regular occurrence of a fight, if he’s being honest. The two guys claimed to be best friends, but if they drank more than three bottles of beer, they were at each other’s throats so fast no one could stop them. Nick, the bartender, wouldn’t bother calling it in, they’re so frequent, if the two weren’t so big.

When Sebastian pulls into the parking lot, sliding the truck into an empty spot in the middle, he’s half expecting to see those two giant buffoons going at it.

What he’s not expecting is to see streamers hanging off the bar’s gutters and balloons tied to the door, people spilling in and out of the bar like drunk, flowing water.

It’s packed. Crazy packed. Sebastian wracks his brain and tries to come up with any reason for the bar to be hosting such a big event—and without letting the sheriff’s station know, without setting up some security—but he can’t think of anything worth celebrating. No holidays, no big games—he considers briefly that it’s a homecoming party for Matt, but dismisses the idea. He’s sure someone would have mentioned that.

He climbs out of the truck and adjusts his hat. It’s big and sits square on his head, good for the sun but a bit of nuisance in the dark of the night.

He makes it to the door before he sees him.

Pressed in the alcove by the door, Matt stands with his back in the corner and his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing a dark shirt that pulls across his chest and arms, tight and thin. His jeans are black and tight, too, and the outfit seems so out of place when Sebastian has only seen the guy in ill-fitting suits that he hesitates, stumbling a bit as his boot catches on the loose gravel.

Matt’s head snaps up when Sebastian lets out a little grunt of surprise and he narrows his eyes. “Do you ever not trip or run into something?”

“You called?” His voice is higher than it ought to be but Matt doesn’t seem to notice and Sebastian’s angry pulse slows, liking that.

Matt nods. He pushes off the wall and comes closer. He feels that he might want to step back but the muscles sort of feel like they want to sway forward, and he can’t afford to do that again. Instead, he locks his muscles in place, refusing to budge either way.

Now that they’re only a bit away from each other and the light from the bar and the streetlamp is lighting them, Sebastian can see how anxious Matt looks. His eyes are wide and his hands fidget, folding and refolding in front of him as if he’s trying to control the nerves.

“That way,” Matt juts his thumb out behind his shoulder, towards the door. “Just—make them stop.”

Sebastian frowns but nods, patting him on the shoulder as he passes and goes into the bar. His palm burns and he ignores it, focusing on figuring out what’s going on, which, well, doesn’t take much detective work.

The tables have all been pushed out of the way, decorations scattering the place. Based off the general theme and the way that Nick is patting Peter from Amelia’s on the shoulder, Sebastian puts two and two together: ah. A bachelor party.

Two of the guests seem to be going at it.

They’re rolling around on the sticky floor, fists flying and insults being pushed out between every gasping breath. There’s a small half circle around them, some people yelling for them to stop and others cheering it on happily.

Sebastian looks at them for a second, hardening his glare. He pulls himself up to his full height and quirks an eyebrow. The crowd settles down pretty quickly.

Once the crowd is quiet, the guys seem to notice that something is going on.

One of them looks up and mutters a quick oh shit when he sees Sebastian standing there.

Sebastian closes in on them now that they’re not actively hitting each other anymore and crouches down so he’s on his heels, looking at them. “Heya, fellas. Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

The guy on top rolls off, standing up quickly. Sebastian follows and holds a hand out to help the other guy up, who seems to have gotten the brunt of the hits. He accepts Sebastian’s hand and hoists himself up but lets go quickly and takes a step back, folding his arms across his chest. He glares, a furrowing of his brows and pinching of his lips, that looks familiar, even underneath the black eye and the swollen lip.

“Come on, guys, don’t make me guess,” Sebastian sighs. He looks around and as his gaze drags across the various patrons, they scatter. The quiet his authority brought is disrupted and a slow smattering of conversations fill the room. Sebastian gestures towards outside and the two men, both big though a bit shorter than Sebastian himself, file outside obediently.

The one with the worst bruises goes straight to Matt’s side. Matt turns to him, fretting a bit, fingertips trailing across the bruise. The guy hisses and Matt apologizes immediately, dropping his hand.

Sebastian frowns. What the hell was that?

The other guy—with the sore knuckles but not a few scrapes of his own on his face—huffs. “Why am I here?”

“Excuse me?” Sebastian asks, raising an eyebrow. The guy glares at him, and Sebastian thinks that he can see how someone could be persuaded into punching the guy. “What’s your name?”

“Andy. Bishop.”

“Well, Andy Bishop,” Sebastian says. “You’re here because you were beating the ever-living shit out of that guy.” Sebastian nods his head towards Matt and the swollen guy.

“Well, I wanna press charges,” Bishop says, jutting his chin out.

Sebastian’s eyebrows raise at the same time that the other guy lets out an indignant sound of protest. He’s about to tell the guy that it didn’t look like he had much of a reason to press charges when Matt flies between them, poking the big guy right in the middle of the chest.

Matt’s shorter than Bishop, glaring up with such righteous fury Sebastian doesn’t even consider interrupting him. “You no good piece of crap! You provoked Mike and then you attacked him!”

Sebastian exchanges a look with the victim, who he can only assume is the Mike that Matt is yelling about. His expression underneath the red seems to border between pride and embarrassment, as if he’s not sure which one he’s actually feeling or which one would be best to land on.

“Listen, that queer—”

“Hey,” Sebastian snaps at the same time that Matt lets out a growl and shoves the guy. Sebastian’s eyes widen, and he grabs Matt by the shoulder, yanking him back before the clenched fists at Bishop’s side can raise. “Settle down.”

Matt turns the glare on him, flaming brown eyes narrowed with such disgust that Sebastian has to take all his years of raising Clarissa and every hour he’s spent as a deputy to not cringe beneath it. “I should have expected this from you. Of course you’d take his side instead of my brother’s!”

Brothers. Oh. Well, that clears some things up.

Sebastian banishes that thought—and god, has he done anything but banish thoughts lately?—and worked on not looking away guiltily. “I’m not doing that,” he says, voice soft and quiet. He’s still got his hand around Matt’s upper arm and the muscle beneath it keeps flexing, as if he’s struggling with his own urge to hit him.

“Oh, the hell you’re not!” Matt snaps. He rips his arm away and stomps towards his brother. “Come on, Mike.”

“Matt, wait, what about Mark?”

“I’m not,” Sebastian tries again, taking a few steps after them when they start to walk away. “Wait! Mr. Collins, you can’t leave.”

Mike, who Matt had been dragging away towards the dark parking lot, looked back at him with what Sebastian thinks would have been wide eyes. “What?”

“I need to take you down to the station,” Sebastian explains.

Mike whips his head around to look at Matt. He looks young then, and Sebastian would bet his whole salary on Matt being the older brother here. He recognizes the same ferocious overprotection he has with his sister.

Recognizing what’s happening doesn’t make it easier to stomach Matt, whose glower is so intense that Sebastian does wince a little—he can’t help it. Deputy or not, he’s not strong enough to fight a look that full of hate and disappointment.

“You can’t even keep your word for more than a second, I suppose,” he says, bitingly.

“I have to get your statement,” Sebastian says to Mike. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with a homophobe, a scared kid, and raging, self-righteous older brother. “Regardless, if Bishop presses charges—”

“Oh, I am!”

Sebastian uses all his professionalism to not roll his eyes. “Or if that actually ends up going anywhere even if he does press charges, this was a formal call in. We need your statement.”

“We didn’t drive,” Mike says.

Matt crosses his arms again.

“You can ride in the truck with me.”

Bishop riles up again. “There ain’t no way I’m riding with a bunch of f—”

Sebastian cuts the man off, his stomach heavy and hard in his gut. “Bishop, if you’d prefer, you’re welcome to come by in the morning to make your statement. I don’t feel comfortable keeping the two of you in close quarters, what with your violence.”

Bishop perks at that, as if he’s won some sort of argument. Sebastian hopes that Matt—and Mike, of course—recognize that he’s not siding with Bishop, but just trying to keep him away from them.

“Thank you, officer,” he says, smugly.

“It’s deputy,” Matt mutters, and Sebastian smothers his smile in a cough.

Bishop rolls his eyes and starts to storm towards the bar again. Sebastian calls out after him, waiting until he stops and turns around again. “Make no mistake, Mr. Bishop,” Sebastian says slowly. “If you don’t arrive at the station tomorrow morning, you’ll need to expect a deputy at your door by noon.”

The man pales a little but nods, turning away again and walking more quickly towards the bar.

“Please, come with me,” Sebastian says, turning back to the Collins brothers. “It’ll be best for you if he decides to try to press charges for you to get your statement out of the way immediately.”

Mike looks to Matt again and they tilt their heads, interacting in a silent conversation before Matt nods once. “I’ll go get our oldest brother. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Matt shoots his brother one last look before taking a deep breath and darting into the bar. Sebastian shuffles a little. Mike looks between him and the door for a few seconds before blurting out, “I’m not gay!”

“Oh. Okay,” Sebastian says, surprised. It’s not like it matters, but he had thought—

Well, whatever.

Mike continues as if Sebastian hadn’t spoken. “It’s just, that guy, he’s such an asshole and my brother—” he cuts himself off, eyes wide as his gaze snaps back to Sebastian. He shakes his head. “I’m just saying.”

“No worries.”

Sebastian thinks Mike is probably all right. The kid’s just protecting his family and Sebastian thinks that is a kind of brashness he can get behind, even if he is going to have to lecture the kid on appropriate forms of picking fights in the future.

Still. It’s not the worst reason for someone to get in a bar fight. When Mike brightens as his brothers return, and the new guy starts fretting over him the same way that Matt did, Sebastian thinks there are worse things than defending your brother...especially one as worthwhile as Matt.

He ushers the Collins brothers to the patrol truck and, like he’s been doing for days now, tries to banish that thought.