The next afternoon isn’t one of Sebastian’s better moments. It’s not bad, but it’s not on his top ten either.
Training camp has its benefits. Extra practices produce wickedly defined calves. The sun leaves his skin more deeply tanned: not quite sun-kissed gold, but acceptable. He doesn’t have awkward shoulders anymore, either. There are honest, real moments when it seems as if he’s becoming someone.
But right now, Sebastian isn’t in love with his reflection. His cheeks are still full and round like a toddler’s. In the sun’s halo, the smudges under his eyes give him the look of a zombie. His jaw isn’t square or round, just odd. Oh, and his nose is awkwardly-shaped.
“You’re good enough for them.”
It’s his mantra, along with “You’re good enough for the team, for your peers, for him” and “Those days are gone.” It’s okay to give yourself a pep talk, for the sake of self-esteem. Also, it alleviates just enough pressure in his chest so that Sebastian can breathe.
Until, of course, his eyes spot how soft the skin around his belly is. His shaky hands grab at it. Christ. The familiar sting at the corner of his eyes only exacerbates his hyperventilating. A balloon is expanding in his chest.
Every word in his head is “Bastian the Trashcan” in those haunting bullies’ voices. Why?
“What are you doing?”
Sebastian freezes, mid-breath, with his hands on his belly. He thought he’d locked the door. Emir is staring at Sebastian—no, staring at Sebastian’s hands on his bare belly.
Sebastian says, “Nothing,” in a tight voice. He has no idea how long Emir has been standing there: what he’s seen, what he’s heard. Sebastian’s defenses are up; his body is half-tilted away from Emir’s view. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing,” Emir repeats. He steps inside, shutting the door.
Sweat builds across Sebastian’s brow. He’s scared. Sebastian is a million things, but scared is the only label he can find.
“What’s wrong?” Emir steps closer, and Sebastian wants to retreat. But Emir’s dilated, concerned eyes force Sebastian to suck in a shaky breath and stay put.
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” Sebastian twists a hand in his hair. “I shouldn’t have skipped our morning run to let you, um—”
“You mean when I—”
“Yes,” Sebastian cuts in, flinching. His eyes are watery, and he doesn’t get how Emir is so confident. He’s not cocky, but he acts as though he doesn’t give a shit. And Sebastian is just—he lacks that.
What really sucks is, now he’s ruining what happened between them this morning. The sky was still bright pink when he crawled through the window and let Emir drag him to bed for morning kisses. Sebastian’s fumbling hands highlighted his lack of sexual experience with boys, but Emir didn’t seem to mind. And now he’s wrecking it all.
“I’m fine.”
Emir presses against Sebastian’s back and circles him with his arms. His unblinking eyes stare at Sebastian’s in the mirror. “Bastian.”
“Let’s just drop—”
“Sebastian William Hughes,” says Emir in a voice eerily like Lily’s.
Sebastian winces. He lets Emir move Sebastian’s cold, shaky hands away and replace them with his own. Emir’s hands are warm and affectionate, smoothing Sebastian’s unnerved center.
Sebastian chokes, “I’m not—”
Struggling with this doesn’t make it out of his mouth. He doesn’t let people see him like this. “I’m okay.”
“This isn’t okay.”
“Yeah, well.”
Sebastian’s hands are clenched into fists. It’s not the end of the world. So why are tears clinging to his eyelashes?
Emir’s hand cups his jaw. His thumb nudges Sebastian’s chin until their eyes meet. Emir smiles. Sebastian pouts, but he presses into the touch.
“You’re beautiful.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Guys aren’t—”
“Hey,” Emir cuts in. “Guys are beautiful. And girls are handsome. Words aren’t gender-specific. Don’t be some jock asshole about this.”
Sebastian is caught up in Emir’s warm breaths grazing the side of his neck.
Emir says, “Your body is amazing,” while his hands rub over Sebastian’s ribs.
A protest fizzes at the back of Sebastian’s throat.
Emir’s lack of height means he has to stand on his toes to rest his chin on Sebastian’s shoulder. It also means his arousal nudges the small of Sebastian’s back. He’s on edge in a very different way.
Emir’s whispered, “And you’re amazing,” and the way he stares at Sebastian as if he’s unbreakable vibrates through his whole body.
“We all do it, mate. We all have things about our body we hate.”
Sebastian bites back, Yeah, but you’re ridiculously flawless.
Emir says, “I can’t get any definition in my arms, and my ass is flat.” He’s barely holding back a laugh.
Sebastian’s helpless about how fast his mouth curves into a grin.
“It’s okay,” says Emir, hands smoothing over Sebastian’s stomach until he can tolerate the sensation. “We’re all imperfect.”
Sebastian licks his lips and salty tears hit his taste buds. “Speak for yourself.”
“I am, asshole,” Emir says, biting Sebastian’s shoulder. “And you too. The whole damn team is a mess, but that’s the point, right?”
“Yep.”
And he’s okay. Emir’s hands continue mapping his body, and he’s okay. He’s learning.
“Now,” Emir says, “can we go grab some lunch? Riley’s being a diva because you’re not around.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Sebastian’s shoulders slowly lose tension, and his chest inflates freely. At his side, his fingers wiggle. It’s as if Emir is at the core of his whole world, pushing the edges wider.
Before Emir can get too far, Sebastian whips around and kisses him.
“You’re predictable,” Emir says with a hint of smugness.
Sebastian knows that. But just because the kiss wasn’t long enough, he slides a hand to Emir’s neck, puts his thumb behind Emir’s ear, and pulls until their mouths meet again.
“I don’t care.”
Urged on by uncharacteristic boldness, Sebastian laces their fingers together. Their hands sway when they walk outside. He’s never held hands with a boy in the middle of the day. Would he be courageous enough to do this in the halls of Bloomington High? Emir hasn’t mentioned whether he’s out at school yet. Would he let Sebastian hold his hand? These are serious things that Sebastian has dreamt about, but never counted on.
But he doesn’t know if this thing with Emir is going past the summer. Maybe it’s like The Breakfast Club. Maybe when September hits, they won’t acknowledge each other. Sebastian would have absolutely no problem sauntering into prom arm in arm with Emir.
“You’re smiling,” Emir says as they walk. The sun is high, hitting their eyes. Emir cups his free hand over his brow while he stares at Sebastian.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sebastian keeps his other thoughts to himself, for now.