But things still went awry anyway.

They were playing a mini version of soccer, with only four players a side, not including goalkeepers. Eddie threaded his way around a man with dirty blonde hair, pirouetting as he did so, and saying something snide as he passed him. Apparently this was the final straw. The guy swung out and hit Eddie hard in the chest. He had probably been aiming for his face, but missed as Eddie noticed in time and leaned backwards, but the momentum and punch sent him sprawling on his back.

“Eddie!” Christian and Laurel both shouted, rising to their feet. The tall man lay on his back, too far away from them to see if he was still conscious, but they got their answer the next second when he rose to his feet and launched himself at the attacker. Eddie threw his fist into his jaw in mid-air, and managed to get a few more punches in before the rest of the team, including Brendan, pulled him off. The two men were separated, and after some moment’s angry shouting and wild gesticulation, Eddie was marched back to the stands.

Brendan found an ice pack for him from somewhere, and went to get him toilet paper to stick up his bleeding nose. The ice-pack across his eyes, he sat his long body on the seat next to Christian’s, leaning his head back against the seat edge and groaning. Unexpectedly, Laurel went over to check him, glancing under the pack and prodding his swelling eye.

“Ouch.” Eddie said.

“You’ll live.”

“Madam, I’ve been beaten.”

“You probably deserved it.”

Eddie sighed dramatically. “Well, he called me a faggot and I told him that this faggot was still kicking his ass at soccer, so maybe he should try faggotry sometime since his footwork couldn’t get any worse.”

There was stunned silence at this.

“Well, as long as you’re making friends.” Laurel eventually replied with dryly, and Eddie grinned.

Brendan came up then, and leaned on the row of seats next to them.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s it. They’ve called for a rematch next week.”

Eddie peeked out at Brendan from under the ice pack. “I’m sorry, Bren-Bear. Please don’t be upset with me?”

“No, it’s alright. I heard what that dick said. He was out of line.” Brendan looked at him with a mix of annoyance and fondness. “Didn’t know you had a temper though, Eddie.”

“I told you I don’t sport.”

“I thought you meant because you were bad at it or something.”

“Why on earth would you assume that?” Eddie responded sounding outraged. “I’m good at everything.”

“You can certainly throw a right hook.” Brendan muttered, rubbing his neck and looking out at the grass, where his teammates were already packing the equipment away. He looked unhappy but resigned.

“Anyway, I’ve got to pack up. I’ll see you guys later.” He said, turning away. Christian stood up.

“I’ll help.” He said.

Brendan looked at him in surprise but didn’t object.

“I’ll take the punching queen home.” Laurel said. “So he doesn’t run into anything or anybody.” Which meant that Eddie’s arm got thrown over Jordan’s shoulder while he sang I am the punching queen, young and sweet, only seventeeeeen… cheerfully and loudly. Christian thought he may have been hit a touch hard, which meant it was extra nice of Laurel to take care of him. Or maybe she would just use it as a chance to get information.

Christian and Brendan went down the steps and Christian followed Brendan’s instructions on what to take down next and where to put it. It was quick work, with the whole team pitching in. Christian had never met them, but they didn’t introduce themselves and that was fine. Christian figured he had enough friends, and didn’t have space in his brain for more names. In little time, there were only the chairs left to be taken in, so Brendan waved off the rest, telling them he would finish and lock up.

They wheeled the chairs in by pushing one and pulling another, to a storeroom at the end of the straight track.

“You guys gonna be in trouble?” Christian asked him, as they rounded up the chairs.

“Nah, it’s all good. Soccer matches usually have one or two bloody noses by the end of it.

“That's ridiculous. Another reason to avoid sports.” Christian replied, making Brendan lose his frown and chuckle instead.

“It was funny watching Eddie push you down this track at speed.” Christian commented as they walked slowly down the red coloured road, the rumble of wheels over its pebbled surface a background noise.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You looked terrified.”

“I was. He’s insanely fast! And had that mad look in his eye.” Brendan waggled his fingers over his eyes, making them wide and blank to imitate a crazy stare. “I’m glad I asked him though. He’s a bit nuts, but he makes a good teammate when he isn’t throwing punches and flirting with the opposition.”

“Ha! Yeah, good call. I would have been useless.” Christian said.

Brendan looked at him apprehensively. “Um…”

“You don’t have say something nice. I know I’m not a shining example of athleticism.”

“Is that even a word?”

“It must be, I just said it.”

“Nice logic.”

As they reached the storeroom and put the chairs away, then strolled back down the track to get the last four. The evening was pleasant, with still a touch of chill in the air, and the lights of the stadium were still on, flooding the arena with bright, fake illumination. It was a peaceful moment, and they were in no hurry.

“I’ve never been pushed on a wheelie chair.” Christian mused.

Brendan was appalled. “What? What kind of childhood did you have?”

“A wasted one apparently,” Christian replied, laughing at his incredulous expression.

“Well, that’s easily fixed. Come on, we got chairs here.”

“What? No, Bren, I wasn’t fishing for a ride. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Ok, so why not? It’s here, I’ll push you. I promise not to break the sound barrier.” Brendan said, grabbing one of the chairs and pushing it towards him.

Christian looked at it warily. “Um, you know, I really feel like my life is pretty fulfilling without this experience.”

“Someone’s scared.”

“Yes.”

“Come on, think of it as your ‘try something new every day’ challenge.”

“No.”

“I danced today. You can get in a wheelie chair.”

Christian saw that Brendan wasn’t going to let up, and besides he looked so cocky leaning on the back of the chair, beaming at Christian like it would be early Christmas if he could just push him across the track in this office chair. Christian sighed dramatically.

“Ok fine, just once, and straight to the storeroom. And then I’m done. Bucket list item ticked off.”

Brendan thumped the chair in invitation and Christian sat down carefully, pulling his hands from his pockets and wrapping them tightly around the arms, then nodding tightly.

“Ready?” Brendan asked, then pushed off. He started slowly then gathered speed, and the surroundings began to blur. Christian felt the vibration of the wheels going over the hard, gravelly ground reverberate in his clenched teeth. The chair began to swerve and Brendan corrected it, but not before Christian’s heart had jumped into his throat. But the end was coming up and Brendan slowed. Except before the storeroom came within reach, he felt the lurch of the chair as Brendan leapt to stand on the legs that held the wheels, so that he could ride with Christian the rest of the way. They sailed through the open door and as they were about to hit the already assembled chairs, Brendan jumped off, turned the chair in time and brought it to an abrupt halt.

Christian sat panting heavily, knowing he probably looked whiter than usual. Brendan’s face came into view directly in front of him, beaming.

“Asshole.” Christian said weakly.

Brendan chuckled. “I wouldn’t have let you crash. You know me better than that.”

“I did not know that in the moment, no.” Christian said breathlessly, but he gave Brendan a weak smile.

“Was it fun?”

Christian closed his eyes, felt the hammering of his heart and the energy thrumming in his veins.

“It was a little. But I’m still not doing it again.”

Brendan laughed and Christian joined in, albeit weakly. He was still leaning over Christian, with his arms on either side of the chair he was holding, his hands gripping the arms next to Christian’s hands.

Then Brendan kissed him.

And all the world held its breath.

Brendan mouth was soft, and his kiss was so featherlite, Christian almost didn’t know it was there, if not for the fact that Brendan’s head was now blocking out the light. Brendan hesitated, then pressed a little closer, letting his lips graze over Christian’s, like he was afraid to push harder, never opening his mouth wider. Christian felt his breath like a warm wind over his lips.

Christian sat stunned, unmoving, not even remembering to close his eyes. When Brendan pulled away, his face was filled with worry, eyes searching his, asking for explanation, for permission. Christian could still feel his own lips dampened by Brendan’s whispered breath.

“What. The fuck. Brendan.” Christian said in a low tone. Brendan drew all the way back, confused, pulling his hands away fast.

“Christian-“

“What that fuck, Brendan!” Christian shouted this time, standing up hard and sending the chair he was sitting in on its side to the floor.

Brendan was backing away, mouth opening and closing, eyes darting wildly to the door and back to Christian.

“What the fuck was that?” Christian said, his voice sounding hoarse. “You can’t kiss me. You’re straight.” He touched his mouth then looked at him, anger filling him up. “Is this because Eddie told you about the Kinsey scale? Are you trying to see where you fit? Testing it out on the gay friend?”

Brendan waved his hands in denial. “No, Christian-“

“I not your fucking yardstick, Brendan!” Christian yelled, before whirling away and stalking off through the storeroom door.

Brendan tried to follow him. “Christian, just listen-“ he tried, reaching out touch the sleeve on Christian’s hoodie. Christian ripped it away like Brendan’s touch was poison.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He snarled, talking over his shoulder as he walked away. “Stay away from me.”

He walked to the nearest exit, feet pounding the ground hard.