Chapter Text
They meet at a baseball game. Manny sits, eyes angry and tired, his coat too thick, and his hair tousled under the silly cap. He doesn’t know why he comes to these games, at least not anymore. It’s a junior league game. He’s surrounded by bickering parents, couples who laugh and gossip and fight. Some come in singles.
But he has no right to be there. His son can never play on the team again. Coach Buck acknowledges him from time to time. But around him, the lithe man never jokes, never acts the way he did before…
The women are especially kind around him, the men don’t clap him on the shoulder anymore. He’s lost all contact with them after… Either way, he doesn’t care as they gossip behind his back. He’s just here for the stupid game, to get it under way, so at night he can lie in the bed that’s too big, shut his eyes, and pretend there’s a living, breathing, smiling boy on that field today, waving with his new baseball glove. It’s a present from his father, it was supposed to be opened on Christmas. The gift still lies in Manny’s home, gathering dust in an unopened package.
"Got room next to ya?"
Manny turns. He’s never seen this man before- it’s a well-built guy, he finds himself noticing, wearing a leather jacket, and looking like he either came out of a chain gang or a 50s greaser film. The guy grins, looking a bit like an imp, his green eyes flashing with warmth. It’s the type of warmth that most of the younger fathers don’t have- it’s the type that Manny sees in the mirror each night.
"Yeah." He pats the spot on his left.
The man sits beside him with a whistle, running a hand through his slick, black hair. “Thanks.”
"So, your kid here?"
"Yeah… that one."
The man points at the shortest kid on the field, a boy who still wore the face of a toddler. Manny notes the child’s skin, a good few shades darker than the man beside him. He wonders about the mother.
"What’s his name?"
"I call him Pinky; it’s actually Roshan."
They sit in silence as the children prepare. The man yawns and looks at Manny again.
"I never introduced myself, did I? Man, that’s rude. Diego."
He extends a hand.
"Manfred, friends call me Manny." The bigger man shakes it.
It’s been a long time since he’s felt this at ease with someone. He finds himself smiling wearily, glad that the man asks nothing more of him. But as he watches Diego, he can’t help but notice a few strands of honey poking out of the black head, as if the dark hair was a result of a hasty dye job.
It’s the first sign of deceit and many days later, Manny would be cursing himself for not catching on. And many days before that, he would be drunkenly running his hands through that hair, his ears filled with soft moans. This is how he meets Diego, the man with a tiger’s laugh and a devil’s smile.
This first time they meet, they don't say much. Manny watches the children play their game- he doesn't really root for any team in particular- they all look the same to him: small, clumsy, and not his. But just this once he decides to clap for the red team, the one Roshan plays for, even if the kid spends three fourths of the game sitting on the bench like a dork, not that Diego cares.
"He go to Wedge?" Manny asks out of curiosity. That's the only elementary he knows. He still remembers the route towards it- turn left on Lambert's, watch for the stop sign- not that he ever needs to or wants to drive towards it again.
"Yeah," Diego says, then he adds, "we're new here, might be why we've never met."
"Welcome to the town. You won't find much- I've always preferred the city."
"I'm a bit sick of the city."
Manny laughs. It isn't until many days later that he remembers this statement- that is when he realizes Diego had not been kidding. They don't say anything more, save a few comments about the weather. Roshan's team loses by a good ten and more points. Diego stands up and stretches, chuckling darkly as the father behind him complains- "buddy, you're blocking the view!"
Manny stays seated as the other parents move to greet their children. He usually leaves at this point to avoid the looks and whispers. But this time he doesn't. Diego hops down the stairs with so much eagerness Manny almost wonders if it's fear. He doesn't get to think more because Diego turns around and says "hey, you know any good places to eat? Me and Pinky'd like to celebrate his first game."
Manny raises a brow. "You know... he kind of uh... lost." And he didn't even play.
"Is that a yes or no?"
Manny imagines himself going home and drinking himself silly, flipping the TV until the remote falls on the ground, absently rolling the unopened baseball glove in his hands. And then he'd wake up and go to work, a frown on his face and a little stubble stuck on his chin.
"Yes, I guess. So, I drive or you?"
"I'd prefer you." And Diego casts a small grin.
Manny stands up, feeling a little less grumpy. He follows Diego down the bleachers, shooting not-so-subtle glares at the parents who can't stop staring at him. Do these people have nothing better to look at?
When he meets Roshan, the boy just stares at him. Then the child smiles, fresh as morning light, so warm that Manny finds himself unable to look away. "Hey, Pinky, right?"
This is how he spends his night- cutting up vegetables for a child who isn't his and having virgin drinks with a man he barely knows. It's the best dinner he's had in such a long long time.
And when Diego says "thanks, Manfred," it sounds alarmingly good, like a pur that hits all the right notes when every other tune goes wrong.
"Friends call me Manny."
"My bad- thanks, Manny. Means we're friends, right?"
Manny doesn't object. He would find out a few weeks later that objecting to Diego is very, very hard.