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Pat’s secure in his captaincy. He knows his boys like the back of his hand, always there, always close enough to feel how they feel, so he’s not particularly threatened by the presence of an ex-captain to his left, sauntering into the changeroom like he owns the place. Sure, the guy’s had a rough few months, but Pat knows he’s earned this. (Has been told repeatedly, by his boys, by other teams, by other players, by those who fall under all three categories and maybe something even more than that.)
His eyes flit across the room, a new custom for him, to be so vigilant of everyone in his vicinity, everyone in his responsibility. He doesn’t mind it and finds it calms him, seeing them, being where they all are.
(“Patty?” “Hmm?” “Whatcha thinking about? Where’d you go?” “Right here, baby, why’d you ask?” Pat turns his head against his … something’s … shoulder. “You got lost. Head in the stars.” He can hear the grin in Sam’s voice when he says it, sounds a million miles away. “Just glad you’re here. Like it when I can see you.” “Lies. Your eyes are closed.” Sam’s laughing at him, but Pat doesn’t change his words. They’re still the truth.)
He lets his gaze linger a little on Steve, who’s been fidgeting anxiously with the strings of his hoodie since Tim showed up, averting eye contact like the man was Medusa rather than an ex … partner. Nervous and twitchy. Almost… guilty? The string of the hoodie flicks out of Steve’s fingers abruptly, and Pat immediately searches for Marnus.
Missing.
Well, that explains a lot.
Pat watches as Tim turns toward a nearby teammate and whispers something unintelligible that draws a confused and disbelieving face before they’re interrupted by a very loud, very customary “WHAT A DAY, BOYS” from Marnus.
Steve grins, which makes Pat grin. Marn pats his boyfriends back gently, before taking a second glance at the people in the room. “Oh, hey man,” Marn extends a hand to Tim and shakes it firmly, “glad you’re back,” he says amicably before turning to Steve. “Ready to go, Smudge?”
Steve… hesitates? Pat can feel his eyebrows crease again.
“Uh, yeah. Two minutes, I’ve just gotta- uhm-”
“Hey. Two minutes, that’s okay. You don’t have to explain. Do you want me to wait?”
“Nah, that’s okay. Thanks though. See you upstairs?”
“See you upstairs,” Marn says softly, scrunching his nose cutely and laughing when Steve makes the same face back at him.
Pat watches quietly, as Marn heads out of the room, and Steve lets out a deep sigh. Faintly, he hears from his left, “he’s definitely about to get dumped,” followed by sarcastic laughter, and “poor kid doesn’t even know it.”
His facial expression is probably not as schooled as it should be, but he thinks he gets away with it because Josh snorts loudly and Mitch acts like he told a joke, and no one looks at him.
-
They’re out at dinner to celebrate, and once again, credit card roulette is the source of many, if not all, the problems at the table. As Marn drops his card in the hat, Tim pipes up to say, “sure you have enough in there, kid?” and Steve looks like he wants to throw up.
It’s not… an unusual chirp. But it feels awkwardly charged. Like a finance bro talking down to a new, unfairly talented intern.
Unphased, Marn laughs, firing back quick and unaffected, “I may not be making Hazlewood-Starc money, but I’m getting there.”
It’s not really a comeback. But Starcy cackles and chucks two cards in, for him and Josh. “You’ll get there soon enough.”
“What, Steve doesn’t pay for you?”
Now that, is pushing it a little. Pat stays quiet- though not for his own sake. Steve’s panicked gaze finds him quickly enough that he doesn’t even open his mouth really, but the thought was there anyway. Childish to be putting down your ex’s boyfriend and your ex to make yourself look good.
Marn grins though, takes it in his stride so maturely. (He’s grown up, in the last few years. Pat’s never gotten the chance to sit down and take it in. He’s glad to have been there.) “Steve, what’dya think? If my card declines, will you pick the bill up for me? Promise I’ll pay you back,” he adds with fluttering eyelashes.
It’s not even remotely dirty, not spoken like a return of a favour, just, like something said to make Steve laugh. Pat sees it.
It works. Steve rolls his eyes and drops his own card in, corner of his mouth turning up at his boyfriend’s ridiculous behaviour. “Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, turning to face Marn. Pat imagines the conversation they’re having in each other’s heads. As if you’d ever let me pay for you. As if I’d ever make you feel like you couldn’t. Yeah, that right? C’mon, The Steve Smith, can’t pick up a thousand-dollar bill at a restaurant? I may not be Eddie Woo, but even my math isn’t that bad.
Tim, somehow, looks satisfied with his work.
-
Marnus did not have a good batting performance this test match. He knows this, Pat knows this, Steve knows this.
He knows players go through slumps, and they suck. Big deal. He’s not a fresh-faced player anymore. This isn’t something that scares him. Honestly, he’s not even really thinking about it. They won, that’s what counts in his books.
He’s busy leaning against the bar, chin resting on his hand, watching Steve explain his batting process animatedly with his hands, eye sparkly and lips moving a mile a minute, close enough that Marn can pick up little fragments of his tone – too busy to even notice Tim sidling up next to him.
“So. The better man is back now. You worried?”
Marn blinks confusedly at him. “Huh?”
“Not the brightest, but we knew that eh.”
Within the two seconds Tim’s been talking to him, he can feel Steve’s suddenly become uncomfortable again, explanation ceasing in its excitement, and face drawing up pensively. Marn just looks at Tim expectantly, picking up the few drinks the bartender slides over to him and walking back to their table.
Tim follows. Persistent. “Let me say it slowly, so you understand. I’m back now. You were my placeholder. Your days are numbered.”
Pat hears only the last sentence and looks at them, snorting, “what is this, Mortal Kombat?” before catching Steve’s discomforted grimace. Marn slides in next to him and looks at Steve carefully. Not touching him, he reaches over to hand Pat his beer.
“Nah,” Tim’s tone gets light again, “just letting superstar over here know that I’m scoring more runs than him, and his spot’s in trouble.”
He’s so tempted, to get up and in his face and say you’re not the captain anymore, that’s not your say, but he doesn’t, because Marn is laughing, and clinking his glass with Tim’s, saying very sincerely, “totally, I’m shaking in my boots.”
-
Steve’s been contemplating doing it for days. Since Tim came back, actually. He’s weighed it up. Made a mental checklist like Marn always suggests he should.
One. Am I forcing myself into this?
Two. Am I doing this for benefit of other people instead of myself?
Three. Is this going to make me uncomfortable?
Two and a half nos is good enough for him. He can get over that half.
Hearing “are they seriously always like this, no wonder Steve is going to leave him for me, he must be missing good se-” pushes him out of his seat and up to the breakfast buffet table where Marn is standing in line with Josh, waiting for his toast to come through.
He can see the split second of confusion on Marn’s face. But he’s here now, and it only takes him a second to fist his hand in his boyfriend’s shirt, and kiss him hard, right in front of the entire team. It feels foreign, to have an audience, but he’ll never not like kissing the love of his life.
He knows that if Marnus was holding a plate, it’d be on the floor, with how quickly hands fly to his waist to hold his sweater.
It only lasts a few seconds before Marn pushes him back gently. Steve becomes rapidly aware of how the room has gone eerily silent.
“Is this them compensating?” comes a retort.
Marnus, evidently, does not care and has never cared about what anyone says. Steve loves him so fucking much.
“Baby, hey,” Marn’s hands come up to his face, “you don’t like this. You don’t have to do this. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable to prove a point to someone who’s too self-absorbed to learn anything.”
“It’s for me. I like this with you. Kiss me, for me. Please. It’s not because I want him to see. Or because I want to prove something. It’s because I want to kiss you. For me. Here.”
Pat averts his eyes, huffs a soft laugh, and pokes his fork into a slice of rockmelon. He doesn’t look at Tim, or Marn, or Steve.
Doesn’t have to- because Josh is cackling and Mitch is nodding sarcastically, and Kez and Nathan are applauding like they just won a World Cup, and the younger guys are groaning about another couple’s PDA-
He doesn’t have to be looking to see.
He does, peek up to catch a glimpse though, of Steve’s smile pressed against Marn’s, the latter’s hands tucked comfortably around Steve’s waist, holding gently, bunching the shirt he’s wearing between careful hands. It’s cute.
He’ll text Sam about it later, probably.