CW: racism

We missed brunch, which Cameron was bummed about. I would've been too, but he had found a cute coffee shop a few streets over with sandwiches that looked straight out of a magazine.

"I followed them on Instagram for years," Cameron told me, practically skipping all the way there. "Even considered coming here one spring break to try out their spring menu." 

"You're like a kid at Disneyland for this place."

He scoffed. "You'll understand the hype, I promise."

While hyperaware of the pedestrians around us, I tried to tune them out to focus on what Cameron was saying, ranting about the fancy sweets they carried throughout the year. I hated busy sidewalks like this, always worried about what others thought of me, what they assumed. I was no stranger to strangers' stares, but one guy, in particular, stood out as we made it down the block.

He scowled as soon as I looked in his direction, his hood up and hands in his pockets. He walked with a cockiness that I almost couldn't believe he'd have the nerve to show off. It wasn't until I realized I had pressed myself into Cameron's side that, as he approached us, I felt more and more uncomfortable. An unsettling lump sat in my stomach as his angered expression became clearer.

I tried not to make eye contact, but every inch of my being was screaming at me to be on alert, watching every subtle movement this guy made, especially with his hands in his pocket.

"They even have macarons in the shape of animals," Cameron explained. "One with a corgi—"

It happened so fast that I nearly knocked Cameron to the ground from the impact of this guy's shoulder ramming into me. 

"Watch it," the guy snarled, lunging forward as if to hit us though he clearly rammed into me first. "Better yet, go back to your country where you belong."

My body froze, his words icing my chest over. Had he really just said that? I blinked as it dawned on me how blatantly racist he was. There was so much space on the sidewalk for him that there was no way it could have been an accident, either. Even if he hadn't been glaring since he was in view, there was no other way around it. 

"Woah, what the fuck is your problem?" Cameron stepped in front of me.

The man jabbed his finger in Cameron's face. "You heard me."

Cameron scoffed. "Yeah, I did. And I asked what is your fucking problem? You rammed into him first."

"My problem?" My anxiety spiked, watching the man get closer to Cameron's face. "His people gave us Covid. People died because of him."

Cameron didn't back down, and I feared this would escalate more and more. "Cam," I tried to warn him, aware that other pedestrians were watching the scene. 

"Don't take it out on him," Cameron went on. "People died because people didn't wear masks or bother to be smart about giving people personal space. Something you clearly have no regard for."

The man looked like he had been slapped, but Cameron wasn't done, jabbing a finger in his direction, but I took action before any of this could spiral out of control. Griping the back of his shirt, I yanked him back. "Let's go, Cam. Let it go."

"He owes you an apology," Cam insisted. A pedestrian looked ready to butt in, her phone in hand as if ready to film if she wasn't already. Another middle-aged man was holding his arm out in case the guy would attack Cameron.

"It's not worth it. Let's just go."

"But—"

"It's fine, just let it go," I told him, pulling on his shirt before he could make a bigger scene. "It's nothing I haven't heard before."

He stopped in his tracks, turning us to look at me. "This happens a lot?"

Realizing I said that aloud, I looked away. "Not a lot, but—It's fine, forget it."

"It's not fine," he insisted. "He shouldn't say shit like that. It's New York, one of the most diverse places."

I glanced back, pleased that the man had given up and walked across the street. "Yea, and filled with crime. He could've had a knife or gun, Cam. It's not worth it."

He knew I was right but still looked on the brink of chasing after the man. 

Slipping my arm around his, I urged, "Cameron."

He sighed before obliging, sparing the man a last spiteful glare though he was long gone. "This happens a lot?"

I pursed my lips. "More so with the pandemic. It's usually never this physical."

"Ridiculous," he seethed. "Caucasian people have spread far more diseases than any demographic. Does he not realize that this country is made up of immigrants? This is the Native American's country more than anything."

Watching him rant like this reminded me of our debate class. While Cameron wasn't the smartest in the class, he was the passionate one no matter what argument he was given to debate. 

"I wasn't aware you paid that much attention in history class."

"Ha ha, very funny." He knocked our shoulders together. "I actually loved world history."

"And it wasn't because I was there to distract you in class?"

He went silent for a second. "Maybe. But it's not my fault I couldn't handle the advanced classes. I still don't understand how you passed all five AP classes in senior year, on top of everything else. I only took AP Psych, which was one of the easier ones."

"Yeah, 'cause I helped you out with the homework."

He hummed. "And I remember distinctly compensating you with French Fries every time."

"You did," I gave in. "And thanks."

"Thanks?"

"For standing up for me. Not just now," I added. "There were a lot of ignorant kids in our classes that you told off for me."

He nodded. "So were the adults. I don't know how some of them got their teaching license."

"How far is the coffee shop?" I asked, eager to change the subject. 

He looked up at the nearest street signs. "Not far, come on."

His hand slipped to my wrist, pulling me along with him. 

By the time we spotted the pastel shop, Cameron was like a toddler hyped up on sugar, eager to get into the relatively busy building, peering over shoulders to get a look at the menu and display case. 

"Look at how crisp these look," he said, his face lighting up like a puppy for treats. I wasn't sure how they had made their sandwiches look so perfect, but I could see how Cameron decided splurging on a trip just for these pastries and other treats would be justified. "I've never thought to put strawberries in a sandwich, but it looks delicious."

Glancing at the rest of the case, a mix of French and Japanese desserts, a few I had never heard the name for, they looked just as appealing as everything else, and the prices weren't all that bad either. 

"Shall we?" Cameron looked up at me. "Let's just order a bunch of things to try."

I couldn't resist his smile; I think he knew it, using it to his advantage. 

We spent the rest of our afternoon strolling the shops nearby, occasionally guessing the prices of expensive clothes in the little boutiques on the strip before making our way back to the hotel. Thankfully, there were no more run-ins with racists on the streets, and we got to relax before Cameron had to get ready for the game. 

He insisted I go with them to their practice before their game and didn't want me to walk or take the Metro alone, even though I was more than capable of doing so.

"Are you sure I'm allowed here?" I followed a few steps behind Cameron, unsure if his Coach or teammates would appreciate me tagging along to the sports complex. "I can just wait outside until they open it for guests."

"Coach won't mind," he insisted, waving a hand through the air. "Eric and the others bring their partners all the time for practice and home games."

"This is the championships, though. Not a home game." And, well, I wasn't sure if Cameron knew what he was implying. We weren't boyfriends—or hadn't been in years. 

Cameron shrugged. "And what? Let you wait outside in that long line till the game starts?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"Nonsense." He held the door open to the locker rooms. "Come on; I'll keep the boys in line if they get rowdy."

I didn't have time to tease him that he was the very one that was prone to be rowdy back in high school.

Kenji and Eric, the two I had seen before in the lobby, greeted us, already in their gear. The others were still putting their things in lockers, heading to the changing rooms.

Eric was the quieter one of the two, nodding his head in my direction as Kenji smiled. "Hey, Ethan. Nice to see you again. Loved the concert, by the way."

Cameron made a face as if to tell him to shut up, but I didn't mind. "Thanks," I told Kenji. "Sorry about the whole after-the-show thing."

Kenji shook his head. "Nah, man. Glad you're alright now. I almost chewed Cameron's ass out for it thinking he had upset you."

"No, it wasn't that—"

"Anyway," Cameron interrupted. "Don't you two have to practice your pitches?"

Kenji groaned. "Don't remind me. And I'll wait for Coach first. He took a phone call outside."

"Sup," their catcher, whom I had met in the lobby before, greeted, practically shoulder-checking Kenji. It seemed rude, but Kenji rolled his eyes—probably some friendly banter they had going on. That had been the case in high school, too, between players. He extended his hand out. "I don't think I properly introduced myself; I'm Eric."

"Nice to meet you." I shook his hand. "Ethan. A friend of Cameron."

He smiled. "Cam's told us about you."

Cameron blushed. "Eric, time to go; you've gotta practice with Kenji, remember?"

Eric rolled his eyes. "He'll be fine without me. He's just going to use that time to harass me."

Kenji, who I assumed wasn't paying attention, said, "Oh, you bet your sweet ass I will."

Eric gave us an unamused smile. "Save me, would you?"

Cameron shrugged. "That's your captain."

"Unfortunately," he said before slowly sauntering away, gathering his gear just to spite Kenji. 

"Glad you're feeling better, man," Felipe said, strolling between us as if he was intoxicated. I wouldn't put it past him if he pre-gamed before the game too. He wrapped his arms around Cameron. "I'm this guy's shortstop, which means I'll be between this guy and our buddy Daniel." 

He pointed to the taller guy behind Kenji. 

Cameron slapped the back of his head playfully. "Felipe, he knows how the game works; no need to mansplain."

"Rude," he shot back, sparing me an apologetic glance. "Just thought I'd tell him where to find us. We're a real dynamic duo. I don't know why the tabloids keep saying it's Kenji and Eric when it's clearly us."

Cameron made a face. "Yeah, wouldn't know why."

Felipe scoffed at the sarcasm before peeling away to follow the others in getting ready.

"Sorry about him," Cameron said, making a sour face as Felipe walked back to the rest of the team. 

"Boy athletes never change, do they?" I teased. "Completely unhinged."

"I thought you were into that," he said softly, leaning in so the others couldn't hear. "You dated one."

"Touche."

A moment of silence passed as we stared into each other's eyes, a million emotions swirling around. He cleared his throat. "I should probably get ready and practice."

"Before they suspect something?"

A breathy laugh escaped him. "Something like that?"

"Go," I urged. "You're not even in uniform yet."

"Right," he said, hesitating momentarily before remembering that he had a championship game to win. 

Cameron dressed in record time, returning to my side as I sat at one of the benches, scrolling through my messages with my classmates, most checking in on me. I sent a text back to Kelly, knowing she'd circulate my response to the rest of them, before looking up at Cam, who looked nervous for once. 

"I'll see you other there," he said more like a question. 

I nodded. "Have fun out there."

"Ah, no kiss for good luck?" Cameron teased, quickly adding, "I'm joking." 

It was a thing we did before his games in high school, quickly stealing a kiss from me as a good luck charm. Whether his team cared to notice or comment, I hadn't known. But with this team, I didn't know where they stood with Cameron. He had said they were openly accepting, but would that change if I did kiss him? 

Was I actually considering it?

It's not like I hadn't thought about what it would be like to date Cameron again. Now that the cat was out of the bag—a very large one at that—there wasn't anything that screamed why not. A kiss was minuscule in comparison. 

Would it be so weird?

While the rest of the team got settled, putting their things down, chatting about their plans for tonight or whatever college athletes chose to do, I tugged on his shirt sleeve. He turned around. "Everything alright? I can ask one of the staff to bring you to your seat if you'd like."

I shook my head. "It's not that."

"Then..." he trailed as I reached for his hand, interlacing our fingers. His brows rose, his mouth opening to say something, but I held a finger to my lips. 

Stepping closer and raising my heels to meet him, I pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek. I could see his cheeks flush a bright pink in the fluorescent lights above us. 

"Good luck out there," I said, biting my lip from laughing at his shocked expression.

We glanced behind him; nobody seemed to notice as they grabbed their bags. A small part of me wished they had; after all, we had been the dynamic duo first.