My Man in the Overalls Came Back and the Night Was Ours Alone

On the day of Unai’s debut, Adrián’s apartment in Brooklyn felt smaller than ever. White walls splashed with abstract art posters, a table covered in half-finished sketches for his master’s final project, and in the background the monotonous hum of the refrigerator as his only company. Every minute weighed on him. Unai’s absence pressed on his chest like an invisible hand that couldn’t quite let go.

The morning, however, had started well. A video call woke him with Unai’s face filling the screen, lit by the hotel room’s natural light.

—Look at this, love —he said, turning the camera to show himself head to toe—. The lucky overalls, the very same ones that opened every door for me in this city.

The moss-green overalls clung to his athletic torso like a second skin. He wore a long-sleeved shirt underneath, his short hair slicked back, and that smile that melted every screen. The fabric brushed his chest with every movement, and Adrián, still in his pajamas with a coffee in his hands, felt a tingle below his navel.

—Fuck, Unai. You look edible —he said—. Those overalls bring back memories of the first time I saw you in them. They outlined every damn thing that drove me crazy.

Unai laughed, his voice rough with nerves.

—And look how much has changed since then. I’m nervous, but I’m also really turned on, I won’t lie. The arena full, the team trusting me. Are you coming to the box?

Adrián bit his lip.

—I don’t know. Nerves kill me when I don’t really understand what’s going on on the court. But I’m going to be yelling for you from somewhere, I promise.

They talked for a long time. Unai confessed his fears in a low voice, the usual ones before stepping onto the court: what if I mess up?, what if they don’t give me even a minute? Adrián soothed him with soft words, telling him again and again that he was the best, that he should shine as he always did. The virtual kiss when they hung up left him with his heart racing and, at the same time, with an uncomfortable emptiness. Distance, even if it was only a few bridges away, hurt.

***

The rest of the day dragged on. Seated at the table, laptop open to a half-designed ad campaign, Adrián was incapable of concentrating. The cursor blinked accusingly on the screen while his mind wandered far away: Unai warming up on the court, the roar of the crowd, his own loneliness bouncing off the walls of the tiny flat.

—Come on, focus —he told himself, typing out phrases he deleted two seconds later.

The aroma of cooling coffee mixed with the trace of Unai’s cologne, still clinging to a sweatshirt thrown over the back of a chair. Impossible to move forward. He stood up, paced the cramped space, the wooden floor creaking under his bare feet, and peered out the window onto a gray courtyard where a stray cat prowled among the trash bins.

By midafternoon, Bruno and Saúl texted him, two college friends who had made plans to watch the game together in a bar in the neighborhood. They sent him a photo of themselves clinking beer glasses, faces pressed together, with a homemade banner bearing Unai’s number painted by hand. For your guy, who’s going to tear it up tonight, the message said. Adrián smiled for the first time in hours. Those people loved him, and by extension they loved Unai. He wasn’t as alone as he thought.

He closed the laptop. The project could wait; his head wasn’t in any shape for sketches. He showered slowly, letting the hot water loosen the tension in his shoulders, and while he dressed he looked at the rack. Hanging there was his own pair of overalls, moss green and identical to Unai’s, the ones they had swapped one night like someone exchanging rings.

—For him, I have to be there —he murmured, and went out into the street.

***

He arrived at the arena just as Unai stepped onto the court. The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave rising up his back to the nape of his neck. In the family box, Marcus’s mother, the other debutant’s mother, greeted him with a hug.

—So glad you came —she whispered in his ear—. It’s tight out there, the team isn’t getting going.

Adrián, still lost among rules he hadn’t quite mastered, felt his heart contract when he saw Unai on the bench, his face tense, his hands rubbing his knees. He’s going to be fine. He has to be fine. But fear squeezed him from the inside.

Then Unai went in. The first plays were clumsy, imprecise, and Adrián held his breath. Until something changed. He saw it in his eyes before he saw it on the scoreboard: the spark returning, confidence settling onto his shoulders. One play, then another, then another. The crowd started chanting his name. Adrián didn’t understand half of what was happening, but he understood the energy, and he let himself be swept up in it, shouting until he went hoarse.

In the end, a comfortable win. The entire arena was vibrating. Adrián cried without hiding it, tears of pride streaming down his face as the crowd chanted his guy’s nickname over and over.

He did it. My man did it.

***

He waited patiently for Unai to come out of the locker room, deal with the microphones, sign photos for a handful of fans, the green overalls looking iconic beneath the spotlights. When they finally got into the car together, Adrián assumed they would go, as usual, to the teammates’ apartment. But Unai squeezed his hand.

—Take me to your place —he said—. I want us to be alone. I’ve had you on the back burner all week: training, camp, commitments. We’ve only talked on the phone. You deserve every bit of free time I have left, and I want to spend it with you.

Adrián felt a heat rising from his stomach.

—Yeah, love. Just us.

Unai took out his phone and wrote to Imanol, the one who usually acted as a wall between the team and the world: I don’t exist for anyone tonight. Cover for me. I need to switch off. The reply came instantly, a terse “understood, enjoy yourselves” with an emoji, and he set the phone face down in the glove compartment, like someone closing a door.

***

They had dinner on the building’s small rooftop. A narrow terrace overlooking the lights of Brooklyn, the night cool, the two of them wrapped in thick blankets and a steaming pizza between them. Candles flickered inside glass jars and cast trembling shadows over their faces. The smell of melted cheese mixed with the cold December air.

Unai, with the overalls half-unfastened and his chest still hot from the effort of the game, took Adrián’s hand over the table.

—Tell me about your day. Without me, how was it?

—Hard —Adrián admitted, curling against his side—. The master’s isn’t moving forward. But worst of all was the anxiety about you. Imagining something going wrong and not being able to do anything from here.

Unai stroked the back of his hand with his thumb, slowly, drawing circles.

—It’s over now. I’m here.

Adrián swallowed. There was something else that had been gnawing at him for days, and he let it out with a broken voice.

—I’m scared of losing you. I know it’s irrational. But the more you grow, the more I wonder what I am. Just a normal student, with nothing that shines. I don’t want to be small next to you.

Unai turned his face and looked at him with misted eyes. He pulled him close and kissed him, first on the forehead, then on the mouth, a slow kiss that tasted of red wine.

—You’re everything I truly have —he said against his lips—. The rest is noise. You’re the only thing I don’t want to lose.

The kiss deepened. Their hands stopped staying still. Adrián felt Unai’s tongue pushing in, demanding, and answered with the same restrained urgency that had built up all week. The blanket slid off his shoulders and neither of them bothered to pick it up.

—Inside —Unai murmured, his voice thick—. It’s cold, and what I want to do to you is not for the neighbors to see.

***

They stumbled down the stairs, laughing like kids, their hands searching for each other’s bodies on every landing. The moment they crossed the apartment door, Adrián found himself with his back against the wall and Unai’s mouth on his neck. He bit just below the ear, slowly, and Adrián felt his legs go weak.

—I’ve been thinking about this all week —Unai said, slipping his hands under Adrián’s shirt and tracing his stomach with cold fingers—. Every night in that hotel, alone, imagining you.

Adrián found the straps of the overalls and slid them off his shoulders. The garment fell to Unai’s waist, revealing his hairless chest, still shining with game sweat. He ran his tongue over the sternum, up to one of the nipples and took it between his teeth gently. Unai let out his breath in a rush and buried his fingers in his hair.

He guided him to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, tugging at clothes along the way. The sheets were cool. Adrián pushed Unai onto the bed and pulled the overalls down completely, along with what he wore underneath. There was nothing to hide: he was hard against his stomach, heavy, ready. Adrián knelt between his legs and took him into his mouth without preamble.

—Fuck, Adrián —Unai gasped, arching his back.

He worked him slowly, setting a rhythm he knew by heart, his tongue flat underneath, his hand closed around the base. He could feel Unai fighting not to move, hips tense, thighs trembling beneath his palms. When he felt he was too close, he let him go and climbed up to kiss him, leaving him on the edge, not letting him finish.

—You’re cruel —Unai laughed, breathless, and with a clean movement rolled him over on the mattress to end up on top.

Now it was Unai who ran his mouth over Adrián. He went down his chest, over his stomach tightening with every kiss, until between his legs, opening them with his hands. Adrián closed his eyes and clutched the sheet. He knew that mouth, that deliberate patience, that way of driving him out of his mind minute by minute. Pleasure rose in slow waves that left him breathless.

—I need you —he managed to say—. Now. Please.

Unai reached toward the bedside table, took the lubricant out of the drawer, and took his time. He prepared Adrián with his fingers, one first and then two, unhurried, watching his face, attentive to every gesture. Adrián opened to him, breathing deeply, pushing against his hand, asking for more without words.

When he finally entered him, he did it slowly, centimeter by centimeter, holding his gaze the whole time. Adrián felt himself being filled by him, that mixture of tension and surrender that only ever happened with him. They stayed still for a moment, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air.

—This —Unai whispered— is the only thing that is truly mine.

He began to move. First with a deep, measured rocking that stole the breath from both of them; then, as Adrián wrapped his legs around his waist and dug his heels into his back, faster, deeper. The bed creaked against the wall. Adrián clung to his shoulders, his nape, to anything he could grab, while Unai spoke in his ear, filthy and tender things mixed together, his name repeated like a prayer.

Pleasure gathered into one point and then spilled over. Adrián came between their two bodies, with a tremor running from his feet to the crown of his head, Unai’s name stuck in his throat. Seeing him like that, feeling him close around him, was enough for Unai, who drove in to the hilt one last time and stayed there, emptying himself with a muffled groan against his neck.

***

They collapsed together onto the tangled sheets, hearts out of sync, skin slick with sweat. Unai found Adrián’s hand in the dark and laced his fingers with his.

—Don’t turn off the alarm —Adrián murmured, half asleep—. You’ve got recovery tomorrow.

—Tomorrow doesn’t exist —Unai replied, drawing him against his chest—. Today I debuted before the whole world. But this, with you, in this tiny bed, is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.

Adrián smiled against his shoulder. Outside, the city lights kept burning, indifferent; the game, the spotlights, the crowd’s shouts, all of it had stayed on the other side of that closed door. Inside there were only the two of them, the weight of a familiar body and the certainty, for one whole night, that no one was going to interrupt them.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting exhaustion —and no alarm clock— decide what time the next day would begin.