Chapter Text
Lionel fidgeted with the football, idling it back and forth between his ankles as he stood in the motel’s sterile little bathroom. It was barely seven in the morning, and he hadn’t slept a wink.
Really, he had tried to.
When you come into a rinky-dink motel room drunk on who-knows-what after crashing from an adrenaline spike because you, a Croatian midfielder you met eight hours ago, and your Spanish youth-league bully just beat up a racist American—you tend to want some downtime. Leo had immediately claimed a fuzzy, vermillion armchair positioned perpendicular to a prehistoric box TV. He had absolutely no desire to witness the rom-com realness of Luka and Sergio looking at each other and realizing—gasp—there was only one bed!
Leo has never been that good at being interested in the romance of other people’s lives.
His mama always used to tell him whenever he’d make a face at his brother’s attempts to woo his future sister in-law that “Love will come to you mi vida. It pours out of you and flows within you.” And it would just make Leo wrinkle his nose more. Very similar to the way his nose would wrinkle when he’d laugh at Kun shoving carrot sticks in his nose in the canteen at training camp —but of course, a very different context.
Anyways…
Leo had tried to go to sleep in the chair, but his head was still throbbing to the baseline from the airplane-hangar-rave-thing. It felt like as soon as he’d rested his head on the fuzzy vermillion chair’s arm, that he was back on the carousel at the park by his family’s barrio. He grimaced at the memory of his eight-year-old self eating a whole box of alfajores after winning a game only to continue the celebration on the carousel ride just outside the pitch, where he promptly threw up all over his shirt and fell right into his abuela’s arms.
That memory, coinciding with the spinning, kept him up all night. He missed home so badly. All the alcohol and homesickness in his system sent him stumbling (or rather, spinning) down memory lane. When he started training with the national senior team, he had finally gotten a taste of home again after living in Spain for awhile. That’s how he always felt even in the U-20s. When they would play abroad he would find comfort in a new place because he knew he had Kun’s dumb jokes in his Buenos Aires dialect to laugh along with, mates to split together after practice, and the smell of Kun’s bodywash when he went in for a cuddle or the occasional pillow fight in the hotel rooms they shared. Kun was Argentina, and Argentina was home. Therefore, Kun was….
Leo curled around himself and cried into his knees. This was a hotel room without Kun, without his team, and without his family. Without any trace of something familiar or permanent.
There was a small part of Leo, one that lurked consistently in the back of his subconscious, that implored to remind him in high stress moments how conditional people felt about him. Leo would never admit this aloud because it sounds so pompous, but…he always had a bit of an anxiety about just how good he was at football. He felt as if it was the star in his solar system around which all people in his life revolved. It makes sense, because football is obviously a huge part of his life but… he got concerned how much people put up with him only because he was good at it… like, really fucking good at it. He wondered about how easy it would be for people to turn their backs on him —what if he had a bad season? Worse, what if he had many bad seasons in a row? Even worse, what if he messed up and got a career ending injury?
The worst; what if he completely missed his first World Cup?
His gift was temporarily loaned to him, and if he ever defaulted, it’d be a debt to so many he’d never be able to pay it off for the rest of his life.
The sudden spiral of anxiety turned his stomach. Queasy and frantic, he scrambled to his knees and rushed over to the chipped porcelain bowl of the motel’s bathroom and emptied his insides.
By the time he’d finished, he laid on the pale tiled floor for awhile. Kun used to make fun of him when he’d fall asleep on the floor of the hotel room “You could fall asleep anywhere.” Ah Kun, Leo whined as if that could bring him here. He remembered being very drunk with him in Utrecht the night they won the U-20 final nearly a year ago. Kun had run really fast down a cobblestone hill at 1am and Leo followed right after. His legs got a bit too ahead of him, and he nearly slid right into Kun like he was attempting a defenders tackle. He remembered blurs of the night: crashing into brick walls, normal kisses on his cheeks that smelled like beer, unforgettable kisses on his mouth that felt like crack. Things they wouldn’t utter a word about during late nights sharing a hotel room. Not really out of shame, but rather, preservation. As if attempting to label what they had would effectively kill it with a name. Leo didn’t mind. Trying to solidify him and Kun was like trying to grasp the air. It didn’t matter to him because he knew Kun was everywhere. Everywhere except here.
He’d wondered if Kun was worried about him. Knowing him, Kun was probably foaming at the mouth to get to Texas or wherever the hell they were right now, but the ever responsible Scaloni was likely holding him back. Leo smiled at the funny image; Scali holding a rabid Kun back with a chain.
Leo found it within himself to stand and waddle out of the bathroom before he got a good look at the little room as streaks of lavender peeked in, lighting it with a soft glow. A single, amber lamp illuminated his makeshift camp in the chair. From there, his eyes drifted to the bed, where a shirtless Luka and Sergio were aggressively sprawled out. Luka had successfully hoarded ninety percent of the blankets, while Sergio occupied almost all of the pillows. “Ah, that makes sense,” Leo thought to himself. Above the bed was a mounted head of a deer staring straight ahead. As if it could look past the walls and far beyond this shitty little inn. Its eyes were slightly clouded over, but remained a void. Leo imagined those vacant eyes suddenly following him and something about it made Leo feel sick again.
When he came back from the bathroom a second time he had noticed the football he and Luka played with earlier at the edge of the bed.
And that’s how he got here. 7am, football gliding between his feet, and a complimentary motel toothbrush in his mouth.
He heard the bedsheets shuffle as he tried to brush through his brown bangs with his hands. He had turned just in time to see Luka wake up and rub his bloodshot eyes.
He looked like actual shit. His hair was swooped entirely to one side, and he was shirtless in nothing but those stupid red shorts. Worse, Sergio’s arm was wrapped tightly around his waist.
The midfielder gasped as he noticed this, an equally shirtless Sergio (who looked WAY cuter than him right now) softly snored along. Luka’s eyes were wide in a “Oh my God what did I do last night?” kind of way. Luka made eye contact with Leo and frantically gestured over to Sergio, he pointed at him and mouthed something to Leo he couldn’t understand.
Leo gave him a “huh?” Kind of shrug of his shoulders.
Luka rolled his eyes and got on with the mime act. He pointed to himself and then pointed to Sergio before exasperatingly throwing his hands up as he tried to find the right way to finish his question. He finalized the performance with a universal gesture: forming an "O" with the fingers of his left hand and repeatedly jabbing his right pointer finger through the center.
Oh, Leo got the idea.
Leo eagerly nodded a “yes,” just to see Luka’s eyes widen in shock as his draw dropped. He squawked out a “Što?!” Which jarred Sergio awake. Leo couldn’t contain his laughter and nearly doubled over before assuring Luka that he was fibbing.
He was met soon after with a flat motel pillow to the face.
Great. Pink eye before his World Cup debut.
***
Leo eagerly munched on the five-dollar All-Star Special Sergio had ordered for him. Squirting a generous layer of ketchup over his scattered hash browns, he used his fork to thoroughly churn the condiment into a uniform, pink mush. Sergio stared at him from across the cracked vinyl booth in pure disgust.
“Only psychopaths do that.” He told Leo as he took the ketchup from him and squirted a dollop on the forkful of his own hashbrowns. Leo shot him a look, “You do that for every bite?” he asked. Sergio nodded. “Then you’re literally hogging the bottle the entire time.”
“It’s better than that unappetizing mush you got smeared around on your plate.” Sergio shot back.
“It’s all mush in the end. It doesn’t matter what order you do it in.” Leo said as he kicked Sergio under the table.
“Ay, you little dictator!” Sergio kicked him back.
“Štreber!”Leo butchered the pronunciation, but the mocking intent—and the sharp kick to Sergio's shin—landed perfectly.
“Brat!”
“Idiot!”
“Mid-“
“Boys!” Luka got their attention with his sudden outburst. He said something else in English while he rubbed his temples.
“He said calm down.” Sergio said matter-of-factly as if he had any position of authority over Leo. He looked at Luka who had been largely disassociating during this entire breakfast at the Waffle House. Cracking his bruised knuckles from last night’s brawl in tension.
They had just gotten back from Brandi’s Dad’s car shop where in which the delightful older man had told them words like “torque” and “gasket” and “blown-out-to-hell”, but all Leo's brain registered was: Five days. No car. Dead. Or at least, that’s vaguely what Leo recollected from Sergio’s explanation. Leo wasn’t good with cars.
Leo did witness Luka go through the seven stages of grief in the span of 20 minutes. Right now, he’d say Luka has just reached acceptance. Luka ran his hands through the ends of his wet hair from the shower he took this morning. His earlier outburst was the only thing that broke him from staring at an oddly shaped brownish yellowish greenish stain in the corner of the table.
Leo thought it funny how differently he and Luka responded to bad news. When anything deviates from the norm, or the schedule, or the expectation he had for either, Leo’s in a foul mood for the entire day. Hence his petty bickering with Sergio over hash brown ketchup preferences. However Luka is quiet and resigned, yet fidgety. Almost as if he’s still thinking, but running himself into walls with all the different plans he’s considering.
Leo passed him one of his toasts with jam… you know… out of… solidarity? Luka gave him a somber look that turned into a small smile at the corner of his mouth.
Sergio shifted and spoke softly to Luka in a manner that reminded Leo of how his Dad used to speak to his mother around the kitchen table when growth hormone payments fell behind. Leo understood English about as well as he understood finances or cars, but he was still able to pick up on tones of reassurance and affection. Gross. At least it was gross until Luka held his hand up and shook his head before cutting Sergio off in harsh English. Sergio looked confused before Luka snapped again and started talking louder and faster before he stormed out of the Waffle House altogether.
Leo dropped his fork to his plate before giving Sergio a stink eye.
“What did you say to him?” Leo asked with his arms folded. Sergio rubbed his eyes down to his mouth in frustration. “I was trying to be nice and reassuring but he just… he’s angry at himself I think. He said something about how he or.. you guys should’ve never come to that party thing and that he needs to stop wasting time with me.” He finished like a sad puppy.
Leo regarded him confusedly “What is it about him for you? Why are you doing all this? Chasing after him yknow? You guys are polar opposites.”
Sergio rested his hands on either side of his nose and took a deep breath through it.
“Can I be brutally honest with you?”
“Shoot.” Leo supplied.
“I love it when he yells at me.” Sergio exhaled like a man truly struck by a cherubs arrow.
Leo gave a giggle at that.
“Dude you’re fucked.”
Sergio nodded in agreement.
At that, the door swung open with a loud chime as Luka strode back into the restaurant with the map from last night in hand. He rushed back to their table before slamming the map back down. He said something quick to Sergio which made the Spaniard shoot his eyes toward Leo. “I’m translating now I guess.”
Then followed a predictable but welcomed pattern. Luka said something in English, and Sergio translated quickly into clean Spanish.
“He says if we join down highway 20 … turn at 49…merge on 10… and stay with it until Pensacola …we should be able to reach Florida by tomorrow afternoon. Luka’s camp is in Orlando, which is 3 hours away, and your camp is in Miami, which is about 3 hours south of that…” Sergio said as the plan churned in his own head. Leo followed Luka’s long finger as it trapezed across Texas, Louisiana, Missouri, Alabama, and finally Florida’s highways.
“Wait whose car are you guys using?” Sergio asked Leo. Leo gave him a blank stare and a shrug. Sergio instantly turned to Luka and asked him presumably the same question but in English. Luka barely paused before pointing at Sergio with a “Yours.”
Sergio leaned back in his spot on the booth. “Oh no nononono, My team’s camp is in Dallas, 50 minutes west from here. I-I have to be at training tomorrow!”
“Sergio!” Luka begged.
“No.”
“Sergio.”
“No.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible!” Luka threw his hands up in frustration.
Leo sat with his eyes shifting back and forth between the two. He couldn’t understand what the argument was about, but he knew three things:
1. They need a car.
2. Sergio has a car.
3. Sergio needs Luka.
He wracked his brain for a total of 30 seconds before he devised the perfect (moreso half-baked) plot. He quickly stood up and dragged Luka by the arm into the bathroom, Sergio exclaimed and called after Luka as they zipped out of the dining room.
Leo found it insane how nearly everything in this men’s room was tinted yellow but he pushed that thought aside to get ready for the mime performance of his life.
“Sergio…” he said slowly before folding his hands into the shape of the heart and pointing directly at Luka. Luka sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Hah, obviously.”
Leo pushed aside his annoyance in how Luka was practically preening at the situation and continued on with his charades. He repeated the ‘Sergio. Likes. You.’ motion but added another point towards Luka and included his own imitation of Luka yelling and snapping at Sergio. He must’ve looked like an actual Goblin. Luka looked at him confused “What are you talking about?” Leo sighed as it took another round of the same motions for Luka to get the point.
“He likes it when I yell at him? What a freak.” Luka said, dragging his tongue over his lower lip as his gaze drifted, as if contemplating something deeply unholy.
Leo took him by the shoulders and motioned “You.” Followed with mimed frantic shouting (Enough with surpassing Maradona, Leo was surpassing Charlie goddamn Chaplin) and finally “Sergio.”
Luka gave him and unimpressed stare. “You want me to yell at Sergio.” He said as a statement and not a question.
“Sí!” Leo let out exasperatedly.
“There’s no way that’s working.” Luka said with a shake of his head.
“Por favor.” Was all Leo could plead out.
“This is technically pimping. I’m being pimped out by a literal Argentine baby to satisfy a Spaniards fighting fetish and get a ride to Florida.” Luka said into nothing, maybe the void. Leo cocked his head in interest, hoping whatever Luka had said it meant something along the lines of ‘I will do it.’
The blond rolled his eyes and walked out of the men’s restroom.
“Sergio!” Was all Leo understood before a cacophony of noise erupted from the dining room of that Waffle House. Leo peeked out to find Luka practically shaking Sergio by the collar of his hoodie in this Waffle House at an embarrassing level of volume with Sergio interjecting to match the noise. There was a no-doubt veteran waitress that was already marching over to their booth ready to break up the fight. Luka and Sergio’s faces inched toward each other in fury like lions Leo’s had the pleasure of seeing in nature documentaries Pep had showed him about “the mentality of the beast” or whatever.
The waitress stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes comedically widening to the size of saucers at the sudden sight of Sergio slamming Luka down on the table and the two young Europeans making out right over the laminated menus. Luka’s long blond hair narrowly avoided dipping into the remains of Leo’s All-Star Special, causing the Argentine to gag.
That’s not where he thought that was going! But when he looked at Sergio’s closed eyes and blissful expression as his lips locked with the Croatian, he knew, that man was right where he wanted to be.
The entire Waffle House erupted into immediate pandemonium. Patrons hollered things that definitely could not have translated to "keep it up" at the two young foreigners. Moving with terrifying efficiency, the stocky waitress lunged forward, grabbed both boys by the collars of their hoodies, and practically hoisted them off the table before shoving them bodily toward the glass exit.
Leo sprinted out of the bathroom, grabbed the last piece of bacon off his plate, and slammed a clean $15 on the table.
“Thanks for breakfast!” He said in Spanish to the poor waitress looking at the door with a shell shocked expression.
***
Sergio “Kun” Agüero has done his fair share of looking after Lionel. He knew that it’s practically a rite of passage for an Argentinian to pamper him in some way, but Kun does it very differently. Chiefly because, he doesn’t like pampering Leo. He grew up with tough love, no dessert after a job well done, and kiss your own booboos. Anything above that way of displaying fondness was outside of Kun’s expertise and his pay grade.
But with Leo there’s just… something about his cute tiny face when he asks you for some of your extra food, his cute big eyes asking you to turn down the TV while he sleeps, and his nonchalant expression after he dribbles past 3 defenders at once and rockets the ball into an area of the net that you never knew existed —and then asks to stop by the sweets shop around the corner on the way home. That much cuteness sparks an aggression in Kun to always do his best in front of Leo, and give in to every whim and desire he has.
Sometimes he gives into his own…
That is why, Sergio “Kun” Agüero is currently pilgrimaging across Louisiana in search of one 5’6” floppy haired Argentine forward. Forging through literal swamp and the most incomprehensible English he has ever had the displeasure of hearing.
He knew entirely well that he was operating directly outside of Pékerman’s strict orders. The coach’s strategy being to lie low, keep calling Leo’s number until his shitty Motorola razr picks up. But Kun knows how Leo is, they left him at the airport! He was bound to be scared and lost and confused. Something in Kun’s chest burned at the thought of Leo experiencing any of those emotions. So… he figured… what’s one nicking of the keys to one of the national teams cars (they had so many, really it’s not like they’d notice) and driving non stop day and night out west? It was for Leo! Leo would do the same for him!
Besides, it’s not like he was starting anyway.
***
Leo spent maybe the past 7 hours or so, dead asleep in the back of Sergio’s Audi. After witnessing the hilarity that was Sergio’s Oscar deserving performance to fake sick on the phone with his coach and skip practice, Leo had let the familiar pattern of the Southern American landscape and the dull hum of the Audi lull him to sleep.
He’d woken up intermittently at times to witness some bullshit like Luka freaking out about kissing a man in public, Sergio explaining that the U.S. bought land —including modern-day Louisiana— because Napoleon needed funds for his wars in Europe and abandoned his plans for a New World empire after failing to regain control of Saint-Domingue, or just Luka simply pointing out the window and saying “cows” whenever there happened to be cows.
It may have been the absolute worst road trip Leo has ever been on.
He was rocked from his slumber when he heard a shrill scream coming from the front —Luka— followed by a hard left swerve of the car that slammed Leo’s back into the right window —Sergio. A whirlwind of colors swept over his eyes before he heard the loud sound of metal crunching and the hard snap of his seatbelt ingraining itself into his chest. His vision went white for a second and his breathing accelerated as he tried to navigate the backseat to unleash himself from the seatbelt currently choking him.
He coughed out who-knows-what as he struggled to pry open the door to the Audi and stumbled onto the ground. Feeling around himself he saw that he was practically sinking into the mud of the ground. He scrambled away onto sturdier ground as he searched desperately for Sergio and Luka. He hoped that they were okay, oh God, he really hoped that—
“Sergio, you fucking idiot!” He heard in a thick Croatian accent.
Oh thank God!
Out from the smoke of the swamp they had crashed into, was the Audi Q7, front planted into a large mossy tree sticking out of the water.
“Luka, Luka, are you okay?” Was all Sergio could say as Leo saw him splashing through the water to get to the midfielder who was currently covered in mud.
“Leo?! Leo?!” Luka called. Leo popped up and waved his hands “I’m here! I’m here!” He called in Spanish and relief splashed over Luka’s face. Sergio took Luka by the shoulders and inspected him. Leo watched as Sergio spoke to Luka in a concerned but calming manner. Luka pushed him away and seemed to be cursing him out as he approached Leo. Leo got a good look at the Audi from this angle, its entire front crumpled into the side of a tree rooted in the water. Luka grabbed Leo’s head and inspected him for bumps or bruises as Sergio kept trying to talk to him a few paces behind. The entire right side of Luka’s body was covered in mud, and Sergio looked worse for wear.
Leo turned to Sergio “Tell him I’m fine, and —what happened?!”
Sergio did the favor of translating which made Luka calm down and start looking around the swamp for a path out.
Sergio wiped a hand down his face, the mud of the swamp mixing with the blood from a small head wound.
“There was a stupid fatass alligator in the middle of the road. Luka freaked out...”
“Oh, keep my name out of your mouth!” Luka called from behind Sergio.
“He did.” Sergio bit back. “And then I freaked out and… yeah.”
Leo paused. “Wait an alligator?”
“Yeah.”
“From right before you veered off the road?”
“Yep.”
“How big is it?” Leo said as he stared pointedly off at the road they had just crashed from.
“Pretty fucking big, it took up most of our side of the road.”
“Is it that alligator coming for us right now?”
“Yeah —wait what?”
Sergio followed Leo’s gaze and saw, much to his horror, a giant, overgrown, muddy dinosaur of a reptile speedily waddling toward them on all fours.
Sergio and Leo both looked at each other and screamed before running in the direction of the Audi sinking beneath the muck. Luka’s attention was diverted from the evening bayou scene with a “Luka!”
“Really not in the fucking mood— Oh Jesus Christ!!” Luka shrieked when he saw the gator as well. The three of them scrambled to the top of the car as it sunk lower and lower into the swamp below.
The gator didn’t slow down, reaching the car snapping its big long jaws that cracked like a whip. The three young adults screamed and clutched onto one another.
“S-Sergio, jump on it or something!” Luka shrieked.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re about the size of it, you could take it Sergio!” Leo offered, unknowing of Luka suggesting the same thing before him.
“I’m not jumping on a fucking alligator it’ll rip my head off!”
“I’ve seen videos on the news of Americans wrestling alligators, you could totally—AIE!” Luka screamed as the gator jumped up to snap its jaws at them.
“Sergio do it or we get eaten alive!” Leo called.
“No way that guy can eat all of us, I say we throw in Leo, he’s bite-sized.” Sergio half-joked in English. Luka’s mouth dropped open and Leo instantly got the message.
“Fuck you man!” Leo said as he saved a leg that slipped from the roof back onto the vehicle before the gator could jump up and grab it in its maw.
“I… I think I read somewhere that if you hit them on the nose they’ll fuck off…” Luka prompted, clutching onto Leo to pull him up to the roof more.
“Yeah?” Sergio asked. “Okay… yeah… I could… I could do that.” He said with a mad glint of something in his eyes. Oh my God Leo thinks he’s actually going to do it. The car jolts and sinks to the side towards the alligator and the trio screams as they try to scramble further back on the nearly sideways car. “Well fuck if you’re going to do it make up your mind!” Leo shouted as he clung to Luka.
Sergio started to move onto his hands and knees, catching his bearings before standing shakily on the car as it looked like he was trying to psych himself up. Luka's eyes went wide. “Sergio, wait! Sergio! I think the nose thing was about sharks! Don't—” But Sergio had already leaped on top of the gator.
Okay. Leo has done a lot of cool shit and seen a lot of cool shit in his short 18 years on earth. He’d watched David Beckhams halfway line lob against Wimbledon in 1996. He debuted at goddamn Barcelona Football Club at the age of 17. He’s met the literal God of Football Diego Maradona for christsakes.
Leo doesn’t think he’ll ever forget seeing Sergio Ramos tackle and clobber an actual alligator. It was almost like the first 15 seconds happened in slow motion. Sergio’s long hair whipping around him, muscles activating underneath his skin.
Luka screamed as Sergio straddled the scaly beast with his legs and tried to wrap its snout in one hand. He let his fist come down on the tip of its snout before he held on as the gator rolled over and raked Sergio through the mud twice. Sergio almost lost his grip but stayed on as he put his fist down on it one more time before the gator slid out of his hands and eagerly glided into the emerald waters of the bayou.
Sergio let out a primal yell which Luka and Leo shared too. They both attempted to safely get off the vehicle only to fall right on their asses into the mud. Luka got to Sergio first, jumping on top of him kissing him right in the mud. Sergio dissolved into the muddy kiss, one hand on Luka’s waist and the other on the side of Luka’s neck. Luka broke it off to shout something at Sergio, likely chastising him for jumping in like that. All Sergio did was gaze up stupidly at Luka and rub the older Croatian’s thighs that straddled either side of him. Leo deliberately broke up the moment by jumping on top of both of them, swamp water splashing as he did so. The two shorter players looping Sergio into a hug like the defender scored a goal for them —fuck that, a hatrick.
There was a honk from the road where they came from. The trio snapped their heads over to an old Ford F150 with two older fellows sticking their heads out the window.
“That was some damn fine gator-wrestling pretty boy!”
Sergio beamed at the praise from the true southern gentlemen in the pickup.
“Thank you my man! Would it be maybe possible for you all to help us out?”
“Yessir, we’re all family out here.”
Leo and Luka just watched the naturalized southerner Sergio work.
Leo sat cramped in the back of the truck with Luka while Sergio yucked it up with his newfound friends in the front seat.
Remy and T-Beaux were the two friends they’d picked up after the alligator wrestling. They were loud and friendly and urged the trio to come with them to the “La-la” they were heading to after Sergio was able to call the car rental place on Luka’s Nokia. He had explained the situation with the Audi Q7, agreed to pay the enormous cost of the damages, and was given a 30-day ban on renting new cars from their business right before they lost signal again.
Sergio cursed before T-Beaux turned to Remy. “Ey, ain’t Buford lookin’ to get his Chevy taken off his hands?”
“Yeah, cher, he's looking to sell that old Chevy, yeah.”
A smile beamed on Sergio’s face. Leo wondered if the two upfront were even speaking English.
Luka stayed silent and shell shocked for the majority of the drive to wherever they were going. Leo also knew that Luka probably had no idea what the folks in front of him were saying. Leo just stretched his neck to hit the back and waited for his heartbeat to return to its normal pace.
The three were literally filthy, covered in mud and sweat (and in Sergio’s case, partly blood) as Cletus pulled up to a house nearby the bayou.
“You’re in luck fellers, I’m hosting tonight, y’all can still feel free to use the bathroom to clean yo’ selves up, and you can grab yourself a plate too if you’d like.”
Leo had dibs on the first shower in the Acadian household. He scrubbed the mud off himself feverishly before combing his long hair out with his fingers. He took some of the clothes Remy offered; some relaxed denim shorts that went down to his calves and a XXXL yellow polo that Leo had to tuck into his shorts or risk drowning in them. He went to tell Luka the shower was free only for the Croatian to hurriedly move past him and shut the bathroom door. Leo shot a look at Sergio who just shrugged and Leo returned the gesture.
Just then the most wonderful smell hit Leo’s nostrils. He instantly turned his head to follow out the back door of the house. There he was greeted by a wonderful early evening sight; Remy’s huge backyard that had space for a live band, food venders who pulled up in their own stands that smelled like pure enchantment, and swaths of people enjoying all of it. There was a banner up above the bandstand that read “Zydeco Jamboree,” not that it meant much to Leo.
He followed the smell to a food stand that was monitored by a very hefty woman who had bowls out waiting infront of a pot with a beautiful rich simmering scarlet broth encompassing what looked to be shrimp, sausage, and mixed bell peppers with onion and celery. The smell made his mouth drool and his stomach rumble. He snapped out of it when it heard the lady ask him a question in heavily accented English. He gave her an apologetic look and replied that he didn’t speak English. She tucked one of her many thick braids behind her ears and offered him a gracious smile before picking up a bowl, scooping a serving of the concoction into the styrofoam, and outstretching the bowl to Leo.
Leo knows God is real, because he moves in the people of Louisiana.
Leo sheepishly took the bowl and a spoon, and thanked her sincerely in Spanish. He turned back to the whole jamboree, the event reminding him of a more festive asada back home. The band struck up again and played music Leo feels like he’s heard in some American movies he’s seen before. People danced and swayed the beads on their neck around. It looked very fun, but Leo was a bit put out. He wandered over to an area of the backyard where there were less people and took his first bite of the mystical stew.
Leo practically melted into his plastic chair. The taste reminded him of locro, but only a bit spicier and with that seafood flavor, but it was enough to bring him back down to earth. He almost felt the urge to cry as he kept eating. He thinks the ups and downs of the day have essentially turned him into an emotionally wet hand towel pulled through the wringer again and again.
He sat like an anchor in an otherwise vibrant ever-moving sea of people around him.
He thought about Argentina, like he always did whenever he had a moment to himself. He thought about Kun again. How his sun-crafted skin glimmered in the afternoon at training, how he used to hold Leo’s hand when he’d take him to the infirmary after he’d get sick before a match, how he used to argue with people over trading food.
Ah yes, Leo could almost hear his voice now, bartering fiercely over a bowl of …jambalaya… he could actually hear him very clearly. Like wow, that was a miraculously very clear psychological projection of—wait.
No, Leo could actually hear Kun’s voice bartering a vender for jambalaya behind him. Leo whipped around and tried to zero in on Kun’s voice amidst the loud accordion coming from the stage. Eventually his eyes zeroed in on a mop of shaggy black hair, dark skin, and a sky blue AFA polo with some adidas shorts. Yup, that was Kun for you.
Leo shouted after him, Kun seemed to instantly drop whatever aggressive negotiation he was trying to get through to the vender on the other side of the stand and his face exploded into five different emotions at once upon seeing Leo.
The two young Argentines ran to each other and into an embrace. Leo jumped onto Kun, wrapping his legs around his waist and digging his face into Kun’s neck. Kun let him stay there for only a microsecond, pulling Leo back and examining his face as if to check if it was really Leo.
“I’m so sorry!” Kun let out earnestly before pulling Leo into another hug. Leo’s legs settled back into the ground, but he kept his face buried into Kun’s shoulder. He snuck a whiff of Kun’s hair and could faintly smell the comforting scent of his roommates bodywash. Hidden under a layer of sweat and humidity, but Leo didn’t care. “It’s okay! I’m okay!” Leo said into ear.
It felt like it took Kun a lifetime to separate himself from Leo again. “You are never getting out of my sight again.” Kun assured him. “What happened? How did you get all the way out here? Oh my God, how did you get out of Texas? What even is this place?” Kun’s mouth fired a mile a minute. Leo chuckled and played with the hairs on the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a long story…How did you get out of Miami?”
“Stole a car.” Kun said casually.
“Oh Kun, isn’t that…bad?”
“Depends. Hey why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
“I haven’t had signal for the last 24 hours Kun. You left me in Texas.” Leo said blankly.
“And I’m so sorry for that!” Kun whined again.
There was a big cheer from up on stage, Leo felt tempted to look but he was also trying to think of a way to explain nearly everything that’s happened to him.
“Well first, Luka and I—“
“Luka? Who’s Luka?” Kun immediately interrogated, folding his hands onto either side of his chest.
“Another player I met in the airport, you’d really like him, he’s—“
“Is he nice?”
“Yeah, well— er, he did beat that guy up in the abandoned airplane hangar rave but that was only because we were both very drunk,”
“Sorry, you were where and what?” Kun asked bewildered.
Another big cheer from the bandstand, Leo was starting to get overwhelmed.
“No no, it was fine because we met Sergio before and —oh! You’d love him too! He wrestled an alligator with his bare hands after we just crashed the car.”
“Leo what?!? Are you okay?” Sergio grabbed his shoulders and tried to look in his eyes, searching for signs of concussion or delirium.
“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” Leo pleadingly assured.
“No Leo, you’re young and injury prone—“ Kuna continued his search of Leo’s head.
“So are you.” Leo shot back.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t in a car crash with an alligator.”
Another loud cheer from the bandstand.
“Kun…” Leo whined as he put Kun’s hands down.
“Leo, I don’t know where you’ve been or with who, and I find you at this random location, I want to make sure you’re fine—“
“I’m fine!” Leo uncharacteristically snapped at Kun. Probably the first time he’s ever done that. They both looked back at the other in a stunned manner.
Leo turned and grabbed Kun’s hand, mumbling “Come on, let me just take you to them.” Leo took Sergio by the arm and guided him through the crowds of people back to the house of that nice Cajun man. The bandstand broke out into another round of cheers before Leo’s eyes finally found Luka and Sergio, who appeared to be fighting (typical). Luka had seemed to have changed into a large old Bud Light tshirt that was so big it looked like he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Sergio fit out the clothes a little bit better as he opted for a large maroon short sleeved button-up and a large pair of jeans with a bandage over his crash head wound.
Leo waved them over but they seemed too immersed in their argument. So, Leo marched on and tapped Luka on the shoulder. The older looked very stressed out right now, but then again, when didn’t he? Leo cleared his throat and unveiled Kun like he was some tech companies super awesome new product launch.
“This is my best friend, Sergio. He’s also a player for Argentina and he had come all this way to find me!”
Kun stepped forward, offering his hand to Luka with a veneer of standoffish nonchalance.
“Kun.”
Is all he said simply.
Luka glanced at the outstretched hand, then shot a pointed look at Sergio to translate. Once the Spaniard complied, Luka shook Kun’s hand before shoving a piece of paper into Leo’s.
“That’s great, Sergio just got us married.” Luka said with an unsettling level of dryness.
Leo looked puzzlingly at what happened to be a Louisiana State marriage license in his hands. The top of it read “By the Power Invested in the Little Parish of Louisiana, Serge Rames and Lucia Modrick are hereby crowned Zydeco Jamboree Royalty and married within the eyes of the law, on this day; June 9th, 2006.”
All Leo could really understand was the two Europeans’ misspelled names looping in black cursive, with two rings intertwined at the top of the page.
Kun let out a low whistle “Ah, ¡Chin-chin!”