Chapter Text
They are lounging on Ander’s sofa as he gets dressed and David is a combination of extremely lazy and extremely bored as he follows the soap playing on the TV with one eye. Next to him Juan doesn’t seem to be faring any better. They will have to get up and leave eventually; there is an argument to be made that they should have left already and let Ander get ready in peace but that would involve a Herculean effort and energy that neither of them seem to possess.
“You think Ander would let us stay here if we asked nicely?” David asks, poking at Juan. Juan considers, clearly aware of the strategy’s many potential benefits, such as not having to move their asses. “Yeah but what if he wants to bring his date home eh? What will he say? Here, never mind my friends and their Emmerdale marathon?”
Juan has a point. That doesn’t mean David is any happier about it. “Who is this date anyway?” he asks, half-whining half-yawning.
Usually, Ander is bit of an oversharer on this front. Every potential love interest they usually know every little horrible detail before he even goes on the date. This time around though, Ander’s been super cagey; he’s just been smiling like an idiot a lot (David once caught him looking at a rain-heavy sky and grinning at it for fuck’s sake) and kicking them out of his house at night without explanation. Today too, he’s apparently ‘going out for drinks with a friend,’ and ‘a friend you wouldn’t know.’
“Dunno,” Juan answers, catching his yawn. “What if his date is an evil gay mastermind like Robert?”
David snorts. “Next thing you know they will be throwing your lifeless body off a cliff or the manager’s more like.” On the coffee table his phone buzzes. David locates it with his hand, eyes still on the TV.
The cursed thing buzzes again. David hates double texters. He slides the lock off with a huff.
should be criminal to miss a United player this much.
and then--
don’t be late.
David sits upright. Puts the phone face down on his lap. “What?” Juan asks from next to him.
“Ander doesn’t have a lock on his phone. I think this is it. I think his date is texting him.”
Juan’s eyes widen. He sits up too with a sudden burst of energy, sidles close to David. “WHAT. SHOW ME DAVID.”
David shushes him, the offensive object is suddenly heavy and warm against his legs and the last thing they want is Ander to come barging downstairs thinking they are getting murdered. “I don’t know,” he says raising his eyebrows, “it’s an invasion of privacy kinda, isn’t it?” But inside he is dying too, the coveted knowledge so close to their fingertips.
“You opened it accidentally,” Juan counters. “Let’s read the rest of the texts accidentally too and then we will put it where we found from and apologize to Ander. Fair?”
David is weak. Too, too weak. Besides everyone says he’s like a cat, mostly due to his crazy saves, and you know what they say about curiosity and the cats.
They huddle together and unlock the phone once more. “Criminal to miss a United player this much?” Juan reads, “you think they are--what? A Liverpool fan? City? Is this why he hasn’t said a word?”
That certainly sounds plausible, and the fact that the contact is simply saved as blue renders credibility to the latter team. David scrolls back up.
Blue: dinner on wednesday? Im cooking ;)
yes but i have high standards just so you know
Blue: and yet you still play for united…
just hope your cooking is better than your team’s ability to win trophies mate. Dont wanna get food poisoning :)))
Blue: I am mortally offended >:(
And yet you are still dating me. <3
David stops. “Fuck,” he mutters, “he is totally dating a City fan.”
“Our Ander,” Juan echoes. “They are like one step short from texting ily with heart eyes. I cannot believe. No wonder man, no wonder he didn’t tell us.”
See the thing about Ander is, out of the three of them he is the most passionate. David’s been living with one foot (or at least eye) in Madrid for the last few years anyway, and Juan is happy here sure but he loves football and getting minutes above and beyond anything else. Ander though. Ander shakes the entire bench when United scores, even when he knows he won’t get a minute on the pitch and David even once heard him sing glory glory in his sleep. Ander is a secret Manc in heart at this point, more or less. David would think he’d have more stringent standards when it came to the fans of their direct rivals.
“Do you think--” David starts but the phone buzzes in his hand again before he can finish.
Blue: a preview of tonight. ;) ;)
“Fuck” Juan says “oh fuck they are going to send a--’ the phone buzzes again, “--a picture!”
Before they can do anything, before they can put the phone down and carry about their lives in ignorant bliss the picture loads and--
David raises a hand to his mouth. The image has already burned to the back of his head, permanently seared there in his retina. He isn’t particularly religious, has never been, but he doesn’t know what a message from a higher power is if not this. A message that says there is justice in the
On the tiny phone screen Sergio Aguero is grinning up at them, wearing nothing but a cooking apron, one that reads the best City! In the world. There is a pot on the stove in the background, containing some kind of delicious stew. He is holding out a strawberry in his hand by the stem. Whipped cream garnishes the fruit at its tip. The bottle of whipped cream sits on the counter and Aguero is staring directly at the camera, a human version of the winky eyes emoji.
Juan turns off the TV. Their lives has turned into a real time soap opera suddenly and next to it Emmerdale feels flat. From upstairs they can already hear Ander whistling.