Chapter Text
Joe comes back from his run to a text from Kun on his phone.
Dinner tonight my house 19.30 bring wine!!
He toes off his sneakers and squints at the screen all the way upstairs, trying to make sense of the text. They are friends. Friends eat together. They’ve ordered takeout to Joe’s place before when they were hungry.
Kun also blew off their weekly hangout last week saying he had a headache. Stood just a bit further from him at training, on the team bus.
There is no reason it should have anything to do with their sightseeing day in the city, when they walked for hours bumping shoulders and and joked and laughed and wrestled, while something neither of them dared to acknowledge crackled between them, pulled them together.
Yes. Joe types quickly before he steps into the shower, willing his pulse to go back to resting levels.
He puts on a dark green polo sweater that Milly says brings out his eyes (though Milly also once suggested he buy the most comprehensive Spanish-English dictionary he could find and they all know how that turned out), makes sure his socks have no holes and heads over to Kun’s with the best bottle of wine he has in his cellar.
He rolls down his window at Kun’s front gates. The night air, now almost into the territory of winter fills in the car, feels sharp against his skin. His hand hovers over the intercom button, hesitant. He takes a deep breath and wills his knee into staying still before he presses it.
It’s nothing. Kun is probably bored or wants to watch a movie or something. They are friends.
Right.
The front door opens before he’s even made it out of the car. Kun stands smiling at the door, dressed in ripped jeans and a cream colored sweater that sits a tad too big on him. He looks gorgeous even in the dim light and beckons Joe in with a wave of his hand.
“Kun,” Joe says walking up the front stairs two at a time, closing the distance between them. Kun calls his name in return and it rolls of his lips like honey. Joe’s throat has gone a bit dry by the time he’s made it to the entrance, as he stands close enough to Kun that he could pull him into an embrace, into a kiss if he leaned in, easy as drawing breath. Kun doesn’t back away, just tips his head up slightly to look Joe in the eye, his lips slightly parted and Joe isn’t sure--it is madness, quite possibly, and yet-- Kun is looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes of his and Joe’s hand goes up of its own volition to cup his cheek, his stubble a little rough against Joe’s palm. “I have wine,” Joe says, voice gone hoarse, to have said something.
“Oh yeah, great,” a voice replies--a voice that is definitely not Kun’s--from somewhere behind them. Joe’s hand flies down to his side on instinct, Kun quickly takes a step back. Joe looks to see the offending party, trying to regain his calm and it’s Tevez--Carlos bloody Tevez almost prying the wine bottle from his hands and disappearing inside with glee.
“Ah,” Kun mutters, a little apologetically, his eyes set somewhere far behind Joe’s shoulder. “Dinner? With friends? Leo, Zaba, Carlos and David.”
Joe nods. It makes sense all of a sudden, the text, the wine--everything. He straightens his back, clears his throat in an attempt to rearrange himself.
“Leo--Messi?” he asks as they go in, to test out his voice. Kun explains that he is visiting. His eyes brighten at the name as they always do, like the word holds the key to the secrets of the universe.
Messi is taller in real life than he imagined, standing only barely shorter than Kun. He is also not the quiet, reserved man Joe remembers from games and the press, here in Kun’s living room, laughing and chatting freely, at home among his friends. Kun is different around him too, more bubbly for sure, but he also seems happier, at peace down to the last cell in his body as he talks and eats. He glows in Messi’s presence like Messi is his sun. Something twists in Joe’s chest at the sight, something at once both ugly and sad, jealous of the wordless understanding that seems to flow between them, and jealous of their words, given and taken so freely, without care.
They try, for their part to keep Joe in the loop, especially Zaba and David. Kun has seated him strategically between the two of them and they translate to and for Joe snippets of the conversation in turns.
“We are talking about Zaba’s grandma now, she used to make the best empanadas.”
“Did you know Leo freaks the fuck out if you wake him up at night by tickling him with a feather because we sure as hell didn’t until Romero tried?”
“Do you know about the time Kun got drunk enough we convinced him to make out with a lamp?”
Joe listens and nods and offers his opinion when asked but the conversation moves too quickly, and Zaba is too involved in it, for Joe to have much chance to contribute. So he focuses on his food and the wine, steals a couple of glances at Kun--glances Kun does not return--and abides his time until it’s late enough to politely leave.
No one tries to stop him when he does, the group deep in an argument about the relative baking talents of the Spanish versus the Argentinian national teams. Kun takes a moment to wave at him from where he sits before jumping right back into the conversation with an objection. Joe can still hear his animated voice as he closes the door behind him.
“Fuck,” he says to the night, and takes a moment to rest his head against the door, pressing his forehead against the cold surface, bitter disappointment swirling in his chest.
His breath is visible in the air and it’s started to drizzle. He should have remembered to take his bloody jacket.
***
Kun doesn’t sleep well that night, despite the way Leo curls up next to him like a fluffy cat, radiating warmth and calm. Their almost kiss plays over and over again in his mind, incredibly stupid on his part when they had company, but Joe’s pull had been too strong, too perfect to resist. Like it had been in the park, when they were a hair’s breadth away from getting recognized and ending up in the papers.
He picks up his phone a couple of times to text but puts the words elude him. The closest he comes is hey, fuck Carlos am I right, and it doesn’t quite do the situation justice somehow. In the end he settles for waking up Leo to ask for advice.
Leo groans with the displeasure of being woken up in the middle of the night but he slowly sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes when Kun asks him if they can talk.
“I think I fucked up with Joe,” Kun says once Leo is sufficiently awake.
Leo makes a noncommittal sound and yawns. “We left him out of the conversation, didn’t we?”
“It’s not that.” Kun hesitates as he thinks about where to go from there, how to explain.
In the end he doesn’t need to. “You like him, don’t you?” Leo asks, reading him like a book as he always does. Kun nods. “But--”
But they hardly understand each other, perpetually one dead battery away from having to leaf through an archaic dictionary or sit in silence and smile. But they are teammates and there are so many ways it could go wrong, so little that needs to go wrong for the ground to slip from underneath their feet. But Kun isn’t sure Joe is interested, and that’s a lie anyway and he can’t hold onto it after tonight.
Leo listens without interrupting as Kun speaks, attentive if still sleepy. “Oh it would have been fun if Carlos caught you kissing,” he says when Kun gets to that part, “remind me again why we are friends with him.”
“Why are we friends with Carlos?” Kun echoes with frustration, “what do I do Leo? I didn’t even see him to the door and barely looked at him the entire night.”
Leo doesn’t even stop to ponder before he answers. “I think you are right that it would never work and you should just let it go while it’s early and be done with it,” He settles under the covers again and turns his back to Kun. “I’m sure Joe will get over it eventually.”
“Leo!” Kun has to poke him on the arm, so utterly ridiculous and unhelpful is his suggestion. “I was the host! He is my friend! I can’t just do nothing.”
Leo doesn’t turn around or sit up. “Fine then,” he says with disinterest. By God Leo can be infuriating sometimes. “Apologize for being a rude host. I’m sure whatever feelings he has for you, they will go away with time. You will be fine.”
Kun makes a noise that’s between an angry growl and a disappointed sigh. Thinking about Joe’s feelings slowly fizzling away over time...makes something ache in his chest. Makes him want to punch the wall or himself or possibly Leo for being so bloody unhelpful.
He has to stare at the ceiling for a long time, telling himself it’s the rational thing to do before he finally falls into an uneasy sleep.
*
There is no sign of Joe at training the next day no matter how much time Kun wastes changing, only Milner, arriving late with a huff and Joe’s name on his lips as he converses with the other Brits.
Kun is surprised when he finds out that Joe is out sick with a bad cold--he was perfectly fine last night. Something twists in his gut when Milner says he walked for a solid hour without a jacket last night apparently--in this weather, the idiot.
*
Joe doesn’t try to hide his surprise when he sees Kun at the door. He is hugging a blanket close to himself--the same one he draped over Kun when he fell asleep on his couch what feels like years ago--and it resembles a colorful cape the way it wraps all around him, its edges sweeping the floor. His forehead is shiny with tiny beads of sweat, his nose is an aggressive shade of red and his hair clumps together in every which direction, damp with sweat. Joe looks ghastly. Kun tries to swallow past the guilty knot in his throat and the all too fast beating of his heart and makes to go in.
Joe stops him with a strong hand on his arm. The blanket slips away from his shoulder at the motion and crumples to the ground in a pool around Joe’s feet. “Sergio,” Joe says looking Kun straight in the eye, his voice serious (and very hoarse) “no. I’m sick” as if it wasn’t quite possibly the most obvious thing in the world.
Kun moves his arm to free it of Joe’s grip. “I know. I come because you are sick.”
“No,” he says again past a sniffle, doesn’t let go. He frowns as he searches for the right words--a very familiar sight between them at this point. Kun hopes the right words aren’t along the lines of I don’t want to see you right now, you twat. “I’m sick,” Joe says eventually and mock-sneezes in Kun’s direction. “You will get sick too.”
Kun waves his free hand to convey he doesn’t mind. “I make soup?” he says instead with the best puppy eyes he can manage, “and tea? Please?” He has no idea why he came, given the decision he reached last night to let things go, just that Joe is sick because of him and that he needs to be here.
Out at the door and without the extra layer of protection, Joe shivers. He quite possibly lets Kun’s arms go to collect his blanket from the floor but Kun grabs the opportunity with both hands and dashes inside anyway.
He heads down the entrance to the living room, his feet take him to the refuge of Joe’s familiar couch in the presence of so much unknown. Joe follows after him and pauses at the door, frowning at Kun. His mouth is half open like he wants to say something but he gives up after a moment and settles in the armchair.
Joe doesn’t quite meet Kun’s eye as he reaches for the half-empty box of tissues on the coffee table. The other half of the box lies in a small trash can that sits next to the sofa in crumpled balls that seem haphazardly thrown there, a couple are littering the floor. Kun doesn’t know what to do with his hands, with himself. Doesn’t know what to say.
Across him, Joe sneezes rather violently, his whole body shaking with the motion.
“Sorry,” Kun says, his chest tight with guilt and worry. “Sorry for last night.”
Joe’s eyes land on Kun for the first time since they sat down and pierce right through him, hurt and sadness and something much more bitter swirling within them.
“Yeah, me too.” Joe says before he blows his nose and gets up. “I will sleep now, okay?” the words spoken too quickly, too sharply. Kun can only look after him as he disappears upstairs with another sneeze, dragging his blanket behind him.
*
There is a cry from upstairs. It’s loud and pained and instantly tears Kun away from the tennis match playing on the TV. He rushes upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, only one thought on his mind.
Joe.
He doesn’t knock at the door, just barges right in and Joe is--
Joe is asleep. He is buried under three layers of covers, but his face is drawn, brows knit tightly together and his forehead is shiny with sweat. “No,” he murmurs, “no no please no” with a whimper like his whole world is being torn apart at the seams.
Kun bends down to tug at his arm, calls his name. “Joe. Joe wake up.”
Joe doesn’t hear him at first, just shakes his head, the horror the dream is inflicting clear as day on his face. Kun tries again, louder this time, his grip on Joe’s arm a bit tighter. There is very little distance between them, very little space separating his face from--
Joe’s eyes fly open. He recognizes Kun and they grow wide with panic. “Fuck” he scrambles to sit upright in a frenzy, out of breath, and all the while pleading with Kun. “Fuck, I’m sorry Kun I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-- it’s just--”
Kun draws back just a little to give Joe space. “Joe,” he says, “Joe, dream. It’s okay,” over and over again. He puts a hand on Joe’s arm, gentle and tentative, doesn’t let go until Joe wakes up fully, recognizes his bedroom.
“Ugh.” Joe runs a hand over his face--it comes back wet with sweat and tears--and embarrassed, smiles as he pulls himself back together. “Sorry. Dream.”
Like Kun needs an explanation. Like he wasn’t there all along watching him tremble in his sleep with horror.
Like Kun isn’t half the reason he has this cold in the first place.
Kun sits on the edge of the bed. His hand has never left Joe’s arm. “What dream?”
Joe tells him to wait. He fishes his phone from the bed stand, clearly doesn’t trust himself to put it in simple enough words. Color is high on his face and Kun isn’t sure how much of it is due to his cold. He doesn’t quite meet Kun’s eye as he passes the phone.
Tevez caught me staring at your ass.
Kun laughs out of sheer surprise. “Carlos,” he says with a disapproving shake of his head, trying to buy himself time, trying to process, “he’s an asshole.”
Joe nods and Kun hates the sheer effort it takes for him to grin, hates the very real fear etched into the creases around his puffy eyes, his nightmare is too familiar, too close to home.
Kun wants to hear him laugh again, wants him to know without the shadow of a doubt that he is safe, that everything is okay.
He looks at Joe from underneath his eyelashes. Makes sure his voice is halfway between mischievous and outrageously flirty.
“My ass is beautiful, no?”
Joe chuckles, out of sheer embarrassment, but his voice is firm when he answers, looking Kun dead in the eye.
“Yes.”
The word rolls of his lips like a confession, like a breath they had both been holding in for a while.
Kun hesitates for the briefest moment though it feels much longer, his heart beating fast.
He lets his hand find its way to Joe’s jawline. Joe’s eyes track it, the smallest bit of surprise tucked away in his smile. Kun leans in, doesn’t say a word..
It’s surprisingly easy to close the distance between them. Joe’s lips are reverent on his own and they keep finding each other for kiss after kiss, drawing away only to come back again, slow, like they have all the time in the world. Kun places a hand on the back of Joe’s head and pulls him in deeper, as reverent turns into hungry, careful into desperate. Kun moans and he can feel the effect it has on Joe, feels the shiver that runs through Joe’s back in his own skin. He climbs onto the bed, burning for more contact, more of Joe, just more and sits on Joe’s lap, straddling him.
Joe makes a sound, though not one particularly sexual in nature and before Kun realizes he is being pushed away with considerable force.
What on earth? he wonders for a moment but not for long as Joe turns as far away as possible and sneezes violently.
Right. Kun had forgotten about that small detail.
He blows his nose and laughs, Kun still sitting on his lap. It’s a sound full of delight and joy and Kun finds himself laughing in return too.
“You will so get sick,” Joe says but he is smiling and his hand is tracing a line on Kun’s chest. Kun finds that he can’t bring himself to care.
*
Kun wakes up to a stuffy nose and a pounding headache the next day. They practice baskets with used tissues and the trash can and make ginger tea. The gaffer is a little mad. He texts Leo to say he’s done the exact opposite of his advice, hoping Leo isn’t too disappointed.
Leo texts back almost immediately.
When have you ever done as I told you?
:)
