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David had always been a morning person. He was the kind of kid that drove his parents out of bed before 5 AM and later on the kind of man that drove his teammates crazy by being perfectly put together, while everyone else was still blinking blearily into their coffee.
It made sense then that his favorite time of day for training would also be early mornings. Mr. Perreira, the night guard, got used to opening the training field early for him in exchange for a cup of coffee. David was always the first on the field, would have already worked up a sweat by the time his other teammates started coming in. He got teased for it at first, for being so overeager, but as the respect they had for his work ethic grew, the taunts quieted down and then stopped altogether.
He got used to doing drills with the first morning rays warming the sweat on his back and the sound of his feet echoing dully off the empty concrete. It was quiet and calm and empty, just him and the ball at his feet, no expectations and no pretension.
So it was startling to come in one morning to find Mr. Perreira content with a cup of coffee, the gate open and James Rodriguez playing with one of the training balls. David knew him, had been formally introduced two days ago when James had been brought in for pre-season trials, but he’d expected him to come in for training at the scheduled time like everyone else, not two hours earlier.
James turned around, probably sensing his gaze and offered him a bright smile and a more hesitant greeting. David grinned in return, abruptly realizing that he had no quip or clever conversation starter to clear the air between them. He was unaccustomed to pulling up his usual jokester mask on in the mornings and it left him floundering. Though, perhaps it didn’t matter, because James was still adapting to Portuguese and wouldn’t have understood anyway.
It turned out to not be an issue, because James smiled again, before returning to his own drills and leaving David to the other side of the field. At first it was difficult to fall into his usual headspace, and he kept tracking James’s progress from the corner of his eye, but after a while, the familiar path of the ball eased his nerves and he forgot everything else existed.
Eventually, a stray ball from James’s side of the field fell at his feet and just like that, they ended up in a mock game against each other. By the time the first of their teammates started arriving, they were already doubled over by the benches, grinning and sharing a water bottle.
This goes on for a week and David gets used to the heady feeling of their closeness in the quiet, the stories they share through the tapping of their feet on the grass and the swish of the ball as it hits the back of the net.
All David needs to focus on is the feel of the ball and James’s position, and his mind stills, empty of doubts and fears, save for stray thoughts like ‘it’s really cold in the morning this time of year’ and ‘I want to stay here with you forever’.
*
“I’m not staying here.” is what James tells him at the end of the week, or at least he tries. David’s Spanish is limited at best, but the sadness in James’s liquid brown eyes tells him the rest.
The words slice into their quiet like a knife and David is left reeling. They have Angel, but to let go of a playmaker like James, all that potential…
It’s a selfish thing, but David has already started thinking of James as ‘his’. ‘His’ teammate. ‘His’ friend. ‘His’.
And now he feels like that has all been taken away from him and he’s like a child on the verge of a tantrum.
“Where?” he asks.
“Porto.” says James and grins like it’s a secret.
“Rivais.” murmurs David, before pressing his palm to the middle of James’s chest to back him up against the wall of the training building and slotting their lips together.
“Rivales.” whispers James against his lips, before slipping a hand under his shirt.
They’re disheveled and panting by the time the coaching staff arrives, but this time for an entirely different reason than usual.
James’s lips are raw and puffy, and David is distracted all through training, can’t stop looking at him and following way too closely in training matches, stepping in to feel James shiver when he breathes against his neck.
They’re the first ones out of the dressing room, pilling into David’s car with barely a word. David usually stops at the gate, signing a few autographs, but this time he just waves and grins apologetically at the fans, hoping that they can’t see the way James’s hand is resting on his knee and creeping upwards.
James is staying the weekend in Lisbon, presumably to pack and take care of the details of his trip to Porto.
Instead, they spend the weekend in bed, entwined and hopelessly hungry for each other.
David wakes up in the mornings pressed up against a sleepy warm James and his mind is still and quiet, just like on the pitch. It also means that he can’t help rolling over to smother James with kisses and touches, because by now he’s realized that their quiet is sacred and it doesn’t last.
David drives James to the airport on Monday morning and everything around them is quieted by the early hour, except for the enthusiastic birds and the sweet-smelling bakeries. James is fidgeting in the seat next to him, his leg twitching like it misses the feel of a ball against it. David watches him at red lights and thinks ‘it’s really cold in the morning this time of year’ and ‘don’t go’.
*
The next time they see each other is in a stadium corridor. James looks good in blue.
He brushes past David, whispers the word ‘rivales’ like a greeting. The touch is like a brand across his skin and he feels the burn up until he sets foot on the pitch, because then he’s preoccupied with keeping James from the goal.
And so it goes: they keep hissing at each other across the field, ‘rivales’ and ‘rivais’ or something in between, they fight, they tackle, they run, they score and one of them always leaves the victor.
They spend the nights after games in each other’s beds in the foreign cities they’ve claimed as their own, whispering breathless endearments and desperate pleas, playing a game neither of them ever loses.
All in all, it isn’t a bad life, strewn with stolen meetings and hidden phone calls. At least they have each other and the calm of their early mornings. But as they grow older, things change, as things often do. Half-healed injuries make it harder to get up in the morning and the distance between a few cities gets suddenly larger.
Then, David goes to London and James gets Daniela, and nobody asks anyone to stay.
*
David receives three texts from James during his time in London.
The first one came right after his first game with Chelsea:
After a year, it’s almost easy to read the thing James isn’t saying: “It’s early and I miss you.” David is struck by the brief dumb and crazy thought of calling him and saying “I love you.” Because it’s been over a year of stolen moments and early mornings, and if he couldn’t have said it then, it was much late to say it now. He lefts the conversation fizzle out after a few friendly taunts and rolls over to catch a few more hours of sleep until he absolutely needs to be at training.
He keeps waking up expecting to find his arm around someone, but it’s just a pillow and he’s running late for practice.
The second is almost a year later, sometime in the evening when David is just settling in to sleep:
David doesn’t say why he knows they baby is going to be a girl, because what he and James had is long over and there is no use reopening wounds anymore. It’s just the simple fact that on one morning he’d woken up before James and had watched him sleep with a strange mixture of joy and adoration, and in that moment he’d seen their future mapped in front of them in a surreal ideal world. He’d seen them growing old together, rivals on the field, partners off it, free and comfortable, then eventually retiring, first David, then James, making a home for each other in a city they could share, and then…James with a baby, their little girl, with David’s curls and James’s pouty lips. David blinked and the dream disappeared with a suddeness that brought a hint of tears to his eyes.
He got up, ran the coffee machine and never told James about the dream, because some dreams are possible like lifting the golden cup one day, but some dreams can never be and should be forgotten lest you get stuck in them.
The third one came very early one morning in May, when the London sky was still dark.
James is practically glowing with pride and happiness, but all David can focus on is tiny Salome in his arms. She is beautiful and she’s James’s and all David can do is slip to his knees and pray. For her health, for her happiness and for James’s.
*
The whistle blows and he falls to his knees to thank the Lord for his mercy today, for granting him that one beautiful goal to win their game against Columbia. He feels his teammates pat his shoulder and his hair, and he opens his eyes to see the sea of yellow celebrating.
He catches sight of James and feels all the joys of celebration go out of him in a rush, because James’s beautiful brown eyes are red rimmed and he’s crying.
David goes to him, catches sight of Dani on his right about to do the same, but then he reaches James and doesn’t see anyone else. He wraps his arms around him, feels him shaking and only grips him harder, as if holding him hard enough will make all the pieces stay together.
David knows what playing for Colombia means to James, probably more than anyone else, had spent countless hours whispering across pillows about dreams and flags, and the golden cup raised high above them. He knows and it hurts to take that dream away from James, to feel directly responsible for its fate. It hurts, because it hurts James and David still loves him enough to feel it, but he doesn’t regret it, can’t, when he knows it means he can play in yellow and green for a while longer.
He and James exchange their jerseys as a sign of respect, even though David knows there’s still a multitude of James’s socks and shirts and underwear strewn all around his apartment. He lets the tears fall on his skin, imagines that he feels them burn where they land, whispers meaningless words against James’s hair until he manages to wrestle back some of his control. David stays by his side until all the interviews are over and they walk hand in hand through the rapidly emptying corridors.
They hug one more time before going separate ways, clutching tightly at each other. James hides his face in the crook of David’s shoulder like he always would before David inevitably started teasing him for being smaller, and David rests his head on James’s, lets his racing heart calm and feels his mind go still. James presses a kiss to his neck before pulling away.
“Thank you.” James says, wiping at his eyes.
“Don’t. I’m not worth it. You’re a great player, remember that.”
James nods and turns away, disappearing into his own dressing room. David watches him leave, before entering his own, where the air is almost stiflingly hot and the celebrations are on in earnest.
*
David ducks out of the celebrations fairly early, citing tiredness and a half-made-up sting in his knee that makes Thiago frown worriedly, but leaves him free to return to the private room the hotel insisted on giving all of them.
He showers again and settles in to wait, turning on the TV. There honestly aren’t that many programs not showing the game highlights, but he finally settles on some dully interesting soap opera that Neymar’s girlfriend may or may not have starred in.
He doesn’t have to wait long until there’s a knock at the door and he moves quickly to open it for James to slip through. David closes the door with a click, keeping an eye on James, who is already beginning to pace the small width of the room. His eyes still carry the hint of redness and his lips are red and chapped, from where he’d probably been chewing on them. He looks a lot older than 23. It makes David want to wrap him up in his arms and never let go, but he knows that doing so now will only agitate him more, so he crosses the room to sit on the bed and wait.
It doesn’t take long for James to speak.
“I shouldn’t be here.” he says, wringing his wrists “I should be with my team, consoling them and working out the details of our return. Some captain I am.”
“They’re probably all asleep right now.” David says, quietly. “And you know they think you did an amazing job as captain, that your play brought them so far and I know they feel only gratefulness.”
“How would you know?” James snaps before resuming pacing. David holds his tongue and waits.
Soon, everything comes pouring out of James, horrible guilt and fear and words of self-hatred that bring tears to his eyes as well as David’s, until they’re both seeing each other in a blur. David counters them all with gentle reassurances and words of comfort, until James has exhausted all of the poison that’s been gathering in him, and he slumps onto the bed next to David, choking on tears. David brings him in close, so his face is resting in the crook of his shoulder and he rocks them back and forth like his mother would when he was a child.
An unidentifiable time later, James’s sobs stop and they drop sideways to lay close together, entangled.
David’s mind is quiet and still, all of his own fears and insecurities swallowed up by the comforting feel of James next to him, familiar and missed. He presses a kiss to James’s temple; then to his forehead; his eyelids, where the wetness is still clinging to his eyelashes; then the apple of his cheek and even the tip of his nose; just so he can watch James scrunch it up and laugh a little.
He moves his lips to press the softest of kisses against the corner of James’s lips, but doesn’t move any further, waiting. Eventually, James closes the distance between them, lips barely brushing against each other. There’s no intent in it and David is somehow relived, because there is a thin line between comfort and intimacy between them and he’s never forgotten the way James had glowed in that picture with Salome.
They stay like that, wrapped up in a familiar pattern of bodies and limbs. James’s breathing evens out, exhausted by the events of the day, but David stays awake, watching him and enjoying the calm. Somewhere in the hotel the party is still in full swing and David hears the dull thump of the baseline that probably means his teammates will want to sleep and will hopefully leave him be for a while. His window is facing the east and he watches the first hues of pink and orange spill across the skyline, until he finally closes his eyes and burrows more closely against James, who lets out a contented sigh and goes right back to sleep.
David whispers something into James’s hair, before drifting off to catch a few more hours before they have to face the world.
“If you’d asked, I would have stayed with you forever.”