Matteo sighed as he looked out the airplane’s window.
Roberto’s call that morning had been unexpected.
They had talked some days before his sudden departure about the possibility of playing in the national team again.
He had been honest from the start: he hadn’t felt like joining the team. Not this time, for a different number of reasons, even if he missed it, his friends and even the place itself, filled with beautiful memories.
He had just recovered from his injury. The doctors had left him the responsibility of taking the choice: resting for another week - to completely get back on his feet for the next game with his club - or joining the national team, risking take backs and stalls.
He had missed playing - it feels like breathing to him - and he couldn’t risk staying at home with his thoughts and fears once again. For weeks. Maybe months.
He trusted his teammates and he was sure they would have given everything for the World Cup Qualifications, no matter the result. He would have supported them in any case.
It wasn’t like he was an irreplaceable piece of the chessboard. There are a lot of young italian players as good as him - and even better. He didn’t feel like taking away someone else’s chance to play for the national team just because he felt nostalgic. They all deserved to play and he would have felt disgusting at taking someone’s place just to sit in the bleachers all the time.
Moreover, he hadn’t felt ready to meet him yet. Not after their falling out or, better, the silence Manuel had regarded him with since the end of the European Championship.
It still hurt, just like the picture of a beautiful hand decorated with an expensive ring hurt as it burnt behind his eyelids every time he thought of Manuel.
He wasn’t in the best psychological position to join the team.
He had understood from the start that it was better if he turned Roberto down, this time. The team would have been fine without him, anyway.
And yet, faith changed his course of plan.
Too many injured players had pushed Roberto to call him again. He was needed, now. One of the few options left.
He couldn’t turn them down, not again and not in a time of need.
He had been woken up by Roberto’s phone call that morning, with a headache and such a strong nausea he hadn’t felt in years.
That’s how he found himself on that plane, headed to Italy after a night spent partying in London.
The headache seemed unwilling to fade away and the nausea was only made worse by the anxiety he felt in his chest.
He should be happy to get back to his friends - his family - but he felt a heavy weight on his chest. And he wished he could not put a name on it.
His psychological and physical defenses were lowered. He felt weak and vulnerable like he hadn’t felt in years and yet, in some hours, he would have met Manuel.
He was scared. After everything he had put him through - the sadness, the pain and the heartbreak - he couldn’t risk to let him in again.
He had fucking abandoned him, for God’s sake! He couldn’t get back in the arms of someone who is too scared to admit to himself who he really is.
He had fucking disappeared like a ghost! After they had spent months in each other’s arms and sheets and legs. After they had declared their love to each other every night, fighting for something they had wished for since childhood.
Manuel had hurt him in every way he could: betraying him, abandoning him, lying to him and tainting his most precious memory, his most grand performance. The realization of a fucking dream.
He sighed.
He shouldn’t see him and most of all he shouldn’t let himself fall prey again to that man’s desire and sins.
He really shouldn’t.
____
His first mistake had been allowing Manuel to take his luggage out of the car.
“Let me help you,” he had said, “Let’s go to our room.”
Matteo had clenched his jaw. Their room?
He looked at Nicolò, hugging him instead, trying to keep the tears from forming in his eyes.
He had followed Manuel, trying to slow him down, saying hello to everyone he met and exchanging a few words with the new entries.
“I put you with Manuel,” Salvatore had whispered to him, “So, you can be together.”
Matteo had smiled at him. Thanked him, even. They hadn’t kept their relationship a secret back then. What was even the point? They were a family, nobody would have rattled them out.
He hadn’t thought of other possible consequences.
He couldn’t blame Salvatore, though. It wasn’t as if he knew what had become of them either. The team didn’t know that they hadn’t talked since their last night of celebration. They didn’t know his heart had been in shambles since their fucking magical summer.
Looking back, Matteo couldn’t even say if what he had had with Manuel had been a relationship. Maybe he had understood it all wrong. Maybe that is how things unravel in those rooms since the beginning of their history.
It hurt thinking that he had been just celebratory fucks for Manuel. It hurt understanding that he could be the only one to blame, the fool who had believed in an impossible love which had been doomed from the start.
Maybe he hadn’t been the only one. Maybe it had all happened before, with different people and different heroes.
The second point Matteo had conceded to Manuel happened at dinner.
He had tried to sit next to someone else - Nicolò on the left, Chicco on the right - but, unluckily, the latter had noticed him and said, “Wait! I’ll move around so you can sit next to Manuel!”
Matteo had smiled again, turning back to his pasta.
“He can’t stop talking about you,” Federico continued, “He watches your games, you know? He had been so happy when you scored your first Champions League goal!”
Matteo had frowned at that, looking back at him.
“He made us all watch it. Congratulations, by the way!”
“Thank you,” he remembers replying, with a shaky voice.
When Manuel had sat down next to him, Matteo had found himself looking at him - third point conceded. His beauty had been as breathtaking as ever. And why should it have changed in a couple of months? The pictures and his memories didn’t made it justice.
He had lost all his appetite.
____
Matteo conceded his last winning point once he had crossed their room’s threshold.
“We’re finally alone,” Manuel said, hugging him from behind, pushing his chest against his back.
Matteo stayed still as Manuel’s breath tickled his skin as he kissed his neck.
His breathing trembling, Matteo interrupted him, “We haven’t talked in months.”
“I know,” he licked his earlobe, “I’m sorry. I’ve missed you.”
Me or my body?, Matteo thought.
“You could have texted me, once in awhile.”
“I didn’t want to raise questions,” Manuel released him to turn him around, “You understand that, right?”
He didn’t, he really didn’t.
But having Manuel at kissing distance from him was too blinding.
Did he really care about what happened? He had him now, in front of him, caressing him and kissing him. Did everything else matter?
“Yes, Manuel.”
“Good,” he kissed him, making Matteo moan with just a touch, “I love you, Matteo.”
His kiss burnt like fire, making confusing feelings rumble in his chest. Pain, desire, hurt and love were all mixed up in his mind, overwhelming him.
He didn’t believe those words, not anymore. But who doesn’t warm up at hearing ‘i love you’ whispered to them? Why couldn’t he be a fool, once in a while, believing in a lie so he could be happy, even for a couple of weeks?
He needed Manuel.
He wanted Manuel.
“I love you too, Manuel.”
Matteo left himself crumble under the other man’s touch and kisses once again, in the same room and in the same bed. He felt foolish now: fucking him was tinted with a note of bitterness.
But he would lie if he said that he wouldn’t spend every night of the rest of his life doing it again.