Chapter Text
Focus.
Get your head in the game.
It’s cliche, he knows, but Lovino’s having trouble keeping it all together. Curse his personal life for following him on to the pitch and running amuck.
The stadium is packed tens of thousands of fans there to see their home team battle it out against the boys in red. The roar of the crowd is bordering on deafening around Stamford Bridge, the Blues and the Red Devils tied at 1-1.
The sweat rolls down Lovino’s forehead and he uses his forearm to wipe it before it reaches his eyes. He tries to focus on the game being played out in front of him. He tries to keep his mind clear but his thoughts weigh on him.
Manchester’s on the attack now, two of their players barreling down the field, their midfielder weaving through Chelsea’s defense with some difficulty. Lovino’s eyes zero in as he gets into position, readying himself for the inevitable challenge. The ball is passed to the forward by his teammate and now it’s just him and Lovino.
He shoots.
Lovino’s feels like his moving through water.
The ball hurtles toward him.
He jumps to his left and -
The ball hits the back of the net.
In the lockers, Gilbert Beilschmidt tears them a new one. It should have been an obvious win. The first goal Lovino let in should have been dismissed as a fluke and he agrees. The second one was sloppy of him but he won’t voice that out loud in front of his teammates. It’s not like he was the only one at fault though; defense was lackluster at best and downright shit at worst.
Nobody speaks after Beilschmidt leaves, everyone content to stew in their own thoughts. Lovino’s thoughts aren’t on the match anymore, his defeat already put behind him. His only concern now is whether or not Joao is still in his flat when he gets home.
Most of the Portuguese’s things had been boxed up, his clothes and essentials missing from the space they’d always occupied. It’s for the best, he tells himself. The best feels pretty shitty, is the non-reply. Lovino is sitting in his flat in the western part of London, a bottle of whiskey occupying the cushion next to him. Half it’s content is already in Lovino’s stomach, the other half sure as hell to join soon enough. He groans in despair when the night’s highlights come on. He doesn’t even know why he’d put it on the channel.
“And a dramatic upset, Chelsea came up short in their match against Manchester United. The Blues’ keeper, Lovino Vargas seeming to have a bad run of form, letting in 12 goals in the season so far. In contrast, he was able to keep a remarkable clean sheet for most of last season. Many fans have urged manager Gilbert Beilschmidt to either bench or boot Vargas –”
Lovino shuts the television off, having heard enough. He’s not surprised by the comments. In fact, he agrees with them wholeheartedly. He’s the reason Chelsea’s been losing and it wasn’t just tonight. His relationship drama started early in the season and just escalated from there. Tonight, He’d let his breakup affect his game and he’s letting the club he loves pay dearly for it.
On that bitter note, he takes another sip from the bottle. Then another and another after that. The eleventh sip is the last thing he remembers before everything around him is engulfed in black.
The next day he wakes up with a bad neck and his mouth tastes like something had crawled and died inside it. Some of his teammates and even his brother tried calling him but he’s too hungover and too depressed to want to speak to any of them. He ends up spending most of his day off drunk and in bed, hell-bent on avoiding any social media or any contact of any kind.
The day after, however, Lovino checks his inbox. His brother sent him a link to an article a few hours old. When it loads, Lovino’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. He reads it and re-reads it to make sure he wasn’t imagining anything. It’s worse the third time.
Chelsea have entered into negotiations with Atletico Madrid over goalkeeper Antonio Carriedo, is the heading.
Lovino reads the text from Feliciano below.
At least they haven’t decided to send you packing, bro.
Classic Feliciano, he thinks rolling his eyes. His brother could never say the appropriate thing when the situation was utter shit.
Lovino jumps to every news outlet for reports on the sale, but nothing tells him what he wants to know – is he being replaced or not. He tried to avoid Twitter and Instagram for the most part but soon gave in to his curiosity. When news broke of Chelsea’s negotiations with Atletico, the comments were... brutal. The kindest were about Lovino being the worst keeper in the league and begging the managers to sack him. Others cut the flowery language and plain up told him to fuck off. Lovino seriously considered deleting his social media after that but, no, he didn’t want to give those trolls any satisfaction.
When he walked into training the next day, most of the staff and even some of his teammates steered clear of the Italian. They knew he was explosive on a good day, but today he felt (and most probably looked) downright murderous.