Work Text:
Iker couldn't sleep.
Sara was tired. Iker was exhausted, but he was fully awake.
Martin, too, was having a tough night. The boy couldn't sleep, his crying nonstop.
"Let me handle him" Iker told Sara.
He got out of bed and went to Martin's bedroom, where he took him in his arms and started to sing him a lullaby, calming him down.
Slowly, Martin's cries were reduced to a calmer breathing with occasional sniffs. He was still awake, but quieter.
Those days were the hardest for Iker. They were hard for Sergio. And for some madridistas, too.
Iker started to whisper to Martin, so only him could hear the many stories he had to tell. Stories Iker could not wait for Martin to understand, instead of just hearing them.
He told them anyway.
He told him about the defeats. About the fear. About the failures and challenges.
He also told him about the light at the end of the tunnel; and the victories, and the smiles and the applause. The won battles and companionship.
The tightening in his chest was suffocating, causing his legs to shake. "I wish I didn't leave", he told himself, his voice barely a whisper.
His eyes began to overflow, but didn't leak. Iker rarely let tears run down his face.
He's always been strong.
He's always wanted to be and look strong.
Little Martin glanced at him a few more times before his eyes finally closed. He fell asleep.
Iker found himself envying him for sleeping so easily.
He put his son in the cradle, quietly and carefully.
He went back to his bedroom and appreciated the silence.
Silence was the only comfort he could have for now.