Work Text:
On January 10, 2027, Robert Lewandowski announces his retirement from club and international football.
He announces it over an Instagram post, because of course he does.
Pablo’s English is terrible and his Polish is even worse, so he doesn't bother reading the paragraphs. He only stares at the photos, a meager collection of photos from Robert's childhood to his last match.
His eyes are wet and cloudy as he looks at his screen. He hates the photos, hates whoever thought that the entirety of Robert Lewandowski’s illustrious career could be summed up in only ten pictures.
Pablo feels like throwing up.
He should have seen this coming. Busi left, Jordi left, Leo came home but even he left, and now Robert is leaving.
He’s leaving. Not fucking off to Saudi Arabia to cash in a disgustingly fat check. Not coaching a small club somewhere in Europe. No, he’s retiring. Coming back to Poland where Pablo will never see him again.
Pablo knows how this goes. He’s seen it happen before. There will be vague promises of staying in touch, of watching future matches and meeting up for lunch, but he knows that things will never be the same.
He has no right to feel as upset as he does. This happens. It’s part of football. Part of life. People get old, people change, people move on.
Bile rises up Pablo’s throat, bitter and acidic.
Pablo might actually throw up. He might be twenty-two, but he has never stopped feeling like a small child. Emotional and irrational and helpless.
Tears sting Pablo’s eyes. The ugliest most selfish part of him wants to lash out at Robert like he does with players who try to foul him. He wants to grab Robert by the shirt and scream until his throat is raw, get on his knees, and beg him to stay.
How cruel the universe is, bringing Robert to him only to rip him away like this.
Robert would always tell him, between kisses and tousled sheets, that what they were doing was wrong. That this was dangerous. That somebody was bound to find out. That between the two of them, Pablo had more to lose because he has his whole career ahead of him.
Not for the first time, Pablo wishes he was older, even just a little bit. Maybe if he was born sooner, he would’ve had more time with Robert. Maybe if he was older, he wouldn’t feel so hopeless.
He puts his phone down, blinking the tears out of his eyes before they can fall.
He still feels like throwing up.
Pablo doesn’t say a word as he watches Robert say goodbye to the Culers, blue eyes looking out into the sea of red, blue, and yellow.
“Thank you for everything,” Robert says into the microphone. He’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he speaks to the crowd. “Thank you for showing me the meaning of més que un club.”
Pablo wills himself not to cry. Bursting into tears was cute when he was a kid, but he’s an adult now.
Pablo has always been selfish and now is no different. Robert is going somewhere he can’t follow and he has Anna and two perfect daughters and all Pablo can think about himself and don’t go don’t go and I love you.
There is a tickle in Pablo’s throat, a sob lodged at the back of his mouth. He swallows it down like it’s medicine.
Pedri nudges his side. “Are you alright?”
Pablo is thankful for Pedri. He doesn’t know what he would do without him. Perhaps in another simpler life, he would have fallen for Pedri instead.
But that isn’t the life he lives now. Right now, he’s watching the only man he has ever loved say goodbye.
His head is spinning by the time Robert finishes his speech and comes down to hug them. Pablo does not know whether to laugh or cry when Robert makes his way to him. As tall and glorious as the first day Pablo met him.
“Gavi,” Robert says. It sounds a lot like goodbye. He wraps his arms around Pablo’s body and pulls him against his chest.
Pablo melts into the hug, circling his arms around Robert’s neck to steady himself because he feels like he's falling apart.
I love you, Pablo wants to say. Please don't leave me. I love you.
“Thank you,” he says instead, his voice small and trembling. He melts into Robert’s embrace, burying his face into his neck and inhaling the scent of him before he can forget.