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"It's just for the night. It's his orders. Sorry Luka."
"It's okay, Toni" Is it though?
"I'll see you in the morning"
"Bye"
Click.
And Luka was alone in his room. He turned around, facing away from the door as he set his gaze onto the suite.
It was beautiful, he couldn't deny that.
The living area was adorned with plush, velvety sofas in shades of sapphire and emerald. Glistening crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. A grand piano, polished, stood silently in one corner, its keys waiting to be played. Luka didn't play, sadly.
Large floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one entire wall, offering views of the city's sky. The curtains, made of silk, moved slightly in the evening breeze. Luka could see the world bustling far below, a contrast to the loneliness in which he was.
The bedroom was unlike any other he'd been in, with a king-sized bed, its headboard a masterpiece of woodwork. A walk-in closet had an array of designer suits and shoes, but Luka found himself confused as to why. He wasn't going to be staying here, was he? Toni said it was only for the night.
Who knew though.
The bathroom was a masterpiece in itself, having marble countertops, a sunken jacuzzi, and a rainfall shower. The scent of flowers flowed around from an arrangement of fresh blooms.
Throughout the suite, there were hints of contemporary art that spoke to the refined tastes of the hotel's guests.
The entire space gave an air of timeless elegance and luxury, a sanctuary if you will.
Yet Luka felt empty. He felt wrong. It didn't feel like he belonged here.
Any other person would adore where they are but he couldn't despite the fact he wanted to be thankful that he wasn't just locked up in a closet or something. They were trying to minimize his punishment the most they could, minimize the feelings of..
Of failure.
Luka gulped and walked deeper into the living area, his duffel bag falling onto the soft looking cushions as soon as he released it. He looked around yet again, this time feeling like the room was mocking him.
He didn't deserve to be in here. He didn't win anything. He made a mistake. He made MISTAKES. Those that cost.
Suddenly Luka felt like they weren't trying to minimize but to amplify. They left him alone in the beauty of a suite, a suite you'd bring people to and spend time with and celebrate, yet Luka had no one. And he had no reason to celebrate.
Luka isn't playing so well
Luka bit his bottom lip..
First game he starts in what? Two months? And he fucks up this bad?
The man ran a hand through his hair and he walked yet again, this time to the bathroom. His steps were quiet, yet with the isolation and silence of the place it was so easy to hear each little tap.
Why did he pass like that? That did nothing!
He stepped in front of the mirror, his heart aching at the words playing in his head. He stared at his face, taking count of himself. Blonde hair, brown eyes, little 'beard', slightly bigger nose, Real Madrid hoodie..
"I'm taking you off when the second half starts"
"... okay"
"You played well"
"Thank you"
You didn't.
Why did it hurt so bad? He was taken off before as well! It's not the first time he's played a bad game!
Don't you mean bad games?
Luka tensed. He blinked at his reflection.
He took count again.
Blonde hair… brown eyes… slight eyebags…
"Papa, maybe you should sit down. You look-"
"I'm okay, Rodrygo"
"... Ancelotti said Perez came down to talk to him."
It's about him, isn't it?
"... papa?"
"I'm okay, Rodrygo. Just thinking. Let's get to the dressing room."
Luka closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He opened them again. He stared at himself.
Again.
Blonde hair… brown eyes..
"Luka"
"Yes Ancelotti?"
"You'll be in a suite."
"... but we're meant to be-"
"Perez ordered."
"... okay"
Blonde hair… brown eyes… failure.
Don't forget that. Don't forget what you are. Don't forget what that reflection is showing. You've been doing awful. You've forgotten how to play. You're getting old, getting boring, getting slow. You shouldn't be on the pitch anymore. You shouldn't be starting, Luka Modrić. You're nothing. No one. You've won nothing. You've lost.
Blonde-
Stop counting!
Make it stop!!
Water splashed onto his face. It took a second to realize that he was the one that did it.
Droplets clung to his eyelashes before falling to the basin below.
As he splashed his face again, he closed his eyes, allowing the water to wash away the weariness and self-doubt that had plagued him. It was a simple act, a small ritual of cleansing.
He didn't notice that the droplets running down his face were combined with the salty tears that ran down his cheeks first.