Work Text:
“You need to keep that face off your face.”
“This is the only face I have.”
You look at him like he is an idiot. He is an idiot. Your idiot. The one that shows up when you are sleeping, in the middle of the night, like this is his house. Like he just belongs here. Maybe he does. You don’t let yourself think about it that much. You don’t let yourself feel too much, let yourself go. This boy is not yours. He belongs to Argentina, to Barcelona, to the world. He is the people’ son. The people’s messiah. But he is not yours, he is not even your boyfriend, it doesn’t matter how bad he tries to act like he is.
Still, he is here. He looks at you like he is crazy. But maybe he is right, that’s just his face. His lovely face you love to look at when nobody else is watching.
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to see me.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but you know that it’s one.
“I always want to see you.” He says and it sounds so sincere when he says it. Like it’s just the way things are. You let out a breath, because this is stupid. He has a game tomorrow. How did he even escape Pique? Who is following around like a shadow all the time. You don’t ask him how he did it. He probably found a problem, an issue, an error, and took advantage of it. Like he always does, like a prodigy. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”
You blink slowly. You are happy to see him. Specially now, that you guys barely see each other. He is in Barcelona; you are in Madrid. Two cities with so much history, that have so much in between. Both of them so big and extreme, that makes you and Leo look even younger than they are. Just like stupid kids who want to play stupid fútbol. Win some stupid prizes, play some stupid games. Leo looks pretty stupid right now, his hair is just too long, his face too babyish, too pale and his cheeks rosy. He looks like he is going to ruin your life. You are even more stupid, because you are going to let him do it.
“What are you doing here?” You ask again, because just wanting to see you it’s not enough. It’s not a real answer.
“I wanted to see you.” He repeats, stronger this time, more sure. Wanting to prove something to you. What now? You are not that sure.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t, Leo.” The façade you have on all this time falls down. What game is he playing? Whatever it is, he is playing it better than you, like he always does.
“You know why.” Leo says again. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” You say and you turn back. You have never been a coward. Yesika will be so disappointed to see you act this way, to see you back down from a fight. Gaby will probably support you, but she is smarter than you, just looking for the right time to fight. You are just you, you are just a kid. Mom will say you are so much more; Dad will say you are so much less.
You don’t even know who you are. You are here because the money is good. Because everyone told you that this could help your family. Maybe that’s what you are. A good kid. A good son. You are doing anything you can do for your mom to have a good house, for your dad to keep dreaming, for you little siblings to keep going to school. And you love this sport, you love to play. You just thought it would be easier. It would be like nature, like you didn’t have to fight against all the things in your way.
Maybe you thought this was your love. That you would never love anything as much as you love fútbol. You were wrong. You do love something a bit more.
“Yes, I do.” Leo says and maybe he is not really here, maybe this is your imagination playing against your best beliefs. Maybe he is away, in Barcelona, winning so many awards and breaking so many records. People kissing his feet, pleading at him like he is a god. But he touches your shoulder, too softly, and you know he is here. That he came for you, that he is here because he loves you just as much, so much more than fútbol. More than life itself. “And you love me too.”
And you do. It’s just that easy. You love him. You remember who you are when he is with you. He is just what he is when he is with you. Both were destined to something a lot bigger than fútbol. Maybe you met each other in another life and promised to meet again in some more time.
In another life maybe it was easier. You two weren’t two kids from Argentina trying to protect your families, in the seeping cold of Spain, in the late 2000’s. You guys will not be able to get married, to raise a family, to be accepted in public. You will have to hide and to pray to never be found.
You are okay with that, even if you are so scared. You are okay with loving him, even behind everyone’s back. In here, he is just yours. Yes, he is yours. He is here because he is yours.
You turn around and look at him. And he seems so brave, so tall even when everyone doesn’t stop to remind him how tiny he is. For you, he is the bravest man you have ever met. So sure. So smart. So kind. You touch his face and he blushes, just like a kid would. You want to kiss him, so you do.
It’s so wild. To be known so well. Leo’s hands are soft but are turning stronger, he is growing up to become a man. He is growing so fast; you are growing with him. You are both turning into men, not kids messing around in La Selección, back when you both were 17 and 16. When you both shared a cake in his birthday. When people were already talking about him like he is a divine apparition, a gift sent by God. And you are just the mortal who gets to share a room with him.
When he touches you, he just gets you. He knows where to touch and where to feel. People have been saying in the T.V. and every place you look that this is not what’s meant to be. That you don’t know what you are doing and that you don’t know what love really means. Two men shouldn’t be in the same bed. But he is in your bed, you let him in. You don’t want him to leave. You and God will speak about it later, and you will pretend to care about the consequences of loving him.
You know he is here because a few weeks ago you told him that whatever is going on between you two shouldn’t keep going on. But Leo is stubborn like a donkey, he keeps pushing the wheelbarrows, he just goes and goes. Fearless and trustful. You look at his eyes when he is over you in the bed, too brown and sweet. He loves you, you can see it. And you can’t hide from all that love even if it scares you. You look back.
“I love you.” You say and he smiles before kissing you.
You are yourself here in this bed, by his side.
You ask him, when you both are done, how he is going to go back to Barcelona without no one finding out. He says he has everything under control. You laugh.
He asks you if there’ someone else. You tell him about Gianinna, Maradona’s daughter. He sighs, jealousy moving through his veins like blood. He doesn’t say anything; he already knows you know he has someone in the picture too. Some girl name Antonela that you refuse to see a picture about. But you don’t feel jealous, you are glad he has someone.
He tells you something about his family and makes jokes and you laugh at all of them. He has to go back to Barcelona in the morning, you have to train at first time tomorrow. Your bones hurt and you are in a weird position in the bed after making love, but you are fine because he is here. You are not scared anymore. He is falling asleep and you look at his face. He says something about knowing you from some other life, you tell him you thought just the same, and he laughs.