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seventy-mil projector

Summary:

“You good, mate?" He heard Declan say, lazily wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Riccardo looked at the Englishman, jealousy threatening to blind him as he saw that Declan wasn't even wearing a jacket, just rawdogging the rain.

"So good," he responded dryly, "pretty hot today, eh?"

-

alternative prompt: shivering

Notes:

sorry this was late, i was busy writing my boss into my suicide note. also, how the fuck does Arteta know like 8 languages? what is wrong with that guy.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Riccardo didn't understand how the windbreaker jackets actually did anything.

 

It was interesting watching all of his teammates on the bench sit in their jackets, half zipped up, hoods down as they chattered to each other, the rain pouring down on the them despite being under a cover.

 

He knew that England was rainy, but this was just unnecessary.

 

"You good, mate?" He heard Declan say, lazily wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Riccardo looked at the Englishman, jealousy threatening to blind him as he saw that Declan wasn't even wearing a jacket, just rawdogging the rain.

 

"So good," he responded dryly, "pretty hot today, eh?"

 

Declan laughed, a hand slapping his knee. "Yeah, the rain in London is funny sometimes. It's okay, you'll get used to it."

 

"How long will that take?" Riccardo asked wearily, the game on the pitch in its final stretch. Declan shrugged. "Some people just adapt straight away, but it takes a while for others. Like, I don't think I've ever seen Mikel's arms since I got here."

 

Riccardo snorted, turning his gaze to the manager, who was indeed wearing a long sleeved jumper. It looked so warm and comfortable that he almost wanted to ask if he could wear it himself.

 

"It's okay though," Declan continued, "like, we don't usually get rainy match days. Trainings are another story, but this is a bit out of the ordinary."

 

"Oh, grazie a Dio," Riccardo muttered, and Declan laughed again. The whistle blew, fans cheering and singing, the players filing into the tunnel and filtering into their respective lockerooms.

 

The locker room was surprisingly warm, until Riccardo caught sight of the three heaters in the corner, and it made sense. 

 

He watched as his team mates pulled off their soaked kits, and tried to stifle his laughter as Leo's shirt hit the floor with a sad plop.

 

"Fuck, it was cold today, aye?" Ben groaned, sitting directly in front of one of the heaters.

 

"Absolutely ridiculous," Gabriel complained, going to sit right next to him. "It should never be this cold. This country is stupid."

 

"Hey!" Bukayo responded, offended, even as he pulled on a warm sweater. "Our country is fine, it's just the weather that's unpredictable."

 

"I shouldn't have to play in a lake," Gabriel retorted, gratefully accepting the blanket that Mikel wordlessly handed him.

 

"It wasn't a lake," Bukayo said weakly, "it was more like a puddle."

 

"Well I shouldn't have to play in a puddle either!" 

 

"It could've been worse! It has been worse, like that time last year."

 

A series of groans rang across the room, and Riccardo raised an eyebrow.

 

"Last year?" He questioned, and David shot him a tired look. 

 

"There was this one game where it was literally like flooding. Like, everyone was slipping everywhere, there was mud on all of our kits, it hurt to catch the ball. Just horrible."

 

"Yeah, and Wilo ate shit."

 

"I did not!"

 

"Brother, we all saw it."

 

As they bickered about whether or not Wilo ate shit, Riccardo felt his lips shiver slightly. He curled more into himself, trying to ignore the feeling of his wet hair against his cold skin.

 

He felt stiff, like his skin had developed an invisible layer of ice, restricting his movements as he tried to curl his fingers.

 

Kai seemed to notice, looking him up and down in concern. "You good, bro?"

 

Riccardo nodded politely, his lips still shivering, his hair still wet.

 

"You look really pale," Kai muttered, raising a hand to touch Riccardo's cheek. His eyes widened, and he pulled his hand back away like he had touched a livewire. "You're really cold too."

 

"It's probably just the rain, you know?" Riccardo said weakly, trying to play it off. Kai didn't look convinced, reached forward again to touch his forehead. "No, this is like really cold."

 

"What's cold?" Jurien asked, coming to sit next to the pair. By now, a few other teammates were watching their exchange, and Riccardo wanted nothing more than to melt into the wall and disappear.

 

"His skin, he is freezing."

 

"I'm fine," Riccardo said, exasperated as he swatted the swarm of hands away. "Just a bit... chilly."

 

"Chilly shouldn't make you feel like an ice cube, mate." Jurien frowned. "This seems serious."

 

Before he could respond, Martinelli walked over to them, dragging Mikel by the wrist.

 

"He looks like he has frostbite!" The Brazilian accused, pointing right at Riccardo. Mikel raised an eyebrow, looking at Riccardo so intensely that the Italian felt a need to defend himself.

 

"It's not that bad?" He tried, but Mikel shushed him, bringing a hand to Riccardo's cold forehead.

 

He wasn't sure how much aura he lost by nuzzling into Mikel's hand, but it was just so warm, and he was so, so cold.

 

"Are you feeling any numbness or stiffness?" Mikel asked quietly, and Riccardo just nodded. "I can't feel my fingers, my skin feels like it's stuck, and it's hard to move."

 

Mikel pulled his hand away, sighing, and Riccardo had to stop himself before he tried to follow the warmth that was taken away from him. He settled back against the cold wall, aware that, by this point, most of the team was looking at him in concern.

 

"We'll take you to the clinic, just in case you have frostbite or something else like that." Mikel said, pulling his phone out and messaging someone.

 

Riccardo wanted to retort, to say that he's fine and everyone was overreacting, but the sound of the clinic seemed nice. Maybe, on the way, he could convince whoever was driving to turn the heater on in the car.

 

"Sì," he said tiredly. "Sarrabe fantastico, grazie coach."

 

"Nessun problema, il mio lavoro è prendermi cura di te," Mikel said kindly to him, before handing him the blanket that he had previously given Gabi.

 

”Since when can you speak Italian?” Bukayo demanded, and Mikel just waved him off.

 

"Bro," the Brazilian whined, pouting as Ben cackled at him. 

 

"Stay warm until we leave," Mikel instructed. "That applies to all of you, we have some hard fixtures coming up, so no one is allowed to get sick."

 

Riccardo wrapped the blanket around himself as the team made various noises of approval, smiling thankfully when Kai passed him a heat pack.

 

"Stay warm, man," Kai whispered. "If you actually have frostbite, these fools will never let you hear the end of it."

 

"Really?" Riccardo whispered back, and Kai nodded seriously, a haunted look passing over his face.

 

Riccardo laughed quietly, and relaxed, listening to his teammates complain and squabble, the heat slightly returning to his body.

Notes:

thanks for reading! feel free to leave a comment and i'll try to reply :)

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