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“You know it’s going to happen, right?” Fernando smiles lazily from the same spot on the couch he has spent a good part of the afternoon laying on, “Can you just relax for a little bit? I thought we were supposed to be lazy together for at least today,” he continues, as if he doesn’t know that Sergio isn’t capable of sitting still for more than half an hour unless he’s asleep (and even then, Fernando has proofs for days of all of the times that Sergio has kicked his legs while they were sleeping) and Sergio knows that he knows him better than anyone, so there’s fondness at the end of the smirk he’s giving Fernando.
He falls on top of Fernando, half on his chest, half on his legs and adjusts his rushed breathing to Fernando’s heartbeat. If Fernando is bothered by the sweat that’s seeping through Sergio’s body after his intense run, he doesn’t say and instead waits for him to speak what’s on his mind – because he knows it’s coming – while he runs his fingers through Sergio’s hair.
Sergio lifts his head up just a bit, just to look at Fernando’s face and for a minute or for a lifetime, his heart is peaceful and he doesn’t have any kind of worry. He counts each one of his freckles and his breathing slows down, taking the same rhythm of the soft strokes of Fernando’s fingers on his head.
“I don’t actually know if it’s going to happen, Fernando,” he tries to be casual and he doesn’t look away, “maybe I really fucked up and now I’m just reaping what I sow.”
A moment later he’s on the floor and Fernando is towering over him, the fiery light in his eyes burning more than the one in the fireplace in front of them, “Don’t you ever” he’s pointing a finger at him, “ever” and now he’s lowering his head to be face to face with Sergio again, “ever speak about yourself like that in front of me, ever again. You are not reaping what you sow, because if you were doing that, you would have at least one statue in your honour in your stupid stadium or training centre or right next to Cibeles,” Fernando spits every word trying not to get too wrapped up in his contempt for Sergio’s former club (he is failing, he always fails at that – it’s not his fault his heart beats for the other side of Madrid) (it’s also not his fault his heart beats for one of the most important players in the history of the wrong side of Madrid, the two things have coexisted in him since the beginning of time and the two things will coexist in him until he’s nothing but dust)
“Come here,” he offers Sergio a hand to get back on his feet and Sergio slaps it while muttering something that sounds like an annoyed “You literally threw me on the floor a minute ago,” that Fernando ignores and instead moves to get to the kitchen to make some coffee. When he gets back with the two steaming mugs, Sergio is still pouting but at least he’s sitting on the couch again. Fernando takes his place next to him and hands him the coffee before speaking again, “Okay, sorry I jumped and made you fall on your ass,” he holds back from rolling his eyes but Sergio knows he’s still doing it, just internally, “and sorry I said your stadium is stupid. It is not stupid.”
Sergio takes another deep breath and another sip of coffee before turning back to face Fernando, “It’s not my stadium and it hasn’t been in almost four years,” his voice is small and almost trembling, but he can allow himself to be this emotional in front of this man, his man. There’s a reason why Fernando is in Sevilla right now, there’s a reason if Fernando is one of the three people (including Sergio) that knows that he has reached out to Florentino Perez to offer himself back to Real Madrid, there’s a reason if as soon as he has told Fernando he has packed a bag and got on the train to talk to Sergio face to face. There’s a reason why every single thread of Sergio sheds so easily when Fernando is with him and he allows himself to be just Sergio, and he doesn’t need to prove that he’s made of steel and nothing can hurt him or his ego.
Fernando reaches out to take the mugs off his hands, before reaching out a second later to hold Sergio’s face, “Let me tell you a story,” he says simply, ending his sentence with a kiss on Sergio’s lips. Sergio nods and gets closer to Fernando, tracing the lines of the tattoos on his forearm.
“You called me yesterday and in the first sixty seconds you managed to rush out that you had called Perez, a minute later I was packing my bag and while I was getting out of the door I was booking my train ticket. I was so worried that while I was driving down to Atocha, I took the wrong turn and I found myself driving past Cibeles. I was stuck in traffic for less than a minute but I looked at her and it felt like she knew that I was coming to you, because I could hear her telling me to come and get you and bring you back to her,” Fernando can get dramatic if he wants to, and he’s not even sorry he said it because the moment is calling for it, “So as I drove past her, I took another look and I promised her that she would see you really soon,” he can’t help the smug smile on his face, completely satisfied by the short tale he has just told. He’s not going to tell Sergio that he drove past Cibeles on purpose and that he actually looked at the statue and whispered “Our boy is coming home” like a nutcase, oh no, Sergio can’t know he’s talking to inanimate objects that hold a deep meaning for Real Madrid and madridistas all around the world, nobody can know.
Sergio giggles and Fernando immediately kisses the tiny dimple on the side of his lips and he can feel some of Sergio’s tension dissolving, it doesn’t even matter if he has to come up with another little story to make him feel better. “It’s a shame that Cibeles doesn’t really have any executive power then, don’t you think?” Sergio says while fiddling with Fernando’s shirt, “It’s not like she can ring Florentino and tell him to say yes.”
Fernando huffs audibly, “Listen to me,” he puts his hands on Sergio’s chest now, not to keep him at a distance, just to have him properly look straight at his face, “That man was wrong to let you go. Sure, you made your mistakes. Sure, it wasn’t the best deal and you deserved so much more. But now he can make it right, and he can have you come back even if just for a short time, because everyone knows how much they need you,” it’s implicit that he also needs him back in Madrid, but that’s for another time, “I know you and Perez knows you, and we know how much it costed you to put aside your pride to have this conversation with him. He’s a prideful man too, you know it well. I’m not saying that tomorrow at this time you’ll be in Valdebebas training with your teammates instead of training by yourself in this huge gym you have got downstairs, all that I’m saying is that I’m sure he’s thinking about it and trying to understand how to reduce his ego a little bit to make this happen, because he knows damn well that this will benefit everyone,” Fernando takes a sip of his coffee and he almost shudders when it’s colder than expected – sue him, he’s passionate about Sergio’s passion so he’s been talking a lot – so he puts it back and snuggle into Sergio’s neck once again. He’s trailing kisses on his collarbones when Sergio finally speaks up.
“I’m not expecting to be back as if nothing has ever happened and I have never left, I just… I wanna go home. I wanna help. I wanna end my career surrounded by a white everything. I still have a lot left to give, I still wanna fight for Madrid, I still wanna bleed on the Bernabeu field and I still wanna offer a trophy to Cibeles after I’ve put a scarf on her neck,” Sergio is not feeling like the eighteen years old Sergio that left Sevilla in a hurry to wear the white jersey in Madrid, because that Sergio was ready to eat the world and this Sergio instead is more balanced – he still wants to eat the world, sure, but his steps are more measured and he’s a little more careful. Not too much, otherwise he wouldn’t be Sergio, but still.
“I am ready to start again, Nando,” he sighs, “but it feels like it’s not going to happen,” and he has circled back to the beginning of this conversation. It’s weird for him to feel like this, his always positive attitude is one of his biggest strength and it usually gets even more positive when he has Fernando with him but not this time. Sergio is putting a lot of effort into his workouts because if he stops for a minute he feels deflated, and it’s definitely a feeling he doesn’t want to feel.
Fernando studies him for a couple of minutes and this time he doesn’t jump off the couch leaving Sergio to fall on his ass on the floor, he takes a few deep breaths to calm down because all he wants to do right now is to get into Real Madrid’s headquarters and take control of everything, especially handing Sergio a signed contract that he needs to be back on the team for at least ten more years, thank you very much, now off you go to Valdebebas.
“I do believe you have so much more to give to Real Madrid,” he finally says, “and I also believe that they all know it. Now, how about we go for a walk in this beautiful garden you have and then we’ll take a long, hot shower and then we’ll make dinner and we’ll try our best to focus on something else instead?” Fernando is barely able to finish whatever he’s saying before Sergio clashes his lips on his neck, almost famished, biting and sucking and kissing again, until he makes a small constellation of red bruises and then, satisfied, he can move again to Fernando’s collarbones and then to his shoulders and his arms, and he’s just a little bit more delicate when he gets to one of the tattoos that Fernando has dedicated to him, then he’s back again on Fernando’s face and Fernando lets out a little laugh when Sergio kisses again and again and again all of his freckles with tiny kisses. Fernando tugs Sergio’s hair just enough to hear a soft moan escaping his lips and, yeah okay, a walk would have been a great idea but a hot shower where he can take care of Sergio has just moved up in the list of priorities. He grabs Sergio’s hands and when they both stand up he needs to tilt just a tiny bit to kiss his forehead, mesmerised by the flutter of Sergio’s lashes.
Fernando opens his eyes to a noise coming from the other side of the bed, without even turning on his back he moves one arm to reach out for Sergio’s face because honestly how has it been almost twenty years and he has managed not to kill him for talking even in his sleep? Sergio slaps Fernando’s hand away, which proves that okay, for once he’s not rambling in a dream, he’s probably on the phone but Fernando is too tired to focus on whatever is happening so he lets himself doze in and out of sleep for a couple more minutes.
Sergio is apparently done on the phone because he’s now pushing all of his warmth against Fernando’s back and he’s kissing behind his neck before announcing that he’s making breakfast and he should really get up because it’s a beautiful day. Almost twenty years, Fernando reminds himself in his own head, and I still can’t catch up with his morning (or all day) energy. He also reminds himself that he really, really needs to find that power button and shut Sergio off whenever he wants to sleep in. He came to Sevilla to calm him down, of course, but it also meant some time off for himself too, not being waken up at the crack of dawn (it’s definitely not the crack of dawn given he can see the sun well up in the sky) because Sergio is a puppy with endless energy.
When Sergio is back with coffee and breakfast, it takes Fernando a moment to realise that Sergio is looking at him like a madman and his smile is probably making even his ears hurt.
“Spit it out,” Fernando yawns, “I’m not working out this morning unless for working out you mean you’re getting back in bed and we’re picking up where we left off last night.”
“Well,” Sergio doesn’t really stop when talking, but he’s doing it now and it gives Fernando a moment to appreciate his man’s smile which is honestly brighter than the sunlight coming from the terrace, “We don’t really have time for any workout, we need to do something else,” and Fernando’s heart skips a beat even if he’s telling it to take it slow and not to let any residual hope think about whatever he’s thinking but he knows where this is going and he could jump on the bed right now, “I am expected in Madrid this afternoon to have a chat face to face with Florentino,” Sergio finally lets out and there’s tears in his eyes and now, yes, Fernando jumps on the bed and takes Sergio with him.
Sergio can’t help but laugh and rolls Fernando over and breathes into his hair, “It’s nothing certain but it’s a start if he wants to see me in person, right?” and Fernando loves this man so much that his happiness is Fernando’s happiness and maybe he’s crying a little bit because he feels like he can breathe again and this is the real Sergio that he has known for two decades and he never wants to see the light off in him ever again.
“You’re taking the wrong turn, for fucks-” Sergio says before recognising the street, “You’re going to loose your Atleti credibility or whatever,” he laughs and he looks out of the window.
He looks at Cibeles, beautiful and forever still, and blows her a kiss. They drive past and he takes another look at her, and while he’s lost in his thoughts he swears he can hear Fernando whispers “A promise it’s a promise”.
Sergio takes Fernando’s hand and smiles at him, but it’s not enough, so he smiles on his smile and he doesn’t know how this is going to end, he doesn’t know if it’s going to be back in Sevilla to lick his wounds or to pack his life up once again, but he knows what home feels like and this is it.
Y la Cibeles me preguntó por ti
Por tus cosas sabes, vida, que yo muero