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On a practice morning of Valdebebas, the only thing left was to prepare their last game before the winter break. Marcelo was scouring funny comments under the tag ‘Real Madrid’ on Twitter as usual, with one tweet posted several minutes ago but soaring to the top making him particularly concerned.
“Tell me, guys, is the sexiest player in the squad right now Xabi Alonso?”
Interesting, very interesting, apart from the results of matches, the fans loved to talk about this topic all over the day. He’d seen some astonishing replies, and he’d seen a few fan-made videos where players’ clips from matches and interviews were deliberately coupled together, depicting so called bromance. The Brazilian saw no harm in this little personal quirk. He liked to watch them and ‘to learn a lot’ from those eager comments.
Just like now, he browsed what people said from the very bottom, and the discussion gradually turned into a war of words. There were too many superstars on his team, and almost everybody had a couple of fanatical fans at the forefront. They would defend any title for their favourite players, even having nothing to do with football. As a result, Marcelo saw the comments went up to almost more than 500 just within 15 minutes.
Crazy world…
“So who has the most votes?” Cris asked.
“You think I have time to be a ticket counter?” Marcelo rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what Chris was keen on, even without thinking for one second, but he didn't want to give him what he desperately craved.
“You know, a lot of Iker, a lot of Kaka, a lot of Xabi, of course...”
“And a lot of me,” Chris interjected.
“But not that much.”
“I got that tweet, too. Xabi shall win the game, no doubt,” Alvaro Arbeloa added.
“But Iker does have the charisma of being a captain doesn’t he?” Alvaro Morata participated in this conversation as well.
“Aren't you all going to vote for me?”Cris’s complaints were drowned out by the arguments of others, apparently not just the fans but the players themselves being obsessed by the subject.
Who could resist a chitchat time about the masculinity of good looking men with such reputations and millions of fans like them.
“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” The sweaty Sergio, who had just returned from training, saw the group discussion centred on Marcelo and would not miss it.
“It's actually a tweet about who's the sexiest person on our team, and we're voting,” Arbeloa said, pulling out his phone and showing it to Sergio. “It's a cliche, but we want your opinion.”
Sergio took the phone, flipped through it, then turned to strip naked, and hummed his way to the shower.
“We Andalusians are the best,” Sergio yelled.
“Another crazy one,” Marcelo said, shaking his head.
But then it took up a lot of team chatter, with the inquisitive Brazilian, two Spaniard happened to be the same name Alvaro, and a competitive Portuguese who was keep an eye on this vote from time to time.
“Six for Xabi, four for Iker, two for Cris, seven for Kaka, two for Sergio, one for Alvaro, one for Pepe, one for Marcelo, one for Fabio...”
“Wait, which Alvaro?”
“The younger one...”
“Why do you and Pepe even have one vote?” Cris frowned, judging the result which was way distant from his original expectation.
“We are only one vote behind you, and I don’t think two votes deserve the right laughing at others.”
Marcelo proudly announced what he’d collected today with Cris and Sergio, the only two listeners.
“What's the matter with your math? Twenty-five votes and one more to go,” said Cris, checking the list carefully. He was unhappy, but satisfied that Kaka had chosen him, anyhow.”
“Yeah? Who's Missing?” Marcelo grabbed the list.
“Modrić, just because he's only been here half the season doesn't mean we can't play with him.”
“No, I do forget. He always leaves so early at the end of training. I'll ask him tomorrow.”
So Marcelo “friendly” stopped the Croat on his way home after training session the next day.
“Just one question, Luka.”
“Yes? you say.”
“Who do you think is the sexiest player on our team?”
“What?”
“Who do you think is the sexiest player on our team?”
“I hear you, but does it matter?”
“Trust me, it's very much about some men's self-esteem.”
“Uh-huh…” Luka laughed. “I think... well... it's a hard question...”
“Any one will do.”
......
“So who did he pick?” Chris gave a pass to Marcelo on the training field and looked back at the blond little man.
“Sergio.”
“Are you calling me?” Sergio came over.
“No, we're talking about Luka choosing you.”
“Pick me?”
“That vote.”
”... Oh...”
And Sergio left without a word.
“He's so strange. He's not happy?”
“Nobody cares more about this stupid vote than you do, do they?” Marcelo smirked.
“You care more,” Cris said, throwing a punch at the Brazilian.
No one noticed that in the corner behind the goal, there were two sitting on balls, arms twining around each other’s shoulders, thighs touching together. From a distance, people might think they were resting, but in fact, they giggled at each other’s faces, amusing sights inside their eyes.
“Why you picked me? It’s too obvious,” Sergio patted Luka on his head, playing with every strand of the soft blond hair.
“I just tell the truth. Besides, everyone made a choice, didn’t they? I don’t believe Marcelo and Cris will think that way.”
“Which way?” Sergio made a teasingly smile, staring at Luka.
“Stop joking,” Luka rolled his eyes.
“I am not joking. I don’t know what did you mean, Lukita…”
“This way, you bastard.”
Luka gave Sergio a quick kiss on his lips and ducked quickly after making sure they weren't spotted.