Chapter Text
Mesut had a headache as he pulled his Volvo into the garage.
“Daddy, we HOOOOOOOOME!” Heinrich called happily from the back seat of the car.
“Yes, we’re home,” Mesut said with a sigh. “And don’t think you’re not in trouble for getting thrown out of nursery school, again.” He unbuckled his five year old son from his car seat.
“Love you Daddy,” Heinrich said with a sad face as he threw his arms around Mesut.
Mesut sighed again as he hugged the little boy back and picked up his briefcase and the boy’s school bag.
Heinrich ran into the house and wrenched open the refrigerator door. “I make sammiches.”
Mesut watched the little boy drag out sandwich fixings for lunch, and knew a better parent would discipline the boy for his behavior. He’d bit the teacher on the leg. But when he did it just so he could get Mesut to bring him home for lunch, how did you get angry at that, especially when Mesut had to leave him at nursery school ten hours a day while he worked, and his mother, Lola, was off in Hollywood trying to be an actress.
Mesut set his briefcase on the counter and went to get the mail. Opening the front door, he saw a box nearly as tall as him standing on the front step. That was odd, he hadn’t ordered anything.
“You want mustard, Daddy?” Heinrich asked a jar of spicy mustard in one hand and a knife dripping mustard in the other.
“Yes, Ricky,” Mesut said absently as he peered at the label.
“What in box, Daddy?” Heinrich asked, forgetting his sammiches and checking out the package.
“It’s not for us, Ricky. It’s for someone called Sergio Ramos who lives next door.”
“Sergio Ramos is a bullfighter,” Heinrich informed Mesut as he laid a mustard covered hand on the box.
“I’m sure that’s not the Sergio Ramos that lives next door,” Mesut told him, pulling Heinrich’s hand off the box. “Why don’t we have our lunch and then we can deliver it to him?”
Heinrich began chattering about bullfighting, which Mesut wasn’t sure was a good pastime for young boys to be fascinated with. They had ham sandwiches and juice for lunch and then Heinrich insisted on being taken to meet Sergio Ramos.
The box was far too heavy for Mesut to lift, so he took Heinrich’s hand and they walked down the drive and over to the house next door. Mesut had only lived in this neighborhood since his divorce, and hadn’t met any of the neighbors yet.
“Do you think Sergio keeps a bull in his house?” Heinrich wondered.
“I think they keep the bulls at a farm,” Mesut said though he knew nothing about bullfighting. He was German. They didn’t do that kind of thing.
Heinrich knocked on the door. “SERGIO RAMOS! WE HAVE YOUR PACKAGE.”
A few moments later, the door was opened by a disgruntled looking man in sweats and a paint splattered t-shirt. “Yes?”
“Are you Sergio Ramos?” Heinrich demanded.
“No.”
“This is his house!”
“Yes, it is.” The man peered down at the little boy.
“I’m sorry,” Mesut said, pulling back Heinrich who looked ready to accuse the man of trespassing. “I’m Mesut and this is Ricky. We live next door and we had a package for Sergio Ramos mistakenly delivered to our house.”
“I’m Iker. Sergio is my brother,” Iker explained.
“Oh. Well the package is pretty big,” Mesut said. “Maybe you could help me carry it over?”
“Sure,” Iker agreed.
With Heinrich scampering after them, Mesut and Iker managed to drag the massive box over to Sergio’s house.
“Why are you in Sergio’s house? Is he really a bullfighter? Do you fight bulls too? I want a dog but Daddy says we can’t have one.”
Iker looked down at Heinrich as they set the box in the front hall of the house. “Does he ever shut up?”
“No,” Mesut shook his head.
Heinrich scampered into the house. On the walls were several action stills Sergio Ramos, the bullfighter. “Ha! Daddy I told you it was that Sergio Ramos!”
“Your brother is a bullfighter?” Mesut asked Iker.
“Yup,” Iker replied as he watched Heinrich disappear around a corner.
“Ricky!” Mesut said as he followed after. “I’m sorry. He’s curious.”
“He’s a little demon,” Iker said as there was a crash.
Mesut thought perhaps he should defend his son, but the teeth marks he’d left this morning didn’t lie.
“It’s not broken!” Heinrich informed them as they found him righting a coat rack he’d wiped out.
Mesut grabbed his hand. “We should go.”
“No!” Heinrich screeched. “I want to meet Sergio Ramos!”
“Maybe we can come back later,” Mesut said as he started to tug Heinrich out of the house.
Heinrich began to scream at a pitch that was impressive for a little boy.
Mesut moaned and slapped a hand over Heinrich’s mouth. “I’m sorry.”
Iker crouched down in front of Heinrich. “HEY!”
Eyes wide in surprise, Heinrich fell silent. Mesut dropped his hand.
“Kid. You are a pain in the ass.”
Heinrich nodded in agreement.
“You want to meet Sergio?”
Heinrich nodded again.
“How about you agree to shut your mouth until Sergio gets home in about an hour, and I’ll let you stay and meet him. Can you do that?”
Heinrich nodded.
“Good.” Iker stood up. “I think we have an agreement.”
Mesut stared down at his son in amazement. The kid shuffled over and sat down on the couch, lips pressed together tightly.
“You want a drink or something?” Iker asked Mesut.
“Sure.”
* * * *
Two hours later, Sergio swanned into the house. “Oh good, it came!”
Heinrich launched off of the couch. “SERGIO RAMOS!”
“Well, hello,” Sergio said as the little boy threw his arms around Sergio.
“You’re late,” Iker said as he and Mesut got up.
“Sorry. Had a thing,” Sergio waved a hand. “Hi.”
“I’m Mesut,” he introduced. “That’s Ricky.”
“I love you,” the little boy said. Mesut, had he not been a grown adult, might have spit out the same. Sergio Ramos was gorgeous.
“They’re the next door neighbors, they delivered your package; it went to their house by mistake,” Iker said.
“Oh, decent of you,” Sergio shook Mesut’s hand over Heinrich’s head.
“I love you,” Heinrich repeated.
“Well, thank you,” Sergio said as he tried to pry the boy off, but his grip was impressive.
“He loves bullfighting,” Mesut said, gazing at the beautiful man.
“Ricky, let go,” Iker ordered, and immediately, Heinrich released Sergio and ran to stand next to Iker.
“Well, you should, it’s a magnificent sport,” Sergio smiled at the boy.
Iker snorted. “It’s not a sport.”
“You’ll have to excuse Iker. He’s not a fan.”
“It’s not a sport,” Heinrich nodded.
Sergio frowned. “Fabio’s coming over for dinner,” he said.
“Not again,” Iker sighed. “Would you give up on him?”
“It’s just a friendly thing,” Sergio waved his hand. “He’s bringing Cristiano.”
“Is Fabio a bullfighter too?” Heinrich asked.
“Yes,” Sergio told him.
“I LOVE HIM TOO.”
“Would you like to meet him?” Sergio asked.
“YES!”
“Scream again, and you’re never meeting him,” Iker advised.
Heinrich’s eyes got wide. “No screaming.”
Mesut was astounded. Heinrich never stopped yelling for him. Ever.
“Is Cristaino a bullfighter?” Heinrich politely asked.
“No, he’s a footballer,” Iker said. “For Real Madrid. Football is a real sport.”
Heinrich nodded. “Better than bullfighting.”
“Exactly.”
“Would you stop brainwashing that kid?” Sergio asked with an annoyed flip of his hair.
Iker shrugged.
“We’d love to stay, but I have to get some work done,” Mesut said.
“Oh, what do you do?” Sergio asked, and Mesut floundered under his gaze.
“Ac-countant,” Mesut stuttered. “Boring. Very boring.”
Sergio was distracted by his phone.
“You can leave the kid and do your work,” Iker offered, covering his brother’s rudeness.
“Are you sure?” Mesut said, knowing that he’d get twice the work done without Heinrich under foot.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Heinrich nodded. “You go Daddy.”
“Thanks,” Mesut said.
“Come back for dinner,” Sergio offered.
* * * *
Mesut got his work done at world record pace, mostly because he was dying to see Sergio Ramos again, and partly because he wanted to make sure his son hadn’t set the house on fire.
But when he arrived with a bottle of wine, he found Heinrich lying on the floor coloring on a large pad of paper, while jabbering to Iker who was cooking.
“Daddy, look! I drew Cristiano Ronaldo!” Heinrich held up a picture of a man in white with a strangely oversized head.
“Wow, that’s nice.”
“Iker said he had a big head,” Heinrich explained.
Iker grinned from where he was sauteing onions. “It’s not literally true.”
Mesut laughed as he set the wine on the counter. “Were you good for Iker?”
“Very good,” Heinrich went back to his drawing.
“I don’t suppose I could hire you to baby sit,” Mesut joked, but Iker shrugged.
“I probably could. Why?”
“We’ve had some...issues with daycare,” Mesut said carefully.
“I bit the teacher,” Heinrich happily informed them.
“No biting,” Iker told Heinrich.
“No biting,” Heinrich agreed with a solemn nod.
“Yeah, I could take him,” Iker said. “If he doesn’t mind being in my studio in the mornings.”
“I could paint!” Heinrich chirped.
“You can draw with markers,” Iker pointed to his paper.
“Okay,” Heinrich agreed.
“If you can talk him into minding me like he does you, I’ll pay you double what I was giving the daycare,” Mesut said, not even joking.
“Sure,” Iker said.
“So what was in the box?” Mesut asked as Iker dried off his hands and opened the bottle of wine.
“A life sized model of a bull with Sergio’s face on the side.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Heinrich informed his father.
“Sergio got it out of the box. It’s in the lounge.”
Mesut went to look at it, and Heinrich followed with his marker in hand. It was indeed a life sized bull with Sergio Ramos’s face on the side. It was...
“Ridiculous,” Heinrich repeated.
“Indeed.”
The doorbell rang, and Mesut turned, seeing Sergio bound down the stairs. When he threw the door open, Mesut saw two gorgeous men, one being Cristiano Ronaldo, who he knew from watching football, and the other was a tall blonde who must have been Fabio.
“Hey,” Sergio said, kissing them both on the cheeks. “Guys, this is my neighbor, Mesut, and his kid.”
They greeted Mesut warmly, and Heinrich waved from the far side of the bull. Fabio gazed at the bull. “Yours came! I’m sorry, but how amazing are these?”
“Don’t you love it?” Sergio said as he stroked the top of it’s head.
“Ridiculous,” Heinrich said, and then Cristiano burst out laughing.
“What?” Sergio turned to look at the side of the bull where Heinrich was standing, and saw he’d drawn a mustache on his face.
Fabio laughed, and Sergio turned red.
Iker came to see what the commotion was. Seeing Heinrich’s handiwork, he smiled.
“The hell with babysitting, I’ll adopt him.”