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They had agreed that during tournaments it was easier not to spend time with each other. Part of it was simply because there wasn’t the time, and also because it was practical; don’t mix personal matters with business and stay focused on the game. But Stevie was willing to admit that all it took was a few nights of sleeping alone to make him miss Fernando like crazy. He was long past the point of pretending he wasn't way too far gone.
Which was the whole point of this, anyway. He shifted the box in his hands nervously.
He waited for a few hours after Spain’s defeat at Chile’s hands, knowing the team would need some time to be chewed out by Del Bosque and then lick their wounds, before heading over to the Spanish team’s rooms to find his boyfriend. He was going to try to cheer him up, though having seen both of Spain’s matches, he figured it might be pretty much impossible.
On his way, he ran into Cesc, Andrés, Gerard, and Sergio, who were making their way to the bar on the first floor.
“Hey,” Andrés said, managing a weak smile.
Stevie nodded in greeting. “Hi.” He thought better of asking how they were.
“Looking for Nando?” Cesc said. “He’s in his room, it’s 142.”
“I thought you guys had this whole sleeping apart thing during tournaments.” Gerard remarked.
“Yeah, well, we’re no longer in a tournament, are we?” Sergio said grumpily. Gerard’s face darkened.
“Thanks.” Stevie ignored the two of them in favour patting Cesc’s shoulder, before leaving them all to go get drunk. He found Fernando’s room and knocked on the door.
“Hey?”
Fernando yanked his door open, his blond hair a mess. “For the last time, Sergio, I said-oh.” He blinked at Stevie, who gave him a tentative smile. “It’s you.”
He turned and walked back into his room, but he left the door open. Stevie took this as a sign he was allowed to enter.
“How are you?”
"How do you think?” Fernando snapped, facing towards the window.
Stevie winced. “Yeah, I figured.”
Still not looking at him, Fernando asked. “Did you see the game?”
“Yeah,” Stevie admitted. “Both of them.”
Fernando swore, before sitting on the bed and burying his head in his hands.
“This is the worst.”
Stevie sat beside him, rubbing his back.
“Shhh, it’ll be okay.”
“No, it won’t. We went from being the champions to scoring one goal. How do we come back from that?”
Fernando could be a bit of drama queen at the best of times, and right now he was in full melt down mode. Stevie could only roll his eyes and try to talk him down.
“Look, losing here doesn’t mean that 2010 didn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. No one will remember that. They’re only going to remember how badly we fell apart.” Fernando jumped to his feet and began to pace. “I think I’d prefer to be dead.”
“Well, I’d still trade England’s results for Spain’s over all, so forgive me if I think this isn’t exactly rock bottom.” Stevie can’t help the bitterness in his words. His boyfriend turned to him, eyes widening.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t. Just. Sorry.”
Stevie got to his feet as well, and pulled Fernando into his arms.
“It’s okay. Some of us are used to being losers.”
Fernando started to protest, but Stevie just kissed him. He needed that more than any words of consolation or apology.
When they drew apart, Fernando rested his hands on Stevie’s chest and looked at him.
“So, why are you here? Is something wrong?”
“What? No, I just wanted to see you.”
“To comfort me, you mean.” Fernando corrected him.
“Did it work?” Stevie asked.
“No,” Fernando said, but his smile gave the real answer away.
Stevie took a deep breath. Show time.
“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.”
Fernando looked at him expectantly.
“So you know I’m going to be retiring soon, and just, being here, I’ve been thinking about how this is probably my last World Cup.”
Fernando nodded, but the expression on his face made it clear he had no idea where Stevie was going with this.
“And I’ve spent so much of my life playing football, it’s been the most important thing for so long. I needed to think about what I wanted to do after, when that wasn’t true anymore. And I did, and I realized the first thing I want to do, the thing I want to do most of all is, well— look, would you marry me?”
Fernando gaped at him.
“What?”
“Fernando Torres, would you marry me?” Stevie repeated.
Fernando looked at him searchingly for a long moment. Then he smiled so brightly it was blinding.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. That’s good.” Stevie felt a little lightheaded and he knew he was grinning like an idiot.
“Oh right, I got you a ring.” He turned to the bed, where he’d left the box he’d been carrying. Inside was a gold ring, but Fernando stopped him.
“Give it to me later,” he said. “This first. He kissed Stevie hard, and Stevie kissed him back, cupping Fernando’s neck in one hand and wrapping the other around his waist.
They stayed like that for a long time, completely wrapped up in each other in that way they still got, even after all this time.
“So,” Stevie whispered against Fernando’s lips a little later. “Still thinking about not winning the World Cup again?”
“What World Cup?” Fernando replied.