Chapter Text
When Sergio let Luka into his hotel room he had his head hung low, staring at the ground beneath them. He had tears falling down his face. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his wet hair, parted down the middle, clung to his face. It appeared like Luka had showered recently. He wore a dark red polo and a pair of gray shorts, which were slightly baggy on Modrić’s small-yet-muscular frame. For a moment Luka just stood limply there in the doorway until Sergio gently herded him inside and eased him down onto the dark gray couch at the side of the room. The only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic buzz of the AC.
Sergio went into the small kitchen while he tried to think, bending down to grab a bottle of water from the black mini fridge. He wished he knew the right thing to say, whichever magic combination of words would make Modrić feel better. He tried to think of all the relationship advice that he had ever seen, but couldn’t think of anything specific to their situation. How do I support my boyfriend after losing what will surely be his last World Cup? Sergio suddenly regretted not having gotten anything for Luka.
Sergio went back into the main room, where Luka was sitting on the couch, and offered the water bottle in his outstretched hand. After a pause Luka grabbed the bottle from his fingertips with shaky hands, making a quiet squeak of appreciation.
Sergio sat down beside Luka on the couch, his weight causing the midfielder to sink towards him, the outside of their thighs pressed together. He could feel the blond man’s body shake as he sobbed miserably. Sergio draped an arm around Luka’s narrow back and wrapped the other across his chest, feeling Modric’s bones and lean musculature. Despite how long they had been together, Sergio was always pleasantly struck by how much smaller than him Luka was, how easy it was to pick him up and throw him around whenever he desired. Modrić seemed to like it as well.
“Sese…” Luka choked out in a whisper before another sob wracked his body, his breath becoming increasingly shallow and ragged. Sergio felt a lump forming in his own throat but tried to swallow it for now, he needed to be strong for his Luka.
“I’m so sorry, Lukita.” Sergio whispered, willing his voice to stay steady. He hated to see Luka in such a bad state. “You did so well.”
Luka fidgeted with the water bottle in his hands for what seemed like hours, clearly thinking to himself, alternating between staring at his lap and staring at the wall.
“I should just kill myself now, shouldn’t I?” Luka murmured despondently, looking utterly defeated in a way that Sergio had never seen him before, which made him feel somewhat bewildered.
“No, you shouldn’t.” said Sergio firmly, lifting a hand from the midfielder’s shoulder to softly grab his chin with, turning his head towards him.
“You’re an icon, cariño, people love you, your country loves you, you have done so much for your people,” Sergio began, looking into Luka’s copper colored eyes, which were currently puffy and shiny with tears. “And I love you too, Lukita.“
Modrić’s breathing slowed down slightly as he returned Sergio’s gaze, the defender stroking Luka’s cheek with his tattooed thumb.
“I love you too, Sese.” Luka said quietly, his voice cracking at the end, another cascade of tears rolling down his cheeks.
Sergio used his sleeve to carefully dry the tears from Modrić’s face and neck and eyelashes, placing gentle kisses on each of his tear swollen eyes. Luka leaned into the touch before lowering his head to rest on Sergio’s toned thighs, shifting onto his side.
“I need to sleep,” Modrić mumbled, his voice steeped with exhaustion. “I’m so tired.”
“Sweet dreams, mi Lukita.” the defender spoke in a soft voice, gazing fondly down at the man.
Sergio stroked his shoulder length hair and before long he could hear Luka begin to snore softly, his front teeth protruding slightly from his mouth. Sergio stayed awake thinking silently to himself for a while until eventually, he too fell asleep.