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It was the off-season, and Gavi was lying down on Robert’s couch as if it were his own. Robert himself was in the kitchen making pierogi, a dish that Gavi had taken a liking to yet never showed any inclination to so much as lift a finger to help cook.
Robert was basking in the comfortable atmosphere, the only sound being the sizzling off the stove and the occasional sound of Gavi typing on his computer, when the boy spoke up.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked, apropos of nothing.
Robert began flipping over some dumplings with his tong. “What is it?”
A brief pause. “Promise not to make fun of me?”
Now that was enough to make Robert turn around. “Yes,” he said after a moment of consideration.
Gavi squared his shoulders as if he was preparing to go to war. Or maybe one-on-one with Vinícius. “So, I was watching some of your highlight reels—”
Robert set the tongs down on the counter and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wondered, briefly, if he was too old to bang his head against the wall. He realized he couldn’t even if he wanted to just as quickly. Gavi, sweet thing that he was, would probably see it as permission to do the same. The boy already took enough knocks on the pitch as it was; there was no sense in encouraging him to collect brain damage off the field, too.
“You’re joking,” he settled on saying.
Gavi made an affronted sound. “Why would I joke about that?”
Robert felt the inexplicable urge to sigh. “I didn’t actually think you were, kochanie,” he said comfortingly. “I was simply hoping you were.”
“Why would you… whatever,” Gavi grumbled. “Back to the video.”
“I’d rather not,” Robert said.
Gavi ignored him. “First of all, you’re amazing.”
Robert rolled his eyes, but wasn’t able to keep himself from smiling a little. “Don’t give me any of that, Pablito.”
“But it’s true!” Gavi squawked, clearly affronted. “Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is how the fuck did you never get a Ballon d’Or?”
Of all the things Robert had expected Gavi to say, that ranked somewhere near the bottom of the list. Not because the boy didn’t occasionally comment on Robert’s accomplishments in the Bundesliga, but because those conversations always ended up with Gavi getting on his knees and begging for his cock—something that was clearly not the end goal of this conversation.
“That’s nice of you, aniołku,” Robert said after a moment of pause.
“Don’t patronize me—not when it’s true of me!” Gavi complained. The childish wording made Robert smile. “I mean you do agree, right?”
If hard-pressed for honesty, sometimes he did. But dwelling on bitterness had never done him any favors before, and it certainly wouldn’t now.
Robert Lewandowski hadn’t won the Ballon d’Or, and likely never would. That was simply the way things had turned out. There was nothing left to change.
Robert conveyed the thought, albeit in far gentler terms. “I probably would’ve won it in 2020 if the award hadn’t been canceled that year,” he said with an easy shrug as he flipped another dumpling. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Maybe, if it wasn’t such bullshit! Like, be serious! Cancelled because of COVID? Copa del Rey wasn’t cancelled. The Euros weren’t cancelled. Why was something as simple as an award cancelled?”
Gavi inhaled deeply; he hadn’t breathed since he started. “You should’ve gotten it years ago anyway, yeah? And everyone was in agreement that you were the big winner of the award! You—”
“Is that a direct quote?” Robert asked with a smile.
At Gavi’s glare, Robert decided it was probably best to try and placate him. “I’m very happy you think so,” he said. “But rules are rules, little one.”
The glare only intensified. Robert wasn’t sure why he was surprised—calming his boy down once he got going was nearly impossible at the best of times.
Gavi proceeded to shove his laptop away before slumping down so that his entire body was horizontal on the couch and his head was propped up on the side of it. He crossed his arms over his chest. “They should cap it after you’ve won, like, four or something.”
Robert let out a surprised laugh at the unexpected declaration. “You think?”
“Yes, I do think! France is stupid anyway,” Gavi whined. “They didn’t even create french fries—they stole that from Belgium.” He draped an arm over his eyes and hid them in the crook of it with a groan. “There really is no justice in the world, is there?”
Robert set the burner down to its lowest setting before walking over and sitting on the table in front of the couch. He grabbed Gavi’s free hand and cradled it in his.
Gavi lifted his arm just enough to expose one of his eyes. “Look me in the face and tell me that I’m wrong.”
“Wrong about what, kochanie? France?”
The boy stuck out his bottom lip in response, and Robert wanted to worry it between his teeth until it bled. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
Robert lifted his other hand and brought his thumb and forefinger together, so close that they were almost touching. “Maybe slightly.”
Gavi covered his eyes back up with a groan. “See if I ever compliment you again,” he muttered. “In fact, now that I think about it, you’re a terrible player and they probably used COVID as an excuse to make sure you didn’t get it.”
Robert just as quickly shoved Gavi’s arm away and cradled his face in his hands.
And despite his words, Gavi—his sweet, sweet boy—immediately nuzzled into one of his palms. “Hi,” he breathed.
“Hi,” Robert repeated just as quietly.
“Can I tell you something?” Gavi asked, big brown eyes wide and trusting.
Robert smiled gently. “What is it?”
An audible swallow. “Promise not to make fun of me?”
God, Robert was so fond of this boy that he could die with it. “Yes,” he said. Though this time he added: “I promise.”
The soft little grin Gavi gave him would bring even the strongest of men to their knees. “I love you.”
And Robert was truly helpless to do anything other than bring their lips together and kiss him deeply. Gavi leaned into it, trusting him, letting him in—and when Robert broke the kiss he found Gavi charmingly dazed, his eyes glazed over and slightly unfocused.
“You’re the love of my life, little one. Did you know that?” Robert whispered against Gavi’s kiss-bruised lips.
“Yeah?” Gavi asked hopefully. “You promise?”
Robert placed a quick kiss on his boy’s lips. “Yes,” he said. “I promise.”