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Sergio Ramos had done many reckless things in his life. He was impulsive, hot-headed, and had spent most of his career throwing himself headfirst into situations that, in hindsight, had required far more common sense. He had argued with referees, squared up to opponents, clashed with teammates, and accumulated enough yellow and red cards to build an entire reputation around his inability to think before he acted.
And yet, somehow, boarding a plane to Croatia without telling Luka Modrić he was coming felt infinitely more terrifying than any of it, but it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea when he’d booked the ticket at two in the morning.
Luka had called him earlier that evening. They’d spent nearly an hour on FaceTime, talking about nothing of consequence. Sergio barely remembered half the conversation, too distracted by the stubborn strand of hair that had slipped free and kept brushing against Luka’s forehead. It drove him quietly insane. All he wanted was to reach through the screen and tuck it behind Luka’s ear. Instead, he suffered in silence while they somehow ended up arguing over whether Spanish olive oil was superior to Croatian olive oil and the debate dissolved the moment Sergio attempted to pronounce the name of a tiny village near Zadar, leaving Luka laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.
A comfortable silence settled between them. Over the years, when their lives had been loud and crowded with matches, children, partners, teammates, celebrations, and endless responsibilities, they had always known how to sit beside each other without feeling compelled to fill every quiet moment. It had always been one of the easiest things about them, but this silence felt different. It stretched across the distance between Madrid and Croatia, heavy with all the things neither of them had yet found the courage to say.
The past year had changed them both. Their marriages had ended within months of each other, Luka’s first, Sergio’s not long after. Neither marriage had collapsed in spectacular fashion, just the peculiar realization that two people had slowly come to see their feelings change shape until they could no longer carry the weight of a shared life. Sergio and Luka had spoken about it only in fragments over the past months. Neither of them had been particularly eager to revisit wounds that were still tender. Instead, they circled the subject carefully, offering pieces of themselves whenever the other seemed ready to hold them.
And during the call that night, though, Luka had sounded lonely. He had never actually said the words. Luka rarely asked for anything, especially when it concerned himself, instead, he’d admitted, almost absentmindedly, that the house felt far too large whenever it was quiet. That he still wasn’t used to waking up without knowing exactly what he was supposed to do with his day. He’d laughed softly afterward, as if trying to dismiss the confession before Sergio could give it too much weight, then he changed the subject.
When they hung up, Sergio spent the next hour staring at the ceiling. By 2:15 a.m, he had booked the earliest flight he could find, and by six that morning, he was standing in the airport with a single suitcase, a pair of dark sunglasses, and the slowly dawning realization that he had absolutely no idea whether Luka would be delighted to see him or deeply alarmed by his sudden appearance.
The odds of the latter seemed to increase with every passing mile as the plane descended toward Croatia. Perhaps showing up uninvited at the home of your recently divorced best friend wasn’t romantic. Not that he was trying to be romantic, he was just… checking on Luka. That’s what friends did, right? Friends flew across Europe with less than four hours of sleep because a phone call had left them feeling strangely unsettled. Perfectly normal and entirely reasonable.
Maybe Luka would open the door, blink up at him with those absurdly gorgeous brown eyes and, in that gentle, deep voice of his, ask, “You’re here?” before throwing himself into Sergio’s arms the way he always had back at Real Madrid. Sergio almost hoped that would be his reaction. It would be far easier to pretend he was simply having some sort of forty-year-old crisis than to admit the truth: that he hadn’t flown across Europe only because Luka had sounded lonely, but because he wanted to kiss him senseless until his legs gave out and Sergio had no choice but to carry him. He had come because, somewhere between an argument about olive oil and Luka laughing at his terrible Croatian, Sergio had realized that the person he wanted to come home to was no longer waiting for him in Spain.
He had missed him, not in the ordinary way one missed an old teammate or a close friend who lived too far away. Sergio missed Luka with an ache that had become part of his daily life, persistent and impossible to ignore. He missed hearing his voice from across a dressing room. He missed Luka appearing at his side during celebrations as if pulled there by instinct. He missed the familiar weight of him jumping into his arms after a goal, trusting Sergio to catch him without hesitation. He missed knowing that Luka was only a few corridors away. Retirement had taken away more than football; it had taken away the convenient excuses that once allowed Sergio to love and touch Luka without examining what that love meant.
For years, touching Luka had been natural. An arm around his shoulders, a hand against the back of his neck, fingers curling around his waist when they celebrated. Sergio had never needed to question why he was always searching for him in crowded rooms. Luka had been his teammate, his friend, his tiny Croatian charm. Someone Sergio was permitted to hold because football had made affection ordinary between them but now there were no stadiums to hide inside, no goals to explain why Sergio wanted Luka in his arms. There was only a quiet house beside the Adriatic Sea and Sergio standing outside its front gate with his suitcase, wondering whether he had finally lost his mind.
The afternoon sun was warm without being oppressive. A breeze moved through the olive trees surrounding the property, carrying with it the clean, mineral scent of the sea. Luka’s house stood at the end of a pale stone path, its white walls glowing beneath the sunlight and its blue shutters thrown open to welcome the air.
It looked peaceful and that made Sergio nervous. He rolled his suitcase toward the door, rehearsing explanations in his head.
I needed a holiday.
Madrid was too hot.
I happened to be nearby.
That final excuse was particularly absurd, considering Croatia was not somewhere one happened to be while living in Spain.
He had not chosen an explanation by the time he reached the door. Sergio lifted his hand and knocked, and for several seconds, nothing happened. He heard movement from inside, followed by the faint scrape of something, and footsteps approached. Sergio straightened instinctively, smoothing a hand over his shirt as if Luka had not seen him sweaty, bleeding, furious, exhausted, drunk, or half-dressed, but he was nervous, more than he had ever been.
The door opened, and Luka stood on the other side wearing a faded white T-shirt and a pair of short shorts that ended far higher on his thighs than Sergio believed should have been legally permitted. His hair hung loose around his shoulders, the Croatian sun teasing lighter strands from the gold, and a pair of reading glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose. Sergio groaned internally because of course Luka answered the door looking like that.
“Surprise,” Sergio said with a smile, even though he was quietly dying inside. Some foolish part of him still had expected Luka to throw himself into his arms the moment he opened the door.
Luka blinked once, then slowly removed his glasses, as though Sergio might disappear the moment his vision was no longer blurred. “…Sergio?”
Sergio smiled again, though Luka only continued staring at him. There was no delighted grin, no immediate embrace, no What are you doing here? followed by I’m so happy to see you. There was only complete, unfiltered bewilderment.
Sergio felt his confidence wither by the second. “I can explain.”
“What are you doing here?”
Before Sergio could begin the carefully rehearsed explanation he had spent half the journey constructing, Luka stepped forward and wrapped both arms around his neck. Every ounce of tension drained from Sergio’s body so quickly it was almost embarrassing, he hugged Luka back with equal urgency, both arms circling his waist. Sergio buried his face against the side of Luka’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo, and was struck by the ridiculous, overwhelming urge to cry. God, he had missed him.
“Quería verte en persona,” Sergio admitted quietly, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around Luka’s waist.
Luka pulled back just enough to look at him, concern immediately softened the Croat’s features, and one warm hand rose to cup Sergio’s cheek. “Is everything okay?”
Sergio nearly laughed because, no, absolutely nothing about him was okay anymore. Not with Luka standing this close, looking at him with those worried eyes and holding his face as though Sergio were the one who needed comforting. Whatever Luka saw in his expression made him gently take Sergio’s hand, and Sergio allowed himself to be led toward the doorway, though he released Luka before his hands could grow far too comfortable around his waist. “Come inside.”
Sergio let Luka pull him across the threshold before speaking again. “I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the tiled floor fascinating. “I thought you might be lonely,” He winced because saying it out loud felt foolish, “Or maybe that was me projecting.” He sighed. “I don’t know. I just… thought a quick trip to visit my dear friend sounded like a good idea.”
Luka’s gaze dropped to the suitcase resting beside Sergio’s feet before lifting slowly back to his face. “How long were you planning to stay?”
Sergio glanced down at the suitcase as though seeing it for the first time. “As long as you want me here.”
The admission came out far more honestly than he had intended and for one terrifying moment, Sergio felt completely transparent, as though Luka could see every feeling he had spent months carefully avoiding written plainly across his face.
Luka only stared at him, then a faint blush began spreading across his cheeks, and his mouth curved into that small, embarrassed smile Sergio knew so well. A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped him, quickly blooming into the bright, breathless sound Sergio had heard over FaceTime the night before.
The sound loosened the final knot of anxiety in Sergio’s chest. Maybe appearing unannounced on Luka’s doorstep in Croatia was not completely unhinged after all.
“You can stay as long as you want, then,” Luka said softly.
Luka showed him the guest room first so he can get comfortable first, and by the time Sergio wandered back into the kitchen, Luka already had the kettle on. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, turning the room warm with gold, Luka moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, reaching automatically for mugs, coffee, sugar, and it was strangely domestic.
Sergio leaned against the opposite side of the counter and simply watched him because watching him here felt entirely different. Luka’s hair slipped over one shoulder as he reached for the coffee tin. The oversized T-shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin above his shorts.
And Sergio’s fingers twitched. He wondered, only briefly, only stupidly, what would happen if he walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around Luka from behind. Just rested his chin on his shoulder. Just for a second and the image arrived with startling clarity. Luka would probably freeze and then laugh. Or perhaps he’d lean back into him.
“I still can’t believe you flew to another country without telling me.” Luka’s voice pulled him abruptly from his increasingly embarrassing train of thought.
“You sounded sad.” Said Sergio, the words left his mouth before he could stop them. Immediately, he wished he’d chosen one of the dozen safer explanations waiting patiently in his head.
The easy laughter faded from Luka’s face. He turned to look at Sergio fully, one hand still resting on the mug he’d been reaching for and his expression softened. “I sounded sad?”
Sergio nodded not thrusting his voice to say another thing. A quiet settled between them. “And that made you get on a plane?”
There were a thousand ways he could have made the answer into a joke and usually, he would have done exactly that, he would have shrugged, or said he was bored.
Instead, he looked at Luka, barefoot in his own kitchen, sunlight painting gold into his hair, and realized he didn’t want to lie to him.
“Yes,” Sergio said simply.
Then Luka rounded the kitchen counter. Sergio barely had time to straighten before Luka’s arms slipped around his neck. The hug came so suddenly that Sergio almost laughed in surprise. His own arms found Luka instinctively, settling around his waist with the ease of something practiced over years of celebrations, victories, airport reunions and countless photographs. Luka rested his cheek against Sergio’s chest. He fit there perfectly as though he’d always belonged there. Sergio closed his eyes and the last remnants of tension he’d carried all the way from Madrid seemed to dissolve beneath the simple weight of Luka leaning against him.
He smiled into Luka’s hair and his heart squeezed. He wanted, God, he wanted, to kiss the top of his head and that desire felt both new and ancient but he resisted it. Barely, because he brushed his lips in Luka’s hair taking everything in.
“You are insane,” Luka said after a moment.
“Me lo han dicho.” Sergio tightened his arms around him.
Luka finally leaned back, though he remained within the circle of Sergio’s arms. Up close, he looked softer than he did on video calls, there was a faint line between his brows that had not been there several years ago, and silver threaded more visibly through his hair. Sergio had known, intellectually, that they had both grown older and he had watched the years pass over Luka’s face just as Luka had watched them pass over his. Still, seeing him like this, barefoot, sun-warmed and real, filled Sergio with a tenderness so sharp it almost frightened him.
They reluctantly pulled apart when the kettle began to whistle. “Saved by good timing,” Luka murmured with a smile, turning back toward the stove.
Sergio laughed softly and watched him pour the water over the coffee grounds before wandering toward the sitting room while Luka finished preparing their mugs. The house looked unmistakably like Luka. Everything was immaculate without feeling staged, elegant without ever becoming impersonal. Pale walls reflected the afternoon light, softened by wooden furniture that had clearly been chosen for comfort rather than appearance. Shelves overflowed with books in Croatian and Spanish, seashells collected over the years, also photographs covered part of the surface, of family, teammates from different eras, he had trophy celebrations, birthdays, holidays by the sea.
Through the open windows drifted the distant rhythm of the Adriatic, waves breaking somewhere beyond the trees, accompanied by the soft metallic music of wind chimes swaying lazily in the afternoon breeze. Sergio smiled. Of course Luka had wind chimes.
His gaze settled on a photograph resting on a shelf beside the sitting room and his smile faltered, it was the two of them. Taken after a match years ago, still wearing their kits, cheeks flushed from exhaustion, Luka’s hair clung damply to his forehead, laughing at something Sergio had just said. Sergio had one arm wrapped securely around Luka’s shoulders, pulling him in close, of course Sergio had seen the photograph before. He had a copy somewhere in his home in Madrid and he had never noticed the way he looked at Luka, or perhaps he had noticed and simply refused to name it.
“You kept this one too.” He said taking the picture.
Luka appeared beside him, handing him a steaming mug before following his line of sight. A small smile spread across his face. “Of course.”
Sergio accepted the coffee, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the rim as he continued studying the picture.
“We look young.”
“Yeah, we were.” Luka laughed, the sound filling the quiet house. Sergio found himself looking away from the photograph and toward the real Luka standing beside him. The years had changed them both. Somehow, though… He thought Luka had never looked more beautiful.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” Luka asked softly, tilting his head. “You’ve been doing it since you got here.”
Sergio’s mouth opened and nothing came out. There had to be an explanation, something that didn’t immediately reveal he had spent the last twenty minutes contemplating kissing Luka’s mouth, hugging him in his kitchen, and wondering what it would be like to wake up in this house every morning. His brain, usually so quick with excuses and terrible jokes, offered absolutely nothing.
Because you’re beautiful and I think I just realized I’m in love with you after all this years.
Sergio nearly recoiled from his own thoughts. “I…” he began brilliantly.
Luka waited with infuriating patience, cradling his coffee between both hands. Curious eyes remained fixed on Sergio, waiting for him to say anything.
Sergio’s gaze drifted to the blond strands brushing past Luka’s shoulders. “Your hair is longer,” he blurted.
Luka blinked and then one hand rose instinctively to gather a loose lock between his fingers. “Is it?” he asked with a small smile. “I’ve been too lazy to cut it.”
“It suits you.” He said smiling at the sight.
Luka searched his face for another moment, as though trying to decide whether that had truly been the answer Sergio meant to give, it was simply the only one he’d been brave enough to say out loud. Then, mercifully, Sergio’s phone rang and Sergio had never been so relieved to receive a phone call in his life.
“I’m sorry,” he said, already reaching into his pocket. “That’s…” The screen lit up before he could finish, a laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “My son.”
Luka’s face brightened instantly. “Answer it.”
Sergio swiped to accept the call, and a familiar teenage face appeared on the screen.
“¡Papá!” Sergio Jr. said on the other side of the line.
“Hola, campeón.” Sergio wandered toward the terrace as they talked. His son launched immediately into a story about training, then another about school. After promising to call the following evening again, Sergio finally ended the video call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Luka was waiting in the sitting room, curled comfortably into one end of the sofa with one leg tucked beneath him, nursing his coffee, he looked up as Sergio walked in. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Sergio smiled, settling onto the opposite end of the sofa. “Sergio says hi.”
Luka’s face softened immediately. “Did he?”
“He wanted to talk to you too, but…” Sergio chuckled, shaking his head. “He gets too excited. The moment he realized I was with you he wanted to do nothing with me.”
Luka laughed. “Poor thing.”
“You know you are his favorite,” Sergio said reminding all the times Sergio Jr. would ask him to bring uncle Luka to the house.
“You’ll have to bring him here one day,” Luka said. “I think he’d like it.”
Sergio smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Ivano would too.” Luka’s expression grew fond at the mention of his son, Sergio pictured it without effort. The family dinners with their sons, summer afternoons by the sea, the image settled so naturally into his mind that it frightened him.
⸻
By the third morning, they had somehow fallen into a routine. Neither of them acknowledged it. It simply… happened. Sergio would wake to the smell of coffee before the alarm on his phone ever had the chance to ring. Luka was always already in the kitchen, barefoot, humming quietly to himself as sunlight poured through the windows. Without asking, Sergio would take over making breakfast. One of them made coffee while the other complained that the other was making it incorrectly.
“You put too much sugar,” Sergio complained, reaching across the counter to steal the sugar bowl from Luka’s hands.
Luka immediately pulled it out of reach. “And you don’t put enough,” he shot back, hugging it protectively against his chest. Luka’s lips pursed into a pout so exaggerated it would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Sergio stared at him for a long moment before letting out a deeply theatrical sigh.
“I can’t believe that works on me.”
Their arguments never lasted more than thirty seconds. After breakfast, they would lace up their trainers and head out for a run along the coast. Luka insisted it wasn’t a competition. Then, somehow, always ended up several steps ahead.
“You call this taking it easy?” Sergio asked between breaths one morning.
“I am.” He laughed breathlessly as well. Sergio decided, not for the first time, that Luka looked unfairly beautiful when he laughed.
After their morning run, sometimes they simply sat on the rocks with their shoes discarded beside them, saying nothing as waves rolled lazily against the shore. Silence had never been uncomfortable with Luka and it was one of Sergio’s favorite things about him.
Afternoons were for ordinary errands, they wandered through the local market arguing over vegetables neither of them intended to cook. Luka greeted vendors by name. They greeted him back with effortless familiarity. Sergio carried the heavier shopping bags despite Luka insisting he could manage perfectly well himself.
“I know you can,” Sergio said.
“Then why are you carrying everything?”
“Because I like showing off in front of you.” He said flexing his biceps. Luka laughed so hard that an elderly woman passing them smiled too. Luka shook his head, cheeks already turning pink at Sergio’s shamelessness.
Back at the house, unpacking the groceries somehow became another shared ritual. Neither of them remembered deciding who put things away, Sergio reached automatically for the higher cupboards and Luka rearranged everything Sergio had just organized.
By evening, the windows were always open. The sea breeze drifted lazily through the house, carrying the scent of salt and pine. Luka would put on music, not loudly, just enough for it to weave quietly through the rooms while dinner simmered on the stove.
Sometimes they cooked together or Sergio cooked while Luka read aloud from whatever book he had abandoned on the coffee table.
During dinner, the conversation wandered wherever it pleased and every now and then, one of them would fall silent. Not because there was nothing left to say, simply because sharing the quiet felt just as meaningful.
On the fourth morning, the house greeted Sergio with the familiar scent of coffee and toasted bread. He smiled before he had even opened his eyes. Somewhere in the kitchen, Luka was humming again. By now, Sergio knew the melody was never the same twice. He followed the sound barefoot, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his face.
Luka stood at the counter with his back to him, one hand stirring scrambled eggs while the other reached absently for the loaf of bread. The early sunlight spilled through the windows, turning the loose strands of blond hair at the nape of his neck almost white.
Without realizing he was doing it, Sergio crossed the kitchen. His body simply moved, he slipped one arm lightly around Luka’s waist, not enough to interrupt what he was doing, only enough to announce his presence, and leaned down. His lips brushed the crown of Luka’s head, exactly as he had imagined the first day he arrived. The moment the kiss landed, time seemed to stop.
Luka froze, the wooden spoon stopped moving.
Sergio remained exactly where he was, his lips already gone from Luka’s hair, his arm still loosely around his waist. Only then did his brain catch up with what his body had just done. … oh God. Every muscle in his body locked.
Slowly Luka turned his head just enough to glance back at him over his shoulder and their eyes met.
He had absolutely no explanation. “I…”
The word died almost immediately.
Luka’s cheeks had begun to bloom with color. “You…” he said quietly.
The silence settled between them, somehow louder than any argument Sergio had ever been in. He released Luka’s waist as though remembering he was still touching him.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, taking an awkward step backward. “I don’t… I wasn’t thinking. I just…” He dragged a hand over his face, mortified. “It felt…”
He stopped himself before he could say natural, because that was precisely the problem.
Luka looked down at the wooden spoon still in his hand before quietly setting it on the counter then he reached up and touched the place on the top of his head where Sergio’s lips had been. His fingers lingered there for a moment.
When he looked back at Sergio, there was no anger in his expression. “…You really do keep surprising me.” He said shyly.
Sergio let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I seem to have made a habit of that.”
Neither of them moved, the morning sunlight stretched across the kitchen floor, warming the silence that had settled between them. Sergio could hear the kettle humming softly, the distant cry of seagulls drifting through the open window, the rapid beat of his own heart.
Luka was still looking at him and Sergio found himself stepping closer again before he’d consciously decided to. His hands rose almost hesitantly, as though asking permission before they ever touched him and his palms settled against Luka’s cheeks and Luka leaned into them without realizing he was doing it. Luka’s eyes never left Sergio’s.
“You’re looking at me like that again,” Luka whispered.
Sergio frowned faintly. “…Like what?”
“Like you want to tell me something…” Luka’s voice was barely a whisper. “…but you don’t know how.”
Sergio swallowed. He searched Luka’s face for an answer he didn’t have. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his words came out small.
“Why don’t you just show me?” He tilted his head just slightly, his breath ghosting across the space between them.
For a heartbeat, Sergio simply looked at him. His thumbs brushed lightly across Luka’s cheekbones, he leaned forward. Slowly enough that Luka could have moved away, but he never did.
Their foreheads almost touched before Sergio closed the last inch between them. The kiss was impossibly soft, a hesitant press of warm lips that lingered for only a moment, as though Sergio was terrified that if he stayed any longer, the spell would break but Luka didn’t pull away.
When Sergio finally opened his eyes, they were still impossibly close. He searched Luka’s expression anxiously.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered instinctively.
Luka let out the smallest breath of a laugh, “You’ve really got to stop apologizing after every time you do something I’ve secretly hoped you’d do.”
Sergio blinked. “…What?”
A pretty blush spread slowly across Luka’s cheeks. “I was beginning to think you’d never kiss me.”
For the first time since stepping off the plane in Croatia, Sergio Ramos found himself completely, utterly speechless. Luka smiled against the lingering closeness between them, his forehead still resting lightly against Sergio’s chest.
“Did you know?” Sergio asked quietly.
Luka shook his head. “Actually… no.” A shy laugh escaped him. “Yesterday, though… I heard you talking to Marcelo about me.”
Sergio’s eyes closed, he groaned, dragging one hand down his face. Yesterday, after spending debating with himself about his feelings for Luka, he’d finally video called Marcelo outside the house while Luka had gone to pick up bread from the bakery. Marcelo had taken one look at him before bursting into laughter.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I might be in love with Luka.”
Marcelo hadn’t even looked surprised.
“Think? Sergio, you’ve always been pathetically in love with Luka. The rest of us have just been waiting for you to notice.”
Sergio vehemently denied it, which only made Marcelo laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m definitely telling the others,” he said.
Back in Luka’s kitchen, Sergio covered his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”
Luka’s smile widened. “Well, I heard that…” Luka hesitated, his cheeks coloring. “‘You’ve always been pathetically in love with me.’”
Sergio’s expression softened. “Can I ask you something?”
Luka nodded.
“Are you… okay with this?” He gestured vaguely between them.
Luka didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at their joined hands, gently brushing his thumb across Sergio’s knuckles as though organizing his thoughts.
“I thought about it,” he admitted. “Probably more than I should have for the past 24 hours and I like what we have and I’ve always liked being around you.” He smiled, almost bashfully.
“And… well…”
“What?” Sergio asked, his heart doing cartwheels inside his chest.
“You’re attractive.” Luka laughed at Sergio’s bewildered expression. “C'mon! You know you are.”
Sergio’s grin became almost unbearable.
“And…” Luka looked back into his eyes. “I feel good with you.”
The words settled over Sergio with astonishing weight. Before Luka could say another word, Sergio’s happiness simply overflowed, he slipped his hands around Luka’s waist. With effortless strength, Sergio lifted him onto the kitchen counter. Luka let out a surprised laugh, instinctively catching Sergio’s shoulders to steady himself, then Sergio stepped between Luka’s knees, unable to stop smiling. He looked happier than Luka had ever seen him.
“Luka Modrić,” he said, shaking his head in complete disbelief, “I know we’re probably a little too old for dramatic realizations and grand romantic speeches… but I need you to know that I am the happiest man on Earth right now.” His hands remained gently at Luka’s waist. “You are the most gorgeous, prettiest man I've ever seen and I’ve wanted to kiss you for longer than I even understood.” He laughed at himself. “And now that I finally have…” He looked at Luka with such open affection that it made Luka’s chest ache. “I’d really like to kiss you again.”
Luka smiled. “So that’s your grand declaration?”
Sergio shrugged. “If I’d known, I would’ve planned a much better speech. Maybe even brought a ring to propose to you.”
Luka shook his head, smiling helplessly. “You’re crazy, Sergio Ramos.”
Sergio’s grin only widened. “I am.” He stepped a little closer. “Crazy about you.”
Luka laughed so hard he had to grab a fistful of Sergio’s shirt to steady himself, cheeks turning pink as he ducked his head.
“Can I kiss you again anyway?” Sergio asked, his voice softer this time.
Luka’s answer came without a moment’s hesitation. “You don’t have to keep asking.”
He closed the small distance between them once more, smiling into the kiss as Luka’s hands slid to the back of his neck. They laughed softly against each other’s mouths, both of them quietly amazed that it had taken years, countless almosts, and one spectacularly impulsive flight to Croatia for them to finally end up exactly where they had always been meant to be.