Chapter Text
Marcelo scoured the locker room and finally retrieved an "oversized," "breathable" bag. Sprinting toward the underground parking lot at the speed of a full-field defensive tracking run, all to rescue his best friend, Cristiano—who had claimed over the phone that he was facing the most apocalyptic emergency of his entire life.
Just moments ago, Cristiano's frantically vague call had come through: "Marcelo! Listen, I've got a massive situation here… I have a dog with me. He's important—extremely important to me! But I have to be back at the complex for evening training right now, and I can't just leave it alone in the car or at home!"
So, his uniquely wired best friend had made the genius decision to bring the dog straight to Valdebebas.
Marcelo eventually spotted Cristiano's Audi. It wasn't in his usual reserved spot, but tucked away in a shadowy corner behind a couple of larger cars.
Walking up to the side, Marcelo tapped on the heavily tinted window, ready to pass the bag over, but there was no response.
He leaned around to look through the windshield, only to see Cristiano making manic hand gestures, telling him to get into the passenger seat.
Frowning, Marcelo opened the door and hopped in.
"Whoa..."
A miniature white teddy bear, fast asleep in Cristiano's arms.
“What kind of dog is this? A Pomeranian? I don't think they get this big." A die-hard dog lover, Marcelo reached out to pet it, only for his hand to be ruthlessly slapped away by Cris.
"A Samoyed, I think." Long-haired dogs weren't particularly common in Spain—likely because the climate was too hot for people to take them out for frequent walks.
"Cover for me," Cristiano said, carefully lifting the sleeping pup and sliding it into the bag Marcelo had brought.
Marcelo instantly caught his drift. "Couldn't you just ask an assistant to watch it for a bit? What if the rest of the guys see? Or worse, if Mourinho finds out you brought a dog to night training—"
"Shh!" Cristiano scowled. "If you wake it up, we're caught before we even start. Stop worrying about what happens later—let's just get it inside first."
Marcelo snapped his mouth shut. He watched as Cristiano checked his hair in the rearview mirror, made absolute sure there wasn't a single white stray hair on his clothes. Keeping a careful grip on the narrow slit of the bag's zipper, he took the bag and pushed open the car door.
Cristiano strode forward, trying his hardest to look completely casual. Marcelo lagged slightly beside him, holding up the bottom of the bag while using his body as a shield—all while trying to keep up with Cristiano's long legs. The short trek left him utterly exhausted.
Taking advantage of the team still being scattered around the main locker room changing, the two of them ducked into a secluded physiotherapy room—the kind usually reserved for players on injury duty.
"Quick, go get some water for him," Cristiano commanded before Marcelo could even catch his breath, sending him off again.
When Marcelo pushed open the door returning with a plastic cup, he saw Cris sitting on the massage bed with messy hair, holding the now-awake white puppy and aimlessly stroking its head. It looked as though he'd just survived a friendly wrestling match with the little guy.
"Weren't you accompanying Kaká with his rehab this morning? He want a dog?" Marcelo finally saw his chance to interrogate.
Unable to resist the puppy's fluffy charm, he leaned in for another attempt to pet it.
Cristiano immediately pivoted, shifting the dog out of reach. "It's not Kaká's. It's for my nephew Rodrigo. His birthday is coming up, and he's been asking for a Samoyed for ages."
Cristiano had concocted this excuse on the drive over.
Marcelo kept hovering anyway. The puppy was snow-white and incredibly fluffy, panting lightly with its tiny pink tongue sticking out. It looked like it was constantly smiling—utterly adorable.
"Ah, got it. I thought it was an therapy dog for Kaká. Haha, they actually look kind of alike when they smile."
At the word "Kaká," the pup's ears twitched. It tilted its head at Marcelo, looking eager to play.
"Still, you don't need to keep it attached to your hip on the training grounds. Want me to help you find a proper dog trainer?" Marcelo finally managed to pinch the tip of the puppy's ear. Soft, squishy, and springy.
Cristiano's face twitched. "No! I don't trust anyone else with him. He's... he's too delicate. And he's so little—he'd be terrified without me."
Seeing how ridiculously protective and tight-lipped his friend was being, Marcelo didn't press further. What else could he do? He'd just have to help him figure it out.
Cristiano was indeed very, very, VERY protective of this dog—because an hour ago, this dog had been Kaká.
At the time, Kaká had just finished an exhausting set of knee rehab exercises and was sitting on the massage table, eyes closed and head bowed in his usual devout prayer. Standing nearby waiting for him with nothing better to do, Cristiano had caught himself silently praying along with a heavy sigh: Lord, if you're really up there, have some mercy on your most faithful servant. Couldn't you lessen his pain and suffering even just a little?
When he opened his eyes, the room was empty. Kaká was gone. All that remained where he'd been sitting were his discarded training tank, his shorts, and a little white puppy staring up at him with innocent eyes.
"Kaká, where are you? Stop messing around." At first, Cristiano felt a mix of fond annoyance and mild delight—if Kaká was in the mood to pull a trick like this, it meant his spirit was recovering well.
It wasn't until he searched every nook and cranny of the facility without finding a single trace of him that panic truly set in. "Kaká! Where are you?! Stop it..."
The only response he got was a quiet "Awoo" from the pup.
Cristiano thought he was losing his mind. Had Kaká actually turned into a dog?
No, no, no. This had to be Kaká playing a joke, waiting for him to fall for something so naive—believing magic could turn a human into an animal—just so he could jump out and laugh at him.
...
Either way, he couldn't leave the puppy here alone. And on the off chance—the one-in-a-million chance—that this dog really was Kaká...
Well, he'd rather risk being laughed at for a year. Gritting his teeth, Cristiano scooped the puppy into his arms and headed straight for the garage.
"So what about training now? Are you just going to leave it in here alone?" Marcelo's voice snapped Cristiano back to reality.
"I called Ricky.He's coming to watch him."
Marcelo's eyes widened. "Ricky? You made him drive all the way here just to dogsit?"
"He's already in the parking lot." Cristiano tentatively pressed his face close to the puppy. Seeing no resistance, he leaned in gently, letting out a satisfied breath.
Three minutes later, the door to the physio room pushed open. Ricardo, Cristiano's personal assistant and close friend, hurried in. He had expected a sudden injury or a PR disaster, but instead found Real Madrid's No. 7 cradling a fluffy ball of white Samoyed, looking as solemn as if he were taking a decisive penalty kick.
"Cris, what was the rush? What's going—"
"Listen, Ricky," Cristiano said, holding the puppy out to his assistant like a sacred offering. "For the next two hours, do not take your eyes off him. Rule one: don't lose sight of him for a single second. Rule two: nobody else feeds him anything. Rule three: if he looks even slightly uncomfortable, call me immediately."
Ricardo's hands trembled slightly as he took the puppy. Looking down at the ridiculously well-behaved fluffball in his arms, he looked back up in disbelief. "Cris, are you serious? I’m your personal assistant, and you called me out here to be a dog sitter for two hours? Besides, he looks barely two or three months old, what danger could he possibly be in..."
Seeing the deadly serious look on Cristiano's face, Ricky sighed. "Fine. Sir Cristiano's First Knight, Ricardo, accepts the quest to guard the puppy. Go to training."
In Ricky's arms, the little Samoyed pawed at the air. Cristiano immediately reached out to soothe him. "I'll be right back. Just take a nice nap here, okay? I'll be back soon."
The pup extended a tiny pink tongue and gently licked Cristiano's palm. The warm, damp sensation sent a jolt through Cristiano's body.
"Alright, take him into my private suite and lock the door." Cristiano gave the puppy's soft ears one last rub, his tone instantly regaining its usual composure.
Now that Kaká was safely stowed within his absolute sphere of control, he could finally throw himself into evening training without a shred of worry.
After training, still no word from Kaká. With a heavy sigh, Cristiano made his way to the physio room.
However, when a hyped-up Cristiano returned to the private room, he was met with the sight of a soaking-wet puppy, ears drooping, its white fur plastered flat against its tiny body as it huddled miserably on a pile of team towels.
Standing nearby, Ricky immediately threw his hands up in surrender. "Your precious baby started whining nonstop. I thought he needed to pee, so I brought him into the restroom, but then..."
Cristiano was already at the puppy's side, grabbing a large bath towel to dry him off.
"I carried him into the bathroom to let him go," Ricky explained, his face a picture of pure despair. "I know it probably wasn't comfortable for him, but I didn't expect him to squirm so hard. He slipped and fell right into..."
"Fell into what?" Cristiano went rigid. If Kaká had fallen into a toilet, he would never forgive himself—let alone expect Kaká to forgive him.
"...into the mop bucket. But there was barely any water in it! It was just washed out and left to dry."
Both men exhaled in relief.
A mop bucket. Slightly better.
Overwhelmed by the panic, Cristiano had stopped his hands. The puppy waited a moment before letting out a soft, pitiful whimper.
"He needs a bath," Cristiano said, wrapping "Kaká" in the towel and lifting him up.
"I'll look up pet groomers nearby," Ricky offered immediately, desperate to redeem himself.
Let someone else give Kaká a thorough bath from head to toe?
Cristiano needed only a fraction of a second to imagine that scenario before violently shaking his head. "No. I'm taking him home to wash him myself. Cover for me, Ricky."
...
It was easy to say, but standing in his own bathroom, Cristiano hit a wall. It wasn't that he’d never bathed a pet before, but logically speaking, he couldn't view this creature as an actual dog. It was Kaká.
Maybe I should just get in the tub with him? That way he won't be scared.
After filling the tub, Cristiano lowered the puppy so its paws touched the water first. Once he was sure the little guy wasn't afraid, he let out a sigh of relief, climbed in, and carefully sat down in the water with the dog in his arms.
Wait. If this really is Kaká, he's a human, not a dog—of course he wouldn't be afraid of baths. Man, this fur is so thick though. It's not even wet through yet. This is going to take a while.
While his mind drifted into the clouds, the soft, furry mass in his hands suddenly vanished. The next second, the water level surged from the sudden addition of a massive mass, cascading over the edges in a massive splash!
An entire "mountain" of a man had suddenly materialized in Cristiano's arms. Wet, dark-brown wavy hair clung to the back of his neck, and his broad, muscular back gleamed under the droplets of water.
Kaká felt like he was finally waking up from a long, bizarre dream. The dream had ended right as he was about to take a bath, and the feeling of warm water surrounding his body felt incredibly real—as did the solid warmth pressed against his back, reminiscent of when his brother used to scrub his back when they were kids...
Kaká rubbed his eyes, turning his head in confusion, only for his eyes to snap wide open. "Cris?!"
Recognizing the shirtless man behind him and their ridiculously bizarre position, he jolted completely awake.
"God! What is this—what are we doing?!" He immediately pushed against the edges of the tub to stand up, but the porcelain bottom was too slick. His foot slipped, sending him crashing right back down into the water—and straight against Cristiano.
"Calm down, Kaká! Careful, careful! I'll get out first and explain everything!" Cristiano gasped.
Kaká's tumble had erased what little distance remained between them. His back was pressed flush against Cristiano's chest, and worse still, his rear was pressed directly against Cristiano's "little Cris."
"Meu Deus!"Sensing the 'crowbar' against him, Kaká felt the blood rush straight to his head. He couldn't stop his voice from pitching up. "Who needs to calm down here, Cristiano?!"
Cristiano wished he could sink to the bottom of the tub and stay there forever. His tongue felt entirely tied up in knots, unable to form a coherent sentence as he scrambled frantically to get out of the bath, almost slipped too.
He grabbed a nearby bath towel, his brain teetering on the brink of total shutdown. "Just let me explain first!”
"Where are my clothes?"
Cristiano realized the issue instantly—Kaká had been brought home as a puppy, meaning he didn't have a single item of clothing on him. "You can put on the bathrobe. I'll go get you something!"
"My clothes aren't here?!" Kaká finally turned back to look at Cristiano, his face a mix of utter shock and embarrassment, the tips of his ears burning bright red.
"No! I mean, yes, but—it's not what you think! I'll explain everything in a second, nothing happened! Argh... just trust me! GOD!" Cristiano blurted out a string of deeply incriminating phrases before letting out a frustrated groan and bolting out of the bathroom.
BANG. The bathroom door slammed shut.
Left alone in the tub, Kaká sat shirtless in the water, staring blankly at the wall ahead before running a hand through his dripping hair in absolute distress.
"Clothes that fit Kaká..." Cristiano buried his face in his hands, trying to scrub the image of the bathtub from his mind. But panic immediately filled the void. Shit, Kaká definitely thinks the worst. All that goodwill I worked so hard to build up is going down the drain.
He picked out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts, along with a brand-new, unopened pair of black underwear.
Carrying the pile back to the bathroom door, Cristiano took a few deep breaths, bracing himself before knocking gently.
"Kaká? I left the clothes outside the door... underwear included. Put them on, and please, just listen to me when you come out."
After a long pause, Kaká's voice came through the door, slightly raspy and tight with awkwardness. "...Thanks, Cris."
Five minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open.
Kaká had a towel draped over his head, his eyes hidden behind damp, messy bangs. He walked slowly over to the sofa farthest away from Cristiano and sat down.
Under the heavy, suffocating silence, Cristiano took a long, deep breath and spoke with absolute gravity:
"You turned into a Samoyed, Kaká. I brought you to the training complex, but... well, your fur got dirty, so I had to bring you back to my place to give you a bath."
He glanced cautiously at him. "Do you believe me, Kaká?"