Work Text:
Marc doesn’t really pay that much attention at first.
To be fair, he’s been a little out of it ever since he let in Ramos’ goal during el clásico. Despite his teammates telling him it wasn’t his fault, he’s found it hard to believe them. But, as a result, he’s been keeping his head down during training and in the locker room afterward.
So it’s understandable that he’s a little slow to notice that there’s a pattern.
When he thinks back, though, he realizes it all starts with Lucho. And December.
Now, Lucho wearing a new pair of sunglasses isn’t something that Marc would normally notice. After all, his coach has several different pairs—and sometimes he wears one pair in the morning and another in the evening. It’s not until Lucho wears the same pair for several days in a row that Marc starts to look at him differently. Not that Marc knows anything about sunglasses, but he overhears Piqué complimenting the mister and realizes they’re pretty pricey.
Marc just assumes that Lucho bought them for himself.
Of course, then it occurs to him that he'd seen Juan Carlos and Robert huddling together and acting odd the other day. Marc manages to slide by them while they’re pushed together and looking down at something. It turns out they both have brand new watches that they’re simultaneously trying to hide and show off. (They also can’t figure out how to work them because they’re the newest models, but that’s not really Marc’s problem.)
Marc shrugs and decides the club must have given all of the coaches new watches.
Then there’s Rafa Pol. Marc doesn’t really put it all together until he sees the fitness coach’s Instagram post with some lines from Joan Margall. He pauses, his phone in his hand, remembering how after the match, Rafa Pol had been reading some book of poetry. At the time, Marc hadn’t really been thinking about anything other than the result, but now he’s starting to wonder… Especially since, on Sunday, Rafa Pol is carrying the book around like it’s his new prized possession. In fact, at lunch, Rafa Pol is engrossed in his book, ignoring the others at the table.
Somebody must have known Rafa Pol loved poetry.
It doesn’t seem to be any of the other coaches, though. Joan, Joaquín, and José Ramon don’t really seem to care what Rafa Pol is reading. They’re enthusiastically digging into tacos, chowing down as if they haven’t eaten in ages. Marc has to admit that he’s surprised, though, because he’s not sure where the food came from. After all, the cafeteria doesn’t serve tacos.
It’s almost as if somebody ordered it all in for them. But none of them are talking so Marc’s not sure who.
The next day, December fifth, Marc’s changing when he hears Paco make a little gasp. “What’s wrong?” Marc asks, being one of the few left who stayed this late. He instantly drops his shirt onto the bench and goes over to his teammate, worried that Paco’s hurt himself somehow. Perhaps he’s strained something, or stiffened up all of a sudden?
Paco waves a hand. “Oh,” he says, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “Look what someone left me!” He gestures at a small purple box in his locker and then holds out a little statue with what looks like a cluster of faces on it. “Can you believe it?”
Marc takes it in his hand. It feels like it’s made of wax, and might actually be a candle. “What is this?” he asks, honestly having no idea why Paco is so happy. It looks like an ugly little thing, with strange faces with exaggerated features.
“A ninot!” Paco says, and when he realizes that Marc is still clueless, he laughs. “It’s something we do in Valencia! We celebrate Las Fallas—and it’s this fantastic party… I can’t really explain, but it’s this huge celebration with costumes and fireworks.” He looks down at his little statue and grins. Everyone makes huge versions of this and they’re everywhere…” He laughs. “I love it.”
Marc finds himself smiling at Paco’s happiness. “It sounds wonderful,” he says. “But where did this, ‘ninot,’” he repeats carefully, “come from?”
Paco shakes his head and looks around. They’re the only two left now, everyone else having headed home already. “I don’t know,” Paco admits, seeming confused for a moment. But then his smile reappears. “What a nice surprise.” He holds his ninot in his hand and then carefully places it back in the box in his locker. “Reminds me of home,” he says, almost to himself, before waving goodbye and heading out of the locker room.
Marc watches him go, now realizing that the first five days of December have each ended with gifts being given to members of the FC Barcelona family. He wonders if Paco receiving a gift indicates that the rest of the team are about to as well. He also begins wondering if anyone else has noticed what’s going on.
Samuel certainly notices the next day, if the squeak he makes when he opens an orange shoebox and then holds up a pair of sneakers is anything to go by. For a moment his mouth moves soundlessly like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
They’ve just beaten Mönchengladbach by four, and everyone’s feeling pretty good. Marc had spent the game cheering on Jasper, and considering his teammate had kept a clean sheet, he was happy with the result.
Samuel’s happy, too, albeit now for a different reason. “Look at these beauties,” he finally coos, raising a pair of shiny looking shoes up above his head. They’re a coppery, bronze color that looks absurd on a pair of sneakers, and Samuel seems delighted. “They’ll match everything so perfectly…”
Neymar and Rafinha crowd around him, trying to get a good look. “Don’t you have gold shoes like that?” Ney asks, reaching out to stroke a finger down the side of one. He’d been in the stands for the game, sitting out his suspension, but he’d been quick to get down to the locker room afterward. He whistles. “Nice.”
Samuel frowns. “Yeah, man,” he says, turning the shoes this way and that, looking at the soles and the laces and the insides. “I had a pair of gold and also a pair of silver, but they got stolen. I've been so bummed. These are my favorite brand. I’ve been searching online almost every night for hours, trying to find more. I thought for sure they had sold out.”
“With good reason!” Piqué interjects, walking by on his way out with Leo. “I thought once David and Dani left we’d be finished with all these terrible shoes.” Leo tries to hush him, but Piqué fights him off. “They’re super ugly!”
Samuel hugs his shoes to his chest. “Shh, shh,” he says to them. “It’s okay, my lovelies,” he coos. “We all know that Gerard wouldn’t know fashion if it threw up all over him.”
Piqué merely laughs heartily, wrapping an arm around Leo’s shoulders and heading out with Luis and Masche. Leo sees Marc watching and waves goodbye before he’s dragged away. Masche rolls his eyes and whispers something that sends Luis into hysterics, his high squawking laugher following them out.
Marc purses his lips, looking back at where Samuel and Rafa and Ney are practically worshipping the shoes. “But where did they come from?” Marc asks, interrupting them.
Samuel opens his mouth and then closes it. “I do not know,” he admits, raising his eyebrows. “But they’re mine and I’m not sharing,” he warns, pointing a shoe at first Ney and then Rafa before realizing what he’s doing. He clutches them to his chest protectively.
“We can at least try them on, no?” Rafa asks, reaching out and wiggling his fingers.
Marc turns back to his own locker so that he doesn’t have to watch the resulting fight. (Though he’s pretty sure Samuel wins if the Portuguese curses are anything to go by.)
The next day, Marc watches his teammates carefully, looking for anyone who’s received a gift. He almost skims right over Lucas before he realizes that the Frenchman is holding a small white box and looking embarrassed. “Lucas?” Marc asks quietly, so as not to draw attention.
Lucas laughs, shifting the box towards Marc. “You remember my rhinoplasty?” he asks, clarifying it with, “nose surgery,” when he sees Marc struggling with the word. “Well, I still have trouble breathing sometimes. At night, that is—not during the game. But it keeps me up, makes it difficult to sleep without some sort of help.”
Marc nods in understanding and looks in the box. “And these are to help you?” he asks.
Lucas smiles. “Yes,” he says, looking down into the box at the white ‘Breathe-Right’ strips. “I just ran out, actually,” he says, cocking his head. “I ordered more, but they weren’t going to get here for a few weeks. I thought I’d have to go without them for awhile. And to tell you the truth, I wasn’t really looking forward to that.” He shrugs and turns away. “Lucky I got this!”
Marc nods again. “Lucky indeed,” he says, turning back to his locker, wondering exactly how somebody had known that Lucas was out of those. Lucas hadn’t exactly advertised that he’d had issues… It must have been somebody he was close to, somebody who was worried about Lucas’ health…
But who?
The next day, Marc decides to watch Lucas’ friends to see if he can figure out once and for all, who this mystery gift giver is. It has to be one of the newer additions to the team, since the people who have received presents (with the exception of the coaches) are all relatively new to FC Barcelona: Paco, Samuel, and Lucas. So Marc keeps his eyes open. And it’s because he’s paying close attention, that he spots the next person to receive a gift.
André’s cradling a small, rectangular, pink box. It’s open, facing him, and he’s looking down like he’s in love.
“What do you have there?” Marc asks, approaching curiously.
André doesn’t look up, apparently stunned. “It’s pasteis de nata,” he whispers. He reaches down and picks up a little pastry that appears to be sprinkled with cinnamon. “And it’s still warm,” he murmurs, practically drooling. He takes a bite and groans. “Oh my god,” he says, chewing with his mouth full. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Marc smiles, smelling the dessert from where he’s standing. “We have similar things, back in Germany,” he says, trying to see if the box has the name of a bakery on it. “And I have had a few here at parties.”
André shakes his head dismissively. “No, no,” he says, mouth still full of food. “You do not have this. Nobody has this! These are egg custard tarts in filo dough, with cinnamon and sugar…” He trails off and closes his eyes, savoring it. “These are a Portuguese specialty.”
Marc laughs. He peers into the box. “And you have enough to share, then?” he suggests, smiling as André’s eyes fly open in panic.
André looks down at the box and then holds it out shakily. “Of course,” he says, sounding like it’s the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “They’re still warm,” he says again, clearly heartbroken.
Marc holds back his grin. “Ah, I’m really too full,” he lies, pushing the box back towards André. “And clearly they were a gift for you,” he adds. “From somebody.”
André holds the box in his lap and closes the lid, nodding emphatically. “Yes, for me,” he says, licking his lips. He continues to look down at the box, smoothing his hands over it as if it’s the best thing he’s ever gotten. “I’ve been missing home so much…”
Marc laughs and goes back to his locker. He’s still not any closer to figuring out which one of his teammates is responsible.
Jasper receives the next present. But there’s no box. It’s a book this time, and Marc watches curiously as his fellow goalkeeper pulls it out of his locker. “What do you have there?” Marc asks. “‘Tapas,’” he reads, looking at the colorful pictures of food on the cover.
Jasper looks overjoyed. He sits down and starts paging through it. “It’s a cookbook!” He pauses a few pages in, on a picture of gazpacho. His fingers trail over the recipe. “When I first got here,” he says absentmindedly, finger moving from line to line. “Everyone kept insisting that I needed to go eat tapas—to have the traditional dishes.” He taps his fingers and then looks up to smile at Marc. “Everything was so *good*,” he says, shaking his head. “And I wanted to make it at home, myself!”
Marc sits next to him and looks at the recipe. “Seems easy enough, no?” he asks, skimming over the ingredients. Tomatoes, cucumber, onion…
Jasper laughs. “Yeah, apparently not for me,” he admits. “I was just telling somebody the other day that I really needed a good cookbook.”
Marc raises his eyebrows. “Who?” he asks, trying to play it cool. “Who did you tell?”
Jasper hums. He looks back at his book and turns the page, smiling as a new recipe appears. “You know,” he says slowly, “I can’t recall…”
Marc holds his breath.
“Maybe it was Aleix?” Jasper says, starting to read the recipe for paella. His finger moves down the page until he gets to the bottom. “I’m not sure though.”
Marc looks over at Aleix in awe, wondering how his teammate got so good at gift giving. He thinks about talking to Aleix now, asking him all about everything… But then, he decides to let it be. After all, he’s excited to see what Aleix has in store for everyone else.
The problem is, the next day, after the win against Osasuna, Aleix is the one who gets a present. “Well, there goes that theory,” Marc mutters to himself, watching as Aleix pulls a large pink box out of his locker. It reminds him a lot of the box that André’s pastries came in, so he heads over so he can see Aleix open it.
Inside is a giant cake, with red lips decorating it along with a 2 and a 6 in the middle. “26?” Aleix mumbles to himself, looking at the pink candles. Marc’s about to ask what it means, but then Aleix lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank fuck!” He spins around and looks at Marc and Sergi and Denis who are also hovering around. “I totally forgot Lorena’s birthday!”
Marc covers his mouth to hide his laugh. The others don’t bother. In the end, everyone agrees that Aleix is the worst boyfriend ever, and he’s lucky that somebody else remembered for him. Marc really can’t believe that Aleix is so forgetful. If he had a partner, he’d make sure to never forget their birthday—especially if it was this close to Christmas!
When Aleix looks up wants to thank whoever it is that saved his ass, everybody just looks around at each other. “Well, thank you,” Aleix says, saying it loud enough for everyone in the locker room to hear. “I don’t know who got this for me, but thank you.”
Jordi Alba raises his hand. “I would just like to say, Aleix: I did not get that cake for you and I think Lorena should leave you,” he says quickly, ducking as Arda throws a jersey at him. “But also! I would like to volunteer to receive a gift, okay? I love Christmas, so Mr. Secret Santa, Sir? Present for Jordi soon, please!”
Masche groans from the corner where he’s sharing mate with Leo and Luis. “You’re going to receive a kick in the ass,” he calls, rolling his eyes at the giggling he gets in return.
Marc laughs with the rest of them this time, especially when Leo twirls his finger next to his head and indicates that everyone is crazy. Marc silently agrees. Inside, though, he’s slightly disappointed. He’s no closer to figuring any of this out. And they’re ten days into December already.
With their Qatar trip looming, perhaps it’s only right that the next present involves Xavi. Denis looks stunned as he unwraps a soft looking red package to find a signed jersey from Xavi’s last year at Barça. When he holds it up, the number six is on display for all to see. A piece of paper falls to the floor and Marc picks it up to hand back to Denis.
Denis takes it with shaking hands. “It’s a note from Xavi, too,” he says, sounding awed. He starts reading it, lips moving as he goes down the page. And then he smiles.
“Is it a good note?” Marc asks, though he’s sure he knows the answer.
Denis folds up the piece of paper and puts it in his pocket. “Yes,” he says, shaking his head like he just can’t believe it. He holds the jersey up in front of him, pulling the shoulders taut so he can see Xavi’s name. “He’s been in touch a few times, over the season,” he says, finally putting the jersey back into the wrapping carefully. “But, I didn’t know I needed to hear that until now.”
Andrés walks by and pats Denis on the shoulder. “We don’t expect you to be Xavi,” he says softly. “Just be yourself, okay?”
Denis smiles. “That’s part of what he said,” he admits, patting the package on his lap.
“Yes, yes,” Piqué says from where he’s leaning against the lockers. “Xavi is very wise, so let’s go see him and tell him that for the thousandth time, okay?” He dodges the slap that Busi tries to give him, and dances away. “I’m just saying!” he yells over his shoulder, running for the exit. “We can tell him there’s something cool on the plane and then once he’s there, we’ll lock the doors and take off!”
Everyone looks at each other once he's gone, almost surprised at how much sense that made.
Andrés laughs and shrugs. “It’s not a bad idea,” he says to the crowd. “But don’t tell Geri I said that.”
Marc’s as amused as the rest of them, and he turns back to his locker to make sure he has everything for the trip. He knows they’re going to end up seeing Xavi in Qatar… He wonders if he can ask Xavi who *exactly* asked him to write to Denis. Would Xavi even tell him?
Marc thinks about it on the plane ride.
When they get to Qatar, they go to their hotel to rest. And when he wakes up, he realizes that nobody received a gift that day. It’s very unlike their secret gift giver to miss a day, and Marc is a little worried as he wanders down to the lobby to meet up with the team. But when he gets there, he sees Lucas and Samuel video chatting with Jérémy.
“That’s amazing!” Lucas is saying, tilting the phone so that Marc can see.
“What is amazing?” Marc asks, bending down to smile and say hello to Jérémy.
“Someone paid for me and Sophie to have dinner at our favorite restaurant,” Jérémy says, looking happier than Marc has seen him in months. “We’ve been trying to get reservations, especially since my evenings have been free while I’m recovering.” His smile dims a touch and he reaches down to touch his leg.
“And they’ve been too booked up?” Marc asks, sensing that the mystery gift giver has been busy.
Jérémy nods emphatically, his smile appearing again. “Until tonight. I just got this card,” he says, waving a green envelope around excitedly. “It’s the best French place, too,” he explains, as Lucas and Samuel murmur in agreement. “But we’re going! Somebody arranged everything! I can’t believe it.”
Marc laughs. “I can,” he says under his breath. “Have fun,” he says louder, saying goodbye and continuing on to the rest of the group. He shakes his head, feeling silly for having doubted that their mysterious gift giver would skip a day. Clearly, this person isn’t going to let a long plane ride stop them from playing this game. And to give dinner to Jérémy and his wife? Marc imagines that the restaurant in December would be quite romantic.
Marc still has no idea who’s responsible. When he meets Xavi, he thinks about asking about the jersey… Especially since there’s an extra long hug between Xavi and Denis, but in the end, Marc decides that he’s going to try to figure this out on his own. It shouldn’t be too difficult now since every day a new teammate is eliminated from the list.
He thinks about it as he watches the game against the Al Ahli from the bench.
He stops thinking about it as poor Jordi Masip ends up letting in three goals.
The only thing he can offer is commiseration later on when Jordi is holding his head in his hands in their locker room. Leo and Andrés have already tried to comfort Jordi, hugging him and kissing him and telling him the goals weren’t his fault. “There was nothing you could do,” Marc says, after they’re gone, sitting next to Jordi as their teammates start to get changed around them. “And a Panenka, too,” Marc mutters. “He did it to make a point, to prove something… It wasn’t something you could stop.”
Jordi doesn’t look up, sighing in disappointment. “Three goals, Marc,” he says, scratching his nails through his hair. After a moment, he sits up and rubs his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, clearly lying. “I’m just going to—,” he stops abruptly, cocking his head and reaching out to pull a flat box from a shelf on his locker. “What is—?”
Marc tries not to seem too interested. “What is it?” he asks as Jordi opens the flat black and white striped box. He wonders how their secret gift giver knew that Jordi was going to need a present tonight. “What did you get?”
Jordi smiles faintly. “Gloves,” he says, touching them lightly with his fingertips before closing the lid. “Goalie gloves.”
Marc raises an eyebrow. “Just gloves?” he asks, wishing that Jordi had shown him. “That’s nice, I guess?”
“They’re signed, idiot,” Jordi says, putting the box back in his locker. “By Gigi Buffon,” he adds, a smile breaking out across his face.
Marc grins. “No!?” He claps his hands. “Let me see, let me see!” He stands up and hugs Jordi. “I’m incredibly jealous,” he admits, slinging an arm around his friend as Jordi takes the box out to let Marc get a look at them. “Game worn, you think?” he whispers in awe.
Jordi nods. “I’d bet so,” he says, touching them with his fingertips again as if he’s not sure they’re real.
Marc would bet so too.
At this point, he’s really excited to find out what their secret santa is going to get *him*. He tries to think of his ideal present, but nothing really comes to mind. Seeing his teammates so happy is such fun, though, that he doesn’t mind waiting for his turn.
Ivan gets the next present, and Marc wonders if he should have expected it. This one seems like such a little thing, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Ivan’s going on and on about it.
“No, you don’t understand,” Ivan says, tugging on his hair. “It’s Raquel’s birthday!! I’ve been wanting to spend some time with her to celebrate, but with the babies—,” he cuts off abruptly and throws his hands up. “You don’t understand unless you have children,” he insists to Marc who still seems dubious. “When you have kids and your parents are busy, and you can’t get a sitter?? You will know my pain!”
Some of the others around them are nodding, so Marc just pretends to understand. He can’t really, though. He’s one of the few players without a partner, and it’s hard for him to imagine having a family. “So somebody got you a sitter?”
Ivan grins. “Yes!” He waves a purple envelope around. “And a hotel room, but honestly, the sitter is the best part,” he gushes, seeming overjoyed. “Who did this?” he asks, looking around. “Thank you so much,” he says earnestly, looking from person to person. “I can’t thank you enough,” he says, unable to keep the joy from his voice. “Won’t you tell me who?”
Jordi Alba raises his hand again. “Yes, again,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to say that I also was not involved in this, but also once again, I’d like to volunteer for a present, okay?”
“Jordi!” Masche shouts while everybody laughs.
“What?!” Jordi shouts back, running to hide beside Leo. Leo, who as always, is sipping on some mate with Luis, just shakes his head. “I’m just saying,” Jordi says, giggling a little. “I want a present,” he tells Leo and Luis, resting his head on Leo’s shoulder when Luis just laughs at him. “Don’t I deserve a present?”
Marc thinks it’s quite cute, seeing Jordi trying to snuggle up to Leo. Leo often accepts cuddles, though he rarely initiates them. At first, Marc had thought it was because he was standoffish, but now he knows that Leo is just particular about who he decides deserves hugs and kisses.
Now is a perfect example. Despite Jordi attempting to snuggle under Leo’s arm, Leo keeps drinking his mate and almost ignores him. Luis shrugs and answers instead. “Have you been a good boy this year?”
“Yes!” Jordi says indignantly. “I’ve been very good, some would say. And I love Christmas! It’s my favorite holiday. My house has been decorated for months.”
Neymar comes over and sits down on Leo’s other side, looking jealous that Jordi’s clinging to Leo. “Maybe you should try scoring a goal, and then you’ll end up getting a gift,” he suggests, snuggling into Leo and sticking his tongue out at Jordi.
Marc laughs as Jordi frowns and sticks his tongue out too. “What do you think, Leo?” Luis asks. “Ney might have a point.”
Both Ney and Jordi start whispering heatedly at each other, faces getting closer and closer until Leo has to lift the gourd and raise his head so he can keep drinking. Eventually, he starts slurping through the straw, and he hands the gourd back to Luis. “I don’t care,” he drawls, keeping his hand out until Luis has refilled the mate and handed it back. “But if we’re going by goals, then my present should get here first, no?”
The rest of them dissolve into laughter again as Jordi and Neymar pout.
There’s more laughter the next day when Arda receives a stack of books. There are four or five different ones, with one large one leaning against them on the top shelf. “‘Learning Portuguese,’” Marc reads off the first book, more because of his habit to practice reading Spanish than for any other reason.
Arda throws his locker closed immediately, flushing bright red. “Ummm,” he says, looking up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Neymar laughs the hardest, although Rafinha tries to shush him. “Were they all like that? What was the next one?” Ney asks. “Tell me the next one, please?” Ney begs when Marc hesitates. “Was it about how to cook for your Brazilian boyfriend?”
The truth is that at least two of them were slim volumes of love poems.
But Marc doesn’t feel the need to share that. “I did not see,” he lies, touching Arda on the back before heading back to his locker. Neymar is still laughing behind him, despite Rafinha’s efforts, and Marc does not want to make things worse.
They’re only halfway through December, and who knows what other embarrassing gifts are yet to come.
It doesn’t take long at all for a similar gift to show up. The very next day, the secret santa gifts Rafinha with a large tome called “The Delights of Learning Turkish.” It’s not much of a secret because Rafa holds it up proudly for everyone to see.
Neymar falls on the floor into hysterics and is unable to move for at least an hour.
Everyone just steps over him as they go about their business.
Rafa makes a show of being happy with his present, admiring the book and flipping through it. “Just what I wanted,” he says, running a finger down the spine. And then he goes over and sits next to Arda. “You’ll have to teach me the dirty words first,” he says, smiling, biting his lip when Arda flushes.
And when everyone stops paying attention, Rafa leans in like he has a secret. He crooks his finger until Arda tilts his head. “There was a second book, too,” he whispers.
Marc really doesn’t mean to listen, but he’s standing right there. He tries to focus on getting dressed, even though he can hear every word.
“Oh?” Arda asks, his ankle nudging Rafa’s. “What was it?”
Rafa nudges him back. “Something called, ‘Making Out in Turkish,’” he whispers, sounding amused. “‘From everyday conversation to the language of love,’” he says, obviously quoting something. “Should be interesting,” he adds, folding his hands on top of the large book in his lap.
Marc wonders how he didn’t see this coming.
He definitely sees the next one coming, though.
Sergi Roberto’s running his hand through his hair when he notices the yellow and black envelope on the top shelf of his locker. He can’t hold in his excitement as he opens it and pulls a note with a plane ticket to Germany. “I’m going to visit Marc!” he says, waving the ticket in the air. “A trip to Germany! Oh, I can’t wait!”
It hasn’t been much of a secret that poor Sergi’s been pining for Marc Bartra. “Young love,” Piqué says, scratching his jaw and watching as Sergi begins to go around hugging everyone. “So beautiful... I remember when I was young..."
“He’s only five years younger than you,” Leo says. He hums as if he’s thinking. “Or four years if we’re talking about Marc.”
“Young love, Leo!” Piqué repeats, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “Don’t be so heartless. Don’t you want the young ones to be happy?!”
Leo rolls his eyes, but Marc can tell by the way that Leo hugs Sergi that he’s happy for the boy, too. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sergi repeats as he squeezes Leo and then Jordi Alba and then Piqué. He doesn’t leave out anybody, and dances around until he finds Busi and Masche, too. All of them willingly accept their hugs, but nobody admits to being responsible for the plane ticket.
Marc feels a touch of jealousy burning in his chest, but he smothers it quickly. He should be happy for his teammates finding love. It’s certainly something he wishes for himself.
“The young ones and the old,” Leo murmurs, smile fading while Sergi gets out his phone to call Marc Bartra. Nobody else seems to hear those six words, and Marc wonders if he’s heard right. Piqué doesn’t appear to hear either, but then he leans down and whispers something in Leo’s ear to make his smile reappear.
It reminds Marc that he’s not the only one without a loved one for the holidays. He thinks he remembered hearing that Antonella had the kids for the month. And hadn’t that been a surprise, when he’d found out that Leo and Antonella were just friends as opposed to romantically involved.
Marc shakes his head, going back to trying to figure out which one of his teammates is the gift giver. It’s clearly one of the veterans, since neither Jordi Alba, Leo, Piqué, Busi, Masche, nor Andrés have received gifts. They’re all possibilities. Neither Ney nor Luis has gotten presents either, though, and they haven’t been around for *that* long…
If Marc had to guess right now, he’d guess that Jordi’s the mastermind. Not that Marc ever imagined he’d be thinking something like that about Jordi Alba! But it’s only because of how much Jordi’s been complaining that he hasn’t gotten anything. It’s almost like Jordi has been trying to throw them off the trail and keep everyone from getting suspicious. And Jordi’s been at Barcelona for awhile. He’s friendly with everyone. He also has been talking nonstop about how much he loves Christmas. It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to assume that he’s the one behind this.
Marc’s just decided that yes, Jordi must be their secret santa.
Except the next day, Jordi gets a present.
To be fair, it’s the perfect time for Jordi to be rewarded. He scores a goal during the derby against Espanyol, and Marc couldn’t be happier for him.
“Look! It’s my turn!” Jordi says, finding a gold box inside his locker after the game. “Finally!” He holds it in his hands and turns the box around a few times before shaking it as if he’s trying to figure out what’s inside. Something rattles, but doesn’t seem to break, and Marc finds himself smiling at Jordi’s joy.
“Well, you finally scored,” Ney says, hanging on his locker. “Guess I was right, huh?” He’s entirely happy for Jordi, despite not being able to score himself. “Who would have thought?”
Jordi grumbles. But then he smiles. “I did score,” he says softly, clearly proud of himself.
Ney laughs, hitting him on the shoulder. “You did,” he admits. “Now open the box and show us what you got.” Luis and Leo crowd around Jordi, too, equally as interested. “Hurry up so we can take pictures,” Ney adds, seeing his teammates are almost finished getting dressed.
Jordi holds the box up for everyone to admire one final time. And then with a flourish, he tears the lid off. They all peer down inside.
“It’s a keychain?” Luis asks as Jordi lifts up a keychain in the shape of a car.
“A Ferrari?” André asks from a few lockers down, trying to identify the make and model. He looks extremely interested. "For real?"
“Dude, you got a car?” Ney asks, snatching the keychain away so that he can hold it up himself. “I’d sure as hell better get a car when it’s my turn!” he exclaims, shaking it in Jordi’s direction.
Jordi’s busy reading the note that came with the keychain. “No, dumbass,” he says to Neymar, finally looking up. He laughs and shakes the note. “It’s driving lessons,” he admits, grinning from ear to ear.
“But why the keychain?” Luis asks, grabbing the Ferrari back from Neymar and then giving it to Jordi.
Jordi takes it gratefully. “It’s driving lessons,” he repeats. “*And*, when I’ve completed them, it’s a Ferrari driving experience.” He looks down at his little keychain and then drives it up the side of the locker. “Like on a real racetrack where I can go super, super fast.” He starts making little car noises, imitating squealing tires. “Only when I’ve got my license, of course.”
“So never, then,” Andrés adds, as he walks by and heads over to Lucas and Samuel. Arda and Rafinha laugh from where they’re sitting together across the room.
Jordi continues to drive his keychain up his locker. “Sooner than you think!” he exclaims, starting to drive the car all over the wall and then over towards Marc.
Marc is not ashamed to say that he gets out of there pretty quickly.
The next day, Busi comes up to him. “I know you’ve been trying to figure this out,” Busi says quietly, gesturing to a thick package. It looks soft and squishy, the paper covered in polka dots and crinkling as Busi sticks it under his arm. “I already know what this is, and I wasn’t going to open it here, but if you really want me to, I’ll do it for you.”
Marc is confused. “You know what it is, already?”
Busi smiles. “It is exactly what I needed,” he says, opening the package slightly so Marc can see. Inside, in several different colors and patterns, are socks.
“Socks?” Marc asks, making a face. “What kind of gift is this?” He thinks of socks as being more for children or as stocking stuffers. “You like socks?”
Busi shakes his head like he knows something Marc does not. “It is exactly what I needed,” he repeats gently. “Have you not noticed? All of these gifts are exactly what we need.” He rewraps up his socks, squishing the paper slightly. “Sure, some of the other gifts probably cost more money, or included more time spent in acquiring them—but my needs are simple. And our mysterious gift giver knows that.”
Marc tries to wrap his head around it. “So they knew you wanted socks,” he says slowly.
Busi laughs. “Marc, listen. It’s not always about *wanting* something. It’s about *needing* something.” He turns and puts his package into his locker. “You think that Lucas wanted those nose strips? That Aleix wanted a cake for his girlfriend?” He laughs. “Hell, that Arda wanted books on Portuguese?”
Marc finds himself finally getting it. “But how do they know what we need?” he asks, still amazed. “How do they know if we don’t know ourselves?”
Busi doesn’t have an answer for him.
Spirits are still high from the derby win, and they all start preparing for the upcoming Copa game against Hércules. Leo, Luis, Ney, and Piqué all have the opportunity to begin their vacations early, but they hang around for some reason. Marc wonders if it’s because one of them is the gift giver. Of course, they also could just be waiting for their own gifts.
Neymar certainly seems to be getting anxious. Though, that might be because he's missing quality party time in Brazil.
But it’s Masche who gets the next present. They come back from training to find a tall brown box sitting in front of his locker. “Open it, open it, open it,” Sergi, Rafinha, and Denis all begin chanting. They don’t stop until Masche waves a hand and growls at them.
Leo laughs and pats Masche on the shoulder. “Better do as they say,” he says, on his way over to get some mate from Luis. “The young ones can get pretty loud.”
At that, Piqué stands on the bench and begins chanting, too. “Open it, open it, open it,” he says, getting louder and louder until Masche rolls his eyes and starts to open the box. Then the chanting changes to, “Faster, faster, faster!”
Masche ignores them, focused on getting into the box. When he does, though, he sits down on the bench and stares. Marc finds himself joining the crowd, wondering what it is that has Masche so stunned. “Is that?” Marc asks, trying to peer through the heads blocking his view. “Is that a guitar?”
Ney raises his eyebrows. “That’s a good one,” he says enviously, reaching out to touch it.
Rafinha slaps his hand. “Ney, no.” He gives him a look. “A man’s guitar is sacred.”
Ney pulls his hand back to his chest and cradles it protectively. He keeps looking at the guitar. “It is a good one, though,” he says as if Rafinha hadn’t struck him. “Do you play, Masche?” he asks, sounding surprised.
Marc finds that he is eager for the answer.
Masche reaches out and lifts the guitar out of the case. “I haven’t in years,” he says, sounding dazed. “I don’t know how long it has been.” He holds the guitar in his lap, fingers going to the neck and strings automatically. Slowly, very slowly, he starts to strum. “I think I still remember…”
Everyone around them quiets instantly, listening to the song he’s playing. The tune isn’t one that is recognizable to Marc, but suddenly Leo is beside him, having apparently been drawn over like the rest of them. “Oh,” Leo says, resting his head against Marc’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful.” He starts humming, the vibration traveling through his body and into Marc’s.
“You know it?” Marc quietly asks Leo, peering down at him and seeing Leo smile.
It’s nice, seeing the joy spread across Leo’s face.
Especially when those cute dimples appear.
“Yes, of course,” Leo replies, smiling brightly. He hums a few more bars along with Masche’s strumming. “It’s a lullaby from home. I haven’t heard it since I was a boy.” He leaves Marc and sneaks through the crowd and places a hand on Masche’s shoulder. “Your girls would love this, Javi,” he says softly, humming along again as Masche continues to play.
“Yes,” Masche says, still sounding like he’s dazed.
Leo pats him on the shoulder again, before going back to his mate. Most of the crowd follows his example and disperses, too, leaving Masche alone with his new guitar. Marc finds himself leaning against the locker to listen longer, but he’s definitely not the only one. For the rest of the evening, the normal chatter is hushed, as if everyone is still listening to the sweet music.
Marc can’t believe that it’s December twentieth already.
The next day everyone is back to being their loud selves, especially with the Copa game looming. Masche is walking around with a smile on his face, but switches to looking threateningly at anyone who dares to mention the music or the song.
Marc doesn’t bother him, knowing that a surly Masche is not one to be trifled with.
Leo seems to be the only one who gets away with anything, though perhaps it is because Leo is only humming under his breath as opposed to making fun of Masche. Marc isn’t even sure Leo knows he’s doing it. Masche keeps storming along the lockers each time he hears the song. But then when he sees it’s Leo, he lets out a sigh and returns to the bench.
Either way, it is quite funny to think that a lullaby is causing so much trouble.
Marc looks at the few remaining people who haven’t received gifts and wonders who is next. Obviously, people are wondering the same thing, because after the game against Hércules, when there is no sign of a present anywhere, people seem reluctant to leave. Lucas and Paco are out of there first, eager to celebrate their first goals, followed by Arda who’s been hyped since his hat trick, but the others are slow to exit. Some are clearly hesitating as if they want to see who the lucky person is.
Marc goes and showers. He didn't even make the bench for the game and therefore didn't dress, but he figures it's a clever way to be able to stay for a little longer. Nobody questions him as he makes his way to the showers, and he mentally cheers knowing that he’s getting away with it. But he must take longer under the water than he means to, because when he comes back, only Andrés is sitting there.
The captain is alone in the room, fully dressed and sitting in front of his locker. He’s smiling faintly but looks up when Marc enters. “Ah,” he says quietly. “I thought everyone had left.”
“Are you alright?” Marc asks, tightening his towel around his waist as he starts to drip on the floor. He’s concerned now as Andrés returns to staring at his locker, eyes facing the red metal for some reason that Marc can’t figure out.
Andrés nods after a minute like he’s deciding. “Yes,” he says softly. “I may as well show you.” He stands and opens his locker. On the shelf is a small bouquet of yellow flowers in a crystal vase. “Tonight’s gift," he says, looking at it tenderly. "I saw it earlier before the game but didn't want to make a fuss."
“Flowers. Daffodils?” Marc asks, not understanding the significance. “Someone gave you daffodils?”
Andrés takes out the vase carefully, setting the gift down on the bench next to him. He kicks his locker closed and then sits down beside the flowers. “Not for me,” he admits, his faint smile still on his face.
Marc doesn’t quite understand.
But then Andrés continues. “Daffodils are for babies born in March,” Andrés says as if he’s revealing a secret, touching the fragile petals carefully.
Marc lets out a sigh then.
“I think about my son often, especially around the holidays,” Andrés says. “And, well, I’m glad that someone else does too.” He shakes his head then as if he realizes he’s getting too melancholy. "I needed to know that, I think." He stands and grabs the vase, being careful not to spill the water inside. “Goodnight Marc,” he says, holding the flowers close to his chest, and looking at peace. His smile changes back to his normal one.
Marc watches him go, wanting to say something, but not finding the words. Flowers seem like such a small thing--perhaps costing even less than Busi's socks... but it's obvious that they meant so much to Andrés.
The next day, nobody mentions that the gift giver missed a day. But then again, there isn't really time. Marc doesn’t have to wait more than five minutes before it becomes evident that Neymar’s gift is here. Of course, it’s not so much gift as it is a person. And it’s not so much a person as it is Ronaldinho.
*The* Ronaldinho.
Not everybody sees the green and yellow envelope that Neymar pulls out of his locker with shaking hands. And nobody is close enough to tear the note out of Neymar’s hands when Neymar stands there dumbfounded after reading it.
But they all see the man who practically dances into the room, toothy grin stretched from ear to ear, giving hugs and hellos out like he’s unbelievably happy to be back. In thirty seconds, he’s already whirled around the room and made it over to MSN’s corner. “Ah, ah, ah,” Ronaldinho says when Leo jumps up for a hug. “I’m not here for you. I'm here for a little Brazilian!”
Leo makes a face, going in for a hug anyway. “Rafinha, then?” he teases, hiding his face in Ronaldinho’s chest while the other man wraps his arms around him.
Ronaldinho throws his head back and laughs, kissing Leo on the head before pushing him away. “Don’t be jealous, niño,” he says, pointing a finger at him and shaking it. “You’ll always be my favorite, you know. But I’m here for Neymar, today!”
Neymar looks stunned, but he stuffs his envelope in his pocket and gets up. He unknowingly approaches Ronaldinho with his mouth open, unable to hide his hero worship.
Marc can’t really blame him. Talking to one’s idol is always a tricky thing.
Ronaldinho hugs Neymar tightly, whispering something in his ear. Neymar nods in agreement, still seemingly unable to say a single word and then the two of them are gone, heading for one of the conference rooms for what Marc assumes is a private talk.
Rafinha looks after them sorrowfully. “But I want to talk to him, too,” he pouts, sitting down on the bench and crossing his arms in disappointment. "Do you think he'll stay with Ney long?"
“It’s his gift, Rafa,” Paco says from the doorway. “Let him be, eh? You don’t want to share yours, do you?” He grins as Arda flushes from across the room.
Rafinha brightens. “You have a point,” he says, blowing a kiss to Arda and then going back to his own locker.
Marc shakes his head in amusement, watching as Leo and Piqué have an intensely heated conversation over in the corner. Luis is standing there, too, looking torn as to whether or not he should intervene. And it slowly occurs to Marc that one of those three must be the team’s secret santa—they’re the only three who haven’t received presents.
Leo? Piqué? Luis?
All three of them certainly have the resources needed to shell out money or favors in exchange for gifts…
Mats racks his brains, trying to figure out if any of them have given themselves away somehow. Did they leave any clues? Did they say something that should have made Mats take notice? He honestly can’t think of anything. All three of them had acted equally interested, or not interested in whatever gifts were given.
Mats sighs. He just doesn’t know. And in fact, he doesn’t know what that fight is about either. Leo gets increasingly irritated, his expressionless mask appearing at one point while Piqué talks. Luis just watches, his head snapping back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match.
Eventually, Leo throws up his hands and stalks away.
Piqué looks after him and grins, throwing his arms up in victory.
Marc has no idea what has happened, and wonders if he should go after Leo to make sure he’s okay. But he's suddenly troubled by something else. He turns to Busi, having to ask about Neymar's gift. "Busi?" Marc says quietly. "Isn't Ronaldinho the last person Neymar should be talking to? I mean, we all know his partying ended up causing problems. I do not want the same thing to happen to Ney."
Busi nods. "I know what you mean," he says seriously. "But that's just the thing. We can all warn him until we're blue in the face, but he's not going to listen unless it's coming straight from the source. You know what I mean? Ronaldinho isn't the last person Ney should be talking to--he's the first."
Marc thinks that over. “This is another one of those ‘what he needs’ as opposed to ‘what he wants’ gifts, isn’t it.”
Busi laughs. “Can’t it be both?”
Marc laughs too. “Okay, I guess so,” he says, bending down to put his shoes on. He looks over and sees Busi doing the same thing. “Nice socks, by the way,” he adds, a pair of blue and red striped socks peeking out from his ankles.
Busi winks. “Just what I needed, eh?”
Marc straightens up. “Can I ask you something else?” He waits for Busi to nod and lean in. When his teammate does, Marc clears his throat. “Do you know who’s giving out these presents?”
Busi smiles. “Of course,” he says, winking. Then he gets up and leaves Marc there gaping after him.
Marc’s still clueless the next day, but at least he’s one day closer to the truth. Because Luis pulls a sky blue envelope out of his locker with glee. Ney and Sergi see him do it and instantly start shouting, “Luis has a present, Luis has a present!”
The entire locker room watches while Luis opens it.
Luis takes one look at it and starts squawking with laughter. He sits down on the bench and slaps his knee, handing the card to Andrés to read. “A lifetime supply of mate,” Andrés announces to the group, smiling at the oohs and ahh that echo throughout the room.
“No more complaints about sharing with me, now,” Leo announces, sitting down next to Luis. “Only fair.”
“Me too,” Masche chimes in, sitting on Luis’ other side. “In fact, I’m kinda craving some right now, so if you could move along and serve some…” he says, waving his hand towards where Luis normally keeps his thermos and gourd.
Andrés hands the card back to Luis. “The other thing is nice, isn’t it?” he asks, ignoring the looks around them.
“What other thing?” Ney asks, jumping up on the bench. He steadies himself by resting a hand on Jordi Masip’s head. “What other thing, Luis? Tell me what else you got!”
But Luis merely shakes his head, sticking his card into his pocket to protect it. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Then he shrugs. “The mate is the main gift, though. The other thing is just a bonus.” Then he snorts as if he’s made a joke. A second later he dissolves into laughter again.
The rest of them start laughing as well, having no idea what is so funny but also being unable to keep straight faces while Luis is making that noise. Piqué begins videoing it with his phone so he can upload it to twitter later.
On Christmas Eve, they don’t have training.
Mats sits at home, wondering whether or not Leo or Piqué have received gifts. He can’t believe how fast the month has gone, or how long this silly gift giving business has remained a mystery. He thinks back through all of the gifts and tries to find some sort of pattern. But the truth is, he can’t find one.
Some people got things to wear: Lucho received sunglasses, Juan Carlos and Robert both got watches, Samuel opened sneakers, Busi unwrapped socks (and Lucas got ’Breathe Right’ nose strips which would probably count too!)…
Some people got things to eat or drink like Joan and Joaquín and José Ramon with their tacos, André with his pasteis de nata, Aleix with his girlfriend’s birthday cake, and Luis with his mate.
There were also a bunch of books with a variety of subjects: Rafa Pol received poetry, Jasper got cooking, and Arda and Rafinha both got languages.
Two presents were sports memorabilia, with Denis being lucky enough to have Xavi’s signed jersey and Jordi Masip being surprised with Buffon’s signed gloves.
A few presents were actually more like experiences. There was dinner at a fancy French restaurant for Jérémy, a sitter and a hotel room for Ivan, a trip to Germany for Sergi, driving lessons and a future racetrack day for Jordi, and then a private talk with Ronaldinho for Ney.
There were only a couple of gifts that didn’t really fit into any category: Paco’s ninot, Masche’s guitar, and Andrés’ flowers.
And whatever Luis’ secret bonus gift was.
Marc can’t find a pattern. The gifts all appeared in a variety of packaging. Small boxes, big boxes, envelopes, wrapping paper, and some without any packaging at all. Pink boxes for those from the bakery, but other than that, completely random except for a few with team colors.
Denis’ Xavi jersey came in red wrapping, presumably for Barça.
Jordi Masip’s Buffon gloves were presented in a black and white striped box that was probably because of Juventus.
A few of the later envelopes were in team colors too—Sergi’s Germany trip came in black and yellow for Borussia Dortmund, Ney’s was green and yellow for Brazil, and Luis’ was sky blue for Uruguay.
But Marc is frustrated. He can’t understand the other colors. Why would some of the envelopes come in team colors, but then Jérémy’s come in green and Ivan’s come in purple? It just doesn’t make sense!
Marc gives up on trying to figure it all out. He spends his day baking cookies and listening to Christmas music. Later, he watches a few holiday movies. Then he spends the final minutes of the night decorating his tree. It’s nearly midnight, but he likes to add a few ornaments each night leading up to Christmas. He’s just finished by adding the angel to the very top when his phone rings. He pulls it out to see that it’s Piqué calling. “Oh, maybe I will finally find out the truth,” he mutters, accepting the call. “Hello?”
Piqué starts yelling the second he answers. “I am going to kill him!” he shouts, barely pausing before continuing to rant. “Do you know what he did?! I don’t care what he thinks he knows! This is ridiculous! Do you hear me?? How am I supposed to manage this? And the kids! Jesus, fuck, how could he? How could he, Marc?!”
There’s screaming going on behind him, joyful screaming from what sounds like Sasha and Milan, and Marc isn’t sure but perhaps even Shakira.
Marc has to pull the phone away from his ear and wait a few seconds for his eardrum to recover. “What has happened?” he asks or tries to ask, though he’s not sure Piqué can hear him with all of the shouting that’s going on in the background. “Gerard?”
“I told him I was on to him. I told him he was not doing anything this year! I should have known he was messing with me… This is the worst thing I’ve ever gotten!” Piqué shouts at the top of his lungs. There’s a chorus of laughter behind him. “No, don’t you all laugh at me. We are not keeping it. I don’t care. No, no, no, don’t you do that. Don’t you look at me like that!”
Marc senses that this part of the conversation is not directed toward him. “Gerard?” he asks again.
But Piqué curses and abruptly hangs up.
Marc looks down at the phone in amusement. He’s just in time to see the numbers change. “I wonder what all that was about,” he says to himself, now knowing that the mysterious gift giver must have been Leo all along.
It makes him smile, envisioning Leo scurrying around and trying to be all secretive--perhaps juggling brightly colored packages in the locker room before the others showed up every night. Marc imagines Leo pulling strings to get reservations for Jérémy's favorite restaurant, of him tracking down a bakery that would make Portuguese delicacies for André... He thinks of Leo watching Arda and Rafinha make eyes at each other for months, of Leo overhearing the countless calls Sergi made to Marc Bartra... And of course, Leo could have easily talked to Gigi, to Xavi, to Ronaldinho.
Leo would have known that Masche once played guitar. And he would have known about Andrés' son.
A few seconds later, there’s a soft knock on his door.
“It can’t be,” Marc mutters, looking at the time again. “Why would he—?” He wanders over and opens it, phone still in hand. “Leo?” he asks, seeing that his teammate is standing there looking awkward. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
Leo scuffs his feet. “I know, but,” he says, looking down like he’s not sure what to say. In fact, he doesn’t end up saying anything else, just shifts on the step outside, looking more and more uncomfortable. Then he shivers, ducking down into his scarf and trying to hide his face. “Um…”
Marc kicks himself. “Come in, come in. Please,” he adds earnestly when Leo hesitates. The last thing he wants is for Leo to catch a cold.
Leo’s smile peeks out over his scarf and he obeys, looking around at the decorations once he’s inside. His smile gets brighter when he sees the tree. “That’s lovely,” he says, unwrapping his scarf and dropping it on the coffee table. He takes a few steps closer to peer at some of the ornaments that Marc has brought from home. “It’s one of the things I love best during the holidays--seeing all the trees sparkling with lights and tinsel. Every one has a different style.” He reaches out and plays with one of the silver bells that Marc’s hung on the branches.
Marc feels a burst of warmth in his chest. “Thanks,” he says quietly, warring with himself as to whether to explain. “I know it’s just me, here,” he says, “and maybe it is silly to get a giant tree for just one person. But I like it.” He looks at Leo standing in front of the tree and has to catch his breath. The lights are sparkling off the silver and gold ornaments, creating an aura around him.
Marc thinks that now, the room looks even more beautiful.
Leo turns around. “I got a tree for myself, too,” he says quietly. “Just because we’re alone for Christmas doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to celebrate.” He sighs. “Speaking of, do you want your present now?” he asks, his face almost too dark to see because of the lights behind him.
Marc laughs, moving to the side so he can see him properly. “Not if it’s anything like Piqué’s,” he says, delighted with the grin that starts spreading out across Leo’s cheeks. “You should have heard the call I just got from him. What was it that you gave him?”
Leo’s dimples are on full display. “I got a similar call. Don’t worry,” he says. “And it was a puppy,” he admits, tugging at his hair. “Geri can protest all he wants, but he’s always loved animals and I know deep down he wanted one. I almost did it for last year’s present, but it would have been too much with little Sasha coming in January.” He shrugs. “This year worked better. I think he almost guessed, somehow, the other day.”
Marc sits down on the couch and pats the cushion for Leo to join him. “He wanted one, or he ‘needed’ one?” Marc asks, wondering if Leo will tell him. “It seemed like all of your gifts were all so spot on… How did you do it?”
Leo laughs. He sits down and shrugs again. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he says softly, looking at the tree instead of Marc. “Whenever the holidays roll around, I’ve always just sort of gotten this feeling.” He closes his eyes and smiles. “It doesn’t make sense, really, but I have this intuition about what people need... to be happy, to be healthy...”
Marc stares at him in awe. “That’s wonderful,” he says. “I think you did. I think you made so many people happy.” He thinks of the smile on Paco’s face, the glee on Ivan’s, the peace on Andrés’… “Thank you for everything you’ve done for them.”
Leo turns to look at him, eyes shining. “Marc,” he says, shaking his head. “This is why the only gift I’m not sure about is yours,” he says slowly, fingers playing with his jacket. He bites his lip. “You’ve probably wondered why you haven’t received anything, but I’ve had trouble figuring out what it is you really need… I’m sorry.”
Marc shakes his head. “No, Leo,” he says helplessly, reaching out and taking Leo’s hand. “I don’t need anything, I swear. At the beginning, to be honest, I was wondering what I would get. But as the days went on, and I saw everyone so happy, I never even thought about it.” He squeezes Leo’s fingers, keeping them from fidgeting. “It became more about figuring out the mystery!”
Leo looks down, tangling his fingers with Marc’s until they’re pretty much holding hands. “Do you want your present now?” he asks, repeating his question from when he first walked in. He tilts his head up and smiles, his dimples back in full force. “I know it's late, and I probably shouldn't be here. But I couldn't wait any longer. It’s different from anything I gave the others… But I think,” he pauses and licks his lips, “I think this is what I’m supposed to give you.”
And then, Leo very slowly leans in and kisses him.
Marc can’t control the surprised gasp he makes, but his other hand comes up to cradle Leo’s head. There are so many things going through his mind, but never once does it occur to him that he doesn’t want this. If anything, he realizes that yes, he’s wanted this all along. The kiss isn’t forceful, or aggressive. It isn’t teeth and tongues and frantic making out. Instead, it’s the softest of kisses, a brief touch of lips and a taste of sweetness before Leo’s pulling back to look at him.
“Merry Christmas, Marc,” Leo whispers, smiling shyly. His dark lashes are fanned out across his face, cheeks pink, his normally pale skin flushing as Marc stares at him.
“I—,” Marc tries, reaching up to touch his mouth. “You—,” he says, trying again, still unable to speak a complete sentence. His hesitation apparently panics Leo, because the other man starts to turn red—this time in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” Leo mutters, yanking his hand from Marc’s. He bites his lip and looks like he’s about to make a run for the door. "I was wrong... Just forget it--," he mumbles.
But Marc puts an end to that immediately.
He threads his fingers through Leo’s hair and pulls him back for another kiss. This time he adds a little heat, adds a little evidence of his desire, moving his lips against Leo’s and savoring the moment. Leo lets out a soft moan before reciprocating, hands clinging to the back of Marc’s neck.
Marc's barely aware of anything else, pulling Leo's slim body into his lap, wishing he'd taken off his jacket. But it doesn't matter, because Leo's always fit against him so perfectly, so comfortably, that he wouldn't change a thing. When Marc remembers that they both have to breathe, he ends the kiss but nuzzles against Leo’s cheek. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on the soft skin at the corner of Leo's mouth. “Thank you, Leo.”
Leo’s breathing has quickened, and his hands tighten on the back of Marc’s neck. But he doesn’t let go, and if anything he melts into Marc’s embrace, resting his head against Marc’s. “I wasn’t sure,” he whispers, laughing a little. “Everyone but you, I knew,” he admits. “For you, though, had a backup gift in case this didn’t work out.”
Marc laughs too, tilting his head and pressing a kiss to Leo’s forehead. “What was it?” he asks curiously. “Not that I’m trading this one,” he adds quickly, tugging lightly on Leo’s hair. He smooths a hand down Leo's back, keeping the other man against him.
Leo looks embarrassed, but he pushes against Marc's chest until he can sit up. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a slim green box. "You can still have it. It's like a bonus gift. Nothing big," he says, biting his lip again. "It's not--I just--," he trails off and bites his lip nervously. "It's probably all wrong."
Marc raises his eyebrows. "Oh," he wonders, "that reminds me. What was Luis' bonus gift? He got something other than the mate, right?"
Leo laughs. "That's nothing big either. And it's probably stupid, too, but I was in a cutesy mood when I was thinking of him." He looks up at the ceiling. "It's a lifetime supply of hugs."
Marc definitely doesn't think that's the cutest thing he's ever heard.
He stifles his laugh and instead takes the package from Leo. "Why the green box?" he asks curiously. He waves it slightly, but he can't tell what's inside.
Leo nods and then looks slightly confident. "Oh, yes," he says. "Green for you. It's your favorite color." He looks bashful after that. "I know that much at least."
Marc feels like smacking himself in the head. "Favorite color," he repeats, thinking back to all the different colored packages and envelopes. "Makes sense." He holds the box carefully, and then when Leo gives him an encouraging look, he pops off the lid.
"It's just gloves," Leo says quickly, as Marc pulls out a pair of black leather gloves. "I noticed you didn't have any, and you'd always look like you were cold when we'd go out after games. I know you have to wear goalie gloves most of the time, so maybe you don't even want them..."
Marc tries on the gloves, each of them sliding on easily. The insides are lined with something incredibly soft, and he can already feel his hands getting warmer. "Leo," he says, delighted. "These are wonderful! Thank you!" He wiggles his fingers experimentally. "I can't believe you noticed I didn't have a winter pair."
Leo laughs. "I've been watching you rather closely," he says, tilting his head to the side. "Trying to figure you out."
Marc pulls off his gloves and puts them back into the box. Then he sets his hands back on Leo's hips. "Well, I'm glad you did," he says softly.
He's just about to say more when all of a sudden his phone buzzes several times in a row. He frowns but pulls it out, glancing at the screen.
Then he has to laugh.
He has ten different pictures from Piqué.
They're all the dog. Shakira with the puppy, the kids with the puppy, the Christmas tree with the puppy... His phone buzzes once more while he's holding it, and he has to laugh again--it's another picture, this time of just Piqué and the dog exchanging kisses.
Marc shows them all to Leo who just smiles softly like he's not surprised.
"You were right," Marc says, turning off his phone and tossing it to the side. He reaches up and combs a bit of Leo's dark hair off of his forehead. Leo closes his eyes at the touch, arching as Marc's hand cards through the strands. "You were right about everything."
"I'm glad," Leo says, opening his eyes afterward. His dimples are back, and he's radiating pure happiness, dark eyes almost glowing despite the dim light.
He might be the most beautiful thing that Marc's ever seen.
"Me too," Marc says, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Merry Christmas, Leo," he whispers, feeling so incredibly happy. He doesn't think any of his other presents will ever live up to what Leo's given him tonight.
Especially when Leo leans down for another kiss.
The end