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A cheer went through the locker room as Ramos finished his pre-game speech, whipping the madridistas into an absolute frenzy ahead of the match.
Luka had been itching to play Barcelona all season, and now the Clásico was finally upon them. Luka had been on a hot streak too, scoring or assisting in each of the team’s last six games, now that he had fully settled into his role in Madrid.
The noise continued as the players chatted and prepared, gathering the last things they needed from their lockers before heading out to the pitch.
Luka sifted through his bag looking for his tailor-made shin guards when Sergio came up to him.
“You ready for Barca, brat?”
Luka looked up at the brilliant Spaniard, smiling at the poorly-pronounced Croatian nickname. Sergio clapped one hand on his shoulder and held the other out to pull him up.
“How about you stick to Lukita for now”, Luka laughed as he took Sergio’s hand and embraced him.
To others, their hug may seem like just a captain and an ace, sharing a moment before a game, but the two footballers held between them a tenderness, a warmth, that others couldn’t see.
Luka had crashed and burned into Sergio from the moment he arrived in Madrid. The two were drawn to each other magnetically, and it was not long before the men couldn’t stay away.
At first, it had been a glorious mess of chaos, as the midfielder’s distaste for the defender’s cocky authority had left Luka balancing the need to punch Sergio in the face on one hand and the longing to kiss it better on the other.
Fighting on the field and fucking in the nearest supply closet after had become routine, and while neither would admit it, they both lived for the drama the other bought.
One particularly bad row, over poor passing and over-zealous tackles in practice, followed by a life-changing hook-up in the showers of the locker room had finally broken Sergio.
‘Seriously I don’t understand this Lukita’ he had cried. ‘Do you hate me or do you love me? How are you like this?’
‘Oh’ Luka had replied with a shrug. ‘This is just how Balkans are’.
Since then the two had fallen into an easier place, as they found peace both on the field and in bed. Though it certainly was harder to pretend that their touches meant nothing in front of their teammates.
After perhaps too long, Luka pulled away from Sergio and nodded.
“I’m ready to keep my streak alive”, he grinned, “though, I can’t seem to find my shin guards”.
“Oh, you gave those to the equipment manager, remember?”
“Ah, jebem ti-”, Luka cut himself off with a facepalm, as Sergio laughed at his friend’s misfortune.
“It’s okay, I have an extra pair. A captain is always prepared.”
“Ah no Sergio, it’s okay”, Luka cut him off. “I need mine anyway, I’ll be jinxed without them”.
“I’ll be right back, okay Capi?”
“Alright but be back in five minutes, we have to line up.” Sergio responded, lingering his arm on the Croat’s shoulder and letting his hand drag as he turned away to address the rest of the team.
Luka hurried then, not wanting to be late for such a big game, and left the locker room, rushing through the now-empty hallways of the stadium.
Just when he was about to reach the equipment room, he heard a loud shout and a thud. Luka stopped in his tracks, searching for the source of the noise.
“Come here little one”, a deep voice cooed as a large frame emerged from the equipment room.
Zlatan Ibrahimovič stepped out into the hall and Luka found himself diving behind a conveniently-placed bin of balls, left just outside the equipment room from warm-ups a few hours earlier.
What the fuck is Zlatan doing in our equipment room? Luka thought hurriedly, before a more frightening idea crossed his mind. Wait, does he know I’m here? Am I the ‘little one’?
Despite hailing from the same background, the Croatian and the Swedish-born Bosnian had never been close, as Ibra so often moved around from team to team. Luka had also heard some nasty rumors, from disgruntled teammates and exes of the striker, and as such had never found the desire to connect with the giant.
Luka peeked out from his hiding spot just in time to see Lionel Messi of all people trod out from the closet behind Zlatan.
What the fuck? Luka wondered, seemingly no closer to an answer.
If Luka had a million guesses as to what would happen next, he never could have gotten that the Swede would turn to the Argentine, cornering him against the wall, and begin devouring the brunette’s face, kissing him like he needed the smaller man to breathe.
What the fuck!
After what seemed to be an eternity of Luka frozen in place amidst the sounds of wet smacks and tiny whimpers, the two finally broke apart.
“Good, now you will give Zlatan lot’s of goals?”
Lionel simply nodded, his doe-like eyes shining up at the other man.
Luka had completely blanked out at this point, staring in shock at nothing as the pair walked away, in the direction of the visitors' locker room.
Finally, the midfielder blinked and realized it had been far longer than the five minutes Sergio had given him.
Luka hurried away, shin guards completely forgotten.
…..
Fuck was all Luka could think, bending over to catch his breath in the 86th minute. The Clásico had been long and hard, and the two teams both remained scoreless.
Whether it was the bad energy from not wearing his special shin guards, or the pure shock of his earlier discovery leaving him off-kilter, the Croat had played as hard as he could but just couldn’t find his rhythm.
It was Barcelona’s ball, and they were lined up for a corner kick. This could make or break everything.
Luka stood up and found Sergio’s gaze from across the field. The Spaniard stood guarding Zlatan, a difficult match up by itself, but between the Swede and Argentine together, Madrid’s defense had been exhausted. A tiredness was present in Sergio’s eyes and Luka was sure the heaviness he felt in his limbs was shared by the other man.
Luka nodded, trying his best to silently communicate to Sergio. We’ve got this.
The whistle blew and suddenly the world moved in slow motion.
Luka watched as the ball was kicked back into play, a perfect arch, careening straight towards Zlatan’s ready head. Sergio tried to jump for it as well, and prevent a game deciding-goal, but the height Ibra had on him was simply too great.
The sound of the ball hitting the net was deafening, before being drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
Luka watched, slack as Barcelona celebrated their triumph around him, and was just about to turn to comfort Sergio when something caught his eye.
Zlatan ran around, jumping on his teammates, but passed Messi by without giving him a second glance. Instead he grabbed the face of another player who Luka could not quite name, and planted a kiss right on his open mouth. He pulled off and laughed, and everyone around them took it as a great joke, but Luka knew that to someone else on the field, the gesture meant far more.
Luka nearly snapped his neck turning to find Messi on the field, and was probably the only person in the Bernabéu not looking at the goal celebration.
When he finally found the Argentine the sheer devastation in Leo’s eyes nearly knocked Luka off his feet.
That stupid bastard is trying to make him jealous! Luka realized, seeing right through Ibra’s plans, as it was absolutely something he would have done to Sergio a few months ago. I should’ve done that with Bale, it’s genius.
Luka looked again at the mopping brunette, and a renewed anger boiled in his gut. Alright, fuck this though.
“Sergio!” Luka jogged over to the Captain, who was on his knees after the heartbreaking miss he took.
Luka cupped the Spaniard's face, and met his beautiful brown eyes. “It’s not over yet.”
It was simple, but it seemed the fury Luka felt passed through to the defender, as a newfound energy blazed in him. Sergio didn’t respond, but simply nodded, and from that moment on the game became a blur.
The madridistas wouldn’t go down without a fight, and Luka and Sergio played like madmen for the remaining time. The clock ticking down and into stoppage time served only as another motivator, and finally, in the 92nd minute, Luka had his opening.
Sergio opened up a perfect path for him, though with the pure exactness of the shot he probably had some help from God as well. Luka made a break across the pitch with the ball, and suddenly, there was no one in front of him.
Then, Luka blinked, and suddenly he was down on the field, grass stains all over his white uniform, with Sergio on top of him.
“Gooooooaaaaaallllll”, screamed someone, but at that moment it was as if Luka and Sergio were the only two people left on earth.
“Lukita, Lukita, Lukita”.
It was all he said over and over, but he didn’t need to say anything else. Luka knew what he wanted to say, but could never under the eyes of the world.
…..
The match ended in a tie, which, under the intense pressure that playing in the white uniforms brought, was basically a loss. Still the Madrid locker room buzzed as players cleaned up and parted for the night, as keeping Barcelona from winning was its own kind of victory.
Luka received pats on the back and congratulations on his goal, but the awfulness of his play for the majority of the game left a sour taste in the Croatian’s mouth. He needed to get his shin guards back.
As soon as he was done in the locker room, Luka set out to return to the equipment room, and hopefully retrieve his pads with much less excitement than last time.
“Where are you going?” Sergio stopped him right as he went to leave. He was still getting changed, leaving his shirt off and his muscled, tattooed chest exposed. Luka did his best to not stare too hard, but still found a blush creeping up his face. “I thought we were leaving together?”
“Yeah we are, I didn’t forget”, Luka assured him. “I just couldn’t find my shin guards earlier, and I can’t go any longer without them.”
“They weren’t in the equipment room?”
“No! Well, I actually don’t know”, Luka admitted. “Something…happened before I could get there and I couldn’t waste anymore time before the match.”
“Something happened?” Sergio looked worriedly at the smaller man, reaching out to offer comfort. “Is everything okay Lukita? Do you need me to handle this?”
Luka smiled, both at the affection from his partner and at himself for training him so well.
“No, no Capi, it’s all right. I have to tell you later though, not here.”
“Not here?” The Spaniard looked even more puzzled than before, but resigned to trust his midfielder. “Okay, but you have to explain when you get back.”
“Of course,” the Croat promised, giving Sergio one last nod before making his way back through the bowls of the stadium.
This time, as Luka arrived at the door to the equipment storage, there was significantly less fanfare. Still, he paused for a moment, and looked around to make sure there were no Argentinians or Bosnian-Swedes ready to interrupt him again.
He even knocked on the door before opening it, even though he felt quite silly, but at this point, he’d rather be too careful than get an eyeful of a Barcelona player’s ass.
Satisfied that he was the only one there, he entered the dark room, and began moving through the different bins. Each player had their own box, but without the minimal light from the hallway, it was hard to make out names. Finally, Luka spotted one labeled Modrič on the edge of a shelf by the wall.
He made his way over, climbing over the various equipment and items left on the floor. They really have to get someone to clean this place up, he thought as he hopped over a dissembled net strewn about haphazardly.
Sure enough, at the top of the box lay his shin guards, decorated with images of Mother Mary and his family.
Dobro, dobro. Luka kissed each icon, as he would have pre-game, had these not been tucked away. He felt eased as he was able to complete his ritual, and a bit of the tension he had been carrying all day slipped away.
Just as he was about to leave a small hiccup caught his attention.
Luka’ eyes narrowed, as he scanned the room for the culprit. Who was hiding?
For a moment, the Croat believed he might have imagined the noise, and shrugged off his paranoia. But then, it happened again.
A soft, strangled sob.
Then shiny brown eyes met Luka’s in the darkness, tears threatening to spill out.
“You.”
Luka stared at Lionel Messi, hunched over into a ball, crying in Real Madrid’s dressing room.
The Croat was hit with two waves of emotion. First was pity, for this young, delicate and devastated boy, clearly drowning in his own sorrow.
The second was sheer rage that one of the greatest players of a generation was getting played by Zlatan of all people.
“Get up!” Luka told him, perhaps much harsher than he intended.
The Argentine wobbled to his feet, and was breathing hard, noticeable in the otherwise silent room.
“Come here.”
Luka walked over to him, and in his anger, grabbed the brunette by the collar and dragged him back out into the hallway. The other man was too stunned to even respond, limply letting the midfielder throw him like a rag doll against the wall.
“Listen to me. You need to stop.”
“Stop wh-”
“Ah! Shhh”, Luka cut off Leo, ignoring the pleading look the attacker gave him.
“I saw you two, earlier. Before the game.”
At this Leo’s eyes grew wide in fear, and his mouth fell open as if to defend himself, but no sound came out. It was as if his life was flashing before his eyes.
“You cannot be so stupid as to let someone like him endanger not just you and your career, but your sanity.” Luka hissed, pushing Leo so hard he began to slide up the wall. “You do not understand the implications of what a relationship like this means. He could ruin you, he will ruin you.”
“Because of who he is, this will end in nothing but pain. You need to end this, now. Do you understand?”
Leo simply stared down at the Croat, an unreadable expression now on his face.
“I have never in my life yelled at someone like this.” Luka swore, hoping the Argentine would understand the severity of his plight. “Do you understand?”
“No.”
Leo stared back at Luka, who simply shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean no, you don’t even believe what you’re saying.” Lionel countered, a stronger resolve forming in his tone.
“What? What the hell does that even mean, just because I am-”
“I mean you’re doing it too! Everyone knows the way you and-”
“Me? Me? I would never in my life do something that stupid!” Luka cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. “Who is even saying that, it’s complete bullshit.”
Confusion clouded over Leo’s face, as he raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Really? Nothing ever happened between you and anyone? Not even Vedran?”
“God no, that’s disgusting.” Luka shook his head and waved the thought off with his free hand.
“Not even Ivan?”
“Seriously he’s your teammate, if you think he wouldn’t have told you by now Barca must be having some serious locker room problems.”
“Okay but I don’t believe for a second that you and Ramos are ‘just friends’.” The Argentine spit back.
Luka stepped back immediately in both shock and doubt. He dropped Messi, letting the other man slide back down the wall with an ‘oomf’. For a moment he simply stood there locked in a staring contest with Leo, wondering not only how obvious he and Sergio must have been getting, but also what the hell they were even talking about anymore.
“Sergio isn’t even Balkan!” Is all Luka managed to say before Messi squawked, an identical expression now mirrored on his face.
“Balkan? What does that have to do with anything?”
A beat passed as the two footballers gawked in mutual confusion as whatever they each had said was clearly not what the other interpreted as.
“Okay wait,” Luka said, before taking a deep, steadying breath in. “What I am trying to say is that Zlatan is a dog, and he will only hurt you, because he is not only one type of Balkan, but two, and Balkan men are the worst people in the world.” Luka finished, slowly and carefully emphasizing his point so nothing else could be lost in translation.
“Ooooh” Messi sighed, finally a spark of understanding passing between the two. “I thought you meant to not get involved with teammates.”
“Oh.” Luka replied curtly, now embarrassed at his erratic behavior. “I mean, that’s good advice too but, you know,” Luka cleared his throat, blushing, “I may not be the best messenger for that. So…”
“But…” Messi started, hesitating as his thoughts raced in his head. “Ibra’s Swedish, he’s not really Balkan.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Luka cut him off, trying to convey the direness of his claim, “it’s hereditary, he could’ve been raised in Canada and he would still have the evil of a Balkan man.”
“Oh.” Leo responded, trying to process this information.
The silence seemed to stretch on for an eon as the two took stock of the predicament.
Messi finally broke it with a sigh. “I just like him so much and I thought he liked me, but I don’t even know anymore…” Leo met Luka’s eyes and they held a certain private sadness that Luka was certain hadn’t been shared with anyone else. “The way he acts with some of our other teammates, it makes me worry. And no matter what I seem to do, he still wants to see other people.”
Luka sighed and stepped towards the Argentine, wrapping his arms around him and patting him on the back. “It’s okay, there’s nothing you can do, we’re all complete bastards.”
Messi stayed there, and shook as he buried his face deeper into Luka’s chest.
Despite their bitter rivalry out on the field, the warmth the two shared amidst the cold and dark hallway melted the ice just a little bit.
It’s funny, Luka thought to himself, we might be some of the only people in the world who could understand each other.
After a few beats long Messi pulled away to get some air and wipe his face, though Modrić kept his arms on his shoulders for support.
“Aren’t you a Balkan man? How did Ramos get you to settle down?” Lionel asked, chuckling through his poorly hidden tears.
“Oh I haven’t,” Luka scoffed tsking away the idea, no matter how much it may have been true. “He only wishes”, Luka tossed his hair for dramatic effect. Leo began to actually laugh, a real smile breaking out on his face.
“Something tells me that’s not so accurate.” Leo giggled and Luka couldn’t help but laugh too.
When the pair caught their breath, Luka grew a bit stern. “I do have some advice for you, especially if you don’t want to end things.” Leo nodded back eagerly, clearly desperate for someone to give him any direction in this relationship.
“Listen, the only thing Zlatan goes through faster than teams is hookups.” Luka leveled with Leo, who was now listening intently. “But what he can’t resist is a challenge.” Luka said and Leo looked at him as if it was a revelation.
“It doesn’t matter how needy and vulnerable you’ve been at this point, you need to ice him out. Not too much so that he moves on, but enough that he’ll have to focus back on you to figure it out.” Luka finished, Leo nodding in agreement, a new light of hope shining through his eyes.
“I see,” Messi responded, “I have to use his tactics against him. I have to park the bus.”
“Yes, exactly!” Luka cheered, wondering if he should’ve just used a football metaphor from the beginning for the little maestro. Luka pulled back and gave the brunette a high-five, “Now, when he comes over here looking for you, what do you do?”
“Park the bus, give him nothing.” Leo responded, a scheming smirk playing on his face. Luka was ecstatic at his new found deviousness, but also worried a little if the Argentine’s rosy cheeks, round face, and doe-eyes may foil their plan.
Jesus Christ he’s adorable! Luka thought, understanding Ibra’s position a little more.
“Excellent, you’ve learned well!” Luka gave Leo a friendly push, the two in much lighter spirits than before.
Just then, a familiar echo filled the hallway, along with two sets of heavy footsteps signaling that someone was coming around the corner.
“Lukita, where are you? Have you seen the little devil?” A soft smack cut off the cocky Spaniard, “Ow man, you know I’m joking.”
“Silence Ramos, he’s not your teammate to speak on.” A heavily accented voice rose, responding in clunky, newly learned Spanish.
“This is perfect!” Luka turned to Leo, giving him one last briefing. “Okay, I’ll handle the talking, and you just let him sweat.” Luka whispered, and Leo shook his head energetically, before schooling his expression back to a more hardened gaze.
“Luka, are you- oh!” Ramos and Zlatan finally rounded the corner, catching sight of their missing counterparts. “There you both are! Ibra needs to drive boy-wonder here back to the hotel so I was helping him find their way out.” Sergio stopped for a second, glancing between the two smaller players, recognizing something was afoot but clearly unsure what. “What are you guys even doing?”
“Talking.” Luka answered curtly, rolling his eyes, trying hard to not look at Leo's face, lest they both break character and start laughing.
Sergio shot another confused look at Luka, trying to interpret the Croat’s short response.
This is great, I can piss Sergio off too! Luka smiled in his head, always looking for another chance to needle Ramos, and a good fight always meant better sex.
Before Sergio even got to respond to Luka’s dismissal, Zlatan cut him off and narrowed his eyes at the Croat. “About what?”
“Nothing important.” Luka waved, matching the Swede’s hostile tone.
This was a step too far for the already irate striker, as he stepped toward the shorter men, grabbing Leo by the arm.
“Come on little one, no need to be conspiring with los blancos”. Zlatan went to turn away, expecting Leo to follow, but to his surprise, the Argentine pulled out of his grasp and stood his ground.
“And who are you to speak to my friend that way?” Lionel cocked an eyebrow at the taller man, who just gaped back, taken aback by the show of defiance. “Or me? You should be apologizing for interrupting us instead of being so rude”, Leo delivered, although his voice quivered with uncertainty, and he made a quick worried glance at Luka to make sure he was doing this right.
Luka gave him a quick nod, assuring Leo that he was on the right track.
Ibra, on the contrary, looked as if the Argentine had struck him across the face, awed by the sudden confidence of his teammate.
“Well I…I…” Zlatan began to stutter, looking around for any help. Sergio, unaware of the relationship and any other context that could possibly explain what was happening, simply shrugged.
“Znaš reći ‘izvini’.”
The striker looked as if he was about to murder Luka before Lionel chimed in again.
“Nevermind. Just drive me home.” Leo pushed past the Swede, giving him a literal cold shoulder. Only Luka noticed the almost invisible smile that played on Leo’s lips and the Croat knew it was only for him.
The three remaining men simply just stared at each other, before Ibra finally turned to Modrič.
“Što si to jebati rekao?”
“Samo to da smo psi.”
“Are you coming?” An annoyed Leo voiced from further down the hall, shooting Ibra such a cold look that Luka couldn’t help but feel proud.
Zlatan gave Luka one more stink eye before turning to Sergio,“Good luck with this one.”
Sergio didn’t have a chance to respond before the Swede was following his teammate down the hall.
Now, left alone in the hallway together, Sergio gaped dumbly at Luka trying to make any sense of what had just happened.
“Are they…”, the Spaniard, at a loss for words, crudely mimed his hands, smushing them together wildly.
Luka finally broke, unable to conceal his laughter any longer. “Come on, I’ll tell you back at my place.”
At this Sergio’s eyes lit up, like a pet hearing its favorite words.
“You should’ve said that sooner”, Sergio smirked, “but did you get your shin guards? I can’t have my midfielder losing his magic.”
“So you think I’m only good because of magic, hm? Not all the hard work I put in?” Luka questioned, hoping to make Sergio panic a little.
It worked as the defender grew flustered and looked for the right thing to say to his partner, “I mean…uhhhh…”
Luka laughed and turned away, amused by his ability to throw Sergio off his game. “Let’s go Capi, you can apologize at home”, he called behind him as he started back towards the locker room.
“Yes Lukita.”
It might have been cruel to toy with his Sergio like that, but what could Luka say? After all, he was a Balkan man.