Chapter Text
The stadium is overwhelmingly loud, as always; fans packed across the seats like sardines, cheering for their side. It’s a home game at the Bernabéu for Real Madrid, facing their local rival: Atlético Madrid.
The referee blows the starting whistle and players from both sides sprint into action. The footballers and the fans are in high spirits, cheers and shouts ringing out constantly from the stadium. Sergio Ramos lives for this kind of atmosphere. What seemed like an intimidating amount of pressure for others was something as simple as breathing for him—he thrived under the spotlight. As captain, Sergio was extremely proud of the current Real Madrid team; a stellar forward, dominant midfield, and powerful defense—they were essentially unstoppable. They even won two Champions Leagues in a row. However, despite their strength on the pitch, Sergio’s favorite thing about this squad was their connection with each other. He’d never felt so attached to his teammates; though he must admit, not all of his affinities were equal.
Ever since Luka Modrić joined Real Madrid, Sergio’s affection had always been unbalanced. It started a few months into Luka’s first season, when the Croatian man approached Sergio after a particularly rough game and began listing out his frustrations with the defender. Although Luka was a new member and obviously nervous about criticizing an older Madrid player, his boldness struck through to Sergio. After that, the two gradually became friends, best friends, and then something more that they both won’t admit.
Sergio is proud to declare that he knows Luka the most out of everyone on the team; so when the midfielder looks like he’s about to collapse after the first half of the game, Sergio notices. He quickly makes his way over to Luka as the team enters the locker room during halftime.
“Luka, are you feeling okay?” Sergio asks as he watches Luka sit down. He doesn’t miss the way his friend’s legs slightly tremble while lowering himself.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Luka replies with a bit too much force to be normal.
Sergio isn’t convinced. He sits down by the Croatian’s side and curls an arm around his friend’s shoulder, bringing him into a small side-hug. Luka remains tense, but he appreciates the warmth from Sergio.
The midfielder has been off for months, and whatever’s bothering Luka seems to be worsening with time. Sergio sees the slight lag in Luka’s passes, the hesitation that wasn’t there before, the subtle weight loss, and the exhaustion that never seemed to leave the blonde’s eyes. At first Sergio wrote it off as stress, but the defender decides after today’s game he needs to confront Luka; he doesn’t want the man accidentally causing himself any permanent injuries, they still had such a long journey left together after all!
As Zidane enters the locker room, Sergio gives a small squeeze on Luka’s shoulder before leaving for his designated seat. The coach begins listing out what they need to pay attention to and improve on in the second half, the teams are tied 1-1, so it’s anybody’s game right now.
—
Whatever Zidane was going on about, Luka couldn’t understand. There’s a faint but constant ring in his ears, and a throbbing headache that hasn’t gone away in days. Even ten minutes into kickoff, Luka knew something was wrong—his body seemed heavier than usual, his mind was disoriented and foggy. There was a dull ache in his joints that made him miss many passes that he normally would’ve completed with perfect accuracy.
“Luka, you need to—, we can’t have you—, you’re—“ Zidane directs at the Croatian midfielder, but Luka couldn’t make out the words, so he just nods along. The ringing in his head seems to intensify.
Twenty minutes after the start of the second half, Luka’s pretty sure the pain in his body and his head is not normal. Footballers are always in some sort of pain; an ache in the calf, bruises on your shins, but whatever Luka’s experiencing right now feels like it was crafted by hell itself. Pain and exhaustion curdles around every inch of his body, sprouting out like a volcano after months of anticipation. His face and hair was dripping with sweat. Luka sighed internally, I must look ridiculous.
Not wanting to hinder his team’s performance, Luka slows down to ask to be subbed off—when just at that moment, a flash of pain strikes through his body as he collapses with a quiet gasp. It leaves his mind numb and vision blurry.
The last thing Luka sees is the green turf beneath him before blacking out.
—
Sergio has just successfully intercepted Atlético’s attack, quickly shifting the ball to his other foot to pass to Kroos, who’s already on his way to make a counterattack. After releasing the pass, Sergio sees Bale accelerating down the right with a speed that leaves the Atlético defender in the dust. Some excitement rises in his chest—this could be a goal!
The referee’s whistle cuts through the defender’s thoughts.
Sergio whips his head around to look at the referee in disbelief. There was no foul in the play, why was he calling off such a crucial attack? Sergio is about to start questioning the referee’s decision when he spots a small midfielder curled up on the floor in pain, their distinctive blonde hair cradling around their neck. Sergio’s breath staggers and he’s running towards Luka before he registers it.
He pushes past a few other teammates who’ve also hurried over to check on Luka, and kneels by his friend's side. The Croatian is sickeningly pale, his breath is shallow, and his skin is hot to touch. Sergio curses at himself for not pushing further during halftime, how could he let someone so dear to him work themselves to the bone like this?
Medics quickly arrive at the scene, but no matter how much they shake Luka, nothing can wake him. His condition only seems to worsen. Another group of medics come onto the field with a stretcher, and the group hoists Luka into it with a bit too much ease. Sergio notes to himself that he needs to get his friend to eat more, or ask Real Madrid’s nutritionists to make Luka another meal plan. Sergio can only watch as Luka is carried off the field. A frustrated Zidane subs on Isco in the place of his star midfielder.
The whole team is disorganized after that event, and their rhythm falters quickly. Soon, Atlético scores a goal that brings them into the lead. Real Madrid fight until the last second, but they don’t manage to equalize. As the final whistle blows, the score is 2-1, and Real Madrid is devastated. After such a long winning streak, the team struggles to take the bitterness of defeat—especially with Luka weighing on their minds. Sergio rushes through the aftermath of the game; absentmindedly shaking hands with opponents and answering interview questions. As soon as their mandatory duties are over, Sergio, Marcelo, and Kroos go see Luka together. Zidane says the Croatian was taken to the nearby hospital soon after being carried off the field, which just causes more panic to stir within Sergio. He’s pretty sure he speeds most of the way on the trip to the hospital.
When the three reach the hospital where they took Luka, Sergio bolts to the front desk to ask about his friend. Kroos, ever so calm, gently shoves the defender to the side and asks the man with more cohesive sentences. After receiving their names and information, the receptionist confirms that they’re on Luka’s contact list for emergencies, which slightly warms Sergio’s heart. They’re given a room number, and the three quickly make their way there.
Marcelo, Sergio, and Kroos softly push open the door to enter a white, sterile hospital room to find Luka sitting up in bed. He’s attached to IV drips and a heart rate monitor. Luka isn’t shocked when each teammate brings him into a tight hug, but he’s too tired to reciprocate. They settled into comfortable spots. The three players pulled chairs to sit by Luka’s side, and Sergio kept his hand intertwined with Luka’s, gently rubbing his friend’s knuckles. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort himself or Luka.
“So…Lukita, did the doctors tell you anything yet?” Marcelo asked.
Luka shook his head, “They did some scans and tests, they said the results should be out quickly, so we’ll see.” He paused for a beat, “Did we win?”
The three exchange an awkward glance before Kroos sighs, “No, we lost, the winning streak’s over. We’re sorry.”
Luka frowned slightly before replying, “It’s alright, we can bounce back. This is just the start of the season.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the creak of the door opening, and a doctor walked in with a clipboard. Marcelo tried to predict what the doctor would say based on her expression, but her face was so schooled the Brazilian couldn’t decipher anything.
“The news I’m about to say can be quite upsetting, and it’s also deeply personal. Mr. Modrić, would you like to go over this privately?” The doctor asked, her professional tone almost felt robotic.
Luka glanced at the three men around him, his closest friends—basically his family at this point. He didn’t mind them finding out whatever’s going on with him. If it was a big medical issue, Real Madrid would notify the team sooner or later anyway.
“It’s alright, I’m fine with them hearing,” Luka said with a faint smile.
The lady gave a nod before taking a deep breath. Sergio didn’t like the look of that, his leg slightly bouncing up and down from the tension in the room.
The doctor began talking, “We went over your scans and blood tests. We found out…there’s an illness that’s causing your body to deteriorate. It’s the reason why you might’ve experienced more joint pain, weight loss, and headaches recently. There are treatments for it, however…” she paused to let the information settle for a second, “It seems like it’s been months since the first emergence of the illness, and catching the disease at this stage is…unpredictable.”
Luka’s eyes widened, his fists clenched harder to the pale white sheets covering half of his body. Marcelo had a hand over his mouth. Nobody dared to interrupt.
“We’ll do everything in our power to help you fight off the disease, but the chances of survival at this stage is uncertain, though it is possible.” she paused again, “Our staff will help inform the Real Madrid medical team. I’m sorry, Mr. Modrić.”
Luka’s world stopped.
Sergio felt his heart crack, and an ache in his stomach that hurt more than any tackle on the pitch could. He was too scared to glance up at Luka, in fear of his emotions betraying him, but he saw his friend’s grip on the bed sheets loosen in shock.
The doctor had a grim expression on her face, years of experience and a battle-hardened soul seemed to wash away as she spoke again, not as a doctor, but as a fan. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Modric, you’re a wonder on the field. I-I’m a huge fan.” She wiped a tear out of the corner of her eyes, and immediately returned back to the professionalism her job demanded.
“I’ll leave you guys to process this, um, please press the call button if you need anything.” With that, the woman quickly left to attend to others, the clicking of her heels echoing through the halls.
The only thing following her absence was silence.
Luka’s entire body was numb, Marcelo said something, but he didn’t hear. The only thing passing through the Croatian’s mind was, I’m never going to play football again. I’m losing my whole life, my whole career. I’m dying. His train of thought is interrupted by a crushing hug from Marcelo. Only then did Luka realize he was crying. He snaps back to reality and the first thing he sees on his right is Kroos with tears silently sliding down from his eyes. Toni Kroos never cries. He’s a pillar of patience within the Real Madrid squad—almost never losing his cool in a game. The tears on his stoic friend’s face only slam the seriousness of his predicament harder into Luka’s chest.
On his left, Sergio is silent. He’s staring at the floor, eyes in shock, hand tightly gripping Luka’s fingers like he’s scared the midfielder will fade away. In the white, sterile hospital room, the three men mourn a life that hasn’t passed.
—
The door behind Sergio closes with a soft click. Soft rain is dancing on the windows, creating a symphony of taps. The rain is usually a peaceful backdrop for Sergio Ramos, but today it’s a sullen song that drowns him further in despair. The defender doesn’t make it ten steps before crumbling against a wall, hands pressed to his eyes, weak broken sobs escaping his throat.
Sergio remembers being peeled off of Luka’s bedside by the hospital staff, Marcelo, and Kroos. After that, everything was hazy. He wasn’t sure how he ended up back home, but he’d have to make sure to thank either Marcelo or Kroos for driving him—he would’ve definitely crashed had he driven in this state. Sergio choked out a bitter laugh at his pathetic state. Just a few hours ago he was basking under the fluorescent stadium lights, thinking about the future of their team, his future with Luka. Now it’s gone. Everything. The team would never be complete without Luka Modrić. Sergio’s heart would never be complete without Luka Modrić. Even if the midfielder survived his illness, it was highly unlikely he would be able to return to professional football.
In the darkness of his own home, Sergio cries until his voice grows hoarse and tears stop coming.
—
The next day, Sergio wakes up to an ache in his back and neck. He fell asleep on the floor. Sighing, he drags himself up to prepare for training. He goes through his entire morning routine without a hitch, it’s basically muscle memory at this point for the defender. He stops himself from thinking because he knows where his consciousness will drift. As Sergio is about to leave for his car, he realizes he’s carrying two coffees in his hand. His step falters, and the thoughts he was trying to avoid for the whole morning pour in. On Mondays, he always picked up Luka from his house and drove to practice together. He’d always have a coffee prepared for the Croatian and they’d chat about random things the whole drive there. Sergio sits in the driver’s seat like always, the cup holder beside him is filled with two coffee cups like always, but his favorite midfielder is missing.
Before his emotions get to him, Sergio steps on the gas pedal and drives to clear his mind. He’s at the training grounds twenty minutes earlier than usual.
As Sergio steps into the locker room to change before training, he finds nobody else but Marcelo there.
“Sergio! How’re you holding up?” The Brazilian asks, and Ramos recognizes the faint bags under his eyes.He wasn’t the only one that didn’t sleep well.
“Could be a lot better. Where is everyone?” Sergio knows there’s no point in lying, but he quickly diverts the topic to stop the thoughts from coming into his head. Marcelo understands.
“They’re all in the meeting room upstairs. The hospital probably notified our staff already. Come with me?”
So the two defenders walked in a comfortable silence to Real Madrid’s meeting room.
Upon entering the room, Sergio spotted Cristiano (ever the early-bird), Navas, Benzema, and Kroos. Sitting at the front of the table was Zidane and, surprisingly, Florentino Perez.
The president of Real Madrid being here without any previous warning was rare. Sergio looked between Marcelo and Kroos, all three of them had a hunch on why. Currently, none of the other players knew of Luka’s condition. While a few had texted the Real Madrid group chat asking about Luka, none of the three who visited the Croatian replied.
Soft chatter spread throughout the room as the players talked about last night’s game; teammates slowly trickling in as time passed. Soon, all but one seat was filled, and Zidane cleared his throat to get the attention of the team.
“I’m sure you’re all curious as to why this sudden meeting was called.” He hesitates for a beat, uncharacteristic for the confident coach, “Mr. Perez has some important news to share, regarding one of your teammates.”
Sergio, Marcelo, and Kroos exchange glances, they know exactly what’s about to happen.
“Thank you, Zidane. I’ll cut to the chase: as you all know, yesterday Modrić fell unconscious during the game and was delivered to the hospital for treatment shortly after.” He takes a deep breath in, “Hours later, Real Madrid was informed of his medical condition. Modrić has been diagnosed with a potentially terminal illness, and will likely no longer be joining us here in Real Madrid.”
The final words felt like a death sentence, leaving the room in silence—suffocating, devastating silence.
It took a minute for someone to recover and begin asking more questions.
Bale shifted his position and asked with anger coated beneath his voice, “How did this happen? How did our medics miss something as big as this? Were there NO symptoms? There’s no way they didn’t pick up on this.”
Everyone nodded in agreement of Bale’s concerns.
“I get your anger, I’m currently conducting a thorough review on our medical staff and procedures. However, the most likely answer is that the test to detect this illness is extremely specialized, it’s not common amongst people—especially athletes of your caliber. Our team didn’t consider this disease when creating your medical checkups. Modrić also hid the pain admirably, though I also can’t believe our staff didn’t detect anything.” Perez stated.
Bullshit. Bale whispered under his breath. He scoffed and threw himself back against his chair. Both hands flew to cover his face before he breathed out a long, exasperated sigh. His eyes began to wet. Bale’s mind was still in disbelief. Luka, his longest friend, was going to die. He feels the urge to scream, he wants to scream at the medics who made this mistake, scream at Luka for hiding something so serious, but most of all, he wants to scream at himself for not spending more time with Luka.
Around the table, players have their heads in their hands, some are embracing each other, and a few whispers of disbelief and comfort are said.
“You said potentially terminal, right? What are Lukita’s chances of surviving?” Cristiano suddenly said, a few heads sprouted up at the question.
“The hospital mentioned it as around thirty percent. It can increase if their medical treatments are all successful.” Perez replies.
“We all know Luka well, he doesn’t give up a fight. Luka will live—and even if he can’t be a player, he could help with other aspects of the team, no? Let’s support him with positivity through this battle.” Cristiano hopes nobody notices the slight waver in his voice, he tries his best to remain strong in front of his teammates.
Agreement rings out across the room, though the depressive atmosphere doesn’t fully lift. A few minutes later, the meeting is adjourned and they return to training. Zidane shortens the practice by two hours, but nobody’s cheerful about it.
—
After practice ends, Sergio drives to a flower shop, then to the hospital again. He knocks on Luka’s door before quietly entering the room. The blonde is asleep on his side, slightly curled in. Sergio grabs a chair and sits by his friend, listening to his soft breathing as the heart monitor nearby beeps steadily. The repetitive rise and fall of Luka’s chest comforts him. His hands find themselves carding through Luka’s hair, which is unbearably soft.
Ramos doesn’t keep track of how long he stays there, but the sky eventually darkens and he knows he has to leave. He sets the fresh flowers he bought into a vase nearby, gives Luka a soft kiss on the cheek, and exits the room as quietly as he came.
—
In the span of two weeks, Luka’s bedside table at the hospital has become crowded with cards, gifts, and flowers—all from his Real Madrid family. The gestures were heartwarming, and the presents served as a colorful decoration for the otherwise bare room.
These past few weeks, Luka’s life had changed completely. Dizziness, headaches, and stomachaches were a constant. Tiredness clawed at him like a needy dog that wouldn’t leave. He no longer felt like the world-class athlete he once was, but rather a sickly man who’s restricted to bed rest the entire day. His arms were horribly sore from the constant shots and injections he’d been receiving. It made him feel powerless. He desperately wants to run around, kick a football, or just walk a few blocks. At this point, the only thing keeping his mind entertained was watching films on the TV, learning to draw, or reading novels people brought in for him. Above all else, he misses his friends. Sure, they came in whenever possible to give him gifts and check in on him, but ever since the diagnosis, nobody’s had a real conversation with Luka. It was like nobody knew how to talk to him anymore. It was just the relentless, “you got this!” Or “stay strong!” Luka swears, if he hears it one more time, he’s going to roll his eyes and facepalm. Maybe he just wants to be annoyed at something.
Real Madrid hasn’t had a good game since Luka’s collapse. They’ve had a loss, two ties, and a win that was barely scraped by. The whole team was off, clearly bothered by something. Even Zidane wasn’t mad at the results, his face would display a mix of disappointment and understanding. Nevertheless, the media was relentless.
“Real Madrid’s Decline: What caused the super team in La Liga to fall?”
“Luka Modrić vanishes from Real Madrid starting lineup after incident on field”
“Is Real Madrid cursed after winning 2 Champion’s League titles?”
“Real Madrid loses first place ranking in La Liga to FC Barcelona after devastating recent matches”
“Is Modrić out due to injury? Read below for expert analysis on the midfielder’s absence”
Luka scrolls through the endless headlines absentmindedly. He wonders when Real would announce his departure from the club, silently dreading the reaction that would follow.
He’s already told his Croatian National Team friends, who replied to Luka with nothing but support and encouragement. In the back of his head, Luka remembers that the World Cup is next year—he hopes Croatia goes far even if he isn’t there.
Just then, he hears three soft knocks on the door and instantly recognizes it as Sergio. The defender walks in with a faint smile and flowers, brightening up when he sees Luka awake.
Sergio has settled into a new routine after practice, becoming a regular at the small flower shop in Madrid where he'd pick up new flowers every time he went to visit Luka.
“Lukita! How’s my favorite midfielder doing?” He says while ruffling the blonde’s hair.
“Hm…decent…I guess?”
“How was your day today? What’d the doctors do?”
“Just some antibiotic shots, they said they’ll stop using painkillers soon. Said they aren’t good for my health in the long run. Not looking forward to it.”
Sergio hums at that, his hand finding its place in Luka’s hair again.
“How was training?”
“Oh…it was okay, we miss you a lot.”
Luka sighs, Sergio’s avoiding the topic of football again. The two settled in silence after that, Luka resting his head on Sergio’s shoulder and the defender’s hand continuing to comb his hair. Luka feels his eyes start to flutter, but urges himself to stay awake.
Some time later, Sergio whispers that he has to leave. Luka can’t help but frown when the other man’s warmth fades away.
Sergio puts on his jacket and steps to leave, he makes it three steps before—
“Sergio.”
The Spanish man stops and quickly turns his head to look at Luka.
“Um, you know you don’t have to shield me from topics. I won't get jealous or something because you talk about football. I’m not going to get angry if you talk about a hangout with Marcelo. I know it’s unfortunate I can’t be there, but it’s not your guys’ fault. Please, I miss you guys, I want to hear more about your day.” Luka pauses and whispers in a barely audible voice, “It just…It feels like everyone’s mourning me when I’m still here.”
Sergio's heart cracks more with each word, “Oh Lukita,” he says after Luka finishes speaking, rushing to hug the midfielder.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I promise. I think I just subconsciously avoided it—I’m so sorry.”
Luka chuckles and reciprocates the hug, “You don’t have to apologize, don’t worry Sese,”
Luka looks at Sergio, eyes full of determination, “I promise I’ll survive this, Sergio. I’ll survive and I’ll nag you endlessly at Real until you retire.”
Sergio smiles, brighter than Luka’s seen in weeks, “I’ll look forward to it!”
With a kiss on the cheek, Ramos leaves the room, his naive heart feeling hopeful for the future.
—
When the morning sun pours in on September 9th, Luka Modrić is thirty-two. He is trapped by familiar, claustrophobic white walls, lungs that aren’t working fully, and pain in his stomach. The beeping besides him speeds up. It keeps going quicker. Quicker. Quicker—Luka lurches forward, crimson spilling from his mouth onto the endless white around him. He gags and heaves until his vision is blurry; now there’s a cacophony of beeping noises surrounding him. A group of people with white coats crowd around him, and in his dazed state, Luka thinks he’s being carried somewhere. Where? He doesn’t know.
The world slants and turns black.
Luka doesn’t find out he turned thirty-two until two days later, while reading a card from Sergio.
—
The next week, Real Madrid announces the reason for Luka Modrić’s absence. The internet explodes. Now when Luka opens his feed, he sees an endless stream of touching posts. His heart warms at the appreciation and support from the world.
—
Two months later, Luka goes into surgery. The doctors deem him stable enough to operate on, saying that if this surgery turns out successful it’ll alleviate Luka from more pain and increase his chances of beating the disease. It’ll also allow him to be more active.
After hearing this, the Real Madrid locker room erupts in cheers. In their next game against Real Sociedad, the Madrid team wears shirts saying ‘Fight on, Luka!’
They have their first big victory in months, winning the game 6-0.
While Sergio would love to stay for the festivities after the big win, he knows someone is waiting for him. The captain gives a few words to the press, congratulates everyone on the team, and signs some jerseys for fans before dashing off to the hospital. The Bernabéu slowly fades away in the distance.
At the same time of their game, Luka was receiving surgery, Sergio hoped the procedure went as well as the match.
He swerves his car into an empty parking spot and speed walks to Luka’s room, which he could probably find blindfolded by now. Some nurses even greet him along the way.
Walking inside the room, Sergio sees his angelic prince lying asleep on his bed, his hair spread around his head like a halo. However, the sight of an oxygen mask makes the defender’s steps stagger. Had the surgery been unsuccessful? Am I going to lose Lukita further?
Before his thoughts could spiral, the doctor who’d given Luka’s original diagnosis steps into the room—her distinct heels clicking behind her.
“Sergio Ramos?”
Sergio hums in recognition of his name.
“I’m pleased to say that Mr. Modrić’s surgery went smoothly. He’ll need three days to recover, but his body will greatly improve after that. I must warn that he isn’t out of danger yet, but his pain should become more manageable.”
Ramos lets out a long sigh of relief, glancing warmly at his best friend.
“He should be able to leave the hospital after the three day recovery period, we need him back for checkups thrice a week though. I’ve already informed the pharmacy of all the medication he will need—please ensure he uses them according to the exact instructions on the packaging. And most importantly, when Mr. Modrić is discharged, NO strenuous activities.”
“Loud and clear ma’am.” Sergio stands up, clasps his hands together and quickly angles his upper body forward to bow. “Thank you so much for helping Luka, seriously, I-I’m so grateful for all the work you guys have done. You guys are true heroes. Uh, if you ever need anything football related—free tickets, signed jerseys, that stuff—you can always reach out to me! It’s the least I could do.”
The woman just chuckles and says, “No need, no need! It’s my job.” before leaving the two alone.
Sergio goes home that day feeling ten times lighter.
—
“LUKITAAA!” Marcelo screams in joy at the sight of the Croatian, pulling him into a hug.
It’s Luka’s second day back from the hospital, and Sergio is hosting a celebratory team dinner at his house to welcome the midfielder back.
Luka’s body felt a lot stronger. His hands were more steady, and the ache inside him was manageable. With the help of some occasional painkillers, Luka could actually get around now. He didn’t think he’d ever miss the feeling of just walking around independently, but here he was. The first night back, Luka nearly cried from happiness when he got to sleep in his own bed.
The team feasts on a delicious dinner while constant chatter bounces around the room. Then Benzema suddenly asks Luka, “Any chance you’ll return to football?”
The room goes quiet, everyone eagerly waiting for the answer.
“Well…I’m not sure…I definitely want to, but I’m far from fully recovered—so I don’t know what my physical condition will be like. Um…I was thinking about becoming a manager's assistant for Zidane or something if I don’t return to the field.” Luka admits hesitantly. He’s always been praised for his vision in games, so he thinks a managerial position could suit him.
“Wait…that’s a really good idea Luka!” Bale exclaims, “I mean—of course the best option is returning as a player, but for a backup it’s not bad!”
The team seems to agree, immediately erupting in cheers. Sergio grabs Luka’s shoulder and shakes it affectionately. Luka smiles so much that night his face hurts afterwards.
Everyone ends up staying late. They play a few card games, watch a movie together, and talk about life. By the time people start trickling out, it’s almost 1am. Luka’s eyelids are heavy; he knows he’s about to doze off.
“Luka, do you want to just sleep here tonight? The guest bedroom is clean.” Sergio asks.
The Croatian sleepily nods. Sergio helps him up from the couch and assists the blonde to the bedroom. After sitting Luka down on the bed, he finds the Croatian clinging onto him.
Luka is muttering something about warmth unconsciously under his breath, and Sergio is wondering how one could fall asleep so fast. He does know that his best friend runs cold, so he makes sure to cover him fully with blankets. However, Luka’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, stubbornly refusing to let go. Something in Sergio’s chest tells him to just get into the bed and deal with the consequences later. He follows his instincts. Under the sheets, his left arm hugs around Luka and his right hand finds its place in the midfielder’s hair, cradling his head. They stay like that for a long time; Luka’s breath brushing against Sergio’s neck. It gives the defender time to think—all of it boiling down into one thought:
Oh god, I’m in love with Luka Modrić.
—
Luka begins to come to watch Real Madrid practices, sometimes doing a few light passes with the ball when his teammates approach him. He misses playing more than anything else, but being able to leave the hospital was already a blessing. He won’t push his luck.
When he tells Zidane his plans for the future, the coach smiles warmly and gives Luka a quick hug before saying, “You’re brilliant Modrić, I’d love to have you on my coaching team.” His reassured look helps Luka feel confident too.
—
Some days are harder than others. One particularly cold Thursday morning causes Luka’s symptoms to flare up again. He wakes up and finds his muscles locked; any movement causing severe pain. Ten minutes pass…then twenty…and Luka realizes he might be trapped in this position until someone finds him. Panic rises in his chest, but every deep inhale is painful, so the blonde settles for quick gasps of air. It doesn’t do much to alleviate the pain.
Three knocks ring from the door. Sergio.
He’s become somewhat of Luka’s personal driver. Bringing him to home games, practices, the movies, wherever Luka wanted. At first Luka was hesitant to take up so much of his best friend’s day, but after much reassurance from Sergio, he accepted the idea. Sergio was glad the second coffee in his cupholder wouldn’t go cold anymore.
Three knocks again.
Luka doesn’t have the voice to reply, he can only hope Sergio comes inside and helps him.
Thud thud thud.
Luka begs that Sergio remembers the passcode to unlock the door.
Thud thud—click!
The captain enters Luka’s house and rushes to the master bedroom. He sees his beloved taking shallow breaths, tears welled up, and staring at him with wide, helpless eyes. He runs over and immediately recognizes the symptoms Luka shows. The doctor had told him about these muscular tension episodes. The defender rolls up his sleeves and places his hands on Luka’s body. Swiftly, he begins massaging the man—feeling Luka relax more after each touch. Ten minutes later, the midfielder returns to normal. He shakily sits up and wraps Sergio into a gentle embrace, whispering thank yous to him repeatedly.
“Ay Lukita...I was thinking, how about you come live with me?”
Luka is stunned by the sudden request, “What? That’d be so troublesome for you. I’m sure I can manage on my own.”
“But…you know…what if you get a more serious episode and I’m not here to help? This could be life threatening, Luka.”
“Hm…I guess it would be nice, and you wouldn’t have to drive all the way here to bring me places.”
“Exactly! So you in?” Sergio beams, he has no ulterior motives (is what he tells himself).
“Give me some time to think it over,”
After some more persuasion from Sergio, Luka gives in and agrees to the arrangement.
—
Luka knows his time left in Real Madrid is limited. The club couldn’t keep paying a player who was to never play again, it was unfair to the others and illogical financially. Despite that, Zidane seemed adamant about giving Luka a proper last game with the team. Lately, the coach has been making frequent appearances at the medical center of Real Madrid. Luka overhears that Zidane is trying to get approval to give him a few minutes of play time for a proper farewell from the fans. The rumor makes Luka wonder what he did to deserve such a loving team.
The first week of December, Zidane meets with Luka privately to discuss his plans for the Croatian’s final game.
“The doctors have told me that you’re allowed 15 minutes on the field maximum for a potential farewell game—are you good with that?”
“Sounds great actually,”
Zidane switches to a serious expression, “Make sure to stay away from tackles, don’t overexert yourself.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll tell the team, this is sure to motivate them. I’ll only be able to sub you on if we have a significant lead though.”
Luka nods, his heart jittery with excitement at the thought of playing again.
Luka’s been going back to Real Madrid’s football games ever since he got discharged from the hospital, sitting on the bench with the less utilized players of the team. He loved the atmosphere, celebrating with his friends, and debating over referee decisions with his teammates. But most of all—it made him feel alive. Every time he steps out to the field, he takes in a long, deep breath. His mind tries to soak in every detail.
On one crucial equalizer in a Champion’s League game, scored by Sergio in the 87th minute, the stadium erupts. Real Madrid fans are screaming in joy, while the other side groans. There are nearly 83,000 people in the stadium, though after Sergio Ramos scores his brilliant header, his eyes only find Luka Modrić. His Lukita, cheering with the other players on the bench. He runs towards the midfielder with the widest smile on his face. The moment their eyes meet, Sergio brings Luka into a crushing hug, and they do a small celebratory handshake they’ve been practicing together.
Then he quickly says, “Lukita, up, up, if you’re feeling good enough.”
Luka immediately understands and nods excitedly. Sergio turns around and bends forward while Luka climbs onto his back. As soon as the Croatian is secure, Sergio stands back up, jumping and smiling. Luka waves his arms through the air, cheering with the audience. The rest of the Real Madrid team crowd around them, happiness radiating off the group.
The Croatian gets off Sergio’s back as the game begins to resume, seeing Luka’s beautiful, unrestrained smile makes the defender press a kiss to the midfielder’s forehead. The two agree to make the celebration routine from now on.
Fast forwarding to the current Real Madrid game, their last game at the Bernabéu for 2017. The cold December air seems to have no effect on their players; who’ve secured a comfortable 3-0 lead and are dominating the ball possession. Today is Luka Modrić’s last game for Real Madrid. The stadium is sold out, many fans carrying tributes or messages on large posters for Luka. In the 80th minute, the referee pauses the game for a Real Madrid substitution. Kovačić is brought off, and the audience erupts when they see Modrić being the one coming on. They began the chant: Luka! Modrić! Luka! Modrić! Luka! Modrić!
Zidane had meticulously planned for this moment, he wore a proud smile on his face while watching his star midfielder take the stage one last time.
The nearby teammates give Luka a smile and a clap on the back as he enters the field. To prepare for this game, Luka had to double-up on painkillers, and the doctors prescribed a stronger antibiotic weeks earlier to help him be in shape. He’ll never feel like how he used to—his running’s much slower and his body never quite recovered its strength. He knows the next few days will be hell to recover from the intensity of the game, but as the whistle blows to resume, Luka plays with a smile on his face.
He doesn’t provide much for the team in the first ten minutes, a few connecting passes and a short dribble is all he does. Luka’s stagnant in center midfield right now, he doesn’t have the energy to run from one end to another. He’s already out of breath, and some pain is growing in the back of his calf, but Luka smiles and continues on. Just five more minutes—he’ll be fine.
In the 90+2 minute of the game, Luka is at the top of the opposing team’s penalty box when Kroos passes the ball back to him. It’s a perfect pass, as usual from Kroos, and nobody is marking Luka. The opposing team probably thought he wasn’t worth the hassle to watch with his debilitating body. The Croatian’s brain slightly lags, but his muscle memory doesn’t let him miss the ball. He swings back his right leg, and strikes the ball hard. The world seems to pause as both sides watch the ball fly towards the net. The goalkeeper is running from the left side to save the shot, but he isn’t fast enough. Luka watches the ball go through the top right corner, and hit the back of the net.
4-0 Real Madrid
The Bernabéu explodes. The screens around the stadium display graphics saying, “GOOAALLLLL!!!” and the Real Madrid players themselves are also screaming in excitement. Luka runs, more free and faster than he has in months, he drops into a knee slide before standing up and hugging Kroos and the teammates behind him. His smile is brighter than the stadium lights. Luka turns to find his favorite defender running towards him, eyes wide with happiness.
“LUKA! YOU DID IT LUKA!” Sergio shouts. The two do their handshake and Luka climbs onto Sergio’s back for one last celebration.
An iconic photo is shot, Luka Modrić on the back of Sergio Ramos, with a wide smile and determined eyes. Fist pumped in the air. Below him, the entire Real Madrid team is celebrating. The moment is etched in football history. Luka Modrić defied nature, not letting his setbacks define him.
As the final whistle blew, Luka fell to his knees in happiness. He took in the thunderous cheers from the crowd, the slightly damp grass beneath his knees, and the feeling of winning. His eyes began to brim with tears, but he quickly swipes them away to not ruin the moment. Marcelo comes and throws his arms around Luka, followed by Cristiano, Bale, and Benzema. Soon, his entire team is by his side, raising the small midfielder up and tossing him into the air. Again and again, Luka felt as free as the birds flying above the Bernabéu. He forgets about the illness drowning him, and just lives.
Luka walks around the pitch doing his usual post-game routine. Greet the other team, celebrate with his teammates, wave to fans. He gets a few words of encouragement from the opposing team despite their loss. Soon, staff members are asking all players to leave to the side of the pitch and prepare for Modrić’s farewell ceremony.
The ceremony begins with a tribute video Real Madrid put together of Luka. Full of impossible passes, his goals, and the occasional successful tackle. When they show the 93rd minute corner kick Luka took in 2014 that resulted in Sergio’s famous header, Sergio smiles and wraps his arm around Luka’s shoulders. He quickly plants a kiss on Luka’s temple, leaving the midfielder laughing softly. Sergio wishes he could hear that sound every day. The tribute video ends with a title screen saying HVALA, LUKA!
The midfielder is handed a microphone as he walks towards the center spot of the field. The crowd is once again chanting his name; banners of his face and Modrić 10 are soaring across the stands. He stands there and sighs for a second, emotionally preparing, before bringing the microphone to his mouth and beginning his speech. He thanks the club president, his teammates, the Real Madrid staff, and the fans who’ve supported him for the past 5 years. It’s definitely not the best speech ever, but it’s uniquely Luka.
To end his speech, Luka says a phrase that he’s been repeating to himself every time he felt melancholic about the abrupt stop to his career: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
—
The next morning is exactly how Luka predicted it would be: painful. He can barely turn his head without straining his muscles, and suddenly he felt very thankful for choosing to live with Sergio. The man never complains about having to take care of the Croatian, always obliging. If Sergio were an animal, Luka thinks, he would be a golden retriever guide dog (when not considering his brutality on the pitch).
Sergio spends the entire day tending to Luka; helping massage his muscles, bringing him his food and medicine, watching movies with him. Recently, every time Sergio stared at Luka, he would find a deep sense of fondness in those brown eyes. The gaze made Luka’s stomach flutter, and his cheeks would slightly redden. He hopes Sergio can sense his love for him too.
—
Thrice a week hospital visits have slowly dwindled down to once per week, and the thought of death has fallen far behind everyone’s minds now. To all his friends, Luka was just sick. He wasn’t dying, just sick. And Luka, stupidly, believes it too.
A few days ago, Sergio and Luka arrived at a coastal city for winter vacation. Luka didn’t want to be in a cold city during one of their rare holiday breaks. The cold just made his muscles tense more often. That’s how he ended up standing on the balcony of a hotel under the night sky, listening to the waves crash on December 31st. He leans on the railings and lets the sea breeze sift through his hair, faintly hearing the sound of the balcony door open.
“Enjoying the view?” Sergio steps outside with two hot chocolates filling his hands and places them down on the table besides them.
“It’s so calming here. It reminds me of the beaches back in Zadar.”
Sergio hums, “Let’s visit Croatia next summer then,”
At the mention of home, Luka smiles and nods. “By the way, I didn’t properly thank you for planning this whole trip and taking care of me for these past few months. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Sese. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t even worry Lukita! It’s my pleasure.” The defender laughs as he sips the hot cocoa. Luka goes to sit down beside him, sipping his cocoa too.
“I might buy a property in a coastal city like this one day, maybe when you retire. It’ll be like our escapade.” Luka thinks out loud.
“That’d be amazing…I could even teach you some surfing tricks.”
“I could teach you how to swim better,”
“What? Hey! I’m super good at swimming!”
“Not better than me.”
“We’ll see about that…” They both giggle after the silly exchange.
The two sit in comfortable silence, watching the repetitive motion of the waves.
“You’re quiet, Sergio, is something wrong?”
“N-no, nothing at all! Actually, wait a second here, I’ll be right back!” The defender dashes back inside. Luka’s face is filled with confusion.
A minute later, Sergio comes back out with a small pair of headphones.
“Luka, they’ll be launching the fireworks right by the beach, and it’s gonna be really loud. Every year you miss the fireworks because you don’t like the sounds they make. I understand why—but I got these noise canceling headphones in case you wanted to watch this year,”
Luka stared at the headphones in Sergio’s hand with slightly widened eyes. Then, he immediately wraps his arms around the other man.
“Thank you so much, Sese. I’ll watch them this year with you, okay?” Luka’s never felt so understood and cared for by another person.
An hour later, it’s 11:55pm. People have crowded on the beach with blankets and chairs, awaiting the spectacle of colors and preparing to welcome a new year. Luka and Sergio have finished their hot chocolates, and the Croatian quickly puts on the new headphones he received. They are perfect. For the first time in decades, Luka gets ready to watch a firework show without anxiety. The two stand side-by-side, leaning on the balcony railing.
Unbeknownst to Luka, Sergio’s heart is racing. He’s about to confess to Luka, but instead of feeling like a star athlete who can handle pressure from millions of fans, he feels like a scared teenager asking his crush out. The defender’s pretty sure that no experience on the field has made him as nervous as this. He checks the watch on his hand, approaching 11:59. Sergio takes a deep breath and turns left to look at Luka. He raises his hand and slowly uncovers one of Luka’s ears from the headphones. The Croatian looks at him, slightly puzzled.
“Luka, I have something important to tell you.” He pauses to muster up more courage, “I like you. Not in the normal friendship or teammates way—I love you. I’ve loved you the moment you stepped foot into Real Madrid. You’re like an angel that descended upon Earth, Luka. In this new year…will you bless me with the pleasure of being your boyfriend?”
Luka stands there, mouth slightly open in shock. A second later, he laughs in that beautiful sound that Sergio wants to hold onto forever.
“Yes! Sergio! Yes! I-I’d love to. I’ve loved you too, for a long time now.” Luka’s smile lights up Sergio’s heart more than any firework ever could.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks shamelessly. Luka laughs again but nods quickly. Sergio doesn’t need to be told twice.
He wraps his arms around Luka and brings him into a kiss, they both slowly melt into it. It's a careful but emotional touch after years of longing. Sergio’s right hand instinctively covers Luka’s ear with the headphones again. The moment they kissed, the clock strikes twelve and the first firework dazzles the sky. Luka doesn’t flinch at the explosion this year.
The two break away and settle in a deep hug as they watch the fireworks paint the sky for the new year.
Later on, Luka finds out Sergio hired Marcelo as the photographer for the moment and turns red in embarrassment. He recovers after seeing the Brazilian’s photos, maybe Marcelo could’ve been a famous photographer in another life.
—
On a random Friday in January, Sergio is called in by Real Madrid to do an art PR video for their Youtube channel. The defender ends up bringing Luka along, telling the directors that he can be a ‘special feature’.
Sergio’s never been an artist, as a kid his only focus was football (and horses). He was always an athlete, art had never even crossed his mind. Surely it wasn’t that hard right? It was just putting pencil to paper.
Sergio was dead wrong. He was a multitalented man, he was decent at singing, excellent at football, and great at horse riding, but he never thought he would find something he was so talentless at. Today he found it, and it’s art.
His lines were shaky at best, and the entire painting he made was discombobulated. His colors were muddied, and his human looked more like a blob than anything else. Sergio’ frustrated face was perfectly captured by the recording camera, which just made him more annoyed. This is stupid, he thought.
Luka’s drawing was much better, though simple, it was clean. He was no master, but the Croatian admits to have started practicing art a bit after his diagnosis due to boredom. He tells the camera that the calming activity helped him during times of struggle.
Sergio wishes he had the patience of his boyfriend, but currently he just wants to tear this canvas apart and start over. A first grader could probably draw better than him. Embarrassment keeps washing over the man in waves. At least the media team gets some fun content to work with, he tried to comfort himself.
On their way back home, Luka offers to take art classes together to destress.
Sergio just scoffs and says, “Dude, Lukita, I’m horrible at that shit. I think I ought to stick to football.”
Luka laughs, “I was horrible too when I started, frustrated just like you. A bit later I found it comforting to be so talentless in something, it gave practicing more meaning. It's a very fulfilling activity once you get into it. I also think you could use it to control that ego of yours—or maybe we should suggest it to Cristiano instead.” They both giggle at that.
—
“Luka, you feeling up to go to the ferris wheel this afternoon?” Sergio asks while watching a new drama show. They had a free day in France after a game against PSG the previous night.
Luka hums in response, too entranced in the show to give a proper reply.
A few hours later, the two are waiting in line for the ferris wheel.
Bored, Luka reaches for his phone.
“Ah, I think I left my phone back at the hotel,” Luka says to Sergio after he feels the absence of the device.
“Oh? It’s alright, we can just use mine. You want to play a game or watch something to pass the time?” Luka nods in response, thankful for his partner.
Ten minutes later, Luka is shivering slightly, not having worn enough clothes out. Wordlessly, Sergio notices and swiftly gives his jacket to Luka. Who thanks him and wraps the cloth around himself. As they approach the front of the line, small flurries of snow drop from the sky. The last snow of the winter. Little kids nearby immediately start jumping excitedly, while everyone else watches in awe at the beauty before them.
Luka and Sergio are led to their ferris wheel cabin and locked in. The ride begins to slowly rotate, revealing a full view of Paris as they ascend towards the top. The sunset pours through the cabin with its golden rays, highlighting Luka’s blonde hair to reflect the light like a halo. With the sights of the entirety of Paris around him, Sergio can still only look at Luka. He looks ethereal in this sun. To Sergio, Luka was more beautiful than any sculpture or painting in this city of art.
He cups Luka’s face with his hand, the blonde turns to look at him. Sergio waits a second before kissing Luka at the top of the world, the snow quietly falling outside their cabin. When Ramos pulls away, Luka is smiling and blushing, looking back into the distant view before him. The defender quickly gets out his phone and snaps a picture of his glowing boyfriend under the golden hour of Paris.
“Gosh Sergio, stop looking at me and look at the view, have a little dignity.”
“This lighting is so perfect on you Lukita, I can’t not look!” Sergio teases, but obeys to see their descending view of the city. He catches Luka rolling his eyes in the corner of his vision, silently chuckling to himself.
After getting off the ride, Sergio searches up a quiet nature area for the two of them to walk in. It’s far from the main city of Paris, but both of them don’t have anywhere else to be. Miles out of the main city, the two get dropped off at the secluded area with nobody to disturb them. They hike up a small hill and see Paris in the distance, lights dancing throughout the skyline. The two sit on a small bench and lean against each other.
“Y’know, for the longest time I thought my one true love would be horses before I met you.”
Luka whips his head around in disbelief, “Are you comparing me to a horse right now?” He asks sarcastically.
“What?! No! I’m just saying—it was like love at first sight. And that you’re probably my soulmate. You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
“Sergio…you know that stuff is fictional. Plus, there’s no way I’m the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.”
“Of course you are, Luka.”
“Sergio, I’m not beautiful. I’m gaunt and ill. I’m losing most of the muscles I had. Even before this, I was leagues behind people like you, Cristiano, and the others.”
The two rest in tense silence for a beat.
“Luka. Luka. Look at me.” The Croatian turns to look at Sergio, his eyes are shrouded in insecurity.
“Luka, don’t ever talk like that again. Okay? Your beauty deserves to be in a museum, you’re like Greek art. If you can’t see that yourself, I’ll see it for you. I’ll love you until you feel like the most handsome person in the world. Stupid beauty standards don’t define this world, don’t listen to them, Lukita.” He pauses to press a short kiss on Luka’s lips. “Your illness isn’t your fault either. Anything it’s doing to your body is out of your control. Don’t feel discouraged, okay? You're still my angel.”
Now it was Luka’s turn to kiss Sergio, who gladly accepts the affection.
“I love you, Sese.”
“I love you too, I’ll always be here for you.”
They settle for lighter chatter as they watch the city lights shine and the sky darken.
An hour later, they get ready to leave the park after Luka mentions it being cold. The snow consistently falls in the background.
Sergio realizes the perfect mood is short-lived as they are walking when Luka keeps slowing down, staggering over his steps, and nearly bumping into things.
“Luka? You good?”
“No…I don’t think so. I should’ve worn more clothes out. Maybe? I-i don’t know what’s happening Sese,”
Luka pupils are dilated, his eyes unfocused. His breath is quickly settling into an uneven rhythm. Recognition flashes across Sergio’s face. He’s researched into Luka’s disease, and this seems like another episode coming on. A big one—at that. He immediately begins to dial emergency services. Sergio gets connected with a French man.
“Hi! Can I get a Spanish speaker?” Sergio says hurriedly into his phone in slightly broken English. He should really practice his English more.
“Sergio…it hurts, it hur—” Luka is interrupted by a pained gasp before losing balance and falling over.
Sergio carelessly drops his phone on the ground, diving to prevent Luka from hitting his head on the pavement.
“LUKA! Hey, hey, Lukita, keep your eyes open for me, come on,” Sergio shifts the blonde into a sitting position, letting Luka lean on him. He looks around to search for his phone, only to find the screen cracked into pieces on the ground. He stretches to pick it up, but the buttons won’t turn on. Shit. Why did Luka have to forget his phone today???
“Fuck—Sese, this one’s, bad,”
“I know, I know, keep awake for me okay?” Sergio’s hands are shaking, he’s not sure what to do with them other than rub circles on Luka’s back. He had no way to contact anyone, and there isn’t a nearby stop for a cab. The defender’s mind went blank with panic. He tries his best to look fine in front of Luka, but he’s pretty sure Luka doesn’t even see him right now.
“It’s cold…” An odd statement to Sergio, considering he feels Luka burning up in his arms.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, help will come soon, please stay awake,” now Sergio was just lying. He had no idea how he was going to get help. With the adrenaline rushing through him, the only option he can come up with is to carry Luka to the nearest source of aid.
“Sergio, Sergio, Sergio, help,” The defender’s heart breaks at the wheezing from the Croatian—he wishes he could help, but he has no idea what to do.
“Luka, I’m going to—” his sentence is cut off as he hears a small sound of pain coming from Luka before feeling the midfielder’s dead weight slumped against him. When Sergio looks at Luka again, the blonde is unconscious. His panic spikes.
“Luka…LUKA! Wake up, wake up, please…please wake up…” An uncontrollable scream rips out from Sergio’s throat as he clutches onto his soulmate.
The twinkling stars in the sky laugh at the defender for being so naive. For thinking he played death.