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New beginnings.
It was the idea that led Ferran to Paris, his own promised land.
The thing was people never saw the voyage, the struggles, they only saw the end result. Ferran only thought like that about others, the greats that leave clubs, he never pictured himself being in that situation.
A new club, a foreign country, a foreign language, all on a platter to take.
The first day of training was good, he knew Fabian from the national team, he tried to put himself out there and it worked, everyone he talked to was nice. He trusted his ability here, trusted who he was as a player and a person.
His favorite part of training was shooting. He remembered the first time he had to step up to receive balls to do one touch and shoot was on the second day of training. He was nervous, though he was trying not to show it, shaking his hands to get the feeling out, his routine. He felt a hand on his shoulder and someone say, “You got this, World Cup winner”, he looked behind him and it was Désiré. He hadn’t talked much in training the day before and not even much before that, only after the France vs. Spain match, not that they had anything to talk about.
Ferran scored every on every shot, ten in a row. He felt great, he felt a rush, it was his favorite feeling in the world. After, Désiré approaches him and Ferran hugs him, overcome with emotion and really not realizing what he did until after the fact. They talked more that day; he was funny, he was kind, he had tenacity that made you want to be a better footballer. He liked him.
——
Throughout his first year, they started hanging out quite a bit. The first time they did was on a whim, they had a day off and Désiré asked him if he wanted to go shopping with him. Ferran was still settling in to the Parisian lifestyle and needed some new clothes in his wardrobe anyway, so they went. They were able to get a few stores closed just for them while they shopped, the perks of fame.
Every time Ferran tried something on, Désiré used a finger rating system and gave his opinion, Ferran felt like a runway model. By the time they left the mall, Ferran had bags for days, while Désiré had two, modestly.
They talked about random things, constantly switching topics, they got each other in some way. Weird for two guys who really just met.
When Désiré brought Ferran back to his hotel, a fancy one with revolving doors that Ferran mentioned that he hated, Ferran felt this twinge in his stomach, like he was sad, like he could’ve hung out with Désiré for much longer. They lingered in each other’s company before Ferran opened the door, grabbed his bags from the backseat, and left, waving with whatever hand room he had left.
They became inseparable very quickly.
In training, they were partners for duo exercises, especially after Bradley left the team. They spotted each other in the gym, they went shopping again even when they really didn’t need anything, Ferran even brought him out to a Michelin-star restaurant, saying that he needed someone to translate and order for them, even though he really just wanted to be around him.
Désiré even admitted while on a bike ride through one of Paris’s arrondissements that he used to dislike Ferran, thought he was just another striker with a big ego, which he offended him slightly because it wasn’t true, but it also made him start pedaling faster, which the man in front noticed. An unspoken, yet competitive race started right after.
He grew to love Paris and everything that came with it.
——
After his first year, he settled in even more. Enrique had always trusted his abilities, but he really only utilized them in one area during his first year. He got shifted much more in his second season and he appreciated it, appreciated the challenge of having to almost relearn a position. He still loved playing striker above all.
Going into this game against RC Lens was going to be tough. Everyone on the team knew their ability; they still held a chip on their shoulder after losing the Trophée de Champions the year prior. They trained extra in the days leading up to the game, to be the best, you have to beat the best, and they were exactly that as of now.
The game against them was exactly what they expected it to be, hard and physical. The team had some strong defenders on both sides to hold down the fort, while the midfielders looked for even the smallest of gaps. By the seventy-five minute mark, they were still tied at one goal each. Enrique had made substitutions, but nothing seemed to be clicking for the team, until Désiré was on the ball, pushing down the wing.
Ferran positioned himself, pushed up with him, but not as quickly. He was at the helm, watching the left and right wing. Désiré was dribbling, looking about ready to make a short cross when he got slide tackled and landed awkwardly. Play stopped, but Désiré wasn’t holding his leg or foot or even just yelling like players do when bad tackles happen, he was just… limp.
His teammates on the bench threw their hands up, some calling for a card, others calling for the pitchside medics. Most of the players on the pitch, some waving as well. Ferran was hesitant, shaken up, ‘Why?’
Once they arrived with their cases in their hands, they immediately got to work and everyone dispersed.
He told himself he wouldn’t let this happen, wouldn’t let himself get like this about someone.
Not again.
Fuck what he told himself.
He walked over to where he was lying on the grass. He crouched down and watched him, watched how slowly he blinked. He wasn’t sure what to do, what the right words were, all the while he could feel a thousand pairs of eyes staring through him, maybe they could see his aching heart.
“You took a big hit, huh?”, he joked with an awkward laugh, trying to lighten whatever mood this was.
Désiré took a few seconds to answer before groaning, “It hurts, bad”, and he wasn’t sure he felt a twinge in his stomach. Désiré reached out for his hand, leaving his just barely floating in the air, and Ferran grabbed it and squeezed, bringing it down and letting it go.
“I know, baby, but you’re going to be fine, I promise”, ‘Where did that come from?’ and ‘Who are you really trying to convince here?’ were his first thoughts. Maybe he didn’t hear him. How could he promise something like that?
“Mmm, just know I love you, and Guela, and mom, and dad, yeah”, he said, slightly nodding off. His heart skipped a beat, he’s out of it, surely. Every word was now stuck in his throat, thoughts racing at a million kilometers an hour and all he could do was force a grin for him.
The slightest smile pulled from Désiré’s face, if he blinked, he would’ve missed it, “Fer, you’re really — spinny”, he said, motioning with his finger and laughing. He would melt with that smile if he could.
He put his head down and chuckled, watching as the grass dug patterns into his knees. When he looked up, Désiré had his eyes closed and the medics looked at each other and him with a face of such urgency that it chilled his bones to the marrow, one that required no words. “Is that supposed to happen?”, he questioned, tone slightly raised, yet faltering.
“We’re sorry, but you have to move”, and a million things raced through his head, watching them stand and pack up their devices and equipment, one waving frantically at the others to come.
He stood with them, “What’s going on, where are you taking him?”, he asked, no longer able to mask his fear, but they wouldn’t say.
His head was swiveling, switching between Désiré and the medics. They moved with the stretcher gripped tight in their hands and Ferran watched as Désiré drew further and further out of reach, stuck on the touchline with nothing but a sunken stomach and shaky hands. He flinched when he felt a hand relax on his shoulder. He jolted his head, close enough to shake out tears, only to see that it was Fabian.
He continued on in the match, but he wasn’t playing football, he was just going through the motions, running with no rhythm, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on his mind. He had a headache, he needed to sit down, he needed to see Désiré.
They won the match, but he didn’t feel it like he was supposed to. When the full time whistle blew, he was the first one off the pitch, only briefly clapping for the supporters. He was first everywhere, the locker room, the showers, the first to his car, the first out of Parc des Princes, probably the only person in Paris looking for flowers.
When he got to the hospital parking lot, it was nearly midnight. He saw a message from Fabian, “Let me know how everything goes, I’m here for you buddy”, he responded with a red heart emoji before going through the automatic sliding doors.
He hated hospitals, how cold they were, the smell of hand sanitizer, it made him feel trapped. When he got up to the front desk, he saw a woman filing papers, he prayed she spoke English.
“Hi, I’m here to see a patient, Désiré Doué”, he said, nervously, praying he’d shaken a sufficient amount of the off his flowers, Désiré’s flowers really. He never asked him if he had a favorite flower, everyone has a favorite flower, he just didn’t know what Désiré’s were. ‘Will I ever be able to ask him?’, he quickly shook the thought from his head. She asked a few questions that Ferran answered quickly, eager to sit down, and then, “Relationship to the patient?”, and Ferran froze, the color dropping from his face. “Boyfriend”, he said hesitantly, hoping the woman wouldn’t notice that he was lying through his teeth, he wouldn’t be able to see him any other way. She gave him a clipboard and gave him directions to his room.
When he got there, he sat in the lobby, waiting for the nurse to come by to allow him to see Désiré, though he didn’t know when that’d be. He expected to be alone, but when he got there, his brother was waiting in a chair, the door to Désiré’s room cracked open an inch. The eye contact with his brother wasn’t weird, he’d met him a few times before, but sitting next to his brother alone was daunting.
“Hey, how have you been?”, he asked as he sat down, Guéla looked at the flowers, then him.
“I’ve been alright, sure my parents have seen better days”, he said, Ferran nodded.
“How long have you guys been here?”
“Not too long, but we had to wait for some time before going in, nurse’s orders”, Ferran just nodded again, starting to tap his foot on the ground, unsure of what to say.
Ferran crossed his arms, “I hate hospitals.”
Guéla chuckled, “Yeah bro, everyone does.”
After a few seconds, Guéla spoke again, cutting through the fog that was their conversation, it was genuine, “Hey, thanks for being out there, staying with him for as long as you did, I know it must have been rough”, ‘It was the worst feeling I think I’ve ever experienced’, he thought, but opted for “Yes, of course”, silence again except for his tapping foot, the one thing stopping him from pacing like a madman.
“How long?”, his brother asked, pointing at the flowers, and Ferran’s foot stopped, immediately on some type of defense, “Umm… oh— oh, this is just— nothing’s going on, we’re just friends”, and Guéla just nodded, looking like he was trying to stifle a laugh. ‘Great job speaking, really selling it’, he thought.
“Relax, I didn’t mean to startle you, I didn’t say you guys were dating either, but something’s going on, with both of you”, Ferran’s brows furrowed, slightly raised, ‘What did he mean?’
“I don’t know what—“
“Look, I can’t speak for you because you’re not my brother and I don’t talk to you every day, but there’s something there. Every time he talks about you, it’s like the light in his eyes shine a little brighter. Whenever you guys go out, he tells me before, tells me how excited he is, tells me he could do nothing with you and it’d still be a fun day, he’s never been like that before.”
A pause, “Also, those flowers really aren’t helping your case”, Ferran’s head shot back up before looking down at the flowers, “What’s wrong with them?”, he asked. “Bro, they’re red tulips, peonies, and camellias, it’d be less obvious if you asked him to dinner right now.”
Ferran shrugged, frowning a bit, how was he supposed to know all this? He just picked the prettiest ones.
He took the longest pause of the conversation, really thinking about what to say, thinking about all the time they’ve spent together, the cafés they’ve people watched at, the bike rides they do every week through the city, the tearful movie nights they’ve had, the fact that Désiré was freakishly good at Jeopardy, he felt his heart swelling, he nodded, “I like your brother, I like him a lot. Sometimes, I’m afraid it’s too much”, he felt a weight lifting from his shoulders.
Guéla nodded, Ferran continued, “Being around him makes me feel like— like I‘m free to be whoever I want, like he’ll take me as is, nothing’s ever an act with him. We played video games for five hours straight and every time he beat me, he would cheer and chant and his eyes would just… glow, like he won the lottery. I couldn’t stay mad that I lost, I’d just carry him and tell him to sit down because we had to play another round.”
Ferran paused, covering his mouth like he just revealed a secret he promised not to tell, “Holy shit.”
Guéla chuckled, “Yeah, holy shit.”
Ferran resisted the urge to pace, opting to run his hands through his hair and over his face, “But I don’t know what to do, what if I ruin everything, mess it all up?”
“And what if you don’t? There are two sides to every coin, but not everything has to be a toss up”, Guéla continued, “Look, this can’t stay like this, you have to tell him how you feel eventually otherwise one of you is going to get hurt, regardless of how good it is right now. You can’t tell the truth and not have a clear conscience.”
Ferran looked at him, eyes reddened. His parents were coming out of the room, but he spoke one last time, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m not saying it has to be today, but think about it.”
With that, both of them stood up, Ferran greeting his parents and Guela putting his second jacket on. Before they walked off, Guéla shot him a look that screamed ‘Talk to him’.
It was his turn to go in the room.
“You came”, smiling as he spoke, barely moving to avoid upsetting the machines he was hooked up to.
“Bro, of course I did”, and that didn’t even roll off his tongue anymore.
He pulled a chair next to the bed, “So, how have you been?”, it was a stupid question, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“About as good as you can be hooked up to machines, being on a bunch of drugs, and having a throbbing headache, but at least the injury’s nothing severe”, he responded.
“Right, that’s good”, he spoke to break the silence that was growing awkward, it was unlike them, the banter wasn’t quick-flowing like usual, as if something shifted, “Never do that again, I was worried sick, you know that?”
Désiré whined and flailed his arms like he was pleading his case to a referee, “He ran into me!”, and Ferran knew, how could he forget, but he still had to say it.
They went silent again, the only noise coming from the machine and Ferran tapping his foot on the linoleum flooring.
He spoke again, testing the waters, “How much do you remember?”
Désiré threw his head back and instantly regretted it, calmly bringing it forward once more, “I had the ball and next thing I know I get bodied and I’m on the floor with people surrounding me”, he paused before continuing, “You, I remember you, you were there.”
Ferran didn’t want to prod, but he had to know, “Mhm, anything else?”, he didn’t know what answer he wanted.
Ferran could see the wheels turning in Désiré’s head, he was really trying here. He felt bad making his mind have to do so much work when he was supposed to be resting. Then, the realization, his face turned a beet red and a litany of apologies started spilling from his mouth like an overflowing tub, “Umm, not reall— oh— oh, I’m so sorry, Jesus, I’ve gone and made everything weird, I was out of it, please forget that I said th—“
“I love you”, Ferran said quickly, the words sounding more like a jumble of sound. He looked at Désiré, who looked confused, like he was thinking. He made this pretty boy worry. He grabbed his hand and tried, “I love you”, that made it real. “I’ve spent the whole night and now this morning terrified that I’d never be able to tell you, telling myself that I’m an idiot for taking so long, it was doing my head in honestly”, he ended with a breathy laugh, he watched Désiré’s eyes intently, listened to the beeps of the machine and watched how they spiked, which made Désiré roll his eyes and laugh.
He continued, “I don’t know what we are, what anything about us is really, but I want this, and I know that.”
His face furrowed as if he was thinking of what to say, like a freight truck of emotions just hit him. He took a minute before speaking, shakily with new tears pooling in his eyes, “That’s what you really want? To be with me?”, it was so beautiful, yet so self-deprecating. Ferran wanted to say ‘Who wouldn’t to be with you?’
Ferran nodded, gripping his hand tighter, the other caressing his face, “I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more, not this greatly, I feel it everywhere. I want this, you, long time.”
In that moment, Ferran realized that he’d been burning for him since the day they met, that the heat that boiled in his stomach every time they touched wasn’t something that could be pushed down, nor did it deserve to be.
Forever was a very real concept when it was just them two together.
“You’re so sappy”, and their laughs mixed together, it was a sound Ferran could get used to.