Work Text:
Cristiano had never understood how that Brazilian managed to get away with practically any situation just by blinking those brown eyes and letting out a sigh followed by an apology. It was irritating. Very irritating. Especially because it worked. Kaká could arrive late, forget something, break a rule, or simply show up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet all he had to do was smile that peaceful smile, lower his head slightly, and murmur a quiet “sorry” for everyone to suddenly seem incapable of staying angry with him. Cristiano, in particular, thought it was a tremendous injustice. He himself had to explain himself for five whole minutes whenever he did something wrong, while Ricardo could walk away from practically any mess with a handsome smile and that saintly expression that seemed to have been created specifically to fool everyone.
Not that he hated his teammate. Quite the opposite. The two of them were good friends both on and off the pitch, and ever since they had started playing together, they had built a bond of complicity that the press had never managed to destroy. Whenever newspapers tried to pit them against each other, Cristiano and Kaká simply ignored it. Whenever an opponent went after one of them, the other immediately appeared to defend him. There was respect, trust, and a genuine friendship between them, built little by little through training sessions, matches, trips, and conversations that never reached the ears of the press. Cristiano trusted Kaká, and he knew the feeling was mutual. The only problem was the Brazilian’s damned “little saint” reputation, that perfect image that made Cristiano want to roll his eyes whenever someone described Ricardo as though he were incapable of doing anything wrong.
Ricardo was everything Cristiano had never managed to be. Polite with the press, patient with fans, kind even to opponents who clearly did not deserve his kindness. Always wearing that discreet smile, maintaining impeccable posture and choosing his words carefully, he seemed to know exactly what to say in any situation. And, to complete the list of qualities that made Cristiano roll his eyes, Ricardo was a World Cup champion. Handsome without even trying, talented, disciplined, polite, and the owner of an almost spotless reputation. The perfect omega, everyone said. The kind of man mothers would love to introduce to their children and magazines adored putting on their covers. Cristiano, however, knew that image was only part of the truth, because no one saw what happened when a bedroom door closed.
No one knew how that same man who spoke softly in front of cameras could completely lose his composure when they were alone. No one knew that side of Ricardo that Cristiano had discovered almost by accident and had, ever since, made a point of keeping to himself. Perhaps that was exactly what amused him the most: discovering that behind that impeccable behavior was a Ricardo far less well-behaved than the world imagined. Cristiano liked making the famous Kaká, the “good boy,” forget for a few hours all that perfect composure and set aside the image he carried around all the time. There were no promises between them, no demands, no conversations about complicated feelings. They had established their boundaries from the beginning and, at least in Cristiano’s mind, both of them were perfectly satisfied with that arrangement.
They were not a couple. They never had been. The Portuguese did not believe in traditional relationships, much less monogamy, and he liked the freedom of not having to answer to anyone. He liked being able to live his life without commitments and, above all, he liked the silent agreement that existed between him and Ricardo. Sex and football. It was simple. No demands, no jealousy, and no expectations. At least, it was supposed to be. Cristiano repeated that to himself whenever he realized he was thinking too much about the Brazilian, as though turning their relationship into a simple definition would be enough to keep anything else from developing.
That night, after hours together, Cristiano remained lying down while watching Ricardo compose himself in front of the mirror. It was almost funny to watch the transformation. Only a few minutes earlier, the Brazilian had been completely different; now, standing before his reflection, he adjusted his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and checked whether there were any visible marks that might reveal where he had been. Little by little, he recovered his usual calm appearance, as if nothing had happened. As if he had not just spent hours in Cristiano’s bedroom. As if he were simply the man everyone knew, that saint who seemed incapable of doing anything outside the rules. Cristiano let out a quiet laugh when he noticed how quickly Ricardo could put that public persona back on.
“You’re unbelievable,” he commented.
Ricardo looked at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The Brazilian simply smiled, and Cristiano felt like laughing again. That was another irritating talent. Ricardo could look innocent even when he knew perfectly well what he was doing. He picked up the phone he had left on the table and, at that exact moment, the device began to ring. Ricardo stopped for a few seconds when he recognized the name on the screen and then answered.
“Hello, Roberto.”
Cristiano remained quiet, still lying down and watching. That was also part of their routine. Before practically every match, Roberto Carlos called his “omega baby” to see how he was doing. Sometimes the conversation lasted fifteen minutes; other times, twenty. And, invariably, Roberto asked the same questions: where Ricardo was, whether he had gone out, whether he was eating properly, whether he was getting enough rest, whether he was dating, and, most importantly, whether he wanted to meet someone. Cristiano found it amusing. Roberto Carlos seemed to have taken on the roles of older brother, father, and matchmaker all at once, always trying to find someone he considered suitable for his friend.
“No, Roberto, I’m in my room,” Ricardo replied, slowly walking around the room. “We have an important match tomorrow.”
Cristiano raised an eyebrow when he heard that. “In my room.” The words brought a smile to the Portuguese’s face, and he had to look at the ceiling to keep from laughing.
“Stop, Roberto. You know I’m not like that,” Ricardo continued after hearing something from the other end of the line.
The Brazilian paused and let out a short laugh before continuing.
“No, I don’t want you to introduce me to anyone.”
Another pause.
“Roberto Carlos...”
Cristiano had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Ricardo closed his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to find a polite way to end the conversation without having to explain too much.
“Because the last time you introduced me to someone, Roberto, I had to leave São Paulo!”
This time, Cristiano could not control himself and burst into laughter. Ricardo immediately shot him a murderous look, but the Portuguese merely raised his hands in surrender, still laughing.
“I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying that person was completely crazy. God forgive me,” Ricardo added, shaking his head.
Cristiano buried his face in the pillow to hide his smile. The conversation continued for a few more minutes until the question he had been expecting finally came.
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ricardo answered.
Cristiano immediately looked up.
“Because I don’t want one,” the Brazilian added, as though he were tired of repeating himself.
The Portuguese fell silent. He did not know exactly why that sentence had caught his attention in such a strange way. He didn’t have a boyfriend. He didn’t want one. Perfect. That was exactly how things should remain. That was their agreement. Ricardo was free, Cristiano was free, and neither of them had to answer to the other. Still, something about that answer had caused a strange sensation in his chest, a small irritation he could not explain and preferred to ignore.
Ricardo walked toward the door while still talking on the phone and, after a few more seconds, finally said goodbye.
“I have to hang up now, Roberto. I’m going to start my prayers. We’ll talk next week. Me too. Bye.”
Cristiano rolled his eyes as soon as he heard that. Of course. Prayers. After spending hours in his bedroom, the man would still find time to pray before going to sleep. Ricardo ended the call and put his phone in his pocket while Cristiano continued watching him with an amused expression.
“You’re really going to pray now?”
“I am.”
“After spending hours here?”
The Brazilian gave him an innocent smile, as though the question were perfectly normal.
“God forgives.”
Cristiano burst out laughing.
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“And you talk too much.”
Ricardo opened the door, but before leaving, he stopped for a moment and looked at the Portuguese again. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. There was something comforting about that silence, an intimacy they never named and neither seemed willing to question. Ricardo was the first to break it.
“Good night, Cris.”
“Good night, Ricky.”
The Brazilian smiled.
“See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
And that was it. The door closed, leaving Cristiano alone in the room. The Portuguese remained staring at the wood in front of him for a few seconds before looking back at the ceiling. It was always like this. Ricardo entered his life like a silent storm, messed everything up for a few hours, and then left as though nothing had happened. No demands, no drama, and, above all, no promises. It was exactly what Cristiano claimed he wanted.
So why, that night, did hearing Ricardo say over the phone that he did not have a boyfriend leave such a strange feeling in his chest?
Cristiano frowned and shook his head, trying to push the thought away. It did not matter. Ricardo was only his friend, his teammate, and his friend with benefits. Nothing more. At least, that was what he needed to believe. And Cristiano certainly had no reason to worry about who might appear in that damned perfect omega’s life.
Of course.
The next time they met was a few days before the year-end break. Kaká would be returning to Brazil, something he had already announced to the press during an interview, explaining that he wanted to spend the holidays with his family and reconnect with his roots. Cristiano had watched the interview and had almost been able to hear the Brazilian’s voice before he even opened his mouth: always polite, always smiling, always carefully choosing every word so as not to leave room for misinterpretation. It was a political, beautiful, perfect answer, exactly what people expected from the famous perfect omega. Cristiano knew Ricardo well enough to understand that it was not necessarily a lie, but he also knew it certainly was not the whole truth. And perhaps that was precisely what made him curious. The Brazilian never told anyone everything, especially when he knew they might ask too many questions.
That night, however, Cristiano was not thinking about the press, the holidays, or Ricardo’s carefully rehearsed answers. He was too busy appreciating the version of the Brazilian that only appeared when the two of them were alone. Cristiano loved it when Kaká set aside that impeccable composure and simply surrendered to the moment, forgetting for a few hours that there was a world outside waiting for him to always be polite, controlled, and perfect. The Portuguese liked watching the small signs that Ricardo had lost that composure: his messy hair, his still-heavy breathing, his warm skin, and the shy smile that appeared whenever he realized Cristiano was looking at him for too long. It was almost a sin to think that the same man who spent his days being treated as the most well-behaved omega in football could transform completely when they were behind closed doors. And Cristiano liked it even more knowing that he was the one capable of bringing about that transformation.
After a few hours together, Ricardo finally began getting himself together, searching for his clothes around the room while Cristiano remained comfortably lying down. The Brazilian seemed determined to return to his own room before anyone noticed his absence, but Cristiano was not willing to let him leave that easily. After insisting several times, he managed to convince him to stay for just one more hour. They could order something to eat, watch something on television, and maybe play FIFA. It did not always have to be about the benefits that existed between them. They were friends too, after all. Cristiano liked that part of their relationship, although he would never admit it out loud. He liked talking to Ricardo, teasing him, and discovering little things about his life that never appeared in interviews. Ricardo eventually gave in, and the two of them settled into the room with the promise that it would only be one hour.
The night ended up being much quieter than Cristiano had expected. They ordered greasy food, the kind no athlete should be eating, and Cristiano ended up leaving almost half of his plate untouched after a few bites, while Ricardo laughed at him for making such a big fuss before ordering. They played FIFA for hours, arguing over every goal and accusing each other of cheating. At some point, the competition completely stopped mattering and they simply started talking, sprawled across the couch, discussing the end of the year and the plans they had for the break. Cristiano mentioned a few destinations he planned to visit and, naturally, took the opportunity to tease the Brazilian.
“I’m serious, Rick. You should come with us to the Maldives. Just imagine it: beaches, parties, sun, music, and beautiful people. I can cover for you if you want to go a little crazy for a few days. No one needs to know that the famous Kaká knows how to have fun too.”
Ricardo slowly turned his head toward him, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion.
“And why exactly would I want to spend even more time with you and Sergio at a party?”
Cristiano laughed, resting his arm against the back of the couch.
“Because it’s fun. You could relax a little, you know? Stop playing the saint all the time.”
“I don’t play the saint,” Ricardo immediately replied, frowning. “I just don’t like parties. Especially the parties you and Sergio usually go to.”
The answer made Cristiano raise an eyebrow. There was something in the way Ricardo had spoken that caught his attention.
“What do you mean?”
“Alcohol, drugs, drunk people, and a bunch of omegas hanging all over you two all night. That doesn’t exactly sound like my idea of a vacation.”
Cristiano stared at him for a few seconds before a slow smile appeared on his face.
“Jealous?”
Ricardo immediately rolled his eyes.
“Don’t get carried away. I’m just not into that.”
“So you don’t like seeing other omegas around me?”
“Cristiano...”
The Portuguese laughed, pleased that he had managed to make him uncomfortable. He liked teasing Ricardo precisely because he was so easy to fluster when Cristiano wanted to. The Brazilian could face journalists, fans, and opponents without losing his composure, but a few words from Cristiano were enough to make his cheeks turn slightly red and his eyes search for anywhere but the Portuguese’s face.
After a few seconds, Cristiano decided to change the subject.
“What are your plans for the break?”
Ricardo answered without hesitation.
“I already told you. I’m going to Brazil to stay with my family.”
Cristiano continued looking at him.
“I want the real answer, not the one you gave the media.”
Ricardo turned his head, genuinely confused.
“That is the truth.”
Cristiano knew that tone. He knew the little change in Ricardo’s voice that appeared whenever he tried to hide something. It was almost imperceptible to anyone else, but Cristiano had spent too much time around him not to recognize it. The Brazilian could fool journalists, teammates, and practically anyone he wanted, but he could not do it with him.
“The truth, Ricardo.”
This time, the Brazilian sighed and seemed to realize he would not escape so easily.
“I’m going to Brazil and I’ll spend most of my time with my family,” he finally replied, accompanied by a small smile.
Cristiano waited a few seconds before asking:
“And the rest?”
Ricardo fell silent.
That irritated Cristiano more than it should have. The Brazilian simply seemed to ignore the question, turning his attention back to the television as though the subject were over. Cristiano, however, did not like that silent answer. There was something hidden there, and now he wanted to know what it was. Maybe it was just curiosity. At least, that was what he tried to convince himself.
“Where are you going, Ricardo?”
The Brazilian sighed again before finally answering.
“Just a quick trip to Italy. I’m going to see some friends.”
Italy.
The word alone was enough to change Cristiano’s mood. He knew very well what was in Italy. Or rather, who was in Italy. Andriy Shevchenko. The perfect alpha for the perfect omega. The name immediately appeared in his mind, accompanied by an unpleasant sensation he tried to ignore. Cristiano did not like the idea of Ricardo spending the break with Shevchenko, although he could not find a reasonable explanation for it.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. There’s a small get-together after New Year’s. Some friends will be there.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Cristiano looked away and tried to act as though it meant nothing, but he felt his chest tighten and a growl threaten to escape before he managed to control himself. He had no right to be jealous. He had no right to ask who would be at the party, how long Ricardo would stay in Italy, or whether he intended to spend some time alone with Shevchenko. They were not a couple. There was no commitment between them. Cristiano was free to do whatever he wanted, and so was Ricardo. That was exactly how it was supposed to be.
“What’s wrong, Cristiano?” Ricardo asked after a few seconds.
“What?”
“You suddenly went quiet.”
Cristiano finally looked at him and tried to hide his discomfort with a smile.
“I think I’m tired. You wore me out too much, handsome.”
The reaction from Ricardo was immediate. The Brazilian blushed, looking away for a moment, and that small reaction was enough to make Cristiano’s heart calm down a little. No one made the famous little saint react that way. At least, that was what Cristiano liked to think. Ricardo always managed to maintain that calm demeanor in front of everyone, but all Cristiano had to do was remind him of a few things that happened between them for that facade to begin disappearing.
“Don’t start, Cris,” Ricardo murmured with a shy smile. “You know I get embarrassed when...”
Cristiano moved a little closer, taking the opportunity to tease him.
“When I remind you of the things you did? The things you tell me? The things you ask for?”
Ricardo gave him a warning look but did not move away. Cristiano simply smiled, satisfied with the reaction.
“I thought you were tired,” Ricardo teased.
“I got my energy back.”
The Brazilian laughed, shaking his head, and then leaned in to give the Portuguese a quick kiss on the lips. It was only a small kiss, almost innocent, but the smile that appeared on Ricardo’s face afterward made it clear that he knew exactly what effect it would have.
“I don’t accept mediocre performances,” he teased. “And something tells me you can’t handle it.”
Cristiano opened his mouth to answer, already preparing a retort, but Ricardo was faster. He stood up from the couch and began walking toward the door, leaving the Portuguese staring at him in disbelief.
“Are you running away?”
“I’m going to sleep.”
“After provoking me like that?”
Ricardo simply smiled, wearing that same innocent smile Cristiano knew so well.
“I thought you were tired.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
Cristiano still tried to come up with an answer, but Ricardo already had his hand on the doorknob. Before leaving, however, the Brazilian turned around and looked at him one last time. For a few seconds, the two of them remained silent, and there was an intimacy in that moment that neither seemed willing to name. It was easy to pretend that everything between them was just friends with benefits when they were joking around, but there were moments, like that one, when Cristiano felt there was something more hidden between them. Something neither of them wanted to touch.
“Good night, Cris.”
“Good night, Ricky.”
Ricardo smiled.
“And happy holidays.”
Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Cristiano remained sitting on the couch, staring at the closed door for a few seconds. The irritation he had felt earlier returned as soon as Shevchenko’s name crossed his mind. Italy. After New Year’s. A get-together. Friends. Cristiano knew he had no right to care, but that did not make the feeling any less uncomfortable. They were nothing, and he needed to keep reminding himself of that. Ricardo was his friend, his teammate, and his friend with benefits. Nothing more.
The problem was that, for the first time, Cristiano was beginning to realize that perhaps he was lying to himself just as much as Ricardo had lied about his plans for the break.
The year-end parties were, without a doubt, the worst Cristiano could remember. He had spent the first few days trying to enjoy himself, convincing himself that he simply needed to relax and have fun, but none of the parties seemed enjoyable at all. There was music, alcohol, beautiful people, and an almost endless number of omegas interested in him, but none of it sparked the same interest. Cristiano tried. God, did he try. He talked, flirted, allowed a few people to get close, and even convinced himself that he might find the same chemistry he had with Ricardo in someone else. But in the end, he was always disappointed. No touch felt right, no conversation managed to hold his attention, and no one’s presence could make him forget the Brazilian. It was as if, after getting to know Ricardo that way, everyone else had simply lost their appeal. And the worst part was not even that. The worst part was that, throughout those days, Cristiano could not stop thinking about him. Where was Ricardo? What was he doing? Who was he with? Was he still in Brazil with his family, or had he already traveled to Italy? And, above all, was he with Shevchenko? Thinking about it was a kind of self-inflicted torture, but Cristiano could not escape it. The more he tried to distract himself, the more his thoughts returned to the same place.
When it finally came time to return to the training center, Cristiano was sporting enormous dark circles under his eyes, had almost no patience left, and was in such a foul mood that even his teammates thought twice before approaching him. He expected returning to his routine to help put his mind back in order, but he quickly realized he had made a mistake in believing that. Ricardo was back and, as if the universe had decided to test every one of Cristiano’s limits, he seemed even more determined to be exactly what he had always been: kind, polite, and absolutely charming with everyone. To make matters worse, there was a new teammate. Marcelo, a young Brazilian alpha, had joined the team and seemed to have developed an almost immediate admiration for Kaká. It took less than two days for Cristiano to notice that the boy practically never left Ricardo’s side. He was with him during training, at the gym, during meals, and even during the moments when the players were supposed to simply rest. Marcelo seemed to see Kaká as some kind of football god, hanging on to every word he said and laughing at practically everything the Brazilian did. Ricardo, naturally, treated the boy with the same kindness he showed everyone else, talking to him, giving him advice, and helping him adjust to the new environment. To anyone else, it was simply a veteran welcoming a new teammate. To Cristiano, however, it was a personal provocation.
The Portuguese tried to ignore it. He really did. He repeated to himself that Marcelo was simply the new kid on the team, that Ricardo was only being kind, and that there was absolutely nothing going on between them. The problem was that the more Cristiano tried not to pay attention, the more things seemed to happen right in front of his eyes. Marcelo was always beside Ricardo, and the two of them had developed the natural intimacy of teammates who spent a lot of time together. Cristiano began noticing every conversation, every laugh, and every casual touch. It was irrational, he knew that, but he seemed incapable of controlling the irritation. And the angrier he became, the harder it was to admit the real reason. After all, it was not as though Ricardo belonged to him. They were not boyfriends. They had no commitment whatsoever. Cristiano could go out with whoever he wanted, and so could Ricardo. He had repeated that throughout the entire break, so accepting the same freedom for the Brazilian should have been simple. But when the situation was right in front of him, all that logic seemed to disappear.
The small training match that day should have been completely insignificant. Cristiano and Ricardo were on opposing teams, while Marcelo and Kaká played together. At first, the Portuguese tried to focus only on the game, but he soon realized that the two of them were playing extremely well together. Their passing was quick, the two seemed to understand each other on the field, and, to make matters worse, they managed to score two goals against Cristiano’s team. Every time they scored, Marcelo ran toward Ricardo to celebrate, receiving hugs, pats on the back, and the kind of closeness that was already beginning to drive Cristiano crazy. In one play, the two even exchanged a quick kiss on the cheek after a particularly beautiful move, something completely innocent between teammates, but Cristiano saw it as the greatest possible offense. He clenched his jaw and tried to turn his attention back to the match, but he kept watching them. Every touch, every laugh, and every moment they moved closer seemed to feed something inside him that he did not want to acknowledge.
Then it happened.
It was just a challenge for the ball. At least, it should have been. Cristiano saw Marcelo advancing with possession and decided to try to win the ball back. He miscalculated the strength and movement, hitting the other player harder than he intended. Marcelo immediately fell to the grass, grabbing his ankle and grimacing in pain. Training stopped almost instantly, and Cristiano stood there for a few seconds, realizing that perhaps he had gone too far.
“What did you do?” Kaká asked, already running toward Marcelo.
The desperation in Ricardo’s voice made something inside Cristiano tighten. The Brazilian knelt beside his teammate, asking whether he could move his foot and trying to help him sit up. Marcelo was breathing deeply, clearly in pain, and Cristiano took a step toward them.
“I don’t know what happened,” the Portuguese said, trying to explain himself. “I just wanted to get the ball. I didn’t do it on purpose, I—”
But he could not finish.
As soon as he saw Marcelo lean on Ricardo to stand up, something inside Cristiano snapped. The alpha side he had been trying to control since returning to the club took over for a few seconds, fueled by weeks of frustration, jealousy, and thoughts he refused to admit. A low growl escaped his throat before he could stop it, and when he realized what was happening, he was already moving toward the other alpha. He was not thinking. He was not reasoning. All he could see was Marcelo leaning against Ricardo and a primitive sensation telling him that something was wrong.
Cristiano barely had time to get close. His teammates realized what was happening and immediately grabbed him. Sergio Ramos was one of the first to reach him, grabbing him by the arms while the others tried to prevent the situation from getting worse.
“Cristiano, what the hell is wrong with you? Calm down!” Sergio demanded, holding him firmly.
“Let me go!”
“Not until you calm down.”
On the other side, Ricardo was already completely focused on Marcelo, protecting the young alpha and trying to understand the seriousness of the injury. That image made Cristiano struggle even harder against the teammates holding him. For a few seconds, everything seemed distant. He could hear voices, but he could not make out the words. His body was tense, his heart racing, and his alpha instinct completely out of control. Until, little by little, the adrenaline began to fade. The growl disappeared, the tension in his muscles eased, and his awareness returned with an almost painful force.
That was when Cristiano realized what he had done.
He noticed the looks from his teammates.
He noticed Sergio still holding his arm.
He noticed Marcelo frightened on the ground.
And, above all, he noticed Ricardo looking at him.
The Brazilian’s expression was not angry. It was one of surprise, perhaps even concern. And that was worse. Cristiano could not look at him. He could not look at anyone. He had no explanation that made sense, because admitting the truth would mean saying aloud something he had been trying to hide from himself since before the break.
Jealousy.
He was jealous.
Cristiano pulled his arm free from Sergio and, before anyone could ask anything, simply walked away. He moved quickly away from the field, ignoring the voices calling after him. He needed to be alone. He needed to breathe. He needed to regain control before he said or did something he would regret.
When he finally got away from the others, he stopped for a few seconds and ran his hands over his face. His heart was still beating fast, but now it was not only because of his alpha instinct. It was shame. It was anger. It was confusion.
He had spent weeks repeating that Ricardo was nothing more than a friend.
A teammate.
A friend with benefits.
Nothing more.
But if that was true, why had seeing another alpha beside Ricardo been enough to make him completely lose control?
Cristiano received the fine without arguing. When the club announced the punishment, he simply nodded, took the document, and paid the amount that same day. There was nothing for him to complain about. He knew he had crossed every line and that, regardless of whether jealousy or his alpha instinct had provoked him, he was responsible for what had happened. Marcelo had genuinely been hurt, and that was the part that bothered him the most. Cristiano had seen the expression of pain on the boy’s face and could not get it out of his head. Worse still was remembering his own instinct whispering that he should have gone further, that he should have hurt him more. That inner voice frightened him. He had always known his alpha side was intense, but he had never imagined he could lose control like that. The simple thought of having actually hurt someone because of jealousy made his stomach churn.
He knew he needed to apologize. He knew Marcelo deserved to hear it and that his teammates also needed an explanation. But he could not do it at that moment. He could not even look at Ricardo without feeling ashamed. So he asked for a few days away. He said he needed to clear his head, rest, and regain his balance before returning to the training center. In truth, he needed to stay away from Kaká. For his own sake and, above all, for the omega’s sake. Cristiano was afraid of himself. Afraid of the monster that seemed to exist inside him and had awakened the moment he saw another alpha approach Ricardo. He had never considered himself a jealous person. He had always been free, always enjoyed relationships without commitment, and had never understood those alphas who seemed to want to control every step of their partners. Now, however, he was discovering that he was exactly the kind of man he had never imagined becoming. And that terrified him.
The following three days were a kind of torture. Cristiano remained practically isolated, going out only when necessary and avoiding any contact with his teammates. His phone stayed beside him for hours, and countless times he picked it up just to check whether there was a message from Ricardo. When there was nothing, he felt relieved. When he imagined there might be something, his heart raced. It was completely contradictory. One part of him desperately wanted Kaká to call, while another begged the Brazilian not to contact him. Cristiano did not know what he would say if he heard his voice. Maybe he would apologize. Maybe he would tell him everything. Maybe he would simply hang up because he did not know how to admit that he had lost control because of a feeling that should not even exist between them.
The more time he spent alone, the more questions appeared. Maybe it had been a mistake to start whatever they had with Ricardo. Maybe he should have ended it before things became complicated. Maybe the only solution was to leave Real Madrid. There were other clubs interested in him, offers he could consider, and a change of environment might be exactly what he needed. He could start over somewhere else, far from Ricardo, far from the suspicious looks of his teammates, and far from this version of himself he no longer recognized. It was a real possibility, and Cristiano began considering it seriously. If he stayed close to Kaká, he might end up doing something even worse. And he could not bear being responsible for hurting him.
On the fourth day, Cristiano was sitting on the edge of the bed, completely lost in his thoughts, when he heard the door opening. He did not even bother to look up immediately. He assumed it was an employee. He only realized someone was standing in the doorway when he heard a familiar voice.
“Hi. How are you?”
Cristiano lifted his head so quickly he almost felt a pain in his neck. Kaká was standing in the doorway, wearing simple clothes, his hair slightly messy, and a calm expression, although his eyes revealed that he was worried.
“My God, Ricardo... How did you get in here?”
“I have a key,” the Brazilian replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Cristiano was completely speechless. For several seconds, he simply stared at Ricardo, trying to understand how he had managed to get inside and, more importantly, why he had come. Cristiano wanted to say so many things that none of them managed to reach his mouth. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to tell Ricardo to leave, he wanted to hug him, and he wanted to run away at the same time.
Ricardo closed the door behind him and took a few steps into the room. He did not come too close. He simply watched Cristiano with a patience that, at that moment, seemed even harder to bear.
“Are you calmer?” he asked softly.
The question was simple. So was his tone. Ricardo spoke as though he were standing in front of someone who needed care, without judgment, without demands, almost as though Cristiano were a frightened animal that might run away at any moment. And that was exactly what made Cristiano break.
He tried to take a deep breath, but the air seemed to get stuck in his chest. His eyes burned and, before he could stop it, a tear rolled down his face. Cristiano lowered his head, embarrassed, but more tears soon followed. Within seconds, he was crying silently, trying to hide his face with his hands. The man who spent his entire life trying to appear strong, confident, and unshakable simply could not keep up the facade anymore.
Ricardo did not hesitate. In just two steps, he crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around him. Cristiano remained still for a moment, as though he still could not believe the Brazilian was really there, but then his hands grabbed Ricardo’s shirt and he buried his face in his shoulder. The crying, which had been restrained before, became more intense.
“I don’t know what happened to me,” he managed to say between sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ricardo.”
Kaká slowly ran one hand over his back, trying to calm him.
“Shhh... It’s okay, Cris. It’s okay. Marcelo is fine. He forgave you. Everyone forgave you.”
Cristiano shook his head against his shoulder.
“You don’t understand...”
“Then explain it to me.”
Ricardo’s voice remained calm.
Cristiano took a deep breath, but seemed incapable of organizing his thoughts.
“I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to hurt him.”
Ricardo remained silent for a few seconds but did not let him go.
“I don’t want him near you,” Cristiano finally confessed, letting out what he had been trying to hide for weeks. “I don’t want anyone near you. I don’t want another alpha looking at you, touching you, standing beside you. When I saw him holding you... I just... I didn’t think. I only wanted to get him away from you.”
Ricardo closed his eyes for a moment, taking in those words. When he spoke again, his voice remained calm.
“Cris, look at me.”
Cristiano hesitated, but finally raised his face.
“You’re afraid of yourself.”
It was not a question.
Cristiano simply nodded.
“I’ve never been like this,” he murmured. “Never. I’ve always been free. I’ve never needed anyone. I always thought this kind of jealousy was ridiculous. And now look at me... I almost hurt someone because he was close to you.”
“You made a mistake,” Ricardo replied honestly. “And you need to take responsibility for it. But one thing doesn’t erase the other. You realized what you did, you were frightened, and you stepped away because you didn’t want to repeat it. That matters.”
Cristiano looked at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Why did you come?”
Ricardo remained silent for a few seconds, as though carefully choosing his answer.
“Because you disappeared. Because I knew something was wrong. And because I didn’t want to leave you alone believing you had to deal with all of this without anyone.”
Cristiano let out a weak laugh, still with tears on his face.
“You should be angry with me.”
“I am.”
The answer made Cristiano lower his eyes.
“But I’m also worried about you.”
Ricardo held his face between his hands and made Cristiano look at him again.
“And there’s something else you need to understand.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to like everyone who comes near me. You don’t have to pretend you aren’t jealous. But you cannot let that feeling control you.”
Cristiano slowly nodded.
“I know.”
“And I’m not your property either.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you crying as though I’m leaving?”
Cristiano opened his mouth but could not answer immediately. The truth was there, too clear to keep hiding.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
Ricardo froze.
Cristiano closed his eyes, waiting for rejection, waiting to hear laughter or anything that would confirm he had just destroyed the little that existed between them.
But Ricardo simply smiled.
A small, almost shy smile.
“Took you long enough.”
Cristiano opened his eyes.
“What?”
“I was starting to think you were never going to realize it.”
The Portuguese was completely confused.
“You...”
Ricardo let out a quiet laugh.
“Cristiano, do you really think I would spend so much time sneaking into your room, staying for hours talking to you, letting you tease me, and always coming back if it were only about sex?”
Cristiano fell silent.
“I like you too,” Ricardo confessed. “Much more than I should. And that’s exactly why I went to Italy. I needed to think. I wanted some space to understand what was happening to me.”
Cristiano blinked several times, as though trying to process everything. The relief was so great that he almost laughed.
Ricardo ran his thumb over his cheek, wiping away a tear.
“But if we’re going to do this, it has to be different. No more pretending we’re just friends with benefits. No hiding what we feel. And, above all, no letting your instinct decide for you.”
Cristiano immediately nodded.
“I can do that.”
“You’ll need to apologize to Marcelo.”
“I will.”
“And talk to the others.”
“I will.”
Ricardo smiled.
“And maybe talk to someone about this control problem of yours before you try to attack another teammate.”
Cristiano let out an embarrassed laugh.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
For a few seconds, the two of them remained silent. Then Cristiano took Ricardo’s hand and intertwined their fingers.
“Are you staying?”
Ricardo’s smile became even softer.
“If you want me to.”
Cristiano squeezed his hand.
“I do.”
And, for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe again.
Over the following days, Cristiano kept every promise he had made. He apologized to Marcelo in person, and the young alpha, who was still recovering from his ankle injury, accepted the apology after a few seconds of silence. He talked to Sergio and the other teammates, admitting that he had lost control and that it would not happen again. He also agreed to seek help to better control his impulses and his alpha side, not because Ricardo had demanded it, but because he had understood that loving someone did not mean possessing them. It meant trusting them.
And Ricardo stayed by his side throughout the process.
A few weeks later, when the two of them finally walked together through the training center without having to hide how close they were, Cristiano realized that nothing had fallen apart. His teammates made a few jokes, Sergio was the first to tease them, and Marcelo, already recovered, simply shook his head and said that he finally understood why Cristiano had been acting so strangely.
The press, naturally, went crazy when rumors about the two of them began to surface. But this time, neither of them worried about feeding speculation or denying what was happening. Ricardo continued to be the perfect omega in the eyes of the world, and when they were alone, Ricardo remained the same man Cristiano had known from the beginning: kind, teasing, affectionate, and capable of making him completely lose his mind. But now there was something different between them.
There was commitment.
There was trust.
There was love.
Cristiano still got jealous sometimes, of course. He would not magically become someone else. But now he knew how to talk, how to listen, and, most importantly, he knew that Ricardo chose to stay by his side because he wanted to, not because Cristiano needed to keep him close.
Months later, on a quiet evening, the two of them were sitting on the couch again, playing FIFA and arguing over a match, exactly as they had that night before the break. Cristiano looked at Ricardo and smiled as he remembered everything that had happened since then.
“You know something?”
“What?”
“I still think you’re a terrible player.”
Ricardo laughed.
“You’re losing again, Cris.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Sure.”
Cristiano pulled Ricardo closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“I love you.”
The Brazilian remained silent for a few seconds, as he always did whenever Cristiano became too sentimental, but eventually smiled.
“I love you too.”