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When Sergio was young, he had all sorts of dreams for what he wanted to be when he grew up. He’d be a famous bullfighter or footballer, mesmerizing the world with his skills. He’d have a pretty wife, who’d give birth to adorable children and grow old surrounded by his loving family.
Well now Sergio’s thirty-five and retired, and only half of his dreams have come true. He has the fame and medals that come with being a Europe Cup and World Cup winning international footballer. He has the love of Madrid and resentment from the rest of Spain for a long and successful career with Real Madrid. His bank accounts are beyond healthy and only poised to grow with some timely investments, or so his financial advisor tells him. He has a big house with a pool and a garage for three cars, but what’s the point when he can only drive one at a time.
That’s really the problem, Sergio has a lot of things, but that’s all they are, physical materialistic things that remind him of what he doesn’t have if he didn’t have his career. All his medals and jerseys and awards only highlight what he’s missed out on. Family.
Tonight is one of those nights. He’s just gotten back from Leo’s first official youth match and he’s hoarse from cheering. Despite wearing white for decades, Sergio pledges to become an Átletico fan in the future, to support the next generation of freckled number nines. He thinks it was really nice of Fernando and Olalla, to always invite him to the kids’ events, years of birthday parties, Leo’s league games, Nora’s dance recitals. It makes him feel loved, but unloved at the same time.
Sergio’s the cool uncle, who splashes them with cool gifts and takes them out for ice cream after school. He shows Leo how to tackle properly and teaches Nora a flip smash that will surely break the spine of any boy who looks at her wrong. The kids adore him, but at the end of the day, it’s Fernando and Olalla who kiss them good night, not him.
Still, it was a nice gesture from Fernando, his best friend. Sergio had never been happier when the striker decided to retire and move back to the city where he grew up, they city where they had met. He thinks how lucky he is, to have his best friend back, when once upon a time he thought he’d lost Fernando forever. Sometimes he thinks it’s enough, to be close to the other man again, to be considered part of his family, to have the love of his children, and sometimes he can even pretend that they’re his, his to love.
But then there are nights like these, when at the end of the night, Sergio has to leave that perfect family and go home, go back to his empty house and work on a bottle of scotch until that too is empty. He wishes life was different. He’d trade all his money and medals and supermodel ex-girlfriends for something real, someone tangible that he can hold on this chilly night.
He thinks it’d be hilarious, if reporters knew that’s what he’s doing with his life now, drinking by himself melancholically instead of out partying in Madrid’s clubs. The time for that has come and gone, and look at what it’s gotten him.
Sergio’s friends and family have tried to help. Rene forwards him the number of every obsessive female fan that still tries to contact him. At this point, his brother isn’t picky anymore. As their mother said, she’ll take any girl as long as Sergio is willing to settle down. Fernando set him up with Olalla’s cousin once, which ended with the girl throwing a basket of eggs at his head. Even Iker ended up putting a ring on Sara, who given her connections to pretty tv presenters, tried her hand at matching-making with no luck.
Absolutely no one, he sighs and looks up. A shooting star streaks across the sky, it’s either that or a really fast airplane, he can’t quite tell with his blurring vision. He wishes he wasn’t so pathetic, sitting out here by himself with a bottle, regretting his life like a midlife crisis (35 is not midlife!). He wishes he had someone who’d drag him inside and curl up with him every night. He wishes he had to wake up early to make a bagged lunch for the kids and drive them to school. He wishes he had found someone to love.
He falls asleep outside on a patio chair, alone and thinking about pretty blondes.
~
Sergio wakes up to the sound of someone banging around downstairs. He thinks something must be wrong because there should be no one in his house, and the last thing he remembers was looking at Madrid’s night sky so he shouldn’t even be inside. And then he realizes he’s not at his house, the room’s a lot smaller, with a window facing the sun letting in bright rays that hurt his eyes. His head is pounding and there’s a familiar feeling like he’s going to be sick and rushes to the bathroom, except there isn’t one connected to his room. The more he looks around, the clearer (though more absurd) it becomes, Sergio’s back at his house in Seville.
“What the fuck.” He mutters and walks into the hallway to the bathroom he used to share with his older brother. He doesn’t remember coming home, damn he must’ve hit the alcohol hard the night before.
Sergio goes through the motion of washing his face and stops as he sees himself in the mirror. The face looking back at him is filled out with baby fat, framed by floppy bangs badly streaked blonde and crusty with too much hair gel. His teeth are crooked and there are awkwardly patchy bits of facial hair growing around his chin.
“Holy shit.” He touches himself, just to be sure. He runs clumsy fingers through untamed long hair, down to his abs, which are a bit flabby, his thighs are only half the size of what he’s used to. It’s Sergio’s body all right, but not the one he’s used to, he hasn’t seen this body in many years, not since he was a teenager.
“Sergio. Get down here or you’re going to miss your plane!” Comes the familiar yell of his mother, at least that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.
He doesn’t have time to think about everything else, because if there is one thing he’s knows above all, it’s never a good idea to ignore his mother. He runs down the stairs and is greeted by his mom. She looks a bit younger, but that look of annoyed dismay has never changed.
“Why are you not dressed? You have to catch the plane to Madrid in an hour.” She berates him, “Tell me you’ve at least finished packing.” The familiar scowl almost makes him want to laugh, except he is bewildered by what’s going on and has no idea what she’s saying.
“Umm. No?” Because Sergio doesn’t remember packing, because he doesn’t remember this moment, in fact he still thinks he’s dreaming. He stays in that state as his mom throws his things together in a suitcase while simultaneously yelling at him as he scarfs down a breakfast. He goes along with whatever he’s told, it’s a lot easier than thinking about what’s actually happening.
“My lord, Sergio.” She says as she kisses him and pushes him into a waiting cab. “You definitely would’ve missed your first national team call up without me.”
He realizes a couple things on his way to Madrid. Somehow, against all he knows about science (which is very little) and how the world functions, against the realms of possibility, he’s somehow come back in time. Sergio’s eighteen again, still playing for Sevilla and living in his parents’ house; and that today is the day he’s going to meet Fernando.
~
“Hi. Welcome to the team.” Raúl, an almost unrecognizably young Raúl greets him. Sergio hasn’t seen his old captain in years, after the disaster that forced him out of Real Madrid, he had gone to play overseas and never came back. It’s almost sad looking at the charismatic figure, he knows what a legend the striker is, and knows how easily legends are pushed aside and forgotten.
He’s greeted by the rest of the team and has to fight the urge not to grab some of them and give them a hug. The hardest is Iker, the man who’s been his captain and confidante for half of his life. He thinks about telling him, about everything that’s happening, but decides against it, Iker was a quite a prude when he was young, there’s no way the man would believe him, eighteen and fresh to the squad. Might even label him a hooligan and sabotage their future friendship.
When Sergio reaches Fernando, he automatically goes in for a shoulder hug before he could stop himself causing the older man to flinch back, mumbling a welcome as he awkwardly tries to back away from the defender. He’s obviously not used to this man who had gotten uncomfortably close.
“Sorry.” Sergio says, “force of habit.” He’s not sure how to explain that his body is used to melt into the striker’s without sounding like a lunatic. The other man just blushes and doesn’t look at him in the eye. Sergio doesn’t take any offense to that, he knows that their distance won’t last long.
It really doesn’t. By the end of the day, Sergio has his arm around the taller man’s shoulders as they stagger off to dinner, laughing over a story some incident with shaving cream and a spatula. He’s still shocked by the day’s events, at how his whole world has shifted, and everything he’s known is different. There is a sense of optimism though, because now that he has Fernando, there is no doubt he can take whatever more shocks life throw at him.
The other players are beyond surprised; somehow, this new kid with bad hair and even worse fashion sense has hit it off with their shy and introverted striker. Some of them have never heard Fernando laugh before, never like this, out loud and full of unrestrained joy, with none of that world-weariness the striker always seems to carry.
Iker looks at the two of them, heads close and whispering in rapid Spanish, he’s glad that Fernando has made such a good friend in the Sevillan. Despite it only being a day, he thinks the two of them has a bond to last a lifetime; he has no idea how right he is.
~
Sergio is determined to make the most of his second chance, but the problem is, he doesn’t know what to do differently. He doesn’t remember specific games, exactly what mistakes he’s made, or what he can do to make up for something he’s neglected. This time when the offer from Real Madrid comes, he hesitates. What if he missed out on some great love in Seville because he wasn’t here? What if the money and fame was the trade off to playing for the biggest club in Spain?
This time, instead of calling Iker and Raul for advice, he goes to Fernando. They’re already close as they were in a previous time, and surely the Átletico striker would give him unbiased advice. Out of everyone, friends and teammates combined, he knows that Fernando would never try to screw him over, would always want the best for Sergio.
“Why wouldn’t you want to come to Madrid?” Fernando demands indignantly. To him, Madrid is the epicenter of all that is worth living for, his family, his team, his loves. The road to his dream winds along Madrid’s cobblestones, through the bustling city center, onto the pitch of the Vincente Caledrón. He can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be, any other team he’d rather play for.
Sergio doesn’t know how to explain the whole I’ve-already-played-for-Real-Madrid-and-want-to-do-something-different argument, so he ends up making up excuses that sound even dumb in his head. “Well… Seville is pretty nice. And I’m not sure if my mom will be okay with me halfway across the country.”
“Are you afraid to leave your hometown?” He asks, because this is so unlike the defender he knows, who always goes after everything and everyone he wants without hesitation.
“I’m not scared!” Sergio defends himself. He’s just terrified that he’ll miss out on something important, that he won’t take the chance to do something different. “I’m just not sure if Madrid is the best choice for me.”
“How could it not be?” Fernando laughs, “I may hate Real, but you know they’re the best choice for your career.” And when the defender transfers, he’ll the only man in white he’ll respect, the only one he’ll care about.
“It’s not always about the career.” Sergio says before he can stop himself, and he hears silence over the phone. The other him would’ve never said that.
“Is this really Sergio Ramos whom I’m talking to?”
“Of course it is.” He frowns. He misses his iPad and how easy it was for them to Skype. He has the urge to see Fernando’s face, his freckles, the way he pouts when he doesn’t get what he wants. Then he realizes, if he doesn’t complete the transfer, he’ll miss out on some of the best years of their friendship. He’ll be in Seville and Fernando in Madrid, and then soon after, Fernando won’t even be in Spain anymore, with the distance between them just getting larger and larger.
In the end, Sergio signs for Real Madrid.
~
Sergio discovers that the butterfly effect does exist, that a small and seemingly inconsequential action will change everything about how life unfolds. He first realizes it when he was trying to buy his old house, only to find that because he waited so long to sign his contract, it’s already been sold. Instead he gets a flat in Madrid’s historical center, he’s always wanted to live in an area filled with so much culture, not like his old neighborhood of similar mansions owned by people with too much plastic surgery. That stay is short-lived though, due to a cockroach infestation, he’s forced to find other accommodations, and that’s how he ends up becoming Fernando’s housemate.
It makes perfect sense. Fernando’s house has more than enough room, it’s close to both their stadiums and they’re already great friends, so there is no doubt they would be amazing roomies too.
The media has a field day when they first find out. Stars from the crosstown rival teams living together, this goes against every piece of logic. Fernando gets some flak about it from his team, for being such a good friend to someone they should hate. Sergio gets nothing from Real Madrid though, a perfect reflection of his team, they simply don’t care about the other little minnows in the league. Raul is concerned that Sergio might corrupt Spain’s upcoming striker, but Iker is just amused and tells him that they’ll balance each other out.
It’s true, sometimes Sergio thinks that they’re made for each other, they way they perfectly harmonize in their living space. Fernando always makes breakfast, and it’s always Spanish omlette, though he switches up the toppings enough that neither of them gets sick of eating the same thing. Sergio takes care of dinner, he’ll either spend hours on some elaborate meal or he’ll drag the striker out for a last minute reservation at one of Madrid’s hottest restaurants. The defender always leaves dirty clothes around, on the floor, by the sink and Fernando always launders them and folds them away neatly, but it’s Sergio who bothers putting all the cutlery into the dishwasher so they don’t run out of things to eat with.
Sergio thinks what they have is perfect, and he’s determined to hold on to it as long as he can before Fernando leaves for Liverpool.
~
Fernando decides to retire when he hits thirty-three, the past couple years have been a struggle with his knee and it’s the right time to go. Spain gives him a testimonial match against Romania and Sergio laces up for the last time he’ll be on the pitch with the teammate he’d miss the most. He sends in cross after cross and magically one of them connects with the striker’s head into the back of the net and he’s slamming his way onto the goal scorer. They’re all piled up on top of Fernando, but Sergio only feels the exhilaration of the man below him, and he’s happy that he’s helped him achieve that fairy tale ending.
“Thanks for the goal.” Fernando approaches him after his final press conference, where he tearfully says goodbye to the country he’s carried the weight of through half a dozen major tournaments, the country he’ll continue to cheer for.
Sergio tries to play it cool, but inside he feels as emotional as the older man. “We’re a team, and you don’t need to thank me for an assist.”
“I know you worked really hard, trying to make sure I’d score.” The striker looks at him, they know each other too well.
“I’ll miss you.” He blurts out. “I wish you’d give it another season.” He’s being selfish, but he can’t think of what the team will be like without Fernando, who will he eat breakfast with and practice penalties against.
Before, Fernando would’ve been a little angry at how unsupportive his friend is, but now he’s a little wiser and older. “It’s not always about the football.” He explains, he knows that the defender will understand in a couple of years himself. “I love it, but I also have a family Sergio. Now I can spend all the time I want with Nora and Leo, I never have to miss an assembly at school or the chance to take them to the playground. I can’t ask for anything more.”
Sergio doesn’t understand then, how anyone can give up football, la roja, the glory of stepping on to the pitch in front of thousands of devoted fans. He doesn’t understand how Fernando can toss aside being his teammate. He doesn’t understand until years later, when he too is retired. Bit it’s not the same, he’s all alone with nothing to do and no one to care about when he thinks Fernando was right all along, family is worth all that.
~
Fernando is a total couch hog, that’s something that hasn’t changed. They’re watching an old James Bond film but Sergio is paying more attention to the toes digging into his thighs, as the striker is sprawled all over their generously sized sofa. On the screen, the latest bond girl drowns to death.
“Poor 007.” He comments, it seems like every girl the spy sleeps with ends up dead, no wonder he’s such a bad ass.
“Why?” Fernando asks.
Sergio gives up and puts the other guy’s feet in his lap, there, now he can actually have a piece of the couch to himself. “Because the girl that he loves just got killed?”
The striker snorts and takes a swig of his beer. “They’re bond girls Sergio, they’re in here for the requisite sex scene, hardly the love of his life.”
“He was going to quit MI6 for Vesper!” Sergio defends himself. He wouldn’t mind being a secret agent, just without the killing. He likes the fancy tuxedos and change to espionage at fancy parties.
“Yeah and look how that turned out.” He rolls his eyes and says matter of factly. “Double oh seven isn’t meant for love.”
“Everyone is meant for love.” Sergio argues, he knows it must be true, or else the alternative would be too devastating to think about. He knows that out there somewhere, there is someone just right for him, he just needs to find that person as quickly as possible this time around.
“That’s only true,” Fernando sighs, his voice taking on a note of melancholy, “If you count unrequited love.”
~
Sergio’s recovering from a minor knee strain when Nora turns five, so he flies over to England with a stuffed penguin and a box of pink macarons. Olalla shows him to the backyard, where two-dozen girls in swimsuits are in the pool, screeching as a soaked Fernando tosses them up and down in the water.
“Uncle Sese.” Nora screams and jumps out of the pool to fling at one of her favorite uncles. Sergio suddenly has an armful of wet girl and hugs back despite the water soaking into his clothes.
“How’s my favorite birthday girl?” Sergio laughs, he adores the little girl so much.
“I’m surprised! Papa didn’t tell me you were coming.” She grins at him, overjoyed at his presence.
“Your papa doesn’t know a lot of things.” He whispers back and drops her into the pool again to her obvious delight. Fernando waves from where he’s surrounded by more excited children and Sergio smiles back.
“Thanks for coming,” Olalla passes him a glass of wine. “It means a lot to him.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad they don’t allow family at international break.” Sergio agrees. “I’d love to see the kids more.”
“I meant Fernando. He’s always so much happier when you’re here.” She says with a twist in her mouth.
Sergio doesn’t know what to say to that.
Olalla picks a wandering Leo up and hands the toddler to him. “Sometimes, I wish I can make him smile the way you do.” She admits and looks at him with a resigned sadness, but it’s gone as soon as the doorbell rings again and she goes to answer.
Pepe finds him later, cleaning chunks of icing and play dough out of his hair. “Hola amigo, I didn’t know you were going to come.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been free for Nora’s birthday, of course I wasn’t going to miss it.” He says and grimaces as he runs his hair under the tap. “Your kids really don’t like me.”
“They hardly know you.” Pepe retorts. “You would never fly over to Liverpool for any of my kid’s birthdays.”
“Yeah, that’s cause they’re your kids. They tried to shave my head last time I saw them. Nora and Leo at least like me.” It’s true, out of all his teammates’ kids, there none that he loves as much as these two, not even some of the Real Madrid brats like Enzo and Alba who he sees much more often. There’s something special about Nora and Leo, or maybe just because they’re Fernando’s.
“They’re naturally biased.” The goalkeeper says sagely. “Because their dad likes you too much.”
~
Sergio panics when once again Fernando is given the armband for Átletico, because he knows this is the turning point when everything starts to unravel. He tries his best to dissuade the striker.
“Don’t take it.” He begs. “You’re too young, let someone else shoulder that responsibility.”
Fernando looks at him with a familiar sadness in his eyes, “There is no one else. The club is losing players right and left, they know I’m the only one who’ll stick around.”
“It’s going to screw you over, being a captain of a team like that.” Sergio is desperate; he knows ultimately what a poisoned chalice this role will be for the fragile striker. With every failure, it’ll eat away at his soul until he has to leave the country to get some of it back. He can’t watch it happen again (it’s so much more devastating knowing he could’ve done something to prevent it).
“I have to do it.” Fernando says, more to himself than to Sergio. “For the club I love.”
“They won’t love you back!” He protests, he knows what fans can be like, especially to teams who don’t do well. He doesn’t know why, but every team Fernando’s on, always misplaces all the responsibility and anger towards the striker, blaming him for each goal missed, each loss the team suffers. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but Sergio’s going to do whatever he can to prevent it from happening.
“Yeah, well.” The striker laughs bitterly. “I know that feeling quite well.”
~
Something is wrong, because Sergio knows for a fact that Fernando and Olalla get serious shortly after he gets the armband, but he hasn’t seen the girlfriend in almost three months. Even when Fernando’s swamped with three games a week and spent more time outside of Madrid than in, he always carved out a chunk of time for his girlfriend.
“Where’s Olalla?” He casually brings it up when they’re playing FIFA. “I haven’t seen her around lately.”
Fernando blasts his shot way over the bar, “She moved to the USA.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“What?” Sergio exclaims and pauses the game. “What do you mean she went to another country?”
“She’s always wanted to study abroad, I told her to follow her dreams.” Fernando says, staring at the frozen screen. “We weren’t that serious anyways.” He adds and un-pauses the game, they don’t speak more of her that evening.
Sergio is shocked speechless; this isn’t how it’s meant to be. He doesn’t sleep that night; instead he spends the whole time thinking back on what might’ve happened to cause everything to diverge. He knows it must be something he did, because this is Olalla and Fernando, they were meant to be together. He thinks about Leo and Nora, he can’t imagine screwing up so badly to wipe them out of existence. Fuck, what if he’s already destroyed Fernando’s happiness? This is the worst part of coming back, because Sergio thinks instead of fixing thing, he’s only blown everything to hell.
~
They go out drinking, because Fernando’s twenty-two and no matter what age Sergio is, there are some situations that can only be solved by lots of liquor. He drinks a lot; a bit too much considering his body hasn’t undergone the years of tolerance build up yet. The problem is that he gets chattier than usual when he’s drunk.
“Don’t name your son Leo.” He slurs, they’ve been dancing with random girls and wow he can’t remember the last he got a work out like this on the dance floor, almost a decade he guesses. He feels out of shape, which only makes him more eager to make up for it. They’re going for another round of drinks in the booth, well Sergio is, Fernando is just staring at his, never been much of the partying type.
“I don’t have a son.” He giggles.
That’s right, he doesn’t (yet). Though Sergio’s not sure what’s going to happen now that Olalla is seemingly out of the picture. Damn, it’s too complicated to think about it right now. “Don’t name him after any fucking culés.” He mutters, somehow he’s determines this is the most important point. “Nora was okay though.”
“Who’s Nora?”
“Your daughter.” He blurts out, and then thinks that was probably not the best idea but that quickly gets wiped out like the rest of his inhibitions. “You’re a good dad.”
“I hope so someday.” Fernando laughs, the defender says some stupid things when he’s drunk, but he’s usually not like this. “I know you’d be a great dad too.”
Fernando’s eyes are like the strobe lights, too bright and flashing with too much emotion, full of things Sergio doesn’t know and doesn’t understand, thing he doesn’t think he wants to understand. That’s okay because he wakes up the next morning collapsed over the couch with Fernando, with no recollection of any conversations he’s had the previous night.
~
The summer of 2007 comes and Sergio waits for Fernando to make his announcement. He remembers that it happens early in the transfer window, but everything is a little different this time around, so he waits. They take a holiday to Bali, where they spend a week fooling around on surfboards and signing autographs when they get recognized on the beach. They come back to Madrid and play video games and pick up games in the park with little kids to stay in shape. But then it’s suddenly August and the start of the season is almost here, Fernando hasn’t even started packing yet, but Sergio doesn’t let himself hope.
There are three days left in the transfer window when Sergio finally can’t take it anymore. “So, when are you leaving for Liverpool?” He demands, because dammit he’s the roommate, the best friend, he at least deserves some ahead notice.
“What do you mean, who’s going to Liverpool?” Fernando asks, so confused that he has to stop dusting their TV.
“You, your transfer to Liverpool!” Sergio yells.
The striker cocks his head in genuine bewilderment, he has no idea why Sergio thinks he’s suddenly transferring to Liverpool. “Have you been reading the gossip rags again Sese? Who said I was going to Liverpool?”
Sergio is profoundly taken back, never in his wildest dreams has he predicted a future where Fernando didn’t leave. “You’re not transferring this season?” He asks again, incredulous.
“No.” Fernando shakes his hair, messy blonde bangs obscuring his eyes. “How can I bear to leave Átletico?” He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, how can I bear to leave you?
~
Once in a while, Sergio wakes up thinking everything has just been a dream. He’ll think he’s old (the thirties is old!) in his huge house and bones aching from missing the pitch. But then he will realize the pain is from Pomo and Llanta, the two bulldogs who are dozing on his back, leaving drool marks on the sheets that their owners will have a fit over later. He smells the scent of eggs cooking on a hot pan and in his mind, he can picture Fernando barefoot, shirtless and in a pair of old training shorts making omlettes for two. He knows he’s exactly where he belongs.
~
Sergio loves Real Madrid, he loves them even more this time around, letting his love mature like a good wine and pouring all his affections towards his teammates and the fans. Even though he had a chance for something new, something different, he thinks Real will always be a constant, that and Fernando. Somehow, his friend has become just as important as the crest he plays for, he’s not sure if could say the same thing last time. Somehow, Fernando’s become family.
On Real Madrid, he’s still the closest with Iker and it’s easy to talk to the older man. Somehow despite Sergio’s extra years of experience, the goalkeeper still sounds like the forever-wise captain he’s always known him to be.
“Come out to dinner with some of us tonight?” Iker asks. It’s the start of a new season and there are a couple new additions to the squad. The coach has been trying to get Sergio to gel with some bald Portuguese defender, but it hasn’t been working out so far and he thinks it’s part of his captain duties to get them to bond.
“Can’t.” Sergio shakes his head and starts stripping down his sweaty training clothes, it’s awfully hot in Madrid even in September. “It’s Wednesday.”
“So?” The captain won’t take ditching team time without a good reason.
“I always make Nando’s favorite paella on Wednesdays.” He explains. “And then we watch the new episode of Crackovia together.”
“Are you serious?” Iker rolls his eyes, he understands that they’re friends, he really does, but sometimes he is confused by what his teammates mean to each other.
“Yeah.” Sergio says and throws his stuff into a bag. “I can’t ditch him.”
“You guys are such a married couple.” Iker teases, except the goalkeeper sounds so serious that it doesn’t sound like a joke.
“Of course, I’m the hardworking husband, bringing home the bacon. Do you realize how little they’re paying him at Átletico?” Sergio plays along. “Besides, Nando’s definitely pretty enough to be the trophy wife.”
“Sounds like you have your life all set, Madrid’s own Romeo and Juliet.” The goalkeeper laughs.
“Except without the dumb suicide pacts, more like happily ever after.” He replies. Sergio really hopes they’re not a Shakespearean tragedy, more Disney, where they both find pretty girls and fall in love to raise even more lovely princesses and princes. He’ll settle for never winning Champion’s League, if he could have that fairy tale ending.
~
They’re out shopping, Fernando grumbling all the way but even his infamous pout does nothing to stop Sergio’s enthusiasm. They both wear hats and sunglasses but get spotted immediately anyways. It must be the freckles, el Niño’s trademark feature stand out on the sunny streets of Madrid.
“Come on, go wave hi to the fans.” He nudges Fernando who has a mild bitchface on, there aren’t enough cameras for the full one yet.
The striker drops his scowl, does his best to flash them a couple smiles and sign a couple shirts. The Spanish fans always have a distinguished affection for Fernando, even all the madridistras and culés. They see his loyalty, Spain’s top striker is too good for a club struggling like Átletico, and they respect him for that. Sergio definitely doesn’t get the same treatment, especially outside of Madrid where every fan hates his team. His name is always yelled with curses and whistles, but that’s the life. He doesn’t care about them anyways, he has his club and Fernando and he knows once they win the world cup (again), that’ll quiet them down.
They duck into Louis Vuitton to get some respite from the crowd. Sergio tries to sell his friend on the need for a set of toiletry bags, he doesn’t understand how the striker can just toss things into a plastic bag minutes before leaving.
“You’re so good with them.” Fernando remarks.
“With what?” He’s looking over a range of passport covers, with how often he travels, he figures it’s about time for a new one. Plus, there’s a new line in white with pave diamonds, like it was meant for him.
“The fans, at kissing cheeks and complimenting them.” He grumbles, because the striker isn’t as touchy and kind of intimidated at kissing random strangers, even if it’s on the cheek. Especially when it comes to female fans, sometimes it takes all he has to not run away.
“We’re footballers.” Sergio laughs. “That’s what we do, we promise to win trophies and love our fans.”
Fernando thinks how easy it must be for him, to throw his love around, like some infinite thing with plenty to go around while at the same time as sacred as anything. He has long given up on getting a share.
~
It all goes to hell during the holidays. Chelsea activates Fernando’s buyout clause and the next thing Sergio knows, they’re spending Christmas day boxing up the striker’s things so they can get shipped to London.
“You have so many nice clothes, shame you don’t wear any of it.” Sergio holds up a green shirt with a studded collar and examines it. “If I knew you had this, I would’ve borrowed it.”
“Actually, you bought me that.” Fernando carefully folds up a sweater his mom knitted, it’ll be useful for London weather, which apparently is a constant flux of rain and cold. “You can keep it, nobody will see it under my poncho over there anyways.”
“No way.” He throws it into the open suitcase. “You’ll need something tasteful to remind you of what fashion looks like.”
Fernando looks at it dubiously, but doesn’t refuse. He finishes with sweaters and moves on to pants with a grim determination. “Chelsea, I can’t believe it.” He says emotionlessly, because at this point, it’s too late to hurt but too early to regret. Everything has already been decided so quickly and it’s not like he had much of a choice in anything.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sergio asks in concern, but inside he’s freaking out just as badly as his friend. The deal came out of nowhere, and it’s been so long since well their youth days that he had forgotten how hard Chelsea was chasing the Spanish striker. He really should’ve been more wary, it’s his fault, he’s the ripple in the pond that’s causing everything to shift out of control. Now he’s losing his best friend all over again and everything is so much harder this time around, because for a while he thought they were safe, he thought Fernando would see out the rest of his career in Madrid, with him.
“I can’t afford not to be.” He gives a weak smile that does nothing to fool the defender. “They’re a huge club, playing in the Champion’s League, I’ll be alright there right?” Fernando looks imploringly at his friend, as if the younger man held all the answers to his future (which is not too far from the truth).
“You’ll be amazing.” Sergio pulls the taller man into a hug on the bed, open boxes and half-packed suitcases spread all around them. Just like after a bad game, he rubs soothing circles on the striker’s back, holding him tight in comfort. “You’ll light up the Premier League like you’re on fire, show those Englishmen how it’s done.”
“Really?” Fernando buries his face in the other man’s neck, they’ll see each other soon at National team call ups, but somehow, he feels they’ll never be this close again.
“Yeah.” He reassures the striker. “Chelsea will love you.” Sergio just holds his friend close and hopes with everything in him that it’ll be true. He’s not sure how Fernando’s spell at Chelsea this time will work out, but like the striker had said, there is nothing they can do to change it now.
~
After Fernando leaves, the house becomes too quiet. He knows he should probably move out and find a proper place of his own. He needs to stop mooching off Fernando’s hospitality because the striker is never going to kick him out otherwise. Sergio realizes he’s never paid rent or utilities until the other man’s gone and he comes home to find the electricity has been shut off.
What stops him are the sleepless nights, when he lays awake in bed because it’s too quiet. He misses Llanta and Pomo, it’s like a bad divorce where he got the house but Fernando got the kids, but they were Fernando’s first and it was only right that they went with him. Those nights he sneaks into Fernando’s room, it’s easy because there’s no one keeping him out, not that the occupant ever denied him entry even when he was here. He roots around for an old Atletico jersey, and falls asleep in the other man’s bed with a familiar number nine on his back.
After a while he stops sleeping in his bed, Fernando’s mattress is better for his back, or so he tells himself.
~
Some part of him was afraid that they wouldn’t win the European Cup, wouldn’t end Spain’s half a century without a major tournament trophy. But they do win it after all with some minor changes. Fernando still scores the single game-deciding goal, loping in brilliant half-volley over Buffon and all of Italy cry in heartbreak (at least they spared the Germans). The Spanish team cries, Sergio cries even though he thought he wouldn’t, but it’s so easy to be caught in the joy of winning, winning together again. He plasters himself against the striker, pressing champagne drenched bodies together and thanks God that he gets the chance to experience this once again because once simply was not enough. It never will be.
~
Once out of nowhere, Fernando shows up at his door in Madrid. Sergio stares when he sees the striker outside, eyes mad with panic and pleading him to not ask him about it. But Fernando is a new father, with Nora just born weeks ago, so what was he doing in another country leaving his wife and infant alone? They go inside and Sergio knows this is the time to break out the scotch.
It takes a couple tumblers of drink and for Fernando’s pretty cheekbones to flush pink before he starts to talk. “Everyone is congratulating me and telling me how happy I am but I don’t know if I am. I have a daughter now, but does that automatically make me happy? What is happiness supposed to feel like?” He stares at Sergio, as if he holds all the answers to the universe.
“You love her, right? You look at Nora and love her?” He asks.
“Yeah.” Fernando breathes out, looking like he only thought about it now. “She’s perfect.”
“Then that’s all to it.” Sergio says, feeling like he’s ripping off some romantic film he used to watch with his sister. “Happiness is love, and you have plenty of it.”
“Happiness is love.” He repeats, looking at his friend.
~
Sergio doesn’t need to worry, because the striker had a great half a season at Chelsea, and after the tournament, only seems to improve, breaking league records and leading the team to Champions League glory in his full first season there. Sergio is impressed, but privately he comes up with a plan to make sure Fernando’s career stays as brilliant as it is now. He fears that dark period, those long goal droughts and days where nobody seemed to believe in him. Sergio knows that those two knee injuries were crucial, and so he spends every phone call demanding fitness updates until Fernando starts complaining that he has more questions that the coach. Sergio’s had Mou as manager before, and he knows exactly how inquisitive the Special One can be.
Still it gives them a chance to talk, almost daily, first on the phone, then skyping online. They hang out during international break and sometimes on free days, Sergio goes to visit him in London for the day.
It’s not the same as last time; he’s become so much more dependent on Fernando, on seeing him, making sure he’s all right and happy. He’s never cared so much, never taken so much responsibility for it. Sergio just chalks it up to the fact that they’re such better friends, even closer than best friends.
~
Of course, nothing ever stays the same, Sergio can attest to that better than most people. Something happens, he doesn’t know what but their phone calls start to taper off, getting shorter and scarcer. Fernando seems to get colder and more closed off every time they talk, both online and in person. Sergio visits and asks what’s wrong, but the older man just fakes a smile and takes him around London, telling him that everything was fine. He doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t get anything more from the striker before he has to be on a plane back to Madrid.
At the next national team call up, Fernando ends up rooming with Pepe, a completely unprecedented event (in this timeline). To start, Sergio doesn’t even know how the striker ended up being such good friends with the Liverpool keeper, they’ve never even played for the same club this time around, and they’re supposed to be bloody rivals! Somehow though, Fernando was warmed up to and been enclosed by Pepe’s protective heart.
“He’s sleeping right now.” He says, not letting Sergio into the room he shares with the striker.
“It’s okay.” The defender tries to placate him. “He’ll wake up for me.” It’s true, they used to barging in on each other all the time, it doesn’t matter what the other man is doing because Fernando has never kept Sergio out before.
“No, he won’t.” The older man growls and tries to shut the door. “He’s not waking up because you’re going to go back to your room and try again when he’s actually awake like a normal person.”
“I just want to talk to him.” He protests and tries to wedge a foot inside the door, but the goalkeeper is a lot stronger than he looks. “You don’t understand, he’s my best friend.”
Pepe doesn’t relent and slams the door in his face, but not without saying. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
~
“Fucking Nando.” He swears and tosses his cellphone into his locker. Sergio hasn’t talked to his friend in three days, his calls ringing endlessly before it gets forwarded to voicemail. There used to be a time where Fernando would pick up, any time and no matter what he was doing because it was Sergio calling. Now it just seems like he’s the last person the striker would pick for.
“What’s going on?” Iker asks, despite what most people think, the captain is a terrible fodder for gossip, as long as it doesn’t hurt the team.
“I don’t know what’s gotten up that prissy princess’ ass, but Fernando’s been acting like such a bitch. We hardly saw each other at call up and I know he’s ignoring my calls on purpose.” Sergio rants. “I know we all make fun of him looking like a girl, but he doesn’t need to act like one as well.”
Iker doesn’t laugh; instead he frowns and actually looks concerned. “He’s not talking to you?”
“Nope. And every time I bring it up, he says he’s busy. Busy doing what? We all know he’s just hiding at home anyways. It’s not like he goes out and does anything fun.” Sergio is pissed, though a bit worried too, but he can’t admit that without sounding like a sap. They’ve never had a falling out like this before, not even last time when Fernando left Spain. There’s been moments where their friendship has grown distant, separated by the ocean, but Fernando has never actively pushed him away like this before.
The captain murmurs, “I guess he’s tired of waiting.” He looks at the defender with a sad look.
“Waiting for what?” Sergio asks incredulously.
“You of course.”
“My what?” He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. It was the striker who all of a sudden started acting as if their years of friendship and living together meant absolutely nothing. Tossed him aside like a sweaty jersey into the crowd.
“Oh my god. You don’t know.” Iker is staring at him, eyes blown wide in disbelief, like he’s suddenly declared a love for all things blaugrana and he’s transferring over next season. “You really are that dumb.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sergio says angrily. It’s like he’s caught up in some divine comedy and everyone is laughing at him or ignoring him. He’s missing something here and he doesn’t like it.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but your best friend never will, and you’re too stupid to figure it out so someone has to.” The captain starts.
“Tell me what?!” He yells, losing his patience and making some of the other stragglers in the locker room glance over curiously. He shoots them a glare and they scurry out.
“Fernando.” Iker says. “He’s in love with you. Has been forever and probably will never stop.” It all comes out.
“No. That’s not possible” Sergio looses all feeling in his leg, collapsing down onto the bench in a heap. “No fucking way.” He says in denial when in reality it hits him like an epiphany because he knows it’s the truth. How did he not see this coming? He thinks back to all his interactions with the striker, everything makes so much sense now. Everything they’ve done, talked about, in this life and the previous and things slide together like a puzzle box.
“I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Iker sits down next to him, face drawn with concern. “Some of us thought you were just being an asshole, playing him along.”
“No. Fuck I didn’t –“ He says and has to stop because his voice is crackling and god if he’s going to cry in the locker room like a girl, then it’s a good thing he scared off the other teammates earlier. “I didn’t know.” It’s not an excuse, but it’s the only truth he has. “Fuck I’m such an asshole.”
“That’s what we figured.” The older man jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
“Screw you.” Sergio runs his hands through his hair, he wishes he didn’t cut the long locks, they’re much better to grip in frustration during times like these. “Shit, what do I do now? How do I make it right again?”
“Well, that depends.” Iker raises an eyebrow. “How do you feel about him?”
~
Sergio loves Fernando. That is a truth. He loves him because they’re Spanish, because they are best friends and because men can love other men, just not like that, not the way the older man loves him back.
Or so he thinks.
It makes his head hurts so he tries not to. It works as well as the rest of his plans.
~
It’s all goes to hell at the next call up, because no matter hard Fernando tries, he can’t avoid the defender forever. Especially since Sergio knows the older man so well, knows exactly what he’ll do to stay away, which makes it so easy to ambush him. Like right now, they’re in the deserted weight room. Everyone else has long packed up and left leaving the two of them in frozen silence.
“I’m sorry.” Sergio says to his back, Fernando refuses to turn around to look at him. He knows with one look at Sergio, he won’t make it out of this room without breaking down.
The striker laughs with bitter mirth, something Sergio has never heard but that sound hurts, cuts him in places he didn’t know laughter could touch. “What do you have to be sorry about?”
“I never knew.” He admits. He’s ashamed; Sergio claims to be Fernando’s best friend, when the reality is that he’s also been the older man’s worst heartache.
“I figured.” Fernando says. “I knew you weren’t smart enough to figure it out, or cruel enough to continue on like that.” Still, that apology doesn’t make anything okay, it doesn’t fix anything or bring them back towards how it used to be.
“How can I make it right?” He asks, shame rising through his entire body. He can’t lose Fernando like this, life without his best friend will be an even more painful outcome than his previous life alone. He’ll take growing old as a bitter man, lonely and single as long as he has Fernando, he realizes that now.
“You can’t Sergio.” He says simply, like everything has already fallen into place. “We had our chance when we were at our closest, and I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Nevertheless, those years living with you will always be the happiest period of my life.” Fernando finally turns around, a man who’s come to terms with the acceptance that sometimes love doesn’t conquer all, sometimes it just is. He’s never expected anything from Sergio, but that doesn’t lessen the pain of it all.
Sergio is desperate, he’ll do what ever it takes to hold on to Fernando. “I can’t lose you as a friend.” He cries, because this is turning out to be a worse life than before, and he wonders how he could’ve screwed up so badly, not once but twice.
“That’s what I’m afraid of too.”
~
The thing is, Sergio cannot remember life before Fernando, cannot think of a life without the striker by his side. It’s been two decades now and Sergio sees the world painted by the gold of his bleached hair, the warm chocolate of those droopy eyes and reds as the color that they both wear proudly.
Every moment makes sense when he is with Fernando, and every breath he takes without the other man feels like it will be his last.
Sergio, in all his lives has been looking for love, he never realized it’s been by his side the whole time.
“I love Fernando.” He says to himself. Now that he’s figured this out, he knows what to do, because Sergio doesn’t ever stop himself from going after what he wants, no matter how many tries (or lives) it takes.
~
“Open up Nando.” He yells while banging on the door. He knows the striker’s schedule by heart and knows he’s not at a match or training right now. He also knows that when given the choice between going out and staying in, Fernando will always choose the latter. This can only mean that he’s being ignored. “I know you’re in there Nando! If you don’t let me in, I’ll just break in.” He keeps at it and sure enough, the gate clicks to let him in minutes later. Fernando meets him in front of the door with a grim face.
“What are you doing here?” The striker looks tired. Sergio hates the way he’s standing like a defeated man, even the freckles look like they’ve retreated into the skin to hide out the storm.
Sergio’s thought about how to play this out infinite times, he’s played out all of Fernando’s reactions, from slapping him to bursting into tears to acceptance. He hopes for the best.
“You’re the one for me.” He stares into familiar eyes, as if he could telepathically communicate all his feelings with one look.
“What?” Fernando frowns.
“I’ve only realized now.” Sergio doesn’t break eye contact and steps forward to clutch Fernando’s hands, not letting him pull away. “For the rest of my life, and all the lives beyond that, I’m meant to be with you.” He says it whole-heartedly, their life was an anomaly, but he has the chance to fix that. Starting now, it’ll only be him and Fernando, for as long as the man wants him and he hopes that it’s to an infinity that he can’t count to.
“Sergio. You –“ Fernando’s eyes are wide with disbelief and his heart flutters with the faintest shred of faith, he almost doesn’t dare to believe that this could be true. Fernando’s had so many dreams, so many hopes, wished on so many lucky pennies and birthday candles.
“I love you Nando.” Sergio says simply. It’s the truth in the way his heart is racing with the fear that he’ll be rejected, the way both their hands are shaking entwined together. “I’ve always loved you, even when I was stupid and blind and I know I don’t deserve you. But Nando, you deserve to be happy and I want to be the one that makes you happy.” The striker still remains silent and with each passing second the fear grows. Sergio fears that once again he’s too late, that it’s not enough. “Please let me.” He whispers because this is it, he doesn’t believe he’s worth a third chance.
Over above them, something flashes in the night sky and Fernando pulls the shorter man towards him. “Yes.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until wet drops fall onto his hands still firmly intertwined with the other man’s. “Sergio, I love you too.”
Sergio reluctantly pulls one of his hands away and it’s immediately on Fernando’s face, tilting his face perfectly into his and their lips are pressed tight together and there’s this feeling of completeness that neither of them has ever felt. Their bodies are locked in tight through this kiss, which may be their first but tastes like a thousand missed opportunities, it takes like the chance to make everything all right.
“Inside.” Fernando gasps when clever fingers crawl around his waist, pushing up his shirt and touching skin that’s always been waiting to be claimed. Sergio pushes until they’re tumbling into the door and fall onto the carpet. He’s on top of the striker before the door even shuts, kissing him like he’s sunlight and the whole time Sergio’s been locked underground.
“Sergio.” Fernando is laid on the stairs without his shirt and Sergio is taking his time tasting his way down that creamy neck, taking his time licking and touching, exploring a treasure he didn’t know existed before. By the time they’ve made it up the stairs to the bedroom, they’ve lost all their clothes and gained a couple hickies that will have interesting backstories at training.
“I never thought I could have this.” Sergio admits, looming down at Fernando who’s trapped in his arms with escape as the last thing on his mind. He runs his eyes up and down the wanting body, a body that’s always been his even when he didn’t know about it.
“Always, I was always yours.” The striker promises. It’s true, even Olalla never had his heart, it’s never been anyone other than Sergio’s.
“I should’ve done this sooner.” He says, taking the time to go over every piece of the body below his. It’s hard and glistening with a thin layer of sweat and for the first time it’s completely his. He’s never had Fernando all to himself before, and the more that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he can accept any other outcome.
“It’s okay.” Fernando smiles, his eyes dark with lust, a shade that Sergio’s never seen before but hopes will be a recurring feature. “I’m yours now.” He spreads his legs to accentuate that point.
Sergio’s always gone after what he’s wanted, that doesn’t change now, though he does make sure to go slow to not hurt the man that he loves. The feeling when he’s completely sheathed inside is incredible, he’s never felt as whole as he does now, and if there was any doubt before (there wasn’t), then he knows right here is exactly where he’s meant to be, Fernando is all he’s meant to be with.
“I won’t let you leave again.” He whispers to the blonde, who can only moan his name and buck up. “You’re mine, forever.” Sergio says with every thrust and he means it, he has no idea how the future will work out, but the certainty is that they will be together.
It doesn’t take long for Fernando to turn into a quivering mess, until he can only tighten his legs around the man pounding into him and claw into his back to pull them closer together. Sergio reaches for Fernando’s length and it only takes a couple strokes before he’s coming all over the warm hand. The walls around his own dick tighten and he’s releasing into a tight heat that feels like it’s sucking his heart out. “I love you.” Sergio cries as the walls keep on squeezing him and he collapses onto the lithe figure, making sure not to crush the older man.
“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Fernando says after a while, Sergio’s almost asleep, still nestled inside the other man with no desire to part again.
“You can have me forever.” He promises, because after everything he’s been through, everything he’s put Fernando through, he can say that with certainty. Sergio will always be with Fernando.
~
After the current season ends, Sergio requests a transfer to Chelsea. Everyone in Madrid is appropriately horrified, except for Iker who tells him to follow his heart, which overly sappy and cliché even from the old man. The fans bawl outside the stadium gates and a few even burn his jersey, it hurts a bit but there is no changing his mind. Fernando is ecstatic and that’s all that matters. Besides, he’s already played a lifetime for Real Madrid and now it’s times to follow another dream. One where what jersey he wears doesn’t matter as long as he has a certain striker by his side.
The next year, Fernando finds them a surrogate that does them a tremendous favor and once again two years later.
Now Sergio leaves dirty blankets and stuffed animals strewn around, but as usual Fernando picks them up and washes them without protest. He still makes omlettes but also figures out how to mush up fruit and mix formula. Sergio gets really good at changing diapers and doesn’t complain about taking out the baby trash every couple of hours.
~
Sergio is thirty-five when he retires for the second time (not that anyone knows it though). It’s his farewell match and the whole of Stamford Bridge are on their feet as he’s subbed out. They’re singing his song and clapping for the end of a brilliant player who’s helped them to trophies and glory. Sergio’s mildly surprised that he’s gotten his Champion’s League medal after all, though that hardly matters.
He gets to the bench and opens his arms wide as two kid-sized rockets shoot towards him. Nora reaches him first, and he swings her up as she screams. Leo reaches him and tugs at his shorts until he too is picked up. Fernando walks up to him with a smile and so much pride in his eyes. “Congratulations.” He gives the (newly retired) footballer a hug.
“I wouldn’t be here without you.” Sergio says and grabs his husband, kids and all, and kisses him on the mouth. It’s the truth, he wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t have the loves of his life in his arms. The happiness in their hearts drowns out the cheers of the stadium. They’re finally where they belong, with each other.