Not for Profit - football fic - Kaka/David James
Not for Profit
Kaka/David James, PG
~2800 words
BEAR WITH ME OKAY. THIS WORKS. Written as a challenge, the pairing was randomly selected. It turned into a romcom-esque story of unlikely boyfriends. With Ronaldo.
There's something about the way he listens to Kaka and responds in kind: thoughtful and respectful. Kaka likes it. It is a press event for Global Football and they are sitting on a stage waiting for the media to file in. On his left is Carlos Parreira, and Kaka isn't quite brave enough to speak to him, and on his right is a tall, settled man, his stature and his hands folded easily in his lap giving away his position. Kaka smiles at him and he smiles back. They shake hands.
"David," he says, and Kaka nods. "Of course," he says. "I'm Kaka."
David nods too. "Very pleased to meet you," he says, his voice deep and dropping off consonants in the way Kaka had become accustomed to hearing from Beckham. Kaka takes a moment to appreciate David giving him time to speak. So often when people meet Kaka they interrupt him: "I know who you are," they say, and Kaka feels accused of something, feels inexplicably rude.
"How is Madrid?" David asks, leaning across to Kaka slightly, and Kaka smiles again. "Good," he says, "thank you." And then, "I'm so sorry, where are you this season?"
He feels terrible, but there is no way around it. Of course he knows who David is, has played against him even, in internationals, but-
"Portsmouth," David says, and nods as if to confirm his own statement.
"Of course," Kaka says, stupidly, and they sit there, looking across the room, not a lot to say. Kaka racks his brains for details of the last season. He remembers watching highlights after practice some days, snatches of the Premier League that Beckham could get on Italian TV. Cheering on Manchester United.
It comes to him, in the end, and he leans across to say it. "Congratulations-" he starts, but the doors open and someone comes on stage to fix up their microphones and David isn't listening anyway.
"The FA Cup," Kaka says to himself, but although he tries to remember to say it later, he never does.
---
Back in Madrid he forgets about David entirely until one day, watching highlights of the Premiership at Cristiano's house, Cristiano cheering on United.
"Hey," Kaka says. "I met David James."
Cristiano doesn't register it at first. He's leaning forward, fixated as Giggs steps up to a free kick. Kaka doesn't like to interrupt, not when Cristiano is so rapt, not when he's playing out set pieces ingrained in him since he was so young.
Giggs takes it and it curls over the head of Vidic and out for a goal kick. Cristiano lets out all the air in his body and leans back. He looks at Kaka. "Did you just say David James?"
Kaka hums. "At the Global Football event," he says.
They watch another few missed chances.
"I never met him," Cristiano says. "Isn't that odd?" And then Anderson scores and Cristiano goes crazy and Kaka is laughing at him, and they forget that conversation. "I'm going to call him," Cristiano says, and steps up and over the back of the sofa. "That Brazilian wonder kid, I’m going to call him right now."
---
It's November, and Kaka is talking to the press officer at Special Olympics. She mentions David, in passing, and Kaka starts. He feels suddenly like he has forgotten something. "How is he?" he says, and she pauses, confused.
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, carry on."
But at the end of the call, he asks if she would pass David's details to him. Kaka doesn't know what he's intending to do with them, but he feels it's important to ask.
---
“So you never played against him?”
They’re in training, and Cristiano is stretching next to him. It’s been a few months and Kaka doesn’t remember a time when he and Cris weren’t friends. “Cris and Kaka years,” Marcelo calls it, because every week they know each other feels more like ten, and without noticing how it happens, they are inseparable.
“No,” Cristiano says, “I played against him, of course, I just never said hello.”
“Maybe I shook his hand, after a game,” he says. He squints at Kaka. “Why are we talking about David James?”
Kaka leans forwards, stretches down his body and feels it all the way through him. He thinks about the question.
He’s not sure why David has been on his mind so much. After the call, Kaka took the scrap of paper on which he had written David’s number, entered it into his phone, and then, for good measure, his address book. And then: nothing.
It could, he supposes, be because he hasn’t got much else to worry about right now. He’s well, for one thing. He’s fit, and healthy, and in the team. He’s got over the stresses of joining a new side and has made friends as easily as ever. There’s nothing to worry about. He can focus on his football during the day, and then, in the evening, he has time to think about other things. Like what he’s going to do with his life, and where he should take his charitable work, and English footballers struggling to keep their side afloat.
Cristiano drops it because they’re in training, and although Kaka sort of expects him to bring it up later, he never does. So Kaka spends the next three days on the brink of telling Cristiano about meeting David, and then getting his phone number. He almost tells him when they’re out at dinner one night, but Kaka’s paranoid about someone overhearing; the restaurant is quiet and their table secluded but waiters hover discretely and Kaka doesn’t feel private enough.
Eventually, they’re in Cristiano’s car, driving home after training, and Kaka says, “So, you remember that I mentioned David James?”
Cristiano is smiling when Kaka looks over, smiling at the road ahead.
“What?” Kaka demands.
”What are you smiling at?”
Cristiano laughs. “You,” he says, and leaves it at that. “What is it about this guy anyway?”
Kaka stares out the side window. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.
“So you met him at that press conference?”
Kaka hums. “Yes.”
“That’s nice,” Cristiano says, “it’s nice to meet someone in a setting that lets you know straight away that they’re worth knowing.”
And Kaka feels good when he says that, so when Cristiano drops Kaka off the first thing he does is call David, before he can think through it.
It goes to answerphone, and Kaka is thrown.
“Hello,” he says. “It’s Kaka; we met at the Global Football press event. I hope that you don’t mind me calling. I want to say that it was nice to meet you.”
And then his mind goes blank, because why is he calling?
“We should talk,” he says finally, and he can feel his face getting hot, even though no one is there to hear him.
“About, the charities, you know.”
He fumbles the phone and almost drops it. “Thank you,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Okay, bye.”
It’s awful. He hangs up and almost immediately he calls Cristiano and says, “Why can’t I talk normally?”
Cristiano laughs and laughs.
---
David doesn’t call back that day, or the next, and Kaka hides his disappointment in the weekend’s action and when Cristiano texts him the Portsmouth result, Kaka doesn’t reply.
And then it’s Monday evening and Kaka is distracted, out at dinner with his cousin, talking about an old family friend who is moving to Spain, and his phone goes off in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I thought I had put it on silent.”
He pulls it out and checks the screen before he turns it off. It’s David, and his stomach flips.
“Do you need to take it?”
Kaka looks up, startled. “No,” he says after a moment, “No, I can call them back.” But he’s on edge for the rest of the evening.
There’s a message, later. It is David and when Kaka hears his voice again he smiles, foolishly.
“It’s David,” the message says, “I’m just returning your call from the other day. It was good to hear from you. I’ll call back tomorrow. Cheers.”
---
They get through to each other in the end. The first time is a little awkward. They talk for twenty minutes, and it’s mostly niceties. How have you been, it was nice to meet you, I hope you don’t mind me getting your number.
Kaka feels like he needs some reason for contacting David, so he talks about their charity work. “I’m interested in what you’re doing,” he says, because he’s read about David, read his Wikipedia page and various newspaper articles. “I’d love to get involved.”
So they talk about that, and then they’re at a loss, and David ends the conversation with a degree of tact and social ease that Kaka envies him. Kaka himself is too painfully honest to make up an excuse to leave.
The next time is easier; they are talking about the Premiership and Kaka mentions in passing the other David. Of course, the two Davids played for their country together, and there is a common theme for them. David tells stories about Beckham and Kaka laughs at his impressions, laughs till his cheeks hurt at tales of hotel pranks and young, silly boys.
“Yes,” he says, “Yes, that’s exactly - I remember that, I can picture him saying that.”
David laughs easily, laughs when Kaka laughs.
They talk for an hour and Kaka is surprised when it is him who has to go, late for lunch with Cristiano. They don’t talk about charities once.
Over the next few weeks, Kaka learns the following things about David James: that he enjoys poetry and would like to try writing it himself but is too shy to show anyone the results; that he sometimes feels more satisfied when he sees his column in print than when he keeps a clean sheet; that he looks after his sons from Tuesday to Thursday and that they come to every game.
Kaka tells him in turn about his Church, about his family back in Brazil and playing tennis during the week with his teammates. He talks too about Cristiano, unintentionally in every story Kaka tells.
“I remember playing against him,” David says, wryly. “I don’t know if I’m happier knowing I won’t have to go through that again, or if I should miss the challenge.”
Kaka smiles, accepting the compliment to his friend. “I would miss it,” he says.
“He seems like a good guy,” says David, and Kaka doesn’t know where to begin to agree.
“I don’t think that I would be as happy here if it weren’t for him.”
“Then,” says David, “I’m glad that he is there.”
---
“I’m going to Manchester,” Cristiano says. They’re almost at the end of the year, and it is cold in Spain, cold when Kaka leaves his house in the mornings. Cristiano smiles at him, happy with this news, and Kaka smiles back.
“Good,” he says, “that will be nice for you. Are you going to see everyone?”
“You should come.”
“What?” Kaka doesn’t think that was a reply to his question. “I- can’t, I have-“
He tries again. “Why?”
Cristiano grins at him, like he knows something that Kaka doesn’t. “Manchester is in England,” he says, “and you know what else is in England?”
Kaka stares at him, beginning to get where this is going.
“Portsmouth,” Cristiano finishes, and he looks so pleased with himself. Kaka throws a glove at him. “Careful,” Cristiano says. “I’m driving. I’ll run us off the road, and then how will Madrid win the league?”
Kaka retrieves his glove from Cristiano’s lap. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Easily,” he says, “Karim is a better finisher than you anyway.”
Cristiano shakes his head.
“So will you come?”
---
Kaka isn’t going to go to England. He has no intention of going to England. But Cristiano tells him that he should come to Manchester anyway, because then Kaka can meet everyone.
“And you have to meet them,” he says, “I’m always talking about you and they want to meet the famous Kaka.”
Kaka makes a face, but Cristiano is teasing.
So when he next talks to David and David asks him what his plans are over the week, Kaka tells him. He feels a bit foolish, like he’s expecting a certain reply, like a lot depends on what David says to that.
“Manchester?” David says. “That’s cool. If I was still there, I’d show you around.”
“Well,” Kaka says, “I mean. I’ll be with Cristiano, so. I think it will be good.”
“Of course,” David says. There’s a long pause. “You’re flying into Manchester?”
“Yes,” Kaka says, “I think so, I mean.”
“You should check,” David says. “If you’re flying into London, we should meet up. I’ll take you to dinner.”
And just like that, Kaka feels as flustered as he did the first time, and his mind goes blank again.
“I’ll see,” he says. “Yes, I mean. I mean I’ll see. I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“No problem,” David says. “I’d better go, but let me know.”
“Yes,” says Kaka. “I will. Bye.”
---
“We can fly into London,” Cristiano says, half an hour later at lunch. “I’ll go up to Manchester, you can follow - whenever.”
Kaka stares at his plate.
“Hey,” Cristiano says, and waves his fork under Kaka’s face. “Don’t be nervous. No one has a bad word to say about him.”
Kaka looks up. Cristiano isn’t smirking, or anything. He’s looking at Kaka rather fondly.
“You asked people?”
“Don’t worry,” Cristiano says, shrugging. “I was discrete.”
Kaka keeps staring at him.
“Someone has to look after you,” Cristiano says. “You’re so nice.”
Kaka doesn’t know what to say. He feels like this situation has got away from him a little.
“I’ll sort out the flights; just let him know you’ll be there.”
---
As if Cristiano and David have, between them, taken control of Kaka’s life, Kaka finds himself in a taxi outside an expensive London address, waiting for David.
When he comes out, he is in a black shirt and jeans, and he is taller than Kaka remembers. He folds himself into the seat next to Kaka and gives the driver the name of a restaurant. Then he turns to Kaka and smiles.
“Sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t find my keys.”
And Kaka laughs, even though it isn’t funny, for the relief of David’s human side. He feels awkward and poorly dressed, and not nearly as composed as David appears, but David is late because he couldn’t find his keys, and that somehow makes things better.
“Where were they?” He says, and David shakes his head in disgust.
“In my pocket,” he says, and Kaka laughs again.
---
The restaurant is dimly lit, with exposed brickwork on the walls and tables set back in alcoves. David follows Kaka’s example and orders sparkling water for the table. He waves away Kaka’s assurances that David should have wine, saying that he tries not to drink during the season anyway.
Kaka is nervous but he thinks David probably is too. David talks faster than he does on the phone, or did when they first met. Kaka finds himself smiling too much.
The conversation is easy, and the night passes quickly. Tables around them fill and empty again and Kaka and David stay. A couple of times, David points someone out to Kaka and tells him some gossip about them, someone who has been in the papers recently. It isn’t spiteful, just inclusive.
“You know,” David says, “I never said thank you, for getting in touch again.”
Kaka looks at him.
“I’m really glad you did,” David says, sincere and more softly than he has spoken all night.
Kaka swallows. “Me too,” he says, and smiles at David.
---
He goes back to David’s flat afterwards. He admires David’s art collection and spends a while looking at his bookshelves and spotting titles that he can recognise in English, and David makes coffee, and then David kisses him while Kaka stands in the doorway to the kitchen. He has his glasses on, from reading the backs of books, and he is holding a cup of coffee, and it makes his heart race.
David smiles at him, still standing close, and Kaka smiles back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, only that it makes sense. He has thought about David a lot, since that first conversation, and all his thinking has only led to one place: that he likes David, and that David is the kind of person who, as Cristiano said, is worth knowing.
It’s sort of reckless, and sort of hopeless, but it makes sense.
He puts a hand on David’s waist and kisses him again.
Kaka/David James, PG
~2800 words
BEAR WITH ME OKAY. THIS WORKS. Written as a challenge, the pairing was randomly selected. It turned into a romcom-esque story of unlikely boyfriends. With Ronaldo.
There's something about the way he listens to Kaka and responds in kind: thoughtful and respectful. Kaka likes it. It is a press event for Global Football and they are sitting on a stage waiting for the media to file in. On his left is Carlos Parreira, and Kaka isn't quite brave enough to speak to him, and on his right is a tall, settled man, his stature and his hands folded easily in his lap giving away his position. Kaka smiles at him and he smiles back. They shake hands.
"David," he says, and Kaka nods. "Of course," he says. "I'm Kaka."
David nods too. "Very pleased to meet you," he says, his voice deep and dropping off consonants in the way Kaka had become accustomed to hearing from Beckham. Kaka takes a moment to appreciate David giving him time to speak. So often when people meet Kaka they interrupt him: "I know who you are," they say, and Kaka feels accused of something, feels inexplicably rude.
"How is Madrid?" David asks, leaning across to Kaka slightly, and Kaka smiles again. "Good," he says, "thank you." And then, "I'm so sorry, where are you this season?"
He feels terrible, but there is no way around it. Of course he knows who David is, has played against him even, in internationals, but-
"Portsmouth," David says, and nods as if to confirm his own statement.
"Of course," Kaka says, stupidly, and they sit there, looking across the room, not a lot to say. Kaka racks his brains for details of the last season. He remembers watching highlights after practice some days, snatches of the Premier League that Beckham could get on Italian TV. Cheering on Manchester United.
It comes to him, in the end, and he leans across to say it. "Congratulations-" he starts, but the doors open and someone comes on stage to fix up their microphones and David isn't listening anyway.
"The FA Cup," Kaka says to himself, but although he tries to remember to say it later, he never does.
---
Back in Madrid he forgets about David entirely until one day, watching highlights of the Premiership at Cristiano's house, Cristiano cheering on United.
"Hey," Kaka says. "I met David James."
Cristiano doesn't register it at first. He's leaning forward, fixated as Giggs steps up to a free kick. Kaka doesn't like to interrupt, not when Cristiano is so rapt, not when he's playing out set pieces ingrained in him since he was so young.
Giggs takes it and it curls over the head of Vidic and out for a goal kick. Cristiano lets out all the air in his body and leans back. He looks at Kaka. "Did you just say David James?"
Kaka hums. "At the Global Football event," he says.
They watch another few missed chances.
"I never met him," Cristiano says. "Isn't that odd?" And then Anderson scores and Cristiano goes crazy and Kaka is laughing at him, and they forget that conversation. "I'm going to call him," Cristiano says, and steps up and over the back of the sofa. "That Brazilian wonder kid, I’m going to call him right now."
---
It's November, and Kaka is talking to the press officer at Special Olympics. She mentions David, in passing, and Kaka starts. He feels suddenly like he has forgotten something. "How is he?" he says, and she pauses, confused.
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, carry on."
But at the end of the call, he asks if she would pass David's details to him. Kaka doesn't know what he's intending to do with them, but he feels it's important to ask.
---
“So you never played against him?”
They’re in training, and Cristiano is stretching next to him. It’s been a few months and Kaka doesn’t remember a time when he and Cris weren’t friends. “Cris and Kaka years,” Marcelo calls it, because every week they know each other feels more like ten, and without noticing how it happens, they are inseparable.
“No,” Cristiano says, “I played against him, of course, I just never said hello.”
“Maybe I shook his hand, after a game,” he says. He squints at Kaka. “Why are we talking about David James?”
Kaka leans forwards, stretches down his body and feels it all the way through him. He thinks about the question.
He’s not sure why David has been on his mind so much. After the call, Kaka took the scrap of paper on which he had written David’s number, entered it into his phone, and then, for good measure, his address book. And then: nothing.
It could, he supposes, be because he hasn’t got much else to worry about right now. He’s well, for one thing. He’s fit, and healthy, and in the team. He’s got over the stresses of joining a new side and has made friends as easily as ever. There’s nothing to worry about. He can focus on his football during the day, and then, in the evening, he has time to think about other things. Like what he’s going to do with his life, and where he should take his charitable work, and English footballers struggling to keep their side afloat.
Cristiano drops it because they’re in training, and although Kaka sort of expects him to bring it up later, he never does. So Kaka spends the next three days on the brink of telling Cristiano about meeting David, and then getting his phone number. He almost tells him when they’re out at dinner one night, but Kaka’s paranoid about someone overhearing; the restaurant is quiet and their table secluded but waiters hover discretely and Kaka doesn’t feel private enough.
Eventually, they’re in Cristiano’s car, driving home after training, and Kaka says, “So, you remember that I mentioned David James?”
Cristiano is smiling when Kaka looks over, smiling at the road ahead.
“What?” Kaka demands.
”What are you smiling at?”
Cristiano laughs. “You,” he says, and leaves it at that. “What is it about this guy anyway?”
Kaka stares out the side window. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.
“So you met him at that press conference?”
Kaka hums. “Yes.”
“That’s nice,” Cristiano says, “it’s nice to meet someone in a setting that lets you know straight away that they’re worth knowing.”
And Kaka feels good when he says that, so when Cristiano drops Kaka off the first thing he does is call David, before he can think through it.
It goes to answerphone, and Kaka is thrown.
“Hello,” he says. “It’s Kaka; we met at the Global Football press event. I hope that you don’t mind me calling. I want to say that it was nice to meet you.”
And then his mind goes blank, because why is he calling?
“We should talk,” he says finally, and he can feel his face getting hot, even though no one is there to hear him.
“About, the charities, you know.”
He fumbles the phone and almost drops it. “Thank you,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Okay, bye.”
It’s awful. He hangs up and almost immediately he calls Cristiano and says, “Why can’t I talk normally?”
Cristiano laughs and laughs.
---
David doesn’t call back that day, or the next, and Kaka hides his disappointment in the weekend’s action and when Cristiano texts him the Portsmouth result, Kaka doesn’t reply.
And then it’s Monday evening and Kaka is distracted, out at dinner with his cousin, talking about an old family friend who is moving to Spain, and his phone goes off in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I thought I had put it on silent.”
He pulls it out and checks the screen before he turns it off. It’s David, and his stomach flips.
“Do you need to take it?”
Kaka looks up, startled. “No,” he says after a moment, “No, I can call them back.” But he’s on edge for the rest of the evening.
There’s a message, later. It is David and when Kaka hears his voice again he smiles, foolishly.
“It’s David,” the message says, “I’m just returning your call from the other day. It was good to hear from you. I’ll call back tomorrow. Cheers.”
---
They get through to each other in the end. The first time is a little awkward. They talk for twenty minutes, and it’s mostly niceties. How have you been, it was nice to meet you, I hope you don’t mind me getting your number.
Kaka feels like he needs some reason for contacting David, so he talks about their charity work. “I’m interested in what you’re doing,” he says, because he’s read about David, read his Wikipedia page and various newspaper articles. “I’d love to get involved.”
So they talk about that, and then they’re at a loss, and David ends the conversation with a degree of tact and social ease that Kaka envies him. Kaka himself is too painfully honest to make up an excuse to leave.
The next time is easier; they are talking about the Premiership and Kaka mentions in passing the other David. Of course, the two Davids played for their country together, and there is a common theme for them. David tells stories about Beckham and Kaka laughs at his impressions, laughs till his cheeks hurt at tales of hotel pranks and young, silly boys.
“Yes,” he says, “Yes, that’s exactly - I remember that, I can picture him saying that.”
David laughs easily, laughs when Kaka laughs.
They talk for an hour and Kaka is surprised when it is him who has to go, late for lunch with Cristiano. They don’t talk about charities once.
Over the next few weeks, Kaka learns the following things about David James: that he enjoys poetry and would like to try writing it himself but is too shy to show anyone the results; that he sometimes feels more satisfied when he sees his column in print than when he keeps a clean sheet; that he looks after his sons from Tuesday to Thursday and that they come to every game.
Kaka tells him in turn about his Church, about his family back in Brazil and playing tennis during the week with his teammates. He talks too about Cristiano, unintentionally in every story Kaka tells.
“I remember playing against him,” David says, wryly. “I don’t know if I’m happier knowing I won’t have to go through that again, or if I should miss the challenge.”
Kaka smiles, accepting the compliment to his friend. “I would miss it,” he says.
“He seems like a good guy,” says David, and Kaka doesn’t know where to begin to agree.
“I don’t think that I would be as happy here if it weren’t for him.”
“Then,” says David, “I’m glad that he is there.”
---
“I’m going to Manchester,” Cristiano says. They’re almost at the end of the year, and it is cold in Spain, cold when Kaka leaves his house in the mornings. Cristiano smiles at him, happy with this news, and Kaka smiles back.
“Good,” he says, “that will be nice for you. Are you going to see everyone?”
“You should come.”
“What?” Kaka doesn’t think that was a reply to his question. “I- can’t, I have-“
He tries again. “Why?”
Cristiano grins at him, like he knows something that Kaka doesn’t. “Manchester is in England,” he says, “and you know what else is in England?”
Kaka stares at him, beginning to get where this is going.
“Portsmouth,” Cristiano finishes, and he looks so pleased with himself. Kaka throws a glove at him. “Careful,” Cristiano says. “I’m driving. I’ll run us off the road, and then how will Madrid win the league?”
Kaka retrieves his glove from Cristiano’s lap. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Easily,” he says, “Karim is a better finisher than you anyway.”
Cristiano shakes his head.
“So will you come?”
---
Kaka isn’t going to go to England. He has no intention of going to England. But Cristiano tells him that he should come to Manchester anyway, because then Kaka can meet everyone.
“And you have to meet them,” he says, “I’m always talking about you and they want to meet the famous Kaka.”
Kaka makes a face, but Cristiano is teasing.
So when he next talks to David and David asks him what his plans are over the week, Kaka tells him. He feels a bit foolish, like he’s expecting a certain reply, like a lot depends on what David says to that.
“Manchester?” David says. “That’s cool. If I was still there, I’d show you around.”
“Well,” Kaka says, “I mean. I’ll be with Cristiano, so. I think it will be good.”
“Of course,” David says. There’s a long pause. “You’re flying into Manchester?”
“Yes,” Kaka says, “I think so, I mean.”
“You should check,” David says. “If you’re flying into London, we should meet up. I’ll take you to dinner.”
And just like that, Kaka feels as flustered as he did the first time, and his mind goes blank again.
“I’ll see,” he says. “Yes, I mean. I mean I’ll see. I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“No problem,” David says. “I’d better go, but let me know.”
“Yes,” says Kaka. “I will. Bye.”
---
“We can fly into London,” Cristiano says, half an hour later at lunch. “I’ll go up to Manchester, you can follow - whenever.”
Kaka stares at his plate.
“Hey,” Cristiano says, and waves his fork under Kaka’s face. “Don’t be nervous. No one has a bad word to say about him.”
Kaka looks up. Cristiano isn’t smirking, or anything. He’s looking at Kaka rather fondly.
“You asked people?”
“Don’t worry,” Cristiano says, shrugging. “I was discrete.”
Kaka keeps staring at him.
“Someone has to look after you,” Cristiano says. “You’re so nice.”
Kaka doesn’t know what to say. He feels like this situation has got away from him a little.
“I’ll sort out the flights; just let him know you’ll be there.”
---
As if Cristiano and David have, between them, taken control of Kaka’s life, Kaka finds himself in a taxi outside an expensive London address, waiting for David.
When he comes out, he is in a black shirt and jeans, and he is taller than Kaka remembers. He folds himself into the seat next to Kaka and gives the driver the name of a restaurant. Then he turns to Kaka and smiles.
“Sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t find my keys.”
And Kaka laughs, even though it isn’t funny, for the relief of David’s human side. He feels awkward and poorly dressed, and not nearly as composed as David appears, but David is late because he couldn’t find his keys, and that somehow makes things better.
“Where were they?” He says, and David shakes his head in disgust.
“In my pocket,” he says, and Kaka laughs again.
---
The restaurant is dimly lit, with exposed brickwork on the walls and tables set back in alcoves. David follows Kaka’s example and orders sparkling water for the table. He waves away Kaka’s assurances that David should have wine, saying that he tries not to drink during the season anyway.
Kaka is nervous but he thinks David probably is too. David talks faster than he does on the phone, or did when they first met. Kaka finds himself smiling too much.
The conversation is easy, and the night passes quickly. Tables around them fill and empty again and Kaka and David stay. A couple of times, David points someone out to Kaka and tells him some gossip about them, someone who has been in the papers recently. It isn’t spiteful, just inclusive.
“You know,” David says, “I never said thank you, for getting in touch again.”
Kaka looks at him.
“I’m really glad you did,” David says, sincere and more softly than he has spoken all night.
Kaka swallows. “Me too,” he says, and smiles at David.
---
He goes back to David’s flat afterwards. He admires David’s art collection and spends a while looking at his bookshelves and spotting titles that he can recognise in English, and David makes coffee, and then David kisses him while Kaka stands in the doorway to the kitchen. He has his glasses on, from reading the backs of books, and he is holding a cup of coffee, and it makes his heart race.
David smiles at him, still standing close, and Kaka smiles back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, only that it makes sense. He has thought about David a lot, since that first conversation, and all his thinking has only led to one place: that he likes David, and that David is the kind of person who, as Cristiano said, is worth knowing.
It’s sort of reckless, and sort of hopeless, but it makes sense.
He puts a hand on David’s waist and kisses him again.