don't cry for me, argentina

[distira]

title don't cry for me, argentina
rating pg
word count 5,983
pairing david villa/leo messi
summary post retirement, david villa goes to argentina on a whim.
notes written for spartan_muse for the holiday exchange at footballslash. huge huge thanks to meretricula for the beta job and snuzzie and influira for reading bits and pieces and listening to me bitch about this to no end. ilu all ♥



Barcelona is the same.

David still gets stopped in the supermarkets sometimes, by people asking for autographs. People still wear jerseys from his debut season, and he gets emails every now and then from Pep, telling him that if post-retirement life is too boring, he can always come to Barça as a youth coach. The first time Pep offers, a month or so after David's formal retirement, he says no because he doesn't want to spend time with kids not his own. His girls are back in Valencia now, though, with Patricia, who signed the divorce papers and packed up just over a year after David stopped playing. Now when Pep emails him, David says no because he can't picture himself going back to a football pitch.

He hasn't been to the Camp Nou since his farewell match. He drives past it sometimes, nostalgic, and lets his car idle as he watches people flooding in and out. He never parks, though, never goes in. The stadium is still the city's heartbeat, but David's doesn't quite match it anymore, so he puts his car in gear and drives away, heads back to the flat he moved into after Patricia left. It's spacious enough, but not well decorated- all of his football memorabilia is in the back room, unpacked and untouched, and his refrigerator has a few drawings and cards that Zaida and Olaya sent him taped to the front, but that's all. He has a nice TV and a big bed and it's enough, he thinks.

Barcelona is the same. It's David who's changed.

"Come to the match this weekend," Xavi says. It's the same conversation they have every week, because they're both stubborn bastards.

"Busy," David says, no inflection. He takes a sip of his water and shrugs.

"Leave your house, at least," Xavi says. He raises an eyebrow, and David marvels at how high up it goes.

"I'm out of the house right now," he points out.

"Only because I dragged you out," Xavi says, and there's a half formed protest on David's lips, because Xavi didn't drag him out, he walked out like a civilized human being and met Xavi at the restaurant, but Xavi holds up a hand. "Maybe you should get out of the city for a bit."

David takes another sip of water. "Yeah," he says, finally. "Yeah, maybe."

David goes home and takes his siesta and then goes for a long run. He comes back sweaty and tired and happier than he's felt all week, because some things will never change and this is one of them, the exhilaration he feels when he's totally physically exhausted. He showers, and in the shower he thinks about getting out of the city for a little bit.

His first thought is to go to Valencia and visit the girls, but as much as he loves them, he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to go to another city where he used to play and feel small in comparison. He doesn't want to saddle the girls with that; it's not fair to them, and it's part of the reason why Patricia left in the first place.

He thinks about Pepe in England, and he knows Pepe would let him crash in the guest bedroom for as long as he wanted, but he feels bad - not bad, exactly, because it's Pepe, he's like David's brother and David has never worried about taking from Pepe because he knows that eventually he'll be repaid, but needy - going to Pepe again, except this time he doesn't have the divorce as an excuse.

He wonders if David Silva would take him, if their relationship is still enough for that, but David's still playing, is still lighting up Manchester every weekend, and David isn't sure he's ready to bask in someone else's glory.

Unbidden, David thinks of Leo as he wraps a towel around his waist and climbs out of the shower. He thinks of Leo and how Leo left Barcelona before he retired, how Leo went to Argentina and kept playing. How Leo's still in Argentina, playing.

Argentina, David thinks. Argentina.

Leo offers to pick him up at the airport, but David says no, tells him to go to practice and not to worry about it, so when his flight gets in, he's groggy and tired and alone. He does a lap of the airport and picks up some coffee, and then he puts on a pair of sunglasses and hails a cab.

He has Leo's address on his phone and he rattles it off to the cab driver without really thinking about it. If the driver recognizes him, he doesn't say anything, which David appreciates. Nice change from Barcelona, he thinks, and then he thinks, since when is change nice?

David dozes during the drive and misses seeing Leo's city (Leo's new city, David amends), but he's too tired to mind.

"Tell Mr. Messi he played well last Saturday," the driver says when he stops the car. David frowns.

"Sure," he says, bewildered, and tips the man before hauling his suitcase up Leo's front steps and knocking on the door.

Leo answers without, David's sure, checking the peephole, just pulls the door open and smiles a quiet half smile. "Hi, David," he says.

"Do you publish your address in the papers?" David asks, leaning on his suitcase. "The cab driver knew this was yours. You just let in anyone, now?" He's halfway joking, but he doesn't quite remember how to joke with Leo anymore (he only really remembers how to joke with Pepe, these days) so it comes out clipped.

Leo frowns. "Fans have visited, I guess," he says.

"Oh," David says. "Well. Hi."

"Come in," Leo offers, and steps forward to help David with the suitcase.

David moves his things into the guest bedroom and then dozes, half asleep but still aware, on the couch for a while. Leo putters around, tidying up and making sure there aren't video game controllers strewn across the ground. David's face is mashed against the arm of the sofa, his cheek pushed up and his mouth partway open.

"Is everything okay?" Leo asks eventually. He sits down on the other side of the couch and it takes David a beat too long to tuck his legs in to make room. Leo's quiet voice filters through his mind slowly and he picks his head up. There are lines on his cheek from the fabric of the couch.

"Everything's fine," David says. It's his default answer now. He forgets that only Xavi and Pepe really know how to interpret it.

Leo doesn't press, though. David's not sure why, because he would've if it had been Leo, but then again, Leo was always the one to say things were fine when they weren't. Leo always took a little coaxing.

"Okay," Leo says. "Do you want something to eat? Or to play?" He gestures at the stack of video games next to his TV.

David sits up straight and rubs his eyes. "Can I just-" he starts, and then yawns. "Can I just sleep, for now?"

"Of course," Leo says, and he stands up when David does, shepherding him towards the guest room.

"Sorry," David says, and he does feel bad, he feels guilty for barging into Leo's house and his new life and then not even wanting to stay awake to play FIFA with him, but he's suddenly so tired and his head feels heavy and he just wants to sleep. "Tomorrow, I'll."

"It's fine," Leo says, leaning against the doorjamb of the guest room as David walks in and pulls his shirt off over his head.

When Leo says it, it sounds genuine.

When David comes downstairs in the morning, he heads straight for the kitchen. Leo is sitting at the two person table, a copy of Don Balon open next to him, and he's munching on a bowl of cornflakes. The box is on the table, tabs open.

"Morning," he says, looking up at David and smiling and then looking back down at his magazine. He takes another bite of cereal and chews contentedly.

"Morning," David says. He leans on the kitchen island and watches Leo for a minute, eating his cereal and seeming for all the world like he is going to catch the bus to school later, not like he's one of the world's best footballers.

"Want some?" Leo asks when he finishes his article. He nods towards the box. "I have other kinds in the second cabinet, just there."

"Do you have eggs?" David asks.

Leo chews for a minute. "Maybe," he says.

David pulls the refrigerator door open without waiting for an invitation and rummages around for a minute before he pulls out an egg carton with two eggs left in it. "You need to go grocery shopping," he tells Leo. He starts searching for a pan.

"Tomorrow, maybe," Leo shrugs. He finishes his cereal and stands up, crosses David's path on his way to the sink. "I eat at the practice grounds, most days."

"Oh," David says. "Right. Even dinner, though?"

"Most days," Leo repeats. "It's just me here, so." He turns on the faucet and rinses his bowl. David watches him. Leo doesn't use soap.

"Where's the store?" David asks. "I'll go this afternoon, while you're at practice."

"No, it's okay," Leo says.

"You need to have food in the house," David says, and he feels like he's scolding one of his children. Leo bites his lower lip and tilts his head to the left.

"I'll be back at four," he says.

"Okay," David says. "That works." He finds a pan in the cupboard over the sink and pulls it down. It looks like it's never been used. "I'll make dinner, then."

"You don't have to," Leo tells him.

"I want to," David says. "It's. Something to do, you know?"

Leo nods, smiles, but it looks a little sad. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

Leo goes to practice and David stays in. Leo's kitchen is a mess of empty cereal boxes and his refrigerator is full of expired juice, so David cleans up, takes the trash out back. He rewashes all of Leo's dishes, this time with soap and hot water, and reorganizes the cupboards.

When Leo gets back, David is tying on his sneakers.

"Where are you going?" Leo asks.

"The store," David says.

"Oh," Leo says, and he drops his gym bag, grabs a Gatorade from the refrigerator.

David doesn't ask him how practice was, and Leo doesn't comment on the newly organized contents of his refrigerator.

"I'll show you where it is, then," Leo says. His teeth are tinged blue from the Gatorade.

The grocery store is only a few blocks away, so they walk. It's midafternoon and not crowded, and nobody stops them on the street. People smile at Leo, though, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, gives them little nods as they walk past. David doesn't quite know what to do, so he put his hands in his pockets, too, and watches the way the corners of Leo's mouth turn up, a tiny smile that's not quite meant for anybody.

"What do you need?" Leo asks when they go inside. He picks up a basket.

"I have a list," David says. He pulls out his phone and waves it in front of Leo.

"Okay," Leo says. "Lead the way."

Most grocery stores, David knows, are laid out similarly. He heads for the produce aisle and finds it on the first try. He starts testing tomatoes. Leo reaches forward and grabs one, puts it in the basket.

"What next?" he asks.

David picks up the tomato and squeezes it. "It's not ripe," he tells Leo, putting it back on the shelf.

"Oh," Leo says. "I didn't- how do you know? I usually get the canned ones."

David picks up another tomato and squeezes it. "Like this," he says, passing it to Leo. "Squeeze a little, that's how you tell."

He drags Leo through the rest of the store, putting things in the basket until it becomes apparent that they should've gotten a cart, instead.

"It's your fault, for apparently never eating properly," David tells Leo when he jokingly complains about carrying the basket being his lifting for the day. He takes the basket from Leo and starts unloading items into the checkout line. Leo watches him, which is not unusual; David remembers that Leo always liked to watch people, in the locker room, on the pitch, until there was an opening for him to jump into the action. It makes the back of his neck prickle, though. "What?" he asks.

Leo's head is tilted slightly and he's biting his lip as he watches David. "Nothing," he says. He shrugs.

"Okay," David says.

"Not that way," Leo says when David makes to turn right outside of the grocery store.

"Why not?" David asks. "That's where your house is."

Leo starts walking in the opposite direction. "Let's take the long way," he says, so David loops the two grocery bags he's carrying around his wrist and follows.

It's late afternoon and the sun is orange behind the buildings. Leo walks slowly, and his posture is different. It's a weird thing to notice, but David remembers how he used to sort of shuffle and drag his feet - never on the pitch, but just when he was walking from place to place.

"You seem happy," he says. The bottle of milk in one of the grocery bag hits his thigh as he walks. He likes the rhythm of it.

"I am," Leo says. He points down a side street. "That's the shortcut to my parents' house, down that way." He turns to David. "We'll go there for dinner sometime soon, maybe?"

When David thinks of 'home' and 'Leo' he thinks of Barcelona. He thinks of the locker room and of the training grounds, but most of all he thinks of the Camp Nou, of Leo with a Catalan flag tied around his neck and a trophy in his arms. "I'd like that," he says, because he wants desperately to picture Leo in some other home. He wants to know how Leo can be, without all of that.

It's easy to fall into a routine with Leo, because Leo already has one. For the first few days, David sleeps in and channel surfs as he tries to guess when Leo will be back, but then he slowly starts inserting himself into Leo's habits. He wakes up for breakfast and Leo reads the sports section of the newspaper while David reads anything else, anything that doesn't talk about football. He goes grocery shopping while Leo's at practice some days, and the cashier at the market has started making conversation with him. They play video games in the evenings, or watch action movies, and it makes David feel like he's pressed pause on his life, because these are not productive things for him to be doing, but-

But he falls asleep faster now, and it's easier to get out of bed in the morning.

It's a Friday and David's cooking dinner when Leo brings up football.

"So, tomorrow," he says. His sports bag is near the kitchen door and he's sitting backwards on a chair with his cheek pillowed on the back.

David starts peeling an onion.

"You have a match," he says brusquely, because he's always hated beating around the bush.

"Yeah," Leo says. David shoves the onion peel aside and starts chopping.

Leo stands up. He stands for a second, hands swinging loosely by his sides, and then reaches into his pocket. He takes a step forward and slides a ticket across the counter until it rests near the edge of the cutting board. "If you want," he says. "To come, I mean."

"I know what you mean," David tells him. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and reaches for a second onion. Leo grabs his bag and heads upstairs.

"Shower," he says as he leaves the kitchen.

"Sure," David says.

The ticket stays wedged underneath the cutting board.

It's still there when David comes downstairs in the morning. Leo's already gone; when David glances at his watch, it reads 11:30 a.m.

David picks up the ticket and flicks the edges of it. It's a good seat, near the halfway line.

He puts on his trainers and grabs a light jacket and puts the ticket in his pocket. The walk to the market is nice- it's cool, but not cold yet, even though Leo keeps saying that it'll be winter before he knows it. The market isn't crowded, only a few people carrying carts through the aisles, and David doesn't have anything in particular to buy, so he wanders for a few minutes and idles over packets of herb seeds near the checkout line until the cashier he usually talks to is free.

He snags a packet of rosemary and a packet of thyme and puts them on the counter.

"Growing your own, now?" the woman asks. Her nametag says Rosa.

David shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "Trying, anyway." The kid bagging groceries the next aisle over is wearing a Barcelona jersey. When he turns his back to David, the yellow letters spelling out 'MESSI' are nearly blinding. David puts his hand in his pocket, runs his nails over the edge of the ticket.

He goes home and puts the herb packets on the counter were the ticket had been earlier. He kicks off his shoes and roots around Leo's cabinets until he finds two mason jars, which he takes outside and fills with dirt. He isn't sure if he's supposed to use any special kind of soil, but the grass seems to be doing just fine in normal dirt, so it should be good enough, he figures.

Dirt gets under his fingernails when he presses the seeds into the jar and makes sure they're covered. He washes his hands and puts the jars on the windowsill above the sink.

Later, he sprawls out on the sofa and watches Leo's match with the TV on mute. Leo scores late in the first half, and the camera zooms in on his face, sweaty and elated. He pumps his fist in the air as his teammates run to celebrate with him, and David's stomach bottoms out as he remembers acutely what it felt like to be one of those teammates running the length of the pitch to celebrate a goal.

He changes the channel and falls asleep to the home shopping network.

"How is Valencia?"

"Home is good," Patricia says. She hums into the receiver. "The girls go on vacation from school next week, I think I'm going to take them to my mom's house for a bit."

Leo's garage is cramped. There's a car parked in it, but David's never seen Leo drive it. And then there are boxes stacked up to the ceiling, some labeled (Barcelona kitchen, books) and others not. David's poked into most of them by now, until he found the one he was looking for, the one hidden behind two bikes with rusty chains, labeled South Africa.

"How are they?" David asks. His throat feels tight. He opens the flaps to the box and coughs from the dust.

"They're good," Patricia tells him. "Zaida's going to be in the school play before term lets out and Olaya is thinking about joining the football team." She pauses and David can picture her perfectly, the slight crease between her eyebrows and the exact set of her mouth. "They miss you."

David pulls a football out of the box. It's mostly flat. He runs his thumb over the printed Jabulani. "I miss them," he says.

"They keep asking me when their dad's coming home, David," Patricia says. "I know you needed to get away, but. When are you coming back to Spain?"

"I don't know," David says. "I. I don't know."

"You can't stay there forever, David," Patricia tells him. David brushes the dust off of the football. "You need to come back and have a life again."

And because it's Patricia, because Patricia has always known what to say to get David to let everything out, David says, "I don't think I can have a life there again."

"Oh, David," Patricia says, and David's throat is tight.

"Give them hugs from me," David says.

"Of course," Patricia says. "Of course I will." She pauses. "I miss you too, David. Not- but. I do miss you."

"I'll call you later," David tells her, and they hang up. He moves on to another box in Leo's garage, looking for an air pump, and when he finds one, he fills up the football and starts kicking it against the way, hitting the same spot over and over again, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.

They go to dinner at Leo's parents' house on a Saturday afternoon. It's weird, to sit at a table instead of the kitchen counter, and have place settings laid out.

Leo's mother hugs Leo and shakes David's hand and sits them down at the table and doesn't let them leave until David has consumed more food than he thought was possible. She watches him, hawk-like, until the end of the meal, and it reminds David of the way Leo watches him, sometimes, except that when Leo watches him, David doesn't fear for his life.

Rodrigo is there, too, and he sits across from Leo, occasionally flicks peas at his brother. Leo scrunches his face up and wrinkles his nose, but lets him.

"Once," Rodrigo tells David, "he got mad enough to throw a whole plate at me." Rodrigo laughs. David raises an eyebrow at Leo. "He fights dirty, let me tell you."

Across the table, Leo shrugs.

"Sorry if it was overwhelming," Leo says, as they walk home.

"It wasn't," David tells him. Leo's family isn't all as quiet as Leo, but they were all- David isn't entirely sure how to describe them. "It was nice."

"I usually go every week," Leo says, "for dinner. If you don't mind?"

David counts quickly in his head. Leo has missed four dinners since he arrived. "No," David says, "I don't mind." He wonders what else Leo has missed, what else he's changed to accommodate David. "You don't need to- for me. It's okay."

Leo shrugs. "Wanna play some FIFA when we get home?"

"Sure," David says, even though he's pretty sure they both got tired of FIFA years ago.

They play late into the night anyway, until Leo starts dozing, his head lolling back against the couch and his shirt riding up to expose the cut of his hipbones, and David has long since forgotten showering with Leo, how he used to see Leo naked every day in the locker room, how well built Leo is underneath the baggy clothes. He lets himself look, until Leo jerks himself awake and scores while David's distracted, and they let the screen idle.

"I'm going for a run tomorrow morning," Leo offers. "If you want to come."

David stands up and stretches. "I'd like that," he says, and goes to bed dreaming about running, running through Barcelona and around the Camp Nou and not being able to find an entrance, he can't get onto the pitch, so he just keeps running until he's in Argentina, until he sees Leo's street and Leo's doorway and the door's open, so he runs inside, and then he wakes up.

David has never liked talking while running.

During warm-up laps, he always ran quietly, and during long runs, he puts his iPod on and lets his mind go players he wouldn't usually let it. He likes the contemplation, the only time he has to think and not have anything interrupt.

Leo, though, is the most talkative while running.

"It's not Barcelona," he says after they stretch. David tucks his chin down into his snood. Leo waves a hand around vaguely. "But I do love it, you know?"

"Mm," David says. He clears his throat. The cold air is making it hard to breathe properly. "Did you miss it? When. I was never sure."

"Yeah," Leo says. "I missed it, like. Not like you missed Valencia, I think? Because it was still home, really. I was still home. But I did."

"It's nice here," David says. They run for a few minutes in silence, and David falls into a rhythm, three steps for every breath. "No pressure."

"It used to be," Leo says. David remembers. He remembers how they were opposites, how when he felt pressure for Barcelona and relief for Spain, Leo floated at Barcelona and struggled for Argentina.

They go for about four miles, David thinks, and then turn to finish the loop. The cold air is starting to catch in his chest and he coughs every now and then, has to turn his head and spit as they keep going. "Old man," Leo teases, and David hits the back of his head.

"You- are you doing okay?" Leo asks.

"I think so," David says. He can see Leo's driveway, and he pushes off a little harder, stretches his legs and remembers how he always used to stretch a little bit too far and catch himself offsides.

There's no linesman watching him now, though, so he lets himself go, as fast as he can until he's leaning on Leo's doorframe, panting, and he watches Leo jog into the driveway. They keep eye contact the whole time.

David stops in the kitchen to get a glass of water before taking a shower. He fills his glass up at the sink. His herbs are starting to sprout in their mason jars, tiny green buds rising above the dirt.

"How is Leo?"

"The same," David says.

"Argentina?"

"Good," David says.

"You're an inarticulate bastard, you know that, right?" Xavi asks.

"Yeah," David says.

He thinks, spending so much time with Leo must be rubbing off on him.

"When did you find this?" Leo comes into the kitchen holding the Jabulani in one hand. He's wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up. David fights the urge to pull on the strings so that his face disappears.

"I was looking through the garage a few weeks ago," he says.

"Do you think about it a lot?" Leo asks.

"About what?"

"South Africa," Leo says. "You must? I would, I think."

"Why don't you?" David knows the answer, but it doesn't stop him from asking the question.

"Because we didn't win," Leo says, and his voice is small.

David's rosemary has a stem now, the length of his index finger. He pours some water into the mason jar.

"Can we play, sometime?" he asks. He's never been good at waiting for what he wants.

"We can play whenever," Leo says. He puts the ball on the counter. "I always want to play."

David knows. "I haven't," he says. "But I think I might. Want to."

"Let's go, then," Leo says, as impatient as David. He grabs his keys and tucks the ball under one arm. David ties on trainers and gets a sweatshirt, an old Valencia one with holes in the sleeves for his thumbs.

There's a park a few blocks away from Leo's house. David can see his breath on the walk over. The park is gated, but not locked. Leo walks in first, drops the ball on the side of the pitch and starts dribbling.

David watches him for a while, and it's so strange now to watch him in person instead of on TV, even though he's been here for almost two months, because even though Leo gives him tickets to every match, he's never gone. It's just like it always was, though, watching Leo- a rush of jealousy that someone could be so good, but also happiness because he gets to play with someone that good.

Leo gets up and down the pitch a few times, doing a few tricks, before David joins him.

They don't play against each other; instead, David streaks forward and he doesn't even call for it, but Leo puts the ball exactly where he wants it, and it's one touch, into the goal.

"Golazo," Leo calls across the park. "A golazo from David Villa!"

David smiles as he digs the ball out of the back of the net and kicks it long for Leo, who catches it on the top of his foot and turns.

They play until David's fingers are numb and he's out of breath and then they keep playing for a while, until they've each scored from every angle, until it's as if they've always been on pitches together, as if they are one unit, pushing for more and more until there is nothing left to take.

"You could've kept playing," Leo says when they finally stop. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I'm not you," David says. Leo frowns.

"But why would you stop before you had to?"

"Because," David says, and it's hard- he's not talked about this with anyone, because Patricia knew when it was happening, and nobody else asked. "Because Valencia couldn't keep me anymore and I didn't want to leave the first time, so how could I leave the second time? And I didn't want to wash up in the MLS or anything, so I just. I wanted to stop where I was happy."

"Were you happy, though? After you stopped?" Leo asks.

And that's the hardest part, because- "I should have been," David says. "I wanted to be. I had the girls, and Patricia, and a life, and I. I should have been."

"It's okay," Leo says.

"No," David says. "It's not, because that should be enough, they should be enough, but they weren't." Nothing was, until now, he thinks. He doesn't say it, though, can't say it.

"Is that why you came here?"

"Yeah," David says.

"Is it better?"

"Yeah," David says, and then he leans down and kisses Leo's chapped lips, in the cold of the park.

"Okay," Leo says, when David pulls back, and then they pick up the football and walk home, matching each other stride for stride.

David Skypes with the girls when Leo is at practice.

"Tell me about football, Olaya," he says. They're at their house in Valencia, the two girls sitting on top of each other on the sofa. Zaida has her chin resting on Olaya's shoulder.

"I'm a striker," Olaya says, puffing out her chest. "We played in gym this week and I scored."

David smiles. "A real golazo, right?"

"Right," she says. "Just like you."

"It was better than you, Dad," Zaida chimes in.

"Will you come see me play soon?" Olaya asks.

David rests his chin on his hands. "I want to," he says into the computer. "But I don't know if I can."

"Why not?" Zaida asks.

"Because I need to be here, right now," David says.

"We miss you, though," Olaya tells him.

"I miss you too," David says, and his voice cracks.

When he ends the call, he closes his laptop and stands, and when he turns around Leo is there.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Leo says. He's leaning against the door to David's room wearing track pants and a t-shirt and slippers. His hair is wet, and David wants to push the floppy ends out of his eyes. "You can- I mean. I like having you here," he says. "But you can go home, you know? To them. Whenever you want."

"I-" David starts, and he doesn't know where he's going with it, so he stops. He puts the laptop down and sits on the edge of his bed. The blankets are in a pile on the side he doesn't sleep on. "I know," he says, finally.

"Do you want to?" Leo asks. "Go back?"

"No," David says. "Yes." He frowns. "I miss them, but." Leo doesn't say anything, just waits for him to finish, and David had forgotten how talking to Leo isn't like talking to anyone else, because when he talks to Xavi or Pepe, they cut him off and finish his sentences and he doesn't have to actually say anything for them to understand him, but with Leo-

Leo just waits for him to finish, forces David to actually say things, and David still isn't used to it. "I guess. This is home now."

"It can be," Leo tells him. "If you want it to be."

David stands up. "I think I do," he says. Leo follows him into the kitchen and David starts looking for boxes of pasta.

"I think these are ready to use," Leo says, pointing to the mason jars on the windowsill. The basil leaves have unfurled and the rosemary is almost tall enough to start leaning over from its own weight.

"Okay," David says, and he makes pasta sauce with his own basil leaves.

When he wakes up the next morning, there is a ticket sitting on the counter next to the stove. He checks the clock -almost noon- and glances towards the door; Leo's keys and shoes are gone.

David picks up the ticket and flicks it back and forth a few times. Then he opens his laptop and Googles directions to the stadium.

It's crowded -of course it is, football matches are always crowded, David tells himself, shaking his head- and it takes forever to get to his seat, because people keep stopping him. It's like Barcelona, David thinks, and pulls out his phone to text Xavi.

at leo's match, he sends.

When he sits, he can hear the people around him whispering, and he signs a few programs before the teams come out of the tunnel. He picks Leo out right away, the shortest one there, and watches him throughout the handshakes until kickoff. He's playing on the forward line, as always, and when the whistle goes, he takes off as if he's still twenty four and no defensive line could ever hope to stop him.

Leo gets an assist in the twenty ninth minute. David can't sit still, wants to rush down onto the pitch and join the pile of celebrating players, but he contents himself with standing up and clapping.

"Hey, are you David Villa?"

There's a kid tugging on his sleeve. David's been asked this too many times today, but he nods anyway. "Yeah," he says.

"Why aren't you playing?"

"I retired," he says.

"Oh," the kid says. "Can you sign this?" He pulls out a program.

"Sure," David says. He takes the pen and program.

"Messi will never retire," the kid says confidently. "He's too good to retire."

David looks down to the pitch, where Leo's jumping up and down in place, waiting for play to resume. "Yeah," he says. "He is."

At halftime, Xavi texts him back.

does that mean we'll be seeing you in Barcelona soon

Xavi picks up on the first ring. "Hey," David says, talking loudly over the crowd.

"So you go to Leo's matches and not ours," Xavi says. "I don't know what this says about you, Guaje."

"I think I'm gonna be here for a while longer," David tells him.

"Congratulations," Xavi says.

Leo gets home before David does.

"Where were you?" he asks.

"At a football match," David says. "Watching a friend."

"A friend."

"You," David says.

"Oh."

"They love you," David says. "The fans. Think you're the second coming or something."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up, you already know that," David says. "But, uh. Do you think- where would I go to get season tickets?"

"It's too late for this season," Leo says. He twists the hem of his shirtsleeve. "But if you want- for next season, I can-"

"That would be great," David cuts him off. Leo smiles.

"Okay," he says, and David nods. "Okay."