(no subject)
title: if somebody speaks of magnificent things.
characters: xabi alonso, steven gerrard.
rating: r. mild language.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 5,718
warning: religious references; angst.
notes: alrighty, well. this was really hard for me to write??? i mean like. usually when i get set out on writing a fic, i finish it within a week. that wasn't the case with this one. i kept adding little snippets here and there for a while, and nothing ever seemed right. so, that's that. ahahah. slobberingboo; was the only reason i continued, is my entire life, is picasso, etcetc. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. um i miss her. ALSO, i got really weird about the format??? lol???? i think there was a point to how i did it, but i completely forgot considering how long this took me to finish. HAHAHAHAAH.
If you listen, you can hear it.
The city, it sings.
If you stand quietly, you could almost hear the soft swish of legs as they run past, the crunching sound of the grass as the padding of feet dance upon it.
The song is loudest when it reaches out to a place inside you, when you feel your heart pang just upon hearing it. And then the crowd is cheering (it’s loud, so loud!) and you can’t hear anything other than you’ll never walk alone. And finally-goal. All the noise and the rush and the non-stop wonder of the song of the city you can hear if you listen.
And it stops.
Or, maybe, it’s just for Xabi.
Because as he runs up and wrap his arms around Stevie, all Xabi can hear (see, feel, want) is-him.
(Stevie is hair the color of sand, and eyes the color of the sea. Stevie is running extra laps for, giving breathtaking crosses to. Stevie is Captain Fantastic-Steven. )
*
“How’s Liverpool?” Iker asks, the rest of the team are milling around, beers in their hands. Sergio, Fernando, and Xabi sit on the couch, facing Iker who sits on the coffee table. Xabi debates if this party was worth coming to, realizes even if it’s not, Xabi would’ve come because it’s Raúl (oh Captain, my Captain), and how could he not go to his party. Right?
A smile graces his features at the mention of Liverpool (home). “It’s great, thanks.”
“And Steven? Your captain?” He’s simply trying to make conversation, but Xabi’s heartbeat quickens at the mention. (Oh Captain, my Captain.)
He shrugs. “He’s okay, I guess.”
Sergio smirks (oh, fuck). “He’s hot.”
Xabi begins to sweat slightly. “He’s alright.”
Sergio starts, his eyebrow rising slowly. “Really? Just ‘alright’?”
And then, Xabi begins to ramble:
“He has an unfortunate forward hairline.”
His hair is beautiful.
“His eye color is dull.”
His eyes are beautiful.
“He can’t really smile, it looks awkward.”
His smile is beautiful.
“His skin isn’t like…perfect. Or anything.”
He is beautiful.
“His lips are a tad bit too thin.”
He is beautiful.
“His ears aren’t parallel. I like things to be even. (Nagore has parallel ears.)”
He is beautiful.
*
It all starts one day when Stevie says-
I. I’m getting married.
“Oh,” Xabi says.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I think it’s best if…you don’t come.”
“Oh,” Xabi repeats.
Stevie shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, right? I just don’t-I mean. Alex, and all.”
Xabi mimics Stevie’s shrug. He almost says, you’re breaking my heart. He says, “No, of course not. Just shows how much I mean to you.”
Stevie says, “Yeah, well.”
(And this is how it all begins.)
II. It’s a girl!
(This, Xabi remembers.) (A memory-)
“Is she beautiful?” Xabi asked. If Stevie had paid attention, he might have noticed the slight essence of heartbreak in it. (If Stevie had paid attention.)
“Yes. So, so beautiful,” Stevie was exuberant (and happy). “She’s perfect, Xabi. She looks like-”
Xabi’s voice was soft. “You?”
Stevie laughed quietly, the (perfect) face of his daughter popping into his mind. “Except she’s more beautiful.”
Xabi interrupted again. He scoffed teasingly. “Impossible!”
Stevie laughed more fully that time. And then: “I could just look at her forever, and I wouldn’t get bored.”
“Ah, I know the feeling.”
(Something about the way he said it, something about the way he sighed, something about the tone he used (how it fluctuated and cracked at the end), made Stevie realize Xabi was talking about him.)
Later, after Stevie hung up and the line was dead, Xabi still held the phone against his ear. He whispered, “I love you.”
(This, he remembers.)
II. Anfield is a place for lovers.
“No it’s not.” Xabi says, annoyed.
Stevie smiles. “Yeah, it is. Anfield is-perfect.”
Xabi raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with it being a place for lovers?”
Stevie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll bring Alex here sometime, take her around back…” He stops and smirks, winks (fucking winks). When he sees Xabi’s annoyed (hurt) expression, he says, “You didn’t think I meant you, right? You and I are…well. We’re not lovers, that’s for sure.”
Steven laughs a little bit to release the tension. Xabi feels. Awkward. Confused. Suicidal. Xabi feels. He looks at Stevie. “Yeah. You’re right. We just fuck every now and then.”
Stevie looks away and is unable to meet his eyes before walking out to the field, running ten laps instead of jogging the required four.
(This, they remember-
The first time it happened, they were drunk. It was hurried and accidental and against a wall in a guest room at Carra’s during a party. It was impatience mixed with desire and lust and something Xabi couldn’t quite place at the moment.
The second time was at an away game. Their excuse was that they were cold and tired and they just fucking lost and needed a release. It was fast and hard; left marks on Xabi’s body that he had to try to hide from Nagore for weeks afterwards.
The third time (third time’s a charm, they say), it was different. They weren’t drunk or impatient. They were talking and one thing led to another and then Stevie was kissing Xabi (or Xabi was kissing Stevie?). It was shy and timid and uncertainty mixed with something akin to passion. The morning after was awkward because there weren’t any flights home to worry about or team breakfasts to go to. It was Stevie waking up after Xabi had already made Eggs Benedict. It was Stevie standing awkwardly at the edge of the breakfast nook, telling Xabi he had to get home. It was Xabi saying, “Oh, no, it’s no big deal! I made these for myself.” (Stevie wondered if Xabi could really eat 6 eggs by himself, but he didn’t say anything.)
It was Xabi fingering his rosary, while simultaneously watching Stevie leave and wondering if he (Stevie) even gave a fuck.
It was Stevie thinking he didn’t, but turning around to glance at Xabi’s place every few seconds and wondering if Xabi was alright. It was realizing he felt bad about leaving Xabi. Cared.)
III. It’s wrong.
“I fucking know that, Steven,” Xabi mutters, pulling on his shirt.
Stevie sits up and shrugs. He eyes Xabi carefully. “It’s a good thing we don’t have to deal with feelings getting in the way. I hear about those stories-”
Xabi turns to look at him. “Stories?”
Steven shrugs again. “I don’t know. Fer and that Ramos, Becks and that Casillas. Those stories. The ones about being heartbroken and complicated and shit.”
Xabi rolls his eyes slightly. “Well. What do feelings have to do with it? It’s wrong either way.”
Steven looks at him pointedly (Xabi thinks, what is he trying to imply?). “Yeah, but at least this way, we could end it whenever. Neither of us will mind, we don’t really matter to each other, other than a fuck. Right?”
Xabi stares. Xabi sighs. Xabi wishes he was dead. He gets up and leaves. Knows that Steven knows how he (Xabi) feels. Wonders if God does. Sometimes, it seems to him that Steven is a judgment on him. Deny it though he might, Xabi loves Stevie. He wonders what made him fall in the first place, wonders why he didn’t stop himself when he could. Wishes he did, wishes he didn’t feel the weight of sin on his shoulders at every given second. Has been trying to atone for it ever since.
The man is an avenging angel, and from the moment he realized Xabi’s feelings for him, he had exacted his price from him. But not in noble sums that would pay the debt quickly. He demanded it in pennies.
IV. Come over for dinner.
“I really don’t want to,” Xabi says.
“Well, Alex will be offended if you don’t,” Stevie says.
“Really,” Xabi says (it’s not a question).
“Listen, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t invite you over while they’re home anyway. This was all Alex,” he pauses, and then, “She’ll be hurt if you don’t come, mate.” Stevie holds up his hands in a defensive manner (clearly nothing is ever Stevie’s fault (or choice), Xabi thinks (annoyed)). But the way he says it makes Xabi think that there’s more to it (makes him think about a possible scenario: Stevie pleading Alex to let Xabi come over for dinner), and it causes Xabi to rethink his decision. (Stevie knows Xabi’s already given in before Xabi knows it himself. He smiles.)
He has dinner at Stevie’s that night. The Gerrards are nothing but gracious. Kind. Respectful. Xabi feels bad instantly about being there, feels impure and sinful and fuck . Alex chats with him and Stevie watches on approvingly. Her hair is a soft, washed (bleached?) yellow that makes her look increasingly beautiful as the light from the lamp falls across her face. Xabi decides Stevie’s still (a little) more beautiful, deserves nothing less than an angel (Alex is his angel, he realizes with a jolt). Stevie makes a joke about how quiet Xabi is being and Xabi cringes slightly. (Stevie notices, Alex doesn’t.)
Xabi decides suddenly that he has better things to do-being happy for one, or guilt-free, or content. Or even just being at home, dealing with his own (shitty) (I’m in love with my captain) life rather than invading Stevie’s.
He drives home slowly that night. He drives in circles around his neighborhood a few times (wants to clear his head). He contemplates his life, thinks about everything he’s accomplished (one Champions League trophy to his name, a European cup, a son-to-be), everything he has yet to accomplish (league trophies, World Cups, making Nagore his wife). And then (and then), he thinks about Stevie. He thinks about how they met, thinks about Stevie at Istanbul-at Athens, thinks about Stevie on the pitch (this, he remembers). This is how the world sees Stevie.
Xabi thinks about other moments as well. He thinks about Stevie spending two hours trying to get Xabi to teach him how to pronounce Xabi’s name perfectly, thinks about Stevie attempting to make him paella for his birthday (and failing miserably), thinks about Stevie’s eyes on him (this, he remembers). This is how he sees Stevie.
Stevie calls him later. “How’d you like it? It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No, no. Of course not. Tell Alex that it was lovely.”
Xabi can feel Stevie’s grin through the phone. “See, mate! I told you it’d be fine!”
Xabi smiles a little despite himself, and then: “Actually, Steven-”
But then his doorbell rings and Stevie says (through the phone), “Open the door, mate. I’m freezing out here.”
Xabi gapes for a second, before striding toward the door and pulling it open. He glares at Stevie. “What are you doing here?”
Stevie holds up a scarf. “You left it at my place.” He grins slightly, “Told Alex I’d bring it over and that I’d probably stay to watch some footie since I know she doesn’t want to.”
He walks in and drapes the scarf around Xabi’s neck, pulls him closer slightly, before Xabi pushes him off and takes a step back. He finally sighs. “Steven. I don’t…I think we need to stop this.”
Steven looks taken aback (because surely Xabi doesn’t mean this (them)). “What?”
Xabi looks down at the ground. He refuses to meet Stevie’s eye. “You have two daughters, a wife-a family to be thinking about.”
Stevie glares at him now. “Well, that’s my fucking business, isn’t it?”
Xabi’s defiance is etched across his face, evident even to Stevie. “I have a son on the way, and a woman I love who wants to settle down sometime soon. I don’t want to get in between your family, I don’t want you to get in between mine.”
Stevie narrows his eyes, agitated. “This isn’t only your decision to make.”
Xabi shrugs. “I’ve already made it.” He looks at Stevie’s face and decides to explain (thinks that maybe if Stevie had looked at him like that from the beginning, maybe Xabi wouldn’t be able to do this now), “I just-I was in your family’s home and eating food that your wife made-” (Stevie interrupts to say, “Alex didn’t make that, we ordered it.”) “-sitting alongside your girls…and all I could think about was how what we’re doing is wrong. How I have to think of my own family as well. I don’t want to break up your family.”
Stevie snorts (feels the need to hurt Xabi for doing this). “You won’t break mine, mate. You’re not significant enough, so that’s something to take off your list of worries.”
Xabi feels his pride tingle as he reddens slightly. “Fuck you. Just get out, okay?”
“Wait, wait. Come on, Xabi,” Stevie’s tone has all of a sudden lost its retaliation; pleading and desperate and apologetic taking over-(it almost breaks Xabi’s heart). Xabi doesn’t look at him, doesn’t see the way his hands start to shake.
Xabi says, “If I’m not significant, Steven, then it would be completely fine for you to move on from this minor detail. Alright? Now please leave. I’m tired and I want to call Nagore to wish her goodnight.”
V. I’ll kill him.
“You’re an idiot.”
(This, Xabi remembers.) (A memory-)
Somebody said, oh my God.
A man in blue tackled a man in red. Broke his ankle.
Somebody said, oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Later, in the hospital, Stevie walked into Xabi’s room and gave him a stern look. At first, he said, “Get better fast, alright?” (Xabi nodded.) And then, he said, “I will hunt down the bastard and beat his face in. Just give me a little nod as permission, and I’ll do it, Xabi.” He looked eagerly at Xabi, took his hand in his own (wow, I must be lucky, thought Xabi), and Xabi wondered if Stevie was just looking for an excuse to beat up Lampard. He shook his head and Stevie looked mildly disappointed, smiled at him anyway as he ruffled his hair. He leaned in to whisper, “It’s the thought that counts though, right? I was willing to beat up Lamps for you.”
Stevie didn’t leave his side the entire night, Stevie called him every day for the first month, Stevie visited weekly up until Xabi began training in the gym again. (This, Xabi remembers.)
IV. Come back.
“Steven,” Xabi says.
“Fuck you. Come back,” Stevie says. His tone is determined.
“Go find someone else to fuck, Steven. Jesus, just leave me out-”
Stevie grabs his arm, and shakes him slightly. “Get your head straight, Xabi.”
“About what?” Xabi asks. When Stevie doesn’t reply, he furrows his eyebrows, ponders what Stevie means for a moment, before taking the plunge, “I lo-” (I love you, he was going to say. I love you, but this just can’t keep going on, he was going to say.)
But Stevie interrupts before he can say it (doesn’t want to hear it; no no no no no), so he kisses him fast and hard, and Xabi takes the hint. He pushes him off and glowers at him, says, “What does this-” he uses his arms to gesture in between them, at them, “-mean to you, Steven? Does it really matter to you what happens to us?”
Stevie says, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t know means no, Xabi thinks.
I don’t know means I’m too big of a coward to tell you the truth, Xabi thinks.
I don’t know means a lot of things, but it sure as hell doesn’t mean, I’m in love with you, Xabi thinks.
VI. Pick up your pace.
“I’m running the same speed you are,” Xabi glares at him.
“I’m slowing mine to keep up with you though,” Stevie says.
“Yeah, well. You don’t have to wait for me. Just fucking run,” Xabi says, and it’s clear he’s annoyed.
Steven stops, and pulls at Xabi’s arm, causing him to stop as well. Xabi’s fuming. “What is it?! Díos, Steven. I’m trying to run.”
Steven’s expression changes from tired to angry. “Run two extra laps.”
“What?”
“I said: run two extra laps. Go on, do it. It’s not that much. You wanted to run, so run.”
After training, Steven stops him again. “Are you going to talk to me yet?”
Xabi snorts. “There’s nothing to talk about, Steven. We’re not fucking anymore. I’ve moved on, so should you.”
Xabi walks away, leaving Steven gaping. He says softly to himself (in disbelief), moved on?
VII. Let’s play a game.
“You’re always bored,” Xabi rolls his eyes.
But Fernando nods eagerly as everyone gathers in. “Yeah, let’s. Ask me anything.”
Xabi raises his eyebrow, amused at his choice of a ‘game’. Stevie says (looking at Xabi, rather than at Fernando), “Have you ever been attracted to a teammate?”
Fernando reddens measurably. “Yes.”
Everyone lets out a small laugh, looking unsurely amongst themselves. Fernando hurries to fix it. “Not any of you guys, don’t worry. And we were just friends anyway.”
Stevie smiles fondly at him. “Cute. I mean, like. It’s about-”
Xabi interrupts. “He means, did you guys fuck? Because that’s clearly the main-”
“Xabi,” Stevie spits. Everyone glances around at each other, confused about the situation (everything).
Xabi shrugs. “You said it yourself, Steven. The other day.”
Pepe raises his eyebrows and takes a big swallow of his beer. Carra looks awkwardly on, thinking about the ways he could slip away. Fernando sinks into his seat (he started it). Daniel coughs (sputters) and wonders what exactly is going on (and why isn’t he in on it?).
Steven gets up and pulls Xabi along with him into another room. “What are you doing, Xabi?”
Xabi shrugs. “What do you mean? I’m not doing anything.”
Steven tenses slightly and lets out a huff of air. “You’re letting it be known that we-”
“Fucked?” Xabi finishes. (Stevie only stares.) “Yeah, well. I assumed that since we had the ‘no feelings involved’ thing going on, it wouldn’t matter.”
Steven looks at him wearily. He sighs after a few moments and reaches for Xabi’s hand. “Xabi,” he starts.
Xabi moves away and silently curses himself for being affected. For having feelings for him. For committing a sin.
VIII. Congratulations on your son.
“Thank you,” Xabi says. I’m sorry you don’t have one, Xabi thinks. I’m sorry I can’t share, Xabi thinks.
“He’s beautiful,” Stevie says, but he doesn’t touch. Doesn’t come close. Stands from afar and watches (admiringly, albeit).
Xabi shifts awkwardly from one leg to another, balancing the baby and watching Stevie-trying to read him. He finally asks, “How have you been?”
Steven smiles a little. “I don’t know. Been okay, I guess.”
Xabi feels like he’s saying, I miss you. “I wish you’d just say it.”
Steven looks away. “Say what?”
“How you feel,” Xabi shrugs.
The baby begins to cry and Xabi shows Steven out.
IX. You’re getting married?
“Yes,” Xabi nods.
Steven opens his mouth and closes it. Xabi pretends to be busy tying his shoes.
Finally, Xabi speaks. “We decided we wanted to keep it small, only close family-friends.”
“So you’re saying…not me.”
Xabi nods again, walks out of the locker rooms briskly. Steven stands there a few moments longer before following suit.
That summer, Xabi marries Nagore in Spain. Steven isn’t invited. Xabi stands stiff and solemn and wonders if his debts are paid.
X. I couldn’t sleep.
“Y-what?” Xabi asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Steven walks past Xabi, into his house. “It was too quiet in my house. Couldn’t sleep.”
Xabi looks at the clock above his fireplace, sees that the time reads 1:43. He thinks, he’s got to be kidding me. “Are you serious?”
Steven shrugs. “Alex and the girls are at her parents’. I don’t like sleeping alone.”
Xabi almost rolls his eyes (almost). “You’ve never slept alone?”
He shrugs again. “I have. I just…don’t like to.”
Xabi snorts softly. Watches him quietly, wishes he could tell him that he looks good (beautiful) with the moonlight streaming in on his face. He places his hands on his hips and gives Steven a stern look. “You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”
Steven walks over to the window, stares out at the city. “I had a dream-that’s what woke me up before I came here.” Xabi raises an eyebrow, silently willing him to continue. Steven continues, “It was a long, long time ago, and I was in Spain. And you were in Spain.” A pause. “So we were both in Spain.”
Xabi smiles softly. “Yeah, I got that…”
Steven sighs. He turns to look at Xabi for a moment before turning back to the window (world). “We were happy. In the dream, I mean. We were happy.” He rests his forehead on the window and closes his eyes. “It was nice.”
Xabi stares at him for a long moment. He walks out of the room and heads to his own. He gets in bed and wishes he never let Steven Gerrard into his house (life). Moments later, he feels the bed’s weight shift. Feels an arm wrap around his waist. Feels the press of a body against his. Feels a warm breath of air against his cheek, as he hears a whisper in his ear. “I’ve missed you.”
He knows that this statement should be common between friends (lovers), but somehow, it feels like a confession. Xabi can suddenly imagine Stevie going to a confessional, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The priest replies, "What is it that brings you here?" Stevie answers, “I’ve missed (fucked) Xabi.” (Or, maybe the story goes: “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” God answers back, “No.”) Xabi wonders if Stevie’s religious, realizes that he doesn’t know the answer and is caught off guard. He turns to Stevie to ask him, when he sees that he’s fallen asleep. He closes his eyes and hopes Stevie will be there when he wakes up.
That night, he has a dream. I had a dream, he wants to tell Stevie. I had a dream that we were happy and no one cared, he wants to tell Stevie. I had a dream that we were happy and no one cared and you loved me (you loved me), he wants to tell Stevie.
The next morning, Stevie’s gone and there’s nothing left of him but his scent on Xabi’s pillow. He thinks about Stevie and wishes his dream was reality. Xabi decides it’s been a while since he’s been to a confessional.
(Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.)
XI. It’s hard.
“What is?” Xabi asks.
“Life,” Stevie replies. His voice is hollow and sounds a lot like remorse.
Xabi nods, agreeing. “What else is new?"
Stevie shrugs, doesn’t reply.
Xabi watches a leaf fall out of a tree. A leaf that had hung on the tree since April suddenly lets go and makes its slow journey to earth, tilting this way and that in its new fatal freedom, but falling, steadily falling.
“We’re always falling,” Xabi finally says.
Steven turns to look at him. “We weren’t falling in Istanbul.”
Sure we were, Xabi wants to say. We were falling in love, Xabi wants to say. “Stop comparing everything to Istanbul,” he says. “Your life doesn’t revolve around one moment. Thousands of moments revolve around your life.”
Steven raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly. “Always so wise, Xabi.” But then he says softly, “It helps my faith. Helps me believe.”
“Faith in what?” Xabi asks. Steven merely shrugs, prompting Xabi to ask, “Do you believe in God, Steven?”
Steven shakes his head. “I stopped believing in God when I was a kid.”
“What do you believe in, then?”
He thinks about it for a long moment. “Football. Istanbul. You.”
“What?” Xabi seems taken aback. “I’m not something to believe in, Steven. I’ve been vain. I have counted my virtues and added them up against those of others-yours-”
“And never believed in them at all!” Steven smiles again. “But I believe in them. I have no faith in your God, but I have faith in you.”
Stevie leans in and kisses him quickly. It’s soft and meaningful and timid. It feels like a first kiss, even though it’s (clearly) not, feels like he’s saying, I need you. Xabi stares at Stevie after he has pulled back and is staring (self-consciously?) at the ground. When Xabi doesn’t say anything, Stevie grunts an “I’ve got to go” and leaves.
Xabi wonders if Steven finally realizes how Xabi’s felt the past few years.
XII. It’ll be fun.
“No, it won’t,” Xabi mutters.
Steven ignores him and continues to the rest of the team, “Be there at 8 o’clock sharp, alright?”
They all nod in agreement. Xabi turns to Pepe. “Pepe. You and I should do something ourselves instead. Don’t you think?”
Pepe grins wryly. “Sorry, Xabi. I just don’t see you and me together in five years.”
Xabi snorts. “You wish.”
Pepe ignores him and continues, “See, maybe today you’re madly-obsessively-in love with me, but in-let’s say-two years, you’ll have fallen out of love, and will only stay with me because I’m sexier than anyone you know for about another year or so, only to have me finally leave you for someone younger, hotter-”
Xabi (who’s been laughing the entire length of Pepe’s lecture) pushes him (playfully). “Alright, you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself now. I highly doubt you’d find anyone better than me.”
Their laughter dies down as they put away their clothes. Pepe finally asks, “So…why don’t you want to go to their party?”
Xabi shrugs. “I just don’t want to, is all. I’m sure Carra and Steven won’t mind us missing out.”
Pepe raises an eyebrow, watches him pointedly. “Is this about Stevie?”
Xabi looks up sharply. “Why would it be about Steven?”
“I don’t know. Because until you found out that this was Stevie’s idea, you were all up for it. Because Stevie used to talk about you all the time, and now he doesn’t.”
He rolls his eyes. “He never talked about me ‘all the time’, Pepe.”
Pepe stares at him. “Are you kidding me? He was all but in love with you.”
Xabi ignores the all but and imagines that it’s he was in love with you.
XIII. Did you like it?
“Yeah, sure,” Xabi shrugs.
Steven smiles and wraps an arm around Xabi’s shoulders. “You don’t have to leave so early, do you?”
Xabi shrugs his arm off, heads for the door. “I should get home.”
Steven follows him. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to, Steven,” Xabi says (doesn’t mean it).
Steven shakes his head, smiles softly. “I want to, Xabi.”
They reach the car and Stevie leans against it. He sighs. “It’s a nice night, don’t you think?”
Xabi nods, scuffs his foot on the ground. “Yes. It’s beautiful.”
They stay quiet for a while, taking in the beauty of the night when suddenly, Stevie says quietly, “You’re beautiful, Xabi.”
Xabi laughs softly, can’t quite bring himself to look at him. “That’s definitely the beer talking, Steven.”
Steven clears his throat and snorts a soft chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Stevie walks off, and Xabi finds himself watching him. He wishes Stevie would’ve replied (admitted), “I barely had one beer, mate. This is me talking.”
He wishes and wishes and wishes.
(A thousand wishes don’t make it come true.)
XIV. All you do is get mad at me.
“I do not,” Xabi looks at him, irritated. He gets up and walks to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water. He drinks it hastily and gets some on his chin. He wipes at it furiously (I can’t believe this, he thinks. I can’t believe him, he thinks).
Stevie stares at him pointedly, shuffles his feet awkwardly (Xabi can’t help but think about how young Stevie looks at that moment; a 29 year old man (father/husband/captain), and he reminds Xabi of a child). “You’re doing it again, Xabi.”
Xabi narrows his eyes and glares. He snaps. “I’m not.” He sighs, and then: “Can’t you take a hint?”
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “What?”
Xabi looks at him. “When Alex gets angry at you-what do you do?”
Stevie shrugs, smirking softly. “I shut up and let her cool off.”
“Yeah. So you…leave her alone,” Xabi’s eyes are on Stevie’s. “Do you get what I’m trying to say?”
Stevie’s forehead is wrinkled in confusion, his eyes look hurt. He (finally) laughs quietly, if only to break the tension. “But, Xabi. You’re…not Alex. You’re different.”
Xabi snorts. “Yeah, I’m not Alex. She gets to share your bed, your home-while I get-”
“My heart,” Stevie finishes softly.
Admission, after years of covering it up.
Xabi wonders if this is the moment he’s supposed to jump with joy, wonders if this is the moment where all he’s supposed to feel is happy. Instead, he looks into Stevie’s eyes and wonders if his hands will ever be clean of Steven Gerrard.
XV. Forgiving isn’t hard. It’s the forgetting that gets me.
“Sometimes life requires it,” Xabi says.
Steven doesn’t say anything as Carra passes by, giving them both a pat on the back. When he’s gone, Steven pulls Xabi up and mutters an “I’ll give you a ride home” before pulling him towards the car.
But Xabi protests. “I don’t need a ride, Steven.”
Steven sighs. He buckles his seat belt and waits for Xabi to get in as well, knows he will follow. “I just. I want to fix this.”
Xabi shrugs, his eyes are soft. “There’s nothing to fix, Steven. I loved you once. And because either you didn’t love me back or just wouldn't admit to it-I moved on. That’s all there is to it.”
Steven twists in his seat to look at him. “Have you really?" He shakes his head, "I don’t believe you.”
No, Xabi wants to say. I don’t think I ever will, Xabi wants to say. “It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, Steven. I have.” He pauses, and then: “I turned in my transfer request today.”
Steven’s hands go white on the steering wheel and Xabi chooses to look out the window rather than at Steven.
Steven swallows audibly. “I guess that’s that, then.”
Xabi decides it’s best if he drives home on his own. He gets out of Steven’s car and bids him farewell.
Steven drives off too fast, doesn’t talk to Xabi for days.
Xabi ends up going to Madrid.
XVI. How is that weather treating you?
Xabi reminds him that he’s Spanish and is used to the weather. Enjoys it, to be precise.
They discuss Alex and the girls, Nagore and Jon. They discuss whether or not Pepe uses shampoo, realize they didn't know after all these years. Stevie tells Xabi about something Pepe did in the lockers the day before; they laugh and Xabi feels a pang of nostalgia. At one point, Stevie mumbles an “I miss you”; but Xabi pretends not to hear it. They talk some more about Liverpool’s training the day before, and Xabi mentions Real Madrid’s. He talks about how nice everyone is and how much he (already) enjoys it. Stevie doesn’t say that it feels like a stab to his heart. Instead, he says quietly, “That’s good.” And then, after a long pause: “I love you.” It sounds pained and tired and sincere.
Xabi decides it is best not to say it back, decides a clean break is easiest and saying it back will only prolong that. But after listening to Steven’s soft breathing for a few moments, he says, “Come visit me.” He hears himself convincing Stevie that he’ll show him a good time, that there’s still some summer left. He’s not sure what possessed him to do so. Decides it’s because he loves him.
XVII. Hey.
“Hi, Steven,” Xabi says, welcomes him in.
“Nice place,” Stevie looks around. “Where’s Nagore?”
Xabi chews on his lower lip. “She’s in San Sebastián with Jon.”
Xabi makes Stevie a small meal, and they talk for hours before Stevie kisses him. They fuck in the guest bedroom (Xabi doesn’t even show Steven the master bedroom, doesn’t show him Jon’s room either), and it’s intimate and desperate and feels a lot like love. Afterwards, Steven kisses Xabi’s shoulder, tells him that it’s easier to breathe when Xabi’s next to him. Xabi kisses the top of his head, hopes Steven takes it as a “me too”. Steven falls asleep soon after, and Xabi watches him. He tries to memorize every little thing about him (this moment) so he can conjure it up whenever he wants to, needs to.
He watches and watches and watches him.
Wonders how anything so beautiful could ever be considered a sin.
characters: xabi alonso, steven gerrard.
rating: r. mild language.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 5,718
warning: religious references; angst.
notes: alrighty, well. this was really hard for me to write??? i mean like. usually when i get set out on writing a fic, i finish it within a week. that wasn't the case with this one. i kept adding little snippets here and there for a while, and nothing ever seemed right. so, that's that. ahahah. slobberingboo; was the only reason i continued, is my entire life, is picasso, etcetc. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. um i miss her. ALSO, i got really weird about the format??? lol???? i think there was a point to how i did it, but i completely forgot considering how long this took me to finish. HAHAHAHAAH.
If you listen, you can hear it.
The city, it sings.
If you stand quietly, you could almost hear the soft swish of legs as they run past, the crunching sound of the grass as the padding of feet dance upon it.
The song is loudest when it reaches out to a place inside you, when you feel your heart pang just upon hearing it. And then the crowd is cheering (it’s loud, so loud!) and you can’t hear anything other than you’ll never walk alone. And finally-goal. All the noise and the rush and the non-stop wonder of the song of the city you can hear if you listen.
And it stops.
Or, maybe, it’s just for Xabi.
Because as he runs up and wrap his arms around Stevie, all Xabi can hear (see, feel, want) is-him.
(Stevie is hair the color of sand, and eyes the color of the sea. Stevie is running extra laps for, giving breathtaking crosses to. Stevie is Captain Fantastic-Steven. )
*
“How’s Liverpool?” Iker asks, the rest of the team are milling around, beers in their hands. Sergio, Fernando, and Xabi sit on the couch, facing Iker who sits on the coffee table. Xabi debates if this party was worth coming to, realizes even if it’s not, Xabi would’ve come because it’s Raúl (oh Captain, my Captain), and how could he not go to his party. Right?
A smile graces his features at the mention of Liverpool (home). “It’s great, thanks.”
“And Steven? Your captain?” He’s simply trying to make conversation, but Xabi’s heartbeat quickens at the mention. (Oh Captain, my Captain.)
He shrugs. “He’s okay, I guess.”
Sergio smirks (oh, fuck). “He’s hot.”
Xabi begins to sweat slightly. “He’s alright.”
Sergio starts, his eyebrow rising slowly. “Really? Just ‘alright’?”
And then, Xabi begins to ramble:
“He has an unfortunate forward hairline.”
His hair is beautiful.
“His eye color is dull.”
His eyes are beautiful.
“He can’t really smile, it looks awkward.”
His smile is beautiful.
“His skin isn’t like…perfect. Or anything.”
He is beautiful.
“His lips are a tad bit too thin.”
He is beautiful.
“His ears aren’t parallel. I like things to be even. (Nagore has parallel ears.)”
He is beautiful.
*
It all starts one day when Stevie says-
I. I’m getting married.
“Oh,” Xabi says.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I think it’s best if…you don’t come.”
“Oh,” Xabi repeats.
Stevie shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, right? I just don’t-I mean. Alex, and all.”
Xabi mimics Stevie’s shrug. He almost says, you’re breaking my heart. He says, “No, of course not. Just shows how much I mean to you.”
Stevie says, “Yeah, well.”
(And this is how it all begins.)
II. It’s a girl!
(This, Xabi remembers.) (A memory-)
“Is she beautiful?” Xabi asked. If Stevie had paid attention, he might have noticed the slight essence of heartbreak in it. (If Stevie had paid attention.)
“Yes. So, so beautiful,” Stevie was exuberant (and happy). “She’s perfect, Xabi. She looks like-”
Xabi’s voice was soft. “You?”
Stevie laughed quietly, the (perfect) face of his daughter popping into his mind. “Except she’s more beautiful.”
Xabi interrupted again. He scoffed teasingly. “Impossible!”
Stevie laughed more fully that time. And then: “I could just look at her forever, and I wouldn’t get bored.”
“Ah, I know the feeling.”
(Something about the way he said it, something about the way he sighed, something about the tone he used (how it fluctuated and cracked at the end), made Stevie realize Xabi was talking about him.)
Later, after Stevie hung up and the line was dead, Xabi still held the phone against his ear. He whispered, “I love you.”
(This, he remembers.)
II. Anfield is a place for lovers.
“No it’s not.” Xabi says, annoyed.
Stevie smiles. “Yeah, it is. Anfield is-perfect.”
Xabi raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with it being a place for lovers?”
Stevie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll bring Alex here sometime, take her around back…” He stops and smirks, winks (fucking winks). When he sees Xabi’s annoyed (hurt) expression, he says, “You didn’t think I meant you, right? You and I are…well. We’re not lovers, that’s for sure.”
Steven laughs a little bit to release the tension. Xabi feels. Awkward. Confused. Suicidal. Xabi feels. He looks at Stevie. “Yeah. You’re right. We just fuck every now and then.”
Stevie looks away and is unable to meet his eyes before walking out to the field, running ten laps instead of jogging the required four.
(This, they remember-
The first time it happened, they were drunk. It was hurried and accidental and against a wall in a guest room at Carra’s during a party. It was impatience mixed with desire and lust and something Xabi couldn’t quite place at the moment.
The second time was at an away game. Their excuse was that they were cold and tired and they just fucking lost and needed a release. It was fast and hard; left marks on Xabi’s body that he had to try to hide from Nagore for weeks afterwards.
The third time (third time’s a charm, they say), it was different. They weren’t drunk or impatient. They were talking and one thing led to another and then Stevie was kissing Xabi (or Xabi was kissing Stevie?). It was shy and timid and uncertainty mixed with something akin to passion. The morning after was awkward because there weren’t any flights home to worry about or team breakfasts to go to. It was Stevie waking up after Xabi had already made Eggs Benedict. It was Stevie standing awkwardly at the edge of the breakfast nook, telling Xabi he had to get home. It was Xabi saying, “Oh, no, it’s no big deal! I made these for myself.” (Stevie wondered if Xabi could really eat 6 eggs by himself, but he didn’t say anything.)
It was Xabi fingering his rosary, while simultaneously watching Stevie leave and wondering if he (Stevie) even gave a fuck.
It was Stevie thinking he didn’t, but turning around to glance at Xabi’s place every few seconds and wondering if Xabi was alright. It was realizing he felt bad about leaving Xabi. Cared.)
III. It’s wrong.
“I fucking know that, Steven,” Xabi mutters, pulling on his shirt.
Stevie sits up and shrugs. He eyes Xabi carefully. “It’s a good thing we don’t have to deal with feelings getting in the way. I hear about those stories-”
Xabi turns to look at him. “Stories?”
Steven shrugs again. “I don’t know. Fer and that Ramos, Becks and that Casillas. Those stories. The ones about being heartbroken and complicated and shit.”
Xabi rolls his eyes slightly. “Well. What do feelings have to do with it? It’s wrong either way.”
Steven looks at him pointedly (Xabi thinks, what is he trying to imply?). “Yeah, but at least this way, we could end it whenever. Neither of us will mind, we don’t really matter to each other, other than a fuck. Right?”
Xabi stares. Xabi sighs. Xabi wishes he was dead. He gets up and leaves. Knows that Steven knows how he (Xabi) feels. Wonders if God does. Sometimes, it seems to him that Steven is a judgment on him. Deny it though he might, Xabi loves Stevie. He wonders what made him fall in the first place, wonders why he didn’t stop himself when he could. Wishes he did, wishes he didn’t feel the weight of sin on his shoulders at every given second. Has been trying to atone for it ever since.
The man is an avenging angel, and from the moment he realized Xabi’s feelings for him, he had exacted his price from him. But not in noble sums that would pay the debt quickly. He demanded it in pennies.
IV. Come over for dinner.
“I really don’t want to,” Xabi says.
“Well, Alex will be offended if you don’t,” Stevie says.
“Really,” Xabi says (it’s not a question).
“Listen, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t invite you over while they’re home anyway. This was all Alex,” he pauses, and then, “She’ll be hurt if you don’t come, mate.” Stevie holds up his hands in a defensive manner (clearly nothing is ever Stevie’s fault (or choice), Xabi thinks (annoyed)). But the way he says it makes Xabi think that there’s more to it (makes him think about a possible scenario: Stevie pleading Alex to let Xabi come over for dinner), and it causes Xabi to rethink his decision. (Stevie knows Xabi’s already given in before Xabi knows it himself. He smiles.)
He has dinner at Stevie’s that night. The Gerrards are nothing but gracious. Kind. Respectful. Xabi feels bad instantly about being there, feels impure and sinful and fuck . Alex chats with him and Stevie watches on approvingly. Her hair is a soft, washed (bleached?) yellow that makes her look increasingly beautiful as the light from the lamp falls across her face. Xabi decides Stevie’s still (a little) more beautiful, deserves nothing less than an angel (Alex is his angel, he realizes with a jolt). Stevie makes a joke about how quiet Xabi is being and Xabi cringes slightly. (Stevie notices, Alex doesn’t.)
Xabi decides suddenly that he has better things to do-being happy for one, or guilt-free, or content. Or even just being at home, dealing with his own (shitty) (I’m in love with my captain) life rather than invading Stevie’s.
He drives home slowly that night. He drives in circles around his neighborhood a few times (wants to clear his head). He contemplates his life, thinks about everything he’s accomplished (one Champions League trophy to his name, a European cup, a son-to-be), everything he has yet to accomplish (league trophies, World Cups, making Nagore his wife). And then (and then), he thinks about Stevie. He thinks about how they met, thinks about Stevie at Istanbul-at Athens, thinks about Stevie on the pitch (this, he remembers). This is how the world sees Stevie.
Xabi thinks about other moments as well. He thinks about Stevie spending two hours trying to get Xabi to teach him how to pronounce Xabi’s name perfectly, thinks about Stevie attempting to make him paella for his birthday (and failing miserably), thinks about Stevie’s eyes on him (this, he remembers). This is how he sees Stevie.
Stevie calls him later. “How’d you like it? It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No, no. Of course not. Tell Alex that it was lovely.”
Xabi can feel Stevie’s grin through the phone. “See, mate! I told you it’d be fine!”
Xabi smiles a little despite himself, and then: “Actually, Steven-”
But then his doorbell rings and Stevie says (through the phone), “Open the door, mate. I’m freezing out here.”
Xabi gapes for a second, before striding toward the door and pulling it open. He glares at Stevie. “What are you doing here?”
Stevie holds up a scarf. “You left it at my place.” He grins slightly, “Told Alex I’d bring it over and that I’d probably stay to watch some footie since I know she doesn’t want to.”
He walks in and drapes the scarf around Xabi’s neck, pulls him closer slightly, before Xabi pushes him off and takes a step back. He finally sighs. “Steven. I don’t…I think we need to stop this.”
Steven looks taken aback (because surely Xabi doesn’t mean this (them)). “What?”
Xabi looks down at the ground. He refuses to meet Stevie’s eye. “You have two daughters, a wife-a family to be thinking about.”
Stevie glares at him now. “Well, that’s my fucking business, isn’t it?”
Xabi’s defiance is etched across his face, evident even to Stevie. “I have a son on the way, and a woman I love who wants to settle down sometime soon. I don’t want to get in between your family, I don’t want you to get in between mine.”
Stevie narrows his eyes, agitated. “This isn’t only your decision to make.”
Xabi shrugs. “I’ve already made it.” He looks at Stevie’s face and decides to explain (thinks that maybe if Stevie had looked at him like that from the beginning, maybe Xabi wouldn’t be able to do this now), “I just-I was in your family’s home and eating food that your wife made-” (Stevie interrupts to say, “Alex didn’t make that, we ordered it.”) “-sitting alongside your girls…and all I could think about was how what we’re doing is wrong. How I have to think of my own family as well. I don’t want to break up your family.”
Stevie snorts (feels the need to hurt Xabi for doing this). “You won’t break mine, mate. You’re not significant enough, so that’s something to take off your list of worries.”
Xabi feels his pride tingle as he reddens slightly. “Fuck you. Just get out, okay?”
“Wait, wait. Come on, Xabi,” Stevie’s tone has all of a sudden lost its retaliation; pleading and desperate and apologetic taking over-(it almost breaks Xabi’s heart). Xabi doesn’t look at him, doesn’t see the way his hands start to shake.
Xabi says, “If I’m not significant, Steven, then it would be completely fine for you to move on from this minor detail. Alright? Now please leave. I’m tired and I want to call Nagore to wish her goodnight.”
V. I’ll kill him.
“You’re an idiot.”
(This, Xabi remembers.) (A memory-)
Somebody said, oh my God.
A man in blue tackled a man in red. Broke his ankle.
Somebody said, oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Later, in the hospital, Stevie walked into Xabi’s room and gave him a stern look. At first, he said, “Get better fast, alright?” (Xabi nodded.) And then, he said, “I will hunt down the bastard and beat his face in. Just give me a little nod as permission, and I’ll do it, Xabi.” He looked eagerly at Xabi, took his hand in his own (wow, I must be lucky, thought Xabi), and Xabi wondered if Stevie was just looking for an excuse to beat up Lampard. He shook his head and Stevie looked mildly disappointed, smiled at him anyway as he ruffled his hair. He leaned in to whisper, “It’s the thought that counts though, right? I was willing to beat up Lamps for you.”
Stevie didn’t leave his side the entire night, Stevie called him every day for the first month, Stevie visited weekly up until Xabi began training in the gym again. (This, Xabi remembers.)
IV. Come back.
“Steven,” Xabi says.
“Fuck you. Come back,” Stevie says. His tone is determined.
“Go find someone else to fuck, Steven. Jesus, just leave me out-”
Stevie grabs his arm, and shakes him slightly. “Get your head straight, Xabi.”
“About what?” Xabi asks. When Stevie doesn’t reply, he furrows his eyebrows, ponders what Stevie means for a moment, before taking the plunge, “I lo-” (I love you, he was going to say. I love you, but this just can’t keep going on, he was going to say.)
But Stevie interrupts before he can say it (doesn’t want to hear it; no no no no no), so he kisses him fast and hard, and Xabi takes the hint. He pushes him off and glowers at him, says, “What does this-” he uses his arms to gesture in between them, at them, “-mean to you, Steven? Does it really matter to you what happens to us?”
Stevie says, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t know means no, Xabi thinks.
I don’t know means I’m too big of a coward to tell you the truth, Xabi thinks.
I don’t know means a lot of things, but it sure as hell doesn’t mean, I’m in love with you, Xabi thinks.
VI. Pick up your pace.
“I’m running the same speed you are,” Xabi glares at him.
“I’m slowing mine to keep up with you though,” Stevie says.
“Yeah, well. You don’t have to wait for me. Just fucking run,” Xabi says, and it’s clear he’s annoyed.
Steven stops, and pulls at Xabi’s arm, causing him to stop as well. Xabi’s fuming. “What is it?! Díos, Steven. I’m trying to run.”
Steven’s expression changes from tired to angry. “Run two extra laps.”
“What?”
“I said: run two extra laps. Go on, do it. It’s not that much. You wanted to run, so run.”
After training, Steven stops him again. “Are you going to talk to me yet?”
Xabi snorts. “There’s nothing to talk about, Steven. We’re not fucking anymore. I’ve moved on, so should you.”
Xabi walks away, leaving Steven gaping. He says softly to himself (in disbelief), moved on?
VII. Let’s play a game.
“You’re always bored,” Xabi rolls his eyes.
But Fernando nods eagerly as everyone gathers in. “Yeah, let’s. Ask me anything.”
Xabi raises his eyebrow, amused at his choice of a ‘game’. Stevie says (looking at Xabi, rather than at Fernando), “Have you ever been attracted to a teammate?”
Fernando reddens measurably. “Yes.”
Everyone lets out a small laugh, looking unsurely amongst themselves. Fernando hurries to fix it. “Not any of you guys, don’t worry. And we were just friends anyway.”
Stevie smiles fondly at him. “Cute. I mean, like. It’s about-”
Xabi interrupts. “He means, did you guys fuck? Because that’s clearly the main-”
“Xabi,” Stevie spits. Everyone glances around at each other, confused about the situation (everything).
Xabi shrugs. “You said it yourself, Steven. The other day.”
Pepe raises his eyebrows and takes a big swallow of his beer. Carra looks awkwardly on, thinking about the ways he could slip away. Fernando sinks into his seat (he started it). Daniel coughs (sputters) and wonders what exactly is going on (and why isn’t he in on it?).
Steven gets up and pulls Xabi along with him into another room. “What are you doing, Xabi?”
Xabi shrugs. “What do you mean? I’m not doing anything.”
Steven tenses slightly and lets out a huff of air. “You’re letting it be known that we-”
“Fucked?” Xabi finishes. (Stevie only stares.) “Yeah, well. I assumed that since we had the ‘no feelings involved’ thing going on, it wouldn’t matter.”
Steven looks at him wearily. He sighs after a few moments and reaches for Xabi’s hand. “Xabi,” he starts.
Xabi moves away and silently curses himself for being affected. For having feelings for him. For committing a sin.
VIII. Congratulations on your son.
“Thank you,” Xabi says. I’m sorry you don’t have one, Xabi thinks. I’m sorry I can’t share, Xabi thinks.
“He’s beautiful,” Stevie says, but he doesn’t touch. Doesn’t come close. Stands from afar and watches (admiringly, albeit).
Xabi shifts awkwardly from one leg to another, balancing the baby and watching Stevie-trying to read him. He finally asks, “How have you been?”
Steven smiles a little. “I don’t know. Been okay, I guess.”
Xabi feels like he’s saying, I miss you. “I wish you’d just say it.”
Steven looks away. “Say what?”
“How you feel,” Xabi shrugs.
The baby begins to cry and Xabi shows Steven out.
IX. You’re getting married?
“Yes,” Xabi nods.
Steven opens his mouth and closes it. Xabi pretends to be busy tying his shoes.
Finally, Xabi speaks. “We decided we wanted to keep it small, only close family-friends.”
“So you’re saying…not me.”
Xabi nods again, walks out of the locker rooms briskly. Steven stands there a few moments longer before following suit.
That summer, Xabi marries Nagore in Spain. Steven isn’t invited. Xabi stands stiff and solemn and wonders if his debts are paid.
X. I couldn’t sleep.
“Y-what?” Xabi asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Steven walks past Xabi, into his house. “It was too quiet in my house. Couldn’t sleep.”
Xabi looks at the clock above his fireplace, sees that the time reads 1:43. He thinks, he’s got to be kidding me. “Are you serious?”
Steven shrugs. “Alex and the girls are at her parents’. I don’t like sleeping alone.”
Xabi almost rolls his eyes (almost). “You’ve never slept alone?”
He shrugs again. “I have. I just…don’t like to.”
Xabi snorts softly. Watches him quietly, wishes he could tell him that he looks good (beautiful) with the moonlight streaming in on his face. He places his hands on his hips and gives Steven a stern look. “You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”
Steven walks over to the window, stares out at the city. “I had a dream-that’s what woke me up before I came here.” Xabi raises an eyebrow, silently willing him to continue. Steven continues, “It was a long, long time ago, and I was in Spain. And you were in Spain.” A pause. “So we were both in Spain.”
Xabi smiles softly. “Yeah, I got that…”
Steven sighs. He turns to look at Xabi for a moment before turning back to the window (world). “We were happy. In the dream, I mean. We were happy.” He rests his forehead on the window and closes his eyes. “It was nice.”
Xabi stares at him for a long moment. He walks out of the room and heads to his own. He gets in bed and wishes he never let Steven Gerrard into his house (life). Moments later, he feels the bed’s weight shift. Feels an arm wrap around his waist. Feels the press of a body against his. Feels a warm breath of air against his cheek, as he hears a whisper in his ear. “I’ve missed you.”
He knows that this statement should be common between friends (lovers), but somehow, it feels like a confession. Xabi can suddenly imagine Stevie going to a confessional, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The priest replies, "What is it that brings you here?" Stevie answers, “I’ve missed (fucked) Xabi.” (Or, maybe the story goes: “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” God answers back, “No.”) Xabi wonders if Stevie’s religious, realizes that he doesn’t know the answer and is caught off guard. He turns to Stevie to ask him, when he sees that he’s fallen asleep. He closes his eyes and hopes Stevie will be there when he wakes up.
That night, he has a dream. I had a dream, he wants to tell Stevie. I had a dream that we were happy and no one cared, he wants to tell Stevie. I had a dream that we were happy and no one cared and you loved me (you loved me), he wants to tell Stevie.
The next morning, Stevie’s gone and there’s nothing left of him but his scent on Xabi’s pillow. He thinks about Stevie and wishes his dream was reality. Xabi decides it’s been a while since he’s been to a confessional.
(Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.)
XI. It’s hard.
“What is?” Xabi asks.
“Life,” Stevie replies. His voice is hollow and sounds a lot like remorse.
Xabi nods, agreeing. “What else is new?"
Stevie shrugs, doesn’t reply.
Xabi watches a leaf fall out of a tree. A leaf that had hung on the tree since April suddenly lets go and makes its slow journey to earth, tilting this way and that in its new fatal freedom, but falling, steadily falling.
“We’re always falling,” Xabi finally says.
Steven turns to look at him. “We weren’t falling in Istanbul.”
Sure we were, Xabi wants to say. We were falling in love, Xabi wants to say. “Stop comparing everything to Istanbul,” he says. “Your life doesn’t revolve around one moment. Thousands of moments revolve around your life.”
Steven raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly. “Always so wise, Xabi.” But then he says softly, “It helps my faith. Helps me believe.”
“Faith in what?” Xabi asks. Steven merely shrugs, prompting Xabi to ask, “Do you believe in God, Steven?”
Steven shakes his head. “I stopped believing in God when I was a kid.”
“What do you believe in, then?”
He thinks about it for a long moment. “Football. Istanbul. You.”
“What?” Xabi seems taken aback. “I’m not something to believe in, Steven. I’ve been vain. I have counted my virtues and added them up against those of others-yours-”
“And never believed in them at all!” Steven smiles again. “But I believe in them. I have no faith in your God, but I have faith in you.”
Stevie leans in and kisses him quickly. It’s soft and meaningful and timid. It feels like a first kiss, even though it’s (clearly) not, feels like he’s saying, I need you. Xabi stares at Stevie after he has pulled back and is staring (self-consciously?) at the ground. When Xabi doesn’t say anything, Stevie grunts an “I’ve got to go” and leaves.
Xabi wonders if Steven finally realizes how Xabi’s felt the past few years.
XII. It’ll be fun.
“No, it won’t,” Xabi mutters.
Steven ignores him and continues to the rest of the team, “Be there at 8 o’clock sharp, alright?”
They all nod in agreement. Xabi turns to Pepe. “Pepe. You and I should do something ourselves instead. Don’t you think?”
Pepe grins wryly. “Sorry, Xabi. I just don’t see you and me together in five years.”
Xabi snorts. “You wish.”
Pepe ignores him and continues, “See, maybe today you’re madly-obsessively-in love with me, but in-let’s say-two years, you’ll have fallen out of love, and will only stay with me because I’m sexier than anyone you know for about another year or so, only to have me finally leave you for someone younger, hotter-”
Xabi (who’s been laughing the entire length of Pepe’s lecture) pushes him (playfully). “Alright, you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself now. I highly doubt you’d find anyone better than me.”
Their laughter dies down as they put away their clothes. Pepe finally asks, “So…why don’t you want to go to their party?”
Xabi shrugs. “I just don’t want to, is all. I’m sure Carra and Steven won’t mind us missing out.”
Pepe raises an eyebrow, watches him pointedly. “Is this about Stevie?”
Xabi looks up sharply. “Why would it be about Steven?”
“I don’t know. Because until you found out that this was Stevie’s idea, you were all up for it. Because Stevie used to talk about you all the time, and now he doesn’t.”
He rolls his eyes. “He never talked about me ‘all the time’, Pepe.”
Pepe stares at him. “Are you kidding me? He was all but in love with you.”
Xabi ignores the all but and imagines that it’s he was in love with you.
XIII. Did you like it?
“Yeah, sure,” Xabi shrugs.
Steven smiles and wraps an arm around Xabi’s shoulders. “You don’t have to leave so early, do you?”
Xabi shrugs his arm off, heads for the door. “I should get home.”
Steven follows him. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to, Steven,” Xabi says (doesn’t mean it).
Steven shakes his head, smiles softly. “I want to, Xabi.”
They reach the car and Stevie leans against it. He sighs. “It’s a nice night, don’t you think?”
Xabi nods, scuffs his foot on the ground. “Yes. It’s beautiful.”
They stay quiet for a while, taking in the beauty of the night when suddenly, Stevie says quietly, “You’re beautiful, Xabi.”
Xabi laughs softly, can’t quite bring himself to look at him. “That’s definitely the beer talking, Steven.”
Steven clears his throat and snorts a soft chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Stevie walks off, and Xabi finds himself watching him. He wishes Stevie would’ve replied (admitted), “I barely had one beer, mate. This is me talking.”
He wishes and wishes and wishes.
(A thousand wishes don’t make it come true.)
XIV. All you do is get mad at me.
“I do not,” Xabi looks at him, irritated. He gets up and walks to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water. He drinks it hastily and gets some on his chin. He wipes at it furiously (I can’t believe this, he thinks. I can’t believe him, he thinks).
Stevie stares at him pointedly, shuffles his feet awkwardly (Xabi can’t help but think about how young Stevie looks at that moment; a 29 year old man (father/husband/captain), and he reminds Xabi of a child). “You’re doing it again, Xabi.”
Xabi narrows his eyes and glares. He snaps. “I’m not.” He sighs, and then: “Can’t you take a hint?”
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “What?”
Xabi looks at him. “When Alex gets angry at you-what do you do?”
Stevie shrugs, smirking softly. “I shut up and let her cool off.”
“Yeah. So you…leave her alone,” Xabi’s eyes are on Stevie’s. “Do you get what I’m trying to say?”
Stevie’s forehead is wrinkled in confusion, his eyes look hurt. He (finally) laughs quietly, if only to break the tension. “But, Xabi. You’re…not Alex. You’re different.”
Xabi snorts. “Yeah, I’m not Alex. She gets to share your bed, your home-while I get-”
“My heart,” Stevie finishes softly.
Admission, after years of covering it up.
Xabi wonders if this is the moment he’s supposed to jump with joy, wonders if this is the moment where all he’s supposed to feel is happy. Instead, he looks into Stevie’s eyes and wonders if his hands will ever be clean of Steven Gerrard.
XV. Forgiving isn’t hard. It’s the forgetting that gets me.
“Sometimes life requires it,” Xabi says.
Steven doesn’t say anything as Carra passes by, giving them both a pat on the back. When he’s gone, Steven pulls Xabi up and mutters an “I’ll give you a ride home” before pulling him towards the car.
But Xabi protests. “I don’t need a ride, Steven.”
Steven sighs. He buckles his seat belt and waits for Xabi to get in as well, knows he will follow. “I just. I want to fix this.”
Xabi shrugs, his eyes are soft. “There’s nothing to fix, Steven. I loved you once. And because either you didn’t love me back or just wouldn't admit to it-I moved on. That’s all there is to it.”
Steven twists in his seat to look at him. “Have you really?" He shakes his head, "I don’t believe you.”
No, Xabi wants to say. I don’t think I ever will, Xabi wants to say. “It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, Steven. I have.” He pauses, and then: “I turned in my transfer request today.”
Steven’s hands go white on the steering wheel and Xabi chooses to look out the window rather than at Steven.
Steven swallows audibly. “I guess that’s that, then.”
Xabi decides it’s best if he drives home on his own. He gets out of Steven’s car and bids him farewell.
Steven drives off too fast, doesn’t talk to Xabi for days.
Xabi ends up going to Madrid.
XVI. How is that weather treating you?
Xabi reminds him that he’s Spanish and is used to the weather. Enjoys it, to be precise.
They discuss Alex and the girls, Nagore and Jon. They discuss whether or not Pepe uses shampoo, realize they didn't know after all these years. Stevie tells Xabi about something Pepe did in the lockers the day before; they laugh and Xabi feels a pang of nostalgia. At one point, Stevie mumbles an “I miss you”; but Xabi pretends not to hear it. They talk some more about Liverpool’s training the day before, and Xabi mentions Real Madrid’s. He talks about how nice everyone is and how much he (already) enjoys it. Stevie doesn’t say that it feels like a stab to his heart. Instead, he says quietly, “That’s good.” And then, after a long pause: “I love you.” It sounds pained and tired and sincere.
Xabi decides it is best not to say it back, decides a clean break is easiest and saying it back will only prolong that. But after listening to Steven’s soft breathing for a few moments, he says, “Come visit me.” He hears himself convincing Stevie that he’ll show him a good time, that there’s still some summer left. He’s not sure what possessed him to do so. Decides it’s because he loves him.
XVII. Hey.
“Hi, Steven,” Xabi says, welcomes him in.
“Nice place,” Stevie looks around. “Where’s Nagore?”
Xabi chews on his lower lip. “She’s in San Sebastián with Jon.”
Xabi makes Stevie a small meal, and they talk for hours before Stevie kisses him. They fuck in the guest bedroom (Xabi doesn’t even show Steven the master bedroom, doesn’t show him Jon’s room either), and it’s intimate and desperate and feels a lot like love. Afterwards, Steven kisses Xabi’s shoulder, tells him that it’s easier to breathe when Xabi’s next to him. Xabi kisses the top of his head, hopes Steven takes it as a “me too”. Steven falls asleep soon after, and Xabi watches him. He tries to memorize every little thing about him (this moment) so he can conjure it up whenever he wants to, needs to.
He watches and watches and watches him.
Wonders how anything so beautiful could ever be considered a sin.