(no subject)
title: tomorrow i'll miss you.
characters: steven gerrard/xabi alonso. (implied sergio ramos/fernando torres, and SLIGHT steven gerrard/fernando torres.)
rating: r, AT MOST.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 2,837.
notes: for slobberingboo, always.
yesterday i loved you,
today i leave you,
tomorrow i'll miss you.
The sun is bare and rich on Xabi’s legs. He sits with them stretched out in front of him, the soft grass beneath his feet. For the first time in seven months, he has received a text from a number in England. It’s neither Pepe nor Fernando’s. He rereads it five times before setting his phone down beside him, staring out at his son running around with a football. He picks up his phone again and reads the text one last time:
i miss you. come home.
He wants to reply, no. He wants to reply, you miss said person 7 months too late. He picks up his phone and dials the number instead.
Stevie picks up on the first ring. He doesn’t answer, merely breathes down into the phone. Finally, “Hey, Xabi.”
Xabi sighs into the phone. It feels like a lifetime since he’s heard his voice. “Stevie. How are you?”
“Okay, fine. Not so bad. You?”
“Same, same. Pretty good, actually,” he answers honestly. They breath quietly, and it all feels so familiar. A few moments later, Xabi hears the jingle of laughter from somewhere in the background - it’s the girls. “How are they?” His voice is soft, tender.
“Lovely as ever,” Stevie replies, the tone of his voice changing from nostalgic to happy, proud. “Growing all the time. And yours?”
“Great, great.”
“Going to be his father’s footballer?” Stevie asks, his tone slightly amused, possibly slightly jealous.
“No,” Xabi replies. “No. He’s going to be much more than that.”
“Of course.” It’s quiet at the other end for a while. “Visit me,” he says at last.
“You don’t call for months and suddenly I’m supposed to come visit you?” Xabi snaps. He can almost hear Stevie shrinking at the other end of the line. He hears a soft, broken sigh and closes his eyes. He says, a little more softly this time, “Besides, I don’t have time.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
Two weeks later, and Xabi is in Liverpool.
*
It’s too cold, is the first thing Xabi thinks when he gets to Liverpool. He misses the sunshine and the warmth he’s grown accustomed to after moving back to Spain. The happiness that comes along with the weather of Spain is lacking in Liverpool. He thinks, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I couldn’t ever give Spain up again.
His thoughts falter when he sees Stevie leaning against one of the airport chairs though. It’s not only his thoughts that falter, to be quite honest, because Xabi can’t seem to remember how to breathe momentarily. Stevie doesn’t see him at first and is fiddling with his phone for quite some time before he glances up - and by then, Xabi is already standing in front of him. Xabi laughs awkwardly and gives a huge shrug, as if to say, well it’s been a while and this is uncomfortable, but it’s good to see you. (It’s always good to see you.)
Stevie has always been able to read him (on the pitch, off the pitch) so he seems to understand as he laughs as well in reply, I know, I know, me too. He slips his arms around him, one nestling at the back of Xabi’s head, and gives him a hug so tight that the ache hidden in it is drastically evident.
They pull apart a few seconds too late and blush as they glance around to make sure no one has noticed. Stevie tugs at Xabi’s hand. “Let’s go.”
*
The car ride is long and boring. Xabi stares out the window and everything seems to be coming back to him. The street names, the grocery store at the end of that street, his house a few blocks down. He feels as if it was all a lifetime ago, as if he is remembering things from some past life that he should’ve forgotten about by now. He glances at the store shops like they’re foreign (and they are, in a way - but not completely), and quietly notes the changes in each of them.
“It’s so cold,” he says.
Stevie snorts a little. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s freezing.”
A laugh. “It’s a wonder you used to live here.”
Xabi smiles. “Good thing I left then, huh?”
They both get quiet at that, and Xabi wonders what the fuck is his problem, why he has to even open his mouth, how he hates to be the one to put that look on Stevie’s face. He stares at him for a while longer until Stevie turns to glance at him. “What?” He laughs softly, but it’s hollow and Xabi knows it’s an attempt to break the unbearable silence.
“Nothing,” Xabi replies. He moves his hand a little, almost reaching out to interlace his fingers with Stevie’s (like how they used to, back when Stevie was still Xabi’s to touch), before he catches himself.
Stevie notices and wishes he hadn’t.
*
“Where is the family?” Xabi asks as they make their way into Stevie’s house.
“Visiting Alex’s mum,” he replies, slowly making his way to where Xabi is taking off his shoes. He places his hands on Xabi’s hips and Xabi stops, stops leaning forward, stops untying his shoes, stops breathing. He straightens himself and when he feels Stevie’s lips on the back of his neck, he closes his eyes.
“Stevie,” he says quietly.
Stevie pays no attention to him, instead turning Xabi around in his arms. “No, fuck you, shut up,” he replies, and Xabi laughs a little. “You owe me, you left.” His voice is quiet but firm.
Xabi can only nod and lean in to kiss him. After a few moments, the hunger they’ve had hidden for ages sneaks out and they’re clawing at each other to get their clothes off, right there in the middle of the foyer. Stevie pulls away suddenly, his breath coming out in short spurts. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They shuffle up the stairs, making sure that some part of them is touching at all times before they come to a stop outside Stevie’s bedroom door. He hesitates. They used to fuck in there all the time, never paying a care to the fact that it was Alex’s bed that Xabi was being fucked in - a bed that he and Stevie could never really share. But now it’s different and they can both feel it. Stevie looks confused and desperate and tired, so Xabi takes his arm and leads them into the guest bedroom. Stevie laughs a little, embarrassed, and Xabi shushes him with another kiss. It’s only when they’re naked and Xabi can feel Stevie inside him that Xabi remembers why there is always an ache in his chest when he thinks of Liverpool.
*
Stevie idly runs his fingers along Xabi’s arm. Xabi shifts a little and presses a kiss to Stevie’s chest. “God, I missed you,” Stevie mumbles. Xabi hums quietly, either in agreement or because he has no reply, Stevie isn’t sure. After a few moments, Stevie asks, “Do you even remember what it felt like to live here?”
“To be honest - not really. It feels so distant, so far away.” He turns to look at him. “Sometimes I feel like it never happened.”
He’s lying, though, because in reality - he remembers it all. Every kiss and every touch, every pass and every goal. He remembers every song sung and every locker room lecture. He doesn’t tell Stevie however, because how can he? It’ll only sting more.
Stevie smiles a little sadly then, rubbing his nose against the side of Xabi’s head - breathing him in. “I remember everything. Sad, yeah?” Xabi feels the back of his eyes start to sting and he shakes his head hard. Stevie leans in to kiss him and grins wryly. “Another go?”
And although Xabi is still tired from the previous round, the airplane ride, the fact that he hadn’t slept the night before in apprehension for this meeting - he nods.
He’s always been one to follow Stevie’s every wish, every command. He was his captain, after all.
*
“Congratulations, by the way,” Stevie says later that day.
“For what?” Xabi glances at him, already knowing what Stevie is referring to - but for some reason, he wants to hear him say it.
“The World Cup,” Stevie replies simply. No further explanations.
“Thank you,” Xabi says softly. “I should’ve called when you guys-” He stops. Isn’t sure how to say, 'flopped out' without sounding harsh.
Stevie shakes his head with a wave of a hand, all forgiven. “No, I didn’t call you when you won either.”
“You called Fernando,” Xabi lets it slip out despite himself. He winces a little. He’d forgotten how much it hurt that Stevie hadn’t called him as well, but he’d gotten used to Stevie not calling by that point. After a few moments of silence, he adds, “And Pepe.”
Stevie looks embarrassed. “They’re my teammates.”
The innuendo is left there in the air, the ‘you’re not my teammate anymore’.
Xabi looks stung and gets up to get a glass of water.
*
They visit Fernando that night. He’s convinced himself that the way Fernando is smiling at Stevie certainly means something. Every smile Stevie sends in Fernando’s direction sends Xabi into a wave of nausea. He remembers their earlier morning. And after that. And after that again.
Bastard, he thinks, and wonders if Stevie wanted him to come back to Liverpool just so he could fuck him and use him and then break him.
An hour stuck with the both of them and Xabi can’t take it anymore. He turns to them casually. “So are you two fucking or something?”
Stevie glares at Xabi. “What the fuck, Xabi?”
Fernando reddens but the embarrassed look on his face tells it all.
“You’re kidding me,” Xabi says, deadpan. He turns to Stevie. “Are you fucking serious? After this morning…” He lets it hang in the air and Stevie growls angrily as he gets to his feet and storms out the door. Xabi feels a little guilty at how Fernando’s confusion turns to hurt. But Xabi can’t help it, he presses the wound further. “And what about Sergio?” He asks Fernando, hoping to transfer his own guilt to Fernando. He should know better, he thinks. The more he thinks about Sergio, the angrier he gets at the striker in front of him.
Fernando’s face falls and suddenly Xabi’s guilt returns. “Don’t tell him,” he says quietly.
Xabi sighs a little, remembering the warm way Sergio says Fernando’s name, the way his eyes light up at his mention - the way he made sure Xabi knew to give Fernando a tight hug and 3 kisses. “You can’t keep doing this to him.”
Fernando looks away and Xabi stands up to leave. Fernando’s voice is quiet and honest. “I love him too, you know. Do you know how hard it is with him so far away?”
Xabi thinks of Stevie. “Yeah.”
He opens his mouth to say something when he hears a pounding on the front door. And then he hears the shouting from behind the door. “Xabi - you’re here and you didn’t tell me, cabrón?!”
Xabi laughs as he walks with Fernando to the front door. “I knew I should’ve called Pepe.”
*
“I can’t believe you’re fucking him,” Xabi says, a little spitefully.
Stevie exhales. “Get over it. You live in fucking Spain, you have no say in this.”
“The guy he’s in love with is in Spain.”
Stevie turns and gives him a loaded look. His face all but screams, he’s not the only one.
*
“Do you ever think about coming back?” Stevie asks quietly, in the middle of the night. He’s not even sure if Xabi’s awake, but he asks it anyway.
“No. Yes. Sometimes,” Xabi mumbles against his pillow.
“Do you think you ever will?” Stevie’s face is pressed against Xabi’s back. He places a kiss to his shoulder, afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know,” Xabi answers truthfully, his voice stuck in his throat. “I don’t think so.”
Stevie sits up a little to look at him now. “Would you want to, if you could?”
Xabi turns so he’s lying on his back, his side pressed against Stevie’s chest. He glances at Stevie and considers lying. Thinks, it’d be so easy to say no, to keep everything uncovered. “Yes,” he replies, his eyes on Stevie’s.
Stevie nods, leans into Xabi and kisses him meaningfully. “Do you ever think about me coming there?”
Xabi pushes Stevie away from him. “No. You can’t.”
“I know, but I mean-”
“No,” Xabi says again. “If you were any other person, in any other team - I’d tell Mourinho to get you in an instant,” he pauses. “But you’re not. You’re Steven Gerrard, from Liverpool FC. And I’d kill you personally if you ever left.”
Stevie scoffs a little. “If you cared so much about the club, you wouldn’t have left yourself.”
Xabi looks sad. “My circumstances were different. You know that.”
“It’s the same fucking thing, Xabi,” Stevie says and he pulls away from Xabi.
“No, it’s not,” Xabi snaps. “I’m Spanish. I was bound to end up back in Spain at some point, whether it was after I retired or before it.”
After a few moments of silence, Stevie says quietly, “I wish you were English.”
Xabi laughs loudly at that. He pulls Stevie closer to him again. “I wish you were Spanish,” he mumbles against his lips with a grin.
Stevie smirks. “Yeah. Or that.”
*
Xabi has to leave the next day, and Stevie mopes around his house like someone’s died. “Stop that,” Xabi finally says.
Stevie glances at him only fleetingly. “Fuck you.” Xabi rolls his eyes and Stevie glares harder. “No, seriously, fuck you. You don’t know how I feel.”
Xabi suddenly sighs. “Yes, I do, Stevie. I don’t want to leave either.” His voice is soft, tired, broken.
Stevie closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s different when you’re the one leaving. I’m the one stuck here. Left behind. Whatever.”
Xabi places a hand in Stevie’s hair and rubs a little. “It hurts just as much, believe me,” he says with a soft, exhausted laugh.
Stevie places his head in his hands and sits there a few moments. And then: “It doesn’t mean anything, when I fuck him.”
“What?”
“Me and Fernando. It doesn’t mean anything. You’ve got to believe me - us. We’ve both got our respective feelings stored back in Spain.”
Xabi can’t help but smile a little at that. “What does that mean?”
Stevie looks at him wearily. “You know exactly what it means.”
They’ve never said it before. I love you. They’ve never said it. They’ve always alluded to it, but the words have never been spoken. Xabi thinks they don’t have to - the way they look at each other is loaded with enough I love you’s to last a lifetime.
But when Stevie leans in to kiss Xabi, when they’re in his car at the airport, he breathes out something that sounds damn close to the three (previously) unspoken words. Xabi isn't sure though, because as soon as he's said it, Stevie starts to press kisses to Xabi's jaw, throat, neck.
Xabi pulls back and looks at him. He thinks, maybe there is something I would give up Spain for.
characters: steven gerrard/xabi alonso. (implied sergio ramos/fernando torres, and SLIGHT steven gerrard/fernando torres.)
rating: r, AT MOST.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 2,837.
notes: for slobberingboo, always.
yesterday i loved you,
today i leave you,
tomorrow i'll miss you.
The sun is bare and rich on Xabi’s legs. He sits with them stretched out in front of him, the soft grass beneath his feet. For the first time in seven months, he has received a text from a number in England. It’s neither Pepe nor Fernando’s. He rereads it five times before setting his phone down beside him, staring out at his son running around with a football. He picks up his phone again and reads the text one last time:
i miss you. come home.
He wants to reply, no. He wants to reply, you miss said person 7 months too late. He picks up his phone and dials the number instead.
Stevie picks up on the first ring. He doesn’t answer, merely breathes down into the phone. Finally, “Hey, Xabi.”
Xabi sighs into the phone. It feels like a lifetime since he’s heard his voice. “Stevie. How are you?”
“Okay, fine. Not so bad. You?”
“Same, same. Pretty good, actually,” he answers honestly. They breath quietly, and it all feels so familiar. A few moments later, Xabi hears the jingle of laughter from somewhere in the background - it’s the girls. “How are they?” His voice is soft, tender.
“Lovely as ever,” Stevie replies, the tone of his voice changing from nostalgic to happy, proud. “Growing all the time. And yours?”
“Great, great.”
“Going to be his father’s footballer?” Stevie asks, his tone slightly amused, possibly slightly jealous.
“No,” Xabi replies. “No. He’s going to be much more than that.”
“Of course.” It’s quiet at the other end for a while. “Visit me,” he says at last.
“You don’t call for months and suddenly I’m supposed to come visit you?” Xabi snaps. He can almost hear Stevie shrinking at the other end of the line. He hears a soft, broken sigh and closes his eyes. He says, a little more softly this time, “Besides, I don’t have time.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
Two weeks later, and Xabi is in Liverpool.
*
It’s too cold, is the first thing Xabi thinks when he gets to Liverpool. He misses the sunshine and the warmth he’s grown accustomed to after moving back to Spain. The happiness that comes along with the weather of Spain is lacking in Liverpool. He thinks, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I couldn’t ever give Spain up again.
His thoughts falter when he sees Stevie leaning against one of the airport chairs though. It’s not only his thoughts that falter, to be quite honest, because Xabi can’t seem to remember how to breathe momentarily. Stevie doesn’t see him at first and is fiddling with his phone for quite some time before he glances up - and by then, Xabi is already standing in front of him. Xabi laughs awkwardly and gives a huge shrug, as if to say, well it’s been a while and this is uncomfortable, but it’s good to see you. (It’s always good to see you.)
Stevie has always been able to read him (on the pitch, off the pitch) so he seems to understand as he laughs as well in reply, I know, I know, me too. He slips his arms around him, one nestling at the back of Xabi’s head, and gives him a hug so tight that the ache hidden in it is drastically evident.
They pull apart a few seconds too late and blush as they glance around to make sure no one has noticed. Stevie tugs at Xabi’s hand. “Let’s go.”
*
The car ride is long and boring. Xabi stares out the window and everything seems to be coming back to him. The street names, the grocery store at the end of that street, his house a few blocks down. He feels as if it was all a lifetime ago, as if he is remembering things from some past life that he should’ve forgotten about by now. He glances at the store shops like they’re foreign (and they are, in a way - but not completely), and quietly notes the changes in each of them.
“It’s so cold,” he says.
Stevie snorts a little. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s freezing.”
A laugh. “It’s a wonder you used to live here.”
Xabi smiles. “Good thing I left then, huh?”
They both get quiet at that, and Xabi wonders what the fuck is his problem, why he has to even open his mouth, how he hates to be the one to put that look on Stevie’s face. He stares at him for a while longer until Stevie turns to glance at him. “What?” He laughs softly, but it’s hollow and Xabi knows it’s an attempt to break the unbearable silence.
“Nothing,” Xabi replies. He moves his hand a little, almost reaching out to interlace his fingers with Stevie’s (like how they used to, back when Stevie was still Xabi’s to touch), before he catches himself.
Stevie notices and wishes he hadn’t.
*
“Where is the family?” Xabi asks as they make their way into Stevie’s house.
“Visiting Alex’s mum,” he replies, slowly making his way to where Xabi is taking off his shoes. He places his hands on Xabi’s hips and Xabi stops, stops leaning forward, stops untying his shoes, stops breathing. He straightens himself and when he feels Stevie’s lips on the back of his neck, he closes his eyes.
“Stevie,” he says quietly.
Stevie pays no attention to him, instead turning Xabi around in his arms. “No, fuck you, shut up,” he replies, and Xabi laughs a little. “You owe me, you left.” His voice is quiet but firm.
Xabi can only nod and lean in to kiss him. After a few moments, the hunger they’ve had hidden for ages sneaks out and they’re clawing at each other to get their clothes off, right there in the middle of the foyer. Stevie pulls away suddenly, his breath coming out in short spurts. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They shuffle up the stairs, making sure that some part of them is touching at all times before they come to a stop outside Stevie’s bedroom door. He hesitates. They used to fuck in there all the time, never paying a care to the fact that it was Alex’s bed that Xabi was being fucked in - a bed that he and Stevie could never really share. But now it’s different and they can both feel it. Stevie looks confused and desperate and tired, so Xabi takes his arm and leads them into the guest bedroom. Stevie laughs a little, embarrassed, and Xabi shushes him with another kiss. It’s only when they’re naked and Xabi can feel Stevie inside him that Xabi remembers why there is always an ache in his chest when he thinks of Liverpool.
*
Stevie idly runs his fingers along Xabi’s arm. Xabi shifts a little and presses a kiss to Stevie’s chest. “God, I missed you,” Stevie mumbles. Xabi hums quietly, either in agreement or because he has no reply, Stevie isn’t sure. After a few moments, Stevie asks, “Do you even remember what it felt like to live here?”
“To be honest - not really. It feels so distant, so far away.” He turns to look at him. “Sometimes I feel like it never happened.”
He’s lying, though, because in reality - he remembers it all. Every kiss and every touch, every pass and every goal. He remembers every song sung and every locker room lecture. He doesn’t tell Stevie however, because how can he? It’ll only sting more.
Stevie smiles a little sadly then, rubbing his nose against the side of Xabi’s head - breathing him in. “I remember everything. Sad, yeah?” Xabi feels the back of his eyes start to sting and he shakes his head hard. Stevie leans in to kiss him and grins wryly. “Another go?”
And although Xabi is still tired from the previous round, the airplane ride, the fact that he hadn’t slept the night before in apprehension for this meeting - he nods.
He’s always been one to follow Stevie’s every wish, every command. He was his captain, after all.
*
“Congratulations, by the way,” Stevie says later that day.
“For what?” Xabi glances at him, already knowing what Stevie is referring to - but for some reason, he wants to hear him say it.
“The World Cup,” Stevie replies simply. No further explanations.
“Thank you,” Xabi says softly. “I should’ve called when you guys-” He stops. Isn’t sure how to say, 'flopped out' without sounding harsh.
Stevie shakes his head with a wave of a hand, all forgiven. “No, I didn’t call you when you won either.”
“You called Fernando,” Xabi lets it slip out despite himself. He winces a little. He’d forgotten how much it hurt that Stevie hadn’t called him as well, but he’d gotten used to Stevie not calling by that point. After a few moments of silence, he adds, “And Pepe.”
Stevie looks embarrassed. “They’re my teammates.”
The innuendo is left there in the air, the ‘you’re not my teammate anymore’.
Xabi looks stung and gets up to get a glass of water.
*
They visit Fernando that night. He’s convinced himself that the way Fernando is smiling at Stevie certainly means something. Every smile Stevie sends in Fernando’s direction sends Xabi into a wave of nausea. He remembers their earlier morning. And after that. And after that again.
Bastard, he thinks, and wonders if Stevie wanted him to come back to Liverpool just so he could fuck him and use him and then break him.
An hour stuck with the both of them and Xabi can’t take it anymore. He turns to them casually. “So are you two fucking or something?”
Stevie glares at Xabi. “What the fuck, Xabi?”
Fernando reddens but the embarrassed look on his face tells it all.
“You’re kidding me,” Xabi says, deadpan. He turns to Stevie. “Are you fucking serious? After this morning…” He lets it hang in the air and Stevie growls angrily as he gets to his feet and storms out the door. Xabi feels a little guilty at how Fernando’s confusion turns to hurt. But Xabi can’t help it, he presses the wound further. “And what about Sergio?” He asks Fernando, hoping to transfer his own guilt to Fernando. He should know better, he thinks. The more he thinks about Sergio, the angrier he gets at the striker in front of him.
Fernando’s face falls and suddenly Xabi’s guilt returns. “Don’t tell him,” he says quietly.
Xabi sighs a little, remembering the warm way Sergio says Fernando’s name, the way his eyes light up at his mention - the way he made sure Xabi knew to give Fernando a tight hug and 3 kisses. “You can’t keep doing this to him.”
Fernando looks away and Xabi stands up to leave. Fernando’s voice is quiet and honest. “I love him too, you know. Do you know how hard it is with him so far away?”
Xabi thinks of Stevie. “Yeah.”
He opens his mouth to say something when he hears a pounding on the front door. And then he hears the shouting from behind the door. “Xabi - you’re here and you didn’t tell me, cabrón?!”
Xabi laughs as he walks with Fernando to the front door. “I knew I should’ve called Pepe.”
*
“I can’t believe you’re fucking him,” Xabi says, a little spitefully.
Stevie exhales. “Get over it. You live in fucking Spain, you have no say in this.”
“The guy he’s in love with is in Spain.”
Stevie turns and gives him a loaded look. His face all but screams, he’s not the only one.
*
“Do you ever think about coming back?” Stevie asks quietly, in the middle of the night. He’s not even sure if Xabi’s awake, but he asks it anyway.
“No. Yes. Sometimes,” Xabi mumbles against his pillow.
“Do you think you ever will?” Stevie’s face is pressed against Xabi’s back. He places a kiss to his shoulder, afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know,” Xabi answers truthfully, his voice stuck in his throat. “I don’t think so.”
Stevie sits up a little to look at him now. “Would you want to, if you could?”
Xabi turns so he’s lying on his back, his side pressed against Stevie’s chest. He glances at Stevie and considers lying. Thinks, it’d be so easy to say no, to keep everything uncovered. “Yes,” he replies, his eyes on Stevie’s.
Stevie nods, leans into Xabi and kisses him meaningfully. “Do you ever think about me coming there?”
Xabi pushes Stevie away from him. “No. You can’t.”
“I know, but I mean-”
“No,” Xabi says again. “If you were any other person, in any other team - I’d tell Mourinho to get you in an instant,” he pauses. “But you’re not. You’re Steven Gerrard, from Liverpool FC. And I’d kill you personally if you ever left.”
Stevie scoffs a little. “If you cared so much about the club, you wouldn’t have left yourself.”
Xabi looks sad. “My circumstances were different. You know that.”
“It’s the same fucking thing, Xabi,” Stevie says and he pulls away from Xabi.
“No, it’s not,” Xabi snaps. “I’m Spanish. I was bound to end up back in Spain at some point, whether it was after I retired or before it.”
After a few moments of silence, Stevie says quietly, “I wish you were English.”
Xabi laughs loudly at that. He pulls Stevie closer to him again. “I wish you were Spanish,” he mumbles against his lips with a grin.
Stevie smirks. “Yeah. Or that.”
*
Xabi has to leave the next day, and Stevie mopes around his house like someone’s died. “Stop that,” Xabi finally says.
Stevie glances at him only fleetingly. “Fuck you.” Xabi rolls his eyes and Stevie glares harder. “No, seriously, fuck you. You don’t know how I feel.”
Xabi suddenly sighs. “Yes, I do, Stevie. I don’t want to leave either.” His voice is soft, tired, broken.
Stevie closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s different when you’re the one leaving. I’m the one stuck here. Left behind. Whatever.”
Xabi places a hand in Stevie’s hair and rubs a little. “It hurts just as much, believe me,” he says with a soft, exhausted laugh.
Stevie places his head in his hands and sits there a few moments. And then: “It doesn’t mean anything, when I fuck him.”
“What?”
“Me and Fernando. It doesn’t mean anything. You’ve got to believe me - us. We’ve both got our respective feelings stored back in Spain.”
Xabi can’t help but smile a little at that. “What does that mean?”
Stevie looks at him wearily. “You know exactly what it means.”
They’ve never said it before. I love you. They’ve never said it. They’ve always alluded to it, but the words have never been spoken. Xabi thinks they don’t have to - the way they look at each other is loaded with enough I love you’s to last a lifetime.
But when Stevie leans in to kiss Xabi, when they’re in his car at the airport, he breathes out something that sounds damn close to the three (previously) unspoken words. Xabi isn't sure though, because as soon as he's said it, Stevie starts to press kisses to Xabi's jaw, throat, neck.
Xabi pulls back and looks at him. He thinks, maybe there is something I would give up Spain for.