76, Andriy Shevchenko/Kakà, PG.
For the loveliest and one year older, pippopippo. A(nother) birthday gift. ♥
76 for someone else.
76
Ricky watches Andriy change. Andriy is routine. Bottom to top, the only exception is his boots. Those are last. The shin guards, the socks, the shorts, the shirt, the jacket. Andriy looks up and catches Ricky's eyes. Ricky smiles and Andriy's lips quirk up.
The boots go on: left foot first. He stands up and stretches and then he really smiles at Ricky. Wordlessly, Ricky wishes him good luck. Andriy is the last one to the leave the room.
Ricky lines up and smiles at the cameras. His eyes skim both benches. He's caught off guard when he sees Andriy.
Well, okay, he says to himself. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed, he whispers.
Ricky forgets everything except the grass and the game. At some minute, eventually, Andriy gets up. Ricky watches with caring curiosity. Only he can see the nervousness Andriy feels.
Andriy peels off his jacket, walks to the official. 76 for someone else.
76.
Ricky makes a run and looks for Andriy. Shevchenko. 76. And that's when it hits him. His chest contracts, his stomach lurches, his eyes freeze.
Not now, he yells at his body. Later.
Ricky is tired when the final whistle is blown. He is closest to the change rooms: he goes in first. He chucks off his boots, peels his socks, rips his shirt. He sits quietly, still, with his eyes closed. He feels Andriy come in. Ricky's eyes slowly open.
And there. He sees it properly. Shevchenko. 76. He tries but fails: he's washed over with grief.
Ricky pants seventy-six? brokenly into Andriy's neck. Andriy answers by tearing Ricky's shirt off.
I don'-Andriy grabs Ricky's crotch.
I can't gras-Andriy kisses him.
Ho-Andriy hangs his head down. He whispers, "I'm here Ricky. I'm home."
76 for someone else.
76
Ricky watches Andriy change. Andriy is routine. Bottom to top, the only exception is his boots. Those are last. The shin guards, the socks, the shorts, the shirt, the jacket. Andriy looks up and catches Ricky's eyes. Ricky smiles and Andriy's lips quirk up.
The boots go on: left foot first. He stands up and stretches and then he really smiles at Ricky. Wordlessly, Ricky wishes him good luck. Andriy is the last one to the leave the room.
Ricky lines up and smiles at the cameras. His eyes skim both benches. He's caught off guard when he sees Andriy.
Well, okay, he says to himself. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed, he whispers.
Ricky forgets everything except the grass and the game. At some minute, eventually, Andriy gets up. Ricky watches with caring curiosity. Only he can see the nervousness Andriy feels.
Andriy peels off his jacket, walks to the official. 76 for someone else.
76.
Ricky makes a run and looks for Andriy. Shevchenko. 76. And that's when it hits him. His chest contracts, his stomach lurches, his eyes freeze.
Not now, he yells at his body. Later.
Ricky is tired when the final whistle is blown. He is closest to the change rooms: he goes in first. He chucks off his boots, peels his socks, rips his shirt. He sits quietly, still, with his eyes closed. He feels Andriy come in. Ricky's eyes slowly open.
And there. He sees it properly. Shevchenko. 76. He tries but fails: he's washed over with grief.
Ricky pants seventy-six? brokenly into Andriy's neck. Andriy answers by tearing Ricky's shirt off.
I don'-Andriy grabs Ricky's crotch.
I can't gras-Andriy kisses him.
Ho-Andriy hangs his head down. He whispers, "I'm here Ricky. I'm home."