normal
title normal
pairings sergio ramos/fernando torres, implied sergio ramos/iker casillas
word count 677
rating pg
summary a phone call after the madrid derby
“Good game.”
Sergio laughed into the phone. It was so like Fernando to call him on the day of the derby, just like he had back when. Back when he was playing in the derby. Sergio didn’t know whether he should be relieved or saddened that the thought brought only a small lump to his throat. Not like when Fernando had just left, and thinking about the derby, or Atleti, or blondhairandfreckles made him choke up.
“Thanks,” he said, stretching his legs out and toeing off his shoes. He was still wearing his suit, having showered at the stadium. He reached up with one hand and loosened his tie.
“I thought we had you there, going into halftime,” Fernando said, his voice teasingly rueful, and Sergio could picture him sitting on his sofa in England, or perhaps perched on the kitchen counter eating leftover paella, wearing one of his old Atleti jerseys. His hair would be ruffled, Sergio knew, because he always ran his hands through it, up and down his skull, when he was nervous. Sergio’s fingers twitched to think about being twisted in that hair, back when it was in a mohawk, and then when it was longer and the roots were hideous, twisting in the blond strands and relishing the whimpers it drew out of Fernando.
“What, you thought we’d let go of ten years of success that easily?” Sergio teased, pulling his tie the rest of the way off. “Yeah right. Besides, Kun’s good, but he’s not you. And, you know. Iker’s Iker. You do the math.”
“What are you doing tonight?” The abrupt change of subject made Sergio think for a moment that he’d gone too far, stepped over an invisible boundary, but Fernando’s voice held no anger in it.
“Dunno, why?”
“It’s just weird to think of derby days, you know?”
Sergio twisted a strand of his own still-damp hair around his fingers and nodded into the phone. “It’s weird to have them, now. I get it.”
“I watch them on TV and feel like I’m a little boy, you know? Olalla makes fun of me,” Fernando paused to chuckle lightly, and Sergio stopped feeling bad for bring up Iker. “I put on my jersey and won’t let her change the channel during halftime and it’s good, you know? But it’s also- I miss it. I miss playing that hard even if it was all for nothing, and I miss hearing the fans in the Calderon and damn, even the chanting in the Bernabeu!” Sergio remained silent when Fernando stopped to breathe. “And I miss seeing you after, going out and pretending like we didn’t play football at all, like we were just-“
“Normal,” Sergio finished for him, and the lump in his throat was a whole lot bigger now. “Like we were just two guys who watched the derby and had a friendly rivalry and it didn’t matter if I got carded for making a nasty tackle on you because after we’d just go out and forget about it anyway.”
“We’d forget about everything,” Fernando said, and Sergio could almost feel the heavy breath he let out.
“I guess that’s why I don’t really do anything after, anymore,” Sergio mumbled after a moment, his chest feeling tight at the admission. “I just go home and take off my suit and pretend it’s still like that, like I’m waiting for you to call and say where to meet instead of just staying in by myself and watching shitty Bundesliga highlights on TV. I don’t know, it just feels like it’s real, sometimes, right? That maybe I really am going to go home and you’ll call and tell me to meet you at a bar and I’ll drive down and it’ll all be-“
“Normal,” Fernando finished for him, and Sergio hummed his agreement, quietly, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “Maybe- maybe someday, again- we can just be normal again.”
“Yeah,” Sergio breathed, and his chest constricted painfully at the broken plea in Fernando’s breath. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
pairings sergio ramos/fernando torres, implied sergio ramos/iker casillas
word count 677
rating pg
summary a phone call after the madrid derby
“Good game.”
Sergio laughed into the phone. It was so like Fernando to call him on the day of the derby, just like he had back when. Back when he was playing in the derby. Sergio didn’t know whether he should be relieved or saddened that the thought brought only a small lump to his throat. Not like when Fernando had just left, and thinking about the derby, or Atleti, or blondhairandfreckles made him choke up.
“Thanks,” he said, stretching his legs out and toeing off his shoes. He was still wearing his suit, having showered at the stadium. He reached up with one hand and loosened his tie.
“I thought we had you there, going into halftime,” Fernando said, his voice teasingly rueful, and Sergio could picture him sitting on his sofa in England, or perhaps perched on the kitchen counter eating leftover paella, wearing one of his old Atleti jerseys. His hair would be ruffled, Sergio knew, because he always ran his hands through it, up and down his skull, when he was nervous. Sergio’s fingers twitched to think about being twisted in that hair, back when it was in a mohawk, and then when it was longer and the roots were hideous, twisting in the blond strands and relishing the whimpers it drew out of Fernando.
“What, you thought we’d let go of ten years of success that easily?” Sergio teased, pulling his tie the rest of the way off. “Yeah right. Besides, Kun’s good, but he’s not you. And, you know. Iker’s Iker. You do the math.”
“What are you doing tonight?” The abrupt change of subject made Sergio think for a moment that he’d gone too far, stepped over an invisible boundary, but Fernando’s voice held no anger in it.
“Dunno, why?”
“It’s just weird to think of derby days, you know?”
Sergio twisted a strand of his own still-damp hair around his fingers and nodded into the phone. “It’s weird to have them, now. I get it.”
“I watch them on TV and feel like I’m a little boy, you know? Olalla makes fun of me,” Fernando paused to chuckle lightly, and Sergio stopped feeling bad for bring up Iker. “I put on my jersey and won’t let her change the channel during halftime and it’s good, you know? But it’s also- I miss it. I miss playing that hard even if it was all for nothing, and I miss hearing the fans in the Calderon and damn, even the chanting in the Bernabeu!” Sergio remained silent when Fernando stopped to breathe. “And I miss seeing you after, going out and pretending like we didn’t play football at all, like we were just-“
“Normal,” Sergio finished for him, and the lump in his throat was a whole lot bigger now. “Like we were just two guys who watched the derby and had a friendly rivalry and it didn’t matter if I got carded for making a nasty tackle on you because after we’d just go out and forget about it anyway.”
“We’d forget about everything,” Fernando said, and Sergio could almost feel the heavy breath he let out.
“I guess that’s why I don’t really do anything after, anymore,” Sergio mumbled after a moment, his chest feeling tight at the admission. “I just go home and take off my suit and pretend it’s still like that, like I’m waiting for you to call and say where to meet instead of just staying in by myself and watching shitty Bundesliga highlights on TV. I don’t know, it just feels like it’s real, sometimes, right? That maybe I really am going to go home and you’ll call and tell me to meet you at a bar and I’ll drive down and it’ll all be-“
“Normal,” Fernando finished for him, and Sergio hummed his agreement, quietly, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “Maybe- maybe someday, again- we can just be normal again.”
“Yeah,” Sergio breathed, and his chest constricted painfully at the broken plea in Fernando’s breath. “Yeah, I’d like that.”