red and white
title red and white
rating pg
pairing stevie/xabi
note i don't know where this came from. i don't even know if i like it. but PSG's losing to Grenoble (really? REALLY? this is not happening) and i was feeling angsty so this just kind of happened.
When Xabi leaves, part of Stevie goes with him.
Not physically, of course, although sometimes Stevie wishes it was. He thinks- maybe if Xabi had a reminder of him (his heart, perhaps), he wouldn’t be able to forget. And Stevie knows that if it wasn’t for Liverpool, for bleeding red, for the Kop singing, for you’ll never walk alone- he would’ve followed Xabi in a heartbeat. But Stevie’s heart beats in Liverpool, and Xabi’s no longer does.
It hurts, to see him happy in white, but in one of his philosophical moments, Stevie supposes he’d rather see Xabi happy in white than miserable in red (but he wasn’t miserable, not here, not in red, he couldn’t have been miserable in red).
--
Stevie tells the press he is devastated about losing Xabi, and Xabi tells the press he is happy to be at Madrid.
Stevie doesn’t go home and cry, but he considers it for a moment. Instead, he slumps over his laptop, his eyes hurting from the blue light, and takes a few deep breaths. He sees one option- go to Madrid himself. And if he can’t do that without Liverpool, well then. He’ll do it with Liverpool.
--
Things rarely go according to plan, Stevie learns, and going to Madrid- doesn’t go according to plan. He does cry this time, a little bit, but he tells himself it’s for his team, for Liverpool, for bleeding red- not for Xabi. Even though he believes (wants to believe) Xabi still bleeds red.
He picks up his phone and stares at Xabi’s number for a while before he can gather the courage to call. As he listens to it ring, his heart leaps into his throat and he opens and closes his fist, telling himself just a man, he’s just a man, just a footballer, he doesn’t matter, he’s not Xabi anymore, except that he knows he’s wrong.
“Do you remember Istanbul?”
“Of course I remember Istanbul, Steven.”
“Will you ever forget?” Will you ever forget me is what Stevie really means, but-
“No, of course not,” Xabi answers, and his voice is a little quieter, a little less strained, and Stevie thinks maybe Xabi knew, anyway.
--
When Xabi left, he left a hole.
In Stevie, in Liverpool. Stevie doesn’t know how to differentiate anymore, between himself and Liverpool. Hasn’t for a long time (hasn’t since Xabi left, because when Xabi was here, Stevie had a reason to get up every day, a reason that wasn’t football).
--
”D’you ever think about going back to Spain?” Stevie asks, lacing up his boots, eyes deliberately down.
Xabi doesn’t answer right away and Stevie’s heart sinks.
--
He should’ve known- known that not everyone bleeds red like he does. He should’ve known that maybe there were more important things to Xabi- except that it’s hard for Stevie to think of anything more important than this, than you’ll never walk alone. Stevie will never make that mistake again- to assume his own loyalties upon another man. (But he wasn’t just another man, he was Xabi.)
--
”Sometimes I do,” Xabi says later, quietly, as they leave the pitch.
“Why?” Stevie can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine ever wanting to leave this.
“My family,” Xabi replies. Stevie looks down, doesn’t want to see the look in Xabi’s eyes when he says it. Wants to pretend it’s a far off possibility. “But that doesn’t mean- Stevie, that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.”
--
“Do you remember Istanbul?” Xabi asks when Madrid is eliminated from the Champions League. Stevie sighs.
“I’ll never forget Istanbul,” he says fiercely, even though he doesn’t need to prove anything to Xabi. He doesn’t know if he’s speaking double entendres or not, just that it’s true.
“Sometimes I think I’ll never get there again,” Xabi whispers into the phone, and his voice sounds so broken that Stevie just wants to-
Be his captain again. Tell him to put his chin up, there’s always next year, yeah, it hurts, but we’re Liverpool, we’ll get back there, of course we will.
“You never will,” he says, instead. “We got there because we were Liverpool and you made the choice, Xabi, it’s your own fault that you aren’t Liverpool anymore.”
They both know he’s lying.
--
“I’ll always be Liverpool,” Xabi says. Stevie fiddles with his armband.
“I know.”
--
When Xabi left, Stevie felt like he was missing part of himself.
Not just on the pitch, but at home, walking through Liverpool, everywhere. Not having Xabi there was like not having his right hand, Stevie thought at first. Later, he learned that he was wrong- not having Xabi there was like not having a backbone.
Until he grew his own.
Stevie doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget Xabi (isn’t sure if he wants to). He doesn’t even think it’s better this way (knows it isn’t). But it doesn’t matter anymore (even though Xabi still matters, always will matter).
They both bleed red- the only difference is that Xabi wears white now, and tries to hide how he bleeds.
To everyone except Stevie, and that’s- enough.
rating pg
pairing stevie/xabi
note i don't know where this came from. i don't even know if i like it. but PSG's losing to Grenoble (really? REALLY? this is not happening) and i was feeling angsty so this just kind of happened.
When Xabi leaves, part of Stevie goes with him.
Not physically, of course, although sometimes Stevie wishes it was. He thinks- maybe if Xabi had a reminder of him (his heart, perhaps), he wouldn’t be able to forget. And Stevie knows that if it wasn’t for Liverpool, for bleeding red, for the Kop singing, for you’ll never walk alone- he would’ve followed Xabi in a heartbeat. But Stevie’s heart beats in Liverpool, and Xabi’s no longer does.
It hurts, to see him happy in white, but in one of his philosophical moments, Stevie supposes he’d rather see Xabi happy in white than miserable in red (but he wasn’t miserable, not here, not in red, he couldn’t have been miserable in red).
--
Stevie tells the press he is devastated about losing Xabi, and Xabi tells the press he is happy to be at Madrid.
Stevie doesn’t go home and cry, but he considers it for a moment. Instead, he slumps over his laptop, his eyes hurting from the blue light, and takes a few deep breaths. He sees one option- go to Madrid himself. And if he can’t do that without Liverpool, well then. He’ll do it with Liverpool.
--
Things rarely go according to plan, Stevie learns, and going to Madrid- doesn’t go according to plan. He does cry this time, a little bit, but he tells himself it’s for his team, for Liverpool, for bleeding red- not for Xabi. Even though he believes (wants to believe) Xabi still bleeds red.
He picks up his phone and stares at Xabi’s number for a while before he can gather the courage to call. As he listens to it ring, his heart leaps into his throat and he opens and closes his fist, telling himself just a man, he’s just a man, just a footballer, he doesn’t matter, he’s not Xabi anymore, except that he knows he’s wrong.
“Do you remember Istanbul?”
“Of course I remember Istanbul, Steven.”
“Will you ever forget?” Will you ever forget me is what Stevie really means, but-
“No, of course not,” Xabi answers, and his voice is a little quieter, a little less strained, and Stevie thinks maybe Xabi knew, anyway.
--
When Xabi left, he left a hole.
In Stevie, in Liverpool. Stevie doesn’t know how to differentiate anymore, between himself and Liverpool. Hasn’t for a long time (hasn’t since Xabi left, because when Xabi was here, Stevie had a reason to get up every day, a reason that wasn’t football).
--
”D’you ever think about going back to Spain?” Stevie asks, lacing up his boots, eyes deliberately down.
Xabi doesn’t answer right away and Stevie’s heart sinks.
--
He should’ve known- known that not everyone bleeds red like he does. He should’ve known that maybe there were more important things to Xabi- except that it’s hard for Stevie to think of anything more important than this, than you’ll never walk alone. Stevie will never make that mistake again- to assume his own loyalties upon another man. (But he wasn’t just another man, he was Xabi.)
--
”Sometimes I do,” Xabi says later, quietly, as they leave the pitch.
“Why?” Stevie can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine ever wanting to leave this.
“My family,” Xabi replies. Stevie looks down, doesn’t want to see the look in Xabi’s eyes when he says it. Wants to pretend it’s a far off possibility. “But that doesn’t mean- Stevie, that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.”
--
“Do you remember Istanbul?” Xabi asks when Madrid is eliminated from the Champions League. Stevie sighs.
“I’ll never forget Istanbul,” he says fiercely, even though he doesn’t need to prove anything to Xabi. He doesn’t know if he’s speaking double entendres or not, just that it’s true.
“Sometimes I think I’ll never get there again,” Xabi whispers into the phone, and his voice sounds so broken that Stevie just wants to-
Be his captain again. Tell him to put his chin up, there’s always next year, yeah, it hurts, but we’re Liverpool, we’ll get back there, of course we will.
“You never will,” he says, instead. “We got there because we were Liverpool and you made the choice, Xabi, it’s your own fault that you aren’t Liverpool anymore.”
They both know he’s lying.
--
“I’ll always be Liverpool,” Xabi says. Stevie fiddles with his armband.
“I know.”
--
When Xabi left, Stevie felt like he was missing part of himself.
Not just on the pitch, but at home, walking through Liverpool, everywhere. Not having Xabi there was like not having his right hand, Stevie thought at first. Later, he learned that he was wrong- not having Xabi there was like not having a backbone.
Until he grew his own.
Stevie doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget Xabi (isn’t sure if he wants to). He doesn’t even think it’s better this way (knows it isn’t). But it doesn’t matter anymore (even though Xabi still matters, always will matter).
They both bleed red- the only difference is that Xabi wears white now, and tries to hide how he bleeds.
To everyone except Stevie, and that’s- enough.