limbo
title limbo
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres (one day maybe i'll write some other pairing...)
rating g-ish.
disclaimer i lie.
summary sergio is in limbo.
notes so i feel like i could write a continuation of this, but i'm not sure. thoughts?
On Sunday, Sergio goes to church.
His heart swells, as it always does, to see the arch of the church, so high above him, as he walks in and goes down on his knee, to know that he is a part of something so much more, although more than what, he isn’t sure. He takes his place in the pew and sits, the bench uncomfortable but familiar, and he doesn’t mind that it forces him to sit up straight.
He lets the music wash over him in waves, and it is glorious, so many voices rising and falling perfectly together, and it reminds him a little bit of the Bernabeu. Except at the Bernabeu, they are praising Los Blancos, and here they are paying tribute to God, and while he knows it’s something akin to sacrilege or blasphemy to compare the two, he can’t help but do so. He knows the power of all those voices coming together.
The tone here is solemn, though, and he lowers his head, neck arched gracefully, to bend over his rosary beads and his lips move in silent prayer. His fingers skate along the cross and he shivers, from the music and because he always feels the same in a church, no matter where it is. He feels like he is home and away at the same time, uncomfortable and at ease all at once.
Sergio prays for his team, of course, both Real Madrid and La Seleccion. He prays for his parents, his siblings, takes a selfish moment and prays for himself. He also prays for love.
--
Practice is enough to exhaust Sergio, but only because he makes it so. He drives himself, pushes just hard enough to stop himself from going crazy, tries to wear himself out until he only has energy enough to get himself home and into bed, too tired to dream. Every step he runs, the lighter his heart feels, and sometimes he thinks that if he could only just keep running, everything would turn itself around and he wouldn’t have to keep running anymore. Every step he walks, the heavier his heart gets, and he just wants to sleep, put his head down and let the heaviness overtake him.
Iker doesn’t let him.
At first, Sergio wasn’t sure if Iker was being so insistent about Sergio going out with the team, and making sure he got home alright, and occasionally forcing him to go out to dinner, because he was a captain or because he was just generally a nice guy. And then, slowly, because Sergio has always been a little fuzzy on these things, Sergio realizes that Iker knows exactly how he feels. Well, maybe not exactly, because Iker had actually been in a relationship with David before he left. After he realizes this, Sergio is a little more accommodating to Iker’s plans, figuring the two of them might be able to heal each other. And if not, it seemed like hurting together was better than hurting alone.
Becoming friends with Iker, friends beyond the pitch, was a little unexpected, mostly because Sergio had always been the more exuberant, the more carefree with his love, and Iker’s reserve was startling to him, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
--
Summer had always been Sergio’s favorite, but not because of the break in seasons, and not entirely because of international duty.
Sergio had always loved the sun more than anything. Walking outside in South Africa, though, was not summer. It was not summer here. It struck Sergio as deeply ironic that he had to spend his favorite time of the year somewhere it was winter. It also struck him as ironic that he had to see the man that made him feel as if his heart was in limbo, halfway between summer and winter (fall, perhaps), dead and alive all at once, during this interim summer, this winter in June.
The sun was a little waterier here, and it made Sergio feel unstable, as if anything could happen. He felt like watercolors, instead of oil paints, more fluid, less permanent. Washable, usable. Expendable. Transparent. He took greatest care to arrange his face before leaving the room he shared with Iker, not wanting to broadcast what he was feeling, even though no mask in the world could hide it. Iker knew, anyway.
Sergio only hoped Fernando didn’t.
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres (one day maybe i'll write some other pairing...)
rating g-ish.
disclaimer i lie.
summary sergio is in limbo.
notes so i feel like i could write a continuation of this, but i'm not sure. thoughts?
On Sunday, Sergio goes to church.
His heart swells, as it always does, to see the arch of the church, so high above him, as he walks in and goes down on his knee, to know that he is a part of something so much more, although more than what, he isn’t sure. He takes his place in the pew and sits, the bench uncomfortable but familiar, and he doesn’t mind that it forces him to sit up straight.
He lets the music wash over him in waves, and it is glorious, so many voices rising and falling perfectly together, and it reminds him a little bit of the Bernabeu. Except at the Bernabeu, they are praising Los Blancos, and here they are paying tribute to God, and while he knows it’s something akin to sacrilege or blasphemy to compare the two, he can’t help but do so. He knows the power of all those voices coming together.
The tone here is solemn, though, and he lowers his head, neck arched gracefully, to bend over his rosary beads and his lips move in silent prayer. His fingers skate along the cross and he shivers, from the music and because he always feels the same in a church, no matter where it is. He feels like he is home and away at the same time, uncomfortable and at ease all at once.
Sergio prays for his team, of course, both Real Madrid and La Seleccion. He prays for his parents, his siblings, takes a selfish moment and prays for himself. He also prays for love.
--
Practice is enough to exhaust Sergio, but only because he makes it so. He drives himself, pushes just hard enough to stop himself from going crazy, tries to wear himself out until he only has energy enough to get himself home and into bed, too tired to dream. Every step he runs, the lighter his heart feels, and sometimes he thinks that if he could only just keep running, everything would turn itself around and he wouldn’t have to keep running anymore. Every step he walks, the heavier his heart gets, and he just wants to sleep, put his head down and let the heaviness overtake him.
Iker doesn’t let him.
At first, Sergio wasn’t sure if Iker was being so insistent about Sergio going out with the team, and making sure he got home alright, and occasionally forcing him to go out to dinner, because he was a captain or because he was just generally a nice guy. And then, slowly, because Sergio has always been a little fuzzy on these things, Sergio realizes that Iker knows exactly how he feels. Well, maybe not exactly, because Iker had actually been in a relationship with David before he left. After he realizes this, Sergio is a little more accommodating to Iker’s plans, figuring the two of them might be able to heal each other. And if not, it seemed like hurting together was better than hurting alone.
Becoming friends with Iker, friends beyond the pitch, was a little unexpected, mostly because Sergio had always been the more exuberant, the more carefree with his love, and Iker’s reserve was startling to him, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
--
Summer had always been Sergio’s favorite, but not because of the break in seasons, and not entirely because of international duty.
Sergio had always loved the sun more than anything. Walking outside in South Africa, though, was not summer. It was not summer here. It struck Sergio as deeply ironic that he had to spend his favorite time of the year somewhere it was winter. It also struck him as ironic that he had to see the man that made him feel as if his heart was in limbo, halfway between summer and winter (fall, perhaps), dead and alive all at once, during this interim summer, this winter in June.
The sun was a little waterier here, and it made Sergio feel unstable, as if anything could happen. He felt like watercolors, instead of oil paints, more fluid, less permanent. Washable, usable. Expendable. Transparent. He took greatest care to arrange his face before leaving the room he shared with Iker, not wanting to broadcast what he was feeling, even though no mask in the world could hide it. Iker knew, anyway.
Sergio only hoped Fernando didn’t.