FIC: I Know We're Cool (Cris/Fábio, past Cris/Kaká)
Title: I Know We're Cool
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Fabio Coentrao, past Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaka
Word Count: 2600 words
Rating: G
Summary: "It didn’t bother him, he noticed. Cristiano was moving on right in front of his eyes and Kaká couldn’t feel anything more than happiness for him."
Notes: Written for THIS prompt on the kinkmeme. Title from Gwen Stefani's Cool.
It was a gradual thing really, when CrisandKaká ended and CrisandFábio began.
When they met in that whirlwind summer of 2009 there was an instant connection between Cristiano and Kaká born out of mutual respect and a common language. They fell into it like it was easy, and Cristiano stood by him through everything. He’d wheedled his way into Kaká’s life and Kaká welcomed him with open arms.
And it wasn’t that they fought, or that they fell out of love. It didn’t really feel like there was anything missing in their relationship, at least not to Kaká, who would be pretty content with the little things, even just holding onto Cris while he slept. The problem became clear later, in hindsight. They were in two different places in their life, their careers, and they needed completely different things out of the relationship. One day, it just became obvious that whatever they had, it wasn’t going to work out.
+
It took them a while to get to that point, and just because the break up wasn’t bitter doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt them just the same. The day that Cristiano showed up to Kaká’s house with a little box full of Kaká’s things, Kaká couldn’t do more than just laugh, brittle and shaky, in Cris’s face as he let him in. Either you laugh or you cry.
“So, we’re really doing this, huh?” Kaká had asked. Cris looked awkward in the Brazilian’s kitchen, and that’s what really broke Kaká’s heart. The sight of Cris so uncomfortable in the space that they had shared, that had pretty much become Cris’s second home.
Cris sighed, lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I just thought you might like to have some of this back.”
Kaká took the box from him and set it on the counter, poking around to see it’s contents. Some T-shirts, a few books, a devotional (hey, he’d been looking for that one!), some knick-knacks, an mp3 player (he’d completely forgot he owned that) a toothbrush, and a wristwatch. Kaká felt a pang as he picked up the watch. It was steel and white gold, with a dark face, both hands encrusted in small diamonds. It was entirely too gaudy for Kaká; he’d gotten it for Cris for their anniversary a few months ago. He looked up at the Portuguese.
“I don’t have the box anymore,” Cris said, tersely, “but I’m pretty sure they keep the receipt on file if you want to return it.”
Kaká shook his head. “No. I don’t want it back.” Cris looked up, surprised. “I got that for you. It’s yours. Keep it.”
“But- If I wear it...” Cris sputtered, “Won’t it be too … you know?”
Kaká knew. “Don’t worry about that, Cris. This is yours, I want you to keep it. Here, give me your hand.” He reaches out for Cris’s wrist and Cris just gives him his arm with a surprised little laugh. “Besides, it’s a little bit more your style than mine.”
Cris chuckles as he helps fasten the clasp. “I was sort of wanting to keep it. I have two jackets that match perfectly. And a belt.”
Kaká shook his head fondly, cringing at the thought of that possible outfit. He took his things out of the little cardboard box and set them down on the counter, and handed the box back to Cris. The next hour was spent with the two of them combing through Kaká’s house in search of Cris’s stuff, filling the box back up. He was surprised at all the things he had that actually belonged to Cris. They had almost become a part of the scenery, he’d gotten so used to seeing them.
+
It takes a while for it to be “normal” between them. Kaká is actually proud of himself for the first conversation between him and Cris where he could meet Cris’s eyes and smile at the Portuguese. If the guys in the locker room sensed a change in the CrisandKaká dynamic, they didn’t mention anything. On the superficial level, Kaká knew that he and Cris didn’t appear to have changed too much. It was pretty much an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t sacrifice their friendship over this, and took great pains to stay amicable, until it too came easier.
Cris still called him sometimes, too, and invited him over for lunch and to spend time together. He had come back from World Cup different: he had become a father. Every now and then he’d call Kaká and ask him for advice like before, whenever Cris tried to prove to himself that he didn’t need his mom’s help to raise his son. Whereas before Kaká would always be relegated to diaper duty while Cris took over bath time, now Kaká only saw Junior every few weeks or so. He’d really fallen in love with the baby during he and Cris’s time together. Kaká gave Cris all the parenting books he had and some of Luca’s old toys that he’d kept out of nostalgia, and Cris taught Junior the word for “uncle”.
+
And then came Fábio.
Cris had been talking about him for a while before he’d transferred to Madrid during the summer of 2011. The two had met at World Cup, and Cristiano’s conversations had since become peppered with “My friend Fábio Coentrão said” or “Fábio Coentrão watches that too”. He’d told the locker room excitedly that, “Jorge’s working something out for Fábio to come here. You guys are going to love him, he’s really great,” while the defenders glanced at each other in wary skepticism.
When Fábio had arrived Cristiano appointed himself as the man’s official tour guide, real estate agent, and interpreter. He had introduced him to Kaká before Fábio met the rest of the team.
“This is Kaká, one of my best friends,” Cris said, and even though they’d been apart for a few months it still caught Kaká off-guard to hear Cris introduce him as a ‘friend’. “He’s amazing, definitely one of the guys you want in your corner.”
Fábio had laughed and extended a hand and a “well nice to meet you, then” to Kaká. Kaká glanced at Cris as he shook Fábio’s hand. The look on Cris’s face was definitely not ‘dude showing his bro around town’. The way he looked at Fábio was too earnest, and too familiar. It took Kaká a second to realize it was the same look Cristiano used to give him.
“So I’ve been hearing A LOT about you, Fábio…” Kaká began, causing Cris to blush and Fábio to duck his head in shyness.
+
It didn’t bother him, he noticed. Cristiano was moving on right in front of his eyes and Kaká couldn’t feel anything more than happiness for him. The more he’d gotten to know Fábio, the more he realized he was a great guy. Kaká hadn’t found anyone for himself yet, but he knew in his head there was nothing, and no one, stopping him from doing so. It was a good feeling.
He remembers very clearly a conversation he and Cris had in May right after the league ended and before the European internationals left with their countries for the Euro Cup. There was a cookout at Sergio’s, and Cris and Kaká were sitting side by side on rickety white pool chairs by the pool nursing beers and taking in the revelry.
They had been small talking about their kids, but Cris’s eye kept wandering absently toward the pool. Kaká followed his gaze to a blond head. Fábio was trying to swim away from Mesut, who had already dunked him twice, and every now and then the Portuguese would glance up toward the lawn chairs, catch Cristiano’s eye, and quickly look away.
“So… Cris.” Kaká began and he watched Cris tear his eyes from Fábio to look up at him, face half-surprised to be caught not paying attention. “Anything you want to mention to me?”
“Huh?” Cris half-smiled, eyebrow raised.
“Anything at all.”
“Uh…”
“Ok, how about, how long have you and Fábio been sleeping together?” he asked in a deadpan. Cris’s face turned three different shades of red and he frantically slapped a hand over Kaká’s mouth.
“WHY DON’T YOU SAY IT LOUDER?! I don’t think they heard you ALL THE WAY IN FUCKING BRAZIL!” Cris yells, and vaguely he can hear Marcelo shout in the background “Hey, what about Brazil?!”
Kaká peeled Cris’s hand off his face. “So is this is a conversation that’s going to need liquor? Because I can get some.” Cristiano shook his head stiffly and Kaká waited.
“It’s only been once. DON’T laugh. We’re taking it very slow.” Kaká nodded his approval, lips sealed. “We just had the ‘what are we?’ talk last week,” Cris adds, a bit sheepishly.
“Wow, so this is brand new, huh?” Kaká was pretty surprised. He knew Cris had liked Fábio since before the man had even joined the team, and was pretty sure Fábio felt the same way. Not to pass judgments on Cristiano’s character, but in these situations, the Portuguese was usually a man of action, so to speak. He and Cris certainly hadn’t taken things slowly.
“It’s just, I don’t know. It just feels different with him this time.” Different than it felt with you, Kaká read between the lines. “I don’t want to scare him away or anything. And, I guess I’m doing it for myself too. The waiting. Not waiting has bitten me in the ass in the past, and I don’t want to regret anything.” For a split second Kaká wondered if Cris just meant all of his salacious one-night stands, or if he was included in that statement as well. But the thought passed as quickly as it came.
“That’s a smart thing to do, Cris. I’m… I’m proud of you, you know?” Kaká says like he’s just now realizing it, “You’ve grown up.”
“Hey, don’t get emotional on me now!” Cris laughs, but Kaká can see in his eyes that he’s grateful.
“I’m not kidding, Cris, I’m happy for you. I really am.” Cris’s face sobers.
“Thanks, Ricardo,” Cris says, and swallows thickly. “That does mean a lot.”
Kaká smiled and turned back to the pool. Fábio was nowhere to be found, and Mesut had that look on his face that screamed mischief. Kaká only hoped all that smoking hadn’t damaged Fábio’s lungs, because it seemed like he was going to need all of his lung capacity to make it through this party alive. Mesut twitched and suddenly Fábio sprung up out of the water in front of him, a mess of flailing limbs and splashing water all over the place. He gulped in air desperately as he tried to get away from the cackling German.
“Is this weird?” Cristiano suddenly spoke up.
“No, I’m pretty sure this is their normal behavior,” Kaká replied.
“No, I mean you and me here. The conversation we just had about me and Fábio,” Cristiano muttered the last few words.
“Do you think it’s weird?” Kaká chuckled. “We’re just two guys gossiping around like girls. Not weird at all.”
“So, you’re ok with this?”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s ok, I told you I was happy for you.”
“Huh,” Cristiano rubbed at his chin like he was just now getting it. “So it’s cool, right?”
“Come on. You know it is.”
Cris looked down with a little smile. “I think I’ll go for a swim now.”
Kaká smiled back, squinting against the sun, “He needs a little backup, it looks like.”
+
They can hear the fans, behind barricades and holding up signs and cameras, from inside the airport. There are flashes going off before they even step through the double glass doors. Cristiano stands out like a sore thumb from everyone else, his bright blue baseball hat worn backwards screaming both ‘look at me’ and ‘I didn’t have time to gel my hair this morning’. He and Kaká sat together during the flight to Galicia on their way to La Coruña, and whenever Cris was distracted Kaká would grab the bill of the hat and try to turn it forward.
It’s been almost a year since the Euros. Cris and Fábio came back from National Team as CrisandFábio, Cris answering the Brazilian’s questioning eyebrow with a wink of “yes, it happened”. At first it was like a little punch to the gut, seeing them together for the first time, but like with a lot of things, Kaká was used to it now. After all, what’s the point? He doesn’t get to hold Cristiano like that, Cristiano is not going to kiss him like that anymore. He’s not mine, Kaká had reminded himself then, he’s Fábio’s and I’m happy for him.
Cristiano had been texting Fábio the whole flight on the plane’s Wi-Fi. He was trying to make it seem like he wasn’t, like he had Very Important WhatsApp Messages from Jorge to attend to immediately, but Kaká wasn’t an idiot. Every time Cris hit send, he could hear a phone vibrate on a nearby tray top and a tussled, blonde Portuguese head a few rows back would duck down to read a message on his screen.
“You know, he’s literally two rows behind you,” Kaká told Cris, bemused. “I’m not going to get offended or anything if you just want to go over and talk to him.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Pepe and Fábio having what appeared to be a conversation identical to theirs.
“What do you mean? Jorge’s in England.” Cris stubbornly replied. “But forget that. Play me some of that Genecide again?”
“You mean Genesis? My gospel music?” Kaká laughed in disbelief.
“Well, um yeah,” Cris sputtered, “I liked that one song, the one with the “Hallelujah”, you know?”
Kaká was left speechless, which he now assumes was Cristiano’s goal, but he played the man some Genesis anyway. Cris’s phone vibrated twice, but Cristiano pointedly did not answer.
Their bus is parked out in front, their overnight bags already stowed away. The team makes its way slowly to the automatic glass doors and the excited screams ratchet up louder as the first few players emerge. Cris is bent over tying his shoelaces and Kaká is sort of hovering around, waiting, and he sees Fábio come up behind Cris. The blond gives Kaká a wink and makes a “shh” gesture at him. As soon as Cris straightens up, Fábio leans in, and whispers something, low and quick, in his ear. Cris flushes red, all the way down to his chest. (Not that Kaká can see his chest with the training jacket on, but he knows. He remembers.) Fábio walks away purposefully, giving Cris a last lingering look.
Cris gulps.
They shoulder their backpacks and head out together, following the last of the team. Luka gives them a quiet “hey!” and they nod back at him, but Cris is obviously distracted. The Portuguese finds that blond head up by the bus door. He glances at Kaká, then back at Fábio.
“Just go,” Kaká laughs, nudging him forward with an elbow to the ribs.
Cris smirks and then tries to school his face into a less lascivious expression. He bounds off, passing teammates and fans to reach the bus and catch Fábio before he climbs up the steps. Cris grabs Fábio’s arm roughly, a smile playing on his lips, and leans in to say something to Fábio before they both disappear inside the bus.
Kaká shakes his head in amusement as he ambles toward the back entrance of the bus. He catches up with Pepe and they trade commiserating looks that simultaneously say “Those two again?” and “Yeah, we better not be rooming with them tonight.”
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