(no subject)
TITLE: Hide Behind Your Eyes - Chapter One
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It hurts all the time when you don’t answer my calls and don’t have the time to remember how it was.
FANDOM: Spanish Football (Ramos/Torres)
STATUS: In Progress (1/?)
PROMPT: #074 (Dark)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
AUTHORS NOTE: I don’t know what it is about Sernando that makes me want to write angst. I think that when it comes to them it is the struggle that makes it fun. Or perhaps it’s because the struggle is the reality. Anyways, this story turned out a lot longer than I originally intended, so I'm posting as a multi-chapter, enjoy.
*~*
03:28
Fernando stared at the illuminated neon green numbers, not moving an inch as they ticked over from 03:28 to 03:29 and then subsequently 3:30.
Fernando was not an insomniac. Lack of sleep was not something he was familiar with. All his life he had been one of those blessed people who could fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was something he had just learnt to do after spending so much of his life running actively from one place to the next. He could fall asleep absolutely anywhere - on the bus in-between the airport and the hotel, on the plane whilst his iPod blared in his ears or on the couch in the middle of a boring movie. Sleep had always come so easily...
Until now.
Rolling onto his back, Fernando stared up at the ceiling. It was gently illuminated by the glow of his alarm clock and blemished by the shadows that the two light globes threw across the room. Further ruining the soft illumination was the random ribbon of light that drifted across the walls from the gap in his curtains.
These were things Fernando had never noticed before, or perhaps he had noticed them but never gave them a second thought. Right now he found them impossibly annoying and before he could even consider what he was doing he was out of bed, yanking the curtains closed, unscrewing the light globes from their fixtures and jerking his alarm clock from the wall.
It was only standing in the middle of his pitch black room holding two light bulbs and the power cord of his alarm that Fernando closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “This is fucking ridiculous.”
Groping around in the dark he plugged his alarm clock back into the wall and stared at the now blinking numbers.
12:00, 12:00, 12:00, 12:00
It would have to be reset. Fernando couldn’t be bothered with something as technical as that. Not in the wee hours of the morning when he hadn’t slept in days and had to be on the plane in less than four hours.
Four hours. Fernando ran a hand through his hair and flopped down on the edge of his bed. The worst thing was that he felt like hell. His body was utterly exhausted and so worn down he felt like he was going to be sick. But no matter how hard he trained or how far he ran, he could not get the sleep his body so desperately desired. It was easy to ignore the reasons for his insomnia at first; easy to blame it on the excitement of a match or the stress of the season. But Fernando knew that those reasons were crap, there was only one reason why he couldn’t sleep and that was because the hours were steadily ticking down to the moment he would see Sergio again.
It had been months since they had spoken. Months and months and months. It had been easy at first - easy to ignore the calls and erase the texts that pelted themselves at him from all directions, it had been harder to ignore the eventual silence. Harder still had been the final text that Sergio had sent through to him. It had contained one single word:
Fine.
It may have only been one word, four measly letters on a screen. But the sentiment spoke magnitudes. Fernando could almost hear Sergio spitting out the word, although in his mind it was always accompanied by an equally annoyed whatever and go to hell!
Stupid.
He had been an idiot to think that it would work. It didn’t matter that they were in different countries playing for different clubs; they would always be reunited under the flag of the national team. Their paths would always cross eventually; it was just the way things were.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
*~*
Part two coming soon!
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It hurts all the time when you don’t answer my calls and don’t have the time to remember how it was.
FANDOM: Spanish Football (Ramos/Torres)
STATUS: In Progress (1/?)
PROMPT: #074 (Dark)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
AUTHORS NOTE: I don’t know what it is about Sernando that makes me want to write angst. I think that when it comes to them it is the struggle that makes it fun. Or perhaps it’s because the struggle is the reality. Anyways, this story turned out a lot longer than I originally intended, so I'm posting as a multi-chapter, enjoy.
*~*
03:28
Fernando stared at the illuminated neon green numbers, not moving an inch as they ticked over from 03:28 to 03:29 and then subsequently 3:30.
Fernando was not an insomniac. Lack of sleep was not something he was familiar with. All his life he had been one of those blessed people who could fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was something he had just learnt to do after spending so much of his life running actively from one place to the next. He could fall asleep absolutely anywhere - on the bus in-between the airport and the hotel, on the plane whilst his iPod blared in his ears or on the couch in the middle of a boring movie. Sleep had always come so easily...
Until now.
Rolling onto his back, Fernando stared up at the ceiling. It was gently illuminated by the glow of his alarm clock and blemished by the shadows that the two light globes threw across the room. Further ruining the soft illumination was the random ribbon of light that drifted across the walls from the gap in his curtains.
These were things Fernando had never noticed before, or perhaps he had noticed them but never gave them a second thought. Right now he found them impossibly annoying and before he could even consider what he was doing he was out of bed, yanking the curtains closed, unscrewing the light globes from their fixtures and jerking his alarm clock from the wall.
It was only standing in the middle of his pitch black room holding two light bulbs and the power cord of his alarm that Fernando closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “This is fucking ridiculous.”
Groping around in the dark he plugged his alarm clock back into the wall and stared at the now blinking numbers.
12:00, 12:00, 12:00, 12:00
It would have to be reset. Fernando couldn’t be bothered with something as technical as that. Not in the wee hours of the morning when he hadn’t slept in days and had to be on the plane in less than four hours.
Four hours. Fernando ran a hand through his hair and flopped down on the edge of his bed. The worst thing was that he felt like hell. His body was utterly exhausted and so worn down he felt like he was going to be sick. But no matter how hard he trained or how far he ran, he could not get the sleep his body so desperately desired. It was easy to ignore the reasons for his insomnia at first; easy to blame it on the excitement of a match or the stress of the season. But Fernando knew that those reasons were crap, there was only one reason why he couldn’t sleep and that was because the hours were steadily ticking down to the moment he would see Sergio again.
It had been months since they had spoken. Months and months and months. It had been easy at first - easy to ignore the calls and erase the texts that pelted themselves at him from all directions, it had been harder to ignore the eventual silence. Harder still had been the final text that Sergio had sent through to him. It had contained one single word:
Fine.
It may have only been one word, four measly letters on a screen. But the sentiment spoke magnitudes. Fernando could almost hear Sergio spitting out the word, although in his mind it was always accompanied by an equally annoyed whatever and go to hell!
Stupid.
He had been an idiot to think that it would work. It didn’t matter that they were in different countries playing for different clubs; they would always be reunited under the flag of the national team. Their paths would always cross eventually; it was just the way things were.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
*~*
Part two coming soon!