Do you still doubt me?
by zimena
He screws his eyes shut, if nothing else just to avoid the laughing gaze that is so directly fixed on him. It's the same as it always was, but still with an added difference. It takes a moment for the difference to register in Diego's mind, but as the laughing gaze becomes a dangerous glint, and the familiar, warm smile twists into a slight smirk, he knows that this time the trap has closed completely.
Panic hits like a physical blow to his stomach. "Let me go! I don't… No!"
***
Even years later, he could still recall that feeling. He hated the way the memory kept resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Every time he felt pressured or insecure. Every time he felt himself losing control of the things that happened around him. For a brief moment, the fear was the same as the one he remembered, before he quashed it with an almost icy glare and a few, emotionless words.
"You wanted to talk?"
Diego regretted the cold tone the moment the words passed over his lips. After all, the Captain had only ever been kind to him. Perhaps sometimes too aware of the little things that could disrupt the team unity, perhaps sometimes too harsh in his subtle attempts at keeping everything in order, but still his usual kind and calm self. Even the direct question did not knock him off his perch.
Lugano just nodded, and continued pouring hot water over the maté leaves. It took him another moment to fill the cup, and he only spoke after he had set it aside to wait for the leaves to absorb the water. "Drink some maté with me?" he asked instead. "It seems we both need it."
No answer. Not even a hint about what he really wanted. Just this annoying, commendable calmness.
This was going to be a long night.
***
Neither of them broke the silence, but it still felt less heavy after a while. Diego had to admit, albeit a bit reluctantly, that the smell of the maté herb soothed his revolving mind at least to some extent. He was still on guard; still more than aware that there had to be more to this than a drink and a pointless conversation, but even that didn't matter in the same way anymore.
The sting of old panic was not quite as insistent as it had been just a moment ago.
Lugano spoke only after he had taken the first sip. "The match," he began, before swallowing hardly and taking another sip, as if he was trying to put off the question or find the most gentle way of wording it. "You are not comfortable with the situation as it is?"
The match. Of course it had to be about that. The one that could seal their fate about the World Cup; the dream that could be or the nightmare that would haunt them forever if they failed during this important moment. Forlán stifled a sigh and took a moment to turn the question over in his mind.
He could easily hear the concealed, suspicious undertone; the one that asked subtly but still clearly whether he could be at his best against Argentina in a match that was so decisive for both teams. Even though he had spent quite a few years there, such doubts were pointless. Just the fact that there was a need for reassurance on the topic caused a sharp sting of irritation.
Was that really what they thought about him? They had no idea. None at all.
"I am," he insisted. "Do you have any doubts about that?"
The lie fell so easily from his lips that he could almost believe it himself; answering a question with a more aggressive question at least directed the attention elsewhere for a while. Even though he didn't mind the match itself, that was not the only thing distracting him.
"Okay," he said hardly, watching Lugano refill the maté cup and hand it to him. "If you absolutely need to know…"
***
The rope leaves a deep cut on his wrist as he pulls against it, but the motion only makes the knot tighten harder. Another try, and a few droplets of blood seep into the rough material, leaving a small stain. The first warning; the only one he's going to get.
A laugh is the only thing that penetrates the sudden haze of pain.
"It'll hurt you less if you lie still. Do you still not understand that you're mine now?"
***
"I was young and naive and…"
Diego fell silent before he had finished the sentence. Even though the words had flowed more easily than he had expected until then, stirring up the old nightmare had drained his energy and left his thoughts in the messy state between regret and relief. He sipped his maté thoughtfully and closed his hand too hardly around the cup as he rested it against his knee.
"…Trusted him too much," he finished quietly, before taking the last sip and handing the cup back.
However, this time Lugano did not refill it for himself. He just took it and placed it mindlessly aside, without even looking to make sure he didn't place it too close to the edge of the table.
"And he's here?" he said hardly, mostly to himself. A second later, even that did not seem quite as important anymore. "You're shaking," he exclaimed, barely able to keep his own voice steady as he slipped an arm over Forlán's shoulder in a natural embrace.
Diego just nodded and murmured incomprehensibly as he shifted closer. A moment later he had regained enough composure to look up and catch eye contact. Despite the fact that he still had to keep his fist clenched to keep himself from trembling too obviously, the gaze was still steady.
"Do you still doubt me?"
He did not even need to hear the answer. Letting himself be wrapped up in his Captain's embrace was enough for now.
He screws his eyes shut, if nothing else just to avoid the laughing gaze that is so directly fixed on him. It's the same as it always was, but still with an added difference. It takes a moment for the difference to register in Diego's mind, but as the laughing gaze becomes a dangerous glint, and the familiar, warm smile twists into a slight smirk, he knows that this time the trap has closed completely.
Panic hits like a physical blow to his stomach. "Let me go! I don't… No!"
***
Even years later, he could still recall that feeling. He hated the way the memory kept resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Every time he felt pressured or insecure. Every time he felt himself losing control of the things that happened around him. For a brief moment, the fear was the same as the one he remembered, before he quashed it with an almost icy glare and a few, emotionless words.
"You wanted to talk?"
Diego regretted the cold tone the moment the words passed over his lips. After all, the Captain had only ever been kind to him. Perhaps sometimes too aware of the little things that could disrupt the team unity, perhaps sometimes too harsh in his subtle attempts at keeping everything in order, but still his usual kind and calm self. Even the direct question did not knock him off his perch.
Lugano just nodded, and continued pouring hot water over the maté leaves. It took him another moment to fill the cup, and he only spoke after he had set it aside to wait for the leaves to absorb the water. "Drink some maté with me?" he asked instead. "It seems we both need it."
No answer. Not even a hint about what he really wanted. Just this annoying, commendable calmness.
This was going to be a long night.
***
Neither of them broke the silence, but it still felt less heavy after a while. Diego had to admit, albeit a bit reluctantly, that the smell of the maté herb soothed his revolving mind at least to some extent. He was still on guard; still more than aware that there had to be more to this than a drink and a pointless conversation, but even that didn't matter in the same way anymore.
The sting of old panic was not quite as insistent as it had been just a moment ago.
Lugano spoke only after he had taken the first sip. "The match," he began, before swallowing hardly and taking another sip, as if he was trying to put off the question or find the most gentle way of wording it. "You are not comfortable with the situation as it is?"
The match. Of course it had to be about that. The one that could seal their fate about the World Cup; the dream that could be or the nightmare that would haunt them forever if they failed during this important moment. Forlán stifled a sigh and took a moment to turn the question over in his mind.
He could easily hear the concealed, suspicious undertone; the one that asked subtly but still clearly whether he could be at his best against Argentina in a match that was so decisive for both teams. Even though he had spent quite a few years there, such doubts were pointless. Just the fact that there was a need for reassurance on the topic caused a sharp sting of irritation.
Was that really what they thought about him? They had no idea. None at all.
"I am," he insisted. "Do you have any doubts about that?"
The lie fell so easily from his lips that he could almost believe it himself; answering a question with a more aggressive question at least directed the attention elsewhere for a while. Even though he didn't mind the match itself, that was not the only thing distracting him.
"Okay," he said hardly, watching Lugano refill the maté cup and hand it to him. "If you absolutely need to know…"
***
The rope leaves a deep cut on his wrist as he pulls against it, but the motion only makes the knot tighten harder. Another try, and a few droplets of blood seep into the rough material, leaving a small stain. The first warning; the only one he's going to get.
A laugh is the only thing that penetrates the sudden haze of pain.
"It'll hurt you less if you lie still. Do you still not understand that you're mine now?"
***
"I was young and naive and…"
Diego fell silent before he had finished the sentence. Even though the words had flowed more easily than he had expected until then, stirring up the old nightmare had drained his energy and left his thoughts in the messy state between regret and relief. He sipped his maté thoughtfully and closed his hand too hardly around the cup as he rested it against his knee.
"…Trusted him too much," he finished quietly, before taking the last sip and handing the cup back.
However, this time Lugano did not refill it for himself. He just took it and placed it mindlessly aside, without even looking to make sure he didn't place it too close to the edge of the table.
"And he's here?" he said hardly, mostly to himself. A second later, even that did not seem quite as important anymore. "You're shaking," he exclaimed, barely able to keep his own voice steady as he slipped an arm over Forlán's shoulder in a natural embrace.
Diego just nodded and murmured incomprehensibly as he shifted closer. A moment later he had regained enough composure to look up and catch eye contact. Despite the fact that he still had to keep his fist clenched to keep himself from trembling too obviously, the gaze was still steady.
"Do you still doubt me?"
He did not even need to hear the answer. Letting himself be wrapped up in his Captain's embrace was enough for now.