It's bad enough we get along so well
by el_defe
Keep an eye on Mario, the coach said, and Davide's discontent doesn't really match with the inexplicable face Mario brings along, as there isn't any teenager in the world eager to baby-sit a teenage prick who has already maddened half of the staff, three-quarters of the goalkeepers and defenders of the whole Allievi league and several dozens of other people; however, the said prick is outwardly the President's favourite and protégé of the semester, so questioning is, if not banned, a losing battle.
"... and curfew is usually at 10pm, but advice is to not going out at all on pre-game. You can have a night out after the match, after all." Davide speaks from the bathroom, his voice not muffled anymore by the jet coming down from the shower.
"One leave a week?" Mario snorts when Davide comes out wrapped in an extra-large bathrobe.
"Rules."
"Y'cannot even go to the cinema, then?!"
Davide looks at him in a totally puzzled way. "There's the 7.30pm show."
"This is nonsense, and crap." Mario ignores his mate's shrug, as he is suddenly somewhat interested in the wet trail some drops leave on Davide's naked back. "Why the hell do they give us rules all at once?"
"You already had rules. You just acted like they didn't exist all the time."
Mario approaches Davide's bed, now that he's quite dry and quite dressed - if briefs count, of course - and it's quite safe to approach him. (Yes, Mario has already seen him naked. Yes, Mario has already seen lots of people naked. No, he never felt like this looking at naked people. Further research is required.) "What did I do to deserve your annoyance? Y'could ask anyone else to watch me, couldn't ya?"
"I'm not watching you." Mario looks at him with the same annoyed look Davide used in the last two days; Davide blushes and smiles, for a moment, then he plops down on the bed. "Okay, I'm watching you. It's just..."
"... rules. Yeah, y'said that, like, a hundred times already. Well, then y'could explain it to me, instead of chanting rules rules rules. I can understand, I'm not a monkey or a savage."
The kick following his last word hits him at waist height: it's quite useless, as Davide's still worn-out, and inaccurate and not hard at all, but it's unexpected nevertheless. "Don't ever dare say something like that again. In case you didn't notice, as it seems you can't even use your eyes as much as your brains, Joey's my best friend."
Mario keeps quiet for a while, almost gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, prepared to hail on Mr I-Follow-Da-Rules. Almost. He can feel the aching, cheerful grin on his face as someone else stretches his own skin. "I'm sorry," he says, in the softest, most sincere tone he has ever tried (even lighter than the one he used to mellow Cristina or Silvia after one of his mischiefs), "I never intended to accuse you. I'm just trying to familiarize myself."
"You came here last year." Davide is cautious, as he saw the rage in his teammate's eyes, just for a moment. "What more do you need to familiarize yourself with?"
Mario doesn't reply. Mario can't reply. Mario whispers again, "I'm sorry," and goes for his own shower, feeling immensely stupid without knowing why.
When Mario comes out from the bathroom, Davide has put on some kit shorts and he's sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, a joypad clicking into his hands as he scores four goals to United one after another and a second one waiting on a pillow alongside him. Mario dries himself off, keeping an eye on the time onscreen, and manages to put something on without forcing him to stop the game as another act of graciousness. So, he can take his seat and lean almost against him without even saying a word. Davide wrinkles his nose.
"You smell like there's alcohol in your foam."
"And you smell of Johnson's Baby."
Davide bursts out into a little laughter, resting on his shoulder to get his breath back. Mario smiles back. They start playing.
Notes:
1. Inter bought Davide Santon from Ravenna in 2005, when he was 14, and Mario Balotelli from Lumezzane in 2006 (he was 16). However, in 2006-07 season, Davide played in the reserves' team (Primavera), while Mario was aggregated to the youth team (Allievi); they started together in the Primavera team the 2007-08 season, until Mario had his chances and got called in the first-team by Mancini, one year earlier than Davide (December 2007 vs January 2009) who had to wait Mourinho's arrival.
2. In most of Italian clubs, curfew rules are almost the same for both reserves' and first team: seniors get nights out more frequently, but they skip them if they have to play extra midweek matches.
3. Title comes from Imogen Heap's Goodnight And Go.
Keep an eye on Mario, the coach said, and Davide's discontent doesn't really match with the inexplicable face Mario brings along, as there isn't any teenager in the world eager to baby-sit a teenage prick who has already maddened half of the staff, three-quarters of the goalkeepers and defenders of the whole Allievi league and several dozens of other people; however, the said prick is outwardly the President's favourite and protégé of the semester, so questioning is, if not banned, a losing battle.
"... and curfew is usually at 10pm, but advice is to not going out at all on pre-game. You can have a night out after the match, after all." Davide speaks from the bathroom, his voice not muffled anymore by the jet coming down from the shower.
"One leave a week?" Mario snorts when Davide comes out wrapped in an extra-large bathrobe.
"Rules."
"Y'cannot even go to the cinema, then?!"
Davide looks at him in a totally puzzled way. "There's the 7.30pm show."
"This is nonsense, and crap." Mario ignores his mate's shrug, as he is suddenly somewhat interested in the wet trail some drops leave on Davide's naked back. "Why the hell do they give us rules all at once?"
"You already had rules. You just acted like they didn't exist all the time."
Mario approaches Davide's bed, now that he's quite dry and quite dressed - if briefs count, of course - and it's quite safe to approach him. (Yes, Mario has already seen him naked. Yes, Mario has already seen lots of people naked. No, he never felt like this looking at naked people. Further research is required.) "What did I do to deserve your annoyance? Y'could ask anyone else to watch me, couldn't ya?"
"I'm not watching you." Mario looks at him with the same annoyed look Davide used in the last two days; Davide blushes and smiles, for a moment, then he plops down on the bed. "Okay, I'm watching you. It's just..."
"... rules. Yeah, y'said that, like, a hundred times already. Well, then y'could explain it to me, instead of chanting rules rules rules. I can understand, I'm not a monkey or a savage."
The kick following his last word hits him at waist height: it's quite useless, as Davide's still worn-out, and inaccurate and not hard at all, but it's unexpected nevertheless. "Don't ever dare say something like that again. In case you didn't notice, as it seems you can't even use your eyes as much as your brains, Joey's my best friend."
Mario keeps quiet for a while, almost gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, prepared to hail on Mr I-Follow-Da-Rules. Almost. He can feel the aching, cheerful grin on his face as someone else stretches his own skin. "I'm sorry," he says, in the softest, most sincere tone he has ever tried (even lighter than the one he used to mellow Cristina or Silvia after one of his mischiefs), "I never intended to accuse you. I'm just trying to familiarize myself."
"You came here last year." Davide is cautious, as he saw the rage in his teammate's eyes, just for a moment. "What more do you need to familiarize yourself with?"
Mario doesn't reply. Mario can't reply. Mario whispers again, "I'm sorry," and goes for his own shower, feeling immensely stupid without knowing why.
When Mario comes out from the bathroom, Davide has put on some kit shorts and he's sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, a joypad clicking into his hands as he scores four goals to United one after another and a second one waiting on a pillow alongside him. Mario dries himself off, keeping an eye on the time onscreen, and manages to put something on without forcing him to stop the game as another act of graciousness. So, he can take his seat and lean almost against him without even saying a word. Davide wrinkles his nose.
"You smell like there's alcohol in your foam."
"And you smell of Johnson's Baby."
Davide bursts out into a little laughter, resting on his shoulder to get his breath back. Mario smiles back. They start playing.
Notes:
1. Inter bought Davide Santon from Ravenna in 2005, when he was 14, and Mario Balotelli from Lumezzane in 2006 (he was 16). However, in 2006-07 season, Davide played in the reserves' team (Primavera), while Mario was aggregated to the youth team (Allievi); they started together in the Primavera team the 2007-08 season, until Mario had his chances and got called in the first-team by Mancini, one year earlier than Davide (December 2007 vs January 2009) who had to wait Mourinho's arrival.
2. In most of Italian clubs, curfew rules are almost the same for both reserves' and first team: seniors get nights out more frequently, but they skip them if they have to play extra midweek matches.
3. Title comes from Imogen Heap's Goodnight And Go.