FIC
Title: Buying Stolen Time (1/?)
Author: Closet Child
Pairing: Ryan Giggs/Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
Summary: Ryan thinks during his free time, about things that have gone to pass.
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned. This is purely a work of fiction, spurn by my imagination.
Author’s Notes: The time frame is real. Wales never made it to Germany last year. I got some picture off the web of Utd touring visiting the UNICEF hospital in Capetown, South Africa. Ole was sitting next to Giggsy and I scoured through some other pictures during their visit to S.Africa and I found training shots of them stretching together! Little details weave to form a story (:. Hope you enjoy it!
The rest of the mates were in Germany, probably stressing their head and body out. The Gaffer had us flown to South Africa. We were going to do some community work as well as play a little tournament with the local clubs. Quite a way to past time, I would say. Sometimes I would feel a tinge of regret; was I stupid to not play for England.
Why did I choose to represent Wales?
I could have more chances in the international stage with the Three Lions…
But I was born in Wales… Never ever felt English despite moving there since 7. The kids would always put a stick on me because of my ‘funny’ accent. So I lost it real fast… Then the football part came in, soon, every boy wanted to be my friend and every girl wanted to be with me. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t play ball well?
I guess that there would always be another option.
Life is much simpler if you thought less about things and much happier if you didn’t think ‘what if?’.
Right now, I am in an orphanage for kids with HIV/AIDS. Most of them thin with the illness that is eating up their body’s immune system. Yet they still have smiles on their faces. The kind of smiles that break your heart. I had a talk with one of the volunteers, and I know some of them won’t live to see the coming August.
Seated on a little stool, I am playing with a boy of seven years, Chioke, and a nine year old girl, Jendayi, whose name meant ‘Give Thanks’. It was a beautiful name, I told her, but secretly to myself, I thought it was very ironic. Many times, we ask God if he was playing a cruel joke on us when we hit a rough patch. These kids, I don’t think they did anything to wrong anyone; they didn’t deserve this kind of fate.
Jendayi has quite a hand in drawing, I’m dividing my attention equally among the two of them, it’s not that hard to handle, because the two loved colouring. I racked my brains for some kind of colouring technique that the art teacher back in my schooldays taught.
“That’s a nice lion Chioke! You’ve done better than me!” Being a father of two kids now makes me more patient and understanding to a child’s needs. Chioke smiled back, all but the little gap where his milk tooth was a day ago shone. He went back on his next picture.
Across the table, Ollie was playing superheroes with a wee lad, couldn’t have been more than four. The kid was laughing joyously, as Ollie made imaginary whizzing sounds like that of a helicopter, holding up a figurine in the air animatedly.
“And the good wizard takes on the bad assassin!”
Welsh wizard… that’s what the supporters call me, baby-faced assassin, Ollie hates being called that. Scholesy calls him that during training when he wants Ollie to pass the ball to him. Long name, hard to call out when you are breathless from running around the greens at Carrington.
“KAZAM!” The boy squealed and tried reaching for the plastic figurine that Ollie held; he notices this and hands the toy to the kid.
He caught my glance and looked away shyly, his blue eyes adverting to his charge.
We haven’t really talked in a long time. I mean, we do the occasional congratulatory celebration on the pitch, but when we are in the dressing room with the other lads, we rarely exchange words that go beyond ‘good game’, ‘see you soon’ and the most common of all ‘bye’.
Awful.
When the bus arrived, the team, Gaffer and staff stood outside the whitewashed house. The volunteers brought the kids out for a last goodbye. I see Fletch getting all mopey like a bird as he picked up a scrawny boy whom he was reading to earlier. I look around and practically everyone was almost reduced to the state of tears.
I’m not heartless.
I love these kids, I really do, but I don’t want to give them the impression that perhaps this could be our last meeting forever. I want to let them know that there is always tomorrow. Keep looking forward!
Ollie was the last one to get on the bus. He looks around for a seat, and he sits next to me. I guess the bus was full. All the other lads had partners, except me. Most of them here are pretty young, just Scholesy, Ollie and myself. Scholesy once told me that many of the young ones in the squad are afraid of me.
Perhaps Tracy was right after all. I wish I could smile more often. She says I have a moody face. Yeah, but what can I do if my features are like that?
Plastic surgery isn’t an option.
I even cut my hair frat-boy short so that others could see my face now. It is suppose to look friendly. Last time, they were in curls, ‘macaroni’ hair, Ollie calls. Him and his pasta addiction.
Big Sam, the bus driver is pulling out of the gate of the orphanage, the kids and the volunteers waving cheerfully, bidding us farewell.
“I’m sorry I used your name earlier… it was the only one I could think of that moment, besides, you know I know nuts about science-fi or fantasy..” he rambled in his crisp English. It is rather American despite his Norwegian roots.
Name? Oh he meant that…
“It’s okay. Besides, I’m Ryan, not the welsh wizard!” I joked, laughing. He laughs too, his light, breezy tone.
“Or are you the baby-faced assassin?” I teased. His face screws up and a tongue sticks out. He’s still the same, hates that name. Unfortunately, it sticks with him.
I was quite taken back. Just that things have been a bit tense between us…
Yet, I wanted to touch his face, the little corner where his ears begin, where he tucked his own tumble of golden curls.
This made me believe he was not born Scandinavian. He likes to eat pasta and pizza, loves to watch The Godfather and was trained as a Grecian-Roman wrestler. I daresay he should be Italian. But his looks are otherwise…
Everyone who saw him in the dressing room thinks he looks like the Roman statues we see when we are in Italy for a game. Maybe it’s because he was trained to be a Grecian-Roman wrestler as a kid that’s why.
His father was a champion. Our fathers are almost similar. Both of them used their fists a lot. My own old man was a rugger in the national Wales team. It doesn’t involve the use of fist, you might say, but he does use it pretty often at home. Scaring the shit out of my mother, Rhodi and me.
“Ryan?” he tugs at my sleeve.
And I turn to face him, his fairness, glowing in the sunlight that streamed through the giant glass window of the coach, his hair shining brighter than a halo, eyes as if carved out of sapphiers.
“Big Sam is stopping the bus for a while so we can get a taste of the wonderful French café he has been talking about,” he says.
“Sir Alex allows? He must be in a good mood!”
“Well, the gaffer needs his dosage of tea every now and then… Besides we have no game scheduled tomorrow.”
Everyone is filing out of the bus now.
He blinks.
“Well, let’s get you some honey toast then…” I suggested, remembering his favourite pre-match snack.
“You remembered? I haven’t been playing for ages, talk about a pre-match snack,” he laughs again. It wasn’t a bitter laugh. And I wonder how he can do that, being benched doing injury time and laugh after it’s fine.
Turns out, they didn’t have any honey toast, but the eatery opposite does.
We were waiting for the roads to be cleared so that we could dash across. There are lots of bikes here in South Africa, back home, it would be cabs.
All’s clear and I grabbed Ollie’s hand and took off in a sprint to the shop.
His fingers were slim and his palm was a tad smaller than mine, boyish hands he had.
“Could I have a set of toast please, and honey.” A large woman took down my order.
We waited patiently, silently, for the bread to arrive.
“Do you want one?” he dips a piece into the honey generously, offering me.
“No thanks, laying off the sugar.” I lied.
Actually, I love watching him eat. He had a smile on his face. Quite odd, to eat and smile at the same time. The way he bites into the crispy toast daintily, and contrary to that, how the crumbs fall onto his shirt front. How oblivious he was. After finishing his snack, he would lick his fingers free from the sticky sweet honey that oozed out of the toast when he tucked in.
I handed the payment of the meal to the waiter, we stood up and some of the crumbs on Ollie’s shirt fell to the ground. There were still remaining, stubbornly clinging on to the fabric.
“You’ve got crumbs,” with a flick of my wrist, I dusted the bits off him, my hands smoothing his shirt. Then it lay on his chest for about a millisecond, or perhaps longer.
“Oh,” Ollie’s voice was small, and I could feel the heat rushing out of him. I looked at his face, there was a pink tint. He caught my gaze and swats my hand off his chest.
“The bus!” he broke out anxiously.
Riding back to the hotel, was awkward. Neither one of us could sleep. Behind us, were two lads, probably from the reserve team… they kept on yapping away eagerly, can’t blame them, this was probably their first time out of the British Isle.
I was back in the room with Scholesy. He was taking a bath. We all stink. The heat outside, made us perspire unusually more often than we did in Manchester.
“I’m going out to do some shopping; the missus wants a new leather purse…” Paul rolls his eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“Went crazy when I mentioned South Africa. Diamonds! Leather!” his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Condoms I say! Probably get her that as well.”
Opened the door for Scholesy, who has got his hands pretty full- wallet, map, bottle… Sent him off, seeing him disappear at the right into the lift lobby. I was going to go back in when I heard lone footsteps. I thought it could be some company, which I needed badly since Scholesy was away.
Surprises, don’t you love them? They always come knocking at your door when you least expect them.
Coincidences, do you believe in them? They happen every now and then for a man with an easy life.
It’s him.
“Dinner?” I asked.
He nods, stuffing his hands down his denim pockets nervously.
“Why don’t you come in? I’m going to take a quick shower…”
He steps into the room cautiously, making a beeline for the armchair.
“Turn on the television… hope the wait doesn’t bore you,” I apologised and tossed him the remote control.
The television pumped some noise into the room other than the air conditioner.
I can hear the muffled sounds beyond the bathroom door, where I was lathering my hair. I cannot help thinking what I had gotten myself into. I was lonely… There were only a handful of us from the first team traveling in South Africa. We rarely trained with the Reserves, hence behaving like complete strangers. I did make an effort to know some of them though.
“Ryan!” the door flung open.
The cold air outside hitting my soapy skin and the suddenness made me jump.
“Oh! M’ sorry, I thought you were done! I didn’t hear the tap running…” Ollie apologised profusely. I hear his feet shuffle against the marble tiles.
Through the blurry shower curtain, I could see his outline, shrinking towards the door frame.
“It’s alright… What’s it?”
“The television! I sat on the remote control and the picture now is funny!” he sounded scared.
“I think I spoilt it!”
The seriousness of his voice, how earnest he was made me laugh.
“Calm down… I wash myself clean and I’ll be out fixing the telly for you,” I managed between gaps of laughter.
“So there you go. What were you watching anyway?”
“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs.
“I was just waiting…”
Waiting.
From day one.
“Sorry.”
“Why do you apologise?” He turns his eyes at me. How beautiful. They are like precious stones encased in his sockets. In it, I saw the deepest oceans, the vast skies and the world. How breathtaking.
How was it possible that I didn’t conquer them?
How was it possible I let him slip away?
‘Ryan!” he calls my name, his fingers brushing my arm before retracting them swiftly. “For a moment, I thought you got an electric shock, handling the TV,” a feeble attempt at a joke.
I tried to laugh. But I could not.
Could you smile at missed chances? Could you smile at a love lost?
My mind drifts back to when we were young, when we didn’t give a hoot what the world thinks. Then, everyone started getting onto our case, ‘grow up’, they said. It seems that society expects all men have to fulfill the duties of a husband. Responsibility slowly creeps into our heads sub-consciously and it stole us from each other.
“All these years, there has been someone nagging at the back of my head,” I started. He gave me a strange look.
“It isn’t my mother.” Trying to lighten up the mood in the room.
“It’s the feeling of knowing you left your house open,” bewilderment fills in his face, “for the thieves to take off with something extremely valuable.”
There it was, the weight that held my heart down has been lifted. I look at him square in his eyes and cleared my throat.
“Do you- Do you get me?”
Author: Closet Child
Pairing: Ryan Giggs/Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
Summary: Ryan thinks during his free time, about things that have gone to pass.
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned. This is purely a work of fiction, spurn by my imagination.
Author’s Notes: The time frame is real. Wales never made it to Germany last year. I got some picture off the web of Utd touring visiting the UNICEF hospital in Capetown, South Africa. Ole was sitting next to Giggsy and I scoured through some other pictures during their visit to S.Africa and I found training shots of them stretching together! Little details weave to form a story (:. Hope you enjoy it!
The rest of the mates were in Germany, probably stressing their head and body out. The Gaffer had us flown to South Africa. We were going to do some community work as well as play a little tournament with the local clubs. Quite a way to past time, I would say. Sometimes I would feel a tinge of regret; was I stupid to not play for England.
Why did I choose to represent Wales?
I could have more chances in the international stage with the Three Lions…
But I was born in Wales… Never ever felt English despite moving there since 7. The kids would always put a stick on me because of my ‘funny’ accent. So I lost it real fast… Then the football part came in, soon, every boy wanted to be my friend and every girl wanted to be with me. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t play ball well?
I guess that there would always be another option.
Life is much simpler if you thought less about things and much happier if you didn’t think ‘what if?’.
Right now, I am in an orphanage for kids with HIV/AIDS. Most of them thin with the illness that is eating up their body’s immune system. Yet they still have smiles on their faces. The kind of smiles that break your heart. I had a talk with one of the volunteers, and I know some of them won’t live to see the coming August.
Seated on a little stool, I am playing with a boy of seven years, Chioke, and a nine year old girl, Jendayi, whose name meant ‘Give Thanks’. It was a beautiful name, I told her, but secretly to myself, I thought it was very ironic. Many times, we ask God if he was playing a cruel joke on us when we hit a rough patch. These kids, I don’t think they did anything to wrong anyone; they didn’t deserve this kind of fate.
Jendayi has quite a hand in drawing, I’m dividing my attention equally among the two of them, it’s not that hard to handle, because the two loved colouring. I racked my brains for some kind of colouring technique that the art teacher back in my schooldays taught.
“That’s a nice lion Chioke! You’ve done better than me!” Being a father of two kids now makes me more patient and understanding to a child’s needs. Chioke smiled back, all but the little gap where his milk tooth was a day ago shone. He went back on his next picture.
Across the table, Ollie was playing superheroes with a wee lad, couldn’t have been more than four. The kid was laughing joyously, as Ollie made imaginary whizzing sounds like that of a helicopter, holding up a figurine in the air animatedly.
“And the good wizard takes on the bad assassin!”
Welsh wizard… that’s what the supporters call me, baby-faced assassin, Ollie hates being called that. Scholesy calls him that during training when he wants Ollie to pass the ball to him. Long name, hard to call out when you are breathless from running around the greens at Carrington.
“KAZAM!” The boy squealed and tried reaching for the plastic figurine that Ollie held; he notices this and hands the toy to the kid.
He caught my glance and looked away shyly, his blue eyes adverting to his charge.
We haven’t really talked in a long time. I mean, we do the occasional congratulatory celebration on the pitch, but when we are in the dressing room with the other lads, we rarely exchange words that go beyond ‘good game’, ‘see you soon’ and the most common of all ‘bye’.
Awful.
When the bus arrived, the team, Gaffer and staff stood outside the whitewashed house. The volunteers brought the kids out for a last goodbye. I see Fletch getting all mopey like a bird as he picked up a scrawny boy whom he was reading to earlier. I look around and practically everyone was almost reduced to the state of tears.
I’m not heartless.
I love these kids, I really do, but I don’t want to give them the impression that perhaps this could be our last meeting forever. I want to let them know that there is always tomorrow. Keep looking forward!
Ollie was the last one to get on the bus. He looks around for a seat, and he sits next to me. I guess the bus was full. All the other lads had partners, except me. Most of them here are pretty young, just Scholesy, Ollie and myself. Scholesy once told me that many of the young ones in the squad are afraid of me.
Perhaps Tracy was right after all. I wish I could smile more often. She says I have a moody face. Yeah, but what can I do if my features are like that?
Plastic surgery isn’t an option.
I even cut my hair frat-boy short so that others could see my face now. It is suppose to look friendly. Last time, they were in curls, ‘macaroni’ hair, Ollie calls. Him and his pasta addiction.
Big Sam, the bus driver is pulling out of the gate of the orphanage, the kids and the volunteers waving cheerfully, bidding us farewell.
“I’m sorry I used your name earlier… it was the only one I could think of that moment, besides, you know I know nuts about science-fi or fantasy..” he rambled in his crisp English. It is rather American despite his Norwegian roots.
Name? Oh he meant that…
“It’s okay. Besides, I’m Ryan, not the welsh wizard!” I joked, laughing. He laughs too, his light, breezy tone.
“Or are you the baby-faced assassin?” I teased. His face screws up and a tongue sticks out. He’s still the same, hates that name. Unfortunately, it sticks with him.
I was quite taken back. Just that things have been a bit tense between us…
Yet, I wanted to touch his face, the little corner where his ears begin, where he tucked his own tumble of golden curls.
This made me believe he was not born Scandinavian. He likes to eat pasta and pizza, loves to watch The Godfather and was trained as a Grecian-Roman wrestler. I daresay he should be Italian. But his looks are otherwise…
Everyone who saw him in the dressing room thinks he looks like the Roman statues we see when we are in Italy for a game. Maybe it’s because he was trained to be a Grecian-Roman wrestler as a kid that’s why.
His father was a champion. Our fathers are almost similar. Both of them used their fists a lot. My own old man was a rugger in the national Wales team. It doesn’t involve the use of fist, you might say, but he does use it pretty often at home. Scaring the shit out of my mother, Rhodi and me.
“Ryan?” he tugs at my sleeve.
And I turn to face him, his fairness, glowing in the sunlight that streamed through the giant glass window of the coach, his hair shining brighter than a halo, eyes as if carved out of sapphiers.
“Big Sam is stopping the bus for a while so we can get a taste of the wonderful French café he has been talking about,” he says.
“Sir Alex allows? He must be in a good mood!”
“Well, the gaffer needs his dosage of tea every now and then… Besides we have no game scheduled tomorrow.”
Everyone is filing out of the bus now.
He blinks.
“Well, let’s get you some honey toast then…” I suggested, remembering his favourite pre-match snack.
“You remembered? I haven’t been playing for ages, talk about a pre-match snack,” he laughs again. It wasn’t a bitter laugh. And I wonder how he can do that, being benched doing injury time and laugh after it’s fine.
Turns out, they didn’t have any honey toast, but the eatery opposite does.
We were waiting for the roads to be cleared so that we could dash across. There are lots of bikes here in South Africa, back home, it would be cabs.
All’s clear and I grabbed Ollie’s hand and took off in a sprint to the shop.
His fingers were slim and his palm was a tad smaller than mine, boyish hands he had.
“Could I have a set of toast please, and honey.” A large woman took down my order.
We waited patiently, silently, for the bread to arrive.
“Do you want one?” he dips a piece into the honey generously, offering me.
“No thanks, laying off the sugar.” I lied.
Actually, I love watching him eat. He had a smile on his face. Quite odd, to eat and smile at the same time. The way he bites into the crispy toast daintily, and contrary to that, how the crumbs fall onto his shirt front. How oblivious he was. After finishing his snack, he would lick his fingers free from the sticky sweet honey that oozed out of the toast when he tucked in.
I handed the payment of the meal to the waiter, we stood up and some of the crumbs on Ollie’s shirt fell to the ground. There were still remaining, stubbornly clinging on to the fabric.
“You’ve got crumbs,” with a flick of my wrist, I dusted the bits off him, my hands smoothing his shirt. Then it lay on his chest for about a millisecond, or perhaps longer.
“Oh,” Ollie’s voice was small, and I could feel the heat rushing out of him. I looked at his face, there was a pink tint. He caught my gaze and swats my hand off his chest.
“The bus!” he broke out anxiously.
Riding back to the hotel, was awkward. Neither one of us could sleep. Behind us, were two lads, probably from the reserve team… they kept on yapping away eagerly, can’t blame them, this was probably their first time out of the British Isle.
I was back in the room with Scholesy. He was taking a bath. We all stink. The heat outside, made us perspire unusually more often than we did in Manchester.
“I’m going out to do some shopping; the missus wants a new leather purse…” Paul rolls his eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“Went crazy when I mentioned South Africa. Diamonds! Leather!” his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Condoms I say! Probably get her that as well.”
Opened the door for Scholesy, who has got his hands pretty full- wallet, map, bottle… Sent him off, seeing him disappear at the right into the lift lobby. I was going to go back in when I heard lone footsteps. I thought it could be some company, which I needed badly since Scholesy was away.
Surprises, don’t you love them? They always come knocking at your door when you least expect them.
Coincidences, do you believe in them? They happen every now and then for a man with an easy life.
It’s him.
“Dinner?” I asked.
He nods, stuffing his hands down his denim pockets nervously.
“Why don’t you come in? I’m going to take a quick shower…”
He steps into the room cautiously, making a beeline for the armchair.
“Turn on the television… hope the wait doesn’t bore you,” I apologised and tossed him the remote control.
The television pumped some noise into the room other than the air conditioner.
I can hear the muffled sounds beyond the bathroom door, where I was lathering my hair. I cannot help thinking what I had gotten myself into. I was lonely… There were only a handful of us from the first team traveling in South Africa. We rarely trained with the Reserves, hence behaving like complete strangers. I did make an effort to know some of them though.
“Ryan!” the door flung open.
The cold air outside hitting my soapy skin and the suddenness made me jump.
“Oh! M’ sorry, I thought you were done! I didn’t hear the tap running…” Ollie apologised profusely. I hear his feet shuffle against the marble tiles.
Through the blurry shower curtain, I could see his outline, shrinking towards the door frame.
“It’s alright… What’s it?”
“The television! I sat on the remote control and the picture now is funny!” he sounded scared.
“I think I spoilt it!”
The seriousness of his voice, how earnest he was made me laugh.
“Calm down… I wash myself clean and I’ll be out fixing the telly for you,” I managed between gaps of laughter.
“So there you go. What were you watching anyway?”
“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs.
“I was just waiting…”
Waiting.
From day one.
“Sorry.”
“Why do you apologise?” He turns his eyes at me. How beautiful. They are like precious stones encased in his sockets. In it, I saw the deepest oceans, the vast skies and the world. How breathtaking.
How was it possible that I didn’t conquer them?
How was it possible I let him slip away?
‘Ryan!” he calls my name, his fingers brushing my arm before retracting them swiftly. “For a moment, I thought you got an electric shock, handling the TV,” a feeble attempt at a joke.
I tried to laugh. But I could not.
Could you smile at missed chances? Could you smile at a love lost?
My mind drifts back to when we were young, when we didn’t give a hoot what the world thinks. Then, everyone started getting onto our case, ‘grow up’, they said. It seems that society expects all men have to fulfill the duties of a husband. Responsibility slowly creeps into our heads sub-consciously and it stole us from each other.
“All these years, there has been someone nagging at the back of my head,” I started. He gave me a strange look.
“It isn’t my mother.” Trying to lighten up the mood in the room.
“It’s the feeling of knowing you left your house open,” bewilderment fills in his face, “for the thieves to take off with something extremely valuable.”
There it was, the weight that held my heart down has been lifted. I look at him square in his eyes and cleared my throat.
“Do you- Do you get me?”