to feel
Title: To Feel
Pairing: Xabi Alonso / Steven Gerrard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Imagination - it's a beautiful thing, no?
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Xabi doesn't really know what he hopes for, from where his relief stems, to what purpose he is so encouraged to feel. If he wants the trophies for the adulation, or the pride, or just the shiny achievements themselves. If he wants to climb the ranks, have his name printed in larger letters, see his face smiling rather than frowning back from those papers. If he wants Steven's reason for crawling into his arms to be because he wants it, or because he needs it, or because he can't think of anywhere else to lay.
He feels guilty for not knowing, for walking the simple line of a simple career but remaining unable to figure out how and when it will all make sense. He feels that he's overcomplicating everything, trying to find a hidden joy in the overtness of victory, new ways to suffer with each defeat. There must be a bigger reason, a greater purpose to this rollercoaster than simply picking up a medal at the end.
So he turns to Steven to find something deeper behind it all. He takes the smiles and laughter as confirmation of a path well taken, of sound decisions and forgiving luck. He reads approval between his words, and finds threads of satisfaction and comfort swimming between the sighs and the glances and the fingers that so childishly wrap themselves around his neck.
And when it all goes wrong, and his feet slip on the wet grass, and the understanding that he has with his peers vanishes for a vital instant, and he has to justify and defend rather than praise and be praised, he turns to Steven yet more. Searching for an empathetic voice, he realises that his is but one of many crushed dreams, his disappointment just the edge of the burden that trails his captain. And he wonders still longer why it means so much to Steven, to him, to anyone, whether that net is shaken, whether that number is changed.
Eventually, it is the tears that glisten in Steven's eyes as the Kop roars its final breath that tell Xabi why that red jersey means so much. It is Steven's unabashed enthusiasm, his childish concern for everything in his sparkling world that rids Xabi of questions and doubts and longings for something more. Because, he realises as Steven embraces him contentedly in the mornings, giving him warm milk and warmer assuredness, it is the simplicity of it all that makes it mean so much. It is the glorious extremes of emotion that football provides that makes it the beautiful game, the mere possibility of a ball in the right goal crowning victory that makes the victory special. It is the idea of a culture behind a badge that brings that culture to life, that cradles Xabi in its formidable grasp and lifts him to the arena of dreams.
It is Steven's careless dependence, the affection he takes for granted, the looks and touches that he comes to expect, that elicits them from Xabi. His fleeting anger is only momentary because he feels it should be. The prediction of Xabi's emotions dictates them, the patterns and rituals of behaviour that lead them both in a slow yet rhythmic dance, together. The suggestion of depth which deepens the suggestion.
With unknown knowledge, a bond for the sake of a bond, it all weaves a stronger tie between them, the meaningless meanings invisibly halting everyone in their tracks and making them suppose that it's all for something bigger and better than their sum. When really, it's all a myriad of small details, fashioned together to form an imagined whole, a beat to which they move. And Xabi, when he stops looking for the holes in the fabric, finds his reason for hope and relief and the aching beauty of accomplishment.
To feel, and nothing more.
Pairing: Xabi Alonso / Steven Gerrard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Imagination - it's a beautiful thing, no?
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Xabi doesn't really know what he hopes for, from where his relief stems, to what purpose he is so encouraged to feel. If he wants the trophies for the adulation, or the pride, or just the shiny achievements themselves. If he wants to climb the ranks, have his name printed in larger letters, see his face smiling rather than frowning back from those papers. If he wants Steven's reason for crawling into his arms to be because he wants it, or because he needs it, or because he can't think of anywhere else to lay.
He feels guilty for not knowing, for walking the simple line of a simple career but remaining unable to figure out how and when it will all make sense. He feels that he's overcomplicating everything, trying to find a hidden joy in the overtness of victory, new ways to suffer with each defeat. There must be a bigger reason, a greater purpose to this rollercoaster than simply picking up a medal at the end.
So he turns to Steven to find something deeper behind it all. He takes the smiles and laughter as confirmation of a path well taken, of sound decisions and forgiving luck. He reads approval between his words, and finds threads of satisfaction and comfort swimming between the sighs and the glances and the fingers that so childishly wrap themselves around his neck.
And when it all goes wrong, and his feet slip on the wet grass, and the understanding that he has with his peers vanishes for a vital instant, and he has to justify and defend rather than praise and be praised, he turns to Steven yet more. Searching for an empathetic voice, he realises that his is but one of many crushed dreams, his disappointment just the edge of the burden that trails his captain. And he wonders still longer why it means so much to Steven, to him, to anyone, whether that net is shaken, whether that number is changed.
Eventually, it is the tears that glisten in Steven's eyes as the Kop roars its final breath that tell Xabi why that red jersey means so much. It is Steven's unabashed enthusiasm, his childish concern for everything in his sparkling world that rids Xabi of questions and doubts and longings for something more. Because, he realises as Steven embraces him contentedly in the mornings, giving him warm milk and warmer assuredness, it is the simplicity of it all that makes it mean so much. It is the glorious extremes of emotion that football provides that makes it the beautiful game, the mere possibility of a ball in the right goal crowning victory that makes the victory special. It is the idea of a culture behind a badge that brings that culture to life, that cradles Xabi in its formidable grasp and lifts him to the arena of dreams.
It is Steven's careless dependence, the affection he takes for granted, the looks and touches that he comes to expect, that elicits them from Xabi. His fleeting anger is only momentary because he feels it should be. The prediction of Xabi's emotions dictates them, the patterns and rituals of behaviour that lead them both in a slow yet rhythmic dance, together. The suggestion of depth which deepens the suggestion.
With unknown knowledge, a bond for the sake of a bond, it all weaves a stronger tie between them, the meaningless meanings invisibly halting everyone in their tracks and making them suppose that it's all for something bigger and better than their sum. When really, it's all a myriad of small details, fashioned together to form an imagined whole, a beat to which they move. And Xabi, when he stops looking for the holes in the fabric, finds his reason for hope and relief and the aching beauty of accomplishment.
To feel, and nothing more.