instinct.
I'm finally on top of my uni work. :) Hence, the following.
Oh, and OMGICAN'TBELIEVEHOWEPICTHISWEEKHASBEEN. If I'm dreaming, please do not wake me up.
Title: Instinct
Pairing: Daniel Agger / Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I think it's obvious, given the factual inaccuracy of this piece, that everything here is entirely fictional.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Daniel would awaken with the same dreary, noncommittal groan, stretching across the length of the bed to thread a few fingers through his curtains and peer out at the (seemingly always) grey sky. He would stumble on that fold of carpet on the stairs every morning and stuff a tasteless piece of toast into his mouth, drag socks onto his unwilling feet, and half-close his eyes as he lowered himself into the driver's seat of his car, wishing for a brief moment that today would be better, instinctively knowing that it wouldn't be.
He would always be able to find little threads of dulled optimism, stuck in a cycle of recovery and of re-proving himself, which kept his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a grim line, not even softening when he dipped his head in nods of greeting as the other boys brushed past him in the locker room and spoke too loudly in his ears. He would set down his gear with a quiet sigh, and do his warm-up stretches as everyone else cooled off.
It would have undoubtedly been easier had he been doing this alone. The gym would not have seemed so lonely if the others hadn't all just left it, and the grass would have been greener had their boots not scuffed it and dragged it over with dirt and mud and sweat. But as it happened, he had to strain to hear the physio as the rest of the squad chattered happily behind him, and reset the weights on the machines after the careless members of the team had failed to do so. He had to face reminder after constant reminder that he was so far from being one of them again.
"How was your morning?" Fernando would ask, usually perched on the edge of a dining chair with a newspaper spread out in front of him, and he'd look up briefly with a warm smile before poring over the English words which were rapidly becoming more familiar to him.
"Great, just great," Daniel would mutter, knowing how bitter he sounded but not bothering to take the sting out of his voice. Every day, he would come home to cheer and politeness, and he could feel his face betraying his own indignant and childish feelings of isolation. And etched on Fernando's face were the conversations and pats on the back and unfunny jokes that he had shared with the others. And Daniel would curse under his breath and glare into nothingness in his room, before putting on that mask which was shaped like Fernando, and come back out to return his lover's cheer and politeness.
When, in truth, Daniel saw his moments with Fernando as those moments which were the most painful in his day to face, it got harder every day to mirror his optimism. He woke up to see Fernando missing from the bed next to him, and there were always those blissful instants of ignorance before he grasped full consciousness and remembered that Fernando was at training. And he would head over to Melwood knowing that Fernando would be waiting until he arrived, refusing to leave until they got a minute alone to share pointless but sentimental small-talk in which the rest of their happy companions were not included.
Daniel would clench his teeth and pretend that he wasn't aching to get back onto the pitch with the rest of them, because whenever Fernando spoke, it was with that childlike innocence that Daniel's frustrations could only tarnish. And his life with Fernando would continue with the blissful ease that only shallowness and masks could sustain.
"How was your morning?" Fernando would ask as he sauntered in after lunch with the Spaniards, his spirits raised after light afternoon conversation in the fresh air of oncoming winter. His eyes would flicker sharply when he'd notice a frozen lunch warming up in the microwave and Daniel glowering as he dragged his boots out of his kit-bag to air them after his physio session.
"Great, just great," Daniel would mutter, not asking how Fernando was (but knowing) and rolling his eyes to himself - which Fernando would undoubtedly take the wrong (right) way. And Daniel would swallow the urge to vent his anger with words, and would instead settle for pressing the 'open' button on the microwave too hard, and eating too quickly, and retiring too early to the bedroom for his afternoon nap.
* * * * *
Daniel woke up before his alarm clock. He thought that it was perhaps Fernando disturbing him as he made to leave for training, and thus opened his eyes only to narrow them in an accusing frown, but he was surprised when he glanced at his clock and saw that squad training had begun half an hour earlier, and that what had in fact woken him had been the sun sliding through the gap between the curtains and the window frame, flooding his pillow with light. Not a grey day, then.
He relished the few extra minutes that he'd gained that morning, brushing his teeth a little slower than usual, and indulging himself with a bowl of cereal after noticing that Fernando had bought a new packet and placed it suggestively at the centre of the kitchen benchtop. He didn't stumble when he went to climb back up the stairs to grab his kit-bag, more awake than usual, too awake to remember his usual mental lethargy. As he climbed into his car, he paused for a second, wondering if he dared to hope that today would be better.
He decided against it. Against hope, anyway - he allowed the acknowledgement of a faint possibility, which was surely progress enough in itself.
Nobody tried to talk to him when he entered the locker room. There was no jovial "How're you going, Dan?" or salutory clap on the shoulder as he slinked through the door and headed for his locker. Pepe nodded, and that was the extent of Daniel's obligatory social exploits. A nod back, and he'd made it through the first hoop, surprisingly untouched.
He was about to start warming up, noticing the others doing neck-rolls and calf stretches as the red gradually began to disappear from their cheeks, but the physio came in and pulled him out of the room. And so Daniel avoided the team which was flaunted at him every day, and followed the physio out.
He listened to the good news with a solemn face, just tilting his head slightly when the physio asked him meaningless questions like "Is that alright?" and "Should I have told you afterwards?" He hid a smile when the trainer took him out onto the field and actually allowed him to run and kick, and the jolts of sheer exaltation that sparked through him couldn't even be masked by his determinedly focused exterior; he was able to hear every disbelieving little laugh on every breath that escaped from his lips.
He re-entered the locker room, his face warm with happiness, not just the customary exhaustion. As he unlaced his boots, he heard faint murmurs outside the door. If he was honest, it didn't quite matter who the voices belonged to; he wanted someone (anyone) to share in his delight, with whom he could discuss his triumphant and long-awaited return.
He noticed the doctor's solemn face before he realised that the head blocking his view was the blonde one that he stared at every night before forcing himself to sleep. It took only a shaken head and a small sigh for Daniel to recognise what he had seen in himself every day - that disappointment and shock which could only really be understood by those going through the same thing.
Fernando turned around when the physio left, his face stiffening as he saw Daniel; the lips tightening, and the eyes taking on a steeliness which melted Daniel as much as it told him to stay away and leave Fernando to his own misery.
Daniel said nothing as Fernando limped past him into the locker room, and he realised why nobody had grinned at him that morning.
Daniel's skin prickled when, the next day, he heard a key turning in the lock of the front door. He automatically bound up from the sofa, but slowed to a stop when he remembered that Fernando was unlikely to be thrilled to see him after a long, hard few hours in a lonely gym with an unfriendly voice barking orders at him as his hamstring screamed in protest. So Daniel loitered by the stairs, trying to look casual, crossing and then uncrossing his arms as Fernando walked in and looked up.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak. But he froze for a moment, Fernando gazing at him glumly yet questioningly. Daniel was at last faced with himself, with his own difficult exterior that he had thrust upon Fernando for countless weeks - that challenge in the stare, that set jaw, that creased forehead that bore exhaustion and irritation. And he was at once filled with regret and empathy and everything that had failed to find him, that Fernando had hoped to incite.
And Daniel, saving the few instants of unwelcome silence that he had allowed to penetrate his determined happiness, spoke, not knowing what else there was for him to say.
"How was your morning?" he asked hesitantly.
There was a brief pause, their eyes locking in sad but shared resignation. "Great," Fernando said. "Just great."
Oh, and OMGICAN'TBELIEVEHOWEPICTHISWEEKHASBEEN. If I'm dreaming, please do not wake me up.
Title: Instinct
Pairing: Daniel Agger / Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I think it's obvious, given the factual inaccuracy of this piece, that everything here is entirely fictional.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Daniel would awaken with the same dreary, noncommittal groan, stretching across the length of the bed to thread a few fingers through his curtains and peer out at the (seemingly always) grey sky. He would stumble on that fold of carpet on the stairs every morning and stuff a tasteless piece of toast into his mouth, drag socks onto his unwilling feet, and half-close his eyes as he lowered himself into the driver's seat of his car, wishing for a brief moment that today would be better, instinctively knowing that it wouldn't be.
He would always be able to find little threads of dulled optimism, stuck in a cycle of recovery and of re-proving himself, which kept his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a grim line, not even softening when he dipped his head in nods of greeting as the other boys brushed past him in the locker room and spoke too loudly in his ears. He would set down his gear with a quiet sigh, and do his warm-up stretches as everyone else cooled off.
It would have undoubtedly been easier had he been doing this alone. The gym would not have seemed so lonely if the others hadn't all just left it, and the grass would have been greener had their boots not scuffed it and dragged it over with dirt and mud and sweat. But as it happened, he had to strain to hear the physio as the rest of the squad chattered happily behind him, and reset the weights on the machines after the careless members of the team had failed to do so. He had to face reminder after constant reminder that he was so far from being one of them again.
"How was your morning?" Fernando would ask, usually perched on the edge of a dining chair with a newspaper spread out in front of him, and he'd look up briefly with a warm smile before poring over the English words which were rapidly becoming more familiar to him.
"Great, just great," Daniel would mutter, knowing how bitter he sounded but not bothering to take the sting out of his voice. Every day, he would come home to cheer and politeness, and he could feel his face betraying his own indignant and childish feelings of isolation. And etched on Fernando's face were the conversations and pats on the back and unfunny jokes that he had shared with the others. And Daniel would curse under his breath and glare into nothingness in his room, before putting on that mask which was shaped like Fernando, and come back out to return his lover's cheer and politeness.
When, in truth, Daniel saw his moments with Fernando as those moments which were the most painful in his day to face, it got harder every day to mirror his optimism. He woke up to see Fernando missing from the bed next to him, and there were always those blissful instants of ignorance before he grasped full consciousness and remembered that Fernando was at training. And he would head over to Melwood knowing that Fernando would be waiting until he arrived, refusing to leave until they got a minute alone to share pointless but sentimental small-talk in which the rest of their happy companions were not included.
Daniel would clench his teeth and pretend that he wasn't aching to get back onto the pitch with the rest of them, because whenever Fernando spoke, it was with that childlike innocence that Daniel's frustrations could only tarnish. And his life with Fernando would continue with the blissful ease that only shallowness and masks could sustain.
"How was your morning?" Fernando would ask as he sauntered in after lunch with the Spaniards, his spirits raised after light afternoon conversation in the fresh air of oncoming winter. His eyes would flicker sharply when he'd notice a frozen lunch warming up in the microwave and Daniel glowering as he dragged his boots out of his kit-bag to air them after his physio session.
"Great, just great," Daniel would mutter, not asking how Fernando was (but knowing) and rolling his eyes to himself - which Fernando would undoubtedly take the wrong (right) way. And Daniel would swallow the urge to vent his anger with words, and would instead settle for pressing the 'open' button on the microwave too hard, and eating too quickly, and retiring too early to the bedroom for his afternoon nap.
* * * * *
Daniel woke up before his alarm clock. He thought that it was perhaps Fernando disturbing him as he made to leave for training, and thus opened his eyes only to narrow them in an accusing frown, but he was surprised when he glanced at his clock and saw that squad training had begun half an hour earlier, and that what had in fact woken him had been the sun sliding through the gap between the curtains and the window frame, flooding his pillow with light. Not a grey day, then.
He relished the few extra minutes that he'd gained that morning, brushing his teeth a little slower than usual, and indulging himself with a bowl of cereal after noticing that Fernando had bought a new packet and placed it suggestively at the centre of the kitchen benchtop. He didn't stumble when he went to climb back up the stairs to grab his kit-bag, more awake than usual, too awake to remember his usual mental lethargy. As he climbed into his car, he paused for a second, wondering if he dared to hope that today would be better.
He decided against it. Against hope, anyway - he allowed the acknowledgement of a faint possibility, which was surely progress enough in itself.
Nobody tried to talk to him when he entered the locker room. There was no jovial "How're you going, Dan?" or salutory clap on the shoulder as he slinked through the door and headed for his locker. Pepe nodded, and that was the extent of Daniel's obligatory social exploits. A nod back, and he'd made it through the first hoop, surprisingly untouched.
He was about to start warming up, noticing the others doing neck-rolls and calf stretches as the red gradually began to disappear from their cheeks, but the physio came in and pulled him out of the room. And so Daniel avoided the team which was flaunted at him every day, and followed the physio out.
He listened to the good news with a solemn face, just tilting his head slightly when the physio asked him meaningless questions like "Is that alright?" and "Should I have told you afterwards?" He hid a smile when the trainer took him out onto the field and actually allowed him to run and kick, and the jolts of sheer exaltation that sparked through him couldn't even be masked by his determinedly focused exterior; he was able to hear every disbelieving little laugh on every breath that escaped from his lips.
He re-entered the locker room, his face warm with happiness, not just the customary exhaustion. As he unlaced his boots, he heard faint murmurs outside the door. If he was honest, it didn't quite matter who the voices belonged to; he wanted someone (anyone) to share in his delight, with whom he could discuss his triumphant and long-awaited return.
He noticed the doctor's solemn face before he realised that the head blocking his view was the blonde one that he stared at every night before forcing himself to sleep. It took only a shaken head and a small sigh for Daniel to recognise what he had seen in himself every day - that disappointment and shock which could only really be understood by those going through the same thing.
Fernando turned around when the physio left, his face stiffening as he saw Daniel; the lips tightening, and the eyes taking on a steeliness which melted Daniel as much as it told him to stay away and leave Fernando to his own misery.
Daniel said nothing as Fernando limped past him into the locker room, and he realised why nobody had grinned at him that morning.
Daniel's skin prickled when, the next day, he heard a key turning in the lock of the front door. He automatically bound up from the sofa, but slowed to a stop when he remembered that Fernando was unlikely to be thrilled to see him after a long, hard few hours in a lonely gym with an unfriendly voice barking orders at him as his hamstring screamed in protest. So Daniel loitered by the stairs, trying to look casual, crossing and then uncrossing his arms as Fernando walked in and looked up.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak. But he froze for a moment, Fernando gazing at him glumly yet questioningly. Daniel was at last faced with himself, with his own difficult exterior that he had thrust upon Fernando for countless weeks - that challenge in the stare, that set jaw, that creased forehead that bore exhaustion and irritation. And he was at once filled with regret and empathy and everything that had failed to find him, that Fernando had hoped to incite.
And Daniel, saving the few instants of unwelcome silence that he had allowed to penetrate his determined happiness, spoke, not knowing what else there was for him to say.
"How was your morning?" he asked hesitantly.
There was a brief pause, their eyes locking in sad but shared resignation. "Great," Fernando said. "Just great."