[ Knights of Cydonia: VI. Fernando; Part III ]
Summary: There is something rotten in the state of Andalucía.
Ships: (present) Fernando/Olalla, Sergio/Fernando, Stevie/Xabi, Bojan/Canales, Raúl/Guti (in the future) David/Iker
Disclaimer: Minus the Gladiator-esque themes, I own everything except for the footballers themselves. None of this happened and certainly none of them are actual royalty. Except probably Xabi.
Title blatantly stolen from the Muse song of the same name. Consider it the theme song.
Standing Note: Andalucía is a region of Spain, certainly not its own kingdom (or at least it hasn’t been for a good 500 years). Consider this an AU Spain in an AU world structure. I do not claim to know a thing about Andalusian culture, so again. AU AU AU.
Chapter: VI. Fernando; Part III
Word Count: 5,385
Chapter Ships & Characters: Fernando Torres/Olalla Dominguez, Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres (hints), David Beckham/Iker Casillas (hints)
Chapter Rating: PG-16 for language
Links: Table of Contents
Notes: ICYMI--the last chapter. This is the last part of Fernando's POV for now, so I hope you enjoy! One day this fic will end. But that day is not today. Or any day soon. ;_; I need a ghost writer istg ♥
VI. Fernando
don’t waste your time
He finds himself outside of David’s door with no recollection of how he got there. Fernando’s aware of just how ludicrous he looks at this hour of the night, bleached hair sticking to the sides of his face, eyes wide with a mixture of uncertain anger and disbelief, robe haphazardly cast about thin shoulders. He raps on the door without concern once, twice, thrice. He feels rather than sees servants pass hurriedly by behind him, probably looking concerned that anyone is bothering the king at all, let alone so late.
Fernando shifts from one leg to another, impatiently, and has just raised a knuckle to rap again, louder this time, when the door opens. He opens his mouth immediately to yell at David and then closes it, blinking in surprise.
“Fer, what are you doing up so late?” Iker says with a worried expression on his face. He looks tired, face drawn and pale, as though he hasn’t slept in days. He’s wearing clothes Fernando saw him wear at least two days ago.
“Iker? What are you doing in David’s room?”
Iker lets out a deep sigh and covers his face with his hands. Fernando doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look this tired.
“Now’s not a good time,” Iker says. “He’s sleeping.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Fernando asks, confused. He’s never given an answer because immediately he hears a voice call from inside the room.
“Iker, who is it?”
Fernando’s expression clouds over and he looks from Iker to where the voice came from and back to Iker. His confusion is just about to clear up when-
“It’s not what you think, Fer,” Iker mutters, shaking his head.
“Iker, seriously, worst time to leave the discussion, buddy,” David’s voice comes and he plods, seemingly from deep inside his room, to the doorway. He’s in luxurious, plush robes and his blond hair is sticking up in every which direction. He blinks as Fernando comes into his line of vision. “Fer? What are you doing up so late?”
“What are you?” Fernando asks first. And then, “And what’s Iker doing in your room?”
David looks nervously from his brother to his Chief Advisor before offering Fernando a nervous smile.
“We had some matters of business to attend to.”
“At three in the morning?” Fernando raises an eyebrow.
“I couldn’t sleep and it couldn’t wait?” David offers, but, as usual, his voice is uncertain at best.
In front of him, Iker heaves a belabored sigh.
“Come in, Fernando,” he says. “I have a feeling you’re not going to leave anyway.”
Fernando sits awkwardly on a chair as David takes a seat at the edge of his bed. Iker hovers near the desk that’s been carefully placed by the enormous windows with curtains drawn closed. There’s barely any light in the room at all save a dim flickering on an ancient wall sconce right above David’s royal bed.
“What are you still doing up, Fer?” David repeats as soon as they’re all settled. He pushes himself further back onto the bed, sticks a pillow under his ass and starts chewing on a loose cuticle.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Fernando shrugs. “Shit on my mind, you know.”
David nods as though he knows. He doesn’t, Fernando thinks. He knows absolutely nothing at all. His eyes flicker to Iker and how tired he looks, how utterly slow and exhausted, as though everything has mounted to this and he’s not sure how they’ve gotten here. There’s something slowly clicking in the back of Fernando’s mind and it’s with Iker and his loyalty, how sad he looks and David on the bed. The picture hasn’t fully formed yet, but Fernando is beginning to see bits and pieces.
“You two were talking late,” he says carefully after a moment.
“Like I said, we had some business,” David says.
“What business?”
“Kingly business.”
“What kind of kingly business?” Fernando presses. He tries not to show how annoyed he is, how close he is to bristling that this entire fucking mess affects him and no one’s taken a moment to fucking consider it.
Iker gives Fernando a pointed look and shakes his head at David, but David doesn’t see.
“It’s none of your business, Fernando,” he says and it’s exactly the wrong thing to say.
“It’s none of my business,” Fernando slowly repeats. He flexes his wrist, moves it in a circular motion and listens to it pop in the quiet. “What would make it my business, David? Do you think it would make it my business if my king found a queen? What if my country had two leaders instead of one? Would it be my business if my brother got married? If he was forced to find a wife or else forfeit the throne?”
David’s mouth hangs open and, honestly, Iker’s does too. Iker recovers and moves to stand, but Fernando stands first. His fists are clenched and he’s shaking.
“Do you think it would be my fucking business if you, my brother and king, lost the throne and it was given to me?” Fernando’s voice is rising, his face coloring into a brilliant shade of red, his freckles sticking out sorely in their midst. He’s stepping toward the bed and David’s scooting back on it.
“Do you think it would be my fucking business if, on that occasion, I was given thirty fucking days to somehow convince myself I want to spend the rest of my life with Olalla? That I could love her and rule an entire country with her?” Iker’s moved by now, has somehow managed to reach Fernando before he’s reached David. Fernando’s shaking and Iker restrains him as Fernando struggles to break free, his voice nearly at a shout now. “When does it become my business, David? Fucking tell me that. Tell me the fuck when.”
“I should have told you-” David begins, automatically.
“No fucking shit you should have told me-” Fernando shouts and Iker has to wrestle him back to keep him from leaping on the bed.
“I was going to Fernando, you needed to give me time--”
“Time? What time? We don’t fucking have time, David. You should have told me the second you fucking knew-”
“I didn’t have to tell you anything.” Suddenly it’s David who’s angry, whose face is turning different shades of fury. Suddenly it’s David who’s clenching his fist and not trying to keep his voice from rising. “I have enough fucking shit to deal with Fernando, I don’t have to report to my little brother for everything-”
“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it, David. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, the only reason this country is in any kind of workable condition is because of Iker-”
“Keep me out of this, Fer,” Iker pants out. He’s having a hard enough time restraining the young prince and now he’s eyeing the King too.
“How dare you, you petulant little brat-”
“Don’t you fucking call me your brother, David,” Fernando growls out. He pushes against Iker’s arms with all of his strength and one of Iker’s arms slips. Fernando takes the initiative to push free and then he lunges.
David doesn’t move. He doesn’t even try. Fernando collides into him and they both go rolling off the bed to the ground.
“We haven’t fucking been brothers for years.”
Fernando’s voice comes in pitches from the ground as they roll and knock into things and one another. Iker’s shouts can barely be heard over Fernando and David’s own. Their backs knock into the side of the bed. Fernando’s on top first and then David rolls them over. Fernnado’s punch, aimed at David’s head, misses, but the second connects with his jaw. David kicks up and his knee catches Fernando’s stomach. Fernando loses his breath and manages to dig his elbow into David’s rib.
“Fuck!” David grunts and he slams his fist into Fernando’s shoulder. Fernando shouts in pain and he aims a kick at David’s chin. It nicks the end and the two of them crash into the bed post in pain before Iker springs in and forcibly separates the two of them.
“Enough,” he yells. He grabs David by the shoulder and forces him up to his feet and then pushes him back down against his bed. “Enough, this is fucking disgraceful.”
He turns to Fernando, who’s still sprawled on the floor, clutching at his jaw and panting. On the bed, David’s chest is heaving up and down.
“What the fuck do you think beating each other is going to accomplish?” Iker hisses, seething at both his prince and king. His eyes are flashing, his face is red, and he still has an ironclad grip on David’s shoulder. “One of you has to get married or you both do. That is the fucking fact of the matter. Beating each other until you’re bloody isn’t going to solve a single fucking thing unless the two of you have come up with a brilliant plan in the last minute.”
There’s silence as both Fernando and David try to catch their breaths. They glare daggers at each other, but say nothing.
“Well?” Iker demands. “Have you? Have you had a fucking revelation you care to share?”
Still the brothers say nothing so Iker finally lets go of David and gets up angrily. He’s breathing hard too, as though he was in the tussle.
“I didn’t think so. David, straighten the fuck up. You have to find someone or Hodgson will forcibly take your throne from you. Fernando, you need to get the fuck over it. You’re not the only one dealing with the world’s burden.” Iker looks from one brother to the other, thoroughly disgusted.
He twists his wrists and covers his face with a hand. When he removes it, he looks not only spent, but disappointed.
“You’re brothers,” Iker says to David and Fernando. He throws them both a dirty look before walking out of the room. “So start fucking acting like it.”
They lay there like that long enough to start feeling guilty. Fernando, for one, has an aching jaw and he thinks he’s fractured his ribs or at least breathing too hard feels makes it feel like it. He closes his eyes, hair splayed around him, and exhales painfully through his nose. He doesn’t just feel guilty, he feels stupid.
“I’m sorry-” he says at the exact same time he hears David utter, “I’m a fucking idiot, Fer.”
Fernando opens his eyes. He looks over to the bed, although he can’t see David from where he’s laying on his back. Carefully, gingerly, he pulls himself up to a sitting position. He hisses in pain.
“Fuck, David,” he mutters. “Couldn’t take it easy on me could you?”
“You’re one to talk,” Fernando hears David wincing from the bed. His brother sits up too and then they can finally see one another’s faces. They’re flushed and somewhat banged up, but David still manages a sheepish smile. Fernando shakes his head in response.
“We probably needed it out of our systems anyway,” he mutters.
“Tell that to Iker,” David groans. He rolls a shoulder and winces again. “Fuck, I haven’t been in a fight since I went away for college.”
“You used to get into fights more often than Mama and Papa could threaten you out of them,” Fernando says, remembering. “Nearly every boarding school you went to. I’m surprised they didn’t find you someone to marry right away. That way someone else would have to deal with you.”
“Who the fuck would’ve wanted to marry that train wreck?” David chuckles. It’s not full of any kind of mirth though. He sighs instead and looks up at the ceiling. “Who’s going to want to marry this one?”
It’s not the kind of question anyone likes to hear from their brother, let alone their sovereign. Fernando shrugs.
“Anyone, David. Almost anyone. You’re the King, that counts for something.”
David laughs lowly. “King, right. I’m a fucking mess of a king too. I was better off being kicked out of boarding schools and forced into the Knights.”
Fernando doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels his stomach knot in guilt, mostly because he agrees.
“I’m not like you or Bo, you know,” David says, sighing. “Never had a level head. Never really listened to what people told me to do, even if it was for my own good. And where’s that gotten me? Who’s that gotten me, you know? You’ve been with Olalla how long? She still loves you. I’ve never had anyone like that.”
Again, something tugs at Fernando, like a puzzle piece he can’t place. He’s reminded of Iker for no particular reason, of how late he always stays, of how much he takes care of David. David would be a mess without Iker and they all know it.
“You have Iker,” Fernando says with a smile. And it feels right, for some reason.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” David asks with a wry smile. “If I could marry Iker.”
That’s when Fernando’s smile flickers. He lets out a low sigh and pulls his knees up to his sore chest. He rests his chin on top of his kneecaps and closes his eyes.
“Yeah, David,” Fernando says. “That would be something.”
He doesn’t know why it has to be different. Olalla or Sergio, Iker or some other woman. Fernando can’t see the difference and it troubles him. Are two kings for a country really worse than just one? Is not having the option at all better than the alternative? Whether it’s a woman sharing David’s bed or a man, what does it really matter, in the end?
Fernando isn’t sure of anything, least of all their futures, but when David calls down to him and Fernando crawls onto the bed with his older brother, all he can think of is Sergio’s eyes and his arms around his shoulders.
He lays his head down near David’s, blond hair touching blond hair. Their shoulders bump in the way they used to when they were younger and their bodies were longer, thinner, less hardened from training and immortality.
“Do you think you would, if you could?” Fernando asks, quietly.
“If I could what?”
“Marry Iker,” Fernando answers. He shrugs. “Be with Iker. Have you ever thought about it?”
“I’m not gay, Fer,” David laughs uneasily.
“Who cares, David?” Fernando asks. “Why do you have to be one or the other? Why can’t you just love who you love?”
David lifts his head and peers down at his younger brother. Fernando doesn’t like the way those eyes feel on his face, as though the gaze itself is calculated in a way that is purely judgmental. It makes him feel nauseous.
“Fer, are you-”
“I’m not anything, Dave. I have Olalla.” And then, feeling even more nauseous, “For our country, I’ll marry Olalla.”
David quiets, but his eyes are still on Fernando. Fernando opens his own and looks at his brother.
“But that doesn’t answer my question,” he says. “Would you, if you could?”
David looks troubled. He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you love him?”
“Well yes, but not in that way.”
“So in the way you love me and Bojan?” Fernando asks.
Again, David looks troubled.
“Well not exactly, but-”
“Then what’s the difference? What is the difference between how you love Iker and the way you love anyone else?”
There’s a silence that meets Fernando’s questions. David is either at a loss for what to say or he doesn’t know himself. Fernando thinks maybe David thinks it’s the former when it’s actually the latter.
“I don’t know, Fer,” he says, finally. “It’s just different. It’s Iker.”
That’s all the answer David has to give him. It’s funny, Fernando thinks as David’s breathing evens out, because it isn’t an answer at all and, if it is, he doesn’t think it’s the one David means for it to be.
It’s hard, Fernando thinks, knowing there are strings taut all around him and not being able to pull a single one himself. He feels threads circling his wrists, tight lines capturing his ankles and legs, shoulders, and even neck. Fernando feels like he can’t move but for the grace of someone else and it makes it hard for him to breathe. He puts on his tie and combs his hair. He looks into the mirror and thinks Oh, I look dapper. I look like a prince. I look like a person someone would want to take for life, to say I do to.
That’s the entire point, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He sits on his bed and digs the palm of his hands into his eyes. He pinches his temples, pinches his cheeks, pinches his arms until they’re a raw red that can’t be seen on the outside because he’s clothed all over. There’s a sensation that it’s spiraling out of control, that the pieces he had in the palms of his hands were nothing but illusions to begin with. He can see multiple paths, but none he can take, because he isn’t the puppetmaster, only the puppet.
Fernando picks up his phone. It’s more than instinctual, it’s automatic. He scrolls through his numbers, scrolls past David, past Bojan and Iker, past Pipita and Garay, and half of his friends. He stops at the name he shouldn’t stop at and closes his eyes for just a moment before pressing Talk.
The phone rings for longer than it should, but it gives Fernando time to compose himself. He thinks it’s better this way, that it goes to voicemail, that his voice prompts him to leave one, but Fernando won’t because he knows better than that.
It doesn’t. There’s a little click at the end of the line and then Sergio’s voice, low and uncertain.
“Nando?”
Fernando lets out a low breath. He brushes obsessively at a spot on his pants.
“Hey, Sergio.”
He doesn’t follow up after that, partly because he can’t think of what to say and partly because he just wants to hear Sergio breathe. It’s a problem, it’s a problem, it’s a problem.
“Hey, how are you?” Sergio asks, finally.
Fernando hears his voice and his stomach twists and it’s a problem.
“Good,” he says. And then, “Okay.” And then, “Decent.” And then, “Awful.”
Sergio lets out a breath on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Fernando doesn’t like how formal Sergio sounds. It’s unnatural. “Is there anything I can do?”
There’s a variety of things Sergio can do, Fernando thinks. They range from keep talking to don’t forget me to please, give me back my heart. Mostly he wants to tell Sergio that the only thing that can help is the one thing that can’t.
“I miss you,” Fernando says, quietly. He feels the ache in his chest acutely, not a dull throb, but a sharp, sudden stab. “I really, fucking miss you, Sergio.”
Sergio’s breathing is shallower suddenly, possibly nonexistent.
“Why are you telling me this, Nando?”
“Don’t you miss me too?” Fernando sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. Weak, cowardly, disgusting. There’s only one thing he can do and that’s ruin this altogether. That’s what he’s good at, following rules and destroying everything else. This is a train hurtling toward the end of the tracks and Sergio doesn’t even know it. Fernando covers his face with sweating palms.
“Of course I miss you, Nando,” Sergio sounds upset. “Of course I fucking do, you know I fucking do. Why are you telling me this?”
It’s like he knows, it’s like Sergio is on the train and the windows are covered and the compartment is locked but somehow, because of the motion and the look of panic on Fernando’s face, he knows.
“I’m going to ask Olalla to marry me,” Fernando chokes out. “I’m going to ask her to marry me, tonight, and she’s going to say yes.”
The silence on the line is astounding. It’s pure, unfiltered silence, the kind that presses in on Fernando’s ear and starts to crawl down his esophagus and into his chest.
“I have to-”
“How the fuck dare you,” Sergio’s voice comes, low and angry.
“Sergio, I-”
“You call me to tell me you fucking miss me and that you’re marrying someone else?” He’s angry. Definitely angry. “What the fuck did you expect me to say, Fernando? Congratulations? I’m happy for you? Well of course you’re marrying the princess, did you think I didn’t know it was going to happen?”
“You knew?” Fernando asks, eyes growing wide.
“I knew you would one day. Fuck, Fernando, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Sergio is growling into the phone now. “You know how I feel, you’ve already fucked with me once. You think what, because you’re the prince, it’s okay for you to do it again?”
“Sergio, I didn’t mean to-”
“Well fuck you, your highness, I don’t play these games-”
“I just needed to tell you,” Fernando sounds desperate. He sounds pathetic and desperate. He hates himself for it. “I wanted to hear your voice-”
“I deserve better than this and you know it,” Sergio says. “I said goodbye to you for a reason. It was the hardest fucking thing I’ve had to do, but I did it anyway. I did it for you because I know how much your precious fucking throne means to you.”
“Sergio, fuck-”
“Stop stringing me along,” Sergio spits into the line. “I’m sick of it. Xabi’s right, I deserve better.”
“Who’s Xabi-”
“Good luck on your engagement,” Sergio says, icily. “Congratulations, I hope you and the princess are happy together. Don’t call me again, I’ll put this stupid fucking phone in the mail and send it back to you. I’d show up at the gates, but I wouldn’t want to be thrown out again.”
Fernando doesn’t know what to say. He has some semblance of words, but they die in the middle of his throat. There’s nothing he could possibly say, he doesn’t know why he bothered trying. Sergio is apparently unimpressed with his lack of effort.
“Whatever. I’m done with this. Have a good life, my prince,” are Sergio’s final words and then the line goes dead.
Fernando throws the phone across the room. He throws it at the wall, as hard as he possibly can. It’s a smart phone, the most expensive one money can buy. Of course it doesn’t break. It does nothing satisfying at all, simply hits the wall with a thud and slides to the floor.
He can’t breathe. There are a lot of things he can’t do, and breathing is one of them. He leaves his phone lying on the floor, opens his door and slams it shut behind him. It’s not the right time to run, he’s not dressed to run, but he does.
Fernando’s heart is breaking and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He saw the edge of the cliff coming, but he hadn’t realized that he, and not Sergio, would be the one hurtling off of it at the end.
Olalla doesn’t catch him, per se. She’s not waiting for him at the edge of the grounds, doesn’t grasp his shoulder, slip her hand into his and urge that they run together. She’s not waiting for him there at all, because this is real life, not some figment of his imagination.
But she is waiting somewhere. She’s waiting in front of the restaurant, outside of her car with bodyguards surrounding her. She’s waiting in her proper dress with her hair properly coiffed, her necklace properly strung about her neck, her hands properly at her sides. Everything is neat, calculated, exactly how it should be. She looks beautiful. Fernando wants to rip it all off.
He doesn’t come by car. He comes running, nice shoes hitting the pavement hard and his feet are probably bloodied and he looks a right mess, but he doesn’t care. Olalla looks up just in time to see him come for her and it’s ridiculous, he looks like an absolute idiot, but it’s all he can think to do.
She knows him better than anyone else in the entire world. So Olalla doesn’t catch him, per se. But when Fernando comes running, upset, face flushed, Olalla reaches a hand out. She pushes past her bodyguards and reaches a hand out and as Fernando reaches her, he takes it and together, they both run.
They don’t run very far because it’s not practical that way. He’s out of breath and Olalla’s hair is out of place, her jewelry sliding off, her dress nearly ripping at the bottom seams from the amount of times it’s caught on her heels. They round a corner and Fernando stops them both. Olalla leans against the wall, completely out of breath.
“Th-they’re not following anymore,” she wheezes out painfully.
Fernando can barely breathe, let alone speak. He’s bent over, trying to catch his breath. He nods.
They collect themselves for a few minutes. Fernando can’t look up at her, but he doesn’t need to. Olalla studies his face, takes his hand in hers and tugs him up.
“How do you feel about burgers?”
The place is a diner, old and small, with neon flickering lights. It’s not typical to Andalucía, although Fernando remembers seeing similar establishments in the United States when he would visit with his mother and father. He and Olalla slip into a booth together. There are plenty of people packed inside the diner, but no one seems to be paying them a bit of attention. Fernando’s grateful. He’s still a little dizzy from running, a little disoriented from absolutely everything.
“What would you like?” a thin girl with long, brown hair comes to stand by their table. A plain name tag glints on her chest. Sara.
“Two hamburgers with fries, please,” Olalla looks up at Sara pleasantly. “No onions or pickles. And two milkshakes, one chocolate and one strawberry.”
“We have a special on our chili tonight, half price. Pretty delicious, if you care to try it.” Sara doesn’t smile, but Olalla doesn’t seem to care. She smiles prettily anyway.
“Sure, that sounds good. Again, two.”
“I’ll be right out with your order,” Sara nods after jotting it down on her notepad. She whisks away down the narrow aisles to give the cook their order.
Olalla, as calm as ever, finally turns back to Fernando. She doesn’t smile this time. She doesn’t even look concerned. She tucks back stray strands of hair and waits.
Fernando doesn’t know what to say, at first. There’s too much happening to him at once, high strung emotions and flitting thoughts mixed with shouted words and adrenaline still beating in his veins. He chokes up at first, finds his tongue too thick to say anything at all. He doesn’t know how he’s going to ask the princess to marry him, and here of all places, and he thinks maybe everything was a waste after all.
“I thought it’d be easier,” he says, finally. “When I was younger I’d think a lot about it, about what would happen if Mama and Papa died. I thought it would be easier. That there would be no expectations anymore. That I could decide what I wanted to do, for myself, for the first time in my entire life.”
Olalla doesn’t interrupt. She reaches across the table and laces her fingers through Fernando’s. It’s comforting.
“I was stupid. I didn’t think it would actually happen. I thought they would be here forever. I thought they would still be alive when they gave the throne to David, that we’d still have guidance. I didn’t think they would actually leave us, Ol. I don’t know what to do about it.”
Olalla squeezes his fingers gently.
“I feel guilty,” Fernando breathes out. He tips his head back and closes his eyes. His shoulders are heavy, his entire body feels like lead. “I feel guilty all the fucking time. I wasn’t as upset as I should have been when they died. I should have been there with them. I shouldn’t have run. I feel like everything is my fault.”
“What’s your fault, Fer?” Olalla asks, finally. Her face is drawn with concern. “Your parents dying?”
“It’s not rational, I know that. But I could have been a better son. I could have told Mama I loved her more. I could have become the prince they wanted me to be.” Fernando shakes his head. “I feel guilty all the fucking time.”
Olalla doesn’t say anything. The sounds of the diner gurgle up around them. At some point, Sara comes back with their burgers, shakes, fries, and chili. She sets it all on the table and leaves. Olalla lets go of Fernando’s hand.
“Eat something. It’ll make you feel better.”
Fernando doubts it, but he picks up a fry anyway. He sighs and dabs it in the ketchup.
“I’m sorry I have to bring you into this,” he says. He looks up at Olalla. She’s sipping at her milkshake delicately. She shrugs her shoulder.
“Fernando, I’ve known you since we were kids. I don’t care what we are to each other second, we’re friends first. You are always my best friend first, do you understand that?”
Fernando nods. He feels like shit again, because it feels like a lie, to his best friend. He chews on his French fry and then swallows.
“I love you, Ol,” he says, finally. “You know that, right?”
Olalla smiles at him. It’s understanding. Fernando thinks out of all of the things Olalla is, good and bad, at the heart of it, she’s always understanding.
“Of course I know, Fernando. I know you love me, I know how much, I know since when.”
“Since when?” Fernando asks, blinking.
Olalla laughs and sticks a fry in her mouth.
“Since the day you met me.”
It’s so matter-of-fact that it catches him off guard. Fernando has to blink away the surprise before, for the very first time in what feels like ages, his face breaks into a smile. He leans forward and runs a hand up her arm, runs it over her shoulder, and cups her face. He tugs her forward over the food and their lips meet in a kiss.
It’s different from every kiss he’s ever shared with Sergio, but it means no less. He loves her just as much, possibly more. But it’s different. Like David and Iker and everyone else, it’s different.
“Olalla,” Fernando whispers as they break away.
Olalla’s face is expectant. She knows. She always knows.
Fernando brushes a thumb over her jaw and presses another kiss to her lips.
“Will you marry me?”
Olalla doesn’t answer for a moment, but not because she doesn’t have the answer. She does and Fernando knows what it is, too. She studies him instead, stares intently into his eyes, as though wanting or needing to find something there. If she finds it, Fernando doesn’t know. Instead her face lights up in a wry smile.
“Depends. Where’s my ring?”
Fernando blinks, again, and then laughs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black, velvet box.
“Do I need to get down on my knees?” he asks.
“God, do I look like that kind of girl?” Olalla says with a wrinkle to her face.
Fernando opens the box and plucks the ring out. Olalla gives him her hand and he slides it on. The ring glints on her delicate finger, glints brightly in the dim lighting of the diner.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Fernando says with a grin. Olalla kisses his mouth in response and his grin widens. “When your mother asks, you’re going to have to tell her that you were proposed to over burgers and fries.”
Olalla’s face lights up when she laughs. It truly, completely lights up. She looks breathtaking. Fernando kisses her again and she’s still laughing.
“Perfect,” the princess says, finally. She dips a French fry in ketchup and dabs Fernando’s nose with it. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”