our dream
Title: Our Dream
Rating: PG
Word Count: 391
Character: Sergio Ramos, the babe.
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: because i needed to dream a little. because we needed to dream a little. because it fucking hurt seeing them hurt.
but in the end, we'll be okay. i know this.
It’s so quiet. It’s so quiet that it actually hurts for once.
He misses the loud clutters of voices of happy men acting like they’re children bouncing off the walls. He misses the screaming and people running around enough for the authority figure to come in and calm them down. He misses the champagne, getting completely and utterlessly drunk enough to eventually wind up in someone else’s bed. He misses taking pictures and sharing it to the fans. He misses the music. He misses the dancing. He misses sending drunk calls and texts to his family and friends, because even if you hadn’t exactly won the silver, it was an excuse to be the happiest man alive.
He misses it so much that a tear slips by him unnoticed to the others.
He misses it until it starts to hurt worse than his shoulder, that shoulder that hasn’t stopped bothering him for months.
It can hardly be compared to something that feels like it’s sinking you into the ground, rendering you breathless and full of unfathomable emotions of lost that just mercilessly stabs you right in the chest.
Nothing is worse than having your dream being from an inch away to another countless yards.
Nothing is worse than sinking further into lost hope.
And he bleeds because of it, keeps bleeding until something embraces him out of the darkness.
Something that pulls him right out and soothes his wound, puts enough pressure to make way for comfort.
And suddenly, he can see.
He can see that his captain, once again, is holding him. He can feel his heat. He can feel his heart pound softly against him. He can see the consolable eyes of his teammates, his friends, his brothers who have also bled for their dreams. He can feel himself tremble under his captain’s arms, and feel them tighten around him almost immediately. He can see that the room is no longer the perfect darkness, but the perfect hope, the perfect faith and he wants to cry more, but he can’t and he knows this, so he just hides himself in the crook of his captain’s neck and holds it all back, absorbs the warmth, pulls his captain against him before he lets go of him completely and stands tall and straight in front of his inescapable crowd.
And suddenly, it isn’t quiet anymore.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 391
Character: Sergio Ramos, the babe.
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: because i needed to dream a little. because we needed to dream a little. because it fucking hurt seeing them hurt.
but in the end, we'll be okay. i know this.
It’s so quiet. It’s so quiet that it actually hurts for once.
He misses the loud clutters of voices of happy men acting like they’re children bouncing off the walls. He misses the screaming and people running around enough for the authority figure to come in and calm them down. He misses the champagne, getting completely and utterlessly drunk enough to eventually wind up in someone else’s bed. He misses taking pictures and sharing it to the fans. He misses the music. He misses the dancing. He misses sending drunk calls and texts to his family and friends, because even if you hadn’t exactly won the silver, it was an excuse to be the happiest man alive.
He misses it so much that a tear slips by him unnoticed to the others.
He misses it until it starts to hurt worse than his shoulder, that shoulder that hasn’t stopped bothering him for months.
It can hardly be compared to something that feels like it’s sinking you into the ground, rendering you breathless and full of unfathomable emotions of lost that just mercilessly stabs you right in the chest.
Nothing is worse than having your dream being from an inch away to another countless yards.
Nothing is worse than sinking further into lost hope.
And he bleeds because of it, keeps bleeding until something embraces him out of the darkness.
Something that pulls him right out and soothes his wound, puts enough pressure to make way for comfort.
And suddenly, he can see.
He can see that his captain, once again, is holding him. He can feel his heat. He can feel his heart pound softly against him. He can see the consolable eyes of his teammates, his friends, his brothers who have also bled for their dreams. He can feel himself tremble under his captain’s arms, and feel them tighten around him almost immediately. He can see that the room is no longer the perfect darkness, but the perfect hope, the perfect faith and he wants to cry more, but he can’t and he knows this, so he just hides himself in the crook of his captain’s neck and holds it all back, absorbs the warmth, pulls his captain against him before he lets go of him completely and stands tall and straight in front of his inescapable crowd.
And suddenly, it isn’t quiet anymore.