clear eyes, full hearts
title clear eyes, full hearts
rating pg
word count 5,923
summary friday night lights au, aka high school football players.
notes happy belated birthday to the ever lovely being_georgia! notes explaining the american football terms are at the end, if you're interested.
Friday nights are all the same: football game, complete with face painted fans, and then back to someone's house, bonfire in the backyard, red plastic cups full of the cheapest booze they can find, no fewer than two people to each lawn chair. Jeans and boots and sometimes a jacket, but only once November hits. Sometimes there's a bottle of whisky or vodka, always stolen from someone's parents, but tonight isn't one of those nights, so Fernando doesn't have to pretend it doesn't burn when he swallows. Instead he sticks to beer like everyone else, PBR, he thinks, but he's not a beer snob, so he just smiles and drinks.
Olalla's there tonight, and she hooks her arm through his as they stand around the bonfire because all of the lawn chairs were taken.
"Who're you looking for?" She asks. He shrugs. She looks pretty in her denim skirt and scuffed up boots, but then again, she always looks pretty.
"Nobody," Fernando says.
"Something, then," she presses, and Fernando laughs.
"Something, maybe," he says. "What I'm doing with my life, maybe."
Olalla holds her hand out, so he passes her his cup and she sips from it. "You'll figure that out," she says. "But for now, you just play football." She hands the cup back. "Who's that?" She points across the fire at one of the running backs.
"David," Fernando tells her. "Villa. Running back."
"I know that," Olalla says, shoving him gently. Fernando laughs. "I go to all the games, same as everyone else."
"Sure," Fernando says. "So why're you asking?"
"You should introduce me," Olalla tells him, raising her eyebrows, and Fernando laughs.
"Come on, then," he says, and they head across the yard.
Saturday mornings are all the same, too: wake up tired and bruised from the game, but breakfast is on the table, orange juice and toast and eggs, and then Fernando drags himself on a run for a few miles because he knows that's what Coach would want him to do. When he gets home, he showers and gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants and settles on the sofa to watch SportsCenter for the afternoon.
His phone buzzes a few times with texts from his teammates, asking if he wants to chill, but Fernando ignores them all. He's not being antisocial, exactly. It's just that it's his senior year, he's graduating in nine months, and he wants to get his head together a little bit. It's hard to get his head together when he hangs out with his team, who mostly only talk about what they're benching and what colleges are recruiting them.
Fernando isn't sure if he wants to play in college, which is another reason he chooses to stay home. He's had offers- there's a stack of envelopes on the kitchen counter with postmarks from Austin, Mississippi, Oregon, College Station, and Ohio, among others. He just isn't sure if he wants to take them.
He should probably talk to Coach about it, but it is a Saturday, after all, so Fernando just puts his feet up on the coffee table and turns up the volume.
On Sunday morning, Fernando gets up and goes to church with his family, wears a tie, and sits between his parents in their pew. They linger afterwards, saying hi to the entire town, it feels like, and Fernando talks to Olalla for a few minutes before she wanders off to find her father. He notices David's phone number written in faded Sharpie on the inside of her wrist.
"We have new neighbors," she says as she drifts away. "Come help them move in this afternoon?"
"Sure," Fernando says, waving.
He goes home and changes into an old pair of jeans with rips in the knees and a t-shirt before he heads over to Olalla's house. She only lives a few streets over, but Fernando takes the pick-up truck anyway.
"You could've walked," Olalla admonishes when Fernando parks just before her driveway. "Pollution. Think about your carbon footprint, Fer."
"Preach that all you want when you go to some fancy liberal arts school in Massachusetts or Vermont," Fernando laughs. "But we're in Texas right now and we drive everywhere in Texas."
"Drive and eat and play football," Olalla says, shaking her head. "That's all you people ever do."
Fernando gets out of the pick-up and elbows her. "Just because you're a transplant doesn't mean you aren't one of us," he says.
"Sure it does," Olalla says. "You know that, it's like, if your great grandfather didn't fight at the Alamo, you aren't from Texas." She rolls her eyes.
"Whatever, you're here now," Fernando says. "You even have an accent, come on now. They wouldn't want you in New York anymore."
"Hush," Olalla says as they cross the neighbor's yard. There's a U-Haul parked in the driveway. Olalla knocks on the front door. "Hi," she says when a woman answers the door. "I'm your new neighbor, we were wondering if you needed any help moving in?"
Predictably, Fernando gets assigned manual labor while Olalla gets to unpack kitchen appliances.
"Sergio will be out in a minute to help," the woman, Paqui, says, so Sergio heads out the U-Haul.
He's struggling to get a La-Z Boy down the ramp when a boy about his age comes out of the house. "Hey, two secs, let me help," the guy calls, so Fernando pauses and leans against the chair while he waits. "I'm Sergio," the guy says when he gets close enough to hold out his hand. Fernando shakes it. Sergio's palms are calloused.
"So where did y'all come out from?" Fernando asks as they pick up the chair together and maneuver it out of the truck.
"Austin," Sergio says.
"Big city, huh," Fernando says. "Kinda different out here?"
Sergio laughs. "Yeah, a little bit. But it's good, it's a nice town."
"Guess so," Fernando says. "You play football?"
"'Course," Sergio says. "Tight end. You?"
"QB one," Fernando says. "You gonna join the team? Kinda late in the game for it, you missed two a days and shit, but if you're good, Coach'll take ya."
"Yeah, I'm gonna talk to him," Sergio says. "Gonna have to if I wanna play college ball, right?"
"Sure," Fernando says. "How good are you? I can talk to Coach if you want."
"Got a letter from UT this week," Sergio shrugs. "Guess that says something."
"I'll talk to Coach, then," Fernando says. Sergio smiles; Fernando catches himself staring and grins back, shakes his head.
"Let's get the rest of this in," he says.
"Yeah," Sergio says, "sure." When Fernando glances over his shoulder, Sergio's still smiling.
And on Monday morning, the cycle starts all over again. Fernando comes down for breakfast and the radio is on in the kitchen, already talking about the game on Friday, how they should prepare, how good the other team is. Fernando tries to drown it out by chewing his cereal, but it doesn't work. And then it's: get in the pick-up, go to school. Say hi to the guys, go to class, pay attention (or doodle in his textbook margins, if it's English lit). Don't have anything except water after lunch because practice starts at three.
"Hey," Fernando says, sitting down next to Olalla and across from Sergio in the cafeteria.
"Hey," they chorus back, and Fernando digs into his lunch.
"Wanna go talk to Coach?" He asks Sergio eventually.
"Sure," Sergio agrees, so they say goodbye to Olalla and head out, across the parking lot to the building where Coach's office is.
"How's your first day?" Fernando asks.
"Better now," Sergio shrugs. Fernando's not sure how to respond, because he's not good at small talk and he's not good at new things, people he hasn't known since PeeWee football.
The nameplate on Coach's office says "Vicente del Bosque", but Fernando's never heard anyone call him anything other than Coach (except for Gerard, one of the defensive linesmen, who calls him the Walrus sometimes because of the mustache). The door's open, so Fernando knocks on the frame and sticks his head in.
"Hi, Coach?" He says. Coach waves him into the office. Sergio trails after him. "This is Sergio, he just transferred here. Tight end."
"Last name?" Coach asks, grabbing a folder from the stack on his desk.
"Ramos," Sergio says. "Moved from Austin this weekend."
"Sergio Ramos," Coach says. He squints at Sergio for a minute. "I got a letter about you. You thinkin' about playing ball for us?"
"I'd like to, sir," Sergio says.
"Come to practice today then," Coach tells him, "and we'll see how you do. Fernando'll show you the equipment room."
They leave the office and Fernando swings by the equipment room to grab practice gear for Sergio. He tosses the red jersey to Sergio, who slings it over his shoulder and grabs his pads.
"Thanks, man," Sergio says, beaming at Fernando, who can't stop himself from smiling back.
"No problem," he says. "Now you gotta show up on the field, though."
Sergio scoffs. "Like I'd do anything else. Seriously, though, thank you."
Fernando shrugs and grins a little. "Anything for a friend," he says, and Sergio's smile stretches even wider.
September isn't as hot as August, but it's still damn hot, and Fernando is soaked with sweat a half an hour into practice. They only have another half an hour to go before hitting the film room, though, so he sucks it up, wipes the sweat off of his forehead and puts his helmet back on.
"Let's run a few wildcat plays," Coach says, "and then y'all are sprinting."
Fernando groans and gets in position. He looks across the line of scrimmage at Sergio and rolls his eyes. Sergio laughs.
"Looked good," Fernando tells him when they finish their sprints, breathing hard and making a beeline for the water jugs.
"Not bad yourself, QB one," Sergio says. His helmet is perched on his forehead and he looks ridiculous.
"Coach say anything yet?" Fernando asks, and it's only half of the question he really wants to ask, because he's seen Sergio talking to Coach by the benches in the middle of practice.
"Yeah, said I won't start this Friday but I'm on the team," Sergio says.
"Nice," Fernando says. "That's awesome! Hey, maybe next week for the start?"
"Bet your ass," Sergio says.
They sit next to each other in the film room. David sits on Fernando's other side, poking his arm with his pen and whispering questions about Olalla, but Fernando finds his eyes sliding over to Sergio more often than not. Sergio leans forward in his seat, taking notes on everything, biting his lower lip in concentration.
Fernando turns back to Villa, but watches Sergio periodically tuck his hair behind his ear out of the corner of his eye.
Thursday rolls around, and Fernando is nervous.
The radio station in the diner where he works is talking about tomorrow's game, pulling up his states versus the other quarterback's stats. They talked about Sergio for a little, bit, the "promising new tight end from Austin, word is he won't play on Friday but the kid's good, Coach oughtta give 'im a chance", and they pull up his stats, too. Fernando wipes down the counter over and over again and tries to tune it out when they start talking about him again, and the high school's "winning tradition", but it's easier said than done.
"Hey," someone says, and Fernando snaps back to attention. It's Sergio, taking a seat at one of the barstools.
"'Sup," Fernando says. "Want anything?"
"Didn't know you worked here," Sergio says, smiling a little. "Can I get a vanilla shake?"
"Milkshake the day before a game?" Fernando asks, raising his eyebrow, but he starts making it anyway.
"Ritual," Sergio says. He spreads his hands on the counter; they're big and tan and Fernando remembers shaking his hand, how his skin was rough and warm. "All about the ritual, right? Step on the field right foot first, cross yourself, hop three times before the snap, have a vanilla milkshake the afternoon before." He shrugs. "Oh, and the lucky underwear, can't forget those."
Fernando laughs. "I put my left sock on before my right sock?" He offers. "And I stop dying my hair once we start a winning streak."
"Yeah?" Sergio asks. Fernando nods and pushes the milkshake across the counter towards him. "Thanks. Man, you're gonna have hella roots by the end of this season."
"Am I really, now," Fernando says.
"Sure thing," Sergio tells him. "Goin' to state, baby, we're goin' to state."
"Guess I'll have to put the box of bleach away, then," Fernando says. Sergio nods at him, sipping the milkshake. "Hey, I work until seven, wanna come over after?"
"Sure," Sergio says, sliding off of the barstool. "I gotta run now, though."
"Okay," Fernando says, "here-" He reaches for Sergio, who obliges and holds out his forearm, lets Fernando scribble his address on the inside of it, right where David had written his number on Olalla's arm.
"I brought zombie movies," Sergio says when he shows up on Fernando's porch.
"Zombie movies?" Fernando asks. He swings the screen door open and lets Sergio in.
"Ritual, remember?" Sergio asks, grinning. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."
"No, hey, it's chill," Fernando says. "I usually just flip around SportsCenter, but this is good."
They head into the kitchen first. Fernando opens the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He tosses one to Sergio, who catches it one-handed, without looking up.
"Nice," he says, laughing a little.
"Thanks, man," Sergio says. He holds up a stack of letters. "All these are recruitment letters?"
"Guess so," Fernando says. The one on top is from Texas A&M. "Haven't opened any of them."
"Why not?" Sergio asks. Fernando hesitates, and Sergio puts the stack down. "Nevermind man, it's not my business. Zombies?"
Fernando exhales, relieved. "Zombies," he says, and they head for the living room.
Friday night is the same as always, football game, then to David's house for a bonfire, celebrating with red plastic cups and the cheerleading squad. Except now when Fernando throws a touchdown pass, he glances over to the sideline and Sergio is whooping in celebration, and at David's house, Sergio toasts him with a red plastic cup full of cheap beer and Fernando drinks more than he usually does, because it gives him an excuse to stare at Sergio for just a second too long, looking at the color of his skin in the firelight.
"Are you fucking my neighbor?" Olalla asks when she eventually detaches herself from David's side.
"You and David are getting awfully close," Fernando observes, dodging the question.
"He's nice," Olalla says.
"I'm not fucking him," Fernando says.
"You want to, though," Olalla pushes gently. Sergio is across the fire from them, talking to one of the linebackers. His hair is long, tucked behind his ears, and he's laughing. "It's okay," Olalla says.
"Are you giving me permission?" Fernando asks.
"No," Olalla says. "I'm just telling you, it's okay."
Fernando has never told her that he thinks about guys, not girls, when he's alone at night. It's something that she's known for as long as he has, and that's all there is. "Okay," he says.
"Okay, you're going to?" Olalla asks.
"Not sure," Fernando says. He finishes off his drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "We'll see, I guess."
"That's just your life philosophy, isn't it," Olalla frowns. "I wish I was that lucky."
"You are," Fernando tells her absently. "See how David's lookin' at you?"
"That's not luck, that's hard work," Olalla tells him, tucking her hair behind her ears. "And I am going to go reap the benefits."
She drifts off towards David, and Fernando lets himself wander over to Sergio.
Sergio comes over on Sunday afternoon. They shoot the shit outside for a while before they get bored and Fernando pulls the keys to his truck out of his pocket.
"Where we goin'?" Sergio asks, hopping into the passenger seat.
"Dunno," Fernando shrugs. "Hill country, maybe."
They end up at a barbecue shack two towns over, where they order enough food to feed a small family and sit on benches outside. Fernando can feel his cheeks turning pink in the sun. Across the table from him, Sergio looks like a bronze statue.
"I haven't opened the letters because my dad was a Longhorn," Fernando says after a while.
"That's pretty sweet," Sergio says.
"I guess," Fernando shrugs. "But I don't wanna be him, you know?"
"Sure," Sergio says, "but not really. My dad didn't go to college."
"Oh," Fernando says.
"Hey, if you really don't wanna be your old man," Sergio says, "you could just go to A&M."
When Fernando gets home, he opens the first letter in the pile.
On Tuesday, Sergio comes into the diner.
"Chocolate milkshake," he says, grinning up at Fernando. His hair flops into his face a little.
"Milkshake right after practice?" Fernando asks, groaning a little. "Dude, I don't want anything but water for like, the next week, it's still so hot. Also, I thought you liked vanilla?" He pauses with his hand on the tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer under the counter.
"I gotta celebrate, man," Sergio explains. "Chocolate is for celebrating."
"Okay," Fernando says. "What are you celebrating?"
"We," Sergio corrects, "are celebrating my starting spot."
"For this Friday?" Fernando asks.
"For this Friday," Sergio confirms. "So you should be making yourself one, too, I can't celebrate alone."
Fernando pulls out an extra cup.
On Thursday, Sergio comes over again. They head out to the front yard where there's a tire swinging from a branch of the large tree to the left of the house. Fernando brings his old football, the one he's had since his hand was large enough to hold a regulation-sized football.
"I guess this is my ritual," he tells Sergio, backing up from the tire and lining his fingers up with the laces.
"How many?" Sergio asks. Fernando lets the ball fly, a perfect spiral through the tire. Sergio catches it on the bounce and tosses it back to him.
"A hundred," Fernando says. "A hundred passes the night before every game."
Sergio lets out a low whistle. "I should get comfortable, then, huh?"
"Yep," Fernando says. He throws a second spiral. Sergio catches the bounce again. "Well. You don't have to stay," he amends.
"It's okay," Sergio tells him. "I want to."
Fernando smiles. Sergio tosses him the ball. "You could throw a few to me, though," he continues. "After your hundred."
"Yeah?" Fernando asks.
"Sure," Sergio says. "I'm gonna have to catch tomorrow, Coach says."
Fernando hits one hundred, and then they move off of the yard into the street. "Go long," Fernando says, waving Sergio back with his hand. "Further. I said go long, who do you think I am, your grandmother?" He lets loose a perfect pass, flying high and true. Sergio tracks it down the street, catches it and tumbles against the hood of Fernando's truck.
Fernando jogs over and crouches down next to Sergio, who's sitting now, leaning against the truck with the ball against his abdomen. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah, 'm good," Sergio says. "Nice pass, man, you got a rocket." He reaches out and squeezes Fernando's bicep. Goosebumps rise on Fernando's forearms.
"I warned you," Fernando shrugs. He sits down next to Sergio, leans against the truck.
"Let's make that play tomorrow," Sergio says. He tosses the football up and down to himself.
"Works for me," Fernando tells him. Sergio's eyes twinkle when he grins.
For the first time in three seasons, Fernando doesn't go to the party after the game. Instead, he goes back to Sergio's house, parks the truck on the street, and heads to the basement. Sergio hands him a beer from the refrigerator and they sprawl on the couch, sweating a little because it's an Indian summer and it still feels like August.
"Nice pass," Sergio says, because the radio's on, the game report playing with the volume on low. Fernando grins because it had been a nice pass, a perfect spiral flying straight into Sergio's arms and into the endzone to win the game.
"Thanks, man," he says. "Nice catch." He holds up his bottle and Sergio holds up his and they both drink. Fernando presses his bottle to his face because it's cool and he's too warm, his cheeks pink from the alcohol but also from the heat.
"Bro," Sergio says, "you're gonna make the beer all warm and gross like that."
"But it's hot," Fernando grunts.
"There are better ways of cooling down," Sergio says. "That aren't a waste of beer."
"Like what," Fernando challenges.
Sergio shrugs. "Like this." He puts his bottle down and reaches behind himself to tug his shirt off over his head. He leaves the shirt on top of his head like a turban. A tuft of hair sticks out of the head hole. He looks ridiculous.
He also looks ridiculously good, all defined muscles and sleek, tanned skin. Fernando swallows hard and tries not to stare. "Guess that works," he says. He looks around the room, desperate for anything else to focus on, anything that isn't the broad expanse of Sergio's chest. "Hey, is that Lord of the Rings?" He points at a DVD lying with the case open in front of the TV.
"Yeah," Sergio says. He rubs the back of his neck. "I used to be really into it, I guess."
"Can we watch?" Fernando says.
"You want to?" Sergio asks, half getting up from the couch.
"Hell yeah," Fernando says. "Got a pen?" Sergio pulls one out of his pocket and tosses it at Fernando before he gets up to put the DVD in. He bends over and the muscles in his back ripple. Fernando busies himself drawing on his forearm. "Look," he says when Sergio sits back down. "This is the tattoo I want."
"Tengwar?" Sergio asks.
"Yep," Fernando says.
"That's pretty sweet," Sergio says. He reaches out for the pen. "Isn't it supposed to be like this though?" He adds a tiny correction to the last letter, grabbing Fernando's forearm to do so. Fernando shivers a tiny bit. "Thought you were hot?" Sergio asks, concerned.
"No, yeah," Fernando says. "I thought you only used to be into this stuff?"
"I lied," Sergio shrugs.
Fernando falls asleep on the couch halfway through the Two Towers. When he wakes up on Saturday morning, Sergio is sprawled out on the floor, and his shirt is bunched up underneath Fernando's cheek, a makeshift pillow.
Fernando goes for a long run after church on Sunday. He takes the dirt road that starts about a mile away from his house and runs past two ranches, stops when he gets to the river. He pulls his shoes and socks off and sits on the riverbank, dunks his feet into the cool water. It feels good, so he lays back and crosses his arms behind his head. He splashes a little with his feet and closes his eyes, lets the Texas sun make his freckles stand out and turn his cheeks pink.
"Looks comfortable," someone says. Fernando cracks open one eye and squints. It's Sergio.
"Hey," he says. "How'd you find this place?"
"Olalla said you might be here," Sergio says. He sits down next to Fernando, leans forward and looks at the river. Fernando observes the muscles in his back. He can see them moving through the thin t-shirt Sergio is wearing. "Saw her after lunch with some girl, Patricia, I think? David's girl?"
Fernando snorts for the way Sergio sounds concerned. "Olalla knows what she's doing," he says. "With David." He would shrug, if he weren't so relaxed and unwilling to move.
"'S nice here," Sergio says, changing the subject. "Real pretty."
"Best part of Texas," Fernando tells him. "Sometimes I think I don't ever wanna leave this spot, right here."
"One day, I'm gonna have a ranch somewhere like this," Sergio says. "Maybe in hill country. But it'll have a river, and a ton of property, and it'll be damn beautiful."
"No NFL for you? Gonna be a rancher?" Fernando asks.
"Nah, man, how d'you think I'm gonna get the money for the ranch? That's for when I retire," Sergio says. "What're you gonna do when you retire?"
Fernando sighs and props himself up on his elbows. "I don't even know what I'm gonna do in the first place," he says.
"Play for the Cowboys with me," Sergio suggests. "Then you won't ever have to leave here."
"Maybe if they put a field in back there," Fernando says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.
"I meant Texas," Sergio says, serious. "And me."
The locker room on Monday is noisy, full of left-over congratulations from Friday, but the whiteboard has the name of this week's opponent on it and most of the talk is about this Friday, because they're playing last year's state runners up.
"It's gonna be a good one," Sergio says, pulling his t-shirt off over his head and tossing it into his locker.
"Yeah? You played these guys before?" Fernando asks. He pulls his own t-shirt off, ducking his head a little to do so and taking the opportunity to look at Sergio's tanned abs as he does.
"Sure, they slaughtered us," Sergio shrugs, and it's the first time he's talked about his old team.
"We didn't play them last year," Fernando says.
"Doesn't matter," Sergio says. "We'll get 'em this year, you and me." He bends down to pull on his training pants and Fernando watches the way they cling to his hips and thighs, bites his lip. He blinks and shakes his head and forces himself to pay attention and tie his cleats, put his shoulder pads on. He hears Sergio laugh softly next to him.
"'Course we will," Fernando says, because there's no point in playing if you don't think you're going to win.
"Let's get out there before Coach has us sprinting," Sergio says, walking past Fernando carrying his shoulder pads and practice jersey. He claps Fernando on the shoulder as he moves, and his fingers linger there for just a second too long.
"Better put those on," Fernando calls after him, shaking himself. "It's practice, not the beach, no time for tanning, man."
Coach's office is nice. It's not huge, but it's got an extra chair and Coach's desk is always cluttered with game tape and stat sheets. Fernando feels like he spent more time here than in a classroom sophomore year, when he became QB one.
"I haven't heard from you about next year," Coach says, shuffling some papers.
"No sir," Fernando says. "I guess I haven't really thought about it. School, I mean."
"Well, schools are thinking about you," Coach tells him. "I've had calls."
"I've had a few letters," Fernando says.
"Just a few?" Coach asks. Fernando bites his lip.
"A lot," he admits.
"I thought so," Coach says. "You should open a few, then come back and talk." He clicks his pen a few times.
"Okay," Fernando says. "Yes sir."
September turns to October and each game starts to matter more, because there's no room for losing if they want to go to state. Fernando finds himself putting more time in at the weight room and running sprints with Sergio on weekends. It's starting to cool down, just enough that he's not drenched in sweat after jogging for a few minutes, but it's still warm during the day.
September turns to October and Sergio goes from Fernando's teammate to his best friend, the guy he hangs out with on weekends and calls when he's bored.
"You should say something to him," Olalla tells him. They're in the hallway at school and it's busy, people are rushing to and from classes, but Fernando knows who she's talking about. "I know you only have balls on the field-"
"Hey!" Fernando says, smacking her gently on the arm.
"-but you really should just tell him," Olalla barrels on. "He looks at you the same way."
"How do you know that?" Fernando asks, half defensive, half bemused.
"I have eyes, that's how," Olalla says. She slams her locker shut and flicks her hair at him as she makes her way down the hall to her English class. Fernando, for his part, pulls his textbooks down from their shelf and trudges across the hall to calculus, where he forgets to pay attention because he's too busy flicking paper footballs at the back of Sergio's head.
"Hey, you opened these," Sergio says when he comes into Fernando's kitchen on a Thursday. He taps the stack of letters on the counter and heads for the fridge, pulls out two Gatorades. Fernando nods, leans against the counter and stretches his back, feels his t-shirt riding up a little bit. Sergio tosses him one of the Gatorades and he catches it, stands up.
"Yep," he says. "I did."
"See anything you like? Some Texas orange, maybe?" Sergio asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Dunno, why? You thinkin' Texas orange?" Fernando grabs the football and they head outside.
"That's been the plan for as long as I can remember," Sergio says. The screen door slams behind them and Fernando lines his fingers up with the laces, gets ready to do his one hundred passes through the tire. Sergio sits, unfolds his legs in front of him.
"I don't know what looks good yet," Fernando tells him, throwing the first pass.
Truth is, he'd liked the letter from College Station the best. He doesn't tell Sergio that, though, because he doesn't want to ruin the lazy happy that they have right now, especially once Sergio stands up and they start passing back and forth.
"Tell me about your ranch."
The October wind is getting chilly. Fernando wraps his arms around himself, the thin material of his sweatpants and t-shirt not doing much to keep out the cool air. He picks up a smooth, flat stone and hefts it in his palm.
"Dunno, man, it'll be like this," Sergio says. He's sprawled out on the riverbank, his sweatshirt riding up, exposing a hipbone. He's got his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes closed, so Fernando lets himself look. "Gotta have a river on the property. Nice big house, but not huge."
"Is it gonna be just you, or you planning on bringing your family with you?" Fernando asks. He tosses the stone up and down to himself once before sending it skipping out over the river. He counts six before it sinks.
"Just me," Sergio says. He cracks one of his eyes open. "And dogs, maybe. I like dogs. I want two."
"Sounds nice," Fernando says. He pulls his knees up to his chest.
"And you, don't be stupid," Sergio tells him. "Door'll always be open for you."
"Yeah?" Fernando asks. He looks at Sergio and he can't quite read Sergio's expression.
"Yeah, man, always," Sergio says. He sits up. "Already is."
Oh, Fernando thinks, and then he shakes his head, laughs a little.
"What?" Sergio asks. "I was being serious, come on, man."
"No, I know you were," Fernando says. He picks up his head, looks at Sergio. "It's just, Olalla's always right, you know?" Sergio tilts his head, confused. "C'mere," Fernando says, quiet, and Sergio leans forward until Fernando can cup his hand around the back of Sergio's neck and pull him the rest of the way in. He pauses, inches from Sergio's lips, and Sergio doesn't pull back, so Fernando kisses him, soft and hesitant still.
Sergio's lips open under his, though, so Fernando licks into his mouth and tangles his hand in Sergio's hair until they pull apart, foreheads pressed together.
"Okay?" Sergio asks.
"Yeah," Fernando says, smiles a little. "Yeah, definitely okay."
"Hey, your roots are getting pretty bad," Sergio says when he walks into the locker room on the first Friday in November, wearing training pants and no shirt and ruffling Fernando's hair.
"Yeah, 'cause we keep winning," Fernando says, tugging on his socks.
"Well," Sergio shrugs. "We sure as hell ain't buying you any bleach tonight."
"Sound pretty sure about that," Fernando says.
"I am," Sergio says, simple, and he's smiling. Fernando smiles back.
November is cold. Fernando's back yard is full of dying grass and he's wearing a hat and a sweatshirt over his UnderArmour.
"Cowboys O-line is up now- dammit, Fernando, why do you get to be the Cowboys, come on, why do I have to be New York?" Sergio snorts, lining up against Fernando, who mimes a snap to himself. "Torres with the ball, looking down the field but oh wait, there's nobody there, he made his star tight end Ramos play for the other fucking team, you asshole-"
"This is hardly unbiased commentary," Fernando says. "ESPN ain't gonna be hiring you any time soon."
Sergio doesn't bother to reply, instead choosing to tackle Fernando, hooking his arms around Fernando's waist and hauling him to the ground. Fernando drops the football on the way down and Sergio crows in victory.
"Hey," Fernando pants. Sergio braces himself on top of Fernando and looks down at him. His hair, still long, tickles Fernando's cheeks. "Hey, what're you doing for Thanksgiving?"
Sergio bites his lip. "Food at home," he says. "Dunno, really. Dad's in Austin for the weekend, something to do with work. I'll prolly just watch the game after."
Fernando doesn't need to ask what game, because everyone in Texas will be watching the same game. "Come over," he offers. "We can watch together."
"Yeah?" Sergio asks, and he smiles, looks so happy that Fernando smiles back, shoves himself up onto his elbows and kisses Sergio, quick and light but a kiss all the same.
"Yeah," he says.
Fernando's house is full of people, his parents and his grandparents, and his dad's family have come up from San Antonio. The kitchen is full of food long after they stop eating and everyone gathers around the TV. Sergio lets himself in just before the game starts, wearing a Longhorns sweatshirt. Fernando shoves himself against the arm of the couch to make room, and Sergio settles beside him.
"Lone Star showdown, man," Sergio says. He winks at Fernando. "You gonna play in this shit with me next year?"
"Think you're getting a starting spot as a freshman? Dude, you'll prolly have to redshirt, don't be stupid," Fernando says, elbowing him.
"Nah, I'm starting. That's my plan until the coach says otherwise," Sergio says, and Fernando supposes it makes sense, to think like that.
It's tied 14-14 at halftime and Fernando puts his feet up on the coffee table.
"You gonna throw the winning touchdown next year?" Sergio asks him. "Finish it 21-14, UT?"
Fernando shrugs. "21-14, A&M, maybe," he says, quiet.
"Wait," Sergio says. "For real?"
"Yeah, guess so," Fernando says. He bites his lip. "Talked to the coach last weekend."
Sergio punches him on the arm. "When were you going to say something, asshole?" He's smiling, though.
"I was gonna tell you, don't worry," Fernando says, punching Sergio back. "It just never came up."
"Dude," Sergio says, settling back onto the couch as the second half starts. "That's gonna be us next year." He points to the screen, grins. "I'm gonna kick your ass."
"You're on," Fernando says, and the second half whistle blows.
notes!
. in my head!canon, there was a wonderful and polyamorous relationship between villa, olalla, and patricia. this is unclear in the context of the fic, i realize, because there really was no good place to work it in. i might do a timestamp for them at some point in the future.
. a running back is an offensive position in american football who primarily receives handoffs for rushing plays (running plays, as opposed to passing plays). without going into further detail, i made villa a running back because it's one of the more 'glamorous' positions, garnering a lot of attention, and is a key offensive position. physically, they can be smaller than your average american footballer, and are fast and agile, which seemed to suit villa. if you're interested in further information, check out wikipedia for a pretty comprehensive description.
. the list of letters in the beginning of the fic corresponds to the following schools: austin is the university of texas at austin, mississippi is ole miss, oregon is the university of oregon, who won the most recent BCS national championship, college station is texas a&m, and ohio is ohio state university. all of these are, predictably, big football schools.
. fernando is his school's starting quarterback (QB one). quarterbacks are the offensive leaders of a football team: they call the plays, make the passes and handoffs, and can also make running plays. it's one of the most visible roles on any given team and the quarterback is usually blamed or praised for his team's success or failure- this seemed to me to fit fernando's position at atleti, so i made him a quarterback.
. a tight end is basically a hybrid position. he can block, essentially defending his quarterback, or he can act as a receiver, getting open to catch a pass from his quarterback. the hybrid nature of the position seemed to suit sergio well.
. i can't even begin to describe wildcat plays so i once again refer you to Wikipedia if you're interested- i normally don't put wikipedia in my sources, of course, but it is a pretty good explanation/overview, so. have at it.
. in case there was any doubt, football in texas is an obsession. i say this as a proud texan.
. the longhorns are the texas longhorns, of the university of texas at austin.
. texas a&m and UT make up the biggest rivalry in texas football. they play their version of el clasico every thanksgiving, the lone star showdown. it's a big deal, and a ton of fun to go to.
. in gridiron football, you can score in a variety of ways, but the most common way is by a touchdown. to score a touchdown, you run or pass the ball into the endzone, and it's worth six points. (after the touchdown, the offence has an opportunity to score an extra point or go for a two point conversion, but that's a whole other can of worms.)
. ranches in texas hill country are ridiculously expensive, and when i say ridiculously, i mean you don't even want to LOOK at the prices of these things because if you're anything at all like me, you'll get really depressed. this is largely inconsequential to anything it's just something that is a fact and it is also a fact that sergio would more than need an NFL player's salary to be able to afford one.
. university of texas colors are burnt orange and white.
. the cowboys are the dallas cowboys, one of the NFL's most famous franchises.
. redshirting is to voluntarily be ineligible to play for a year in college. college athletes get four years of eligibility, so for example, a freshman quarterback might choose to redshirt his first year because the star senior quarterback is going to be getting all of the starts anyway. by redshirting his freshman year, this quarterback still has four years of eligibility and thus an extra year of playing time. it does mean taking an extra year to graduate but that's not uncommon anyway among division i athletes, because of the travel time and training time that make it difficult to take a full course load during the season.
rating pg
word count 5,923
summary friday night lights au, aka high school football players.
notes happy belated birthday to the ever lovely being_georgia! notes explaining the american football terms are at the end, if you're interested.
Friday nights are all the same: football game, complete with face painted fans, and then back to someone's house, bonfire in the backyard, red plastic cups full of the cheapest booze they can find, no fewer than two people to each lawn chair. Jeans and boots and sometimes a jacket, but only once November hits. Sometimes there's a bottle of whisky or vodka, always stolen from someone's parents, but tonight isn't one of those nights, so Fernando doesn't have to pretend it doesn't burn when he swallows. Instead he sticks to beer like everyone else, PBR, he thinks, but he's not a beer snob, so he just smiles and drinks.
Olalla's there tonight, and she hooks her arm through his as they stand around the bonfire because all of the lawn chairs were taken.
"Who're you looking for?" She asks. He shrugs. She looks pretty in her denim skirt and scuffed up boots, but then again, she always looks pretty.
"Nobody," Fernando says.
"Something, then," she presses, and Fernando laughs.
"Something, maybe," he says. "What I'm doing with my life, maybe."
Olalla holds her hand out, so he passes her his cup and she sips from it. "You'll figure that out," she says. "But for now, you just play football." She hands the cup back. "Who's that?" She points across the fire at one of the running backs.
"David," Fernando tells her. "Villa. Running back."
"I know that," Olalla says, shoving him gently. Fernando laughs. "I go to all the games, same as everyone else."
"Sure," Fernando says. "So why're you asking?"
"You should introduce me," Olalla tells him, raising her eyebrows, and Fernando laughs.
"Come on, then," he says, and they head across the yard.
Saturday mornings are all the same, too: wake up tired and bruised from the game, but breakfast is on the table, orange juice and toast and eggs, and then Fernando drags himself on a run for a few miles because he knows that's what Coach would want him to do. When he gets home, he showers and gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants and settles on the sofa to watch SportsCenter for the afternoon.
His phone buzzes a few times with texts from his teammates, asking if he wants to chill, but Fernando ignores them all. He's not being antisocial, exactly. It's just that it's his senior year, he's graduating in nine months, and he wants to get his head together a little bit. It's hard to get his head together when he hangs out with his team, who mostly only talk about what they're benching and what colleges are recruiting them.
Fernando isn't sure if he wants to play in college, which is another reason he chooses to stay home. He's had offers- there's a stack of envelopes on the kitchen counter with postmarks from Austin, Mississippi, Oregon, College Station, and Ohio, among others. He just isn't sure if he wants to take them.
He should probably talk to Coach about it, but it is a Saturday, after all, so Fernando just puts his feet up on the coffee table and turns up the volume.
On Sunday morning, Fernando gets up and goes to church with his family, wears a tie, and sits between his parents in their pew. They linger afterwards, saying hi to the entire town, it feels like, and Fernando talks to Olalla for a few minutes before she wanders off to find her father. He notices David's phone number written in faded Sharpie on the inside of her wrist.
"We have new neighbors," she says as she drifts away. "Come help them move in this afternoon?"
"Sure," Fernando says, waving.
He goes home and changes into an old pair of jeans with rips in the knees and a t-shirt before he heads over to Olalla's house. She only lives a few streets over, but Fernando takes the pick-up truck anyway.
"You could've walked," Olalla admonishes when Fernando parks just before her driveway. "Pollution. Think about your carbon footprint, Fer."
"Preach that all you want when you go to some fancy liberal arts school in Massachusetts or Vermont," Fernando laughs. "But we're in Texas right now and we drive everywhere in Texas."
"Drive and eat and play football," Olalla says, shaking her head. "That's all you people ever do."
Fernando gets out of the pick-up and elbows her. "Just because you're a transplant doesn't mean you aren't one of us," he says.
"Sure it does," Olalla says. "You know that, it's like, if your great grandfather didn't fight at the Alamo, you aren't from Texas." She rolls her eyes.
"Whatever, you're here now," Fernando says. "You even have an accent, come on now. They wouldn't want you in New York anymore."
"Hush," Olalla says as they cross the neighbor's yard. There's a U-Haul parked in the driveway. Olalla knocks on the front door. "Hi," she says when a woman answers the door. "I'm your new neighbor, we were wondering if you needed any help moving in?"
Predictably, Fernando gets assigned manual labor while Olalla gets to unpack kitchen appliances.
"Sergio will be out in a minute to help," the woman, Paqui, says, so Sergio heads out the U-Haul.
He's struggling to get a La-Z Boy down the ramp when a boy about his age comes out of the house. "Hey, two secs, let me help," the guy calls, so Fernando pauses and leans against the chair while he waits. "I'm Sergio," the guy says when he gets close enough to hold out his hand. Fernando shakes it. Sergio's palms are calloused.
"So where did y'all come out from?" Fernando asks as they pick up the chair together and maneuver it out of the truck.
"Austin," Sergio says.
"Big city, huh," Fernando says. "Kinda different out here?"
Sergio laughs. "Yeah, a little bit. But it's good, it's a nice town."
"Guess so," Fernando says. "You play football?"
"'Course," Sergio says. "Tight end. You?"
"QB one," Fernando says. "You gonna join the team? Kinda late in the game for it, you missed two a days and shit, but if you're good, Coach'll take ya."
"Yeah, I'm gonna talk to him," Sergio says. "Gonna have to if I wanna play college ball, right?"
"Sure," Fernando says. "How good are you? I can talk to Coach if you want."
"Got a letter from UT this week," Sergio shrugs. "Guess that says something."
"I'll talk to Coach, then," Fernando says. Sergio smiles; Fernando catches himself staring and grins back, shakes his head.
"Let's get the rest of this in," he says.
"Yeah," Sergio says, "sure." When Fernando glances over his shoulder, Sergio's still smiling.
And on Monday morning, the cycle starts all over again. Fernando comes down for breakfast and the radio is on in the kitchen, already talking about the game on Friday, how they should prepare, how good the other team is. Fernando tries to drown it out by chewing his cereal, but it doesn't work. And then it's: get in the pick-up, go to school. Say hi to the guys, go to class, pay attention (or doodle in his textbook margins, if it's English lit). Don't have anything except water after lunch because practice starts at three.
"Hey," Fernando says, sitting down next to Olalla and across from Sergio in the cafeteria.
"Hey," they chorus back, and Fernando digs into his lunch.
"Wanna go talk to Coach?" He asks Sergio eventually.
"Sure," Sergio agrees, so they say goodbye to Olalla and head out, across the parking lot to the building where Coach's office is.
"How's your first day?" Fernando asks.
"Better now," Sergio shrugs. Fernando's not sure how to respond, because he's not good at small talk and he's not good at new things, people he hasn't known since PeeWee football.
The nameplate on Coach's office says "Vicente del Bosque", but Fernando's never heard anyone call him anything other than Coach (except for Gerard, one of the defensive linesmen, who calls him the Walrus sometimes because of the mustache). The door's open, so Fernando knocks on the frame and sticks his head in.
"Hi, Coach?" He says. Coach waves him into the office. Sergio trails after him. "This is Sergio, he just transferred here. Tight end."
"Last name?" Coach asks, grabbing a folder from the stack on his desk.
"Ramos," Sergio says. "Moved from Austin this weekend."
"Sergio Ramos," Coach says. He squints at Sergio for a minute. "I got a letter about you. You thinkin' about playing ball for us?"
"I'd like to, sir," Sergio says.
"Come to practice today then," Coach tells him, "and we'll see how you do. Fernando'll show you the equipment room."
They leave the office and Fernando swings by the equipment room to grab practice gear for Sergio. He tosses the red jersey to Sergio, who slings it over his shoulder and grabs his pads.
"Thanks, man," Sergio says, beaming at Fernando, who can't stop himself from smiling back.
"No problem," he says. "Now you gotta show up on the field, though."
Sergio scoffs. "Like I'd do anything else. Seriously, though, thank you."
Fernando shrugs and grins a little. "Anything for a friend," he says, and Sergio's smile stretches even wider.
September isn't as hot as August, but it's still damn hot, and Fernando is soaked with sweat a half an hour into practice. They only have another half an hour to go before hitting the film room, though, so he sucks it up, wipes the sweat off of his forehead and puts his helmet back on.
"Let's run a few wildcat plays," Coach says, "and then y'all are sprinting."
Fernando groans and gets in position. He looks across the line of scrimmage at Sergio and rolls his eyes. Sergio laughs.
"Looked good," Fernando tells him when they finish their sprints, breathing hard and making a beeline for the water jugs.
"Not bad yourself, QB one," Sergio says. His helmet is perched on his forehead and he looks ridiculous.
"Coach say anything yet?" Fernando asks, and it's only half of the question he really wants to ask, because he's seen Sergio talking to Coach by the benches in the middle of practice.
"Yeah, said I won't start this Friday but I'm on the team," Sergio says.
"Nice," Fernando says. "That's awesome! Hey, maybe next week for the start?"
"Bet your ass," Sergio says.
They sit next to each other in the film room. David sits on Fernando's other side, poking his arm with his pen and whispering questions about Olalla, but Fernando finds his eyes sliding over to Sergio more often than not. Sergio leans forward in his seat, taking notes on everything, biting his lower lip in concentration.
Fernando turns back to Villa, but watches Sergio periodically tuck his hair behind his ear out of the corner of his eye.
Thursday rolls around, and Fernando is nervous.
The radio station in the diner where he works is talking about tomorrow's game, pulling up his states versus the other quarterback's stats. They talked about Sergio for a little, bit, the "promising new tight end from Austin, word is he won't play on Friday but the kid's good, Coach oughtta give 'im a chance", and they pull up his stats, too. Fernando wipes down the counter over and over again and tries to tune it out when they start talking about him again, and the high school's "winning tradition", but it's easier said than done.
"Hey," someone says, and Fernando snaps back to attention. It's Sergio, taking a seat at one of the barstools.
"'Sup," Fernando says. "Want anything?"
"Didn't know you worked here," Sergio says, smiling a little. "Can I get a vanilla shake?"
"Milkshake the day before a game?" Fernando asks, raising his eyebrow, but he starts making it anyway.
"Ritual," Sergio says. He spreads his hands on the counter; they're big and tan and Fernando remembers shaking his hand, how his skin was rough and warm. "All about the ritual, right? Step on the field right foot first, cross yourself, hop three times before the snap, have a vanilla milkshake the afternoon before." He shrugs. "Oh, and the lucky underwear, can't forget those."
Fernando laughs. "I put my left sock on before my right sock?" He offers. "And I stop dying my hair once we start a winning streak."
"Yeah?" Sergio asks. Fernando nods and pushes the milkshake across the counter towards him. "Thanks. Man, you're gonna have hella roots by the end of this season."
"Am I really, now," Fernando says.
"Sure thing," Sergio tells him. "Goin' to state, baby, we're goin' to state."
"Guess I'll have to put the box of bleach away, then," Fernando says. Sergio nods at him, sipping the milkshake. "Hey, I work until seven, wanna come over after?"
"Sure," Sergio says, sliding off of the barstool. "I gotta run now, though."
"Okay," Fernando says, "here-" He reaches for Sergio, who obliges and holds out his forearm, lets Fernando scribble his address on the inside of it, right where David had written his number on Olalla's arm.
"I brought zombie movies," Sergio says when he shows up on Fernando's porch.
"Zombie movies?" Fernando asks. He swings the screen door open and lets Sergio in.
"Ritual, remember?" Sergio asks, grinning. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."
"No, hey, it's chill," Fernando says. "I usually just flip around SportsCenter, but this is good."
They head into the kitchen first. Fernando opens the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He tosses one to Sergio, who catches it one-handed, without looking up.
"Nice," he says, laughing a little.
"Thanks, man," Sergio says. He holds up a stack of letters. "All these are recruitment letters?"
"Guess so," Fernando says. The one on top is from Texas A&M. "Haven't opened any of them."
"Why not?" Sergio asks. Fernando hesitates, and Sergio puts the stack down. "Nevermind man, it's not my business. Zombies?"
Fernando exhales, relieved. "Zombies," he says, and they head for the living room.
Friday night is the same as always, football game, then to David's house for a bonfire, celebrating with red plastic cups and the cheerleading squad. Except now when Fernando throws a touchdown pass, he glances over to the sideline and Sergio is whooping in celebration, and at David's house, Sergio toasts him with a red plastic cup full of cheap beer and Fernando drinks more than he usually does, because it gives him an excuse to stare at Sergio for just a second too long, looking at the color of his skin in the firelight.
"Are you fucking my neighbor?" Olalla asks when she eventually detaches herself from David's side.
"You and David are getting awfully close," Fernando observes, dodging the question.
"He's nice," Olalla says.
"I'm not fucking him," Fernando says.
"You want to, though," Olalla pushes gently. Sergio is across the fire from them, talking to one of the linebackers. His hair is long, tucked behind his ears, and he's laughing. "It's okay," Olalla says.
"Are you giving me permission?" Fernando asks.
"No," Olalla says. "I'm just telling you, it's okay."
Fernando has never told her that he thinks about guys, not girls, when he's alone at night. It's something that she's known for as long as he has, and that's all there is. "Okay," he says.
"Okay, you're going to?" Olalla asks.
"Not sure," Fernando says. He finishes off his drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "We'll see, I guess."
"That's just your life philosophy, isn't it," Olalla frowns. "I wish I was that lucky."
"You are," Fernando tells her absently. "See how David's lookin' at you?"
"That's not luck, that's hard work," Olalla tells him, tucking her hair behind her ears. "And I am going to go reap the benefits."
She drifts off towards David, and Fernando lets himself wander over to Sergio.
Sergio comes over on Sunday afternoon. They shoot the shit outside for a while before they get bored and Fernando pulls the keys to his truck out of his pocket.
"Where we goin'?" Sergio asks, hopping into the passenger seat.
"Dunno," Fernando shrugs. "Hill country, maybe."
They end up at a barbecue shack two towns over, where they order enough food to feed a small family and sit on benches outside. Fernando can feel his cheeks turning pink in the sun. Across the table from him, Sergio looks like a bronze statue.
"I haven't opened the letters because my dad was a Longhorn," Fernando says after a while.
"That's pretty sweet," Sergio says.
"I guess," Fernando shrugs. "But I don't wanna be him, you know?"
"Sure," Sergio says, "but not really. My dad didn't go to college."
"Oh," Fernando says.
"Hey, if you really don't wanna be your old man," Sergio says, "you could just go to A&M."
When Fernando gets home, he opens the first letter in the pile.
On Tuesday, Sergio comes into the diner.
"Chocolate milkshake," he says, grinning up at Fernando. His hair flops into his face a little.
"Milkshake right after practice?" Fernando asks, groaning a little. "Dude, I don't want anything but water for like, the next week, it's still so hot. Also, I thought you liked vanilla?" He pauses with his hand on the tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer under the counter.
"I gotta celebrate, man," Sergio explains. "Chocolate is for celebrating."
"Okay," Fernando says. "What are you celebrating?"
"We," Sergio corrects, "are celebrating my starting spot."
"For this Friday?" Fernando asks.
"For this Friday," Sergio confirms. "So you should be making yourself one, too, I can't celebrate alone."
Fernando pulls out an extra cup.
On Thursday, Sergio comes over again. They head out to the front yard where there's a tire swinging from a branch of the large tree to the left of the house. Fernando brings his old football, the one he's had since his hand was large enough to hold a regulation-sized football.
"I guess this is my ritual," he tells Sergio, backing up from the tire and lining his fingers up with the laces.
"How many?" Sergio asks. Fernando lets the ball fly, a perfect spiral through the tire. Sergio catches it on the bounce and tosses it back to him.
"A hundred," Fernando says. "A hundred passes the night before every game."
Sergio lets out a low whistle. "I should get comfortable, then, huh?"
"Yep," Fernando says. He throws a second spiral. Sergio catches the bounce again. "Well. You don't have to stay," he amends.
"It's okay," Sergio tells him. "I want to."
Fernando smiles. Sergio tosses him the ball. "You could throw a few to me, though," he continues. "After your hundred."
"Yeah?" Fernando asks.
"Sure," Sergio says. "I'm gonna have to catch tomorrow, Coach says."
Fernando hits one hundred, and then they move off of the yard into the street. "Go long," Fernando says, waving Sergio back with his hand. "Further. I said go long, who do you think I am, your grandmother?" He lets loose a perfect pass, flying high and true. Sergio tracks it down the street, catches it and tumbles against the hood of Fernando's truck.
Fernando jogs over and crouches down next to Sergio, who's sitting now, leaning against the truck with the ball against his abdomen. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah, 'm good," Sergio says. "Nice pass, man, you got a rocket." He reaches out and squeezes Fernando's bicep. Goosebumps rise on Fernando's forearms.
"I warned you," Fernando shrugs. He sits down next to Sergio, leans against the truck.
"Let's make that play tomorrow," Sergio says. He tosses the football up and down to himself.
"Works for me," Fernando tells him. Sergio's eyes twinkle when he grins.
For the first time in three seasons, Fernando doesn't go to the party after the game. Instead, he goes back to Sergio's house, parks the truck on the street, and heads to the basement. Sergio hands him a beer from the refrigerator and they sprawl on the couch, sweating a little because it's an Indian summer and it still feels like August.
"Nice pass," Sergio says, because the radio's on, the game report playing with the volume on low. Fernando grins because it had been a nice pass, a perfect spiral flying straight into Sergio's arms and into the endzone to win the game.
"Thanks, man," he says. "Nice catch." He holds up his bottle and Sergio holds up his and they both drink. Fernando presses his bottle to his face because it's cool and he's too warm, his cheeks pink from the alcohol but also from the heat.
"Bro," Sergio says, "you're gonna make the beer all warm and gross like that."
"But it's hot," Fernando grunts.
"There are better ways of cooling down," Sergio says. "That aren't a waste of beer."
"Like what," Fernando challenges.
Sergio shrugs. "Like this." He puts his bottle down and reaches behind himself to tug his shirt off over his head. He leaves the shirt on top of his head like a turban. A tuft of hair sticks out of the head hole. He looks ridiculous.
He also looks ridiculously good, all defined muscles and sleek, tanned skin. Fernando swallows hard and tries not to stare. "Guess that works," he says. He looks around the room, desperate for anything else to focus on, anything that isn't the broad expanse of Sergio's chest. "Hey, is that Lord of the Rings?" He points at a DVD lying with the case open in front of the TV.
"Yeah," Sergio says. He rubs the back of his neck. "I used to be really into it, I guess."
"Can we watch?" Fernando says.
"You want to?" Sergio asks, half getting up from the couch.
"Hell yeah," Fernando says. "Got a pen?" Sergio pulls one out of his pocket and tosses it at Fernando before he gets up to put the DVD in. He bends over and the muscles in his back ripple. Fernando busies himself drawing on his forearm. "Look," he says when Sergio sits back down. "This is the tattoo I want."
"Tengwar?" Sergio asks.
"Yep," Fernando says.
"That's pretty sweet," Sergio says. He reaches out for the pen. "Isn't it supposed to be like this though?" He adds a tiny correction to the last letter, grabbing Fernando's forearm to do so. Fernando shivers a tiny bit. "Thought you were hot?" Sergio asks, concerned.
"No, yeah," Fernando says. "I thought you only used to be into this stuff?"
"I lied," Sergio shrugs.
Fernando falls asleep on the couch halfway through the Two Towers. When he wakes up on Saturday morning, Sergio is sprawled out on the floor, and his shirt is bunched up underneath Fernando's cheek, a makeshift pillow.
Fernando goes for a long run after church on Sunday. He takes the dirt road that starts about a mile away from his house and runs past two ranches, stops when he gets to the river. He pulls his shoes and socks off and sits on the riverbank, dunks his feet into the cool water. It feels good, so he lays back and crosses his arms behind his head. He splashes a little with his feet and closes his eyes, lets the Texas sun make his freckles stand out and turn his cheeks pink.
"Looks comfortable," someone says. Fernando cracks open one eye and squints. It's Sergio.
"Hey," he says. "How'd you find this place?"
"Olalla said you might be here," Sergio says. He sits down next to Fernando, leans forward and looks at the river. Fernando observes the muscles in his back. He can see them moving through the thin t-shirt Sergio is wearing. "Saw her after lunch with some girl, Patricia, I think? David's girl?"
Fernando snorts for the way Sergio sounds concerned. "Olalla knows what she's doing," he says. "With David." He would shrug, if he weren't so relaxed and unwilling to move.
"'S nice here," Sergio says, changing the subject. "Real pretty."
"Best part of Texas," Fernando tells him. "Sometimes I think I don't ever wanna leave this spot, right here."
"One day, I'm gonna have a ranch somewhere like this," Sergio says. "Maybe in hill country. But it'll have a river, and a ton of property, and it'll be damn beautiful."
"No NFL for you? Gonna be a rancher?" Fernando asks.
"Nah, man, how d'you think I'm gonna get the money for the ranch? That's for when I retire," Sergio says. "What're you gonna do when you retire?"
Fernando sighs and props himself up on his elbows. "I don't even know what I'm gonna do in the first place," he says.
"Play for the Cowboys with me," Sergio suggests. "Then you won't ever have to leave here."
"Maybe if they put a field in back there," Fernando says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.
"I meant Texas," Sergio says, serious. "And me."
The locker room on Monday is noisy, full of left-over congratulations from Friday, but the whiteboard has the name of this week's opponent on it and most of the talk is about this Friday, because they're playing last year's state runners up.
"It's gonna be a good one," Sergio says, pulling his t-shirt off over his head and tossing it into his locker.
"Yeah? You played these guys before?" Fernando asks. He pulls his own t-shirt off, ducking his head a little to do so and taking the opportunity to look at Sergio's tanned abs as he does.
"Sure, they slaughtered us," Sergio shrugs, and it's the first time he's talked about his old team.
"We didn't play them last year," Fernando says.
"Doesn't matter," Sergio says. "We'll get 'em this year, you and me." He bends down to pull on his training pants and Fernando watches the way they cling to his hips and thighs, bites his lip. He blinks and shakes his head and forces himself to pay attention and tie his cleats, put his shoulder pads on. He hears Sergio laugh softly next to him.
"'Course we will," Fernando says, because there's no point in playing if you don't think you're going to win.
"Let's get out there before Coach has us sprinting," Sergio says, walking past Fernando carrying his shoulder pads and practice jersey. He claps Fernando on the shoulder as he moves, and his fingers linger there for just a second too long.
"Better put those on," Fernando calls after him, shaking himself. "It's practice, not the beach, no time for tanning, man."
Coach's office is nice. It's not huge, but it's got an extra chair and Coach's desk is always cluttered with game tape and stat sheets. Fernando feels like he spent more time here than in a classroom sophomore year, when he became QB one.
"I haven't heard from you about next year," Coach says, shuffling some papers.
"No sir," Fernando says. "I guess I haven't really thought about it. School, I mean."
"Well, schools are thinking about you," Coach tells him. "I've had calls."
"I've had a few letters," Fernando says.
"Just a few?" Coach asks. Fernando bites his lip.
"A lot," he admits.
"I thought so," Coach says. "You should open a few, then come back and talk." He clicks his pen a few times.
"Okay," Fernando says. "Yes sir."
September turns to October and each game starts to matter more, because there's no room for losing if they want to go to state. Fernando finds himself putting more time in at the weight room and running sprints with Sergio on weekends. It's starting to cool down, just enough that he's not drenched in sweat after jogging for a few minutes, but it's still warm during the day.
September turns to October and Sergio goes from Fernando's teammate to his best friend, the guy he hangs out with on weekends and calls when he's bored.
"You should say something to him," Olalla tells him. They're in the hallway at school and it's busy, people are rushing to and from classes, but Fernando knows who she's talking about. "I know you only have balls on the field-"
"Hey!" Fernando says, smacking her gently on the arm.
"-but you really should just tell him," Olalla barrels on. "He looks at you the same way."
"How do you know that?" Fernando asks, half defensive, half bemused.
"I have eyes, that's how," Olalla says. She slams her locker shut and flicks her hair at him as she makes her way down the hall to her English class. Fernando, for his part, pulls his textbooks down from their shelf and trudges across the hall to calculus, where he forgets to pay attention because he's too busy flicking paper footballs at the back of Sergio's head.
"Hey, you opened these," Sergio says when he comes into Fernando's kitchen on a Thursday. He taps the stack of letters on the counter and heads for the fridge, pulls out two Gatorades. Fernando nods, leans against the counter and stretches his back, feels his t-shirt riding up a little bit. Sergio tosses him one of the Gatorades and he catches it, stands up.
"Yep," he says. "I did."
"See anything you like? Some Texas orange, maybe?" Sergio asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Dunno, why? You thinkin' Texas orange?" Fernando grabs the football and they head outside.
"That's been the plan for as long as I can remember," Sergio says. The screen door slams behind them and Fernando lines his fingers up with the laces, gets ready to do his one hundred passes through the tire. Sergio sits, unfolds his legs in front of him.
"I don't know what looks good yet," Fernando tells him, throwing the first pass.
Truth is, he'd liked the letter from College Station the best. He doesn't tell Sergio that, though, because he doesn't want to ruin the lazy happy that they have right now, especially once Sergio stands up and they start passing back and forth.
"Tell me about your ranch."
The October wind is getting chilly. Fernando wraps his arms around himself, the thin material of his sweatpants and t-shirt not doing much to keep out the cool air. He picks up a smooth, flat stone and hefts it in his palm.
"Dunno, man, it'll be like this," Sergio says. He's sprawled out on the riverbank, his sweatshirt riding up, exposing a hipbone. He's got his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes closed, so Fernando lets himself look. "Gotta have a river on the property. Nice big house, but not huge."
"Is it gonna be just you, or you planning on bringing your family with you?" Fernando asks. He tosses the stone up and down to himself once before sending it skipping out over the river. He counts six before it sinks.
"Just me," Sergio says. He cracks one of his eyes open. "And dogs, maybe. I like dogs. I want two."
"Sounds nice," Fernando says. He pulls his knees up to his chest.
"And you, don't be stupid," Sergio tells him. "Door'll always be open for you."
"Yeah?" Fernando asks. He looks at Sergio and he can't quite read Sergio's expression.
"Yeah, man, always," Sergio says. He sits up. "Already is."
Oh, Fernando thinks, and then he shakes his head, laughs a little.
"What?" Sergio asks. "I was being serious, come on, man."
"No, I know you were," Fernando says. He picks up his head, looks at Sergio. "It's just, Olalla's always right, you know?" Sergio tilts his head, confused. "C'mere," Fernando says, quiet, and Sergio leans forward until Fernando can cup his hand around the back of Sergio's neck and pull him the rest of the way in. He pauses, inches from Sergio's lips, and Sergio doesn't pull back, so Fernando kisses him, soft and hesitant still.
Sergio's lips open under his, though, so Fernando licks into his mouth and tangles his hand in Sergio's hair until they pull apart, foreheads pressed together.
"Okay?" Sergio asks.
"Yeah," Fernando says, smiles a little. "Yeah, definitely okay."
"Hey, your roots are getting pretty bad," Sergio says when he walks into the locker room on the first Friday in November, wearing training pants and no shirt and ruffling Fernando's hair.
"Yeah, 'cause we keep winning," Fernando says, tugging on his socks.
"Well," Sergio shrugs. "We sure as hell ain't buying you any bleach tonight."
"Sound pretty sure about that," Fernando says.
"I am," Sergio says, simple, and he's smiling. Fernando smiles back.
November is cold. Fernando's back yard is full of dying grass and he's wearing a hat and a sweatshirt over his UnderArmour.
"Cowboys O-line is up now- dammit, Fernando, why do you get to be the Cowboys, come on, why do I have to be New York?" Sergio snorts, lining up against Fernando, who mimes a snap to himself. "Torres with the ball, looking down the field but oh wait, there's nobody there, he made his star tight end Ramos play for the other fucking team, you asshole-"
"This is hardly unbiased commentary," Fernando says. "ESPN ain't gonna be hiring you any time soon."
Sergio doesn't bother to reply, instead choosing to tackle Fernando, hooking his arms around Fernando's waist and hauling him to the ground. Fernando drops the football on the way down and Sergio crows in victory.
"Hey," Fernando pants. Sergio braces himself on top of Fernando and looks down at him. His hair, still long, tickles Fernando's cheeks. "Hey, what're you doing for Thanksgiving?"
Sergio bites his lip. "Food at home," he says. "Dunno, really. Dad's in Austin for the weekend, something to do with work. I'll prolly just watch the game after."
Fernando doesn't need to ask what game, because everyone in Texas will be watching the same game. "Come over," he offers. "We can watch together."
"Yeah?" Sergio asks, and he smiles, looks so happy that Fernando smiles back, shoves himself up onto his elbows and kisses Sergio, quick and light but a kiss all the same.
"Yeah," he says.
Fernando's house is full of people, his parents and his grandparents, and his dad's family have come up from San Antonio. The kitchen is full of food long after they stop eating and everyone gathers around the TV. Sergio lets himself in just before the game starts, wearing a Longhorns sweatshirt. Fernando shoves himself against the arm of the couch to make room, and Sergio settles beside him.
"Lone Star showdown, man," Sergio says. He winks at Fernando. "You gonna play in this shit with me next year?"
"Think you're getting a starting spot as a freshman? Dude, you'll prolly have to redshirt, don't be stupid," Fernando says, elbowing him.
"Nah, I'm starting. That's my plan until the coach says otherwise," Sergio says, and Fernando supposes it makes sense, to think like that.
It's tied 14-14 at halftime and Fernando puts his feet up on the coffee table.
"You gonna throw the winning touchdown next year?" Sergio asks him. "Finish it 21-14, UT?"
Fernando shrugs. "21-14, A&M, maybe," he says, quiet.
"Wait," Sergio says. "For real?"
"Yeah, guess so," Fernando says. He bites his lip. "Talked to the coach last weekend."
Sergio punches him on the arm. "When were you going to say something, asshole?" He's smiling, though.
"I was gonna tell you, don't worry," Fernando says, punching Sergio back. "It just never came up."
"Dude," Sergio says, settling back onto the couch as the second half starts. "That's gonna be us next year." He points to the screen, grins. "I'm gonna kick your ass."
"You're on," Fernando says, and the second half whistle blows.
notes!
. in my head!canon, there was a wonderful and polyamorous relationship between villa, olalla, and patricia. this is unclear in the context of the fic, i realize, because there really was no good place to work it in. i might do a timestamp for them at some point in the future.
. a running back is an offensive position in american football who primarily receives handoffs for rushing plays (running plays, as opposed to passing plays). without going into further detail, i made villa a running back because it's one of the more 'glamorous' positions, garnering a lot of attention, and is a key offensive position. physically, they can be smaller than your average american footballer, and are fast and agile, which seemed to suit villa. if you're interested in further information, check out wikipedia for a pretty comprehensive description.
. the list of letters in the beginning of the fic corresponds to the following schools: austin is the university of texas at austin, mississippi is ole miss, oregon is the university of oregon, who won the most recent BCS national championship, college station is texas a&m, and ohio is ohio state university. all of these are, predictably, big football schools.
. fernando is his school's starting quarterback (QB one). quarterbacks are the offensive leaders of a football team: they call the plays, make the passes and handoffs, and can also make running plays. it's one of the most visible roles on any given team and the quarterback is usually blamed or praised for his team's success or failure- this seemed to me to fit fernando's position at atleti, so i made him a quarterback.
. a tight end is basically a hybrid position. he can block, essentially defending his quarterback, or he can act as a receiver, getting open to catch a pass from his quarterback. the hybrid nature of the position seemed to suit sergio well.
. i can't even begin to describe wildcat plays so i once again refer you to Wikipedia if you're interested- i normally don't put wikipedia in my sources, of course, but it is a pretty good explanation/overview, so. have at it.
. in case there was any doubt, football in texas is an obsession. i say this as a proud texan.
. the longhorns are the texas longhorns, of the university of texas at austin.
. texas a&m and UT make up the biggest rivalry in texas football. they play their version of el clasico every thanksgiving, the lone star showdown. it's a big deal, and a ton of fun to go to.
. in gridiron football, you can score in a variety of ways, but the most common way is by a touchdown. to score a touchdown, you run or pass the ball into the endzone, and it's worth six points. (after the touchdown, the offence has an opportunity to score an extra point or go for a two point conversion, but that's a whole other can of worms.)
. ranches in texas hill country are ridiculously expensive, and when i say ridiculously, i mean you don't even want to LOOK at the prices of these things because if you're anything at all like me, you'll get really depressed. this is largely inconsequential to anything it's just something that is a fact and it is also a fact that sergio would more than need an NFL player's salary to be able to afford one.
. university of texas colors are burnt orange and white.
. the cowboys are the dallas cowboys, one of the NFL's most famous franchises.
. redshirting is to voluntarily be ineligible to play for a year in college. college athletes get four years of eligibility, so for example, a freshman quarterback might choose to redshirt his first year because the star senior quarterback is going to be getting all of the starts anyway. by redshirting his freshman year, this quarterback still has four years of eligibility and thus an extra year of playing time. it does mean taking an extra year to graduate but that's not uncommon anyway among division i athletes, because of the travel time and training time that make it difficult to take a full course load during the season.