FIC: the world cup series, or cesc's life in song; need you now
Sorry for the delay guys, yesterday was super busy. Hopefully you guys aren't swamped with work! :)
the world cup series, or cesc's life in song, pt. vii: need you now.
cesc fabregas/gerard pique. pg-13. cesc is back in london for the new arsenal season after WC madness.
author's note: When Cesc talked about this song he said, "reminds me of someone", but defines a different song as his girlfriend's. hmmm, Cesc, who could you possibly be talking about? Also, the Script's Breakeven helped with this chatper.
this is a series based on all the songs from Cesc's (atrocious) WC2010 playlist; except for O.M.G. & the Spanish ones (because I can't understand them). all the parts are very loosely connected and can be read individually, but I'll be posting them in sequence. Hope you enjoy!
i. every breath you take - the police
ii. apologize - timbaland & onerepublic
iii. sweet dreams - beyonce
iv. whatever you like - T.I.
v. love is wicked - brick & lace
vi. stereo love - edward maya & vika jigulina
Looking out at the dreary weather, Cesc can hear echoes of the rain relentlessly pelting the living room windows of his apartment. With a rare weekend off, no games to prepare for, he’s by himself for the first time in a long time. A mug of piping hot chocolate held in the palms of his hands; he takes a tentative sip. Watching as people dash to get out of the downpour, at the colorful sea of umbrellas, he savors the warmth emanating from his cup into his fingers, travelling through his hands and spreading further. Staring at the London cityscape, the grey clouds linger in the sky and Cesc isn’t good at being alone.
Sometimes he misses the bright Barcelona sun, misses the summer heat, sweat gathering in the small of his back, reminding him of his childhood afternoons on the pitch. He loves London but days like today, ones where he can’t see beyond the next three blocks due to the low-lying fog and the thickness of water droplets, makes him realize, no place in the world could compare to home.
But Cesc doesn’t want to return home yet, not now. His place is here in North London, at Arsenal, at least for the time being because this is his team; the boys, Jack, Samir, Andrei, Theo, Alex, Robin and everyone else - they look up to him and they’re a good group, hard-working, motivated and well-behaved. Okay, well maybe Chamakh and Nick aren’t as well-behaved but still. Together they made up Arsenal F.C., by far the greatest team the world has ever seen, but they also made up a team, sharing the sweet of victories and the bitter of defeat, long nights on the road and the ache in their muscles after training. These boys helped Cesc survive everyday; keeping him company, sharing their bad taste in music and tainting his iPod, smiling ferociously, laughter bubbling up.
Surrounded by the Gunner crew, he never feels afraid or alone, doesn’t need to ever. His friends are some of the best; would stand by him through the thick and thin of media shitstorms and transfer rumors. But while they spend an inordinate amount of time messing around on the training grounds and sometimes afterwards at local Krispy Kremes, it’s physically impossible to have them around every second he’s awake.
On days like this, contemplating life and love by himself, he knows he misses something. He misses the one thing that would unfailingly make him smile when the doubts start to slowly seep in:
Misses the arms that would hold him tight, warming him from the cold chill of nights. Misses the embraces he would sink into, not a worry to his name, letting them melt away if only for the next hour. Misses the bright smiles and dancing eyes he would gaze into and see the same happiness reflected inside himself. Misses the intense and rather serious roughhousing they used to engage in, only to end up tangled in each other, breathing heavy from the physical exertion, a comfortable silence and unspoken words washing over them.
He knew what everything meant, even if they never said it.
Now, here, seven hundred miles apart from the one person who can soothe his nerves in a heartbeat, he doesn’t know how to handle being so alone. From Barcelona to London, his animated and upbeat self (his livelihood), must’ve gotten lost on the way. A single tear slides from his cheek into his quickly-cooling drink.
The loneliness squeezes around his heart, constricting tightly. Cesc feels like his body is seizing, desperate for a fix of sarcastic Catalan banter and accidental bruises from knees to his arse or elbows into his ribs. He never questions his place in London, he knows that this decision defines his career and he loves it here, wouldn’t choose a different path for himself, but it’s in moments like these that he finds it hard to understand why.
Walking back to his kitchen, he sets his beverage down on the marble counter and fingers the cord of his cell-phone charger. Cesc watches as the battery icon blinks innocently as he mulls over the decision to call. He doesn’t want to rely on someone else to remind him of who he is, does that fine on his own, thank you very much; not to mention his legion of adoring fans that would happily point out his accomplishments and sing his praises any day. But today, it’s not about that - he’s confident in his football and his line of business; he just wants to know that there are people who still love him for who he is off the pitch, who he is in everyday real life, that he’s still the warm and bright person his friends know. Flipping the phone over a couple of times, he weighs the pros (hearing a friendly and familiar dialect) and the cons (dependency and clinging to someone who isn’t even here in person and that, Cesc is sure, could never end well).
The violent vibrating of his Blackberry rattles Cesc out of his wallowing, to which he immediately thinks of how pathetic he’s being. He answers with a gruff, ‘hello’ as he tries to lock all evidence of emotion out from his voice. Soon enough, he realizes it didn’t even matter because he’s greeted with deafening yells and hooting. Immediately his mood is somewhat lifted.
“How are you doing, my friend?”
“Alright,” Cesc says gently, and smiles.
“Only alright? Cesc, tell me you don’t need me to tickle-fight you until you’re dying of laughter.”
Cesc bites his lip and whispers.
“No.”
“I think you’re lying, Cescy!” Piqué taunts in song and Cesc chuckles; thinks about how his best friend always knows exactly what to say. “I’m most certain that you need to be tickled right now and I think I know someone who can do that!”
Cesc’s doorbell rings and he curses whoever’s outside for interrupting this much-craved conversation. Opening the front door, he’s suddenly face to face with his caller and drops his phone in shock. Without missing a beat, Cesc leaps into Gerard’s arms hugging tightly. When they pull apart, Gerard kisses the top of the younger man’s forehead before greeting Cesc’s lips with his own.
“You missed me?”
Cesc breathes in Geri’s scent and sighs happily, nodding in response.
“Aww, you feel lonely?” his boyfriend teases.
Looking up through his lashes, Cesc thinks about how fiercely in love he is with Geri, how he wants to bask in his presence forever.
“Sometimes, but I know I’m not.”
He’s never really alone, not when Piqué will always be there for him.
Again, thanks for reading, and we're three until the end!
the world cup series, or cesc's life in song, pt. vii: need you now.
cesc fabregas/gerard pique. pg-13. cesc is back in london for the new arsenal season after WC madness.
author's note: When Cesc talked about this song he said, "reminds me of someone", but defines a different song as his girlfriend's. hmmm, Cesc, who could you possibly be talking about? Also, the Script's Breakeven helped with this chatper.
this is a series based on all the songs from Cesc's (atrocious) WC2010 playlist; except for O.M.G. & the Spanish ones (because I can't understand them). all the parts are very loosely connected and can be read individually, but I'll be posting them in sequence. Hope you enjoy!
i. every breath you take - the police
ii. apologize - timbaland & onerepublic
iii. sweet dreams - beyonce
iv. whatever you like - T.I.
v. love is wicked - brick & lace
vi. stereo love - edward maya & vika jigulina
Looking out at the dreary weather, Cesc can hear echoes of the rain relentlessly pelting the living room windows of his apartment. With a rare weekend off, no games to prepare for, he’s by himself for the first time in a long time. A mug of piping hot chocolate held in the palms of his hands; he takes a tentative sip. Watching as people dash to get out of the downpour, at the colorful sea of umbrellas, he savors the warmth emanating from his cup into his fingers, travelling through his hands and spreading further. Staring at the London cityscape, the grey clouds linger in the sky and Cesc isn’t good at being alone.
Sometimes he misses the bright Barcelona sun, misses the summer heat, sweat gathering in the small of his back, reminding him of his childhood afternoons on the pitch. He loves London but days like today, ones where he can’t see beyond the next three blocks due to the low-lying fog and the thickness of water droplets, makes him realize, no place in the world could compare to home.
But Cesc doesn’t want to return home yet, not now. His place is here in North London, at Arsenal, at least for the time being because this is his team; the boys, Jack, Samir, Andrei, Theo, Alex, Robin and everyone else - they look up to him and they’re a good group, hard-working, motivated and well-behaved. Okay, well maybe Chamakh and Nick aren’t as well-behaved but still. Together they made up Arsenal F.C., by far the greatest team the world has ever seen, but they also made up a team, sharing the sweet of victories and the bitter of defeat, long nights on the road and the ache in their muscles after training. These boys helped Cesc survive everyday; keeping him company, sharing their bad taste in music and tainting his iPod, smiling ferociously, laughter bubbling up.
Surrounded by the Gunner crew, he never feels afraid or alone, doesn’t need to ever. His friends are some of the best; would stand by him through the thick and thin of media shitstorms and transfer rumors. But while they spend an inordinate amount of time messing around on the training grounds and sometimes afterwards at local Krispy Kremes, it’s physically impossible to have them around every second he’s awake.
On days like this, contemplating life and love by himself, he knows he misses something. He misses the one thing that would unfailingly make him smile when the doubts start to slowly seep in:
Misses the arms that would hold him tight, warming him from the cold chill of nights. Misses the embraces he would sink into, not a worry to his name, letting them melt away if only for the next hour. Misses the bright smiles and dancing eyes he would gaze into and see the same happiness reflected inside himself. Misses the intense and rather serious roughhousing they used to engage in, only to end up tangled in each other, breathing heavy from the physical exertion, a comfortable silence and unspoken words washing over them.
He knew what everything meant, even if they never said it.
Now, here, seven hundred miles apart from the one person who can soothe his nerves in a heartbeat, he doesn’t know how to handle being so alone. From Barcelona to London, his animated and upbeat self (his livelihood), must’ve gotten lost on the way. A single tear slides from his cheek into his quickly-cooling drink.
The loneliness squeezes around his heart, constricting tightly. Cesc feels like his body is seizing, desperate for a fix of sarcastic Catalan banter and accidental bruises from knees to his arse or elbows into his ribs. He never questions his place in London, he knows that this decision defines his career and he loves it here, wouldn’t choose a different path for himself, but it’s in moments like these that he finds it hard to understand why.
Walking back to his kitchen, he sets his beverage down on the marble counter and fingers the cord of his cell-phone charger. Cesc watches as the battery icon blinks innocently as he mulls over the decision to call. He doesn’t want to rely on someone else to remind him of who he is, does that fine on his own, thank you very much; not to mention his legion of adoring fans that would happily point out his accomplishments and sing his praises any day. But today, it’s not about that - he’s confident in his football and his line of business; he just wants to know that there are people who still love him for who he is off the pitch, who he is in everyday real life, that he’s still the warm and bright person his friends know. Flipping the phone over a couple of times, he weighs the pros (hearing a friendly and familiar dialect) and the cons (dependency and clinging to someone who isn’t even here in person and that, Cesc is sure, could never end well).
The violent vibrating of his Blackberry rattles Cesc out of his wallowing, to which he immediately thinks of how pathetic he’s being. He answers with a gruff, ‘hello’ as he tries to lock all evidence of emotion out from his voice. Soon enough, he realizes it didn’t even matter because he’s greeted with deafening yells and hooting. Immediately his mood is somewhat lifted.
“How are you doing, my friend?”
“Alright,” Cesc says gently, and smiles.
“Only alright? Cesc, tell me you don’t need me to tickle-fight you until you’re dying of laughter.”
Cesc bites his lip and whispers.
“No.”
“I think you’re lying, Cescy!” Piqué taunts in song and Cesc chuckles; thinks about how his best friend always knows exactly what to say. “I’m most certain that you need to be tickled right now and I think I know someone who can do that!”
Cesc’s doorbell rings and he curses whoever’s outside for interrupting this much-craved conversation. Opening the front door, he’s suddenly face to face with his caller and drops his phone in shock. Without missing a beat, Cesc leaps into Gerard’s arms hugging tightly. When they pull apart, Gerard kisses the top of the younger man’s forehead before greeting Cesc’s lips with his own.
“You missed me?”
Cesc breathes in Geri’s scent and sighs happily, nodding in response.
“Aww, you feel lonely?” his boyfriend teases.
Looking up through his lashes, Cesc thinks about how fiercely in love he is with Geri, how he wants to bask in his presence forever.
“Sometimes, but I know I’m not.”
He’s never really alone, not when Piqué will always be there for him.
Again, thanks for reading, and we're three until the end!