Waiting for you on the corner of the street
Title: Collision Course (12/13)
Pairings: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Fernando Torres/Daniel Agger, Steve Finnan/Harry Kewell
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is all fiction. Don’t sue me. If you don’t like slash, don’t read it.
A/N: Collision Course | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
The good news: It's not the last chapter!
The bad news: ...It's not the last chapter. And it's partly a meaningless update.
The men who can't be moved.
“I can’t believe everyone’s out getting piss drunk to celebrate the end of finals week while we’re stuck here in the gym,” Riise said, grunting as he lifted the weights one more time. “I love football and all, but all the training, the pre- and post-match meetings, the weekend strategy discussions, the pressure from the school to win the title... it’s just making me tired of it.”
“Oh, shush it,” Carra said, throwing his dirty gym towel in the Norwegian’s direction, “You’ve been like this ever since Luis left.”
“What the bloody hell would Luis have to do with it?” Riise asked, cheeks red and not just from his weightlifting.
“Oh, you want us to tell you?” Stevie challenged.
“Who’s Luis?” Yossi piped up, blinking innocently.
“Ginger has a point, you know.” Alvaro interrupted, “Sometimes I wish I could just play the game for fun.” He groaned and kicked the side of the treadmill to get it to work. Pepe sighed loudly and plugged the machine and it instantly jumped to life.
Penns added, “Like, if football was my girlfriend, we’d need to take a time out.”
“If football was my girlfriend, we’d have to go out with other people.” Babel piped up.
“If football was my girlfriend,” Dan paused thoughtfully then smirked, “Well, I don’t know how that happened.”
The boys roared laughing.
“But, Dan,” Riise interrupted with a wicked smile on his face, “What’s this rumour I hear that you and a certain Spaniard went home together after the party at Sarah’s?”
Dan’s arrogant grin was immediately replaced with the bright blush on his cheeks. “Fernando just got a bit drunk and I took him in so he could have some place to stay,” he mumbled inaudibly, suddenly utterly fascinated with stretching his calves. No one understood what he said but they didn’t need to. Everyone had been talking about it in the hallways and dressing rooms anyway.
“Why didn’t you bring him back to his dorm?” Stevie teased.
“It was already past curfew and he didn’t have an excuse slip,” Dan protested.
“And he couldn’t go home with Pepe? Or Alvaro?”
“They were wasted too!”
“We were not!” Pepe defended but nobody believed him.
“Why did you go through all the trouble to begin with? Fernando’s a big boy.”
“I would have done the same for all of you!”
“You didn’t do it for me,” Alvaro butted in, looking hurt.
“So, Agger, If Carra had gotten drunk out of his mind, you would have done the same for him?”
Dan tried not to crinkle his nose. Carra was loud when he was sober, he was unacceptably deafening with the slightest drop of alcohol. But he steeled himself and nodded vigorously anyway, “Of course I would.”
Penns laughed, “Really? You would have taken care of Carra, hauled him into a cab, nursed him back to health and let him share your bed?”
Dan’s jaw dropped. Sure, Carra was a good friend, but surely no one expected him to let the Scouser -
“‘Share your bed’?” Alvaro demanded, wide-eyed. “Fernando slept in your bed?”
Dan tried to shrug off the question and feign nonchalance, stifling the sickening giddy flutter in his stomach. “Well, he had to sleep somewhere.”
The team in the gym hooted noisily.
“So, how far did you get to go?” Penns elbowed Dan on the side and winked saucily.
“...I slept on the floor, Penns.”
“Oh, you’re too nice, Agger.”
“Too weak, more like,” Carra joined the fray for the first time, finally abandoning his I’m-too-good-for-this-gossip stance. “I’m so disappointed in you.”
“What?” Dan’s eyes practically bulged out as he yelped, “I couldn’t rush things. It’s already awkward enough as it is.”
“Fucking pussy!”
The clattering sound of the gym door being pushed open cut off their altercation. The boys who had gone biking around campus had returned and Rafa filed in with Xabi, Javier, Sami, Crouch and Fernando walked in.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Penns heckled and Dan shot him a murderous glare.
“Are you thirsty, Fernando?” Carra hollered, his face screwed up tightly from stifling a huge guffaw, “I’m sure Dan can get you something. He’s a very helpful person.”
Fernando raised his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what the ruckus was about.
From the water cooler, Yossi raised his scrawny hand and waved it enthusiastically in the air, “I can get you a drink, Nando.”
“Let Dan do it, Yossi,” Riise rolled his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up, you guys.”
“Oh, or on second thought, maybe you should do it, Yossi,” Penns said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I mean, if Dan couldn’t even reach the bed from his bedroom floor - OOF!”
Dan threw himself at Penns in an amazing flying tackle, even Rafa did a double-take.
“Why, Daniel, that was the tackle I wanted to see in training yesterday!” Rafa said, smiling gleefully.
“I keep telling you, boys, you know my idea,” Rafa continued into an impromptu lecture, “There are things we can explain and explain, but you will never know them until you do it. It’s like, like...”
“Like... Algebra?” Stevie offered.
“Or ...love?”
“Yeah, I’m sure Dan can attest to that,” Penns said cheekily from his sprawled position on the floor. “He loves like he tackles. Reckless. Painful. And always too late.”
“Oh, burn,” even Stevie had to say in between peals of laughter.
“I’ll show you how I tackle, you shit-faced scumbag,” Dan growled, kicking Penns on the shin again, “I’m gonna fucking break your leg in training tomorrow!”
“Tsk, Daniel, there’s no need for that kind of language.”
“But, Rafa!”
“Anyway, quiet down, boys,” Rafa shouted over Daniel’s indignant protests, Pennant’s exaggerated groans of pain and the team’s general chatter. “I want to announce the team I’m bringing to London for this Saturday’s game against Arsenal.”
And just like that the noise disappeared and everyone leaned in anxiously. Not only was the Arsenal game tipped to be one of the clashes of the season, it was also an away match, meaning whoever got a slot in the team got to travel to London for the weekend.
Rafa cleared his throat and flipped his notebook open. “Pepe Reina.”
“Duh.” Someone muttered under his breath. Dan had a hunch it was Itandje. He knew Charles was really quiet but if you had no starts in your entire high school career because of one man, well, Dan was willing to bet the Frenchman had a lot of pent-up angst.
“Charles Itandje, Alvaro Arbeloa, Jamie Carragher, Sami Hyypia, Daniel Agger, John Arne Riise,” Rafa ticked off the names one by one, “Javier Mascherano, Xabi Alonso, Steven Gerrard.”
Xabi bit back a smile. He liked the way their names always came after each other’s.
“Dirk Kuyt, Yossi Benayoun, Ryan Babel, Fernando Torres and Peter Crouch,” Rafa finished. “I’ll announce who gets to start and who the subs are when we get to London.”
There was a ripple of excited murmurs at the sound of their destination. The manager smiled anxiously, “Before we finish training, I want to fix a few details about our trip, no?
“We will leave campus, Friday at noon, so naturally, you will all be excused from your afternoon classes,” - a premature whoop from Carra - “And our flight back is at Sunday, noon as well.
“And when we get in the hotel, there will be no excursions without my permission. Curfew is at 9 PM, sharp.”
Penns groaned.
“Yes, Jermaine, there will be no partying outside, is that understood?”
Penns nodded earnestly, a sure sign he meant the exact opposite.
“Please behave yourselves, lads. This is still a school activity. Any offence will be dealt with accordingly,” Rafa reminded, having witnessed too many out-of-town trips with the boys, “No smoking, no drinking, no illegal substances, no criminal behaviour, no fornication, no throwing television sets out the window, no purchasing of adult pay TV. The school refuses to foot the bill for Jungle Juice XXX again.”
“That wasn’t me!” Penns spoke up defensively.
“Shut up, Penns. It was your room number on the bill,” Carra sniped.
“How do you know it wasn’t Stevie? He was my roommate.”
“Because he was in Xabi’s room that night, duh.” Pepe retorted loudly, and he meant for it to be matter-of-fact because, really, that was public knowledge in the squad. But. Well. Things change. And Pepe was slow on the uptake.
Xabi’s cheeks burned a bright red.
“Great.” Stevie remarked loudly. “Thanks.”
“Wha - Oh. Ooohh.”
Anyway, Rafa was oblivious to what this all really meant. But he intervened in it anyway, “Well, if you’re all going to switch rooms when I’m not looking, we might as well make room assignments voluntary.” He turned a fresh page in his notebook, seemingly pleased with his bright idea, “And since Pepe says Stevie and Xabi like rooming together, we can assign you both for Room 1.”
No one missed the way Xabi hid behind Crouch in embarrassment. Or the way Stevie’s head whipped around to glare murderously at Pepe.
“Now we just need one more person for Room 1. Three people to a room,” Rafa explained, looking around for volunteers.
Xabi went through his teammates, trying to look for someone he could bribe over the weekend to take long trips out so Stevie and him could have a bit of privacy. Maybe then they would finally get to talk sensibly. Maybe they would even get back together too. In London, nonetheless.
That would be really romantic.
“Oh, Jamie, are you raising your hand? Alright, Alonso, Gerrard and Carragher in Room 1 then.”
Or maybe not.
“Room 2, anyone?”
The team buzzed with noise again right after the entire painful and awkward scenario unfolded.
“Arbeloa, Reina, Mascherano!” Pepe hollered just about the same time everyone else yelled out their desired roommates.
“Riise, Crouch, Kuyt!”
“Hey, we were going to take Dirk!”
“Aww, shucks, guys. There’s enough Dirk for everyone.”
“Okay, you guys can take him.”
“Pepe, you abandoned me!” Fernando accused, feeling slightly intimidated that everyone had already started grouping together.
“Oh, Rafa, I’ll room with Fernando!” Sami volunteered loudly to Rafa frantically noting down the names. He winked at the striker knowingly.
Fernando smiled at him gratefully, until Sami did this completely unbelievable gasp of surprise, “Oh, hey, Daniel, room with us too!”
Daniel’s jaw dropped. Maybe he would feel thankful to the Finn later but right now, he just wanted to crawl to the locker room and die.
But Sami was undeterred. He slung an arm around the two aghast, freckled lads and smiled at them both overenthusiastically. “Isn’t this just so fun?”
Dan and Fernando exchanged sheepish glances. The Spaniard immediately looked away, biting back a smile.
“You’re a diabolical genius,” Dan muttered to the Finn as they all resumed their previous exercise regimes.
Sami dusted his hands off effortlessly, “But a genius nonetheless.”
“This feels like a social experiment,” Dan remarked as he climbed on the treadmill again.
Carra cut in from the next treadmill. “You say social experiment, I saw fucking soap opera waiting to happen.”
“I know!” Sami grinned excitedly. “Don’t you just love our school?”
*
“Let me get this straight,” Harry said, “You’re going to London. With Daniel.”
“And the rest of the squad. And Rafa. It’s hardly a weekend getaway.” Fernando answered, rolling his eyes. He dumped two more pairs of his training shorts in his duffel bag. Harry sighed in irritation and took out the clothes, obsessively folding them carefully and laying them inside the bag in orderly lines.
“Uh-huh,” Harry mused, unconvinced.
“I’m not going to have sex with Daniel. Sami will be in the room with us!” Fernando defended adamantly, his cheeks turning a shade of pink.
“So? Do it in the lift,” Harry replied nonchalantly, still busy with rearranging Fernando’s things in his bag.
“There are security cameras on elevators.”
“...And your point is?”
“Harry!”
“Oh, right. You’re telling me if Dan climbs into your bed in the dead of the night when Sami’s asleep and he spoons right up against you” - Fernando ignored the delicious tingle down his spine - “you’re going to ignore him and lay there like a log?”
The striker averted the question with an indignant look on his face. “Do you think I’m that easy?”
Harry blinked innocently up at Fernando.
“Fuck you, Kewell.”
“I love it when you talk dirty, Torres.”
Fernando zipped his duffel bag close with a little too much force. “I’ll be so glad to get away from you this weekend.”
“Away from me and off to Agger. I knew it.”
“Aren’t you the least bit supportive about the match against Arsenal? Aren’t you supposed to be the sports editor of the paper?” The striker scowled. “You know, wish me luck, give me tips or whatever.”
“Good luck,” Harry replied in a dull monotone. Before a mischievous grin spread on his tanned face, “Whatever happens, make sure you’re protected.”
Fernando crawled on his bed tiredly and replied, “And if you sleep with someone while I’m gone, please don’t do it on my bed.”
Harry climbed under his sheets as well and reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. “I packed you condoms and lube. I stuffed it in one of your socks.”
The Australian half-expected for Fernando to get into another needlessly defensive tirade of his non-lust for a certain Danish defender. But Fernando asked sleepily instead, “Harry, do you think we would ever have become friends if we didn’t have sex to talk about?”
Harry smiled in the darkness of their shared dorm room as he thought about it.
“Nah.”
*
Well, fuck. It’s him again.
Finns briefly considered just postponing the submission of his college application forms until someone else was at the Student Assistant desk. But the deadline was tomorrow and Finns was getting even more neurotic every time he saw the Yale envelope ensconced in his locker. So he steeled himself and told himself he could handle Harry Kewell no problem.
“Here,” Finns said curtly, dropping his files on Harry’s desk.
Harry opened the folder, stamped it with the school seal, then put it on a neat pile of application forms. “Done.”
Finns blinked. “...What? That’s it?”
“What?” Harry asked, lazily raising his eyebrows.
“No ceremonial burning of my horrible essay? No annoying remarks? No mockery?”
“I already made fun of Fernando’s hair this morning. I’ve completed my meanness quota for today,” Harry retorted dryly.
“But surely you love exceeding expectations,” Finns supplied expectantly.
Harry ran his hand over his face impatiently. He’s had about an average of two hours of sleep per day this finals week, what was this fucking clod trying to get at now?
“Is there anything else you need?” Harry asked directly, cutting to the chase.
Finns froze. Well, obviously, the snarky bastard wasn’t up for some playful banter this week. Which was slightly disappointing because, as Finns grudgingly admitted to himself, fighting with Harry was kind of fun. Not that he liked Harry or anything. He hated him still. But he had fun hating him.
“Finns?” Harry said loudly, interrupting the Irishman’s train of thought.
“W-what?”
“Do you need anything else?” Harry asked again, seeming exasperated.
“Oh. Nothing, nothing.”
Harry stifled a yawn. “You can leave then.”
Finns scowled. Fine, if Harry didn’t want to talk, he was fine with that. It’s not like he really gave a damn anyway.
“The door’s that way,” Harry added, smiling sarcastically at the defender. “Just in case you forgot.”
Finns rolled his hands into fists and stomped off. Now he really hated that bastard with a passion.
“Hey, Finns, wait!” Harry suddenly called out and the Irishman weighed whether or not he should even acknowledge him. But he really didn’t have a choice because Harry stood up from his desk and went after him, tapping him on the shoulder lightly.
“What?” Finns snapped.
“I thought the team was going down to London today. Why are you still here?” Harry asked.
Finns’ glare darkened even more. “I didn’t get selected.”
“Oh.” Harry said, an unreadable expression on his face. “Not even as a sub?”
“What’s your point?” Finns cut off lividly.
Harry’s jaw dropped a little before he made a visible attempt to be more genial. “Nothing. I just thought - I just thought you should have started. Arbeloa’s such a spaz.”
The Irishman’s eyebrows raised so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. “Oh. Okay,” he mumbled out. Harry smiled at him and gave him a pat on the shoulder before turning on his heel and returning to the Student Assistant’s desk where a lost freshman was already waiting.
Finns smiled to himself as he made his way out of the office. Now, that wasn’t bad.
*
“Guess where I’m calling from?” An excited voice tittered over the phone.
“Yossi - ”
“From the bathroom!” The Israeli exploded with unbridled joy. “Get it, Nando? There’s a phone in the bathroom!”
“Oh, wow.” the striker tried to sound just as enthusiastic, “That’s great, Yossi!”
Daniel came out of the shower in time to see the Spaniard sprawled tiredly on the bed, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other smothering his face with a pillow.
Heart pounding in his chest, Dan casually perched on the end of Fernando’s bed and tapped the striker’s thigh as innocently as he could. He chuckled to himself to hide his nervousness and asked, “What’s Yossi up to now?”
Fernando removed the pillow from his face and looked up at Danny. He covered the mouthpiece with a hand and scowled, “He’s discovered the bathroom and he’s asking what a bidet is.”
“It’s what you use to wash your ass, Yossi!” Dan yelled loudly to be heard over the other end of the line. Fernando cracked up then stared at the phone suddenly. “He dropped the phone!” Fernando said with wide eyes.
Dan burst out laughing too, but Fernando scolded with mock seriousness, “You’ve scarred him forever, Danny!”
The defender’s peals of laughter quickly subsided into a soft smile.
“What?” Fernando asked self-consciously.
“Nothing, it’s - it’s corny,” Dan waved off the dismissal and made to stand up from the bed but Fernando quickly bolted up into a sitting position, “Wait!”
Dan froze and fell back on his spot on the bed. Fernando blushed at his obviousness and tried to divert the topic.
“Tell me,” he nagged and put on his best disappointed pout. That always worked.
“Cheater,” Dan grumbled, knowing that look. But he relented nonetheless. “It’s just that - you called me Danny again.”
“I call you Danny!” Fernando defended, flopping back against his pillows.
“Only when you like me,” Dan pointed out. Avoiding the scrutinizing gaze, Fernando trained his eyes on a loose thread on the old Brondby kit the defender was using as a pajama top.
“I like you,” Fernando protested again, but more self-consciously now.
Dan raised an eyebrow. Fernando bit his lip and rambled helplessly, “Well, I like you - when you’re not an ass. Sometimes. Or most of the time. I... think.”
“You’re so...”
“Articulate?” Fernando suggested.
“...Cute.” Dan finished.
“That’s not very articulate either.”
Dan cracked a crooked grin and Fernando secretly thought that was really cute too.
“You should take a bath before you fall asleep there,” Dan said, standing up. He took Fernando’s wrists and tried to yank him up with him.
Fernando groaned and resisted petulantly. “I like my bed, it’s soft.”
“You were on the National Express for five hours. You smell,” Dan hit back, tugging at Fernando harder. Fernando let his jaw drop and scowled exaggeratedly, “See what I mean about you being an ass?”
Dan let go of Fernando’s arms, sending the Spaniard sprawling back on the mattress. He immediately rounded the bed and took hold of Fernando’s ankles, trying to pull him off.
“Daniel!” Fernando screamed laughing, caught unaware as he slid down the bed with his legs in the air. He tried to thrash about but Dan expertly held his calves securely against his sides and gave another strong tug again. Fernando grunted and tried to dig his elbows in the bed to anchor himself.
“Fernando,” Dan stopped briefly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Bring it,” Fernando challenged with a proud smirk.
“Oh, don’t make me come up there,” Dan answered. He gave Fernando’s calves a strong squeeze, “I could manhandle you.”
“Psh,” Fernando didn’t even flinch. “I could take you on.”
Then, the door swung open and Sami walked in. The Finn stopped in his tracks. Stared at Fernando on the bed with his dishevelled hair and his shirt riding up his torso and his legs around Daniel’s waist. His bed was a mess and Daniel stood above the Spaniard and Sami was sure he heard some grunting and groaning before he entered the room.
“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sami finally managed to blubber something out.
“No, Sami,” Fernando’s eyes went wide in realization. He insisted, “We weren’t - we weren’t up to anything.”
Dan retorted dryly, “Yeah, Sami, I was just trying to get Torres to take a bath.”
Sami looked pointedly at their positions.
“By wrestling,” Dan supplied. The Finn did not look convinced. At all.
“Maybe we should have a secret code,” Sami proposed diplomatically. “Like, hang a necktie around the doorknob to warn me when it’s sexytimes.”
“Sexytimes?” Fernando echoed in disbelief, feeling his face completely burn up in humiliation.
“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong,” Sami let out a slight laugh, calming down. “I want you guys to have sexytimes! I just want you guys to tell me when so I don’t walk in on you.”
The two kids stared at him aghast. Sami explained himself hurriedly, “I mean, not because like, I’m disgusted by the two of you having sex, I don’t care if I see it. I just, don’t want to see it. So you both don’t get interrupted and you can finish everything you need - or want - er, to do.”
“Right.” Dan answered hollowly because, well, holy hell, that was awkward.
“I’m taking a bath,” Fernando announced, untangling himself from Daniel and loping off to the bathroom. When the bathroom door closed, Sami broke into a mischievous grin.
“Daniel, you minx.”
“We were not. Having. Sex.” Dan emphasized strongly.
“Yeah, but, will you? This weekend?”
“WHAT?” Dan exploded, the vein on his forehead throbbing now.
“You know. You may not have been having sexytimes now. But do you want to?” Sami nagged, eyes twinkling.
“Sami, when you call it ‘sexytimes,’ that’s just a sure-fire way of losing your hard-on,” Dan deadpanned.
“You’re not answering the question,” Sami teased.
“Well, of course I bloody wanna sleep with him!”
“Well, why haven’t you?” Sami hit back.
“Because! He’s so - he’s so...”
“Fuckers, I can hear the both of you, you know!” Fernando yelled from the bathroom.
Sami and Dan stared at each other in surprise. The Dane’s cheeks burned a bright red but Sami just started doubling over laughing. Dan growled and pushed him away, “I’m going out for a smoke. I can’t handle this.”
“Did you hear that, Fernando?” Sami called out, still chuckling. “Dan’s leaving you! Again!”
Sami and Dan clearly heard the showers being switched off for a moment before, “Fuck you, Sami!” Fernando shouted from the bath.
Sami doubled over laughing again.
*
Finns had never seen the school’s front doors closed, but he approached it anyway. He gave the doorknob a slight twist - it was locked. Pursing his lips patiently, he gave it another slight jiggle. Maybe the lock just caught or it was rusty or something.
It still didn’t give way.
Cursing to himself now, he braced two hands on the handle and pulled with all his might, straining until his arms ached.
This was the sight that greeted Harry as he was just about to finish his morning jog around the campus. He slowed to a stop by the entrance where the Irishman was still concentrating on wrestling with the door. Harry even blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Finally, he gave up on wondering and just approached Finns.
“What are you doing?”
The Irishman whirled around all of a sudden as if he were electrocuted. Clutching his heart, Finns angrily exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that!”
“Are you trying to break into the school?” Harry chuckled.
“No. The doors were locked and I was just trying to” - the Australian arched an eyebrow and Finns sighed - “break into the school.”
“It’s a Saturday. Of course the school’s closed. Or are you a lot less smarter than I gave you credit for?” Harry smirked.
Finns scowled, “No, I heard from my friend that they held the extra-curricular activities on Saturday, and I thought I could drop by. You know, possibly even join a new organization or something.”
“The org fair isn’t until 1 PM.” Harry replied before raising his eyebrow again, but this time in confusion, “And you’re already in the football team. Why would you need another group?”
Finns shrugged defensively, “Looks good on the college application forms.”
Harry nodded slowly but made no mention of the defender’s snubbing for the Arsenal game.
“Well, what are you doing here?” Finns asked, quickly diverting the conversation.
Harry used the back of his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “I jog here every morning.”
“You jog in campus?” Finns asked sceptically.
“I live in the dorms, genius,” Harry shot back.
“Oh, right. I forget. How could I? Your dorm room was probably the centre of the Stevie-Xabi love saga.”
Harry’s forehead crinkled and his frown deepened. Dealing with the Irishman was trickier than most. He was a prick in the making and he didn’t even try. Now he really knew Finns was Daniel’s best friend. He reckoned the Dane’s crabbiness was contagious. He could only hope Fernando wouldn’t catch it while they roomed together in London. That boy was a brat enough as it was.
Sensing Harry’s silence at the remark he let slip, Finns sighed. “I guess I should go back home then. This was a mistake,” Finns mumbled, looking down on the floor, frustrated with himself.
Harry hesitated but he let the offer fall from his lips anyway, “It’s almost eleven anyway. Do you want to catch brunch? Then we can go to the org exhibit later together.”
Finns stared at him blankly for a second. “Why?”
“Because you look like a miserable bastard,” Harry answered frankly. Revenge was sweet.
The corner of the Irishman’s mouth twitched upwards, “Okay, maybe I deserved that.”
“But seriously, come on,” Harry prodded sincerely.
“Well, I guess,” Finns replied unsurely, shuffling his feet. “It’s not like I have anyone else to hang out with anyway.”
“Great,” Harry said, quickly spinning on his heel and gracefully darting down the main steps of the school. Finns scampered after him to catch up, and soon they were striding side-by-side. “Do you mind if we drop by my dorm first? Let me take a fast shower then we can go grab a bite.”
Finns nodded, “Sure.”
“And no more quips about Xabi,” Harry said, raising a warning finger as they walked through the cobblestone paths between old buildings.
Finns tried to stifle a devilish grin but largely failed. “How about, for every Xabi quip I give, you get a Daniel remark you can throw back?”
“Why would I tease you about Daniel? I thought you said you were over him.”
“Well, are you really over Xabi?”
“Yes!”
“Wholly, completely, absol-fucking-lutely?” Finns challenged.
Harry kicked a pebble in the defender’s direction. “Fine. Deal.”
*
Xabi coughed softly, but Stevie didn’t look up from his laptop. Xabi tapped his foot impatiently. He knew it was a golden window of opportunity when the manager called Carra in for a meeting, but the defender was going to be back soon.
“What are you doing?” Xabi tried again, trying to sound friendly.
Stevie continued clacking away at the keyboard and answered curtly. “Homework.”
“Oh, really? For what class?” Xabi pushed the topic.
“French.”
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
“Are you taking a break soon?” Xabi offered brightly, “Maybe we can -”
“No,” Stevie interrupted coldly.
“Wow,” Xabi covered his embarrassment with a forced laugh. “What’s with the one-word replies?”
Stevie looked up for the first time. “Fuck. Off.” He enunciated clearly, steely, before he broke into a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”
Xabi was bewildered to say the least. He never heard Stevie talk like that. Not to him, at least. But he tried again, though smile was tight, “Stevie, I thought things were okay between us already.”
“We talked once,” Stevie argued icily, hitting the keys with much more force than usual. “You thought you could give me coffee and your reviewer and everything would be fine and dandy?”
“No,” Xabi stammered, “But I at least thought our last conversation was more than that.”
“We could have had the most earth-shattering conversation. Does it change anything?” Stevie asked, stonily staring at his ex and waiting for an answer.
“When are you going to get over the fact that I slept with Harry Kewell?” Xabi threw his hands out in the air.
“Oh, wow, jeez, I’m sorry I can’t keep up with your schedule!” Stevie’s voice started to get louder.
“Well, then, just tell me what you want me to do so I can fix this!”
“And since when did it ever become about what I wanted?” Stevie retorted bitterly.
“What?”
“It’s always been about what you want, hasn’t it?” The Scouser accused, slamming the laptop closed loudly, “You wanted us to be together, you got tired of it. You wanted to try something new, you did. You wanted to let Harry Kewell fuck you, you spread your legs and took him in. And now, for whatever reason, you want us back together and I should magically just drop whatever grudges I have. You never stop, do you?”
Xabi stood there with his jaw hanging and his head fuming. “Of course I care about what you want!” He shot back lividly.
“Well, I didn’t ask you to come back,” Stevie deadpanned.
“Stevie, I -”
Stevie tossed his laptop down on the bedspread and jumped up on his feet to meet Xabi eye-to-eye. “Xabi, stop begging. Please. You’re not going to get anything out of it.” He looked at the Spaniard up and down and Xabi thought he could see a sneer playing on those lips as Stevie finished, “Not to mention, you’re beginning to look pathetic.”
Xabi was left completely speechless. Stevie pushed past him and stormed out the door - nearly barrelling over the entering Carra.
“Wow,” Carra whistled incredulously, “To think I was only gone for 15 minutes.”
But Xabi had crumpled down on the carpeted floor and leaned his head on his bed, too taken aback to listen to the Scouser.
Carra took one look at the distraught Spaniard and hesitated to come closer. Not because he was on Stevie’s side but because he was always bad at these things. Tentatively, he approached his own bed and sat at the side, facing Xabi.
“Y’alright, la?” Carra asked in one big nervous whoosh.
Xabi looked up, his eyes searching. “I just don’t understand why he won’t let me fix things.”
“He has let you fix things,” Carra replied in a mumbling yet gentle tone. Xabi bit his lip and stubbornly shook his head.
The defender played with the bedsheets and struggled to elaborate, “You’ve explained it all already - and though Stevie doesn’t look like he gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying, he is listening. He knows why you did what you did, and he knows you’re sorry. He just needs to mull things over. Just give him some time until he decides to get over it.”
Xabi impatiently ran his fingers through his perfectly-coiffed hair in annoyance, “And what if he doesn’t?”
“You can’t do anything about it,” Carra said with a straightforward shrug. Xabi was about to speak up when Carra continued, talking over the protesting Basque, “But rushing Stevie and nagging him endlessly isn’t going to help either.”
Xabi rested his chin on his knees and looked up at Carra thoughtfully, “Would you get over it?”
Carra didn’t even blink. “No.”
The Spaniard winced. “You’ve never thought of cheating? You’ve never been bothered by the idea of being committed to someone when possibly, there’s someone out there better for you?”
“That’s a load of bullcrap and you know it. You think Harry was better for you than Stevie?”
Xabi kept his head down as the embarrassment crept in. He stared fixedly at his bare toes on the carpet as Carra continued pressing questions, “I don’t understand the point of cheating: If you were so intent on finding out what Harry could give you that Stevie couldn’t, why couldn’t you at least have the decency to break up with your boyfriend first? You chose this: to juggle them both at the same time so you could experiment on one hand and have a fall-back on another.”
“So, you can’t forgive me?” Xabi asked quietly.
Carra sighed. “No. But your infidelity has nothing to do with me - our friendship, our working relationship. So, I can still - and will still be - your friend. But it will always be an issue with me.”
Xabi looked slightly gratefully for a second before he morosely asked another question, “Do you think Stevie can’t forgive me too? You both think alike.”
“We may think alike,” Carra smiled encouragingly, “But the difference is, Stevie’s madly in love with you.”
A smile - a relieved chuckle, even - resurfaced in Xabi’s expression. Carra hastily added, “And if you love him too, you’ll let Stevie get over this in his own pace. You’ve done what you should and it’s all up to him now.”
“I promise,” Xabi nodded his head vigorously, the webs in his mind momentarily cleared for now after Carra’s input. “Thanks, Carra.”
“No problem,” Carra said, feeling completely triumphant after surviving that conversation. He threw himself onto his cushions and happily sank into them.
Xabi slowly got to his feet, dusting his jeans, “Carra?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you bother helping me if you think what I did was unacceptable?”
Carra shrugged and gazed at the ceiling. “I know you’re sorry. Besides, you know what they say: it can happen to anyone of us - stupid mistakes.”
Xabi stopped uncertainly, “Really?”
Carra rolled his eyes and motioned Xabi to fill in the next lines. When the Spaniard stared at him blankly, Carra continued slowly, as if incredulous that this even had to be explained: “Anyone can fall, anyone can hurt someone they love. Hearts will break...?”
“...Who in the world would say those things?”
“Gareth Gates!” Carra kicked Xabi’s leg in frustration. “Jesus, Xabi. I thought you were smart.”
*
Finns always knew what Dan smelled like - a mix of breath mints faintly covering cigarette smoke, sprayed over with that strong, musky body spray Finns helped him find. But for a time Dan stopped smelling like himself and Finns always wondered why.
Ambling around the dorm room Harry shared with Fernando, the truth crept upon Finns. That tangy smell of pomade, that clean fragrance of laundry detergent and - Finns unscrewed the cover of a bottle of perfume and spritzed it on his wrists - that powdery Ralph Lauren scent. Daniel’s been smelling like that Spaniard all this time.
He let his fingers run over the smooth wood of Fernando’s desk, then he rummaged through the stack of papers. His nose wrinkled at the thick, jagged strokes of his handwriting. On the margins of the paper, however, was that unmistakable thin, even penmanship - written with the precision of a tattoo artist, Finns always kidded Daniel - and that made the Irishman scowl even harder.
Finns settled on Fernando’s desk chair and busily rifled through the pages of the Spaniard’s History readings. He read the notes along the margins - from the innocent “You want to meet up in the library later to plan our report?” to “Let’s grab a bite after training later, yeah?” in the earlier lectures and “This lecture is boring, we should meet up in the bathroom in five minutes.” in the later ones.
“Those readings are also filed by lecture, by subject and by class schedule - courtesy of me, of course - but is there anything else you want to know about Fernando?”
Finns let go of the papers in a shock and they splayed out messily on the floor. The Irishman dropped to his knees to gather the articles, thankful for a momentary diversion. From the corner of his eye, he sensed Harry approaching, wearing only his unbuttoned jeans with his bath towel slung carelessly over his shoulder. The Australian bent down as well to help Finns. Citrus bath soap, Finns duly noted with a deep breath. Not bad.
After they rearranged the things on Fernando’s table, Finns stood up straight, hands behind his back, cheeks burning bright. Like a child caught doing something bad. Harry gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged at him, not mentioning what he saw anymore. He merely turned to the dresser mirror and ran the towel vigorously through his hair. Droplets of water hit Finns’ skin and he relished the cool feeling.
“Do you want to have sex with me so you can forget Daniel for a while?” Harry asked plainly, glancing at Finns through his reflection on the mirror.
Finns’ jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not an accusation,” Harry said with another indifferent shrug. “It’s a proposal. Anyone can see how tightly wound up you are. You have unrequited love written all over you.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
Finns stared helplessly at Harry’s tanned, sculptured back. He watched as the Australian meticulously combed and styled his hair. Finns watched those toned arms, especially. Those toned and tattooed arms. Almost like Daniel’s - shit.
Harry whirled around and faced Finns. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Then what?” He asked again, straightforwardly.
Finns’ cheeks burned again. “I - I’m not your type.”
“I don’t have a type, darling.”
“Well, I’m not like most people you sleep with then.”
Harry smirked. “You’re not good in bed?”
The heated blush spread from the Irishman’s cheeks to his neck and his ears as he struggled for the right answer. Harry patiently waited as he rummaged around his closet to continue getting dressed. He already had his shirt on, a belt fastened and one sock halfway through his foot when -
“I - I’ll think about it.” Finns blurted out.
Harry laughed. “No problem. I haven’t slept with someone demure in a long time.”
Next chapter: the finale! I promise, this time. This can't continue any longer because a third of the characters are gone in real-life Liverpool FC. D:
Anyway, you know feedback is much appreciated. Because this story is ten times longer than my thesis, which is partly frightening. ♥
Pairings: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Fernando Torres/Daniel Agger, Steve Finnan/Harry Kewell
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is all fiction. Don’t sue me. If you don’t like slash, don’t read it.
A/N: Collision Course | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
The good news: It's not the last chapter!
The bad news: ...It's not the last chapter. And it's partly a meaningless update.
The men who can't be moved.
“I can’t believe everyone’s out getting piss drunk to celebrate the end of finals week while we’re stuck here in the gym,” Riise said, grunting as he lifted the weights one more time. “I love football and all, but all the training, the pre- and post-match meetings, the weekend strategy discussions, the pressure from the school to win the title... it’s just making me tired of it.”
“Oh, shush it,” Carra said, throwing his dirty gym towel in the Norwegian’s direction, “You’ve been like this ever since Luis left.”
“What the bloody hell would Luis have to do with it?” Riise asked, cheeks red and not just from his weightlifting.
“Oh, you want us to tell you?” Stevie challenged.
“Who’s Luis?” Yossi piped up, blinking innocently.
“Ginger has a point, you know.” Alvaro interrupted, “Sometimes I wish I could just play the game for fun.” He groaned and kicked the side of the treadmill to get it to work. Pepe sighed loudly and plugged the machine and it instantly jumped to life.
Penns added, “Like, if football was my girlfriend, we’d need to take a time out.”
“If football was my girlfriend, we’d have to go out with other people.” Babel piped up.
“If football was my girlfriend,” Dan paused thoughtfully then smirked, “Well, I don’t know how that happened.”
The boys roared laughing.
“But, Dan,” Riise interrupted with a wicked smile on his face, “What’s this rumour I hear that you and a certain Spaniard went home together after the party at Sarah’s?”
Dan’s arrogant grin was immediately replaced with the bright blush on his cheeks. “Fernando just got a bit drunk and I took him in so he could have some place to stay,” he mumbled inaudibly, suddenly utterly fascinated with stretching his calves. No one understood what he said but they didn’t need to. Everyone had been talking about it in the hallways and dressing rooms anyway.
“Why didn’t you bring him back to his dorm?” Stevie teased.
“It was already past curfew and he didn’t have an excuse slip,” Dan protested.
“And he couldn’t go home with Pepe? Or Alvaro?”
“They were wasted too!”
“We were not!” Pepe defended but nobody believed him.
“Why did you go through all the trouble to begin with? Fernando’s a big boy.”
“I would have done the same for all of you!”
“You didn’t do it for me,” Alvaro butted in, looking hurt.
“So, Agger, If Carra had gotten drunk out of his mind, you would have done the same for him?”
Dan tried not to crinkle his nose. Carra was loud when he was sober, he was unacceptably deafening with the slightest drop of alcohol. But he steeled himself and nodded vigorously anyway, “Of course I would.”
Penns laughed, “Really? You would have taken care of Carra, hauled him into a cab, nursed him back to health and let him share your bed?”
Dan’s jaw dropped. Sure, Carra was a good friend, but surely no one expected him to let the Scouser -
“‘Share your bed’?” Alvaro demanded, wide-eyed. “Fernando slept in your bed?”
Dan tried to shrug off the question and feign nonchalance, stifling the sickening giddy flutter in his stomach. “Well, he had to sleep somewhere.”
The team in the gym hooted noisily.
“So, how far did you get to go?” Penns elbowed Dan on the side and winked saucily.
“...I slept on the floor, Penns.”
“Oh, you’re too nice, Agger.”
“Too weak, more like,” Carra joined the fray for the first time, finally abandoning his I’m-too-good-for-this-gossip stance. “I’m so disappointed in you.”
“What?” Dan’s eyes practically bulged out as he yelped, “I couldn’t rush things. It’s already awkward enough as it is.”
“Fucking pussy!”
The clattering sound of the gym door being pushed open cut off their altercation. The boys who had gone biking around campus had returned and Rafa filed in with Xabi, Javier, Sami, Crouch and Fernando walked in.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Penns heckled and Dan shot him a murderous glare.
“Are you thirsty, Fernando?” Carra hollered, his face screwed up tightly from stifling a huge guffaw, “I’m sure Dan can get you something. He’s a very helpful person.”
Fernando raised his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what the ruckus was about.
From the water cooler, Yossi raised his scrawny hand and waved it enthusiastically in the air, “I can get you a drink, Nando.”
“Let Dan do it, Yossi,” Riise rolled his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up, you guys.”
“Oh, or on second thought, maybe you should do it, Yossi,” Penns said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I mean, if Dan couldn’t even reach the bed from his bedroom floor - OOF!”
Dan threw himself at Penns in an amazing flying tackle, even Rafa did a double-take.
“Why, Daniel, that was the tackle I wanted to see in training yesterday!” Rafa said, smiling gleefully.
“I keep telling you, boys, you know my idea,” Rafa continued into an impromptu lecture, “There are things we can explain and explain, but you will never know them until you do it. It’s like, like...”
“Like... Algebra?” Stevie offered.
“Or ...love?”
“Yeah, I’m sure Dan can attest to that,” Penns said cheekily from his sprawled position on the floor. “He loves like he tackles. Reckless. Painful. And always too late.”
“Oh, burn,” even Stevie had to say in between peals of laughter.
“I’ll show you how I tackle, you shit-faced scumbag,” Dan growled, kicking Penns on the shin again, “I’m gonna fucking break your leg in training tomorrow!”
“Tsk, Daniel, there’s no need for that kind of language.”
“But, Rafa!”
“Anyway, quiet down, boys,” Rafa shouted over Daniel’s indignant protests, Pennant’s exaggerated groans of pain and the team’s general chatter. “I want to announce the team I’m bringing to London for this Saturday’s game against Arsenal.”
And just like that the noise disappeared and everyone leaned in anxiously. Not only was the Arsenal game tipped to be one of the clashes of the season, it was also an away match, meaning whoever got a slot in the team got to travel to London for the weekend.
Rafa cleared his throat and flipped his notebook open. “Pepe Reina.”
“Duh.” Someone muttered under his breath. Dan had a hunch it was Itandje. He knew Charles was really quiet but if you had no starts in your entire high school career because of one man, well, Dan was willing to bet the Frenchman had a lot of pent-up angst.
“Charles Itandje, Alvaro Arbeloa, Jamie Carragher, Sami Hyypia, Daniel Agger, John Arne Riise,” Rafa ticked off the names one by one, “Javier Mascherano, Xabi Alonso, Steven Gerrard.”
Xabi bit back a smile. He liked the way their names always came after each other’s.
“Dirk Kuyt, Yossi Benayoun, Ryan Babel, Fernando Torres and Peter Crouch,” Rafa finished. “I’ll announce who gets to start and who the subs are when we get to London.”
There was a ripple of excited murmurs at the sound of their destination. The manager smiled anxiously, “Before we finish training, I want to fix a few details about our trip, no?
“We will leave campus, Friday at noon, so naturally, you will all be excused from your afternoon classes,” - a premature whoop from Carra - “And our flight back is at Sunday, noon as well.
“And when we get in the hotel, there will be no excursions without my permission. Curfew is at 9 PM, sharp.”
Penns groaned.
“Yes, Jermaine, there will be no partying outside, is that understood?”
Penns nodded earnestly, a sure sign he meant the exact opposite.
“Please behave yourselves, lads. This is still a school activity. Any offence will be dealt with accordingly,” Rafa reminded, having witnessed too many out-of-town trips with the boys, “No smoking, no drinking, no illegal substances, no criminal behaviour, no fornication, no throwing television sets out the window, no purchasing of adult pay TV. The school refuses to foot the bill for Jungle Juice XXX again.”
“That wasn’t me!” Penns spoke up defensively.
“Shut up, Penns. It was your room number on the bill,” Carra sniped.
“How do you know it wasn’t Stevie? He was my roommate.”
“Because he was in Xabi’s room that night, duh.” Pepe retorted loudly, and he meant for it to be matter-of-fact because, really, that was public knowledge in the squad. But. Well. Things change. And Pepe was slow on the uptake.
Xabi’s cheeks burned a bright red.
“Great.” Stevie remarked loudly. “Thanks.”
“Wha - Oh. Ooohh.”
Anyway, Rafa was oblivious to what this all really meant. But he intervened in it anyway, “Well, if you’re all going to switch rooms when I’m not looking, we might as well make room assignments voluntary.” He turned a fresh page in his notebook, seemingly pleased with his bright idea, “And since Pepe says Stevie and Xabi like rooming together, we can assign you both for Room 1.”
No one missed the way Xabi hid behind Crouch in embarrassment. Or the way Stevie’s head whipped around to glare murderously at Pepe.
“Now we just need one more person for Room 1. Three people to a room,” Rafa explained, looking around for volunteers.
Xabi went through his teammates, trying to look for someone he could bribe over the weekend to take long trips out so Stevie and him could have a bit of privacy. Maybe then they would finally get to talk sensibly. Maybe they would even get back together too. In London, nonetheless.
That would be really romantic.
“Oh, Jamie, are you raising your hand? Alright, Alonso, Gerrard and Carragher in Room 1 then.”
Or maybe not.
“Room 2, anyone?”
The team buzzed with noise again right after the entire painful and awkward scenario unfolded.
“Arbeloa, Reina, Mascherano!” Pepe hollered just about the same time everyone else yelled out their desired roommates.
“Riise, Crouch, Kuyt!”
“Hey, we were going to take Dirk!”
“Aww, shucks, guys. There’s enough Dirk for everyone.”
“Okay, you guys can take him.”
“Pepe, you abandoned me!” Fernando accused, feeling slightly intimidated that everyone had already started grouping together.
“Oh, Rafa, I’ll room with Fernando!” Sami volunteered loudly to Rafa frantically noting down the names. He winked at the striker knowingly.
Fernando smiled at him gratefully, until Sami did this completely unbelievable gasp of surprise, “Oh, hey, Daniel, room with us too!”
Daniel’s jaw dropped. Maybe he would feel thankful to the Finn later but right now, he just wanted to crawl to the locker room and die.
But Sami was undeterred. He slung an arm around the two aghast, freckled lads and smiled at them both overenthusiastically. “Isn’t this just so fun?”
Dan and Fernando exchanged sheepish glances. The Spaniard immediately looked away, biting back a smile.
“You’re a diabolical genius,” Dan muttered to the Finn as they all resumed their previous exercise regimes.
Sami dusted his hands off effortlessly, “But a genius nonetheless.”
“This feels like a social experiment,” Dan remarked as he climbed on the treadmill again.
Carra cut in from the next treadmill. “You say social experiment, I saw fucking soap opera waiting to happen.”
“I know!” Sami grinned excitedly. “Don’t you just love our school?”
*
“Let me get this straight,” Harry said, “You’re going to London. With Daniel.”
“And the rest of the squad. And Rafa. It’s hardly a weekend getaway.” Fernando answered, rolling his eyes. He dumped two more pairs of his training shorts in his duffel bag. Harry sighed in irritation and took out the clothes, obsessively folding them carefully and laying them inside the bag in orderly lines.
“Uh-huh,” Harry mused, unconvinced.
“I’m not going to have sex with Daniel. Sami will be in the room with us!” Fernando defended adamantly, his cheeks turning a shade of pink.
“So? Do it in the lift,” Harry replied nonchalantly, still busy with rearranging Fernando’s things in his bag.
“There are security cameras on elevators.”
“...And your point is?”
“Harry!”
“Oh, right. You’re telling me if Dan climbs into your bed in the dead of the night when Sami’s asleep and he spoons right up against you” - Fernando ignored the delicious tingle down his spine - “you’re going to ignore him and lay there like a log?”
The striker averted the question with an indignant look on his face. “Do you think I’m that easy?”
Harry blinked innocently up at Fernando.
“Fuck you, Kewell.”
“I love it when you talk dirty, Torres.”
Fernando zipped his duffel bag close with a little too much force. “I’ll be so glad to get away from you this weekend.”
“Away from me and off to Agger. I knew it.”
“Aren’t you the least bit supportive about the match against Arsenal? Aren’t you supposed to be the sports editor of the paper?” The striker scowled. “You know, wish me luck, give me tips or whatever.”
“Good luck,” Harry replied in a dull monotone. Before a mischievous grin spread on his tanned face, “Whatever happens, make sure you’re protected.”
Fernando crawled on his bed tiredly and replied, “And if you sleep with someone while I’m gone, please don’t do it on my bed.”
Harry climbed under his sheets as well and reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. “I packed you condoms and lube. I stuffed it in one of your socks.”
The Australian half-expected for Fernando to get into another needlessly defensive tirade of his non-lust for a certain Danish defender. But Fernando asked sleepily instead, “Harry, do you think we would ever have become friends if we didn’t have sex to talk about?”
Harry smiled in the darkness of their shared dorm room as he thought about it.
“Nah.”
*
Well, fuck. It’s him again.
Finns briefly considered just postponing the submission of his college application forms until someone else was at the Student Assistant desk. But the deadline was tomorrow and Finns was getting even more neurotic every time he saw the Yale envelope ensconced in his locker. So he steeled himself and told himself he could handle Harry Kewell no problem.
“Here,” Finns said curtly, dropping his files on Harry’s desk.
Harry opened the folder, stamped it with the school seal, then put it on a neat pile of application forms. “Done.”
Finns blinked. “...What? That’s it?”
“What?” Harry asked, lazily raising his eyebrows.
“No ceremonial burning of my horrible essay? No annoying remarks? No mockery?”
“I already made fun of Fernando’s hair this morning. I’ve completed my meanness quota for today,” Harry retorted dryly.
“But surely you love exceeding expectations,” Finns supplied expectantly.
Harry ran his hand over his face impatiently. He’s had about an average of two hours of sleep per day this finals week, what was this fucking clod trying to get at now?
“Is there anything else you need?” Harry asked directly, cutting to the chase.
Finns froze. Well, obviously, the snarky bastard wasn’t up for some playful banter this week. Which was slightly disappointing because, as Finns grudgingly admitted to himself, fighting with Harry was kind of fun. Not that he liked Harry or anything. He hated him still. But he had fun hating him.
“Finns?” Harry said loudly, interrupting the Irishman’s train of thought.
“W-what?”
“Do you need anything else?” Harry asked again, seeming exasperated.
“Oh. Nothing, nothing.”
Harry stifled a yawn. “You can leave then.”
Finns scowled. Fine, if Harry didn’t want to talk, he was fine with that. It’s not like he really gave a damn anyway.
“The door’s that way,” Harry added, smiling sarcastically at the defender. “Just in case you forgot.”
Finns rolled his hands into fists and stomped off. Now he really hated that bastard with a passion.
“Hey, Finns, wait!” Harry suddenly called out and the Irishman weighed whether or not he should even acknowledge him. But he really didn’t have a choice because Harry stood up from his desk and went after him, tapping him on the shoulder lightly.
“What?” Finns snapped.
“I thought the team was going down to London today. Why are you still here?” Harry asked.
Finns’ glare darkened even more. “I didn’t get selected.”
“Oh.” Harry said, an unreadable expression on his face. “Not even as a sub?”
“What’s your point?” Finns cut off lividly.
Harry’s jaw dropped a little before he made a visible attempt to be more genial. “Nothing. I just thought - I just thought you should have started. Arbeloa’s such a spaz.”
The Irishman’s eyebrows raised so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. “Oh. Okay,” he mumbled out. Harry smiled at him and gave him a pat on the shoulder before turning on his heel and returning to the Student Assistant’s desk where a lost freshman was already waiting.
Finns smiled to himself as he made his way out of the office. Now, that wasn’t bad.
*
“Guess where I’m calling from?” An excited voice tittered over the phone.
“Yossi - ”
“From the bathroom!” The Israeli exploded with unbridled joy. “Get it, Nando? There’s a phone in the bathroom!”
“Oh, wow.” the striker tried to sound just as enthusiastic, “That’s great, Yossi!”
Daniel came out of the shower in time to see the Spaniard sprawled tiredly on the bed, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other smothering his face with a pillow.
Heart pounding in his chest, Dan casually perched on the end of Fernando’s bed and tapped the striker’s thigh as innocently as he could. He chuckled to himself to hide his nervousness and asked, “What’s Yossi up to now?”
Fernando removed the pillow from his face and looked up at Danny. He covered the mouthpiece with a hand and scowled, “He’s discovered the bathroom and he’s asking what a bidet is.”
“It’s what you use to wash your ass, Yossi!” Dan yelled loudly to be heard over the other end of the line. Fernando cracked up then stared at the phone suddenly. “He dropped the phone!” Fernando said with wide eyes.
Dan burst out laughing too, but Fernando scolded with mock seriousness, “You’ve scarred him forever, Danny!”
The defender’s peals of laughter quickly subsided into a soft smile.
“What?” Fernando asked self-consciously.
“Nothing, it’s - it’s corny,” Dan waved off the dismissal and made to stand up from the bed but Fernando quickly bolted up into a sitting position, “Wait!”
Dan froze and fell back on his spot on the bed. Fernando blushed at his obviousness and tried to divert the topic.
“Tell me,” he nagged and put on his best disappointed pout. That always worked.
“Cheater,” Dan grumbled, knowing that look. But he relented nonetheless. “It’s just that - you called me Danny again.”
“I call you Danny!” Fernando defended, flopping back against his pillows.
“Only when you like me,” Dan pointed out. Avoiding the scrutinizing gaze, Fernando trained his eyes on a loose thread on the old Brondby kit the defender was using as a pajama top.
“I like you,” Fernando protested again, but more self-consciously now.
Dan raised an eyebrow. Fernando bit his lip and rambled helplessly, “Well, I like you - when you’re not an ass. Sometimes. Or most of the time. I... think.”
“You’re so...”
“Articulate?” Fernando suggested.
“...Cute.” Dan finished.
“That’s not very articulate either.”
Dan cracked a crooked grin and Fernando secretly thought that was really cute too.
“You should take a bath before you fall asleep there,” Dan said, standing up. He took Fernando’s wrists and tried to yank him up with him.
Fernando groaned and resisted petulantly. “I like my bed, it’s soft.”
“You were on the National Express for five hours. You smell,” Dan hit back, tugging at Fernando harder. Fernando let his jaw drop and scowled exaggeratedly, “See what I mean about you being an ass?”
Dan let go of Fernando’s arms, sending the Spaniard sprawling back on the mattress. He immediately rounded the bed and took hold of Fernando’s ankles, trying to pull him off.
“Daniel!” Fernando screamed laughing, caught unaware as he slid down the bed with his legs in the air. He tried to thrash about but Dan expertly held his calves securely against his sides and gave another strong tug again. Fernando grunted and tried to dig his elbows in the bed to anchor himself.
“Fernando,” Dan stopped briefly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Bring it,” Fernando challenged with a proud smirk.
“Oh, don’t make me come up there,” Dan answered. He gave Fernando’s calves a strong squeeze, “I could manhandle you.”
“Psh,” Fernando didn’t even flinch. “I could take you on.”
Then, the door swung open and Sami walked in. The Finn stopped in his tracks. Stared at Fernando on the bed with his dishevelled hair and his shirt riding up his torso and his legs around Daniel’s waist. His bed was a mess and Daniel stood above the Spaniard and Sami was sure he heard some grunting and groaning before he entered the room.
“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sami finally managed to blubber something out.
“No, Sami,” Fernando’s eyes went wide in realization. He insisted, “We weren’t - we weren’t up to anything.”
Dan retorted dryly, “Yeah, Sami, I was just trying to get Torres to take a bath.”
Sami looked pointedly at their positions.
“By wrestling,” Dan supplied. The Finn did not look convinced. At all.
“Maybe we should have a secret code,” Sami proposed diplomatically. “Like, hang a necktie around the doorknob to warn me when it’s sexytimes.”
“Sexytimes?” Fernando echoed in disbelief, feeling his face completely burn up in humiliation.
“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong,” Sami let out a slight laugh, calming down. “I want you guys to have sexytimes! I just want you guys to tell me when so I don’t walk in on you.”
The two kids stared at him aghast. Sami explained himself hurriedly, “I mean, not because like, I’m disgusted by the two of you having sex, I don’t care if I see it. I just, don’t want to see it. So you both don’t get interrupted and you can finish everything you need - or want - er, to do.”
“Right.” Dan answered hollowly because, well, holy hell, that was awkward.
“I’m taking a bath,” Fernando announced, untangling himself from Daniel and loping off to the bathroom. When the bathroom door closed, Sami broke into a mischievous grin.
“Daniel, you minx.”
“We were not. Having. Sex.” Dan emphasized strongly.
“Yeah, but, will you? This weekend?”
“WHAT?” Dan exploded, the vein on his forehead throbbing now.
“You know. You may not have been having sexytimes now. But do you want to?” Sami nagged, eyes twinkling.
“Sami, when you call it ‘sexytimes,’ that’s just a sure-fire way of losing your hard-on,” Dan deadpanned.
“You’re not answering the question,” Sami teased.
“Well, of course I bloody wanna sleep with him!”
“Well, why haven’t you?” Sami hit back.
“Because! He’s so - he’s so...”
“Fuckers, I can hear the both of you, you know!” Fernando yelled from the bathroom.
Sami and Dan stared at each other in surprise. The Dane’s cheeks burned a bright red but Sami just started doubling over laughing. Dan growled and pushed him away, “I’m going out for a smoke. I can’t handle this.”
“Did you hear that, Fernando?” Sami called out, still chuckling. “Dan’s leaving you! Again!”
Sami and Dan clearly heard the showers being switched off for a moment before, “Fuck you, Sami!” Fernando shouted from the bath.
Sami doubled over laughing again.
*
Finns had never seen the school’s front doors closed, but he approached it anyway. He gave the doorknob a slight twist - it was locked. Pursing his lips patiently, he gave it another slight jiggle. Maybe the lock just caught or it was rusty or something.
It still didn’t give way.
Cursing to himself now, he braced two hands on the handle and pulled with all his might, straining until his arms ached.
This was the sight that greeted Harry as he was just about to finish his morning jog around the campus. He slowed to a stop by the entrance where the Irishman was still concentrating on wrestling with the door. Harry even blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Finally, he gave up on wondering and just approached Finns.
“What are you doing?”
The Irishman whirled around all of a sudden as if he were electrocuted. Clutching his heart, Finns angrily exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that!”
“Are you trying to break into the school?” Harry chuckled.
“No. The doors were locked and I was just trying to” - the Australian arched an eyebrow and Finns sighed - “break into the school.”
“It’s a Saturday. Of course the school’s closed. Or are you a lot less smarter than I gave you credit for?” Harry smirked.
Finns scowled, “No, I heard from my friend that they held the extra-curricular activities on Saturday, and I thought I could drop by. You know, possibly even join a new organization or something.”
“The org fair isn’t until 1 PM.” Harry replied before raising his eyebrow again, but this time in confusion, “And you’re already in the football team. Why would you need another group?”
Finns shrugged defensively, “Looks good on the college application forms.”
Harry nodded slowly but made no mention of the defender’s snubbing for the Arsenal game.
“Well, what are you doing here?” Finns asked, quickly diverting the conversation.
Harry used the back of his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “I jog here every morning.”
“You jog in campus?” Finns asked sceptically.
“I live in the dorms, genius,” Harry shot back.
“Oh, right. I forget. How could I? Your dorm room was probably the centre of the Stevie-Xabi love saga.”
Harry’s forehead crinkled and his frown deepened. Dealing with the Irishman was trickier than most. He was a prick in the making and he didn’t even try. Now he really knew Finns was Daniel’s best friend. He reckoned the Dane’s crabbiness was contagious. He could only hope Fernando wouldn’t catch it while they roomed together in London. That boy was a brat enough as it was.
Sensing Harry’s silence at the remark he let slip, Finns sighed. “I guess I should go back home then. This was a mistake,” Finns mumbled, looking down on the floor, frustrated with himself.
Harry hesitated but he let the offer fall from his lips anyway, “It’s almost eleven anyway. Do you want to catch brunch? Then we can go to the org exhibit later together.”
Finns stared at him blankly for a second. “Why?”
“Because you look like a miserable bastard,” Harry answered frankly. Revenge was sweet.
The corner of the Irishman’s mouth twitched upwards, “Okay, maybe I deserved that.”
“But seriously, come on,” Harry prodded sincerely.
“Well, I guess,” Finns replied unsurely, shuffling his feet. “It’s not like I have anyone else to hang out with anyway.”
“Great,” Harry said, quickly spinning on his heel and gracefully darting down the main steps of the school. Finns scampered after him to catch up, and soon they were striding side-by-side. “Do you mind if we drop by my dorm first? Let me take a fast shower then we can go grab a bite.”
Finns nodded, “Sure.”
“And no more quips about Xabi,” Harry said, raising a warning finger as they walked through the cobblestone paths between old buildings.
Finns tried to stifle a devilish grin but largely failed. “How about, for every Xabi quip I give, you get a Daniel remark you can throw back?”
“Why would I tease you about Daniel? I thought you said you were over him.”
“Well, are you really over Xabi?”
“Yes!”
“Wholly, completely, absol-fucking-lutely?” Finns challenged.
Harry kicked a pebble in the defender’s direction. “Fine. Deal.”
*
Xabi coughed softly, but Stevie didn’t look up from his laptop. Xabi tapped his foot impatiently. He knew it was a golden window of opportunity when the manager called Carra in for a meeting, but the defender was going to be back soon.
“What are you doing?” Xabi tried again, trying to sound friendly.
Stevie continued clacking away at the keyboard and answered curtly. “Homework.”
“Oh, really? For what class?” Xabi pushed the topic.
“French.”
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
“Are you taking a break soon?” Xabi offered brightly, “Maybe we can -”
“No,” Stevie interrupted coldly.
“Wow,” Xabi covered his embarrassment with a forced laugh. “What’s with the one-word replies?”
Stevie looked up for the first time. “Fuck. Off.” He enunciated clearly, steely, before he broke into a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”
Xabi was bewildered to say the least. He never heard Stevie talk like that. Not to him, at least. But he tried again, though smile was tight, “Stevie, I thought things were okay between us already.”
“We talked once,” Stevie argued icily, hitting the keys with much more force than usual. “You thought you could give me coffee and your reviewer and everything would be fine and dandy?”
“No,” Xabi stammered, “But I at least thought our last conversation was more than that.”
“We could have had the most earth-shattering conversation. Does it change anything?” Stevie asked, stonily staring at his ex and waiting for an answer.
“When are you going to get over the fact that I slept with Harry Kewell?” Xabi threw his hands out in the air.
“Oh, wow, jeez, I’m sorry I can’t keep up with your schedule!” Stevie’s voice started to get louder.
“Well, then, just tell me what you want me to do so I can fix this!”
“And since when did it ever become about what I wanted?” Stevie retorted bitterly.
“What?”
“It’s always been about what you want, hasn’t it?” The Scouser accused, slamming the laptop closed loudly, “You wanted us to be together, you got tired of it. You wanted to try something new, you did. You wanted to let Harry Kewell fuck you, you spread your legs and took him in. And now, for whatever reason, you want us back together and I should magically just drop whatever grudges I have. You never stop, do you?”
Xabi stood there with his jaw hanging and his head fuming. “Of course I care about what you want!” He shot back lividly.
“Well, I didn’t ask you to come back,” Stevie deadpanned.
“Stevie, I -”
Stevie tossed his laptop down on the bedspread and jumped up on his feet to meet Xabi eye-to-eye. “Xabi, stop begging. Please. You’re not going to get anything out of it.” He looked at the Spaniard up and down and Xabi thought he could see a sneer playing on those lips as Stevie finished, “Not to mention, you’re beginning to look pathetic.”
Xabi was left completely speechless. Stevie pushed past him and stormed out the door - nearly barrelling over the entering Carra.
“Wow,” Carra whistled incredulously, “To think I was only gone for 15 minutes.”
But Xabi had crumpled down on the carpeted floor and leaned his head on his bed, too taken aback to listen to the Scouser.
Carra took one look at the distraught Spaniard and hesitated to come closer. Not because he was on Stevie’s side but because he was always bad at these things. Tentatively, he approached his own bed and sat at the side, facing Xabi.
“Y’alright, la?” Carra asked in one big nervous whoosh.
Xabi looked up, his eyes searching. “I just don’t understand why he won’t let me fix things.”
“He has let you fix things,” Carra replied in a mumbling yet gentle tone. Xabi bit his lip and stubbornly shook his head.
The defender played with the bedsheets and struggled to elaborate, “You’ve explained it all already - and though Stevie doesn’t look like he gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying, he is listening. He knows why you did what you did, and he knows you’re sorry. He just needs to mull things over. Just give him some time until he decides to get over it.”
Xabi impatiently ran his fingers through his perfectly-coiffed hair in annoyance, “And what if he doesn’t?”
“You can’t do anything about it,” Carra said with a straightforward shrug. Xabi was about to speak up when Carra continued, talking over the protesting Basque, “But rushing Stevie and nagging him endlessly isn’t going to help either.”
Xabi rested his chin on his knees and looked up at Carra thoughtfully, “Would you get over it?”
Carra didn’t even blink. “No.”
The Spaniard winced. “You’ve never thought of cheating? You’ve never been bothered by the idea of being committed to someone when possibly, there’s someone out there better for you?”
“That’s a load of bullcrap and you know it. You think Harry was better for you than Stevie?”
Xabi kept his head down as the embarrassment crept in. He stared fixedly at his bare toes on the carpet as Carra continued pressing questions, “I don’t understand the point of cheating: If you were so intent on finding out what Harry could give you that Stevie couldn’t, why couldn’t you at least have the decency to break up with your boyfriend first? You chose this: to juggle them both at the same time so you could experiment on one hand and have a fall-back on another.”
“So, you can’t forgive me?” Xabi asked quietly.
Carra sighed. “No. But your infidelity has nothing to do with me - our friendship, our working relationship. So, I can still - and will still be - your friend. But it will always be an issue with me.”
Xabi looked slightly gratefully for a second before he morosely asked another question, “Do you think Stevie can’t forgive me too? You both think alike.”
“We may think alike,” Carra smiled encouragingly, “But the difference is, Stevie’s madly in love with you.”
A smile - a relieved chuckle, even - resurfaced in Xabi’s expression. Carra hastily added, “And if you love him too, you’ll let Stevie get over this in his own pace. You’ve done what you should and it’s all up to him now.”
“I promise,” Xabi nodded his head vigorously, the webs in his mind momentarily cleared for now after Carra’s input. “Thanks, Carra.”
“No problem,” Carra said, feeling completely triumphant after surviving that conversation. He threw himself onto his cushions and happily sank into them.
Xabi slowly got to his feet, dusting his jeans, “Carra?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you bother helping me if you think what I did was unacceptable?”
Carra shrugged and gazed at the ceiling. “I know you’re sorry. Besides, you know what they say: it can happen to anyone of us - stupid mistakes.”
Xabi stopped uncertainly, “Really?”
Carra rolled his eyes and motioned Xabi to fill in the next lines. When the Spaniard stared at him blankly, Carra continued slowly, as if incredulous that this even had to be explained: “Anyone can fall, anyone can hurt someone they love. Hearts will break...?”
“...Who in the world would say those things?”
“Gareth Gates!” Carra kicked Xabi’s leg in frustration. “Jesus, Xabi. I thought you were smart.”
*
Finns always knew what Dan smelled like - a mix of breath mints faintly covering cigarette smoke, sprayed over with that strong, musky body spray Finns helped him find. But for a time Dan stopped smelling like himself and Finns always wondered why.
Ambling around the dorm room Harry shared with Fernando, the truth crept upon Finns. That tangy smell of pomade, that clean fragrance of laundry detergent and - Finns unscrewed the cover of a bottle of perfume and spritzed it on his wrists - that powdery Ralph Lauren scent. Daniel’s been smelling like that Spaniard all this time.
He let his fingers run over the smooth wood of Fernando’s desk, then he rummaged through the stack of papers. His nose wrinkled at the thick, jagged strokes of his handwriting. On the margins of the paper, however, was that unmistakable thin, even penmanship - written with the precision of a tattoo artist, Finns always kidded Daniel - and that made the Irishman scowl even harder.
Finns settled on Fernando’s desk chair and busily rifled through the pages of the Spaniard’s History readings. He read the notes along the margins - from the innocent “You want to meet up in the library later to plan our report?” to “Let’s grab a bite after training later, yeah?” in the earlier lectures and “This lecture is boring, we should meet up in the bathroom in five minutes.” in the later ones.
“Those readings are also filed by lecture, by subject and by class schedule - courtesy of me, of course - but is there anything else you want to know about Fernando?”
Finns let go of the papers in a shock and they splayed out messily on the floor. The Irishman dropped to his knees to gather the articles, thankful for a momentary diversion. From the corner of his eye, he sensed Harry approaching, wearing only his unbuttoned jeans with his bath towel slung carelessly over his shoulder. The Australian bent down as well to help Finns. Citrus bath soap, Finns duly noted with a deep breath. Not bad.
After they rearranged the things on Fernando’s table, Finns stood up straight, hands behind his back, cheeks burning bright. Like a child caught doing something bad. Harry gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged at him, not mentioning what he saw anymore. He merely turned to the dresser mirror and ran the towel vigorously through his hair. Droplets of water hit Finns’ skin and he relished the cool feeling.
“Do you want to have sex with me so you can forget Daniel for a while?” Harry asked plainly, glancing at Finns through his reflection on the mirror.
Finns’ jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not an accusation,” Harry said with another indifferent shrug. “It’s a proposal. Anyone can see how tightly wound up you are. You have unrequited love written all over you.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
Finns stared helplessly at Harry’s tanned, sculptured back. He watched as the Australian meticulously combed and styled his hair. Finns watched those toned arms, especially. Those toned and tattooed arms. Almost like Daniel’s - shit.
Harry whirled around and faced Finns. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Then what?” He asked again, straightforwardly.
Finns’ cheeks burned again. “I - I’m not your type.”
“I don’t have a type, darling.”
“Well, I’m not like most people you sleep with then.”
Harry smirked. “You’re not good in bed?”
The heated blush spread from the Irishman’s cheeks to his neck and his ears as he struggled for the right answer. Harry patiently waited as he rummaged around his closet to continue getting dressed. He already had his shirt on, a belt fastened and one sock halfway through his foot when -
“I - I’ll think about it.” Finns blurted out.
Harry laughed. “No problem. I haven’t slept with someone demure in a long time.”
Next chapter: the finale! I promise, this time. This can't continue any longer because a third of the characters are gone in real-life Liverpool FC. D:
Anyway, you know feedback is much appreciated. Because this story is ten times longer than my thesis, which is partly frightening. ♥