Language English
Fandom Football
Characters Carles Planas & Martí Riverola
Words 5,287
Summary A drunken kiss, an Italian club and a sweater
Rating PG-13
Beta'ed No
Disclaimer This is all in my head and in no way meant to be real.
Note This is inspired by a
drabble I wrote about them a few days back.
Cross The Line & Say Goodbye
“I’m... I’m leaving.” Martí mumbled, hands clasped around the bottle of beer and he was looking down at his lap, not meeting Carles’ eyes. Carles stretched his legs, the booth in the cafe they were in too small for his long limbs.
“Yeah okay, it is getting late, we should go.” He reached for his backpocket, fishing his wallet out.
“No, I mean... I’m leaving Barcelona.” The words made Carles freeze, the wallet open in his hands, his fingers between the euro notes. He looked up, eyes wide, to see Martí shifting in his seat, one of his nervous twitches.
“What do you mean? Did you find some place to live outside Barcelona?” Carles knew it was a stupid question, knew exactly what Martí meant but he refused to accept it, refused to believe he would leave the club.
“I... Bologna offered and I would never get into the first team here and maybe when I have some more experience, maybe then I can come back.” Martí rambled, the words rushing out. The wallet slipped from Carles’ fingers, landing on the table with a soft thud, shaking him from his stupor. The words had felt like a punch in the stomach, leaving him without air for a few seconds.
“But... Bologna? Italy? Why?” His voice sounded desperate, Carles noted and he took a huge gulp from his own beer, trying to steady himself.
“I... I can’t play for any other Liga club, can’t play against Barça. And they offered... and I can’t refuse. They guaranteed a regular starting position, something I would never get here.” Martí sounded slightly bitter and Carles could understand why. After fourteen years, only one appearance for the first team and only as a sub.
“Stay. Fight for a place on the first team! You can’t just leave this team, can’t leave us.” Carles almost added ‘me’ but he stopped himself just in time. Martí shook his head mournfully, finally meeting Carles’ gaze and the defender was shocked at how sad he looked. Why hadn’t he noticed that look before? This wasn’t some sudden decision, Martí must have thought about it for a long time and didn’t tell anyone, never discussed it with them, him.
“I don’t even get to start our own games, how can Pep or Tito next season see if I’m good enough for the first team if I sit on the bench the whole time.” He definitely sounded bitter now and no matter how hurt Carles felt, he couldn’t help but slid into the seat next to Martí and wrap an arm around his shoulder. Martí sighed and sagged against him, finally letting go of his beer.
“But we promised we would all play for the first team, together.” Carles muttered after a few minutes, staring at where their legs were pressed together, his light shorts a stark contrast to Martí’s darker ones. He heard the midfielder sigh and Carles pulled him closer, trying to comfort Martí and himself at the same time.
“I know... maybe one day I will return, like Cesc did, and it will feel as if I never left.” Martí chuckled but it sounded sad and hopeless. They fell silent again, Carles not knowing what to say or do to comfort his friend and Martí just stared at his empty beer bottle, his mind somewhere else.
“I’m going to miss you.” Carles broke the silence again, almost whispering this time, his voice heavy with so much feeling.
“No you won’t. You will make it into the first team and become friends with Leo and Andrés and forget all about me.” Martí tried to laugh it off, his voice wavering a little.
“Shut up, you know I won’t.” Carles mumbled, tightening his grip on Martí, the top of his fingers digging into the shoulder in an almost bruising grip.
“I know... I will miss you too.” Martí turned sideways, wrapping an arm around Carles and buried his face into his shoulder. Carles could feel the midfielder’s body shudder when he wrapped his other arm around Martí, making the familiar butterflies flutter in his stomach. He ignored them, now was not the time to be concerned about his crush on the midfielder.
They sat like that for a long time, arms around each other and Martí hiding his face, the few tears he cried soaked up by Carles’ shirt.
“When,” Carles’ voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat noisily. “When did you accept?” He figured it was sometime this week, knowing that Martí would never keep something like this a secret for him.
Martí moved away slightly and Carles dropped his arms, giving Martí the freedom to sit up properly. The midfielder was fiddling with the seam of his shorts, nails scratching over the fabric and Carles frowned, wondering why Martí was nervous again.
“I.. euhm... a month ago.” He eventually mumbled, head down and his voice muffled.
“What?!” Carles exclaimed, eyes wide. A few people in the cafe turned their heads, looking in the direction of their booth.
“Well... they asked two months ago and gave me a month to think about it and I asked my parents and my agent what I should do and they said I should think about it and I did and I figured this is the best thing for my career and... Carles?” Martí stumbled through his reasons and Carles was slowly getting angry, the unpleasant feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach, growing with every word the midfielder spoke.
“You knew this for a whole month before you told me?” He hissed, trying to keep his voice low to not attract even more attention. They had promised each other that if someone ever accepted an offer from another club, they would tell each other. And here was Martí, keeping this for him for a whole month, breaking that promise. Carles felt hurt and betrayed.
“Yes... Bologna are announcing it tomorrow and I wanted to tell you before you had to read it on the internet. Carles, where are you going?” Carles got up from the table halfway through the sentence, grabbing his wallet and throwing a few Euros on the table.
“I thought I was your friend.” He growled as he pulled his jacket on, roughly zipping it close, all the while glaring at Martí.
“You are!” Martí had gotten up too, putting a hand on Carles’ arm but the defender shook it off.
“Friends tell each other this kind of shit. We had a promise to tell each other about this shit.” He spat, glaring at Martí and the midfielder’s shoulders sagged, leaving him looking sad and defeated.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered and Carles snorted sarcastically.
“Yeah, right.” He spun around and stormed out of the cafe. He got into his car and drove off, music blasting loud out of his speakers, leaving Martí stranded as he had driven them to training this morning and after training to the little cafe.
It had been three weeks since Martí told him and Carles had ignored him since then, feeling hurt and betrayed. Martí had tried to make it up to him the first days but Carles acted like he didn’t care and the midfielder had stopped. The atmosphere in their apartment was tense, Carles leaving the room the moment Martí entered one and spent as much time as he could in his bedroom, his music loud and the door locked. They used to carpool to training but now they drove separately. Carles missed Martí’s weird choice of music, the car too silent without it.
Their friends were getting worried, Ivan tried to corner him after training today, but Carles had quickly slipped away. He knew Muni and Robertu were angry with him for making Martí even sadder and if he was honest, he hated himself too whenever he saw the sad look in Martí’s eyes or caught the midfielder looking at him longingly.
He knew he should make it up to Martí before they left for Ibiza, before their fight ruined the whole holiday. Carles sighed and got up from his bed. He had been hiding in his room again after training, doing nothing else than staring at his ceiling. He knew Martí was home, could hear him rummaging in his room and Carles wandered out of his room, his feet dragging over the carpet as he walked to Martí’s room.
The door was open, the midfielder moving around with a bundle of clothes in his arms, stuffing them in a suitcase. Carles leaned against the post and knocked on the wood, smiling slightly when Martí whirled around, dropping the clothes in shock when he saw Carles standing there.
“Euhm, hi. Can we talk for a bit?”
“Yeah sure, come in.” Martí picked up the clothes, stuffed them haphazardly in the suitcase and removed it from the bed, sitting down and patting the now empty space beside him. Carles shuffled inside and sat down, leaving as much space between them as he could.
“I missed you.” Carles blurted after a heavy silence, right as Martí mumbled “I’m sorry”. They looked at each other and Carles was the first one to crack a smile.
“I really am sorry though. You were right, I should have told you the moment the deal was done.” Martí spoke right when Carles opened his mouth and the defender kept silent, waiting until the midfielder was done talking.
“You really should have but I’m sorry too. I had no right to react like that and I shouldn’t have ignored you all these weeks.” Carles sounded regretful and he hardly dared to look at Martí, not sure if the midfielder could forgive him.
“We were both wrong, then.” A tentative hand brushed his shoulder and Carles looked up to see Martí smiling shyly. It made his stomach flutter once again and the defender forcefully pushed his stupid crush on the midfielder to the back of his mind. Now wasn’t the right time for those feelings to surface again, not when they had made up again. He didn’t want to ruin the last few weeks he had with Martí any more than he already had with his silly ignoring act. The midfielder was still smiling that shy smile but there still was an unsure look in his eyes.
“I missed you and your weird music.” Carles smiled, making Martí gasp.
“My music isn’t weird!” The midfielder cried out, affronted. Carles chuckled.
“Yes it is.” With a battle cry, Martí launched himself at Carles, pushing him over and attacked his sides with his fingers. The tickling sensation made Carles laugh uncontrollably, leaving him breathless and gasping for air when Martí paused.
“Say my music isn’t weird!”
“Never.” Carles got out between gasps of air. Martí grinned and the wickedness of it gave Carles a sense of foreboding, the hair on his necks standing up just before the midfielder attacked his sensitive sides again.
“Okay okay, it isn’t weird. I’m sorry! It is the best music I’ve ever heard.” Carles panted, trying to wiggle away from the tickling fingers.
“You mean it?” Martí paused and Carles seized his chance to flip them around, his own fingers now tickling the midfielder.
“No!” The defender laughed, tickling Martí harder, shrieks filling the room.
Their friends had been relieved that they had made up, Ivan confiding in Carles that they had been about to stage an intervention, locking them up in a room together and not letting them out before they had talked it out. Carles had laughed and told him there was no need for that anymore, they had battled it out with a tickle-war, Martí winning in the end, pinning Carles on the bed and hit him several times over the head with a pillow.
“You two are so strange.” Ivan shook his head and turned back to the conversation Robertu and Muni were having.
It was their last night on Ibiza and Bartra had proposed to go clubbing. It had been fun, dancing and drinking together, a last hooray together before their ways were separated for the rest of the break between seasons.
But now it was late and they were drunk, Martí considerably more than Carles. The midfielder leaned heavily on Carles on their way back to the hotel and the defender grunted a little under his weight.
“M not that heavy.” Martí slurred and tried to prove it by leaning ever more, almost forcing Carles to carry him.
“Yes you are, fatty.” Carles growled, pushing Martí off slightly, just hard enough so the defender bore less of the midfielder's weight.
It was a struggle to get into the hotel and get them both in the elevator, Bartra, Ivan and Sergi Gómez no help at all as they laughed their asses off when Carles dragged the intoxicated midfielder into the small space.
“You could help, you know.” He growled at his friends when he finally got Martí propped up against the wall, still an arm around him to make sure he didn’t fall to the ground.
“Nah, way too much fun watching you moving him around.” Bartra got out between giggling-fits, bursting out laughing again when Carles flipped him off, the sound setting off Ivan and Gómez too.
“Fine, you assholes take the stairs then.” He muttered, stabbing the button to close the doors, grinning when it shut right in their stunned faces.
“That’ll teach them.” He smiled, pressing for their floor, his elbow bumping into Martí.
The ride was quick and the midfielder a lot more co-operative when Carles led him out of the elevator and towards to room. It was a fumble with the key card but he finally got them into their rooms, dumping Martí on his bed and dropping down next to him, exhausted and the room spinning.
“Carles?” Martí muttered, rolling over to rest his head on the defender’s shoulder, an arm around his chest.
“Yeah?” Carles muttered back, reaching up to run a hand through Martí’s short hair.
“I really missed you, you know. When you were ignoring me.” The midfielder’s voice was slurring slightly and Carles turned on his side, wrapping an arm around Martí and pulling him close.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Martí tried to shrug as best as he could and shifted closer to Carles, tangling their legs together. His face was too close to the defender and if Carles wasn’t so drunk, he would try to put more space between them before he did something stupid. But the alcohol clouded his judgement and he just pressed his forehead against Martí’s, smiling at him, the butterflies in his stomach a pleasant sensation.
“But we are alright now, aren’t we?” The midfielder was biting his lip, looking unsure, a blush on his cheeks for the alcohol and his eyes slightly unfocused. He looked so tempting and Carles shifted his head, brushing his lips over Martí’s, pressing them together when the midfielder didn’t flinch. Kissing him felt perfect, like their lips were made to fit together and it got better when Martí responded, moving his lips sloppily against Carles’. The butterflies exploded, tingles shooting through his body and Carles never wanted this to end, wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with his lips pressed against Martí’s soft and slightly dry lips.
“We are alright.” Carles mumbled after breaking the kiss, the need for air becoming too much, and Martí smiled broadly.
“That’s... that’s good.” The midfielder muttered, his eyelids drooping as his exhaustion caught up with him.
“Yeah.” Breathed Carles, leaning forward to kiss him again.
Part 2