Stockholm Syndrome - Prologue.
Name: Stockholm Syndrome - Prologue
Rating: PG-13 for now
Word Count: ~ 1500
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Summary: Fernando Torres goes missing just before he transfers to Liverpool. Sergio Deals with it in his own way.
AN: If people want me to carry this on, I do intend to, but let me know it it's awful and I shall keep it to myself. It's the first time I have written Sernando, but I have been a fan for a while now and thought I would try my hand. There's no Beta, all mistakes are mine and they will be sizeable, so sorry for that. Warning, it is a bit dark, and will probably get darker.
Constructive Criticism is always welcome!
~~~~~
Sergio’s phone woke him up with a start. He was not sure when exactly he had managed to finally sleep, but it had been late. He’d found sleeping difficult for the last couple of weeks, and partially even before that. With the sudden alertness came a just as sudden but much more unwelcome headache. He put it down to his recent stress.
Predictably, it was Iker ringing to check up on him, as if anything would have changed at all since they saw one another the night before. Iker had been all comforting smiles and even more comforting words, he had refused to let Sergio buy his own beers, He had refused to let Sergio pay for their taxi and he has refused to leave him alone. Alone was really all he wanted right now, to be alone with the pain, the frustration. The guilt.
“Sergio,” the voice greeted, slowly, carefully, as if the reaction to the word could be violent, “Just ringing to see how you are doing,” Sergio groaned into the receiver, and fell back on his pillows.
“I was sleeping, Iker, ring me back later,” He demanded and went to push the end call button, when Iker’s voice spoke up again, louder and more insistent.
“We’re all here for you, Sergio, this can’t be easy, don’t push me away,” Iker’s voice pleaded, the sincerity in his tone as touching as it was infuriating. Sergio rubbed his eyes, as if he could rub away the pressure in his head, and shut out the reality of what was happening with the action. He couldn't.
“I know, but I am fine. I certainly don’t need your pity,” It came out a lot harsher than he had intended. Iker would not understand that he was meaning something completely different to him, but it was better that way. If Iker knew, things would be a lot more complicated.
The pause on the other end of the phone was palpable before Sergio heard Iker sigh in resignation, “look, some of us are going to do a kind of appeal... you should join, he was your friend more than anyone else’s, I think his family would be grateful, Ollala especially.”
“I can’t, Iker, I'm sorry,” another pause filled the air, as Sergio waited for Iker’s response to that, something about shirking responsibility, and what they would do if it was him, and to not be so selfish, but none of it came. He just said that it was all okay, advised Sergio to call him if he needed anything, and put the phone down.
Sergio had fully intended on going back to sleep, but he was too awake now, the feeling in the pit of his stomach making him feel almost as sick as the taste in his mouth after talking to his friend. Iker didn’t understand, no one did.
He slowly reopened his eyes and looked around his room, it was nothing like his room back home in Camas, it was clinical and bright and white and completely impersonal. His room in his parents’ house had been his. It was his coffee stain on the floor that he has moved his bed to hide, his posters on the walls and his little objects of memorabilia from his formative years. He knew his room in Seville was his, and so he had never properly redecorated this one. He wanted to be seen as being more mature. He wasn’t.
He reached for his remote to turn the television on, wanting to watch something inane that needed little to no brain capacity to understand, maybe a cartoon, what he got was a tear to his heart.
As soon as the screen burst into life he regretted putting it on, the news had not been kind to him these couple of weeks and in true form the headline read: Fernando Torres still missing. Police Widening search. Sergio turned off the television as quick as he could, panting slightly and sitting up in bed, legs askew in his desperation. He didn’t want to hear any more about it. He looked down into his lap as he felt himself start to shake again, his hands moving so much he had to grab the sheets to make them stop.
After a while, he calmed down and got out of bed, the morning sun shining off him as he made his way to his bathroom to get himself ready for a full day of doing nothing of any real importance. Go Shopping, meet his agent, the usual. He was far too nervous to leave the house for much time.
The water was far to hot as it hit him, but he did not turn it down, and let it scorch him, trying to get it to wash away everything he needed it to, and knowing it never would. He thought on what had happened three weeks ago, the argument he had with him about the move to Liverpool, the words he said that he had not meant that he could no longer take back. He missed Fernando, his Fernando, the person who he could rely on to pry just as much as he should, and never go too far, who was always there for him, and had never once let him down. Well almost never. He needed Fernando like he needed oxygen. He remembered the look in his eyes as he’d told Fernando to just go, and not bother coming back, and regretted it as soon as Fernando had walked out of the door.
His eyes snapped open again as he realised his hand has moved to his cock on autopilot, completely of their own will, and he ripped his digits off himself, and staggered backwards until he hit the cool tile of the shower wall and slid down it. He covered his head in his hands and started to sob for a hundredth time in the past couple of weeks. Why hadn’t Fernando understood just how much he had meant to him? Why had he ever planned on leaving him?
After a few moments of feeling sorry for himself, he began to clean himself in earnest, grateful his erection had deflated during his self pity. Despite not wanting to leave his house, he did have things he needed to do.
~~~~~
It was dark when Sergio once again returned home and he was ravenous. It had been a long day. He had met up with Iker for a drink, which had turned into a dinner, which had turned into them watching some of the tennis in the bar they were at. He had met someone for a drink not long after that to discuss a new sponsorship, but he had hardly paid attention. He could have been giving his life away as he had signed the scrap of paper, for all it meant to him.
He switched his car engine off, and looked at the door leading to his gym, and considered going inside, the well of his stomach constricting as he thought it, and decided he should wait some more before he did, he should at least get food before he ventured in.
Everything had become so slow since Fernando said he was going, he couldn't ring him anymore, he couldn't talk to him. He knew he was selfish, Fernando had been missing for the past three weeks, just before he was set to move to Liverpool, and all Sergio could do was think of his own pain, his own wants. He had always thought of himself first, that was why he had stolen his brothers bike when they were growing up and wrecked it, that was why he had moved to Madrid against all of his families wishes, that was why he had kissed Fernando the day he had told him he would be moving away to help his career. He had wanted to make him stay, to be enough to make Fernando stay, but he hadn't been. He could not help but grimace at how different things would have been had Fernando said yes, rejected Liverpool, stayed at Atleti... even moved to Real, but imagining did him no good. He thought about Fernando’s family, his mother, father, even Ollala. They must be thinking he was dead. The thought had crossed Sergio’s mind a lot recently. How much hope could people hold out on that Fernando was alive. Three weeks was a long time to be missing, though people turning up after this time was not unheard of.
Not for the first time he wondered if Fernando hadn't been famous, would anyone have even cared? Would there be this mad rush to find him? Sergio would have looked for him forever, but would the world have? He doubted it. People were selfish. Sergio was selfish.
With that dark thought gone he went about making dinner, something easy to eat, he could not be doing with the hassle of anything complicated that night, it would be hard enough as it was.
Due to the Pasta dish’s simplicity, it did not take long to cook, and soon enough he was spooning a large portion into one of his biggest bowls. He grabbed a fork and his keys off the side and left the room, going in the direction of his gym.
He unlocked the door when he arrived, and locked it again after he had walked through; his familiar sense of dread spiking as he unlocked the second door and entered. He looked around the room, at the gym equipment pushed to one side, and his guitars and piano pushed to the other. He had never thought the soundproofing would have come in so handy when he was being fleeced for it by the salesman, but as he looked down into the tired, terrified eyes of Fernando Torres, he knew the investment was more than worth it.
Rating: PG-13 for now
Word Count: ~ 1500
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Summary: Fernando Torres goes missing just before he transfers to Liverpool. Sergio Deals with it in his own way.
AN: If people want me to carry this on, I do intend to, but let me know it it's awful and I shall keep it to myself. It's the first time I have written Sernando, but I have been a fan for a while now and thought I would try my hand. There's no Beta, all mistakes are mine and they will be sizeable, so sorry for that. Warning, it is a bit dark, and will probably get darker.
Constructive Criticism is always welcome!
~~~~~
Sergio’s phone woke him up with a start. He was not sure when exactly he had managed to finally sleep, but it had been late. He’d found sleeping difficult for the last couple of weeks, and partially even before that. With the sudden alertness came a just as sudden but much more unwelcome headache. He put it down to his recent stress.
Predictably, it was Iker ringing to check up on him, as if anything would have changed at all since they saw one another the night before. Iker had been all comforting smiles and even more comforting words, he had refused to let Sergio buy his own beers, He had refused to let Sergio pay for their taxi and he has refused to leave him alone. Alone was really all he wanted right now, to be alone with the pain, the frustration. The guilt.
“Sergio,” the voice greeted, slowly, carefully, as if the reaction to the word could be violent, “Just ringing to see how you are doing,” Sergio groaned into the receiver, and fell back on his pillows.
“I was sleeping, Iker, ring me back later,” He demanded and went to push the end call button, when Iker’s voice spoke up again, louder and more insistent.
“We’re all here for you, Sergio, this can’t be easy, don’t push me away,” Iker’s voice pleaded, the sincerity in his tone as touching as it was infuriating. Sergio rubbed his eyes, as if he could rub away the pressure in his head, and shut out the reality of what was happening with the action. He couldn't.
“I know, but I am fine. I certainly don’t need your pity,” It came out a lot harsher than he had intended. Iker would not understand that he was meaning something completely different to him, but it was better that way. If Iker knew, things would be a lot more complicated.
The pause on the other end of the phone was palpable before Sergio heard Iker sigh in resignation, “look, some of us are going to do a kind of appeal... you should join, he was your friend more than anyone else’s, I think his family would be grateful, Ollala especially.”
“I can’t, Iker, I'm sorry,” another pause filled the air, as Sergio waited for Iker’s response to that, something about shirking responsibility, and what they would do if it was him, and to not be so selfish, but none of it came. He just said that it was all okay, advised Sergio to call him if he needed anything, and put the phone down.
Sergio had fully intended on going back to sleep, but he was too awake now, the feeling in the pit of his stomach making him feel almost as sick as the taste in his mouth after talking to his friend. Iker didn’t understand, no one did.
He slowly reopened his eyes and looked around his room, it was nothing like his room back home in Camas, it was clinical and bright and white and completely impersonal. His room in his parents’ house had been his. It was his coffee stain on the floor that he has moved his bed to hide, his posters on the walls and his little objects of memorabilia from his formative years. He knew his room in Seville was his, and so he had never properly redecorated this one. He wanted to be seen as being more mature. He wasn’t.
He reached for his remote to turn the television on, wanting to watch something inane that needed little to no brain capacity to understand, maybe a cartoon, what he got was a tear to his heart.
As soon as the screen burst into life he regretted putting it on, the news had not been kind to him these couple of weeks and in true form the headline read: Fernando Torres still missing. Police Widening search. Sergio turned off the television as quick as he could, panting slightly and sitting up in bed, legs askew in his desperation. He didn’t want to hear any more about it. He looked down into his lap as he felt himself start to shake again, his hands moving so much he had to grab the sheets to make them stop.
After a while, he calmed down and got out of bed, the morning sun shining off him as he made his way to his bathroom to get himself ready for a full day of doing nothing of any real importance. Go Shopping, meet his agent, the usual. He was far too nervous to leave the house for much time.
The water was far to hot as it hit him, but he did not turn it down, and let it scorch him, trying to get it to wash away everything he needed it to, and knowing it never would. He thought on what had happened three weeks ago, the argument he had with him about the move to Liverpool, the words he said that he had not meant that he could no longer take back. He missed Fernando, his Fernando, the person who he could rely on to pry just as much as he should, and never go too far, who was always there for him, and had never once let him down. Well almost never. He needed Fernando like he needed oxygen. He remembered the look in his eyes as he’d told Fernando to just go, and not bother coming back, and regretted it as soon as Fernando had walked out of the door.
His eyes snapped open again as he realised his hand has moved to his cock on autopilot, completely of their own will, and he ripped his digits off himself, and staggered backwards until he hit the cool tile of the shower wall and slid down it. He covered his head in his hands and started to sob for a hundredth time in the past couple of weeks. Why hadn’t Fernando understood just how much he had meant to him? Why had he ever planned on leaving him?
After a few moments of feeling sorry for himself, he began to clean himself in earnest, grateful his erection had deflated during his self pity. Despite not wanting to leave his house, he did have things he needed to do.
~~~~~
It was dark when Sergio once again returned home and he was ravenous. It had been a long day. He had met up with Iker for a drink, which had turned into a dinner, which had turned into them watching some of the tennis in the bar they were at. He had met someone for a drink not long after that to discuss a new sponsorship, but he had hardly paid attention. He could have been giving his life away as he had signed the scrap of paper, for all it meant to him.
He switched his car engine off, and looked at the door leading to his gym, and considered going inside, the well of his stomach constricting as he thought it, and decided he should wait some more before he did, he should at least get food before he ventured in.
Everything had become so slow since Fernando said he was going, he couldn't ring him anymore, he couldn't talk to him. He knew he was selfish, Fernando had been missing for the past three weeks, just before he was set to move to Liverpool, and all Sergio could do was think of his own pain, his own wants. He had always thought of himself first, that was why he had stolen his brothers bike when they were growing up and wrecked it, that was why he had moved to Madrid against all of his families wishes, that was why he had kissed Fernando the day he had told him he would be moving away to help his career. He had wanted to make him stay, to be enough to make Fernando stay, but he hadn't been. He could not help but grimace at how different things would have been had Fernando said yes, rejected Liverpool, stayed at Atleti... even moved to Real, but imagining did him no good. He thought about Fernando’s family, his mother, father, even Ollala. They must be thinking he was dead. The thought had crossed Sergio’s mind a lot recently. How much hope could people hold out on that Fernando was alive. Three weeks was a long time to be missing, though people turning up after this time was not unheard of.
Not for the first time he wondered if Fernando hadn't been famous, would anyone have even cared? Would there be this mad rush to find him? Sergio would have looked for him forever, but would the world have? He doubted it. People were selfish. Sergio was selfish.
With that dark thought gone he went about making dinner, something easy to eat, he could not be doing with the hassle of anything complicated that night, it would be hard enough as it was.
Due to the Pasta dish’s simplicity, it did not take long to cook, and soon enough he was spooning a large portion into one of his biggest bowls. He grabbed a fork and his keys off the side and left the room, going in the direction of his gym.
He unlocked the door when he arrived, and locked it again after he had walked through; his familiar sense of dread spiking as he unlocked the second door and entered. He looked around the room, at the gym equipment pushed to one side, and his guitars and piano pushed to the other. He had never thought the soundproofing would have come in so handy when he was being fleeced for it by the salesman, but as he looked down into the tired, terrified eyes of Fernando Torres, he knew the investment was more than worth it.