What Makes a Man - Xavi/Thiago
Title: What Makes a Man
Pairing/Characters: Xavi Hernández/Thiago Alcântara; Pep Guardiola; mentions of Carles Puyol
Words: 1,592
Rating/Warnings: G; None
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and should not be taken seriously.
Summary: When Xavi retires, who takes the 6?
Author's note: Title is from the song by Dallas Green. Many thanks to ibuyu and tempered_rose for their encouragement. It's been a while.
Xavi Hernández has felt better.
He grimaces as he lowers himself onto the sofa in his living room, holding the ice pack to his left knee. The tendonitis has flared again, after a few days of relatively no pain. He remembers his early twenties wistfully, the days when he was in near-perfect physical condition. No pain when he ran, no aches when he woke up in the morning, a range of motion he wishes he still had.
Now, he doesn’t think his knee will hold out til the end of the season.
Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he sighs and sinks back into the cushions behind him. He must plan for the future he knows is changing from the dreams he had when he first joined La Masia - a lifetime at Barça, playing well into his thirties. It won’t happen now, though he couldn’t ask for anything better than the career he’s had. He has won everything club and national football have to offer, including a club sextuple and a World Cup. It has been more than he ever dreamed.
But the decision has been made for him, he knows it. He knows this is his last season. And to think of it, so do the others. Carles knows. He has been there all along, also battling injuries as they’ve reached their second decade on the first team. He knows what it feels like to have to watch from the sidelines, leaning on crutches. Pep knows, his own career ending the same way. He’s aware of what to look for and sees it now.
And Thiago. Thiago has seen everything, the more intimate side of it all: the tears of pain; the anger, chucking boots at the wall when he misses an important match; the sullen resignation sitting on the bench because he refuses to sit in the stands. Thiago knows what it’s like in Xavi’s head, dark and passionate and determined. He knows all he wants is to be on the pitch and it just isn’t possible anymore. Yet there’s a fear in the young midfielder, one that Xavi understands all too well. Xavi is a lot of things to Thiago. A friend, a mentor, a lover, and a rival. Just the way Pep was to Xavi all those years ago.
But it’s time. Playing is only one chapter in the life of a footballer.
Xavi picks up his mobile and sends two text messages. In a long moment, it rings in his hand and he presses ‘talk’ and holds it to his ear.
“That was faster than I expected.”
“Wouldn’t you rather discuss this in person? This is a big thing, Xavito.”
“No, I wouldn’t, Pep. You and I both knew it was coming, and it’s apparent it’s coming now.”
Pep Guardiola sighs. He knew. He’d seen it since the final run last season. The world of football was losing a great player, a great person. A once in a lifetime kind of man both on the pitch and off of it.
“Your career has been greater than mine. You’ll go down in the books as the best midfielder ever. Just don’t try to take my job,” he jokes, trying to keep his voice light, because inside, he’s reeling. He expected his, but he feels for the man who is not only one of his players, but his friend. He took him under his wing long ago and it’s all too familiar to see his career come to an end at the hands of a nagging injury. “But why are you telling me this now? Why not wait?”
Xavi pauses, picking at the frayed edge of his old shorts.
“I just needed to say it out loud, I think. This is my last season, and it scares me. I won’t officially announce it til June, but…I had to tell you.”
“And I thank you for that. Have you told Thiago?”
“He’s coming over later. I’ll tell him then. Everything.”
“I understand. He will too. We’ll talk tomorrow after training, okay?”
“Of course. Chao.”
Xavi ends the call and sets the phone down on the end table. He shifts his body so his back is resting against the arm of the sofa and his legs are stretched out along the cushions. Then he closes his eyes.
When the doorbell rings an hour later he’s dozing. The bag of ice around his knee has melted into water and he tosses it onto the coffee table before hobbling to the door.
Thiago is on the other side, hair damp and eyes wide.
“Is everything alright? I came as soon as I got your text. What -“
“Everything is fine,” Xavi assures him and closes the door once he is inside. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
Thiago steps backwards into the sofa and plops down.
“About?”
His voice is barely above a whisper now.
“Don’t look so scared.”
This is one of the things Xavi has been trying to break him of. Both on and off the pitch Thiago sees all the possibilities before they’ve even occurred to anyone else. On the pitch it’s fantastic, one of the qualities that makes him such a great player. But here in Xavi’s living room, it’s a problem.
“Well, you never ask me to come over so we can talk if it isn’t something important. Last time you did was to discuss our relationship,” Thiago says dryly, thinking back on the conversation that had ended with him leaving in angry tears.
That was the night Xavi said they had to stop, that Thiago was too young for everything that was happening so quickly. The call-up, their relationship, was it even a relationship then, or just a young boy in love with his mentor. It was Thiago calling him the next day, apologizing for his behavior and running out, that swayed Xavi. It took a lot of maturity to do that. From then on, it was a relationship.
Even if it hasn’t always been equal. Both men still had problems splitting their professional and personal lives. On the pitch, Xavi was Thiago’s mentor, and the younger man looked up to the older with a sort of reverence usually reserved for deities. Xavi often caught himself treating him like a small child whilst instructing him on how to make his passes better. Now they’ve settled into an unquestionable rhythm for which Xavi is grateful.
“Sorry,” he apologises as he joins him on the sofa. “I’ve just been thinking a lot and I’ve already spoken to Pep about it, and -“
“Pep? You’ve spoken to him about what?”
“Your future. And mine.”
He trails off and Thiago waits silently, just watching him. They’ve spoken about their future, together and apart. He knows Xavi will be retiring sometime in the near future - nearer than either would like - though when, he has no idea. But he didn’t know it was something to be discussed with Pep yet.
“I know in the weeks before Cesc came, you wore the four,” Xavi says slowly, trying to find his words but not trying to seem as emotional as he is. He’d been trying to psych himself up like he did before matches and remain calm but it hadn’t worked. “And I know you were disappointed when he arrived. But I thought it was a good thing you didn’t get it.”
Thiago frowns, searching the older man’s face. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“This will be my last season. Next year, I want you to have the six.”
Xavi speaks the words and then they hang in the air between them because Thiago just. Can’t. Grasp. Them.
It takes him a long moment to recover, and it’s only partially. He can’t speak, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. When he finally can, it’s choked.
“This season? But I thought it would be a few years.”
The older man shakes his head as he feels the tears beginning in his eyes. They’re burning and he has to look down to hide them.
“Not with this constant injury. I may not even make it til the end of the season, I will try, but… The six is yours at the end of June.”
“I can’t. Xavi, I can’t,” Thiago’s voice breaks and his face crumples and he lets out a long, shaky breath as his whole body suddenly feels very heavy. In a way, it always has, playing alongside the midfield maestro, but that was when he expected Cesc and Andrés to carry the midfield, and the number six to be retired.
He never expected to wear it.
Xavi is a legend, always has been, always will be. He will go down in history books as the best midfielder of all time, and Thiago is honoured to be taught by him as much as he feels privileged to be the boyfriend of such a remarkable person.
“You can.”
Xavi speaks softly and reaches out to wipe a tear from Thiago’s cheek, disregarding his own.
“You have the passion and the potential to be even better than I have been, just as they say I’m better than Pep. Don’t think of it as a burden, as something to live up to. The fans already love you, and you know I will always be proud of you, no matter what you do.”
Thiago looks up at him, eyes wide, fear and hope shining in them.
“You really think I can do it?”
Xavi chuckles and leans forward to kiss his forehead.
“Yes. I do.”
Pairing/Characters: Xavi Hernández/Thiago Alcântara; Pep Guardiola; mentions of Carles Puyol
Words: 1,592
Rating/Warnings: G; None
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and should not be taken seriously.
Summary: When Xavi retires, who takes the 6?
Author's note: Title is from the song by Dallas Green. Many thanks to ibuyu and tempered_rose for their encouragement. It's been a while.
Xavi Hernández has felt better.
He grimaces as he lowers himself onto the sofa in his living room, holding the ice pack to his left knee. The tendonitis has flared again, after a few days of relatively no pain. He remembers his early twenties wistfully, the days when he was in near-perfect physical condition. No pain when he ran, no aches when he woke up in the morning, a range of motion he wishes he still had.
Now, he doesn’t think his knee will hold out til the end of the season.
Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he sighs and sinks back into the cushions behind him. He must plan for the future he knows is changing from the dreams he had when he first joined La Masia - a lifetime at Barça, playing well into his thirties. It won’t happen now, though he couldn’t ask for anything better than the career he’s had. He has won everything club and national football have to offer, including a club sextuple and a World Cup. It has been more than he ever dreamed.
But the decision has been made for him, he knows it. He knows this is his last season. And to think of it, so do the others. Carles knows. He has been there all along, also battling injuries as they’ve reached their second decade on the first team. He knows what it feels like to have to watch from the sidelines, leaning on crutches. Pep knows, his own career ending the same way. He’s aware of what to look for and sees it now.
And Thiago. Thiago has seen everything, the more intimate side of it all: the tears of pain; the anger, chucking boots at the wall when he misses an important match; the sullen resignation sitting on the bench because he refuses to sit in the stands. Thiago knows what it’s like in Xavi’s head, dark and passionate and determined. He knows all he wants is to be on the pitch and it just isn’t possible anymore. Yet there’s a fear in the young midfielder, one that Xavi understands all too well. Xavi is a lot of things to Thiago. A friend, a mentor, a lover, and a rival. Just the way Pep was to Xavi all those years ago.
But it’s time. Playing is only one chapter in the life of a footballer.
Xavi picks up his mobile and sends two text messages. In a long moment, it rings in his hand and he presses ‘talk’ and holds it to his ear.
“That was faster than I expected.”
“Wouldn’t you rather discuss this in person? This is a big thing, Xavito.”
“No, I wouldn’t, Pep. You and I both knew it was coming, and it’s apparent it’s coming now.”
Pep Guardiola sighs. He knew. He’d seen it since the final run last season. The world of football was losing a great player, a great person. A once in a lifetime kind of man both on the pitch and off of it.
“Your career has been greater than mine. You’ll go down in the books as the best midfielder ever. Just don’t try to take my job,” he jokes, trying to keep his voice light, because inside, he’s reeling. He expected his, but he feels for the man who is not only one of his players, but his friend. He took him under his wing long ago and it’s all too familiar to see his career come to an end at the hands of a nagging injury. “But why are you telling me this now? Why not wait?”
Xavi pauses, picking at the frayed edge of his old shorts.
“I just needed to say it out loud, I think. This is my last season, and it scares me. I won’t officially announce it til June, but…I had to tell you.”
“And I thank you for that. Have you told Thiago?”
“He’s coming over later. I’ll tell him then. Everything.”
“I understand. He will too. We’ll talk tomorrow after training, okay?”
“Of course. Chao.”
Xavi ends the call and sets the phone down on the end table. He shifts his body so his back is resting against the arm of the sofa and his legs are stretched out along the cushions. Then he closes his eyes.
When the doorbell rings an hour later he’s dozing. The bag of ice around his knee has melted into water and he tosses it onto the coffee table before hobbling to the door.
Thiago is on the other side, hair damp and eyes wide.
“Is everything alright? I came as soon as I got your text. What -“
“Everything is fine,” Xavi assures him and closes the door once he is inside. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
Thiago steps backwards into the sofa and plops down.
“About?”
His voice is barely above a whisper now.
“Don’t look so scared.”
This is one of the things Xavi has been trying to break him of. Both on and off the pitch Thiago sees all the possibilities before they’ve even occurred to anyone else. On the pitch it’s fantastic, one of the qualities that makes him such a great player. But here in Xavi’s living room, it’s a problem.
“Well, you never ask me to come over so we can talk if it isn’t something important. Last time you did was to discuss our relationship,” Thiago says dryly, thinking back on the conversation that had ended with him leaving in angry tears.
That was the night Xavi said they had to stop, that Thiago was too young for everything that was happening so quickly. The call-up, their relationship, was it even a relationship then, or just a young boy in love with his mentor. It was Thiago calling him the next day, apologizing for his behavior and running out, that swayed Xavi. It took a lot of maturity to do that. From then on, it was a relationship.
Even if it hasn’t always been equal. Both men still had problems splitting their professional and personal lives. On the pitch, Xavi was Thiago’s mentor, and the younger man looked up to the older with a sort of reverence usually reserved for deities. Xavi often caught himself treating him like a small child whilst instructing him on how to make his passes better. Now they’ve settled into an unquestionable rhythm for which Xavi is grateful.
“Sorry,” he apologises as he joins him on the sofa. “I’ve just been thinking a lot and I’ve already spoken to Pep about it, and -“
“Pep? You’ve spoken to him about what?”
“Your future. And mine.”
He trails off and Thiago waits silently, just watching him. They’ve spoken about their future, together and apart. He knows Xavi will be retiring sometime in the near future - nearer than either would like - though when, he has no idea. But he didn’t know it was something to be discussed with Pep yet.
“I know in the weeks before Cesc came, you wore the four,” Xavi says slowly, trying to find his words but not trying to seem as emotional as he is. He’d been trying to psych himself up like he did before matches and remain calm but it hadn’t worked. “And I know you were disappointed when he arrived. But I thought it was a good thing you didn’t get it.”
Thiago frowns, searching the older man’s face. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“This will be my last season. Next year, I want you to have the six.”
Xavi speaks the words and then they hang in the air between them because Thiago just. Can’t. Grasp. Them.
It takes him a long moment to recover, and it’s only partially. He can’t speak, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. When he finally can, it’s choked.
“This season? But I thought it would be a few years.”
The older man shakes his head as he feels the tears beginning in his eyes. They’re burning and he has to look down to hide them.
“Not with this constant injury. I may not even make it til the end of the season, I will try, but… The six is yours at the end of June.”
“I can’t. Xavi, I can’t,” Thiago’s voice breaks and his face crumples and he lets out a long, shaky breath as his whole body suddenly feels very heavy. In a way, it always has, playing alongside the midfield maestro, but that was when he expected Cesc and Andrés to carry the midfield, and the number six to be retired.
He never expected to wear it.
Xavi is a legend, always has been, always will be. He will go down in history books as the best midfielder of all time, and Thiago is honoured to be taught by him as much as he feels privileged to be the boyfriend of such a remarkable person.
“You can.”
Xavi speaks softly and reaches out to wipe a tear from Thiago’s cheek, disregarding his own.
“You have the passion and the potential to be even better than I have been, just as they say I’m better than Pep. Don’t think of it as a burden, as something to live up to. The fans already love you, and you know I will always be proud of you, no matter what you do.”
Thiago looks up at him, eyes wide, fear and hope shining in them.
“You really think I can do it?”
Xavi chuckles and leans forward to kiss his forehead.
“Yes. I do.”