nam mellitus erat, .001 beginnings.
Title: Nam Mellitus Erat
Author: tyrannicides
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas, Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres, appearances from others.
Rating: NC-17 for language, sex.
Disclaimer: Don't own, made up.
Summary: Iker is a stick-in-the-mud RA who is in his senior year and Cesc is a seventeen-year-old freshman who rooms with him.
Author's Notes: I apologize in advance for college fic. I changed Stevie to Frank because now I actually know who people in football are.
Iker doesn't think they realize that he hates doing this as much as they do. Floor meetings. Sometimes it doesn't seem worth it to be an RA, but then, a guaranteed single and it's his year for the big room.
"If you look at the purple flyer, there's a list of emergency numbers." Papers rustle, everyone shifting through their packets. "Campus security officers are on duty 24/7. The number below that's the RA on duty-call it if you need anything."
Lock-out fees, food options, campus events. He runs through the list, scripted and impossibly patient. It feels like forever.
Sergio edges up to him afterwards, when they're supposed to be mingling over free pizza and ice cream. He's brighter, browner, and blonder than he was in the spring. Iker guesses a few months in Spain will do that to you.
"If you keep that beard," Sergio says conspiratorially. "People might think you're a Philosophy major."
"If you keep those dreads," Iker imitates, "people might think you're a stoner." Then he lifts his brow like oh, wait, and Sergio busts out laughing. He's still laughing when he gives Iker the fond kind of tight "I missed you, man" hug. Two students walk up to them.
Iker can feel Sergio casually checking the first one out, but then, Sergio checks out everything. This kid, Iker has to admit, is worth checking out. Toned arms. Lean torso. Cute face. The one behind him is smaller, swimming in a t-shirt and looking at the door.
"Hi, I'm Frank," the taller one says. "We're living in this building this year so, just thought I should introduce myself. You know?" Frank has a blinding smile and he pauses considerately-this would be the perfect time for the kid behind him (darker skin, shock of black hair, sullen face) to say something. He doesn't. There's an awkward silence.
"No," Iker says finally. "No, yeah. Cool. I'm Iker, this is Sergio." Sergio lifts his cup of orange soda. "What floor are you guys on?" It comes out of his mouth before he thinks about it. It's the RA version of 'What's your major?', and he cannot imagine the shit he's going to get from Sergio.
"I'm on second, so is Francesc. We're roommates."
"Cesc," the boy behind him corrects automatically.
Iker pauses. "Uh. Then technically Sergio's your RA, but feel free to ask any of us anything, right?"
"Cool. Thanks, Iker. Sergio."
Iker discovers that Frank looks just as good walking away as he does walking towards him. Or walking anywhere, really.
"'No yeah'?" Sergio asks as soon as they're out of earshot, winding up.
"Oh hey, look who made it," Iker says.
Sergio cranes around to see Maria from CompSci110, chatting it up with two other girls near the door. He hunches his shoulders like someone threw something at him. "You'll tell them I showed up, right?"
Iker watches him scope the room, looking for an escape route. He feels generous, having just dodged two weeks of continuous teasing, at least. "Sure."
It's hard to settle back into classes after a summer of being home, of working 9 to 5 and making money. It's miserably hot, sticky and humid. The dorms aren't air-conditioned and it's hell on earth for a month, until they hit mid-September and the air starts cooling down. Iker sits planted in front of the rickety fan at his desk every night and stares at his homework. He thinks about how much he wants to be done with this already. Has the niggling feeling (not for the first time, or the second) that he's wasting his youth. And that he's wasting it on something he doesn't even-
"Do you have some ideas on grad schools?" Dr. Beckham's office is air-conditioned. Somehow the Classics professors got shacked up in the English building. The school actually cares about the English department.
"A few." Non-committal. There's the muted sound of kids laughing-the elementary school across the street.
"Like what." Dr. Beckham leans back in his chair, staring him down.
"I'd have to look them up," Iker replies.
"Iker." The chair creaks when Dr. Beckham leans forward again. His voice is quiet. "You need to get it together. I'm serious."
Iker doesn't know what to say. He can hear it, everything in Dr. Beckham's tone that he isn't saying-You're one of my best students. You're my favorite student. I can't tell why you don't care anymore. I don't know what's wrong. Iker doesn't know how to tell him, I don't know if I love this anymore. I don't know if I wasted four years of my life on this. I don't know if I love it enough. In the end, he doesn't say anything at all.
It's late at night and Iker is filing occupancy forms in the office on first floor. He has a headache. It smells like cleaning product and there's a cricket somewhere in the room that he can't find. He's halfway through the stack of unending papers when he reaches room 204. Frank smiles up at him.
20. Chemistry major. British. Iker looks at his picture and is reminded of celebrity mugshots, how even with the worst backdrops and the worst lighting, some people always look good. Cesc on the other hand (17. Undeclared.) looks hilariously awkward. He looks like he started to smile on 3 instead of 1, so his mouth is caught in some kind of ugly inbetween. And his hair. Iker doesn't know how to describe it. It's a mullet. It just is. There's blond in the top and long parts in the back and Cesc's cut it off, now his hair's just black and floppy sometimes, but. Iker's still kind of smiling over it three people later.
"Who's that?" Iker is standing in Sergio's doorway with a box of pizza and a six pack and instead of finding a b-rated horror movie on Instant Netflix, Sergio is glued to Skype, talking to someone Iker doesn't recognize. He feels pretty comfortable saying that like it means something, having been introduced to Sergio's family and his extended family one memorable Thanksgiving two years back.
"Fernando."
Sergio looks... flustered? Iker can't place the emotion because he has literally never seen it on Sergio before.
"Fernando," Sergio repeats. "I met him in Spain."
This should clarify things. It doesn't. "Met" means "messed around with". Iker speaks Sergio well enough to translate that. But Sergio doesn't give girls two blocks away a call back. Spain is a lot farther away than two blocks.
"Hey Fer." Sergio swings in his chair, back towards his laptop. He runs a hand through his dreads. "I have to go, okay?" The guy on the screen blinks, a long second goes by, then he nods, like he only just understood. It's morning there. The light from the window makes his hair glow-too blond to be real but fitting, somehow. "I'll call you later."
The guy on the screen smiles very slightly, more in his eyes in his mouth, and nods again. He gives a small wave, and the camera cuts off.
"...Call him later?" Iker asks. It's already one in the morning.
"Maybe," Sergio says, unconvincingly apathetic. He turns on the TV and Iker lets it go. Payment for Sergio not mentioning Frank, maybe.
Frank is everywhere, really. Iker's Shakespeare class, the game room, the science center. He flirts with Iker in the library and in line at the coffee shop. It's hard to know if he's actually interested or just messing around: he has one of those faces. One of those sets of expressions, where you can't really tell. Where you get this weird feeling that even when you think you're reading him, you're not. You can't. Not that it matters. Iker wouldn't date someone he's kind of in charge of anyways.
"Come out tonight. Theta Phi's doing the blacklight thing."
Iker glances at the clock. 11:00PM. "Can't. Finding articles on." He waves his hand, because Sergio isn't going to care about Mesopotamian pottery shards.
"You're killing yourself over that paper," Sergio says. His voice sounds exasperated but mostly pitying, even over the phone.
"I know."
Once Iker sees Cesc at lunch, on a day when it's slightly cooler outside than the others. At first he doesn't recognize him. He's at a picnic table with a couple other freshman, half a ham sandwich clutched in one hand, and he's laughing. Iker wasn't aware he could. It's not like Iker stops in his tracks or anything, and he only sees the whole thing for a few seconds-Cesc recovering, grinning with his eyes squinted up, leaning his head on a friend's shoulder-then he's obscured by trees.
Iker flips open his notes.
"You need to do another draft."
Iker takes the paper back. His mouth is a thin line.
"Look, it hurts me as much as it hurts you," Dr. Beckham says, and it sounds like it actually does. "But you didn't even cite half of that. You know better. You just do."
That night, Iker falls asleep on his desk with the lights on.
Weeks pass. Sergio runs the second floor meeting. He's better at public speaking, and better at pretending he likes being up there. Frank sits near Iker. Cesc doesn't show.
Iker is up late again-he likes to go to bed before midnight, always, and this is the third day in a row he's had to be up past two. He's listening to blues and trying to power through his Greek when he hears a weird tapping sound. He ignores it. Then the tapping gets louder and Iker realizes it's coming from the door. He pauses the music and walks over to get it.
Cesc is standing on the other side.
He's still looking off to the right, like he never stopped after the first floor meeting, and his t-shirt's still too big. The height difference is more pronounced now that they're standing in front of each other. Iker has four inches on him, at least.
"Frank said there was some paperwork I have to fill out," Cesc says.
Iker looks at him for a second, then scratches the back of his head. "...Yeah. Lemme get it." He goes to dig through his desk. Cesc is still hovering in the hallway. "You can come in, if you want," Iker calls over his shoulder.
Cesc steps in, hands in his pockets. He looks around while acting like he's not looking around.
Iker hands him the papers.
Now that Cesc's closer-his face isn't really sullen. More wary. Hesitant. Like he perpetually thinks he's about to fuck something up, and also completely resists the idea. He doesn't smell like Axe or any other overpowering shitty cologne that 17-year-olds tend to use, which is kind of a relief.
"It's emergency contact info." Iker shows him. "Your name and number here, things you're allergic to. Uh, three contacts. Two can be family members, but it's best for the last one to be someone who actually lives in town."
Cesc nods and takes the papers from him.
"Fill it out when you have time and drop it off. If I'm not here, just leave it in the thing on the door."
"I'm sorry I didn't come to the floor meeting," Cesc says abruptly. He looks up at Iker with this downturn in his mouth-actually sorry, in a begrudging kind of way. Like a kid feeling guilty realizing he did something wrong, who resents feeling guilty but not the person making him feel guilty.
Iker isn't sure what to do with it.
"It's cool. As long as Frank's keeping you filled in."
Cesc looks down at the papers in his hands. "Okay," he says.
"I dunno. I'm tired."
Unai laughs. "How do you even have time for school. All you do is feel sorry for yourself."
"True," Iker admits, rubbing his eyes. His phone beeps, lets him know his battery is low. He didn't realize they'd been talking for that long.
"How are your residents? Did anyone set a trashcan on fire yet?"
"That was Ribery. He transferred."
"So? How are they?"
Iker thinks about Cesc, sitting in the back at the third floor meeting. Paying attention. "They're alright."
"Better," Dr. Beckham says.
Iker relaxes infinitesimally.
"Maybe look into some of his earlier writings. I think that should help with context."
Iker takes notes.
Iker's going to a party. Sergio came barging in after Iker pressed "Ignore" four times on his phone and he snapped Iker's laptop shut. Kept his hand on it.
"It's Saturday night. Get up. Shower."
Iker sighed and got up because Sergio is unmovable when it comes to this kind of thing. When he gets out of the shower, scrubbing his hair with a towel, Sergio is digging through his clothes, looking for something acceptable. Sergio seems to take it as a personal responsibility to run Iker's wardrobe.
"I was gonna wear the red shirt with those jeans," Iker says. "And the white belt."
Sergio gives him a Look. Iker imagines it's the same look he'd give a three-legged dog hopping down the street. You're cute. And you make me sad.
"Okay. Well you're wearing this shirt. And the black jeans. So."
The party's at Kappa Alpha and Iker kind of hates everyone who lives there, but the music's good and the food's alright. He talks to van der Vaart, who he hasn't seen since he switched departments.
"I just didn't know what I was gonna do with a Classics degree, you know," Rafa says.
Iker nods.
"It's like, I like it, I love it, but when it comes down it." He takes a drink out of his cup. "I dunno. I need a job."
Iker sees Sergio talking to the DJ. Usually he's in an upstairs room by now. It's odd.
"Hey, I'll be right back," Iker says, moving over to talk to Sergio and confirm that he knows this is, in fact, an alcohol-allowed party, when he sees Frank and Cesc on the back wall. There are a few other guys too: John Terry, a Sig Chi, and some other guys Iker doesn't know.
Frank leans in really close and says something to Cesc. He's smiling, but when Cesc hears what he says-his face falls. He looks around, like he's worried someone saw. Iker can't put his finger on it, but there's something weird about it. Something off. Then Frank pushes his shoulder, playful, but it moves Cesc too far. Sets him off balance, the slightest bit. Frank doesn't look attractive, and Iker isn't sure why he ever thought he did. By the time he makes it over there, Frank has melted back into the crowd. Cesc is standing by himself again.
"What was that?" Iker asks.
"It's juice," Cesc says, mishearing. He holds up the red Solo cup in his hand for inspection, with big eyes.
"No. Frank," Iker says. "Frank," he repeats over the music.
"What?" Cesc runs his hand up the back of his hair.
Iker stands his ground. He hates to pull the RA tone outside the dorms, but the tightness in his fist and the heat coiled in his chest don't really feel like they're there in an official capacity anyways. "Does Frank bother you?"
Any openness that was there in Cesc's face is replaced with the stony expression. Iker doesn't care.
"You need to tell Sergio."
"Whatever," Cesc says, sounding bolder than he looks. It makes something in Iker's chest contract. Cesc tries to brush past him and Iker holds on to his arm, light, but firm.
"I'm going to talk to Sergio this weekend. And if you haven't visited him by then, I'm telling him. I'm serious."
Cesc's mouth turns down and there's a long pause, but finally, he nods. Iker lets him go. The ache in his chest doesn't leave for a while.
Iker chews his pencil and wills himself to get through his reading when his phone vibes.
"Hey," he says, like he hasn't been stealing covert glances at the screen for the last couple hours.
"Hey," Sergio replies. "What's up?"
"Mourinho reading."
"I'm sorry," Sergio says.
"Me too." Iker would follow it up with a 'What are you doing?', except for how he knows in any other circumstance, Sergio would have showed up outside his door unannounced to tell him what he was doing. Which means either Fernando died, or Sergio talked to Cesc.
"So, Cesc, right."
Iker makes a noise of assent.
"He came and talked to me earlier. About Frank."
Iker doesn't ask him what Cesc said because he isn't sure he wants to know.
"Look, Frank's a total dick." That's not what Iker meant to say and it comes out like it's been fighting his mouth for an hour. If Sergio's surprised at the force in his tone or at the uncharacteristically vulgar vocabulary choice, he doesn't show it. Which is why Iker's friends with Sergio. "I sat there and watched him push Cesc around on Saturday. He's a total dick."
"Yeah, I know," Sergio agrees with a sigh. Iker can see him leaning back in his computer chair. "The problem is that there's not much to write him up for."
"What are you talking about," Iker replies. "I saw it."
"I mean, so did other people. No-one else thought it was weird."
"It was weird," Iker says, defensive.
"Well, yeah. And from what Cesc told me-definitely. But when it gets down to it, with appeals and everything-it's Cesc's word against Frank's. And if Frank appeals it-and he will. Dude, his grades are awesome, his record's clean, his family's loaded, and Cesc shows up to, like, maybe 60% of his classes? And he has two liquor violations."
"Two?" Iker asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"They're minor, but yeah."
"So what, you're just not gonna do anything?" Iker isn't sure when he got so invested in this.
"Of course I'm doing something," Sergio says, firm and resolute for the first time in the conversation. He's chill, but he's invested. He's ridiculously invested. Iker isn't sure what possessed someone as cool and level and normal as Sergio to become an RA. "I'm moving Cesc."
Iker hadn't thought of that. "I... hadn't thought of that. That's a good idea."
"Yeah," Sergio says, but there's something different in his tone.
"...What's the catch?" Iker asks.
.002, middles.
Author: tyrannicides
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas, Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres, appearances from others.
Rating: NC-17 for language, sex.
Disclaimer: Don't own, made up.
Summary: Iker is a stick-in-the-mud RA who is in his senior year and Cesc is a seventeen-year-old freshman who rooms with him.
Author's Notes: I apologize in advance for college fic. I changed Stevie to Frank because now I actually know who people in football are.
Iker doesn't think they realize that he hates doing this as much as they do. Floor meetings. Sometimes it doesn't seem worth it to be an RA, but then, a guaranteed single and it's his year for the big room.
"If you look at the purple flyer, there's a list of emergency numbers." Papers rustle, everyone shifting through their packets. "Campus security officers are on duty 24/7. The number below that's the RA on duty-call it if you need anything."
Lock-out fees, food options, campus events. He runs through the list, scripted and impossibly patient. It feels like forever.
Sergio edges up to him afterwards, when they're supposed to be mingling over free pizza and ice cream. He's brighter, browner, and blonder than he was in the spring. Iker guesses a few months in Spain will do that to you.
"If you keep that beard," Sergio says conspiratorially. "People might think you're a Philosophy major."
"If you keep those dreads," Iker imitates, "people might think you're a stoner." Then he lifts his brow like oh, wait, and Sergio busts out laughing. He's still laughing when he gives Iker the fond kind of tight "I missed you, man" hug. Two students walk up to them.
Iker can feel Sergio casually checking the first one out, but then, Sergio checks out everything. This kid, Iker has to admit, is worth checking out. Toned arms. Lean torso. Cute face. The one behind him is smaller, swimming in a t-shirt and looking at the door.
"Hi, I'm Frank," the taller one says. "We're living in this building this year so, just thought I should introduce myself. You know?" Frank has a blinding smile and he pauses considerately-this would be the perfect time for the kid behind him (darker skin, shock of black hair, sullen face) to say something. He doesn't. There's an awkward silence.
"No," Iker says finally. "No, yeah. Cool. I'm Iker, this is Sergio." Sergio lifts his cup of orange soda. "What floor are you guys on?" It comes out of his mouth before he thinks about it. It's the RA version of 'What's your major?', and he cannot imagine the shit he's going to get from Sergio.
"I'm on second, so is Francesc. We're roommates."
"Cesc," the boy behind him corrects automatically.
Iker pauses. "Uh. Then technically Sergio's your RA, but feel free to ask any of us anything, right?"
"Cool. Thanks, Iker. Sergio."
Iker discovers that Frank looks just as good walking away as he does walking towards him. Or walking anywhere, really.
"'No yeah'?" Sergio asks as soon as they're out of earshot, winding up.
"Oh hey, look who made it," Iker says.
Sergio cranes around to see Maria from CompSci110, chatting it up with two other girls near the door. He hunches his shoulders like someone threw something at him. "You'll tell them I showed up, right?"
Iker watches him scope the room, looking for an escape route. He feels generous, having just dodged two weeks of continuous teasing, at least. "Sure."
It's hard to settle back into classes after a summer of being home, of working 9 to 5 and making money. It's miserably hot, sticky and humid. The dorms aren't air-conditioned and it's hell on earth for a month, until they hit mid-September and the air starts cooling down. Iker sits planted in front of the rickety fan at his desk every night and stares at his homework. He thinks about how much he wants to be done with this already. Has the niggling feeling (not for the first time, or the second) that he's wasting his youth. And that he's wasting it on something he doesn't even-
"Do you have some ideas on grad schools?" Dr. Beckham's office is air-conditioned. Somehow the Classics professors got shacked up in the English building. The school actually cares about the English department.
"A few." Non-committal. There's the muted sound of kids laughing-the elementary school across the street.
"Like what." Dr. Beckham leans back in his chair, staring him down.
"I'd have to look them up," Iker replies.
"Iker." The chair creaks when Dr. Beckham leans forward again. His voice is quiet. "You need to get it together. I'm serious."
Iker doesn't know what to say. He can hear it, everything in Dr. Beckham's tone that he isn't saying-You're one of my best students. You're my favorite student. I can't tell why you don't care anymore. I don't know what's wrong. Iker doesn't know how to tell him, I don't know if I love this anymore. I don't know if I wasted four years of my life on this. I don't know if I love it enough. In the end, he doesn't say anything at all.
It's late at night and Iker is filing occupancy forms in the office on first floor. He has a headache. It smells like cleaning product and there's a cricket somewhere in the room that he can't find. He's halfway through the stack of unending papers when he reaches room 204. Frank smiles up at him.
20. Chemistry major. British. Iker looks at his picture and is reminded of celebrity mugshots, how even with the worst backdrops and the worst lighting, some people always look good. Cesc on the other hand (17. Undeclared.) looks hilariously awkward. He looks like he started to smile on 3 instead of 1, so his mouth is caught in some kind of ugly inbetween. And his hair. Iker doesn't know how to describe it. It's a mullet. It just is. There's blond in the top and long parts in the back and Cesc's cut it off, now his hair's just black and floppy sometimes, but. Iker's still kind of smiling over it three people later.
"Who's that?" Iker is standing in Sergio's doorway with a box of pizza and a six pack and instead of finding a b-rated horror movie on Instant Netflix, Sergio is glued to Skype, talking to someone Iker doesn't recognize. He feels pretty comfortable saying that like it means something, having been introduced to Sergio's family and his extended family one memorable Thanksgiving two years back.
"Fernando."
Sergio looks... flustered? Iker can't place the emotion because he has literally never seen it on Sergio before.
"Fernando," Sergio repeats. "I met him in Spain."
This should clarify things. It doesn't. "Met" means "messed around with". Iker speaks Sergio well enough to translate that. But Sergio doesn't give girls two blocks away a call back. Spain is a lot farther away than two blocks.
"Hey Fer." Sergio swings in his chair, back towards his laptop. He runs a hand through his dreads. "I have to go, okay?" The guy on the screen blinks, a long second goes by, then he nods, like he only just understood. It's morning there. The light from the window makes his hair glow-too blond to be real but fitting, somehow. "I'll call you later."
The guy on the screen smiles very slightly, more in his eyes in his mouth, and nods again. He gives a small wave, and the camera cuts off.
"...Call him later?" Iker asks. It's already one in the morning.
"Maybe," Sergio says, unconvincingly apathetic. He turns on the TV and Iker lets it go. Payment for Sergio not mentioning Frank, maybe.
Frank is everywhere, really. Iker's Shakespeare class, the game room, the science center. He flirts with Iker in the library and in line at the coffee shop. It's hard to know if he's actually interested or just messing around: he has one of those faces. One of those sets of expressions, where you can't really tell. Where you get this weird feeling that even when you think you're reading him, you're not. You can't. Not that it matters. Iker wouldn't date someone he's kind of in charge of anyways.
"Come out tonight. Theta Phi's doing the blacklight thing."
Iker glances at the clock. 11:00PM. "Can't. Finding articles on." He waves his hand, because Sergio isn't going to care about Mesopotamian pottery shards.
"You're killing yourself over that paper," Sergio says. His voice sounds exasperated but mostly pitying, even over the phone.
"I know."
Once Iker sees Cesc at lunch, on a day when it's slightly cooler outside than the others. At first he doesn't recognize him. He's at a picnic table with a couple other freshman, half a ham sandwich clutched in one hand, and he's laughing. Iker wasn't aware he could. It's not like Iker stops in his tracks or anything, and he only sees the whole thing for a few seconds-Cesc recovering, grinning with his eyes squinted up, leaning his head on a friend's shoulder-then he's obscured by trees.
Iker flips open his notes.
"You need to do another draft."
Iker takes the paper back. His mouth is a thin line.
"Look, it hurts me as much as it hurts you," Dr. Beckham says, and it sounds like it actually does. "But you didn't even cite half of that. You know better. You just do."
That night, Iker falls asleep on his desk with the lights on.
Weeks pass. Sergio runs the second floor meeting. He's better at public speaking, and better at pretending he likes being up there. Frank sits near Iker. Cesc doesn't show.
Iker is up late again-he likes to go to bed before midnight, always, and this is the third day in a row he's had to be up past two. He's listening to blues and trying to power through his Greek when he hears a weird tapping sound. He ignores it. Then the tapping gets louder and Iker realizes it's coming from the door. He pauses the music and walks over to get it.
Cesc is standing on the other side.
He's still looking off to the right, like he never stopped after the first floor meeting, and his t-shirt's still too big. The height difference is more pronounced now that they're standing in front of each other. Iker has four inches on him, at least.
"Frank said there was some paperwork I have to fill out," Cesc says.
Iker looks at him for a second, then scratches the back of his head. "...Yeah. Lemme get it." He goes to dig through his desk. Cesc is still hovering in the hallway. "You can come in, if you want," Iker calls over his shoulder.
Cesc steps in, hands in his pockets. He looks around while acting like he's not looking around.
Iker hands him the papers.
Now that Cesc's closer-his face isn't really sullen. More wary. Hesitant. Like he perpetually thinks he's about to fuck something up, and also completely resists the idea. He doesn't smell like Axe or any other overpowering shitty cologne that 17-year-olds tend to use, which is kind of a relief.
"It's emergency contact info." Iker shows him. "Your name and number here, things you're allergic to. Uh, three contacts. Two can be family members, but it's best for the last one to be someone who actually lives in town."
Cesc nods and takes the papers from him.
"Fill it out when you have time and drop it off. If I'm not here, just leave it in the thing on the door."
"I'm sorry I didn't come to the floor meeting," Cesc says abruptly. He looks up at Iker with this downturn in his mouth-actually sorry, in a begrudging kind of way. Like a kid feeling guilty realizing he did something wrong, who resents feeling guilty but not the person making him feel guilty.
Iker isn't sure what to do with it.
"It's cool. As long as Frank's keeping you filled in."
Cesc looks down at the papers in his hands. "Okay," he says.
"I dunno. I'm tired."
Unai laughs. "How do you even have time for school. All you do is feel sorry for yourself."
"True," Iker admits, rubbing his eyes. His phone beeps, lets him know his battery is low. He didn't realize they'd been talking for that long.
"How are your residents? Did anyone set a trashcan on fire yet?"
"That was Ribery. He transferred."
"So? How are they?"
Iker thinks about Cesc, sitting in the back at the third floor meeting. Paying attention. "They're alright."
"Better," Dr. Beckham says.
Iker relaxes infinitesimally.
"Maybe look into some of his earlier writings. I think that should help with context."
Iker takes notes.
Iker's going to a party. Sergio came barging in after Iker pressed "Ignore" four times on his phone and he snapped Iker's laptop shut. Kept his hand on it.
"It's Saturday night. Get up. Shower."
Iker sighed and got up because Sergio is unmovable when it comes to this kind of thing. When he gets out of the shower, scrubbing his hair with a towel, Sergio is digging through his clothes, looking for something acceptable. Sergio seems to take it as a personal responsibility to run Iker's wardrobe.
"I was gonna wear the red shirt with those jeans," Iker says. "And the white belt."
Sergio gives him a Look. Iker imagines it's the same look he'd give a three-legged dog hopping down the street. You're cute. And you make me sad.
"Okay. Well you're wearing this shirt. And the black jeans. So."
The party's at Kappa Alpha and Iker kind of hates everyone who lives there, but the music's good and the food's alright. He talks to van der Vaart, who he hasn't seen since he switched departments.
"I just didn't know what I was gonna do with a Classics degree, you know," Rafa says.
Iker nods.
"It's like, I like it, I love it, but when it comes down it." He takes a drink out of his cup. "I dunno. I need a job."
Iker sees Sergio talking to the DJ. Usually he's in an upstairs room by now. It's odd.
"Hey, I'll be right back," Iker says, moving over to talk to Sergio and confirm that he knows this is, in fact, an alcohol-allowed party, when he sees Frank and Cesc on the back wall. There are a few other guys too: John Terry, a Sig Chi, and some other guys Iker doesn't know.
Frank leans in really close and says something to Cesc. He's smiling, but when Cesc hears what he says-his face falls. He looks around, like he's worried someone saw. Iker can't put his finger on it, but there's something weird about it. Something off. Then Frank pushes his shoulder, playful, but it moves Cesc too far. Sets him off balance, the slightest bit. Frank doesn't look attractive, and Iker isn't sure why he ever thought he did. By the time he makes it over there, Frank has melted back into the crowd. Cesc is standing by himself again.
"What was that?" Iker asks.
"It's juice," Cesc says, mishearing. He holds up the red Solo cup in his hand for inspection, with big eyes.
"No. Frank," Iker says. "Frank," he repeats over the music.
"What?" Cesc runs his hand up the back of his hair.
Iker stands his ground. He hates to pull the RA tone outside the dorms, but the tightness in his fist and the heat coiled in his chest don't really feel like they're there in an official capacity anyways. "Does Frank bother you?"
Any openness that was there in Cesc's face is replaced with the stony expression. Iker doesn't care.
"You need to tell Sergio."
"Whatever," Cesc says, sounding bolder than he looks. It makes something in Iker's chest contract. Cesc tries to brush past him and Iker holds on to his arm, light, but firm.
"I'm going to talk to Sergio this weekend. And if you haven't visited him by then, I'm telling him. I'm serious."
Cesc's mouth turns down and there's a long pause, but finally, he nods. Iker lets him go. The ache in his chest doesn't leave for a while.
Iker chews his pencil and wills himself to get through his reading when his phone vibes.
"Hey," he says, like he hasn't been stealing covert glances at the screen for the last couple hours.
"Hey," Sergio replies. "What's up?"
"Mourinho reading."
"I'm sorry," Sergio says.
"Me too." Iker would follow it up with a 'What are you doing?', except for how he knows in any other circumstance, Sergio would have showed up outside his door unannounced to tell him what he was doing. Which means either Fernando died, or Sergio talked to Cesc.
"So, Cesc, right."
Iker makes a noise of assent.
"He came and talked to me earlier. About Frank."
Iker doesn't ask him what Cesc said because he isn't sure he wants to know.
"Look, Frank's a total dick." That's not what Iker meant to say and it comes out like it's been fighting his mouth for an hour. If Sergio's surprised at the force in his tone or at the uncharacteristically vulgar vocabulary choice, he doesn't show it. Which is why Iker's friends with Sergio. "I sat there and watched him push Cesc around on Saturday. He's a total dick."
"Yeah, I know," Sergio agrees with a sigh. Iker can see him leaning back in his computer chair. "The problem is that there's not much to write him up for."
"What are you talking about," Iker replies. "I saw it."
"I mean, so did other people. No-one else thought it was weird."
"It was weird," Iker says, defensive.
"Well, yeah. And from what Cesc told me-definitely. But when it gets down to it, with appeals and everything-it's Cesc's word against Frank's. And if Frank appeals it-and he will. Dude, his grades are awesome, his record's clean, his family's loaded, and Cesc shows up to, like, maybe 60% of his classes? And he has two liquor violations."
"Two?" Iker asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"They're minor, but yeah."
"So what, you're just not gonna do anything?" Iker isn't sure when he got so invested in this.
"Of course I'm doing something," Sergio says, firm and resolute for the first time in the conversation. He's chill, but he's invested. He's ridiculously invested. Iker isn't sure what possessed someone as cool and level and normal as Sergio to become an RA. "I'm moving Cesc."
Iker hadn't thought of that. "I... hadn't thought of that. That's a good idea."
"Yeah," Sergio says, but there's something different in his tone.
"...What's the catch?" Iker asks.
.002, middles.