(no subject)
Title: -farewell-
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/ Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: Complete and total fiction. Fernando has a beautiful girlfriend, so I doubt he is gay.
Summary: One last goodbye...
Author's Notes: Unbeta'd... sorry! I love commas. They are my best friend. So there may be comma splices. I also tend to switch tenses a lot (oops) so pointing that out would be helpful. Hopefully it's not too bad. Also the first thing I've written in a while, so constructive criticism is both appreciated and encouraged. Italics are Sergio's thoughts.
-farewell-
The phone rings, but Sergio doesn’t make a move to answer it. He knows who it is. A half hour later, it’s the doorbell that rings, but once again, Sergio makes no effort. He hears the click of the lock turning and sighs. He should have remembered that the man had a key. Maybe there would have been time to have the damn locks changed.
He continues flipping through the channels on the TV and can see the tall, skinny figure out of the corner of his eye, standing there, watching him. Sergio doesn’t acknowledge Fernando, and Fernando says nothing as he sits in the chair next to the couch. Despite the sounds radiating from the television, the room feels silent, and Sergio can hear every move the other man makes and every breath he takes. He can hear him sigh, and can even hear the fidgeting of his hands. Yet, Sergio keeps his eyes trained on the television and mentally praises himself for not showing any emotion. From the moment he heard the news, he hadn’t shed a single tear. It felt surreal, like it is all just a dream.
“I’m sorry.”
Sergio mentally sneers at that statement.
Sorry, you bastard. You always spoke to me of how you were unhappy with the path Atletico was going down, that you were tired of losing, and wanted to experience the high of winning. Well now you have your chance and you’ve taken it, without thinking of all the others who matter to you. You’ve become caught up in that hunger for victory, but it comes at a price. You’re going to lose a lot more than what you will gain.
Sergio wants to scream in Fernando’s face, he wants to throw things, hit things. A war is raging in his mind. Yet when in the other man’s presence, he remains calm, still flipping through the channels.
“I know you’re mad at me.”
No duh, moron.
Sergio wants to continue calling Fernando names. To tell Fernando that he meant nothing to him and their relationship was just a way for Sergio to get his own aggression out. He wants to rip out Fernando’s heart, stomp on it multiple times, throw it against the wall, boil it on a stove, and then flush it down the toilet. After that, he’d go down into the sewers, find the heart and do it all over again.
“Sergio, say something.”
What do you want me to say? That it’s alright that you’re leaving me. That it’s okay that the only time I’ll see you is when we’re with the national team? That I’m fine with you stabbing me in the back and leaving me here in Madrid, alone? I won’t give you that relief.
Sergio remains silent.
He can hear shuffling as Fernando gets up from the chair, and next thing, Fernando is straddling him on the couch. He lifts Sergio’s chin, forcing the younger man to look into his brown eyes. Brown eyes Sergio won’t see again for a long time. Fernando touches Sergio’s hands, and absently traces patterns on them before beginning to speak.
“If you won’t talk then I will. You know what it’s like to feel a part of a win. I don’t. All I know is losing. I care about you, I really do...”
Liar.
“...and I’ll phone as often as I can...”
Liar times two.
“...but this is something that I have to do.”
The look on Fernando’s face is enough to bring anyone to tears. His eyes were full of emotion, different emotions. There is both joy and heartbreak. Joy to be going to a team committed to winning, but heartbreak for those he is leaving behind.
Sergio just stares dully back at Fernando, showing no indication that he had heard a word the other man had said. He remains completely void of any feeling. Sergio knows that if he lets down the emotional barrier set up, he would break down into tears. He doesn’t want Fernando to know how much his decision hurt him. That would make him weak, and Sergio Ramos is not weak. Fernando sighs and let go of Sergio’s hands.
“Farewell.”
He clutches the back of Sergio’s neck as he hesitantly leans in. His lips barely graze Sergio’s, yet the kiss soft and gentle, a passing breeze. Fernando stays hovered as Sergio inhales his smell, the smell of his cologne, a smell that would soon disappear. As Fernando pulls back, he whispers.
“I’ll miss you.”
Then he is gone.
Sergio can hear the TV once again.
“Liverpool has confirmed the signing of striker Fernando Torres at a fee of-“
He jolts up from the couch and rips the cord out of the outlet. The screen goes black.
Just like your heart, Torres.
He sits back down, in complete silence, and remembers. He remembers their last kiss, Fernando’s last words still ringing in his head.
I’ll miss you too.
Days later, Sergio finds himself out at the grocery market. He walks aimlessly around the store, the pain of Fernando’s last visit still stinging. As he turns down another aisle, he spots Olalla, bent over her own basket. She looks up and catches his gaze. She knows how close he is to Fernando, and before he can stop himself, Sergio is in her arms and she in his. Two of the most important people in Fernando’s life, both affected by the move, and both left behind. He tightens his grip around the shorter woman, the pain coming back full force now that he has found someone to share it with. He struggles to breathe, as if his lungs are being crushed by an invisible pressure. He can feel Olalla’s shoulders shake beneath his arms. He knows she is crying, and it’s then that Sergio realizes he is too.
They stand together in the middle of the aisle, and they cry.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/ Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: Complete and total fiction. Fernando has a beautiful girlfriend, so I doubt he is gay.
Summary: One last goodbye...
Author's Notes: Unbeta'd... sorry! I love commas. They are my best friend. So there may be comma splices. I also tend to switch tenses a lot (oops) so pointing that out would be helpful. Hopefully it's not too bad. Also the first thing I've written in a while, so constructive criticism is both appreciated and encouraged. Italics are Sergio's thoughts.
-farewell-
The phone rings, but Sergio doesn’t make a move to answer it. He knows who it is. A half hour later, it’s the doorbell that rings, but once again, Sergio makes no effort. He hears the click of the lock turning and sighs. He should have remembered that the man had a key. Maybe there would have been time to have the damn locks changed.
He continues flipping through the channels on the TV and can see the tall, skinny figure out of the corner of his eye, standing there, watching him. Sergio doesn’t acknowledge Fernando, and Fernando says nothing as he sits in the chair next to the couch. Despite the sounds radiating from the television, the room feels silent, and Sergio can hear every move the other man makes and every breath he takes. He can hear him sigh, and can even hear the fidgeting of his hands. Yet, Sergio keeps his eyes trained on the television and mentally praises himself for not showing any emotion. From the moment he heard the news, he hadn’t shed a single tear. It felt surreal, like it is all just a dream.
“I’m sorry.”
Sergio mentally sneers at that statement.
Sorry, you bastard. You always spoke to me of how you were unhappy with the path Atletico was going down, that you were tired of losing, and wanted to experience the high of winning. Well now you have your chance and you’ve taken it, without thinking of all the others who matter to you. You’ve become caught up in that hunger for victory, but it comes at a price. You’re going to lose a lot more than what you will gain.
Sergio wants to scream in Fernando’s face, he wants to throw things, hit things. A war is raging in his mind. Yet when in the other man’s presence, he remains calm, still flipping through the channels.
“I know you’re mad at me.”
No duh, moron.
Sergio wants to continue calling Fernando names. To tell Fernando that he meant nothing to him and their relationship was just a way for Sergio to get his own aggression out. He wants to rip out Fernando’s heart, stomp on it multiple times, throw it against the wall, boil it on a stove, and then flush it down the toilet. After that, he’d go down into the sewers, find the heart and do it all over again.
“Sergio, say something.”
What do you want me to say? That it’s alright that you’re leaving me. That it’s okay that the only time I’ll see you is when we’re with the national team? That I’m fine with you stabbing me in the back and leaving me here in Madrid, alone? I won’t give you that relief.
Sergio remains silent.
He can hear shuffling as Fernando gets up from the chair, and next thing, Fernando is straddling him on the couch. He lifts Sergio’s chin, forcing the younger man to look into his brown eyes. Brown eyes Sergio won’t see again for a long time. Fernando touches Sergio’s hands, and absently traces patterns on them before beginning to speak.
“If you won’t talk then I will. You know what it’s like to feel a part of a win. I don’t. All I know is losing. I care about you, I really do...”
Liar.
“...and I’ll phone as often as I can...”
Liar times two.
“...but this is something that I have to do.”
The look on Fernando’s face is enough to bring anyone to tears. His eyes were full of emotion, different emotions. There is both joy and heartbreak. Joy to be going to a team committed to winning, but heartbreak for those he is leaving behind.
Sergio just stares dully back at Fernando, showing no indication that he had heard a word the other man had said. He remains completely void of any feeling. Sergio knows that if he lets down the emotional barrier set up, he would break down into tears. He doesn’t want Fernando to know how much his decision hurt him. That would make him weak, and Sergio Ramos is not weak. Fernando sighs and let go of Sergio’s hands.
“Farewell.”
He clutches the back of Sergio’s neck as he hesitantly leans in. His lips barely graze Sergio’s, yet the kiss soft and gentle, a passing breeze. Fernando stays hovered as Sergio inhales his smell, the smell of his cologne, a smell that would soon disappear. As Fernando pulls back, he whispers.
“I’ll miss you.”
Then he is gone.
Sergio can hear the TV once again.
“Liverpool has confirmed the signing of striker Fernando Torres at a fee of-“
He jolts up from the couch and rips the cord out of the outlet. The screen goes black.
Just like your heart, Torres.
He sits back down, in complete silence, and remembers. He remembers their last kiss, Fernando’s last words still ringing in his head.
I’ll miss you too.
Days later, Sergio finds himself out at the grocery market. He walks aimlessly around the store, the pain of Fernando’s last visit still stinging. As he turns down another aisle, he spots Olalla, bent over her own basket. She looks up and catches his gaze. She knows how close he is to Fernando, and before he can stop himself, Sergio is in her arms and she in his. Two of the most important people in Fernando’s life, both affected by the move, and both left behind. He tightens his grip around the shorter woman, the pain coming back full force now that he has found someone to share it with. He struggles to breathe, as if his lungs are being crushed by an invisible pressure. He can feel Olalla’s shoulders shake beneath his arms. He knows she is crying, and it’s then that Sergio realizes he is too.
They stand together in the middle of the aisle, and they cry.