I wish I knew how to quit you
And now that everything is different…what we'll do with the memories?
~ . ~
“What are we doing? What is this?
Just a silly thing, Stevie” … both say between kisses.
“This is so fucking wrong” …a shirt on the floor.
“But is so good” …a flick of his wrist.
“Just a silly thing?”…a lick of your tongue.
“Our silly thing”…his words between moans.
~ . ~
“I don’t think this is silly anymore”…a hurtful look in your eyes.
“It has to remain that way”… an almost whisper from his mouth.
“This is not a game anymore, Xabi, we crossed lines…bloody lines!”…a confession from your heart.
“It will be whatever we want it to be”…a reflexion from his conscience.
“I think we need to stop”…now you’re reasoning.
“You want to stop?”…and he’s questioning you.
“…” you remain silent. You’re quiet, he’s winning…and he knows it…just like you.
“You started this thing anyway”…he blames you, he’s wrong…and he knows it…just like you.
And you decided to show him why you started this game. You show him good, real good. And after, when his legs are still tangled with yours, when his breath is on your neck, his sweat mixed with yours, both of you are doomed…and both of you know it.
~ . ~Recuerdos. In that language that you learn to love. You hear all your Latin mates, your Spanish mates speaking that language with their particular accent. In the beginning, when his departure was still recent, it was like a stab in your chest (a fucking cliché thing to say perhaps) but it was indeed painful. You never thought that you would get to miss Spanish words that much. His Spanish words. Words whose meaning you learned in special moments. Moments that are stuck like pictures in your head and you're clinging to them, you’re always back there because it means something after all.
It’s a funny thought because at the time both of you believed that it was nothing. Just a game, a silly thing, a product of that childish behaviour that never really leaves us, just curiosity. It was supposed to be nothing, to mean nothing. And you still don’t know how and when “nothing” turned to be this bloody painful. But that’s not true… not now anyway. In those nights when you’re trying to sleep memories come to you, words are flooding your mind, Spanish words that rushed out of his mouth in moments that only the two of you know to have ever existed. Those are yours. This is the only good thing that you can take from bittersweet times. It’s yours and his and nobody else’s. In those years when you were together, you shared a beautiful partnership on the field, a silent crush, a moaning love. And now you share memories.
He always tells you, when he catches a note of how much he’s missed from your words, when he reads between lines in your messages that you can’t take it anymore, he tells you… recuerda que tenemos algo que nos pertenece solo a nosotros Steven, solo a tí y a mí… and that’s it. Your chest explodes and your mind starts reeling and it’s back. And you smile because is true. He’s right, it’s how you’ll always have him. Always. In your mind, in your heart where he belongs in the only way that matters. In the same way that you belong to him, you know it too. And at the same time, he’s clinging to you with the exact same memories. You can almost feel it… you want to feel it. He knows you so well that you don’t need to actually utter any words when he already knows that you’re missing him that bloody much. And you know him so well, so goddamn well, that you only need to hear that hint in his voice to know that he’s clinging to those memories just like you are.
You show him what it means to you now in the only way that you can. The only way that you can allow it. The polite way. With a vote for him because you think that he deserves an award, with an answer to a fan question, with a mention of his name in your perfect 11, with what you can let slip in your written memories. And he takes everything and turns into the same thing he knows you’re doing. This is what you’re both left with now, your way of showing that it means something… it means everything. And for you, it’s the way he talks about your (and his) city, your (and his) team, your (and his) colour… it’s the way that he talks about you.
He sends you words in Spanish when you show him what he means to you. Words you understand. And you remember, you remember the sound of those words coming from his mouth in those moments. Memories come and go and you’re clinging to them. You’re clinging to them at the same time he’s clinging to you. And you know it… everything is different now, but both of you know what to do with the memories.
Beta by an_only_tree
Inspire by this: http://moon-for-start.tumblr.com/image/51124306216
The tittle is what my muse says when she sees him: http://moon-for-start.tumblr.com/image/49633422878
At the end, Nuri is right...http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9cgv7A7JI1qe35yro3_250.gif
Comments...are welcome!