(no subject)
title: into the sun
pairing: leo messi/gonzalo higuain
words: ~8700
rating: pg13
notes: for luxover; prompted here
Leo sees him in the elevator. He almost doesn’t; he keeps his head down and his bodyguards, tall and looming in front of him and to his sides, block most of his line of vision anyway. But they get in the elevator and he lifts his head for just a second, just long enough to catch his eye, and then.
“Leo!” His voice is surprised. He’s alone, no bodyguards or anything, and Leo would be jealous except that he’s learned how to tamp that down, not think about it. “Hey!”
“Hey,” he says quietly, “Pipita, hey.” He shoulders past a bodyguard, ducks his head into Gonzalo’s shoulder briefly, feels the other man’s arms come up around him, his breath in Leo’s hair.
“I didn’t know you were here,” Gonzalo says, stepping back. A smile stretches across his face, open and happy. Leo thinks it’s hard to look directly at him.
“Yeah,” he says. The elevator moves swiftly. Leo pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “For Copa advertisement stuff. You?”
“Yeah, same,” he says, and he keeps smiling at Leo, like he’s genuinely happy to see him but Leo isn’t quite sure why because they’re not really friends, barely know each other, but maybe Gonzalo’s just bored, or lonely, or-Leo doesn’t know.
“At the stadium?” Gonzalo asks, as the elevator stops a few floors down and Leo’s guards ask the guests to wait for the next one. Leo doesn’t look at their faces.
“Ah, no,” he says. “I think at a school or something. I’m not sure. Not the stadium.”
The elevator gets to the lobby and the guards step out first, look around while Leo ducks his head and walks out behind them. Gonzalo touches the small of his back, still smiling as he passes by them without a second glance around.
“Hey, we should get dinner later, yeah?” And Leo doesn’t know why they ever would, doesn’t know if they’ve ever eaten together before or had a conversation in more than passing, but he says, “Yeah, sure,” the way people do when they’re making plans they have no intention of keeping.
He lifts his hand in a half wave and throws Gonzalo a tight smile before he shuffles out the door behind his guards, leaves Gonzalo in the lobby behind him, steps into the sun.
Leo doesn’t actually have anywhere to be, but they go to a shopping center near the hotel with a Dolce & Gabbana; they close off part of the store for him, so it’s quiet, cool, and his guards don’t insist on standing right next to him.
It’s no secret that Leo doesn’t talk much, isn’t a big conversationalist, but sometimes he tries to talk to the big men who surround him, ask about their families or where they’re from, something, but they don’t really answer. Once, one of them had said coldly, his sunglasses glinting in the light, “I’m sorry, Mr. Messi, it’s just that I’m trying to work.”
When they leave the store there’s a crowd of people outside clamoring for a look at him, yelling his name, and he tells the guards-tells them, doesn’t ask, as if he could defy them if he wanted to-that he’s going to stop for a minute, and they grudgingly consent.
It doesn’t take even a minute, it’s a just a split second, when he steps out into the crowd before they surge around him, and then there’s hands everywhere, on his face and his arms, pulling at his clothes, people screaming in his ear, adults near tears, and he feels-he feels badly for them, that he can’t give them what they want, because he doesn’t know what that is and he probably isn’t what they think anyway, and he feels confused and a little bit overwhelmed and a little bit proud, because these are his people and they love him, at least for now-
He signs a few things and then his guards are around him again, a bubble of security allowing him to breath. He pulls a sleeve down quickly, so they won’t see the scratches on his arm.
When they get back to the hotel a few hours later, Leo glances over from the lobby and sees Gonzalo in the hotel bar.
He’s got his hood over his head-a black sweatshirt-and he’s slouched over a drink, keeping his face down. Leo doesn’t even know how he knows that it’s Gonzalo, but he does, he recognizes the slope of his shoulders or the curve of his spine, something, and he heads over to the bar before he can really think why.
He touches Gonzalo’s back, warm through his sweatshirt, and then pulls back. Gonzalo turns, his face guarded, but when he sees Leo he brightens.
“Hey! You’re back!” He sounds happy but keeps his voice low, even though the two men shadowing Leo give them away anyway.
Leo shrugs. “Yeah.” He eyes the glass in Gonzalo’s hands, asks, “What are you doing?”
Gonzalo shrugs, smiles, a bit ruefully. “I’m on vacation, kind of,” he says, and he swirls the glass around. Leo thinks it looks sad, empty.
“Oh,” Leo says, and then, wishing he hadn’t mentioned anything at all, half wishing he hadn’t come in the bar, “I was going to get dinner.” He doesn’t really invite Gonzalo but the offer hangs in the air between them anyway.
“Hey, yeah,” Gonzalo says, turning toward Leo and looking more animated. “I was looking at the restaurant here in the hotel and it actually looked pretty good.”
Leo glances at his guards, whispering to each other. “Okay,” he says.
Gonzalo smiles. “Yeah?” he says. “Cool.” He reaches in his pockets, throws some bills on the bar and slides out of his seat, but Leo’s not moving, not watching, and Gonzalo slides right into him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, moving away, “Sorry.”
But Gonzalo just smiles, says, “It’s okay,” and, “Should we…” gesturing over to the restaurant.
“Oh,” Leo says, and his face is hot, “I think-- My security is just going to make sure we can get a table in the back. I can’t really sit out in front…” and he knows he doesn’t have to explain but feels like he needs to anyway.
Gonzalo just nods and leans back against the bar easily. He doesn’t say anything else, and Leo wonders what they’re even going to talk about, alone for a whole meal.
In the end, though, it’s easier than he thought; Gonzalo is open, talkative, everything Leo isn’t, and he keeps Leo laughing through dinner with tales of their teammates, the jokes they played on Angel when he first came and stories about going out with Garay.
“You did not do that during the season,” Leo says disbelievingly after one story about a night out in Madrid with Eze.
“Yes!” Gonzalo insists, his eyes flashing in sincerity, and he grabs Leo’s arm as if to convince him that way. Leo laughs and looks down. “I mean, I was injured and Eze wasn’t playing anyway, so it’s not like it mattered,” and it’s the first time he’s mentioned his injury, the season he’s had, and also the first time they lapse into silence.
Leo starts to ask, “How’s your back now?” at the same time Gonzalo says, “How’s your food?” They both say, “It’s fine,” simultaneously and laugh.
“That’s good,” Leo says; he doesn’t look up. “We’ve missed you at call ups,” and he doesn’t know why he says it, wishes he hadn’t; in truth he hadn’t really thought about it, but now-
But Gonzalo just laughs a little and says, “Well, thanks.”
Eventually Gonzalo starts asking him questions, looking genuinely interested. Asks about Barcelona (“It’s good”), his family (“They’re fine”), his vacation plans (“Go home, I guess”), his girlfriend (“Broke up”).
After awhile he stops and just looks at Leo, smiling, and Leo thinks he’s missing something. He wonders if he has food on his face. “What?” he asks finally.
“You’re not an easy person to get close to, are you?” And that’s not at all what Leo was expecting, but Gonzalo doesn’t hesitate when he says it.
Leo thinks about laughing it off, saying, “You’re sitting pretty close to me now,” maybe, or, “That’s what the guards are for.” Instead he asks, “Is anyone?”
Gonzalo just says, “Hmm.”
Gonzalo insists on paying for dinner (“I’m just charging it to the room,” he says, with a conspiratory smile, “So really the federation is paying”) and trails Leo out of the restaurant towards the elevators. Leo wonders if he’s imagining that Gonzalo is walking close to him, but he feels his hand brush his back a few times and knows he isn’t.
Leo sees his guards fall into step behind them and ducks away from Gonzalo, hitting the button for the elevator. Gonzalo just smiles at him as easily as ever.
Leo moves to the back of the elevator and Gonzalo leans against the wall next to him, so their arms are pressed up against each other. Leo’s security stands in front of them, facing the elevator doors. When Leo glances over, Gonzalo is looking at him.
“I had fun,” he says, quietly even though the elevator’s so small everyone can hear him anyway.
Leo looks away, squints at the camera in the corner of the elevator. “Yeah,” he says noncommittally.
Gonzalo laughs softly next to him, nudges his shoulder, but Leo doesn’t know what it means.
The elevator glides to a stop at Leo’s floor and he pushes off the wall. His guards go out in front of them, keep walking down the hall, so Leo pauses, looks back at Gonzalo, still lounging against the back wall.
“So-see you,” he says lamely.
“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “If not tomorrow, then I guess see you at call ups.” He reaches out, just touches one of Leo’s arms, lightly, and then he leans back again and Leo skitters out, turning his back before the doors slide all the way shut.
Leo wakes up the next morning without an alarm. When he manages to clear his bleary eyes, he realizes it’s past his call time for the commercial and stumbles into the hallway sleepily, looking for an explanation.
“Your shoot was rained out, Mr. Messi,” the guard outside his door says coolly; once he mentions it, Leo can hear the steady drum from outside.
He looks down the hall towards one of the large windows for a glimpse out, but there’s a shadowy figure blocking the view. The figure turns, and there’s just enough light coming in around him that Leo can see it’s Gonzalo. A smile spreads across his face as he starts walking towards Leo, who’s suddenly acutely aware he’s in his boxers.
“Hey,” Leo says, his voice is still thick with sleep. “Um, just a sec, let me get dressed.” He slips back into his rooms and into some jeans, throws on a hoodie, and when he goes back into the hall Gonzalo is chatting with one of his guards. Leo throws the guard an offended look before he can stop himself.
“Your shoot got canceled too, huh?” Gonzalo asks.
Leo stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocks on his heels. “Yep.” He wants to ask what Gonzalo is doing on his floor, but he doesn’t.
Gonzalo looks at him and back to the guards sitting quietly outside his room. He grabs Leo’s sleeve and starts moving back toward the end of the hall, where the window is. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Leo stumbles down the hallway behind him, yawning. His stomach growls and Gonzalo glances back at him with a grin. When they reach the window, Leo peers out, but he doesn’t seen anything; it’s raining hard and the streets are empty and slick.
“I don’t see anything,” he says, when Gonzalo simply stands quietly beside him and looks over the city.
“That’s the point,” Gonzalo says, and he looks at Leo out of the corner of his eye, his lip curling up. Leo doesn’t get it and he says so.
Gonzalo glances down the hall at Leo’s guards, sitting quietly, and he leans in close to Leo, dropping his voice unnecessarily low. “We could go out. No danger out there now.”
Leo stares up at him. “Go outside?” he asks dumbly. “Without my guards?” Gonzalo shrugs and nods. “Why would we want to go out in the rain?”
Gonzalo gazes at him plaintively. “Don’t you get sick of it?” he asks. “You don’t ever just want to be able to walk down the street like a normal guy?”
Leo regards him quietly for a moment before he turns back to look out the window. A lone figure scurries down the slick pavement, a sagging newspaper held over his head. Leo traces a drop of rain down the window with one finger for a moment before he looks back at his guards, not paying him any attention for once, and then back at Gonzalo’s face.
He smiles.
Ten minutes later, his hood pulled low over his head, Leo’s slipping out a side door of the hotel. There’s a muffin tucked in his pocket, something Gonzalo snagged from the hotel staff on their way out, but after being outside for just a few seconds he can feel it disintegrating in his pocket. He shovels it into his mouth quickly and Gonzalo laughs at him.
They walk along the street quietly for a long time. The rain doesn’t let up and Leo thinks idly that maybe they should have brought umbrellas, or something, because if he gets sick now he’s screwed. But on the whole he doesn’t mind it that much, even as his jeans stick to his legs and water drips in his eyes.
Gonzalo doesn’t even have a hood on, lifts his face to the sky. Leo watches rivulets of water snake below his collar for a beat too long before he looks away, skims his foot over a puddle.
“My security’s gonna freak,” he says, lifting his voice so Gonzalo will be able to hear him over the drum of the rain on the pavement.
Gonzalo shrugs. “Did you bring your phone?” he asks, and Leo shakes his head no. He doesn’t even have money, or ID, not that anything would have survived the downpour anyway. “Whatever,” he says. “It’s their job to worry.”
Leo kicks at another puddle, splashing Gonzalo’s jeans. Gonzalo pretends to glare at him, but his jeans are already soaked through anyway, so. “They’ll probably call my brother,” Leo says.
Gonzalo eyes him, trying in vain to brush the water out of his eyes. After a moment he steps under an overhang, and Leo stops in front of him. “You’re close to your brother?” Gonzalo asks. He bunches his sweatshirt up and squeezes some of the water out of it.
“Yeah,” Leo muses, pulling his hood back and shaking out his hair. “Both of them. My whole family.”
“That’s cool,” Gonzalo says.
“And you?” Leo asks. “Your family doesn’t live here?”
“My family’s in Spain,” Gonzalo says, not looking at Leo. “Well, some of them are here, but-it’s like some of them just appeared out of nowhere, you know? Like, I don’t really know them.”
Leo laughs. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And for a moment they regard each other quietly, smiling.
They’re standing in front of a library. The rain seems to be getting worse and Gonzalo suggests they go in; Leo pulls his hood back up and nods.
It’s empty inside, and they stand in the entrance dripping on the floor until a glaring librarian makes his way over. When he recognizes them, he lightens up noticeably, finding them towels and asking for a autographs “for his nephew,” which they’re happy to provide.
When they’re dry enough, Gonzalo starts to wander around the library, picking up a book here and there and reading the back before he replaces it. Leo follows him, trailing his fingers over the spines of books and feeling a little lost. After awhile he spies a biography of Maradona and plucks it out, sitting down on the floor to page through it.
A few minutes later Gonzalo finds his way back and sinks to the floor next to Leo, flipping through his own book. Leo glances up, trying to see the cover.
“What is that?” he asks finally.
Gonzalo holds it so Leo can see the cover. It’s a shot of the night sky, a cluster of stars and some planets. “It’s an astronomy book,” he says when Leo looks back at him blankly.
“You got a book on astronomy?” Leo asks. “Why?”
“Oh, because your book on-“ Gonzalo reaches out, tilts Leo’s book up to read the cover. He rolls his eyes. “Maradona. You already know Maradona, why would you need a book on him?”
“Why would you need a book on astronomy?” Leo counters.
“Because I don’t know anything about it,” Gonzalo says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“But you’re a footballer.”
“So are you! So why would you need a book about football?” Gonzalo says it like he’s won something.
“You don’t make any sense,” Leo says, shaking his head.
“Ah, I think it’s you who don’t make any sense, my friend,” Gonzalo says, and goes back to paging through his book. A few minutes later Leo peers up at him without lifting his head; he’s smiling to himself.
They sit mostly in silence for awhile longer, until Leo says, “We should get back. I don’t want my family to worry.” For a second Gonzalo looks like he wants to argue with him, but in the end he doesn’t, just stands and holds a hand out to pull Leo up.
The rain has let up but the streets are still quiet, and Leo’s fine with them walking slowly back, their elbows bumping.
“Did you know that shooting stars are actually dust particles?” Gonzalo asks when it’s been silent for too long.
Leo laughs. “Shut up.”
“You know that’s cool. You can impress people with that little fact at parties.”
Leo rolls his eyes and nudges Gonzalo gently. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Also, in five million years, a day will be 48 hours long.”
Leo considers that one, and finally says, “I guess that’s pretty cool.”
“And then the sun will explode.”
“Oh.”
When they reach the hotel one of Leo’s guards is standing outside, giving him a scathing look as they amble up. Leo just shrugs; the guard reaches for a phone and shepherds Leo in the door, sticking close to his side.
Once they’re in the lobby, headed for the elevator, Leo looks back. Gonzalo is just standing there; he holds up a hand and gestures towards the front desk, starts to say, “I’m just going to-“
But the guard is pulling Leo away quickly and Gonzalo cuts himself off, gives Leo a short wave. And Leo doesn’t know why but he keeps looking back, even after Gonzalo has turned away, watches the way he leans over the front desk, the way the girl there smiles too brightly. Leo watches.
It stops raining and Leo shoots his commercial the next day. His flight back to Rosario is that night. He doesn’t see Gonzalo again.
Every few days, when he’s at home, he’ll wake up to a text.
Did you know the Mariana trench in the Pacific Ocean is deeper than Mount Everest is tall?
Did you know that the smallest bone in the human bone is the stirrup, in the middle ear?
Did you know that there are at least 20 active volcanoes right this minute?
They make Leo smile, maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. The texts stop coming.
The day before Leo leaves, he has lunch with his brother. Rodrigo still makes him take security, but when he’s around they hang further back, give him a little more space.
“You excited for the tournament?” Rodrigo asks between bites of steak. Leo’s jealous; he picks at his fish and vegetables.
“Yeah, of course,” he says.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” Rodrigo is studying him.
“I don’t get nervous about playing football,” he says, laughing and reaching for his water.
His brother observes him carefully before going back to his steak. “I don’t know,” he says in between mouthfuls. “You seem nervous about something.”
Leo eats his fish and doesn’t think about that.
He goes back to Buenos Aires, to Ezeiza, for the Copa America training camp.
On the first day of training, Leo’s the last to arrive and the dressing room is empty. When he gets to the pitch he makes the rounds of his teammates he hasn’t seen since the last call-up; hugs Kun and Carlos and Ever. Finally he reaches Gonzalo who slaps his hand and smiles widely. Leo looks up, tries to catch his eye, but the sun is behind him and his face is just a shadow. For a moment he pauses, letting his eyes adjust, and in that time Gonzalo laughs, pulls him in close and says into his ear, so no one else can hear, “Read any good books lately?” Leo laughs; something in his chest lifts.
This is their routine: during the day, at training, Leo sticks with Kun and with Javier and Gaby, because that’s what’s normal and that’s what he’s always done and if there’s anything that makes him feel comfortable, it’s sticking to habits.
And at night, in his hotel room, there will be a knock on the door and he’ll open it without looking. Gonzalo will come in; sometimes he’ll bring a book and read on the bed while Leo plays computer games, and sometimes they’ll play videogames side by side, or sometimes he’ll bring something he thinks Leo would like to read, and pretend to read his own book while not so subtly watching Leo. One thing they don’t do is talk much.
Leo doesn’t tell anyone that this is happening, not Kun and not Javier and not Gaby, and he doesn’t let himself think about why.
“Starting to get restless already,” Kun says one morning. They’re at practice; Kun’s helping Leo stretch, leaning over him so his face blocks out the sun.
Leo squints up at him and laughs. “We haven’t even played any games yet.”
Kun shrugs and looks around. “We should have a PES tournament tonight,” he suggests, pushing down on Leo’s leg.
Leo’s quiet. His first instinct is to say no but he wouldn’t know how to explain that, so, “Oh,” he says noncommittally. “I guess we could.”
Kun studies him idly while he switches legs. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you even though we live in the same building,” he says casually.
Leo closes his eyes, sighs as Kun stretches out his calves. “Well, you always go call home after dinner, so I just… find other stuff to do.”
“Like what?” Kun asks, and Leo knows there’s nothing behind it, no suspicion, just curiosity, but he feels defensive anyway.
He says, “Computer games, calling my family, watching a movie, answering emails, video games, reading…” And it’s all true, those are all things he does, but.
“Since when do you read?” Kun laughs. Leo flushes and hopes Kun doesn’t notice.
“Since always,” he insists.
Kun’s still laughing. “Whatever. Take a break from your books tonight, yeah?”
Leo turns his head to the side, sees Gonzalo standing ten or fifteen feet away, talking to Ever. Gonzalo must feel Leo’s eyes on his face because he turns, smiles slightly. Leo looks back up at Kun. “Yeah, okay,” he says.
Leo wants to tell Gonzalo not to come over that night, but he never gets a second to pull him aside, and even if he had he wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not like they ever planned anything; and he doesn’t know if it would be rude to tell him he has plans with Kun and not invite him.
So he just doesn’t say anything at all, leaves the door cracked when Kun comes in and hopes Gonzalo figures it out.
A couple of other people come too, Javier and the Milito brothers, and once they’re all there he’s happy about it; they’re some of his closest friends and he’d missed spending time with them, all together.
Javier is playing Diego on the Playstation, Barcelona versus Inter, and Leo’s sitting at the desk watching, when he hears a light knock at the door and it swings open slowly.
Gonzalo sticks his head in. Leo can see a magazine tucked under his arm. Everyone gets quiet and looks over at him in the same moment, and Leo concentrates on breathing very evenly.
Gonzalo smiles uncertainly at Leo, but Leo looks away, back at the game. Diego is winning 3-1. It can’t be that long, just a couple seconds, before Gaby says, “Hey,” to Gonzalo and the silence breaks, but it feels a lot longer to Leo, too long, and he doesn’t know why he’s being so weird-he should have said something first, it’s his room.
Gonzalo steps in the room, slaps hands with those not playing, looks at the game and makes a joking remark about how he’s glad to see Barcelona losing. Once people stop paying attention, Leo looks up at him.
“What are you up to?” he asks quietly, keeping his face blank.
Gonzalo looks at him, studies his face quickly, and then back at the television screen. “Just going to read a little, heard you guys and wanted to see what I’m missing.” Leo bites his lip and Gonzalo flashes him a smile. “Thanks for the invite, by the way.”
Leo doesn’t look at him. “Didn’t know you were interested.”
“Hmm,” Gonzalo says. No one’s paying attention to them, and he stares at Leo for too long before he says, “Next time, then.”
After a few more minutes Gonzalo says he’s going to bed and bids everyone goodnight. He hits Leo on the back of the head lightly with his book before he leaves; Leo just says, “See you tomorrow,” and doesn’t meet his eyes.
Later, when he’s in bed for the night but can’t sleep, Leo thinks about texting him, to apologize for something he’s not sure about, or tell him he should come next time, that Leo should have invited him, or just to ask if he’s coming over tomorrow night. In the morning he wakes up with his phone in his hand, text unsent. He rubs his face, knows he’s getting in too deep.
Gonzalo sits next to him at lunch.
He doesn’t say anything, just sets his plate down and starts eating. Over his head, Leo catches Kun’s eye and shrugs lightly; Kun shrugs back and goes to sit next to Eze.
When Javier turns away to talk to someone else, Leo eyes Gonzalo out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up?” he asks eventually.
Gonzalo shovels a mouthful of veggies into his mouth, raises his eyebrows at Leo and shrugs. It takes him a long time to chew and swallow, and when he does, he just says, “Just eating. You?”
Leo laughs and tries not to look uncomfortable. “Same.”
Gonzalo doesn’t say another word, to him or anyone else, until his finishes his lunch and sets his napkin on his plate. He looks like he’s about to get up, but instead he leans in, says, “Leo?”
Leo turns to him with a questioning look.
He drops his voice low enough that no one around them will hear; Leo has to lean in to catch his words. “There’s only so much I can do, you know?”
Leo can’t look away or respond or move, just stares at him, wonders if he’s saying what Leo thinks he’s saying. Gonzalo stays still for a moment, looking back at him, and then he picks up his tray and walks away and leaves Leo there staring, barely breathing, until Javier pokes him and he falls back to earth.
That night he doesn’t even pretend he’s doing anything but waiting, but Gonzalo doesn’t come and doesn’t come and Leo knows he has to do something but he doesn’t know if he can, if he should, if he wants to; if Gonzalo really wants him to or if he’s reading the whole thing wrong after all.
Leo knows, in his head, in his heart, that he needs to take a step back. He knows that.
He goes to Gonzalo’s room.
He knocks lightly on the door, almost light enough Gonzalo won’t hear it. He thinks-half hopes-Gonzalo isn’t there, won’t open up. He’s about to turn around, go back to his own room and try to forget this whole thing, when the door swings open.
Gonzalo doesn’t look surprised to see him, but he doesn’t look happy either. He doesn’t look anything. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, water trickling down his neck from his hair.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says, taking a step back instinctively. “I could-I’ll come back.” He knows if he leaves, he won’t.
Gonzalo shrugs and steps back, opening the door wider. After a moment’s hesitation, Leo steps in, careful not to touch him, not to look at him. He smells like soap and aftershave.
“I’ll be right back,” Gonzalo says, and he steps into the bathroom, only shutting the door halfway. Leo sinks onto the bed, takes a deep breath. He’s just about made up his mind to leave when Gonzalo comes out again, a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips, his chest still bare.
He bends to rummage through his suitcase, says, “So what’s up?” without looking up at Leo. And Leo doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want Gonzalo to make him say it.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. Gonzalo freezes, then looks up at him. He doesn’t say anything; his face is blank.
“For last night,” Leo forges on. “I was a dick and I don’t know why.”
Gonzalo stands and turns toward the chest of drawers behind him, so he’s not facing Leo when he says, “You don’t?”
Leo gropes for words for a moment, sliding his hands down the front of his track pants. “I,” he says. “No.”
Gonzalo straightens up and turns toward him. He looks at Leo, studies his face, and sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Leo.”
Leo just looks at him dumbly. He walks closer, until he’s right in front of Leo, until Leo could reach out and touch him. Leo’s fingers twitch but he concentrates on keeping very still.
Gonzalo reaches out, ghosts a hand over the top of Leo’s hair. He’s not meeting Leo’s eyes but he smiles to himself before he pulls his hand away and starts to step back, and then Leo shoots his own hand out, fists it in the side of Gonzalo’s sweats, holding him in place, his other hand gripping the comforter beneath him. Gonzalo looks down at him in surprise.
“I just, I need,” Leo says, almost to himself, and after a long silence Leo realizes Gonzalo’s getting closer, he’s leaning down, closer, closer, and Leo’s hands might shake if they weren’t gripped in fabric, but then Gonzalo stops, a breath away. Waits.
Leo moves his hands from Gonzalo’s pants, from the comforter, moves one up to Gonzalo’s shoulder and one around his waist. Pulls him in as he backs up on the bed, pulls Gonzalo over him.
“What will it be like,” he mutters, his lips close to Gonzalo’s ear, still pulling him up the bed with him, “when the sun explodes?”
And Gonzalo freezes at that, just for a second, and then laughs, breathily, into Leo’s neck. “I don’t know,” he says, his nose pressing into Leo’s cheek, his eyes closed, “I don’t know. Hot, I guess.”
Leo pulls him down, wants to feel the weight of him on top of him. He’s still damp from the shower, getting the front of Leo’s shirt wet, and Leo’s hand in his hair is soaked but Leo holds him there, holds him there.
Leo lifts his knee, so Gonzalo slides between his legs, their groins aligning, and Gonzalo groans. “You should find out,” Leo says, shifting his hips slightly, his mouth still close to Gonzalo’s ear.
“What?” Gonzalo asks, breathless.
Leo laughs. “What it will be like.”
“Oh,” he says, and he grinds down into Leo, lifting his upper body up with him arms so he can look down at Leo. “Right.”
“I mean it just seems like an important detail-“ Leo starts, but then Gonzalo ducks his head, pauses a breath away from Leo’s lips. His breath is minty.
“Leo,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Leo starts to smile but it’s cut off when Gonzalo’s lips crash against his own, pushing his lips back against his teeth. Leo doesn’t mind.
“I stopped by your room last night.”
Leo’s stretching and almost tumbles over; the voice at his elbow surprises him. Kun grabs his elbow to steady him and smirks.
“What?” Leo asks. He yawns, pulls his hat lower over his ears. It’s cold out, early.
“I stopped by your room after I called home to see what you were up to. But you weren’t there,” Kun says. He kicks a ball over to Leo and Leo sits down on top of it, crossing his arms over his knees and laying his head down. He’s tired; he barely slept.
Leo just says, “Oh.” When Kun seems to be waiting for something, he says, “What time was it? Maybe I was in the shower.”
Kun eyes him, says, “I don’t know, nine? I didn’t hear the shower.”
Leo makes a face, like, well, I don’t know, shrugs lightly. Across the pitch Gonzalo is warming up with Ezequiel and Fernando. He doesn’t look over at Leo, but he yawns. Leo smiles, buries his face in his arms so Kun won’t see.
They have rules, things that come up by the day that they add to a list, ways to make their lives easier.
They sleep in their own rooms, that’s Leo’s rule, because he never knows when Kun will show up for a wake up call or a night cap or for no reason whatsoever and there’s only so much he can explain away.
No being obvious around the others, that’s Leo’s rule too. “It’s not that I don’t want them to know,” he says one evening, pushing his fingertips into Gonzalo’s spine. Gonzalo keeps his eyes closed but hums so Leo knows he’s listening. “I just don’t want to it be awkward.”
So it becomes a rule.
No sex is another of Leo’s rules. Upon reflection, most of the rules are Leo’s, but he never thinks of them that way, thinks of them as their rules, things they came up with together.
“No,” he says, on one of the first nights, pushing Gonzalo’s hands away.
Gonzalo sits back on his heels, gives a comical huff. “Why?” he whines, drawing the syllables out.
Leo laughs, pushes his shoulder playfully. “You know sex isn’t allowed in concentration.”
Gonzalo leans in, rests his chin on Leo’s shoulders. “No, I’m pretty sure the rule is no wives or girlfriends in the concentration. I don’t see any wives or girlfriends, do you?”
But Leo shoves him off, says, “No,” laughing, and they don’t talk about it any more.
Leo thinks no club talk is an unspoken rule, but Gonzalo breaks it one day right before their first game.
“Are you nervous?” he says. Leo’s reading a magazine on the bed; Gonzalo’s laying on his stomach, half hanging off the edge.
“About what?” Leo asks, only half paying attention. Gonzalo kicks at his thigh and Leo grabs his foot, holds it still.
“About the tournament,” Gonzalo says, and his tone says, duh.
Leo sets his magazine down and looks at Gonzalo, but he’s looking at the floor, picking at the comforter.
“Not really,” Leo says. He watches as Gonzalo studiously avoids looking at him, rubs the sole of his foot. “Being nervous won’t help anything.” The latter statement, at least, is true.
Gonzalo moves his foot out of Leo’s grasp, rolls over so he’s looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, I guess you don’t have to.”
Leo waits for him to explain, but his jaw is clamped shut, so, “What does that mean?” He’s not being snippy; he really doesn’t know what it means.
“Like, at least you’re successful with Barcelona,” Gonzalo says, and he still doesn’t look over. “At least you have that.”
“I’m not,” Leo starts, “That’s not fair-“
“Nevermind,” Gonzalo says quickly. He turns to Leo, meets his eyes, and then rolls over, off the bed. Leo thinks maybe he’s leaving and Leo doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what he did, but then Gonzalo’s over him, on top of him, heavy but comfortable.
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Gonzalo says, his face close to Leo’s, their noses touching, and Leo nods. It’s Gonzalo’s first rule.
They win the first game of the Copa America, and then they win their second. Gonzalo starts neither and Leo starts both.
Leo thinks about saying, “Talk to me,” when it’s late and Gonzalo’s face is drawn, when he spaces out and Leo can see the bob of his throat, too fast, too many times, but Leo can’t remember if there’s a rule about this, can’t remember if Gonzalo’s rule was about clubs or about anything that pulls them apart, puts them in competition, upsets them about their job.
So he doesn’t say anything. Touches Gonzalo’s hands and his face and his hair, as if it could change something. As if he could be enough.
Leo starts to think Kun knows.
“I think Kun knows,” he says one evening. His legs are sore; he’s pushing a foam roller over them, sitting on the floor. Gonzalo’s on his laptop, in bed.
“Knows what?” he mumbles, squinting at the screen. His face is lit up, soft and blue.
“Knows,” Leo says, bent over his leg. He looks up at Gonzalo. “About. You. And whatever.”
Gonzalo flicks his eyes over from the screen, looks down at Leo. His face remains passive, makes Leo uncomfortable. Leo looks back down, massages the back of his calf.
“Okay,” Gonzalo says, drawing the word out, like, what am I supposed to say about that.
“I just,” Leo says. “It’s weird.”
After another moment Gonzalo sets his laptop off to the side and focuses on Leo completely. “What’s weird?”
Leo picks at the foam roller, bounces his leg, wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. “I don’t know,” he says. “Just, like… I don’t know.”
Gonzalo is quiet, his mouth pressed into a thin line that Leo hasn’t seen before. After it’s quiet for a long time, he says, “I’m kind of tired,” and Leo knows what that means, has used that line before.
He leaves knowing he did something wrong, but he isn’t sure when or what.
Gonzalo starts in the quarterfinals and in the seventy-third minute, Leo slides a pass to him, an errant backheel that Gonzalo manages to control and Leo doesn’t even see how it happens, just sees the sway of the net, hears the swish of the ball colliding against the back of it, and then his teammates are streaking across the pitch, arms out, mouths wide in cries of joy.
And Leo runs toward them, only half aware of his own screaming. Gonzalo points at him, his face lit up with joy, says, “You!” And Leo just ducks his head, holds on to his waist tightly, because it was all him.
Gonzalo keeps his arm around Leo as they return to their positions, says in Leo’s ear, “We’re going to win,” and he says it like a fact, like the things he would say when Leo first got to know him, Did you know there are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on earth, Did you know it takes the average person 7 minutes to fall asleep.
Leo wants to say, I knew that one, but instead he just smiles.
They’re wrong, though. They don’t win. They lose in the semifinal.
Down two in the seventy-fifth minute and Leo almost can’t believe it when he sees his number on the substitution board. He looks, looks again, realizes it is a 10 and he’s being taken out and they’re losing.
Gonzalo’s already out, gone when they went down one, and he looks up at Leo when he walks by the bench but Leo doesn’t look at him, not at him and not at anyone else because he shouldn’t be there, he should be on the pitch, because there are still fifteen minutes left and he can do this, they can do anything in fifteen minutes and he should be there.
But he’s on the bench, and they don’t do anything in fifteen minutes. Leo doesn’t even watch the end; instead he stares over the back of the bleachers, the stretch of sky there, and for a moment-just a split second, before he can stop himself-he misses the Barcelona sky, the way the air smells there.
The shrill whistle pierces through his thoughts, brings him back to earth, where the game is over and they lost and he’s sitting on the bench. The rest of the bench shuffles off toward the dressing room, but Leo doesn’t move a muscle. His teammates drag themselves off the pitch; Javier pats his cheek as he walks by, but Leo can see his eyes glazed over, thoughts somewhere else. Gaby takes his arm, lifts him up and toward the dressing room. He notices, idly, that Gonzalo hadn’t left, is still sitting there staring at the pitch, looking as dazed as Leo feels, but Leo walks by him silently, doesn’t try to make eye contact or any contact at all.
The dressing room is silent and it hurts Leo’s head; it’s not South Africa but a silent dressing room is a silent dressing room and Leo knows it too well, can’t believe he’s back there again.
Leo undresses slowly, peels his sweaty shirt off his back and then sits, brooding, silent, staring into his locker. He thinks about how tomorrow it will be empty, and his things will be back in an equipment room, because he’ll have no need for them.
There’s a reporter wandering around the room, sticking his microphone into people’s faces and mostly getting ignored. He turns to Leo and Leo can almost see the headlines running through his head, Messi fails, or, Where’s our Messiah?
Leo turns his back to the man, a silent warning not to approach. He doesn’t.
Gonzalo does, though, comes up to Leo and reaches out as if to touch him, but when Leo doesn’t react he settles for just hanging on to the edge of his sleeve a little bit, his face guarded.
“Leo?” he says. “Do you want to…?” Leo doesn’t even know what he’s asking and doesn’t have the energy to find out. He moves out of Gonzalo’s grip, not forcefully, but slowly, deliberately.
“I can’t,” he says, and he thinks his voice is as tired as he feels. “I really, I can’t.” He doesn’t look over but he feels Gonzalo standing there a second longer, hesitating, and then hears him move away. Leo grabs his towel and shuffles toward the shower, keeping his head down the whole way.
He’s one of the first on the bus, a hood over his head and headphones in his ears, not playing anything but just giving him an excuse not to interact with anyone, not to respond when they speak to him. When he feels someone sit down next to him he figures it’s Kun and doesn’t look up, but a moment later there are hands at his ears, pulling the buds out, and he looks up in annoyance to see Gaby.
“Leo,” he says, that’s all, just his name, and Leo breathes out, looks at his face and breathes because Gaby’s the only one who knows and gets it and who he doesn’t have to explain to. He moves to lay his head on Gaby’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says softly. Gaby pinches his leg.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “This isn’t your fault.”
“If they’d left me in,” Leo starts to say, but Gaby pinches his leg again.
“If they’d left you in, who knows?” Leo grunts; he knows Gaby’s right but he doesn’t want to admit it.
The bus is quiet, only occasional hushed murmurs filtering through to Leo, and he lets his eyes shut, lets himself rest. “I just really thought we could do it,” he mumbles, not sure Gaby can even hear him.
It takes a few moments, but Gaby says, “Yeah, kid, we all did.”
And Leo doesn’t really want to think about it, doesn’t want to talk about it, but it’s what he’s thinking and it’s Gaby so he says, “They’re going to tear me apart.” And Gaby doesn’t say anything but throws an arm around his shoulders, kisses the top of his head.
It’s not until they’re getting off the bus that Leo notices that Gonzalo was sitting right in front of them, notices the stiff set of his shoulders and the way he doesn’t look at Leo at all.
Leo’s giving his mom his flight information and packing his hotel room up when there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and Gonzalo’s there, not looking at him but down the hall instead, and Leo studies his profile, the tightness of his jaw. “I have to go, Mom,” he says, and hangs up before she can say anything.
Gonzalo doesn’t wait and doesn’t look at Leo before he pushes past, into his room. Leo closes the door and just stands, looks at his back, his shoulders rising with deep breathes, and then Gonzalo spins and his eyes are flashing in a way Leo hasn’t seen before.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” he says, his voice full of venom, and Leo shrinks back the slightest bit. “You’ll talk to Gaby but not me, right? You won’t talk to me, and you don’t want anyone to know we’re-whatever we are and you barely let me touch you or know you at all anyway, right? So what am I doing? What am I doing, Leo?”
Leo regards him with wide eyes, not knowing how to respond. “I don’t-“ he starts to say, and Gonzalo laughs, ugly and mean.
“You don’t know. Right,” he says, and Leo just stares and they stand in silence for a long time before Gonzalo says, “Have a nice trip home, then,” and it’s much quieter than before, sad, maybe, and when he walks out the click of the door behind him is soft but Leo flinches anyway.
He doesn’t have that many days off before he’s due back in Barcelona so he just goes home to his parents’ house, where they let him mope around in his pajamas for two days before his mom wakes him up early on the third day, pulling open the blinds in his bedroom to let the sunlight spill over his bed. He squints up at her and groans.
“That’s enough, Leo,” she says, sitting next to him on his bed and brushing back his hair. It makes him feel very small. “You have grieved for two days and now it’s time to get back up. There are more important things in life than winning or losing a game.”
Leo watches her walk out, blinking against the sunlight. Before he can stop himself he thinks, if only it were about a game, and then he gets out of bed anyway.
Leo was a jerk, he knows, and that’s why he surprised when he opens the door of his parents’ house in Rosario and Gonzalo is there on the doorstep, scuffing his feet across their welcome mat.
“I,” he says, and Gonzalo looks up, offering a crooked smile, bashful, almost.
Leo just gapes at him and he’s glad no one is home to come investigate because Leo couldn’t explain when they asked. “What are you… why are you here?” he asks, and it sounds rude when he doesn’t mean to be, but it’s what he’s thinking.
Gonzalo glances down the street, says, “Ah, can I come in?” And Leo didn’t even realize he was still standing there, blocking the door, but he steps aside and tries not to stare as Gonzalo steps into his house, past him.
They go in the backyard, where it’s cool and shady, and they sit on the huge swing set Leo bought for when his nieces and nephews come over. It’s breezy and they sway back and forth, knees bumping each other, but they don’t talk for a long time.
The thing is that Leo wants to say something but doesn’t know how. He thinks there’s probably a book for this, something that already had the words for him, that could tell him all the right things to say when his brain doesn’t cooperate. He thinks maybe if he just knew a fact, something like, Did you know that being in love has the same biological effect as being on drugs, or Did you know you can actually have withdrawals from a person, and Gonzalo would understand and it wouldn’t be so hard.
Instead he stumbles, says, “I’m just-I’m not good at a lot of things.” Gonzalo looks up at him, his face creased with confusion, and Leo looks away so it’s easier to finish, tries to explain.
“I’m good at football,” he says. “And…” he gestures around the yard, to the house, “Taking care of my family.” He looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together. “Which are really the same thing, I guess,” he mumbles, and when he looks up Gonzalo is looking out over the yard, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to understand.
Leo sighs. “I’m not good at other things. Other people,” he says, and Gonzalo looks over at him, the confusion clearing from his face. “I don’t… I don’t remember important things, or read people well, or know what they want.” He shrugs, looks up at the sky. He can feel Gonzalo’s eyes on the side of his face. “I only know what I want.”
Gonzalo doesn’t say anything and Leo doesn’t even know if he’s making sense, but he looks at Gonzalo, catches his eye and says, “But I want to know. I do.”
And after a long moment Gonzalo smiles. He says, “Okay. Then I’ll tell you.” And Leo thinks, maybe it’s good, then, that he doesn’t always have words, usually doesn’t, because then Gonzalo can give them to him, and that’s important too.
He reaches out, spreads his fingers against the material of Gonzalo’s jeans, feels the warmth of his skin through the material. Their swings twist and sway in the breeze, their legs tangle, and Leo looks up at Gonzalo’s face, bright and happy, like looking into the sun, and he says, “So… read any good books lately?”
Gonzalo grins. “Just one,” he says. “A biography. Some football player named Messi.”
Leo pulls his hand back as he laughs, twisting his swing away from Gonzalo. “But you know him,” he says, pulling a confused face. “Why would you need a book on him?”
“I wasn’t sure I did,” comes the reply, soft and serious, and Leo swings back around to face him.
“Did you know he’d kill someone for his mom’s dulce de leche?” Leo says, kicking his feet out to hook around Gonzalo’s knees. “Did you know he used to steal alfajores out of the cupboard and hide them under his mattress?”
Gonzalo laughs. “I do now,” he says, his fingers reaching out to tangle with Leo’s. “Tell me more.”
Leo presses his fingertips into the back of Gonzalo’s hand, holding on tight. “Plenty of time for that,” he says.
pairing: leo messi/gonzalo higuain
words: ~8700
rating: pg13
notes: for luxover; prompted here
Leo sees him in the elevator. He almost doesn’t; he keeps his head down and his bodyguards, tall and looming in front of him and to his sides, block most of his line of vision anyway. But they get in the elevator and he lifts his head for just a second, just long enough to catch his eye, and then.
“Leo!” His voice is surprised. He’s alone, no bodyguards or anything, and Leo would be jealous except that he’s learned how to tamp that down, not think about it. “Hey!”
“Hey,” he says quietly, “Pipita, hey.” He shoulders past a bodyguard, ducks his head into Gonzalo’s shoulder briefly, feels the other man’s arms come up around him, his breath in Leo’s hair.
“I didn’t know you were here,” Gonzalo says, stepping back. A smile stretches across his face, open and happy. Leo thinks it’s hard to look directly at him.
“Yeah,” he says. The elevator moves swiftly. Leo pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “For Copa advertisement stuff. You?”
“Yeah, same,” he says, and he keeps smiling at Leo, like he’s genuinely happy to see him but Leo isn’t quite sure why because they’re not really friends, barely know each other, but maybe Gonzalo’s just bored, or lonely, or-Leo doesn’t know.
“At the stadium?” Gonzalo asks, as the elevator stops a few floors down and Leo’s guards ask the guests to wait for the next one. Leo doesn’t look at their faces.
“Ah, no,” he says. “I think at a school or something. I’m not sure. Not the stadium.”
The elevator gets to the lobby and the guards step out first, look around while Leo ducks his head and walks out behind them. Gonzalo touches the small of his back, still smiling as he passes by them without a second glance around.
“Hey, we should get dinner later, yeah?” And Leo doesn’t know why they ever would, doesn’t know if they’ve ever eaten together before or had a conversation in more than passing, but he says, “Yeah, sure,” the way people do when they’re making plans they have no intention of keeping.
He lifts his hand in a half wave and throws Gonzalo a tight smile before he shuffles out the door behind his guards, leaves Gonzalo in the lobby behind him, steps into the sun.
Leo doesn’t actually have anywhere to be, but they go to a shopping center near the hotel with a Dolce & Gabbana; they close off part of the store for him, so it’s quiet, cool, and his guards don’t insist on standing right next to him.
It’s no secret that Leo doesn’t talk much, isn’t a big conversationalist, but sometimes he tries to talk to the big men who surround him, ask about their families or where they’re from, something, but they don’t really answer. Once, one of them had said coldly, his sunglasses glinting in the light, “I’m sorry, Mr. Messi, it’s just that I’m trying to work.”
When they leave the store there’s a crowd of people outside clamoring for a look at him, yelling his name, and he tells the guards-tells them, doesn’t ask, as if he could defy them if he wanted to-that he’s going to stop for a minute, and they grudgingly consent.
It doesn’t take even a minute, it’s a just a split second, when he steps out into the crowd before they surge around him, and then there’s hands everywhere, on his face and his arms, pulling at his clothes, people screaming in his ear, adults near tears, and he feels-he feels badly for them, that he can’t give them what they want, because he doesn’t know what that is and he probably isn’t what they think anyway, and he feels confused and a little bit overwhelmed and a little bit proud, because these are his people and they love him, at least for now-
He signs a few things and then his guards are around him again, a bubble of security allowing him to breath. He pulls a sleeve down quickly, so they won’t see the scratches on his arm.
When they get back to the hotel a few hours later, Leo glances over from the lobby and sees Gonzalo in the hotel bar.
He’s got his hood over his head-a black sweatshirt-and he’s slouched over a drink, keeping his face down. Leo doesn’t even know how he knows that it’s Gonzalo, but he does, he recognizes the slope of his shoulders or the curve of his spine, something, and he heads over to the bar before he can really think why.
He touches Gonzalo’s back, warm through his sweatshirt, and then pulls back. Gonzalo turns, his face guarded, but when he sees Leo he brightens.
“Hey! You’re back!” He sounds happy but keeps his voice low, even though the two men shadowing Leo give them away anyway.
Leo shrugs. “Yeah.” He eyes the glass in Gonzalo’s hands, asks, “What are you doing?”
Gonzalo shrugs, smiles, a bit ruefully. “I’m on vacation, kind of,” he says, and he swirls the glass around. Leo thinks it looks sad, empty.
“Oh,” Leo says, and then, wishing he hadn’t mentioned anything at all, half wishing he hadn’t come in the bar, “I was going to get dinner.” He doesn’t really invite Gonzalo but the offer hangs in the air between them anyway.
“Hey, yeah,” Gonzalo says, turning toward Leo and looking more animated. “I was looking at the restaurant here in the hotel and it actually looked pretty good.”
Leo glances at his guards, whispering to each other. “Okay,” he says.
Gonzalo smiles. “Yeah?” he says. “Cool.” He reaches in his pockets, throws some bills on the bar and slides out of his seat, but Leo’s not moving, not watching, and Gonzalo slides right into him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, moving away, “Sorry.”
But Gonzalo just smiles, says, “It’s okay,” and, “Should we…” gesturing over to the restaurant.
“Oh,” Leo says, and his face is hot, “I think-- My security is just going to make sure we can get a table in the back. I can’t really sit out in front…” and he knows he doesn’t have to explain but feels like he needs to anyway.
Gonzalo just nods and leans back against the bar easily. He doesn’t say anything else, and Leo wonders what they’re even going to talk about, alone for a whole meal.
In the end, though, it’s easier than he thought; Gonzalo is open, talkative, everything Leo isn’t, and he keeps Leo laughing through dinner with tales of their teammates, the jokes they played on Angel when he first came and stories about going out with Garay.
“You did not do that during the season,” Leo says disbelievingly after one story about a night out in Madrid with Eze.
“Yes!” Gonzalo insists, his eyes flashing in sincerity, and he grabs Leo’s arm as if to convince him that way. Leo laughs and looks down. “I mean, I was injured and Eze wasn’t playing anyway, so it’s not like it mattered,” and it’s the first time he’s mentioned his injury, the season he’s had, and also the first time they lapse into silence.
Leo starts to ask, “How’s your back now?” at the same time Gonzalo says, “How’s your food?” They both say, “It’s fine,” simultaneously and laugh.
“That’s good,” Leo says; he doesn’t look up. “We’ve missed you at call ups,” and he doesn’t know why he says it, wishes he hadn’t; in truth he hadn’t really thought about it, but now-
But Gonzalo just laughs a little and says, “Well, thanks.”
Eventually Gonzalo starts asking him questions, looking genuinely interested. Asks about Barcelona (“It’s good”), his family (“They’re fine”), his vacation plans (“Go home, I guess”), his girlfriend (“Broke up”).
After awhile he stops and just looks at Leo, smiling, and Leo thinks he’s missing something. He wonders if he has food on his face. “What?” he asks finally.
“You’re not an easy person to get close to, are you?” And that’s not at all what Leo was expecting, but Gonzalo doesn’t hesitate when he says it.
Leo thinks about laughing it off, saying, “You’re sitting pretty close to me now,” maybe, or, “That’s what the guards are for.” Instead he asks, “Is anyone?”
Gonzalo just says, “Hmm.”
Gonzalo insists on paying for dinner (“I’m just charging it to the room,” he says, with a conspiratory smile, “So really the federation is paying”) and trails Leo out of the restaurant towards the elevators. Leo wonders if he’s imagining that Gonzalo is walking close to him, but he feels his hand brush his back a few times and knows he isn’t.
Leo sees his guards fall into step behind them and ducks away from Gonzalo, hitting the button for the elevator. Gonzalo just smiles at him as easily as ever.
Leo moves to the back of the elevator and Gonzalo leans against the wall next to him, so their arms are pressed up against each other. Leo’s security stands in front of them, facing the elevator doors. When Leo glances over, Gonzalo is looking at him.
“I had fun,” he says, quietly even though the elevator’s so small everyone can hear him anyway.
Leo looks away, squints at the camera in the corner of the elevator. “Yeah,” he says noncommittally.
Gonzalo laughs softly next to him, nudges his shoulder, but Leo doesn’t know what it means.
The elevator glides to a stop at Leo’s floor and he pushes off the wall. His guards go out in front of them, keep walking down the hall, so Leo pauses, looks back at Gonzalo, still lounging against the back wall.
“So-see you,” he says lamely.
“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “If not tomorrow, then I guess see you at call ups.” He reaches out, just touches one of Leo’s arms, lightly, and then he leans back again and Leo skitters out, turning his back before the doors slide all the way shut.
Leo wakes up the next morning without an alarm. When he manages to clear his bleary eyes, he realizes it’s past his call time for the commercial and stumbles into the hallway sleepily, looking for an explanation.
“Your shoot was rained out, Mr. Messi,” the guard outside his door says coolly; once he mentions it, Leo can hear the steady drum from outside.
He looks down the hall towards one of the large windows for a glimpse out, but there’s a shadowy figure blocking the view. The figure turns, and there’s just enough light coming in around him that Leo can see it’s Gonzalo. A smile spreads across his face as he starts walking towards Leo, who’s suddenly acutely aware he’s in his boxers.
“Hey,” Leo says, his voice is still thick with sleep. “Um, just a sec, let me get dressed.” He slips back into his rooms and into some jeans, throws on a hoodie, and when he goes back into the hall Gonzalo is chatting with one of his guards. Leo throws the guard an offended look before he can stop himself.
“Your shoot got canceled too, huh?” Gonzalo asks.
Leo stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocks on his heels. “Yep.” He wants to ask what Gonzalo is doing on his floor, but he doesn’t.
Gonzalo looks at him and back to the guards sitting quietly outside his room. He grabs Leo’s sleeve and starts moving back toward the end of the hall, where the window is. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Leo stumbles down the hallway behind him, yawning. His stomach growls and Gonzalo glances back at him with a grin. When they reach the window, Leo peers out, but he doesn’t seen anything; it’s raining hard and the streets are empty and slick.
“I don’t see anything,” he says, when Gonzalo simply stands quietly beside him and looks over the city.
“That’s the point,” Gonzalo says, and he looks at Leo out of the corner of his eye, his lip curling up. Leo doesn’t get it and he says so.
Gonzalo glances down the hall at Leo’s guards, sitting quietly, and he leans in close to Leo, dropping his voice unnecessarily low. “We could go out. No danger out there now.”
Leo stares up at him. “Go outside?” he asks dumbly. “Without my guards?” Gonzalo shrugs and nods. “Why would we want to go out in the rain?”
Gonzalo gazes at him plaintively. “Don’t you get sick of it?” he asks. “You don’t ever just want to be able to walk down the street like a normal guy?”
Leo regards him quietly for a moment before he turns back to look out the window. A lone figure scurries down the slick pavement, a sagging newspaper held over his head. Leo traces a drop of rain down the window with one finger for a moment before he looks back at his guards, not paying him any attention for once, and then back at Gonzalo’s face.
He smiles.
Ten minutes later, his hood pulled low over his head, Leo’s slipping out a side door of the hotel. There’s a muffin tucked in his pocket, something Gonzalo snagged from the hotel staff on their way out, but after being outside for just a few seconds he can feel it disintegrating in his pocket. He shovels it into his mouth quickly and Gonzalo laughs at him.
They walk along the street quietly for a long time. The rain doesn’t let up and Leo thinks idly that maybe they should have brought umbrellas, or something, because if he gets sick now he’s screwed. But on the whole he doesn’t mind it that much, even as his jeans stick to his legs and water drips in his eyes.
Gonzalo doesn’t even have a hood on, lifts his face to the sky. Leo watches rivulets of water snake below his collar for a beat too long before he looks away, skims his foot over a puddle.
“My security’s gonna freak,” he says, lifting his voice so Gonzalo will be able to hear him over the drum of the rain on the pavement.
Gonzalo shrugs. “Did you bring your phone?” he asks, and Leo shakes his head no. He doesn’t even have money, or ID, not that anything would have survived the downpour anyway. “Whatever,” he says. “It’s their job to worry.”
Leo kicks at another puddle, splashing Gonzalo’s jeans. Gonzalo pretends to glare at him, but his jeans are already soaked through anyway, so. “They’ll probably call my brother,” Leo says.
Gonzalo eyes him, trying in vain to brush the water out of his eyes. After a moment he steps under an overhang, and Leo stops in front of him. “You’re close to your brother?” Gonzalo asks. He bunches his sweatshirt up and squeezes some of the water out of it.
“Yeah,” Leo muses, pulling his hood back and shaking out his hair. “Both of them. My whole family.”
“That’s cool,” Gonzalo says.
“And you?” Leo asks. “Your family doesn’t live here?”
“My family’s in Spain,” Gonzalo says, not looking at Leo. “Well, some of them are here, but-it’s like some of them just appeared out of nowhere, you know? Like, I don’t really know them.”
Leo laughs. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And for a moment they regard each other quietly, smiling.
They’re standing in front of a library. The rain seems to be getting worse and Gonzalo suggests they go in; Leo pulls his hood back up and nods.
It’s empty inside, and they stand in the entrance dripping on the floor until a glaring librarian makes his way over. When he recognizes them, he lightens up noticeably, finding them towels and asking for a autographs “for his nephew,” which they’re happy to provide.
When they’re dry enough, Gonzalo starts to wander around the library, picking up a book here and there and reading the back before he replaces it. Leo follows him, trailing his fingers over the spines of books and feeling a little lost. After awhile he spies a biography of Maradona and plucks it out, sitting down on the floor to page through it.
A few minutes later Gonzalo finds his way back and sinks to the floor next to Leo, flipping through his own book. Leo glances up, trying to see the cover.
“What is that?” he asks finally.
Gonzalo holds it so Leo can see the cover. It’s a shot of the night sky, a cluster of stars and some planets. “It’s an astronomy book,” he says when Leo looks back at him blankly.
“You got a book on astronomy?” Leo asks. “Why?”
“Oh, because your book on-“ Gonzalo reaches out, tilts Leo’s book up to read the cover. He rolls his eyes. “Maradona. You already know Maradona, why would you need a book on him?”
“Why would you need a book on astronomy?” Leo counters.
“Because I don’t know anything about it,” Gonzalo says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“But you’re a footballer.”
“So are you! So why would you need a book about football?” Gonzalo says it like he’s won something.
“You don’t make any sense,” Leo says, shaking his head.
“Ah, I think it’s you who don’t make any sense, my friend,” Gonzalo says, and goes back to paging through his book. A few minutes later Leo peers up at him without lifting his head; he’s smiling to himself.
They sit mostly in silence for awhile longer, until Leo says, “We should get back. I don’t want my family to worry.” For a second Gonzalo looks like he wants to argue with him, but in the end he doesn’t, just stands and holds a hand out to pull Leo up.
The rain has let up but the streets are still quiet, and Leo’s fine with them walking slowly back, their elbows bumping.
“Did you know that shooting stars are actually dust particles?” Gonzalo asks when it’s been silent for too long.
Leo laughs. “Shut up.”
“You know that’s cool. You can impress people with that little fact at parties.”
Leo rolls his eyes and nudges Gonzalo gently. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Also, in five million years, a day will be 48 hours long.”
Leo considers that one, and finally says, “I guess that’s pretty cool.”
“And then the sun will explode.”
“Oh.”
When they reach the hotel one of Leo’s guards is standing outside, giving him a scathing look as they amble up. Leo just shrugs; the guard reaches for a phone and shepherds Leo in the door, sticking close to his side.
Once they’re in the lobby, headed for the elevator, Leo looks back. Gonzalo is just standing there; he holds up a hand and gestures towards the front desk, starts to say, “I’m just going to-“
But the guard is pulling Leo away quickly and Gonzalo cuts himself off, gives Leo a short wave. And Leo doesn’t know why but he keeps looking back, even after Gonzalo has turned away, watches the way he leans over the front desk, the way the girl there smiles too brightly. Leo watches.
It stops raining and Leo shoots his commercial the next day. His flight back to Rosario is that night. He doesn’t see Gonzalo again.
Every few days, when he’s at home, he’ll wake up to a text.
Did you know the Mariana trench in the Pacific Ocean is deeper than Mount Everest is tall?
Did you know that the smallest bone in the human bone is the stirrup, in the middle ear?
Did you know that there are at least 20 active volcanoes right this minute?
They make Leo smile, maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. The texts stop coming.
The day before Leo leaves, he has lunch with his brother. Rodrigo still makes him take security, but when he’s around they hang further back, give him a little more space.
“You excited for the tournament?” Rodrigo asks between bites of steak. Leo’s jealous; he picks at his fish and vegetables.
“Yeah, of course,” he says.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” Rodrigo is studying him.
“I don’t get nervous about playing football,” he says, laughing and reaching for his water.
His brother observes him carefully before going back to his steak. “I don’t know,” he says in between mouthfuls. “You seem nervous about something.”
Leo eats his fish and doesn’t think about that.
He goes back to Buenos Aires, to Ezeiza, for the Copa America training camp.
On the first day of training, Leo’s the last to arrive and the dressing room is empty. When he gets to the pitch he makes the rounds of his teammates he hasn’t seen since the last call-up; hugs Kun and Carlos and Ever. Finally he reaches Gonzalo who slaps his hand and smiles widely. Leo looks up, tries to catch his eye, but the sun is behind him and his face is just a shadow. For a moment he pauses, letting his eyes adjust, and in that time Gonzalo laughs, pulls him in close and says into his ear, so no one else can hear, “Read any good books lately?” Leo laughs; something in his chest lifts.
This is their routine: during the day, at training, Leo sticks with Kun and with Javier and Gaby, because that’s what’s normal and that’s what he’s always done and if there’s anything that makes him feel comfortable, it’s sticking to habits.
And at night, in his hotel room, there will be a knock on the door and he’ll open it without looking. Gonzalo will come in; sometimes he’ll bring a book and read on the bed while Leo plays computer games, and sometimes they’ll play videogames side by side, or sometimes he’ll bring something he thinks Leo would like to read, and pretend to read his own book while not so subtly watching Leo. One thing they don’t do is talk much.
Leo doesn’t tell anyone that this is happening, not Kun and not Javier and not Gaby, and he doesn’t let himself think about why.
“Starting to get restless already,” Kun says one morning. They’re at practice; Kun’s helping Leo stretch, leaning over him so his face blocks out the sun.
Leo squints up at him and laughs. “We haven’t even played any games yet.”
Kun shrugs and looks around. “We should have a PES tournament tonight,” he suggests, pushing down on Leo’s leg.
Leo’s quiet. His first instinct is to say no but he wouldn’t know how to explain that, so, “Oh,” he says noncommittally. “I guess we could.”
Kun studies him idly while he switches legs. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you even though we live in the same building,” he says casually.
Leo closes his eyes, sighs as Kun stretches out his calves. “Well, you always go call home after dinner, so I just… find other stuff to do.”
“Like what?” Kun asks, and Leo knows there’s nothing behind it, no suspicion, just curiosity, but he feels defensive anyway.
He says, “Computer games, calling my family, watching a movie, answering emails, video games, reading…” And it’s all true, those are all things he does, but.
“Since when do you read?” Kun laughs. Leo flushes and hopes Kun doesn’t notice.
“Since always,” he insists.
Kun’s still laughing. “Whatever. Take a break from your books tonight, yeah?”
Leo turns his head to the side, sees Gonzalo standing ten or fifteen feet away, talking to Ever. Gonzalo must feel Leo’s eyes on his face because he turns, smiles slightly. Leo looks back up at Kun. “Yeah, okay,” he says.
Leo wants to tell Gonzalo not to come over that night, but he never gets a second to pull him aside, and even if he had he wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not like they ever planned anything; and he doesn’t know if it would be rude to tell him he has plans with Kun and not invite him.
So he just doesn’t say anything at all, leaves the door cracked when Kun comes in and hopes Gonzalo figures it out.
A couple of other people come too, Javier and the Milito brothers, and once they’re all there he’s happy about it; they’re some of his closest friends and he’d missed spending time with them, all together.
Javier is playing Diego on the Playstation, Barcelona versus Inter, and Leo’s sitting at the desk watching, when he hears a light knock at the door and it swings open slowly.
Gonzalo sticks his head in. Leo can see a magazine tucked under his arm. Everyone gets quiet and looks over at him in the same moment, and Leo concentrates on breathing very evenly.
Gonzalo smiles uncertainly at Leo, but Leo looks away, back at the game. Diego is winning 3-1. It can’t be that long, just a couple seconds, before Gaby says, “Hey,” to Gonzalo and the silence breaks, but it feels a lot longer to Leo, too long, and he doesn’t know why he’s being so weird-he should have said something first, it’s his room.
Gonzalo steps in the room, slaps hands with those not playing, looks at the game and makes a joking remark about how he’s glad to see Barcelona losing. Once people stop paying attention, Leo looks up at him.
“What are you up to?” he asks quietly, keeping his face blank.
Gonzalo looks at him, studies his face quickly, and then back at the television screen. “Just going to read a little, heard you guys and wanted to see what I’m missing.” Leo bites his lip and Gonzalo flashes him a smile. “Thanks for the invite, by the way.”
Leo doesn’t look at him. “Didn’t know you were interested.”
“Hmm,” Gonzalo says. No one’s paying attention to them, and he stares at Leo for too long before he says, “Next time, then.”
After a few more minutes Gonzalo says he’s going to bed and bids everyone goodnight. He hits Leo on the back of the head lightly with his book before he leaves; Leo just says, “See you tomorrow,” and doesn’t meet his eyes.
Later, when he’s in bed for the night but can’t sleep, Leo thinks about texting him, to apologize for something he’s not sure about, or tell him he should come next time, that Leo should have invited him, or just to ask if he’s coming over tomorrow night. In the morning he wakes up with his phone in his hand, text unsent. He rubs his face, knows he’s getting in too deep.
Gonzalo sits next to him at lunch.
He doesn’t say anything, just sets his plate down and starts eating. Over his head, Leo catches Kun’s eye and shrugs lightly; Kun shrugs back and goes to sit next to Eze.
When Javier turns away to talk to someone else, Leo eyes Gonzalo out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up?” he asks eventually.
Gonzalo shovels a mouthful of veggies into his mouth, raises his eyebrows at Leo and shrugs. It takes him a long time to chew and swallow, and when he does, he just says, “Just eating. You?”
Leo laughs and tries not to look uncomfortable. “Same.”
Gonzalo doesn’t say another word, to him or anyone else, until his finishes his lunch and sets his napkin on his plate. He looks like he’s about to get up, but instead he leans in, says, “Leo?”
Leo turns to him with a questioning look.
He drops his voice low enough that no one around them will hear; Leo has to lean in to catch his words. “There’s only so much I can do, you know?”
Leo can’t look away or respond or move, just stares at him, wonders if he’s saying what Leo thinks he’s saying. Gonzalo stays still for a moment, looking back at him, and then he picks up his tray and walks away and leaves Leo there staring, barely breathing, until Javier pokes him and he falls back to earth.
That night he doesn’t even pretend he’s doing anything but waiting, but Gonzalo doesn’t come and doesn’t come and Leo knows he has to do something but he doesn’t know if he can, if he should, if he wants to; if Gonzalo really wants him to or if he’s reading the whole thing wrong after all.
Leo knows, in his head, in his heart, that he needs to take a step back. He knows that.
He goes to Gonzalo’s room.
He knocks lightly on the door, almost light enough Gonzalo won’t hear it. He thinks-half hopes-Gonzalo isn’t there, won’t open up. He’s about to turn around, go back to his own room and try to forget this whole thing, when the door swings open.
Gonzalo doesn’t look surprised to see him, but he doesn’t look happy either. He doesn’t look anything. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, water trickling down his neck from his hair.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says, taking a step back instinctively. “I could-I’ll come back.” He knows if he leaves, he won’t.
Gonzalo shrugs and steps back, opening the door wider. After a moment’s hesitation, Leo steps in, careful not to touch him, not to look at him. He smells like soap and aftershave.
“I’ll be right back,” Gonzalo says, and he steps into the bathroom, only shutting the door halfway. Leo sinks onto the bed, takes a deep breath. He’s just about made up his mind to leave when Gonzalo comes out again, a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips, his chest still bare.
He bends to rummage through his suitcase, says, “So what’s up?” without looking up at Leo. And Leo doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want Gonzalo to make him say it.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. Gonzalo freezes, then looks up at him. He doesn’t say anything; his face is blank.
“For last night,” Leo forges on. “I was a dick and I don’t know why.”
Gonzalo stands and turns toward the chest of drawers behind him, so he’s not facing Leo when he says, “You don’t?”
Leo gropes for words for a moment, sliding his hands down the front of his track pants. “I,” he says. “No.”
Gonzalo straightens up and turns toward him. He looks at Leo, studies his face, and sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Leo.”
Leo just looks at him dumbly. He walks closer, until he’s right in front of Leo, until Leo could reach out and touch him. Leo’s fingers twitch but he concentrates on keeping very still.
Gonzalo reaches out, ghosts a hand over the top of Leo’s hair. He’s not meeting Leo’s eyes but he smiles to himself before he pulls his hand away and starts to step back, and then Leo shoots his own hand out, fists it in the side of Gonzalo’s sweats, holding him in place, his other hand gripping the comforter beneath him. Gonzalo looks down at him in surprise.
“I just, I need,” Leo says, almost to himself, and after a long silence Leo realizes Gonzalo’s getting closer, he’s leaning down, closer, closer, and Leo’s hands might shake if they weren’t gripped in fabric, but then Gonzalo stops, a breath away. Waits.
Leo moves his hands from Gonzalo’s pants, from the comforter, moves one up to Gonzalo’s shoulder and one around his waist. Pulls him in as he backs up on the bed, pulls Gonzalo over him.
“What will it be like,” he mutters, his lips close to Gonzalo’s ear, still pulling him up the bed with him, “when the sun explodes?”
And Gonzalo freezes at that, just for a second, and then laughs, breathily, into Leo’s neck. “I don’t know,” he says, his nose pressing into Leo’s cheek, his eyes closed, “I don’t know. Hot, I guess.”
Leo pulls him down, wants to feel the weight of him on top of him. He’s still damp from the shower, getting the front of Leo’s shirt wet, and Leo’s hand in his hair is soaked but Leo holds him there, holds him there.
Leo lifts his knee, so Gonzalo slides between his legs, their groins aligning, and Gonzalo groans. “You should find out,” Leo says, shifting his hips slightly, his mouth still close to Gonzalo’s ear.
“What?” Gonzalo asks, breathless.
Leo laughs. “What it will be like.”
“Oh,” he says, and he grinds down into Leo, lifting his upper body up with him arms so he can look down at Leo. “Right.”
“I mean it just seems like an important detail-“ Leo starts, but then Gonzalo ducks his head, pauses a breath away from Leo’s lips. His breath is minty.
“Leo,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Leo starts to smile but it’s cut off when Gonzalo’s lips crash against his own, pushing his lips back against his teeth. Leo doesn’t mind.
“I stopped by your room last night.”
Leo’s stretching and almost tumbles over; the voice at his elbow surprises him. Kun grabs his elbow to steady him and smirks.
“What?” Leo asks. He yawns, pulls his hat lower over his ears. It’s cold out, early.
“I stopped by your room after I called home to see what you were up to. But you weren’t there,” Kun says. He kicks a ball over to Leo and Leo sits down on top of it, crossing his arms over his knees and laying his head down. He’s tired; he barely slept.
Leo just says, “Oh.” When Kun seems to be waiting for something, he says, “What time was it? Maybe I was in the shower.”
Kun eyes him, says, “I don’t know, nine? I didn’t hear the shower.”
Leo makes a face, like, well, I don’t know, shrugs lightly. Across the pitch Gonzalo is warming up with Ezequiel and Fernando. He doesn’t look over at Leo, but he yawns. Leo smiles, buries his face in his arms so Kun won’t see.
They have rules, things that come up by the day that they add to a list, ways to make their lives easier.
They sleep in their own rooms, that’s Leo’s rule, because he never knows when Kun will show up for a wake up call or a night cap or for no reason whatsoever and there’s only so much he can explain away.
No being obvious around the others, that’s Leo’s rule too. “It’s not that I don’t want them to know,” he says one evening, pushing his fingertips into Gonzalo’s spine. Gonzalo keeps his eyes closed but hums so Leo knows he’s listening. “I just don’t want to it be awkward.”
So it becomes a rule.
No sex is another of Leo’s rules. Upon reflection, most of the rules are Leo’s, but he never thinks of them that way, thinks of them as their rules, things they came up with together.
“No,” he says, on one of the first nights, pushing Gonzalo’s hands away.
Gonzalo sits back on his heels, gives a comical huff. “Why?” he whines, drawing the syllables out.
Leo laughs, pushes his shoulder playfully. “You know sex isn’t allowed in concentration.”
Gonzalo leans in, rests his chin on Leo’s shoulders. “No, I’m pretty sure the rule is no wives or girlfriends in the concentration. I don’t see any wives or girlfriends, do you?”
But Leo shoves him off, says, “No,” laughing, and they don’t talk about it any more.
Leo thinks no club talk is an unspoken rule, but Gonzalo breaks it one day right before their first game.
“Are you nervous?” he says. Leo’s reading a magazine on the bed; Gonzalo’s laying on his stomach, half hanging off the edge.
“About what?” Leo asks, only half paying attention. Gonzalo kicks at his thigh and Leo grabs his foot, holds it still.
“About the tournament,” Gonzalo says, and his tone says, duh.
Leo sets his magazine down and looks at Gonzalo, but he’s looking at the floor, picking at the comforter.
“Not really,” Leo says. He watches as Gonzalo studiously avoids looking at him, rubs the sole of his foot. “Being nervous won’t help anything.” The latter statement, at least, is true.
Gonzalo moves his foot out of Leo’s grasp, rolls over so he’s looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, I guess you don’t have to.”
Leo waits for him to explain, but his jaw is clamped shut, so, “What does that mean?” He’s not being snippy; he really doesn’t know what it means.
“Like, at least you’re successful with Barcelona,” Gonzalo says, and he still doesn’t look over. “At least you have that.”
“I’m not,” Leo starts, “That’s not fair-“
“Nevermind,” Gonzalo says quickly. He turns to Leo, meets his eyes, and then rolls over, off the bed. Leo thinks maybe he’s leaving and Leo doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what he did, but then Gonzalo’s over him, on top of him, heavy but comfortable.
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Gonzalo says, his face close to Leo’s, their noses touching, and Leo nods. It’s Gonzalo’s first rule.
They win the first game of the Copa America, and then they win their second. Gonzalo starts neither and Leo starts both.
Leo thinks about saying, “Talk to me,” when it’s late and Gonzalo’s face is drawn, when he spaces out and Leo can see the bob of his throat, too fast, too many times, but Leo can’t remember if there’s a rule about this, can’t remember if Gonzalo’s rule was about clubs or about anything that pulls them apart, puts them in competition, upsets them about their job.
So he doesn’t say anything. Touches Gonzalo’s hands and his face and his hair, as if it could change something. As if he could be enough.
Leo starts to think Kun knows.
“I think Kun knows,” he says one evening. His legs are sore; he’s pushing a foam roller over them, sitting on the floor. Gonzalo’s on his laptop, in bed.
“Knows what?” he mumbles, squinting at the screen. His face is lit up, soft and blue.
“Knows,” Leo says, bent over his leg. He looks up at Gonzalo. “About. You. And whatever.”
Gonzalo flicks his eyes over from the screen, looks down at Leo. His face remains passive, makes Leo uncomfortable. Leo looks back down, massages the back of his calf.
“Okay,” Gonzalo says, drawing the word out, like, what am I supposed to say about that.
“I just,” Leo says. “It’s weird.”
After another moment Gonzalo sets his laptop off to the side and focuses on Leo completely. “What’s weird?”
Leo picks at the foam roller, bounces his leg, wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. “I don’t know,” he says. “Just, like… I don’t know.”
Gonzalo is quiet, his mouth pressed into a thin line that Leo hasn’t seen before. After it’s quiet for a long time, he says, “I’m kind of tired,” and Leo knows what that means, has used that line before.
He leaves knowing he did something wrong, but he isn’t sure when or what.
Gonzalo starts in the quarterfinals and in the seventy-third minute, Leo slides a pass to him, an errant backheel that Gonzalo manages to control and Leo doesn’t even see how it happens, just sees the sway of the net, hears the swish of the ball colliding against the back of it, and then his teammates are streaking across the pitch, arms out, mouths wide in cries of joy.
And Leo runs toward them, only half aware of his own screaming. Gonzalo points at him, his face lit up with joy, says, “You!” And Leo just ducks his head, holds on to his waist tightly, because it was all him.
Gonzalo keeps his arm around Leo as they return to their positions, says in Leo’s ear, “We’re going to win,” and he says it like a fact, like the things he would say when Leo first got to know him, Did you know there are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on earth, Did you know it takes the average person 7 minutes to fall asleep.
Leo wants to say, I knew that one, but instead he just smiles.
They’re wrong, though. They don’t win. They lose in the semifinal.
Down two in the seventy-fifth minute and Leo almost can’t believe it when he sees his number on the substitution board. He looks, looks again, realizes it is a 10 and he’s being taken out and they’re losing.
Gonzalo’s already out, gone when they went down one, and he looks up at Leo when he walks by the bench but Leo doesn’t look at him, not at him and not at anyone else because he shouldn’t be there, he should be on the pitch, because there are still fifteen minutes left and he can do this, they can do anything in fifteen minutes and he should be there.
But he’s on the bench, and they don’t do anything in fifteen minutes. Leo doesn’t even watch the end; instead he stares over the back of the bleachers, the stretch of sky there, and for a moment-just a split second, before he can stop himself-he misses the Barcelona sky, the way the air smells there.
The shrill whistle pierces through his thoughts, brings him back to earth, where the game is over and they lost and he’s sitting on the bench. The rest of the bench shuffles off toward the dressing room, but Leo doesn’t move a muscle. His teammates drag themselves off the pitch; Javier pats his cheek as he walks by, but Leo can see his eyes glazed over, thoughts somewhere else. Gaby takes his arm, lifts him up and toward the dressing room. He notices, idly, that Gonzalo hadn’t left, is still sitting there staring at the pitch, looking as dazed as Leo feels, but Leo walks by him silently, doesn’t try to make eye contact or any contact at all.
The dressing room is silent and it hurts Leo’s head; it’s not South Africa but a silent dressing room is a silent dressing room and Leo knows it too well, can’t believe he’s back there again.
Leo undresses slowly, peels his sweaty shirt off his back and then sits, brooding, silent, staring into his locker. He thinks about how tomorrow it will be empty, and his things will be back in an equipment room, because he’ll have no need for them.
There’s a reporter wandering around the room, sticking his microphone into people’s faces and mostly getting ignored. He turns to Leo and Leo can almost see the headlines running through his head, Messi fails, or, Where’s our Messiah?
Leo turns his back to the man, a silent warning not to approach. He doesn’t.
Gonzalo does, though, comes up to Leo and reaches out as if to touch him, but when Leo doesn’t react he settles for just hanging on to the edge of his sleeve a little bit, his face guarded.
“Leo?” he says. “Do you want to…?” Leo doesn’t even know what he’s asking and doesn’t have the energy to find out. He moves out of Gonzalo’s grip, not forcefully, but slowly, deliberately.
“I can’t,” he says, and he thinks his voice is as tired as he feels. “I really, I can’t.” He doesn’t look over but he feels Gonzalo standing there a second longer, hesitating, and then hears him move away. Leo grabs his towel and shuffles toward the shower, keeping his head down the whole way.
He’s one of the first on the bus, a hood over his head and headphones in his ears, not playing anything but just giving him an excuse not to interact with anyone, not to respond when they speak to him. When he feels someone sit down next to him he figures it’s Kun and doesn’t look up, but a moment later there are hands at his ears, pulling the buds out, and he looks up in annoyance to see Gaby.
“Leo,” he says, that’s all, just his name, and Leo breathes out, looks at his face and breathes because Gaby’s the only one who knows and gets it and who he doesn’t have to explain to. He moves to lay his head on Gaby’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says softly. Gaby pinches his leg.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “This isn’t your fault.”
“If they’d left me in,” Leo starts to say, but Gaby pinches his leg again.
“If they’d left you in, who knows?” Leo grunts; he knows Gaby’s right but he doesn’t want to admit it.
The bus is quiet, only occasional hushed murmurs filtering through to Leo, and he lets his eyes shut, lets himself rest. “I just really thought we could do it,” he mumbles, not sure Gaby can even hear him.
It takes a few moments, but Gaby says, “Yeah, kid, we all did.”
And Leo doesn’t really want to think about it, doesn’t want to talk about it, but it’s what he’s thinking and it’s Gaby so he says, “They’re going to tear me apart.” And Gaby doesn’t say anything but throws an arm around his shoulders, kisses the top of his head.
It’s not until they’re getting off the bus that Leo notices that Gonzalo was sitting right in front of them, notices the stiff set of his shoulders and the way he doesn’t look at Leo at all.
Leo’s giving his mom his flight information and packing his hotel room up when there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and Gonzalo’s there, not looking at him but down the hall instead, and Leo studies his profile, the tightness of his jaw. “I have to go, Mom,” he says, and hangs up before she can say anything.
Gonzalo doesn’t wait and doesn’t look at Leo before he pushes past, into his room. Leo closes the door and just stands, looks at his back, his shoulders rising with deep breathes, and then Gonzalo spins and his eyes are flashing in a way Leo hasn’t seen before.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” he says, his voice full of venom, and Leo shrinks back the slightest bit. “You’ll talk to Gaby but not me, right? You won’t talk to me, and you don’t want anyone to know we’re-whatever we are and you barely let me touch you or know you at all anyway, right? So what am I doing? What am I doing, Leo?”
Leo regards him with wide eyes, not knowing how to respond. “I don’t-“ he starts to say, and Gonzalo laughs, ugly and mean.
“You don’t know. Right,” he says, and Leo just stares and they stand in silence for a long time before Gonzalo says, “Have a nice trip home, then,” and it’s much quieter than before, sad, maybe, and when he walks out the click of the door behind him is soft but Leo flinches anyway.
He doesn’t have that many days off before he’s due back in Barcelona so he just goes home to his parents’ house, where they let him mope around in his pajamas for two days before his mom wakes him up early on the third day, pulling open the blinds in his bedroom to let the sunlight spill over his bed. He squints up at her and groans.
“That’s enough, Leo,” she says, sitting next to him on his bed and brushing back his hair. It makes him feel very small. “You have grieved for two days and now it’s time to get back up. There are more important things in life than winning or losing a game.”
Leo watches her walk out, blinking against the sunlight. Before he can stop himself he thinks, if only it were about a game, and then he gets out of bed anyway.
Leo was a jerk, he knows, and that’s why he surprised when he opens the door of his parents’ house in Rosario and Gonzalo is there on the doorstep, scuffing his feet across their welcome mat.
“I,” he says, and Gonzalo looks up, offering a crooked smile, bashful, almost.
Leo just gapes at him and he’s glad no one is home to come investigate because Leo couldn’t explain when they asked. “What are you… why are you here?” he asks, and it sounds rude when he doesn’t mean to be, but it’s what he’s thinking.
Gonzalo glances down the street, says, “Ah, can I come in?” And Leo didn’t even realize he was still standing there, blocking the door, but he steps aside and tries not to stare as Gonzalo steps into his house, past him.
They go in the backyard, where it’s cool and shady, and they sit on the huge swing set Leo bought for when his nieces and nephews come over. It’s breezy and they sway back and forth, knees bumping each other, but they don’t talk for a long time.
The thing is that Leo wants to say something but doesn’t know how. He thinks there’s probably a book for this, something that already had the words for him, that could tell him all the right things to say when his brain doesn’t cooperate. He thinks maybe if he just knew a fact, something like, Did you know that being in love has the same biological effect as being on drugs, or Did you know you can actually have withdrawals from a person, and Gonzalo would understand and it wouldn’t be so hard.
Instead he stumbles, says, “I’m just-I’m not good at a lot of things.” Gonzalo looks up at him, his face creased with confusion, and Leo looks away so it’s easier to finish, tries to explain.
“I’m good at football,” he says. “And…” he gestures around the yard, to the house, “Taking care of my family.” He looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together. “Which are really the same thing, I guess,” he mumbles, and when he looks up Gonzalo is looking out over the yard, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to understand.
Leo sighs. “I’m not good at other things. Other people,” he says, and Gonzalo looks over at him, the confusion clearing from his face. “I don’t… I don’t remember important things, or read people well, or know what they want.” He shrugs, looks up at the sky. He can feel Gonzalo’s eyes on the side of his face. “I only know what I want.”
Gonzalo doesn’t say anything and Leo doesn’t even know if he’s making sense, but he looks at Gonzalo, catches his eye and says, “But I want to know. I do.”
And after a long moment Gonzalo smiles. He says, “Okay. Then I’ll tell you.” And Leo thinks, maybe it’s good, then, that he doesn’t always have words, usually doesn’t, because then Gonzalo can give them to him, and that’s important too.
He reaches out, spreads his fingers against the material of Gonzalo’s jeans, feels the warmth of his skin through the material. Their swings twist and sway in the breeze, their legs tangle, and Leo looks up at Gonzalo’s face, bright and happy, like looking into the sun, and he says, “So… read any good books lately?”
Gonzalo grins. “Just one,” he says. “A biography. Some football player named Messi.”
Leo pulls his hand back as he laughs, twisting his swing away from Gonzalo. “But you know him,” he says, pulling a confused face. “Why would you need a book on him?”
“I wasn’t sure I did,” comes the reply, soft and serious, and Leo swings back around to face him.
“Did you know he’d kill someone for his mom’s dulce de leche?” Leo says, kicking his feet out to hook around Gonzalo’s knees. “Did you know he used to steal alfajores out of the cupboard and hide them under his mattress?”
Gonzalo laughs. “I do now,” he says, his fingers reaching out to tangle with Leo’s. “Tell me more.”
Leo presses his fingertips into the back of Gonzalo’s hand, holding on tight. “Plenty of time for that,” he says.