(no subject)
title: the bigger picture
pairing: david villa/leo messi
rating: r
words: ~13,400
summary: hollywood AU; villa is big shot hollywood agent. like entourage, if ari was more emo and in love with vince. idek.
“What the fuck do you want?” Villa snaps, immediately laying on his car horn and drowning out the reply. “Motherfucker!” he yells, leaning out the window. “Green means go, asshole!”
Traffic starts moving slowly and he rolls his window halfway up. “Speak,” he snaps again.
Instead of the sharp, low bark of Xavi Hernandez that he was expecting, he hears a softer slur. “Bad day, David?”
“Leo,” he says, surprised. He rolls the window the rest of the way up. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?”
“What, I can’t call my own agent?” the other man laughs quietly.
Villa pulls up to another red light, lays his forehead against the steering wheel, closing his eyes. “No, of course you can. Whenever you want. What’s up?”
“Are you free for dinner?” Leo’s voice has changed from his soft, breathy drawl to the crisp business voice Villa’s heard him perfect over the years. Sometimes it still surprises Villa, when Leo uses it on him. It doesn’t happen often.
Villa’s not free for dinner, he’s never free for dinner, but it’s Leo and he’s calling personally, so, “What time? I’ll have Juan make a reservation.”
There’s shuffling and murmuring from the other end of the line. “Eight?” he asks finally.
“Eight. Okay. How many?” Traffic slows to a stop for no discernable reason again, and Villa screams curse words silently, banging on his steering wheel.
“Just us.”
That was unusual. “What’s this about, Leo?” Villa asks, trying to keep his voice light.
“Nothing,” Leo says after a moment. “Just. Nothing. Catching up.”
Villa pauses, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. “Okay. Catching up,” he says, running his fingers over the smooth leather steering wheel. “Okay.”
Leo says, “All right. Have Juan call Xavi about the reservation. See you tonight.”
Villa says, “Hey. Leo.” There’s no response, but Villa can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. The moment stretches. Behind Villa, a car blows its horn and he lets out a sharp breath. “Nevermind. See you tonight.”
He hangs up the phone. Sticks his middle finger out the window.
The elevator doors slide open silently, and it takes the occupants of the office a moment to see Villa stride out. They get quiet when they see him, but he doesn’t notice; he hasn’t lifted his head from his Blackberry at all.
“Juan!” he calls as he disappears into his office, not waiting for an answer. The rest of the lobby occupants exhale collectively and go back to their business.
Juan scurries in after him, shutting the heavy door behind him. Villa throws his blackberry on his desk, collapsing into his giant chair and shutting his eyes for a moment. Juan waits.
“You get the reservation?” Villa asks finally, and his voice is tired.
“Got it. Already confirmed with Xavi.”
“Some place with steak, right?” Villa says. He opens Outlook, scrolling uninterestedly through his emails. “Leo likes ribeye.”
“Yes. His favorite steakhouse. It’s all set.”
“What else?” Villa asks, flicking his eyes to Juan for the first time.
He has a huge stack of papers in his arms, the scripts for the day. “These just got dropped off. Do you want them now?”
Villa rubs his forehead. There’s a headache blooming behind his eyes and he really can’t think about reading right now, but. “Just leave them on the couch. And get me some aspirin. Something stronger, if you can.”
Juan nods, backing toward the door. “Anything else?”
Villa stares at him. “Well, you tell me. Any calls?”
“Messages on your desk. Torres’ people have called like, 5 times. Said you weren’t answering your cell.”
“That was intentional,” Villa mutters, picking through his stack of messages. A moment later he looks up to see Juan still hovering near the door. “Do you need something? If you want to watch me, can you do it from your desk?”
“Yes, sir,” Juan mumbles, opening the door. He pauses. “Not that I want to watch you, sir--“
Villa cuts him off. “Get the fuck out, Juan.”
The door closes heavily behind him. Villa wants to sleep, but scripts await. First, though, he picks up the phone, dials Torres’ guy. Put on his most convincing cheerful voice and grips the edge of his desk like it will save his sanity.
That night, Villa makes his way into the back of the restaurant, wiping his palms down the side of his pants. He’d gotten Juan to re-press them right before he left, and he makes sure to smooth down the sharp, precise pleats.
He’s the first to arrive and the hostess seats him; a table in a back corner, where it’s dark and paparazzi won’t be able to see from the front. Villa would throw her a grateful look if his nose wasn’t buried in his Blackberry, going through the excess of emails he’s received since he left his office 45 minutes ago.
Either Leo’s very quiet or Villa’s very absorbed in his phone, but he doesn’t notice when the diminutive man slides into the seat across from him. Leo’s already pulling his napkin across his lap when Villa glances up and starts.
“Leo, Jesus,” he says, “You scared the shit out of me,” and he starts to stand, holding out his hand.
“Oh,” Leo says, awkwardly removing the napkin from his lap and rising to meet Villa, and a bubble of affection rises within Villa, like it always does, anytime he sees flashes of the awkward young kid he met so many years ago still somewhere inside the polished movie star. He pulls a face at Villa’s hand. “A handshake?” he asks, and before Villa can react Leo’s next to him, pulling him in, his arms going around Villa’s waist. Villa can’t remember the last time he hugged someone.
He lets his own arm come up around Leo, one hand resting on his hair, smooth and silky and Villa thinks his shampoo probably costs as much as his dinner will. “How are you, Leo,” he says softly in the younger man’s ear.
Leo pulls away, smiling. He reseats himself and pulls his napkin onto his lap again. “Can’t complain, can’t complain,” he says, and he starts to scan the menu even though Villa could already tell him exactly what he’s going to order, the same thing he’s ordered since he was 17 and Villa took him to his first fancy steakhouse when Leo signed with him.
Villa finishes scrolling through his emails before he picks up his own menu. A waiter appears, asking them for their drinks, and Villa orders them a bottle of cabernet he knows Leo likes. Leo just smiles.
When they’ve ordered and the waiter’s disappeared, Leo looks at him closely. “So how have you been?” he asks, and Villa doesn’t know if he’s reading him wrong but he almost looks concerned.
“Fine,” he says. “Busy as fuck. The normal. You?”
Leo nods, swirling his wine around his glass and not meeting Villa’s eyes. “Same old,” he says, and takes a sip. Villa waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Okay,” Villa says, “So do you want to tell me what this is about?” Leo sets his glass down and meets Villa’s eyes, his own wide and innocent. “Come the fuck on, Leo, when’s the last time we had dinner alone? You’re way too big a star for me now,” he says, smiling. Leo doesn’t smile back.
Instead he sighs and leans back in his seat. “I want to talk about Hand of God,” he says finally. Villa tries not to groan.
“Leo,” he says, and he leans forward, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He can feel his headache come rushing back. “How many times have we gone over this?”
But Leo’s jaw is set and Villa knows he’s serious. “I don’t care how many times we’ve gone over it,” he says. “I want to talk about it again.”
Villa flops back in his seat and throws his hands up. “Fine, Leo, what do you want to talk about?”
“Xavi talked to the producers.” Leo doesn’t look at him when he says it, keeps his eyes averted, but Villa just stares until he looks over. “What?”
“You called the producers? That’s my job, Leo.” He tries to keep his voice neutral, but disbelief creeps in, a little anger.
“Well, you weren’t-“
“What?” Villa says, too loud. He lowers his voice and leans in. “What, Leo? I wasn’t doing my job? I called those fucks every day for three months. They didn’t want you, Leo, I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but-“
“That’s not what they told Xavi.”
Villa drags a hand across his forehead and takes several deep breaths. “What did they tell Xavi?” he grinds out, his teeth clenched.
“They said they tried to negotiate with you but you weren’t being reasonable.” Leo’s staring at him, his jaw set stubbornly, his wine forgotten in front of him. Villa can’t believe this is happening. He’s already thinking of the call he’ll make to Xavi in the morning-no, tonight, who the fuck cares if Villa wakes him up when’s acting like such an ungrateful little twat-
Villa closes his eyes and counts to ten, something one of his many worthless therapists taught him years ago. Leo’s waiting patiently when he opens his eyes. “Leo,” he starts, and he tries to keep his voice soothing. “What they were offering was not even in the realm of reasonable. I wouldn’t take it to be in their movie and you know I’d be a shit actor.” He smiles, but fears it might look more crazed than reassuring.
Leo doesn’t seem to be paying attention. The waiter reappears with their food, and for a few minutes it’s quiet while the staff returns with refills and pepper and to check on them. Villa cuts his meat viciously, thinking about all the different ways he could murder Xavi and get away with it.
Leo says, “Thank you,” quietly to their waiter, and when he leaves Leo looks back at Villa expectantly. “Stop being pissed at Xavi and let’s discuss this.”
“I’m not pissed at Xavi,” Villa says through gritted teeth, but he knows Leo knows him better than that, too well. He continues to saw through his meat quickly, not meeting Leo’s eyes.
“David.” Leo’s the only one who still calls him that, and Villa hates it but it makes him soften. Everything about Leo makes him soften, always has.
“Leo,” he says, and he tilts his head at the younger man, trying to make him understand. “They didn’t value you like they should have. You’re too good for that kind of treatment.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Villa,” he says, leaning in, his voice low but insistent. Villa flinches at the name. “I told you what I wanted and you didn’t make it happen.”
“Leo-“ he starts, but Leo cuts him off by leaning back, shaking his head. Villa wishes he could explain, tell Leo that he’s worth everything, worth the world and if other people don’t see that then they don’t deserve to be near him, not for anything, but he doesn’t know how to say that out loud, doesn’t even know what it means that he thinks that, because he certainly doesn’t think that way about his other clients. He shoves the thought out of his head, eats another piece of steak.
“I don’t know what to do, David,” Leo says, not meeting his eye. He lets his fork go and it clatters to his plate. “I don’t know-“
“What?” Villa says, freezing, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “You’re not actually talking about-you wouldn’t fire me over this.” Villa puts his own silverware down, clenches his fists so his hands won’t shake.
Leo still won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t-some people think I should,” he says vaguely, and in an instant a list of names is running through Villa’s head, people that would fuck him over, take advantage of Leo. “I mean, I don’t know, David, I feel like-this isn’t the first time you didn’t listen to me. And I just… I really wanted this movie.”
Villa’s head is swirling and he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge that Leo is still there. After a long moment of tense silence, Leo sighs, leans forward. He lays a hand on top of Villa’s clenched fist and Villa starts, staring at their hands.
“David,” he says again, and Villa meets his eyes, trying to keep his composure but fearing he looks as panicked as he feels. “David,” he repeats, and Villa can’t look away from him, his big brown eyes, familiar and kind and this can’t be happening-
Villa jerks his hand away, snapping himself out of his daze. Leo looks mildly surprised himself. “I can fix this,” he says earnestly, going back to his steak. “Leo? You know me. I can fix this.”
Leo’s quiet for a long time, until Villa chances a glance up at him. He nods slowly. “Okay, David,” he says, and picks up his knife and fork again too. “See that you do.”
The rest of the meal is eaten mostly in silence. Villa keeps his gaze down, forces his food down even though his throat feels tight. Leo’s knee is pressed against his under the table and even while he avoids the younger man’s eyes, he doesn’t move his leg away.
It feels late, incredibly late, by the time Villa’s on his way home, even though it’s probably not even close to midnight yet. Outside the restaurant, he’d hugged Leo goodbye but made sure to keep his face turned away. “I’ll keep you posted,” he’d muttered, tried to ignore the look on Leo’s face; he didn’t know what it meant anyway.
It’s cool out, but not too much, breezy, and Villa rolls his window down, holding his head on his hand with his elbow on the window ledge. He passes a huge billboard with Leo’s face, one he’s seen a million times before, every time he goes home this way. Leo’s last big movie, a hit, and any time he looks at the billboard, Villa remembers that movie, opening night, how Leo’d thrown a party but they’d snuck away, down to the beach by Leo’s house; the way Leo had looked, proud and happy and tired in a good way, how they’d drunk champagne from the bottle and let the waves crash over their feet, how Leo had leaned into him, laughing and shoving him deeper into the ocean spray.
Now, Villa doesn’t look at the billboard. He keeps his eyes resolutely forward, a tight grip on the steering wheel.
When he gets home, he thinks about calling Xavi, telling him what a royal fuck up he is, but instead he falls into bed without even hanging his suit up. He sets his alarm for five a.m.; it will be more sleep than he’s gotten in weeks.
He gets to the office before the sun comes up and reads scripts on the couch. Sometime around seven, Juan bustles in, setting a cup of coffee and a stack of papers on his desk, and he doesn’t even know Villa’s there until Villa barks, “Get me Hernandez,” and Juan jumps about ten feet in the air.
“Jesus… sir, you scared me,” Juan says.
Villa stares at him. He knows he looks like shit; he’d barely slept and his eyes are red, with ugly purple bags underneath.
“Do you need to change your fucking pants or can you make a call for me?” Villa snaps when Juan stands there with his hand over his heart for a beat longer than Villa likes.
“No, of course, sir,” Juan says, and scrambles out, and if Villa wasn’t in such a piss-poor mood he would almost feel bad for doing that to someone so early in the morning. As things stand, he couldn’t give two fucks.
A moment later his phone buzzes and Villa stands, stretching out his half-asleep legs. “Xavi on line one,” Juan says, his voice calmer, when Villa pushes the button for speaker phone.
Villa waits a moment for Juan to transfer the call and then hisses, “What the fuck, Hernandez,” his mouth close to the speaker.
“Oh, calm down,” Xavi says, his voice sounding far away.
“Calm down?” Villa asks incredulously. “Calm down? Is that a fucking joke, Xavi?”
“Villa-“ he starts, and Villa can hear the blare of a car horn in the background. Xavi’s not even at work yet, and Villa’s been up for hours, and what the fuck was he thinking.
“Shut the fuck up, Xavi,” he spits, and the other end falls silent. “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing, going behind my back, and I know you’ll never admit that you royally fucked up but you did, you fucked up and you fucked me over and now Leo’s talking about firing me-“
Xavi interrupts him at that, and his calm demeanor falls away a little bit. “Wait, what? Firing you?”
“Yes, fucking firing me,” Villa says, and he leans forward, his head in his hands. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re messing with, Xavi,” he says. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Leo. I know how to do that for him.”
“Do you?” Xavi asks. “That’s what I’m doing too.”
“Xavi, fuck,” Villa starts, standing over his phone and throwing it a murderous glare.
But he interrupts. “Villa, calm down. He’s not going to fire you. Leo loves you.”
It’s just a throwaway comment, a figure of speech, but Villa blanches at it anyway. He shakes it off. “He doesn’t-Whatever the fuck, Xavi. I told him I’d fix it so I’m going to do that, but only if you stay the fuck out of it.”
“Whatever, Villa,” Xavi says, his cold façade firmly back in place, “I’m done with it. The movie’s gone anyway, right? Do whatever you want.”
Villa doesn’t bother to say goodbye, just disconnects and sits back heavily in his chair.
“Xavi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” he mutters to himself, after a moment of mind racing. His eyes land on the stack of scripts that still awaits him and he pushes out of his chair, back to the couch. He doesn’t have any more time to waste thinking about Xavi Hernandez.
“Juan!” He yells sometime after lunch. After a few moments of silence, he yells again, “Mata!”
Juan bursts in a moment later, breathing heavily. “Sir, if you use the intercom I can-“ he starts to say, but upon seeing Villa’s murderous glare he cuts himself off. “What can I do for you?” he asks instead.
Villa glowers for another moment but then snaps, “I need Casillas, now.”
Juan skitters out and a second later Villa’s phone is lighting up. “Mr. Casillas, line one,” he says, and even Villa is impressed at how quickly he made that happen.
“Iker,” Villa greets, trying to sound as warm and friendly as possible.
“Villa,” Iker responds, and he sounds decidedly less friendly, perhaps even suspicious, although Villa can’t imagine why.
“How have you been, Iker?” he asks sweetly, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes. Being sweet is not in his nature, and it takes a great deal of effort.
“Villa, what is it?” Iker snaps impatiently, and Villa lets his feet drop to the floor heavily. Some part of him appreciates that Iker doesn’t make him go through the façade most people do.
“Hand of God,” Villa says simply, and it’s barely out of his mouth before Iker is groaning. Villa thinks he hears the phone slam against something--the desk, the chair-a few times, and he really can’t blame Iker.
“Villa,” he growls, “You cannot actually be bringing this up again-“
“Iker,” Villa says, letting his voice sound as tired as he feels in hopes of picking up some sympathy points.
“We’ve discussed this a million times,” Iker starts to say.
“I know,” Villa interrupts. “I know, Iker, okay, but he really wants to do this fucking movie, so whatever it is that you want, whatever we can get for him, I’m in, okay? Anything.”
Iker is quiet for a long time, long enough that Villa looks at the phone to make sure they’re still connected. Finally, he hears Iker heave a sigh. “It’s too late, Villa, the cast is set-“
“No,” Villa protests, closing his eyes. “Come on. It’s Leo. You can find a place for him.”
“We tried for months, Villa,” Iker reminds him, but his voice is kind and Villa knows it’s a lost cause.
“There’s nothing?” he asks, and he knows he sounds desperate, but sometimes that’s necessary. “You’re absolutely sure?”
Iker says, “I’m sure, Villa, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Villa bangs his head against the edge of his desk, doesn’t even care if Iker hears. “Okay,” he grinds out between his teeth. “Okay, please do. Thanks, Iker.”
He asks Juan to schedule Leo to come in and talk to him, tries to think of a way he can spin this and not let Leo down again, but nothing comes. He just hopes that Xavi is right and Leo was bluffing about firing him. If nothing else, Villa thinks it would be hard for him to do in person, face to face with Villa, surrounded by evidence of their successes together.
It’s a few days before Leo comes in, rolling through the lobby with his usual crew, Pique and Cesc, trailing behind him like bizarrely stretched shadows. Juan buzzes when they get off the elevator and Villa strides out to meet them.
“Leo,” he says, leaning in for a quick hug but pulling away quickly. “How are you? You want a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Leo says, smiling shyly, the way he always has.
“You gonna offer me a drink, Villa?” Pique asks, smirking from just behind Leo.
“Who are you again?” Villa asks, spinning on his heel and leading Leo to his office by the arm.
“Funny,” Pique drawls. “Hey, have you found me an agent yet?”
Villa looks around Leo to give Pique an incredulous look. “Um, no?”
Pique looks at him impatiently. “I told you I met that guy at a party who thinks I could be a really great model!”
Villa barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Okay, then Pique, I’ll get right on that.” Pique looks at him disbelievingly and Villa can’t stop laughing. “No, seriously, do you actually do something, or just trail Leo around all day?” Villa asks, glancing sidelong at him. Cesc snickers and Leo just smiles, nudging Villa in the side.
“Leave him alone,” Leo says quietly, and Villa shrugs, pulling open his office door.
Pique and Cesc sit down in the waiting area outside Villa’s office, Pique muttering, “You know I’m his driver.” Villa ignores him.
He follows Leo into his office and closes the door behind him. Leo flops onto his couch, crossing his ankles, and flips through a script laying there.
“This sucks,” he says after a moment, tossing it to the ground.
Villa peers down at it, twisting his neck to see the cover. “Oh-yeah-that one’s not for you,” he says idly, kicking it under the table.
He settles on a seat across from the couch and studies Leo, who sits up like he gets that it’s serious now.
“News on Hand of God?” Leo asks, and he keeps his tone light but Villa can see he’s anxious.
“Yeah,” Villa says, not meeting Leo’s eyes. He smoothes down the front of his pants. “Leo, look…”
He looks up then, and he sees the moment that Leo’s eyes darken. His face goes blank, and Villa sighs. “It’s about to start production, everything’s already set-“ he starts, but Leo’s already looking away, doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Leo,” he says, “The cast is set. There really wasn’t anything I could do.“
“Now,” Leo corrects, looking over suddenly. Villa starts.
“What?”
“There isn’t anything you could do now. But you could have had this done months ago. You should have,” he says, and it’s surprising but he sounds more disappointed than angry.
“Leo, we talked about this-“
“Yeah, we did,” Leo says, and his eyes flash as he looks over at Villa. Villa’s stomach turns.
He takes several deep breaths. “I’m sorry this movie didn’t work out, Leo, but that doesn’t mean-“
“I don’t know what it means, Villa,” he says, his voice cold. He’s standing up and turning away from Villa, turning toward the door.
“Leo,” Villa pleads, and he hasn’t heard his voice like that in a long time. He’s standing too, reaching out toward Leo, but Leo’s gone before he even gets close, the door shutting heavily behind him.
It’s days before he hears from Leo again; he thinks about calling, but doesn’t think it would be a good idea without good news. He figures maybe Leo just needs some time to cool off, maybe it’s best to let this whole thing blow over, so he doesn’t call and doesn’t try to get in touch. He read scripts; he takes meetings; he screens movies. He waits.
Villa’s at the office late, even later than usual for him; most of the office is gone for the day. Juan’s gone, the lobby lights turned out; Villa’s door is cracked open but he doesn’t hear the swish of the elevator doors opening. He’s sitting in front of his computer, staring blankly at the screen, and when he hears the knock on his door he starts, not even able to remember what he was working on.
“Come in,” he calls, his voice tired.
Leo’s head pokes around the door, his hair rumpled and face drawn. Villa’s startled, not expecting him; he stands quickly, his chair crashing into the shelves behind him, and he starts to reach for his suit coat but Leo slips in and shuts the door, furrowing his brow and shaking his head at Villa.
“Sit back down,” Leo says, and his voice is raspy. Villa wonders how late it actually is, where Leo’s been.
“What are you doing here, Leo?” he asks, sitting back heavily into his chair. “I wasn’t expecting you…” He realizes suddenly that the only light in the office is his desk light; Leo sits right across from his but he’s shrouded in shadows, almost hidden to Villa.
“Yeah, sorry,” Leo says, and his voice is soft, slurred, but Villa doesn’t know if it’s just because he’s tired and that’s how his voice naturally is, when he’s not thinking about it, or maybe he’s just been drinking.
Villa offers him a drink now, reaches for the bottle behind his desk, but Leo waves him off again. In the shadows, Villa can see the flash of his white teeth, but he can’t tell if it’s a smile or a grimace.
He settles back, lets his eyes adjust to Leo in the dim light, and they sit in silence for a long time before he sighs, says, “Why are you here, Leo?”
Leo reaches out and for a moment Villa freezes, thinks Leo’s going to touch him. But his hand lands on the desk and his fingers tap there, a nervous habit he’s had since Villa met him, and suddenly Villa knows, he’s certain, what’s coming. He focuses on the tap of Leo’s fingers against wood, trying to pick out a rhythm there, blinking quickly, unseeing.
Leo stops tapping abruptly, lets his hand rest still against the desk top. “I don’t think this is working anymore,” he says formally, stiffly. His voice is strained.
Even knowing it was coming, hearing the words, hearing them from Leo’s mouth, it feels a little like a rug being pulled out from underneath him, like being punched in the gut. It’s deadly silent in the office, and he knows Leo is waiting for him to say something, but the words don’t come.
After a long time, too long, where Villa barely breathes or moves, Leo leans forward, so his face falls into the small light coming from Villa’s desk. Villa can see his eyes for the first time, and they look-they look rimmed red, but again, Villa can’t assume why; it could be exhaustion or it could be allergies, or it could be-something else.
Leo’s reaching out again and this time he does touch Villa, drops his hand on top of Villa’s, as frozen as the rest of him. Villa lowers his eyes to look, can barely feel it himself; Leo’s skin is pale, incredibly white against his own, and after a moment he flips his hand so they’re palm to palm but then pulls back like he’s been burned. Leo keeps leaning forward.
“Our professional relationship,” he’s saying, Villa hears him as though from far away. “I think we need to end our professional relationship.”
“Yeah,” Villa says slowly, and the sound of his own voice serves to snap him out of his reverie. “Yeah, all right then.” He studies Leo’s face for a moment longer; the light casts harsh shadows against it but he still looks soft, young. Villa looks away.
“David,” Leo says, and he’s still leaning in over the desk. “This isn’t…” he starts. “It’s not…” Villa almost wants to smile at his struggle, the way he’s always been bad with words and years in the spotlight haven’t changed that at all. But his mouth won't move; he just stares blankly.
Villa snaps himself out of it and looks back at his computer. “Whatever. It’s fine, Leo. I have work to get back to.”
“David,” Leo says, and he sounds reproachful, like Villa is the one doing something wrong, betraying him after so many years.
“What, Leo?” Villa snaps, and meets his gaze head on, eyes ablaze. “Guess what? I don’t work for you anymore, so I don’t have to pretend to be fucking polite anymore.” Leo sits back, looking stunned, face white. “So if you don’t mind, get the hell out of my office.”
Villa looks back at his computer screen, squinting as if to focus, and begins typing although he doesn’t know what he’s writing. It seems like it takes a long time before he hears Leo get up, seems like Leo moves so slowly to the door, like he shuts it so quietly behind him, and it’s not until then that Villa breathes out, lets himself feel it.
He slumps over his desk, wood cool beneath his heated forehead, and he tries to breathe. In the morning he wakes up there, neck so stiff he can barely move it.
He’s laying on his couch icing his neck and reading scripts the next day when Valdes pokes his head in.
“Hey,” he says, and Villa’s relieved when, unlike the faux-sympathetic looks and veiled comments he’s been getting from everyone else, Valdes just says, “I heard about Messi. Sucks, man.”
Villa looks over at him, trying not to move his neck, and shrugs as much as he can. “Yeah, well,” he says, trying to appear unaffected. “You know how these assholes get. One big movie and their fucking egos…” Even as he’s saying it, he can feel a flush of shame creeping up his neck, because that’s not how Leo is, not at all, and it doesn’t feel good to pretend he is.
“Tell me about it,” Valdes says, stepping further into the room. “Pricks, the lot of them.”
Villa hums noncommittally, still not willing to go so far as to call Leo a prick. He sets his script down and presses the palms of his heels into his eyes, groaning.
“Anyway,” Valdes says, stepping back and pausing the doorway. “Hey, you want to have a drink later?”
Villa considers for a minute and then nods, thinks at least he can maybe forget for tonight. And maybe it will make his fucking neck loosen up a little.
Villa doesn’t even wait for Valdes to show up, starts drinking as soon as his last meeting ends, sitting at his desk and staring out the window blankly until Valdes duck in, loosening his tie.
Villa pours him a drink, not bothering to stop at the conventional two fingers and filling the glass up. Valdes raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
“Long day, huh?” he asks, settling down on Villa’s couch. Villa leans his head back, his neck looser now, and closes his eyes. His head is already fuzzy, probably because he hardly ever drinks more than a glass or two these days, has too much to do to waste time being drunk and then hungover.
“You could say that,” he mutters, and downs the rest of his glass, welcoming the burn through his chest.
Valdes eyes him, asks casually, “How many have you had?” but Villa ignores it. He spins the glass around on his desk, letting it drop over clumsily. He feels like he’s moving through fog.
“You know I’ve known him since he was seventeen?” he says slowly, careful not to slur his words. Valdes just looks at him, seems to know what he’s talking about and doesn’t say anything. “What is that, seven, eight years now?” He reaches over for the bottle sitting on the edge of his desk, pours generously.
Valdes says, “Eight, I guess,” but Villa doesn’t acknowledge him.
He turns back toward the window. “When I first saw him, he had this… fuck, this god-awful haircut. You wouldn’t believe it,” Villa says, tipping his glass back and taking a small sip. “And he barely talked, barely reacted to anything at all, but when I told him he had to cut it I really thought he was going to walk out and not look back.” He laughs, but not happily, staring down at the amber liquid sloshing in his glass. It takes him a minute to realize Valdes is still there, watching him like he’s waiting for something else. Villa shrugs lightly and shakes his head.
“So he had terrible hair and didn’t talk,” Valdes says, voice light. “Why did you sign him again?” He’s clearly joking but Villa doesn’t laugh, instead gets lost in his thoughts and doesn’t answer for a long time.
“He had this-this face, you know?” he says finally, looking to Valdes for confirmation. “I mean, he still does. Like, you just look at his face and you like him.” Valdes nods slowly, and Villa doesn’t think he gets it but it doesn’t really matter, anyway. “And then I gave him a script and he read one line and that was it. I was sold.” He looks down for a long time before he says, “He was my first signing.”
His spins his chair away from Valdes, feigns shuffling through his file cabinet when he asks, “Do you know who he’s working with now?”
Valdes clears his throat and says, “Ah, I heard he was talking to Xabi Alonso.”
Villa spins back, quickly enough that his head spins, and he stares at Valdes. “Are you kidding me? Fucking Alonso? He’s a joke!”
“Well,” Valdes says, and he rubs the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t call him a joke…”
“He went to fucking state school,” Villa spits. “Joke.”
Valdes laughs now, gives Villa a look like, come on. “Not when the state school is Berkeley.”
“Yeah, well,” Villa mutters. “It’s no Harvard.”
“Or Princeton, right?” Valdes asks, smiling like he’s on to Villa, and Villa doesn’t want to but he smiles too.
“Well, yes,” Villa says, “If you’re bringing it up, I did go to both Princeton and Harvard.” He laughs despite himself. After a moment he catches himself and sighs. “No, you’re right. Alonso is good.”
Valdes says, “Yeah, I think he’ll be fine,” and Villa knows he’s right but can’t decide if that makes him feel better or worse.
They grow quiet again and Valdes finishes his drink. Villa reaches for the bottle and walks over the couch to give him a refill. “Hey, Villa?” he says quietly, while Villa’s bent over him. Villa arches an eyebrow, keeps his eyes on his pouring; his hands don’t feel so steady.
Valdes hesitates, but finally says, “I’m sorry.” Villa stiffens, stops pouring and stands up straight but doesn’t move away from the couch. “I’m sorry that he… I’m sorry this happened,” Valdes finishes, and doesn’t meet Villa’s eyes.
Villa goes back to his desk, sits down heavily. He picks up his own drink and takes a long swig. “That’s business,” he says dully. “Right?”
Valdes gives him a sympathetic look, says, “Right,” and lifts his glass as if to toast him. Villa half-heartedly lifts his glass in response, and sets about drinking enough that he won’t remember this conversation at all.
He wakes up to Juan shaking him hesitantly, opens his eyes for a just a second before immediately snapping them shut again against the harsh sunlight. His head is throbbing.
“Sir?” Juan says softly. “You have a meeting in fifteen minutes, should I cancel it?”
“What?” Villa asks, and his voice is scratchy, barely there. “No you shouldn’t fucking cancel it, what are you saying?” He tries to sit up but his head spins and he sits back heavily. At least he’d made it to the couch last night. Juan puts a hand on his shoulder, propping him up halfway.
“I just need a minute,” he mutters, pushing his fingers into his eyes to will the spinning away.
“Can I get you something?” Juan asks, keeping his voice low.
“Water,” Villa says. “Aspirin.” He hears Juan walk out, his footsteps quick and hurting Villa’s head.
He opens his eyes again and all at once he knows he’s going to throw up, somehow manages to make it to his private bath before he does, and Juan finds him there, slumped over the seat, his forehead resting against the cool porcelain. He sets a glass of water next to Villa, and next to it a bottle of pills that rattles obnoxiously.
“Sir?” Juan says. “Can I say something without the risk of being fired?”
Villa grunts; his throat is sore, raw, and he doesn’t have the energy to be mean to Juan anyway.
“Maybe you should go home, sir. I can call you a car.”
Villa grunts again, slumping over further; he never misses a day of work, not for anything, but before he can even think about it, he feels himself nodding, his sweaty forehead slipping against the seat, and Juan just says “Okay,” quietly, closes the door gently behind him.
Villa’s feeling much better by the afternoon but he stays in bed, answering emails and making calls in his sweatpants. He’s just hung up with Valdes, who says he just woke up under his desk, when his phone rings shrilly and he sees Xavi’s name flash across the screen.
He doesn’t want to answer, except that part of him really does, and in the end he knows Xavi well enough to know that not answering won’t get rid of him so he picks up.
“Villa,” he answers shortly.
“What the fuck, Villa?” Xavi says by way of greeting. “What the fuck?”
Villa closes his eyes, lays back into a plush, expensive pillow. “What, Xavi?”
“He fired you? Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
“Why didn’t I call you?” Villa asks, sitting back up in bed. “I don’t know, Xavi, maybe because I don’t fucking work for your client anymore?”
Xavi’s quiet for a minute, but breathing loudly, and then he just says again, “What the fuck, Villa!”
“Xavi,” Villa groans, and he can feel his headache returning. “I don’t know what to tell you. He didn’t talk to you about this?”
“No, he didn’t talk to me about this,” Xavi says, and he’s practically screeching. “I pretty much hate your fucking guts, but you think I’d let him fucking fire you? Are you insane?”
“Sometimes I think so,” Villa mumbles. He hears Xavi sigh.
“Can we fix this?” Xavi asks after awhile, and it’s Villa’s turn to sigh.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I don’t know if we should try. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
“That’s bullshit,” Xavi says flatly. “And you know it.”
“I couldn’t give him what he wants,” Villa says quietly, picking at his comforter. “I think I just-I got too close and couldn’t see the bigger picture anymore.” Even as he’s saying it, he’s not sure what it means.
“What are you, a dumped teenage girl?” Xavi spits. When Villa doesn’t answer, he says, softer, “Villa, he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants. He’s like ten.”
Villa laughs unhappily. “No. He’s not, Xavi.”
Xavi’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, sounding genuine, even concerned, “What the hell happened, Villa?”
Villa sighs. “Hand of God-“ he starts, but Xavi interrupts with a laugh.
“This isn’t about one stupid movie,” he says.
Villa pulls a face and then realizes Xavi can’t see it. “All I know is what he told me, Xavi.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Xavi says, sounding distracted. “I’m going to figure this out, and you-get your shit together, now. You sound like hell.”
“Fuck off,” Villa says half-heartedly, hanging up before Xavi can respond, but he’s smiling while he does it.
Part 2
pairing: david villa/leo messi
rating: r
words: ~13,400
summary: hollywood AU; villa is big shot hollywood agent. like entourage, if ari was more emo and in love with vince. idek.
“What the fuck do you want?” Villa snaps, immediately laying on his car horn and drowning out the reply. “Motherfucker!” he yells, leaning out the window. “Green means go, asshole!”
Traffic starts moving slowly and he rolls his window halfway up. “Speak,” he snaps again.
Instead of the sharp, low bark of Xavi Hernandez that he was expecting, he hears a softer slur. “Bad day, David?”
“Leo,” he says, surprised. He rolls the window the rest of the way up. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?”
“What, I can’t call my own agent?” the other man laughs quietly.
Villa pulls up to another red light, lays his forehead against the steering wheel, closing his eyes. “No, of course you can. Whenever you want. What’s up?”
“Are you free for dinner?” Leo’s voice has changed from his soft, breathy drawl to the crisp business voice Villa’s heard him perfect over the years. Sometimes it still surprises Villa, when Leo uses it on him. It doesn’t happen often.
Villa’s not free for dinner, he’s never free for dinner, but it’s Leo and he’s calling personally, so, “What time? I’ll have Juan make a reservation.”
There’s shuffling and murmuring from the other end of the line. “Eight?” he asks finally.
“Eight. Okay. How many?” Traffic slows to a stop for no discernable reason again, and Villa screams curse words silently, banging on his steering wheel.
“Just us.”
That was unusual. “What’s this about, Leo?” Villa asks, trying to keep his voice light.
“Nothing,” Leo says after a moment. “Just. Nothing. Catching up.”
Villa pauses, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. “Okay. Catching up,” he says, running his fingers over the smooth leather steering wheel. “Okay.”
Leo says, “All right. Have Juan call Xavi about the reservation. See you tonight.”
Villa says, “Hey. Leo.” There’s no response, but Villa can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. The moment stretches. Behind Villa, a car blows its horn and he lets out a sharp breath. “Nevermind. See you tonight.”
He hangs up the phone. Sticks his middle finger out the window.
The elevator doors slide open silently, and it takes the occupants of the office a moment to see Villa stride out. They get quiet when they see him, but he doesn’t notice; he hasn’t lifted his head from his Blackberry at all.
“Juan!” he calls as he disappears into his office, not waiting for an answer. The rest of the lobby occupants exhale collectively and go back to their business.
Juan scurries in after him, shutting the heavy door behind him. Villa throws his blackberry on his desk, collapsing into his giant chair and shutting his eyes for a moment. Juan waits.
“You get the reservation?” Villa asks finally, and his voice is tired.
“Got it. Already confirmed with Xavi.”
“Some place with steak, right?” Villa says. He opens Outlook, scrolling uninterestedly through his emails. “Leo likes ribeye.”
“Yes. His favorite steakhouse. It’s all set.”
“What else?” Villa asks, flicking his eyes to Juan for the first time.
He has a huge stack of papers in his arms, the scripts for the day. “These just got dropped off. Do you want them now?”
Villa rubs his forehead. There’s a headache blooming behind his eyes and he really can’t think about reading right now, but. “Just leave them on the couch. And get me some aspirin. Something stronger, if you can.”
Juan nods, backing toward the door. “Anything else?”
Villa stares at him. “Well, you tell me. Any calls?”
“Messages on your desk. Torres’ people have called like, 5 times. Said you weren’t answering your cell.”
“That was intentional,” Villa mutters, picking through his stack of messages. A moment later he looks up to see Juan still hovering near the door. “Do you need something? If you want to watch me, can you do it from your desk?”
“Yes, sir,” Juan mumbles, opening the door. He pauses. “Not that I want to watch you, sir--“
Villa cuts him off. “Get the fuck out, Juan.”
The door closes heavily behind him. Villa wants to sleep, but scripts await. First, though, he picks up the phone, dials Torres’ guy. Put on his most convincing cheerful voice and grips the edge of his desk like it will save his sanity.
That night, Villa makes his way into the back of the restaurant, wiping his palms down the side of his pants. He’d gotten Juan to re-press them right before he left, and he makes sure to smooth down the sharp, precise pleats.
He’s the first to arrive and the hostess seats him; a table in a back corner, where it’s dark and paparazzi won’t be able to see from the front. Villa would throw her a grateful look if his nose wasn’t buried in his Blackberry, going through the excess of emails he’s received since he left his office 45 minutes ago.
Either Leo’s very quiet or Villa’s very absorbed in his phone, but he doesn’t notice when the diminutive man slides into the seat across from him. Leo’s already pulling his napkin across his lap when Villa glances up and starts.
“Leo, Jesus,” he says, “You scared the shit out of me,” and he starts to stand, holding out his hand.
“Oh,” Leo says, awkwardly removing the napkin from his lap and rising to meet Villa, and a bubble of affection rises within Villa, like it always does, anytime he sees flashes of the awkward young kid he met so many years ago still somewhere inside the polished movie star. He pulls a face at Villa’s hand. “A handshake?” he asks, and before Villa can react Leo’s next to him, pulling him in, his arms going around Villa’s waist. Villa can’t remember the last time he hugged someone.
He lets his own arm come up around Leo, one hand resting on his hair, smooth and silky and Villa thinks his shampoo probably costs as much as his dinner will. “How are you, Leo,” he says softly in the younger man’s ear.
Leo pulls away, smiling. He reseats himself and pulls his napkin onto his lap again. “Can’t complain, can’t complain,” he says, and he starts to scan the menu even though Villa could already tell him exactly what he’s going to order, the same thing he’s ordered since he was 17 and Villa took him to his first fancy steakhouse when Leo signed with him.
Villa finishes scrolling through his emails before he picks up his own menu. A waiter appears, asking them for their drinks, and Villa orders them a bottle of cabernet he knows Leo likes. Leo just smiles.
When they’ve ordered and the waiter’s disappeared, Leo looks at him closely. “So how have you been?” he asks, and Villa doesn’t know if he’s reading him wrong but he almost looks concerned.
“Fine,” he says. “Busy as fuck. The normal. You?”
Leo nods, swirling his wine around his glass and not meeting Villa’s eyes. “Same old,” he says, and takes a sip. Villa waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Okay,” Villa says, “So do you want to tell me what this is about?” Leo sets his glass down and meets Villa’s eyes, his own wide and innocent. “Come the fuck on, Leo, when’s the last time we had dinner alone? You’re way too big a star for me now,” he says, smiling. Leo doesn’t smile back.
Instead he sighs and leans back in his seat. “I want to talk about Hand of God,” he says finally. Villa tries not to groan.
“Leo,” he says, and he leans forward, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He can feel his headache come rushing back. “How many times have we gone over this?”
But Leo’s jaw is set and Villa knows he’s serious. “I don’t care how many times we’ve gone over it,” he says. “I want to talk about it again.”
Villa flops back in his seat and throws his hands up. “Fine, Leo, what do you want to talk about?”
“Xavi talked to the producers.” Leo doesn’t look at him when he says it, keeps his eyes averted, but Villa just stares until he looks over. “What?”
“You called the producers? That’s my job, Leo.” He tries to keep his voice neutral, but disbelief creeps in, a little anger.
“Well, you weren’t-“
“What?” Villa says, too loud. He lowers his voice and leans in. “What, Leo? I wasn’t doing my job? I called those fucks every day for three months. They didn’t want you, Leo, I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but-“
“That’s not what they told Xavi.”
Villa drags a hand across his forehead and takes several deep breaths. “What did they tell Xavi?” he grinds out, his teeth clenched.
“They said they tried to negotiate with you but you weren’t being reasonable.” Leo’s staring at him, his jaw set stubbornly, his wine forgotten in front of him. Villa can’t believe this is happening. He’s already thinking of the call he’ll make to Xavi in the morning-no, tonight, who the fuck cares if Villa wakes him up when’s acting like such an ungrateful little twat-
Villa closes his eyes and counts to ten, something one of his many worthless therapists taught him years ago. Leo’s waiting patiently when he opens his eyes. “Leo,” he starts, and he tries to keep his voice soothing. “What they were offering was not even in the realm of reasonable. I wouldn’t take it to be in their movie and you know I’d be a shit actor.” He smiles, but fears it might look more crazed than reassuring.
Leo doesn’t seem to be paying attention. The waiter reappears with their food, and for a few minutes it’s quiet while the staff returns with refills and pepper and to check on them. Villa cuts his meat viciously, thinking about all the different ways he could murder Xavi and get away with it.
Leo says, “Thank you,” quietly to their waiter, and when he leaves Leo looks back at Villa expectantly. “Stop being pissed at Xavi and let’s discuss this.”
“I’m not pissed at Xavi,” Villa says through gritted teeth, but he knows Leo knows him better than that, too well. He continues to saw through his meat quickly, not meeting Leo’s eyes.
“David.” Leo’s the only one who still calls him that, and Villa hates it but it makes him soften. Everything about Leo makes him soften, always has.
“Leo,” he says, and he tilts his head at the younger man, trying to make him understand. “They didn’t value you like they should have. You’re too good for that kind of treatment.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Villa,” he says, leaning in, his voice low but insistent. Villa flinches at the name. “I told you what I wanted and you didn’t make it happen.”
“Leo-“ he starts, but Leo cuts him off by leaning back, shaking his head. Villa wishes he could explain, tell Leo that he’s worth everything, worth the world and if other people don’t see that then they don’t deserve to be near him, not for anything, but he doesn’t know how to say that out loud, doesn’t even know what it means that he thinks that, because he certainly doesn’t think that way about his other clients. He shoves the thought out of his head, eats another piece of steak.
“I don’t know what to do, David,” Leo says, not meeting his eye. He lets his fork go and it clatters to his plate. “I don’t know-“
“What?” Villa says, freezing, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “You’re not actually talking about-you wouldn’t fire me over this.” Villa puts his own silverware down, clenches his fists so his hands won’t shake.
Leo still won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t-some people think I should,” he says vaguely, and in an instant a list of names is running through Villa’s head, people that would fuck him over, take advantage of Leo. “I mean, I don’t know, David, I feel like-this isn’t the first time you didn’t listen to me. And I just… I really wanted this movie.”
Villa’s head is swirling and he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge that Leo is still there. After a long moment of tense silence, Leo sighs, leans forward. He lays a hand on top of Villa’s clenched fist and Villa starts, staring at their hands.
“David,” he says again, and Villa meets his eyes, trying to keep his composure but fearing he looks as panicked as he feels. “David,” he repeats, and Villa can’t look away from him, his big brown eyes, familiar and kind and this can’t be happening-
Villa jerks his hand away, snapping himself out of his daze. Leo looks mildly surprised himself. “I can fix this,” he says earnestly, going back to his steak. “Leo? You know me. I can fix this.”
Leo’s quiet for a long time, until Villa chances a glance up at him. He nods slowly. “Okay, David,” he says, and picks up his knife and fork again too. “See that you do.”
The rest of the meal is eaten mostly in silence. Villa keeps his gaze down, forces his food down even though his throat feels tight. Leo’s knee is pressed against his under the table and even while he avoids the younger man’s eyes, he doesn’t move his leg away.
It feels late, incredibly late, by the time Villa’s on his way home, even though it’s probably not even close to midnight yet. Outside the restaurant, he’d hugged Leo goodbye but made sure to keep his face turned away. “I’ll keep you posted,” he’d muttered, tried to ignore the look on Leo’s face; he didn’t know what it meant anyway.
It’s cool out, but not too much, breezy, and Villa rolls his window down, holding his head on his hand with his elbow on the window ledge. He passes a huge billboard with Leo’s face, one he’s seen a million times before, every time he goes home this way. Leo’s last big movie, a hit, and any time he looks at the billboard, Villa remembers that movie, opening night, how Leo’d thrown a party but they’d snuck away, down to the beach by Leo’s house; the way Leo had looked, proud and happy and tired in a good way, how they’d drunk champagne from the bottle and let the waves crash over their feet, how Leo had leaned into him, laughing and shoving him deeper into the ocean spray.
Now, Villa doesn’t look at the billboard. He keeps his eyes resolutely forward, a tight grip on the steering wheel.
When he gets home, he thinks about calling Xavi, telling him what a royal fuck up he is, but instead he falls into bed without even hanging his suit up. He sets his alarm for five a.m.; it will be more sleep than he’s gotten in weeks.
He gets to the office before the sun comes up and reads scripts on the couch. Sometime around seven, Juan bustles in, setting a cup of coffee and a stack of papers on his desk, and he doesn’t even know Villa’s there until Villa barks, “Get me Hernandez,” and Juan jumps about ten feet in the air.
“Jesus… sir, you scared me,” Juan says.
Villa stares at him. He knows he looks like shit; he’d barely slept and his eyes are red, with ugly purple bags underneath.
“Do you need to change your fucking pants or can you make a call for me?” Villa snaps when Juan stands there with his hand over his heart for a beat longer than Villa likes.
“No, of course, sir,” Juan says, and scrambles out, and if Villa wasn’t in such a piss-poor mood he would almost feel bad for doing that to someone so early in the morning. As things stand, he couldn’t give two fucks.
A moment later his phone buzzes and Villa stands, stretching out his half-asleep legs. “Xavi on line one,” Juan says, his voice calmer, when Villa pushes the button for speaker phone.
Villa waits a moment for Juan to transfer the call and then hisses, “What the fuck, Hernandez,” his mouth close to the speaker.
“Oh, calm down,” Xavi says, his voice sounding far away.
“Calm down?” Villa asks incredulously. “Calm down? Is that a fucking joke, Xavi?”
“Villa-“ he starts, and Villa can hear the blare of a car horn in the background. Xavi’s not even at work yet, and Villa’s been up for hours, and what the fuck was he thinking.
“Shut the fuck up, Xavi,” he spits, and the other end falls silent. “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing, going behind my back, and I know you’ll never admit that you royally fucked up but you did, you fucked up and you fucked me over and now Leo’s talking about firing me-“
Xavi interrupts him at that, and his calm demeanor falls away a little bit. “Wait, what? Firing you?”
“Yes, fucking firing me,” Villa says, and he leans forward, his head in his hands. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re messing with, Xavi,” he says. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Leo. I know how to do that for him.”
“Do you?” Xavi asks. “That’s what I’m doing too.”
“Xavi, fuck,” Villa starts, standing over his phone and throwing it a murderous glare.
But he interrupts. “Villa, calm down. He’s not going to fire you. Leo loves you.”
It’s just a throwaway comment, a figure of speech, but Villa blanches at it anyway. He shakes it off. “He doesn’t-Whatever the fuck, Xavi. I told him I’d fix it so I’m going to do that, but only if you stay the fuck out of it.”
“Whatever, Villa,” Xavi says, his cold façade firmly back in place, “I’m done with it. The movie’s gone anyway, right? Do whatever you want.”
Villa doesn’t bother to say goodbye, just disconnects and sits back heavily in his chair.
“Xavi doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” he mutters to himself, after a moment of mind racing. His eyes land on the stack of scripts that still awaits him and he pushes out of his chair, back to the couch. He doesn’t have any more time to waste thinking about Xavi Hernandez.
“Juan!” He yells sometime after lunch. After a few moments of silence, he yells again, “Mata!”
Juan bursts in a moment later, breathing heavily. “Sir, if you use the intercom I can-“ he starts to say, but upon seeing Villa’s murderous glare he cuts himself off. “What can I do for you?” he asks instead.
Villa glowers for another moment but then snaps, “I need Casillas, now.”
Juan skitters out and a second later Villa’s phone is lighting up. “Mr. Casillas, line one,” he says, and even Villa is impressed at how quickly he made that happen.
“Iker,” Villa greets, trying to sound as warm and friendly as possible.
“Villa,” Iker responds, and he sounds decidedly less friendly, perhaps even suspicious, although Villa can’t imagine why.
“How have you been, Iker?” he asks sweetly, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes. Being sweet is not in his nature, and it takes a great deal of effort.
“Villa, what is it?” Iker snaps impatiently, and Villa lets his feet drop to the floor heavily. Some part of him appreciates that Iker doesn’t make him go through the façade most people do.
“Hand of God,” Villa says simply, and it’s barely out of his mouth before Iker is groaning. Villa thinks he hears the phone slam against something--the desk, the chair-a few times, and he really can’t blame Iker.
“Villa,” he growls, “You cannot actually be bringing this up again-“
“Iker,” Villa says, letting his voice sound as tired as he feels in hopes of picking up some sympathy points.
“We’ve discussed this a million times,” Iker starts to say.
“I know,” Villa interrupts. “I know, Iker, okay, but he really wants to do this fucking movie, so whatever it is that you want, whatever we can get for him, I’m in, okay? Anything.”
Iker is quiet for a long time, long enough that Villa looks at the phone to make sure they’re still connected. Finally, he hears Iker heave a sigh. “It’s too late, Villa, the cast is set-“
“No,” Villa protests, closing his eyes. “Come on. It’s Leo. You can find a place for him.”
“We tried for months, Villa,” Iker reminds him, but his voice is kind and Villa knows it’s a lost cause.
“There’s nothing?” he asks, and he knows he sounds desperate, but sometimes that’s necessary. “You’re absolutely sure?”
Iker says, “I’m sure, Villa, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Villa bangs his head against the edge of his desk, doesn’t even care if Iker hears. “Okay,” he grinds out between his teeth. “Okay, please do. Thanks, Iker.”
He asks Juan to schedule Leo to come in and talk to him, tries to think of a way he can spin this and not let Leo down again, but nothing comes. He just hopes that Xavi is right and Leo was bluffing about firing him. If nothing else, Villa thinks it would be hard for him to do in person, face to face with Villa, surrounded by evidence of their successes together.
It’s a few days before Leo comes in, rolling through the lobby with his usual crew, Pique and Cesc, trailing behind him like bizarrely stretched shadows. Juan buzzes when they get off the elevator and Villa strides out to meet them.
“Leo,” he says, leaning in for a quick hug but pulling away quickly. “How are you? You want a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Leo says, smiling shyly, the way he always has.
“You gonna offer me a drink, Villa?” Pique asks, smirking from just behind Leo.
“Who are you again?” Villa asks, spinning on his heel and leading Leo to his office by the arm.
“Funny,” Pique drawls. “Hey, have you found me an agent yet?”
Villa looks around Leo to give Pique an incredulous look. “Um, no?”
Pique looks at him impatiently. “I told you I met that guy at a party who thinks I could be a really great model!”
Villa barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Okay, then Pique, I’ll get right on that.” Pique looks at him disbelievingly and Villa can’t stop laughing. “No, seriously, do you actually do something, or just trail Leo around all day?” Villa asks, glancing sidelong at him. Cesc snickers and Leo just smiles, nudging Villa in the side.
“Leave him alone,” Leo says quietly, and Villa shrugs, pulling open his office door.
Pique and Cesc sit down in the waiting area outside Villa’s office, Pique muttering, “You know I’m his driver.” Villa ignores him.
He follows Leo into his office and closes the door behind him. Leo flops onto his couch, crossing his ankles, and flips through a script laying there.
“This sucks,” he says after a moment, tossing it to the ground.
Villa peers down at it, twisting his neck to see the cover. “Oh-yeah-that one’s not for you,” he says idly, kicking it under the table.
He settles on a seat across from the couch and studies Leo, who sits up like he gets that it’s serious now.
“News on Hand of God?” Leo asks, and he keeps his tone light but Villa can see he’s anxious.
“Yeah,” Villa says, not meeting Leo’s eyes. He smoothes down the front of his pants. “Leo, look…”
He looks up then, and he sees the moment that Leo’s eyes darken. His face goes blank, and Villa sighs. “It’s about to start production, everything’s already set-“ he starts, but Leo’s already looking away, doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Leo,” he says, “The cast is set. There really wasn’t anything I could do.“
“Now,” Leo corrects, looking over suddenly. Villa starts.
“What?”
“There isn’t anything you could do now. But you could have had this done months ago. You should have,” he says, and it’s surprising but he sounds more disappointed than angry.
“Leo, we talked about this-“
“Yeah, we did,” Leo says, and his eyes flash as he looks over at Villa. Villa’s stomach turns.
He takes several deep breaths. “I’m sorry this movie didn’t work out, Leo, but that doesn’t mean-“
“I don’t know what it means, Villa,” he says, his voice cold. He’s standing up and turning away from Villa, turning toward the door.
“Leo,” Villa pleads, and he hasn’t heard his voice like that in a long time. He’s standing too, reaching out toward Leo, but Leo’s gone before he even gets close, the door shutting heavily behind him.
It’s days before he hears from Leo again; he thinks about calling, but doesn’t think it would be a good idea without good news. He figures maybe Leo just needs some time to cool off, maybe it’s best to let this whole thing blow over, so he doesn’t call and doesn’t try to get in touch. He read scripts; he takes meetings; he screens movies. He waits.
Villa’s at the office late, even later than usual for him; most of the office is gone for the day. Juan’s gone, the lobby lights turned out; Villa’s door is cracked open but he doesn’t hear the swish of the elevator doors opening. He’s sitting in front of his computer, staring blankly at the screen, and when he hears the knock on his door he starts, not even able to remember what he was working on.
“Come in,” he calls, his voice tired.
Leo’s head pokes around the door, his hair rumpled and face drawn. Villa’s startled, not expecting him; he stands quickly, his chair crashing into the shelves behind him, and he starts to reach for his suit coat but Leo slips in and shuts the door, furrowing his brow and shaking his head at Villa.
“Sit back down,” Leo says, and his voice is raspy. Villa wonders how late it actually is, where Leo’s been.
“What are you doing here, Leo?” he asks, sitting back heavily into his chair. “I wasn’t expecting you…” He realizes suddenly that the only light in the office is his desk light; Leo sits right across from his but he’s shrouded in shadows, almost hidden to Villa.
“Yeah, sorry,” Leo says, and his voice is soft, slurred, but Villa doesn’t know if it’s just because he’s tired and that’s how his voice naturally is, when he’s not thinking about it, or maybe he’s just been drinking.
Villa offers him a drink now, reaches for the bottle behind his desk, but Leo waves him off again. In the shadows, Villa can see the flash of his white teeth, but he can’t tell if it’s a smile or a grimace.
He settles back, lets his eyes adjust to Leo in the dim light, and they sit in silence for a long time before he sighs, says, “Why are you here, Leo?”
Leo reaches out and for a moment Villa freezes, thinks Leo’s going to touch him. But his hand lands on the desk and his fingers tap there, a nervous habit he’s had since Villa met him, and suddenly Villa knows, he’s certain, what’s coming. He focuses on the tap of Leo’s fingers against wood, trying to pick out a rhythm there, blinking quickly, unseeing.
Leo stops tapping abruptly, lets his hand rest still against the desk top. “I don’t think this is working anymore,” he says formally, stiffly. His voice is strained.
Even knowing it was coming, hearing the words, hearing them from Leo’s mouth, it feels a little like a rug being pulled out from underneath him, like being punched in the gut. It’s deadly silent in the office, and he knows Leo is waiting for him to say something, but the words don’t come.
After a long time, too long, where Villa barely breathes or moves, Leo leans forward, so his face falls into the small light coming from Villa’s desk. Villa can see his eyes for the first time, and they look-they look rimmed red, but again, Villa can’t assume why; it could be exhaustion or it could be allergies, or it could be-something else.
Leo’s reaching out again and this time he does touch Villa, drops his hand on top of Villa’s, as frozen as the rest of him. Villa lowers his eyes to look, can barely feel it himself; Leo’s skin is pale, incredibly white against his own, and after a moment he flips his hand so they’re palm to palm but then pulls back like he’s been burned. Leo keeps leaning forward.
“Our professional relationship,” he’s saying, Villa hears him as though from far away. “I think we need to end our professional relationship.”
“Yeah,” Villa says slowly, and the sound of his own voice serves to snap him out of his reverie. “Yeah, all right then.” He studies Leo’s face for a moment longer; the light casts harsh shadows against it but he still looks soft, young. Villa looks away.
“David,” Leo says, and he’s still leaning in over the desk. “This isn’t…” he starts. “It’s not…” Villa almost wants to smile at his struggle, the way he’s always been bad with words and years in the spotlight haven’t changed that at all. But his mouth won't move; he just stares blankly.
Villa snaps himself out of it and looks back at his computer. “Whatever. It’s fine, Leo. I have work to get back to.”
“David,” Leo says, and he sounds reproachful, like Villa is the one doing something wrong, betraying him after so many years.
“What, Leo?” Villa snaps, and meets his gaze head on, eyes ablaze. “Guess what? I don’t work for you anymore, so I don’t have to pretend to be fucking polite anymore.” Leo sits back, looking stunned, face white. “So if you don’t mind, get the hell out of my office.”
Villa looks back at his computer screen, squinting as if to focus, and begins typing although he doesn’t know what he’s writing. It seems like it takes a long time before he hears Leo get up, seems like Leo moves so slowly to the door, like he shuts it so quietly behind him, and it’s not until then that Villa breathes out, lets himself feel it.
He slumps over his desk, wood cool beneath his heated forehead, and he tries to breathe. In the morning he wakes up there, neck so stiff he can barely move it.
He’s laying on his couch icing his neck and reading scripts the next day when Valdes pokes his head in.
“Hey,” he says, and Villa’s relieved when, unlike the faux-sympathetic looks and veiled comments he’s been getting from everyone else, Valdes just says, “I heard about Messi. Sucks, man.”
Villa looks over at him, trying not to move his neck, and shrugs as much as he can. “Yeah, well,” he says, trying to appear unaffected. “You know how these assholes get. One big movie and their fucking egos…” Even as he’s saying it, he can feel a flush of shame creeping up his neck, because that’s not how Leo is, not at all, and it doesn’t feel good to pretend he is.
“Tell me about it,” Valdes says, stepping further into the room. “Pricks, the lot of them.”
Villa hums noncommittally, still not willing to go so far as to call Leo a prick. He sets his script down and presses the palms of his heels into his eyes, groaning.
“Anyway,” Valdes says, stepping back and pausing the doorway. “Hey, you want to have a drink later?”
Villa considers for a minute and then nods, thinks at least he can maybe forget for tonight. And maybe it will make his fucking neck loosen up a little.
Villa doesn’t even wait for Valdes to show up, starts drinking as soon as his last meeting ends, sitting at his desk and staring out the window blankly until Valdes duck in, loosening his tie.
Villa pours him a drink, not bothering to stop at the conventional two fingers and filling the glass up. Valdes raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
“Long day, huh?” he asks, settling down on Villa’s couch. Villa leans his head back, his neck looser now, and closes his eyes. His head is already fuzzy, probably because he hardly ever drinks more than a glass or two these days, has too much to do to waste time being drunk and then hungover.
“You could say that,” he mutters, and downs the rest of his glass, welcoming the burn through his chest.
Valdes eyes him, asks casually, “How many have you had?” but Villa ignores it. He spins the glass around on his desk, letting it drop over clumsily. He feels like he’s moving through fog.
“You know I’ve known him since he was seventeen?” he says slowly, careful not to slur his words. Valdes just looks at him, seems to know what he’s talking about and doesn’t say anything. “What is that, seven, eight years now?” He reaches over for the bottle sitting on the edge of his desk, pours generously.
Valdes says, “Eight, I guess,” but Villa doesn’t acknowledge him.
He turns back toward the window. “When I first saw him, he had this… fuck, this god-awful haircut. You wouldn’t believe it,” Villa says, tipping his glass back and taking a small sip. “And he barely talked, barely reacted to anything at all, but when I told him he had to cut it I really thought he was going to walk out and not look back.” He laughs, but not happily, staring down at the amber liquid sloshing in his glass. It takes him a minute to realize Valdes is still there, watching him like he’s waiting for something else. Villa shrugs lightly and shakes his head.
“So he had terrible hair and didn’t talk,” Valdes says, voice light. “Why did you sign him again?” He’s clearly joking but Villa doesn’t laugh, instead gets lost in his thoughts and doesn’t answer for a long time.
“He had this-this face, you know?” he says finally, looking to Valdes for confirmation. “I mean, he still does. Like, you just look at his face and you like him.” Valdes nods slowly, and Villa doesn’t think he gets it but it doesn’t really matter, anyway. “And then I gave him a script and he read one line and that was it. I was sold.” He looks down for a long time before he says, “He was my first signing.”
His spins his chair away from Valdes, feigns shuffling through his file cabinet when he asks, “Do you know who he’s working with now?”
Valdes clears his throat and says, “Ah, I heard he was talking to Xabi Alonso.”
Villa spins back, quickly enough that his head spins, and he stares at Valdes. “Are you kidding me? Fucking Alonso? He’s a joke!”
“Well,” Valdes says, and he rubs the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t call him a joke…”
“He went to fucking state school,” Villa spits. “Joke.”
Valdes laughs now, gives Villa a look like, come on. “Not when the state school is Berkeley.”
“Yeah, well,” Villa mutters. “It’s no Harvard.”
“Or Princeton, right?” Valdes asks, smiling like he’s on to Villa, and Villa doesn’t want to but he smiles too.
“Well, yes,” Villa says, “If you’re bringing it up, I did go to both Princeton and Harvard.” He laughs despite himself. After a moment he catches himself and sighs. “No, you’re right. Alonso is good.”
Valdes says, “Yeah, I think he’ll be fine,” and Villa knows he’s right but can’t decide if that makes him feel better or worse.
They grow quiet again and Valdes finishes his drink. Villa reaches for the bottle and walks over the couch to give him a refill. “Hey, Villa?” he says quietly, while Villa’s bent over him. Villa arches an eyebrow, keeps his eyes on his pouring; his hands don’t feel so steady.
Valdes hesitates, but finally says, “I’m sorry.” Villa stiffens, stops pouring and stands up straight but doesn’t move away from the couch. “I’m sorry that he… I’m sorry this happened,” Valdes finishes, and doesn’t meet Villa’s eyes.
Villa goes back to his desk, sits down heavily. He picks up his own drink and takes a long swig. “That’s business,” he says dully. “Right?”
Valdes gives him a sympathetic look, says, “Right,” and lifts his glass as if to toast him. Villa half-heartedly lifts his glass in response, and sets about drinking enough that he won’t remember this conversation at all.
He wakes up to Juan shaking him hesitantly, opens his eyes for a just a second before immediately snapping them shut again against the harsh sunlight. His head is throbbing.
“Sir?” Juan says softly. “You have a meeting in fifteen minutes, should I cancel it?”
“What?” Villa asks, and his voice is scratchy, barely there. “No you shouldn’t fucking cancel it, what are you saying?” He tries to sit up but his head spins and he sits back heavily. At least he’d made it to the couch last night. Juan puts a hand on his shoulder, propping him up halfway.
“I just need a minute,” he mutters, pushing his fingers into his eyes to will the spinning away.
“Can I get you something?” Juan asks, keeping his voice low.
“Water,” Villa says. “Aspirin.” He hears Juan walk out, his footsteps quick and hurting Villa’s head.
He opens his eyes again and all at once he knows he’s going to throw up, somehow manages to make it to his private bath before he does, and Juan finds him there, slumped over the seat, his forehead resting against the cool porcelain. He sets a glass of water next to Villa, and next to it a bottle of pills that rattles obnoxiously.
“Sir?” Juan says. “Can I say something without the risk of being fired?”
Villa grunts; his throat is sore, raw, and he doesn’t have the energy to be mean to Juan anyway.
“Maybe you should go home, sir. I can call you a car.”
Villa grunts again, slumping over further; he never misses a day of work, not for anything, but before he can even think about it, he feels himself nodding, his sweaty forehead slipping against the seat, and Juan just says “Okay,” quietly, closes the door gently behind him.
Villa’s feeling much better by the afternoon but he stays in bed, answering emails and making calls in his sweatpants. He’s just hung up with Valdes, who says he just woke up under his desk, when his phone rings shrilly and he sees Xavi’s name flash across the screen.
He doesn’t want to answer, except that part of him really does, and in the end he knows Xavi well enough to know that not answering won’t get rid of him so he picks up.
“Villa,” he answers shortly.
“What the fuck, Villa?” Xavi says by way of greeting. “What the fuck?”
Villa closes his eyes, lays back into a plush, expensive pillow. “What, Xavi?”
“He fired you? Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
“Why didn’t I call you?” Villa asks, sitting back up in bed. “I don’t know, Xavi, maybe because I don’t fucking work for your client anymore?”
Xavi’s quiet for a minute, but breathing loudly, and then he just says again, “What the fuck, Villa!”
“Xavi,” Villa groans, and he can feel his headache returning. “I don’t know what to tell you. He didn’t talk to you about this?”
“No, he didn’t talk to me about this,” Xavi says, and he’s practically screeching. “I pretty much hate your fucking guts, but you think I’d let him fucking fire you? Are you insane?”
“Sometimes I think so,” Villa mumbles. He hears Xavi sigh.
“Can we fix this?” Xavi asks after awhile, and it’s Villa’s turn to sigh.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I don’t know if we should try. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
“That’s bullshit,” Xavi says flatly. “And you know it.”
“I couldn’t give him what he wants,” Villa says quietly, picking at his comforter. “I think I just-I got too close and couldn’t see the bigger picture anymore.” Even as he’s saying it, he’s not sure what it means.
“What are you, a dumped teenage girl?” Xavi spits. When Villa doesn’t answer, he says, softer, “Villa, he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants. He’s like ten.”
Villa laughs unhappily. “No. He’s not, Xavi.”
Xavi’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, sounding genuine, even concerned, “What the hell happened, Villa?”
Villa sighs. “Hand of God-“ he starts, but Xavi interrupts with a laugh.
“This isn’t about one stupid movie,” he says.
Villa pulls a face and then realizes Xavi can’t see it. “All I know is what he told me, Xavi.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Xavi says, sounding distracted. “I’m going to figure this out, and you-get your shit together, now. You sound like hell.”
“Fuck off,” Villa says half-heartedly, hanging up before Xavi can respond, but he’s smiling while he does it.
Part 2