(no subject)
title: slump
pairing: leo messi/david villa
rating: pg
words: 1860
summary: barcelona loses. leo is tired.
disclaimer: these characters are not mine but this story is.
notes: after this week's barcelona games, fluff was a necessity.
They call it the February slump. They call it the FIFA virus. They call it a long time coming.
Leo doesn’t care what they call it. He doesn’t like it.
They draw with Sporting. Leo doesn’t score. He runs- he works- for 90 minutes he’s desperate, but he can’t score. They drop points, because Leo doesn’t score.
In the locker room he keeps his head up, smiles. He knows they can’t win every game, he can’t win every game. The team is disappointed but one game- one game won’t break them.
Whenever Leo has a bad game, something happens. Something blooms in his chest, a seedling of anger, frustration, and longing, a sense of missing something from his life that he can’t go much longer without. It’s a feeling in his bones, like they ache from lack of payoff, like a hunger deep in his stomach. So when Leo has a bad game, the usual outcome is that he’ll come out blazing the next game, beating an innocent opponent into submission, taming the beast.
But that doesn’t happen. Leo waits for the growling in his gut, the ache in his chest. It doesn’t come. He just feels- tired.
Instead, what happens is that Leo- Barcelona- goes to London. And Leo has a bad game. And they lose.
60 minutes in, the Emirates throbbing all around him, he feels like he’s been sucked dry. His feet feel like lead weights at the end of his legs. He sees the ball-- he wants-- but he can’t get there. His mind buzzes faintly, white noise, and for the first time he can remember he wishes for the cool hard plastic of the bench under his legs. He watches Arsenal whip past him down the field while his feet chain him to the pitch beneath him and he wishes.
Finally, finally, after 93 brutal minutes the whistle blows. Leo drags himself off the pitch, into the locker room, slumps on a bench. His teammates touch his shoulder, his head, telling him silently not to blame himself, but he doesn’t. He’s glad it’s over and he feels bad for being glad when they lost so he just keeps quiet, wills his mind blank, tries to use his last reserves of energy to pull off his boots and socks.
“Leo,” someone says above him. Xavi. He lifts his head, doesn’t have the energy to answer. “Leo, it’s just one game. One goal.”
“I know,” he says faintly, lets his head drop back down.
Xavi stands above him a moment longer. “Are you all right Leo?”
He drags himself to his feet. “Tired. Need a shower,” he mumbles. He sees Xavi’s concerned face as he brushes past the man towards the showers.
He turns the water on, as hot as it will go, to ease the ache from his muscles. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, drifting into a state somewhere between waking and sleeping. He imagines his feet melting into the tile below him, then his legs, and his torso, the steaming water wrenching his atoms apart until he disappears into a puddle melded into the cool tile beneath him, until no one can tell him from the dirt and soap below. The thought relaxes him.
“Leo.” His eyes jerk open. David. He thinks vaguely that David hadn’t even been to the locker room yet when Leo came in, but now there he is, his hair clean and wet and a towel around his waist, and the other showers are all empty-
David’s looking at him with wide eyes. Leo thinks he looks- worried? It’s not a look he’s ever seen from the other man before. David just stares at him, and Leo looks back, his eyelids heavy, blinking sleepily.
“Bus call is in 4 minutes,” David says finally. Leo doesn’t answer and David keeps looking at him.
“Leo-“ he says, urgently Leo thinks, and steps toward him. Leo realizes he was swaying over, and snaps back up straight.
“Oh- oh,” Leo says, and leans against the tiled wall. The water is starting to run cold. “Okay. 4 minutes.”
David purses his lips. He looks around the shower room, sees it’s empty, and leans in over Leo, turning the water off. He grabs Leo’s towel and hands it to him. Once Leo gets it around himself he steps out of the stall and David’s hand is there, on his back, guiding him out to the locker room, holding him up.
David moves his things so he is right next to Leo while he gets dressed, still looking slightly rattled. Leo sits on the bench, moving slowly, pulling his clothes on as best he can. His head pounds.
He slides his feet into his sneakers, pulling on the laces with awkward fingers. David is dressed and has his bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s looking at his watch, at the door. Finally he drops to one knee and starts tying Leo’s shoes for him.
Leo stares at the top of his head, thinking of the quiet bus, the loud airport, the plane. He just wants to be in his house, in his bed. He doesn’t realize he’s said any of this out loud until David looks up, sharply, moving to his other foot to tie the lace.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” David snaps, more angry than Leo knows what to do with.
After a moment of confusion he asks, “What am I doing…”
“You play 90 minutes, week in, week out, for us and for Argentina, no matter the game, no matter the competition.” David explains like he’s talking to a child, and Leo feels like one. He’s finished tying Leo’s shoes but he stays on his knee, looking at up at Leo. Water from Leo’s hair drips onto his forehead and he brushes it away, annoyed. “You play 90 minutes in pointless games and then you practice harder than everyone else and then I’ll bet you go home and play some more.”
“I just do what my coaches tell me to.”
“No,” David snaps, “The coaches do what you tell them to, because they want you happy, because they want you to play well, and to play well for them.” Leo stares at him dumbly. David climbs to his feet. His voice is softer when he says, “Leo, if you don’t take care of yourself, it’s not good for your playing. It’s not good for the team. It’s not good for you.”
Leo grabs his bag and walks out.
2 hours later Leo jerks awake, looking around him. He’s on the plane. It's dark; most people are asleep around him. He doesn’t even remember how he got there. He looks to see who he was sleeping on and sees David reading a magazine next to him.
Leo starts to say something but his mouth is dry, like it’s full of cotton. David hands him a water bottle without looking over.
When he stretches and looks around, David says, “You should go back to sleep.” He wants to say something snarky in return, but something in David’s eyes, a softness, a hesitation, stops him.
Instead he says, “We have the day off tomorrow. I’ll sleep. Don’t worry.” David nods and goes back to his magazine.
A few minutes later David says, “You should let me take you home.” Leo wonders if he heard wrong, turns to David with questioning eyes. David looks at him and then away quickly. “I just mean-you shouldn’t drive.”
Leo thinks, Javier drove me, but his mouth says, “Okay.”
They don’t get back to Barcelona until 4:30 in the morning. The streets are quiet, as quiet as Leo has ever seen them. His breath comes out in puffs as he throws his bag into the back of David’s car, and the windows are cool as he rests his head against them, watching a silent Barcelona glide past his window.
“This is my favorite time of day,” he mumbles, face still pressed against the window. “In Barcelona, this is my favorite time of day.”
David seems to consider this, leaning forward to look out through the windshield. “Is your favorite time of day different somewhere else?”
“In Rosario it’s dusk,” he says. “Those moments right before the sun goes down, right before all the moms would come out to the football field and make us come home for dinner. When everyone started playing like it mattered.” Even as he talks, knows he’s babbling, his eyes are falling shut.
A few minutes later he’s half asleep but he thinks he hears David say, “Yeah, I think this is my favorite time in Barcelona too.”
Leo dreams he’s falling. But no- then- he realizes he is falling. David’s opened Leo’s car door but his seat belt keeps him inside. David reaches inside and unlatches it, helps Leo to his feet. He disappears to the back of the car to retrieve Leo’s bag.
Leo stretches, yawning. The air smells clean and crisp and his head is starting to clear out. He starts to feel a sting in his chest when he remembers the game, and it makes him feel better, makes him feel like himself again.
David hands him his bag, says, “Get a good night’s sleep, hm, Leo?”
Leo swings the bag over his shoulder, looks at the older man. His hair dried funny and Leo realizes he didn’t have time to style it because he was helping Leo. David himself yawns and rubs at the stubble on his jaw. Leo starts to laugh.
A smile plays on David’s face watching him. “You’ve lost it,” he says, even as he starts to laugh a little himself. “Seriously. Sleep. Relax.”
Instead of turning toward his house Leo takes a few steps toward David, until they’re just a breath apart. David smells like soap, like grass, like Barcelona around him. “Come inside,” Leo says suddenly, one hand looping out to grab David’s forearm.
David freezes and then smiles like he’s not sure what to do, leans back from Leo a little bit. “Leo… you need to sleep.”
“I will,” Leo says, insistent now. “We’ll sleep. Just come in.”
David laughs, rubs awkwardly at his hair. “I didn’t-I mean I didn’t offer to drive you because-“
Leo interrupts him by pushing his lips into David's, teeth tugging at his lower lip, a thumb pressing into his hip. David freezes again before sinking into it, but after a moment he pulls away sharply, taking several steps back.
“Come on Leo, stop. Just go to bed and call me tomorrow.”
Leo laughs, shakes his head. “David, if you come in, I promise you. I won’t leave the bed until tomorrow night.” David’s shocked face makes him laugh even harder and he holds out his hand. “Come on.”
It only takes a second until he feels David take his hand. David tells himself this way he can make sure Leo rests, and Leo tells himself he’s not sure rest is what he needs, but that’s a fight they can have tomorrow. They walk inside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon outside Leo’s house.
pairing: leo messi/david villa
rating: pg
words: 1860
summary: barcelona loses. leo is tired.
disclaimer: these characters are not mine but this story is.
notes: after this week's barcelona games, fluff was a necessity.
They call it the February slump. They call it the FIFA virus. They call it a long time coming.
Leo doesn’t care what they call it. He doesn’t like it.
They draw with Sporting. Leo doesn’t score. He runs- he works- for 90 minutes he’s desperate, but he can’t score. They drop points, because Leo doesn’t score.
In the locker room he keeps his head up, smiles. He knows they can’t win every game, he can’t win every game. The team is disappointed but one game- one game won’t break them.
Whenever Leo has a bad game, something happens. Something blooms in his chest, a seedling of anger, frustration, and longing, a sense of missing something from his life that he can’t go much longer without. It’s a feeling in his bones, like they ache from lack of payoff, like a hunger deep in his stomach. So when Leo has a bad game, the usual outcome is that he’ll come out blazing the next game, beating an innocent opponent into submission, taming the beast.
But that doesn’t happen. Leo waits for the growling in his gut, the ache in his chest. It doesn’t come. He just feels- tired.
Instead, what happens is that Leo- Barcelona- goes to London. And Leo has a bad game. And they lose.
60 minutes in, the Emirates throbbing all around him, he feels like he’s been sucked dry. His feet feel like lead weights at the end of his legs. He sees the ball-- he wants-- but he can’t get there. His mind buzzes faintly, white noise, and for the first time he can remember he wishes for the cool hard plastic of the bench under his legs. He watches Arsenal whip past him down the field while his feet chain him to the pitch beneath him and he wishes.
Finally, finally, after 93 brutal minutes the whistle blows. Leo drags himself off the pitch, into the locker room, slumps on a bench. His teammates touch his shoulder, his head, telling him silently not to blame himself, but he doesn’t. He’s glad it’s over and he feels bad for being glad when they lost so he just keeps quiet, wills his mind blank, tries to use his last reserves of energy to pull off his boots and socks.
“Leo,” someone says above him. Xavi. He lifts his head, doesn’t have the energy to answer. “Leo, it’s just one game. One goal.”
“I know,” he says faintly, lets his head drop back down.
Xavi stands above him a moment longer. “Are you all right Leo?”
He drags himself to his feet. “Tired. Need a shower,” he mumbles. He sees Xavi’s concerned face as he brushes past the man towards the showers.
He turns the water on, as hot as it will go, to ease the ache from his muscles. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, drifting into a state somewhere between waking and sleeping. He imagines his feet melting into the tile below him, then his legs, and his torso, the steaming water wrenching his atoms apart until he disappears into a puddle melded into the cool tile beneath him, until no one can tell him from the dirt and soap below. The thought relaxes him.
“Leo.” His eyes jerk open. David. He thinks vaguely that David hadn’t even been to the locker room yet when Leo came in, but now there he is, his hair clean and wet and a towel around his waist, and the other showers are all empty-
David’s looking at him with wide eyes. Leo thinks he looks- worried? It’s not a look he’s ever seen from the other man before. David just stares at him, and Leo looks back, his eyelids heavy, blinking sleepily.
“Bus call is in 4 minutes,” David says finally. Leo doesn’t answer and David keeps looking at him.
“Leo-“ he says, urgently Leo thinks, and steps toward him. Leo realizes he was swaying over, and snaps back up straight.
“Oh- oh,” Leo says, and leans against the tiled wall. The water is starting to run cold. “Okay. 4 minutes.”
David purses his lips. He looks around the shower room, sees it’s empty, and leans in over Leo, turning the water off. He grabs Leo’s towel and hands it to him. Once Leo gets it around himself he steps out of the stall and David’s hand is there, on his back, guiding him out to the locker room, holding him up.
David moves his things so he is right next to Leo while he gets dressed, still looking slightly rattled. Leo sits on the bench, moving slowly, pulling his clothes on as best he can. His head pounds.
He slides his feet into his sneakers, pulling on the laces with awkward fingers. David is dressed and has his bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s looking at his watch, at the door. Finally he drops to one knee and starts tying Leo’s shoes for him.
Leo stares at the top of his head, thinking of the quiet bus, the loud airport, the plane. He just wants to be in his house, in his bed. He doesn’t realize he’s said any of this out loud until David looks up, sharply, moving to his other foot to tie the lace.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” David snaps, more angry than Leo knows what to do with.
After a moment of confusion he asks, “What am I doing…”
“You play 90 minutes, week in, week out, for us and for Argentina, no matter the game, no matter the competition.” David explains like he’s talking to a child, and Leo feels like one. He’s finished tying Leo’s shoes but he stays on his knee, looking at up at Leo. Water from Leo’s hair drips onto his forehead and he brushes it away, annoyed. “You play 90 minutes in pointless games and then you practice harder than everyone else and then I’ll bet you go home and play some more.”
“I just do what my coaches tell me to.”
“No,” David snaps, “The coaches do what you tell them to, because they want you happy, because they want you to play well, and to play well for them.” Leo stares at him dumbly. David climbs to his feet. His voice is softer when he says, “Leo, if you don’t take care of yourself, it’s not good for your playing. It’s not good for the team. It’s not good for you.”
Leo grabs his bag and walks out.
2 hours later Leo jerks awake, looking around him. He’s on the plane. It's dark; most people are asleep around him. He doesn’t even remember how he got there. He looks to see who he was sleeping on and sees David reading a magazine next to him.
Leo starts to say something but his mouth is dry, like it’s full of cotton. David hands him a water bottle without looking over.
When he stretches and looks around, David says, “You should go back to sleep.” He wants to say something snarky in return, but something in David’s eyes, a softness, a hesitation, stops him.
Instead he says, “We have the day off tomorrow. I’ll sleep. Don’t worry.” David nods and goes back to his magazine.
A few minutes later David says, “You should let me take you home.” Leo wonders if he heard wrong, turns to David with questioning eyes. David looks at him and then away quickly. “I just mean-you shouldn’t drive.”
Leo thinks, Javier drove me, but his mouth says, “Okay.”
They don’t get back to Barcelona until 4:30 in the morning. The streets are quiet, as quiet as Leo has ever seen them. His breath comes out in puffs as he throws his bag into the back of David’s car, and the windows are cool as he rests his head against them, watching a silent Barcelona glide past his window.
“This is my favorite time of day,” he mumbles, face still pressed against the window. “In Barcelona, this is my favorite time of day.”
David seems to consider this, leaning forward to look out through the windshield. “Is your favorite time of day different somewhere else?”
“In Rosario it’s dusk,” he says. “Those moments right before the sun goes down, right before all the moms would come out to the football field and make us come home for dinner. When everyone started playing like it mattered.” Even as he talks, knows he’s babbling, his eyes are falling shut.
A few minutes later he’s half asleep but he thinks he hears David say, “Yeah, I think this is my favorite time in Barcelona too.”
Leo dreams he’s falling. But no- then- he realizes he is falling. David’s opened Leo’s car door but his seat belt keeps him inside. David reaches inside and unlatches it, helps Leo to his feet. He disappears to the back of the car to retrieve Leo’s bag.
Leo stretches, yawning. The air smells clean and crisp and his head is starting to clear out. He starts to feel a sting in his chest when he remembers the game, and it makes him feel better, makes him feel like himself again.
David hands him his bag, says, “Get a good night’s sleep, hm, Leo?”
Leo swings the bag over his shoulder, looks at the older man. His hair dried funny and Leo realizes he didn’t have time to style it because he was helping Leo. David himself yawns and rubs at the stubble on his jaw. Leo starts to laugh.
A smile plays on David’s face watching him. “You’ve lost it,” he says, even as he starts to laugh a little himself. “Seriously. Sleep. Relax.”
Instead of turning toward his house Leo takes a few steps toward David, until they’re just a breath apart. David smells like soap, like grass, like Barcelona around him. “Come inside,” Leo says suddenly, one hand looping out to grab David’s forearm.
David freezes and then smiles like he’s not sure what to do, leans back from Leo a little bit. “Leo… you need to sleep.”
“I will,” Leo says, insistent now. “We’ll sleep. Just come in.”
David laughs, rubs awkwardly at his hair. “I didn’t-I mean I didn’t offer to drive you because-“
Leo interrupts him by pushing his lips into David's, teeth tugging at his lower lip, a thumb pressing into his hip. David freezes again before sinking into it, but after a moment he pulls away sharply, taking several steps back.
“Come on Leo, stop. Just go to bed and call me tomorrow.”
Leo laughs, shakes his head. “David, if you come in, I promise you. I won’t leave the bed until tomorrow night.” David’s shocked face makes him laugh even harder and he holds out his hand. “Come on.”
It only takes a second until he feels David take his hand. David tells himself this way he can make sure Leo rests, and Leo tells himself he’s not sure rest is what he needs, but that’s a fight they can have tomorrow. They walk inside, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon outside Leo’s house.