(no subject)
title: games and the amusements of mankind.
characters: xabi alonso, steven gerrard. a little of jamie carragher.
rating: pg13. mild language.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 1,928.
notes: stevie and xabi like to play a game. this is for slobbering birthday in 9 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY. SHE IS PICASSO, YOU GUYS. SHE IS MY SOUL SISTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAALKSDFJHAHAHAHA. ANYWAY slobbering
BOO, I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WISH FOR. I WAS WORKING ON THIS OTHER ONE, BUT IT WAS LIKE STUPID AND KIND OF SAD HAHAHA LOL AND I DIDN'T WANT THAT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Games are a compromise between intimacy and keeping intimacy away.
-Eric Berne
Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to imply their feelings for each other to a certain extent without making it obvious. Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to see all the ways they could hurt each other by leaving everything unsaid, they like to see how much their hearts can take without combusting. Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to count all the little ways of saying “I love you” without actually having to say it. They like to kick around a football and see who could score a goal first, like to pretend they could dedicate goals to each other. (Xabi and Stevie like to play a game.)
I. Implications.
Stevie likes implying things to Xabi, just to see his reactions. (This is all just a game, he reminds himself.) He likes to see if it is true that Xabi knows (everything about) him. He likes to see if Xabi understands his hidden undertones of messages.
“You know,” Stevie says one night after a win, yet he’s not even mildly drunk (much to his own disapproval) (5 beers) (Xabi’s only had 3), “Have you ever seen my place, mate?”
Xabi looks confused, his tone is dismissive. “Yes, I’ve been to your place plenty times, Steven.”
Stevie nods eagerly. “Yeah, well. No one’s home at my place.” When Xabi doesn’t say anything, he says, “Is Nagore home?”
Xabi swallows. “She went back to Spain to visit family.”
Stevie smiles slightly. “Well, looks like we’re both alone tonight.”
What are you trying to say? Xabi thinks. Why don’t you just fucking say it? Xabi thinks. What does that even mean? Xabi thinks. He waits a few moments for Stevie to go on, decides it’s Stevie’s turn. When Stevie doesn’t say anything, he stands up and grabs his coat, “Alright, well. I guess I’ll be going.”
Stevie stands up immediately as well, “Wait. But.”
“But?” Xabi turns to look at him.
Stevie looks at him and shrugs, holds up his hands with an expression that says “it’s your move”.
Xabi nods. “You should go home too, Steven.”
Steven sighs (defeated) and puts on his own coat, mutters, “Yeah, back to my bloody lonely home.”
II. Things unsaid.
Stevie likes leaving things unsaid, likes to see if Xabi will answer what he says without realizing what he’s answering (he likes to see if Xabi is willing to answer his questions (it’s all just a game, he reassures himself when he thinks he’s taking it too far)). But Xabi never answers them directly anyway (those fucking implications, dammit).
One day, as Xabi and he walk along a stone-paved street (the beauties of Istanbul surround them, the sky is a clear blue and the lights (oh, the lights) are extraordinary), Stevie stops at a shop and pulls out a brochure. They had been contemplating for the past hour where to go (what to see)-Xabi said that Stevie couldn’t think of anything because he was uncultured; Stevie said that Xabi couldn’t think of anything because he was over-exposed. “That makes no sense,” Xabi had said. “It does to me,” Stevie had replied. “Uncultured Scouser,” Xabi had grinned. (Stevie couldn’t help but ignore the jibe and grin.)
He holds up the brochure for Xabi to see. It reads: A grand mosaic of East and West, this is the only city in the world built on two continents. It offers Roman aqueducts, Byzantine churches, monuments, museums, great mosques lifting their minarets to the sky, but best of all, it promises to delight you with the friendly, delicious activity of its streets.
“You’re not a museum person,” Xabi tells him. (Stevie thinks, for a second, that maybe (maybe) Xabi does know him as well as everyone thinks.)
Stevie snorts, “Glad to see you always think of my preferences before your own.”
Xabi smiles softly and rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t you just love that, huh?”
Stevie doesn’t reply and puts the brochure back as they start walking again. Xabi speaks first, “Istanbul is beautiful though, don’t you think? Magical, almost.”
Stevie turns to look at him. “What about Liverpool? What do you think about Liverpool?”
Xabi raises an eyebrow, but continues walking. “Liverpool is … Liverpool.” Stevie stops and gives him a look (“Is that really all you have to say about Liverpool? That it’s Liverpool? Ungrateful twat.”), but Xabi continues, “It’s-home. It’s-docklands and red phone booths. It’s-the birthplace of the Beatles,” (Stevie smiles a little then), “and Steven Gerrard.” Always, Steven. (Steven manages to smile even broader then.) “It’s going to sleep on a night that’s chilly but somehow perfect, and waking up to snow-chillier and possibly even more perfect.”
“It’s staying there the rest of your life, playing for the team you love,” Stevie says. Xabi’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Xabi or himself. Stevie speaks again, “Anyway. It sounds like Liverpool makes you happy.”
Xabi smirks. “It does.”
Stevie grabs a hold of Xabi’s wrist as they walk along (he thinks about whether or not they should get back to the hotel anytime soon-decides he likes being here with Xabi more), and he grins. “Anyone in Liverpool particularly?”
Xabi pulls away from Stevie as they turn a corner (onto a main road-“people will see,” he almost says-he doesn’t though (expects Stevie to understand)), and shoots a grin in Stevie’s direction. “Yes sir. Rafa Benítez.”
(“Ungrateful little twat.”)
Sometimes, Xabi wishes, that Stevie would say what he means. He wishes that Stevie wouldn’t leave gaps in between his words (spaces) that he expects Xabi to fill. Sometimes, he wishes they didn’t play this little game of theirs-(wishes his life wasn’t defined by a stupid game).
III. Ways to say “I love you”.
Xabi likes different aspects of the game. (This one-in particular-is his favorite.) He likes telling Stevie how he feels without Stevie even realizing it.
The first time, it starts with a note on his locker. Stevie looks at the piece of paper as if it’s from beyond this world. (“What’s that?” Carra looks at Stevie and back at the note taped onto his locker. “I don’t know,” Stevie replies (unsure). But then he takes the piece of paper and pulls it off his locker, glances inside and recognizes the handwriting immediately. (He smiles.))
Stevie;
I’ve told you many times that you need more culture in your life! We’ll start it out easy. Lesson one: (repeat it)
¡Hola! Me llamo Stevie.
Stevie repeats it out loud, grinning the whole time, and Carra is looking at him as if he’s an alien who’s taken over his best friend’s body (Xabi walks out of the shower to hear Stevie saying, “Hola, me llamo Stevie.” Except he pronounces it as (hO-luh, mE lahmO Stevie). Stevie says it like that on purpose, to make everyone (Xabi) laugh-(Xabi doesn’t know that)).
*
“Lesson two.” Xabi starts one day, a grin on his face, “Repeat after me: ¿cómo estás? That should be easy enough for you to pronounce.” He smiles at Stevie, teasing.
Stevie rolls his eyes (realizes that maybe Xabi really does think he’s uncultured), and says (just to spite him), “¿Cómo estás, Xabier Alonso? ¡Muy bien, gracias! ¿Qué paso? ¡Nada!”
Xabi raises both eyebrows, and he’s grinning full-on now, “Okay. I guess we can skip to lesson five, since you’ve covered three and four.”
*
They are both sprawled on their beds, in the room they’re sharing for the night. Stevie’s flipping through the Greek channels, pointlessly reminding himself that he doesn’t understand Greek (so there really is no reason to even watchTV). Finally, he turns off the television and turns to Xabi, who is sitting on his bed-watching the television (Stevie).
“So, culture me. Give me lesson five.” He smirks softly at Xabi (Xabi feels his heart swell a little).
Xabi sits up. “This is the final lesson, you know.”
“So, culturing me only takes five lessons?”
“No. Culturing you, I’m sure, takes many, many more. But I’m only taking it up to five, just because I have better things to do in my life than culturing my uncultured Captain!”
Stevie’s smirking now. “Ouch. Don’t let me tell Raúl you said that, Alonso. I’m sure he will be very, very offended.”
Xabi laughs (rolls his eyes). “Alright. So, repeat after me: maite zaitut.”
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s not Spanish.”
Xabi snorts softly. “I know. It’s Euskara.”
“What?”
“I’m Basque, remember?”
“I meant, for what? What does it mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just repeat it.”
Stevie repeats it and Xabi smiles, liking the sound of the words coming from Stevie’s lips.
Stevie looks at him quizzically, “How is this culturing me if I don’t know what I’m saying?! For all I know, you’re making me say, ‘I’m a dick’!”
“Ah, Steven. You know I wouldn’t make you say that,” but the way he’s grinning makes Stevie feel unsure.
“Come on, Xabi. What’s it mean?”
(I love you.)
IV. Football.
Xabi scores against Chelsea. They win 1-0.
Afterwards, in the locker rooms, Stevie hugs him (squeezes him). He whispers into his ear, “His passing and his shooting are sublime, if we had to choose between him and fat Frank, we would choose Xabi every time.” He pulls back, grinning, and chucks under his chin (affectionately).
Xabi laughs, pushes him (but doesn’t really push him, as much as-touch (rub) him).
Stevie grins at him, and he looks like a little boy with the smile he’s giving. “That goal for me?”
“Always.” Xabi (forgets to laugh along) can’t help but look serious. (Stevie can’t help but notice.)
They both laugh it off awkwardly and resume changing.
V. Everything else.
They’re watching a movie, their kids are sitting on the floor as A Bug’s Life plays on the screen.
And then the movie says something that catches Stevie’s eye (ear?). First rule of leadership: everything is your fault.
He asks, turning to Xabi, “Really?”
Xabi shrugs, “It’s just a children’s film.”
“Yeah, well. Kids’ movies teach a lot of things, nowadays.”
“No one thinks that everything is your fault.” He pauses, and then, “Sure, this scar on my elbow is your fault from when you tackled me that one time, but-” He stops to give Stevie a reassuring smile. “No one blames you for everything.”
Stevie (feels his heart pang) snorts, “First of all, that scar is not from when I tackled you, but from when you tackled me. Second of all,” he pauses, “thanks.”
Xabi places a hand on his shoulder, “You know everyone believes in you.” When Stevie doesn’t say anything, he presses on, “I do. If the mountains crumble to the sea and-and-”
“And the world turns red,” Stevie offers, smiling softly. (Always thinking of Liverpool, Xabi thinks.)
Xabi nods, repeating quietly, “And if the world turns red-I-we would all still have faith in you.”
Stevie (watches him) smiles, and finally says, “Maite zaitut.” (Always thinking about you, Stevie thinks.)
Xabi laughs. “You don’t even know what that means. You could be saying ‘I’m a dick’ for all you know.”
Stevie shakes his head a little, reaches down to take Xabi’s hand, “I know you think I’m uncultured and all. But I learned something other than how to repeat weird words that day-and it’s called: Google.”
Stevie gives Xabi a look, and it feels like a “checkmate”. (An “I love you”.)
(Stevie and Xabi like to pretend they knew the truth all along.)
Most games are lost, not won, someone once said. (This one was won.)
characters: xabi alonso, steven gerrard. a little of jamie carragher.
rating: pg13. mild language.
disclaimer: i'm lying.
word count: 1,928.
notes: stevie and xabi like to play a game. this is for slobbering birthday in 9 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY. SHE IS PICASSO, YOU GUYS. SHE IS MY SOUL SISTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAALKSDFJHAHAHAHA. ANYWAY slobbering
BOO, I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WISH FOR. I WAS WORKING ON THIS OTHER ONE, BUT IT WAS LIKE STUPID AND KIND OF SAD HAHAHA LOL AND I DIDN'T WANT THAT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Games are a compromise between intimacy and keeping intimacy away.
-Eric Berne
Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to imply their feelings for each other to a certain extent without making it obvious. Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to see all the ways they could hurt each other by leaving everything unsaid, they like to see how much their hearts can take without combusting. Stevie and Xabi like to play a game with themselves. They like to count all the little ways of saying “I love you” without actually having to say it. They like to kick around a football and see who could score a goal first, like to pretend they could dedicate goals to each other. (Xabi and Stevie like to play a game.)
I. Implications.
Stevie likes implying things to Xabi, just to see his reactions. (This is all just a game, he reminds himself.) He likes to see if it is true that Xabi knows (everything about) him. He likes to see if Xabi understands his hidden undertones of messages.
“You know,” Stevie says one night after a win, yet he’s not even mildly drunk (much to his own disapproval) (5 beers) (Xabi’s only had 3), “Have you ever seen my place, mate?”
Xabi looks confused, his tone is dismissive. “Yes, I’ve been to your place plenty times, Steven.”
Stevie nods eagerly. “Yeah, well. No one’s home at my place.” When Xabi doesn’t say anything, he says, “Is Nagore home?”
Xabi swallows. “She went back to Spain to visit family.”
Stevie smiles slightly. “Well, looks like we’re both alone tonight.”
What are you trying to say? Xabi thinks. Why don’t you just fucking say it? Xabi thinks. What does that even mean? Xabi thinks. He waits a few moments for Stevie to go on, decides it’s Stevie’s turn. When Stevie doesn’t say anything, he stands up and grabs his coat, “Alright, well. I guess I’ll be going.”
Stevie stands up immediately as well, “Wait. But.”
“But?” Xabi turns to look at him.
Stevie looks at him and shrugs, holds up his hands with an expression that says “it’s your move”.
Xabi nods. “You should go home too, Steven.”
Steven sighs (defeated) and puts on his own coat, mutters, “Yeah, back to my bloody lonely home.”
II. Things unsaid.
Stevie likes leaving things unsaid, likes to see if Xabi will answer what he says without realizing what he’s answering (he likes to see if Xabi is willing to answer his questions (it’s all just a game, he reassures himself when he thinks he’s taking it too far)). But Xabi never answers them directly anyway (those fucking implications, dammit).
One day, as Xabi and he walk along a stone-paved street (the beauties of Istanbul surround them, the sky is a clear blue and the lights (oh, the lights) are extraordinary), Stevie stops at a shop and pulls out a brochure. They had been contemplating for the past hour where to go (what to see)-Xabi said that Stevie couldn’t think of anything because he was uncultured; Stevie said that Xabi couldn’t think of anything because he was over-exposed. “That makes no sense,” Xabi had said. “It does to me,” Stevie had replied. “Uncultured Scouser,” Xabi had grinned. (Stevie couldn’t help but ignore the jibe and grin.)
He holds up the brochure for Xabi to see. It reads: A grand mosaic of East and West, this is the only city in the world built on two continents. It offers Roman aqueducts, Byzantine churches, monuments, museums, great mosques lifting their minarets to the sky, but best of all, it promises to delight you with the friendly, delicious activity of its streets.
“You’re not a museum person,” Xabi tells him. (Stevie thinks, for a second, that maybe (maybe) Xabi does know him as well as everyone thinks.)
Stevie snorts, “Glad to see you always think of my preferences before your own.”
Xabi smiles softly and rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t you just love that, huh?”
Stevie doesn’t reply and puts the brochure back as they start walking again. Xabi speaks first, “Istanbul is beautiful though, don’t you think? Magical, almost.”
Stevie turns to look at him. “What about Liverpool? What do you think about Liverpool?”
Xabi raises an eyebrow, but continues walking. “Liverpool is … Liverpool.” Stevie stops and gives him a look (“Is that really all you have to say about Liverpool? That it’s Liverpool? Ungrateful twat.”), but Xabi continues, “It’s-home. It’s-docklands and red phone booths. It’s-the birthplace of the Beatles,” (Stevie smiles a little then), “and Steven Gerrard.” Always, Steven. (Steven manages to smile even broader then.) “It’s going to sleep on a night that’s chilly but somehow perfect, and waking up to snow-chillier and possibly even more perfect.”
“It’s staying there the rest of your life, playing for the team you love,” Stevie says. Xabi’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Xabi or himself. Stevie speaks again, “Anyway. It sounds like Liverpool makes you happy.”
Xabi smirks. “It does.”
Stevie grabs a hold of Xabi’s wrist as they walk along (he thinks about whether or not they should get back to the hotel anytime soon-decides he likes being here with Xabi more), and he grins. “Anyone in Liverpool particularly?”
Xabi pulls away from Stevie as they turn a corner (onto a main road-“people will see,” he almost says-he doesn’t though (expects Stevie to understand)), and shoots a grin in Stevie’s direction. “Yes sir. Rafa Benítez.”
(“Ungrateful little twat.”)
Sometimes, Xabi wishes, that Stevie would say what he means. He wishes that Stevie wouldn’t leave gaps in between his words (spaces) that he expects Xabi to fill. Sometimes, he wishes they didn’t play this little game of theirs-(wishes his life wasn’t defined by a stupid game).
III. Ways to say “I love you”.
Xabi likes different aspects of the game. (This one-in particular-is his favorite.) He likes telling Stevie how he feels without Stevie even realizing it.
The first time, it starts with a note on his locker. Stevie looks at the piece of paper as if it’s from beyond this world. (“What’s that?” Carra looks at Stevie and back at the note taped onto his locker. “I don’t know,” Stevie replies (unsure). But then he takes the piece of paper and pulls it off his locker, glances inside and recognizes the handwriting immediately. (He smiles.))
Stevie;
I’ve told you many times that you need more culture in your life! We’ll start it out easy. Lesson one: (repeat it)
¡Hola! Me llamo Stevie.
Stevie repeats it out loud, grinning the whole time, and Carra is looking at him as if he’s an alien who’s taken over his best friend’s body (Xabi walks out of the shower to hear Stevie saying, “Hola, me llamo Stevie.” Except he pronounces it as (hO-luh, mE lahmO Stevie). Stevie says it like that on purpose, to make everyone (Xabi) laugh-(Xabi doesn’t know that)).
*
“Lesson two.” Xabi starts one day, a grin on his face, “Repeat after me: ¿cómo estás? That should be easy enough for you to pronounce.” He smiles at Stevie, teasing.
Stevie rolls his eyes (realizes that maybe Xabi really does think he’s uncultured), and says (just to spite him), “¿Cómo estás, Xabier Alonso? ¡Muy bien, gracias! ¿Qué paso? ¡Nada!”
Xabi raises both eyebrows, and he’s grinning full-on now, “Okay. I guess we can skip to lesson five, since you’ve covered three and four.”
*
They are both sprawled on their beds, in the room they’re sharing for the night. Stevie’s flipping through the Greek channels, pointlessly reminding himself that he doesn’t understand Greek (so there really is no reason to even watchTV). Finally, he turns off the television and turns to Xabi, who is sitting on his bed-watching the television (Stevie).
“So, culture me. Give me lesson five.” He smirks softly at Xabi (Xabi feels his heart swell a little).
Xabi sits up. “This is the final lesson, you know.”
“So, culturing me only takes five lessons?”
“No. Culturing you, I’m sure, takes many, many more. But I’m only taking it up to five, just because I have better things to do in my life than culturing my uncultured Captain!”
Stevie’s smirking now. “Ouch. Don’t let me tell Raúl you said that, Alonso. I’m sure he will be very, very offended.”
Xabi laughs (rolls his eyes). “Alright. So, repeat after me: maite zaitut.”
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s not Spanish.”
Xabi snorts softly. “I know. It’s Euskara.”
“What?”
“I’m Basque, remember?”
“I meant, for what? What does it mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just repeat it.”
Stevie repeats it and Xabi smiles, liking the sound of the words coming from Stevie’s lips.
Stevie looks at him quizzically, “How is this culturing me if I don’t know what I’m saying?! For all I know, you’re making me say, ‘I’m a dick’!”
“Ah, Steven. You know I wouldn’t make you say that,” but the way he’s grinning makes Stevie feel unsure.
“Come on, Xabi. What’s it mean?”
(I love you.)
IV. Football.
Xabi scores against Chelsea. They win 1-0.
Afterwards, in the locker rooms, Stevie hugs him (squeezes him). He whispers into his ear, “His passing and his shooting are sublime, if we had to choose between him and fat Frank, we would choose Xabi every time.” He pulls back, grinning, and chucks under his chin (affectionately).
Xabi laughs, pushes him (but doesn’t really push him, as much as-touch (rub) him).
Stevie grins at him, and he looks like a little boy with the smile he’s giving. “That goal for me?”
“Always.” Xabi (forgets to laugh along) can’t help but look serious. (Stevie can’t help but notice.)
They both laugh it off awkwardly and resume changing.
V. Everything else.
They’re watching a movie, their kids are sitting on the floor as A Bug’s Life plays on the screen.
And then the movie says something that catches Stevie’s eye (ear?). First rule of leadership: everything is your fault.
He asks, turning to Xabi, “Really?”
Xabi shrugs, “It’s just a children’s film.”
“Yeah, well. Kids’ movies teach a lot of things, nowadays.”
“No one thinks that everything is your fault.” He pauses, and then, “Sure, this scar on my elbow is your fault from when you tackled me that one time, but-” He stops to give Stevie a reassuring smile. “No one blames you for everything.”
Stevie (feels his heart pang) snorts, “First of all, that scar is not from when I tackled you, but from when you tackled me. Second of all,” he pauses, “thanks.”
Xabi places a hand on his shoulder, “You know everyone believes in you.” When Stevie doesn’t say anything, he presses on, “I do. If the mountains crumble to the sea and-and-”
“And the world turns red,” Stevie offers, smiling softly. (Always thinking of Liverpool, Xabi thinks.)
Xabi nods, repeating quietly, “And if the world turns red-I-we would all still have faith in you.”
Stevie (watches him) smiles, and finally says, “Maite zaitut.” (Always thinking about you, Stevie thinks.)
Xabi laughs. “You don’t even know what that means. You could be saying ‘I’m a dick’ for all you know.”
Stevie shakes his head a little, reaches down to take Xabi’s hand, “I know you think I’m uncultured and all. But I learned something other than how to repeat weird words that day-and it’s called: Google.”
Stevie gives Xabi a look, and it feels like a “checkmate”. (An “I love you”.)
(Stevie and Xabi like to pretend they knew the truth all along.)
Most games are lost, not won, someone once said. (This one was won.)