fic: don't forget to breathe (football rpf)
title: don't forget to breathe
fandom: football rpf
pairing: Victor Valdes+Andres Iniesta friendship, Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkic if you have a dirty imagination
rating: PG
word count: 1200
summary: God willing, this is the worst day of the rest of Andres Iniesta's life.
notes: for tabacoychanel, since she translated the glorious interview of Valdes/Iniesta hurt/comfort for me, and I said I would. yeah, that's right, bitches, I have canon on my side. sweetie, I included Bojan just for you!
Bojan was sitting on the locker-room floor in front of Victor's bench, looking miserable. It wasn't an unusual sight, per se; everyone else was miserable too. It was just that Bojan was usually the one going around cheering them up. "He won't even talk to Pep," he reported unhappily. "Emili told me. Before he kicked me out of his office."
Victor sighed and sat down beside him, trying not to hiss as every leg muscle he'd used in training protested this new and unusual punishment. The floor was a lot closer to Bojan than it was to Victor, and his knees were a lot younger too. "He's going to get better. It's going to be fine."
"But - the World Cup is almost here," Bojan protested, finally saying the words they'd all been avoiding all day, like some sort of magic would keep them from being true so long as they weren't spoken aloud. He sounded like he might burst into tears. "And it's Andres, he has to go, he worked so hard and everything's been completely shit and he just, it just, it isn't fair!"
"Sweetheart," Victor said, exhaling. They were almost the last ones left in the locker room, and Leo deliberately avoided looking at them as he hurried out the door. Victor had sort of expected Titi to be the one Bojan went to, but maybe it was better he hadn't. Whatever else Thierry was - to Bojan, to Andres, to Barcelona - he still wasn't Spanish. "I know. I know."
"I don't understand why this is happening," Bojan said, too quietly to be a wail but still just as upset as if he'd started screaming. "It's not right. Andres isn't - Andres doesn't deserve this."
"Nobody does," Victor said gently, then laughed at the glare Bojan shot him. "Well. Maybe Ronaldo. And players who tackle dirty all the time." He wrapped an arm around Bojan's shoulders and pulled him close enough to press a kiss to his temple. His hair was still wet from the shower, plastered to his skin. "It's not your fault, sweetheart, so you need to stop feeling guilty."
"I don't feel - !" Bojan pressed his body closer to Victor and at the same time turned his face away. "If I could trade with him," he said, his voice very small.
"You can't," Victor said immediately. "And if you could Andres wouldn't want you to. Don't even say that, all right? All you can do is try your hardest, just like you already do, and help the team while he's out. Okay? That all any of us can do."
"Okay," Bojan said. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face, sniffed hard, and sat up as straight as he could. "Okay." He was so small, Victor thought helplessly, looking down at him. He shifted onto his knees and put his other arm around Bojan too, and squeezed hard.
"It's going to be okay," Victor said into Bojan's hair. It smelled kind of like flowers; he probably still let his mom buy his shampoo. "All right, sweetheart? Everything's going to be okay."
"Okay," Bojan repeated.
"Now smile for me, all right?" Victor sat back on his heels and examined Bojan's face carefully. His eyes were red and his bottom lip was still quivering, but he was trying to get the corners of his mouth to curve upwards, and the result was close enough. "You'll be all right."
Bojan shook his head when Victor tried to help him up, but Victor couldn't stay in the locker room forever, so he left him there. Maxwell was lurking right outside the door, looking anxious, and to give him credit he didn't look away when Victor scowled at him. "Bojan is still there, no?" he asked, in his slurred Portuguese-accented Spanish. "Is he going to be okay?"
"Yeah," Victor said. "I think. Maybe. Could you - " He gestured, and Maxwell understood enough to get out of his way. Victor went down the hall in the direction of Emili's office and Maxwell went the other way, back into the locker room.
He was a decent guy, Maxwell, for all that he seemed to spend half his life trailing after Ibrahimovic. Bojan liked him, anyway, and so far as Victor could tell he liked Bojan, too. And God knew he had to be patient if he could spend that much time around Ibra and not want to kill him. He'd look after Bojan.
Pep was slumped against the wall outside Emili's office. "Victor," he said tiredly.
"How's it look?"
"Not good, Emili says."
"He doesn't look it, but he's a tough little fucker," Victor said. "He'll get better faster than you think."
Pep rubbed his hands over his face, and Victor was forcibly reminded of Bojan swiping at his eyes to keep from crying in the locker room. "I know. I just don't - Emili says he doesn't want to see me."
Victor suddenly understood. "He's crying and he doesn't want you to see it. That's all." Pep nodded, dropping his hands and standing up straighter, and Victor paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Míster," he added carefully. "Bojan's still in the locker room. I think he could probably use a ride home."
Emili looked up when Victor came in. He waited until Victor had shut the door to say anything, though. "He doesn't want anyone to see - "
"He's not going to care how I see him," Victor interrupted. "He's in the back room, right?" Emili silently held up his hands, and Victor didn't wait for more explicit permission.
Andres was sitting on the cot in Emili's back room, in the dark. Victor bit back his immediate comment about taking martyrdom a little too far, switched on the light, and sat down beside Andres. "So, this really sucks," he offered conversationally. Andres let out a watery laugh and put his cheek on Victor's shoulder. Given the way Andres cried, he was probably getting snot everywhere, but Victor hadn't had time to grab any tissues, and the shirt could be washed.
"This is so far from the worst thing that's even happened this season," Andres managed. "I just - I keep thinking, what's wrong with me, at least I - at least I'm alive to get hurt, but - "
"I'm pretty sure Dani would say getting injured sucks, too," Victor said. He put his hand on Andres' back and rubbed in slow circles, feeling Andres' chest heaving underneath. "You're not required to be grateful for every shitty thing life throws at you just because you're around for it and he isn't."
"I want to play," Andres whispered. "I can't - I want to play, I want to help, I fucking hate this!"
"I know," Victor said. "I know."
"I want to go to the World Cup." Andres shivered, and started crying outright again. "I don't - I have to go. I think if I get left home again it'll kill me."
"You'll go. Andres, you'll work hard and you'll get better and you'll go. You will. I know you will." Victor kissed Andres' forehead and kept rubbing his back while he cried himself out. "Shh. You're going to get well again, and you'll play, and you're going to be amazing. You just have to take it one step at a time."
Andres sniffled. It was a very loud, undignified honking noise, and they both snickered at the way it cut through the heavy silence. Victor yanked his sleeves down over his hands and wiped Andres' face, careful but efficient, and got to his feet. "Come on," he said. "Your family's going to be worried. I'll take you home."
notes:
1. Most of the context for this fic can be found here, but in brief: Andres Iniesta had an absolutely miserable club season in 2009-10; he was perpetually injured and his friend Dani Jarque, who had played with him for years in the junior NTs, died unexpectedly of heart failure during preseason training, leaving behind his seven-months-pregnant girlfriend. When Andres injured himself for the fourth time that year, towards the end of the season, it put his presence in Spain's World Cup selection in jeopardy. He had already missed the Confederations Cup in 2009 with an injury picked up in the previous season's Champions League final. In the end, he recovered in time to go to South Africa and scored the winning goal in the World Cup final, celebrating by removing his jersey to reveal a shirt with a memorial to Dani Jarque.
2. Victor Valdes is Andres Iniesta's best friend at Barcelona. They have known each other since they were roommates in Iniesta's first year at Barcelona's youth academy, when Andres was a homesick twelve-year-old who was perpetually in tears because he missed his parents.
3. Bojan Krkic is the baby of Barcelona; he's been playing in the first team since he was sixteen and is still by several years the youngest player on the squad. His happy-go-lucky demeanor is something of a trademark, but I found the throwaway remark in an interview with Andres that "he's always smiling even when he isn't happy" (and the implication that that's something Bojan does to help the team) to be an interesting revelation. (The other players probably don't actually call him "sweetheart" though.)
4. Maxwell really has been trailing after Zlatan Ibrahimovic for half his life, or at least half of his football career. They met at Ajax Amsterdam, reunited at Inter Milan and transferred together to Barcelona in 2009. (It is unclear whether they keep meeting like this intentionally, but the likelihood of its being pure chance is pretty low, considering the rate at which Zlatan goes through football teams.) Maxwell was interviewed in a documentary about Zlatan a few years ago in which he says that they're best friends and were away-game roommates at the time. The parting shot of Zlatan's agent as he and Zlatan went off to AC Milan in an acrimonious storm of insults and threats to sue was that he might take Maxwell with them.
5. I could rant for pages about Pep Guardiola's intense and at times disturbingly touchy-feely relationship with his players (as well as the cult of mutual adoration between him and Andres Iniesta), or I could just link to this montage of them all hugging him and let you see the love for yourself.
6. As usual, got more questions about FC Barcelona? Check out my post of stalkerish love. If that doesn't cover it, feel free to ask me! I'm always happy to talk about my club.
7. Title and cut-text from Breathe by Alexi Murdoch.
fandom: football rpf
pairing: Victor Valdes+Andres Iniesta friendship, Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkic if you have a dirty imagination
rating: PG
word count: 1200
summary: God willing, this is the worst day of the rest of Andres Iniesta's life.
notes: for tabacoychanel, since she translated the glorious interview of Valdes/Iniesta hurt/comfort for me, and I said I would. yeah, that's right, bitches, I have canon on my side. sweetie, I included Bojan just for you!
Bojan was sitting on the locker-room floor in front of Victor's bench, looking miserable. It wasn't an unusual sight, per se; everyone else was miserable too. It was just that Bojan was usually the one going around cheering them up. "He won't even talk to Pep," he reported unhappily. "Emili told me. Before he kicked me out of his office."
Victor sighed and sat down beside him, trying not to hiss as every leg muscle he'd used in training protested this new and unusual punishment. The floor was a lot closer to Bojan than it was to Victor, and his knees were a lot younger too. "He's going to get better. It's going to be fine."
"But - the World Cup is almost here," Bojan protested, finally saying the words they'd all been avoiding all day, like some sort of magic would keep them from being true so long as they weren't spoken aloud. He sounded like he might burst into tears. "And it's Andres, he has to go, he worked so hard and everything's been completely shit and he just, it just, it isn't fair!"
"Sweetheart," Victor said, exhaling. They were almost the last ones left in the locker room, and Leo deliberately avoided looking at them as he hurried out the door. Victor had sort of expected Titi to be the one Bojan went to, but maybe it was better he hadn't. Whatever else Thierry was - to Bojan, to Andres, to Barcelona - he still wasn't Spanish. "I know. I know."
"I don't understand why this is happening," Bojan said, too quietly to be a wail but still just as upset as if he'd started screaming. "It's not right. Andres isn't - Andres doesn't deserve this."
"Nobody does," Victor said gently, then laughed at the glare Bojan shot him. "Well. Maybe Ronaldo. And players who tackle dirty all the time." He wrapped an arm around Bojan's shoulders and pulled him close enough to press a kiss to his temple. His hair was still wet from the shower, plastered to his skin. "It's not your fault, sweetheart, so you need to stop feeling guilty."
"I don't feel - !" Bojan pressed his body closer to Victor and at the same time turned his face away. "If I could trade with him," he said, his voice very small.
"You can't," Victor said immediately. "And if you could Andres wouldn't want you to. Don't even say that, all right? All you can do is try your hardest, just like you already do, and help the team while he's out. Okay? That all any of us can do."
"Okay," Bojan said. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face, sniffed hard, and sat up as straight as he could. "Okay." He was so small, Victor thought helplessly, looking down at him. He shifted onto his knees and put his other arm around Bojan too, and squeezed hard.
"It's going to be okay," Victor said into Bojan's hair. It smelled kind of like flowers; he probably still let his mom buy his shampoo. "All right, sweetheart? Everything's going to be okay."
"Okay," Bojan repeated.
"Now smile for me, all right?" Victor sat back on his heels and examined Bojan's face carefully. His eyes were red and his bottom lip was still quivering, but he was trying to get the corners of his mouth to curve upwards, and the result was close enough. "You'll be all right."
Bojan shook his head when Victor tried to help him up, but Victor couldn't stay in the locker room forever, so he left him there. Maxwell was lurking right outside the door, looking anxious, and to give him credit he didn't look away when Victor scowled at him. "Bojan is still there, no?" he asked, in his slurred Portuguese-accented Spanish. "Is he going to be okay?"
"Yeah," Victor said. "I think. Maybe. Could you - " He gestured, and Maxwell understood enough to get out of his way. Victor went down the hall in the direction of Emili's office and Maxwell went the other way, back into the locker room.
He was a decent guy, Maxwell, for all that he seemed to spend half his life trailing after Ibrahimovic. Bojan liked him, anyway, and so far as Victor could tell he liked Bojan, too. And God knew he had to be patient if he could spend that much time around Ibra and not want to kill him. He'd look after Bojan.
Pep was slumped against the wall outside Emili's office. "Victor," he said tiredly.
"How's it look?"
"Not good, Emili says."
"He doesn't look it, but he's a tough little fucker," Victor said. "He'll get better faster than you think."
Pep rubbed his hands over his face, and Victor was forcibly reminded of Bojan swiping at his eyes to keep from crying in the locker room. "I know. I just don't - Emili says he doesn't want to see me."
Victor suddenly understood. "He's crying and he doesn't want you to see it. That's all." Pep nodded, dropping his hands and standing up straighter, and Victor paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Míster," he added carefully. "Bojan's still in the locker room. I think he could probably use a ride home."
Emili looked up when Victor came in. He waited until Victor had shut the door to say anything, though. "He doesn't want anyone to see - "
"He's not going to care how I see him," Victor interrupted. "He's in the back room, right?" Emili silently held up his hands, and Victor didn't wait for more explicit permission.
Andres was sitting on the cot in Emili's back room, in the dark. Victor bit back his immediate comment about taking martyrdom a little too far, switched on the light, and sat down beside Andres. "So, this really sucks," he offered conversationally. Andres let out a watery laugh and put his cheek on Victor's shoulder. Given the way Andres cried, he was probably getting snot everywhere, but Victor hadn't had time to grab any tissues, and the shirt could be washed.
"This is so far from the worst thing that's even happened this season," Andres managed. "I just - I keep thinking, what's wrong with me, at least I - at least I'm alive to get hurt, but - "
"I'm pretty sure Dani would say getting injured sucks, too," Victor said. He put his hand on Andres' back and rubbed in slow circles, feeling Andres' chest heaving underneath. "You're not required to be grateful for every shitty thing life throws at you just because you're around for it and he isn't."
"I want to play," Andres whispered. "I can't - I want to play, I want to help, I fucking hate this!"
"I know," Victor said. "I know."
"I want to go to the World Cup." Andres shivered, and started crying outright again. "I don't - I have to go. I think if I get left home again it'll kill me."
"You'll go. Andres, you'll work hard and you'll get better and you'll go. You will. I know you will." Victor kissed Andres' forehead and kept rubbing his back while he cried himself out. "Shh. You're going to get well again, and you'll play, and you're going to be amazing. You just have to take it one step at a time."
Andres sniffled. It was a very loud, undignified honking noise, and they both snickered at the way it cut through the heavy silence. Victor yanked his sleeves down over his hands and wiped Andres' face, careful but efficient, and got to his feet. "Come on," he said. "Your family's going to be worried. I'll take you home."
notes:
1. Most of the context for this fic can be found here, but in brief: Andres Iniesta had an absolutely miserable club season in 2009-10; he was perpetually injured and his friend Dani Jarque, who had played with him for years in the junior NTs, died unexpectedly of heart failure during preseason training, leaving behind his seven-months-pregnant girlfriend. When Andres injured himself for the fourth time that year, towards the end of the season, it put his presence in Spain's World Cup selection in jeopardy. He had already missed the Confederations Cup in 2009 with an injury picked up in the previous season's Champions League final. In the end, he recovered in time to go to South Africa and scored the winning goal in the World Cup final, celebrating by removing his jersey to reveal a shirt with a memorial to Dani Jarque.
2. Victor Valdes is Andres Iniesta's best friend at Barcelona. They have known each other since they were roommates in Iniesta's first year at Barcelona's youth academy, when Andres was a homesick twelve-year-old who was perpetually in tears because he missed his parents.
3. Bojan Krkic is the baby of Barcelona; he's been playing in the first team since he was sixteen and is still by several years the youngest player on the squad. His happy-go-lucky demeanor is something of a trademark, but I found the throwaway remark in an interview with Andres that "he's always smiling even when he isn't happy" (and the implication that that's something Bojan does to help the team) to be an interesting revelation. (The other players probably don't actually call him "sweetheart" though.)
4. Maxwell really has been trailing after Zlatan Ibrahimovic for half his life, or at least half of his football career. They met at Ajax Amsterdam, reunited at Inter Milan and transferred together to Barcelona in 2009. (It is unclear whether they keep meeting like this intentionally, but the likelihood of its being pure chance is pretty low, considering the rate at which Zlatan goes through football teams.) Maxwell was interviewed in a documentary about Zlatan a few years ago in which he says that they're best friends and were away-game roommates at the time. The parting shot of Zlatan's agent as he and Zlatan went off to AC Milan in an acrimonious storm of insults and threats to sue was that he might take Maxwell with them.
5. I could rant for pages about Pep Guardiola's intense and at times disturbingly touchy-feely relationship with his players (as well as the cult of mutual adoration between him and Andres Iniesta), or I could just link to this montage of them all hugging him and let you see the love for yourself.
6. As usual, got more questions about FC Barcelona? Check out my post of stalkerish love. If that doesn't cover it, feel free to ask me! I'm always happy to talk about my club.
7. Title and cut-text from Breathe by Alexi Murdoch.