#i get to go to turin i get to see a long distance friend and i get to do little things for my graduation

[sybilhallward]

I might be going to bed covered in anti-inflammatory bandaids, but at least tomorrow I get to go to a conference about queer studies in Turin

#vane blogging #chronic pain #sincerely hyped #i get to go to turin i get to see a long distance friend and i get to do little things for my graduation #and I will drive a lot! I love driving <3

[vennilavee]

red card

pairing: barou shoei x reader

summary: italy is one of the most romantic places in the world. unfortunately, it hasn't quite felt like that in some time.

warnings: BLLK MANGA SPOILERS !!!

word count: 3k

a/n: happy valentine's day!! just a fun miscommunication fic to be my first bllk fic...im running away

“Working with him is such a pain, like, who takes interviews only at 4:35 AM? Who does he think he is, anyway?” 

“Well… he is the highest goalscorer in the entire league right now,” Mari counters, “I think that warrants that he can make some demands-”

“Oh, you’re just like the rest of them, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes playfully, shoving your colleague and friend’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” she shrugs, “Better start packing, considering your flight is in…seven hours.”

In the last few years, you’ve been to Turin, Italy almost too many times to count. Sometimes for your job, and sometimes for…other reasons. Though in the last six months, it’s been mainly for work, no thanks to your stupidly talented striker boyfriend who just coincidentally happens to play for the Ubers.

You wouldn’t trade your sports journalist job for anything else, but with the combination of his always hectic schedule and your growing responsibilities as a senior journalist, it’s been next to impossible to spend any extra time together.

Other than squeezing in an interview at 4:30 AM just so you have an extra twenty minutes with him before training starts.

You scoff as you try to conceal the fatigue under your eyes with concealer. You’d love to go to Rome, Florence or Venice, or anywhere really, with your boyfriend. But he’s stubborn and rigid in his routines. You’re not ungrateful to be with your handsome, protective boyfriend with a dry humor that only very few appreciate. You just want a little more.

So you’ve been to all of those places, and then some, by yourself or with your coworkers or friends. Pretty much everyone except for him.

You’re trying to be understanding. He’s a globally known soccer player and gets recognized everywhere and anywhere he goes. All he wants is a day off, a day to relax and spend time and the offseason with you. Is it awful that you want a little more?

The relationship itself isn’t terribly new or terribly old. Maybe the distance makes it feel newer than it is.  But you’ve known each other since childhood, both of your families being friends and both of you running around the soccer circuit since a young age. His days in blue lock coincided with your days of playing soccer for your high school. That man with the red streaks in his hair has been in your life for nearly as long as you’ve been in it, and you don’t want to change anything about that.

You sigh and shrug your coat on, mentally preparing yourself to ignore Barou Shouei’s attempts at kissing you before you take the mic.

“Hello, Barou-san,” you say stiffly, pushing your hand out for him to shake, “It’s nice to see you before the sun has risen.” The vein in his forehead throbs at your indifference and you grin, letting the facade melt. It’s been two months since you’ve seen him. You suppose you can wait a little longer to fight with him.

“You didn’t text me when you landed,” he says, “Or when you got here-”

“I landed an hour and a half ago and came here straight from the airport,” you roll your eyes, “Someone only takes interviews at this ungodly hour and I don’t want any special treatment.”

“If I want to give you special treatment, then I will,” Barou says, pulling you in by your forearm and wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug. You inhale deeply, immediately feeling sleepy as his warmth embraces you.

“Don’t make it sound like such a threat,” you mumble, pressing your cheek into his shoulder. Your fingers thread through his longer hair, resting at the nape of his neck. He must not yet have applied his cologne, because he smells fresh.

“Wanna take this interview in bed?” you joke, pulling away from him just an inch.

“How unprofessional of you,” he says dryly, “I’ll have to inform your superiors.”

You roll your eyes again, grinning when he pulls you in for a proper kiss. His touch makes you weak in the knees, makes you yearn for him even though he’s in your arms. For just a few short days. 

Your heart aches inadvertently.

“I got you tickets for today’s training and tomorrow’s game. I know you don’t need them,” Shouei says, sticking them in your coat pocket, “Let’s get this over with so we can go.”

He squeezes your arm, dark eyes lingering with unspoken and heavy words as he takes your hand in his towards the stadium.

Interviewing with you is always easy, despite having interviewed with you one-on-one only a handful of times. It’s the start of a new season at Ubers (and his third year with the club), and he’s eager to win the league this time. Last season, they came so close.

Barou Shouei did not become the Ubers’ number thirteen  just to come only this far.

He’d gone back home to Japan after the loss last season for a week and stayed with you. Each time he leaves you, it gets harder and harder. But despite his loss, you were promoted to being a senior sports journalist. He was so proud of you, eager to see where your career would take you.

It seemed like the tables had turned and you were the one now traveling more than him. 

But you both make it work, right? With phone calls while you both are in opposing time zones, red eye flights just to see each other for a few hours… You try to go to Italy to see him whenever you can. Even with your increased responsibilities, his schedule is far more rigid than yours.

You’re so in demand now that it’s hard to keep up with two extremely busy schedules. Still- you’re here with your bright eyes and teasing smile, and he doesn’t want to lose a single second not looking at you.

It doesn’t feel like work when it’s with you. Even with the questions about game stats, Snuffy’s leadership, his future at the Ubers and the Ubers future in the league, it never feels like an actual interview. He used to hate giving these interviews until his coach told him he had to. What was the point of it? He’s not the captain, why does he have to deal with the press and the stupid questions?

Until his first interview was with you. 

Even now, when he knows that there is a mountain to climb over with you, it still feels the way it always does. Like a conversation. You’re focused on him, cracking jokes, and Shouei has always liked when your full attention is centered on him after all.

The last time you were in Turin, you didn’t exactly leave on a bright, hopeful note with respect to your relationship. In fact, you left in tears and had changed your flight timing at the last minute so that Shouei purposely wouldn’t be able to see you off. You didn’t want to see him just to fight once again. 

It left a sour taste in your mouth and despite that things are “normal” now, you still feel the fragility of your relationship. It rests in your hands like a delicate bird.

In the last two months, neither of you had brought up the dreaded fight. It’s not the first time this topic has arisen, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Your excuse for ignoring the issue was that you wanted to talk to him about it in person. His excuse was that if you had a problem then you’d bring it up on your own.

Your harsh words ring clearly in your head:

“Why is it so wrong to just want a little more? You live in Italy- I don’t think I’m asking for too much to go to Rome o-or Florence or Venice or literally anywhere for a few days during your offseason-”

“I can’t just go, everyone else trains during the off-season! How am I supposed to be the best striker if I’m going on vacation with you-”

“Oh, well, don’t sound so disgusted over the prospect of taking a few days off with me-”

“Come on, I didn’t mean that and you know it.”

“Do I? Do I know it? To me, it looks like you don’t want to spend any time with me outside of when it’s convenient for you. We get what? Maybe a few weekends a season? Are you good with a few weekends a season? And when you’re not playing, you don’t want to go anywhere with me. Am I your girlfriend or your sidechick, Shouei?”

“That’s not fair-”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair. You want me to be happy with breadcrumbs.”

“You knew what you were getting into!”

“That’s such a cop-out and you know it!” 

Shouei looks at you with hardly any emotion on his face, save for the downturn of his lips. You close your eyes shut to calm yourself down so that you don’t say something you regret. He wants to reach for you, to comfort you even though he’s the one who made you cry. But his feet stay planted and he watches you crumple.

“Don’t cry,” he all but begs you, finally gathering you in his arms, “We’ll figure it out. Just… don’t cry-”

“I don’t know how to not be upset with you, with this,” you mumble tearfully as he rubs your back.

“I know,” Shouei says, curling a hand around your cheek, “I know.”

“Hey,” you mumble, with heated cheeks, “Happy game day, I guess.” You thrust a bouquet of fresh red roses that you picked up from your favorite floral vendor around the corner from the training grounds.

“What a loser,” Shouei says fondly, putting you in a light affectionate headlock, “You’re gonna make me late for warm-up.”

“Well, I’m such a big fan of Dortmund that this was my plan all along,” you reply, “If I can distract you, then they have a better chance of winning, don’t they?”

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, turning you in his arms to greet you properly.

“Heard Isagi’s out for blood and redemption today,” you murmur as his lips press against the column of your throat.

His ears perk up and he’s torn between questioning you about Isagi or ignoring Isagi’s name coming out of your lips.In the end, the striker in him wins. Just like you knew it would.

“That’s insider information,” you protest when he grumbles.

“What’s the point of having a journalist girlfriend if I get no secrets out of it,” Shouei glares at you, shoving your shoulder gently.

“The point is that you get this,” you take his hand and press it against your chest, “This,” you press his hand against your crotch, “And this,” finally, you press his hand against your ass. “And my charming, stellar personality.”

“Stop seducing me, you temptress,” he scoffs, pushing away your lingering lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t want to ruin your gameday ritual,” you reply, “I’ll see you later, honey. Have a good game.”

You turn on your heel to leave the locker room, but not before smacking his ass and giving him a kiss good luck.

This field, and every other field in the world, is close enough to home to you as your own barely furnished apartment in Tokyo is. Fresh grass, clean white lines and adrenaline swirls in the air as you stand in front of the camera, getting ready for the half-time program.

One of your favorite moments in front of the camera is when Julian Loki nearly bowled you over in pursuit of an overhead ball. He’d given you a quick side hug with a smug grin after the game, but ever since then, you’ve maintained a safe distance from the border of the field. The last thing you need is to cause a scene when you’re not even one of the twenty-two players on the field.

You’re wearing one of Shouei’s jersey under your emerald green blazer and you find it extraordinarily difficult to not turn your head to search for him as he walks off the pitch and into the tunnel for halftime. The Ubers are down by one goal and you can envision how tense his shoulders are while he mouths off at his defense for doing a “fucking awful job”.

It’s rare that you’ve ever gone down in the tunnel to see him while you’re on the clock. Chewing on your bottom lip, you debate on it. Should you, shouldn’t you… It’s not about you, is it? His frustration on the field? Even he could admit that he wasn’t playing at his best today.

If he was feeling unsettled about the lingering aftermath of the fight, he had every opportunity to open his stupid mouth anyway. How often are you supposed to have the same fight anyway? 

Oh, who are you lying to? In every universe, you want to have this fight with him. Because it’s him.

It’s just a rough patch.

You hope he can telepathically hear your words of encouragement from inside the tunnel.

[divide]

In the end, you don’t approach the tunnel but the Ubers end up winning the game in a comeback that has you and the entire stadium on your toes. Of course Shouei scored the equalizer and the winning goal with an insane fake out and a strike with incredible power, in true dramatic fashion.

You’re prepping in your tent to begin the post-game interviews with the captains of each team. Your heart is still racing from the last minute winning goal, seeing the strike sailing through the air behind your eyelids.

As Marc Snuffy walks into the tent with his chest heaving in exhilaration and a big grin, he’s roughly shoved to the side by none other than Barou Shouei. Before you can tell your cameraman to stop recording or before you can berate Shouei for nearly taking down your entire tent with his massive body, or for shoving his captain to the side like a sack of potatoes-

He crowds your personal space, giant hands cupping your cheeks and his thumbs rubbing your skin. His dark eyes dilate as he takes you in- his angel on the field in his jersey, his lucky number thirteen. You gasp in surprise as he presses his lips to yours cheekily, daring you to deepen the kiss.

You can vaguely hear his teammates hollering in the background, seeing their ever so serious striker kiss his mysterious, private girlfriend.

“Hey, I’ll see you at home, alright?” Shouei offers you a rare, small smile as he rubs your chin with his thumb.

All you can do is nod with a sheepish smile while your cameraman stares at you, stunned.

And when you watch the interview again, you flush at the reflection of your lovesick eyes and his yearning embrace.

Nerves oddly seize you as you approach Shouei’s luxurious apartment building. It’s about four times bigger than the size of your own. It reflects his soccer player status and salary, you suppose. He’s been here for just as long as he’s been playing with the Ubers but he seemed to only care about decorating it in the last year or so. Ever since you’ve been around.

He’d told you he’d see you at home. Implying that this was your home, too. In truth, it's not your home at all, but the notion still makes you feel funny. Like butterflies fluttering in your belly, as if you can’t believe he still wants to be with you. He never makes you feel like you’re too much, even when you doubt yourself.

You didn’t mean to make yourself almost cry as you approach his unit with hesitant steps.

Shouei yanks the door open nearly off its hinges exactly one second after you text him announcing your arrival. He immediately pulls you inside, takes your coat and your bag and ushers you out of your shoes. Then, he kisses you in greeting.

It’s different from the kiss he laid upon you at the field. It’s softer, more docile.

“I bet your dm’s are flooded after that stunt you pulled today,” you mumble against his lips, peering up at him while he scoffs.

“Yeah, my agent is getting paid her worth today. At least one of us is private on social media,” Shouei says, sighing into your embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I guess I’m happy to be your mystery girl until the day comes.”

Shouei stares at you long and hard, his lips in an imperceptible line. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares straight through you with darkened nearly red eyes, reaching into the layers and layers that you attempt to hide away from him. It’s not like you to be quiet and demure around him but you’re on unsteady ground. The words don’t come out of your mouth, wilting in your throat like dried up sunflowers.

But you look over his shoulder briefly, peering into the open space that leads into the kitchen and the dining room only to see two lit candlesticks and a bouquet of your favorite flowers at the center of his dinner table. A romantic burgundy glow illuminates the room along as the purple and orange streaks from the sunset filter in through the windows.

The question is written all over your face as you struggle not to let your bottom lip quiver. You’re usually the one who’s adept at words, but here you are unable to formulate a single one. 

“Stop crying,” he says gruffly, already wiping at your cheeks. You sniffle and laugh wetly as you hide your face from him.

“We both live in this insane world. I don’t want it to pull us apart like it has for so many others. And we can’t give up our careers but I can’t give up on you either,” you admit, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

“I know,” Shouei says simply, “We left on a shitty note last time, and I’m not heartless you know. At least, not for you.”

He grins wolfishly at you when you chuckle. He remains quiet for a beat, rubbing his thumbs into the nape of your neck soothingly until your sniffles lessen. Fidgeting with the collar of your sweater, Shouei hesitates.

“Uh,” he begins, “I got this rental in Venice, in June. It’s still a few months out, but you know…”

“You really want to go? With me?”

“No, I want to go with Isagi,” Shouei says flatly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “If you’re asking if I want to go with you then I’ve done something wrong here.”

“At least you finally admit it,” you shove his shoulder. It’s a beautiful rental, with big windows and a great view of the city and the water. You’re already thinking about the gondola rides, the nighttime walks, the music. All of it with Shouei.

“And you made dinner and set the table,” you pinch his cheeks (he grimaces), “You are a romantic, after all…”

“Don’t make such a big deal about it, loser,” he scoffs. He kisses you gently as he wraps himself tightly around you. You sigh into his lips happily, already feeling lighter than when you landed in Turin not even seventy-two hours ago.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply with a sparkling smile. 

Shouei makes a vow to himself to never make you cry in Italy ever again. Twice in two trips was more than enough.

#bllk x reader #barou x reader #barou shouei x reader #barou x you #barou shouei x you #barou shouei #bllk barou

[animatorweirdo]

Mistletoes

Beleg x reader

(Sorry that this is a bit late. Thanks for my friend for helping with fixes.) 

Requested by anonymous

You have been trying to confess your love for ages, but nothing seems to work. Who thought it would only take one human boy and a yule tradition to get your feelings finally through your dense crush.

Warnings: some obvious pining, crushing, hopeless romance, mischievous Turin and finally getting caught under the mistletoe. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

You and Beleg had been close since you were little elflings. You grew up together, played together, and became march wardens together. You were like two inseparable branches of the same tree, always together. You grew to know him in and out like he knew you, but for some reason, you have failed to confess your long-time feelings for him. 

It was frustrating. Beleg was one of the smartest ellons you knew, yet somehow he constantly missed the signs and hints that you were interested in him. No matter how obvious it was. 

You were one step away from writing it down for him. 

You even tried to be straightforward and tell him you were hopelessly in love with him, yet somehow people always need him for something, and he forgot to ask about it even when he promised to hear what you had to say. 

He didn’t get the hints, and people always needed him when you tried to confess. You even tried to employ princess Luthien’s help since she used to be your good friend, and even that ended up in embarrassment, with your confession left unsaid. 

It continued for so long that you knew no other way to have your feelings crossed. You couldn't do anything but watch him from a distance, like a wallflower and imagine the life you could have if Beleg truly knew about your feelings.

You had hoped you would eventually get there, even though Beleg’s obliviousness drove you mad and made you want to push him to the wall and kiss him like crazy at times. Anything just to get it finally done. 

You had a plan in mind when yuletide finally came, but after failing so many times, you could not help but constantly feel anxious about all the possible things that could go wrong and the dreaded possibility of your feelings left unsaid once again.

You were now thinking about how you would confess while packing for a trip with Turin. The young boy was eager for your trip to the forest, so he ensured he had everything in his bag while you were thinking about your complicated love life. 

Your feet were tapping the ground as your thoughts wandered, thinking and thinking while the young human boy checked on his things. You were already done with the packing, so there was nothing you could do except wait for a certain elf to arrive. 

Turin glanced at you and watched as you were deep in your clouds of thoughts. “What's on your mind today?” He asked, breaking your focus from your thoughts. 

“Huh, nothing much. Why do you ask?” You asked. 

“You have a brooding expression on your face. That’s when you’re thinking something sad and angry,” Turin explained while twiddling with his thumbs in a very adorable fashion. 

You kneeled down to his height to look him in the eye. “Oh, I’m sorry. I promise you I wasn’t thinking anything bad about you or anyone. It’s just –” You hissed, sensing the gleaming curiosity in the edain child’s eyes. “It’s about Beleg. You know I have been trying to confess my feelings for him, right?” You asked to which Turin fervently nodded. You almost scoffed. This proved your efforts even a child could see, let alone a human child. How could Beleg be so dense.

“Nothing I do gets his attention, and he doesn’t get it even if I try to scream it to his face,” You explained. “Have you tried just telling him that you love him?” The little boy asked. “I have, but then people always need him for something before I get the chance,” You tried not to whine in front of a child younger than you by a couple of centuries. “I never have the chance to tell him,” You said, barely maintaining any semblance of your composure. 

“How about you tell him now when he comes back?” Turin asked. “I could, but what if someone suddenly comes and takes him away for something?” You questioned. “I could keep a watch so that no one will disturb you,” He offered with a smile. 

“That’s really sweet of you,” You resisted the urge to coo at him. By Eru, this edain is out for your heart. “But… I don’t think It would be that easy,” You sighed, dropping your shoulders at the thought. 

“There you are! I have been looking for you two,” Beleg’s voice caught your attention. Your heart raced when you saw the silver-haired ellon march toward you. His smile and confidence making you weak from the inside. 

“Ready to depart? I heard Daeron had composed a new winter song, so we might want to leave soon, or we might get forced to see him perform,” He chuckled. “Do it now!” Turin pushed you toward him. You were surprised for a moment before turning your attention toward Beleg. Guess you were doing it. 

“Beleg. Can I say something because I do not think I have a chance to say it later?” You questioned. “Sure. What is it, my dear friend?” Beleg smiled at you. 

“Do you –” You started, thinking your words carefully. “I mean – I’ve been meaning to tell you that I –” You fumbled, your heart racing as you were about to say it. Was this it? Were you finally going to tell him?

“Beleg!” Someone suddenly shouted, making you jump with fright. 

“Beleg! Are you and (Name) going to join the yule’s celebration later?” They appeared, taking Beleg’s attention away from you. 

You whined as you knew where this was going. 

“Sure! We’re just going to take a quick trip to the northern woods and come back,” Beleg answered. 

“Great. Oh, and before you go. Mablung has been asking for your assistance, so please attend to him first?” The Eru foresaken elf asked. 

“Sure! I’m sorry, you two. You know how Mablung can get, so please wait for me for a moment,” Beleg uttered a quick apology and left. 

“But!” You tried to say. 

“I won’t be long, and I promise to hear what you have to say later,” He called out before disappearing to do whatever Mablung wanted from him. 

You sighed, knowing he would forget about it anyway. 

Turin stood beside you after watching the whole thing. “I see what you mean when you said you never get the chance,” Turin stated. 

“Turin. Have you ever met someone so stupid that it’s kinda endearing?” You asked with defeat in your voice. “I don’t know. My father and lord Thingol probably check those boxes,” Turin said, making you groan. 

When Beleg returned, you three went on that trip like planned. You said nothing during the whole thing, and Turin silently observed you and Beleg. You weren’t even trying to confess your feelings again, so the little boy got an idea.

“Hey, do you know about the mistletoe tradition?” Turin asked, gaining your and Beleg’s attention. “I – do not think I have. What is this tradition you speak of, Turin?” Beleg asked with curiosity in his eyes. 

“It’s a tradition where you hang a mistletoe and whoever walks under it has to kiss the one who gets trapped under it with them,” Turin explained. “I’ve seen my father doing it a couple of times with my mother,” He continued without missing a beat. “Though, my mother rolled her eyes most of the time and left anyway,” He added. 

"Hmm, what an interesting tradition," Beleg smiled. "I could see partners doing it to catch a kiss from each other," He said, seemingly lost in thought. "That would be sweet," You said, dreaming about kissing him. 

After the trip into the woods and giving Turin a lesson, you thought about the whole mistletoe thing and couldn't help but imagine finally kissing him and confessing your feelings. It had potential, but you were too afraid of failing to consider trying it. 

Luckily for you, Turin got you covered on the plan. 

You were casually talking with Beleg, unaware Turin was waiting in the other room with a bow in his hand, and when you walked through the door, he shot his arrow above you. 

You were startled when you heard something fly and hit above you. You and Beleg looked up and saw the arrow struck in the wall with an odd plant hanging from it. 

"What is that?" You questioned. "A mistletoe?" Beleg said in a questioning tone, then Turin appeared. 

"Now that you both got caught under the mistletoe. By the rules of the tradition, you're not allowed to leave till you share a kiss," Turin explained with a smirk. At that moment, you realized he had been planning this since he told you about the tradition with the mistletoe. 

You were impressed but still left embarrassed. 

"Bye then, have fun!" Turin then left, making you silently panic. The little human boy then left you alone with the silver-haired ellon. 

"Well –" Beleg chuckled. "I did not expect this," He smiled at you as he found the whole thing amusing. You smiled and nodded awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say. 

"Well, what do you say, (Name)? I think it would be rude not to follow the rules," Beleg said. "Yeah, and he didn't specify where you had to kiss. So to make this less awkward. How about just a kiss on the cheek?" You suggested. 

"Sounds good enough," Beleg shrugged his shoulders. You let out a sigh of relief, then held on to his shoulder to lean in to kiss him on the cheek. You were close so kissing him on the cheek wasn’t a problem. 

However, Beleg hummed and had a different thought. "On second thought–" He said, making you stop and look at him confused. You did not expect him to turn around, grab you by the face, and push his lips against yours. 

You yelped, and your face burned, but when Beleg tenderly hugged you closer. You melted and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

You were screaming happily from the inside as butterflies flew frantically inside your stomach. 

You almost gasped when you stopped to take a breather. You looked at Beleg as he looked back at you with fondness in his eyes. "Since we're here, do you mind If I ask you to court me?" He asked with a smile. 

Your heart fluttered as you had waited to hear those words for ages. 

"I would love to be courted by you since I have been trying to tell you that this whole time," You said. 

"I know, and I'm sorry," Beleg replied with a light pink dusting his cheeks. 

"Wait? What?" Your eyes widened. "You knew?!" You questioned. "I did, and I have been waiting for the chance to confess," He admitted. At that moment, you found yourself lost for words and ended up spluttering like a fool. 

"You're horrible! If you knew, why did you always forgot to come back to me and let me confess?" You swatted his shoulder in mock anger that was very much backed up by embarrassment

"Wait! I have?" Beleg asked, confused. 

"Yes! You always forgot!" You almost yelled at him with your hands up. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," He said, dropping his ears like a sad puppy. 

"Oh, by the Valar," You shook your head and hugged him, making him laugh and hug you back. You made a mental note to thank the little human boy, who was watching from the corner with a smirk. There was no doubt he was dancing in victory in his mind. You have only one thing to say. 

You loved human traditions. 

#beleg x reader #beleg #elf reader #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #silm fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth #tolkien #turin #children of hurin

[blankdblank]

The Cabin

Day 8!! - Here’s a slightly dramatic Modern AU Thranduil ramble :D

*You are sitting around a campfire. There are stars shining in the sky. Someone asks “If you had the power to change one person’s life, how would you do it?”*

…

“I am gonna burst,” You squeaked in the middle of the third landing between endless flight of steps to your eighth floor apartment making you sigh and say, “Hot pants it is.” Rushing to the heavy door you crashed through it and bit your lip gripping your bag that had split hours earlier in your bow legged trot to the seventh door on the left. A frantic knock on the yellow door was followed by equally as frantic shuffling and a loud thud mingled with a string of curses until the door flung open and the wide eyed towering blonde behind the door stared at you. “Hot pants man,”

Heavily he sighed muttering, “That was a costume, I was mint green.”

You nodded and bounced in place making him look you over curiously, “Green hot pants man, ya, I usually don’t do this, but the elevator’s out and I’m not going to make it another five flights of stairs, can I use your bathroom?”

Smirking at you awkwardly he stepped back pointing at the open door opposite the open kitchen, “Straight through there.”

You nodded and rushed over to it dropping your bag on the blanket and clothes covered couch earning a loud groan form under the now shifting blob making you trot around the couch and straight to the bathroom, “So sorry, gotta go.” The door closed and the dark haired Elf with a knotted half afro hanging into his face glared at his roommate standing by the door angered at being woken.

Thranduil moved closer to him harshly whispering as you flicked on the water to mask your fumbling disrobing mess of a self and bursting dam of a bladder you felt coming, “It’s squirtle girl, and you will not embarrass me like last time!”

“I did not embarrass-,”

His mouth was covered and a finger was pointed at him while he eyed Thranduil’s dark thick brows lifting over his momentary irritated pout, “Elrond, I swear! Last time you told her I’d been looking for a squirter my whole life! She went months without talking to me! Months! Now you will be polite and say nothing!”

Thranduil’s hand lowered and his brows twitched up at the emphasizing point making Elrond smirk and lay back down covering himself again at the flush. A few moments later you were out again when the tap turned off and flashed Thranduil a weak grin when he shot up fidgeting with the ties on the sweats around his waist subconsciously flexing in your stolen glance at his shirtless self. The grin on his face twisted realizing his hair was in a bun on top of his head and he had a face mask on to help ease his dry skin after being in heavy make up for his play role for the past few weeks. “Thank you, again,” Rounding the couch you lifted your bag and patted the ankle of the Elf under the covers, “So sorry.”

Elrond raised his arm from under the covers to give a silent wave stirring a curious grin onto your face as his arm fell down lifelessly again. Again looking up he looked you over watching your mint green highlighted white curl filled loose bun shifting in the tilt of your head to lock your silvery green eyes on his icy blue pair after his glance over your pink leotard under a grey tilted baggy t shirt long enough to be like a dress with black leg warmers in a tilt from your clear rush from your usual lunch after rehearsals for your show. “Your show’s on Thursday, right?”

You nodded, “Ya, double show,” he chuckled awkwardly as you looked over his face again, “Well I can’t wait, we got tickets,” Your brows inched up and he turned his head to the ringing phone Elrond raised his arm to pat around for the receiver he pulled under the covers.

“Hello?”

Wetting your lips you replied, “Ya, I’ve seen your show too. It’s really good. Your part too.”

“I dance with a guy in an Elk costume.” He playfully retorted making Elrond chuckle behind his hand remembering the act popping up seven times in the two hour long play.

You nodded sending your bun bobbing making him smirk at a strip of curls breaking loose across your face you blew away only for it to swing back into your face, “I doubt anybody could get that shimmy jete combo down like you,” making him mouth scrunch up and his head tilt back in a sharp inhale to hide his embarrassment.

Elrond mumbled, “No, we’re not going to the pool party.”

At that you gasped saying, “Pool party, shit!” Turning you grabbed your bag saying, “Sorry, I promised I’d go and bring one of those stupid inflatable flamingos, which I have to buy…”

Thranduil said, “Turin’s shop has some! Elrond call him,” he leapt over the couch parting your lips in his rush to his bedroom, “Meet you in the lobby in twenty!”

Elrond peeked out from under the covers and you glanced at him with brows raised and waved then pointed to the door, “Guess, I’ll be, going…” He nodded, “Again, sorry,”

He shook his head and hung up the phone to dial Turin’s number, “Not a problem.”

…

That was how it began, a masterful friendship, keyword, friendship. A lap top seat offered by your cousin and an advance from a highly flirtatious brunette. The mistake was cleared up within a month but by then there was a third date planned, so friends you remained with his hope that things might change before long. Though somehow it always seemed that you were trains just barely missing one another in the station of life. All through art school and into the beginnings of your careers your lives blended together and a solid support system was formed no matter what.

It was clear for all to see how evident the love was there and after nights out together in your hectic schedules with his acting jobs, your dancing and Elrond’s makeup and special effects careers led you both together and apart to mingle with the rest of your group. Relationships came and went, for the men at least. Elrond, Glorfindel and Elros all settled into their own relationships while Thranduil slammed hard into absolute enamor-ment with his girlfriend quickly leading them to an engagement.

From one wedding to another you claimed your seat and ignored the stares of those around you when your plus one was never claimed. You weren’t alone, you just didn’t want to bring another one of your dates the guys always hounded to their special days, group dinners once a month was enough. They weren’t bad guys, they were wonderful, from doctors to a trio of firemen you had happened across in your very safety conscious part of town you lived in across from their usual lunch spots, they just never seemed to be ready to commit, something you never pushed on because if you were honest you weren’t either. At least not with them.

*

Panic flooded Thranduil and all the way through the planning for the big day it only got worse and it wasn’t until he was ready to throw his tie he couldn’t secure that Elros grabbed him and claimed the tie from Glorfindel saying, “Don’t take it out on the tie that you proposed to the wrong woman.”

Thranduil’s lips parted in a scoff and Elrond added in fixing the buttons over his middle on the tailed jacket, “Come on now, you dated her to make Tiny jealous when you didn’t know the guy she was with was her cousin.”

Thranduil, “I love-,”

Glorfindel, “We’re not saying you don’t love Kiki, we’re saying you love Tiny more.”

Those words echoed in his mind, for twenty four years since that wedding, where his wife should have been the one cast in moonlight in a sea of glowing petals in a melodic choir slow motion agonizing sea of flashbacks replaying through the entirety of his marriage.

*

He did love her, and he was faithful to her. He was the best Husband a woman could ask for both when he was home and when things had to go long distance when his roles took him away from her. She had her freedom as did he and he encouraged her in her avant-garde art shows until she made a name for herself in that world easing her mildly hidden jealousy of his fame to a low simmer until he helped use his name to help build up the attendance on her shows.

Her jealousy though never did cease when your name came up and from a single mention to Elrond’s wife Celebrian on her thinking of saying something to Thranduil about him having to choose between you that single scoff in their early dating years made it clear who would win. Your shows were non negotiable, your group visits she tolerated that when you were in the room he would be focused on learning more about the changes in your life. It bothered her, at first, but then even she saw it, you were staying away for her, there was little physical contact to none and never pushing any visits or anything close to something that could change any future plans except for five times, and each time was offered to her, not him. Clearly you knew the rules, who had the ring and who had won his heart and after a few years of hearing how little family you had even she had begun to believe that you had thought of your group as family.

Twenty four years however was a long run, and was nothing to be scoffed at, in fact the weight of it hurt all the more as the stress of her career and time apart from Thranduil had sent her into the arms of another. It wasn’t just another fling, it was a slow burn over the years with the gallery owner who showed her art, a shoulder for her when her façade broke before a show. A decade now all she wanted was to complete their perfect life, yet a lazy ovary and a hard kept schedule for her fertility with his latest string of six month filming jobs halfway across the world between two month tiny tv spots only worsened the matters.

A positive pregnancy test however was finally achieved, though only after they had decided to sleep apart to calm down and try to return to their relationship outside of the sexual and reproductive side while they approached having a family through a surrogate and a donor egg. A family friend, Hobbit no less, had gotten the pregnant results without trying it seemed and that must have ticked a switch in Kiki’s lazy ovary, because after eight months of sleeping apart she faced the horrifying aspect of sharing that she had her perfect man and little family she always wanted.

To his credit Thranduil took it well, she had seen him angry, she had seen him furious and outside a twitch of his eyebrow he remained almost painfully calm in the whole matter. The papers were easily drawn up, they had kept separate accounts and all that was left was the house, which they both hated the neighbors in so he kept the deed to the new house they had bought and she had followed through to moving in with her new man to start planning their nursery. All together twenty four years was neatly wrapped up in the minimum two months the courts had demanded, and the dream crib she had wanted was achieved all the easier with a big bow alongside a pair of tickets for the cruise she had always wanted to go on for her and her new fiancé. The perfect husband, and the perfect ex, she wanted a baby, husband home each night and a lovely home perfectly furnished to invite friends and family over to, with her art to escape into.

*

“I’m Pregnant.” The words he had wanted to hear for so long, and yet in his mind, he had been home for eight months and had been away for five before that. Clearly it wasn’t his and with how hard it had been to try and schedule nights to conceive and he really didn’t need to hear who it was, he could tell she had leaned on him. A grin here and there when saying his name, just how she had once said his, he never pushed her away from him, after all how fair would that be when his heart had been breaking over making himself lose you. He had to honor his commitment though, and never make her pay for what she didn’t ask for.

At the table he inhaled and simply stood almost making her flinch if not for his turn away to the office nearby, from which he brought out a pad and pen. All the details were drafted out and for three hours everything was listed and each room was divided to his and hers ending with the arrival of their lawyers that had been called at the beginning of it. To their shock it was already drawn up on legal pads and all that was left was to have it officially printed and for her lawyer to drive her to her new home to share the news while he had to head to work.

She felt bad she had waited till then to do it when he needed to focus. The worry was unnecessary as though it did sting to be cheated on past that all he felt was free. A quarter of a century and he was finally free to tell you how he felt. You had been single for half a year now since a cheating ordeal of your own with a Doctor caught slipping on a different type of glove for someone other than you when you had shared your offer of help to your best friend.

The news was shared and as usual when he was down and out you came to the rescue, planning a weekend trip away for the whole group. Grinning madly he climbed in his car and started to drive eager to get there early even if it meant having to wait hours for even you to arrive in your usually over early habitual ways.

*

An offer was made, Thranduil was struggling and it sort of just exploded out of you, “Use my eggs.” Instantly you had to lay down on the floor of your kitchen leaving the tea you had been waiting for later to calm yourself through the rest of the conversation. Details were traded over the email and when this was through you swore to yourself that you had to break this tie, you had to let him go. This was getting to where you couldn’t breathe and almost on the edge of tears, and now you had said basically that he could have your dream baby and raise it with someone else.

Work had been ruthless lately and sure you had little time for dating, a great thing after your recent discovery about your ex, and yes you wanted babies too, something the hormones to donate only made worse. Sure you would be a part of the child’s life but if you were anywhere close hopped up on hormones on your worst day you couldn’t deny the thought of abducting Thranduil and your baby to run off together somewhere she could never find you. Ring or not, she had what you had burned for inside and out and your patience was wearing thin. Sometimes the strongest way to say I love you is goodbye, or at least that was what you told yourself each night.

The apartment you shared with your ex was now belonging to someone else and halfway to homeless with all packed in a moving truck to fill a storage bin countries away a phone call came from the father you hadn’t heard of since you were a teenager halted you in your tracks. Turning around almost at the border you made your way until at the airport straight to the private airstrip you found your baby half sister being helped off your father’s private jet, little red headed hazel eyed Tauriel all of four years old along with all her belongings were loaded up into your car for the drive to a five star hotel. Just like he’d dropped you when you were a child at your gran’s and never looked back, only contacting you on birthdays and holidays to send checks like his other children before you.

Giddily the three year old bounced on top of the bed while you secured plans to move in to your Gran’s pool house for a short time until you could find a place of your own. Hanging up at the arms looping around your shoulders after leaving a message to Ecthelion about his latest listings you would need to look at you turned to play with your sister and tire her down before dinner and then bed to a film of your choosing. The future you had planned changed rather drastically, but you hoped at least having her here you might be a lot less psycho possessive over the baby you had helped Thranduil conceive.

.

It only took a week for Tauriel to settle into her new life here really as she was just down the street from your friends and their children she bonded with right away in your weekly dinners, the latest of which had you almost screaming. “Divorced? Since when?! We were just at their anniversary dinner!”

Glorfindel shrugged saying, “None of us saw it either, it all went down quietly in the minimum two months, but apparently she’s found someone else,”

Elros snorted and set down his drink he had almost choked on saying, “You’re missing the biggest part,”

Elrond swatted his arm as you twirled your untouched glass of wine between your fingers above your lap, “Apparently she’s pregnant too, getting her dream family finally.”

Thunderously your heart raced and you asked trying to hold back your tears, the expression on your face making the men inch closer to you at how deeply his pain had continued to affect you. They caught the same ‘fix it’ flinch in your gaze and they realized they had to act to stop this plummeting plane crash you were strapped into. You had loved him, been faithfully there for all of them, far from clingy except when you truly needed someone and always you were all in to defend or protect when possible. The marriage was one thing, but clearly at the offer of donating an egg Thranduil should have seen it, he should have drawn the line and yet he didn’t the thought of a baby with you was too much to pass up and he didn’t realize that he wouldn’t be raising your dream baby with you but in fact hurting you by taking it away and out of your reach.

Not leaving it to chance Glorfindel said, “We should go up to the cabin this weekend. Just like in school, to start over the right way. Campfires, some drinks, burgers, smores. Go back to the good old days.”

You couldn’t argue, not when they kept on bringing up past stories and before long they had walked you back to your gran’s and gotten her to agree to watch Tauriel for the weekend for your trip. In their stroll back they had called Thranduil and shared the news himself, only fibbed a bit saying you had brought up reliving your glory days up in the cabin that was your group getaway.

.

Packed and ready you were off in your car, not as early as you had hoped after packing just a bit too much to prep for anything, especially when each time before you had been missing something each time you had gone up there leading to your laughable trio of suitcases the men would no doubt laugh at. Hours the path from the city to the country you drove tapping your fingers and humming awkwardly loud to the song on the radio trying to force yourself to be calm remembering the days by the lake and lounging in the hammock outside the cabin on lazy days no doubt bringing you face to bare pectorals with that recently divorced best friend of yours. Still to get back at him, subconsciously of course, you’d packed that same bikini from that pool party your friendship began in prepping for, tiny and neon that hugged you perfectly keeping his eyes so hungrily on you all night before whatever you did that turned him off of you.

The welcome of the long dirt road through the post card perfect town you passed seemingly readying for something brought you up to a tire track bearing dirt drive through a set of winding hills up to the two story wood cabin resting under an oddly grey sky. Shifting your gaze downwards you spotted a familiar truck mostly unloaded and the front door to the cabin open. Parked beside the truck you opened the door and huffed at the blast of cold air shockingly far from the late summer temperatures from the city surely scared off by whatever storm was coming. Unbuckled you climbed to your feet and closed the door behind you then strolled around the back of it to grab the final two bags from the back of the truck containing blankets and pillows making you smirk.

Up to the door you strolled hearing boot steps coming closer to the open door. At the base of the front steps you looked up seeing a fellow blonde bun bearing Elf, “Hey Hot Pants Man.”

Rolling his eyes that same smirking chuckle broke from him spreading an instinctual smirk from you at his retort, “Bout time Squirtle Girl.” He said grabbing a bag from you turning to look you over in your own long sleeve shirt hanging over the tops of your favorite jeans covering most of your boots, an outfit similar to him except for his flannel and leather jacket over it he hadn’t worn in years you loved to steal from him back in school.

Peering around you said, “Colder than I thought it’d be.”

He nodded and added the bag to the spare room he’d filled with his other supplies making you smirk wider as your not being the only one to over prep. “Yes, seems we’ve beaten a storm in.”

“A, hope the guys get through alright.”

Thranduil chuckled, “No doubt Glori will love flooring it through the storm like the old days. He’d race after a Balrog that one.”

You giggled widening a smile across his face, “Oh yes, just like that one tornado.”

“Yes. Exactly, Celebrian’s in labor and he’s off chasing tornados for the perfect picture.”

You shook your head, “I honestly am so concerned for his parents, how they manage to live knowing he’s out there on his own left to his whims,” making Thranduil laugh in his turn to join you out to your car.

“How’s Tauriel? Elros texted me about her. How, is that affecting things, he said you were thinking about moving.”

You nodded, “Ya,” opening your trunk making him laugh at the suitcases and bags of food you had bought along the way, “Don’t laugh, Mr I packed my whole bed with supplies.”

He shook his head, “Just, like minds. You were saying?” Taking up armfuls to carry in behind you and your supply.

“Well, I moved out, got a moving truck,” at that his heart was racing wondering if you had still wanted to move after this, “Got to the border when my dad called. Was just in time to pick her up at the airport,” you set down the bags of food in the kitchen he helped you put away, “Asshole sent her off alone on a jet. Well, gran let me rent her pool house and Ecthelion is coming up with a list of houses for me to look at.”

Turning again you went to grab your suitcases you brought inside into your usual room. Once again you had peered up at Thranduil at his awkwardly silent self ending when he blurted out, “Take a hike,” Your brow ticked up, “We, we should take a hike. If the guys are going to be late, no use in just waiting around, and we can break into the old pattern after our usual trail. They should be here by then.”

With a nod you replied, “Sure, sounds good.” Grabbing your jacket you pulled it on following him to the door he locked behind you both and led the way off to your usual path with his hands buried in his pockets.

Not long into the walk he stole another glance down at you seeing you reach out to grab a tall stalk with a tiny bundle of white flowers on the end you couldn’t quite remember the name of you spun between your fingertips. Hastily he wet his lips then said, “I got divorced.”

Glancing up at him you nodded, “I heard. You could have said something.”

He shook his head trying to ease the hint of pain in your voice, “It, it’s really hard to describe.” He sighed, “We just, it was the distance, and it all seemed so easy, and then the fertility came up, and my work pressed that harder for her stress on trying to schedule ovulation and all that. She suggested sleeping alone, for months before, to try to, date again I guess, rekindle things. Well, she did relax, and fell harder for the gallery owner, which I support, he was there for her, loves her, can give her what I couldn’t.”

He wet his lips again and blurted out looking at you, “I’m keeping the baby,” freezing in place you looked up at him, “Not, that I never would have, I always was,” he sighed and shook his head then started over, “I wanted you to know, my plans on that front haven’t changed.” With tears in your eyes he inhaled again and you nodded and took another step making him tear his hand from his pocket to grab your arm turning you, “Tiny.”

Facing him again you shook your head and sniffled wiping a stray tear from your cheek, “I’m a terrible person.”

Stepping closer his hands settled on your arms, “You’re nothing of the sort!”

“I wanted to help you. So much.” His eyes narrowed trying to hold back his own ache to cry at your tears, “You wanted a baby, and I wanted to help you. Then I did,” you sniffled again and his lips parted just barely, “Then it hit me, it’s a baby, and suddenly I had nothing to do with it, so I wanted to leave,” Your voice cracked and he moved close drawing you into his chest feeling a tear stream down his cheek finally realizing what he’d done. “I’m such a terrible-,”

“You are not terrible. Nothing of the sort!” Reaching down he curled his fingers under your chin he tilted it back, “I am so sorry. I am the one who should apologize. Just assuming that having a baby with you to raise with someone else, how hard that would be. For Bella, it’s not her egg, she’s been a surrogate before, from a family where that’s a common gift. I should have known how hard that would be for you. This is not just my baby, it’s ours, and the papers are going to say that. As soon as that test went positive I knew it would be hard to have a piece of you and trying to push you into an awkward triangle of parenting where you would be pushed aside when you were the one who gave me this baby. I never knew how hard this would be, and I am so, infinitely sorry for not sitting down to actually think it over, especially for you.”

Unable to think of what to say you nodded and kept walking on and you said, “I found a cute crib.”

Making him smirk down at you as you dried your cheeks with your sleeves. “Oh? Do tell.” For nearly an hour in the dropping of the temperature you chatted strolling closer and closer together all the way under the darkening clouds above all the way around back to the cabin again.

Outside it you looked around saying, “How are they still not here?”

Thranduil shrugged, “Maybe they left a message.” You nodded and followed him up the steps into the cabin saying, “You check the machine, I’ll start on the fire.”

Over to the fireplace he went and crouched while you made for the phone seeing a blinking light on the message machine. Finger outstretched you hit the button and Elros’ voice filled the empty cabin, “Tiny, Thran, ya, turns out there’s a big storm headed out to the cabin and there’s one brewing here at home. Sniffles are going round through our little ones and we can’t leave our Love’s alone in this, so, you two enjoy the weekend, maybe if things pick up we might make it out tomorrow if we can beat the storm.”

The scent of a comforting fire filled the room and you caught Thranduil’s eye with a quick grin, “So, sniffles.”

Nodding back he replied smoothing his palms together trying not to seem too anxious to be alone with you, “Supper then.”

Precooked pot roast, your favorites of his recipes, was put in the oven to warm up and already he was beaming lighting the lanterns along the walls and on the table when the sky darkened even more. Wine from dinner soon bled into whiskey and the bag of smores supplies was too much to ignore anymore. Under the flickers of stars through the spreading clouds a warm fire pit was lit and your giggle filled mess of a conversation continued on between sloppy bouts of feeding one another smores. Only delving into more giggling trips down memory lane as his playful nip at your fingers had come without just a splash more of liquid courage to take it as anything but the liquor fueled accident you assumed it to be.

Up again in a rocking fit of laughter you were seated on blankets and pillows around the campfire with flickers of stars shining in the sky both adjusting the spare blankets wrapped around you for extra warmth. Wetting his lips Thranduil beamed at you brightly as you said, “Miss Marya, and those daily questions on the board. Oh, her favorite,” Thranduil laughed again remembering the one you meant and then nipped at his lip aching to just close the distance and kiss you. “If you had the power to change one person’s life, how would you do it?” Giggling again in his chuckling downing of the last of the whiskey you passed him, looking him over with a lick of your lips in doing so. “What about you? What would you do?”

A single adorable tick of your brow and the bottle fell from his hand at his side to the blanket. Over his shoulders the blankets around him shifted in his cupping of your cheeks, warmly his lips crashed into yours molding against them in the slip of his knee knocking you onto your back. Still holding your cheeks a slip of his thumb dipped between your mouths in a moments pause for him to shift his left leg between yours with his right. And in the darkened gaze up at him and the flick of your tongue against his fingertip the hungry kiss began again with tongues searching blindly for a common rhythm in the mingling of hums. Up around his neck your hands slid keeping him from drawing back again when his hands fumbled the blankets from between you to wrap you around him under his blankets and himself for warmth. A gasping glance up at the clouds releasing a single snowflake was the least clear moment you had in the dip of his lips down the side of your neck.

.

Nestled under the covers a final crack of the dying fire your eyes flickered open in Thranduil’s waking grumble retracting his foot under the covers at the cold, still wrapped around your chest holding you tightly his lips met your neck in your reach up from his back to pull the covers back. “Feels colder.”

Lifting his head Thranduil squinted into the night then felt his eyes snap wide open at the dip of snow you were both in he looped your legs around his middle. And he brought all your snacks, shoes, clothes and blankets between the two of you in the cocoon of blankets he covered you for the trot through the snow to the front door. Giggling to yourself you stayed in his hold while he pushed the door shut with his foot and reached out to lock it, as if that could keep the cold away from you. Straight to the living room where your former snuggling pit was he set you down and coiled up in his blanket after covering you in yours to relight the fire. Again he nipped at his lip and hurried back to you pulling more of the still slightly warm comforters he’d brought to cover your snow coated blankets he tossed away along the wall and wrapped his arms around you laying at your side.

Swallowing dryly he looked you over and his hand sank from your hip over the thigh you shifted to lay on top of his leg, “Are you busy Thursday?”

With a smirk he hummed back, “I’m fairly certain we’ll still be here Thursday.”

Easing your arms around his neck you sighed back deepening his smirk in the subtle tug bringing him against you again, “What ever shall we do?”

He shrugged and playfully replied, “I’m certain we could think of something. Decorating our home for one,” kissing your cheek sweetly then moving his lips back to your neck to hum again, “planning a nursery,”

“Our home?”

Drawing back he cupped your cheek to lock eyes with you, “Oh you’re moving in with me, you and Tauri both. It’s still all boxes, nothing close to ready for our baby.”

Playfully you smirked up at him, “You really think I would just move in with you like that? I mean, I’m going to need a little something extra to convince me.”

“Oh really? How expensive is this something extra?”

You shrugged, “I might settle for you wearing those hot pants of yours to bed.” Making him roll his eyes and crash his lips into yours again wrapping your legs and arms around him in his move above you again muffling your giggles through his deep chuckle

Truly the storm did pick up, and sure enough well into the next week you were trapped, though to keep as much time to make up for lost time you were still enjoying your break when the guys arrived eager to see if you’d coupled or killed each other after the phones going down due to the now passed storm.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

#Theincaprincesswritingchallenge #30daywritingchallengebytheincaprincess #hobbit #lotr #Thranduil x Reader OC #Snowed In

[gurguliare]

DVD: that one scene from your fic about Dirhaval, with the elf lady and the two of them being really intent with each other over the fire. "Do you love me" et cetera. I hope that makes sense I'm on mobile.

omg IT DOES although since that fic barely has scene divisions I’m going to take this excuse to do… a lot of it.

“I have remembered something,” she added, inconsequentially. “My aunt’s husband was Guilin’s steward. Everyone in my family hated him because he always making up to us with stories about the great princes. He said that Gwindor and Finduilas fought much over the Adanedhel’s love for her.”

I… I love this OC. She’s not even a box of rocks, she’s like, a box with one rock in it. Selectively dense; elsewhere, airheaded.

Dírhaval considered the fish with great interest. He had been told triumph lent him a fierce expression. He had no wish to scare his friend off now.

I can’t remember if @crocordile​ and I had a conversation before or after I wrote this about Dirhavel being like, not necessarily a big but an energetic guy who’s frequently seen around the camps doing SUPER WEIRD athletic shit to see if some of the feats he attributes to Turin were physically possible—anyway, whatever the timing, that concept was what I was psychically tuned into when I wrote this description. He has a beard and it bristles despite his best efforts to keep it trimmed.

“Raised voices—he overheard—Gwindor said, ‘Why does he seek you out, and sit long with you, and come ever more glad away?’ And that was true, I remember; they sat together in all kinds of places, on the terraces, in the treasury, and even by the earthworks for the bridge. No doubt he told her much you would be glad to know. But as for me, I think Gwindor a fool; few men would have loved her for listening. It reminds them what they hold dear in themselves.”

It was really hard for me to strike what seemed like a reasonable balance between hearsay and direct observation, but I leaned on the idea that Nargothrond, though huge, was not like, “modern city space” huge, more “sprawling overdeveloped apartment complex and you need a permit to go above ground”—so in five years and with perfect memory, everyone has a decent chance of stumbling on everyone else’s attempts at fresh air.

“That’s true,” he said. The first time he had interviewed her, she had spoken for an hour about the cavern of assembly, like an egg on its side—but so vast!—and with stalactites Finrod himself had sung down into pillars, or was it that he had worn holes in the walls parting small caves, she couldn’t decide; and the window on the river, whence a grey light came, like a shadow thrown on the gliding light of a thousand lamps and torches.

I think this description of the great hall is kind of cute but I have to acknowledge it was influenced, consciously or subconsciously, by the great hall in the Rats of Nimh.

And now when she spoke it was matter-of-fact and with hardly a jibe at her uncle. She was Túrin to him in that moment with her straight-sloping neck, the flushed skin of her neck and jaw with her face as fair as fair could stay at sunset, the cupful of shadow under her chin. He had burned the roof of his mouth. The fish was tender, almost flavorless, flaking between his teeth like a cake of river-flesh; a little muddy, even, as all water here was. He ate the crisped-black skin for a whiff of charcoal, which coated his mouth. “Don’t you love me, your loyal hearer?”

She gave him a startled wink; and smiled, and smiled.

Okay, so yes. I do love this moment, I hope it does a lot of things at once; basically I want 1) Dirhavel to be ironic in a nice way about his elf friend attempting to invent the term “emotional labor,” which reflects both a male impatience with this attempt to generalize everything to men talking women’s ears off, but also some vague species-based edginess about him trying to construct this human story out of testimony from elves, and like, navigating elves’ possessiveness of Turin but also the way they patronize him in the same breath, Adanedhel. And at the same time having to confront the fact that people are people and the elf-human boundary has gotten increasingly blurry with the end times, however much he might want to retain a sense of lofty apartness, whether as a human among elves, a writer among subjects, a man among women, whatever—that tension between observer distance and involuntary empathy is another big theme of this fic. And 2) I want the cook to catch it but not quite get it—like, she knows he’s making fun of her but she doesn’t necessarily interpret it in the same way he does, what she gets is that he’s talking about the limits of different kinds of love, that you can love someone and it can still go just so far: that’s why it triggers her next thought about Finduilas –> Turin.

“I do not think Finduilas loved the Mormegil either. Or, that is, I believe they loved one another as sister and brother.”

I said this in my commentary on an otherwise VERY different LOGH fic but I love when characters are wrong. Every time. Also, I love childish oversimplifications that have good reason for existing—that is, I like when you can really see why a character would with all their heart want to believe x, because the alternative is both messy and depressing.

Trying to lick his fingers clean just spread around the soot. Among the things she had told Dírhaval was that she was an only child. But he was inclined to believe her, almost. To Finduilas Túrin should have been a child. She must have wanted to love him like a brother—it would have been best, by far clearer and finer, to love him as a brother, even when her death walked near. The death he handed her down to; but if they were kin, it would have been her right to love him, blaming him.

“Do you not agree?”

Dirhavel takes this basically as like, confirmation for his thesis that all real love is irrational and unconditional (see also Gwindor wanting Finduilas and Túrin to be happy at his own expense, a few lines down) but only familial love has the “excuse” to be so. So the distinction is not, “would I love him whatever he did to me,” but rather, “do I feel fucked up and guilty about that fact or not.” In a vague way, this is supposed to set up the extremely bleak lines he gives Nienor after she gets her memory back: twice beloved.

“I can’t say.” Up again to pace. She followed him, basket on her arm, and settled onto her haunches when she saw he had no journey in mind. He stood when he performed, which was not hard, but it made him more restless when alone.

See above remarks about Dirhavel’s acrobatics, and also maaybe his ADHD

“I think—by the time—no, Túrin did not love her, and as for Finduilas, well, surely she cared for Gwindor? If they argued. Let’s see. And Túrin pursued her at last and fell in a swoon on her grave, we know that. And he loved Gwindor; how not, when Gwindor was with him at Ivrin? But Gwindor—I suppose—Gwindor must have hated him. No. He must have hoped Túrin loved Finduilas, and that was why he couldn’t be persuaded of the truth. For he would have wanted her to be happy, in the end.”

“Oh, no!”

His mood tipped down at once. “Oh no,” he agreed, and took his sandals off and stepped into the stream.

Again, I just think this interaction is fun. I mean I like the placement of his realization about Gwindor, but I LOVE the cook being like “oh no!! that’s so sad!” I hope other people enjoy “stories about the process of idiotic sadstuck brainstorming” as much as I do.

His mother had said once that both he and his father were happier than other men, but that they had no ballast, to keep steady the craft. If he took on an ounce of grief he’d sink, and yet he felt the flood almost as freedom. It made him more the master than had his dry, feckless race, his high-riding. As long as he struggled he had yet to succumb; that was the rule for a wasted night. He ought to go beg a bowl of sour milk from Linnor, or go and sing a service for the king. He could see as far as a night of stars.

I wanted to communicate a particular kind of mood downturn here where you can still clearly remember being happy, and the rising tide of discontent isn’t overwhelming on its own, it’s just depressing because you know where it leads—but for the same reason it’s also a relief, in that you know where it leads. Whereas joy is weird and easy to get lost in and you never know when the plug will be pulled. But I’m not sure the boat metaphor really works.

But it was day, it was red evening. It was his companion’s grief, filling his mind from above. She crouched and watched the far bank huge-eyed, not a tear in evidence, eyes opened but sealed, as it seemed, against sadness that strove for entry, not escape; she sat with wide mouth cracked, nostrils flared, sucking in great absent sniffs of sea-wind. She was besieged as an afterthought, safe and calm except besieged.

I also wanted to include some telepathy! As always! Dirhaval I imagine to be something of a natural, who probably has had some experience with elf mind-speech at this point—enough to recognize it but not really to manage it. I like this description of the cook in pain, I think it works well with her established personality and also evokes Nargothrond itself, which is of course the thing she’s actually grieving for. I mean, and she identifies it with Gwindor, reasonably enough, and takes unhappy pride in him as a lord of Nargothrond, and in this moment is kind of shot through herself not just with the fact of his defeat but the like, honorable necessity of his defeat, knowing that on some level he accepted it.   

(Gwindor surely wished Finduilas joy. Finduilas, dying, remembered Túrin, and told him where his quest should end. The feathered tops of the reeds glowed on dark stems, like a fire in a field of reeds—there before nightfall he planted for ever the standards of the Noldor and their unsheathed swords, kindling in the dawn.)

I’m so proud of this stupid line lol, it’s just the reverse of Tolkien’s—“The light of the drawing of the swords of the Noldor was like a fire in a field of reeds”—but I LOVE THAT LINE, it’s so perfect for Dirhaval as an author and Sirion as a place of memory/last battlefront/first battlefront for this long war. And its conclusion, still to come.

He washed his hands and greasy beard in the river. “Your fish will be cold,” he advised. He had abandoned hope of dinner until she brought it, but that was no reason to encourage bad habits in her.

Dumb friends. Dumb friends are great because they are attuned to the hazards of stupidity, and can help each other.

Then he had to pick some scales out of his teeth, and couldn’t elaborate, but he heard her uncover the basket, anyway.

He had met her before with a handful of salt, pressing a few grains to her mouth to check their purity. “Dírhaval,” she said wisely, mouth full. “Dírhaval, I have forgotten how to cook.” Meaning she had no spices, witched ovens, and trained assistants—maybe, with her, it really was as though she had forgotten; at least it was something else she had lost.

Yeah… the focus on memory in this is another unexpected link to the LOGH fic uh, an inevitable byproduct of writing about a historian, and it’s also supposed to reflect that loss of separation between elves and men, since so much of what distinguishes elves is… their wealth of resources, psychological and material. And the material resources are essential to and interwoven with the psychological resilience, as noted here, so I really wanted to capture that sense that *not having* all the wonderful things she used to have baffles her as much as a hole in her memory. Because the default is that you keep everything forever, right? Another feeling which is not unique to elves. God I love………………………… “people.”  

#Anonymous #no one expects the fannish inquisition #silmarillion #dirhaval #thank you for asking! i remain really proud of this fic and thrilled to blather about it

[quack-and-yellow]

Nobody Compares to You – Marko Pjaca One Shot

For @4rsene-wenger, who deserves the world. ❤️

I’m so sorry this is late. I didn’t change anything so let’s just pretend you’re reading this at New Year’s Eve askajsdasasda Also, what do you guys mean Marko is no longer in Turin? Stop saying nonsense. 😌 Huge thanks to @elleficient for beta reading. Inspired by the song mentioned in the story.

—

Gaby knew better than to stay in a room with him. Even if there are other people, a sea of faces between them, she knew she would swim through it all and still look for his face. She would still gravitate towards him, seeking his warmth. For three months it has been a habit. Now she’s trying to unlearn it.

Gaby slipped out of the house by the backdoor, a half-filled wine bottle tucked by her side. She didn’t bother bringing a glass. She could finish what remains of it – and she would. The loud music and chatter from inside immediately faded as the door shut. New Year’s Eve parties. She used to enjoy it. Getting wasted. Making out. Waking up past noon the following day. Now she just wanted to be alone with a bottle of wine and her thoughts. That’s what he’s supposed to be – a passing thought. A memory. What was he doing here tonight, anyway? They were her friends after all. She was the one who introduced them to him, when he was still new in Turin and didn’t know anyone else.

Gaby slowly breathed in the cold, crisp air until her nose hurt and her eyes watered. Well, fuck. If he’s here, she’d rather pass out in the cold and freeze to death. She opened the bottle and drank directly from it.

The door flew open and she almost choked on the wine from shock. There he was. Without warning. Looking tall and handsome as ever. Their eyes met, and Gaby hastily lowered the bottle from her lips. The door automatically shut, surrounding them in silence once again.

“Gabriela,” Marko said.

Gaby winced. She has not heard that in a long time – her name in his voice. He was the only one who insists on calling her by her first name. She looked away.

“I saw you sneak out.” He smirked, noticing the bottle in her hand. "Thought I’d say hi.”

She did not reply and kept her gaze away from him. Her heart was beating rapidly and the sinking feeling in her stomach was making her want to vomit. Marko sat beside her on the old bench by the wall. Her whole body tensed.

“Care to share?” His arm brushed against hers when he gestured with the glass on his hand.

Gaby impulsively moved her arm away. It scared her – being that close again. Feeling his skin against hers. With a trembling hand that she hoped he didn’t notice, she poured him half a glass.

“Grazie,” Marko said, raising his glass. He took a sip and gazed at the distance where a few fireworks lit up the night sky, their pops faint.

Gaby gripped the bottleneck, praying he would leave already, but he wasn’t showing any signs of doing so. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take out his phone and scroll through it.

“Look at this,” he said with a grin.

It was a picture of the party inside. Marko zoomed in on a couple making out in the corner of the living room.

“Stefan and Anna?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, chuckling. “They thought no one could see them.”

“They’re together since last month.”

Marko’s grin disappeared. “They are?”

Gaby shrugged and took a sip of wine.

“Shit, I didn’t know that,” he muttered, frowning, as he deleted the picture.

Of course you didn’t know. It’s not like you still hang out with my friends after leaving, Gaby thought. She took another sip to fight the urge to say it.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Marko said, stuffing his phone back in his coat pocket. “I was thinking of posting it on our WhatsApp group.” 

“Our?” Gaby spat before she could stop herself.

“Yeah?” Marko shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I know I haven’t been active lately, I was busy –”

“You haven’t been active for three months,” she scoffed. “And you know why.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger to silence him.

“Okay, I know you’re not just here to say hi,” Gaby said, facing him. “What is this about, Marko?”

He twirled the glass in his hand, watching the dark liquid swirl. In the distance, more and more fireworks kept popping. Then with a sniff, he looked at her seriously. “I want you back.”

Gaby searched his eyes, expecting him to crack up any moment. She used to love looking into them. How they make her melt. How they make time stand still. Now she couldn’t look into them without thinking about the pain.

Marko’s fingers found their way into the spaces between hers, slowly entwining them. His hand was warm against her cold one. He gave it a squeeze. “I miss you.”

“Y-you…” She squinted as tears stung her eyes. She quickly removed her hand and stood up. “W-why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean why?” 

“You can’t just say you miss me and expect me to come back,” she shot back.

He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Gabriela.”

She laughed sarcastically, even if tears were threatening to fall. “And that is supposed to make everything okay again?”

“I… I realize now it’s still not.”

Gaby bit her lip and brushed her tears angrily. She said too much, revealed too much in her little outburst. There’s no use redeeming herself by pretending to be fine. Because she wasn’t, ever since he left. She has never admitted it to herself or to anyone. Now that she did, she plopped down in defeat.

Marko sighed, letting out a huge cloud of air. “If it makes you feel better to know… I haven’t been myself since we broke up. I wasn’t playing in any of the last few games, if you noticed.”

“So you want me back so you can start functioning well again?” she scoffed, taking a sip of wine.

“I want you back because I love you,” he said, as if it was that simple.

It was that simple, and it made her furious.

Gaby glared at him, her temple throbbing from the alcohol and her fury. “Why did you leave me in the first place?”

Marko took a deep breath. “I was scared.” His eyes darted from the sky to the glass in his hand. “I was out for so long because of my injury. I’m torn between fighting for my place at the club and giving myself up for a loan. I didn’t know what to do. I was losing it all, Gabriela.”

Gaby’s grip on the bottle tightened. She was hearing this for the first time because he just left after a heated argument and neither of them made an effort to patch things up. She had convinced herself that it was the end for them.

He lifted his eyes to her face and kept them fixed on her. “We were fighting most of the time because I was bad-tempered and depressed. I was scared… of what I was turning you into. I could see that you were no longer your best self when you’re with me. I know what you are at your best.”

She brought the back of her hand to her lips and let out a muffled sob. “Why didn’t you tell me this? I still want to be there for you no matter what…” 

“I know,” Marko said, his voice trembling. “I know you will do everything for me, and that very reason scared me. Like what if I got loaned to Germany or Russia? Will you move with me? I can’t have you doing everything for me and losing yourself at the same time.”

She winced and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I hope I’m not yet too late.” He reached out and touched her tear-stained cheek. “I never stopped loving you, Gabriela. I never stopped wanting you.”

Gaby closed her eyes and clenched tightly at the sleeve of her sweater, resisting the urge to fall back into his arms. She was giving it her all, but she was losing with every second that passed.

A welcoming distraction came in the form of a couple that burst out of the back door, tangled in each other’s arms. They were kissing and only broke apart when they noticed Marko and Gaby watching them. The couple gave an awkward smile, nodded at them and then hurried back inside. The door closed, cutting Gryffin’s “Nobody Compares to You” mid-song, which was blasting at full volume. Marko began laughing, and Gaby allowed herself a few seconds to listen to it – a sound she dearly missed – before bursting into laughter herself.

“That… that wasn’t Daniela, right?” he asked.

“That’s definitely not Dani,” she answered, wiping a tear. “That dumbass Luca. I thought he’s finally in a serious relationship. I will kill him.”

Marko shook his head. “Remember last year’s celebration at Stefan’s house?”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I still cringe every time I use the bathroom there.”

They laughed again until awkward silence took over when they realized that, last year, they were the couple trying to look for a secluded place to make out. They had just started dating then. They didn’t even last a year.

Gaby looked up and saw the horizon began to light up with even more fireworks, this time in quick succession.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Marko glanced at his wristwatch. “Almost midnight.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “I should go.”

“I wouldn’t go inside if I were you,” he said, leaning back against the wall.

Gaby knew what he meant. Either she would get caught in the middle of couples kissing or she would be forced to kiss any of the available singles – and she didn’t really want to kiss anyone tonight.

“Oh. Right,” she mumbled.

Maybe Marko didn’t like her kissing someone else too? Maybe he wanted to kiss her?

Her heart pounded at the thought. She’d rather die than admit it, but a tiny part of her missed him.

The countdown began. They could hear their friends inside shout in unison. 

Dieci! Nove! Otto!

Gaby hugged her knees and looked at the distance. Beside her, Marko absently drank the rest of his wine. 

Sette! Sei! Cinque! Quattro!

The fireworks were becoming bigger and more splendid, lighting up the sky with a burst of colors. Gaby heard him clear his throat. She took a long sip of wine, just to have something else to do.

Tre! Due! Uno!

They heard party poppers and shouts of “Buon anno!” from inside. She slowly glanced at Marko, the fireworks casting green and red lights on the side of his face. He was no longer watching the spectacle. He was watching her. A small smile slowly spread across his lips, and Gaby’s heart squeezed at the sight of it. She ran a hand on the stubbles on his jaw and saw his throat bob with every hard swallow. Marko held her hand in place and leaned forward, gently resting his forehead against hers.

Gaby drew out a shaky breath. “I- I wish I could take back all the things I said that night.”

Marko chuckled softly. “I deserved it. And yes, it hurt, but I needed it. You’re the only one who can do that to me, you know?”

He tilted her chin to look into her brown eyes. “I’m not sure about my future, but I’m sure I want you in it.”

Gaby dropped her head as tears shimmered in her eyes.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” Marko whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Take your time. Just know that I will wait for you, Gabriela.”

That was all she needed. Someone who would wait. And it’s not going to be an easy decision, with his career and her studies and their dreams together on the line. But she knew she would never feel for another man what she feels for him.

And if that doesn’t deserve a second chance, then there isn’t much in this world she could fight for.

The new year’s making her hopeful. That’s a good sign.

#marko pjaca #marko pjaca one shot #marko pjaca imagine #marko pjaca fanfic #football fanfiction

[itsyokythings-blog]

My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. - Travel. Adventure. Yoga.

When you’re in Turin, you won’t want to miss a visit to Superga Basilica. It makes a great half-day trip from the city, offering sweeping views, a ride on a historic tram, and of course, the grand edifice itself. This post covers everything you need to know for your visit.

What’s in our guide to visiting Superga Basilica?

1. 3. 5. 7.

The Superga Basilica is a massive and very impressive structure, even from the parking lot.

You can drive up, hike up, or take the historic rack tramway to the top. At the Basilica di Superga, visitors are welcome in the Royal Apartments, the Royal Tombs, and to climb the steep stairway to the top of the dome. Currently the Basilica itself is undergoing restoration, so the only way to see it is to attend Sunday morning mass.

After visiting Superga Basilica, take advantage of the hiking trails that lead from the Basilica into the Parco Naturale della Collina di Superga (The Natural Park of Superga Hill) where you can wander for hours along wooded trails, past burbling creeks, and through sun-dappled meadows.

There’s even a cafe in the park where you can stop for a bite or a glass of beer. We spent many happy hours wandering these trails while staying in nearby Pino Torinese.

So, if you want to add Superga to your Turin itinerary, read on for…

How to Visit Superga Basilica — Your Guide to a Great Day Trip

Also don’t miss these posts:

Your complete Torino guide → How to visit Sacra di San Michele → Your guide to visiting Mole Antonelliana →

The marble pillars hold the grand entry to the basilica in place.

War often destroys important buildings but with Superga Basilica, the opposite is true. Superga was actually created by a war.

In 1706, Turin was invaded by the French army, while Italian and Austrian troops struggle to hold them back. As the Battle of Turin raged, Duke Vittorio Amedeo II climbed Superga hill to observe the battlefield from a distance and work out a winning strategy.

At the time, there was a small church at the top of the hill, so the Duke turned to prayer for help. He vowed to a statue of the Virgin Mary that if his side won the battle, he’d build a grand church on the spot. Whether through clever strategizing, sheer force of will, or by the hand of God, the Italians won the battle and the Duke kept his vow.

In 1717, the long period of construction began with a 2-year project to flatten the mountain-top. At great expense, the Basilica slowly rose during the next 12 years, with the crowning achievement being the 75 m baroque dome, which has stood proudly watching over Torino ever since.

The dome of Basilica di Superga rises 75 metres into the air.

There are several attractions that you can visit at Superga, and all are separately priced so you can pick and choose.

Attend Mass at Basilica Superga

The Basilica itself is intricately decorated with columns and sculptures of Carrara marble. The dome from inside is an impressive sight as are the many altar paintings. You can also visit the Chapel of the Vow, which still houses the wooden statue of Mary upon which the Duke made his vow.

Currently, the Basilica is undergoing renovation, so the only time you can visit is Sunday morning for mass. See the

Ascending the winding staircase of the Basilica is a steep and narrow undertaking.

Climbing the narrow winding staircase to the dome will bring you to an expansive view of Turin from above. If you’re there on a clear day, the Alps will sparkle in the distance, calling you to their craggy slopes. If not, you’ll see one of Turin’s biggest problems — the smog that regularly hangs over the city like a forlorn cloud.

Explore Superga Park

If you drive up to Superga, that doesn’t mean you’re out of options for walking and hiking. The Basilica sits on the edge of Parco Naturale Della Collina di Superga. The name is a mouthful, but it just means “nature park of the Superga hill”. Hiking trails criss-cross the park and you can go on a short or long hike right from the Basilica.

If you prefer to drive, head out along the winding Strada dei Colli, which takes you on a scenic route through the hills. You’ll come out in the charming village of Pino Torinese, where we stayed for almost 3 months!

It’s worth a stop to explore the local shops, selling regional produce, artisinal baking, and wine. There’s also a nice gelato shop and a coffee shop in town should you need some refreshments.

Stay in the Basilica di Superga Guest Rooms

If you want to stay in the hills overlooking Turin, you can book into the Servants of Mary’s guest rooms at Basilica di Superga. Recently renovated, these rooms offer comfort in the style of a (very modernized) 18th Century guesthouse.

They have single and double rooms, as well a family rooms that can accommodate up to five people.

If you want the full historic experience, take the rack tramway to the top of Superga hill.

Though you can get to Superga by car or on foot, the experience is most interesting if you use the Superga Rack Tramway.

Originally opened in 1884, the tram cars were once heaved up the more than 400 m route by cables running alongside the track. The whole system was driven by a steam engine in the upper station.

Now, of course, the tram is powered by electricity and the cables have been replaced by an electrified 3rd rail.

Still, rattling along in the wooden tram as it strains to climb the hill, it’s easy to imagine gentlemen dressed in immaculate suits and ladies in Empire-waisted white dresses perched elegantly on the wooden benches as they rode up the hill to mass.

After ascending the cupola at Superga Basilica, you’ll see the towers up close and the Alps in the distance.

Museo del Grande Torino e della Leggenda Granata

.

This is the interior of the tram car that will chug you up the hill to Superga Basilica.

There are lots of options for visiting Superga Basilica.

By car. If you’re in a rush, driving to Superga is the quickest way to get there (and also the least fun). You’ll have to wrangle with the madness of Italian traffic and I defy even the most pious ler to drive the whole way without swearing at a few of the crazier drivers.

From the city centre, it’s about a half-hour drive to the Basilica, where there’s an ample parking lot. There is a small parking lot at the Sassi station if you want to drive and take the rack railway to the top.

By tram and rack railway. The best way to get to Superga is to take the number 15 city tram from Piazza Castello, stop 471 Castello . Ride the tram for 22 minutes and get off at stop 589 Sassi-Superga. There, head inside to buy your tickets for the rack tramway which takes about 15 minutes to get to the top.

Hike to Superga. This is our favourite option, because it combines a fun outdoor activity with one of Turin’s major tourist attractions. There are plenty of routes to hike up to Superga.

The one I suggest starts in Croce, a small area near Sassi. From Piazza Vittorio Venetto, take bus 61 and get off at the Croce stop. The trail, marked Sentiero 29, starts off of Corso Casale, just west of the bus stop and Via Croce. It is clearly marked on Google maps.

If you go on a clear day, you can see the Alps encircling the city of Turin.

Entry Prices

€3 for Basilica Dome

€5 for Royal Tombs or Apartments

€9 for Royal Tombs and Apartments

Free with Torino + Piemonte Card or Royal Card

Basilica Closure

Currently the Basilica is undergoing restoration, so the only time you can enter is for Sunday morning mass, which begins at 11:30am. Entry is allowed from 10am.

Summer Hours: March 1 to October 31

Thursday to Tuesday — 7am to 10pm

Closed Wednesday

Winter Hours: November 1 to February 28

Saturday, Sunday, & public holidays — 10am to 6pm (last entry at 5:15pm)

We hope this guide to Superga Basilica helps you plan a fun and flawless trip to one of the most famous spots in Turin. With hiking trails, impressive architecture, the historic rack tramway, and the magnificent view, it’s worth a half-day while you’re in the city. For more things to do in Turin, see our complete guide.

♥  Happy mindful adventures, Jane & Stephen

We’re not going to lie, it takes a LOT of work to create guides like this. But it’s easy to help us out! If you book or buy something using one of our personal links in this post, we’ll earn a small fee at no extra cost to you. Of course, we would never recommend anything we didn’t 100% believe in! Huge thanks in advance! –S&J

Pin this for your trip to Turin.

The post How to Visit Superga Basilica – Your Guide to a Great Day Trip from Turin appeared first on My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga..

#>History #thingstodo #>The #air #>Superga #howtoget #>Basilica #times #history>Things #tramway>Superga #shoes>How #times>hours #turin #italy #superga #travel #europe #mindfultravel #myfiveacres"

[barce-fabu-lona]

Paulo Dybala Imagine

This is for @girlinmanyfandoms123. Thanks for your request love! <3 I hope you enjoy this. 

Paulo and you have been dating for a long time but you break up with him. Half a year later he comes to your city and wants to talk. A few weeks after you’re at a Juventus game and he scores and asks you to be his girlfriend again. 

I hope you enjoy and I would love if you left me some feedback! <33

A light breeze was blowing through the streets of Milan. Y/N could feel it brushing over her overheated skin, cooling it the slightest bit. She was grateful for it anyways. 

 "It’s so hot.“ Emma, her best friend, remarked. “I feel like I’m burning up. Literally." 

 Y/N chuckled a bit and watched her friend fanning herself with the menu of their favorite café. 

 "I guess you’re just hot like that.” She said, reaching for her drink. 

 A few droplets of water were running down the side of the glass, dripping down onto her thighs and causing her skin to erupt into goosebumps shortly. It was quiet refreshing to be honest. 

 "Haha.“ Emma deadpanned and brushed her red curls back. "Why am I still looking for my Prince Charming then?" 

 Y/N rolled her eyes and touched her now wet fingers to the back of her neck. She was hot as well, sweating in her pale yellow summer dress. The sun stood high in the sky, burning down on them unmercifully. Maybe they should have just stayed home like Emma originally suggested. They could fill the bathtub with cool water and ice cubes and take a bath instead of slowly dying off heat.

 "I don’t know Em, you’re a strong, independent woman. Maybe you have to go and rescue your Prince Charming." 

 Y/N wasn’t looking at her friend when she said that but when Emma didn’t comment further, didn’t even make any kind of huffy sound, she glanced up. 

 Emma’s face had gone pale and for a second Y/N was occupied with being surprised that you could actually look that pale during a hot summer day like this, but then worry kicked in.

She set her drink down and reached over, touching her cool fingertips to Emma’s arm. Her friend jumped.

 "Emma? You’re okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something." 

 Emma tried to laugh but it ended up being some kind of awkward coughing sound instead. 

 "I mean-” She started but trailed off quickly. “- that ex-boyfriend of yours, the soccer player. Do you remember him?" 

 Y/N felt herself tensing up immediately at the mention of Paulo. They had been dating for close to five years after meeting in Argentina during Y/N’s exchange year when she was a teen. Together they had gone through a lot of highs and lows, even managed to keep up a long distance relationship until Paulo moved to Italy in 2012.

Then in 2015 Juventus Turin, one of the best Italian soccer clubs, had signed him and it had all gone downhill from there. Y/N had supported him every step of the way as best as she could, but while Paulo’s fame grew he started neglecting their relationship.

It took a while to break their bond but with all the attention from the media she was getting as well, Y/N wasn’t able to stand strong much longer. Without Paulo to support her she had caved at some point and broke things off, moving back to where she came from. Milan. Her mental health had profited from her decision, her heart didn’t. Thinking of him still hurt.

 "Yeah.” She finally said, clearing her throat to speak normally. “Of course I remember. How could I possibly not?" 

 Emma nodded, not looking at her anymore. 

 "Does he still play for Juventus?”

 "Yes.“ Y/N shifted around in her chair, her thighs sticking to the cheap plastic material. "Why are you asking all those questions? It’s freaking me out.”

 "Well.“ Emma said dryly and placed the menu back on the table. "Because he is coming over here right now." 

 Y/N felt like she might have a heart attack right then and there. Her heart leaped into overdrive and she actually had to hold onto the chair to stay seated. Otherwise she might have gotten up and started running to god knows where. 

She was not prepared for this. She was not ready. She would never be ready.

 "Hi." 

"Oh my god.” Y/N said without really meaning to and slapped a hand across her mouth immediately after.

 Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

 "Ehm- yeah. I’m sorry to bother the two of you.“ Paulo, who was now standing next to their table, said and awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. 

 Emma nodded at him while Y/N was still unable to do anything. She was currently mesmerized by the fact that he actually looked good sweating. Damn those soccer players. 

 "It’s fine.” She stutters when noticing that Paulo was waiting for her to say something. “What are you doing here? In Milan? You should be in Juventus." 

 "I missed you." 

 BAM.

 That’s all it took to break down all those walls Y/N had carefully drawn up around her heart during the last half a year. She had placed brick upon brick, going higher and higher, forcing herself to forget about him, to forget his voice and his smile and his scent, to forget everything about him and now he was here, turning all her affords into dust. 

 "You can’t just do that Paulo.” Y/N snapped, she was fuming now. “You can’t just walk up here and tell me that you missed me. It doesn’t work like that!" 

 "Well, I’m here now." 

 "Right, but you really shouldn’t be!" 

 "Why not?” Paulo asks, crossing his arms across his chest and wow he had built up some muscles. 

 For a second Y/N is distracted again, then she goes back to being angry. 

 "Because it was a very long and painful progress to shut you out Paulo, and it’s unfair to just waltz right back into my life, okay?“

 The young Argentinian is quiet for a moment before his expression softens.

 "Y/N.” He begins quietly. “I don’t want you to shut me out. I never wanted that. I’m not here to judge you and I’m not here to beg for forgiveness. I know you’re probably are better off without me and I see you’re happy but I came to talk. I can’t live with us ending this way, I don’t want that. Not after what we had." 

 Emma clears her throat, making both of them aware of her presence. When they are both looking at her, she shoots Paulo an unimpressed glance. 

 "I’m just here to remind you that you are indeed here to beg for forgiveness.” She says and Y/N has to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“And now I’m gonna leave because you guys have a lot of stuff to talk through. You better start now." 

 The redhead gets up, grabs her purse and nods over to her chair, waiting for Paulo to sit down. The young man awkwardly shuffles over and sits down across from Y/N whose heart is still beating wildly in her chest. She meets Emma’s eyes and gives her pleading glance, begging her to not go but her best friend doesn’t even react.

 A waitress comes over to their table when Emma raises her hand.

 “What can I help you with?” She asks politely. “Do you want another drink?”

 “No.” Emma says sternly. “I want you to keep an eye on those two and make sure, that they don’t leave this table before they’ve figure out their shit.”

 And then she’s gone.

 — One month later —

 When the ball hits the back of the net Y/N screams like all the Italian soccer fans surrounding her. There is an older man with his grandchild standing next to her, the little boy is singing excitedly, bouncing up and down.

 “Did you see that?” He asks, his cheeks glowing. “Dybala scored again!”

 “I did.” Y/N says and high-fives him when he lifts his little hand. “Do you like him?”

 “Oh yes, he is my favorite player. He’s great! I think he’s gonna be the next Messi.”  The boy turns back to the game but Y/N keeps watching him with a smile on her face.

 “Funny.” She says more to herself and then looks back down as well. “He’s my favorite player too.”

 Paulo scores again few minutes later and Y/N can feel her stomach doing funny little backflips when he runs up to the sidelines and waves to her when he spots her standing in the crowd.

A month passed since Paulo came to Milan, looking for Y/N and asking her for a second chance. She had been hesitant at first but agreed to meet him again. After a few normal dates they picked up texting and who was she kidding, she had never really stopped loving him. Their bond was still there and when Paulo had asked her to drive down to Turin and watch the game against Roma she couldn’t say no.

And now she is here, feeling just as bubbly and excited as the little boy sitting next to her.

 “Oh my god! Nonno, look.” He says to his grandpa right then and points down to the field. “Paulo Dybala is coming up here.”

Y/N whirls around and feels herself starting to blush when Paulo jumps over the sidelines and starts jogging up the stairs. Fans start screaming and the little boy next to her is reduced to a hiccupping mess but she can only focus on the young man who is now standing in front of her.

“Y/N.” He pants and quickly pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “I have to be quick but I want you to know that those goals were for you.”

She hugs him back just as tightly, smiling into his jersey. The world slows down around them, everything fading into the background until she can’t even here the fans chanting anymore.

“Paulo.” Y/N starts but he cuts her off.

“You let me kiss you last week and I pray that I didn’t interpret it the wrong way, but I have to ask you something.” He pulls back so they can look each other in the eye. “I’m still in love with you and I want you by my side again. Do you want that too? Do you want to be my girlfriend? Please, say yes.”

Y/N feels like she might lift off the ground and float away if Paulo wouldn’t still hold her in his arms. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that this will be all over the media later and that fans are probably already making gifs but she doesn’t care. She’s in love as well.

“Yeah.” Y/N whispers and feels herself starting to smile once the words have left her mouth. “I want to be yours again.”

Paulo kisses her in front of the whole stadium, hell in front of the whole Italian soccer world, because the game is being broadcasted on TV but she kisses back anyways. When they part and  he jogs back down towards the field to finish the game, everybody is looking at her but for the first time in her life she doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

When Y/N sits back down her little neighbor tugs on her jacket carefully. His eyes are huge and round, staring back at her in astonishment.

“I’m Anto.” He says. “Will you please adopt me?”        

#paulo dybala #juventus turin #juventus turin imagine #imagine #soccer imagine #paulo dybala imagine #this si like really fluffy i just can't stop myslef #sorry #my work

[geeeooorrrge]

And Everything In Between - a Paulo Dybala/Alvaro Morata fanfic

Here’s the Instagram post mentioned in this chapter.

Title is from Collide by Howie Day.

Chapter list and summary | Read on AO3

CHAPTER 44 – I WORRY I WON’T SEE YOUR FACE LIGHT UP AGAIN

Paulo didn’t call for the next three days and Alvaro almost crapped his pants with worry.

But Alvaro saw more of Isco, though, after he returned from his Dubai vacation and visiting his family in Málaga. They hung out at Isco’s place most of the time while Alvaro searched for an apartment.

By Sunday evening Alvaro had a list of apartments he was going to view in the next week. He sat with his laptop on Isco’s bed and scrolled through all the photos. All of them looked great but Alvaro had too many so he had to rule some out before even seeing them.

“D’you think the one with the big windows is nice?” Alvaro asked. “Or the one with the balcony? I like the balcony. But that one’s further from the centre of Madrid, and – fuck, are you even listening to me?”

Isco shrugged. “Do whatever you want, Alvaro.”

“You’re of no use at all,” Alvaro grumbled.

“Why don’t you ask Paulo? He’ll help you choose. He knows you better.”

Alvaro went quiet when, in fact, he was almost bursting with everything he wanted to talk to Isco about. Were he and Paulo still in a relationship? Why hadn’t Paulo called? Did Paulo think that they were over? Were they over?

When he snapped back into reality he saw Isco staring at him. “You guys haven’t talked, have you,” he said, deadpan.

It was Alvaro’s turn to shrug. He went back to scrolling aimlessly through the photos, aware that Isco was boring holes in his back with his stupid eyes.

And then Alvaro’s phone landed on the bed next to him with a bounce. “Call him,” Isco said.

“Right now?”

“There’s no time difference, Morata.”

“No, but…right now?”

“Do it.”

“Hey,” Alvaro said. “How’re you and Franco? Didn’t you guys hook up?”

Isco’s intense gaze softened just for a second at the mention of Franco. But it hardened right back when he realised it was all part of Alvaro’s ploy. “Don’t distract me. Call Paulo.”

Alvaro picked up his phone and dialled Paulo’s number by memory. He hesitated before pressing call, his finger hovering over the green button. He only pressed it when he saw Isco still glaring at him.

Paulo picked up the call three rings in.

“Alvi,” he said, breathless. “Hey. Hi.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro said softly, suddenly just. Just overwhelmed by the sound of Paulo’s voice.

A short silence, then, “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just, training started and it got so busy and. Alvaro. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, just,” Alvaro sighed. “I got worried,” he confessed.

“No, hey,” Paulo said gently. “I’m fine.”

“No, about…about us.”

Paulo went quiet, not like he was thinking but like he genuinely didn’t know what to say.

“I miss you,” he finally said.

“I miss you, too,” Alvaro whispered, suddenly so relieved.

“I guess…I guess that’s why,” Paulo said. “Maybe that’s why I take training so hard. Maybe that’s why I’m so hard on myself. ‘Cause I miss you so much, Alvi, and if I stop doing anything for just one second it all falls down on me, it hurts and it tears me apart and I’m sorry, Alvi, I don’t know what to do and I don’t know when I can call you, when you’re not busy.”

And this. This was the part Alvaro hated the most about long-distance relationships. This was the part that always made Alvaro unsure whether he would rather the relationship carry on or if it ended. Sure, Paulo and Alvaro had done the long-distance friendship before but that was when they only ever needed to speak once every two or three days, and that was when they were relatively ore junior and infinitely less busy than they were right then. Now that they had lived together in Turin and spent every second of every day together, it was way more difficult to be apart, way more difficult to go even one hour without each other.

But he knew Paulo, and Paulo knew him – fuck, they had practically known each other for a third of their lives – and Alvaro knew that it wasn’t just going to be like that with Paulo. Alvaro knew it wasn’t going to be a strain on them because it would never be a burden for Alvaro to find some free time to talk to Paulo. Never.

“New system,” Alvaro said softly. “We text each other whenever we’re free and want to talk on the phone. And if you don’t hear from me by the time your free window ends, text me that you’re gone. I’ll do the same. And when I look at my phone and see a message from you saying you’re free, and no message saying you’re gone, I’ll call you. Right away. Deal?”

Paulo paused for a while to take all of that in. “Deal,” he said.

“And when you really, really need to talk to me, just call me, I swear I’ll stop whatever I’m doing immediately and take your call.”

“Even if you’re pooping?”

“Even if I’m pooping.”

“Gross!” Isco called, and that was when Alvaro realised he was still there.

Paulo giggled and it was music to Alvaro’s ears. “I’m so clingy,” he said.

“I am, too,” Alvaro pointed out.

“So…” Paulo said, chuckling softly. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Alvaro scratched the back of his head. “I was. I was looking at apartments.”

“Yeah? See any you like?”

“That’s the problem. There are too many that I like. Could you…could you help me choose?”

“Of course,” Paulo said, and he sounded delighted and Alvaro was so happy. “Yeah. Send me photos.”

“You free now? Or…or will you be free later, like at 10, before we sleep?”

“Sure, I’ll be free at 10.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You have to be punctual, my free window is small.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do so late at night?”

“A business meeting, duh.”

“Like a new fuck buddy?”

“No!” Paulo exclaimed. “Alvaro, I’m flirting with you.”

“Oh,” Alvaro said loudly, suddenly really embarrassed. He was blushing what felt like a dark pink. And Isco was staring at him. “He’s flirting with me,” Alvaro whispered at him.

“You’re a dense motherfucker,” Isco remarked. God, Franco was rubbing off on him.

“Talk to you later, Alvi,” Paulo said. “Tell Isco I said hi.”

“Yeah. Talk to you later.”

“Love you.”

Alvaro paused for a moment. Paulo had said it really casually, like. Like friends parting after a nice dinner. Alvaro wasn’t sure if he meant it. If they were. If they were still a thing. Alvaro felt really, really far away from Paulo and he wished that he could see Paulo, so he could tell if the conversation was going his way.

Alvaro couldn’t tell if this was already the end. He had never been good at beginnings or ends. He was good at the middle part.

“Love you, too,” he whispered, anyway. Because he did.

Paulo gave another little chuckle before hanging up.

And when Alvaro closed his eyes, he could see Paulo smile. He wished he could see it in person.

------

At 10pm on the dot, Paulo’s phone rang with Alvaro’s call.

“You’re pretty punctual, aren’t you,” was how Paulo greeted him.

“Only pretty punctual?” Alvaro asked. “What, I called you at 10 exactly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paulo teased. “So, the apartments.”

“Let’s Skype so I can send you the photos,” Alvaro said, and then promptly hung up.

Paulo rolled his eyes. He bet Alvaro only called him because he wanted to be on the dot. Alvaro had always been so eager to prove his point. But Paulo’s computer chimed soon after with a Skype call, which Paulo answered.

They spent the next three hours scrolling through photos and arguing over which apartments were better than the others. The one with the big windows had a lot of light but also opened up to a noisy street. The one with the balcony had a tiny interior. The one closest to Alvaro’s training ground was also furthest from the amenities and the city centre. And the one right smack in the city centre was also right smack in the middle of horrible traffic.

“This is so much easier with you,” Alvaro remarked halfway though. “Isco is fucking useless. Doesn’t have an opinion on anything at all.”

Paulo laughed. “Yeah? Hey, where does he live? Maybe you can get a place near his.”

So Alvaro pointed out where Isco lived and it was a nice part of the city so they eventually settled on Alvaro viewing three apartments which formed an almost-perfect triangle around Isco’s apartment in the middle.

“He’s going to think it’s my idea,” Alvaro grumbled. Because he was a grumpy idiot. “That like, I like him or something.”

“It’s easy if you wanna hook up,” Paulo said, trying his best not to laugh but failing.

“Fuck you, Pau, I don’t want to hook up with fucking Isco.”

“Maybe he wants to hook up with you,” Paulo giggled.

“Fuck off, he kissed me that one time!” Alvaro exclaimed, and he was so agitated he went all blurry on Paulo’s screen.

“Okay, okay,” Paulo relented. This was way too amusing. “Why didn’t you go back to renting your old apartment?”

“I want something new,” Alvaro said, pausing. “Anyway, Isco. I think he has a thing with Franco.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“He keeps changing the topic when I mention Franco. And his eyes go weird. I’ve never seen his eyes go that way, not even when he had a girlfriend and I mentioned her.”

“Ask him,” Paulo suggested.

“Ask Franco,” Alvaro suggested right back.

“Franco’s busy. He’s in the middle of a move.”

“To where?”

“Sevilla, apparently,” Paulo said, before. Before realising.

“Holy shit!” Alvaro said at the exact same time as Paulo. “He’s gonna be in Spain!” Alvaro continued.

“Maybe they…” Paulo started. “Nah, that’s not Franco. Franco doesn’t do relationships.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Alvaro sighed. “It’d be cool, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Paulo. Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said, smiling. “Just like old times, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paulo echoed. Everything seemed very. Very dislocated. Their conversation hadn’t seemed very smooth, even though Paulo enjoyed every second of it. It seemed kind of forced. Paulo wondered if Alvaro was trying to end things but just didn’t know how. Because Alvaro had never been good at ending things.

But then again, Alvaro was the one who’d called him.

“So, um,” Alvaro started again. “When are you leaving for Australia?”

“Saturday,” Paulo replied. “And you, where are you going?”

“Canada,” Alvaro said.

They would literally be on the furthest ends of the earth from each other for their pre-seasons. If that wasn’t a sign, Paulo didn’t know what else it could be.

“Hey,” Alvaro said, when Paulo didn’t reply. “You okay? You’re kinda quiet.”

“Yeah, just,” Paulo shrugged. “We’ll talk…yeah?”

“Yeah. Whenever we can.”

“I don’t remember it being this hard,” Paulo whispered.

“Me neither,” Alvaro whispered back. “But…but we’ll be okay. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paulo smiled. “Always.”

“So,” Alvaro cleared his throat. “Tell me what’s happening. How’re the new guys? Do you have anyone to hang out with?”

Paulo burst into laughter. Alvaro sounded like a parent. “Yeah, one new guy turned up for training. Pjanić, from Roma? Miralem. He’s really cool. He speaks Spanish.”

“Yeah?” Alvaro smiled. “That’s nice.”

“He also speaks like five hundred other languages,” Paulo added. “I’ll guess I’ll get to hang out more with him in Australia.”

“Have fun for me, yeah?”

“You have fun in Canada for me. Yeah?”

“Deal.”

“Do you have anyone to hang out with?” Paulo shot Alvaro’s question right back at him.

Alvaro laughed. “Yeah. Paulo, I already know everyone.”

“That’s nice,” Paulo said. “It really is. To go home.”

“One day, after you’ve played in all the leagues you wanna play in and won all the trophies that can possibly be won, you’ll go back home too, to Córdoba, and you’ll be a fucking hero, Paulo. Everyone will be cheering for you long after you retire, everyone will be calling your name, everyone will think of you, along with Messi, when they think of Argentina. You are going to be so fucking big, Paulo Dybala.”

“Yeah?” Paulo whispered. He closed his eyes, hoping Alvaro couldn’t see his tears from the pixelated screen. He lay down face-down on the bed, resting his cheek right in front of his laptop. He loved listening to Alvaro tell him how great he was going to be. He loved that in this world, besides his mom and his brothers, there was this one person who believed in him so much that no mistake Paulo made could ever be big enough to shake this faith.

“Mmhmm. You’ll always be the best, Paulo, always.”

They stayed up for most of the night, talking about nothing until they fell asleep, Paulo closely after Alvaro. Just like old times. It felt just like old times.

------

On the day Alvaro returned to training, he was called into the conference room before he could get outside.

And Zidane was in there, along with one other board member.

Alvaro sat down cautiously across the table from them. This seemed eerily similar to what had happened with Allegri and Alvaro was temporarily numbed by a sense of déjà vu.

But the difference was, this time he didn’t have Paulo next to him, holding his hand.

“Alvaro,” Zidane said cheerfully. “Hi, welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Alvaro said.

“Sorry for the surprise, but this is just a really short talk, and then we’ll head outside for practice.”

Alvaro nodded.

“So, maybe as you might expect, we want to talk to you about your…about your relationship. With Paulo Dybala from Juventus.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said. Maybe this was truly the end. Maybe they were going to give him an ultimatum. Break up with Paulo or no football. At least then, Alvaro would know where he and Paulo stood.

But instead, Zidane continued, “We want to provide you with the same level of support that Juventus has given you. But it’s different now. You two play for different clubs. There are other things to take into account.”

“I understand,” Alvaro said.

“The most pressing issue to us is the conflict of interest. If Real Madrid need to play against Juventus for any reason at all, we want to let you know that you can choose to sit the match out. It will be for both your good and the team’s. And on that note, if I choose to bench you for said match, you must understand that it could be for this same reason.”

Alvaro nodded. That seemed fair. “Got it.”

“Secondly, I know you have the right to follow whichever team you wish to follow. I just hope that you won’t lose focus of which team you play for.”

Alvaro nodded again. “Paulo and I have played for different teams before, and even against each other,” he said. Even though, well. That was before they got into a relationship. But Alvaro hadn’t loved Paulo any less. “We can deal with it.”

“Good,” Zidane said proudly. “I watched the press conference you two gave. I must say you did very well. It’s revolutionary, what you two have done, and Real Madrid are proud to have you as a player.”

“Thank you,” Alvaro smiled, just. Just so glad for the final, verbal confirmation of the support from his new club. Well, not exactly new, but. But also new, in context. Madrid seemed to accept him like how Turin had done. “I’m proud to play for Real Madrid.”

“One last thing before we go outside,” Zidane said. “I think, and I hope, that your teammates are supportive. Have any of them started treating you differently or explicitly stating that they don’t support you?”

Alvaro shook his head. It wasn’t a big surprise to him that his teammates were okay with it, but he knew it was still something to be concerned about by the higher-ups.

“If anyone does, or if you need someone to talk to, you can come to me or the club counsellor.”

“Sure,” Alvaro said. “Thanks, boss.”

“Let’s go now,” Zidane flashed him a warm smile before getting up and waiting for Alvaro. He gave Alvaro a friendly slap on the back as they walked through the door.

Alvaro walked into the fresh sunshine outside feeling a renewed sense of hope. This was one of the last pieces of the jigsaw Alvaro didn’t even realise he was trying to put together.

The very last piece was Paulo himself.

------

Alvaro was seriously jetlagged when they arrived in Montreal. Isco was his neighbour, but he was more of a roommate because he just went and camped in Alvaro’s room, and – well, let’s just say that Alvaro had forgotten how annoying Isco was.

“Would you just shut the fuck up for one second and let me sleep?” Alvaro finally snapped.

Isco went quiet immediately, but. But literally only for one second.

“If you sleep now, you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night when it’s morning in Madrid,” he said softly, like it had been his plan all along to be irritating as fuck and prevent Alvaro from sleeping. “And then your body clock will be Spanish for the rest of this trip.”

Alvaro opened his eyes. Isco was sitting in the armchair looking earnestly at him, and Alvaro suddenly remembered the exact words Paulo had said to him on their second day together in 2009: I mean…if I go to sleep now, I won’t be able to sleep tonight. And then my body clock will always be Argentine.

And Alvaro. Alvaro started to cry, which was fucking stupid because this reminded him so much of Paulo but this was Isco and Alvaro had known him forever and he was nowhere near who Paulo was to Alvaro, and. And fuck, this was embarrassing as fuck and Alvaro rolled away from Isco so Isco didn’t have to see him cry.

“Hey,” Isco said gently, hurrying over to the bed. Alvaro felt the mattress dip as Isco sat down. “Hey. Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. Alvaro. Hey.”

“I’m fine,” Alvaro hissed.

Isco gently placed a warm palm on Alvaro’s back. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

There was a long pause as Isco contemplated what to say. “Okay,” he finally said, softly. “I’ll go back, then. Let you sleep.”

And then he stood up, and Alvaro cracked an eye open to see him walking hesitantly towards the door, like he wasn’t completely sure if he should leave Alvaro alone. Alvaro shut his eyes again.

“I feel so alone,” he said.

Isco’s footsteps stopped. There was the shuffle of a turn, and then footsteps walking back towards the bed and the same dip of the mattress.

“Why do you say that?” Isco asked, more tenderly than Alvaro had ever heard him speak. “You’re not alone.”

“I don’t know,” Alvaro said.

“You do. You know,” Isco said. “Tell me why.”

Alvaro sighed. He opened his eyes and saw Isco sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with a concerned, understanding look in his eyes.

“Paulo,” Alvaro whispered.

The edges of Isco’s lips twitched upwards, like he’d known that was coming. “What about Paulo?” he asked.

“He’s my entire world,” Alvaro said softly, a lump forming in his throat from fresh tears. “He has always been. And now I just. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what we are. It feels so…forced. It doesn’t feel right. And he’s on the other side of the earth and I can’t talk to him and I miss him so much, I miss him and I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what we are and I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Haven’t you talked about it? About where you stand?”

“A little?” Alvaro shrugged. “We sort of have. I mean, he asked me if it was the end. And I asked him if we would be okay.”

“And what did you say?” Isco urged. “What did he say?”

Alvaro paused, realising. Realising that they hadn’t given each other any answers. It had always been questions.

Is this the end? Do you want it to be? Do you?

We okay? Yeah? Always. And we will be? If we want us to be.

There had never been a solid answer. Never a solid yes, Alvaro, we will be okay, our relationship will be okay, we won’t just disintegrate into nothing just because we’re separated by a tiny patch of sea.

“So you haven’t talked about it,” Isco said. “It isn’t talking if you don’t decide on anything, Alvaro.”

“What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” Alvaro whispered, suddenly in complete, utter fear.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Isco said. “The day he doesn’t want you anymore is the day the world fucking ends. And even then, he’d still want you, ‘cause you two will be the ones doing some romantic shit like dying in each other’s arms.”

“Fuck you,” Alvaro sobbed.

“Look,” Isco shimmied closer to Alvaro on the bed. “You have to talk to him. You have to let him know that you’re in this, that you want this a hundred percent. It’s no good to leave things just. Just hanging like that. It’s never good. And…you want this, yeah? You’re in this?”

“Of course I am,” Alvaro said. “I can’t lose him. I can’t even go back to being friends with him, even though I know that’s the most minimum Paulo and I will ever be. I – I just can’t.”

“You have to tell him that,” Isco said kindly. “Maybe he’s being so awkward because he doesn’t know what to do, either. He doesn’t know if you’d want this to continue because – fuck, honestly, Alvaro, you’ve never been one to carry on a long-distance relationship. It was always ‘you’re leaving, okay, bye-bye’ with every girl you met, ever. Paulo’s probably thinking about that.”

And Alvaro didn’t even have any argument for that. “I’m scared I’ll be disturbing him,” he said.

Isco gave an exaggerated sigh. “Morata,” he said. “You gotta be desperate. If you really want what you want, you gotta be desperate. And besides, you and Paulo have been bothering each other on the phone for like, almost a decade. It’s not going to change. It’s not going to chase him away. In fact, what you’re doing right now, being all draggy and talking fucking nonsense, it’s going to drive him away even more. Okay?”

“Maybe I’ll call him when we’re back in the same timezone,” Alvaro suggested.

Isco sighed again, like he really didn’t know what to do with Alvaro any longer. “Whatever you want,” he gave Alvaro’s back a few pats. “I know I said I wouldn’t tell you what to do with your life. But I just can’t sit and watch you two be fucking dumb, okay?”

“But just,” Alvaro started again. “There’s one more thing.”

Isco gave a super dramatic eye-roll. “What, there’s more?”

“What if Paulo…what if this ruins his life?” Alvaro asked. “What if he spends so much time on this relationship, on making it work, that he loses track of his football? It’s his dream, Isco. It’s his dream. I can’t take that away from him. He keeps telling me that football comes first. What if – what if it really does, and this relationship is just going to get in the way?”

Isco flopped over backwards on the bed, making a loud thump as his head hit the pillow. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Alvaro, I’m going to start dishing shit out at you, and you’re going to open your fucking mouth and eat it all.”

“What the fuck,” Alvaro said. “You’ve been hanging out with Franco too much.”

Isco ignored him. “First thing. Football has always come first for the both of you. You have always been able to make this work despite all your shitty circumstances. Fuck, the Atlantic Ocean is waving its middle finger at you right now. And I’ve gotten to know Paulo much more over all this time, and I can say that he’s not someone who will just simply lose focus like that. He isn’t someone who will give up one thing for another when he knows perfectly well that both are equally important to him.

“Second thing. Have you ever thought that maybe he’s only saying football comes first so that he will feel better about you leaving? To remind himself that you’re leaving not because you want to, but because you have to, and he can’t stop you because football comes first, that was what you agreed on. And so that you’ll focus on your football and stop thinking about whether this is going to work out, because it will. Have you ever thought about that?”

Alvaro went silent for a really long time, and the room was completely quiet except for both their uncoordinated breathing. It made so much sense. It suddenly made so much sense.

“No,” Alvaro finally whispered.

“You need to say it,” Isco said softly. “Say it, say those words, Paulo, I want this relationship to go on and I hope you do, too, and then he’ll say yes, of course, and then that’s it. Okay? You have to say it. You can’t just leave it hanging in the air and expect each other to understand.”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said. “Yeah. Hey. Thanks.”

Isco smiled. “Yeah.”

“When did you become so fucking wise?” Alvaro asked. Isco didn’t respond, just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. “Hey. Are you repressing some things? When did you become such a love guru?”

Isco put his hand in the air, middle finger raised high.

“Is it because of Franco?”

Isco stayed quiet for a while before heaving a sigh and getting up. “Get some sleep, Morata,” he said, his voice fading as he walked towards the door. “Just don’t come knocking at my door if you wake up at four in the morning.”

“Hey,” Alvaro called after him. Isco stopped right at the door before he closed it. “You two would be cute together,” Alvaro said.

Isco narrowed his eyes, but his lips turned into a smile. He shut the door softly behind him.

Alvaro grabbed his phone and texted Paulo, Newsflash: Isco’s being super weird about Franco.

Yeah? Paulo texted back like, immediately. You asked him?

No, I hinted at it, and he pretended not to notice.

Is it a good weird or a bad weird?

I can’t tell. Seems a little bit bad.

Shit.

But I told him they’d be cute together and he smiled.

That’s a good thing, yeah?

Yeah.

And then Paulo didn’t reply anymore, so Alvaro just sat there staring at the conversation window, watching as Paulo went offline. Are you free right now? Alvaro typed. And then backspaced. And then typed again, and backspaced again.

He finally shut his phone and turned on the TV, turning up the volume so he wouldn’t fall asleep. Maybe Paulo was busy. Maybe Paulo had no time to talk on the phone. Alvaro desperately wanted to tell him, wanted to say those words that would mean that they were definitely going to be okay, but. But despite everything Isco had said, Alvaro’s self-doubt was still present. Alvaro’s self-esteem had never been high enough for him to be so simply convinced by a single conversation.

He spent the rest of the evening staring at a hockey re-run on TV and trying not to shut his eyes.

------

It was bright. And a little warm, like the sun was shining down on Alvaro. The surface he was sleeping on rustled a little and smelled like damp wood and freshly-fallen leaves.

Alvaro opened his eyes. He was lying in a tiny clearing in the middle of tall trees. Their canopies met above him, allowing only a little sunlight to filter through. Their leaves were whispering above him in a language he didn’t understand.

It was suddenly really cold.

Alvaro got to his feet.

And saw Paulo some distance away, lying on the ground curled up in a fetal position like he was hurt.

Alvaro ran towards him immediately. “Paulo,” he called. “Paulo. What happened? Can you hear me?”

Paulo rolled around and. And stared at Alvaro, but not exactly. Like he was staring right through Alvaro. Like he couldn’t see Alvaro at all.

“Alvi?” he whispered.

“I’m here,” Alvaro said. He was running but he didn’t seem to be moving. “I’m coming. Paulo. I’m here.”

Tears started streaming down Paulo’s face, and Alvaro just kept running and running and running, and –

– and he ran straight into something which made him fall backwards.

Alvaro shook his head to clear it. There wasn’t anything in front of him. Nothing at all. He got up and tried again, but only ran straight into a flawlessly transparent piece of glass.

“Shit,” Alvaro muttered to himself. He waved his hand in front of him and it hit the glass again. Alvaro braced himself and threw the hardest punch he could muster, but his fist only bounced off the glass without a sound.

Alvaro tried. And tried again. He didn’t care if it’d make him bleed. He didn’t care how many times he had to hit it. Fuck, Alvaro would bleed every single one of his veins out if it meant he could get to Paulo.

“Paulo, wait for me,” he sobbed. “Paulo. I’m coming for you, I swear, Paulo.”

But Alvaro tried and tried and tried and he just couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He sunk to the ground in a crying heap as Paulo wrapped his arms around himself, slowly starting to shiver. He was still staring right through Alvaro, like Alvaro was there, but. But also not there.

“I’m sorry,” Alvaro whispered. He placed his hand on the glass but it didn’t form any fingerprints. “Paulo. I love you. I’m sorry.”

Alvaro lay back down on the ground, facing Paulo, in an almost mirror-image position as Paulo was in – arms hugging himself for warmth, knees pressed against his chest, his eyes trying to chase but never seeming to meet Paulo’s gaze.

And then suddenly – suddenly, Paulo seemed to see Alvaro.

He seemed to see Alvaro, his beautiful emerald eyes focusing on Alvaro’s face.

Alvaro couldn’t say a word. For some reason, he physically couldn’t say a word.

But Paulo did.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

Alvaro woke up with a start and a loud gasp, sitting up so quickly in bed all the blood rushed out of his head and made him dizzy. He momentarily forgot where he was until he caught sight of the stationery pad on the bedside table that read the name of the hotel, followed by Columbus, Ohio.

Alvaro desperately tried to catch his breath as it all came back to him. North America, Real Madrid had just got beaten by PSG in their first ICC match a week and a half into their tour. Jet lag was no longer a valid problem, but there Alvaro was, wide awake at – he glanced at the clock – 5.09 am. He felt so alone. So, so fucking alone. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been awoken by a nightmare and Paulo wasn’t by his side to calm him down.

Paulo.

He took his phone from the bedside table and dialled Paulo’s number without even thinking about it.

Paulo took the call about five or six rings in. The ten longest seconds of Alvaro’s life.

“Hey,” he said. “Alvi. Hi.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro’s voice trembled. It suddenly hit him that it was fucking five am and he shouldn’t have called Paulo. “Shit, I’m sorry, it’s so late, I shouldn’t have called you, fuck, did I wake you?”

A pause from Paulo, then, “No, hey. You didn’t wake me. It’s dinnertime. I just got back to my room.”

“Shit,” Alvaro whispered again. Of course. Paulo was in Australia. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong? Isn’t it like, the middle of the night? What time is it? Why are you awake?”

The sound of Paulo’s voice, of the utter concern in it, made Alvaro burst into tears. He couldn’t believe that he had ever thought Paulo wanted to end this. That he could ever think that they could just give up on this entire thing. They couldn’t. Not even if they wanted to. Which they didn’t.

“Alvaro,” Paulo said softly, when Alvaro didn’t answer him. “Hey. Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you crying?”

“I had a bad dream,” Alvaro sobbed.

“What was it about?”

“It was about you,” Alvaro tried to breathe properly but failed. “You were hurt and I tried to get to you, I tried so fucking hard, Pau, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t get to you and you were just. Just lying there, Paulo, and I was so fucking scared, it felt so real. It felt so real.”

“Okay, okay, shhh,” Paulo whispered. “It was a dream. I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not hurt, I’m perfectly fine, okay?”

“I was so scared. Paulo, I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t get to you.”

Paulo paused. “You’ll always be able to get to me, baby.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro’s breath hitched in his throat. “Paulo, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly. What are you sorry about?”

“About…this,” Alvaro said. ��About this entire mess. Paulo, we made a mistake. We left it hanging. We should never have left it hanging.”

Paulo went silent for a really, really long while.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling.

“No,” Alvaro said immediately. “No. No, Paulo, shit. No. I would never¸ okay, Paulo? I just. I wanted to say we should never have left it hanging because now we have no idea what we are, we kept asking each other if we were going to be fine yet never giving each other any solid answers. We kept worrying and worrying and we never came to a conclusion. So now I just. I just want to tell you, Pau, that I don’t want this to stop. I don’t want our relationship to end. I don’t want us to simply fade away into nothing once again. I’m willing to do this, no matter how far apart we are. No matter how many timezones set us apart. I don’t fucking care. I know we can do this. Paulo, I love you. I love you so fucking much and it tears me apart to not know what you want us to be, because I know, Paulo, I know what I want us to be and I want us to be together, I want us to be boyfriends, forever and ever for eternity.”

Paulo gave a loud sob and then a slapping noise like he’d just clapped his hand over his mouth. He started to cry, softly but loud enough for Alvaro to hear.

“Me, too,” Paulo whispered. “I want this to go on. I want this to work, because we will always be us. We will always be Paulo and Alvaro and nothing, nothing can tear us apart, no matter how hopeless it seems. I’m sorry, Alvaro. I’m sorry I never gave you an answer. I wish with all my heart that this will not end. I just. Thought that you wouldn’t want it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You know. With your previous girlfriends. When they left to study or work overseas. You ended the relationship. You said that…that long-distance isn’t your thing.”

Alvaro closed his eyes. Of course. Of course it was this, and of course Isco was right, that little fucker.

“Paulo,” he whispered. “Remember when I broke up with my first girlfriend Sofia, and you asked me why I did it, and I said I liked her too much to be far away from her?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wrong. I didn’t like her enough to try.”

Paulo gave this. This really happy-sounding combination of a gasp and a sob. “And you like me enough?” he asked.

“I like you way, way, way more than enough, Pau.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Alvaro smiled. He felt his chest settle. “My favourite person.”

“The first thought I had when your agent called and you told me you might need to go back to Madrid,” Paulo said. “Was that you were going to break up with me. It was that…that long-distance had never worked for you and that we weren’t going to work, either, because you wouldn’t want it, and. And Alvaro. I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t want to force you to be with me, I didn’t want you to feel trapped in this relationship that you didn’t even want to continue.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back, either,” Alvaro confessed. “You know, ‘cause…’cause I still think that eventually, I’ll be the one to ruin your life. And I always think that maybe one day, finally, you’ll realise it and you’ll not want me, and I thought maybe that day already came when it was confirmed I had to come back to Madrid. I don’t want to ruin your life, Paulo. I don’t want to.”

“Alvi,” Paulo said softly, his voice trembling like he was about to cry again. “No. No. You’re not going to ruin my life, okay? Look at everything we’ve been through together. Just. Just sit back and think about it. Nothing can ruin us. Nothing. And I’ve told you a million times, Alvaro, I don’t care. Whatever comes at us, whatever comes at me, I don’t care.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Alvaro whispered. “Because football came first to you, and. I thought I wouldn’t have a place. That you should just…go ahead and focus on your football.”

“No, Alvi,” Paulo sighed. “I only kept saying that because I wanted you to know that I would always be here, that you had to go back to play your football and you should, and I would always be waiting, no matter what you think about our relationship. Because I love you, Alvaro Morata, I fucking love you and I don’t know how to stop.”

Alvaro couldn’t help but give a little laugh. “Fucking Isco,” he muttered.

“Isco?”

“He was right. I talked to him and he fucking hit the nail right on the fucking head.”

“About which part?”

“About you thinking that I would abandon a long-distance relationship. And about you saying football comes first because you wanted me to know that we would always be okay and that I had to just concentrate on my football and not worry about it.”

Paulo laughed, too. “What a love guru.”

“That’s exactly what I said to him. Asked him if it’s because of Franco.”

“What did he say?”

“Didn’t say anything. Gave me the middle finger.”

“Poor baby,” Paulo cooed.

It all went peacefully silent for a little while, the both of them just sitting on either end, listening to each other breathe. Alvaro could never explain it, but it just felt so. So calming to listen to Paulo breathe.

“Paulo,” Alvaro finally whispered after like, ten minutes. “You still there?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I would never give up on us.”

“Me neither,” Paulo said softly. “I love you, Alvi.”

“Paulo. We’re dumb, aren’t we?”

Paulo laughed again, this time really loudly. “Yeah, always been. I can’t believe we almost ended just because of something as stupid as this.”

“We’re kinda lucky we have Franco and Isco.”

“Yeah, even though they’re assholes.”

“Do you have anything else to do today?” Alvaro asked.

“We’re flying to Hong Kong tonight. In a couple of hours.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice,” Alvaro said. “Single room?”

“Yeah. I miss rooming with you.”

“Me too.”

“Alvi,” Paulo said, suddenly sounding really excited like he usually did when he suddenly got one of his ‘brilliant’ ideas. “Hey, you saw my Instagram post about that kangaroo toy I got as a souvenir, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alvaro laughed. Paulo’d asked his followers to think of a name for it. “Why?”

“I thought of a name for it.”

“What is it?”

“Alvaroo,” Paulo said excitedly. He only managed to hold it in for half a second before he exploded into a fit of loud giggles.

Alvaro followed soon after, not being able to help himself. He clutched his stomach and curled over on his side, choking out laughter while trying his best not to wake anyone else up. “Fuck, Paulo, what the fuck!”

“It’s a good name. Say it’s a good name.”

“Fine, it’s a good name.”

“I literally just thought of it. Like, it’s sitting on my suitcase and I looked at it and I thought of it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alvaro said, just to make Paulo happy. “You’re a smarty.”

“Well, one of us has gotta be smart.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Paulo started laughing again and, man. It was Alvaro’s favourite sound in the entire universe.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Paulo said once his laughter had subsided.

“I’m trying,” Alvaro said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He’d already closed his eyes and his phone was balanced on his ear because his arm had gotten tired while holding it. “I miss you. This bed is huge.”

“Imagine I’m there with you,” was Paulo’s tender suggestion. “Close your eyes. I’m right behind you, and my arms are around you and my nose is pressed on the back of your neck because it smells good.”

“Yeah? It does?”

“Mmhmm. And one of my legs is shoved between yours because my feet are cold and yours are warm.”

And Paulo continued, on and on and on, endlessly whispering to Alvaro the exact positions they were in and the exact words Paulo was saying to Alvaro. It was soothing. It sent Alvaro into this state of calm he was familiar with, the state of calm that was only possible if Paulo was around. It was like. Like phone sex, but a million times softer.

Alvaro was about to drift off to sleep when he suddenly remembered.

“Pau,” he whispered. “Hey. I gotta ask you something.”

“Yeah?” Paulo whispered back, like if he spoke too loudly he’d jostle Alvaro from his peaceful state.

“My presentation as a Real Madrid player is on the fifteenth,” Alvaro said. “August. Do you…do you wanna come?”

“Of course,” Paulo said, after the briefest of thoughts. “I think it’s in between matches. I’ll have to check. But I’ll be there as long as I can just get one day off, okay? Promise.”

“Thank you,” Alvaro whispered.

“Hey, no, of course,” Paulo said, and Alvaro could hear the big smile in his voice. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I don’t go?”

“A boyfriend who plays for Juve and doesn’t want to be seen anywhere near Real Madrid.”

Paulo laughed. “Nah, it’s not like that.”

“Who do you prefer, me or Messi?”

“You. But don’t tell Leo that.”

“I’m totally gonna.”

There was suddenly a loud noise from Paulo’s end, like someone was rapping on something with their hand. Then the rustle of fabric as Paulo got up and seemed to open a door. Followed by soft murmurs Alvaro couldn’t make out. Then the door shutting.

“Alvi, I gotta go,” Paulo said reluctantly. “We’re heading to the airport.”

“Yeah, go,” Alvaro said. “Safe flight, Pau.”

“Thank you,” Paulo said softly. “I love you.”

But even then Paulo didn’t hang up, just sat there quietly on the other end, like he was as addicted to listening to Alvaro breathe as Alvaro was to listening to him.

After about five minutes, Paulo said, “So…” at the same time Alvaro said, “Pau, wait.”

“Yeah?” Paulo said.

“We okay?”

Paulo gave a soft laugh. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Always.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Paulo said. “I’m gonna hang up now, Alvi.”

“Mmhmm. Text me when you’ve landed, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Paulo hung up only after ten whole seconds of silence.

Alvaro glanced at the clock. He’d been talking to Paulo for more than an hour.

Alvaro closed his eyes and fell back asleep without any problem.

------

Alvaro woke up four hours later feeling strangely rested.

He picked up his phone, briefly noticing a notification from Instagram before his fingerprint unlocked it. But the first thing he did was open the clock application and add the time for Hong Kong and Melbourne.

9.13pm in Hong Kong. 11.13pm in Melbourne.

Paulo was probably just boarding the plane. Taking photos with his teammates, probably. Having fun. Alvaro smiled at the thought of Paulo’s innocent laughter floating through the plane.

Alvaro opened Instagram and tapped his way to the notification: paulodybala tagged you in a photo.

It was a photo of Paulo’s back as he dragged his luggage down the wide airport lobby. He was wearing one of Alvaro’s Juventus jerseys, the ‘Morata 9’ in plain, stark view in the middle of the photograph. The little kangaroo toy sat on top of his suitcase. The geotag read ‘Melbourne Airport.’

Bringing your love with me wherever I go / thanks everyone, I’ve decided to name the kangaroo ‘Alvaroo’, was the caption, followed by a cheeky face emoji and a red heart.

When Alvaro tapped the photo, he saw Paulo had tagged him on the kangaroo toy.

Alvaro double-tapped the photo. See you very soon, love, he commented, followed by a blue heart because it was Paulo’s favourite colour, and a green heart because it was the colour of Paulo’s eyes.

He couldn’t help but smile as he continued examining the photograph. He bet Paulo had specially dug out the shirt from his luggage just to take the photo, what a weirdo. He briefly wondered who had helped take it. Maybe it was Miralem. The thought of that made Alvaro happy; the thought that even Paulo’s new teammates accepted who he was.

Holding on to that thought, Alvaro clicked open the comments. He sifted through them, his eye catching only the good ones.

Goals, tbh.

If only I had a boyfriend who would do this.

You two are so sweet it’s borderline disgusting.

Wish you could play together again :(

Alvaroo is the best thing I’ve ever heard.

#relationshipgoals

Alvaro smiled. They all sounded like younger people, like he and Paulo had struck a chord with the younger generation. It warmed Alvaro’s heart to know that so many people were able to relate to them and support them. It suddenly made all the others, all the hurtful, mean people, irrelevant.

Alvaro slid under the covers again, just. Just feeling so fond he was curling up on himself. He loved Paulo so much. Even the thought of him, although he was across the world and possibly flying in the air right then, never failed to make Alvaro so fucking happy.

I love you so much, he texted Paulo, so it would be the first thing he saw when he landed. I can’t wait to see you.

And then he got out of bed, the knowledge that everything was okay and that everything was going to be okay spurring him on not only for the rest of the day but for the rest of the time he had to spend alone before seeing Paulo again.

#paulo dybala #alvaro morata #dybata #real madrid #juventus #juve #isco #isco alarcon #football fanfiction #aeibpdam

[wanderluststhings]

I wish you would write a fic where… messala have their first date night after one finally blurts out their feeling to the other. (i need me more messala, March is too far away) ;)

(I found a way to settle this in the same continuity as “The Smile in his Mind”. Although I think you can read this one without that fic, I’m still linking it to you guys in case anyone’s interested.

Special thanks to @messisbeard for clearing up a little confusion I had with Argentine Spanish. Also to @luchorgasm for clarifying a detail and, alongside @prince-dybala, the enthusiasm for this accidental sequel. Notice this is the first draft, by Tuesday- yup, setting myself a deadline- a corrected version with updated events if necessary will appear in AO3)

After all the celebration in the dressing room, the players were finally discharged. Of course, Pipa got most of the praise, but the Supercoppa wasn’t as far as they wished. That influenced the Juve squad to give young Paulo some love.

“Dude, you were amazing!” Miralem cheered, as he pulled Paulo in for yet another hug. “See? I told you you hadn’t lost it. And you know what that means…”

Paulo chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, next lunch’s on me”.

“Haha, yeah piccolo!” Miralem ruffled his hair again (which did NOT resemble Bart Simpson’s) and then left. Everyone else gave him a pat in the shoulder as well.

“Tomorrow dinner at my place!” Gonzalo announced as he got into his car. Normally Paulo would drive him, but ever since the former had noticed the latter’s increasing communication with Leo, the capocannionere had begun to place a bit of a distance. Paulo felt bad, but what else could he do. His relationship with Leo had been growing steadily for the last two months, and March couldn’t come sooner, not only because then they would finally put to practice the R-rated content they instructed to each other via telephone or Skype, but also because then he might finally be able to say it. The big three words.

“I love you”.

He knew Leo cared about him, he knew he was interested in him, what he had to say and his feelings, as much as he knew he wanted him. But he couldn’t help but to feel it might be too soon yet. Of course, “too soon” hadn’t mattered when Paul left the way he had and never got the chance to say it, not in the present tense at least. But this was different. There was no transfer that would set them apart, regardless of Florentino Pérez’ delusional wishes, and now they were on their own, and he felt like a child. He knew if he faced Leo he’d blurt it out. That was why he hadn’t asked him to go to Dubai with him. He hadn’t lied when he said he couldn’t keep Leo from seeing his family and friends back home, but that fear was also there, lurking at the back of his mind and tearing him apart. So the more time passed, the better. Two more months, and if things were going as well as they currently were, he would be able to say it and it would be perfectly fine. Besides, they weren’t officially boyfriends yet, even if they pretty much acted that way. Leo had said he wanted to actually kiss him before making it so (the man measured his milestones in Hollywood film tropes, whether he admitted it or not), and he lowkey agreed. Given how far they were, he didn’t truly feel the need for a definition at that moment.

All this went through his head as he drove back home, having nodded towards Pipa upon his suggestion. He would go, it was fine. They might not be as close as they were early on, but he was still his friend. There was no way he’d leave him- besides, any chance of hanging out with everyone would be appreciated. No one knew for how much longer guys like Uncle Pat would remain in the group.

As he got to his flat, he threw himself on the couch, uploaded a nice pic from the match (the one with Miralem hugging him tight) and proceeded to phone Leo. While he could have found his de facto boyfriend’s result via social media, he liked hearing it from Leo first. And now that their matches had pretty much been simultaneous, it was a great opportunity.

“Hola…”

“Hola Leo, it’s me, Pau”.

“Oh, hi Pau…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Masche told me you scored a penalty tonight against Bologna. That’s… great, Paulo. I’m happy for you”.

“Damn it, I wanted to tell you that!” Paulo smiled as he blushed. He liked Masche, but sometimes he could keep some details and not ruin surprises. That being said, he knew he meant well. He’d been quite supportive of them, even giving him some advice regarding Leo and his emotional cues.

One being the dragged sound of his voice.

“I know that must have meant a lot to you, given how it went back in Doha…”

“Don’t remind me”

“Ha, but yeah, that’s a big boost. You didn’t seem afraid at all”.

“I wasn’t”.

“I’m proud of you, pibe”

Two months had passed since they had begun their relationship. Six months since his own first contact. Four months since Mendoza. And yet, those words always made Paulo’s heart feel fulfilled.

“Anyway, how’s Turin doing?”

But he couldn’t let that make him lose track of what he aimed to do.

“Leo, is everything okay?”

Silence by the other side of the line. Paulo paced around his living room. He hoped Leo wouldn’t hang up, eager to avoid the situation, if it was as troublesome as he feared. He didn’t want to have to call up Masche for help, or even worse, Kun.

“Yeah, I guess. We scraped one point…”

“God, no”.

“I’m sorry, Pau. But we might have lost La Liga today”.

“No, no, la concha de su madre, no” Paulo couldn’t help it, the fan within had taken control. He didn’t want Real to win, no matter how much he cared about Álvaro. He covered his mouth, both in shock and with the remainder that he had to be supportive of the man he loved.

“We tried, I swear. But even without those penalties denied to us, we just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the day”.

“Fuck, Leo…”

“I let you down”.

“NO YOU DIDN’T” Paulo found himself shouting. Just like Leo feeling proud of him triggered that immense joy, him seeing himself as a disappointment unleashed a strange anger. Lionel Andrés Messi could not disappoint anyone. It was impossible. He was the best player there had ever been, whether FIFA acknowledged it the next day or not. He wished Leo actually understood it, instead of living with that self-doubt. Either way, he was going to let him now how wrong he was.

“YOU COULD NEVER LET ME OR ANYONE DOWN, GET IT? YOU’RE THE BEST FUCKING PLAYER THERE’S EVER BEEN. I BET YOU DID SOMETHING TODAY. YOU SAID YOU GUYS TIED. DID YOU SCORE?”

“Well, I did a freekick…”

“AND IT WAS PERFECT, RIGHT?”

“I don’t know, Paulo”.

“WHAT DID NEY SAY?”

“Well, he liked it, and all…”

Paulo kept asking Leo about players’ opinions on his goal as he turned on YouTube on the TV and searched “Lionel Messi goal against Villarreal 2017″. Indeed, it had already been uploaded, and it was as amazing as everyone else was claiming. Nothing left to say. Leo was filled with that self-doubt made from the ridiculously high expectations people had of him, even if he hadn’t just scored an amazing freekick- he’d saved Barça’s asses.

“Leo, I’m watching the freekick. Che, you’ve no idea how much I wish I could score those as well as you do. You’ve no idea how much I wish I could fend off defenders the way you do. Stop self-doubting, I know we’re pretty much screwed, but you’ve got nothing to do. You did what you had to do. You got us a point. That’s… amazing. You’re amazing” he took a deep breath, “and I love you so much-”

Paulo’s eyes widened.

He’d said it.

He’d fucking said it, two months into the still unofficial relationship.

They weren’t actually boyfriends yet, and he’d said it.

“Bye Leo” he quipped, and threw himself on the couch. He couldn’t believe himself. He’d blown it. He’d tried to be the strong one, and wound up being what he was, a fucking pibe. Un nene, 23 years old and still a fucking nene.

Paulo covered his face with a cushion, and screamed.

After dinner ended, Paulo went outside for a walk before actually heading home. The snow was particularly terrible, and he missed the sun back at his Laguna Larga. Sometimes he forgot how good it felt to go back home, and how much he needed it, regardless of time difference and what it did to his body. If he could avoid any unnecessary damage, he would.

Then again, when was the last time he’d actually spent a summer down there? He was shocked at the realization- he’d been a teenager, still playing for Instituto, showing all those European agents eager to see the fallen great there was much more to see in la B, in all of Argentina, than those gallinas. It had been centuries. A lot had happened since then, and Paulo tried to shake off the longing. He had to focus. He had a career to fulfill, a dream to carry out. He couldn’t let nostalgia blur him. No summers at home for the following fifteen years or so, and that was it. Final decision.

Sensing that eerie yet familiar heaviness he had felt within him for the last eight years or so, he kept walking, until he stopped in his tracks.

Leo was standing right in front of him.

He was still wearing the suit he’d taken to the ceremony, more conservative than other times (Griezmann was certainly the heir to the questionable fashion sense). With his hair back to his natural hair color, but keeping the beard, Leo looked mature and sure of himself, completely unaffected by the earlier gala’s results. Paulo tried to mentally search for a more stunning image, and failed miserably at it.

“Pau, hola”.

“Ho… hola, Leo, ¿que hacés acá?” he asked, still wondering if the stress had finally caught up with his sanity.

“I came to see you. Well, I wanted to congratulate Pipa, but I already texted him, and well, he told me you guys would celebrate his goals, so I figured you’d be here and…” He smiled timidly, and the heaviness was gone. Paulo felt like himself again, and smiled back, widely, joyfully.

“Did I tell you your smile is beautiful?” Leo asked, and turned away a little. He was blushing.

“Ha, a few times, but so does my mom” Paulo chuckled, as he pulled closer. The fog of his words were now covering Leo’s face, and he looked up, his gaze so loving. The immeasurable joy was now fueling every single cell of Paulo’s being, like small bubbles.

“So” Leo said, seductively, “do you know any places nearby? I didn’t congratulate you on that goal like I should have. I wanna make it up to you”.

Paulo relished in the small fog covering his own face.

“Follow me” he said as he held Leo’s left hand with his own.

Having barely eaten at the Pipa dinner, the cozy restaurant where Paulo liked to go when he wanted to disappear from the spotlight while also not necessarily wanting to cook felt heavenlier than ever. They ordered two salads- after all, they both had (simultaneous) matches on Wednesday- and talked about how things were going at their clubs and cities.

“And that’s why we won’t be able to count on Gerard for the following three matches” Leo finished his tale, and put some lettuce with smoked salmon into his mouth.

“WOW” Paulo exclaimed. “I mean, kudos to him for standing up to those hijos de puta, but his absence is going to hurt. And you guys need to win on Wednesday”. He proceeded to eat another piece.

“I know, that’s why Andrés was mad at him. But he claims we would’ve been fucked anyway, with the refs being sold”.

“I bet he sees himself as some sort of martyr”.

“Yeah, that will be a key factor in his presidential campaign”.

Both men laughed.

“So, how’s it going with you guys in la Shuve?”

“Haha, well, we’re going strong, we got ourselves a Venezuelan but he seems nice, I hope it all turns out fine”.

“He should, Masche complained a lot about him after the Mérida match”.

“Can’t blame him. It hurts me to say it, but we owe Lucas that point”.

“Your bostero is showing, che” he chuckled.

“Shut up” he smiled and took a sip of water. “Anyway, we’re all working towards the sixth Scudetto. That would be historical, you know?”

Leo nodded.

“It would be amazing, making it into the history of the club, with all those greats. That’s the goal, many of us playing, but actually being worthy of history? It’s insane, and so hard… if I could be part of it… whah! I…” The excitement got the better of him, and he looked up to the ceiling, to the sky, his gaze heavenly. You’d be so proud, Dad.

“So it means you’re staying here?” Leo said, warily. Paulo looked at him, reminded of reality. All those negotiations, his outburst when he remembered the Olympics, the delay in his diagnosis…

“I’m not going there, by the way” he warned. He then looked down, and continued with a disappointed note in his voice. “I love this club, you know? They really put me in the international spotlight, all by themselves. No River Plate to justify people looking at me. That Ballon d’Or nomination, I owe it to them. All the praise, I owe it to them. And let’s be honest- if I have started games in the NT, it’s because of them. But I need to keep growing, you know, I want to see other footballs in this continent before reaching my thirties and going back home. Italy is great, but I want to feel part of a truly attacking team, a team that actually plays well… I wouldn’t be shady, though, I owe them so much, I could never pull a Pogba… Leo, there’s so much I want to do, and time seems so little…”

“Trust me, you have a lot of time left” Leo said. “I’m turning thirty this year, and I have very little regrets. But you can’t do it all. Even if I went back to Ñuls after Russia, I’d be 31. Even today I’m not the guy I was when I was your age. Imagine two more years. I will never be able to give them my best. But I couldn’t leave Barça. I love this club with all my heart, and I don’t regret a thing. But to stay here forever… I want to go back to Rosario eventually, be with my family, la banda”.

“I know” Paulo said, thinking back to his own melancholy.

Leo ate some more.

“So, that haircut looks good on you”.

“FINALLY SOMEONE SAYS IT” Paulo lifted his arms to the sky as Leo laughed. “Wait… you mean it, right? Not just because you, you know…”

“Love you?”

“Yeah!… Wait, you do?”

“I do, Paulo. I just wanted to wait until we were actually boyfriends to tell you, but since you beat me, well…”

Paulo smiled, as he saw an opportunity.

“Speaking of, you said you wanted to wait until we met face to face to make it official with a romantic film-worthy kiss”.

“Che, I never said it had to be romantic-film worthy!” Leo complained jokingly.

“Ha ha, well, thing is, I’m here. You’re here. We’re here”.

He fixated his gaze on Leo. The rosarino smiled and leaned in.

Paulo thought of an old story he’d read when he was a kid. When the protagonist’s first kiss came, at first they felt each other’s lips with their own. Then they felt each other with their lips. Years later, he could say he understood.

He could feel Leo’s being through the kiss, through his lips. He’d never seen him as clearly, despite his eyes being closed. The beard was a bit itchy, but soon he lost track of it. His soul was exploding with that joy, that fulfillment. Except something was missing. He hoped it wouldn’t tire them a lot, Leo still had to go to Barcelona to resume training. Either way, it wasn’t that urgent. They could finish their salads.

They finally separated, smiling like a pair of pibes. Deep inside, they’d never stop being that.

And for that night, for one night at least, Paulo didn’t mind.

#the direct line to yours truly #Paulo Dybala #Lionel Messi #sobre la Joya #sobre D10S #Paulo Dybala fanfic #Paulo Dybala fanfiction #Lionel Messi fanfic #Lionel Messi fanfiction #Leo Messi #Leo Messi fanfic #Leo Messi fanfiction #it felt good to write this :) #I write stuff

[geeeooorrrge]

And Everything In Between - a Paulo Dybala/Alvaro Morata fanfic

Title is from Hotel Ceiling by Rixton.

Chapter list and summary | Read on AO3

CHAPTER 42 – I CAN SEE IT COMING ROUND FULL CIRCLE MY FRIEND

Paulo was helping Alvaro pack for his trip to the Euros when the call came.

Well, actually, calls. One each for him and Alvaro.

The name that flashed on Alvaro’s screen was his agent’s. The name that flashed on Paulo’s was – it was Mia’s.

Paulo went out of the bedroom to take the call. He stood in the hallway, finger hovering over the call button. He gave Alvaro a glance. Alvaro had taken his call and was listening to what his agent was saying.

Paulo tapped the call button before he could change his mind.

“Hello?” he said.

There was a long silence on the other end, then, “Hey, Paulo?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Mia.”

“Yeah, um…hi. Mia.”

“Does – does Alvaro know you’re talking to me?”

Paulo glanced at Alvaro again. He was still listening attentively. Paulo was pretty sure he hadn’t seen what was on Paulo’s screen. “Nope,” he said.

“Okay, um,” Mia cleared her throat. “I just want to say. That I saw what you guys did. You know, coming out and everything, in that press conference. And I just want to say that…that’s very brave, Paulo. That’s…that’s very, very brave.”

“Thank you,” Paulo whispered. He still wasn’t sure what to make of all this.

“And you two deserve to be happy together, yeah? I mean. Yeah.”

“Mia, I’m sorry,” Paulo said. “I’m sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I should have let you and Alvaro be. I should have let him deal with it, I shouldn’t have butted my nose in. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mia said softly. “We…I guess we would never have worked out in the end because Alvaro loves you so much. It’s just. It was always going to come.”

“It didn’t have to be that way.”

“Yeah,” Mia gave a little laugh. “But it’s over. I’m glad you two are happy now. I just. Thank you, Paulo. For being the one to tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s,” Mia sighed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I just. Paulo. Congrats. You two have come really far. And I’m not being spiteful, I just really am congratulating you, I really am happy for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Paulo whispered. “Hey, Mia. Just. Alvaro really, really did care for you. He really loved you. Just don’t think any other way, okay?”

There was a short silence from Mia, then in a soft, timid little mumble that sounded like she was crying, she said, “Okay.”

“I’m so sorry. I know he really cared. Please believe me.”

“Yeah, must be true, coming from you,” she gave a kind laugh. “Paulo, I’m really glad you two worked out. You two just…just go out there and be happy together, okay?”

“You’re okay with that?”

“Yeah.”

“Alvaro really wanted to talk to you. He really wanted to make it right after I…after I ruined everything. Mia, he really cared. He was really upset about how everything ended with you.”

“Yeah,” Mia said again. She sighed. “Paulo, it’s over. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just…just want to let you know. I wish you guys all the best. You are so brave and you’ve come so far and. And it’s really nice.”

“Thank you so much, Mia.”

“Are you going to tell Alvaro you spoke to me?” she laughed softly. “You two tell each other everything, don’t you?”

“Can I? Tell him?”

“Yeah. Sure. Just…just tell him not to call me, yeah? I can’t talk to him. I keep thinking of calling him, of telling him all these things that I’ve just told you, but…but I just can’t talk to him. So I called you. So…yeah.”

“Thank you. Mia, thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled. And then there was a long silence before, “Paulo. So…that’s all. Yeah. Good luck to the both of you, all the best and I’m happy for you and. Yeah. So. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Yeah,” Paulo said. “Bye, Mia. Thank you so much.”

She gave a soft laugh before she hung up and the dial tone returned.

Paulo stood in the hallway for a few moments trying to compose himself. He saw that Alvaro had already hung up the phone and was sitting on the bed in a daze, just. Just staring straight ahead at nothing.

He went back inside and sat next to Alvaro, gently placing a hand on Alvaro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Paulo said. “Alvi.”

Alvaro snapped back to attention, turning to Paulo and blinking a few times. “Who called you?” he asked, his voice shaking a little.

It got Paulo worried. Paulo slid his hand down Alvaro’s arm until he got to Alvaro’s hand. He took it and gave it a little squeeze. “You first.”

“My agent,” was all Alvaro said.

When he didn’t continue, Paulo urged, “What did he say?”

“Paulo,” Alvaro whispered.

“What is it, baby?”

“Paulo,” Alvaro said again, and this time. This time he had tears in his eyes. His hands began to shake. “I might have to go back to Madrid.”

Paulo’s entire world collapsed around him.

“What?” he whispered.

“You know…you know that clause in my contract? The one that says that Real Madrid can buy me back?”

“Yeah?”

“They called. They called and asked about it.”

“No,” Paulo said. “No. No.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro whispered again, and. And he was crying. Alvaro was crying and he hung his head for a few moments before he buried it in Paulo’s shoulder. “Paulo. I don’t want to go.”

“But you have to,” Paulo said, his voice wobbly. “Yeah?”

“But,” Alvaro sobbed. He wrapped his arms tightly around Paulo and squeezed, and Paulo couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know if it was because of this or because he physically couldn’t deal with Alvaro being far, far away again. “But I just got you. Paulo, I just got you and we just got together and now we have to be apart, and I don’t want that, Paulo, I don’t want that. I want you.”

“Alvi,” Paulo whispered. He moved closer and hugged Alvaro, pressing Alvaro’s face into his chest. “You have to go. This is your life. It’s your football and you have to play it.”

“But –“ Alvaro choked between all his sobs. “No. No.”

“Look,” Paulo said softly, gently running his hand soothingly up and down Alvaro’s back. “It’s not a done deal yet, yeah? It’s not confirmed? You’re going to go to France and you’re going to fucking kick ass, yeah?”

Alvaro went silent, contemplating for a few moments. And then he mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re going to do so good.”

“What if I really have to go back?”

“We’ll talk about it when it happens. Okay? And Alvi.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember we said football first?”

“Yeah, but only because it had to be, because football had to be first if I wanted to be with you. Now I’ll be somewhere else with football first and you won’t be there, Pau, and I don’t know what to do without you.”

“You do,” Paulo whispered. He nuzzled the edge of Alvaro’s ear with his nose. “You always have.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro breathed.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Paulo said, even though. Even though he wasn’t so sure about himself. Even though he didn’t know if he was going to be okay without Alvaro. But he couldn’t be selfish. If Alvaro had to go, he had to go. “C’mon. Let’s pack. You’re going to France and show them who’s boss and then like a hundred other clubs will want you.”

“That’s not the point because I want to be here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Alvaro sighed. He wiped his tears on the back of his hands and timidly gazed up at Paulo. “Hey. I love you.”

Paulo leaned over and pressed his lips against Alvaro’s. “I love you so much, Alvaro Borja Morata.”

“Are you…are you scared?”

“I know you’ll do super well no matter where you are, Alvi.”

“No, not that,” Alvaro said. “Us. Are you worried…about us?”

Paulo didn’t answer. He had no answer. He could only sit there and think about it, the silence between them slowly becoming heavier and heavier. Part of him just knew that he and Alvaro were always going to be okay. Always.

But another part of him knew how Alvaro had always handled long-distance relationships.

It was one thing to be apart when they weren’t a couple. It was another to be apart when they were.

“We’ll talk about it when it happens, okay?” Paulo eventually said.

Alvaro nodded. He didn’t appear disappointed that Paulo hadn’t given him an answer. “Who called you?” he asked.

“Mia.”

Alvaro’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked. “You fucking around with me?”

“No, she really did,” Paulo said. “She said…that you shouldn’t call her because she can’t talk to you.”

“What else did she say?”

Paulo told him everything that Mia had said. About being happy for them. About how it was nice that they were doing well. About how Paulo had apologised about five hundred times and Mia had said it was okay.

By the end of it Alvaro was crying again and Paulo just. Paulo felt so helpless. He knew Alvaro would never get the kind of closure with Mia that Paulo had been so lucky to get with Isa. Paulo would never get over the guilt of that but there was also nothing either Paulo or Alvaro could do.

Paulo hated seeing Alvaro have a breakdown like this. He hated seeing Alvaro, the steadiest, most unshakeable person Paulo had ever known, break down like this. He hated thinking that one day, eventually, even if this Madrid move didn’t happen – Paulo and Alvaro would have to be apart again, for another reason.

Paulo felt like he and Alvaro could never catch a break.

They’d both made their way to Turin but apparently that was all the universe was going to give them. It was all they were going to get. They had maxed out all their being-together luck.

But Paulo knew he had to be strong. He knew that one of them had to have their shit together and it was usually Alvaro but now it was Paulo’s turn. So, despite the feeling in his chest that felt like his heart was being gnawed out, he wrapped his arms tightly around Alvaro and pressed his lips softly on Alvaro’s ear.

“Alvaro, listen to me, ‘kay?”

“Mmhmm.”

“First of all, this thing isn’t confirmed. We don’t know if it’ll even end up happening. No matter whether it does – worrying about it won’t help. It won’t change the outcome. This isn’t something that will go away if you work hard. So…let’s not waste our energy on it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Alvaro whispered.

“And secondly, Mia bothered to call. She’s happy for us. She bothered to try and tell us that. Alvi, this is all the closure you’re ever going to get from her. And I’m sorry that it has to be this way. It was all my fault, it was completely my fault and –“

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“– I’m sorry, but she called and she wished us all the best and. And Alvaro. She’s obviously trying really hard to move on. You almost owe it to her to try and move on yourself, too.”

There was silence from Alvaro and for one terrifying moment Paulo thought he’d pissed Alvaro off.

That was only until Alvaro moved to nudge his face in the crook of Paulo’s neck, giving Paulo’s clavicle a soft kiss. His head fit perfectly there. Paulo pressed his cheek against the top of Alvaro’s head.

“Is this all we’re going to get?” Alvaro asked.

“You’ll always have me. I promise.”

“It’s not enough. Our time together.”

“Alvaro.”

“It’s been going so well,” Alvaro whispered. “Don’t you think? Everything’s been going so, so well. Everyone’s starting to love us again. They’re supposed to get used to seeing us together. We’re supposed to be together. Always. We’re supposed to always be together, forever, and we’re supposed to get married and buy a huge dog.”

And fuck, this sounded like the end. This sounded more like a breakup than Paulo had ever wanted it to be. And he wasn’t so sure anymore, whether it was a breakup or not.

“Everything’s still going to go well,” he said instead. “You are going to France and you are going to wow the fuck out of everyone, and I’m going to be there to watch every fucking minute and everyone will be so mesmerised by you and I am going to be the proudest person in the entire world. Okay?”

Alvaro turned his face upwards and gave Paulo a little smile. It was all Paulo needed. It was literally everything Paulo had ever needed in his whole life.

“Okay,” Alvaro said.

“Could you try to put everything aside at least until after the Euros?” Paulo whispered. He gently ran his fingers through Alvaro’s hair. “Could you do that for me?”

“Okay,” Alvaro said again. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“You’re gonna be so great.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro said. “I’m glad Mia called. It…it kinda sorts things out.”

“Yeah,” Paulo smiled.

“I love you so much, Paulo,” Alvaro breathed. He buried his face in Paulo’s chest, whispering frantically, “I love you. I love you so, so, so fucking much and I’m so scared, Paulo, I don’t know what my life will be like without you.”

“You’re not going to be without me. I promise.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro sobbed.

“Remember three seconds ago, you said you were gonna try pushing this aside?”

“I’m trying. I’m trying.”

Paulo gently set him down on the bed and tucked a pillow under his head. “Will you lie down here while I pack for you?” he asked.

Alvaro didn’t respond except to grab on tightly to Paulo’s arm, pressing Paulo’s hand to his cheek.

Paulo sighed. He used his other hand to gently comb through Alvaro’s hair again, massaging his scalp, hoping that Alvaro would fall right asleep so Paulo could pack for the both of them. Alvaro’s flight was the very next day, after all.

His plan worked. Alvaro fell into a peaceful sleep a few minutes later, and Paulo managed to slide his hand out of Alvaro’s grasp. Alvaro was just. He was so adorable. When he was stressed, he either became delirious or he fell right asleep. Paulo was so fucking fond.

He went around Alvaro’s place picking out clothes for Alvaro to take. They were mostly just t-shirts and underwear. He folded all of them nicely and packed them into Alvaro’s small suitcase along with some toiletries and a towel because Alvaro hated hotel towels, and he zipped everything up and put it by the door.

He collected all the clothes he had at Alvaro’s place and folded them all as well, and packed them in his own small suitcase. He and his mom were going to Madrid to be with Alvaro’s family before they all went to France together. He realised he and Alvaro should get more shirts that weren’t black or white or grey.

He went and sat next to Alvaro and watched him sleep. He smiled when Alvaro felt around for his hand and found it, gleefully holding it to his chest like it was a trophy.

He wondered if this was the end.

He wondered if after all these years, after everything they had done, all the work they had put in to be together, that this would just be the anticlimactic end. Now that they weren’t just friends anymore, Paulo wondered if being apart was something they could handle. Sure, they had been apart for almost their entire friendship, but this wasn’t just friendship anymore. Paulo knew Alvaro needed physical affection. He needed to kiss Paulo, to hug Paulo, to just hold Paulo’s hand, in order to truly feel that he was in a relationship. But that wasn’t going to be possible if he was in Turin and Alvaro was in Madrid. Paulo knew that emotionally, this was just a tiny little obstacle. They wouldn’t stop loving each other just because they were apart. But after how Alvaro had reacted to the news, he wasn’t so sure if this was what Alvaro would want.

Alvaro had been right. Things were going so well. Too well, even. It was like a foreshadowing that neither Paulo nor Alvaro had caught on about.

He lay down next to Alvaro and pressed his head against Alvaro’s, their noses touching. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how this would turn out to be. Paulo would cherish every moment they had left.

------

All the worry of his impending move flew right out of Alvaro’s head once he joined his Spanish teammates for their pre-Euro training camp.

Paulo had been right. It was no use worrying about it. He knew his agent would be taking care of it and after a heated discussion with Paulo, he’d decided to tell his agent to go ahead and make the decision that would result in the least hassle or legal problems and the adequate offer of money. Even if it meant Real Madrid got him in the end, since they could offer more money to him, anyway.

It was all Paulo’s doing. Paulo was pushing Alvaro towards Madrid but Alvaro knew it wasn’t because Paulo wanted him far away. He knew it was only because Paulo wanted the best for him and maybe that best was in Madrid and he was trying his very, very best to let Alvaro know that he was okay with letting Alvaro go.

Paulo was so annoyingly sensible and Alvaro loved him to bits for it.

Alvaro was asked at a pre-tournament press conference about the interest from Real Madrid and he was torn between giving a ‘no comment’ answer or a politically correct one, but he decided that he’d be mature.

He told them the truth, which was that he was happy at Juve. He had always been happy at Juve. And he was going to stay until someone told him he had to leave.

He was then immediately asked about what would happen to Paulo if he left for Madrid. And Alvaro was again torn between giving a ‘no comment’ or a real truthful answer. He eventually decided on the latter because he was so fucking offended that anyone would think he and Paulo would just fall apart like that.

“Football has always come first for the both of us,” he said. “And football will not come between us. What happens between me and Paulo is private, but you can be assured that a move for either of us anywhere does not affect how we feel for each other.”

Paulo texted him after the press conference to say how proud he was.

Spain’s opening game against the Czechs was rather uneventful in Alvaro’s point of view. He didn’t score and was eventually subbed off after playing an hour. Spain eventually won.

Nevertheless, when they were given their allotted fifteen minutes with family outside the locker rooms, his family was there with big smiles and hugs, and. And Paulo was there, with the biggest smile and the biggest hug, softly whispering into Alvaro’s ear how he was so, so, so proud of Alvaro for making his tournament debut for Spain. And despite the area buzzing with everyone meeting their families, Paulo’s voice was the only one Alvaro could hear.

In Spain’s next game against Turkey, Alvaro scored two goals, one on either side of half time.

Alvaro wanted to run up to Paulo and kiss him both times, but the Stade de Nice had this really awesome VIP lounge in which Paulo and the rest had been put in, so he couldn’t. All he wanted was Paulo. All Alvaro could think of after each goal was Paulo. It was Paulo saying he was going to watch every second of Alvaro’s rise and he was going to be so proud.

He saw Paulo charging down the stairs of the stands like a raging bull almost right after the final whistle was blown for a 3-0 Spanish win. He watched as Paulo shoved his way through the crowd, an utterly furious look on his face as he glared at people until they gave way. Paulo was so. He was so typically him and Alvaro was so fond and he could never imagine what his life would be like if Paulo hadn’t been in it.

He met Paulo with open arms when Paulo finally reached the advertising hoardings. Paulo pressed a wet, eager kiss on Alvaro’s lips with a gigantic smile, before burying his head in the crook of Alvaro’s neck although it was damp with sweat.

“One for me and one for you,” Alvaro whispered.

Paulo smiled and Alvaro felt the upturn of his lips against his skin. Paulo leaned his cheek on Alvaro’s shoulder and gazed lovingly up at him. “You’re so ugly,” he said.

“What,” Alvaro said, hurt. He ran a hand over the stubble of hair that was all he had left on his head after he and Sergio had done their lucky head-shaving ritual before the tournament. Alvaro was aware he looked sort of like a carrot but it was really cooling, so. “Well, you still love me, joke’s on you.”

Paulo smiled. He didn’t take his eyes off Alvaro even though Alvaro was supposedly ugly. “True.”

“I’ll see you later inside, yeah?” Alvaro said. He gave Paulo’s cheek a pinch.

Paulo nodded. “You did so good, Alvi.”

“Yeah?” Alvaro smiled.

And then Alvaro’s teammates started calling for him, so he had to let go of Paulo. But before he could go, Paulo tugged on his arm again.

“I love you,” he said.

Alvaro’s smile burst into a grin. He couldn’t help it. Paulo just made him feel all fuzzy everywhere.

“Me, too,” he mouthed. He lifted Paulo’s hand to his lips briefly.

Paulo stood there at the edge of the pitch following Alvaro’s every move with his loving gaze until Alvaro went back inside the locker room, like he was Alvaro’s very own personal guardian angel.

------

Everything went to shit after that.

On the morning of the day Spain were going to play Croatia to decide the winner of their group, Alvaro’s agent called.

“Real Madrid are going to use their buy-back. They’ll make an announcement in a while.”

Alvaro sat on his bed for a while, in a daze. Alvaro wanted to be a star. He wanted to shine and be on top of the world just so he could prove to everybody that he and Paulo would make it. Just so that Paulo would be protected, so that Paulo would not be hurt. Just so that the world would know that just because someone was gay, or bi, or whatever sexual orientation they chose to go with, didn’t mean that their talents should simply be erased.

But exactly because he’d done all that, he now had to go back to Madrid.

He sat on his bed in his tracksuit until Lucas came knocking on his door to tell him everybody was waiting for him to start their team meeting.

He sat in the meeting trying his very best to take in what del Bosque was saying. He got some of it. Most of it. But his mind was just running one sentence over and over and over again: How am I going to tell Paulo?

He ended up not needing to.

Real Madrid posted a short announcement on their website just a few hours before the match was due to start. It didn’t say anything besides the fact that Alvaro was going to join Real Madrid for their pre-season preparations. Alvaro’s Spanish teammates took it well. Some of them congratulated him, because after all, it was a good thing Alvaro was going home. Others welcomed him back. Most of them took it easy, not wanting the hype to take over the importance of the match.

Alvaro checked his phone every five minutes but there was nothing from Paulo. There was a text from Isco, though, which simply said, call me when you can.

Alvaro called him. He knew Isco was off holidaying somewhere. He appreciated that Isco still bothered to think about him.

“You’re coming back, for real?” was how Isco greeted him. Well, Alvaro couldn’t blame him. The amount of discussion Alvaro’d had with Isco about this whole transfer thing was probably worth only a single grain of sand in all the million grains on the beach Isco was currently treading on.

“Yeah,” Alvaro said.

“How did Paulo react?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken.”

A long pause. “Not at all?”

“Not since I got the news this morning.”

“Alvaro.”

“I don’t know what to say, Isco.”

“Then don’t say anything. Listen to what he has to say.”

There was silence. Alvaro didn’t know what to say. Isco seemed to get it.

“Alvaro,” he said. “Welcome back. I’ve missed you.”

Alvaro smiled. “Thanks, Francisco. Can’t wait to play with you again.”

He expected Isco to make some lame, fake-jealous jab at how Alvaro would very much rather be playing with Paulo, but. But he didn’t. Alvaro felt relieved. He didn’t know if he would have flared up at Isco had he said anything of the sort. Alvaro had no control of his feelings right then.

“Tell me how it goes, yeah?” Isco said instead.

Alvaro hung up the phone and saw that he had one single text notification.

I love you, from Paulo.

Alvaro closed his eyes as sudden tears overwhelmed him. He didn’t deserve Paulo. Paulo was too kind, too sweet, to have any of this happen to him. Alvaro didn’t deserve to be with him. Paulo didn’t deserve to be treated this way, he didn’t deserve to be smacked in the face with the news that Alvaro was going to leave him and they were going to return to how they had been, all the long distance, before Paulo had moved to Turin – and on the 21st of June, seven years after they’d met. Seven years exactly to the day. It was supposed to be a happy day.

But now it was 21st June 2009, the day they’d met; 21st June 2016, the day Alvaro brought them back to square one. Seven years, one full circle.

Alvaro didn’t reply to the text. He couldn’t.

He went out and played against Croatia and scored Spain’s solitary goal in a 2-1 defeat.

He met his family outside the locker rooms again. They congratulated him and expressed their happiness that he was coming home.

He saw Paulo standing alone at the far end of the hallway, shoulder leant against the wall.

Alvaro walked up to him and just. Just wrapped him up in a big hug before he even noticed Alvaro was there. And the feeling, the feeling of Paulo in his arms, the concept so familiar yet foreign at once – it made Alvaro burst into quiet tears.

“I love you,” Paulo said, in a soft whisper this time.

“I love you so much, Paulo,” Alvaro gasped. “I love you and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s something you have to do, Alvi. I’m not blaming you.”

“I found out this morning. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I’m sorry, Pau. I’m so sorry.”

“No, hey,” Paulo said. “It’s…it’s life, yeah? And football will always be first. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alvaro said reluctantly.

“I’m very proud of you, Alvaro Borja Morata Martin.”

Alvaro smiled, despite it all. “Thank you so much.”

“One goal, huh?” Paulo planted a soft kiss on the nape of Alvaro’s neck. “For me or for you?”

“For you,” Alvaro said. “Always for you.”

“We’ll share.”

“I’m sorry. I let you down.”

“You didn’t. You still got through to the round of 16.”

“No, it’s not that,” Alvaro started, but stopped when Paulo gave him a soft ‘shh.’ “Paulo. I love you very much, you know that, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, too. With all my heart.”

Alvaro wanted to ask if they were okay. If they were going to be okay.

But for the first time since he’d met Paulo, he was afraid of hearing the answer.

Alvaro just held on to Paulo tightly, afraid that if he let go, he’d never get to do it again. He held on to Paulo until he heard a whistle and a yell telling them their fifteen minutes were over.

He felt Paulo grasp a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling hard like he didn’t want Alvaro to let go. Like he didn’t want to just let Alvaro slip right through his fingers.

Alvaro had to be physically pulled away by Lucas – Lucas, his new teammate Lucas – but not before he gave Paulo one last long, lingering kiss on the lips.

Paulo was smiling when they pulled apart. He wasn’t crying, though his eyes were shimmering with what looked like tears. His smile grew when Alvaro mustered one himself before running his thumb down Paulo’s brow line.

“Love you so much,” Alvaro whispered.

Paulo pressed a final kiss to Alvaro’s lips. “You are so fucking awesome, Alvaro Morata.”

Alvaro walked backwards until he reached the locker room. He didn’t know how he could possibly take his eyes off Paulo. He thought maybe if he did, Paulo would crumble into little tiny pieces and Alvaro would never get to see him again.

Alvaro got back to the hotel, took a long warm shower, and climbed into bed alone.

He saw two notifications from Paulo.

The first was a simple two-worded text reading: We’re okay.

Alvaro smiled. Paulo always knew what to say. He always knew what Alvaro was thinking, how Alvaro was feeling, what Alvaro was too afraid to say or do.

The second was a notification from Instagram: paulodybala tagged you in a photo.

Alvaro opened it. It was a photo of just their hands, fingers tightly intertwined. Alvaro remembered when it was taken. It was in the back of the car, when Alvaro’s dad was driving them to the airport for Alvaro’s flight. Just a little slice of Paulo’s tattoo was visible. Alvaro was wearing a long-sleeved hoodie that was a bit oversized and hung way over his wrist. Paulo had applied a black and white filter over the photo.

Alvaro felt the world settle around him for a moment as he stared at the photograph. It was mesmerising. Alvaro’s hand far too big, Paulo’s hand far too small. Clasping together for dear life, nonetheless, fingers graceful and gentle like dancers in mid-performance.

The caption read, Even the Atlantic Ocean in its entirety wasn’t able to tear us apart. Just a tiny portion of the Mediterranean Sea doesn’t stand a chance.

Alvaro tried blinking away his tears but to no avail. He ended up a loud, sobbing mess, tucked almost all the way under his sheets, tears making little plopping noises as they landed on his pillow. He missed Paulo already, and Paulo was right there, in France with him.

He eventually composed himself enough to double tap the photo and leave a comment.

We are invincible.

------

Paulo was the first to run down to the side of the pitch after the final whistle for the match between Spain and Italy had been blown.

He saw a mixture of emotions on the pitch. He saw his teammates celebrating – Leo, Andrea, Gigi, Simone, Stefano, and Giorgio all had big smiles on their faces as they walked around the pitch, excitedly congratulating their own teammates.

And then he saw Alvaro, walking dejectedly around and receiving hugs from his Spanish teammates and some of his Juve ones, including a super big one from Gigi. He waited patiently for Alvaro to get nearer, but Alvaro just drifted around nearer the middle.

So Paulo just. Just jumped over the advertisement hoardings and ran straight onto the pitch, and the security people moved towards him but stopped when they saw who he was and were suddenly unsure if they were supposed to catch him. Paulo took the chance their confusion gave him and made a beeline for Alvaro, waving his hand in a thumbs-up towards his Juve teammates in the Italian team.

He crashed straight into Alvaro before Alvaro noticed him. Alvaro took only a moment to respond, though, his arms snaking so tightly around Paulo that Paulo couldn’t breathe.

“Paulo,” he whispered breathlessly, like he was about to cry. “Paulo. Paulo.”

“Shhh,” Paulo whispered back, pressing his lips to Alvaro’s collarbones. He felt a drop of Alvaro’s tears hit the top of his head before Alvaro frantically buried his face in Paulo’s hair. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Paulo,” Alvaro said again.

“It’s okay,” Paulo breathed. Alvaro couldn’t cry. Alvaro was losing control and he couldn’t cry, not here, Alvaro couldn’t cry. “Hey. Alvi. Don’t cry, please, baby, please don’t cry.”

“It’s over,” Alvaro sobbed softly.

“It’s not,” Paulo pulled away from the hug and pressed his head against Alvaro’s, his hands tightly holding both sides of Alvaro’s head. “Hey. Alvaro. Listen to me. It’s never over until you stop trying. You guys didn’t make it this time, but so what? You still have the next time. And the next, and the next, and the next. Alvaro. You’re only twenty-three. You’re going to get so many more chances. You’re going back to Madrid and you’re going to play for the European club champions, the only club who has won the Champions League eleven fucking times, and fuck, Alvaro. Don’t you ever dare to say it’s over. It’s not fucking over.”

Only at the end of that rant did Paulo realise he only said it with so much zest because he was also trying to convince himself that he and Alvaro weren’t over.

Alvaro closed his eyes as Paulo placed his thumbs below them to catch the runaway tears. “I love you so much, Paulo Bruno Dybala.”

“Don’t cry now, okay?” Paulo said softly. “Later, in your room, you can cry all you want.”

“Will you come over?”

“Can I?”

“I guess so. Now that we don’t have any more matches.”

“Okay, text me your room.”

“And I can cry, yeah? I can cry and you’ll hold me and I’ll be a big mess but you won’t love me any less?”

“Not even one tiny bit less,” Paulo promised.

Alvaro planted his lips gently on Paulo’s. They were warm and soft and Paulo’s favourite feeling in the whole universe. He wrapped his arms around Alvaro’s neck and pulled Alvaro closer, his heart jumping like a firework when Alvaro smiled against his lips.

“You think people are taking photos of us right now?” Alvaro whispered.

And Paulo. Paulo was so relieved Alvaro was cracking a joke. “Would you care?” he asked.

“No, just means I’ve got more photos to post on Instagram.”

Paulo laughed. Alvaro was just. Just so innocent. Paulo loved it. Paulo loved him.

------

Paulo went to Alvaro’s room after he’d showered. He heard Alvaro’s feet shuffling on the ground as he got to the door, and he saw Alvaro’s dishevelled face and crumpled t-shirt as he stood there in the doorway staring at Paulo dejectedly.

Paulo stepped inside and shut the door, gently pushing Alvaro with a hand on his shoulder. He got Alvaro to the bed, which was all messed up, evidence that Alvaro had been lying in it before Paulo came. He climbed in together with Alvaro and let Alvaro curl up against him.

He waited until the tears came; Paulo waited until he felt Alvaro start to quiver in his arms and press himself more tightly against Paulo. He pulled Alvaro’s face into his chest and wrapped his legs around Alvaro’s waist, resting his chin on top of Alvaro’s ticklish stubbly hair. He wrapped his arms around Alvaro’s head and cradled it like a baby.

And Paulo started to cry, too, not because Alvaro’s Spain had lost but because he knew Alvaro wasn’t only crying because of this loss. Alvaro was crying because of everything that had accumulated over the past month or so, and Paulo had tried so hard to hold it all in but he realised he could no longer do it. Not when he saw Alvaro like this, when he knew Alvaro had been trying to be strong just like Paulo was, and Alvaro couldn’t take it anymore. The most stable person in Paulo’s life, the most immovable, most dependable person in Paulo’s life – even he couldn’t take it anymore.

Paulo knew they were always going to be okay. He knew that nothing would ever change how he felt about Alvaro. Nothing had ever, not even ten thousand kilometres.

But it didn’t mean that this wouldn’t change how they chose to act on those feelings.

After all, part of why they had pushed the relationship away again and again was because they were separated. Because they knew that long-distance hadn’t been something they were ready to get into.

But what if – what if they still weren’t ready for that?

Paulo was tired. He was tired of thinking about it. He would gladly live in this world, this world where he could wake up to Alvaro every single morning, forever. He would gladly stop time right then if it meant they could continue being like this. And he realised that Alvaro was so upset that Spain had been eliminated exactly because the sooner this tournament was over for Alvaro, the sooner they would have to start their separate lives.

He held Alvaro tightly, softly whispering into what was left of his hair, “It’s okay. Baby, it’s okay, Alvi, baby, I love you and everything is going to be okay,” over and over and over again, even though he wasn’t sure if he was saying the truth.

He didn’t stop until Alvaro was asleep; and only then did Paulo manage to get some rest himself.

#paulo dybala #alvaro morata #dybata #real madrid #juventus #juve #football fanfiction #aeibpdam