dfotw | Fic: Bojan's grey day (Leo Messi/Bojan Krkic)

Title: Bojan's grey day

Summary: There are days when everything goes wrong... well, almost everything.
Pairing: Leo Messi/Bojan Krkic
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: PG-13, let's say.
Wordcount: just over 750 words.
Disclaimers: this isn’t real, because I made it all up in my head, and I’m not getting any money out of it (more’s the pity!).

A/N: I wrote this for

sebastiona when we were both having grey days.

Bojan's grey day

There are days, you think, when everything irks you. Gerard’s laughter is too loud and his pranks are not funny, Pep’s instructions are too strict and his voice is too cold, Thierry’s arm around your shoulder is too tight and his advice is too patronising, Dani tries too hard to be the soul of the party, Carles is too stoic as a captain, Xavi goes overboard with being the responsible one, Andres overdoes his shyness…

There are days when not even the simplest moves go right, when you lose the ball to the most innocent of tackles, when not one of your shots goes in goal, unless you intended it to be a cross, when you seriously wonder if, in the face of all the young competition that is struggling to rise from the ranks of La Masía, they will still keep you, clumsy days and not.

There are days when you’re loath to go into the closely-knit gang that is the team, when you want none of their stifling concern and attention, when the thought of all of them coming to ask you what’s wrong, one after the other, makes your skin crawl.

Those days find you outside, on the pitch, after all the others have left for the showers. You don’t even pretend to be practicing, you just sit by the edge of the field and stare at the grass and try not to think.

Only this time, you’re not alone.

Leo is sitting by your side, quiet and still, and it almost feels like you’re on your own, except you’re not really, and it’s better.

He doesn’t try to talk to you, to tell you things will get better, to pry your worries out of you, to distract you from your thoughts, or even to ask you if he can do any of those things. He just sits there, by your side, lost in his own reflections.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Carles peek out, freshly-showered, no doubt debating whether to come after you; a dark-skinned, elegant hand lands on his shoulder, though, before he can make up his mind, and he and Tití go back inside, chatting quietly. No doubt they’ll talk to the kitchen staff into saving you some lunch and perhaps a special treat for later.

You don’t know whether to feel resentful or grateful, so you settle for a confused swirl of the two.

When you turn back, you see Leo smiling, just slightly, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards even though he’s very much not looking at you.

“What?” you ask.

He looks at you, mock-innocent expression on his face, warm brown eyes widened comically.

“What?” he replies. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You were smiling!”

“No, I wasn’t!” he protests, but you can hear the smile fighting to colour his words.

“Yes you were! Were you laughing at me?” you ask, half-pouting and half trying not to smile in return.

“No,” says Leo, his eyes serious even though his smile is now full-blown. “I wouldn’t do that.”

You lower your gaze to the ground, because you know that, and because you don’t want to smile, you’re sulking, damn it, and how can Leo dissipate that black cloud over your head with just a few words?

“This, however...” he drawls and that is the only warning you get before you’re pushed onto your back and tickled mercilessly.

You choke, you gasp, you laugh, you squeal like a little girl and finally, you fight back, with clumsy fingers and grasping hands that wander where they shouldn’t, not in public.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you plead at last, interrupted by random giggles you can’t help.

You’re tangled together on the grass, breathless and flushed, panting in a way that would be indecent if you weren’t fully-clothed and, nominally at least, in public.

Leo lifts his head, looks around briefly, and then swallows the last of your giggles in a kiss. You melt under him and when you open your eyes to see him smiling down at you, lips red and swollen, you can’t honestly remember why you ever thought it was a bad day.

“Lunch?” he asks, slowly untangling your limbs from his.

“Shower, then lunch” you agree genially, letting go of him with reluctance.

He gives you a hand to help you stand up, and you don’t let go of it as you walk towards the changing room, smiling.

There are days (all of them, really), you don’t know what you’d do without Leo.