Chapter Text
David isn’t sure whose idea it is, to get together and watch the tournament they won twelve years ago – probably Pepe’s, God knows age hasn’t dulled his social butterfly tendencies – but as he sees all the familiar yet different faces around him, he feels...
Nostalgia, he supposes, would be a good word. Here he is, forty years old, long-retired, not too old but definitely aged, sitting in a room steeped with memories, with old friends and colleagues who are reminders of past glory and an era of football that many consider unmatched.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Iker, sitting next to him, says. He’s the director of football at Real Madrid now, considering a coaching role – a future that David always foresaw for him. You could take Iker out of Real Madrid, but you couldn’t take Real Madrid out of Iker. It was in his blood, practically, the way blaugrana bled in Xavi’s veins.
It wasn’t like that for him, not really. He loved Valencia, but not in the way Iker loves Real Madrid, or Xavi loves Barcelona. He loved Barcelona too, in a different way (it was easy to love Barcelona, easy to love a team full of success and trophies, a team that didn’t know what it was like to fight for everything because that was the only way you got anywhere); he was grateful to Atlético (louder and dirtier and more familiar than Barcelona); he enjoyed New York a surprising amount (he could never get over the fact that they played soccer, not football, though).
Maybe it was better that way; it made it easier to leave.
He suddenly registers a hand waving in front of his face. “Earth to David?” Iker says, sounding amused.
“Oh, what did you – yeah.” He remembers now. “Yeah, it’s strange.”
“What have you been up to? I haven’t heard from you in years.”
“This and that,” David replies. He isn’t trying to be vague; he just hasn’t done much. The past couple of years for him have been very quiet. “I would ask about your life, but you’re still in the news. I heard you’re taking over the Blanco kids next year.”
“Yeah.” Iker is silent for a moment. “I had some other offers, actually, but—”
“You were never going anywhere else,” David finishes. “I know you, Iker. There’s only ever been one club for you.”
Iker smiles. “How about you? Ever thought about coaching?”
“I’ve thought about it, but...I don’t think it’s for me.”
Iker doesn’t look surprised or unsurprised. “Why not?”
“I’d probably just yell at them half the time.” David’s mouth quirks up. “You know I’m not exactly a patient person.”
Iker chuckles. “You give yourself too little credit.”
David gives a non-committal shrug. “I’ve gotten used to only taking care of myself. Throw two dozen brats into the mix? No thanks.”
“You’re enjoying the bachelor life then?” Iker asks lightly.
David gives him a look. “Yes, I’m still single, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Iker shrugs, smiles a little. His smile still looks the same, just with a few more lines. He’s aged well, hairline aside. David’s kept all his hair, thankfully, but he has more silver at the temples than he would like.
“How are Sara and the kids?”
“They’re good.” Iker’s face lights up in a way typical of a parent. “Martín still sleeps with his toy football. Lana has just discovered the joy of crayons. I’ve never seen my house so colourful.”
David laughs. “Kids will be kids.”
Iker studies him. “Did you ever want any?”
“Did you not hear my brat talk earlier?”
“I heard it,” Iker says. “I just—”
David doesn’t get to find out the end of that sentence, as Pepe plops himself between them, almost toppling over both their chairs. In contrast to Iker, Pepe has more hair than David’s ever seen on him.
“Hey, are you two exchanging secrets?” Pepe asks with a broad grin. “You have to catch me up on what I missed.”
David snorts. “Nice hair transplant.”
“I assure you, my friend.” Pepe runs his hand over his hair. “This is all natural. I tried this herbal supplement – works wonders, I tell you.”
“Iker, did you hear that?” David asks, earning him a glare from Iker.
“Iker, man, I’m telling you.” Pepe leans in conspiratorially. “It’s great, it’s made from berries and roots or something, I have a lot if you want any.”
“I think you should go for it, Iker,” David pipes in.
“Go for what?” a quiet voice asks. David looks up, and—
Fernando is the tannest that David’s ever seen him. Even his freckles look lighter. He’s blonde again, all tousled bangs and abyss eyes. It’s astonishing how little he’s aged, how little he’s changed, in the past eight years.
“I’m trying to help Iker with his hair,” Pepe says, “but he’s being stubborn.”
“It’s my hair and my choice,” Iker protests.
Fernando smiles. “That’s true.”
“You don’t get to give advice about hair,” Pepe says. “Look at what you’ve put yours through during the years.”
Fernando just rolls his eyes. He has this way of doing it that looks – David can’t describe it, it’s just such a Fernando thing. Some things never change, it appears.
“Seriously, all that bleach will come back to haunt you,” Pepe says solemnly. “Do you want to have hair when you’re old?”
“I’m already old,” Fernando says placidly.
“You’re the youngest one here,” Iker points out. “If you’re old, what does that make all of us?”
Fernando smiles again. Turns his gaze on David. “You’ve given up on hair gel, I see.”
“I’m forty, there’s not much point for it.”
Fernando arches his eyebrows. “I didn’t know there was an age limit for hair gel.”
“There’s no age limit for sunscreen either, you know. You look like you’ve been living at the beach.”
“I like sun,” Fernando says simply. He rolls up his sleeve; even his arms are covered with freckles. “It doesn’t like me though.”
“They invented sunscreen for a reason.”
“I thought it was to prevent skin cancer.”
“That too,” David acquiesces, and Fernando laughs. His eyes crinkle up at the corners; maybe those lines are from the sun too. He doesn’t look old though, Fernando, especially when he smiles. He still looks like a boy then. David can imagine him having a boy’s smile even when he’s an old man, although David probably wouldn’t be able to see that – it’s been eight years since they’ve seen each other, who knows how long it would be until the next time. If there is a next time.
“Hey, you two can save the flirting for later,” Pepe says. “We should go if we’re going to make it to the stadium on time.” He artfully ignores the glares Fernando and David shoot him; years of being friends with them seem to have made him impervious to such expressions.
“We never make it on time.” Iker stands up and stretches. “We always get rushed by fans.”
“All the reason to get going earlier,” Pepe says. “Come on, Niño, you always get the most fans mobbing you, you should be running ahead of us.”
“How long are you going to call me that?” Fernando asks, making a face that only goes against him – David has seen middle school kids look more mature than that.
“Call you what, Niño?” Pepe asks innocently.
Fernando rolls his eyes again. He manages to exude fuck off very clearly even though he doesn’t say a word.
“Okay, let’s go then.” David makes to head for the door, but he stops in his tracks as he remembers his car is low on gas, and he had meant to go to the gas station, but...his memory fails him too often lately. He isn’t that old, is he?
“What’s wrong?” Fernando asks quietly.
“I just remembered my car is almost out of gas.”
“You can come with me,” Fernando offers.
David is about to accept, but something stops the sure from escaping his lips. Fernando looks at him, obviously waiting for a reply, and suddenly another memory comes to mind, of a hotel room and a younger, paler Fernando, looking at him in a similar yet completely different way.
“Okay, you two go together then,” Pepe says, oblivious to whatever is passing in the air between them. “It’ll save gas. Come on, let’s go.”
“See, you’re saving the environment now,” Fernando says with a teasing smile. Iker walks out first, and Fernando is at his heels. David stands there for a moment, his legs stiff and uncooperative. He realizes that Pepe’s looking at him with a soft yet shrewd expression.
“What is it?” he says, harsher than he intended.
“You haven’t kept in touch these past years,” Pepe says idly. “I emailed you a lot. Called you too, but you changed your phone number.”
Pepe doesn’t sound accusing, but David feels defensive anyway. “I changed phones. I guess I forgot to tell you my new number.”
“It’s not good to live in the past, but it’s not good to try to forget it all either.”
David narrows his eyes. “What are you really saying?”
“I’m saying – I just want you to be happy.” Pepe puts his hand on David’s shoulder; his grip is firm and solid, securing and secure. Maybe it’s all those years he spent as a goalkeeper. “It’s not too late, David.”
David is confused now. “Not too late for what?”
“To be happy,” Pepe says. “It’s never too late to be happy.”
David swallows; his throat is tight. “I am happy.”
“Sure,” Pepe says, and his voice is gentle now, indulging, like he’s talking to a child. David resents that; he’s far from a child, far from a guaje, now.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life.”
“I’m not telling you how to live your life. I just – care.” Pepe looks rather frustrated now. “Or is that not allowed? You may have stopped wanting to be my friend, David, but I still want to be yours.”
The last part makes David falter. “I never stopped wanting to be your friend.”
“You wouldn’t even stay in touch,” Pepe says, looking pained.
“That doesn’t mean—” David swallows a breath. “I was going to call you, later, but I thought that it’s been so long...I thought it might be too late.”
“It’s not too late, David,” Pepe says. Then he grins again, and he’s boisterous, cheerful Pepe Reina again. “Someone else might hold a grudge against you for being such a douche, but I have such a large and generous heart that I’ll forgive you.”
David snorts, rolls his eyes. “Wow, thank you, Saint José.”
“I’m not a saint, I think you have me mixed up with Iker.” Pepe glances at his watch, and then the door. “Speaking of that, it seems that we’ve been left behind. We’d better catch up.” He heads off first, and when David isn’t behind him, he turns around and asks, “Aren’t you coming?”
David hesitates. “Pepe.”
“What?”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes...” Pepe says slowly. “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”
“I told you, I’m fine, I’m not a kid anymo—”
“Not you,” Pepe cuts him off. “I’m less worried about you than—” His face twists; his expression is beyond frustration. “Do both of you a favour, David, and get in that car before he thinks you’re not coming. I think you’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
Pepe doesn’t wait for him this time, he just walks out the door, and David falls back into his seat, his mind whirling, his heart heavy, sinking with eight years of weight.