The owl looking on

Leaving your country and getting used to a new culture is never easy. Add being a defector, a former russian prison guard to that. 

But Dmitri couldn’t complain, the american got him a roof over his head, a warm, comfortable bed to sleep on and good company. 

The good company took shape as Joyce’s younger sister. 

He remembers the day he first saw her like it happened yesterday. Dmitri was basically dropped off on her doorstep, the hurry to keep the secrecy of his and Jim’s situation evident on Murray’s incessant attack on her doorbell. 

“What is go– Jim?!” she exclaimed like she had seen a ghost. Well, kind of, right?

“I’m back?” Jim said sheepishly. 

“Seriously, what is going on?”

“Honey,” Joyce interrupted, “let us in and we’ll explain everything.”

And they did. From the Starcourt Mall incident opening a portal to Russia, to Hopper getting imprisoned, to Joyce and Murray traveling all the way to said country – which got Joyce an earful for doing what she did without telling her sister – and to how they got out of the prison and back to the States. 

“Okay, hold on.” The young woman pleaded, the amount of information almost unbearable to digest. “Okay, so you're telling me all those creatures, the ones that got Will, the things we saw at the underground base– I saw– we saw Hop die! But in reality, he just magically showed up in a russian prison, and Enzo, Dmitri…” she stopped for a second, taking the time to look at the russian man’s face, the amused smile on his lips making her lose her already scrambled train of thought, “what should I call you?”

“I don’t care, both are fine.” 

“Well that was very helpful.” she scoffed. “Anyways, so Dmitri” she raised an eyebrow towards the blue eyed man, earning her a shy smile and a timid nod in confirmation “a russian prison guard, sent you a doll full of clues, you and Murray went to Russia, got ambushed, found Jim, fought with other prison guards, fought the tulip from hell, and made it back home?”

“Yeah!” Joyce said with her sweet, joyful voice. 

“Okay,” the younger Byers nodded, “so what you need me for?”

“We need a place for Enzo to stay.” Murray said. 

“For a little while, just so we can solve everything.” Jim added. 

“Of course. Welcome, Enzo slash Dmitri.” she smiled. 

But harder than adjusting to life in a new country, it was adjusting to living life with her. 

She was nice from the get go, going out of her way to make him feel comfortable, to make him feel at home. 

Her guest room turned into Dmitri’s room, the decoration becoming as cozy as it could get. She learned how to make his favourite dishes, making a separate grocery shopping list with whatever he wanted, and she even started taking russian classes. The small act of kindness made Dmitri emotional. 

He could hear her repeating the foreign words through the shared walls of their bedrooms every night. 

Dmitri often told her that she didn’t have to do everything that she was doing for him, and her answer always was “I’d do it for anyone who helped the people I love the most.”

Bit by bit he got used to it, but he never got used to her and the effect she had on him.

She’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen. And it didn’t take long for her to plague his every single thought. 

It started innocent, like when he saw some flowers down the driveway that he thought she would like, or when a new episode of her favourite show was on and she wasn’t home.

But his daydreams quickly escalated.

How wouldn’t they when her scent felt intoxicating, the house impregnated with the almost sickly sweet smell of her shampoo whenever she showers, or the cute noises she makes whether she likes or hates something, let alone waking up and walking in on her making breakfast in only a oversized t-shirt, one that he often dreamt about being his, dreamt about her stealing from him after sex. 

Dmitri would be lying if he said that he didn’t lie awake at night thinking about her. 

The russian man had lost count of how many times he had touched himself thinking about her, thinking about how sweet but tangy her pussy would taste, about how he would make her come at least two times before actually fucking her. 

He always edged himself with the thought of her opening her plush pink lips to take his spit as the most precious nectar, how she would say ”thank you, sir” in gratitude, or how her warm tongue would make home for this fingers, muffling her moans as she came undone beneath him. 

But what truly gets him, what makes him cum hard is the thought of his thick cock buried inside her tight cunt. 

In his daydreams he always starts slow – even after having her prepared – to get her used to his size, filling her to the brim. It starts with that uncomfortable pain, slowly graduating to an almost dying pleasure as he hits the spongy spot inside her repeatedly. 

Right now, a new material for his thoughts is unlocked. 

As he stands on the doorway, she runs around the kitching in a sundress – he had never seen her in a dress – the blues, yellows and oranges of the dress contrasting perfectly with her soft skin. 

In his head, he has her bent over the kitchen table, the dress messily scrunched up around her waist, with her panties shoved down to her knees. His face is impossibly close to her core, his tongue stimulating her clit while his fingers work on her hole. The assault he has on her makes her squirt and he laps around to get her clean. He doesn’t waste any time, opens his belt and gets rid of his pants as fast as he can, and enters her in one swift move. 

His usually slow moves are now fast, as if the world is going to end if he takes his sweet time. Dmitri’s left middle finger finds her clit, rubbing soft circles around her nub, an almost ironic move compared with how hard he’s thrusting. He knows she’s close, her knees are giving up and her walls are starting to close around him. 

“Just a little bit longer, just wait a little–“

“Earth to Enzo!” she says as she snaps her fingers in front of his face. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Dmitri answers, shame consuming him. 

“Joyce, Jim, Murray and the kids are arriving in a few, could you help me set up the table?”

“Of course, дорогой”

God, this is going to be the longest afternoon of his life.

Trnaslations: дорогой: dorogoy -> Sweetheart

“What are you doing on the counter?” Federico asks, coming back from the bathroom with his hair still slightly wet.

“Waiting for the sauce to cook,” he replies, putting in standby his phone, without moving.

Federico rolls his eyes as he reaches him, probably because of the patronizing tone Dusan’s used to reply. “That much was clear,” he tells him, putting his hands on his thighs, caressing them until he reaches his sides, “you just look…”

Dusan frowns at his loss for words, “How?”

Federico smiles as he looks straight at him, “Like you belong here”.

His heart beats fast as Federico kisses him slowly, trying to shut him up, to not make him reply with stupid ideas and plans for the future. They’ve often argued about it - well, maybe arguing is too strong of a concept.

Federico knows that Dusan’s always wanted a family. He’s confessed it long before they’ve gotten together.

“I don’t want kids, nor a family,” Federico has stated long ago, “I’m not suited for being a father. I don’t want to make them suffer”.

No matter how much of that is untrue, Dusan has never tried to make him change his mind. He understands, really, some people don’t want kids, especially if they had a hard time being sons or daughters. But for him, it’s different. He misses his family and being surrounded by his people at all sides, caring for him as much as he takes care of them.

He has worked hard since he was a child to have his space in the world and he knows what he misses to have the picture complete.

Federico leans away slightly, still smiling, his lips wet from the kiss, “I can hear your mind working”.

Dusan nods and he doesn’t fight because he hasn’t said it with an annoyed tone.

“You make me a better person. You make me think that I can be things I’ve never wanted to be, before,” he tells him, “but I need to take things slow”.

Dusan puts a hand on his jaw, caressing his cheek with his thumb slowly - as slow as Federico wants them to go, “I know”.

Federico leans in, letting his forehead touch his shoulder, breathing him in, seizing the back of his neck with his right hand, “I’m not letting you go”.

They stay like that for awhile, listening to each other’s breaths as Dusan caresses his back, comforting him.

“You don’t need to do things you don’t want to just to keep me with you-“

“I know,” he frowns, leaning back, “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for awhile, it isn’t a decision I made just because I’ve seen you being all domestic in my house”.

Dusan nods. Federico isn’t stupid. When he decides for something, he works hard towards it until he’s obtained it. He just worries sometimes he’s going to end up alone and that is what scares Dusan the most. “I love you”, he says looking at his lips.

“I love you too,” he smiles brightly, letting Dusan hugs him close. “Now, there is something that I’ve been thinking about since I walked in through that door”.

“Yeah?”

“Mh,” he kisses his jaw, “I want to suck your cock”.

“I’ll need to turn down the stove for that.”

Federico loves fucking.

He loves to be fucked, to take cock in his mouth, to ride it, to get his hair pulled as someone fuck him from behind, but he has never done anything like this before.

When Dusan arrived at his threshold with a bouquet of red roses and a chocolate box in hands, saying, “I know that we wanted a different type of Valentine’s day, but it’s our first Valentine together,” he would have never expected to find himself sitting next to him on the bed as he fucked him with a dildo from behind.

It’s just that… He hadn’t prepared anything for him: not a present, not a surprise - as always. He had to thank him, right? One way or another?

To find the perfect idea, he had to think back at a gift Dusan’s gotten him some months before; something that could make him feel like Dusan was with him at all times, no matter the kilometers separating them: a custom made dildo in the shape and form of Dusan’s cock. He had looked at him with dead serious eyes, while Federico was struggling with keeping his mouth shut, and he had just said "I wanna be the only thing that's allowed to be inside you".

Federico had obviously gone a little bit crazy, for all the right reasons, and to this day just the thought of that moment is enough to make him hard on the spot.

It came naturally to him, then, to think about the dildo as he panicked in search of the right way to make up for the lack of presents for his perfect boyfriend.

Not everyone knows - even if it’s a fact hiding in plain sight - that Dusan is one of the most vain people Federico has ever met: he almost seems ashamed of it as he tries not to show it, but he can’t always hide the enchanted look with which he takes glimpses of himself in the mirror. Sometimes, when Federico is being fucked by him from behind, he notices how Dusan’s attention is focused completely on his own tensed abs, on the strong and big muscles of his own arms and hands on Federico’s back.

His idea is simple, then, almost trivial: giving Dusan the joy of being fucked by his own cock as he looks at himself in the mirror, as if he was a masterpiece held in a museum.

He wasn’t ashamed as he made the proposition to Dusan: they’re so in tune with each other that it isn’t difficult to share their desires, no matter how obscene and indecent they are. He asked him about it as he was lying in his arms: “Do you want to be fucked by your own cock?”

The surprised look with which he regarded him, followed by a grimace of pleasure at the understanding of his words, was priceless.  

That’s how he finds himself with a custom made dildo in the shape of his boyfriend’s cock in hand as he pushes it inside of his hole, watching him as he writhes with pleasure on the bed. Federico notices that he is trying to catch a glimpse of the muscles of his back that are twitching from the struggle of trying to keep relaxed. “You have to get lower,” he tells him, pushing Dusan’s back until he puts his weight onto his forearms, “And arch your back. Like this, alright?” He caresses his muscles wetted by sweat with his free hand.

Through the mirror, he can see the tensed muscles of Dusan’s arms and back, the tensed sides of his legs and the sex-toy appear and disappear in his hole at the movements of Federico’s hand.

He's so handsome that he's almost hypnotizing. Dusan moans in a way he's sure he's never heard before, with his mouth open and his glossy eyes fixed on his reflection. "You look stunning like this," he whispers in his ear, while he's enjoying his look a little bit dazed "getting split in half by your own cock". The sound that Dusan makes is enough to repay him of all the efforts he’s putting in this scene: it's almost a whimper, followed by the words, "I'm so big, Fede… and you manage to take me everyday".

And maybe it's even a little bit weird, the way Federico's heart is filled with pride when he hears those words: as a response, he increases the rhythm, hitting deeper with the dildo every time and enjoying each little glimpse of pleasure in the other boy's eyes. It's really easy to know what to do, Dusan is right about it, taking that cock is like a habit for him. He's memorized each vein, each diameter, and he knows exactly how to move the dildo to send his boyfriend straight on another planet.

"You're a masterpiece, love, you look like a greek statue, you were sculpted in marble", he tells him, while he's stroking his thighs, the curve of his butt, the line dividing his spacious back. "When i'm with you I feel like I'm getting fucked by some kind of god".

Dusan moans loudly, “Fede,” he calls him as he lowers his head to bite the bed sheets to keep from making other sounds, “Big, I’m so fucking big,” he says.

Federico smiles: he has never seen him like this before, with a lost mind and his uninhibited eyes focused on his own muscles and sweaty skin. He looks completely elated and he reminds Federico so much of when he is the one moving like that on the bed as Dusan fucks him. They’re so similar, yet so different: Federico almost looks small and frail compared to Dusan’s strong and built body. All the time he’s spent training obsessively outside of the pitch, maybe, weren’t meant to get the perfect body to play, but to reach the beauty of a big and muscular physique. Dusan is vain and Federico loves to see him like this.

Federico moves the dildo more rapidly as he feels his cock getting harder at the sight of Dusan moaning loudly. He moves his face closer to him, looking directly at him through the mirror, “See, Dusan?” he asks, smiling, “You try to hide your true nature, trying to be perfect for the others, right? Not only on the pitch, but as a man too. Don’t you see that everybody knows the truth? That they see you for what you are?” He stops just to bite his asscheek playfully, “So full of yourself.”

The double meaning is clear in his tone: he’s being obscene, maybe even ridiculous. The way in which Dusan moans, though, as he comes, forgetting about his position, fills him with pride and pleasure. “Ah,” Dusan whimpers and Federico asks himself if he’s keeping himself from moaning his own name.

He’d like to hear him moan it.

___

A Federico piace scopare.

Gli piace farsi scopare, prenderlo in bocca, cavalcare, farsi tirare i capelli mentre lo prendono da dietro, ma una cosa così non l’aveva mai fatta.

Quando Dusan gli si è presentato a casa con un mazzo di rose e una scatola di cioccolatini, dicendo, “Lo so che avremmo voluto un San Valentino diverso, ma é pur sempre il nostro primo San Valentino assieme,” non si sarebbe mai aspettato di trovarsi seduto accanto a lui a scoparlo con un dildo.

È che lui non aveva organizzato niente, come al solito. In qualche modo doveva pur ringraziare, no? E così gli è venuta l’idea, ripensando a quel regalo che, mesi prima, Dusan gli aveva fatto per permettergli di sentirlo più vicino anche a chilometri di lontananza: un dildo su misura, fatto a immagine e somiglianza del suo cazzo. Lo aveva guardato con degli occhi serissimi, mentre Federico a stento riusciva a tenere la bocca chiusa dalla sorpresa, e gli aveva detto solo "Voglio essere l'unica cosa che ha il permesso di entrare dentro di te".

Federico ovviamente era impazzito un po', per tutti i motivi più belli, e ancora oggi il solo pensiero di quel momento ha il potere di renderlo duro all'istante.

Gli era venuto spontaneo, perciò, pensare proprio a quest'oggetto quando quasi in panico cercava idee per rimediare alla brutta figura di non aver comprato nulla per il suo ragazzo, sempre così perfetto.

Quello che molti non sanno, anche se è sempre sotto gli occhi di tutti, è che Dusan è una delle persone più vanitose che Federico abbia mai conosciuto: sembra quasi che se ne vergogni, cerca di non darlo a vedere, ma non sempre riesce a nascondere lo sguardo quasi rapito che ha quando si scorge di sfuggita allo specchio. Certe volte, quando viene preso da dietro, Federico si accorge comunque dell'attenzione di Dusan concentrata completamente sui propri addominali contratti, sulle proprie braccia muscolose e le mani così grandi e forti contro la schiena dell'altro.

L'idea di Federico quindi è semplice, quasi banale: regalare a Dusan la gioia di essere scopato dal proprio cazzo, il tutto mentre si può osservare davanti allo specchio come se fosse un'opera d'arte in un museo.

Non ha nessuna vergogna quando glielo propone: sono così complici che non è difficile confessarsi i propri desideri, per quanto osceni siano. Glielo dice mentre Dusan è tra le sue braccia: “Ti va di farti scopare dal tuo stesso cazzo?”

L’espressione di stupore, seguita da una smorfia di piacere alla comprensione delle sue parole, non ha prezzo.

É così che si ritrova con un dildo a forma di cazzo del suo ragazzo in mano, mentre glielo spinge dentro e lo vede contorcersi dal piacere, cercando di scorgere nello specchio davanti a lui i muscoli della sua schiena guizzare dalla fatica di rimanere calmo. “Devi metterti più giù,” Federico gli dice, spingendogli la schiena fino a farlo mettere sui suoi avambracci, “e inarcare la schiena. Così, vedi?” Dice, accarezzandogli i muscoli sudati con la sua mano libera.

Attraverso lo specchio, si possono vedere i muscoli delle braccia e della schiena di Dusan contratti, i lati delle sue gambe tese e il dildo scomparire e ricomparire nel suo buco ai movimenti della mano di Federico.

É così bello da essere ipnotizzante. Dusan geme come non l'ha mai sentito prima, la bocca aperta e gli occhi un po' lucidi fissi sulla propria immagine allo specchio

"Sei meraviglioso così," gli sussurra Federico in un orecchio, mentre si gode il suo sguardo un po' perso "spaccato in due dal tuo stesso cazzo."

Il suono che esce dalle labbra di Dusan lo ripaga per tutti gli sforzi che ci sta mettendo: è quasi un singhiozzo, ad anticipare le parole "Sono così grande, Fede….come fai a prendermi tutti i giorni"

È strano forse, ma Federico a quelle parole sente il cuore gonfiarsi un po' di orgoglio: risponde aumentando il ritmo, andando sempre più in profondità con il dildo mentre si gode gli sprazzi di piacere negli occhi dell'altro. È facile sapere cosa fare, Dusan ha detto bene, prendere quel cazzo per lui oramai è un'abitudine. Ne conosce tutte le vene, tutti i diametri, e sa esattamente come manovrarlo per far sentire l'altro ragazzo come in un altro mondo.

"Sei un capolavoro,amore mio, sembri una statua greca, sei stato scolpito nel marmo" gli dice, mentre accarezza le sue cosce, la curva del suo sedere, la linea che separa il due la sua schiena spaziosa. "Quando sono con te mi sembra di essere scopato da una divinità"

Dusan geme forte, “Fede,” lo chiama, mentre abbassa il viso per mordere le coperte come a trattenere i suoni che escono dalla sua bocca, “Grosso, sono così grosso,” dice.

Federico sorride: non lo ha mai visto così, con la mente persa e gli occhi fissi in modo disinibito sui suoi stessi muscoli e la sua pelle bagnata dal sudore. Sembra in estasi e ricorda così tanto Federico quando si muove allo stesso modo sul letto, mentre Dusan lo scopa. Così simili e così diversi: Federico con il suo corpo quasi minuto in confronto a quello solido e forte di Dusan. Tutti i minuti in più spesi fuori dal campo ad allenarsi quasi ossessivamente, forse non miravano al fargli raggiungere il corpo perfetto per giocare, ma solo la bellezza di un fisico muscoloso come il suo. Dusan è così vanitoso che quasi Federico si diverte a vederlo così.

Muove il dildo più velocemente mentre si sente duro ad osservare Dusan gemere così forte, per poi avvicinarsi di più a lui con il viso, guardandolo dritto negli occhi attraverso lo specchio: “Lo vedi, Dusan?” chiede, sorridendo, “Ti nascondi, vuoi sempre sembrare perfetto, no? Anche di carattere, di personalità. Non ti accorgi che tutti lo vedono, come sei,” dice, fermandosi qualche secondo per mordergli giocosamente una natica, “Così pieno di te.”

Il doppio senso è chiaro nell’intonazione di Federico: è osceno, forse anche ridicolo. Il modo in cui Dusan urla, gemendo, mentre viene, dimenticandosi della posizione che stava tenendo per osservarsi nello specchio, però, lo riempie di piacere. “Ah,” dice Dusan e Federico si chiede se sia in dubbio se chiamare il suo stesso nome.

Giorgio is hanging mistletoe on the door to the living room, balancing unsteadily on a ladder, when Leonardo scares the shit out of him.

“I don’t care about tradition - if you try to kiss me under the mistletoe, I’m going to start swinging,” he says gravelly, stomping into the room.

Giorgio manages to keep from falling, he curses under his breath before he speaks, “It’s not for you - or us for the matter.”

Leonardo crosses his arms, frowning, “Really?”

Giorgio huffs, “Do I need mistletoe to kiss you?”

“No,” he shrugs, “but this is our house and you’re hanging fucking mistletoe.”

“It’s for Bare.”

Leonardo’s frown deepens.

“And Basto.”

Leonardo shakes his head, dumbly.

“They’ve been circling around each other for months!”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “I haven’t noticed anything.”

“That’s because you’re just as clueless as them,” he says, climbing down the ladder, “I think it’s enough - the whole team thinks it’s enough - I’m trying to make shit easier for ‘em.”

Leonardo looks at the mistletoe as if it’s something alien and dangerous to be near to. Giorgio can almost feel his mental gears turn wildly as he thinks about the implication of it.

“Nobody helped us, though,” he ends up saying.

“That’s because you’re scary and you would have punched anyone who’d have suggested that you’re gay.”

The other man just shrugs.

“Help me, we still have a lot to do before the party,” he says, holding a box of Christmas decorations in his arms.

“On one condition,” he leans in, kissing Giorgio’s lips softly, daring to bite lightly his bottom lip.

You did so good.

Federico can't help but whine at the words.

You heard me? You did so fucking good, you were the best on that pitch.

These words make him shiver more than the languid kisses Dusan is leaving on his neck.

Because that's what this is about, right?

It's about Dusan giving him validation, comforting him after a tough match, praising every inch of his body.

It starts with a kiss after a bad loss, just to distract Federico from the criticisms he is receiving.

Relax, it's just a kiss.

But it's not.

It's not just a kiss anymore when Dusan's lips leave Federico's mouth to explore his exposed neck, his chest, his hips, his thighs; he feels his tongue everywhere, leaving a wet trail on his body.

You deserve more than just kissing.

It's the first time in months that Federico suspects there's more to it than just kisses on Dusan's end.

He doesn't even consider the chance of something more being on his side.

But there is.

There's something more on his side when he has learned every single spot Dusan likes to kiss, the right parts to lightly bite and the ones to smoothly lick, the way he flicks his tongue on his skin to make him shiver, and he can finally be the one to do these things.

You don't have to do it for me if you don't want to.

But he wants to.

And he doesn't just want, he needs.

Needs to know how Dusan tastes, to hear him moan for something he's doing, he needs to have him unravel under his touch.

Fede please.

It lights a fire inside him.

Dusan is a strong guy, always confident, never second-guessing himself; having him naked under him, asking for his attention, begging for his touch, makes him feel more powerful than ever and he loves it.

He loves to be able to make Dusan slowly lose the ability to form any coherent thought just using his tongue.

He loves to bite him hard to leave purple marks and see Dusan get slightly awkward when dismissing their teammates' questions.

He loves the fact that as tentative and unsure he can be, Dusan will always react as if he's in heaven.

But what he loves even more is being completely at Dusan's mercy.

Let me take care of you.

Federico is genuinely jealous of Dusan's ability to always know exactly where to touch, what to do, he doesn't even need to say a word for him to kiss the right spot, to grab him in the right way.

Dusan makes love to him like it's a prayer.

It feels like a prayer whenever Dusan makes him kneel on the bed and holds him upright, with a hand gripping his hips tightly and the other around his neck to make him look at himself in the mirror in front of them.

You’re perfect Fede. Look at yourself, you’re perfect.

It doesn't matter how hard grabs his hair to bite his neck, or how roughly he slams into him from behind, it always feels like Dusan is worshipping him.

Because he is.

He isn’t going to admit it outside the intimacy of their whatever-they-have-going-on; his confessions lie in the reassuring warmth of the beds they share, when they’re tired and half asleep after sex, muttered against the pillow, when even Federico can barely hear him, said more to himself that to him.

I can’t believe I even got to have this. To have you.

Federico feels like a fraud.

At first it wasn’t his fault. Like there was really nothing he could do.

But the more time passes, the more it is his damn fault, the more he regrets the night he cornered him in the middle of that stupid party, hiding him from everyone’s eyes, hiding them, to tell him that he was in love with him.

I love you… I love you so fucking much… you have no idea…

And of course Dusan was in love with him, but if it wasn’t already clear enough, he kept repeating in his ear it like a pray with every push of his hips while he took him in that filthy bathroom.

But summer passed so fast and the next thing Federico, was that his agent was in talks with Juventus and he’d lie if he said he didn’t want that transfer to happen.

He’d lie if he said that he had thought about what would have happened with Dusan if he transferred.

It’s not like he didn’t care, but it wasn’t his first thought, so he didn’t tell him right away.

Nor later.

As if you would leave me for Juve.

Nor when the rumor started to spread.

The thing is, he’s not the one to tell him. He doesn’t even know how he found out.

But he did.

He knows it the moment he opens the door and sees the hurt in his eyes.

Dusan doesn’t say anything, although he can tell he’s restraining himself, he’s just sitting on the edge of the couch, looking up at him, Federico has never seen him so small.

He tries to explain but it really doesn’t go well, he can’t even remember the countless pathetic speeches he prepared every time he told himself he was going to tell him.

He knows it’s a lame show, him trying to find a convincing explanation for the way he acted even though there’s none, but he says the wrong thing and he knows it is the moment it leaves his mouth, the moment Dusan’s expression shifts.

You’re the one that made it about me when you made me believe you were in love with me.

It just becomes a screaming match. With Dusan telling him everything that he’s been keeping inside since the moment he found out, with Federico trying to somehow defend himself, to explain his words, to fix the unfixable.

When they’re both tired and out of breath, they’re a mess and they’ve just hurt each other more than they ever have.

Dusan leaves without saying anything.

He does the same when he moves to Torino.

Federico can’t find peace, he’s restless, he’s underperforming on the pitch, but most of all he feels guilty as hell.

He shouldn’t have left like that, breaking Dusan’s heart and just disappearing without a word.

That’s why he’s banging on his door right now, waiting for him to let him in, one last time.

He knows he will, because as mad as Dusan can be at him, saying no to Federico will always be nearly impossible to him.

They’re standing on the doorway, staring at each other as if not even a minute has passed from the moment Dusan went to his place.

This is his only chance to say the right thing, if not to fix things, at least to make Dusan’s heart a little lighter.

Because at the end of the day it was him that deserved the praises, and the worship and the comfort all along.

That deserved to have more than just kisses, to be loved as some kind of Saint, with the devotion that Dusan reserved only for him.

I can’t sleep, I can’t play, I can’t even breathe knowing that you think I didn’t love you. Because I did. I still do, I’m in love with you. Every single moment we had together was true. And I know I ruined everything; but if knowing this, knowing that I didn’t lie about that at least, if that can ease your heart, even a little bit, then I can rest a little easier too.

He almost says it all in one single breath, with his eyes closed, afraid to look at the other.