no one asked but the nations league's got me thinking about languages and so hcs:

-fàbio definitely speaks portuguese to his mum on the phone and harvey always begs him to translate but fàbio simply rolls his eyes and tells him to simply 'learn' if he really wants to know

then harvey (like the determined soul he is) spends hours on duolingo, youtube and paid courses to learn it and surprise fàbio one day with his best attempt and fàbio just like falls in love again and now ONLY speaks in portuguese to harvey to help him practice (which harvey finds annoying but works)

-robbo doesn't speak it fluently but he knows some gaelic from school and uses it to annoy trent. like he'll say random words in gaelic to keep trent guessing as a game (he's the only one that finds it funny)

-both jarell and connor tried to learn spanish for their vacation in mallorca but they spoke it with such bad english accents the locals begged them to stop. however they like asking their teammates how to say stuff in their mother tongues and every time they have international break they like asking the other team's players or the locals for little words so now combined they can ask "where's the bathroom" in 15 languages (the pronunciation is still horrific though)

Summary: 3 times Harvey and Fàbio talked over the phone and the 1 time they did in person.

(Very much recommend listening to ‘Feel It' by d4vd while reading this, it was the main inspiration!)

It is dark. 

In an apartment on the 7th floor in a complex in Merseyside, a young blond man finds himself walking back and forth across his room, hand on his chin, contemplative.

His phone rings on his desk, shaking him out of his stupor. He sees the caller ID and answers the call quickly, propping up the cellular device on a random book.

“Hey Fàbio,” the blond says, grabbing a blanket and sitting down on the chair in front of the desk. “How's Germany been treating you?”

The aforementioned Fàbio shrugs, the white sheets behind him shifting at the action. “It could be better Harvey,” the Portuguese says.

“If only it had you.”

Harvey frowns, grabbing the phone as though Fàbio would feel his touch through the screen. “I wish I was there,” he says. The orange lamp light reflects the telltale sign of tears growing in glassy eyes, a sea with waves so large that the shore would surely suffer.

“Do you wish you were here, in Germany,” Fàbio asks, voice lowered to a whisper. “Or do you wish that I was there, in England?”

Harvey tilts his head, confusion lacing his tone as he responds, “Is there really a difference as long as we're together?”

Fàbio laughs at that. A bitter laugh, void of mirth or joy. To Harvey's ears, it sounds wrong, like an out of key piano.

“You were always the more naive one,” Fàbio sighs. He looks away from the camera, and Harvey wishes desperately to be able to see the eyes of the man he dedicated himself to. The eyes that had once stared up at him in awe, admiration, love. 

“We're different, Harvey,” Fàbio says suddenly, slicing through the tension in the air, enveloping them despite the hundreds of kilometres of distance. “We're not kids anymore. This is the real world. And in the real world, I'm not made for the big leagues like you are.”

Harvey shakes his head vehemently, a form of protest against the defeatist words. “You will, you just need to work hard at Leipzig and show Klopp-”

“Show him what?” Fàbio cuts in, voice wavering despite the increase in volume. Harvey jumps slightly in surprise, and Fàbio looks just a bit apologetic. “I get zero game time. There's nothing to show.” His voice becomes strained, the weight of his reality sinking in with each word.

Harvey opens his mouth to speak, but Fàbio beats him to it. “I'm sorry,” Fàbio apologises, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This was supposed to be just us enjoying our limited time together, not me ruining everything like I always do.”

“Fàbio…”

“Good night Harvey.”

The end call tone beeps before Harvey can get anything out. ‘Call Ended’ is displayed on the screen, a cruel reminder.

The blond turns off his phone and climbs into bed, pulling the sheets over him. He turns over and turns off his lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.

Quietly, he whispers into the abyss,

“I wish you didn't leave.”

-

It is hot.

“Ready for the flight back to Anfield?” The blond asks, barely able to restrain himself from smiling like a maniac.

Fàbio nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It'll be nice to be back home. Too many guns in the US.”

Home. With him. 

Harvey grabs his phone and drops unceremoniously onto the bed, still smiling unabashedly. “Sooooo…?”

Fàbio raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “So what?”

“Sooo when are you moving back in?” Harvey asks, excitement filling his voice. “I'll have to move some things around but I think-”

“Harvey,” Fàbio sighs, and it's only then that Harvey notices the dark eyebags and the stress wrinkles on Fàbio's face, initially obscured by the grainy quality of the call. “I'm not staying.”

Harvey's blood suddenly goes cold. The fantasies of early morning wake up kisses, training carpooling, and cooking adventures halt. “What?”

“I really shouldn't be telling you this, but you deserve to know,” Fàbio mumbles. Suddenly Harvey wishes that they were sharing a room, that it wasn't lights out, that he could sneak out and be with Fàbio. Because it sounds like it might be his last chance to.

“I'm moving. Permanently. To Brentford.”

“B-but what about us?” Harvey stutters out. “I mean, that's not so bad, right? Brentford isn't far, only a 3 and a half hour drive. We can make this work, right?”

“Harvey,” Fàbio says, and he sounds so tired. “I wish that we could but…”

“But what?”

“You need someone who can appreciate you all the time, someone you deserve. I'm sorry. Just, don't forget me, okay?”

“Fàbio? Fàbio! What does that mean?”

His answer is a disconnected call.

-

It is sunny.

The blond sits in the physio room. He looks out at his teammates training through the large windows, itching to get out there. He groans in frustration as he works his foot, knowing that the road to recovery would be long and arduous.

Once he finishes his session he heads over to the locker room. Everyone else has left, since Harvey starts his physio training later and so ends later than the other healthy lads.

When he opens his phone, he peruses through his notifications until one in particular stands out.

Missed call - Fàbio (38 minutes ago)

Without thinking, Harvey calls him back.

Fàbio picks up on the third ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Harvey snorts at the ridiculousness of it all. Anger fills his tone as he remembers their last conversation, back during preseason, right before Fàbio had blocked him and refused to talk to him again. “What do you want?”

“Are you okay? I heard the injury was bad…”

Harvey's anger dissipates at Fàbio's worried tone. “I'm fine,” he says. “Will be out for a few months but nothing too damaging.”

Through the speaker, he can hear Fàbio breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Fàbio,” Harvey calls.

“Yeah?”

“I still love you, y'know? Even though you're a dickhead.”

“I-” Harvey can hear Fàbio take a deep breath. “I still love you too. Cutting you off was dumb.”

“‘Course it fucking was,” Harvey snaps. He pinches his nose, trying to release all his anger out on anything but Fàbio. “Just talk to me, Fàbio.”

“I don't have training on Thursday,” Fàbio mumbles, a silent invitation hidden behind his words.

Harvey nods, more as an affirmation to himself than Fàbio, who can't see him. “Okay, just. No more hiding behind phones, okay? We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Fàbio responds. “I can do that. Talking.”

-

Harvey shuffles his feet outside of Fàbio’s apartment door in Brentford, minding his foot brace. He raises his hand to knock, only to put it down. He rests his head against the door and gathers up all his courage. He straightens up and raises his hand to finally knock when the door swings open, revealing a very surprised Fàbio, looking so soft in a pair of old grey sweatpants – are those his? – and a black hoodie.

Before Harvey can get out a single word Fàbio throws his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. Harvey slowly wraps his arms around the Portuguese in return and his shoulders sag, all the tension leaving him.

They stand there in the hallway, hugging, until one of Fàbio’s neighbours coughs and raises a pointed raised eyebrow at them. They both chuckle awkwardly at the interruption and fumble their way into Fàbio’s apartment, vacating the hallway.

Harvey makes himself at home on the couch in the living room, looking around Fàbio’s place. A PS5 and gaming setup was the only personality. A lot of white and modern architecture, although not very spacious. Muted greys and beige colours - none of this was Fàbio. Fàbio was back at home, with him, in their shared apartment still decorated with pictures of the two of them, despite how painful it had been to look at them.

Fàbio busies himself with making a cup of tea, his movements slow. They both know that they’re only delaying the inevitable.

Harvey keeps silent and allows Fàbio to work himself up to a conversation, but once the kettle whistles and Fàbio pours the hot water into his mug, he speaks.

“Why did you cut me off?”

Fàbio sighs, placing the mug down. He leans against the counter rather than joining Harvey on the couch, which hurts him just a little bit. “I was scared,” he says, rubbing his elbow. “I thought you wouldn't want me anymore.”

Harvey stands up and walks over to Fàbio, staring at his face, looking into those eyes that had previously shied away from him.

“I will always want you,” Harvey says, placing a hand on Fàbio’s cheek. The Portuguese leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Even if we were playing on different sides of the world.”

Fàbio huffs out a little chuckle. “You're so corny.” A smile graces his lips, and Harvey can't stop himself from staring at them.

“I'll be anything as long as I get to be with you,” Harvey murmurs, before swooping in.

Kissing Fàbio always feels like drowning. Tasting his lips, diving into the slick heat and plunging deeper and deeper, going until he could no longer breathe.

Fàbio’s hands move to his neck, wrapping tight around him, pulling him closer like he was a buoy at shore, his only anchor. 

When they pull away, a small string of saliva connects them, quickly disappearing. They leave their eyes closed, simply breathing in each other in the stillness of the room.

“You should move back in with me.”

“Okay.”