Oh of course! Note that this isn’t the sequel that I promised for When I Ruled the World. It’s more like an in-between fic between WIRTW and it’s sequel (the sequel takes place before the group stage CL match between Barca and Man City)

-

The kiss from Tito that felt like he dived into a pool. He again ruminated over his failure to support his ailing counterpart. He delivered a low blow that he believed couldn’t be recovered from. He should have just visited or done something to show that he was there. He was just a cab drive away from a visit. Just a pen stroke away from apologizing. A phone call away from admitting his wrongs. He remembered each cool kiss, but no longer did they send him into a winter hideaway. the cold battered against his heat and he wrapped his arms around himself to keep the fire from being put out.

“I would have been okay with sharing.”

The kiss from Lucho that felt like he was sitting in front of a hearth. He pondered over the shadows he had cast over his rugged comate. He set the bar so high that many believed that it would never be reached least of all overtaken. He should have made words of encouragement or something positive. A little speech while handing over the captain’s armband. A little chat while he was Barca B coach. A louder vote of confidence when the first team was taken. He remembered each hot kiss, but no longer did they send him into a warm refuge. The heat clobbered against his fire and he hissed as he willed the flame from losing its strength. 

Camelot.

Catalunya still fought for its independence.

Guinevere.

Barcelona carried on no matter who loves her.

Lancelot.

Tito - the one everyone loved - loves - and now missed - misses.

Mordred

Lucho - a titan who followed no way but his and conquered where none thought he could.

Arthur.

Pep - was once a king, but now just a man.

A curious image surfaced through the pestering pictures of his wounds. An almost what if scenario had begun to play. There he was at Camp Nou walking on the large green pitch with his arms crossed as the night sky showed off stars and the full moon. On the right side of him was Tito, ever clam, a scarf no longer wrapped around his throat with a smile on his face. To the left side of him was Lucho, kinetic always, sunglasses unworn, with a grin on his face. He walked with them around the pitch twice then found they found themselves seated inside their box on the sideline.

“It’s good to be home.” That’s what he would have said.

He would be happy.

The calming cool to his right would smile in acceptance while the soothing heat to his left would make a sound of confirmation.

“It’s good to be here.” That’s what he would have said.

There he would be with the man he couldn’t ever be without to his right and the man he couldn’t ever leave to his left.

All of them in a place he couldn’t forget. 

-