cursed couple 2021 ceo

“Be good,” Matteo tells him after he has kissed him sweetly on the lips, “I’m going to be back soon, alright? I just need to drop some presents at my mom’s.”

“Don’t you want me to come with you?” He asks hiding Wembley’s face under his palm, irritating him playfully.

“No, I’ll be quick and if she knew you were here, we’d end up spending the evening at her place. You know how much she loves you,” he closes his jacket, shivering.

“Alright.”

He turns around one last time, “Don’t break anything and try to stay alive without me.”

“Will do,” he says, smiling as brightly as he can, “I’ll take a shower in the meantime.”

He shivers under the suspicious narrowed look Matteo regards him with as he walks out the door, “Mh, be careful.”

He nods as the other man closes the door behind him.

Manuel waits for a couple of seconds, trying to distinguish the sound of Matteo walking away. He is holding his finger up to his lips as he strains his ear, trying to intimate the dog to be silent.

Once he’s sure he doesn’t hear any more sounds, he lets the dog jump from his arms as he encourages him, “Find, Wembley, find the Christmas presents!”

He runs following him, “No, no! Not under the tree it would be too simple,” he says opening some drawers.

He is looking inside the basket holding the fluffy covers near the sofa when he notices Wembley looking at him.

“What?” He asks, “Do you think I feel guilty? Because I don’t.”

Wembley whines, jumping on his paws.

“Should I try in the bedroom?” He ponders, walking towards it, “Stop looking at me like that. I’m trying to salvage our relationship. What if he gets me, I don’t know, something really expensive, like a Rolex or a yacht and I end up with something too cheap, not at all meaningful?”

He kneels beside the bed, lifting it up to reveal the boxes underneath, “What? You think that the yacht is too much? Clearly you have never been on one, they’re extremely uncomfortable.”

He looks at the drawers and boxes and he easily finds a couple of wrapped gifts.

It’s definitely too easy.

“Yeah, I think so too, Wembley,” he says, feeling his heartbeat beat fasts as he lifts the smaller velvet covered box in his hands. ‘Manu ❤️’ is written in a letter next to it.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Really. But, he really wants to know what Matteo wants from him, at which point of their relationship he thinks they are.

He sighs, closing the bed to get onto it with his legs crossed. He looks at Wembley, hoping to find some answer in the confused and soft look he’s giving him.

Nothing.

“Alright then,” he says, straightening.

He opens the box slowly, as if he’s scared of what to find, as if he’s scared of being left disappointed. He licks his lips and then with his heart threatening to jump out of his chest he does it, he looks inside.

Fuck, he thinks, he really needs to change his gift.

The box contains some keys, held together by a gold chain. He reads the tag attached to them: ‘Casa’, it reads.

He doesn’t have time to react or to even think about the meaning of the gift. Maybe it really is a yacht, he wants to joke with Wembley, but he can’t. His words are caught in his throat and his eyes water, threatening to spill tears of happiness.

“Please tell me you aren’t searching my room to see where I’ve hidden the presents?” He hears Matteo ask from behind him.

He looks at him, at the threshold of his bedroom.

“I can’t believe you couldn’t wait.”

“I-“ I’m sorry, he should say. He should have waited, “You really mean it?”

Matteo chuckles, “Of course,” he says walking towards him, climbing on the bed to kneel behind him and kiss his temple and curls as he hugs him from behind, “I really mean everything I do and say.”

Manuel shrugs, “It’s… perfect.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, clenching his jaw to keep from crying, “Of course, I want you to have mine too.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” he says, turning around to kiss him, reaching out to push him against himself.

They kiss sweetly, smiling against each other: Manuel’s beard scratches against Matteo’s soft skin as their tongues slide against each other.

Manuel isn’t surprised to feel a shiver run down his spine as if he’s actually kissing Matteo for the first time. Maybe he is: in a new context and in anticipation of a new exciting future.

“Wait, why did you come back so soon?” He asks, dumbly, staring at Matteo’s glistening lips.

According to Alessandro, Christmas is ambiguous at best.

It’s a holiday supposed to bring joy and merriment - and in most cases, it does - but it actually hides fears of loneliness and longing.

He knows it really well since he’s used to spend the Christmas season alone, without a partner, obliged to watch happy couples kiss in TV spots and on the streets, as he wanders them alone.

He wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, especially on the people he loves the most.

That’s why he finds himself on a Wednesday afternoon outside of Nicolò’s apartment with a Christmas tree and a couple of Christmas decorations boxes he’s found in his basement.

He offered to keep Nicolò company some days before as they’d been preparing for training.

“It’s December 8th in two days,” Nicolò had told him as he’d been tying his shoes, “Usually I would put the Christmas decorations up with my nephews.”

“Do you miss them?” He’d asked, knowing that, with the new restrictions, Nicolò wouldn’t have been able to see them and travel back to Sardinia.

“Yes.”

Alessandro, then, seeing the other man’s pained expression, had asked, without even thinking about it, “Do you want to do it with me?”

“What?” He had turned around, focusing completely on him.

“Putting up the decorations, I mean,” he’d fumbled with his words, “I can come over to your place with some lights and adornments and we can spend the day together.”

Once he’d finished talking, he’d seen Nicolò watching him with a dumbfounded expression.

“I’m not- I’m not trying to invite myself over to your place,” he had said, moving his hands chaotically.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Well, yes,” he had shrugged, “It isn’t like I have someone to do this stuff with.”

Pathetic, that’s how he’d sounded.

“Alright, but don’t expect a cup of tea because I fucking hate it.”

Standing outside Nicolò’s apartment with a couple of boxes full of twinkle lights and decorations and a fucking Christmas tree in hand, he feels like a complete buffoon. 

He is doing it for a friend, he keeps repeating to himself, nothing more.

And yet, when Nicolò opens the door with the biggest smile he has ever seen him with, he can’t help but stare at him in awe.

“Here you are, let me help you,” Nicolò says, taking the tree from his hands.

He watches as his friend carries almost twice his weight into the apartment with ease.

“You really seem... enthusiastic.”

Nicolò smiles up at him as he handles the tree around the living room, “I love Christmas.”

"I see.”

“What’s not to love? Gifts, great food, time to spend with friends, cities lit up with colorful lights!”

Alessandro’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He hadn’t expected Nicolò to be so fond of Christmas, but he should have.

Nicolò isn’t childish, like most people think. He has a childlike nature that pushes him to joke around and be playful, but it also makes him see the world differently. It’s bright and romantic in his eyes, while it’s gray and full of contrasts in Alessandro’s view.

Nicolò is also aware, determined and thoughtful. If anyone needs a hand, he is always there. If someone needs to re-focus on their goals, he knows what to say.

He is also full of fears and insecurities that he hides under a big cunning smile and a posture that makes him look taller by inches.

Nicolò is special and Alessandro is sure that, even if they’d met under other circumstances, he’d be the person to light up the room as he walks in it, catching his eyes with ease.

Even now, Alessandro can’t help but find him cute as he opens a box, crouched down next to it, to look at the colors of the decorations he’s brought.

“I can’t believe there are only blue and silver decorations,” he looks up in disbelief.

“Well,” he shrugs, “That’s what my mom has let me steal from her.”

“Horrible, but acceptable, for obvious reasons,” he smiles.

The afternoon quickly turns out to be torture.

Hanging up decorations is such a domestic activity that Alessandro often has to refrain from hugging Nicolò and reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead.

They keep brushing hands as they reach to take decorations to hang on the tree. When it happens for the first time, they smile at each other shyly and Alessandro wonders if the red on his cheeks is too obvious.

No matters how much they talk, Alessandro can’t help but notice the tension between them. Not a weird, bitter tension but comforting and jittery.

As they look at each other, he stares at Nicolò’s smile. As they joke and chuckle together, when Nicolò wraps Alessandro’s neck in a blue bright garland, he feels electricity in their touches.

He smiles, satisfied, as he looks at the result of their hard work, “It looks good.”

“Obviously, I have impeccable taste.”

They stay in silence for a couple of moments, before Alessandro asks stupidly, “You wanna put the star on top of the tree?”

Nicolò shrugs, “You can do it. I don’t want to take the ladder.”

His eyebrows lift up surprised by what he finds himself saying, “I can lift you up.”

Nicolò looks at him with a suspicious expression, “What?”

“Well, I think I’m strong enough to-“

“Wait,” he interrupts him, talking with his head slightly leaning on the side, “You’re serious.”

He looks down at him, “Yes.”

Nicolò frowns as if he is considering him.

Has he said something wrong? He thinks, waiting for the verdict. He just wants to help him.

“Alright,” Nicolò concludes, after a couple of minutes, “Crouch down, then.”

He does as he is told. Nicolò seems hesitant as he hops on his back.

His skin burn at every part in contact with Nicolò’s body. His shoulder almost shudders at the touch of his hand holding onto him. He sees Nicolò reaching out to put the star on top of the tree but he doesn’t actually register it, focusing instead on his thumb brushing against his neck.

Everything stills for a moment and Alessandro realizes that he’s been there, holding Nicolò’s thighs around his waist, for long moments.

He blinks as he feels Nicolò’s fingers trace curious paths along the skin of his neck, up until the base of his skull, sliding in between his hair.

He shudders, holding back a whine.

“I think it’s time to let me go,” Nicolò says, chucking.

He does and when he turns around, he finds Nicolò waiting for him and smiling at him. He puts his hands on his chest before saying, “It’s been a wonderful evening.”

Alessandro clears his throat, “Yes.”

“You know what would make it even better?”

Alessandro almost replies with ‘tea’ as a joke, to make him laugh and light up at his words. Thankfully, he is interrupted by the feeling of Nicolò’s soft lips against his own.

The kiss is chaste and Nicolò has to go on tiptoes to reach his lips but, to Alessandro, it feels like the most wonderful and intimate moment he’s ever experienced.

“Merry Christmas, Alessandro.”

Spending Christmas alone sucks.

To be honest, Matteo never had to, before. He’s always had a partner and, when he didn’t, his family was there.

But not this year.

He lives alone, now, even if he’s been with Manuel for a couple of years. They’d talked about living together, but it’d be too difficult with Manuel playing for Juventus and Matteo for Atalanta. 

They’d managed to make it work, seeing each other every two weeks and facetiming every night. There are couples who have it worse, he guesses, but he misses Manuel thoroughly, especially at night or after important achievements when he only wants to celebrate with him by being held by him.

Spending Christmas alone, though, it’s a totally new experience - and a totally new kind of longing.

Spending his Christmas dinner with his family isn’t a problem - he loves them and he enjoys spending time with them, especially if he knows that Manuel isn’t alone. What he misses the most is experiencing all the traditions and rituals leading up to Christmas Eve with his partner, with Manuel.

They didn’t get to shop for their friends’s presents together. They didn’t get to hold hands, watching silly Christmas movies as they cuddled on the couch. They decorated their trees separately, connected only by the internet and their computers.

What is Christmas without sharing the little gestures of kindness and coziness with the people you love the most?

His mood is bitter as he walks in his apartment the day before Christmas Eve. He can’t help but imagine how it would be if Manuel welcomed him home as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack.

He knows though that it won’t happen for a long time.

“Wembley?” He calls for his dog, who’s probably asleep on the couch. 

He barks from the living room, not running up to him.

It’s strange, he thinks.

“Shh, don’t give me up!” He hears someone laughing from the other room, making him catch his breath for a moment.

“Manuel?” He calls, rushing to the living room as his heart beats fast, emotions swirling in his mind in complete chaos.

When he sees him sitting down on the floor next to the lit up Christmas tree, with Wembley in his arms, surrounded by presents, he hears a laugh escaping his chest. He runs up to him, crouching down on his knees to kiss his lips with a big, rapid kiss.

“You’re here!”

“I wasn’t going to let you spend Christmas alone.”

Matteo kisses him again, over and over, on the lips, on the nose, on the cheeks, on the jaw. He is so happy that his heart could burst out of his chest.

As he hugs him tight, he lets himself be engulfed in the pure, warm love he feels for him. He’d stay in that moment for the rest of the night: feeling him this close is the perfect Christmas present after weeks of separation. He had missed him so much that he feels like he needs to learn again all the details on his body, all his quirks and worries.

“I missed you,” Manuel says, caressing his back, “I couldn’t care less about work, I’m not in the mind for it anyway.”

Matteo nods, “I missed you too! We have to catch up with a lot of things.”

“Catch up?”

“Yes, there are Christmas movies to watch, hot chocolate to make and I’m going to tear down the tree because we’re going to decorate it again together.”

Manuel laughs, “Have you also bought red lingerie to wear tonight?”

“I’m not joking!”

Manuel smiles softly, then, caressing the spot of skin behind his ear, “We’ll do everything you want to do,” he says, “As long as you’re next to me. Kissable-distance.”

Alessandro is a fool.

He has known it for awhile, since he first realized he had fallen in love with his teammate.

The same teammate who is a man and completely gone for another man. He’d blame his luck, really, but he knows he’s brought it upon himself.

When he started developing feelings for Nicolò, he had known of his attraction towards Brozo for awhile. At first he’d noticed the looks Nicolò used to send him, the way they talked and the time they spent together. 

Then, he got his confirmation. As teammates, they talk about everything before matches, trying to ease their anxiety: feelings and attractions aren’t excluded.

One night, as they had been drinking some beers on the balcony of their hotel room in Rome, Nicolò had smiled happily and said: “I think, I think I like Brozo.”

“Like?” Alessandro had replied as he’d felt his heart drop to his feet.

“Yes, he is a good man, funny, gorgeous and,” he had shrugged, not knowing he was metaphorically stabbing him in his chest, turning the knife in his wound just for fun, “and he gives me a lot of attentions. I think he likes me too.”

Alessandro had nodded, completely silent, unsure on what to say as he had been surprised by the mess of emotions eating him alive.

It’s easy to imagine, then, how stupid he feels as he stands in the almost empty locker room with a red colored package for Nicolò in his hands. He is a fool, a goddamn fool for having bought a Christmas gift for a man who isn’t interested in him, who barely considers him a friend and who’s foolishly in love with someone else. 

Was it even his right? He was just his teammate. They’d be colleagues, if they lived normal lives.

He knows Nicolò hasn’t done the same. The thought of buying him a gift hadn’t even crossed his mind, he’s sure of it.

And yet, Alessandro’s there, taking longer to get dressed, waiting for Nicolò to do the same - knowing he’s always the last to leave - just to have the occasion to give him a fucking Christmas gift.

“Basto,” he hears the other man says, as he walks in the locker room, “You’re still here.”

It isn’t a question, but Nicolò’s smile makes him brave enough to reply, “Yes.”

“Is everything okay?” He asks, before putting a t-shirt on. 

They’re alone, finally.

Alessandro fumbles with his bag to make him think he’s searching for something, “Yes, actually, I-” He licks his lips, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“To me?”

Alessandro nods, “Yes,” he says.

He grasps the gift in both of his gloved hands and, with his heart beating as fast as the one of a scared rabbit, he walks up to him and says, “I got you a gift.”

Nicolò’s eyebrows lift in surprise. 

He stills for a moment, probably confused, and then, with one of the biggest smiles plastered on his face, he reaches out to take the package in hand, “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he looks up, straight at Alessandro.

For the first time since he’s met him, Alessandro sees Nicolò unsure, looking up at him smiling, but hesitantly searching for something in his eyes.

He shrugs, “I wanted to.”

“I bet you want me to open it right now,” Nicolò says, scoffing.

“If you want to.”

“I owe it to you, since I didn’t get you anything.”

Alessandro isn’t surprised by the revelation, but his heart feels bitter for a second, anyway. Maybe, deep down, he’s hoped that Nicolò cares about him as much as he does. He’s doomed to be disappointed over and over again.

Merry Christmas to him, he guesses. 

He watches, fidgeting with the tip of his woolen gloves, as Nicolò opens the present.

“If it’s something dirty, I’m gonna tackle you to the ground.”

“I’m twice as you, have you forgotten?”

Nicolò shakes his head, smiling, “Has it ever stopped me?”

No, never.

As soon as Nicolò’s eyes lay on the content of the package, the big smile fades away, leaving space for a surprised O-shaped mouth. He’s tense, turning around in his hands the vinyl Alessandro got for him. He checks it carefully: it’s cover, the list of songs in the record - even if, probably, he knows them by memory - and he traces the name of the artist with the tip of his fingers delicately.

He looks up, suddenly, as if he’s gotten shocked. Disbelief is clear on his face as he starts babbling, “This is Collins’s first album! And is it autographed? I used to listen to it with my father when-” he frowns, “When I was a child.”

“Yes, you told me some months ago, when we happened to share a room for an away game.”

After a moment of reflection, Nicolò looks straight at him, still frowning, but in awe. He holds the vinyl close as if it’s a prized possession and, after a second or two, his expression becomes clear and open as if he’s having a revelation.

Alessandro can’t help but blush under such scrutiny. He stares at the lockers behind Nicolò as his look becomes unbearable: it’s as if Nicolò’s looking at him for the first time. Really looking and seeing him for the very first time and, well, Alessandro isn’t sure if he’s ready to face its consequences.

“Well,” he says, after some tense and silent moments, “Merry Christmas and happy new year.”

He takes a step, ready to leave the room in a rush, when Nicolò stops him by taking ahold of his wrist.

“Wait,” he tells him, “I haven’t thanked you, yet.”

Alessandro doesn’t have time to register his statement when he feels himself being wrapped in Nicolò’s arms as their lips touch in a delicate, but very real kiss.

He sighs as he understands what’s happening and he holds Nicolò’s waist.

The kiss gets deeper as their tongues touch and swipe against each other. Alessandro sighs loudly and he turns off every thought threatening to surface at the moment.

He wants to enjoy Nicolò’s one and only kiss completely, memorizing the way Nicolò tilts his head as he kisses him, the way in which he gets on his tiptoes to reach him and his taste on his tongue.

He’d say that he’d like to live forever in that moment, but it isn’t true. He wants everything from Nicolò and he’ll always want it, even if he’s just kissing him for curtesy, even if he’ll fall in love with someone else and marry them and-

He’s pathetic, but he absolutely, completely, immensely loves him.

He wants Nicolò, but he’ll take this kiss if it’s the only breadcrumb of him he can get.

When Nicolò steps away, he is smiling softly as he says, “Thank you, Alessandro.”

He nods, stupidly, like the goddamn fool he is, “No- No worries.”

Nicolò chuckles. He smiles at him for a moment, as if he’s waiting for something, and then he gets back to his clothes, getting dressed.

Alessandro’s left confused. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He clasps his hands together and after a moment of consideration he turns to leave, thinking: That’s it. Just Nicolò’s way of thanking him.

He’s stopped again by Nicolò’s voice that’s saying, “You’re weird.”

“What?”

“You’re weird. Someone kisses you and you just... leave?”

Alessandro’s taken aback, “Well, you seemed-”

“Who cares? I kissed you. I expected, at least, for you to ask me out.”

He watches as Nicolò smiles at him, putting on his jacket.

He’s confused, perplexed and completely overwhelmed by Nicolò’s words. He wants him to ask him out! He’s crazy.

His heart is taking a leap, running the fastest marathon he’s ever had to endure, “Ask you out? You like Brozo.”

Nicolò shrugs. He looks at him with a soft expression, “I like Brozo’s attentions.”

Alessandro thinks about his words and everything seems to change, like pieces of an impossible puzzle finally making sense. Has Brozo been a distraction, all this time, for the affection Nicolò felt towards him?

He decides it isn’t the time to dwell on it and, taking courage, he asks, “Do- Do you want to get a cup of coffee?” Dumbfounded.

Nicolò chuckles, “A cup of coffee.”

“Yes. Now,” he licks his lips, still tasting him, “You have some explaining to do.”

“Alright,” Nicolò says, walking past him, “But I warn you, we don’t make a good impression in this story.”

“There’s no way you can get me to go to your parents’s house for Christmas dinner,” he says as he puts some plates away in the cupboard.

It’s a late Friday afternoon and they’re sorting the kitchen out in Roberto’s apartment after holding a dinner with a couple of friends.

The night has gone smoothly and he has gloated in the bright happiness glowing in Federico’s eyes. He loves to share their love publicly, when they can, as they usually have to hide and fight against some of their friends’s and families’s prejudices.

Federico thoroughly enjoys the few occasions in which they manage to hold hands in public - or hug and share kisses as all couples do - and Roberto can’t help but try to make him happy as much as he’s allowed to, loving the dimples he shows when he’s really enjoying himself, looking at him with a gaze full of love.

“Why not?” Federico asks, washing a stem glass.

Why not?!

“Have you forgotten how it went, last time?”

Federico shrugs, without daring to look at him, “He was just... surprised.”

“Surprised is a weird word to describe your father’s reaction.”

It happened during a summer evening, at a party Federico’s family had hosted to celebrate the National team’s success in the Euros. They had spent the evening in the big colorful garden, eating tarts and drinking champagne with most of their teammates’s families and some ex-athletes and footballers.

They hadn’t been able to touch and to talk for the whole dinner party. They had looked at each other, sometimes, from across the yard, longing or smiling softly at each other.

Roberto had noticed Federico’s discomfort at seeing their friends and teammates share kisses with their wives or hold them as they took pictures. He’d seen his sad look and the bitter smile he’d sported as he’d talked to some of them.

He hadn’t resisted, then, wanting to make the sorrow fade away from Federico’s face with a kiss, a kind word or a soft caress to his cheek.

As soon as he’d seen Federico wandering alone through the garden, he’d reached him, whispering to him to follow him somewhere darker and more secluded where they could have been alone.

“We don’t have much time,” Federico had said as they hid behind some bushes, lit softly only by the far away twinkle lights his father had hung up on some trees earlier in the day, “I’m one of the hosts.”

“I know,” he’d replied, caressing his cheek to make him smile brightly at him, “I just wanted to give you a kiss.”

He’d done so, then. Sure not to be seen, but worried enough to make the kiss light and chaste.

Federico had chuckled lightly, glad to be wanted so deeply. He’d wondered if the blush on his cheeks was due to the place in which they were sharing their kiss: his childhood home, where he lived, grew up and where he could now hold his partner.

“I cannot bear watching you from the other side of the garden,” he’d whispered, “It feels like looking at how your life would be without me.”

“Clearly, it’d be miserable.”

Foolishly, Roberto had leaned down to kiss him again, more deeply and unmistakably possessive.

That’s when he’d felt strong arms push him away.

He hadn’t even registered what was happening until he’d felt knuckles meet his cheekbone. He’d grunted, putting a hand on his cheek to ease the pain. 

Thankfully, someone had pushed Enrico back.

Looking back at it now, he can’t blame him. Roberto isn’t known for his calmness and easy-going nature. He would have probably reacted in the same way, if he had been in his place.

“Father,” Federico had shouted, putting himself in between them to keep them separated, as his father had screamed at him: “Take your hands off my son!”

It’s clear that the evening had quickly escalated into a mess. He’d ended up sitting on Federico’s childhood bed, holding a bag of frozen peas to his cheek as Federico kept on babbling, trying to reassure himself more than him.

It’s easy to see why he doesn’t feel particularly eager to meet his in-laws, so to speak.

“Well, we could have found a better way to tell him, that’s for sure,” Federico comments.

They look at each other with disbelief on their faces for a small moment before they laugh together.

“Listen,” Federico says, hugging him from behind, “I’ve already asked my mom and she’s okay with it. We have her support.”

“I don’t know, baby. It’s Christmas.”

“Yes and we should spend it with our family,” he sighs, leaning down to leave a kiss on his neck.

Roberto sighs. He really doesn’t want to ruin their Christmas dinner. He knows that they actually don’t want him there, that he’ll feel uncomfortable all night - and he’d endure it for Federico, just to make him happy - but, what if his presence will ruin everybody else’s time? He’s the constant and physical proof of Federico’s preferences.

He’ll make everybody tense and upset. 

Federico sighs, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Well, why should I be welcomed? I basically betrayed them in the worst possible way.”

“Is it how you see us?”

He turns around rapidly to reassure Federico: no, that isn’t what he meant. When he sees his smile, though, he relaxes, “It’s how they see us.”

He shrugs, “So what? My mom wants us there. She has a weakness for you, maybe she knows that you treat me well and that you make me happy.”

“And your father?” He asks, taking his hands in his to play with his fingers.

“I won’t say that he understands, but he misses me. He’ll understand, some day.”

Roberto lifts his eyebrows playfully, in disbelief. At least Federico has been honest, but the picture doesn’t seem bright.

“What if I come later, for a coffee and a slice of panettone?”

Federico looks straight up at him, considering him. He knows it’s a change of plans for him, but it would be the best compromise.

“But it’s Christmas.”

He lifts his hand up to kiss its knuckles, “I know.”

“Alright, but don’t keep me waiting.”

He smiles at him, caressing his cheek with his thumb as they hold each other close. They’ve come a long way, surpassing obstacles that seemed too big for the two of them - maybe running on the adrenaline of their Euros win at first.

Just at first, though.

As Roberto now feels pure, passionate and complete love towards Federico. He is younger and there are clearly differences between their experiences, but he feels pure devotion for him.

Federico, who isn’t a boy, but a young man.

He knows that somehow, in someway, their relationship will come to an end. Their needs will clearly split ways and Roberto’s ready to let him go. He loves him too much to keep him chained to himself.

And yet, he can’t help but gloat in those soft and delicate moments in which they’re alone, just holding each other, taking in every little detail of him.

“Gianluca will be happy to have me ruin his Christmas,” he says, caressing his back.

Federico chuckles, “Alright, I have you all by myself for the rest of the days, right?”

Manuel has never considered himself jealous.

He has never been the type to care about his girlfriend’s best friend or about the people she gets out with in her spare time. When he actually found out he had got cheated on, he had just laughed, telling the girl kindly to get her things and go.

It’s simple: he trusts his partners and he isn’t a crazy, obsessed asshole who believes he should own his partner’s time, energies and affection exclusively. He wants his partner to feel safe and to have their own space as much as he’d like to have it.

Moreover, he knows people, they protect their values as much as they like to betray them: he can’t live his life in fear of people fucking things up. It has always happened and things fucking happen sometimes. 

It’s life and he accepts it as it is.

Nothing he’d do would change things, anyway, so he doesn’t see why he should stress over it.

That’s why, when he feels a bitter burning in his stomach, as he sees Matteo hugs Davide close, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, he doesn’t immediately recognizes it.

He walks up to them quietly, observing their hugs and smiles closely, and he is acting on instincts when he puts an arm around Matteo’s waist, interrupting the scene by saying, “Hi! I’m Manuel.”

He smiles crookedly as he grabs the other man’s hand in greetings, feeling the urge to squeeze it, to hurt him as he says, “I’m Davide, pleasure to meet you.”

He doesn’t, though.

“You finally meet,” Matteo says, smiling, hugging closer to Manuel, “My favorite men.”

At hearing those words, Manuel feels a heavy weight on his chest. He wants to bring Matteo away from there, somewhere where he can hold him close and kiss his lips softly.

He wants him all to himself and it’s sick.

“I practically know everything about you,” Davide tells him, making Manuel clench his fist and hold Matteo tighter, “he can’t stop talking about you whenever we are together.”

“Yeah, he is my confidant,” he leans his head against Manuel’s shoulder, smiling brightly at the other man, “I keep bugging him about everything at training. I don’t know how he can still tolerate me.”

Manuel notices Davide’s little smile and he can’t help but think: oh, I know how.

“It’s a pleasure, really,” Davide comments.

As Manuel exchange a look with him, he wonders how much he really knows about him.

Matteo loves him and he is sure he has told him everything about it: how he makes him feel, what he loves about him and all the little things Manuel sees in him or does for him. How, for example, Manuel loves to Skype with him in the evening to eat dinner together, even if they have to live miles away from each other. How he understands Matteo’s mood just by a look or the slight change of tone in their messages. How he is the only one who can shut his mind down, dissolving his anxieties and fears with just a little caress on his forehead and temples.

He is also sure, though, that he knows all about his flaws and all the little things in him that drive Matteo crazy. How he can’t stand when Manuel closes up completely during a fight, until he manages to make him explode by touching all his vulnerable points. How Manuel keeps everything that is worrying him inside, joking about it as if nothing really matters, being an asshole to him and everyone else. Even how he never fixes the bed when he gets up in the morning, because he simply doesn’t understand the fucking point, even if he’s 23 now.

And Manuel simply hates it.

He hates that this man knows so much he could easily take Matteo away from him, making him see all the awful details in him and the fucking awful and arrogant personality he has.

He is feeling sick and his stomach hurts bitterly.

He is so fucking vulnerable.

“We’ll let you find a room for yourself, now,” Matteo tells him, “We’ll talk again at dinner.”

Manuel starts dreading it already.

____

For days, he has to coexist with his jealousy and, honestly, it’s a fucking mess.

It’s true, he manages to spend wonderful moments with the team and Matteo - more memories to add to the beautiful summer they’d spent together - but Davide’s presence and his closeness to Matteo tortured him like the constant sound of a drop falling rhythmically in a sink.

He can’t help but frown at Davide when he appreciates one of Matteo’s tackles or when, at dinner, he sits in front of him, monopolizing the conversation. Every evening, Manuel finds himself with a hand in Matteo’s hair or playing with his hands on the table for everyone to see.

He is relieved any time Matteo jogs up to him during training never wanting to leave his side. He also loves when he stops what he is doing, in their spare time in the communal areas, to kiss his lips softly with a big smile.

He fucks things up the night before the match against Northern Ireland.

They’ve just finished eating, Manuel has an arm around Matteo’s shoulders, playing with his lobe, tickling the shell of his ear as Matteo talks with Davide, when the latter says something absolutely idiotic.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I loved that match, especially for the hug you gave me when we scored, you should give me a kiss next time, though.”

Manuel stils.

He doesn’t know if anyone notices, but, in a moment, he is completely filled with rage.

He suddenly remembers the picture Matteo posted a couple of weeks before on Instagram: it was of Matteo hugging Davide tight, leaning his head on his shoulder.

He clenches his jaw as he feels his muscles tense up. He wishes to put his hands on Davide’s neck or punch him in the face. Hurt him for even daring to try to flirt with Matteo in front of him.

He doesn’t move, though. Thankfully his body is going into override as his emotions fill up his brain. He feels sick for even thinking such things, but he can’t stop imagining to push him away from Matteo, like a fucking caveman.

He is going to do it, he thinks, he is going to punch him in front of the whole team.

Matteo opens his mouth to speak, his smile playful, but he is interrupted by Manuel who says, “Or, maybe, you should keep your hands to yourself.”

He sees Federico, who’s sitting next to Davide, send him a warning look as all the people around them stop speaking, watching them carefully. Maybe they’d like to intervene, maybe they’re entertained.

Manuel doesn’t care.

“What?” Davide asks, suddenly serious.

“You heard me well enough,” he doesn’t break eye contact, like a fucking animal.

With the corner of his eye he notices Matteo’s smile disappearing. If he’s thought Manuel has been playing before, after his last words he has finally understood what’s really happening.

He feels awful at being the cause of Matteo’s discomfort, but he can’t change what he’s done anymore.

More people start to notice the silence of their table, watching them interested.

“Manuel,” Matteo says, putting a hand on his chest, trying to calm him down, “he’s joking.”

“Well, one can never be careful enough.”

He looks away, trusting he’s sent his message well enough, leaning in to kiss Matteo on the temple.

“Alright,” Leonardo says from the other side of the table, “I think it’s time to go to sleep for everyone, tomorrow’s an important day. Let’s go.”

As he gets up, he can’t help but feel Matteo’s eyes on him, following him as they would with a wounded animal.

_____

“He was just playing, you know?”

Manuel shrugs as he is sorting his bags and luggage.

He knew Matteo would have wanted to talk about it and, honestly, he doesn’t blame him. The problem is that he can’t even understand what’s happening to him, what’s making him becoming the biggest jerk in the whole team. How can he have a discussion about it?

“I know.”

“Then, why did you react like that?”

Manuel turns around towards him, who’s sitting on the bed watching him with a worried look.

“Listen,” he begins, “I don’t even know why. I just did it and I don’t know why. I acted purely on instincts.”

Matteo nods. He keeps silent for awhile, but Manuel knows that more questions are coming. He owes them to him and, since he knows how much Matteo values those kind of conversations, he leaves everything he is doing to sit next to him, ready to listen.

“You don’t like Davide?” He asks, biting his lip.

“It isn’t that I don’t like him. To be honest, he seems a good guy. Funny. Sweet.”

“But?”

Manuel wants to do nothing else but hugging him. Matteo cares about people and, when he does, he wants everyone to get along. The knowledge of his boyfriend not liking his best friend must be excruciating to him.

That’s why he tries to be honest, to make him understand that, actually, he doesn’t hate Davide.

“The problem is that he is too good.”

Matteo frowns, waiting for him to explain.

“He is sweet, funny and he takes such care of you! He loves you and he can spend everyday with you and I hate it. I hate that it isn’t me,” he takes his hand in his own, “I have to spend the week away from you and we manage to see each other for a couple of days a month while he gets to comfort you, hug you and celebrate with you all your victories. It’s irrational, I know that you love me.”

Matteo keeps silent for a couple of minutes. He looks at their joined hand and then, he smiles playfully, “You’re jealous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Matteo nods, “Yes, you just admitted it.”

He sighs, “I never felt like this with anyone else.”

They share a big kiss as Matteo puts his fingers in his curls, tugging them slightly, “Really?”

“Really. I promise I’ll be better and I’ll apologize to Davide tomorrow morning, I’m sorry.”

Matteo shakes his head, “You still haven't learnt to talk to me first.”

“I’m an idiot?” He asks.