Perfecto || lukamos [english]

Sparks

Sergio was tired of playing pretending with Luka.

Love is a double-edged sword and now that he was trying to stop feeling it, he felt the knife on his neck.

He knew that in order to eliminate his feelings he had to stop seeing his relationship with love, but they had always been so close that he didn't know how not to feel his heart warm with every shared laugh.

They couldn't move away because they had to act normally and their normality has always been with an affection between them that did not exist with anyone, if they tried to get away for a while they would only end up attracting attention and hurting themselves in the process.

They could call it some kind of dependence that they knew was not healthy but to which they were addicted.

They really loved every moment sharing with each other, they were all special, intimate, delicate, capable of breaking if you see it, but so full of love that they could impale you. It was not very different from a relationship, only the kisses changed, clearly the sexual relations and the title that Luka had asked not to have.

And although sometimes they were not so significant things for Sergio, they were his world.

Like now. The stars bathed the sky after winning the match against Sporting Gijón with a 3-2 in their favor, they were recovering after their draw against Atlético and their teammates despite their fatigue were boisterous on the bus on the way home.

That night he shared a seat with Luka despite the number of empty seats on the bus, he was tired and knew that Luka was not one of those who spoke on the trips, no matter how short they were. The Croatian also looked tired despite not having played a single minute, he seemed tired since he saw him that morning in training.

No one speaks because Luka has that look that says he was having a bad day and the words hang his throat unable to formulate in his mouth no matter how much he will try, Sergio knows it because he knows him, so just sit together because his presence says more than he needs to say.

Luka brings his hand resting on the arm of his seat, Sergio asks permission to take it alone moving his hand close and without saying anything, and when he receives the approval he takes the smallest and paler hand that was cold as a snowy day but something soft like the fabric of a stuffed animal, and passes his fingers with sweetness to give him tranquility.

And he did, because Luka rested his head on Sergio's arm and let his gaze die in the front seat for the next 18 minutes of travel, while the voices and sound of the city became static from an old TV.

Sergio loved those moments, and kept them in a box that he created in his heart.

...

The world keeps turning and one day passes and then two, and then he was picking up Luka at his house because he had promised to take them both to the Bernabéu on the day of the match against Bayern.

They greet each other with a hello, a kiss on the cheek and a few pats on the back because it was normal between them.

No one says anything throughout the trip to the stadium, seeing the city being painted through the windows like a work by Van Gogh, and they hear the sound of the engine combined with the bustle of the city and the old music on the radio, it smells of lavender and no one looks at the other because they let the colors dance between their eyes.

Luka's face doesn't say anything anyway.

...

4-2 was read on the scoreboard and Madrid secured its passage to the semifinals of the Champions League with a hat-trick by Cristiano, ecstatic celebrated and filled the dressing rooms with cheers drawing their joy in the air.

The air was fresh, an intermediate between cold and warm, everyone said goodbye among their euphoria under the night sky of spring. Over time, everyone left and left the duo who were always last in the locker room.

This time the way to Luka's house was more boisterous, the lights of the buildings painted the crystals like fake stars obscuring the real ones, the hum of the car, the smell of lavender and the old songs of the radio were still there, but now there was the laughter of both after a joke about Sergio's self-goal that day, which made it more pleasant than the morning silence.

Sergio wished that it would always be like this, that they could have a title beyond friendship and one will move with the other, then he would always drive to the Bernabéu and they would return home together smiling in the car and remembering the game or training with the smell of lavender and the hum of the engine. But Sergio had to go back to his house alone and wait for the emptiness in it, because love wasn't supposed to hurt but his did it anyway.

And it's time to say goodbye and then it's again the buzzing and lavender that's left, so Sergio passes his scratchy hand on Luka's cheek and caresses it as if it were porcelain, full of tenderness and adoration, but they drown in their game of pretending under the fake stars of the city.

He puts a kiss on his forehead pushing away one of the blond locks and they say goodbye because all that's left is how much he cares and how stupid he is and dreams die on his tongue as they always do.

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A shorter chapter, I think something quiet although it has a sad air, but I like it a lot.

Sorry for not updating and disappearing