Maybe we'd be good together

by AndalusianSunshine

Summary:

Losing a pre-season friendly becomes the least of Sergio's problems when he finds himself stuck in Gerard Piqué's body.
Will they be able to switch back before anyone finds out and how will Sergio adapt when he suddenly has to play for his rival team?

Notes:

This fic starts during the 2019/20 preseason, right after Madrid lost 3:7 against Atletico Madrid and will losely follow the rest of the season.

Chapter 1: A bad dream

7 goals conceded …

Sergio isn't in the mood to socialize when they get back to the hotel. There’s going to be a late dinner and he knows some of his teammates will spend the rest of the night chatting or playing video games, trying to wind down from the match, but he’d rather go to bed hungry than engage in inane small talk, not after such a crushing defeat and especially because he’d been on the pitch for most of those goals, could have done something against them, should have. It stings and it hurts his pride that they played like this, defended like this or rather didn’t defend at all and especially against one of their fiercest rivals. Doesn’t matter that it was just a preseason friendly, doesn’t matter that it won’t count for anything.

He reaches for the remote and flops down into the only chair in his room, an uncomfortable armchair that creaks under his weight and is really too small for his frame, but he’s too tired to undressed enough so he can get into bed. He listlessly flicks through the channels, already knowing there won’t be anything good on, but he does it anyway, trying to while away the time until his eyes grow heavy from sleep.

He cringes when he stumbles upon a rerun of the match and no thank you, he definitely doesn’t want to relive that ever again. Eventually he settles on some cheesy romance movie, mostly because there isn’t anything better on and he needs something to distract his mind, but he can barely follow the plot, can barely understand their rapid chatter and yet it still seems utterly ridiculous how they fall into each others arms after barely knowing each other and there was a time when he used to dream of a love just like this, with feelings so big they could overcome anything. Now he knows better.

His phone dings with a message, just when he’s finally gathered enough strength to actually go to bed.

He sinks back into the chair with a groan, frowning at his screen when he sees who sent the message and in hindsight he should have probably known better than to open a message from Piqué on a day like this.

Quality performance tonight. I see you’re gonna go for all titles this season.

Didn’t know you paid such close attention to our matches. Sergio texts back, tries not to let Gerard’s words get to him too much.

I’ve got a collection of all your best defeats.

Sergio feels bile rise in his throat. Fuck you he begins to type, but never hits send. He’s not going to take the bait this time, he’s going to take the high road here, no matter how much his fingers itch to let Gerard know just what he thinks of him. He’s not going to get into another senseless argument that’s going to end in nothing but him feeling frustrated and irritated.

Are you as excited for the next clasico as i am? Gerard keeps going undeterred, like Sergio isn’t trying his best to ignore him. I hope you can keep up your current form.

Sergio barely resists the urge to throw his phone at the wall and it doesn’t make any sense that Gerard would text him now. They’ve barely spoken, barely had any contact outside the pitch since Gerard retired from the national team, so why would he suddenly message him today of all days if not out of pure spite.

He lets his head sag backwards with a sigh, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling coiling in his gut. He’s done getting riled up by Gerard childish antics, but he’s got a splitting headache now and not even closing his eyes is doing much to alleviate the pain.

*

The first thing he notices when he wakes up, blinking his bleary eyes open carefully, is that he’s not sitting in that armchair anymore. Instead he’s lying in a soft bed, covered with a plush blanket, but he doesn’t think much of it. He figures he must have moved to the bed some time during the night, even if he doesn’t remember any of it.

It’s only when he rolls over and suddenly realizes the window is on the wrong side of the room that he begins to wonder, sitting up with a jolt and hurriedly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and wait! Where are the tattoos on his hands and why are his fingers so weirdly long?

He jumps out of bed, his heart beating wildly in his chest and everything about his body feels off. His tattoos are gone and so are most of his muscles, his arms seem almost scarily thin and his legs too long and the more differences he discovers the more he feels like he can’t breathe.

And God this must be a bad dream. It has to be. A terribly vivid nightmare. There’s no other explanation for it, there can’t be and yet his heart won’t stop pounding in fear and he can’t help but feel like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

He almost doesn’t dare walk over to the floor-length mirror and taking in his surroundings, even just out of the corner of his eyes, there’s no doubt left anymore that this isn’t his hotel room, that he’s never been here before in his life.

His palms are damp with sweat when he finally dares to look up and no, fuck, it can’t be. It can’t - but no matter how often he blinks or shakes his head, it’s still Piqué’s face staring back at him out of the mirror, his piercing blue eyes and his lanky limbs, his stupidly messy hair, expression just as terrified as Sergio feels.

Sergio runs his fingers through his hair and Piqué in the mirror does the same, still does the same when Sergio pinches his side and scratches his beard and Sergio doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Things like this only happens in bad movies, it doesn’t happen in real life and it definitely doesn’t happen to him.

He stumbles back to the bed, plopping down with a heavy sigh and he has no idea what to do now as he buries his head in his hands.

So apparently he’s stuck in Piqué’s body now. It sounds ridiculous, even in his own head.

 

Sergio doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting like this, slumped over and hopeless, until it finally occurs to him that if he’s stuck in Piqué’s body, Gerard must very likely be stuck in his as well.

Now he only needs to find a way to contact him.

He eventually finds Gerard’s phone on the nightstand next to the bed, but of course it’s locked and password protected and it’s not like it would help him much since he doesn’t know Gerard’s number of the top of his head anyway.

He’s still glaring at the phone in his hand when it suddenly starts ringing, startling him so violently he almost drops it on the floor and as if this day couldn’t get any weirder, it’s his own name flashing in big letters on the screen.

It must be Piqué, he thinks, accepting the call with shaking fingers. “How did you get my number?”

For the longest time Gerard’s only answer is laughter. “What would i even need your number for?” he finally forces out, gasping for breath. “You’re in my body, you have my phone. All i had to do to reach you was call myself.”

“Oh.”

“God, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you managed to get into my phone,” Sergio says petulantly and God he hates feeling stupid, especially because he knows Gerard won’t let this go for a very long time.

“9248 really isn’t the most original password,” Gerard says and Sergio can picture his smug grin all too clearly. “It took me less then three tries.”

“Hmpf,” is Sergio’s very disgruntled and not at all eloquent response.

“You know, I’m actually still surprised it wasn’t your own birthday,” Gerard teases and Sergio has to laugh against his will. No matter how annoying it might be, there’s something strangely comforting about Gerard’s teasing, the only constant and familiar thing in this utter madness and yes he’s definitely starting to lose his mind if he’s starting to think of Gerard as anything but a nuisance.

“So i take it you’ve looked in the mirror?” he asks superfluously, because why else would he have called him, but a part of him is still hoping this is all just a bad dream.

“Yeah. Not the most pleasant experience having to look at your face this early in the morning.”

“Funny,” Sergio rolls his eyes and not for the first time he wonders what he ever did to deserve this, why it had to be Gerard of all people when they’ve never been particularly close. None of it makes any sense. “How did this even happen?”

“How would i know?” ”Gerard groans and Sergio can’t help but notice that he suddenly sounds incredibly tired. “When i went to bed everything was fine and then i suddenly wake up in a strange chair, in someone else’s body. Why the fuck did you have to fall asleep in a chair anyway? My entire back hurts,” Gerard falls silent for a moment. “And why is your shoulder so fucked up?”

“My shoulder is perfectly fine,” Sergio snaps and wanders over to the bed, let’s himself drop onto it, listlessly bouncing a few times before his weight finally settles on the too soft mattress.

“It’s clearly not and we both know it.”

Sergio buries his head in the pillow, tries not to let his exasperation seep too much into his voice. “Is that really what you’re gonna focus on now? Shouldn’t we figure out how to switch back?”

“And what do you propose we do? I didn’t even know this was possible until about 20 minutes ago. I still can’t believe it actually is,” there’s some strange rustling going on on the other end of the phone and Sergio is dying to ask what the hell Gerard is doing, but he bites his lip instead. “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.”

Sergio nods to himself, suddenly wishing Gerard was here with him, just so he wouldn’t feel so alone, so he could look at his face and not have to gauge his reaction from a few short sentences said through the phone. “We can’t be the only people this has happened to. There’s gotta be some sort of research on it.”

“Have fun googling that,” Gerard laughs humourlessly. “I promise you you’re not gonna find anything helpful.”

“Do you always have to be this contrary?”

“Sorry,” Gerard responds and he almost sounds contrite. It unsettles Sergio more than anything. “It’s either this or freaking out. This whole thing is seriously fucked up.”

“I know,” Sergio sighs heavily. “And we need to figure something out fast. We’re both in the middle of pre-season. It’s gonna be suspicious if we both just disappear.”

“So what? We just pretend we’re each other. That’s never gonna work. I don’t even know where the fuck i am. How do you expect me to fool your team mates?” Gerard says, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“Do we have any other choice?” Sergio shifts his phone from one ear to the other, tries to quell the panic rising in his chest. “We’re … no wait, you’re …fuck this is confusing,” he rubs his temples, takes a deep breath. “Madrid is flying home tonight, so you won’t have to interact with anyone much. Just lie low until it’s time to leave for the airport and you should be fine. When am i going back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” Sergio says, already feeling a little less freaked out. “We can manage to pretend for a day and then we can meet up and figure this thing out.”

“I guess so,” Gerard agrees and Sergio breathes out in relief. He had expected a lot more resistance, but now he doesn’t really know what to say anymore. He fiddles with the drawstrings of his sweats, frowns at the color of them. He wonders what Gerard would look like in white.

“Should we maybe hang up?” Gerard’s voice pulls him back to reality and he shakes his head to get rid of the stray thought.

“We probably should,” he says even though he doesn’t really want to, but there’s no actual reason to stay on the line any longer.

“Text me when you land.”

“I will,” Sergio hesitates, finger already hovering over the screen, ready to end the call, when something occurs to him. “Can you maybe not look through my phone too much,” he asks quietly, hopes Gerard doesn’t read too much into it.

“Don’t worry.” Gerard says and Sergio hates how he can almost hear his grin through the phone. “I have no interest in your ridiculous selfies and dick pics.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sergio laughs, at least partly relieved. “I’m hanging up now.”

Gerard chuckles. “Bye Sergio.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sergio hangs up and lets the phone drop onto the blanket. He stares down at the Barcelona crest on his sweats, tries not to feel too disgusted by it. It’s going to be a long 24 hours.

Chapter 2: What's my favorite color?

Sergio rings the doorbell of his house, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waits and he’s very slowly starting to feel less weirded out by this whole thing, by how his center of gravity has noticeably shifted and the frightening lack of tattoos on his body. He hasn’t tripped or knocked over anything in a while and yes he’s definitely getting used to being in Gerard’s body.

That is until Gerard opens the door and Sergio mouth drops open in shock because fuck looking into his own face has to be the most surreal experience of his life.

“God this is so wrong,” he blurts out instead of a greeting and he can’t stop staring at himself, at his slightly crooked nose and the tattoos scattered across his skin, at how his hair is already starting to curl behind his ears. He’s pretty sure this is how it must feel to have an out of body experience.

“Tell me about it,” Gerard grins wearily. “You’re too damn short. I can’t reach anything anymore.”

“Ugh,” Sergio rolls his eyes. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” and maybe he should be more annoyed about Gerard constantly teasing him, but mostly he’s just grateful for the lack of awkwardness between them. It’s already bad enough without him having to tiptoe around someone’s feelings.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if i was nice to you,” Gerard laughs and he might not be entirely wrong about that, not that Sergio is ever going to admit to that.

“I need coffee,” he says instead and pushes past Gerard into his house, marches straight towards the kitchen, trying not to dwell too much on how he feels like a stranger in his own home.

When Gerard finally catches up to him, he already has two mugs out on the counter and filled the machine with water. “Did you get lost on the way?” he snickers.

“Shut up,” Gerard chuckles. “Your house is a fucking maze.”

Sergio shrugs good-naturedly. “I thought you would have taken a look around already, gathered enough material to mock me with.”

“Nah,” Gerard awkwardly stops in the middle of the room. “It felt wrong to snoop around your house without you being there,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, looks a little lost.

“Thanks, I guess,” Sergio hands Gerard his mug and leans against the counter, takes a first tentative sip of his own coffee.

“So, wanna tell me how long it took you to get into my phone?” Gerard asks with a grin, reaching for the sugar bowl.

Sergio flinches at the amount of sugar Gerard scoops into his mug, puts dietary restrictions on his mental list of things they’ll need to have a talk about. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know,” he says and he’s definitely not going to admit that it took him a good half an hour to remember the existence of Face ID and thank good for Gerard being sensible for once and owning a brand new iphone.

“Sure,” Gerard smirks, but his expression turns serious again very quickly. “Any new ideas how to get out of this mess?”

“Not really,” Sergio answers with a frown. “I was hoping we’d have already switched back after sleeping or maybe after meeting in person. I don’t know. But since that clearly didn’t work. No idea.”

“Shit,” Gerard puts his mug on the counter and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m seriously going to have to pretend i’m you. I need something stronger.”

And Sergio doesn’t really know what he means until Gerard walks to the fridge and reaches for a bottle of beer. He takes a quick, invasive step forward and snatches the bottle from Gerard’s hands before he even has a chance to open it. “No alcohol during the season,” he says sternly, glaring down at Gerard and it feels strangely satisfying that for once Gerard isn’t the one towering over him.

“Are you serious?” Gerard groans, but he obediently puts the beer back into the fridge, grabs a bottle of water instead.

Sergio shrugs. “I’m not twenty anymore, gotta take care of myself,” he fumbles in his pockets until he finds the list he made on the plane. “Speaking of, since we’re probably gonna be stuck in each other’s bodies for a while, I made some notes for you,” he explains and hands Gerard the piece of paper. It’s a little crumpled at the edges and the writing is smudged in more than one place, but it’s the best he could do with the old invoice he found at the bottom of Gerard’s bag and the broken off stump of a pencil he had to beg from the flight attendant.

He watches Gerard intently as he reads through the list, wonders what he’s going to complain about first and as if on cue Gerard’s eyes dart up, frowning at him disapprovingly.

“What do i need to post daily selfies for?” he asks and Sergio has to bite back a laugh at the disgruntled expression on Gerard’s face.

“I have a social media presence to curate and followers to keep happy and judging from your Instagram account you clearly can’t be trusted with that,” he smiles slyly. “Your follower count is tragic.”

“Fine,” Gerard huffs out. “But you better not complain when i make you look ridiculous.”

Sergio laughs and he’s more than a little surprised at how easily Gerard caved. He’s almost a little disappointed that he didn’t put up more of a fight. “If that’s all you’re gonna do, be my guest.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Watching you suffer?” Sergio grins smugly. “It’s the best part of this whole thing.”

“Dog-ear filter it is then,” Gerard teases, throwing the cap of his water bottle at Sergio.

“Don’t you dare,” Sergio splutters, barely able to dodge the small piece of plastic and he’s laughing so hard he almost drops his mug.

Gerard shakes his head, smiling before he directs his attention back to the list. “Let’s see what else you’ve got on here.”

They fall silent again as Gerard keeps reading, his eyes skimming down the page where Sergio had drawn a rough outline of his daily schedule and when he looks up again his eyes are full of horror.

“Two hours of additional work out every night. Are you completely insane?” Gerard groans and Sergio wishes he had his phone close, just so he could take a picture of the pained expression on Gerard’s face.

He reaches over and lifts up Gerard’s shirt, trails his fingers over the sharp outline of his abs and it’s a strange mixture of familiar and intimate, touching his own body with someone else’s fingers. “Do you think this happened by accident?” he pokes at Gerard’s stomach, lingering until Gerard swats his hand away. “It takes hard work and you better not ruin my body while you’re in it.”

“Are you done groping me now?” Gerard frowns at him.

“Technically this is my body, so i can touch it all i want.”

Gerard gives him a pointed look, but remains silent.

Sergio grins mischievously. “You know, maybe it’s actually a good thing i’m stuck in your body,” he pauses for dramatic effect, lazily stirs his coffee. “You clearly have no clue how to properly take care of yourself,” he tentatively lifts Gerard’s shirt, peeks at his stomach. “Your abs are in a sad state, man.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “You should be glad you’re in my body or i’d be severely tempted to strangle you right now.”

Sergio laughs. “You’re gonna thank me when this is all over.”

“I highly doubt it,” Gerard looks back down at the list, letting out a drawn out sigh. “So we’re really gonna go through with pretending we’re each other?”

“Do we have any other choice?” Sergio shrugs and puts down his empty mug. At this point it’s really nothing but a safety blanket anymore and he’s starting to feel a little stupid clutching at a piece of porcelain like it’s his only lifeline.

Gerard turns to face him. “At least we’re both defender, so we won’t have to worry about the football part of it. Imagine if you were a goalie.”

“We’d both be terrible goalies,” Sergio laughs despite himself, shoves his hands into his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do with them and he actually wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day trading insults and jokes with Gerard, anything really to escape the graveness of this whole situation, but he knows eventually they’ll have to deal with the implications of it all.

“True,” Gerard grins, but it looks strained, edged with the same kind of worry that’s currently twisting in Sergio’s gut. “But what are we gonna do about the rest. There’s no way we’ll fool anyone if we actually have to talk to them,” he adds helplessly.

“I know,” Sergio sighs and rubs his hand across his face, but everything about the gesture feels off, a constant reminder of how much has changed in the last twenty-four hours. “We’ll just have to learn as much about each other as possible.”

 

Hours later, with night already approaching, they’re camped out at Sergio’s dining table, the shiny surface littered with papers and post-its, a giant box of pizza sitting in the middle.

“Why exactly do i have to memorize a list of all of your achievements?” Sergio groans, dropping his tablet on the table and he’s pretty sure he’s never studied this hard in his life, not even when he was still in school and his mother kept nagging him about his grades and falling asleep in class.

“Because that’s just not something you can mess up on,” Gerard says, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “And it’s not like i’m not doing the same,” he holds up the list he’d hastily scribbled down a few hours ago.

Sergio lets out a displeased grunt, ignoring all the other lists on the table in favor of reaching for another slice of pizza and his head feels so full, he’s sure if he crams one more piece of information into it, he’s going to forget everything else he’s learned today. “How about we do a little test? See how much we actually remember,” he suggests.

“Sure,” Gerard leans back in his chair. “Bring it.”

“So,” Sergio takes another bite. "What's my favorite color?" he narrows his eyes at Gerard like it's the most important question in the world.

Gerard barely manages not to laugh. “No one is ever gonna ask about that.”

"You never know," Sergio grins. "Stop deflecting."

"It's purple," Gerard rolls his eyes, laughs when Sergio's eyes go wide in surprise.

"Wait, how'd you know that?"

"Because you talk about it in every single interview you give," Gerard rolls his eyes and steals Sergio’s pizza right out of his hands.

“Hey,” Sergio protests, but just before he can attempt to grab it back, a sudden thought occurs to him. “You watch my interviews?” he asks, pizza suddenly forgotten and a smug grin on his face.

“Stop gloating,” Gerard huffs in amusement. “It’s not like anyone living in Spain could possibly ever escape them.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sergio grins and the loss of pizza doesn’t feel so bad anymore, not when this is so much better. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one.”

“How can you not have a favorite color?”

Gerard shrugs. “I just don’t have one.”

“Not even blaugrana?”

“That’s two colors.”

‘Whatever,” Sergio waves him off. “What am i supposed to say when someone asks me about it?”

“Just make one up.”

“You’re no fun,” Sergio grumbles and turns back to the table, riffling through the mess of papers. “What’s up next?”

Gerard groans and rubs his neck tiredly. “I need a break. If i have to learn one more thing about you today my heads gonna explode.”

Sergio nods, scooting back his chair. “You want a tour of the house?”

Chapter 3: Back to work

Even after three days it still feels surreal waking up in Gerard’s bed. The windows are too big, the room is too spacious, everything is in weird shades of brown and beige and he can’t help but feel like an intruder. He misses his own home, his colorful decorations and the pictures of his family and it still doesn’t make any sense that Gerard refused to let him sleep in the guestroom. You have too feel comfortable, get used to your new role and whatever, he had said. Sergio doesn’t care and he doesn’t like it. But maybe Gerard does have a point, so he pushes his misgivings to the back of his mind and decides not to defy him, even if he would never find out. He is, however not going to dwell on how it makes him feel that Gerard is currently sleeping in his bed, in Sergio’s bedroom.

He rolls himself out of bed with a groan and shuffles to Gerard’s closet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to find himself something to wear, but Ugh black, black, black, grey, some more black, the whole selection of non-colors is depressing, so halfway through he moves on from t-shirts to shoes, his mood brightening a little when he finds a pair of bright red sneakers and yes he can definitely work with those.

When he’s finally dressed and ready to go, cup of coffee in hand, there’s a ball of nerves the size of a football rolling around in the pit of his stomach and he’d rather be doing anything else than get into Gerard’s car and drive to training. In less than an hour he’s going to find out just how good he is at impersonating Gerard. It's not the most pleasant thought.

 

He arrives at Barcelona’s training facility with twenty minutes to spare and that’s just about an unbeatable record for him. He grabs his bag and takes a deep breath, the click of the car keys unmistakably signaling that the easy part of the day is over now. There won’t be a navigation system helping him find his way around from now on, telling him what to do and where to go. He’s suddenly very thankful that Gerard had spent the better part of last night drilling the floorplan of the training complex into his mind, making him memorize all the possible routes to the dressing room and wherever else he might have to go, so he doesn’t stumble around and make a complete fool out of himself.

Closing his eyes he quickly recalls the fastest way to the dressing room. Left, left, right, second door at the end of the corridor, just next to the big club crest. Sounds easy enough.

With renewed courage he steps through the entrance doors, trying his hardest not to recoil from the sheer amount of blaugrana that’s immediately assaulting his every sense, but he still feels like a fraud as he makes his way towards the dressing room. And it becomes painfully evident very quickly how technically knowing the way and actually knowing where to go are too very different things. He has to pause before ever turn, every step he takes, trying to recall the directions and he’s pretty sure everyone is staring at him strangely.

By the time he finally makes it to the dressing room he’s exhausted and irritated and not at all in the mood to deal with a single Barca player, let alone a whole bunch of them, but thankfully the room is still mostly deserted, the few players already there not giving him much attention, only greeting him with a slight nod before they go back to their business and Sergio couldn’t be more thankful for that as he frantically searches the row of lockers for the one with the number three on it. When he finally finds it, stuck between 22 and 8, it takes all of his willpower to keep a scowl off his face. Who ever thought it was a good idea to just allocate the numbers randomly, instead of sorting them in order? Not that he’s particularly surprised, but it still makes him miss the Madrid dressing room and the orderly arrangement of lockers there. The thought sends a sharp jolt of longing through his heart.

One by one the players file into the room, greeting each other with hugs or slaps on their backs, some of them chatting about their latest holiday adventures, but Sergio decides to stick to himself as he changes into his trainings kit. The less attention he draws to himself the better.

“Hey Geri,” someone says from the other side of the room, just as Sergio slips into his shoes and starts lacing them up, not really paying attention to what is going on around him.

“Geri?” The voice has moved closer now and he thinks it might be Jordi, but he can’t be completely sure without looking up and also he doesn’t really care all that much.

“Geri?” The voice is even more insistent now and Sergio’s starting to wonder why the hell Geri isn’t answering until - Oh right, he’s supposed to be Geri now.

He resists the urge to facepalm and looks up, throwing Jordi what he hopes is a sufficiently apologetic look. “Sorry, i was lost in thought,” he says, earning himself a disbelieving frown from the other player, but before he can prod any further one of the coaches appears, calling them out onto the pitch and saving Sergio from further embarrassment.

 

Training goes reasonably well. He only messes up the exercises a couple of times, sometimes gets confused by the order of them, but no one seems particularly surprised and when they eventually move on to practice matches he almost starts to feel like himself again.

They’re already on the way back to the dressing room when Messi intercepts him, matching up his steps with Sergio’s.

“Are you coming tonight?” he asks.

Sergio stares at him blankly, wonders if he should know what he’s talking about, if Geri told him about it and he just forgot.

“To Luis’s annual barbeque,” Messi adds impatiently when Sergio doesn’t answer, rolling his eyes at him and Sergio figures he should probably start calling him Leo from now on. Going to a team get-together however sounds like a monumentally bad idea.

“Sorry, i already have plans,” he mumbles, hopes Messi - Leo will let him off the hook, but of course he doesn’t.

“You never miss Luis’ barbeque,” he says, his gaze far too inquisitive for Sergio’s liking, the suspicion clear in his eyes.

“I just forgot,” he answers lamely, making a vague gesture with his hands and it’s supposed to divert Messi’s attention, but instead it makes him incredibly self-conscious and suddenly he can’t stop overthinking his every move, can’t stop wondering if this is something Geri would do, if he would act like this or talk like this, if he’s going to give himself away any moment, because he might look like Gerard but isn’t acting like him. He’s so lost in thought, he almost walks into a wall, if it wasn’t for Messi’s hand twisting into the back of his shirt and pulling him back.

“What’s going on with you?” Messi asks, the suspicion in his eyes now replaced with concern. “You’ve been off all day.”

“It’s nothing,” Sergio shrugs, wishes they were back in the dressing room already, so he could escape the other man’s inquisitive gaze.

Messi nods, but doesn’t look convinced, his expression still questioning. “You know you can always talk to me,” he offers and God it’s more than tempting.

“I’m…,” Sergio starts and he’s this close to spilling it all, dying to finally let someone in on his secret and would it really be so bad if some of their teammates knew? It’s not like they would immediately run to the press. Messi is looking up at him expectantly and it would be so easy to just tell him, but he knows he can’t do it without talking to Gerard first, can’t betray his trust like that, so he averts his gaze and closes his mouth again. “Never mind,” he mumbles instead, breathing a sigh of relief when they finally reach the dressing room and Messi walks over to his locker.

*

The sound of his phone rudely jolts him awake and for a moment he feels disoriented, dazedly blinking his eyes open and it’s only the crick in his neck and the pain in his lower back that clues him in to the fact that he must have fallen asleep on the sofa.

He yawns deeply as he fumbles for his phone, glancing at the clock and Shit. How is it already almost ten when he only sat down to check his messages. Over two hours ago.

“Hello?” he answers his phone, not bothering to check the caller ID, barely managing to stifle another yawn.

“Did i wake you?” the amusement in Gerard’s voice is unmistakable and Sergio grimaces when the video finally loads and his own face swims into view. Yeah, still weird as hell.

“Wait,” Gerard is still grinning, his expression annoyingly smug. “Did you actually fall asleep on the sofa? Man, you’re getting old.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sergio grumbles, still too sleepy to get properly annoyed. “You’d be exhausted too if you’ve had my day,” and suddenly he can’t help but feel a little jealous that Gerard has two more days until he has to go back to training.

“This bad?” Gerard asks.

“You have no idea,” Sergio groans, heaving himself into a more comfortable position. “I spent all day worried i’d say or do something wrong and give myself away. It’s exhausting when you’re so afraid of doing something wrong that you can’t even talk to people properly,” he sighs. “This is the first time today, i feel like i can just be myself. I can’t believe i’ve actually been looking forward to talking to you.”

Gerard chuckles. “Then it must be really bad.”

“Something like that,” Sergio grins, some of the stress off the day finally falling off of him as he watches Gerard bustle around in his kitchen, staring at the can of soup in his hand with a frown creasing his brows.

“Second drawer to the left,” Sergio laughs.

“Thanks,” Gerard mumbles sheepishly, rustling around in the drawer, a low curse slipping from his lips when his hair falls into his face. “Can i please cut your hair? It’s driving me crazy.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s taken him over a year to even get it back to this length, there’s no way he’s going to let Gerard ruin it now.

Gerard grumbles something under his breath that Sergio doesn’t understand, but he’s sure it’s something rude, so he doesn’t bother asking and just watches Gerard fumble with the can opener instead, his thoughts drifting back to today’s events. “Hey, did you have any luck finding out anything more on how we’ll be able to switch back?”

Gerard looks up at the camera, shakes his head regretfully. “Not really. I did some research, but mostly it was just a waste of time.”

Sergio hums thoughtfully. “Maybe we should focus on why we switched bodies in the first place, instead of trying to figure out how to switch back?”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“I have no idea.”

Gerard laughs. “How helpful.”

Sergio scratches his beard. “I almost told Messi today.”

“You did what?” Gerard head snaps up, his expression somewhere between confused and worried. “How the hell did that happen?”

Sergio shrugs. “He cornered me after training, kept nagging me about how i was acting strange.”

“You have to be more careful,” Gerard says, an edge of panic to his voice.

“Relax, i will,” Sergio sighs deeply. “But would it really be that bad if we told someone? It would make our lives so much easier. You have no idea how hard it is to pretend your someone else all the time.”

“I guess i’m gonna find out soon,” Gerard groans. “But i still think telling people is a bad idea. No one is gonna believe us anyway. They’re either gonna think we’re insane or laugh at us.”

“Maybe so, but i still think it would be worth it. We’d …your soup is boiling over.”

“Shit,” Gerard turns to pull the pan from the stove, unsuccessfully trying to tuck his hair behind his ears as he tries to avert an even bigger mess. “Are you sure i can’t cut your hair?” he grumbles, soup forgotten now as he scowls at the camera.

“No,” Sergio rolls his eyes, smiling softly. “We agreed on no changes to our appearances. Just get a damn hair tie.”

“That’s too bad,” there’s suddenly a mischievous glint in Gerard’s eyes. “I was really looking forward to getting my name tattooed across your ass.”

Sergio laughs. “You wouldn’t.”

“And how would you know?” Gerard grins back.

“Because you’re terrified of needles. You’d never be able to sit through getting a tattoo,” Sergio answers smugly, reveling in the slightly surprised look on Gerard’s face.

“Fine. You’ve got me,” Gerard grumbles.

Sergio smirks triumphantly, watches Gerard pour his soup into a bowl. “But you know, if you’ve ever wanted a tattoo. I wouldn’t mind getting it for you,” he suggests. “Pain and needle-free and all. It’s a once in a lifetime offer really. You just have to hope we don’t switch back while the needle is still stuck in your skin,” Sergio adds with a chuckle.

Gerard shudders. “Thanks, i’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Sergio leans back on the sofa, burying his head in the cushions and he should probably hang up and let Gerard eat his soup in peace, but he’s not ready yet to spend his evening all by himself. It's nice to have some company, even if it’s just Gerard.

Chapter 4: Surprise Visit

Notes:

I finally found the motivation to continue this. I can't promise regular updates, but i've outlined most of the plot now and i'll try to finish it eventually.

I hope you'll still enjoy the fic, even if it's been a while.

One week later

Sergio turns around and hits his elbow against a shelf. Again. He curses under his breath and scowls at the dresser, like Gerard’s wardrobe is solely at fault for everything that’s gone wrong in his life for the last few days. How does a person even have a closet this small? It can barely even be called a walk-in closet. There’s hardly any room to stand, the light is atrocious and everything is so crammed with clothes that it’s impossible to find anything, especially after his little impromptu shopping spree to improve the sad state of Gerard’s wardrobe.

He opens another drawer, frowns when he still can’t find any socks. Instead there’s a random mess of things in there, like in every other drawer he’s opened so far and Gerard’s organisational skills definitely leave a lot to be desired for.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out when he finally finds a pair of socks he deems somewhat acceptable, in the last possible drawer of course because his life is just that much of a cosmic joke.

Still grumbling, he marches into the adjacent bathroom, because his hair is still a complete mess and he’s already thirty minutes late. Thankfully there’s now an acceptable assortment of beauty products on the washstand, so he can at least make himself look somewhat presentable. Not that it’s particularly easy to get Gerard’s unruly hair under control. How Gerard could live with just regular shower gel and shampoo however is completely incomprehensible.

Ten minutes later he grabs his keys and a jacket and he’s already halfway out the door when his phone rings.

“What?” he barks without bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Turn your camera on,” is the response on the other side of the line and Sergio flinches. Will it ever get any less weird hearing the sound of his own voice?

“Miss seeing your own face this much?” Sergio teases but turns on the camera anyway, even if it makes the whole situation infinitely more confusing. It’s also weirdly comforting, seeing the one other person who understands.

“Fuck off,” Gerard laughs.

Sergio chuckles. “Eloquent as always.”

“Look at you using fancy words,” Gerard grins.

“Whatever,” Sergio shakes his head in amusement. “What do you even want? I’m late.”

“You’re always late. No one will even notice,” Gerard shifts on the sofa, attention now fully turned towards the phone, eyes going wide in shock. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Sergio looks down at his outfit, at his floral print sweatpants and the black turtleneck, wonders if he should have gone with a more colorful sweater instead or maybe different shoes, even if Gerard’s black combat boots are slowly becoming his favorite pair of shoes. “I went shopping. Your wardrobe was pathetic,” he shrugs, laughs at Gerard’s outraged expression.

“You’re gonna get me on all the worst dressed lists in no time,” he groans.

“As if,” Sergio snorts. “You buy all your clothes five sizes too big, there’s no way I could make you look any worse even if I tried. You’re gonna thank me by the time this is over.Trust me”

“Sure,” Gerard laughs and Sergio is half tempted to just stay on the line with Gerard. It feels so refreshingly normal, laughing and trading insults like his whole life isn’t completely turned upside down, but he has somewhere to be and at this point he’s so late, it’s bordering on rude.

“Listen, i’m sorry, but i’ve really gotta go. You can call me tonight and insult me some more if you feel like it,” he smirks, hand already moving towards the screen to hang up when Gerard’s voice halts him mid-movement.

“Where are you even going? It’s not like you know all that many people in Barcelona,” he asks, an edge of concern to his voice.

“I’m on my way over to Leo’s,” Sergio explains with a shrug.

“Leo?” Gerard gasps, like he can’t quite trust his own ears.

“Yeah,” Sergio rolls his eyes. “You know, short, argentine, pretty good footballer, used to be your teammate not too long ago.”

“How did he go from Messi to Leo in less than a week? I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him. Why would I hate him?” Sergio shakes his head, almost starts laughing at the look of utter shock on his own face looking back at him through the phone. So this is what he looks like when someone catches him completely off guard. He might have to work on his poker face in the future. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs.

“So you’re what? Friends now?”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know,” Sergio shrugs. “But he lets me hang out at his place and play with Hulk.”

“His dog?” Gerard asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, feels a little shy all of a sudden. He’s never really liked showing his more vulnerable side, especially not to people like Gerard who’ll just end up using it to make fun of him. “I really miss my dogs and since you won’t let me get one..,” he trails off. “Leo doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets me come over and play with Hulk and laughs at me. It’s actually quite nice,” Sergio grins.

Gerard frowns. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if he finds out?”

“He won’t. Don’t worry,” he says, refrains from running his fingers through his hair. It was hassle enough to get Gerard’s hair into any kind of shape without him messing it up because he can’t stop fidgeting. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Doubtful,” Gerard quips but he still looks shaken and Sergio is starting to wonder if there might be more to Gerard’s reaction than just genuine surprise or fear that Messi might find out about their situation.

“Man, what are you so afraid of?” Sergio grins. “That Leo is gonna spill all your dirty secrets?” but - Oh judging from the caught look on Gerard’s face he might have hit a little too close to home and suddenly he feels bad about putting him on the spot like that. There are more than enough things about him he’d rather not have Gerard know, so what right does he have prying into the other’s secrets?

“Listen, whatever it is you don’t want me knowing. I don’t care and I'm not going to pry. I’m just going over there to play with Leo’s dog. Nothing more,” he reassures.”If it makes you feel any better, i can just cancel.”

“No, it’s fine. You should go,” Gerard shakes his head, makes a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “You just caught me by surprise and maybe I overreacted a little. It’s nothing really,” he insists, but it all sounds a little too forced, said a little too quickly. Sergio doesn’t really buy it. But Gerard looks at least partly appeased, less shaken than before, so maybe it’s better to just let it go and not make it any more awkward than it already is.

‘“If you say so,” he shrugs, doesn’t really know what else to say.

I do,” Gerard manages a grin that doesn’t look completely fake. “Have fun on your playdate then.”

“I will,” Sergio laughs. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he waves at the camera before he hangs up.

 

It’s already dark when he finally makes it back, much later than he actually intended to and he’s so busy trying to figure out what to order for dinner that he doesn’t notice the strange noises coming from the living room until he’s standing right in the middle of it, almost bumping into Gerard’s solid frame.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he splutters, desperately tries to calm his racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Gerard laughs. “I got sick of waiting outside, so I let myself in, wanted to see if you’ve destroyed my place yet - oh sorry. What do you call it? Right. Redecorating,” he chuckles.

“Funny.”

“Oh and i brought someone to see you,” Gerard lets out a low whistle and Sergio frowns in confusion until he suddenly hears the soft sounds of paws on the stone floor, followed by a furry snout peeking around the corner, followed by another and another, until all of his dogs are crowded around Gerard’s legs, tails wagging happily.

Sergio crouches down, his grin so bright it almost hurts as he reaches out to them, doesn’t even mind that they’re not instantly flocking towards him, just looking up at him with their heads tilted to the side, because they must not be able to recognize him when he smells and looks so very different.

“I can’t believe you brought all of them here,” he smiles up at Gerard, feels so grateful he couldn’t possibly put it all into words, especially not when Tango takes a tentative step into his direction, sniffing at his hand for a moment before he lets himself be petted.

“You’re welcome,” Gerard shrugs a little sheepishly. “I’ve got the weekend off anyway and since you missed them so much, i figured we’d take a little trip, plus i kinda needed to get out of the house anyway.”

“Thank you.”

 

They eventually end up outside on the patio, Sergio curled up on the wooden bench with Lizzy and Zaphiro, Gerard lounging in the chair next to him and while it’s already more fall than summer, it’s still nice, the cold bite of the air slowly chasing away the heat of the day.

Gerard however doesn’t look entirely comfortable, his shivering still visible even if he’s trying hard to suppress it, arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to prevent the cold air from seeping through his thin t-shirt.

“Here,” Sergio holds out his hoodie to him, grins at the disgruntled look on Gerard’s face as he pulls it over his head and seeing his own body in Gerard’s clothes does very confusing things to his heart.

Why are you always this cold?” Gerard grumbles. “It sucks.”

Sergio laughs. “You’ll get used to it, trust me.”

“Well, I don't want to,” Gerard pouts, pulls his sleeves over his hands.

Sergio smiles fondly. “Did you really come all the way up here, just so i could see my dogs?” he asks, fingers gently playing with Zaphiro’s fluffy ears.

“Yes and no,” Gerard admits, looks down at his cloth-covered fingers. “Your family was driving me crazy,” he adds quietly.

Sergio heads shoots up in alarm. “What did they do?”

“Nothing really, just,” Gerard shrugs. “They keep dropping by unannounced all the time. It’s like there’s always someone in the house. I can never just get a minute of peace and quiet to myself. How do you deal with so many people always coming over?”

“I like having people around. It’s comforting,” Sergio shrugs. “I don’t like being alone.”

Gerard hums thoughtfully.

“If they bother you too much, you can just tell them to give you space. They’ll understand.”

Gerard nods. “They love you a lot, you know.”

Sergio has to look away at that, gaze straying over the dark garden instead, doesn’t want Gerard to see the sadness in his eyes, suddenly feels terribly homesick for his friends and family.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, has to clear his throat before he can continue. “So how are things going at the club?”

Gerard sighs. “I don’t know. A lot. Confusing,” he scratches his beard. “Not as bad as i thought.”

“Ha!” Sergio exclaims, flinches when Tango, startled by the sudden noise, stirs from his place at his feet and bumps against his legs. He reaches down to scratch him between his ears. “Just admit that you already love it there.”

“You wish,” Gerard chuckles.

“Not really,” Sergio laughs wistfully. “The universe might collapse if you did.”

“Possibly,” Gerard grins, but his expression quickly turns serious again. “It’s gonna be international break soon,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods. “Are you going to be ok having to go?”

Gerard shrugs. ”I guess so. At least they’re not gonna whistle me this time,” he pauses to look up at Sergio. “Are you going to be ok not going?”

“I don’t know,” Sergio looks down at his hands, tries to ignore the tightness in his chest. “I’ll have to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you can do about it. Just don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t,” Gerard nudges against Sergio’s shin with his toe until he looks up and their eyes meet. “I would never do that to you,” he says and Sergio has never heard him sound this sincere.

“I know,” he whispers and leans back in his chair, a comfortable silence settling between them.

He lets his eyes drift across the garden, lets his thoughts wander. “What if we never switch back?” he asks eventually, hates the feeling of dread flooding his chest at the thought alone. There’s still so much he wants to accomplish, so many records to break, so many memories left to make.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Gerard cocks his head to the side. “There has to be a point to all of this. A lesson to be learned or something. We just have to find out what it is.”

Sergio nods. “Let’s find out tomorrow then.”

Chapter 5: How do we figure this out?

Notes:

It's been a while. I hope there's still someone interested in this :)

I'm still not entirely sure where this is going, but i have some ideas and the firm intention of finally finishing this.

On a sidenote: I will be changing the title of this fic, probably with the next chapter.

I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter, even if the 2019/20 season feels like a lifetime ago now.

The next day

Sergio rolls over with a soft smile on his lips, still snuggled deeply underneath the covers. He buries his face in the silky fur of Lizzy’s neck and he hadn’t realized how much he missed having his dogs around until he woke to Zaphiro licking his face and Jagger’s heavy weight across his feet just a few moments earlier. His finger card through the black strands as he scratches the skin between Lizzy’s ears, listening to her heavy pants and he wouldn’t mind staying in bed with them for the remainder of the day, but his body still doesn’t feel like his own and he’s overly aware of Gerard’s presence in the house.

It’s just a few minutes past 8 when he swings his legs out of bed and steps into a pair of sweatpants that still feel entirely too big on his narrow hips. Lizzy jumps out of bed and nuzzles his leg and it takes him a few moments to nudge her away so he can put on his socks, pull on a worn t-shirt and run his fingers through his messy hair.

Somewhere in the house a door falls shut and it’s just another reminder that he’s merely an intruder in someone else’s home. He flinches at the way they’d awkwardly danced around each other last night, the lights already dimmed as they’d climbed the stairs to go to bed, an exchange held between tired yawns and exhausted glances, too many polite words and not enough of their usual bickering and guilt still gnaws at the pit of his stomach when he remembers Gerard’s refusal to take the master bedroom, stubbornly insisting on the guest room instead no matter how many times Sergio had offered his own bedroom to him.

With a sigh he opens the door and steps out into the wide corridor, the carpet soft underneath his socked feet and it’s only the burning need for coffee and the longing for some answers that makes him fight down the dread in his chest and pad down the stairs, figures Gerard will most likely be in the kitchen already.

“Good morning,” Gerard greets him the moment he steps into the room, his smile just a little too wide for the weariness in his eyes.

“Morning.” Sergio nods awkwardly. His stomach grumbles loudly at the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs and he actually manages to muster a small smile at the sight of Gerard behind the kitchen counter, spatula in hand and gaze focussed on the contents of a large pan.

“Hungry?”

Sergio nods and climbs up onto one of the bar stools, cursing underneath his breath when he bumps his knee against the counter.

“Still not used to the legs?” Gerard laughs and pulls two slices of bread out of the toaster.

Sergio shakes his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Mostly against his will. “You’ve got freakishly long limbs,” he laughs, his mouth watering when Gerard pushes a plate towards him. “Thanks.”

“Meanwhile I can't even reach the top shelf anymore,” Gerard teases as he takes the first bite, looking awfully proud of his own cooking skills.

Not even true,” Sergio mumbles around his fork and the food is surprisingly good, not that he’ll ever actually admit to it. “How’d you sleep?” he asks instead, just barely avoids burning his tongue on the next bite.

“Like shit,” Gerard shrugs. Their cutlery clatters against the plate as they dig into their breakfast.

Sergio sighs and shoves another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I told you to take the master bedroom.”

“Didn’t have anything to do with the bedroom.”

Sergio nods but he doesn’t really know what to answer. It’s not easy to find sleep when there’s a problem to solve that doesn’t seem to have a solution to it.

“We should probably figure this out today then,” he says. He just wishes he’d sound more confident about it.

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Gerard pushes his plate away and reaches for his coffee, fingers cradling tightly around the mug and Sergio knows he’s just trying to keep his hands busy, that his body is thrumming with so much restless energy that he can barely keep himself from fidgeting.

“Are you giving up already?” Sergio asks, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s not sure he could deal with being stuck in this situation all on his own, when for the last few days it felt like Gerard was his only lifeline in all of this.

“No, it’s just…,” Gerard makes a helpless gesture with his hand. “I don’t know where we would even start. What if we can’t find anything?”

“Yeah,” Sergio nods. He’s felt a sense of panic simmering underneath ever since he woke up in Gerard’s body and the thought that he might never get to feel his own body again, get back to his own life is almost too much to bear. “We won’t ever find out if we don’t try,” he says and he’s still lacking conviction but he’s never been particularly good at just sitting around and doing something always feels like the better option.

“I guess,” Gerard reaches for their empty plates and Sergio watches him bustle around the kitchen, can’t help but study his expression, his own face, trying to make out his thoughts, his feelings, but God it’s just too weird, this unfiltered look at himself.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to looking at his own face, at reading his own expressions. Probably not, he thinks. Why would he? It’s not like that’s a usual occurrence for most people.

“Might as well get this done before the season really starts,” he mumbles as he slides off his chair to help Gerard clean up. Either way they’ll be too busy to meet up regularly once the matches start.

*

“God, I need a break,” Gerard leans back in his chair and rubs his hands across his face. He looks tired and defeated and Sergio knows exactly how he feels.

“Yeah,” he sighs and closes his laptop with a quiet thud. It feels final in a way that sends an uncomfortable stab through his chest. After four hours of crawling through the weird spaces of the internet he would have hoped for something a little more useful than a few random blog posts filled with untrustworthy science, personal accounts that seemed so clearly made up that he didn’t even bother looking into them further and entirely too many fictional stories that were scarily similar to their own situation.

“I really thought we’d find something more useful,” Sergio looks up to meet Gerard’s gaze. “We can’t be the only people this has ever happened to.”

Gerard tilts his head to the side as he studies him. “Would you post about it on the internet though?”

“Probably not,” Sergio shrugs and fiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts, not quite sure what to do with his hands or his entire body really. There’s a weird ache in his lower back and it feels like his mind has been going a mile a minute ever since this whole thing started. “What if we told the team doctors about it? They might have a solution.”

“We can’t,” Gerard’s head snaps up and for a moment there’s a look of utter panic on his face, eyes wide and full of fear, his posture tense and his legs bouncing nervously. “No one will ever believe us,” Gerard says, his voice oddly strangled. “Best case they’d think it’s a prank and we’ll both end up on the bench, worst case they think we’ve lost it and it ends our careers.”

“You’re probably right,” Sergio nods. If anyone told him the same story he wouldn’t believe them either, he just wishes it wouldn’t make him feel this helpless. “So what now?” he asks and God he’s so fucking tired of that question, of asking it over and over again without ever really being able to find an answer.

“I have no idea,” Gerard pulls his legs up onto the sofa, folding them underneath himself. “Maybe we’re going at this all wrong,” he muses, pulling up his socks and Sergio momentarily gets distracted by the sight of his own tattoos, has never really had the chance to look at them from someone else’s perspective, take them in from another angle that isn’t his own eyes.

It takes him a while to tear his gaze away, already identified a few spots he’ll have to fill in with new ones as soon as he gets his body back. “What do you mean?”

“We keep trying to figure out how to go back. Maybe we should figure out why we switched bodies in the first place instead.”

Sergio hums under his breath. It’s an intriguing thought even if he’s not entirely sure how helpful it will be. “So what, you think the universe tilted off its axis because we conceded too many goals against Atletico in a pre-season friendly?” He laughs despite himself, because it seems like such an absurd concept, but then again none of this has been all that logical.

“How would I know?” Gerard chuckles. ‘You’ve got any better ideas?”

“But why did I switch bodies with you then?” Sergio continues. “Shouldn’t I have switched with Koke then?” He scratches at the skin of his neck. “What’s your role supposed to be in all of this?”

“Why are you asking so many damn questions?” Gerard shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth twitch up into an amused smile.

“You started this whole thing,” Sergio laughs, some of the heaviness slowly easing off his chest, even if nothing is resolved yet, it feels good to laugh together for just a little while. “And why are you so sure this is about me? What did you do that day?”

“Nothing particularly memorable,” Gerard shrugs. “Travelling, watching your team get spanked, the usual,” he smirks and just about manages to duck away when Sergio throws a pillow at him.

“This is not helpful,” Sergio playfully rolls his eyes at him.

“Never said I would be,” Gerard grins, grabbing the pillow and cradling it against his chest. They fall quiet for a while, both hanging on to their own thoughts. A dog barks somewhere in the distance and he listens to the birds chirp happily outside, the sun so bright that he knows it’s already sweltering outside.

“Maybe we should just wait it out for a while. See what happens,” Sergio says when the silence has stretched on for too long, his own impatient thoughts tumbling all over each other once more. “It always seemed to work out for the people in those stories we found …,” he trails off a little awkwardly and he’s still not quite sure what to actually make of the website he found earlier, a whole archive of stories, but despite them clearly being fictional they still came closest to their whole crazy experience.

“Are you seriously basing your opinions on fanfic right now?” Gerard laughs but Sergio can tell that he isn’t entirely opposed to it, that it just might not be as outrageous as it sounds.

“What do we have to lose?” Sergio asks and there’s something in the way Gerard looks up at him that makes him believe they might just be able to get through this as long as they stick together. “They seem to know a lot about what happened to us, more than anyone else at least.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Gerard shakes his head, the lines of worry around his eyes finally replaced by a hint of playful amusement. “Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable that there’s so much porn about us out there?”

“Some of it was actually really good,” Sergio smirks, a soft flush creeping up his neck when he thinks back to how explicit some of them were.

“Of course you’d say that,” Gerard laughs, scowling softly when an unruly strand of hair falls into his face, fingers impatiently brushing it off his forehead. “God, your hair is annoying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean now,” Sergio laughs and watches him fiddle some more with the long strands, decides right then and there he’ll make him grow out his hair properly this time, mostly just to annoy Gerard.

“You’re like the fandom slut,” Gerard grins. “They’ve written you with basically all of your teammates.”

“You’re just jealous I’m the player with the most stories on there,” Sergio gloats and he does feel immensely proud knowing how popular he is, that so many people seem to enjoy spending their time writing about him.

“Oh God, of course you’d check your stats,” Gerard shakes his head, exasperated in the most endearing way. “You really need to win at everything.”

“You’re just a sore loser,” Sergio’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a giddy laugh bubbling up from deep in his chest, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “You know, you might get more if people knew how big your dick is.”

Gerard splutters out a surprised laugh, a faint blush high on his cheeks. ”I can’t believe you looked.”

“I had to shower at some point,” Sergio grins. “And don’t pretend you didn’t look yourself.”

Gerard shrugs, a shy smile playing on his lips. “You’ve got tattoos in some interesting places,” his eyelids flutter teasingly and now it’s Sergio’s turn to blush, doesn’t really understand why the thought of Gerard checking out his body makes him hot all over.

He’s saved by a soft scratching on the floor, both of them looking up into a set of large brown eyes, entirely too many tails wagging as Sergio’s dogs crowd into the room, excitedly vying for their attention.

“Wanna go take them out for a walk?” Sergio suggests with a laugh, figures some fresh air might be a nice distraction for all of them.

“Sure,” Gerard nods, smiling softly as he watches Sergio struggle to keep them from climbing into his lap all at the same time.

Chapter 6: Hair troubles

Sergio tightens his grip around the leashes and tilts his face up into the afternoon sun, savoring the fresh air and the warmth on his skin. There’s a squirrel somewhere in the bushes and Lizzy has been unruly ever since she picked up the scent, pushing and pulling until he’d almost stumbled over his own feet.

Behind the hedges there’s a row of neatly spaced trees, deliberately placed to give the path as much shade as possible and yet there’s rivulets of sweat running down his back, his shirt damp from heat and exertion. Still it feels nice to be outside like this, with his dogs and barely any people around. A privacy they rarely ever get to experience.

He glances over at Gerard, his smile more mischievous then soft as he watches the frown on his face, the impatient tug on his long-sleeves, so impossibly inappropriate for the weather and yet entirely necessary to cover up his tattoos and make him less recognizable for any passers-by.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Gerard rolls his eyes when he catches Sergio’s gaze, but the lines of his mouth are gentle, the twinkle in his eyes almost one of fond amusement.

“Maybe,” Sergio grins in return. The faint breeze tugs on the hem of his shorts, a soft wind against the skin of his calves and it does feel nice not having to be covered by entirely too much fabric for once.

There’s an older couple walking their dog in the distance, fuzzy ears perked up at the scent of rivals nearby, his own dogs suddenly buzzing with excitement and curiosity. He shortens the leashes, leather rough against his palm as he nods his head towards them. “Better than being recognized,” he mumbles. He’s learned to be careful over the years. More than once he’d been discovered by just a trace of his ink alone.

Gerard wipes a trail of sweat off his forehead and shrugs. “You could just not look like a walking picture book,” he smirks, fingers running along the edge of his baseball cap before he pulls it deeper into his face, hiding his eyes from Sergio and the glare of the sun.

“What’s with the hat anyway?” Sergio asks with a shake of his head. The thing has been firmly lodged on Gerard’s head since Sergio joined him for breakfast this morning and he’s been meaning to ask ever since, but somehow could never find the right moment for it.

There’s a pause before Gerard answers, just to take a breath and for his brows to furrow in a displeased frown. “I can’t deal with your hair,” he groans, just a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “It’s a nightmare to get it under control.”

Sergio’s laughter bubbles up from deep within him, rumbling in his chest before it splutters from his lips, as much surprised as he is amused, taken off guard in the best possible of ways. “Show me,” he grins.

“Not here.”

*

Stepping out of the sun feels pleasant in a way that’s impossible to describe, a flash of cold sizzling over his heated skin, his eyes adjusting to a darkness that’s only there because of the brightness of the sun and his fingers finally relax when he unclasps the leashes.

The dogs happily barrel down the hallway in search of their water bowls and suddenly they’re left alone in the hallway, flushed and just a little out of breath, laughing softly as they kick off their shoes.

“You gonna show me now?” Sergio teases. Their eyes meet for just a brief moment and he doesn’t know why he looks away so quickly, why he can’t quite hold Gerard’s gaze.

He leans against the wooden dresser. The metal handles rattle loudly under the sudden weight of his body and he startles in surprise, distracted just long enough that he almost misses Gerard reaching for his hat.

There’s a faint blush staining Gerard’s cheeks as he slowly pulls the cap off and it’s only the shy look in his eyes that makes Sergio swallow the laugh that’s threatening to spill out of him, because his hair is a sad mess, sticking out in all directions, tangled and straggly from an entirely unsuccessful attempt to force it into shape.

“God this is tragic,” he smiles fondly, but not without understanding in it. After he cut off his hair, it had taken him a while to get used to it, figure out how to tame it and style it properly.

Gerard runs his fingers through the unruly strands, grimacing when he somehow only manages to make it worse. “How do you even deal with this?”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Sergio nods towards the stairs and reaches for his wrist, tugging him along until they reach the bottom of the stairs, until Gerard eventually follows him willingly.

 

He makes him sit on the edge of the tub while he searches for a comb, rifling through drawers until his fingers finally close around the small piece of plastic, but within minutes it becomes clear that merely brushing it out won’t do, the tangles resisting even the fiercest of his attempts.

So they shuffle around until Gerard’s head is awkwardly bent underneath the shower head, rinsing out his hair without getting his clothes wet and yet the collar of his shirt is still soaked when Sergio’s fingers run through his hair, soapy with shampoo and as gentle as he can get them, drops of water soaking through the thin fabric across his chest.

It becomes easier after that, product gone and hair left damp from the soft strokes of a towel, just enough that Sergio can easily drag the comb through every strand of hair, lip pulled between his teeth and eyes focussed in concentration, careful not to hurt when Gerard is sitting so pliant beneath him, hands on the edges of the tub and his gaze trained on the writing across Sergio’s shirt.

Their knees bump absentmindedly and he’s already thinking about pulling him to his feet, reaching for the hair dryer and leading him over towards the mirror when the comb gets caught at the back of his head, stuck in a tangle that’s refusing to budge.

His breath rushes out in an impatient huff, soft hairs already bristling under the rough treatment and he wriggles the comb out with careful movements, unwilling to rip out more hairs than necessary.

It clatters into the sink with a noisy thud, quickly replaced with slender fingers, gently carding through wet strands until he feels the knot against his fingertips, working slowly to loosen the tangle of hair.

And he doesn’t mean to yank on it so harshly, to pull with so much force that Gerard’s head tilts backwards and the apology already sits on the tip of his tongue, just one more breath away, but it gets drowned out by a strangled, needy moan tearing from Gerard’s throat and echoing across the tiled room.

Gerard stiffens beneath him and Sergio’s fingers still in his hair, eyes wide and lips parted in startled surprise, both of them caught off guard completely.

“What the fuck was that?” Gerard whispers, looking up with wide questioning eyes and Sergio feels his cheeks flush.

“How would I know? You made that sound,” Sergio laughs but it comes out treacherously unsure, breathless even.

The silence around them feels deafening.

“Your body made that sound,” Gerard mutters, not sure what else to say. He shudders when Sergio’s hands slip from his hair.

“Yeah…,” Sergio sinks down onto the edge of the tub, settling right there next to him, their fingers almost touching as he rests them on the cold rim, gripping tight to keep his balance. He lets out a slow, uncertain breath. “ I like getting my hair pulled,” he admits quietly. “You know…,” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence, his cheeks a dark shade of crimson.

But Gerard seems to understand anyway, his eyes wide in surprise. “I did not need to know that,” he shakes his head but there’s a flutter of amusement in his voice, a softness in his eyes and Sergio figures they might just make it through the tense awkwardness still enveloping them.

“Just forget about it then,” Sergio smiles ruefully.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Gerard splutters out a short laugh.

Sergio’s hands are still damp from Gerard’s hair and he wipes them on his shorts, fingertips getting caught in a loose thread, fiddling with it nervously.

Gerard is the one who eventually breaks the silence, his voice treacherously unsteady. “I guess this is as good a time as any to talk about it,”

“Talk about what?” Sergio asks and there’s something about them sitting side by side, about not having to look at each other while they have this conversation.

“Dating …. you know,” Gerard makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Sex.”

Sergio sits up a little straighter and there are suddenly a million thoughts racing through his head, tumbling all over each other and making him feel weirdly dizzy. “What do you mean?”

“Were you seeing anyone, you know, before we swapped bodies?”

“No,” Sergio shakes his head. “I would have told you.”

“Ok. Good. Me neither,” Gerard nods with relief, the tense set of his shoulders easing just slightly and Sergio feels it just as vividly, wouldn’t even know how to navigate an intimate relationship with a person he barely knows.

“So I was wondering…,” Gerard continues, abruptly pulling Sergio from his thoughts. “Since we probably won’t switch back for a while, is there something you aren’t comfortable with? Something you wouldn’t want me to do while I'm in your body?”

Sergio drags his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the soft flesh and there’s something weirdly hopeful in Gerard’s voice, when this whole thing has been nothing but painfully awkward from the very beginning and he’s so fucking sick of answering questions and having these conversations when all he wants is to get back to his own life or any life really where he can just be himself and not have to worry about another person finding out more about him than he’d ever want to reveal.

“Maybe not other people? For now?” He twists around to face Gerard, studying his profile, even if the edge of the tub is now painfully digging into the right cheek of his ass and his balance is precarious at best. “Everything else should be fine.”

Gerard nods and their eyes meet briefly, bodies tilted towards each other. “With everything else, do you mean…?”

Sergio breathes out shakily and he really wishes this wouldn’t feel so stilted. “Yeah.”

“Have you…?” Gerard pauses for a moment and Sergio can hear him swallow thickly. “Have you touched yourself?”

Sergio blushes. “Kind of,” he mumbles when it barely lasted more than a minute, a few days ago when the tension in his body felt like it might just snap him in half if he didn’t do something about it and he couldn’t get a proper hold of himself when he rolled over in bed and snuck his hand down the front of his pants, couldn’t get himself to look as he furtively got himself off underneath the blanket, his touch raw and the thoughts running through his mind entirely too big for his own head, when everything about the familiar movements felt so very different. “You?”

“Yeah,” Gerard smiles shyly. “It’s been a while.”

Sergio nods and there’s something breathtaking about the image of Gerard’s large hands running across his skin and touching him, but then again it’s not really Gerard’s hands when he’s still stuck in Sergio’s body and does this mean they’re both really just touching themselves?

The thought makes his head hurt.

“So how long should we wait?” Gerard looks down at his hands, fingers interlace tightly. “How long is for now?”

And Sergio can’t figure out if he’s just imagining the impatience in Gerard’s voice, doesn’t know why he feels so wretched about it.

He mulls the thought over in his head and from the very beginning he’s had this feeling that their fate would inevitably be tied to the clasico in one way or another. He doesn’t need to check a calendar to know the next one is less than two months away and even if he won’t be tempted to date anyone after that, for more than one reason, neither of one Gerard needs to know about, it still seems like a reasonable deadline. If they don’t switch back until then, they might as well just start living their new lives properly.

Sergio looks up, his expression determined as their eyes meet. “Until the next clasico.”

Chapter 7: International Break

The start of the season doesn’t go exactly as planned. They hand Sergio the armband for Barcelona’s first official match and he’s so confused about it that the color of his jersey and the odd number on his back suddenly don’t seem to matter all that much anymore; until he realizes that both Messi and Busquets are out for the match and Gerard is next in line and well, things are still more unsettling than he would like as they march out onto the field to the wrong anthem playing in the background.

There’s a flutter of nerves sitting in the pit of his stomach and he’s not sure the extra attention of the captaincy will be all that helpful in keeping a low profile, but the familiar tightness of the armband feels strangely comforting, settles something deep within him.

Still he’s overly aware of his every move for most of the match, weirdly distracted every time the ball lands at his feet and it’s not even because he has to play on the right now, a side that has become entirely unaccustomed to him. He’s always been good at adapting on the pitch, his ability to read the game unwavering, even when everything else around him is falling apart.

It is however endlessly more difficult to suppress the constant urge to yell out at his teammates, when he’s so used to giving instructions on the pitch, always involved in the directions of each play, encouraging and correcting mistakes. But Gerard has alway been more quiet, more subdued in his way of leading the team. It costs him more than he expected to swallow the words constantly threatening to spill out of him, his lip bitten raw even before the first half ends.

If anything it does help that Gerard seems incapable of whistling, his tongue unable to curl in that way that produces the sharp sound he’s so accustomed to using on the pitch, almost like it’s become second nature after so many years. It forces a soft laugh out of him the first time he tries and nothing comes out but a sliver of spit and a sad little huff of air.

They concede a late goal and Sergio feels weirdly drained by the time they trudge off the pitch, wretched in a way he hadn’t expected. Usually a Barcelona defeat would be grounds for a celebration, especially on the first day of the league, but now that he’s partly responsible he mostly feels hollow inside, angry even because if there’s one thing he hates it’s losing, feels impossibly responsible for the defeat even if the team isn’t his own.

 

It gets a little easier after that, an easy victory followed by a draw and slowly he begins to relax, to adapt to his new circumstances. It helps that Gerard isn’t faring much better, a close victory followed by two draws, the entire team struggling to find their form and Sergio can’t help but wonder if things would be different if he was there in his place instead of Gerard.

The kitchen is bathed in a soft golden glow, the smell of tortilla still lingers in the air and maybe for the first time Gerard’s house almost feels like home. He grabs a cold bottle of water, a soft smile on his face when finally the fridge is filled to the brim with all his favorite foods, protein shakes and more vegetables than Gerard has probably seen in his life.

The cap cracks softly as he twists and breaks the plastic, the sharp edge scratchy against his thumb and having to spend international break at home isn’t a feeling he’s been used to over the last few years, not one he particularly enjoys.

He drags himself to the living room, fiddling with the remote while he hesitates to press the large red button at the top, the black rectangle looming ominously on the wall while he stares blankly into space.

It wasn’t all that much of a problem watching the other qualifiers earlier in the day. Sure he would have preferred to watch them with the rest of his team, but now with Spain about to kick off their match, he can’t seem to fight down the dread at having to watch Gerard wear his number and jersey, play the match in his place, when it should be him leading the team out onto the pitch, listening to the anthem and fighting for his country.

When he finally does turn on the tv the match is already well under way and for the first few minutes he desperately holds his breath, especially when the commentators begin to discuss his performance. But it’s a quick realization that he doesn’t have to worry. If Gerard seems a little shaky in some moves, it’s really only noticeable to Sergio because he’s paying close attention and the Romanian strikers aren’t really much of a threat anyway.

He has just about managed to make himself comfortable when the referee calls a penalty for Spain. He sits up a little straighter, breath caught in his throat when Gerard reaches for the ball and Sergio knows he’s the designated penalty taker for the team, usually steps up when the pressure is the highest, but it would also be the easiest thing in the world for Gerard to hand it off to one of the strikers, would only ever get him praise for caring more about the stability of the team than his own stats, especially because Gerard has never been the strongest of penalty takers.

It feels like an eternity that Gerard hovers at the penalty spot, an endless close up of Sergio’s face on his screen and he wonders if he always looks this determined, this fearless, eyes blazing and fixated on his goal, jaw set and muscles in his neck flexing under the coiled tension in his body.

The whistle sounds overly loud in the quiet room and he just barely resists the urge to cover his eyes when Gerard takes the shot, a desperately shaky breath stuttering from his lips when the ball sails into the net with a satisfying thud, the entire team gathering around Gerard in celebratory excitement.

The wave of sheer and utter jealousy that washes through him at that almost knocks the wind out of him, chest so tight that he fears it might just burst from it, clawing at him with a fierceness he can barely grasp and God he wishes he didn’t feel like this, didn’t feel this childish rage when deep down he’s only ever been supportive of the team’s success, when for everyone else this will be his own success as well.

But he’ll always know the truth.

 

He switches the tv off at half time, because what use is there in torturing himself over a match that will be nothing but inconsequential in just a few months time, will only ever matter to him in the worst kind of way.

But the wretched feeling in his chest isn’t just because of that. He’s never been particularly good at being cooped up at home for long periods of time.

He glances at his watch and if he hurries he might just make it there in time. He’d found the announcement on Gerard’s instagram a few days ago, had instantly been intrigued even if he’d never actually planned on going there, but now it might just be the perfect distraction to pull him out of his foul mood.

He takes the stairs two at a time, suddenly eager to get out of the house.

 

An hour later he steps out of the taxi onto a narrow side street.

The cobblestone is uneven underneath his feet and the buildings so tall he has to crane his neck to spot the edges of them. The scent of fall already hangs in the air, damp leaves and hot coffee, a sting of cold betraying a day that wasn’t quite hot enough to belong to summer anymore and yet still warm enough for everyone to be clad in sundresses and shorts.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rounds the corner, stepping into yet another alley that’s indistinguishable from the first in every one of its remarkable little details. A flower box drips softly onto the pavement and he ducks away from the sudden onslaught of water, a happy little smile on his face as he just narrowly avoids a trash can on the side of the road. Three more blocks and he can already hear the music drifting down the street, louder every time the door to the bar swings open and he feels a joyful warmth wash through him long before he steps into the dimly lit room.

 

The next morning

He successfully ignores the first ten rings of his phone, head burrowed deep underneath the pillow but the caller is nothing but persistent and there’s really only one person that could possibly be this annoying.

“What?” he barks into the phone, or at least that’s what he thinks he does when in reality it sounds more like a sleepy grumble.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” Gerard snaps loud enough that Sergio’s hand jolts away from his ear, phone held at a safe distance for just a moment. There’s no surprise at Gerard being on the other end of the line. He already knew even before he picked up.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbles tiredly, his entire body aching for a cup of coffee.

“Gerard Pique spotted at Barcelona’s hottest new flamenco bar”, Gerard parrots, reading out the headline with entirely more impatience than warranted, his voice heavy with disapproval.

“And?” Sergio sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and dragging himself into a sitting position. A pillow is wedged awkwardly between his back and God why can’t this lumpy thing never seem to settle properly? He tosses it onto the floor with an annoyed huff, can’t really figure out why Gerard is so worked up about this.

“You really don’t see the problem?” Gerard snaps and he sounds entirely more annoyed than Sergio can stomach this early in the morning.

He snorts out a humorless laugh. “God, why are you acting like I went to a strip club or something?” He catches the blanket just as it’s about to slide off the bed, pulls it back over his legs. “I just went out to listen to some music.”

“Because you’re drawing unnecessary attention onto us,” Gerard’s voice drifts away from the phone for a moment and Sergio listens to his harsh breathing, to something rustling in the distance before he finally continues. “I don’t think we want anyone poking around in our lives at the moment.”

“What do you expect me to do then?” Sergio draws in a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t just stay home all the time.”

“I know,” Gerard clears his throat. “It’s just…”

“You need to relax, no one is going to care,” Sergio says softly. ”They’ll just think you went on a date or got invited for some sort of promotional event.” He scratches his side, fingers trailing over the bumps of his ribs as his eyes drift down to his naked chest, brows drawing together in an involuntary frown and he might just never get used to all that pale, unadorned skin.

“You sure you don’t want me to get a tattoo for you?” he asks, lips curling up in a soft smile and it’s a tempting thought, a whole new blank canvas for him to fill.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sergio shakes his head, mostly amused with himself, but also a little embarrassed. “How many articles could there possibly be anyway?” he mumbles, putting Gerard on speaker and quickly typing his name into the search bar. “God, there’s really nothing going on in this city,” he laughs when a whole list of articles loads, entirely more than he imagined, all with similar headlines and the same picture of him entering the bar at the top. He won’t even bother reading the actual articles. There won’t be anything in there except wild speculations and bold lies anyway.

“They’ll move on to something else tomorrow,” he says, scrolling further down, looking for something he can’t quite put his finger on, more intrigued by those pictures of him, or Gerard for that matter, than he probably should be.

And right there at the bottom of the page, long past the sports publications and deep into the gossip rags there’s a link that makes his smile impossibly wide. “I guess you should thank me instead,” he grins smugly.

“What are you talking about now?” Gerard laughs and that exasperated amusement in his own voice will never not sound weird to him.

Sergio’s thumb glides over the screen and presses down on the link, a sense of satisfaction washing through him. “I got you on the best dressed list,” he gloats, eyes stuck to the glossy picture, Gerard dressed in black slacks and matching jacket, perfectly tailored to accentuate his lean frame, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone and his hair artfully swept upwards and how had he never actually noticed before just how attractive Gerard is, so very much his type if he’d ever allowed himself to think about a teammate like this.

“I managed to do that just fine on my own,” Gerard’s laughter rings out across the line and it’s a welcome distraction, enough for him to push the stray thought to the back of his mind.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Sergio teases. “Wanna make a bet how many times I can get you on that list?”

“You’re on,” Gerard laughs.

Chapter 8: of friendship and barbeques

Should he ring the doorbell? Should he just let himself in and wait for Gerard to get home?

It’s his own house after all. So why does the thought alone already make him feel like an intruder? Lingering on the doorstep with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes drawn together in a perpetual frown, shifting from one foot to another and his thoughts racing a mile a minute. And yet both options seem equally, frustratingly misguided.

He was fine just moments ago when he’d let himself in through the front gate, marching up the driveway with determined steps, brimming with so much confidence his shoulders had felt impossibly wide.

But he’d run out of steam even before the front door had come into view. The gravel crunching underneath his feet as his steps had slowed to a crawling halt, the dark house looming in front of him so ominously and his stomach twisted in knots.

And maybe it’s because he’s still not quite sure why Gerard all but summoned him to Madrid the moment his international break was cut short by an unnecessary suspension and an early flight home.

He almost doesn’t notice when a car pulls up right beside him, only the sound of the engine abruptly shutting off that makes him look up, eyes wide and startled. And it’s not just surprise that has his heart beat just that little bit faster, watching Gerard climb out of the car, still dressed in his training kit, hoodie blindingly white and the Madrid crest bold across his chest.

“Well, you look nice,” Sergio grins, even more so when Gerard’s face contorts into a grimace of pained disgust.

“Don’t even get me started,” Gerard grumbles, eyes trailing up and down Sergio’s body but he doesn’t really find anything to make fun of when basketball shorts and a matching black t-shirt might be the most inoffensive thing he’s ever worn. Sergio bites back the triumphant grin at Gerard’s disgruntled expression.

“What are you even doing out here?” Gerard kicks at a piece of gravel and sends it flying across the driveway.

“It felt wrong to just walk in,” Sergio shrugs.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Gerard laughs and collects his bag from the back seat. “Just get in the house.”

The car door slams shut with a loud thud and Sergio trails after him into his own home, hates how it feels weirdly foreign and way too familiar all at the same time.

“I brought dinner,” he says, kicking off his shoes and he’s already halfway to the kitchen by the time Gerard follows.

He’d taken a detour to his favorite butcher after landing in Madrid, figured they might as well use the occasion and his brand new grill to have a proper barbeque. It’s been a while since he enjoyed an evening outside with his friends, a nice fire and some good wine. Sharing it with Gerard seems to be the closest he can manage in their current situation and they’ve become quite close over the last few weeks, surprisingly so when there was a time they could barely manage to be in the same room together without arguing.

Sergio doesn’t quite remember when it started, but somehow they’d ended up talking on the phone every night, mostly out of necessity at first, when there’d always been something important to share, a forgotten bit of information or an unexpected occurrence that needed to be dealt with immediately lest their secret got exposed.

And just having someone to talk to about their struggles helped in a way neither of them could possibly imagine. Someone who could relate, who would understand. Until one night Sergio finds himself impatiently waiting for the phone to ring, worried because Gerard is running late and he has so many things to share that they’re bubbling out of him all at once the moment Gerard answers.

It’s only when he hangs up hours later, that he realizes just how much he’s been looking forward to their daily calls. Sometimes running well into the night, bodies tired and two sets of eyes droopy from sleep, rushing through their nighttime routines together, phones never far out of reach and it’s then that he learns about Gerard past and his present, the way his mind works and the things that make him laugh, genuinely and freely in a way he’s never heard before and somewhere along the way he develops an unexpected respect for the person he is when the jerseys come off and their rivalries are left aside.

In the kitchen he spreads the steaks out on a plate, patting them dry with a paper towel, still acting out of instinct when he pulls the pack of salt off the top shelf, fingers closing around the pepper without having to look up and there’s suddenly a wave of happiness washing through him. Now that he’s back in his own space, surrounded by his own things and the colorful chaos he feels so comfortable in. There’s suddenly a sense of rightness blossoming inside of him, like all the pieces have finally clicked back into place and he can finally breathe again.

If only he could keep it for longer than just a few nights.

“Hey, do you mind if I take some of my paintings to Barcelona? Put them up in your house?” He looks up into Gerard’s curious expression, still startles that first second when he finds his own eyes looking back at him so intensely. Something he knows he’ll never get used to, no matter how long they’ll be in this situation, even if it feels less intense now, less like a jump scare when in the beginning he could feel his own heart almost pounding out of his chest for long moments afterwards. “I’d take them all down of course, as soon as we switch back, put everything back into place,” and he hopes he doesn’t sound as desperately eager as he feels, wonders if Gerard feels the same unrest deep inside of him.

“Sure,” Gerard nods and hops up onto the counter, legs dangling as he watches Sergio coat their steak in salt and pepper. “I don’t mind. Most of it was done by a decorator anyway.”

Well, that was easier than expected, Sergio thinks to himself as he flips the meat over, rubbing more salt onto the other side.

Gerard watches him intently, eyes curious and open. “What’s next?” he asks and it makes Sergio smile how he seems genuinely interested in the preparation of their meal. It makes him wonder sometimes if Gerard has started enjoying his company just as much or if he’s still doing this just out of necessity.

“Gonna let them rest for a few hours and then put them on the grill,” he pushes the plate back on the counter and wipes his fingers on a towel. “Help me start a fire.”

 

It’s colder than expected outside, now that the sun has dipped below the horizon and they’re well into October already, a cold sting already noticeable in the night air, the first forebodings of the winter that is about to descend. Sergio shivers when a gust of wind hits his bare forearms, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He rubs his hands together, his fingers already starting to go numb, but he knows the moment they’ll get a proper fire going the patio will heat up nicely.

He lifts the grate off the grill, brushes out the remnants of the last fire and some assistance would actually be nice, especially with the unwieldy parts of it all, but Gerard’s idea of help seems to mostly consist of leaning against the wall and watching him work, a slightly amused smile on his lips.

There’s goosebumps all across his arms, even as his muscles start to strain under the effort and his neck is damp with sweat and maybe wearing shorts in the middle of fall wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“I’m gonna get something warm to wear,” Gerard says suddenly, almost like he can read his thoughts. “You want something too?”

Sergio’s breath puffs out in harsh pants as he pours new charcoal into the fireplace and there are plenty of clothes in his suitcase. Five more minutes and he could easily get himself something to wear, but there’s something impossibly tempting about finally being able to wear his own clothes again. He accepts Gerard’s offer with a curt nod.

Gerard disappears into the house and Sergio watches after him for a while before he goes back to work, rummaging around the little cupboard for a lighter.

When Gerard finally returns, there’s a small fire going in the fireplace, soft little flames licking across the kindling and the smell of coal already permeating the air. In an hour or two they might be able to put the steak on the grill and enjoy there dinner.

Gerard is wearing a plain Nike hoodie, sleeves pulled tightly over his fingertips. “Here,” he says and tosses a bundle of white fabric at Sergio.

The hoodie comes hurtling towards him the moment he looks up and he just barely manages to stick his arm out in time to catch it. “Thanks,” he says and then his eyes go wide when he spots the crest on the front, one eyebrow quirking up in an amused question.

“Just this once,” Gerard laughs. “I thought you might enjoy that.”

“You have no idea,” Sergio grins and smooths the soft fabric down his body, the Real Madrid crest covering most of his chest. It’s a little short on Gerard’s body and tight at the edges but it’s worth it just for the look on Gerard’s face. “You know white really suits you. You should wear it more often,” he chuckles, a sudden image of Gerard in Spain’s white kit flashing across his mind, a soft flutter in the pit of his stomach and then it’s gone before he can get a proper hold of it, before it can settle in his thoughts and he can try to make sense of it all.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Gerard shakes his head, his eyes shining with amusement.

“Whatever,” Sergio sticks his tongue out at him, still chuckling under his breath as he turns back towards the fireplace, shifting the glowing charcoal around until he can feel the heat simmer against his palm.

There’s a thin layer of dust covering the patio chairs but he doesn’t really mind as he sinks into the plush cushions of the one closest to the fire, a soft content sigh tumbling from his lips.

“You wanna open this?” Gerard motions to a bottle of red wine he brought out with him. His fingers toy with the bottle opener, the metal clinking softly. Sergio watches him peel off the plastic, slowly uncovering the cork and he doesn’t usually drink during the season, but he won’t be playing a match for the next two weeks and if there was ever an occasion to make an exception.

“Sure,” he nods and he’s about to explain to Gerard where he keeps the wine glasses, but he’s already pulled two out of the built-in cabinet next to the fireplace and Sergio instantly feels stupid about the thought. Of course Gerard would know his way around the place after so many weeks living in his house. It’s just as much his home now as it is Sergio’s. He doesn’t hate the thought as much as he expected.

The cork comes out of the bottle with a satisfying plop, the bottom of it tinted in perfect crimson and his mouth waters just thinking about getting to taste it. He’s always liked a good glass of wine.

“You know, this wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Sergio chuckles and accepts the glass with a grateful nod, savoring the scent before he takes a small sip.

“How kind of you,” Gerard laughs and takes a seat across from him, flicking the cork back and forth between his thumb and index. His eyes are sparkling with mirth as he studies Sergio. “I can’t believe you already got yourself suspended. We’ve barely played five matches in the league.”

“It’s been eight,” Sergio pouts but he can barely keep himself from smiling.

“Well that makes a huge difference,” Gerard chuckles teasingly.

“Says the one who’s currently serving a yellow card suspension with the national team,” Sergio smirks, taking another sip and maybe they should actually save some of the wine for dinner later.

“Not the point,” Gerard kicks at him underneath the table, but it’s really just a soft nudge, an affectionate bump against his shin. His lips quirk into a teasing smile when their eyes meet. “You got five yellow cards in eight matches.”

Sergio huffs out a soft breath. “The refs were being too harsh on me.”

Gerard grins smugly and leans back in his chair, legs crossed at the ankles. “Life isn’t so easy without the Madrid protection, is it?”

“Don’t even start,” Sergio grumbles, but a laugh splutters out of him despite himself, turns out the first few matches of the season he might just have misjudged the length of his limbs and his new center of balance a few times, but there’s no way he’ll ever admit that to Gerard.

“Just try not to make people too suspicious,” Gerard teases. “They might figure us out after all.”

“As if. Your disciplinary record isn’t that much better than mine.”

“I only got one card so far,” Gerard corrects him and God Sergio really wishes he wouldn’t look that proud of himself.

“Lucky,” he laughs and glances at his watch.

The fire crackles behind them, his stomach grumbles loudly and the steak should be almost ready now.

He pushes his chair back and steps into the house.

When he returns a few moments later, Gerard is in the middle of setting the table, putting out plates and napkins and smiling up at him the moment he notices his presence.

“About time you made yourself useful,” Sergio taunts, mostly because the domesticity of it all makes his heart flutter impossibly.

The steaks sizzle pleasantly as he spreads them out on the hot grill, the scent making his mouth water almost instantly.

Behind him Gerard is clattering around with the cutlery and Sergio almost doesn’t hear him speak over the sound at first.

“The kids really look up to you a lot,” Gerard says, causing Sergio to look over at him.

“What do you mean?”

“We had this training session with the youth teams today,” Gerard explains. “And they all wanted a picture with me … well, with you technically …,” Gerard’s mouth narrows into a thin line. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Sergio laughs and flips the steaks over. “I like helping them out, sharing my experience, supporting them whenever I can. I wouldn’t have made it this far without people helping me out along the way. I wanna give some of that back, you know,” he trails off.

Gerard nods, a soft smile on his lips. “I like how much you care about them.”

“Thanks,” Sergio smiles and he suddenly feels weirdly lightheaded, can’t quite figure out if it’s from the wine or the affection and respect shining so openly in Gerard’s eyes and maybe this friendship isn’t quite as one sided as he thought.

“You ever gonna tell me why you made me come all the way to Madrid?” he grins and he’s gotten quite good at changing the subject, at ignoring the weird mix of emotions he’s started to feel lately around Gerard.

“No particular reason,” Gerard laughs. “Just felt like some company where I didn't have to pretend to be you.”

Sergio smiles but it’s a wistful one, a comfortable silence descending around them as Sergio gathers the plates and takes the meat off the grill.

 

Later, when they’ve finished dinner and Gerard is somewhere in the house getting them another bottle of wine, Sergio looks up at the cloudy night sky.

There aren’t many stars visible with the lights of the city all around and yet it still settles something inside of him, makes his mind wander and his thoughts just that little clearer and he can’t help but wonder what will happen to their newfound friendship when they eventually return to their lives, can’t help but fear things might not stay the same when he’s already so used to Gerard’s steady presence near him.

Especially because there won’t be much time left until he inevitably finds out. Only two more weeks until el clasico.

Chapter 9: El clasico?

5 days before el clasico

The paintings arrive on Tuesday morning, six large crates stacked neatly against the hallway wall as he comes home later that day, just waiting to be unwrapped.

He’d originally planned to ship a few of his own paintings to Gerard’s house, the ones he could never really find a proper space for but then he’d stumbled upon a quaint little gallery on one of his afternoon walks. His own secret ritual he’d taken up whenever he missed his family and his life too much, just wandering around wherever his feet would take him, exploring quiet alleyways and picturesque locations of his temporary home.

He had instantly fallen in love with the charming little shop, the colorful art and the bold patterns, large sceneries he could barely take his eyes off of.

His fingers trail over the rough wood as he crouches down in front of the first crate, prying it open just enough that he can get a glimpse of broad strokes of purple paint, the beginning of a whole landscape of elaborate flowers and exotic animals.

There’s a splinter of wood stuck in the pad of his thumb, but he ignores the slight sting of pain. There are two more paintings just like this one wrapped up safely, parts of a set that will eventually grace the walls of his living room but for now they're destined for Gerard’s bedroom, a much needed speck of color amidst a sea of white and beige.

Eventually he lets the lid slide back into place and straightens back up, fumbles with his thumb until the little fragment of wood comes out with a single drop of blood, crimson against his pale skin. He licks it off with the tip of his tongue, shudders at the metallic taste spreading in his mouth.

There’s a painting of a bull in the largest crate at the back, his favorite from the moment he laid eyes on it, but for now it’ll have to stay wrapped up. There isn’t really any need to put them up now when he’ll be back in his own home in less than a week.

 

4 days before el clasico

The tension is palpable when he arrives at training the next morning. But it’s a familiar one. A welcome one even. They all know what’s at stake in a match of this magnitude and clasicos have always had a different air to them, one he couldn’t help but love irrevocably, the tension and the pressure of it all, when a single mistake could unravel it all.

There’s still the usual banter while they warm up, the friendly jokes and the good-natured ribbing, but they all run just that little bit faster, fight that much harder, for the ball and a potential spot on the team.

Afterwards they’re all too exhausted to speak, the air thick with nervous anticipation.

Sergio glances around and lets his thoughts wander, a gentle smile on his lips as he takes it all in and the dressing room might still be foreign to him, but the feeling is so very much the same.

He kicks off his shoes and watches Jordi pull the tape off his ankle, rubbing gingerly at the tender flesh. It looks bad now but they all know it won’t keep him from giving his all on Sunday.

Sergio mouth curls upwards into another smile. He’s done just that so many times before that playing through the pain has become second nature to him by now. Because missing a clasico has never been an option.

He looks up, still lost in thought and startles when he finds Messi studying him intently, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Ready for the match?” he asks and there’s something in his expression that makes Sergio feel weirdly uneasy.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Leo shrugs. “Just wondering.”

Sergio stares after him as he wanders towards the shower and he can’t quite figure out why he feels so rattled by the question, why Leo would ask him of all people.

But by the time he arrives home a few hours later, the exchange is all but forgotten.

 

3 days before el clasico

Gerard doesn’t call at his usual time that night. There’s some kind of team dinner going on in Madrid, organized by Gerard himself if he can trust the gossip rags. It makes him laugh because it’s exactly what he would have done, but he’s also weirdly annoyed by it.

Sergio spends his evening slinking around the house with no real idea what to do with himself now that Gerard is busy. He’s bored and listless and he hates to admit (even to himself) how accustomed he’s gotten to their nightly phone calls and the sound of Gerard’s voice. Well, his own for that matter, but that sounds entirely too conceited, so he dismisses the thought, flees to the gym instead. The only place where he can get his mind to shut off for more than a minute, if he just pushes himself hard enough.

His muscles ache in a not entirely pleasant way by the time he gets out of the shower and falls into bed, wearing nothing but a pair of flimsy briefs and his skin still damp, but at this point he just wants this day to end.

He finally dozes off into a fitful sleep just as his phone begins to ring and he jolts up in bed with a curse spilling from his lips and a soft smile on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he answers, teasing lilt to his voice and a desperate flutter in his chest.

“Were you asleep already?” Gerard replies and he sounds like he just arrived at home, fabric rustling in the distance and his shoes falling to the ground with a telltale thud.

“Not really,” Sergio yawns, rubbing his face to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

“Since when do you go to sleep this early?” Gerard laughs and Sergio imagines him padding down the corridor on socked feet, climbing up the stairs and eventually ending up in his bedroom, sinking down on the plush mattress to get out of his clothes.

“I don’t,” Sergio grumbles but they both know it’s a thinly-veiled lie. They're mostly just going through the motions, because it’s what they’re comfortable with, what they’ve always done, bickering and teasing each other until neither of them knows anymore what they were talking about in the first place. “How was your dinner?”

“Nice,” Gerard laughs softly. “Very tasty,” in the distance a tv flickers to life, soft voices drifting through the line. “Fuck, hold on,” Gerard’s voice suddenly trails off, more curses fainting into the distance as his phone is abandoned on the nearest surface he can reach, left there for just a few moments until Gerard returns, his breath coming out in a rushed huff.

“How do you even deal with your contacts all the time?” he grumbles. “There’s always something in there.”

Sergio laughs. “You get used to it.”

“Not sure,” Gerard sounds doubtful, his voice muffled once more and Sergio figures he must be taking them out, replacing them with his glasses to give his eyes a much deserved rest.

“Oh god, much better,” Gerard moans, his voice soft and low and breathy.

Sergio wriggles his foot free, rests it on top of the blanket instead, suddenly feels hot all over.

“Ready to get your ass kicked on Sunday?” Gerard taunts, but Sergio’s brain is weirdly slow to process.

“Huh?” he asks dumbly and it must be the residues of sleep that are making him so unfocussed, so distracted by the rapid flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“The clasico,” Gerard laughs and God how is it possible that he can hear him roll his eyes, can almost picture it so vividly.

“Shouldn’t you want me to kick your ass?” Sergio teases and it’s a shame really that Gerard can’t see his smug grin, can’t see how impossibly proud he is of himself. “Since when do you want Madrid to win?” he adds and he could never resist twisting the knife further, not when the sound of Gerard’s pained groan sounds like music to his ears.

“Oh, leave me alone,” Gerard grins and he sounds half sheepish and half amused and half like he just had the most genius thought ever and wait, that's too many halves. Sergio shakes his head and this whole thing is still doing his head in.

“You know, even if I lose it’s still you who’s going to get his ass kicked either way,” Gerard chuckles.

“What?” Sergio laughs and God none of this makes any sense, still doesn’t and he’s pretty sure Gerard has no idea what he’s talking about either at this point.

“Even if you end up winning and we switch back, you’re still going to be the one who lost,” Gerard smirks.

Sergio frowns because doesn’t that also mean…? He scratches at the back of his neck and draws in a slow breath. Whatever. “Do you really think we’ll switch back after the match?”

“We have to,” Gerard says quietly. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sergio sighs, but there’s a sliver of hope bubbling up in his chest. Not much longer and he’ll finally return to where he belongs.

 

2 days before el clasico

The news hits him like a bucket of ice cold water. His coffee mug abandoned somewhere on the counter, his eggs slowly going cold on his plate as his eyes cling to his screen, panic gripping his chest so tightly he can scarcely breathe.

El clasico postponed amidst protests and security concerns

His phone slides out of his trembling fingers, tumbling to the ground with a loud thud, but he barely hears it over the roaring of his pulse in his ears and fuck what are they supposed to do now?

It’s still right there on the floor when it rings just a few moments later. Sergio bends down with a groan and recovers it from underneath the table.

“Did you see?” he answers, doesn’t really bother with a greeting. He’s all out of energy to be anything but honest right now.

“Yeah,” Gerard’s voice sounds painfully subdued and Sergio knows exactly how he feels.

“What now?” he asks, but what really is there to do when their only hope of getting their own lives back has been taken away from them so cruelly.

“We wait?” Gerard says but it comes out more as a question than a statement. “It’s not like there’s anything else we can do.”

“I guess,” Sergio shrugs. He stares at the plate of food right in front of him, but he’s not really hungry anymore and just thinking about eating makes him feel like nauseous. It’s only a few more weeks, he tells himself, only until December, when the match has already been rescheduled, but it doesn’t really make him feel any better. Waiting has been all he’s been doing lately and he’s so very tired of it.

“Wanna come to Madrid over the weekend?” Gerard offers but Sergio doesn’t really feel like company, doesn’t really feel like pretending he’s anything but devastatingly homesick for his own life.

They hang up shortly afterwards, neither of them in the mood to talk much more.

 

1 day …. 56 days before el clasico

Sergio can’t bring himself to get out of bed. He’s already late for training but it all feels so pointless now, like such a waste of time when he’s never planned for anything past tomorrow.

It takes him another thirty minutes to drag himself into the shower, can’t bring himself to do anything more to his hair than rub it dry with a damp towel, throwing on a pair of old sweats and a worn hoodie before he grabs his car keys and walks out the front door.

The crates with his paintings remain unopened in the entrance hall.

Chapter 10: of yellow cards and phone calls

Sergio grabs a banana off the table and drags himself over to his locker, plops down on the weird cube they have instead of chairs and why can’t they just have proper seats where a person can lean back and relax after a match.

After three games in eight days his muscles are sore and his entire body feels impossibly achy, exhaustion settled deep within him, but the marathon of matches and training sessions, all those endless trips in between also serve as a welcome distraction, won’t let him dwell on the postponed match and the bone-deep disappointment he’d felt for days afterwards. He’s never been one to mope about things that couldn’t be changed, but this time it had felt just a little harder, had taken just a little more effort to get over it all.

He strips out of his jersey and his shorts, throws them on top of the ever growing pile of dirty kits in the middle of the dressing room, cleats clicking softly against the hard floor as he shifts in his seat.

His fingers quickly become sticky as he fumbles the peel off the banana, savoring the first bite before he devours the rest of it and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was, how badly he needed the energy after fighting on the pitch for a whole ninety minutes.

“We should have scored,” Messi says as he walks into the room, fresh from the post-match interview and not really looking at anyone as he drags himself to his locker.

His words are echoed with a round of murmured agreement, every single one of them aware that they should have done better than a mere goalless draw, but they’re still in a good position to advance to the next round, so there isn’t really much to worry about yet.

Sergio licks his fingers clean and reaches for a bottle of water, swallowing its contents in one single gulp. A few droplets trickle onto his bare chest and slide downwards onto his stomach, a welcome cold on his overheated skin.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his beard scratchy against his skin and now Gerard just has to win his match tomorrow, when what he really needs is for both teams to advance to the next stage of the tournament. He wouldn’t mind a clasico as the champions league final, especially because he’s sure they’ll have switched back to their own bodies by then.

At least that’s what Gerard and him have convinced themselves during entirely too many endlessly long phone calls over the last few weeks. He just hopes they haven’t been lying to themselves all this time.

His fingers fiddle with the elastic of his socks, still pulled tightly around the skin just above his knee and he should really take off his shoes and get himself into the shower. Jordi and Marc are already eyeing him suspiciously because he’s taking entirely too long and apparently Gerard is someone who hurries through getting ready after a match, just a quick shower and then he’s rushing out the door so he can get home as quickly as possible. Something Sergio has never been particularly good at, when he’s always enjoyed lingering in the dressing room afterwards, chatting with his teammates and basking in the post-match adrenaline, even if it’s after a defeat, somehow he’s always the last one to leave and not just because it takes time fixing his hair properly.

 

Marc is already dressed and ready to go when Sergio finally forces himself to lean down to untie his shoes and God he might need an extra session with the physios tomorrow because his back screams out in pain and his calves feel even more sore than usual and he’s so focussed on loosening the stupid knot in his laces, caked in so much mud, so tight that he can barely get his fingers into it, that he doesn’t notice his phone flashing with a new text message.

He’d checked it right after coming back to the dressing room and then left it abandoned on the seat next to himself which is why Jordi notices before he does, neck craned almost to its limit as curious eyes peek nosily at his screen.

“Why is Ramos texting you?” he asks, an annoyingly smug grin on his face.

“None of your business,” Sergio laughs and he should really ignore Jordi and the message, when he already knows Gerard will just nag him about getting another yellow card again, but he reaches for his phone anyway, feels his pulse quicken imperceptibly.

Another suspension? Really? the message reads and Sergio can’t suppress the fond smile. So predictable.

Wasn’t my fault he texts back and it might not be the most elaborate response, not his best comeback ever, but Gerard’s instant reply makes his smile even wider and his heart flutter softly in his chest.

His fingers fly over his screen as he types out yet another reply, the shower and his teammates mostly forgotten as he watches the tiny bubbles move across his screen, waiting impatiently for whatever affectionate insult Gerard will throw at him next.

“Wait, did you actually…?” Jordi’s eyes are wide in sudden surprise. “I didn’t think you’d actually make a move,” he smiles, gaze sparkling with a soft fondness and Sergio has no idea what’s going on anymore.

“Did I do what?” Sergio asks and it feels like he’s the only one not in on their secret.

“Nothing,” Jordi grins smugly, sharing amused glances and quiet laughs with their teammates. Across the room Leo is looking at him with that knowing sparkle in his eyes again and it’s a little unnerving how he always seems to be watching him lately.

Sergio frowns and turns back to his phone, wonders if this is something Gerard would know or if he’d be just as clueless as he feels right now, like half of the conversation is happening without him.

Eventually he gets tired of sitting around in his underwear when most of his teammates are already dressed and ready to go. He shoves his phone back into his bag, grabs a towel and strides across the room, still feels strangely unsettled from Jordi’s earlier comment, can’t really figure out what he was trying to imply.

 

The next day

Sergio turns the water off and smiles softly to himself. There’s nothing better than a hot shower in the morning, especially when his muscles are still achy from last night’s match.

He pads across the bathroom. Still naked. Still dripping wet. Fingers carding through his hair as he looks at himself in the mirror. He’ll have to get another haircut soon. It was so much easier to style after he got a trim just a few weeks ago.

His phone vibrates on the edge of his sink and he lunges forward to keep it from clattering to the floor, barely catches it with the tips of his fingers.

“What?” he answers, just the slightest bit out of breath.

“Good morning to you too,” Gerard’s laughter echoes through the phone, a warmth settling deep in Sergio’s chest at the sound of it. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”

“None of your business,” Sergio chuckles and puts him on speaker, phone perched on the sink again as he wipes the mirror with the palm of his hand.

Gerard laughs again, the rumble of a sound followed by a string of insults that for them could very well be endearments instead and Sergio’s gaze lingers on the slope of Gerard’s nose and the slant of his cheekbones, every ridge, every edge reflected back at him so clearly through the damp mirror, the angles of his face now intimately familiar in the most foreign of ways. His eyes drift down to the speckle of hair on his chest, over the dark dusting around his nipples and even lower still to the flat planes of his stomach, taking in every blemish, every imperfection on the way there, every little detail that intrigues him so endlessly.

He averts his gaze before it can trail even lower, cheeks suddenly flushed with heat as he wraps a towel around his middle and he can’t deny anymore that he likes looking at Gerard’s body, has caught his eyes wandering more than once over the last few weeks, clinging to the hard planes and all the soft places in between, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach every time his hands run over his pale skin, over sharp edges and tight muscle, desperately wanting to explore ever more of him.
He shakes his head when he feels his dick twitch between his legs, bites down on his bottom lip until the faint flicker of arousal slowly fades into the distance again.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” he teases weakly, mostly to distract himself from his own thoughts and he really hopes his voice doesn’t sound as hoarse as it feels, when it’s impossibly confusing to sort through his sudden attraction to Gerard while still stuck in his body, when he can’t really figure out if his feelings are real or it’s all just a side effect of their unexpected switch.

“Turn your camera on,” Gerard demands instead, a smile to his voice and forever evading Sergio’s questions.

“I’m not dressed yet,” Sergio says and instantly regrets it. He can almost hear Gerard roll his eyes at him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Gerard laughs softly. “I’ve seen myself naked before.”

“Whatever,” Sergio mutters under his breath and the scowl is still securely on his face when the camera flickers to life. “Happy now,” he grumbles but it instantly turns into a splutter of a laugh when he sees Gerard bundled up in a giant hoodie and covered with a soft fluffy blanket. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I’m freezing,” Gerard pouts and tugs the blanket closer around himself. “I always thought you were just being dramatic.”

“Told you I was sensitive to the cold,” Sergio laughs.

“Yeah well, i didn’t think it was that bad,” Gerard shudders.

“Just turn up the heat,” Sergio suggests with a chuckle, hand absentmindedly brushing over his abs and he loves the soft ache there from laughing too much, muscles quivering gently against the palm of his hand, the knot of his towel just lose enough that his fingers claw into the damp cotton to keep it from sliding off, suddenly feels impossibly naked under Gerard’s gentle gaze.

“I think you should come to Madrid before the international break,” Gerard says while Sergio is still struggling with the only piece of fabric covering his body and for a moment he’s desperately caught off guard by the question, mind blank for any sensible reason why Gerard would want to see him again so soon.

“Why?” he asks dumbly.

Gerard’s laughter rings out across the room. “Why not?”

“Whatever,” Sergio grins and turns around to lean against the sink. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.” But it’s really not the worst idea. He has a few days off without training and he’d rather not spend them all by himself with nothing to do.

He shifts against the cold surface of the sink, the sharp edge digging painfully into his back and he should really be fixing his hair before it dries all weird, but it’s not like he can do much when he’s only got one hand free, still holding onto his phone for their video call. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he says eventually, even if he’s not entirely sure he actually wants to know the answer.

“Sure?” Gerard nods.

“Yesterday, when we were texting after the match,” Sergio feels a sudden, agonizing flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, almost doesn’t continue if it wasn’t for the curious flicker in Gerard’s eyes and he can’t bring himself to look directly at the screen, stares at the white tiles on the wall instead. “Jordi made some weird comments after he saw who i was talking to and Leo too. I was wondering…,” he looks down at his phone again and the words instantly get stuck in the back of his throat. He’s never seen Gerard look this panicked, this stricken, eyes wide and his face drained of any color.

“What did he say?” Gerard asks, his voice shaky and hollow, words tumbling out in one trembling rush of a breath.

“Nothing that made any sense really,” Sergio sighs. “That’s why I’m asking. It felt like I was missing something, like they were trying to imply something, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I thought you might know,” he scratches at the skin of his stomach, fingers caught in the dip of his belly button and he can’t keep himself from fidgeting, nervous hands desperately seeking for something to do.

“I have no idea,” Gerard draws in a stuttering breath and there’s a flicker of relief in his expression, gone so quickly that Sergio isn’t entirely sure he didn’t just imagine it. “Probably just a dumb joke,” he shrugs but Sergio can’t shake the feeling that he’s lying.

Chapter 11: of Cádiz, tributes and secrets

Madrid, one week later

“I think you should come to Cadiz for the match,” Gerard says when they settle on the sofa in Sergio’s living room that Saturday evening, empty plates abandoned on the table and glass of ice tea cradled in their hands.

It’s too cold to sit outside already, but it’s still nice to glance out into the vast garden, everything illuminated by soft lights and the soft splatters of rainfall.

“There’s going to be a tribute for you, for your record of international matches,” Gerard explains. “You could at least experience it from the sidelines, you know, as a guest,” he shrugs as he trails off and they both know it’s not nearly the same, but Sergio doesn’t really have to think about it for long when it’s the next best thing.

He nods quickly and that’s how he finds himself in Cadiz the following Wednesday, walking into a crowded dressing room just a few minutes before kickoff.

They all greet him with happy faces and affectionate words, like a long lost friend, and it had been the easiest thing in the world to sneak him in as a surprise guest, when Gerard still knows so many people on the international team.

Jordi pulls him down into a half hug, doesn’t even get off the bench as he pats him on the back, his shoes still untied and his shirt sweaty from warm-up. “You should consider coming back,” he laughs as he lets go, but Sergio only shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips.

“You wish,” he grins, but if he’s completely honest with himself it’s a thought that has crossed his mind a few times already, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and afraid that they might just never change back and if he’s stuck in Gerard’s body for much longer, it might be something to seriously consider.

He glances over towards Gerard, watches him secure the captain’s armband around his arm before he leans down to pull his socks over his knees, his fingers smoothing over the coarse fabric before he straightens up again, turning towards his locker to start his prematch ritual and it’s mesmerizing watching him get ready, almost like an out of body experience.

It’s almost scary how good Gerard is at imitating him, the way he brushes his hair out of his face and fumbles the tape around his fingers, every one of his movements so uncannily similar to how Sergio himself would do it. His breath catches in his throat when Gerard lifts the little cross to his lips to press a quick kiss to it and even that little moment of hesitation before he puts the necklace back into its place is exactly how Sergio would do it before each match.

He falls back into the shadows when the team gathers in the middle of the room for one last shout of encouragement, Gerard vanishing from his sight for just a moment as he disappears in the huddle, and his own voice is all Sergio can hear, shouting out before the rest of his teammates join in.

He bites down on his bottom lip until he draws blood so he doesn’t join in.

 

Just as he expected Gerard is the last to leave the dressing room, glancing around the room one more time before he steps towards the door.

Sergio holds him back just as he’s about to leave, fingers wrapping softly around Gerard’s wrist. “How are you so good at being me?” he asks with a hint of amusement to his voice. There’s a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trying not to get us caught,” Gerard shrugs sheepishly. He glances down at Sergio’s hand still lingering on his arm. “I did share a lot of dressing rooms with you,” he laughs but it sounds oddly forced, a faint blush high on his cheeks. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be you out there,” he adds quietly, his eyes flickering downwards.

“It’s fine,” Sergio shrugs, but they both know it really isn’t.

 

He watches the tribute from the edges of the tunnel, just out of view of any cameras and he feels a sense of pride wash through him when the giant banner with his picture unfolds in the stand, when his name and his achievements are called out across the whole stadium and it doesn’t even matter that he’s not out there on the pitch, that he can’t take credit for it personally, because this is his own accomplishment, one he worked hard for his entire life.

 

In the end they don’t even have to come up with an excuse for Sergio to come to the hotel because Jordi and Busquets invite him along for dinner all by themselves and it’s nice catching up with his international teammates after all this time, even if it feels a little weird having to pretend he doesn’t know the Real Madrid players as well as he actually does, exchanging nothing but pleasantries and moving on before he can accidentally give himself away.

He just barely made it out of an awkward situation earlier when he got too comfortable for a moment and asked Lucas about his dog’s stomach problems and his son’s first day of kindergarten. A flush of embarrassment creeps up his neck just thinking about how quiet everyone had gotten, all heads turned towards him all at once, curiously watching him squirm in his seat until Gerard came to his rescue and abruptly changed the subject.

It is however infinitely more difficult to catch Gerard alone so they can talk. He has to sit through the entire dinner and most of the customary speeches until Gerard finally excuses himself to go to the bathroom and he follows him a few moments later, lingering in the hallway until Gerard returns, fingers fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweats and startling a little when he finds Sergio lurking around the corner.

“Can we talk?” Sergio asks, his fingers nervously locked together, hands kneading back and forth in front of his body.

“Sure,” Gerard nods, looking up at him expectantly.

“Not here,” Sergio tilts his head towards the end of the hallway, hopes Gerard will understand without him having to explain more while anyone could walk in on them at any given moment.

 

The elevator ride up to Gerard’s room passes in awkward silence, Gerard’s brows drawn together in a questioning frown and Sergio entirely too nervous to speak. He feels Gerard’s curious eyes on him the entire time and he goes back and forth on his decision to ask Gerard more than once on the short ride, but then the doors ding open and they’re at Gerard’s door before he’s even managed to settle his racing heart or figure out how to calm the turmoil in his mind.

The room is a decent size, not too small that the bed takes up most of the space, but still cozy enough. The view isn’t bad either with the curtains opened. If he cranes his neck to the side he can even see a sliver of the ocean between buildings, the soft glow of the moon making the water sparkle prettily.

He bites down on his bottom lip and drags his gaze back towards the room, breathing a sigh of relief that they’ve stopped sharing rooms a while ago, because Gerard’s is an entire mess, clothes strewn around everywhere, almost every surface covered in clutter and he could never leave his things lying around like this, not putting them all in the place where they belong and if anyone could see the state of this room, it would raise some very uncomfortable questions for Gerard.

The door to the bathroom is ajar, a sliver of light shining through the gap and for a short moment he wonders if it looks just the same in there, heaps of towels left abandoned all across the floor but his inspection of Gerard’s room has already dragged on for awkwardly long and Gerard is still staring at him expectantly, not saying anything, not giving him any kind of opening whatsoever.

“So I was wondering…,” Sergio starts, hands nervously rubbing along the outsides of his thighs, just barely keeping himself from bouncing on his feet. “We’ve got the next couple of days off and while i’m already down here,I thought I could spend some time on the ranch, check on my horses you know. I was wondering if you could give them a call and tell them you’re gonna have a visitor over?”

Gerard’s eyes go wide in surprise. “You’re ranch in Sevilla?” he asks, disbelieve written across his entire face.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods timidly. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to convince Gerard.

“I don’t think that’s a particularly good idea,” Gerard looks regretful as he continues. “Don’t you think people will start asking questions if you just show up there, especially without me there. It’s bound to leak to the press one way or another.”

“Trust me, it won’t get out,” Sergio scratches the back of his neck and it’s not like he hadn’t expected Gerard’s concerns, without knowing everything it seems like an insane request at best. He’d just hoped he wouldn’t have to spill all his secrets for him to agree.

He perches on the armrest of the only chair in the room, lets out a breath of relief when it doesn’t topple over under his weight. “Just give the ranch manager a call and tell him you’re going to have someone come over. They’ll clear out the place and no one will bother you.. or me while I’m there. They’re used to requests like this.” His stomach twists nervously as he looks up at Gerard but after everything they’ve been through he has to believe he can trust him even with this part of his life.

Gerard mulls over Sergio’s words for a while. “Wait, is this where you bring girls?” he asks eventually, a faint smirk on his lips.

Sergio remains silent, hands folded behind his back, fingers wrapped tightly around the metal rim of the armrest while he waits for him to put it all together.

“But why all the secrecy? Why go through so much trouble just for a hook-up?” Gerard tilts his head to the side, his eyes questioning. “You’re single. Would it really be so bad if a few pictures got out? No one would care if there were any rumours.”

Sergio grins despite all the nerves raging inside of him. It’s almost cute how clueless Gerard is. “You really didn’t go through my phone, did you?” he asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question really and it sends a rush of warmth through him that Gerard actually followed his request and didn’t betray his trust.

“You asked me not to,” Gerard shrugs, his expression almost shy.

“It’s not women,” Sergio says quietly, a lump of nerves stuck in the back of his throat as he waits for Gerard to figure it out and there’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes but he still looks mostly lost and God he’s really going to have to spell it all out for him.

“What do you mean?” Gerard asks and he looks so adorably confused that Sergio can’t help but let out a soft laugh, even while his heart pounds erratically in his chest.

“I’m gay.”

Chapter 12: Are we okay?

Sergio furtively glances at his watch. It feels like an eternity since his impromptu confession and Gerard’s tentatively whispered Oh!.

In reality it’s barely been thirty seconds since Gerard’s eyes widened in surprise and his lips parted like he wanted to say something, only to remain painfully silent.

Sergio’s leg bounces nervously.

“Will you stop fidgeting?” Gerard scolds softly, staring out the window like there’s something more exciting going on out there, besides the occasional passing car and some pigeons pecking at breadcrumbs.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Sergio replies. It’s surprisingly difficult to swallow the disappointment rising up inside of him, when he hadn’t even known he wanted Gerard to react a certain way.

“What do you want me to say?” Gerard looks up at him with a question in his eyes, but his expression is gentle, like he can sense the turmoil going on inside of him.

Sergio shrugs. If only he had more experience reading his own expression. Maybe then his stomach wouldn’t be tied in so many knots at the look in Gerard’s eyes and he can’t decide if it’s disdain or just indifference, if he’s missing something else linger underneath.

He watches Gerard pace along the length of the room, but it’s more like he’s wandering aimlessly, trying to make sense of it all, to find words in the impossible jumble of his thoughts.

“Do you think I mind?” he asks eventually, stopping just a few inches from the chair Sergio is still perched on, close enough that he could reach out and touch, but he doesn’t. “That you’re gay, im mean,” he adds somewhat awkwardly. “Because I really don’t.”

Sergio nods and feels at least some relief wash through him. He doesn’t really have all that much experience with these type of confessions, when only a few members of his family know. “Aren’t you surprised?”

“Maybe a little,” Gerard shrugs. “Honestly I never really gave it much thought. I usually don’t make it a habit prying into my teammates’ private lives. We’re footballers. We all have secrets.”

Sergio tugs at the hem of his t-shirt and he should probably be happy about Gerard’s reaction or lack thereof really, but it also stings that he doesn’t seem to have any curiosity about him whatsoever.

“So are we okay?” he asks and slides off the chair, putting himself at eye level with Gerard. He hates feeling this vulnerable.

Gerard smiles softly. “Of course we are.”

 

Sevilla, 5 days later

Sergio stops atop the hill and looks out across the scenery, hands braced on his thighs as he pants for breath, muscles straining pleasantly from his morning workout and if he squints just a little he can almost see the lake across the grassland, the house tugged in securely behind the slope of the land and it never takes long for all stress to drain out of him when he’s on his ranch, a calmness spreading through him that he can’t seem to find anywhere else.

The sun has barely been up for a few hours, still low enough that everything is basked in a soft golden glow and yet the heat is already starting to swelter, betraying a hot summer day even in the middle of November.

He pulls off his shirt and wipes the sweat off his neck, wondering if he should have applied sunscreen before going out. He’s still not used to how sensitive Gerard’s pale skin is and it wouldn’t nearly be the first time he ended up a little more sunburnt than he expected.

The gravel crunches gently underneath his feet as he makes his way down the hill, a thin sheen of dirt covering his shoes and his shirt bundled up tightly in his hand, his phone clutched in the other and he’s already looking forward to a nice breakfast and spending the day lazing around by the pool, recharging his batteries before the next marathon of matches, still so many left that he can barely keep track of them, even with Christmas break rapidly approaching.

His phone pings with a new text just as the stables come into view and he absentmindedly glances at the screen, smiling faintly when he sees it’s from Gerard. They’ve talked a few times since his sudden revelation at the hotel, texted even more in between and at first he’d been afraid that things would be weird and awkward between them, but if anything Gerard seems even more talkative now, more attentive, just messaging him at random hours of the day and he can’t help but feel guilty for having misjudged him so badly, when he should have known better all along.

He quickly texts back, fingers flying across his screen as he types out a reply, almost stumbling over his own feet when he misses the turn and trips over the curb, stubbing his toe so forcefully that a surprised curse flies from his parted lips, but the pain is only fleeting, gone the moment Gerard’s answer comes in just a few seconds later, forcing a stutter of a laugh out of him instead and there’s really only one thing that would make his mini vacation even better.

And maybe it should come as more of a surprise how badly he craves Gerard’s presence, how much he likes spending time with him now that they’ve gotten to know each other better, but somehow it only feels natural, like he can’t even be bothered to question it when it feels so impossibly right.

He tugs his shirt into the waistband of his shorts and decides to take a detour to the stables. His breakfast and the shower can wait just a little longer when it’s going to be a while until he’ll be able to see his horses again.

The heavy door creaks ominously as he pushes it open and it takes his eyes a few long moments to adjust to the halfdark, a shiver running down his spine as he steps out of the sun and into the damp cold of the large building.

He pulls his t-shirt back over his head and smoothes it over his stomach, but the thin fabric doesn’t really do anything to chase away the goosebumps breaking out across his skin.

The horses neigh gently as he passes by their boxes on his way to Yucatan. It’s been a long standing tradition that he always checks on him first, palm rubbing over his big snout and fingers carding through the mane between his ears and he never gets tired of looking into his big eyes, of enjoying his warm presence near him and if there’s anything he regrets about being a professional athlete it’s that he’s not able to ride anymore.

It’s been so long since he sat on a horse that he barely even remembers. He must have been around fourteen years old, before he started playing professionally and he misses everything about it, the wind blowing in his hair and the landscape flying by, even the rough leather of the saddle and the reins chafing against his palms, but risking his career over it is just no worth it. Not that Gerard seems to agree. He’s seen more than a few photos of him on horseback over the years and maybe now that he’s in his body he could take one of his horses out, enjoy a short ride across his ranch. But he’d never take a chance like that with someone else’s health, no matter how tempting the thought might be.

He watches Yucatan feed on the apples he brought from the bucket by the door, takes some selfies with him in the background and sends a few to Gerard, mostly just to make him laugh and because he knows it won’t take long until he’ll come up with another creative way to insult him, wouldn’t mind texting with him for just a little while longer.

 

He goes back to Barcelona two days later, throws himself back into training and the upcoming matches, the clasico slowly inching closer.

They lose against Leganes and God he really shouldn’t care this much about a team he doesn’t even like, shouldn’t feel this wretched when he’ll finally be back where he belongs in a just few days. But still he was out there on the pitch with everyone else. Fighting along for the victory. Loyalties be damned. And he can’t help but feel responsible for it all. Must be some kind of character flaw he thinks as he drags himself up the stairs to the bathroom, can’t be bothered with anything more than brushing his teeth before he crawls underneath the blanket and turns off the lights.

It’s well past midnight when he calls Gerard, the sheets slowly warming against his skin, patiently listening to the dialtone. Not that he has to wait for all that long because Gerard never actually goes to sleep early, especially not on a night like this, when he knows Sergio will call eventually. It’s funny really because he never used to feel like talking after a defeat, just wanted to be left alone until he could work through his anger and disappointment, but from the beginning it was different with Gerard, because he understood in ways his family and friends never could.

“Sergio?” Gerard’s voice sounds breathless and unsteady and it sends a desperate shiver up Sergio’s spine.

“Why are you so out of breath?” he laughs, can’t quite figure out what he could possibly be doing this late at night, why it makes his skin flush so deliciously.

“Nothing,” Gerard mumbles shyly and God he sounds all kinds of wrong.

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line followed by a soft stifled moan and Sergio suddenly feels hot all over.

“Wait… are you?” he asks, breath stuck in his throat and blood slowly rushing south.

“Maybe,” Gerard whispers and God Sergio can almost hear him blush, can feel the heat staining his cheeks all the way through the phone and the image of Gerard getting himself off in Sergio’s body, his hand around Sergio’s dick while he strokes himself, fingers brushing over tattoos and the ridges of his abs will forever be seared into his mind, makes his own dick impossibly hard and he can’t figure out what to say, can’t keep his mind from picturing, imagining, wanting.

“Why did you even answer the phone then?” he asks eventually, a teasing lilt to his voice and he desperately hopes his voice doesn’t sound as rough and needy as it feels.

“Kind of an accident. I was a little distracted,” Gerard’s laugh wraps around him like a gentle caress and Sergio wonders if his hand is still around his dick, if he’s still touching himself.

He swallows a moan and the urge to mirror his actions. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, when all he wants is to beg Gerard to let him listen, to do it together until there’s nothing but moans and breathless pants echoing through the phone.

“Thanks,” Gerard smiles sheepishly, voice trailing off on a soft moan. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Sleep tight,” Sergio whispers and hangs up, but not without regrets and the burning need to call him back. He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and slips his hand below the waistband of his underwear.

 

It’s only the next morning when he pours himself a cup of coffee that he remembers why he called Gerard in the first place.

He grabs his phone off the counter, ignores Gerard’s Good morning message and his latest text about last night’s match and starts typing.

Do me a favor and get that beard under control. You look terrible ;)

Chapter 13: El clasico!

Sergio grabs his bag off the seat next to him and trudges down the aisle of the bus, glaring at that annoying crest that seems to be everywhere and God he’s so fucking sick of it all, the club, those stupidly ugly colors, being stuck in Gerard’s body.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of white and he looks up to the Real Madrid bus pulling in beside them, his heart filling with desperate longing at the sign of the familiar crest. As if this clasico wasn’t weird enough already, having to share a hotel with the other team, really wasn’t on his agenda for today.

He just barely manages not to stumble on the stairs and he reflexively ducks when he reaches the side mirror but it’s folded neatly to the side, the driver watching him anxiously and he remembers not without amusement that Gerard has a habit of running into these things, so much so that they’ve actually had to establish a protocol to keep him from hitting his head repeatedly. He just barely stiffles a laugh at the thought.

The entire hotel is cordoned off, separated into specific sections for each team, the lobby, the floors, even the dining room. He follows the sign that says Barcelona CF and almost manages not to scowl, wonders what they think would happen if the players accidentally ran into each other.

It takes forever until he finally gets the keycard to his room and the only thing keeping his mood from slipping any further into annoyance is that by tomorrow night this whole ordeal will finally be over. At least that’s what they’re both hoping for, when they could never actually find any proper explanation for what happened to them or a way out of their predicament, even after scouring the internet for hours and hours on end, nothing ever seemed trustworthy enough.

Maybe they should have gone to a library instead, went through the truly ancient books, the ones stacked all the way in the back, covered in layers of dust, with writing barely legible. He still refuses to believe they’re the only ones this has ever happened to. There must have been people before and accounts of it too, but then again it probably wouldn’t have been the wisest idea for them to go to a public place like this. He can already see the headline:

Gerard Pique spotted at Barcelona’s national library, rifling through stuffy old books. What was he searching for?

He swallows another laugh and presses the call button of the elevator. The other team has still not gotten off the bus and he wonders if he’ll even get the chance to see Gerard with all the security measures put into place.

 

Gerard texts him just after their last training session, while he’s still with the physios, skilled fingers digging into his calves, carefully loosening every last bit of tension in his aching muscles, his eyelids already fluttering from sleepy exhaustion.

He quickly angles his screen away from prying eyes and sits up a little straighter, just enough to glance at his phone.

Meet me in my room later, it reads. There’s a room and a floor number attached. Sergio replies with a simple thumbs up emoji.

But in the end it takes a lot longer for him to actually find the time. Dinner drags on forever and then somehow everyone insists on lingering in the corridor, chatting and laughing and Sergio can’t figure out why they can’t all just go back to their rooms. He almost manages to sneak away a few times but halfway to the elevator he runs into a teammate, has to engage in another round of inane small talk about tomorrow’s match and the unique situation they’re currently in. He’s not sure how much excitement he can still muster about the ever same questions after the third time but then finally, about an hour to midnight he successfully manages to get away, sneaking to his room in case anyone is watching.

He waits for a good five minutes before he steps out into the hallway again, looking left and right and just this once, surprisingly so, there is no one around, an almost eerie quiet as he walks towards the elevator and rides it up to the sixth floor, so desperately trying to be inconspicuous, even if he knows he’s falling horribly.

The knock on Gerard’s door echoes awfully loudly and time seems to drag on endlessly as he waits in the narrow corridor, until finally the door opens and he’s pulled inside by an impatient hand, Gerard’s fingers clawed tightly into the thick fabric of his hoodie.

“You’d think we’re having an affair. All this sneaking around,” Sergio laughs as the door falls closed behind him, but the sound gets stuck in his throat when he looks up at Gerard. “What the hell is that thing on your face?” he gasps, eyes wide in utter and complete horror.

“You told me to shave,” Gerard grins sheepishly.

“I meant a trim, not …not … this thing…,” he waves his hand around angrily and God he can’t even look at that moustache without wanting to throw up. The ends aren’t even even and what’s that weird bit of fuzzy hair under his chin. He can’t even being to decide if the badly shaved stubble on his cheeks makes it better or worse.

He’d tried a moustache once a few years ago and instantly swore he’d never do it again. He’s still horrified by how bad it looked and it’s somehow even worse now that he has to look at it from the outside.

“I look like a tired toddler and his creepy uncle all at the same time,” he scowls.

“I think it looks good,” Gerard chuckles, clearly enjoying the horrified expression on Sergio’s face.

“The hell you do,” Sergio laughs humorlessly, shaking his head faintly but he can’t really bring himself to be properly mad at Gerard. It’s not like it won’t grow back sooner or later. At least he left his hair alone, he thinks, and it’s gotten so long already that he can barely resist reaching out and carding his fingers through it.

He looks around for something to sit on but there’s really only Gerard’s bed and a wobbly looking stool so he leans against the wall instead, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats.

“Is it just me or do we only ever hang out in hotel rooms?” he asks and with all the money they have, you’d think they would lead more exciting lives.

Gerard shrugs. “Where else would we go?”

“I don’t know,” Sergio shifts from one foot to another. “Don’t you ever want to do something else?” And it’s not that he minds hanging out at each other’s houses. They never seem to run out of things to talk about, but he also wouldn’t mind occasionally going to a restaurant or a concert, visiting a museum or just getting away from their regular lives for a few hours.

“Not sure what you mean,” Gerard looks hesitant, almost like the words feel heavy on his tongue and he has to force them out of his throat. “It’s not like we could ever go anywhere together.”

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, but it still stings to hear it spelled out like this. “You know, I wish we could swap back before the match tomorrow,” he squeezes the bridge of his nose and it suddenly feels like this nightmare has been dragging on for entirely too long.

“Why?” Gerard looks up, his expression weary and Sergio knows without asking that he feels the same, that they’re both precariously close to their breaking point.

“It’s just..” Sergio starts, but now it suddenly feels difficult to put it all into words. “It feels wrong to play a clasico in your body, for your team.”

“I know what you mean,” Gerard nods. “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” he says but Sergio can hear it in his voice that he barely believes it himself.

“I should probably get back to my room, before someone notices that I'm missing,” he smiles sheepishly. “Why’d you want to see me anyway?”

“Nothing,” Gerard smirks, fingers carding through his hair. “Just wanted to see you before the match.”

“Liar,” Sergio laughs. “You wanted to show off that abomination on your face.”

“Maybe,” Gerard grins and ducks away when Sergio swats at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sergio closes the door with a quiet click, eyes darting around carefully before he tiptoes towards the elevator, but then he takes the stairs instead, doesn’t feel like lingering out in the open where he could happen on a Madrid player at any moment.

He peaks out the heavy fire door and into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when it’s just as empty as the one two floors up and he’s almost in the clear, just a few doors away from his room when a loud cough from behind stops him in his tracks.

He turns around against his better judgement and of course it just had to be Messi who’d discovered him sneaking back to his room.

“Where have you been?” he asks, that knowing look in his eyes that Sergio has started to loathe so much over the last few weeks, like he can see right through him.

“I was just stretching my legs,” he says, forces himself not to roll his eyes at how lame that excuse sounds.

Leo raises a questioning eyebrow at him and he looks like he wants to say more but in the end he just shrugs and turns to leave. “Have a good night then,” he says and he’s gone before Sergio can reply.

 

Sergio sleeps fitfully that night, tossing and turning until the sun rises and the sound of his alarm puts finally him out of his misery. He drags himself into the shower and down to breakfast, a nervous energy coursing through him the whole time, even as he chats with his teammates and goes through his warm up routine, every exercise, every stretch of his muscles making him feel more antsy and restless.

Later he kicks the ball around with Jordi for a bit, locked away in a nondescript meeting room, with the ball awkwardly bouncing off the plush carpet. His favorite pastime before matches, when the day seems to drag on forever and there’s nothing else to do. But even then he can’t seem to focus, can’t help but glance at his watch every few moments, wondering how much longer until he’ll finally be back in his own body.

The drive to the stadium passes by in a blur, his palms sweaty and his heart almost pounding out of his chest as they walk down the corridor towards the home dressing room, the last time he’ll ever turn that way, the last time he’ll ever wear the wrong crest across his chest.

He nods at Gerard in the tunnel, a soft smile and a short hug and somehow he’d expected they’d switch back at exactly this moment, skin prickling and energy crackling and then he’d be himself again.

Instead the air remains stale and he’s left on the wrong side of the tunnel in the wrong jersey and Gerard looks just as disappointed as he feels.

The final whistle rings dully in his ears as he searches for Gerard from across the pitch and the goalless draw feels like just an afterthought when he glances at his own body and his stomach drops out.

And everything remains the same.

Chapter 14: How did you figure it out?

Barcelona, the next day

Sergio ignores the first ring of his doorbell, because there’s hot steam still coming out of his coffee mug and his eggs are just the right temperature, nice and warm and perfectly yellow.

The second one comes just a little after but the bacon is still sizzling on his plate and so lovely and crispy on his tongue.

The third one is a little harder to ignore, the butter on his toast already a little sticky and the tomatoes slowly getting soggy.

He gives up on the fourth ring because it’s awfully loud and Good Lord, why can’t they just let him have his breakfast in peace?

He fumbles for his slippers, kicked off underneath the table just a few moments ago, smoothes down his sleep-wrinkled shirt and it’s not that he minds Gerard’s frequent visits but what in the world could he possibly want this early in the morning when they’ve already seen each other last night after the match.

“What do you want?” he asks as he opens the door, words stuck in his throat when it’s Messi and not Gerard standing right there on his doorstep, looking up at him with a frown on his face.

“We need to talk,” Leo says and pushes past him into the house.

Sergio follows him to the kitchen like a stranger in his own home, which technically he still is, but anyway. He shakes his head and trudges over to the counter.

“You want some coffee?” he asks, pouring his half-finished mug into the sink before he refills it with some marginally warmer coffee.

“No thanks,” Leo holds up his own cup, spoon clanking against the metal ring. “Not drinking that disgusting brew you call coffee.”

“Uncalled for,” Sergio grumbles and he feels weirdly insulted even though he’s only made coffee for Leo a few times and he never seemed to mind much.

Leo chuckles and takes a sip of his Mate. “But it’s gotten a little better since you’ve been around,” he shrugs, a little knowing smirk playing on his lips at the confused frown on Sergio’s face.

“What the hell are you on about?” Sergio mumbles when Leo’s words make no sense and he half expects to burn his tongue, but the coffee running down his throat is lukewarm at best. He grimaces with disapproval.

“Sergio …,” Messi starts, fingers playing with the bottom of his Mate cup and his eyes fixed on Sergio’s face.

“Huh?” Sergio replies absentmindedly, still trying to figure out if he should just start a fresh pot of coffee, and it takes him a moment to process what just happened. “What?” he adds hastily, but his voice feels unsteady and his cheeks are already flushed.

“I know,” Leo says softly.

“Know what?” Sergio stutters, hands suddenly clammy with sweat. He puts his mug down on the counter, worried he’ll drop it with how shaky he feels.

“I know you're not Gerard,” Leo explains patiently, his gaze never once wavering from Sergio’s face.

“That makes no sense,” Sergio mumbles weakly and his heart is almost pounding out of his chest.

Leo rubs his temples. “Can we not do this right now,” he lets out a tired sigh. “I know that you’re not Gerard and I know you haven’t been for a while, so lets just skip over you trying to pretend it’s not actually true.”

Sergio slumps against the counter, his legs suddenly treacherously wobbly and after months he’d truly thought they’d be finally save from someone discovering their secret. Looks like he was wrong. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Did you really think I wouldn't notice if one of my best friends suddenly turned into a whole different person?” Leo’s lips twist with a faint smile but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by a mixture of exasperation and impatience.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sergio scratches his cheek, the stubble of his beard prickly against his fingertips.

Leo pulls out a chair and sits on it sideways, right arm draped over the backrest as he glances over at Sergio. “Took me a little while longer to figure out who he turned into.”

Sergio nods for lack of a better response, teeth digging into his bottom lip and it doesn’t take long for realization to dawn on him. “The text message,” he exclaims, thinking back to that day in the locker room when Jordi had glanced at his screen. The knowing look Leo had thrown him right after suddenly makes so much more sense.

“Yeah,” Leo smiles. “It wasn’t that hard afterwards, especially not with how spooked you looked.”

“Still, you could have just said something,” Sergio frowns. It feels weird leaving them in the dark for such a long time, when they would have needed every friend they could possibly get on their side.

Leo shrugs, eyes flickering down to the floor for a moment, carefully studying his shoes and not quite able to meet Sergio’s gaze, a hint of shame staining his cheeks. “I thought it was best for you to figure it out by yourselves. I didn’t think it would take you this long to switch back.”

Sergio hums under his breath and he’s still not quite convinced, still feels weirdly betrayed by Leo’s lack of support, even if deep down he knows it was probably the right thing to do. “Yeah well, that makes three of us,” he mutters, coffee abandoned and forgotten and he almost knocks over the mug when he moves to the side.

Leo watches him right the mug and hop up on the counter, legs dangling against the cupboard. He flinches when one of the drawer handles digs into the skin of his calf and Leo shakes his head in amusement. “You’re both idiots,” he clucks his tongue softly. “Has it ever once occurred to you that this whole thing might have nothing to do with clasicos or our club rivalry?”

“How did you..?” Sergio asks and he hates how Messi always seems to be one step ahead of them and yet he's kept it all to himself this whole time.

“I heard you guys whispering before the match last night,” he chuckles and reaches for his mug, puts it back down with a disappointed frown when he realizes there isn’t anything left inside.

“Oh.”

Leo rolls his eyes and bites back another laugh. “Have you never wondered why this happened to you and Geri of all people? If it was about clasicos, why didn’t you switch with me? Why wasn’t it any other Madrid player? When did this happen anyway?”

Sergio looks puzzled. He doesn’t have an answer to any of Messi’s questions. “During pre-season,” he says. “After we lost against Atleti,” and it still stings, the pain still raw even if it was just an insignificant friendly.

“So even less connection to a clasico,” Leo looks at him pointedly.

“I guess so,” Sergio shrugs. “So what is it about then?”

“How would I know?” Leo shifts on his chair, hands folded in his lap now and shoulder resting against the wooden backrest, his body tilted to the side just a little. “But it has got to do something with you two specifically. What were you doing just before the swap?”

“Nothing really. I was sitting in my hotel room, Geri texted me. He was being his usual idiotic self, insulting me, you know and when I woke up I was suddenly in Gerard’s body,” Sergio leans back on his palms, feels the morning sun hot against the skin of his neck. “Why aren’t you more freaked out about this?”

“It happened to my grandparents before they got married,” Messi explains. “I used to hear stories about it when I was a child. They were from two rival families, they were at odds for decades, something about a feud over farmland … long story. It was all very dramatic,” Leo makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Point is, it made them realize they were not so different. They ended up married for over 60 years.”

“Sounds like a telenovela,” Sergio laughs, but just knowing they’re not alone in all of this, that there’s some kind of purpose to it all, even if they haven’t figured out what it is yet, has a weird sense of calm settle inside of him.

“Trust me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Leo chuckles.

Sergio plucks a few crumbs off his sweats. “So what are you trying to say? That I’m supposed to marry Gerard?” And the thought alone makes him grimace. God they’d both be in a world of trouble if this were actually true.

“I’m not saying anything,” Leo rolls his eyes. “But this unhealthy obsession you have with each other can’t be normal. It has to be the cause of all of this. Whatever it’s supposed to mean. You gotta figure that out yourself.”

“Yeah,” Sergio sighs and he knows exactly what Leo means. From the very beginning their relationship had always been weirdly intense, for better or for worse, both as rivals and later as teammates. They could never quite leave each other alone. Maybe it’s finally time to explore whatever weird feelings keep them tangled together this tightly.

“Are you going to tell him?” Leo asks, stealing a piece of toast off of Sergio’s half finished plate.

“I think so,” Sergio nods. “If this whole thing has taught me anything it’s that keeping secrets is not gonna fix anything.” He hoppes off the counter and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “You know what’s funny though? I almost told you that first day at training. I got so close”

“Why didn’t you?” Messi turns in his chair, finally sitting properly now that Sergio is right across from him, elbows propped up on the table and chin resting on his folded hands.

“Geri didn’t want to tell anyone,” he shrugs. “He freaked out pretty badly when I told him I almost told you.”

“That sounds exactly like Geri,” Leo smiles. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Talk to him,” Sergio takes a sip of his water. “Try to figure this out.”

“You should call him,” Messi pushes his chair back and gets up, grabbing his phone off the table. “I’m gonna leave you to it.”

He stops in the doorway, turns back to face Sergio. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t mind if you stick around afterwards,” he gestures vaguely.” You know, after you switch back, as his friend… or whatever else works out for you. I think you’d be good for him. He needs someone stable in his life.”

Sergio nods but he can’t help but feel a little confused as well. He remains at the table long after Messi has left, pondering his words and desperately trying to sort through his feelings for Gerard. They’ve definitely become good friends over the last few months. There’s no denying that. Better than he could have ever imagined actually. It’s been a long time since he trusted someone as deeply as he does with Gerard and there’s clearly some physical attraction as well. He’d be lying if he said otherwise, even if it makes his cheeks flush crimson every time he thinks about him like that. But anything akin to love seems like an awfully big stretch.

The thought alone scares him.

Chapter 15: Andorra

“I still can’t believe Messi knew all along,” Sergio shakes his head with a disbelieving smile and even a week later he can barely wrap his mind around it. He glances over at Gerard but he only shrugs, too focussed on the narrow road to pay him much attention, so he looks out of the side window instead, lost in thought as he watches the snowflakes peacefully flutter to the ground, the trees so close that sometimes he thinks he can feel the branches brush against their car and the road is barely wide enough for Gerard’s SUV, has been for the better part of an hour now, the snowfall growing ever stronger the farther they go up the mountain and the gravel underneath slowing them down even more.

“Has he really never told anyone about that story with his grandparents?” Sergio asks, fingers trailing through the condensed water on the edges of the window, a shiver running through him at how cold it is against his fingertips. He reaches out to turn up the heat.

“As if anyone would have believed him,” Gerard laughs, their eyes meeting for just a fraction of a second before Gerard turns his attention back on the road, squinting against the fading daylight. “Would you have before it happened to you?”

“Fair enough,” Sergio nods with a soft laugh, but he can’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently had they known earlier, if they hadn’t been so focussed on the clasicos. But then again he still has no idea how to fix any of this, feels even more clueless how to resolve this whole mess.

The map on the screen signals an upcoming turn just as few kilometers ahead and from what he can gather they should be at the cabin soon, just a few more minutes until he can finally stretch his legs and explore his temporary home for the next few days.

Neither of them had felt like spending Christmas with the wrong family, acting and pretending and keeping secrets for days on end. The thought alone had already felt exhausting, so they’d come up with an excuse and a plan, feigning team commitments and decided to spend the holidays in Gerard’s remote cabin in Andorra instead.

“You sure this is safe?’ Sergio asks when the car skids a little on the icy surface but Gerard catches it with practiced ease, a slight yank on the steering wheel and then they’re turning onto an even narrower side road. One Sergio hadn’t even noticed between the thick rows of trees, an early dark already descending upon them.

“Almost there,” Gerard laughs and he looks surprisingly at ease when Sergio can barely tell where the road ends and the forest begins, but there’s a clearing ahead, the last few rays of sunlight glistening between the trees, the house ahead slowly swimming into view.

 

Gerard stops the car just a few feet from the front porch, large piles of snow keeping them from driving up further.

“I’ve had the housekeeper prepare everything,” Gerard explains as he turns off the engine, gathering his phone and sunglasses before he opens the door and steps out of the car.

A rush of cold air invades the small space and Sergio scrambles to follow Gerard, desperate for some warmth and to stretch his legs after being crammed in the car for so long.

He grabs his suitcase and two of the grocery bags, follows Gerard down the little pathway and up the stairs to the front door, the powdered snow crunching softly underneath the soles of his sneakers and he’d expected it to be more slippery, more difficult to keep himself on his feet, but it feels surprisingly steady, almost enjoyable to walk on.

Gerard is already bustling around the kitchen when he steps into the house, quickly kicking off his shoes before he’ll drag in more dirt and the inside of the cabin is surprisingly cozy. Two large windows covering almost the entirety of the back wall, the view of the mountains and valley breathtakingly beautiful even with darkness rapidly approaching.

The middle of the room is taken up by a large sofa and matching armchairs, a fireplace just behind, surrounded by bookshelves and a few landscape paintings, the heavy curtains a warm shade of green. Underneath the carpet is a light shade of brown, matching the plush pillows and the fluffy blankets. To the other side is a large kitchen aisle, modern appliances and wooden cabinets, the fridge so large that Gerard almost entirely disappears behind the opened door.

A few chairs around a small table make up a little dining area, plates and bowls already set out for their next meal and Sergio chuckles at the arrangement of flowers in between, so unlike anything Gerard would ever do.

“This place is nice,” he says as he sets the bags down on the counter next to the sink, rubbing at the inside of this hand, right where the cheap plastic has left a painful dent in his palm.

“It’s my favorite place to come in winter,” Gerard replies, the smile on his lips filled with a quiet, gentle affection. “I like the peace and quiet.”

Sergio nods. It’s the same kind of feeling he has every time he goes to his ranch. He flips open the faucet and squeezes a few drops of soap into his palm, waits for the water to heat up before he rinses it off his hands.

His fingers drip onto the stone floor as he glances around in search of a towel, eyes darting back and forth until suddenly a warm hand slides onto his hip, Gerard turning him gently to the side as he moves past him, bodies brushing faintly in the narrow space.

“Here,” he says softly and nudges him forward, breath hot against his ear. It sends a violent shiver down Sergio’s spine.

“Thanks,” he whispers and dries his hands on the cotton towel, desperately tries to calm his racing heart.

“You ok with homemade pizza for dinner?” Gerard asks, setting a roll of dough and two jars of tomato sauce on the counter, followed by a pack of cheese and an assortment of meats and vegetables.

“Sure,” Sergio nods. “But let me get changed first.”

“The door on the right,” Gerard says before Sergio even has time to wonder which of the two doors next to the kitchen area will lead him to the bedrooms.

He squeezes past Gerard and makes a detour to grab his suitcase before he pushes down the wooden handle. The door creaks as it swings open and the cabin is much smaller than Sergio expected. There’s only two more rooms left to explore. A spacious bathroom to his left. He peaks inside and spots a large bathtub and an even larger shower, everything held in shades of beige and white. On the other side is what he assumes will be a bedroom, both connected by a small hallway that barely requires a few steps to pass.

The carpet is soft underneath his socked feet and the view isn’t any less breathtaking, a floor-length window making up one of the walls, but it isn’t the snow covered mountain range that makes him gasp out loud, his gaze quickly distracted by the large bed to the side, covered in a mountain of pillows and the sheets already pulled back for them to sleep in.

 

“There’s only one bed,” he says when he walks back out into the living room, barely gone long enough to change into a pair of sweats and a matching hoodie. His hair feels slightly messier than he likes, but it’s not like Gerard would ever notice anyway.

“Yeah sorry,” Gerard looks up just long enough to meet his gaze before he turns to toss a plastic wrap into the trash. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. I don’t usually bring people up here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sergio nods and he almost sounds convincing. If only he could figure out why sleeping in the same bed with Gerard unsettles him so much, when he’s done it so many times before.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and surveys the progress Gerard has made on dinner so far. The dough has been spread out on a tray and the oven seems to preheat, but the vegetables are still uncut and the sauce sits abandoned on the counter. “What can I do?”

“You could cut the vegetables?” Gerard shrugs, his fingers working to form a proper crust into the dough.

“Sure,” he grabs a cutting board and a knife, doesn’t even have to open too many drawers until he finds a proper one. They work in companionable silence for a while, until the sauce jars are empty and there’s an impressive stack of mushrooms, tomatoes and onions on the counter.

“Do we have ham?” Sergio asks after a while, searching the counter unsuccessfully.

“In the fridge,” Gerard says and they shift positions almost instinctively, Sergio taking over spreading out the toppings while Gerard grabs two packs from the fridge, plastic wrap already opened as he hands them over.

“Thanks,” Sergio peels the slices apart, fingers quickly covered in tomato sauce and maybe it should feel weird that Gerard is standing this close, that their arms keep brushing in the narrow space while he adds the other ingredients without Sergio ever having to ask for them, but it feels so natural that neither of them really notices and there’s something comforting about Gerard’s solid warmth beside him, about not having to do everything by himself for once.

“I’ll put it in the oven,” Gerard says when they’ve finished covering everything in entirely too much cheese. “It should take about 20 minutes,” there’s a pause where Gerard looks over at Sergio and it’s the first time that he really notices just how close they are, that there’s a tiny cluster of freckles on his own nose, that there’s a warmth in his eyes he can’t quite place.

“You know,” Gerard is the first to step away, brushing his hair out of his face and taking a steadying breath before he reaches for the tray. “You could take a walk or something if you want. While we wait. I know you like to workout before dinner, but I don't really have anything here,” he shrugs apologetically.

“I’m good,” Sergio smiles, but it does warm his heart that Gerard seems to both know and care about his usual routine. “But I've been taking it easy lately,” he grins. “Can’t have you looking too ripped. People might get suspicious.”

“Funny,” Gerard glares but a splutter of a laugh escapes him anyway, his eyes crickling at the edges with an amused smile.

“Let’s see how bad this has gotten,” Sergio teases and reaches out to poke at Gerard’s stomach, fumbling to push up his shirt, fingers tracing along the ridges of his abs and his muscles feel surprisingly firm against his fingertips. “Not as bad as I thought,” Sergio chuckles and he doesn’t miss Gerard’s sharp intake of breath at his lingering touch, the faint moan tumbling from his lips as he keeps trailing his fingers upwards.

“I know how important this is to you,” Gerard says and the rough edge in his voice sends a shiver down Sergio’s spine. “You owe me for all the time I've had to spend in the gym,” he adds with a laugh.

“Thanks, I guess,” Sergio chuckles. His hand still feels hot from where he touched Gerard’s skin and he’s not sure he could ever properly put into words how much he appreciates Gerard actually paying attention to him and respecting his wishes.

 

Later when they’re sitting at the dining table, it’s Sergio who lights the candles on the table, even if it feels a little ridiculous to be this festive when they’re just having a lazily thrown together pizza, but the sizzling cheese looks impossibly inviting and the smell alone makes his mouth water.

He looks up when Gerard pulls out the chair across from him, holding up a bottle of wine as he sits down. “You want some?” he asks, pointing at the bottle and the glasses already set out on the table.

“Sure,” Sergio nods and pushes his glass into the middle of the table, watches Gerard skillfully uncork the bottle.

“Do you mind if I…?” Gerard fills up Sergio’s glass before he gestures towards his own, his eyes questioning as he searches Sergio’s gaze. “I know you don’t drink during the season ...”

“No,go ahead,” Sergio shakes his head with a smile and it’s not like they’ll have a match in the upcoming days, so what does it really matter and just the fact that Gerard asked for his permission to drink, that he’s so clearly following Sergio’s strict rules with his own body makes him feel endlessly generous, when it would have been so easy to just ignore him, especially all those times when Sergio wasn’t there.

They clink glasses, nodding at each other softly as their eyes meet and Sergio feels a sudden surge of shame rush through him, because this isn’t nearly the first time he realized just how badly he misjudged Gerard, when he’d never expected him to be this generous and thoughtful, when he’d always thought he was awfully self-absorbed and entirely too full of himself instead.

Behind them there’s a low fire crackling in the fireplace, the lights dimmed and basking the room in a soft golden glow and it suddenly feels entirely too intimate, the way they’re sitting across from each other, the table so small that their knees keep touching and he feels weirdly shy when Gerard slides a piece of pizza onto his plate, as he watches Gerard’s fingers curl around his own slice, lifting it to his lips and blowing softly on it.

Sergio takes a sip of his wine and wonders if this is how it would feel like to date Gerard, quiet nights in and romantic moments hidden away from the rest of the world, a partner who would accept him the way he is without a constant need to change him, who’d show affection through actions instead of empty gestures and wouldn’t mind the endless hours dedicated to his career.

He’d always imagined himself dating someone he could take to fancy places, proudly show them off in public. It’s why dating a teammate never seemed like an option that was worth the hassle, but no he wonders. Would it really be so bad having to hide his relationship if he got to spend his time with someone who truly understood the sacrifices of the life he chose? Someone who wouldn’t get upset if he spent half his day working out and most of his nights away from home. Someone who wouldn’t mind if a defeat left him unwilling to talk to anyone, someone who wouldn’t just tolerate his pain but could relate it too?

And maybe his perspective has shifted as he got older, his priorities different now that his career is nearing its end, but the things he used to want suddenly don’t seem so worthwhile anymore.

He takes the first bite of his pizza and barely manages to suppress a soft moan. “Fuck, how is this so good?” he mumbles, his teeth sinking back into the soft cheese before he’s even properly swallowed the first bite.

“Because you haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Gerard laughs and wipes his fingers on a napkin, grins at him over the crust of his pizza and Sergio’s heart does a weird little flip, a flutter of butterflies erupting in the pit of his stomach because what he truly wants is someone he can laugh and argue with, someone who above it all will be a friend.

Chapter 16: We should get a Christmas tree

After dinner they watch a movie and then another one, curled up on the sofa and dozing softly by the time the second one ends, Gerard’s head on Sergio’s shoulder and their legs tangled underneath a fluffy blanket.

Sergio stirs just as the credits end and the room is dipped in sudden silence, blinking sleepily against the half-dark in the room.

The fire has burned down to a faint glow and it takes him a moment to figure out the foreign weight on his shoulder, his movements still sluggish as he turns to look at the top of his own head, his hair an unruly mess and his eyes firmly closed and if he ignores the weirdness of somehow holding himself in his arms, he has to admit to himself that deep down he really wouldn’t mind being in Gerard’s situation right now, curled up against his side and wrapped in a tight embrace.

He shifts when the prickling in his arms becomes a little too painful, inadvertently wakes Gerard in the process.

‘We should probably go to bed,” Gerard mumbles sleepily, his expression soft as he sits up and rubs his hands across his face, desperately trying to wake himself enough to drag himself to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, just a little jealous of how unaffected Gerard seems from being this close to him when his own heart is almost beating out of his chest and he desperately wishes for his warmth to surround him again. He sighs tiredly and heaves himself to his feet. He really must be more starved for human contact than he thought when even cuddling with Gerard feels this desirable.

“Come on,” Gerard nods towards the bedroom door, the fire in the fireplace already extinguished and his fingers brushing over the light switch.

 

The large bed looms over them like a dark cloud as they get ready. At least that’s how Sergio feels as he rummages around his suitcase for something to sleep in, eventually decides on an oversized t-shirt and underwear because it’s entirely too warm in the cabin for sweatpants and he hates sleeping in too many clothes anyway.

Gerard is already done in the bathroom by the time he has changed, so he hurries through the rest of his routine, crawling underneath the covers just a few minutes later, slightly out of breath and his beard still a little wet.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Gerard laughs softly and rolls onto his side, chin propped up on his palm as he looks down at Sergio.

“Didn’t want to make you wait?” Sergio shrugs, the sheets rustling softly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gerard chuckles and stretches himself out, nudging Sergio’s shin with the tip of his toe. “Turn off the light.”

Sergio leans over to press the button on his nightstand and suddenly it’s impossibly dark in the room, almost too much so without any lights shining through the windows from outside.

“Fuck.” The curse slips out almost against his will and he feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“You’ll get used to it,” Gerard grins and God his voice feels even closer in the dark, now that he only has his hearing to rely on, his ears straining when the mattress shifts and the sheets rustle and he wonders if Gerard is lying on his back now, staring up at the ceiling just as Sergio is, looking upwards even if he can’t see, arms crossed behind his head and eyelids slowly dropping and he’s already half-asleep when Gerard’s soft voice startles him awake.

“I should have bought a christmas tree,” he mumbles, voice just barely above a whisper and there’s a sliver of regret to his words, a weariness to it Sergio can’t quite figure out.

“Let’s get one tomorrow,” Sergio says and he wouldn’t mind getting some fairy lights and other ornaments as well, spend the day putting them up together. He’s always loved Christmas and the festive domesticity of it all, wouldn’t mind doing it all with Gerard.

“It’s quite a long drive to the next town,” Gerard sighs. “It’s gonna take most of the day.”

Sergio chuckles. “It’s not like we have anything better to do and a tree would be nice. The cabin could use some Christmas cheer.”

“Fine, let’s do it then,” Gerard laughs. “But I'm driving.”

“Whatever,” Sergio laughs and snuggles deeper underneath the blanket, feels Gerard do the same, the bed jostling faintly as he tries to find a comfortable position.

They fall asleep shortly after, their gentle snores echoing through the quiet room.

*

Sergio lets out a needy, broken moan, his hips bucking upwards to seek more contact from the dark figure above him. A shock of brown hair and impossibly blue eyes gazing down at him, a soft mouth that he wants to kiss so badly his entire body aches from it, but his mind feels too fuzzy to process any of it. Large hands holding him down against the mattress, pinning him in place and a strong thigh wedged between his legs, pressing so perfectly against his throbbing erection that all he can do is pant and moan and thrust, shamelessly rutting against him and God he’s so close already, can already feel his orgasm tingle at the base of his spine, toes curling and vision flickering.

A silent plea tumbles from his parted lips as he arches upwards, really only needs …

 

“Sergio?”

Gerard’s voice sounds far away and suddenly there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him and he jolts awake with a start, blearily blinking against the soft light shining through the window.

“What is it?” he mumbles sleepily and God he’s still so hard his dick aches, his underwear sticky and clinging to his skin in all the wrong places.

“I think you were dreaming,” Gerard chuckles and Sergio feels his cheeks flush crimson with heat, suddenly realizes the position they’re in, his body draped over Gerard’s, lips grazing against the skin of his neck and his erection insistently pressing against his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry,” he stammers and rolls onto his back, almost gets tangled in the sheets with how hastily he scrambles away. He rubs his hands across his face and wonders if he could just leave them there, hiding away from Gerard’s inquisitive gaze until he gets up or forgets about the whole thing or preferably both at the same time.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gerard laughs softly. “It happens.”

Sergio makes an inaudible sound and maybe it would be easier if he wasn’t still so desperately horny and on edge, his entire body craving someone else’s touch. “God, I haven’t had sex in entirely too long,” he groans and he barely even remembers the last time it wasn’t just him and his own hand, long before he switched bodies with Gerard.

He turns his head to the side when Gerard remains silent, instantly gets caught in the intensity of his gaze.

“We could… you know … ,” Gerard makes a vague gesture with his hand and Sergio feels his heart stop before it starts beating impossibly fast, a surprised little gasp tumbling from his lips.

“Just to take the edge off,” Gerard shrugs and there’s a shy blush high on his cheeks now, a softness in his eyes that has Sergio’s breath catch in his throat.

“Are you serious right now?” Sergio gasps, his eyes wide in surprise and he can’t wrap his mind around Gerard’s words, his dick twitching with interest at the thought, even as his mind is still scrambling to catch up.

Gerard shrugs again. “I’d just be helping you out. It’d be like getting myself off.”

“You’re not even…,” Sergio starts but why is he even indulging the thought when everything about this feels impossibly wrong. “I’m not having sex with you while you’re in my body. That’s just…,” he shakes his head because even just imagining what it would feel like makes his head spin. “That’s all kinds of wrong.”

“Suit yourself,” Gerard smirks and swings his legs out of bed. “I’ll leave you to deal with this then,” he gives Sergio’s middle a pointed look before he closes the door behind himself.

Sergio listens to him bustle around in the kitchen, humming softly underneath his breath and he can’t figure out how Gerard can be this casual about it when his insides are twisted in every possible direction, wishing and wanting while still confused beyond measure.

It’s only when Gerard calls out to him, breakfast already finished and the cabin smelling like freshly brewed coffee that he finally forces himself to get up, putting on a pair of sweats before he drags himself to the kitchen.

 

It’s even colder than the day before, the snowfall even thicker and Sergio is glad he put on an extra layer underneath his jacket, the thick hoodie just barely keeping him from shivering, his gloves folded in his lap and his hands wrapped around a warm paper cup filled with steaming hot coffee.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Gerard says halfway out of the parking lot. There’s a bag of christmas ornaments sitting in Sergio’s lap and the tree is secured safely on top of their car.

“Sure,” Sergio nods but he can’t help but feel a little wary about the question. What if he’s going to ask about this morning’s incident? Because what would he even answer when a part of him already regrets his decision. He’s been wondering all morning what their bodies would feel like moving together in the sheets. Would it really have been so bad if he had indulged himself just once? Just to take the edge off? Nothing would have had to change between them.

He sighs deeply.

Gerard gives him an odd look from the side, but his attention is quickly diverted back to the road when a car pulls out in front of them. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, abruptly hitting the brakes. They both jolt forwards under the sudden force. “Sorry.”

Sergio shrugs. There’s a few drops of coffee running down the side of his cup and even more spilled across the lid. He brings it carefully up to his lips, licks the hot liquid off his thumb and the thin plastic. “What did you wanna ask?”

Gerard hits the turn signal and pulls onto the road leading out of town. “I’ve just been wondering .. have you ever dated a teammate?”

Sergio startles at the question and he’s not entirely sure the hesitant edge to Gerard’s voice is solely in his imagination alone. “No,” he shakes his head.

“Never?”

“No, never,” Sergio laughs and takes another sip of his coffee, just barely not burning his tongue in the process. He looks over at Gerard and catches the last hints of a gentle smile, eyes still crinkling softly.

“Wouldn’t it be easier though if you were both in the same situation?” Gerard continues. “Same lifestyle, same risks?”

“Maybe,” Sergio shrugs. “But what are you gonna do when it ends? Transfer clubs? It’s just not worth the hassle.”

Gerard hums low under his breath, the snowfall outside slowly increasing.

Notes:

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