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How to love? -Cubyamal/Nyamal
Yamal couldn't fall asleep, no matter how tired he was, but blue eyes probing his soul and the vague memory of a late-night call kept him from falling into the arms of Morpheus. He was looking forward to a new season with his beloved club, he was even terribly impatient, but it wasn't this feeling that kept him awake. Rather, it was the waiting. Slow and winding, it seeped through his veins like a devilishly effective poison. He'd tried everything: training, playing video games, endless surfing on the Internet, but nothing helped. The thought of football was like a leech on his psyche, occupying all the space in his brain that wasn't dedicated to soccer. Sometimes he feared it might become an obsession - it probably already was - but he preferred to deny it a little longer. Accepting it would mean he'd already fallen too far, and that even if he tried, he'd never be able to get back up.
This admiration mixed with pride and "slight" affection liked to disguise itself as love. A word far too terrifying for the adolescent Lamine. Not that he shunned it, or had ever known anything approaching it. It was rather the realization and acceptance that it had always accompanied his steps since he'd met those bluish irises, that made him frightened.
Did he love too much?
Or not enough?
Was it obvious?
Or perhaps too clingy?
Should he pull away to give himself some personal space?
Or get even closer?
Fortunately, he doesn't ask himself these myriad questions every day, or he'd go mad. But in these quiet moments, without the weight of trophies and titles on his shoulders, Yamal becomes a sentimentalist.
He's learned to despise, to detest, to hate.
He learned to weep, to lament, to regret.
He learned to covet, to leer, to envy.
But has he learned to love?
He's not heartless.
Far from it.
But when you realize that you've loved the same person for so many years without realizing it, it's overwhelming. He'd never felt that way with his exes, let alone his friends. A simple but brutal realization hit him in pre-season.
He had never learned not to love Pau.
Their relationship didn't slowly evolve from friendship to love. No. From the outset, it was an affection far too great and particular for them to fit into a box like "childhood friend". And it's fair to say that the love he felt for his friend was obvious, almost written into their destiny. A love that anyone would have seen, looked at, questioned. But that wasn't even the case, because Pau loved in silence, and Yamal followed only his own desires - which were often in line with those of the Catalan -.
This link, which had been the basis of his relationship with others and which he had never questioned until now, resembled a large ball of wool that now had to be untangled, each thread being a memory, a moment, an emotion.
But Yamal wasn't the thinking type, so he left that to his soulmate, the dark-haired man being smart enough for both. So he gently pressed the green call icon, the sound of the answering machine being the umpteenth wait until the object of his desire.
"Lamine? Why did you call me?" asked Pau with a growl.
A soft warmth enveloped him at the sound of the older man's voice.
Fuck....
He's really hooked.
- For nothing."
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Inspired by my obsession around Cubayamal , the fic of @lecfoscism and his work in general. ( READ THEIR FICS ! )
I hope you liked it !