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Some things deserve to be dragged out, Steven knows, and Steven understands. There comes a time for change every other year but he doesn’t believe in change, not now and, hopefully, not ever. Steven has words in front of him but they all mean the same and he signs his consent to the long road ahead of him, doesn’t switch tracks.
This is a story about. About.
-
Steven Gerrard doesn’t believe in change. Xabi Alonso comes to Liverpool in 2004 and he laughs, half tumbled and half shy, a little unsure. Xabi Alonso signs a stack of papers and smiles more broadly now, good, good.
Xabi has watched games and read articles and done his research and he knows who to look up to. He walks towards Steven and extends his hand, thinks this is the beginning of something extraordinary. “How long are you here?” he asks, the answer behind his tongue and a smile playing at his eyes.
“You know how long,” Steven shakes his hand and pretends the adoration isn’t locked in his heart, in some far away room pushed to the back with doors and fences in between. Xabi’s english might be scratchy, but his emotions aren’t.
“I am ready to win,” Xabi claims as he never has before, and Steven believes it. “This team, has heart, yes? I will give my. Heart.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Steven smiles and walks away, pretending, just pretending.
-
It’s 2006. There are important years behind us but those are the ones that hurt the most. Steven doesn’t know this, but he will.
“How do you face the disappointment?” Xabi asks, a frown on his face, and Steven remains very, very still. “You could leave. So many years. Your mind must weight you down.”
Steven pushes the sheets up 3 inches. His sweat has turned cold and he wills his hands not to shake at all. “My heart does. I know we’re good, it’s a gamble, really. Nothing noble about it.”
“Nothing noble?” Xabi’s eyebrows raise, hands two inches away, breaths sharing so much spare room. “Stevie, you are leading this team. Leading. You are worthy of it all, and they know it, we know it. Do you not see this?”
Steven moves to his back. Xabi’s close and too close. No space. “Xabi. I know, but I don’t need to. The day I feel like I’m doing something major by staying is the day I’ll be leaving.”
Xabi’s spine chills at the thought. He brings a hand up to his cheek and whispers, forcefully, “No. Don’t leave.”
Steven really believes he won’t.
-
Steven’s aunt dies. His life is made of stories, and he remembers theirs. He stares at a coffin with no life inside and wants to shut down every thought for the day. Black surrounds him. He’s nothing higher than broken.
Xabi walks the room in a black shirt and dark grey jeans. He stands in front of him until he looks and says, quietly, “Hey. I’m here. Hey.”
Steven looks at him, but really doesn’t. He’s still thinking about how life is just a parody of death, and how they’re all just running towards the end, anyway. “I never-“ his voice chokes a little. “I’ve never been good at this. Preparing. I never thought it’d happen.”
“I know,” Xabi says, mind trailing down another path in time, memories sticky on his skin. “Can I do anything?”
No, Steven thinks, and looks back at a yellowed face and closed eyes. Steven’s have turned grey for the day and maybe the night, maybe the next day as well. Steven wants to live so bad it tears his chest open with claws as sharp as a hammer and a pain of another dimension.
“Steven, come-“ Xabi pulls him into his room and Steven still doesn’t know why fifty people showed up to behold a corruption of something wholesome. Steven sits on his bed and his vision is cloudy and blurred, his knees weak and his arms weaker, he babbles-
“I didn’t- I didn’t know, I didn’t see this- I always know something, why couldn’t I expect it, know it, I want her, oh God, no, not now-“
Xabi holds him and he’s breaking as well. You never expect the things you expect the least.
-
Steven doesn’t talk to Xabi for two months. It’s early 2007, and Steven decides nothing can hurt him if he doesn’t hold it close enough. Xabi knows this and thinks it’s grief, but Steven understands it’s something much, much bigger.
They play on a Tuesday night. Steven gives his shirt away after they win but the kid jumps, runs after him to tug on his arm. “Mr- Mr. Gerrard! Mr. Gerrard!”
“Yes?” Steven turns, grinning widely, witnessing life.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you! Can I say something? Okay, okay, you’re like, like the best thing in this club. I want to grow up to be you, the leader of an army!”
Steven doesn’t catch anything after that. He doesn’t love to be praised. He knows the praise will go on forever and fears it like nothing else. He knows he’s staying and knows he’s not leaving, but he doesn’t know if life is supposed to be a never ending circle, doesn’t know because an ending is always around the corner. Steven doesn’t know his.
Xabi walks into the locker rooms with his head bent. Steven pulls him back and lowers his voice, says- “I’m sorry. But you get it, don’t you? That you have the power to bring me down?”
Xabi doesn’t quite look at him. His words are dry and blunt, everything raw and everything open. “It’s a gamble. I’m a gamble.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a certainty. I’ll be through before you’re done with me.”
The corner of Xabi’s mouth tilts upwards. He blinks slowly, still not looking. “You don’t know half of what you’ve done to me. But if that is your wish, I won’t tell you.” He looks. He loves. Open. Steven trembles and Xabi clears his throat and leaves, and Steven is still sure, but now slightly lost, too.
-
Xabi scores a winner and Steven explodes in euphoria and blatant exposure, a desire to run the whole length of the field and jump towards the arms of the crowd and bury his head in the crisp grass and cry of joy for hours and feel, absorb, have. Steven crashes into Xabi like a rock hits cold metal and Xabi’s arms are stronger than he remembers and more desperate than he remembers. Steven tries not to let any fear grip him harder than what he doesn’t call love and so he lets, for a second. Lets. Steven wants to kiss him with a fury out of a heart beating so fast his ribcage might break into two and take his pulse along with it.
“Look at me!” Xabi yells and they’re surrounded but Steven lifts his head from his shoulder, locks eyes with him, a blue so vivid it could turn blinding white and a brown so intense it could pierce him from the inside. Steven stops breathing for two seconds and doesn’t talk for three. His voice cracks when-
“God, fuck. Yes. Yes.”
Xabi smiles wider than he ever has before. An impending sense of guilt overwhelms him- all Steven sees is black, now.
-
Xabi’s asleep on his bed. He has an hour before the sun is out and he’s exposed again, but he’s panting silently and his thoughts are running whirling miles in search of something he’s not sure he can ever have. Steven feels letters spilling out of his lips before they even form words, and he’s quiet in the night but hot, scorching, a fire that spreads in a circle that surrounds and grounds him. The words rush out- “It’s 2008 and I don’t think I’ve ever told you I hate uneven numbers. I always feel like something bad is gonna happen, so like- 2009, yeah? I have a horrible feeling. But then again I feel horrible now, because you’re solid, here, but you might not be tomorrow. Do you know how that terrifies me? How I’ve realized that moments are just that- moments? They don’t come back and I feel helpless remembering. I hate Istanbul. I hate it. I never want to go back because something one of a kind happened there and I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t know if that’s selfless or egoistic but I know I’m selfish by having you here, now.”
Steven is panting heavily when he pauses, his eyes unfocused. Xabi may not be asleep. “I hate every time I’ve kissed you because every time I do, I think of a lifetime. The only thing that’ll last a lifetime is my life, and ours is going to end soon and I don’t know what to do. Do you? I’m- I’m only sure of myself, try to, at least, fuck, I try, and I’m staying here, I know, I know, but I can’t bear you being miles away, I can’t-“
“I’m not.” A muscle ticks in Xabi’s jaw. He doesn’t want to face what’s falling apart, keeps his eyes closed. “I’m not miles away. I’m not away at all.” His hand comes up to cover his face and Steven lies down again, looking up at the ceiling. “Steven?”
“Yeah?”
“For a man who’s so sure he’s not leaving, you sure do talk about it a lot.”
-
Steven walks into his house and Nagore greets him, retreats to the kitchen to finish dinner. Xabi hands him the contract and Steven throws it down on the couch. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate uneven numbers?”
Xabi folds his arms across his chest. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Bullshit. If you’re leaving just be fucking faithful to it. I don’t need your pity.”
Xabi nods. Steven’s hands close into fists and his legs feel like led. Xabi looks at the rapidly empty walls and doesn’t recognize a home anymore, maybe a house. He looks at Steven and sees a heart. “I’ll leave and be done. You’ll never be done, so.”
Steven feels like he’s being punched repeatedly but can’t muster the courage to fight back. He feels lifeless in a house with four walls and one more between them. He decides he really hates change, and uneven numbers, and talks of adoration. He hates possibilities, too.
“You could-“
“No.”
(He will.)
-
2015 isn’t a kind number (year). Before that are six gloriously maddening cycles, the kind that start with a previous ending, and Steven has been walking circles for most of his time. He calls Xabi with a weak voice and an even weaker argument.
“Hero, life-saver, idol, the legendary number eight. I cracked under it, you know?” and “But- But I never thought I’d. Fuck. I had this one thing that kept me going. It just shattered into pieces. How do I glue myself back together?”
Xabi laughs dryly into the phone. Steven can’t be more torn apart than this. “Steven. You’ve always been afraid of greatness. How could you not have known?”
Steven feels like a knife is drawing patterns on his back. He says his goodbyes behind a contract and a pen. He signs his name and feels like he’s signing an ending instead of a beginning.
He cracks. Sometimes you never expect a dream to become reality. Steven falls asleep thinking of trophies and joy, and red and heartbreak.