Chapter Text
“You’re trading me where?”
The room all of the sudden feels spinny and small, like the walls are closing in on him. Leo has always been aware of his height, but at this moment in time, sitting in the chair before Xavi, Enrique, and chairman Bartomeu, he’s never felt smaller. The air feels thin, the temperature humid despite the fans going full speed, and Leo wipes his sweaty palms on his dress pants. Words don’t pass his tongue, his throat closing, vetoing the voice box’s persistent pleas to be heard. His brain races at 100 mph, but not fast enough to match his thundering heartbeat loud in his ears, blood pulsing over the sound of Enrique’s voice.
“Well, we think it’s best for the team, Leo, that’s it,” Enrique says with a face of stone.
Best for the team? I am the team.
Leo nods.
“And,” Bartomeu adds, despite how dearly Leo wishes everyone would just shut up, “Madrid has a very good group of guys as well, very tightly knit,” he intertwines his fingers together for emphasis, “You should fit in very nicely over there.”
Over there. No, I want to stay here.
“But, Barcelona is my home,” Leo says quietly, eyes dropping to the floor, focusing solely on the square pattern of the carpet. It’s a very nice carpet, Leo comprehends, subtle, yet sleek.
“Yes, we know,” the chairman continues, “But, it’s time we all move on our separate paths.”
Leo looks to Xavi, who says nothing. He has said nothing ever since Leo first entered the office and continues to stare blankly at his now former teammate.
“Was I not producing enough? Not scoring enough?” Leo asks suddenly, abruptly.
The chairman looks surprised. Enrique does not.
“No-,” Enrique pauses thoughtfully as though searching for the words to let Leo down easily and not drop him farther down the cliff he already kicked him off of, “It’s time for a change.”
“Look, the deal is already made, you had a good run, Leo, but we can’t go back on it now,” the chairman finishes. That’s it. The gate closes in his face and he has to look the other way despite his heart and mind yearning to stay where he knows best to stay, where it is familiar.
Xavi’s mouth is formed into a thin, stern line. “Let’s go get your stuff from the locker room,” is all he says, his voice scratchy from underuse.
Leo stands, knees unsure if they’ll be able to hold his weight, yet they comply with slight confusion and hesitation. His legs are numb. Leo shakes each of the two men’s hands firmly before Xavi, standing by the door, motions for his exit.
They walk silently through the hall to the changing room, presumably the last time Leo ever will walk these halls without wearing the opposing jersey. Xavi seems to have no words, as if he is just as shocked as Leo is about the whole ordeal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No, Leo had just broken the scoring record, they were going to come back and beat Madrid at the next Clasico. Leo wasn’t supposed to get traded, especially to the place that hates him the most.
Their feet hit the floor unsynchronized against the polished surface. Suddenly, Xavi pulls him into a tight hug, right then and there.
He breathes hard into Leo’s shoulder, “We’re going to miss you, Leo, promise you’ll never be their flea, only ours?”
Leo only nods, the situation still not fully sinking in.
They call him a legend. Kids wear his jersey all over the world. He can make the ball dance and defenders fall. He is titled as the world’s best, a gift from God to the football universe. This is a dream, yes, a nightmare and when he wakes up, when Xavi pulls back from their embrace, he will wake up in his big house, that he wont be moving out of any time soon, and everything will be as it was.
But, when Xavi lets go and they continue walking, the dream doesn’t clear and Leo is stuck with the realization that Madrid is permanent.