Chapter Text
It’s a typical, drab mid-January day in London, an undefinable but distinctly unpleasant mixture of rain and snow having gone on all day now.
Around this time of the year, they'd started to flounder last season. An imminent danger they are facing again this year, if you believed the pundits on TV and social media. They are six points clear at the head of the table, but Manchester City has appeared in their rearview mirror again, a circumstance that makes some of them more nervous than they liked to admit. If they bottled the lead again, people would stop believing that they could ever be more than runners-up. The best worst seconds in the world.
As training finishes up for the day, Leo breaks into a trot, driven towards the lockers by the prospect of a hot shower. He endures the pats on his shoulder and parting platitudes, impatient to shake them off and catch up with the man walking in front of him, slightly favouring his left leg.
“Hey!” he calls out, unnaturally cheerful even to his own ears, and—goddammit—doling out one of those superfluous shoulder pats himself. Viktor slows down in his tracks, turning towards him with a slightly puzzled look. They're friendly with each other but not friends, exactly—a fact the press pounced on as soon as Viktor didn't produce the goals expected of Arsenal’s new star striker. Word was that he was aloof, not a good fit for the Arsenal locker room.
As he now looks down at Leo with an obvious question in his eyes, he feels a flutter of panic in his stomach.
“Just wanted to ask how you feel,” he says, his affected cheerfulness faltering, gesturing vaguely at Viktor’s leg. He’d sustained a partially torn hamstring in the match against Burnley in November, an injury that sidelined him for almost two months and had further dampened the media’s and fan’s excitement.
“Physio says that in two or three weeks I'll be able to get back into full training,” Viktor says. He speaks English almost fluently, like most Scandinavians, though there's a slight accent to his words. His pale blue eyes are fixed on Leo as he mutely waits for him to say any more, not offering any relief for their foundering conversation himself.
Jesus, no wonder people were terrified of the Vikings, Leo thinks, they could easily stare you down.
“You look good, anyway,” he says, because it's the first thing that pops into his mind.
They're both clammy and frozen through from the sleet outside and distinctly miserable.
Viktor frowns. There's a loose strand of hair sticking to his forehead and Leo can't help but stare for a second, itching to brush it aside. And now that he thinks about it, Viktor looks pale and tired too, which makes Leo’s comment sound like an unfortunate backhanded compliment.
“Well, I think you always look good,” he says in a mounting panic. “I mean…”
But his brain is completely emptied of words to save the situation. Because it's true. He thinks that Viktor always looks good. In fact, he thinks about it so much that it should probably concern him. Viktor usually gels his dark blond hair back, but during training it's soft and slightly tousled and has distracted Leo’s attention on more than one occasion.
They hover awkwardly in each other’s vicinity for a few seconds longer before parting in the locker room with a quick nod. When Viktor is off to the showers, Leo sits down, running a hand over his face. Martin claps him on the shoulder, on top of everything else. They're up against Aston Villa later that week, he should focus on that. Has to focus on that. He showers, Aston Villa wiped from his mind as he replays every cringeworthy second of his conversation with Viktor.
The locker room is already emptying as he steps out again and his eyes find Viktor, who's tying the shoelaces of his white sneakers.
You’d think Swedes would be more sensible about what shoes to wear in snow slush, he thinks, and then: I’m going insane.
He puts on his shoes and jacket and sees when he turns back around that Viktor is still fiddling with his laces.
Huh, Leo thinks. And as if he hadn't already made enough of a fool of himself today, asks: “Do you want to grab something to eat before heading home?”
It doesn't escape his attention that Viktor's eyes quickly scan the room, making sure that nobody’s paying attention to them, before he answers.
What are you so embarrassed about? As if you have so many other close friends around here that seek out your company, Leo wants to say, stung, but stays quiet.
“Okay.” Viktor nods, falling into step beside him with his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders slightly hunched against the drizzle. He’s limping a bit. They cross the parking lot, making their way down the street in awkward silence. Viktor doesn't ask where they're going, so Leo leads the way to a fish & chips stand that's hardly fancy, but he's starving.
Viktor hangs back while Leo buys himself chips.
“Want one?” He holds the paper cone out as they huddle under the awning.
Viktor looks flustered.
“I have to watch what I eat a bit. With not being able to fully train yet and all.”
Leo thinks of a tweet a couple of months ago with millions of views, zooming in on a picture of Viktor's bare midriff after their loss to Villa, the comments calling him out of shape and a fraud among the nicer things. He’s seen that post and he's certain Viktor has too and he feels even more disgusting now than he already did anyway for having stared at that picture and having touched himself to it to blunt the sharp edge of his arousal.
“I still think you should have some chips,” he says.
“Are you obligated to say that as a Belgian?” Viktor says, taking one. It doesn't help Leo’s desperate yearning that Viktor can actually be really charming and witty once his reservedness has thawed a bit.
They smile at each other and make short work of the rest of Leo’s chips. Viktor looks a mixture of content and guilty, and Leo doesn't know why he does it but he leans forward slightly and says: “Hey, if you ever want to hang out or…”
He has no time to react before Viktor leans in, kissing him on the mouth, and a second later draws away again as if burnt. He looks as mortified as Leo is stunned.
“Sorry, I… Oh god, I didn't mean to… I thought you...”
Viktor's bottom lip trembles for a second as he looks at Leo in slack horror and Leo fears he’s going to have a panic attack or something, but it doesn't happen.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to… Please don't tell the others. I don't...”
“No. No, of course not,” Leo cuts him off quickly, and he feels guilty about the fireworks going off in his chest while Viktor looks agonised to the point of crying. Before he can overthink it, his hand slides up the back of Viktor’s neck, tipping his head ever so slightly forward. Their faces hover an inch from one another for a second. Leo leans in to tentatively kiss the corner of Viktor's mouth, his jaw, the side of his neck, and feels his own blood rush from his head down between his legs as Viktor readily nuzzles into him. They laugh, flushed, as they break apart, and watching Viktor’s face light up like that is like a beacon. He can't believe it. Viktor kissed him under the soggy awning of a chips stand. Viktor kissed him.
They leave Viktor’s car in the parking lot that evening, going to Leo's place instead. It feels giddy and unreal, like he's sixteen again, as he lets Viktor inside. He's suddenly strangely self-conscious about his apartment, even though there's nothing wrong with it. They turn on the sports channel but only half watch as they curl up on the couch. It’s a bit awkward at first to figure out how their bodies fit together but it gives Leo an almost dizzying rush of exhilaration whenever his mouth or his touch teases a shudder of pleasure or a soft whimper from Viktor.
“Everything’s a mess,” Viktor says later, as Leo's hand brushes lazily up and down his side. “Nothing’s working out the way it should. It's like I've unlearnt everything, and it never used to be like that. And then there's this injury and if I fail here I'll be finished and I'm almost thirty…”
It's the most he's ever said to Leo at once.
“It’s going to be okay,” Leo says. “I’m the expert on that because I'm over thirty.”
Viktor laughs. “Okay “
He leans his head on Leo's shoulder and Leo's hand slides under Viktor's shirt, his thumb tracing random patterns on his belly until he feels Viktor doze off.
He hasn't though about Aston Villa all evening, but he thinks that they will be just fine.