Chapter Four: yes my head hurts now

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: The Eternal Heartache, Chapter Four
Characters (in this part): Cesc Fabregas, Bojan Krkic, Pep Guardiola ; Raul Gonzalez/Pep implied
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2554 for this chapter, 9284 total (despite the discrepancy in the official word counter of 14 words)
A/N: Gosh, this chapter was a pain in the ass, no lie. Um…I hope you guys like it because it was so hard for me to write and I appreciate everyone’s amazing feedback on the past three parts. I love all y’all. And uh, notsostrange, I didn’t give him any yet XD ;-)



One | Two | Three




Yellow, golden light fell from the sky down onto the Earth in brilliant streams of light, baking it. The heat rose and permeated everything, whether it was inside or out. Even the winding river, which had been at its banks’ edge in the winter, was now drier than the clumps of dust in the grass. The relentless rays streamed down onto the region, warming it entirely in its glow. The high degree of heat required that homes and buildings without air-conditioning have open windows and doors; otherwise it was very probable that those that lived inside would bake inside their own homes.

In the tiny house made of stucco and tile, there was no exception. However, unlike in the other houses where the slight murmur of conversation could be heard, silence matched the temperature in amplitude but for one sound coming from the room that was directly next to the main room.

Past the worn tiles in the foyer, the stucco walls gave way to a room that was used as part office room and part living slash guest bedroom. Like everywhere else, all of the windows and doors were open, letting the air vent inside and the fans were on.

In the center of the room there was a great desk. To one looking at it from the city, it was merely an unimpressive old desk. But to the small boy who idolized the man who worked at that desk, it was the best creation on the planet. It was his cave, it was his spaceship. It was the place where he went to hide away from the taunts of his older brother and to hide from the yelling between his mami and papi.

On this summer’s day, he leaned against the wood of the desk while he heard his father tap-tap-tap the keys on his ancient typewriter. He wanted to lean up and ask how his father could continue to work in this heat but he didn’t, he was listening to the music.

On a table in the corner of the room, a very old record player spun an old record around and around. The needle on the vinyl record was amplified by the horn and thus the classic ‘old’ sound was made. The beat of a Latina band filled the room, the house, with its old school beat.

The boy on the floor hears the chair slide backwards and looks up with big brown eyes to see his father smiling down on him. The man offers his large hand to the four-year old and the boy happily takes it.

“How about we go to town to get some ice-cream?” He asks his son as they walk out of the room, the record still playing. The boy nods eagerly and the man laughs. As they walk out the front door, he calls over his shoulder telling his wife, his oldest son, and their newborn baby that they would be back soon.

As the screen door shuts behind them, the record comes to a glorious end with a shout of “Tequila!”. Then the needle lifts slowly off the black surface of the record and moves gradually, practiced perfectly because of the time it has been in use, back to its resting position on the side of wooden box. The record continues to spin for a few moments before it loses momentum and comes to a slow, patient stop.



Cesc blinks open his eyes and stares into the inky darkness. At first he thinks he is back at home; he hears Bojan’s slow, soft breathing and thinks all is well. Then the smell and the cool temperature of the room assault him at the same time. Panic rises until he remembers where he is. He relaxes with a gulp and looks up at the ceiling where the welcome banner still is hung high.

Then he remembers what woke him up, the dream about that summer day with his father. Bojan had just barely been two at the time, Cesc recently turned five. He tries to cling to the dream the same way a child grasps desperately at their favorite stuffed animal when it is being taken away. But just like the other times, the dream fades faster than he can hold onto it. The sense of loss overwhelms him and to cope, he turns his attentions onto the evening that they had spent with their uncle.

The events flood into his now unable-to-sleep mind clearly and he watches them replay against the ceiling.



Bojan and Cesc had come out of their room, their large, wonderfully furnished, bloody-brilliant room, after putting their suitcases and the few things they had away. They came downstairs and found Pep in the kitchen taking something out of the oven. While it had not been that long since they had last eaten, they both already felt their stomachs coming to attention and their mouths watering.

Pep came to attention and welcomed them into the kitchen with a nervous smile. Cesc noted that he was polite and refined almost all the time since they had met him formally. He asked them if they wanted to sit down, which they did, and then offered them something to drink, which they declined.

He too, sat at the table, and folded his hands on the glass surface.

“Well boys, looks like we will be together a while now.” He said to break the ice. “Is there anything you would like to know about me? Maybe that will help us get to know each other better and help ease us out of this awkwardness.”

Bojan and Cesc looked at each other and then back at their uncle. He seemed nice enough… He had not so far touched them other than in ways of affection, albeit nervous affection.

It came to be that they asked questions about how he came to be a top financial aide to large corporation; about his life as a boy, about him growing up in that small village that they all knew so well. They tried to keep the conversation away from their mother and their home as much as possible, and for the most part succeeded. It was not until Bojan mentioned playing football in that field with him that the conversation hit another awkward block. Pep had cleared his throat and had started dishing out their dinner—a huge lasagna.

“You cook?” Cesc asked, stomach rumbling as a big piece of the dish landed on his pristinely white plate.

“Me? Oh no, not really. I just know how to do the basic things. Raul is the chef around here.” Pep laughed as he set a plate in front of Bojan. He then sat across from them at the table. “In fact, Raul made the lasagna. He can make anything you want.”

Pep smiled as he thought something about his Raul. Cesc was noticing more and more about how Pep reacted to things whenever Raul’s name or physical being was involved. He must really love him, Cesc had thought. Cesc covered up his face that showed his thoughts and put his mask firmly back into place. Bojan did not need to know about things like this.



Cesc sighs and blinks. The shadows have moved only slightly in the few minutes it took for him to think back further in the day. Bojan whimpers and his sleep and Cesc looks over. Bojan is curled around his pillow, hugging it closely. His eyebrows are drawn sharply over his face as he sleeps.

Cesc knows he does that a lot, the whimpering. He feels himself flood with guilt as a result of it. There are over a hundred thousand things that he wishes were different, ninety-nine thousand of those regrets have to deal with Bojan. He closes his eyes when he hears Bojan wake up. The telltale gasp and suddenly deep-breathing give him away as a sign of his sudden return to consciousness.

“C-Cesc?” He whispers across the dark room and Cesc opens his eyes.

“What?” He whispers back.

“C-can I c-come over there?” Bojan asks quietly, nervously.

Cesc nods and scoots over, pulling the sheets up so that Bojan can just simply slide in. Bojan brings his pillow along with him as he comes and carefully arranges himself in Cesc’s bed. Cesc looks at Bojan, making sure every single hair is perfectly in place on his head, although he did have bed-head, before he closes his eyes again. He sighs, trying to relax.

It is a few minutes before he feels the bed shift and then the sudden warmth of a body hugging him close. Cesc automatically wraps his arm around Bojan and holds him. They have done this quite a lot in the past few years; it is not unusual for them to continue to do so.

“My teddy bear.” Bojan whispers and Cesc laughs breathily.

“My Bojanito.” Cesc replies and closes his eyes, suddenly more tired than before. He wonders how things will be tomorrow…when daylight has returned.




The first thing Cesc is consciously aware of is the smell of coffee. The next few things rush at him in bleeps of information that his sleep-muddled mind quickly sorts through. His eyes remain closed as he tries to piece together why coffee was being made in their house, neither Cris nor their mother ever drank coffee. Not even when Cris needed to get sober really fast did he ever drink coffee.

The second was that there was a television softly playing from somewhere far away. That did not make any sense, they did not even have a television, let alone could it be far away. Third was the smell of bacon and eggs that suddenly floated into his mind. Breakfast was rare and certainly never was bacon…


Cesc opens his eyes, brain confused and then he realizes he is not at home at all. His location clicks in his brain the same way a lock slides into place. He smacks his forehand against his face and he absently wonders how long it will take for him to figure out that they are not in Castellfollit de la Roca* anymore.

He suddenly realizes that he is alone in the room, that Bojan is nowhere in sight. He jumps up at once, his senses of protection and worry kicking into overdrive, and heads out of the room. He goes down the hallway, the sound of television and the smell of bacon only increase. His stomach rumbles but he ignores it. He goes down the stairs quickly and then inadvertently relaxes when he hears a laugh.

He knows that laugh… He hardly ever hears it though. Cesc scratches his head and wonders what Bojan is laughing at. Downstairs, the smell of bacon overwhelms him and his stomach grumbles, reminding him that he has not eaten since that exceptionally wonderful lasagna several hours ago.

“Oh look who is up!” Pep says when he sees him standing on the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen. “Come on in, breakfast is still warm.”

Bojan gets out of the chair from where he was watching cartoons on the small kitchen television set and hugs Cesc tightly. “Cescito, you have to try the pancakes. Pep made them. He is very good at making breakfast!”

Bojan smiles happily and Cesc feels his heart warm. He is very glad to have a happy Bojan. But he does not miss seeing Pep rub his neck awkwardly.

“Pancakes are one of the few things my limited skills covers.” He says for explanation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of taking the day off so that I could take you boys shopping. You both look like you could use some new clothes.”

Bojan and Cesc both look at Pep as if he has gone mental. Cesc is the one that speaks. “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. We don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

Pep nods once. “It is no trouble, honestly. I wish you would stop thinking that your stay here is an inconvenience. In fact, it is my absolute pleasure.”

Cesc has a hard time trying to grasp that concept. He wants to believe his uncle very much, but he isn’t sure if his trust skills can extend far enough to let in another person besides Bojan.

Pep places a hand on Cesc’s shoulder. “Eat your breakfast. We don’t have to do that today. I would like to do it soon though, before you start school.”

“School…?” Cesc asked. He had completely forgotten that summer holidays were quickly ending.

“Sí, school. Schools here in Barcelona have started already; I believe that they started this week. But I decided that you boys should settle in for a few days before you are thrust into that environment.”

Cesc is too taken aback to finish a single thought, let alone compile a whole sentence. Bojan seems to be more capable of though, something that surprises Cesc. Bojan is usually quiet and hidden.

“Will we be separated?” He asks shyly.

Pep motions for them to seat themselves as he fixes a plate for Cesc. “No, I spent time looking to find a school that would not separate you. I know that you two are very close and should probably be together as much as possible in a new city. I found one that is very close-by, within walking distance.” He stops to put the plate in front of Cesc and then reaches for the container of orange juice and a glass. “It is a more prominent school but I hear that you two are very intelligent young men so you should fit in amazingly well.”

Cesc wonders how Pep has heard this but he does not say anything about it. If he considered ‘very intelligent’ to have an almost completely perfect record, the highest level results possible on tests, at a small village school, then he would be correct. It was one of the things Cesc fell back on, his brains. At the time it seemed that it would be all he had to get him an escape from that damn village.

Cesc picks up a piece of bacon and bites into it. He cannot help closing his eyes and savoring every flavor that danced across his tongue. His stomach growled in agreement and never before had Cesc enjoyed the particular dish more than he did in that moment.

“I take it you like it…” Pep laughs when Cesc opens his eyes.

Cesc blushes but nods. “Delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Pep smiles and then looks at the clock. “Excuse me while I make a call. When you are done eating, then we can go if you decide you want too.”

Bojan sends his pleading look at Cesc—the one where his eyes grow to be huge and his bottom lip trembles. It never ceases to work.

“We want too.” Cesc says in reply to Pep’s retreating back.

Pep turns around and looks back at the two of them in the kitchen. He is smiling when he speaks. “I’m glad. Eat up, Cesc.”

Bojan smiles at Cesc when his head comes back around. “I think we are going to like it here.”

Cesc nods and takes a sip of the orange juice. “I think you are right Bojan.”



Castellfollit de la Roca* = the small village being described throughout the story. It is a real place in Girona, Catalonia.