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“Have you ever wondered,” Raúl began to say one day, almost out of nowhere, his black eyes fixed on some far away spot on a cloud hovering above the horizon above the practice fields, “What you ever wondered what it would be like if we could really run this place? You know, what I mean? Do you ever find yourself fantasizing about what kind of difference we could make if we were able to run this club the way it’s meant to be run? Do you ever think about that?”
The breeze picked up for a second or two, warm wind flickering through his dark hair as he turned to his companion, awaiting an answer. In that brief moment, it almost felt like they were sixteen again, young, untainted, new. The way the setting sun seemed to cast a rosy, dreamy sort of glow over them, and Raúl realized that he could almost forget all the lines etched in Guti’s face, forget that the man beside him had been with him for nigh on twenty-five years. If he really tried the could have pretended there was not bullshit piled between them, no angst involved at all. But of course, that would mean he’d missed the point of it all, missed the very best parts of their relationship.
Sometimes, he thought, Guti was very much like a tart. Appealing, so attractive, one couldn’t help but be drawn in by his charisma, his intelligence, the way he presented to the world. He’d always had that allure to him, Raúl recognized as much. It was simple to let himself be drawn in by the good looks and the charm. It was less simple to deal with the bitter taste in his mouth which caught him off his guard every time.
Raúl forced himself to look away, lest he be caught staring too openly for too long.
“You shouldn’t say we,” Guti finally said, his voice frank, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips while he digs his hands into his coat pockets. “You and I both know it’s going to be you that’ll run the show, not me.”
“You’re part of it,” Raúl said, because of course Guti would be part of it. He supposed there might be some alternate reality in which Raúl González Blanco and José María Gutiérrez Hernández weren’t part and parcel to each other, but they weren’t living in that universe. It might now always be easy sailing, but who else could Raúl possibly have at his side but his oldest friend, his co-captain, the first person he’d ever—
“I’m not going to be your first lady,” Guti answered. In the distance, the sharp trill of a whistle breaks through the calm before them.
Raúl couldn’t help but roll his eyes, refusing to submit to Guti’s attempts to egg him on. After twenty-some years together, he knew better than to walk right into one of Guti’s well laid traps. Instead he responded with a simple sigh, and patted his friend on the back, his hand lingering there for a second or two longer than necessary. “You’re not my wife, José.”
“I know I’m not,” Guti said as he began the walk back toward where his boys were grabbing their water bottles and pulling on their coordinated warm-up jackets. He didn’t bother to look back and he didn’t seem to give a damn if Raúl could hear him properly. “But you’ve got my vote anyway, gilipollas.”
—
Raúl officially announced his candidacy for president the following morning, and naturally the internet and media came alive at the prospect. He ought to have expected it, knowing how fickle Madridistas could be, and having had the weight of their expectations on him since his teenaged years, but still he managed to find himself blindsided by the flurry of phone calls and emails and DM’s on Twitter. By midday he’d lost track of everything he needed to reply to and catch up on. But Guti hadn’t. Somehow, over the course of the afternoon, he’d sprung into action by fielding questions from the press and the fans and the trolls alike. And while Raúl never quite understood much of Guti’s social media habits, he had to admit it was a joy to watch him in action, tweeting his reactions as if he were live-tweeting a match from his sofa.
GUTI
@GUTY14HAZ
@realmadrxid Of course I am in favor of Raúl’s candidacy. I’m not an idiot. I don’t endorse stupidity. #PresidenteRaúl
11:57 AM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
There is no one in this country more qualified to be our president than Raúl. End of story.
11:57 AM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
In fact when Raúl wins (which of course he will) he will be the most qualified president any football club has ever had! #PresidenteRaúl #EternoCapitan #EternoPresidente
11:58 AM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
what on earth does ‘PK’ have to do with #PresidenteRaúl ??? Surely you’ve got something interesting happening around Camp Nou & needn’t work yourself up over our business
11:59 AM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
@messileyanda21298 you’re talking about a man who can’t even win a Tweet war against @aarbeloa17. What do you think he’ll actually do as your president?
12:01 PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
@messileyanda21298 It’s 2021. Please come up with some new material. Everything you Culés say lately is mind numbing and boring. The horse is dead, man.
12:03 PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
@piquefan4lyfe69 Totally. In a heartbeat. He’s my half you know. 14 x 1/2 = 7
12:04PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
@orozconpollo Take it as a confession or however you take it. I endorse Raúl.
12:04 PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
Anyways: I for one couldn’t be happier at the prospect of #PresidenteRaúl. Consider this the start of yet another Golden Age for the greatest club on the planet
12:05 PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
Which segues nicely into a reminder that Juvenil A play this Saturday & I implore you all to watch these lads & get autographs now so you can make money off of them later ;)
12:06 PM - 22 SEP 2021GUTI
Come and see the future Galacticos of Spain and beyond. And come say hello to me too, if you stop by. I promise it will be worth your while.
12:09 PM - 22 SEP 2021
—
Zizou’s call came just before dinner.
“This is a big step,” he said in that same steady way he always did. Raúl found himself smiling as he paced the dark wooden floors of his dining room. “But you have it all well in hand.”
“You think so?” He asked, catching Zidane’s throaty chuckle on the other end. “There’s a lot of people to win over and appease. Anything could happen, really. Pérez could-- ”
“If Pérez decides to put his hat in the ring, he’s a bigger fool than I ever thought. He’ll be the laughing stock of Madrid. No doubt he’s seen the media frenzy this afternoon, seen the tremendous response you’ve received. He wouldn’t dare go up against you, Capitan.”
Raul flinched at that. Capitan. Eterno Capitan. Despite it being past a decade since giving up the armband, the word still pulled him back to the days when he knees didn’t ache and he felt like he could run and breathe and live forever, clad in white, drenched in sweat, blood and grass stains marring his legs and elbows. He could hear the crowds singing his name at the top of their lungs, he could feel that warm embrace of a thousand lights and fifty thousand supporters crying out in support. He was their captain, their hero, their icon. If anyone was due to inherit the throne, it ought to be Raul.
However, Zidane seemed to perceive some hesitation, and his voice dropped to just above a whisper as he continued, “Jose is already rallying the troops to your cause. Use him to your advantage.”
That snapped Raúl right out of his stupor, and he frowned, expression wasted on a man who couldn’t see him across the telephone line. “I don’t like that word. It sounds so…” Impolite. Dirty. Wrong. Raúl hated the implications that went along with the word use, like he was someone who took and took from Guti, like he was some sort of puppet master pulling on his strings. Things weren’t like that. It’d never been like that between them. The differences between them made them partners, unparalleled equals.
“Utilize him, then. You know what I mean.”
“Better.”
It never made sense to argue semantics with one of the most brilliant minds he’d ever known. So Raúl let it go, exhaling softly into the receiver.
“Good man. Now, I must leave you. There’s much to do ahead of the weekend.”
Raúl understood. The obligations to the first team took priority over nearly anything else, and nothing would sink his candidacy quite like word spreading that he was distracting their manager from his very important work. “Good luck this weekend,” he said. “And Hala Madrid!”
Zidane chuckled, and without saying another word, the call ended.
—
José had the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen, longer than anyone else’s. That wasn’t the first thing he noticed about the other boy, but Raúl caught himself staring at those thick black lashes framing those bright blue eyes on more than one occasion. They seemed to go on forever. They were… no, no, no. He was alluring in a way that shook Raúl to his core, made him question himself late at night, alone in bed, with just his own impure mind and his burgeoning libido to occupy him.
Their first kisses were awkward, unsure, both gentle and ferocious in turn, teenaged urgency mixed with the nervousness of not knowing what to do, how to do it, if it’s even okay to—
At his side, there was no feeling but love. He was complete, in José’s arms. Any empty part of him felt whole again.
‘This is what it means to be in love,’ he thought to himself. ‘And now that I have it, I’ll never give it up.’
He said it first. They were in his bedroom on a rare weekend night off, spent together watching TV and drinking wine, waiting for his parents to fall asleep so they could fuck. José looked at him, eyes obscured by those endless lashes, the blue lights of the television casting a haunting glow over him.
“I said I’m in love with you,” Raúl repeated, voice shakier that time, hoping to wipe the incredulous look off of Guti’s face.
“Just wait until you score for the first team. Then you’ll really know what love is.”
Raúl never forgot that moment or those words. He clung to them with baited breath as he waited for his destiny. And when that day came, José held him in his arms again, and after they shared a Hollywood movie worthy kiss, the blond exhaled against his neck, “I love you too, gilipollas.”
—
The first team won at the weekend. So did Juvenil A. Barcelona lost to Athletic. Guti took to Twitter to celebrate. Raúl had been busy meeting with members of the board all evening. He couldn't check for damage until it was far too late to undo it.
GUTI
Top of the table again thanks to goals from @marcoasensio10 BRUTAAAAALLLLL and @nachofi1990 CRACKKKKKK
8:38 PM - 26 SEP 2021GUTI
And a special thanks to the “future president of Barcelona” for his shoddy defending this week. Kisses, Geri and do give my best to Shakira
8:40 PM - 26 SEP 2021
Raúl let the screen go black after that, dropping his phone onto the sofa beside him as he shut his eyes. Nothing could compare to the roar of the fans, the smell of fresh cut grass, the burning of sweat dripping into his eyes. Nothing could hold a candle to being the crown prince of the white house. Except, of course, being crowned its king.
He smiled sleepily, and he allowed himself to hope that the future they'd dreamed about was just beyond the horizon. And they were as they'd always been, he and José.