Cogat Free Prctice Test

! Fanfic: Come back to me

Title: Come back to me
Fandom: RPF - Football (Fiorentina AC / UC Sampdoria)
Characters: Giampaolo Pazzini, Riccardo Montolivo
Rating: VM14
Warning: What If, Angst, Slash, Future! Fic Disclaimer: This fanfiction not for profit. You do not want to offend or be prejudicial against real people described. Nothing told in this fanfiction has really happened but it is fictional, so do not pretend to give a truthful picture of events or personalities. Word Count: 3211w. (
fiumidiparole

) Note: This verse comes mainly from

here. To which I started strillettare something incomprehensible and I started to write. I hope that this verse proves decently understandable, otherwise let me know and I will add notes. the rain in December that is spilling over Florence for a couple of days. They stare for a moment without saying anything, then Richard sighed deeply and steps aside, if only because an old friend left to freeze on a landing is not even remotely polite - any other implication, does not think, does the road silently into the kitchen, known as the house almost to perfection, and then disappears with attention to close the bedroom door of Stella, so that their words might wake her up.
"You have returned to live in our old apartment." Giampaolo says when she sees him fall, he removed the jacket, which now sadly drips hanging all'attaccapanni input, and Richard can not keep from laughing bitterly in listening to his words as he looks to find something to drink around the room.
"The new apartment if Cristina is taken with the divorce." Informs him, impassive, overtaking and pulling out a bottle of water from the cupboard above. "I could not do anything else." Giampaolo
nods, pouring a glass of water a bit 'reluctantly, that vague but ignores Richard shadow of resentment and crosses his arms to his chest, with yet another sigh.
"What are you doing here, Giampaolo? Asks point-blank, shaking her head as he looks to continue drinking without answer, then take to fix the bottom of the glass like looking for the right words. "I think it's a little 'that you do not hear. But maybe it's my impression, I do not know. "Giampaolo
is to sigh, this time, before next pass to put the glass in the sink without looking, without looking up at him and try to explain - to explain what, then ? As if there was no need for an explanation for what happened, since they both know the whys and wherefores. Down only to furtively, trying not to get noticed and felt her heart in her face it dug out the last time and the shadows under the eyes, the way his eye is a bit 'more tired than when smiled, before marriage and before everything else, has the sudden need to embrace and make a step forward, then stop when Richard's hand rests on his chest, holding it at a distance.
"We've never been in the past year." Murmurs and, as far as trying to sound threatening, the tremor in his voice makes his words more

tired than ever, so full of sorrow and bitterness to do evil. "I do not see why I should take them back with open arms." Giampaolo
sighs, placing his hand on her and moving slowly, getting closer to Richard to hold it in your own hands, feeling fragile and motionless, bending down to kiss him on the forehead with a delicacy almost out place.
"Why do we need it." She whispers, her lips touch his skin with every word, and Richard let out a sob, clenching his fists in Giampaolo sweater. "Both of them, not just you."
Richard burst into tears against his shoulder, leaving tight and rocked slowly from the arms of Giampaolo who slipped on her hips, squeezing just waving, I stood together, Richard, who continues to cry Giampaolo and remaining silent, even agreeing to take charge of that sadness, fatigue in recent months - that can only imagine how much may be, it may be impossible for Richard to manage his own life, make the decisions that he has taken, making the choices he did. And take those decisions and make those choices alone, because he was not there, Richard has tried, needed him, and in those moments he was there, too determined to make him pay for something - marriage to Christina - who had already forgiven him, or for which he had never really angry, maybe. It's something that will never stop feeling guilty, not while Richard feels that way tremble against his chest, and heard him sobbing floor, while he feels in looking for his hands and his lips as if he felt that he should retain almost with the fear that Giampaolo disappear again as it did; while not found him so different from what she had left him, terrified of having contributed to that change. Giampaolo
holds its breath when the mouth of Richard sits on its very light, only for a second before moving away to look him in the face - eyes bright and swollen, tired, looking for reassurance in her, a smile that does not come to ruffle his lips but it is there that shines discreet, almost shy - before returning to rest his forehead on his shoulder, feeling more at home than you ever felt the last year. "I tried to call you a thousand times." Riccardo cries, and every word is a blow to Giampaolo, realize that no star crying until finding her tears on the sweatshirt that Richard wears, along with her. "But you never responded - I need you." Giampaolo closes his eyes, finding in the words of Richard all his thoughts, beautiful, yet again, to what are equal, despite what the past years are still able to split of being left with an almost disarming simplicity. "I know." Blows, holding strong to bury his face in his hair and breathe slowly, coming to recognize the small movements that Richard is to settle into his embrace, and that seemed almost out of a previous life, when I think only a few days before, making a case to go to Florence. "But now I'm here."
"Now you're here." Confirms Richard choked with laughter, holding strong and rising to kiss him again, this time really, a hand on his neck to draw him closer to him and a shiver down the back every time you touch their tongues, and could almost burst into tears again as everything seems back to perfect in its place, and it is ridiculous that it is only enough Giampaolo, or it is not because it is the best and Giampaolo most perfect that has ever happened - or almost, in fact, is currently the second best thing that ever happened to perfect. "I can see it?" Whispers Giampaolo, against his temple, and Richard remained silent for a second, indecisive, before nodding slowly and shake his hand in his own as he goes to the one that years ago was her room - the room that, in fact, Richard has used very little , as the bed of Giampaolo has always seemed infinitely more comfortable and warm and welcoming. Nudges open the door, pushing it with the palm, and the room is dark and Stella is there, sleeping, and Richard looks at her and forget for a moment even the presence of Giampaolo at his side, because that is his daughter and that sleeps is beautiful , chubby little face with the hand resting next to the arch and rosy lips parted in a tiny smile. Giampaolo takes a step forward in the room and then turns to look at Richard, who smiles and nods slightly, and a second after Giampaolo is beside the cradle of Stella, bending over her with a smile softened, and Richard remained motionless for a moment to observe the two most important people who have finally together, and before reaching affiancarglisi.
"It's beautiful, does not look like Cristina." Blows Giampaolo, incredulous, touching the tip of the finger of the hand fist Stella, who gurgles something and it moves but does not wake up soon, and Richard is breathing a sigh of relief . "I bet that your eyes are." "The smile is yours, you know," admits Richard, approaching both lips to his face to blow those words on the skin, and Giampaolo looks at him, half confused and half sure that Richard is taking him around. "It is impossible." Chuckles, then return to watch Stella looked so tenderly into the eyes to make people smile, indirectly, Richard, shaking his head softly.
" Someone said once that is hard even if I do not think about him." Chuckles, softly, careful not to wake the baby, and Giampaolo blushing furiously to remember one of the many accusations that shouted him in the months before his marriage to Cristina. "You seem so absurd that my daughter has your smile?"
"Yes," admitted in a whisper. "And it's beautiful." Richard smiles, kissing him quickly on the lips before you drag him away in the next room - the hands that look as if he were dead, remaining only a moment's further from the heat of her skin, as if everything that was the last year was canceled only by the taste of her skin and her warmth against him, his face above her, his eyes closed and his name that escapes from the lips of a series of disjointed whispers. "When you come back?" He asks, after
, his head resting on his chest and his fingers intertwined with his, while both seem to be able to return back in time to when there were too many problems - even when there was a star, though, so Richard is not convinced you really want to go back. "Soon." Giampaolo reassures him, but before Richard could ask for further explanations Stella begins to cry, from the next room, and he is forced to run away. Giampaolo back ten days later, with the following four suitcases and a smile that Richard does not remember of having seen his face for a long time, probably years - or perhaps not ever seen him, not so beautiful, so complete, so perfect. Richard cradle a little 'Stella, and steps aside to let him enter. "You're back." Blows, almost in disbelief, while the child plays with the tufts of hair a bit 'longer on his neck. "If I had said two weeks ago, c'avrei believed." Giampaolo plane ride, while dragging their suitcases into the apartment, trying to do the least possible confusion and failing miserably because the trolley balks in the jamb and is almost stumbled back to the violent backlash, colored by a violent curse that is a perfect proof that he, the Florentine dialect, has not forgotten even a bit '. Richard just bleach, and a second delay Stella bursts into tears. "Shush, shush." Cradle barely whispering and smiling with the air Giampaolo's more reassuring than I've ever seen in my face, and yes I thought I knew well, leans against the doorframe, just fix it with a smile as he walks around the room clutching the child. "Still, this gentleman is not bad, just a little 'ugly'. " Do not listen to it, Stella. "Giampaolo laughs, and for a moment the child stops crying and stares at him, eyes wide and big and shiny - and are the eyes of Richard, Giampaolo recognizes them and you get lost and can not help but smile, because in the face of the child are even more beautiful, and she would never have thought possible. "He's just jealous because obviously I will do calm and he does not succeed. "" But feel it. "Richard laughs, even if it accepts happy that her daughter has stopped crying and shaking gently, as she grabs your finger slightly and carries it to his mouth, bubbling with amusement. "It just arrived and already claim to the camp my child." "It seems obvious that I'm right, though." Bulla is, indicating that the child has stopped crying and stares at him with eyes wide open and a bit 'shiny - and his heart lost a beat, because they are exactly those of Richard, the same shade of blue, perhaps even more beautiful, and feels that he loves her already, though it may be a stupid thing to think. Stretch a hand plane, he feared that Richard would remove the child from him, but the other looks just touch the cheek and then portray Stella's hand with a smile on her lips touched so as to be almost
tiring not being able to stick to kiss him. It takes twenty minutes because Stella agrees to go back to sleep, her face pressed against the shoulder of his father and his mouth wet against the fabric of the sweater wearing, Giampaolo for a while 'follows him in his journeys with no sense for the whole apartment but soon tires. Eventually he falls on one of the armchairs in the living room and just watching them both, imprinted in the mind of Richard's smile and his voice sings a lullaby and so it has to tighten his daughter as if it were the most precious and fragile of the world. And the heat and the form of stars, tiny in his arms, but at the same time, big enough to take the entire space of the house, and Giampaolo also suddenly feel like his, and he feels like his father had never heard, and feels home again, although up to ten days before he thought that his home was Genoa. When Richard goes to the room, walking slowly so as not to risk waking up again Stella, Giampaolo follows him as silent, staying a few steps behind him, being content only to watch it, watch him and his daughter, he and his family - he asks, casually, whether it still the right to consider themselves part of the family or you can ask to join, despite their past last year. Richard Stella supports in the bed and covers it with care, placing the quilt good for him and reserving a heavenly look so lost as to feel even more guilty Giampaolo, then leaves the room and closes the door gently behind him, turning to Giampaolo. "Come, we must talk." Then he blurts out, but slower and more gently than he ever thought you could do, Giampaolo let's shake hands, gently, and follows him into the kitchen, and let's face that heat gates well and the last traces of anxiety and fear of having to start all over again just as he did when he left Florence, Giampaolo and when he found himself having to think about Stella. They sit at the table, facing each other, and Richard is an illusion of being far enough away to be able to talk without getting lost completely, only that he understands that it is not possible in the very moment when Giampaolo sighs a sigh, pianissimo, and if feels on the skin with a disarming clarity, as well as the disarming clearly feels close to the heart, which causes a reaction that simple, the way his whole body tenses in his direction as if looking for an anchor, something around which to organize Once again his life, organize it better than last time. Just sighs and pours two glasses of water to both, playing before you start talking. "You're back in Florence." Moans, in a breath, dropping his eyes, so you do not see the smile on the lips of cracks when they hear about Giampaolo; afraid of that comparison, because he knows that is a comparison that may to hurt and destroy what little they have rebuilt the confidence that gives him see Richard and his daughter together, and the tiny hope to be part of a family himself, he and his family he left at fourteen to go Bergamo and there he found another family, Richard, and then he left, too. "Yeah." She whispers, in response, in disbelief of what he is saying is that until recently seemed absurd before, only now it seems the most natural thing in the world, so that has not even felt the need to first talk out loud. "back into the Fiorentina game." Richard continues, the same floor, and Giampaolo halyard back and think about that number eighteen that took him, now that Richard is retired and he returned to Florence, that number is eighteen of them and it is wonderful to find. "Yeah." He says, quieter, and Richard lifts his face to look at him and his eyes are shiny with emotion, and looks at him incredulously. "And you've reduced the salary to be back." Giampaolo hesitate a moment before speaking. "... Yeah." Chuckles, embarrassed, holding his hands together to keep from stretches to Riccardo. They see them as fragile, suddenly, to be afraid to break even just breathing a bit 'stronger, so imagine touching: Giampaolo fears that should be in a thousand pieces, if only he tried to touch it with a finger. "If I were manager and I had passed the paper in your hands, you probably do not believe it." Riccardo bites her lips and runs her hands through his hair, so tired as to fear. "Actually, no, probably not believe it even now, you know," he concludes, casting a long look at Giampaolo, and his clear eyes scream "

help me." Giampaolo

smiles wearily and extends from above the table to kiss him, their hands are shaking up and then try to look for a certainty, a handle, an anchor that prevents each of them to get lost in something bigger than them too . "Now do you believe?" Blowing, brushing his cheek with his fingertips in a gentle caress, sliding up to her chin and forcing him to look into his eyes, and Richard nods.

"Now, yes." Smiling, shaking just tufts of hair between her fingers and drawing him even closer to him, pressing his nose against her cheek to think almost the

breathe, to have it no more having to go inside to let go, to always carry a part of him. "Now, yes, yes ." Giampaolo

the shakes, feeling stronger in his hands every moment that passes, and stops breathing heavily and turned away, breathing more easily. The is good, the feel of his body pressed against hers, and yet it is different, they are different, have grown from boys to men, and is different the way they seek, to love, that you are at all times with the same naturalness of the kids. "You have a place to sleep?" Giampaolo stirs restlessly, watching their luggage and then Richard and then the door, embarrassed.

"Actually, no." Admitted, running a hand on her neck. "I wondered if - yes, in other words, if I could sleep here. For just a couple of nights, then I find a house, you have to think about and Stella - "
Richard smiled as if he had waited only those words and nods, smiling.
"You can stay as long as you want." Reassures him, pressing his shoulder, and Giampaolo hugs him and laughs of momentum against her lips, kissing him softly.
"Be careful." Blowing, laughing softly, and Richard thinks almost as if her heart would explode with joy at this very moment, while Giampaolo hugs him again and he put his ear against his chest, listening to the beat quiet of his heart. "I could stay here forever."
"Do not ask for better." Smiles Richard, still pressed against his chest, and Giampaolo may well begin to cry.