Why Is My Hair So Dry Menopause

!fanfic: Hey love – that's the name we've long held back from the core of truth


Title:

Hey love - that's the name we've long held back from the core of truth


Beta: My beloved




jen_jm
Fandom: RPF - AC Fiorentina Characters: Riccardo Montolivo, Giampaolo Pazzini Rating: G Warning: AU, slash, a bit of angst
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, unfortunately. Life is not fair.
Word count: 3380w. (

fiumidiparole
)
Author's Notes: I really don't know how I could write this. May Riccardo forgive me. Hey love – that's the name we've long held back from the core of truth
~ “It's a great save, isn't it?”
Riccardo smiled and approached Giampaolo, who was staring at a boy lying on a bed behind the glass, some monitors quietly checking his life signals. Giampaolo smiled, too, with a pleasant and satisfied look on his face. It was a great save indeed, and he was proud of himself and happy for the young boy; that was one of the bright sides of his work that made it worth even the losses and the tragedies. Giampaolo had started accepting it long time ago, when he'd lost his first patient. Riccardo had been at his side even in that moment. As a matter of fact, Riccardo had always been on his side, since they were just children playing football in Riccardo's yard.
“It is,” he confirmed in a low voice which betrayed his tiredness; it had also been a very long and difficult surgery, even if it had been worth it. In that moment, he only wanted a bed and a long sleep to recover, even if he had hundreds and hundreds of papers to fill on his desk and he had to do them before they would make an alliance with the stethoscope in the corner and kill him. “But now I just want to sleep.” “You have to work,” Riccardo remembered him with a soft voice. Then his friend shook his head and laughed. “But I can offer you a beer, if you need it.” “I have to refuse,” Giampaolo sighed, stroking his own forehead to alleviate his terrible headache. “The first I'll get my papers done, the first I'll go home.”
“Of course,” Riccardo's smile was a bit disappointed, but he forced himself to continue talking. “Do you want me to help you? We can get them done faster,” he proposed, putting a hand on Giampaolo's shoulder and gently stroking it. He could easily feel his tiredness, and he wished he could share it to make his weight lighter.

“No, thanks,” Giampaolo smiled, shaking his shoulder and shaking away Riccardo's hand – this time, Riccardo couldn't hide the sorry look on his face. “Cristina's waiting for you at home, I can't take you all for himself.”


But it's what I'd want you to do,
Riccardo thought, but he forced himself to thank him and walk away without saying anything about his desire. When he turned, at the end of he corridor, Giampaolo was still watching at the boy, trying to gather the strength to leave him: he had never known anyone who was
this
special,
this
caring for everyone's needs. He would give everything he had to help him a little bit.

~

“I think it's time for that famous beer.”

Riccardo put and arm around Giampaolo's shoulders, half-hugging him while he was staring at the white sheet that covered the body of their last, lost patient. The doctor was silent, totally silent, and stared at the sheet as he was meeting the gaze of the young woman under it; the guilty look in his eyes was unmistakable, and Riccardo felt guilty too – actually, he felt guilty for not being able to help him.
“You can't save everyone,” he reminded him, fighting hard with himself for not hugging him and kissing him. They had had this conversation so many times before he couldn't really count them, but every time it seemed different; it seemed different because of Giampaolo's always more curved shoulders, as every death added an unsustainable weight on him. Riccardo feared it wouldn't take long until he was crushed by all his imaginary mistakes. “The work you do is fantastic, Giampaolo, you know it.” “It isn't enough,” he whispered, and his voice broke. He looked near to falling apart, and Riccardo held him tighter against his side. “And I do actually need that beer, if you don't mind.” “Of course I don't,” Riccardo replied, feeling a sudden rush of love and happiness. He had to hid a smile behind a couple coughs, then nodded.
“Thank you, I mean, really,” Giampaolo said, resting for a moment his head on Riccardo's shoulder – the other man was grateful that he couldn't see him, so he could blush without being totally ridiculous. He loved those moments, when Giampaolo was harmless and needing for protection. He often imagined himself nursing an ill Giampaolo, or comforting him after a loss or a very tiring day. His fantasies helped him to deal with the fact that Giampaolo didn't think about him but as a friend, while he had deeper feelings. “Give me only a moment to talk to her son and I'll come.”

Riccardo let him go with a small complain, stroking his fingers on the warm skin of his cheek in a gesture that he hoped was looking only friendly and comforting.

However, Giampaolo didn't turn back while he was leaving the room.

~

“Another one.”

One beer turned into two beers, three beers,
more beers.
Riccardo couldn't help but looking at Giampaolo's redder and redder face. He didn't know how to help him, because he had never seen him in such a condition. He looked really, really exhausted, and he was drunk as he did when they were teens and he drank to impress girls.

“Stop,” he whispered, taking Giampaolo's hand away from the umpteenth beer, and his friend collapsed on his shoulders with a muffled sound, crying and babbling unreadable words. He petted his hair with an absent look, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin after his fingertips and his breath on his neck – and this sensation make him shiver in pleasure as he rarely did, mostly when he touched himself thinking of Giampaolo's smile and his hands on his bare chest.

“I failed,” he whispered, and Riccardo wanted to kiss him so badly that he had to bite his lower lip to stop himself. “I failed as a doctor and as a man.”

“You're drunk,” Riccardo replied, but Giampaolo interrupted him.

“Her son--,” he murmured, burying his face in his hands. “When I told him that his mother had died, he started crying and shouting that I didn't do everything I could. That I could have saved her but I didn't want to, and I couldn't reply because he was so desperate and he had just lost his mother,” Riccardo hugged him, uncaring of what people around him could think; it was his best friend, his Giampaolo crying and lacking his protection, and he was ready to give him everything to make him feeling better.

“I'll take you home,” he promised against his neck, holding him as a little child. “I'll take care of you.”
Giampaolo's body was like a puppet in his hands, and Riccardo was genuinely scared by his docility. He put him in the cab and took place beside him, and yet Giampaolo didn't do anything and collapsed again on him, laying with his head on his knees and barely breathing, half-sleeping until the fresh air didn't hit his face and Riccardo helped him out of the car.
“Wait for a moment,” he told the cabby, putting an arm around Giampaolo's hips and carrying him to the door. He searched for the door key in his pockets, trying not to be distracted by other details – his breath, his warmth, his lips so close to his cheek, his body against him, so close he could feel every muscle as he did when he used to slide in Giampaolo's bed when they were barely teens, and Giampaolo's sleep was so hard he could press himself against him and enjoying the feeling of that forbidden moments.

“You're home,” he said, opening the door and helping Giampaolo on his feet. He lent forward and pressed quickly his lips on Giampaolo's cheek, then blushed hard and take a step back.

Giampaolo stared at him with a confused look on his reddened face, and staggered a few times before Riccardo stepped forward again and grabbed him. When he lifted his face, Giampaolo's lips were closer to his than they had ever been before, and his friend covered quickly that distance and kissed him.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured, in a drunk and ecstatic voice, then walked inside and slammed the door behind himself.

Riccardo stood on the doorstep, puzzled. He thought for a moment about calling him back and asking for explanations, but he didn't really have the strength to deal with the umpteenth delusion. He stood silent for another moment, touching his lips lightly and still feeling the pressure of that kiss on them, then shook his head, disenchanted.

He headed back to the cab.

~

“Can you stop for a moment and talk to me, instead of treating me like I'm a serial killer?”

Giampaolo shook his head, slamming his office door behind Riccardo and staring at him, his arm crossed against his chest. His mouth was a tiny line of disappointment on his face, and the look he reserved to Riccardo was full of disappointment too. Riccardo felt ashamed under that gaze, and bowed his head, apologetic.

“Giampaolo--” he tried to say, but his friend yelled.

“You were distracted!” he pointed out, his face red in anger. “You were distracted and that man nearly died! Is it too much asking for a little attention?”

Riccardo shivered, feeling guilty.

“But he didn't,” he murmured, in a low voice. “I mean, the man. He's alright.”

“But it could have gone differently, Riccardo, that's the point,” Giampaolo fell on his chair, tapping on the desk. He didn't mean to hurt Riccardo at all, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't angry. And he was worried for him, too. He was acting out of his character, but he didn't want to confide with him; he was worried he could have problems at home, maybe with his fiancee, Cristina. Giampaolo didn't even like her, actually. “What's the problem, Ricky?” he asked and his voice became suddenly softer and worried. “You're not the same, and I've started worrying.”

Riccardo hid a small, tired smile, and trailed his fingers in his own hair, trying to concentrate. It wasn't easy, with Giampaolo's gaze still on him, and he couldn't avoid that his eyes focused on his lips and he blushed.

“Well, I think that it'll come out, sooner or later,” Riccardo sighed loudly. “Last week, when we went drinking-- you were drunk, of course, and you kissed me, and now seeing you causes me this concentration issues and--,” Giampaolo paled at Riccardo's words, and Riccardo paled at his reaction. He cursed silently. “And I suppose you don't remember anything, don't you?”

Giampaolo stood silent, his face bowed on his chest, and he bit down his lower lip.

“I-- I didn't mean it, really--” he babbled, waving his hands. He looked confused and ashamed, and Riccardo felt a sudden grip at his stomach.
I should have stayed silent
, he scold himself,
I shouldn't have charged him even with this weight
. “You know you are my best friend, I really didn't mean to kiss you. I'm sorry.”

Riccardo's heart missed a beat, and this missing was so painful that Riccardo shivered and bowed his head. Of course he knew he didn't mean to kiss him, and nonetheless he was hoping for a miracle. He was hoping that Giampaolo might love him back, that he could say `
I've loved you since we were children, Riccardo,
´ and could embrace him and kiss him again – and this time, it would have been different, better,
wonderful
, 'cause Giampaolo would have been sober and he would have really wanted to kiss him, and he would have felt important and loved. But reality struck back, and Riccardo felt just stupid for being confident in a mere dream, a fantasy of him.

“I know, and it's not a big deal,” he forced himself to say, a fake smile on his lips as he pretended to be happy enough to joke. “I mean, I'm not good at kissing, actually. Maybe that's why you forgot everything.”
“Maybe,” Giampaolo murmured, a pensive look on his face. Hold! , Riccardo ordered to his fake smile, then stood up. “Riccardo, I'm really sorry--”
“Never mind,” he gave him another, bright –
false – smile, then left the room. As soon as he closed the door behind himself, he started crying.
~

“You're avoiding me.”
Riccardo lifted his eye from the paper he was filling with the information about one of their last patients. It was actually a Giampaolo's work, but he had figured out that it allowed him to retire in the nurses' room, as further as he could from Giampaolo, so he had started doing it more and more often in the last two weeks. He firmed his gaze on Giampaolo's face, frowning at the worried look on it – then, a moment after, he shook his head: Giampaolo was only concerned for a friend. No illusions,
he warned himself, feeling a familiar grip at his stomach when he could smell Giampaolo's scent.
“Actually, I am,” he admitted, with a small, almost apologetic smile. He had always being so honest to be sometimes pathetic too, but this time he didn't feel ashamed. It was the truth and Giampaolo deserved it, even if it would hurt him. He'll recover from this delusion
, he thought, forcing himself to a wider smile,
time's the greatest of medicines. And maybe with the passing of time even my pain will decrease.
“I thought it was the better decision for both of us.”

Giampaolo stared at him, confused. Riccardo could see the pain in his dark eyes, even more than he could have imagined, but he had taken his decision. They had to separate, for the common good.

“Why,” Giampaolo whispered, and Riccardo shivered in pain when he saw his eyes became teary. He avoided his gaze, looking at the ceiling, and jerked when he felt his warm hand search for his. He held them on his legs, out of his reach, and Giampaolo sighed. “Why are you doing this? It's about that damned kiss? Listen, I know I shouldn't have to, but I really didn't mean, I'm sorry if it bothered you this way but please,” he begged, and Riccardo shivered again. “don't leave me this way.”
Riccardo bit his lips, feeling the taste of blood on his tongue when they broke under the pressure of his teeth. Yet that pain wasn't even close to the one he felt in his chest, at heart height. He felt like if he was dying from the inside, like if a piece of his heart – a big one, in a matter of fact – was being ripped apart from him. It was the worst feeling, and it left him teary and shivering in pain. He was a stupid, thinking he could just cut away Giampaolo, 'cause he was inside of him, deep-rooted in his very being.
They were alone in nurses' room, and Riccardo locked the door without a second thought, feeling Giampaolo's confused eyes on the back of his neck. He lowered the curtains too, then turned to face him.
It was as if he was on the edge of an abyss and he was looking down, ready to jump without really knowing if there was an end. He focused on Giampaolo's lips, trying to imagine them smiling – he had always loved it, actually, as well as he loved a thousand other details about him – then started talking. “I love you,” he whispered, firming his eyes on him, trying not to blush as he was doing. Words came easier, after this first confession, as if he had removed a cap. “I've always loved you, I guess, even if at the beginning I couldn't even understand what love was. And that's the problem with you, not the kiss,” Riccardo forced himself to smile – when was the last time he really meant to smile? – and face Giampaolo without stepping back under his wide and surprised eyes. “And I'm sorry for saying it in this way, but I had no choice but this, you understand? Just saying it, because I couldn't manage it anymore.”
Giampaolo stood silent, his eyes glued to Riccardo's face; then he sudden stood up, and Riccardo gave a start in surprise. He trapped Riccardo between his chest and the door, his hands on the wall nears his head, and stared at him in such an intense way that Riccardo felt as he was reading inside his mind even his unspoken words. Then, surprisingly, Giampaolo laughed.

“You always have to make things harder,” he laughed, then he just lent forward and kissed him.

Riccardo couldn't help but grab his shoulders with all his strength, as if he was about to fall. He did feel about to fall, as a matter of fact. He felt like he was falling in that abyss, with the only difference that this time there was Giampaolo. Near him, as he had always been. With him, embracing him, making him feel secure. He was the very ending at the end of the abyss, Riccardo understood when he felt his tongue gently touching his lips, which parted to allow him to continue kissing, he was simply the only possible ending, he had always been.

“You liar,” Giampaolo broke the kiss and smiled, gently stroking Riccardo's cheekbone with his thumb. Riccardo gave him and interrogative look, and he laughed again. “Your kisses are damn good.”

Riccardo laughed and held him tighter against his chest.

~

“You should have told me.”

Riccardo rolled his eyes, slapping gently Giampaolo on his hip. They were lying in Giampaolo's bed – God, how long had passed since they had slept together? Years?
Ages?
It felt so good –, their bodies wrapped one around the other, enjoying the simple warmth of being together and being just shirtless, and feeling their skins brushing was enough to make Riccardo shiver in pleasure under his touches.

“
You
should have told me,” he retorted with a little snort, not really complaining. “How was I supposed to figure out that you wanted to put you hands in my panties?”

“You should – wait, do you really wear panties?” Giampaolo smirked. “That's interesting, I think I should have a look at them.”

“You perv,” Riccardo laughed too, burying his face in the curve of Giampaolo's shoulder. “I mean, I had no clue you could be interested in me the way I was in you, I didn't want to ruin our friendship.”

“Hey, you are the one engaged, not me,” Giampaolo pointed out, laughing and leaning to kiss him on his exposed neck. “I am free like a bird.”
“You liar, you're engaged as well,” Riccardo laughed a Giampaolo slapped him on the back of his neck. “Poor Silvia, she's going to be destroyed if this whole gay thing will come out.”
Giampaolo looked suddenly more serious, and he started playing with Riccardo's hair, pensive. Then he sighed, and Riccardo lifted his head and gave him a worried gaze.
“Do you want this to come out?” Giampaolo murmured, tearing his eyes away. He focused at the ceiling, trying to put words in a right order. “I mean, this whole gay thing
between us, even if I don't call it this way.”

Riccardo blushed and bowed his head, “True, I call it
love
, but I don't know if it's the right word.”

Giampaolo smiled and pressed him closer against his chest, feeling his heartbeat on his skin, his warm breath on his hair, his smile pressed against his bare chest, “It is,” he whispered, and he could feel Riccardo's relief in the way his whole body relaxed in his arms. He slipped a finger under the border of Riccardo's jeans, and he could feel him tensing again – but in a different way: it was an expectant tension, while the other had been a worried one. He laughed and lent to search for his lips, shivering when he heard Riccardo's suffocate moan as he added a second finger and continued stroking the warm skin of the hips.

“I'm not sure--,” he blushed, his voice trembling in both shame and desire; Giampaolo could read the first in his reddened cheekbones, and he could feel the second in the way he moved to meet his touch. It was easy to read him, for he knew him as well as he knew himself.

His smile became wider as he started undoing the jeans button and the zip.
“I love you,” he murmured, gently kissing him and feeling his moans and gasps on his lips as he started stroking him. “And I'll make it right, I swear.”
Riccardo nodded: he trusted him. As he had always done.

– The only thought of Doctor!Giampaolo makes me laugh. *Dies*
– Title from "Gravity" by Vienna Teng