Pairing: Ricardo Kaká/Andriy Shevchenko
Rating: PG-13 I guess? It's safe.
Disclaimer:I don't own anything and this is pure fiction.
Notes: This isn't very ellaborate. I wrote it a while ago in a moment of pure emotion (this ship gives me a loooot of feelings), inspired by their recent reunion. Yep, I freaked out about that and already have a thousand plot bunnies on my head.
Anyway, this might be a bit confusing if you're not familiar with the ship background, but it's generally about going away and leaving someone behind with unfinished business. Also, forgive me for any grammar mistakes and please point them out to me, as English isn't my first language, I have a really small knowledge in Italian and the Ucranian was all Google translator heheh. Here is a picture for a definition of the word "saudade":
But how I miss you. Saudade, and you don’t even know what that is, but how I feel it, how it hurts, how it is present. Mi manchi, I miss you, Я сумую за тобою. Twenty two, seven, always twenty two and seven. Silly to say that, cliché, but it’s true that when we’re younger, life is easier. I didn’t know anything, didn’t have to, and that was for the better. But you came and taught me everything. Taught me to the point of leaving, of sending me away too. If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it, “don’t mess with a team that is winning” as they say there, but the team was losing. The problem is that I was winning and now I’m not anymore. The team is, but I’m not part of it, understand? I’m sure you see it, follow the news channels, the internet, the whole world talks about it. I follow you. I look for you, and I don’t find much. I don’t understand your language (but Я люблю тебе). It’s easier for you to find me (I know you search). Do you have my number? I have my phone with me all the time now, I’ve been addicted to that Instagram thing, do you know what it is or are you too old? If you call me I’ll answer. I’ll say hello in our language and tell you that I miss you, mi manchi, but I’ll say it as if I don’t mean anything, as someone who says “let’s get together someday” but that day never comes. We’ll never get together, because it’s too dangerous. I’d take the first plane on a day off, cross the continent to meet you in any cheap hotel, any apartment that you own. But I can’t go, cuz no one can know and I can’t see you. If I see you I’ll miss you more and I’ll have to leave sometime, because our end is already over. Yeah, even the end could end for us. You went, came back, went again, I went and I’m almost going. I can’t take it anymore. I wish I could go back… Not home, like you did, but to our place. It’ll always be ours and it’ll always be my favourite city. I know all the people, all the spots, and I wish I could call it home, but it embarrasses me. I’d let many people down. So this is our secret – our home. And we know it’ll never be the same. I remember our moments with endless caring, pain and joy that mix deep down with this saudade feeling. Always saudade. Did you know I have our picture on the wall? But she’s the one who put it there. She exhibits my trophies, and our photo is there amongst many. Not that I don’t want that, but I don’t like to expose myself in this way. You know that. The huge smiles for the pictures were for pure kindness, I don’t know how to be rude. Specially back then… Nowadays I’ve grown. I’m no longer twenty two. Life makes you rougher, doesn’t it? I’ve always seen that on you. We’re an antithesis – your delicacy is only seen inside, and so is my coldness. But I don’t believe in people who complete each other. You don’t complete me, you add to me. Twenty nine? Two hundred and twenty seven? Something like that. The truth is that you made me used to sin and then left me alone, made me addicted and forced me to be clean. What you don’t admit is that the process is exactly the same in your side of the story. Ending the “saudade” is the relapse... I’ll never get that plane.