#( what if i'm far from home? oh brother i will hear you call | rafael and ikki )

[ao3feed-football]

What if I'm far from home? (Oh Brother, I will hear you call)

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2Dzblnq

by ephemeral (safiradh)

Satu jawaban itu membuatnya paham. Rafael tidak akan mendapati Thiago Alcântara berada di Barcelona ketika musim tengah berjalan dalam waktu dekat.

Words: 897, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Bahasa Indonesia

Series: Part 1 of Stern des Südens

Fandoms: Football RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Thiago Alcântara, Rafael "Rafinha" Alcântara

Additional Tags: Family, Brotherly Love, FC Bayern München, FC Barcelona

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2Dzblnq

[rfjofficial]

@ikkinakamura​ | January 28th, Ikki’s Townhouse

They were each other’s homeland. A tether to things and places that would otherwise be foreign, clinical in its grandeur, or horrifically violent. There was no relationship or friendship quite like it, and Rafael long surrendered any attempt of understand it. It could simply be. After promptly arriving at Ikki’s townhouse on the heels of the race, he set off to his bedroom. Rafael’s room, as it was called so affectionately, and made use of the warm shower that followed. His penthouse was everything one expected from a Femenias Energy COO; ostentatious, large, and brimming with opulence. But it was also hollow, the absence of the bedrooms ringing hollow when he lay awake at night. Ikki’s home, pristine and clinical as it was, offered Rafael a feeling of home. The shower soothes away the ache in his joints, still fresh from his fight with Saint Warden.

His natural curls combed back, damp and smelling of the green tea and honey-infused shampoo. After handily reaching into the dresser (always stocked with freshly washed clothes), he throws on a set of sweatpants and steps back into the hallway. A sixth-sense of where his best friend would inevitably linger, he finds him in the heart of his living room. Settled and calm, as Ikki often was. “I had half a mind to grab the M16 from my safe and give Saint Shit a piece of my mind.” Rafael declares crudely, brows crumpled together as he settles into the seat beside him. “Make it a two for one special from that night. Did I tell you about the freak that followed me out of St. Paul’s?” He shakes his head, blowing a small whistle. “Thank God for Kitty.”

[rfjofficial]

@ikkinakamura​ | January 24th, 24hr Diner

"I don’t know what everyone’s so worried about. It’s not as if it’s the first quibble that lot has had.” There’s a devil-may-care ease to the Seraphim’s tone, as his lips pursed to slurp the remainder of his chocolate milkshake. Hardly an appropriate breakfast item, but given that it was four-thirty in the morning, it could be forgiven. His appetite for food, as it was for life’s indulgences, seemed endless. The hours following the horsemen’s anniversary only seemed to increase it, in ten-fold. The tension that lingered in the reception hall of the Savoy was palpable. And Rafael, who knew the unreadable Rafael Senior almost instinctively, knew that the argument was far from an easy ‘spat.’ His father was a man who could not easily be rattled, lest it be by his own paranoia. Still -- he refused to cow-tow to his father’s paranoia, and indulgence felt like the fastest solution.

After being dragged out of the nightclub by Ikki, Rafael contested his best friend’s insistence of sleeping off his high. Instead, he pulled him into one of his reliable haunts; a less-than-impressive diner with dingy lighting and the scent of peameal bacon wafting from steps away. There were few places where the Rafael could presume some anonymity, but this particular diner was forgettable enough to do just that. Even the waitresses paid little mind to the shine of his Gucci shoes, or the irresponsible hundred pound tips he left on a 10 pound bill. Rafael glances up from his now emptied milkshake, reaching for a fork and nudging at Ikki’s plate. “What? The food’s bloody delicious.” Without invitation, he takes his fork and breaks the yolk of Ikki’s eggs, before taking a few casual bites. “You’ve been staring at it for eight minutes. Where’s your head at?” Despite popular belief, the Seraphin was more aware than he was given credit for. In the matter of Ikki, and the silent changes in his temperament, Rafael considered himself deeply in-tune.

[rfjofficial]

@ikkinakamura​ | January 30th, Ikki’s Townhouse

It’s the scent of miso soup that first makes his stomach churn. The familiarity of a traditional, Japanese breakfast flooding the scent of the Dominion’s minimalist home. It was a common scene; his precise and early-rising best friend, puttering around the kitchen. A far better cook than Famine’s Seraphim, though it was not hard to be. Of course, most mornings, it was on the heels of Rafael’s benders wherein he had crashed in his bedroom. Mussed-hair and a hangover wearing on his features, as he gobbled up the dish and recounted the night’s adventures. This morning; however, Rafael appeared bright and early. His hair slicked back and a crisp, ironed shirt over his chest. Alert, sober, and carrying a piping hot cafe con leche in one hand.

A congenial hum in recognition of his best friend, as he took to his usual spot. The Seraphim’s energy could scarcely be contained, but on mornings like this, the two existed in comfortable silence. Not a word said between him and Ikki, as they settled into the breakfast routine. “Sorry I had to duck out last night.” After recounting the week’s troubling events, Rafael declined the familiar offer to crash in his bedroom within the Nakamura residence. He was rarely glib about anything, least of all with Ikki. A Dominion that knew, in excruciating detail, each of Rafael’s tales and exploits. But it was a self-imposed rule of Rafael’s, to never speak of his romantic affairs. No wry smirks about super models, or anecdotes about his latest salacious affair. Ikki need not know that he left, to check on Ophelia. In their twelve-some years of friendship, Ikki never heard a word from Rafael’s lips on such matters.

Rafael Femenias Junior didn’t know much. But he knew the truth of his best friend’s affections towards him, and knew how to navigate it without an ounce of hurt. They had gotten along superbly, without Rafael’s affairs muddling their symbiosis. Until, of course, he had extended an offer for Ophelia to live with him for the ‘foreseeable future.’ And, more to the matter, she had accepted. Lest he allow Famine’s gossip pool to do the deed, there was no alternative but to broach it with Ikki himself.

“So, uh,” Rafael leans back against his chair, a finger on his temple in thought. Attempting an air of casualness, as his eyes darted along his plate. Never quite meeting his best friend’s calm, sensible expression. “What do you think of Ophelia Moses?”