#i do need another week off tho. alas i will not get it. 😔

[alacants]

User alacants where are your beautiful fics? 🥺

anon would you believe that in my two weeks of vacation i didn't have a SINGLE DAY to write. and now i am back at work. 😔

i am still likely to finish one promptfest fill before the end of the week and if i get lucky (really... really... lucky...) i'll manage a second. in the meantime here is the opening of the non-promptfest wip.

Carlos didn't even realize it was a big deal, at the time. They were joking, so what? That was what they did. Carlos got bored or he got fidgety or he had too much energy and it needed to go somewhere, and the somewhere was usually Juanki. Bumping his shoulder, batting at his cap, moving his stuff around, whatever was closest to hand when the restlessness hit. And, yeah, of course he talked through it, had a little running commentary going. Gotta keep Juanki on his toes. Yap yap yap, Juanjo mimicked once, imitating one of those little purse dogs. Biggest shih tzu I've ever seen. So it was just another round of the usual, right? Playing around, roughhousing, until Juanki said Anyone this good at getting at under my skin must be able to read my mind, and Carlos said Are you kidding? Tio, I never know what you're thinking. And he'd swear, he'd swear that everyone laughed and then they broke it up. The whole team ate in the academy canteen, even Juanki, which didn't happen often. Carlos went back to his room early and dicked around on Instagram for a while, did some texting. And then he went to bed. And then he woke up.

*

By his third stab at the call button, Carlos is cursing aloud, pacing a circle around his bedroom. Ferru isn't picking up, why isn't he picking up—

Click. Carlos sucks in a massive breath of relief. Over the line: "Carlitos?" 

Ferru sounds groggy, which is crazy since it's already 8 a.m. You really do let go after retirement, huh. That's not the point. The words tumble out of him. "Ferru, hi, can you—it's Juanki. It's—" And then he stops, because what the hell is he going to say. 

"Juan Carlos?" No more groggy, this is a four-alarm fire. "Is he hurt? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"No, no, sorry, he's—" Carlos can't say fine. "He's not hurt. We're both safe. We're at the Academy. I just—can you—I really need help."

"Help." Ferru sounds a little less like a one-man emergency response vehicle but he's still alert, urgent. "Carlos, what's going on?" 

Carlos scrubs a hand over his face. "Can you, um. Can we switch to video?" 

Ferru's hair is sticking up at a 90 degree angle, jaw unshaven. He's squinting at the viewfinder, blinking in the bright sunlight. He's not wearing a shirt and he's in great shape for a retiree, which is something Carlos has noticed before—Ferru's old enough to be his dad and also not even close to his type, but it's not like he's blind or anything. Once again: not the point. Without a word, Carlos flips his phone around. 

Sitting at Carlos' desk, kicking his feet where they dangle well above the floor, maybe five years old, tops. A little cherub with white-blond hair and delicate features, the kind of child that stops Carlos' mother dead in the street.

Carlos clears his throat. "Juanki."

The kid looks up. Catches sight of the screen and immediately lights up, brightening all over his unbelievably photogenic face. "Is that David?" He waves eagerly at the camera. "Hi, David!" 

Carlos flips the phone back around. Ferru looks like he's just seen a ghost. 

Carlos says, "So, uh."

"Hold tight," Ferru says. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."