Partings & Reunions (Abde Ezzalzouli x reader)
Description: Abde's move to Osasuna is a horrifying prospect for both of you and you worry that it'll be the thing to tear you apart
Warnings: allusions to sex (not detailed)
You’re not startled when you hear the door slam for the umpteenth time of the month. You couldn’t help but feel bad for your boyfriend. You were both so excited and hopeful when moving to Barcelona together: he was about to play for the club of his dreams and you were going to study at your dream university.
It all seemed like it was falling into place, you had been together for years and friends long before that so the fact that you weren’t going to have to be apart was a comforting one. Even money-wise, it was perfect. You could easily afford a nice place when you put your heads together.
And indeed it was all just that. The arrangement went by without a hitch. Sure, he had some habits that you made sure he ironed out before things got out of control but things were smooth. You were both pretty busy but always made the most of the time you did have together with movie nights, evenings exploring the city, you could have all the fun you wanted together without facing the interruptions you used to deal with back home. You loved each other with everything; you had done since before you could even process such emotion.
All of that only made your current situation that much more painful. The step-up to the A team was a big one that he initially felt ready for. His season with the B team had been phenomenal, he was the starlet of the squad. Every match was something new and brilliant: a new trick, an even more impossible angle, a faster speed. The amount of praise and recognition was spell-binding. It seemed like such an easy decision to bring him up. He was excited beyond words and you couldn’t have been any prouder of him when he told you about the promotion. Neither of you could wait until the start of that fateful season rolled around. Yet it was so different to what he initially expected.
Match by match he felt his hope and excitement dwindle and turn into something different entirely. Resentment? That didn’t seem like a strong enough word for what he was feeling. He didn’t realise it at the time but the term ‘promotion’ was a sanitised way of being thrown to the wolves. He was… fine but the irregular minutes paired with the stakes proved far too high for a 20 year old who had only just moved up. He felt underprepared and unseen. Sometimes the pair of you wondered if the club was letting the twitter experts make decisions for the club as he fell further and further down the pecking order. It was like they didn’t even want to try.
It tore your heart into pieces to see him grow so disillusioned with the dreams he fought so hard to achieve. He had overcome so much adversity from his less than privileged background to the simple fact that he was a Moroccan living in Spain. That last part, you also suspected, played a role in this.
He had lived in Spain long enough. So when the time came for him to make a choice, it seemed so obvious to pick the team that had won the world cup not too long ago and had spent the years after in the very top of the FIFA rankings. It seemed like an offer he couldn’t refuse but his heart was elsewhere. He didn’t remember much of Beni-Mellal but it was home. Sure, he didn’t live there anymore but he visited often enough. And there was always a part of that place that he missed when he returned to Spain. The warm yet refreshing air, the sound of the Adhan loud and clear when the prayer times rolled around, the people who always seemed to be ready to talk and gossip, the colours. It was home and choosing Spain felt like a betrayal to not only the place he called home but to himself.
The media had spent the first few months of the season spreading the rumours about his allegiance to Spain. His silence led their imaginations to run wild. They’d conjured quotes out of nowhere but his media-training stopped him from addressing any of it: he knew better than to take those news sites head-on.
His silence also meant that when the official news of his choice did come out, from him, it was guns blazing and Abde was in the firing line. Even some of his teammates and coaches were surprised by it. Spain’s upcoming golden boy had seriously chosen Morocco. The joy he had seen online from Moroccans was enough for him to not care about the Spanish media but he did suspect that he had fallen even further out of favour with his dream team as a result.
It all made him angry. Every match gone wrong, every minute on the bench, every dig he received from his coaches, every time he saw the under-performing Spaniards receive the support that he could have only dreamed of, it made him angry. Over the past few months a painful routine had emerged: the sound of the door slamming, the sight of him seething followed by the feeling of his body dropping unceremoniously into your lap. He was falling apart.
You would spend some time in silence and your hands softly carding through his messy hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. It would almost soothe him to sleep but before you reached that point, you would slowly coax him to the kitchen where you could eat. Even that task was becoming even more of a struggle with his appetite dying into nothing.
At first he would hold back his tears until he was sure you were asleep, quietly make his way downstairs and let it out alone. He wanted nothing more than to fall into your arms and surround himself with your comfort but he already felt like such a burden. So he kept it to himself.
Although he couldn’t keep that up for long at all because about a week into that routine, you had caught him in the kitchen with his head in his hands, sobbing and that was that. You wrapped him up in a tight hug from behind, pressing soft kisses into his back until he calmed down a little.
Once you got back to bed, you pulled him into your chest and the tears only started again. Yours were about to start too but you had to stay strong for him. He had done the exact same thing for you many times while you stressed about your exams. You had cried and vented to him more times than you could even remember, the idea of your academic career falling through your fingertips was one that came quite often yet was always more distressing every time you thought about it. He was the one to talk you down from your hysteria, to stroke your hair, to remind you just how highly he thought of you. This was now your time to return the favour, you supposed. Reminding him that his problems were yours, that you could never think any less of him, your starboy.
That was the new routine and it persisted but it felt different this time. The air was heavier. You felt uneasy for whatever reason. The look on his face was the same as it had been so you brushed off the instinct for a moment.
Although your concern returns when he forgoes the routine of laying in your lap and instead heads straight for the fridge without a glance in your direction. you don’t want to be annoying but you couldn’t help but be worried so you’re hot on his heels as he grabs an energy drink.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep” he pops the ‘p’ sound, still not bothering to look your way. You can imagine how annoyed he would be getting right about now, you had been in his shoes before but he had taught you plenty on how to deal with these things/
“C’mon, talk to me…”
“It’s nothing.” you weren’t having it, the little huff at the end of his sentence was enough indication of that so you’re firmer with your next word.
“Abdessamad”
“They’reshippingmeoff.” he mumbles, almost as he didn’t want anyone to hear, not even himself but again, you weren’t having any of it. He was gonna tell you what was wrong and you were gonna help him.
“What?”
“They’re shipping me off.” you hear it this time but you don’t quite believe it. They couldn’t? Could they?
“They can’t do that!”
“They ‘strongly recommend’ that I accept the loan to Osasuna. My career is in tatters before it’s even begun.” he shakes his head, he finally turns to face you and you can see the tears begin to form in his eyes.
“How would we even…” you trail off, completely dumbfounded by the news. Everything you had built here, together, was up in the air now. Your perfect little miracle world was on the brink of splitting into two. Literally. You didn’t realise how that one little word must have sounded to him in your shock.
“How would we what?! I’m about to lose the only thing that I'm actually good at and you’re worried about long-distancing?!” he scoffs, he’s not thinking straight. Normally he managed to calm himself and share news with you without raising his voice, normally he wouldn’t overanalyse a single word but the news dumped on him today had set him off.
“No of course not! I just-”
“Just what?!” he challenges. The raised voice startles you and now it's his turn to see the tears well up in your eyes. He comes back to reality almost immediately, shaking off his uncharacteristic rage but you’re already walking away. He fucked up. ROYALLY.
“I’ll give you a few minutes.” you mutter, speeding off to your shared bedroom and closing the door behind you before he can say anything. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, scolding himself for blowing up at you like that. You must have been just as shocked by the news as he was, probably lost for words and you most certainly didn’t mean to come across in the way he had interpreted. And to add to that, you had every right to worry about the impact on your relationship, a move like this one was going to affect both of you. He felt like the biggest asshole, he probably was one.
He decides to listen to your suggestion, giving you both a few minutes to cool off, banging his head against the fridge door as he figured out how he was going to apologise. That kind of outburst was new and he wasn’t going to let it become a habit. He was taught better than that.
Meanwhile, behind the bedroom door, you’re having your own little meltdown. You didn’t mean to come across that way at all. Of course you worried for the state of the career he worked so hard to earn, but at the same time, you were soulmates. The idea of being apart for so long and even worse, the idea of splitting up was unbearable. You just couldn’t help but worry for the state of your relationship. As you lay on your bed, wracking over your brain for what you were going to say, you’re interrupted with the door opening.
Abde can feel his heart breaking at the sight of you. The tears running down your cheeks, the stress and fear in your eyes. He hated that he was the source of it.
He couldn’t stand to see you in such and he’s quick to take his spot and lay next to you, turning to his side to face you.
“I’m-”
“A complete ass.” you finish his sentence quickly. He couldn’t help but laugh a little and you’re fighting off a smile as well. He gets back to being serious so he can get a proper apology out.
“You were only trying to see things from a bigger perspective. I shouldn’t have made you out to be the villain when you were only trying to help.” you finally glance at him, teary eyes a little softer and he’s relieved.
He’s even more relieved when you shift position and pull him into your arms, head comfortably under your chin and nose against your neck where he can smell your vanilla perfume, his favourite. You weren’t a fan yourself, you often said you smelled like a bakery, but it was comforting to him for whatever reason. so, especially in his recent state, you made more of an effort to wear it for him. Your effort doesn’t go unrecognised as he tries to get even closer to you, his face pressed further into your soft skin and he can finally breathe out again. And he can’t help but allow his eyes to flutter to a close when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp.
“Look, if you do have to make this move-”
“Not ‘if’ , sweets, ‘when’ …” he mumbles tiredly, sounding defeated as ever. It was probably best if you didn’t flirt around the reality of the situation. It was killing both of you but the sooner you both accepted it, the sooner you could make the most of the upcoming summer and the sooner you could figure out how you were gonna navigate things. Delusion wasn’t going to do you any good. And most importantly, it was clearly distressing him so you correct yourself.
“When you make this move, we’ll figure something out, okay? I’ll… visit every holiday, we’ll facetime everyday, anything but we have to try." The idea of him being so far away was a horrible one, to be frank. And the idea of not waking up next to him, losing the scent of his body wash and aftershave from the sheets and pillows, getting some sort of gadget to open jars instead of asking him, getting a stool so you could reach the stuff on the higher cupboards rather than letting him use his long arms; it was more than you could bear at that point. You don’t register the tears falling from your eyes until you feel his soft hand gently wipe them away.
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be, anjo. This is gonna be hard for both of us but we’re soulmates, we got this.” he tries to sound sure, like you had been doing for him over the past few months but it was so hard. The idea of breaking up made him sick to his stomach. You two had seen each other through everything. He didn’t have a connection with anyone else like he did with you, He knew that no one else would compete. You were the apple of his eye, the pinnacle.
Your arms tighten around him and his own arms follow suit, not another word is spoken that night. Eventually, you do fall into a slumber. It's not particularly peaceful and you couldn’t get close enough to your boyfriend as all the possibilities for the future played out in your mind.
The next few months are spent trying to make the absolute most of the time you had left together. That paired with packing up his stuff made it bittersweet. You loved seeing so much of him, waking up next to him, eating all of your meals with him, falling asleep with him but the reminder of what was to come still lingered in the far back of your mind. Nothing that you kept in because you both still spent a fair few nights crying together.
You went all out, travelling to all sorts of places and doing all kinds of activities that you had both planned. He was the designated photographer of it all, taking thousands of shots of you both on both of your phones as well as the polaroid camera he had bought for the occasion. There was no way he was leaving without storing up enough memories for the lonely nights. He had even taken to vlogging, silly little tiktok challenges that you both would ultimately fail miserably at and burst out into fits of laughter that would leave you breathless and with abs almost as defined as his own.
Your nights were so much more intimate. No rushing, no laziness, you took your time to appreciate each other. Every dip, scar, mark, freckle was to be loved on and admired. Amidst the deep love, you could feel each other's pain. It was still almost unbelievable that the two of you were going to have to spend a year apart at least. Nothing was left unsaid, the distress, fear and hurt being poured out in every movement. There was no wonder so many of those sessions left you both in tears at the end.
You never got sick of him, how on earth were you going to manage without him. You had never needed the space before, you never wanted it yet over 400 miles… it was going to be a massive adjustment for both of you, that was for sure.
It was perhaps to be expected that on the day of his departure, neither of you could control your tears. Letting go of that final hug hurt you beyond words. You had spent the past few months well so there were no regrets on either end but still… one whole year.
“You have your passport, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And your-”
“Documents right here, anjo.” he whispers, arm still around you, the other patting the pocket of his suitcase containing everything.
“Text me when you get on the plane.”
“I’ll be facetiming you the whole way, hmm?”
“And let me know when you get off.”
“Of course.”
“And when you get all your luggage… And when you get to your new apartment!”
“Anjo, I’ll text you every minute of the way. How does that sound?” he teases with his signature smirk and you slap his chest lightly.
“I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure I get back to Barca, I promise you.” you smile up at him and nod. You trusted him. You knew exactly what he was capable of and you were sure that he was going to find the success he wanted. And if that success was finding his way back home, you were going to sit tight and wait for that day.
You made sure to pack your perfume bottle in his suitcase and he left his aftershave (alongside a large chunk of his extensive sweater and hoodie collection) so both of you had a more intimate piece of home for when the loneliness got to you.
You’re trying so hard to hold back your sobbing when he finally has to let go and he walks over to his boarding area. He’s the exact same. It was just a year. You just had to wait and have a little faith and he would be back in your arms in no time.
Although you much preferred having him right at home, the year apart was far less excruciating than you first thought. You both keep to your word: facetiming and texting everyday, you visited whenever you could and sometimes he got a chance to come to Barcelona; sometimes to play against Espanyol and others to watch his new team play his old one. Those days were his favourite, although scarce as he wasn’t even allowed on the sub bench so he took to sitting with you in the stands. He loved being able to analyse the game with you by his side, it was like you had never been apart. He still made you laugh so hard you would cry and you still made each other's hearts beat faster when you took so much as a glance at each other.
But perhaps the best thing to come out of it, the thing that made it worth it, the thing that was giving you both faith in his return, was how well he was doing. You didn’t get to watch many of his matches in person but you still got the same rush of excitement and nerves running through your body when you watched him play, even from the TV. He had upped his game for sure and what warmed your heart the most was that he was enjoying himself. The smile on his face, even as he simply walked out onto the pitch to train, was so bright. You missed seeing it and his new club was clearly doing him a world of good. Not only was he improving at the speed of light but he looked happier, healthier. You were beginning to see the benefits of his time away from Barcelona, away from the fan surveillance and pressures, he wasn’t weighed down in the same way and had turned into a beast of a player in return.
You could feel the excitement and hope radiating off him in your facetime calls after every match, win or loss. He would take you on mini tours of the pitches and introduce you to his teammates.
Of course you both still had those nights where you felt lonely but there was hope. The months were passing by and the time had finally come in April in which talks were beginning about a possible return. He had kept his promise to you, he really had put his everything into improving and opening up the doors for a return to Barca. You couldn’t wait and you were now counting down the days until he would be back.
Perhaps the most rewarding thing you had seen was the crowd chanting his name during a facetime call. You weren’t quite sure how the team made it to the top of the belltower or how so many fans had managed to surround it but the atmosphere was somehow more electric than the pitch itself. He deserved every bit of the recognition he was receiving and moreover, he had found a family with Osasuna. It undoubtedly made his stay that much more bearable. It wasn’t even in the bearable category anymore, it was enjoyable!
It's mid-May when he is finally given the greenlight for his return. Not that any of it was being reported to the media, who would continue to wallow in speculation. You almost broke the sound-barrier celebrating when he gave you the glad tidings. Not that you ever had a doubt but you were so relieved that it was all coming back together again. Seeing your starboy light up the pitch again, seeing him find his smile again and now the certainty of his return… you could burst from happiness.
The next hurdle he had to overcome was his AFCON. The decision to move him to the u23s confused both of you but his mind was so much more at rest after his time with Osasuna so he didn’t find himself losing sleep over it.
He found himself quite excited in fact, his first chance at captaincy and another chance at ending his season with a trophy. And he was ready to go for it. As if his loan wasn’t successful enough, Abde fit into the leadership role much more smoothly than he had expected. He was met with respect from his teammates and a level of trust that he wouldn’t dare break. He took it seriously, embarrassing his opposition and making his assists and goals look easy. He was truly on fire, match after match of carrying the games and embarrassing opposing defenders, he was loving every second of it. He especially loved the attention you paid to the armband; even across the phone you seemed spell-bound by the blue band around his bicep. Your captain. He loved being able to tease you for the little fixation, making sure to keep it in the frame of the camera and not-so-subtly flexing his left bicep so you would focus on it.
Almost as fast as the tournament began, it was over and he was up on the podium, picking up his golden boot and then the trophy itself. When the celebrations had finally died down and everyone settled onto the ground, he called and you’re quick to answer, once again almost breaking the sound barrier as you celebrate his trophy. You wished desperately to be there with him but your schedule just didn’t align. Nonetheless, you were still going to enjoy the moment because finally, FINALLY, your boy was getting everything he deserved. It wouldn’t be too long until you had him in your arms either. Although you would have to wait another week as his family were planning on staying for a while, at least that was what he originally planned.
“Dude, you won’t stop talking to or about the girl and you haven’t stopped since September. We can do this stuff another time, just get back to Barcelona and end my torture.” Mohammad teases and it has Abde excited again. He had an idea.
You take the setting sun as a sign to start getting on with your skincare before going to sleep but as you’re walking over, you hear the doorbell ring. You were due a package a couple hours earlier but you assumed that there was a delay but perhaps not. You open the door, ready to grab your long-awaited parcel and ready to sign the little device, not really bothering to look up but instead you’re met with a pair of familiar sneakers. There was no way.
You attempt to solve what could have only been a hallucination by looking up. But, no. You weren’t hallucinating at all. Those beautiful green eyes looking into yours again.
“Surprise!” he waves awkwardly and you still haven’t found words. So you do the next best thing and throw yourself at him for a hug that knocks the breath out of him. Your arms constrict around his shoulders and you hide your face in his neck as he slowly walks you back into the house. He’s immediately comforted by the scent of vanilla and he sighs out in relief. He was home.
He feels his shirt getting wet before he feels you sobbing. He knows exactly how you feel so he just places a hand on your head, keeping you close and reminding you that he was right there, in the flesh, and he had no intention of leaving for that long ever again.
Eventually, you manage to look back at him, eyes slightly puffy from crying but your joy was evident.
“It's not like you to be early!” you point out and he gasps, stomping over to the couch with you still in his arms. He gently drops you onto it before falling on top of you himself and you both start laughing at the situation. It eventually dies down though and he lifts himself up so he can look at you. You lift up a hand to stroke over his features and he does the same for you.
“You’re really home.” there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe it. Sure you were counting down the days but still, the fact that he was here now was simply mind-blowing for you. Abde, your Abde was home.
“And I’m not going anywhere for a long time, you had better get used to it!”
“I’m sure I’ll manage…” you roll your eyes and he huffs, dropping his head back down so he was laying on your chest. Neither of you have the energy for anymore words so you just lay there on the couch, in complete silence, revelling in the reunion that had felt so far away not too long ago. Your boy was finally back home.
Yh this wasn’t a request or anything, i just let this idea marinate enough in my head so i had to share haha. I hope u guys enjoy <3
