you were cleaning out a drawer in your bedroom, one that had slowly become a graveyard for random papers, old receipts, and things neither of you remembered keeping. memo was away at training, leaving you alone with the impossible task of organizing years worth of accumulated clutter.
halfway through sorting everything, you found an old envelope tucked between a stack of magazines.
your name was written across the front.
in memo's handwriting.
you frowned immediately.
the envelope looked old. really old.
carefully, you opened it.
inside was a folded piece of paper, yellowed slightly at the edges.
you unfolded it.
"mi amor,"
your breath caught.
it was a letter.
a handwritten love letter.
from memo.
your eyes moved across the page, taking in every word.
he wrote about how nervous he was around you.
how every time you smiled at him he forgot what he was trying to say.
how he wanted to tell you how much he liked you but kept chickening out.
how he hoped that maybe one day you'd agree to go on a real date with him.
you stared at the page in complete disbelief.
the date written at the bottom made your jaw drop.
it had been written nearly ten years ago.
before your first official date.
before you became his girlfriend.
before everything.
you immediately grabbed your phone.
you: memo
a few seconds later.
memo: yes, hermosa?
you: why am i holding a ten year old love letter that i have literally never seen before?
there was a long pause.
then another message appeared.
memo: what?
you: don't "what" me
you sent him a picture.
another pause.
then:
memo: OH
you could practically hear the panic through the screen.
you: oh???
memo: i was wondering where that went
you laughed.
actually laughed out loud.
you: you LOST a confession letter?
memo: apparently
you: memo!
memo: look, i wrote it and then got nervous
you: for ten years?
memo: yes
you: ten whole years?
memo: you are very pretty. i was intimidated
you buried your face in your hand, shaking with laughter.
only memo could accidentally lose a love letter for an entire decade.
when he got home later that evening, you were waiting for him on the couch with the letter resting in your lap.
the second he walked through the door, he groaned.
"you're still reading it?"
"i'm studying it."
"please stop studying it."
you held the paper protectively against your chest.
"absolutely not."
memo dropped beside you, immediately trying to steal it back.
you pulled away.
he followed.
you moved again.
he followed again.
eventually he wrapped both arms around your waist and trapped you against his chest.
"give it back."
"never."
"it's embarrassing."
"i think it's cute."
"it's not cute."
you turned the paper around and read dramatically.
"your laugh is my favorite sound-"
"stop."
"i think about you constantly-"
"please."
"sometimes i practice conversations with you in the mirror-"
"i'm begging you."
you were crying from laughter by that point.
memo hid his face in your shoulder.
"i can't believe you found that."
"i can't believe you forgot to give it to me."
he groaned again.
"i was trying to be romantic."
"and then?"
"then i got scared."
"so your solution was to shove it in a drawer for ten years?"
"it seemed reasonable at the time."
you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
you looked down at the letter again, your smile softening.
because despite all the teasing, every word on the page was genuine.
you could see the younger version of memo in every sentence.
the nervous man who wasn't yet your boyfriend.
the man who had no idea you would eventually become his wife.
the man who couldn't imagine that one day you'd be sitting together in the home you shared, reading the confession he never managed to deliver.
your chest tightened warmly.
"you know," you said quietly, "i would've said yes."
memo looked at you.
"to what?"
"the date."
his smile appeared instantly.
soft, fond, and completely in love.
"good."
"good?"
he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
"because waiting another ten years would've been a disaster."
you laughed.
then carefully folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope.
this time, though, it wasn't going back into a forgotten drawer.
it was going somewhere safe, because some love stories deserved to be kept forever.
[ TAGS / WARNINGS ] ― f!reader , fluff , established relationship , national team au , hotel room setting , late night conversations , emotional intimacy , soft domestic moments
the hotel room is too quiet when you first get back.
not in a bad way. just in that way that only happens after a long day—bags dropped by the door, shoes kicked off without thinking, the kind of silence that feels earned.
memo is already out on the balcony.
you spot him through the glass door, leaning against the railing like he belongs there more than he belongs anywhere else in the world. city lights scatter behind him, soft and distant, turning everything gold and blurred.
he looks tired.
not the kind of tired that comes from losing or winning or press conferences.
the kind that sits in his shoulders after carrying too much for too long.
you grab his hoodie from the chair—his, not yours, even though it’s become yours half the time—and slip it on before stepping outside.
the cold hits first. then him.
“you’re going to freeze out here,” you say quietly.
memo doesn’t turn right away. just shifts slightly so you’re closer to him, like it’s instinct. like he’s been waiting for you to come out the whole time.
“i like it,” he says.
you hum like you don’t believe him and step closer anyway, sliding under his arm. he lets you immediately, wrapping it around your shoulders with that gentle, familiar weight that always makes you feel smaller in the safest way.
you lean into his side.
for a moment, neither of you speaks.
below, the city moves without you. cars, lights, distant voices you can’t quite hear. up here, it feels like you’ve been lifted out of everything.
“you didn’t come back inside,” you say eventually.
he exhales through his nose, almost like a laugh but not quite. “i needed a minute.”
you glance up at him. “from what?”
he doesn’t answer immediately.
his hand absentmindedly tugs at the sleeve of your hoodie-wrapped arms, like he’s thinking through something he doesn’t usually say out loud.
that’s how you know it’s not small.
memo is many things, but he doesn’t usually hesitate.
“everything,” he admits finally.
the word lands heavier than expected.
you don’t push. you just shift closer, pressing your shoulder more firmly into his side so he knows you’re there. he notices. of course he does.
his arm tightens around you slightly.
“you don’t have to carry it all by yourself,” you say softly.
he lets out a slow breath, eyes still on the horizon.
“i know,” he says. then quieter, “i just forget sometimes.”
that makes something in your chest pull tight.
you tilt your head. “you forget me too?”
that finally gets him to look at you.
his expression softens immediately, like the question physically rewires something in him. he shakes his head once.
“never you.”
simple. certain.
you study him for a second, then reach up and fix the edge of his collar like it’s the most normal thing in the world. like you’re not sitting here talking about the weight of everything he won’t say to anyone else.
“good,” you murmur. “because i’m not very patient when you get all mysterious and quiet.”
a faint smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
“you’re patient with me,” he says.
“i tolerate you,” you correct.
he huffs a quiet laugh at that, and the sound loosens something in the air between you.
a few seconds pass.
then he speaks again, softer this time.
“i don’t talk about it much,” he says. “the pressure. the expectations. it’s easier when i don’t.”
you nod slowly, still tucked into his side. “i get it.”
he glances at you like he’s checking if you really do.
you meet his eyes without hesitation. “i do. but you can still talk to me.”
that lands.
not dramatically. not like a movie moment.
just quietly. like something being set down instead of carried.
memo shifts slightly, turning more toward you now. his hand moves from your shoulder to your back, steadying you there like he needs the contact more than you do.
“you’re always here,” he says.
it’s not a question.
you nod. “yeah.”
he looks down at you for a long moment, like he’s memorizing something he already knows but still can’t get enough of.
then, almost reluctantly, he admits:
“i think that’s the only place i can breathe properly.”
your expression softens before you can stop it.
“dramatic,” you say gently.
that earns a real smile this time.
“honest,” he corrects.
you hum, leaning your head against his chest now instead of his shoulder. his heartbeat is steady under your ear, grounding in a way nothing else is.
“you can breathe here,” you say. “but you also have to come back inside eventually. you know that, right?”
“i know,” he says.
pause.
then, quieter:
“can we stay a little longer?”
you look out at the city again. then at him. then back at the view you’re both sharing like it belongs to neither of you and somehow both.
“five minutes,” you say.
he smiles into your hair.
“you always say that,” he murmurs.
“and you always stay longer,” you reply.
his arm tightens around you again, just a little.
“yeah,” he admits. “i do.”
and on the balcony, wrapped in his hoodie and his silence and the weight he finally doesn’t have to hold alone, five minutes stops meaning time at all.
weddings always reminded memo of football in the strangest way.
the excitement before everything began.
the families gathered together.
the cheering.
the happy tears.
only this time, instead of walking into a stadium, he was sitting beside you beneath strings of warm lights while the newly married couple shared their first dance.
you rested your head lightly against his shoulder, absentmindedly tracing circles over the back of his hand.
"they look so happy," you whispered.
memo smiled.
"they do."
the song came to an end, and the emcee invited everyone onto the dance floor.
almost instantly, guests began standing from their tables.
you watched them with an amused smile.
"we should probably-"
before you could finish your sentence, memo was already standing.
he held out his hand toward you.
"dance with me."
you looked at him, pretending to think about it.
"hmm..."
he raised an eyebrow.
"don't make me beg."
"you've survived world cups."
"this is scarier."
you laughed and slipped your hand into his.
"you're ridiculous."
"but you're still coming."
he led you toward the growing crowd just as another slow song began to play.
his hand settled naturally against your waist while yours rested on his shoulder.
the music was soft.
the room buzzed with quiet conversations and laughter.
around you, dozens of couples swayed together beneath the lights.
for the first minute, the two of you talked.
about dinner.
about the bride.
about which teammate had cried the hardest during the ceremony.
but somewhere between one song and the next, the conversation faded.
you weren't sure when.
it just... happened.
memo rested his forehead lightly against yours.
his thumb moved slowly across the fabric of your dress where his hand held your waist.
"comfortable?" he asked quietly.
"very."
"good."
another song started.
neither of you left the dance floor.
someone bumped into memo's shoulder while dancing past.
he apologized automatically without taking his eyes off you.
"they're going to think we're glued together," you teased.
"let them."
you smiled.
"you're not tired?"
"of dancing with you?"
he shook his head.
"never."
you couldn't help laughing.
"that was smooth."
"i've had years to practice."
"and yet you still blush every time you flirt."
"...i do not."
you simply looked at him.
he sighed.
"...maybe a little."
you reached up and smoothed a strand of hair away from his forehead.
"it's cute."
his ears immediately turned pink.
"don't use my weaknesses against me."
"what weaknesses?"
"you."
the answer came so quickly that it stole your breath.
before you could respond, he gently spun you beneath his arm.
you laughed as your dress flared slightly before he pulled you back against him.
the band kept playing.
another song.
then another.
tables slowly emptied as older relatives wandered outside for fresh air, children fell asleep in their parents' laps, and conversations drifted toward goodbyes.
still, the two of you stayed exactly where you were.
at some point, the lights around the dance floor dimmed.
memo glanced around the room for the first time all evening.
"...where did everyone go?"
you blinked before finally looking away from him.
the dance floor that had been crowded an hour ago now held only a handful of couples.
many of the guests had already left.
you laughed softly.
"i... don't know."
he looked back at you with a sheepish grin.
"i think we forgot there were other people here."
"i think so too."
the final song of the night began.
slower than all the others.
memo didn't say anything.
he simply tightened his hold on your waist and swayed with you beneath the twinkling lights.
when the music ended, neither of you moved.
you stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a few quiet seconds, smiling as applause echoed through the reception hall.
finally, you looked up at him.
"ready to go home?"
he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.
"in a minute."
"why?"
"because i wanted one last dance with my favorite person."
you smiled so brightly your cheeks began to ache.
"memo..."
he chuckled, brushing the tip of his nose against yours.
"this one doesn't even need music."
and standing there in the middle of an almost empty dance floor, gently swaying in each other's arms while the last of the guests filtered out, you realized he was right.
by the end of the night, neither of you remembered the flowers, the speeches, or even what had been served for dinner.
every anniversary, no matter where life took you both, there was one tradition neither of you ever skipped.
the letters.
it had started years ago when the two of you were still figuring out adulthood together. money had been tight, schedules had been chaotic, and finding the perfect gift hadn't always been possible.
so instead, you'd written each other letters.
just one page.
a simple explanation of what that year had meant.
and somehow, it became your favorite tradition.
every year on your anniversary, the two of you sat down together and exchanged envelopes.
some years the letters were funny.
some years they were emotional.
some years they were filled with memories neither of you wanted to forget.
this year was no different.
the restaurant was quiet, lit by warm golden lights, and after dinner memo reached into his jacket pocket.
immediately, you smiled.
"you remembered."
he looked offended.
"i've never forgotten."
"i know."
he handed over the envelope carefully, almost nervously.
which always surprised you.
after all these years together, after all the stadiums he'd played in and all the pressure he'd faced throughout his career, handwritten letters still made him nervous.
you opened it slowly.
his familiar handwriting covered every inch of the page.
the first few lines already made your chest ache.
he wrote about the small things.
how you still stole his hoodies.
how you still fell asleep during movies.
how you still reached for his hand without thinking whenever you crossed the street.
he wrote about difficult moments from the year too.
times when football had been stressful.
times when distance had been hard.
times when he wasn't sure of himself.
and how you'd been there through every single one.
then your eyes landed on the final paragraph.
thank you for choosing me again this year.
after everything we've lived through together, you're still my favorite person to come home to.
if i had the chance to live my entire life over again, i'd still choose you every single time.
your vision immediately blurred.
"memo..."
he laughed softly.
"you're crying already?"
"shut up."
he grinned.
"i'm just asking."
"and you're crying too."
that wiped the smile off his face instantly.
because he was.
his eyes were suspiciously red.
you reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
for a moment neither of you spoke.
you simply sat there looking at each other.
years together.
thousands of memories.
hundreds of matches.
countless ordinary days.
all somehow fitting into a few handwritten pages.
finally memo cleared his throat.
"well?"
you held up your own envelope.
"read yours first."
his smile immediately returned.
"deal."
hours later, the two letters would join the others waiting at home.
a growing collection stored safely in a wooden box.
anniversaries, birthdays , hard years, beautiful years.
pieces of your lives written in ink.
and someday, when you were both old and gray, memo always said you'd sit together and read every single one again.
you were certain you had left your favorite mug on the second shelf the night before.
yet somehow... it was now sitting on the very top shelf.
you frowned.
"...memo."
from the living room came the sound of muffled laughter.
you narrowed your eyes.
"memo."
he appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across his face.
"yes, mi amor?"
you pointed toward the cabinet.
"why is my mug all the way up there?"
he looked at it as if he had never seen it before.
"huh."
"don't."
"that's strange."
"guillermo."
"maybe it walked up there."
you crossed your arms.
"the mug?"
"you never know."
you stared at him for a long moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
"can you please get it down?"
he leaned against the counter.
"hmm..."
you already knew that look.
"what?"
"say please."
"i did."
"say it sweeter."
you rolled your eyes.
"please."
he smiled.
"with a kiss."
you gasped dramatically.
"you're negotiating over a coffee mug?"
"i prefer the term compromising."
you walked over until you were standing right in front of him.
he immediately leaned down, expecting you to kiss him.
instead, you smiled sweetly.
"no."
he blinked.
"...no?"
"no kiss until i get my mug."
"that's not how this works."
"i think it is."
he laughed.
"you're stubborn."
"learned from the best."
he reached out to wrap an arm around your waist, but you slipped right out of his grasp.
"uh-uh."
"really?"
"really."
he followed you around the kitchen, amused by your determination.
"just one kiss."
"mug first."
"half a kiss?"
"that's not a thing."
"it could be."
you shook your head, trying not to laugh.
"you're unbelievable."
"and yet you love me."
"that doesn't mean you're getting a kiss."
he placed a hand over his heart.
"you're breaking it."
"you'll recover."
he sighed dramatically before finally walking over to the cabinet.
without even stretching, he reached up and grabbed the mug with ease.
show-off.
he placed it carefully into your hands.
"there."
you smiled triumphantly.
"thank you."
then you turned around and started making your coffee.
memo blinked.
"...excuse me?"
you looked over your shoulder innocently.
"yes?"
"where's my kiss?"
you took a sip from your freshly made coffee.
"hmm."
"you promised."
"did i?"
he laughed, immediately walking over until he was standing behind you.
"you're impossible."
"maybe."
his arms wrapped around your waist as he rested his chin on top of your head.
"i got your mug."
"you did."
"so..."
you smiled to yourself, pretending to think about it.
"i suppose you've earned it."
before he could react, you turned in his arms, reached up onto your tiptoes, and gently kissed him.
it was quick.
soft.
just enough to leave him smiling when you pulled away.
"that's it?" he asked.
"that's what you earned."
he raised an eyebrow.
"i think i deserve another."
"do you?"
"definitely."
you laughed.
"only if you promise to stop hiding my things."
he stayed quiet for a suspiciously long time.
"...define stop."
you narrowed your eyes.
"memo."
he couldn't hold back his laughter anymore.
"okay, okay."
"i'm serious."
"i know."
he leaned down, stealing one more kiss before you could protest.
"i'll stop."
you smiled.
"good."
"the mugs, anyway."
your smile slowly disappeared.
"...the mugs?"
he flashed you an innocent grin.
"i never said anything about the snacks."
you groaned as he darted out of the kitchen laughing, already knowing you'd probably find your favorite bag of chips sitting on the highest shelf later that day.
