The Seven Sins

vii. lust

Lionel came to his house the next day. The Argentine was surprised to see him in such a state; and he seemed absolutely horrified when the realisation that he had done that to Cristiano dawned on him.

The first day, Cristiano opened the door to him and Lionel's look got worried in an instant, seeing that the normal tanned skin was paler than usual and his feautures resembled more of a skeleton than anything else.

Cristiano went to offer him a drink, maybe something to eat, but Lionel insisted on doing everything by himself and said to Cristiano that he should lay down on the couch. Lionel said that Cristiano was sick, and he needed to be taken care of, not left alone. Especially not to do things for his guest, Lionel in this case, because the guest came to help him.

Cristiano has, of course, complained, but he could do nothing against Lionel's strong will. The smaller man even had to drag him (carefully) over to the couch and sit Cristiano down while he went in the kitchen and helped himself.

They talked about everything and nothing, sometimes just sitting in silence and sipping on their own water.

When Cristiano felt his stomach churning and lungs constricting, he could barely even get up because of not eating anything for weeks prior. Lionel was there in an instant, pulling him up and leading him towards the bathroom. Lionel wasn't disgusted when he saw the blood and the flowers, no, he just rubbed at Cristiano's back and whispered words of encouragement in his ears.

It's okay, Cris, let it out.

You're going to be okay.

Here you go, it's over.

You're so brave.

When Cristiano finished, there was always a towel waiting by the sink, and he knew Lionel was preparing those. His heart swelled. Lionel helped him get up and brushed his teeth to get rid of the mingling tastes of bile and blood.

Lionel would lead them over to the couch and sat Cristiano down, bringing him a glass of water.

It was all so incredibly flowing and domestic, and Cristiano felt awful when he checked the calendar, seeing only two months left for him to live. He broke down, sobbing on the couch, and Lionel was there, as if he teleported, holding a glass of water.

"It's okay, it's okay, don't cry, you're going to be okay."

Lionel was saying more things, mostly mumbling them in Cristiano's ungelled curls as he craddled his head in his hands, holding Cristiano close to his chest. Cristiano could hear his heart beat; it was suddenly so very real. This person holding him was real. He wanted to believe, he really did. He tried. And he tried.

The sickness got a slight bit better, and Lionel lost a track of time for how long has he been hanging out with Cristiano. It had to be more than a week now already. Lionel was on the phone that morning when he came to Cristiano's house (Cristiano had insisted for him to take a spare key if he wasn't in the state to open the door), speaking to his father about his absence in the football world. His father was furious, yes, but he partly understood the situation. Who in their right mind would leave Cristiano Ronaldo to wilt to his own death?

Lionel was talking in hushed tones, asking his father to justify him for another two weeks. Jorge didn't approve, understandingly, but then Lionel asked a question that hit home.

"Would you do it for my mother?"

Jorge was silent on the other side and Lionel started unpacking the groceries that he brought with him to Cristiano's house, putting snacks in the cupboards and eggs and milk and juice in the fridge. He was surprised when he closed the fridge, seeing Cristiano on the other side of the kitchen island, hesitantly taking some simple crackers that were left on the counter in his hands and opening them carefully. Cristiano was seemingly in his own world as he took one of those and put it in his mouth, taking a small bite. Lionel smiled.