For the sprawling city of Los Angeles, the LA Film Festival was one of the premier cultural events of the year, drawing massive crowds of critics, auteurs, and Hollywood royalty.
But for eighteen-year-old Rico, it was something different.
It was a sanctuary and Rico was having the time of his life.
He had spent the entire afternoon immersing himself in the magic of cinema.
He had already seen two brilliant, unreleased indie features—a gritty, fast-paced French crime thriller that left him on the edge of his seat, and a breathtaking Japanese drama that analysed the quiet tragedies of a fractured family.
He loved the creativity of the festival.
He loved watching directors take risks on the silver screen.
It was his ultimate escape.
He was just a fan, completely surrendering himself to the storytelling.
As the evening approached, Rico eagerly made his way toward the main auditorium for the highly anticipated premiere.
The theater was already packed to the brim, a sea of eager cinephiles and industry insiders murmuring in excited anticipation.
Navigating his way down the narrow aisle, Rico’s dark eyes scanned the rows until he spotted a single plush seat situated right in the dead center of the room.
He slipped into the row, murmuring polite apologies as he squeezed past a few seated patrons, and finally sank comfortably into the plush chair.
He leaned back, stretching his long legs as best as he could, his dark eyes locking onto the massive silver screen.
He was so focused on the upcoming feature, eagerly waiting for the house lights to dim, that he didn’t even notice who he was sitting right next to.
Anne glanced sideways, her breath hitching instantly in her throat.
Even bathed in the dim theatre light, Rico looked hot in his unbuttoned black silk shirt.
His sculpted jawline and brooding aura overwhelmed her senses.
She squeezed her eyes shut, furiously cursing her own treacherous and weak thoughts for still wanting this arrogant man so desperately.
She had spent the last week trying to convince herself that walking out of that Italian restaurant was the right decision.
She had repeated all the logical reasons why they could never work.
But sitting mere inches away from him all of her logic evaporated.
Unable to bear the suffocating silence for a single second longer, she finally broke it.
“What are you doing here?” Anne asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and defensive tension.
“Watching the films,” Rico replied effortlessly, not even bothering to look away from the front of the theatre.
It took a fraction of a second for his brain to register the melodic cadence of the voice that had just spoken to him.
But once he did, the stoic posture he had maintained all evening shattered.
“Anne?” Rico turned, his dark, piercing gaze locking onto her, and his heart violently skipped a sudden beat.
She looked even hotter than before, in her maroon dress.
Her large brown eyes sparkled with defiance, and her cascading brunette waves framed a flawless face that shattered his stoic composure.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the chaotic noise of the packed theatre fading into a dull hum.
“How have you been?” Rico asked softly, the arrogant edge vanishing from his voice.
Anne looked away, her jaw clenching as she stubbornly stared straight ahead at the velvet curtain covering the screen.
She didn’t want to admit how much she had missed him.
“Okay, well I’m here to watch the movies,” Rico said, trying to navigate the icy reception.
“What about you?” “I don’t want to talk to you,” Anne replied sharply, keeping her profile turned toward him.
Rico raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a faint trace of his usual confident smirk returning.
“But you just asked me what am I doing here?” Anne finally turned back to face him, “Because I didn’t expect you to be here after you punched someone.” Rico winced slightly, as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed for the first time since she had met him.
“You saw huh.” “I watched the game,” Anne confirmed, her tone flat but laced with concern.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that,” Rico offered, his dark eyes sincere.
He hated the idea of her watching him lose his temper.
“It’s fine, it wasn’t even that good of a punch,” Anne quipped, a tiny flicker of amusement breaking through her defensive armour.
Rico deadpanned, looking at her with seriousness.
“I meant the game.” Anne shook her head with an exasperated smile, unable to maintain her anger, “It wasn’t that funny.” “Well, I still got you to smile,” Rico pointed out smoothly, leaning just a fraction of an inch closer.
“So I’ll take that as a win, I kind of do the jokes.” Anne smiled brightly.
The suffocating tension between them began to thaw, rapidly replaced by the familiar chemistry that had originally drawn them together.
“I’ve never seen you act like that before,” Anne admitted softly, her tone shifting into genuine curiosity.
She had only ever known the calm, calculating, cinema-loving football player.
Seeing him turn into a violent gladiator on the pitch had been jarring.
Rico let out a heavy sigh, shifting uncomfortably in his plush seat.
“The thing is I’m fine getting kicked; my issue is when somebody touches my face.” Anne frowned, studying his handsome features.
“That just sounds very vain.” “I know but it’s not about looks, it’s just…” Rico stopped, his brow furrowing as he actively struggled to find the right words.
It was rare for him to be caught without a smooth answer.
“Look, I just don’t like anybody touching my face.
It’s a personal thing, it just pisses me off, I don’t know why, it’s always been this way.” Anne watched the vulnerability flicker across his dark eyes.
Driven by an instinct she couldn’t control, Anne reached out tentatively.
She slowly raised her hand, her fingers gently brushing against his jawline.
Rico didn’t flinch, he didn’t even pull away.
He let out a slow exhale, his eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second as he relaxed into her touch.
He let her touch his face without a single ounce of hesitation.
Anne left her hand there, her thumb lightly tracing his cheekbone.
“So you’re fine when I do it?” Rico opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto hers with a burning certainty.
“Because I like you and I trust you.
You’re my exception.” The honesty of his words struck her right in the chest.
Anne slowly pulled her hand back, her heart aching with a terrifying sadness.
“I did like you,” Anne whispered, the past tense hanging heavily in the air between them.
“Fair enough,” Rico nodded slowly, accepting the bitter reality of his own ambition.
“You don’t want to get hurt when I eventually go.” “Yeah,” Anne breathed out, her eyes dropping to her lap.
Rico leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low register that was meant entirely for her.
“So why ruin however long we may have together?
Surely spending the next days being happy is better than just suffering and waiting for me to go?
Why not enjoy that time while I’m still here?” Anne looked up, her beautiful doe eyes filled with a terrifying conflict.
“I don’t know I don’t want to get hurt again.” “I get that, but don’t you think it hurts me too, we can’t really be together, even though I think you’re my one,” Rico confessed, laying his heart bare.
Anne’s breath hitched again, her eyes widening in shock.
“Really?” “Yeah,” Rico said softly, a gentle smile breaking through, “I find myself opening up around you in a way I’ve never done with anyone else.” The weight of his admission shattered the last remaining walls surrounding her heart.
She realised she would rather have a beautiful tragedy than a lifetime of wondering what could have been.
The transfer window was opening in exactly twenty days.
The clock was ticking.
Anne took a deep breath, a vibrant light suddenly sparking in her brown eyes.
“Fine, for the next twenty days, let’s spend it like it’s our last twenty days.” Rico’s smile widened, a wave of relief washing over his striking face.
“Exactly.” Rico leaned forward, erasing the agonising distance between them in the dimly lit theatre.
He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her skin before he captured her lips.
The kiss was an intoxicating collision of raw passion and relief.
Anne let out a soft sigh, tangling her slender fingers into his dark, thick hair as she pulled him closer.
It was deep, hungry, and fiercely tender, silently sealing their reckless pact.
In that electric moment, the chaotic outside world, the ticking clock, and the impending separation ceased to exist.
When they finally pulled apart, the grand theatre lights had dimmed, plunging the auditorium into a comfortable darkness.
The opening studio logos flashed brilliantly across the massive silver screen.
Rico shifted comfortably in his plush velvet chair, intertwining his large, warm hand perfectly with Anne’s delicate fingers.
They rested their joined hands on the armrest between them.
As the dramatic opening score of the mystery film swelled through the theater’s state-of-the-art speakers, they sat there, watching the movie hand in hand with a bright smiles on their faces, ready to make the most of the next twenty days.
A/N) Let’s laugh at France.
It’s so obvious they’ll be back with Zidane.
(If England lose tomorrow, there will be no chapter.
I’m running from the laughter.
But if Argentina lose, I’m going to be unbearable) I’ll be real, I can’t think of anything for the whole last twenty days.
So, I’m probably skipping the twenty days.
It’s so obvious that it’s not the end of their relationship, this story goes on for 23 years ffs.
(Quick thing, the start is more focused on love, the later bits are focused on football) Also, I’ve written them both to be irrational when it comes to their relationship and how much they love each other.
Like his mom (and some others) will say, their relationship isn’t built to last (he ends up taking that as a challenge), or it’s just puppy love, but to them it’s not as they want to spend the rest of their life together and are willing to do whatever it takes to make it work even if it means sacrificing for the other because they will do whatever it takes to help the other succeed.
This was done on purpose, as why else would they be willing to do dumb stuff in the name of love?