What If

Sometimes you wonder what would've happened if there had never been an Istanbul. It's a thought that doesn't often wander through your mind, a thought that you don't even want to consider most of the time but that your brain somehow manages to bring to the forefront of your thoughts. What if you hadn't scored that header? What if Shevchenko had scored right at the death? What if Milan had won? There would have been no fleeting moment of pure ecstasy with Xabi. There would have been no confrontation later that night when both of you were far too drunk both on alcohol and joy. You often get a lump in your throat at that thought, at the fact that your goal did so much more than secure a trophy. Who would have thought one goal would have secured your entire happiness.
           If there hadn't been an Istanbul you wonder if you and Xabi would even be friends now. You try to deny the fact that eats at your brain, try to insist to your self of course you'd be friends, of course he'd still want to kiss you, touch you, hold you, love you. You know it isn't true. If there had been no Istanbul, you would have gone to Chelsea. You don't try to lie to yourself that you would have stayed. If you had gone to Chelsea; Xabi would have been simply one of those things that never was. A bud destroyed before it had a chance to flourish. There would have been no love story, no romance. He would have been another regret in your life, another if only. If only I'd stayed; if only I'd never kissed him maybe it wouldn't hurt so much right now, maybe I wouldn't miss him so much.And you would have simply been another Blue to him.  
            The thoughts terrify you. You've never told anyone about them, though you've considered telling Xabi himself. You've came close a few times. You remember May 25th of this year too. A conversation over the phone, he was in Spain, you in England. You remember him almost whispering it down the phone like it was a dirty secret; "Do you know what day it is?" And you'd laughed at him out of pure amusement. Of course you'd remembered. It was then that all those thoughts struck you again. Think how different it could have been. This whole year, this beautiful wonderful year would never have happened. And we wouldn't be having this conversation. There was something inside you that wanted to tell him, wanted to confess every last fear and worry you had. You thought maybe you were just doing it to seek that little bit more attention or maybe you just wanted something to bring you two even closer. You remember him interuppting your thoughts during that period of silence down the phone. "Stevie," he'd whispered again, "I love you, I miss you." And you'd just sighed, in pure happiness. It was definitely not the first time he'd said it but it never failed to make your heart thud with passion every time he did. And you cursed the fucking World Cup there and then because all you wanted to do was kiss him. "Xabi," you had whispered quieter than he had, you didn't even know why you were both whispering. You wanted to tell him, to tell how afraid you were that all this would never have happened."Imagine if Istanbul had never happened," you'd whispered again. Everything was silent, all you could hear was his gentle breathing on the other side."Then Liverpool wouldn't have won it five times Steven," he'd replied. You'd chuckled and realise, he'd been thinking of all the same things you did, suffering all the same fears you had, that he was trying to tell you the one thing you knew along but you had craved to be told over and over again "It did happen Steven, it did and no one will ever take it away, take this away."