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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: G
Pairing: Ibrahimović/Nesta
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: This is absolutely fiction and not real and I don’t know these people at all. Any resemblance to any real-life record company is completely accidental.
Notes: Part of Hitverse; set a few weeks after Maybe Tomorrow Is A Better Day. In thanks to kasu_chan for the custom icons.
Summary: A phone call.
***
*Hey! How’s your wrist?*
“…son of a bitch, I might’ve just double-sprained it. How’d you get this number? Why the hell are you calling? Have you no brains?”
*Aw, Sandro. I’m going to pretend you mean that in a worried way, like you care that I just took off a day in a really hellish week to make sure some asshole from Turin didn’t take you out.*
“That was you? I told—”
*No, no, I’m still out of Italy. Besides, the one that did your wrist was from Piacenza—the really good one who they could’ve sent was from Turin. Only he never got out of Prague.*
“…you killed somebody for me, and then called me up to mention you’d saved my life. How goddamned typical.”
*Yeah, tell me about it. You’re so mad my cell’s smoking in my hand. You’re weeelcome, Saaaaaandro.*
Click.
“Zlatan—Zlatan! Damn—goddamn it.” [sighs] “…don’t send me flowers this time.”
***