his accent » tiago mendes

três|beatriz

I know I'm going to deny saying this altogether later on, but I couldn't help but thank god the moment I stepped in and saw my new care.

First of all, I sort of expected a grumpy, rude, perverted, retired middle-aged man when the Atleti management dialled me up. It wasn't entirely impossible either, since I was actually once put up with caring for Jose Mourinho back when I was staying in Manchester and he had a nerve stuck between his vertebrae. Trust me, it was the worst month of my life.

Moving on; when I received the papers on my new client, I was glad to hear that he was a player, rather young too. And what made me finally relax and open up to the idea, which I had previously been slightly hesitant about, was the fact that it was none other than Tiago Cardoso Mendes.

A few small facts about me: Throughout the 28 years I have been alive on this earth, 25 of them I had been supporting the red and white team (and no, I'm not talking about Grenada). My father, bless his soul, was a huge fan, having inherited the passion for the colchoneros from his own father, and thus the love was brought down on me as a little child.

When I was 3 years old, father took me to my first football game, having worked his arse off at his job to earn enough money to take me and my mom with him to a Madrid Derby.

And so, as the saying goes, it was passed on from the parent to the child, and hence came forth my irrevocable love for Atleti, the club of valors and honors. I had fallen in love with the pitch, the badge, the atmosphere, the game, and anything related.

So it was no wonder really that I instantly knew who Tiago was. How could I forget our second captain, our responsible man, our sweet spoken representative, the man that gave so many hopes and dreams for others? Impossible!

That way, I knew I was eager to start work. At first, I had no idea why I was called up; it had slipped my mind that poor Tiago was now enduring the suffering of having a fractured tibia, and I knew that it was time for me to step in. With my instructions in hand, I made it to my boss with acceptance in my mind, and expecting the happiness of my new client.

Granted, of course, that he wasn't a grumpy cat like some--or most--of my previous clients. Sure, I had seen the Portuguese man speak before in interviews and seemed to be quite a nice lad, but you never know what happens behind the scenes. Still, I was quite optimistic and looking forward to my new case.

I was quite lucky to make it to his house before the designated time, so as to be precisely on time when I knock on his door. Sympathetically thinking that I needn't knock because he would be unable to open the door either ways, I made it inside with his key in my hand, hoping that I wasn't interrupting some private time or so.

Whatever the case was, when I greeted him softly, I bit back an infectious smile at seeing such a legend, a hero, an icon, face to face and in close proximity. Not to mention he was quite the looker.

Now, I'll have you know that I was never a shallow person. I was not brought up this way, and I always will have that within my morals. I was fully aware that what truly matters is what is on the inside, and that what is on the outside is just a bonus. But, I am not gonna deny this, I was dumbstruck by his good looks.

I knew that he was 35 or so, and to think of finding him heavily attractive must've felt somewhat shameful at that precise moment when I lay my eyes on him--but it is something I cannot deny.

His skin was beautifully tanned, like some sort of golden statue that glimmered in the sun; and the moment I stared into his kind eyes, I knew instantly that the heart was just as golden as the skin.

Oh dear, his eyes. Dark and mysterious, swirling pits of endless emotion, void of any hatred or even ill-manners--something that was quite rare these days. His eyelashes, long and curled, fluttered softly against his high cheekbones as he lay resting in peace.

His rosy lips pulled upwards in a gentle smile as he spoke in that strong masculine voice of his, and those words he spoke were ever so tinged with that Portuguese accent, slightly lilting at the edges in a way that was so obvious, but most people would take no notice of.

As I sat down to offer some comfort and friendliness to someone that so clearly needed it, especially at the moment of knowing that he was so fragile that he needed someone at his own home to help him, I smiled as he pulled back luscious mahogany brown locks behind his ear.

Seemingly untamable, I almost laughed but bit back my tongue, knowing that it would come off as very rude if I did so.

Anywho, I just let him talk, helping him sit in a comfortable stance, and gave him my ear and heart to listen to him speak.

Knowing that he was decently young and had gone through so much recently, what with losing his wife at a young age, and raising two kids on his own only to find them taken away, I was in awe about how he kept strong emotionally through all of this, and still somehow managed to weave in between training sessions! It was crazy.

When he told me the place which I would be inhabiting, I couldn't help but throw in a compliment on his accent. I mean; the man was so clearly down in the dumps, people could spot it from miles away--he needed something to cheer him up.

And I was right! Something that may seem so small and measly to someone else made him blush so profusely! The man was so worn out he clearly needed something to shine; a small ray of light at the end of the tunnel; something that would symbolize that not all was over for him.

And as I walked upstairs to my designated room to do some rearranging and prioritizing, I came to a comclusion: I am going to keep Tiago happy for as long as I could.

🌿🌿🌿