Chapter Text
ERLING’S POV
The referee blows the whistle. I can hear the sound drilling through my skull as I shake my head. I’m sitting on a fucking bench as our defeat is announced, and even though I know the hardest part is about to begin, I feel like I already can’t take it anymore. I’m exhausted, frustrated with the world, and my head is throbbing. But I feel like I should be a bit more honest with myself, because the worst thing about this is not Norway losing. It’s me not being able to see Jude for God knows how long now.
Yeah, that’s it. As I make my way across the pitch to hug my teammates and the English players, he’s the only one I’m scanning the whole pitch for.
Jude Bellingham.
Today’s absolute star.
My ex-boyfriend.
It doesn’t take long for him to appear in front of me, and we immediately collide in a hug. “You did great, Erling.” His voice is even more calming than I remembered, and a smile instantly forms on my face. Considering I was almost on the verge of tears, it’s pretty damn quick for a change. Jude keeps me close for a moment, maybe three seconds, and I can feel his heartbeat in my own chest.
Just as I want to say something to him, I get pulled into another tight, sweaty hug, and suddenly Jude is nowhere to be seen. The voices are overwhelming, and I can’t wait for all of this to be over. I wish I could stop thinking, forget it all, and plop onto my bed. Right now, my only worry should be what to eat for breakfast tomorrow.
JUDE’S POV
It’s been thirty minutes since the match ended, and I still can’t believe we won. I’m a bundle of nerves and emotions, like I’m literally wearing my heart on my sleeve, and the only thing I catch about what Spence is saying during his interview is some talk about the heat. I mean, considering we just beat one of the strongest teams in the World Cup, why is everyone going on about the bloody heat?
I dwell on that for a couple of minutes, mainly because I’m going to be interviewed next, but also because I need to take my mind off Erling’s disappointed face, and now I genuinely can’t think of anything else.
My turn finally arrives, and I do my thing. I’ve revised this countless times in the shower. I praise the whole team. Answer questions about my career, telling the journalists that I feel proud. I don’t comment on the camera cable thing, and actually try to get past anything that’s potentially related. I’m doing a good job, I guess, but something’s missing, and I genuinely can’t manage to keep a smile on my face for more than two seconds. Truth is, I’m holding back. My head is split into what I want and must do, but suddenly I find myself mentioning Erling, and I immediately feel more at ease. Like this is the moment I’d been waiting for ever since the match started. After all, the journalists would’ve definitely asked me about him if I hadn’t said anything, right?
I handle the English and the Spanish, keep the focus, and soon enough, it’s finally over for me. I’m free. I could go. I probably should, but something keeps me stuck right here by the media area: surprisingly, the journalists are talking to Erling himself, and I’m way too curious to leave. Well, it’s not just curiosity: it’s a weird kind of hunger, something that stings me from inside. Something that’s so heavy I genuinely can’t move my feet from the ground.
I watch him speak Norwegian while answering their questions. I enjoy the familiar sound of his voice, even though I cannot understand a single word. He bites his lip, smiles adorably for the journalists. For the girls watching from their phones, practically drooling over him. He chuckles. Even after losing…he’s still his best self, and I admire him for that.
I can’t take my eyes off of his face. His gaze travels slowly from the mic to the journalists, and when they finally switch to English, I realise Erling’s become much more fluent than I remembered. Just as I start thinking about how to catch him right after this, the last question strikes me like lightning. It’s about me.
“Jude is a good friend.” He stumbles a bit over his words as he goes on with his answer, hands clasped behind his back, and I feel kind of comforted: the fact that he doesn’t have much of a poker face hasn’t changed at all. He’s almost too tall for the mic, and a tad too honest for the camera. Erling had fun doing what he loves the most, and nobody cares if he lost: everyone’s absolutely mesmerised, because the way he talks…just makes his soul shine through.
ERLING’S POV
Hotel rooms have always been the loneliest of places. I almost feel cold, even though it’s 30°C out, and I don’t usually drink, but I’m so bored that I’m already on my second beer. Well, I’m not exactly bored. I just want to stop thinking about Jude, and the fact that I’m still hung up on him is consuming me.
I was doing well, before the World Cup. I managed to pretend everything I said during the interview was true, and maybe I’d even convinced myself that Jude and I were really just good friends. But now the memories from Dortmund are coming back all at once, like an avalanche that’s crushing my bones, and I just can’t pretend I didn’t spend two full years of my life by Jude’s side. Because then I became his other half, and one amazing year later…the two of us went back to being nothing at all.
I’m scrolling through Instagram, because I must find something that’s more interesting than my own bullshit, but all I come across is…videos of him. Of us. Even our three-second hug, it’s already all over the internet, with our relationship marketed as the best bromance football has ever seen. I genuinely can’t even tell if that’d be a lie.
You already congratulated your Bellingham? It was the first question my teammates asked me in the showers. I scoff. Then I immediately wince, because I’m reacting like I’m talking to someone. Maybe I did go overboard with the beer, and all of this is turning into pure torture. I really should just sleep.
But just when I might have finally found my peace, someone knocks at the door, and I’m too curious to leave them be. My best bet would be unexpected room service, but standing in my doorway is none other than Jude Bellingham.