Chapter Text
Jude woke up at the crack of dawn covered in sweat. It was hot. He was hot. As if he had been sleeping next to an active volcano and under a heavy blanket. He tried moving from under the blanket, but a rock-hard hold around his waist was crushing him against something so warm he could feel a bead of sweat slipping down his back. Ah, it was just Erling using him as a pillow. His friend was one of those people who needed to hug something at night, and Jude was the closest thing to him. Somehow, their legs ended up tangled at some point in the night. Erling’s arm was strong around his waist, possessive, as if he wanted to stop Jude from going anywhere, and he was breathing into the back of his neck.
No wonder he was so hot.
Jude tried moving again, but before he could get any further, Erling groggily pulled him back onto him, his hand now pressing the younger’s chest strongly against him and muttered something in his sleep. He moved slightly, and that’s when Jude noticed the blond’s crotch brushing against his ass and became self-conscious of the little problem he had going on.
He needed to get out.
He tried wriggling his way out, but it was like trying to move a concrete statue. Jude didn’t exactly know what was in his exercise routine, but it was sure working, which wasn’t very convenient in the current situation. Now, he would try the last thing that came into mind:
Wake him up.
You see, Erling wasn’t the type to stay in bed past seven, but whenever he slept, he was like a hibernating bear. It was nearly impossible to wake the man up, and Jude was genuinely concerned about his well-being if he did. Well, he hoped the blond wasn’t the type to get scared when they were woken up.
Okay, Jude. Just turn around and try to shake him as hard as you can. He won’t hit you, he won’t yell, just wake him up. He won’t notice anything weird; he won’t be conscious enough.
Easier said than done.
First, he spent five minutes trying to turn around under the strong embrace of the blond. And when Jude could finally reach for Erling’s shoulder, something else caught his attention. He couldn’t describe this feeling, not even what exactly caused it, but he was sure it was related to how beautifully delicate his face looked when he was asleep. How soft the skin of his cheeks looked, how the sunlight filtering through the curtains made his blond hair glow, as if it were magical, and somehow that’s how Jude felt. Like a flow of magic suddenly shot through his body, from head to toe, through every corner of his being and something that made him dizzy, lightheaded, happy.
Was this what true happiness felt like? So simple yet so magical, something every person seeks, yet something he found while looking at his best friend sleeping in his bed, embracing Jude with a strength characteristic to him, yet looking as delicate and magical as a flower. He wanted to hug him back, to thread his fingers through the soft, long strings of golden hair, he wanted to caress his cheeks, sink his face in the corner between his neck and his shoulder and breathe in his scent like one would smell a flower. He wanted to kiss him and taste the wonderful, rose-tinted lips, the softness of his tongue, he wanted to…
Kiss him.
How would Erling kiss? Knowing him, he must be gentle with it; his lips look very soft and plush, he absolutely does it gently. His wide shoulders and muscular frame would corner him into a small place, towering over him, but his touch would be careful, mapping the skin all the way from his face to his torso with the tip of his fingers. He would grab Jude’s chin with one hand and slowly approach his lips, their breaths encountering halfway. He would ask for permission before doing anything, especially during sex-
Hold on.
He felt himself fully harden in his pants. Bloody hell, this was the worst place this could ever happen. He was trapped in his arms, and his dick was getting hard because of a teenage-like sex fantasy. Of his best friend. His guy best friend.
It must be all the pent-up sexual frustration. Jude hasn’t had sex for months, even a year, he’d say. His hormones were just a mess; it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was his long blond hair that made his body think he was a woman. Nothing else at all, right? No, who was he fooling? You'd have to be crazy or blind to confuse Erling with a woman. He knew he was a man. A very handsome man,
What was this feeling? This wasn’t friendship, this wasn’t admiration, adoration, or whatever other thing a man can feel for another. This was… something Jude didn’t want to name. He knew what it was; he knew that everything he had done for Erling the last six years of his life had an underlying intention he had pieced together a few seconds ago. He knew that whatever he felt could never, under any circumstances, leave the confines of his heart. Even if it already was painted golden and blue and full of the strong smell of the ocean, and pleaded for the love of sea-coloured eyes.
He had to leave.
It was like his arms were suddenly possessed with an inhuman strength as he ripped Erling’s arm away from his waist. He was crawling out of the bed when he heard the blond move, noticing the absence of something —or someone— from the bed, Jude jumped to the floor and covered his mouth to silence his breathing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck he needed to get out.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong with him. With shaky breaths, he opened the door to the bathroom and silently closed it behind him. Now, in the privacy of the room, it was like everything exploded. His heart was exploding with emotions, overwhelming the small capacity Jude had to understand how he felt. It was too much.
Was he gay? Was the only reason he felt so in tune with Erling the fact that he was attracted to him? Erling did so much for him, and this is how he paid him back? He would be disgusted. He would feel like Jude misinterpreted everything he did wholeheartedly as a friend for something romantic. That he was naive, a fucking faggot, that he didn’t belong in football.
Was that all he was? Everyone around him would think that. Nothing he could do in football would be big enough to overshadow the fact that he felt attracted to men.
But was he? He had never questioned that aspect of himself. He liked women, as did every other guy around him. That had never changed until Erling, so, was he gay or was he just so love-deprived that his heart fell for the first who treated him well? And honestly, he had a reason. He would love to be Erling's partner if only he were a girl. If only Jude weren’t a world-class football player instead of a woman Erling could love.
He sometimes wondered why Erling didn’t have a girlfriend. He was the perfect boyfriend: attentive, caring, protective. He paid attention to the smallest details, and he was handsome. Really handsome. A look at his pink, puffy lips, his blue eyes, his big muscles, or to feel his soft hair was all it took to realise he’s a very good-looking man.
Maybe, if Jude were a girl, they would have a different story entirely.
It wasn’t meant to be, and Jude knew that. He would never think of the younger that way, he’s a heartthrob, he dated girls, he would marry a girl and have kids with a girl. Another man couldn’t do that. Jude couldn’t give him that.
His knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the edge of the sink; his eyes were lost, looking at his feet. Everything was wrong; he was wrong. He couldn’t breathe. Was he going to die? It felt as if he were going to die.
Jude looked into the mirror, and all he saw was a distressed man. He was sweating, his chest was heaving up and down with an inhuman rhythm, and tears he hadn’t noticed were slipping down his cheeks. His eyes were glossy, his lashes were wet, and all he could think about was ‘no one can know who you are’.
Jude didn’t know who he was.
A loud knock made him jump in his place, and he looked at the door in despair. What was he going to say? How was he going to look at Erling in the face after taking his friendship and twisting it into something deprived, akin to Jude's suppressed feelings? He looked back at the mirror and wiped his tears with the hem of his shirt.
Another knock, this time louder.
Jude couldn’t think; he couldn’t do anything. His legs felt as heavy as if they were made of cement, stuck in place. He didn’t know when Erling was finally able to open the door, but he felt the warmth of his body behind him, and his arms encircled his body. His touch burned with feelings Jude didn’t want to interpret. He turned to face him and shoved him away. He could see hurt pooling in his ocean eyes, but it was for the best. If he found out about Jude, he would be glad he didn’t let him near him.
“Jude, what happened?” Erling said, trying to place his hand on Jude's shoulder, but he slapped it away.
“Don’t touch me,” he pleaded, backing as far away from him as he could. His gaze was lost; he couldn’t focus on anything in particular, he was lost in himself. Too emotional, that’s what he had always tried to hide.
Erling didn’t know what to do. He was standing there, frozen, trying to understand why his best friend was harshly turning him away. Should he leave him alone? That felt wrong, even when that’s what Jude wanted. He couldn’t leave him alone when he was stuck in his mind like this. He had never seen the younger like this, but he could see that was what he intended. To hide his emotions from everyone and bottle them up in a corner inside him, until they become impossible to ignore.
That’s when he decided to carry Jude forcefully to his bed. He grabbed his legs and threw his torso over his shoulder. He could feel Jude trying to get away, but either he wasn’t really trying or he was too weak to do anything. He dropped him off carefully over their undone bed, still warm from their body heat.
“Jude, please tell me what happened. This isn’t normal, and you won’t convince me to leave you alone,” Erling said. Jude, who had wrapped his arms around his legs, cuddling up into a ball under the bedsheets, looked at him with his glassy, pleading eyes, but didn’t answer. What could he say? ‘I realised I’m attracted to men, a.k.a. you, and I’m scared of myself’? Not an answer he wanted to give.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Jude scoffed. Nothing about this was his fault. Nothing would ever be his fault. He’s perfect, kind, honest, humble; he could do no wrong. “Come on, Jude. Don’t laugh at me. Please, I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but please tell me what it is.”
Jude could only cover his face with his hands and cry. Cry, and cry, and cry. He was ruining the best friendship he ever had because he was a fool who fell for his best friend, who would never think of him the same way. He cried, he bawled his eyes out, his chest was shaking with every sob, and his voice got weaker with every passing minute. He didn’t have the strength to fight when he felt Erling hug him. It was his speciality to comfort him with a hug, though he didn’t know they were the culprit of his tears.
“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” Jude gathered the strength to say.
“Why not, babe?” Erling asked, running his fingers through Jude’s curly hair.
Erling calling him ‘babe’ just sank his heart further into his chest.
“Please don’t call me that,” Jude replied.
Erling pulled his hand away from his hair and sat up in bed.
“Sorry.”
“Can we just leave it?” the younger pleaded, hiding his face under the blanket.
“Jude-“
“Please. Just this once,” he interrupted. He could see the conflict in Erling’s eyes. The battle between budging and listening to him for once distracted him from Jude sitting up and moving to the other end of the bed.
“It feels wrong, you know? Not knowing what happens inside your head, or what is hurting you,” he said, something fading from his eyes when he looked up and saw Jude far away from him.
“It’s not your fault, that’s all you need to know.”
“It’s not enough! I’m worried about you, Jude! These last couple of days have been hard on you. I know you’re not okay, and I’m sorry if you don’t trust me enough to say it, but you need to talk to someone about it. It’s not normal to have panic attacks daily, from what I’ve seen,” Erling said. It’s been a long while since he had heard Erling nearly yelling at him. And somehow, his heart kept sinking. It must be the size of a pea now.
“Well, I’m fine! If I haven’t told you about it, it’s because there’s nothing wrong! I can manage my own feelings; I don’t need help with that,” he snapped back. “Just fucking leave it.”
Erling nodded and turned around.
“I’ll go make breakfast then.”
He got up and left Jude alone in the coldness of what was, as of today, their room. Hearing the door shut soundly took him back into his senses. He looked at his hands, dried his wet cheeks, and stared into the sunny landscape outside his window. He could still feel the ghost of Erling’s hand grabbing the inside of his bare thigh when he lifted him. He felt exposed, guilty, and disgusting.
What had he done?
He went down into the kitchen after fifteen minutes, during which he changed into better clothes and cleaned the dishevelled look off his face. He could smell the eggs and boiled vegetables. Not even on a small vacation would Erling take a break from his diet. He swallowed a chuckle at the thought. The ambience was still very tense between them. More tense than Jude’s leg muscles? Probably not, but tense regardless.
“I called your trainer, he's coming in today for your leg stretches,” Erling said, interrupting the silence only filled by the sizzling of fried eggs. He was still as kind as always, even when Jude had indirectly told him to fuck off. He didn’t deserve that man.
“Thank you, mate.”
He sat in his usual chair at a table for six people that had never been full. He missed his family, he missed being a normal human being, and not being the focus of millions of people around the globe.
Erling sat in front of him, in the place usually occupied by his mother.
They had both done so much for Jude, and he had no way to pay them back. There was nothing useful he could do that they didn’t know how to do. He was sometimes avoidant; when he had bad games, he sometimes didn’t talk to his mom. And whatever his current situation with Erling was. They both had Jude as the common denominator in their problems. He was at fault, and he would never deserve either of them.
“When’s your flight?” Jude asked.
Erling swallowed his food and looked at him with eyes laced with an emotion Jude had honestly never seen directed at him before. Resentment, confusion, awkwardness, something along those lines.
Really, what had he done?
“Tonight, at seven. I must leave the house around four to get there with time to spare,” he replied, dryly.
“Ah, great.” An awkward silence stretched throughout the table. “How do you see your team against Newcastle?”
“Great, I think if we put together the plays, we can have a successful match.”
The answer felt so practised and impersonal that it felt as if he had thrown a rock at his face. He looked at his plate, still half full, but his stomach wouldn’t take more food. Was this how it was going to be now? Congratulations, Jude, you just lost your only true friend. Let’s all clap for his incredible feat!
Silence.
Erling had stopped eating halfway through his plate, too. Jude was toying with the egg and his fork, whereas the blond put his fork down and sighed.
“I’ll miss you, please, never forget that,” he said as he got up and walked into the kitchen to drop off his plate over the used ones they left yesterday. Jude sat frozen in place as he heard Erling go up the stairs and shut the door, which he supposed was of the guest room. The room where Erling would’ve slept in if Jude hadn’t convinced him otherwise. Where nothing that happened this morning would have had the chance to occur. It was mistake after mistake. Small actions with catastrophic consequences.
He now knew better.
Distancing himself from Erling for a while would be their safest option. He had to salvage their friendship by terminating his attraction to him.
And he had a plan.