Chapter Text
When Jude wakes up in the morning, it’s to the rustling of his curtains being drawn shut. He squints at the figure doing the rustling, blinking in an effort to open his eyes. The rustling stops as he shifts to get a better look, and the figure crouches down beside him.
“Go back to sleep, kjære,” the voice says, smoothing a hand over his hair, and Jude buries his face back into his pillow and does as the voice asks.
The second time he wakes up, it’s to an empty bed, the other side still warm, with a pillow between his arms. He’s confused for a moment on why the other side of his bed would be warm, until he hears the sound of shuffling in the bathroom, and watches as Erling steps out through the door.
“Hey,” he croaks, voice stiff with sleep.
“Good morning, Jude.” Erling smiles, slipping back under the covers.
“What time is it?” Jude asks groggily, arm reaching over Erling to search for his phone. He flails around for a good three seconds before giving up, and Erling chuckles.
“It’s only one.”
“Only? Mate, how’ve we slept ‘til one?” Jude exclaims, suddenly awake.
“Relax, Judy. What, have you got plans this morning?” Erling jokes, and Jude smacks him on the thigh.
“Sorry that I’m used to having a proper sleep schedule,” he mutters, to which Erling raises an eyebrow and side-eyes him.
“Jude Bellingham, proper sleep schedule? I must be dreaming,” Erling tells him, which earns him a proper poke in the rib, and he almost rolls off the bed trying to avoid it. In retaliation, he sits up on his knees and dives for Jude, attempting to wrestle him down. Jude ducks away just in time, grabbing the blanket and tossing it over Erling in an attempt to subdue him. It works considerably well, seeing that Erling gets his limbs tangled in the sheets and makes it ten times easier for Jude to pin him down, legs straddling Erling’s hips, hands keeping him restrained under the blanket.
Erling struggles half-heartedly for a moment before giving up, turning to look at Jude and his smug face.
“Oh no, I’ve been caught,” he says in mock sarcasm, not bothering to try and shake Jude off.
“Mhm,” Jude agrees, leaning down to press him down further, getting so close that it’s hard not to crack a smile.
“So? What now?” Erling says, and it comes out half-strangled as the proximity fries his brain into mush. He can’t help it though. Jude laughs, and dips his head down to kiss the man beneath him.
They stay like that for a while, peppering each other with kisses that heat up but not to a point, until Jude gets tired of keeping Erling wrapped up like a burrito and rolls to the side, allowing the man to free himself.
“I’m hungry,” he announces, and is met with a fond stare.
“So go make food,” Erling replies, and Jude rolls his eyes.
“Erling. You know I can’t cook.”
“You’re telling me England’s golden boy can’t cook?” Erling asks, even though he already knows the answer. Jude’s proper pampered, he knows, what with not having a driver’s license, not knowing how to cook, and not learning to put on a tie until very recently. “Bit spoiled, don’t you think?”
“You like it though,” Jude nudges him, and Erling has to agree. He likes getting to take care of Jude, no matter how much he might complain about it. Jude, the brat, knows it, and likes to take advantage of it.
—
“Not sure what you expect me to make if your fridge’s empty, mate.”
Standing in front of Jude’s fridge, which consists of a half-empty carton of milk and not much else, Erling turns to his boyfriend and gestures to the nothingness.
“On the internet, they call that the Mbappe special, y’know?”
“Sod off, mate,” Jude huffs, crossing his arms. He’s sat on the island counter, also looking at the state of his fridge, having ordered takeout every day for the past week or so and completely forgetting how unused his fridge went if it wasn’t for storing leftovers.
“This how you live when I’m not around?” Erling sighs, taking out the milk to examine it. “Look at it. This is expired, Jude.”
“Well—look, I haven’t been here all month, alright? ‘S not like I’ve got a dedicated fridge restocker or something,” he protests.
“I’m just teasing, kjære. Do you want to order something, or go out for dinner?” Erling tosses the milk in the trash, along with something else that Jude had honestly forgotten existed in his fridge.
“You know a spot?” Jude asks, and Erling frowns at him.
“I thought this was your home. You should be taking me to spots, no?”
“Whatever you say, big man. Yeah, I know a spot. Know the owner too, so it’ll be fairly private,” Jude tells him, and Erling presses a kiss to his forehead.
“You’re perfect,” he says, so casually, and Jude feels himself blushing at the praise.
“You can’t just say that so casually, mate,” he grumbles, and Erling gives him a fond look before scooping him up off the counter into a bridal carry that has him latching onto Erling’s neck. “Give a guy a warning!”
“I wouldn’t drop you,” Erling replies, completely sincere.
Jude allows himself to be carried up to the second floor before insisting that Erling put him down and let him go get changed. Shamelessly, Erling watches, unable to take his eyes off of Jude as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it into the laundry basket.
“Like what you see?” Jude winks at him, not-so-subtly flexing his back as he turns around.
“Yes,” Erling replies, blunt as ever. As Jude rifles through his insanely large walk-in closet for something appropriate—not that there’s a lack of it—Erling’s eyes latch onto a pile of clothes stuffed into a corner of the closet. Jude’s closet is probably the most organized thing in his house, given how much he cares about style, so while Jude is trying on different suits, Erling can’t help but be curious about the only thing he doesn’t have hung up or folded away, hidden in a drawer somewhere.
“Now who has the dumpster closet?” he asks, picking up the first item.
“Wait—”
“Is this mine?” Erling points to the shirt, which is very clearly his size, and looks suspiciously like something that he knows he’s looked for in the past. Erling isn’t someone who dresses very frivolously, only owning about as many shirts as he absolutely needs to, so it’s not hard to notice when something goes missing. Which, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s happened more often since he started seeing Jude.
“Would you believe me if I said no?” Jude asks, looking like he already knows the answer. His face is flushed red, the color spreading down his neck and to his ears as he averts his eyes. Erling can’t help but smile, looking at the hoarded pile of clothes.
“Don’t be shy. I think it’s cute,” Erling tells him, and Jude gives him a glare so potent he’s surprised it doesn’t burn through his retina.
“Me? Cute? I’m 6’1—”
“Yeah, and I’m 6’5. Short and cute, Bellingham. You should wear one of my shirts to this dinner.”
Jude looks at him in disbelief, but when Erling waves the shirt in front of him, he snatches it with a scathing look that is greatly undermined by the pout on his face.
“If you want, I can wear something of yours,” Erling suggests, “Although I don’t think it would fit very well.”
“Fuck off.” Jude rolls his eyes, pulling the shirt over his head. It’s a simple black shirt, obviously a size or three too big for him, the one that Jude had worn after their most recent meetup at Erling’s house. He’d assumed that it’d just been misplaced after Jude had left, unaware that Jude had stuffed it into his suitcase right before leaving.
“You look good in my stuff,” Erling says, and Jude doesn’t really know what to say to that except look bashful and pull at the hem of the shirt.
“Thanks, mate.”
“You keep saying ‘mate’, but I think we are a little past that now, hm?”
“If you keep talking, we’re not getting out of this house.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Do you want it to be?”
“I think you should do something about that after dinner.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
—
friedrice: yo jude
friedrice: we’re in madrid
friedrice: be there in 5
friedrice: that better not be you pulling out of the driveway
friedrice: wait
friedrice: you can’t drive
friedrice: ???
bellingbeef: whys everyone showing up to my house these days??
bellingbeef: stalker behaviour
friedrice: nah answer the question m8
bellingbeef: taxi driver
friedrice: he thinks we’re stupid
bellingbeef: nvm that
bellingbeef: why the fuck r u in madrid??
friedrice: not happy to see us?
bellingbeef: who’s us???
friedrice: *sent a photo*
[A 7-seat car with Declan Rice in the front, Bukayo Saka driving, Anthony Gordon and Harry Kane in the middle, and two blurry figures in the back. If Jude had to guess, he’d say Nico O’Reilly and Morgan Rogers, but he’s not entirely sure.]
bellingbeef: now why the hell have u got half the nt here
friedrice: only 6 of us
bellingbeef: omg is that ur car
bellingbeef: fuck offff
friedrice: got something you wanna share with the class there?
bellingbeef: place not open
bellingbeef: try again in a week
friedrice: i guess we’ll have to settle for following you then
Jude turns to Erling, who’s been driving at a normal pace, and shows him the entire interaction at the next red light.
“You’ve got to lose them somehow,” he basically pleads, and Erling’s grip on the steering wheel tightens.
“You got it,” he says, and the moment the green light appears, he’s driving off at just under the speed limit, taking a sharp turn at the next intersection, then again, and as Jude watches the other car get further and further, they end up straying much further from their original intended location and landing in a McDonalds drive-thru, where they make a pit stop for burgers and a couple other sides, then take a roundabout path back to Jude’s house.
friedrice: damn jude
friedrice: i see how it is
friedrice: i wonder what you’re trying so hard to hide
friedrice: *we
friedrice: oi m8 slow down you’re gonna get pulled over
friedrice: damn
friedrice: we’re coming back for your ass tmr
friedrice: mark my words bellingbeef
bellingbeef: ill be waiting 🫶
In the end, Jude calls the restaurant he picked out earlier to tell them he’s not coming, to save the table for another time, and spends his night sitting in his parking lot, eating burgers and fries with Erling.
“You know they’re coming back tomorrow, right?” Erling asks, casting a glance out the car window.
“I’ll just tell them to fuck off again,” Jude states, taking another bite of his burger. “What’re they gonna do, break in?”
“They might.”
“You’ll just have to fight them off then, innit?”
“All of them?”
“You’re the striking viking. I’m sure you could.”
“And what does that make you?”
“I dunno. The princess in your tower?”
Erling cocks an eyebrow at that, which Jude can’t help but laugh at, and the instant joy on Jude’s face is enough for Erling to crack a smile too. They end up staying awake far longer than they'd planned, and sneak back into the house like they do in tournaments, stifling smiles the whole time.
friedrice: wait wdym why’s everyone showing up at your house
friedrice: is there actually not a taxi driver
friedrice: JUDE BELLINGHAM WHO HAVE YOU GOT IN YOUR HOUSE