Work Text:
It’s a bad habit.
Actually no, it’s not a bad habit. A bad habit would be biting your nails even though your mother keeps telling you not to – no, this wasn’t a bad habit, this was pure stupidity, and Marco knows as much. However, that still doesn’t stop him from taking out his phone the second he enters his hotel room in Munich and dialing the one number that he probably shouldn’t dial.
Mario picks up on the third ring. “Knew you’d call.”
“I’ve developed a reputation for predictability, it seems.” Marco laughs.
Of course Mario knew. Marco calls every Friday, without fail, and Mario calls every Monday without fail. It’s a set-up that they’ve developed after Mario moved to Munich, and it’s a set-up that tends to work out. It’s a set-up that came about unintentionally. Sometimes they don’t talk much, or at all, and instead just sit there content with just knowing that the other is there – even if it’s not physically there. However, today was different. Tomorrow is the match between Dortmund and Bayern, and tensions are as high as ever.
“Sorry about Madrid.” Mario says after a moment’s silence and Marco sighs. He doesn’t say anything, and Mario continues after a moment. “You were incredible though. I watched the highlights.”
Marco shrugs, but then remembers that Mario can’t see him. “Not incredible enough.”
Mario doesn’t say anything after that, and Marco doesn’t expect him to. There’s nothing he could say. Dortmund’s season is pretty much over, and only a fool would think that Mario leaving didn’t play a huge role in that. But Marco thinks himself mature enough not to mention that, but it’s there. Unsaid and bitter. After a moment, Marco says, “Congratulations on getting through Manchester United.”
“It was close.” Mario says, and by the tone of it, Marco thinks that maybe that’s his way of trying to relate to Marco’s pain about crashing out of the Champions League. But they both know it’s not working, just like they both know that Marco isn’t really congratulating Bayern Munich. They fall into a silence again, this one less comfortable than their other silences. Eventually Mario sighs, “I miss you, I really fucking do.”
“You know I do too.”
Silence again. Eventually Mario says, “I drove through Dortmund last week with Toni. I wanted to stop by but – ” Mario trails off.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Marco laughs. It’s not really funny, but he gets it. Kevin still gives Marco grief about calling Mario (“He’s a traitor, Marco. They used to hang people for that!”) and Mats just rolls his eyes but never quite says what he wants to, although Marco isn’t quite sure whether Mats approves either. “The other guys don’t find me calling you all that great, especially tonight.”
Marco could hear the smile in Mario’s voice when he says, “It’s a bit Romeo and Juliet.”
“You do know they both died, right?” Marco asks, laughing. They fall into another silence, this one significantly more comfortable. Eventually Marco yawns and says, “They’re only teasing you know, they miss you a lot too and they still love you.”
Mario mirrors his yawn. “I love them too, and miss them a lot. Munich...isn’t Dortmund.”
“Wow, you really are observant.” Marco teases, and Mario mutters something that sounds a lot like fuck you. “It hasn’t been bad, has it?”
Marco knows the answer to the question because he's asked the question before, even if he hopes it’ll change this time. It doesn’t. Mario says, “Oh no, it’s great. It’s...it’s Guardiola, you know? No that’s silly – you wouldn’t know, but yeah, it’s great. Beyond great.”
“Yeah,” Marco sighs. He glances at the clock on the side table and it’s later than he thought. “Grab a drink tomorrow after the match, yeah?”
Marco knows that on a list of stupid things to ask, that’s probably number one. Especially if they lose. But Mario agrees and it’s a date. They say their goodnights and Marco is just about to hang up when Mario’s voice rings out from the other end. “I mean what I said – Munich isn’t Dortmund, it’s not you.”
“Mario.” Marco starts, but pauses. He wants to say so much, just like he wanted to say so much for the past year, but eventually it all comes down to one thing. You chose it, you left, that’s what Marco thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He can’t say it. Instead, he eventually says, “We’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah?”
There used to be a time when Marco could tell everything to Mario, a time when they didn’t need to tell each other things because it was instinct. There used to be a time when Marco was sure that they could climb mountains together, win trophies together, metaphorically take over the world together. But things changed, and maybe not for the better. Maybe they’ll talk about it tomorrow, over beers, or maybe they won’t. Just like they haven’t for the last year. But under every “I miss you” and “I wish you were here”, there’s a hint of something more that neither says or wants to say. Marco isn’t sure what it is, but it’s there.