Chapter Text
Marco groaned for what could have been the billionth time since he had woken up, or rather...been woken up. Nothing like thousands of Facebook notifications to wake up too, normally; he'd feel good about it. But considering most of the comments were along the lines of, 'No way, this is proof! Götzeus is real!” or “Can't believe he said this!” He was left feeling more confused than anything. Of course, he had no idea what his fans were talking about, proof of what? And more importantly, what on earth was a Götzeus? He reasoned that maybe, he didn't want to know. But he had a rather good idea of where the fans heads were...while it sounded like an atrocious disease, he picked up that it was actually his and Mario's last names strung together. Ah, a bromance. Well, that they had...but why did they need proof of a it? They'd admit it any day, or would have...considering Mario bailed out on him and the lads in favor of their arch rivals, Bayern Munich. Sadly, Lewandowski followed in his footsteps as well. Bromance? That was the end of their bromance, well...for the most part.
After several moments of scrolling through notifications he realized they were all on a post he had allegedly put on Mario's Facebook page, as he unlocked his phone he was becoming increasingly aware that he had a terrible, terrible hangover. What he saw didn't too much to halt the headache that was creeping up on him.
Marco Reus > Mario Götze
Mario, u bastard...why'd u leave me...u took lewy with u 2...gott u suck. M kiddin...o miss u. u were like the sun to me. u made everything ok. How can I be my own son mario...how will I b ok without u? I can't make myself feel the way u did. God I hate u right now. When r u comin home? Ur the light of my life...ya no that Mario? Now I Götze b my own light. Ya get it mario? Hahagagagaga. Can u at least vist me? Or some thin? luv u.
Oh mein gott. This was a problem, this was a very big, very huge, potentially life threatening problem. Letting out a frustrated scream, he flung himself back onto his pillow; ignoring the dull throbbing in his head. What was he going to do? So help him god, he had to find a way to fix this situation. But the further he dove into the comments, he became increasingly discouraged. Pictures of him holding members of the youth teams hands as he walked into Signal Iduna Park had been morphed into pictures of him holding the hand of a kid whose face was replaced with his own. The captions over the picture reading, 'How can I be my own son, Mario?” Not only that, but pictures of his face cropped onto the sun had also been posted with texts reading, “The moon revolves around the earth, and the earth and 7 other planets revolve around Marco Reus.” Worst of all, a picture of him and Mario had been photo shopped with him leaving the earth and floating towards a badly placed picture of the sun, with a speech bubble above his head saying, “Now I Götze b my own light. Ya get it Mario?” Dammit, if this wasn't so embarrassing he would have been laughing his head off; if this had been anyone other than himself, he would be over the moon, and taking part in the taunting. But god, did it suck when it was you the world was laughing at.
A sharp ring and a flash of the name 'MARIO :b' snapped him back into reality as he begrudgingly answered the phone, mentally preparing himself for whatever the younger boy had to say to him.
“Hello?” he tentatively called out, placing his free hand on his forehead. Oh, how he loathed headaches; especially ones brought on by hangovers.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MARCO, WHAT DID YOU DO?! YOU'RE ALL OVER THE NEWS, AND OH MEIN GOTT; WHAT YOU SAID ON MY FACEBOOK! HAHAHAHAHHAHA, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? HAHAHA!” Marco flinched at his friends words, as loud and disturbingly happy as they were; he had bigger issues to deal with.
“Wait! I'm on the news?” he gasped and shot out of bed, tossing dirty clothes onto the floor as he desperately looked for his TV remote. Mario confirmed this in a fit of giggles as he began rambling off words that were directed to his team mates that Marco heard in the back ground. Finally, after completely wrecking his already disastrous bedroom; he found it.
“AHA! I found it!” He exclaimed a bit too loudly, even for his own sake.
“Whoa, who died and made you Poldi?” A taunting voice pried from the other end, the blond sighed as he flipped on his TV.
“Shut up, Bastian! Mario, why am I on speaker anyways?” he questioned as he turned it over to the first sports channel he could think of, he heard Mario giggle.
“Because the guys want to hear whatever excuse you have for this situation. That, and it's too funny to not share with everyone.” Marco grumbled something under his breath about the younger being an 'irrational ass hole', but Mario decided to let it slide under the circumstances.
“Sh, it's on!” Mario squealed in delight, and Marco had to fight the urge to vomit; this was seriously the worst day ever.
“Marco Reus of Borussia Dortmund has been in the spot light for a big chunk of today’s reports; and if you're just tuning in, here is why the 25 year old footballer has been put under the microscope.” A picture of the post showed up onto his television, and he sunk his head in between his knees; all the while, he heard Mario and the lads at Bayern cackling like mad men. This could NOT be happening.
“What do you think of Marco's post, Tom?” Marco raised his head in time to see a petite blonde ask the question as she stifled a chuckle, the other reporter, Tom, didn't even try to cover his up.
“Well surely alcohol played a large factor in this, I can't really think of anything better to say. It is what it is, and I can't wait to hear from him or his agent on this matter. Who knows? It could be a publicity stunt, or maybe Reus was trying to be funny? Either way, check the post out on Facebook; the comments are equally hilarious. In other news...” Marco felt his face heat up, surely, the whole world knew about his blunder now; and not for the first time in his life; he damned the internet and the press to a nice fiery spot in hell.
“Marco? Are you there?” Mario's voice was much softer this time, and he could no longer hear the loud voices of his former team mates...team mates.
“Yeah...” he answered weakly, suddenly feeling like the worlds biggest idiot. He could have sworn he sent Mario a message last night, not that he recalled what he was going to say; but really? Did he really post something this embarrassing to his wall? Please tell me this is a dream, he thought to himself as he turned the TV off, and curled up on his bed.
“Face Time me?” Mario asked politely, and as much as the blond wanted to decline the offer; he agreed and switched the call over. He was sure he looked like death, but he didn’t care; and the fact that he hadn't seen Mario's lovely face for months now may or may not have had something to do with it.
“You look sad.” Mario noted as he bit his lip, and at this Marco could only laugh bitterly; what else was there to say?
“So...you want to tell me how this happened?” The tan boy prodded as he gave the blond his best puppy dog eyes; the Dortmund player rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
“Promise you won't laugh at me?” he pleaded as he watched the younger man's face contort into a smirk that could easily be identified as a habit he picked up from Thomas Müller. Marco would have to scold him for it later. But all he did in that moment was let out yet another sigh, and launch himself into whatever bits and pieces of last night came to him.
“Well...uhm...it all started with a 24 pack of beer...and sad movies on Netflix..."