Work Text:
It’s not like any of the three has any doubts about the others, but during times like these, Jerome knows even more than usual that Mario and David are the best boyfriends.
The three of them are usually a mess of laughter and play fights and movie nights and slow sex with content smiles. But one after the other, life throws all kinds of crap towards them, and if they were pretty much inseparable before, then now it’s like they’re superglued together whenever possible. Jerome might have feared once that the rest of the world would tear them apart, but by now, he knows that the world is completely unable to do that.
When David gets injured - fucking again - the first evening is pretty subdued, no one talks much. Mario cuddles up with him as soon as they get to David’s place while Jerome throws together dinner, and they eat it on the couch, David’s leg perched on the coffee table, Mario and Jerome flanking their boyfriend, as if they needed to protect him even in his own home. David is sleepy from painkillers and obviously upset, so Jerome makes sure to press tiny kisses to his neck for comfort, just the way he likes them. David relaxes a little bit every time, replies by ruffling his hair. Mario runs his fingers across his stomach, cuddled really close to him, and that’s how those two end up falling asleep, both looking significantly less upset than before. Jerome is all sleepy and drowsy-warm as well and needs to use his last remains of willpower to carry David to his bed. Mario stirs when Jerome removes his cuddle partner, of course, but luckily he is able to walk himself to the bedroom. Once again, David’s between them, one arm tightly around Mario’s shoulders, the other’s fingers intertwined with Jerome’s. Jerome lies awake for a while, listening to David and Mario breathe quietly - he’s the worrier of the three, always has been.
The injury really takes a toll on David. The first one wasn’t so bad - he’d been healthy for a while and no competition was too demanding yet. This is his second injury this season, though - the season which is now over prematurely - and he can’t help Bayern with the Champions League matches now that they need help the most. The fact that other players are also hurt, way too many of them, upsets him even more. He puts on a smiley face for Instagram pictures, spreads hope and love like he always does, but when he gets to let go, he’s broken, and not just in the knee.
Jerome and Mario come home - well, to David’s place - one day to find David sitting on the sofa, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He seems to not even notice them coming in, but when Mario kneels down next to him, touching his arm, he lifts his head.
Jerome wants to forget what his eyes look like when they’re rimmed with red.
“I feel so fucking useless,” he whispers, and Jerome is next to him in an instant, rubbing circles on his back.
“David, you’re injured. It’s gonna be fine in a little while. You can get back to training soon,” Mario quietly explains, and Jerome adds, “Yeah, in a couple of weeks, you’ll be back at Säbener, we can all go there together again. You’re not useless, you just need to recover.”
David wipes his eyes.
“I wish I could just move this thing around,” he says bitterly, lets his hand thump against the cast. Jerome’s hand follows his, grabs his fingers, squeezes them.
“Soon, baby. Be patient.”
Mario gets up, presses a kiss into his hair.
“I’ll get you some water and then we’ll figure lunch out, okay? Love you,” he says before walking towards the kitchen. His tone is light but he’s frowning, and David’s frowning, and Jerome tries not to frown.
All of this makes him sad - David’s the most infectiously happy one of the three of them and losing that element has made the atmosphere of their time together a bit morose recently. He doesn’t joke around as much, talks a lot less overall, just craves to be touched - something which neither him nor Mario can ever deny him. They both know that David feels lonely with his boyfriends both out on the pitch while he just sits there, and so they try to even things out with him. They hold him close every night, and if he squeezes Jerome a bit too tight or if his nails dig into his back or he whimpers through a bad dream, Jerome doesn’t mind, just kisses his forehead, his hair, his neck, until he calms down. David is the centre of attention for a while, and it’s okay. He needs this. He deserves this.
Maybe that’s why Jerome doesn’t notice at first when Mario starts getting worse, both on the pitch and in his head. It takes Jerome an embarrassingly long time. Mario hasn’t been okay since winter break, but by now, it’s bigger than a little bump in the road - he hasn’t scored in more than a month. Jerome finally notices it in the locker room when Pep benches Mario for a game with an edge to his tone, and Jerome is angry at himself when he looks at his boyfriend, all slumped shoulders and serious expression. He sits down next to him, puts his hand over Mario’s.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in a near whisper, looking around. He knows Mario doesn’t want anyone to notice this. This, the three of them, is a secret still.
“I’m not good enough,” Mario replies immediately, without a doubt in his tone, not even looking at him, and Jerome’s insides feel hollow. He must have thought this for a while, waited for a moment to spit it out, and the fact that Jerome didn’t notice gnaws at him. He was so busy making sure one boyfriend was okay that he neglected the other one. He’s been shitty to Mario.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says quietly. “Don’t say that. It’s one match. You might get subbed in.”
“I’ve been shit, Jerome. I’ve been complete shit for a while. I can’t score a goal to save my life. It was going great in the fall and now I’m just... “ Mario stops for a second. “Useless.”
The word cuts into Jerome. The fact that Mario thinks this low of himself hurts him, upsets him, too. He’s upset that it’s gotten this far. He remembers when Mario tried to convince David that he’s not useless, and it’s ironic and doubly terrible that he doesn’t know how to apply those words to himself.
“Mario, babe, you’re not useless. This stuff happens. You’ll be back on track in no time. You do amazing things out there. Remember the goal we had against Donetsk? The two of us. You did that, and you’ve done so much other stuff, and this will pass.”
Mario sighs. “Just wish my goals didn’t happen when we’re already 6-0 up,” he sighs and pulls on his sweatshirt. Jerome pulls him up when his face reappears from the fabric and hugs him, his back to the rest of the dressing room. Let them watch if they want. They can have this hug.
“Mario, you are a brilliant footballer and I love you. You’re gonna be fine.”
When Pep puts Mario in for Thomas ten minutes before the end, Jerome smiles at him widely. Mario’s enthusiasm doesn’t quite match.
That night, Jerome sleeps in the middle, David and Mario cuddled up to him, and tries not to double his worries. It’s not really working.
But Mario doesn’t get better. He still messes up some chances, loses more places in the starting eleven, and keeps beating himself up for it. It hurts to watch him sometimes, when he stays on the pitch after trainings to practice some more, pushes himself so hard that when he finally does come to the dressing room, he’s red in the face and his chest trembles erratically with his heartbeats.
David perks up, though. When Mario’s sadness seems to start spiralling, David stops leeching all the physical proximity and is the caring big spoon for a change. He asks Jerome about the details, and they discuss it in hushed voices when Mario’s taking a shower. He is so gentle with him, whispers cute words into his ear, kisses him tenderly and then makes him laugh. Mario gets to sleep in the middle now, holding on to one or both of them tight enough to hurt a little sometimes. And when they both feel a little off, when David’s recovery is not as fast as he’d like and Mario’s had another mediocre game, they just hold each other, share the pain. And Jerome takes care of them both, expresses his love in words and kisses and dinners and blowjobs. (Those almost always help with the sour moods, at least for a while.)
He feels like a rock for the two of them during those times, and Mario and David treat him as such. Their gratefulness is almost tangible and Jerome doesn’t even mind them lying around more than they used to. Their relationship can be lazy for a while, if that’s what they need to bounce back. Jerome can be strong for them both.
Then the fucking Barcelona game happens, though.
As soon as he hits the ground, Jerome knows it’s bad, and sure enough, the ball’s in the net. Cursing, he gets up, sends an apologetic glance to Manu. Yeah, they lose, and it’s shit, but it’s the worst for Jerome. He takes the fall for, well, taking the fall. His twitter notifications and Instagram comments are full of Messi’s name and gloating laughter and demeaning comments, a few slurs here and there, and “useless”, which is a physically painful word already, repeated way too often. It starts soon after the game and by the time they get back to Munich and to David’s apartment, it’s definitely affecting him. He puts on a brave face, but honestly, he can’t wait to just curl up with his boyfriends and sleep.
Mario sits down next to him while David’s cutting up their pizzas in the kitchen and wraps his arms around his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, his breath tickling Jerome’s neck, and of course he noticed. He hasn’t left Jerome’s side since they got off the pitch the night before, and he has figured out by now that this isn’t the regular sadness after a loss. Of course he has - keeping secrets from someone who knows you through and through is a futile effort.
“People are being shitty on the Internet,” he replies with a sigh. No bullshitting to his boyfriends, that has always been the deal, and he doesn’t bother making up a lie now. And to be honest, he needs to be taken care of right now.
Jerome can actually feel Mario frowning, his face hidden in the crook of Jerome’s neck. “About the Messi thing?” he asks, his voice lower, sharper somehow. When Jerome nods, Mario huffs and hugs him tighter. He might want to say something, but then, David arrives with the pizzas, and Jerome does his best to push his thoughts aside for a while.
When Mario grabs his phone after a while - once again, they don’t talk much, the lingering subdued feeling from the loss and the hunger winning over verbalized communication - Jerome doesn’t even pay attention. David’s head is currently on his shoulder, and he’s definitely getting crumbs on Jerome’s shirt, but this, this easy proximity is what he needs right now. When Mario mutters a few swear words under his breath, though, Jerome turns his gaze towards him. Mario lifts his legs from where they rested on David’s lap, puts down his piece of pizza, throws his phone to the sofa, wipes his fingers and then crawls over to them, subconsciously ruffling David’s hair in the process. He lands on Jerome’s lap, one of his legs squeezed between Jerome’s and David’s thighs. Jerome’s hands find his hips out of habit. Mario puts his hands on Jerome’s cheeks, leans closer until his eyes are everything Jerome can see.
“Listen. Those people don’t know shit. You’re the best fucking defender in the world and if one mistake makes them forget about that, it’s their own loss. You are an amazing footballer, and an amazing person, and if someone is bringing you down over one little thing, I’m gonna kick their ass, okay? You don’t deserve this shit. You’re amazing and I love you.”
There is a ferocity in Mario’s eyes that Jerome hasn’t seen in a long time. He looks genuinely furious and defensive and Jerome isn’t used to this. He’s supposed to be the rock, the one who keeps the other two under his wing, and now that Mario has reversed the roles, he feels simultaneously a little bit odd and so, so, so grateful.
David, having realised what’s going on, grabs one of Jerome’s hands, runs his thumb along the back of it. The hands touch all three nearby thighs, wrist between Jerome’s and David’s, knuckles brushing Mario’s. “Yeah, I read some of that crap too, and just… Stay away from that, okay? You really don’t deserve this. It’s all bullshit and it’s only gonna hurt you,” he adds on, not angry, but worried. It complements Mario’s reaction so well, it’s a different type of caring. Mario is angrily protective and David gentle and worried, and Jerome needs both right now.
Jerome looks at them both, and it feels like something is stuck in his throat. So, instead of replying, he pulls Mario close first, kisses him passionately, fuelled by the anger Mario’s exuding. He can feel him calm down through it. Then, he pulls away and turns a little under him so he can kiss David, as well. This one is softer, just like David himself right now. David sits up a little to make him more comfortable, and Mario runs his fingers down his arm.
“I’ll try,” he says in a near-whisper when David pulls away. “I’ll just… stay away from that stuff for a while.”
Mario nods and leans closer until their chests touch. He wraps his arms around Jerome’s waist, lets his head rest on Jerome’s shoulder, presses a kiss to his neck and says, “You’re just… always there. You’ve put up with me and David for a long time now. And, like…” Mario gets stuck on his words, but David picks it up almost seamlessly. “If you want to ...not be strong for a change, you can do that. We’ll both be here for you.”
Jerome watches Mario’s hand reach out for David’s blindly. “Yeah,” the boy whispers as a confirmation for what David said, and David smiles at him when he takes his hand. Jerome smiles wryly, runs his hand through both of their hair.
“I love you so much,” he tells them. They’re not usually all that emotional or expressive, but right now it feels right.
“We love you too,” they reply in unison, and Mario giggles against Jerome’s neck.
He tries, he honestly tries, but staying away is difficult. He stumbles upon something mean every time he picks up his phone. David and Mario try to keep him away from the device, but even they’re not omnipotent. He is not as sure of himself and his actions as he usually is, and it shows. The home game against Barca is way better than the away one and Jerome avoids falling this time, but he feels nervous the whole time and defense as a whole suffers as a consequence, making a few honestly stupid mistakes. He’s better against Freiburg, but they concede two anyway, so it’s not by much. He understands Mario a bit more now, how hard it is to remain positive when your insecurity causes failures, which only make you more insecure.
Mario knows he understands, too. He doesn’t offer any sage advice, because if he had any, he would’ve used it on himself, but for Jerome, the long hugs are enough to know how much his boyfriend cares. Those hugs are often pretty heavy, a sad “I know” instead of an “It’s gonna be alright”, but they help.
Now that David is back on the pitch, finally training with the ball again, he returns to his happy positive self pretty quickly, and takes care of Mario and Jerome now. He sleeps in the middle again pretty often, this time not because he needs to be protected, but because he needs to protect, hold both of them close. After the loss to Freiburg, though, he realises both of his boys need to be held firmly, so him and Jerome swap places. Now, he’s spooning Jerome, and Mario looks adorable and tiny wrapped in Jerome’s arms. Jerome is happy with this, feels safe in the middle, and sleeps a little easier.
They fight tooth and nail against Mainz, and manage a 1-0 victory at the end. Jerome thanks the heavens, because if they’d lost their last game, the celebrations would be a little less euphoric. The season is finally over, and it kind of fizzled out at the end, but they’ve got at least one trophy, and that’s cause for celebration.
That is what they do - they get the Meisterschale and for a while, all niggling thoughts are lost. Everyone is there, together once again, and injuries are forgotten for once. It’s a mess of happiness, and Jerome hugs everybody, not even paying attention to the faces every time. These are his boys and he wants to hug them all.
He knows it instantly when Mario ends up in his arms, though. He feels right, small and familiar against him, and smells like he always does. Jerome risks it and presses a kiss to his hair.
“We did it,” he says into the general direction of Mario’s ear, and Mario lifts his head to grin at him. It’s an expression Jerome hasn’t seen in too long in this setting, and he couldn’t be more glad that it’s back.
Before their hug gets suspiciously long, though, they’re both soaked in beer. Jerome rolls his eyes playfully at Mario and turns towards the bastard who did it - and who else could it be but David, clutching a huge empty glass, looking not a day over five years old with his toothy grin? Mario lets out a laugh and runs towards him. The glass falls to the grass, unharmed, and Mario and David put their arms out, facing each other, eyes to the sky, repeating their trademark celebration. It lasts a few seconds, then David falls into Mario, hugging him tightly. Jerome sees the kiss David presses to his temple. Then, he takes the few steps to join them, wraps his arms around them both.
They can have this hug.