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There was this despairing realization that the world had truly stopped when you were locked in your house for months.
Frenkie had never considered himself a lonely person. Yes, he valued his peace and had few friends because of it, but they were not a restrained bunch—they had their chaotic moments. When the pandemic came, Frenkie was suddenly aware that, aside from his friends and family, he really had nothing. He had no hobbies, no interests outside of football, no partner, nothing.
It was disconcerting.
He learned to settle for talking with friends online, greeting them through an opaque screen. In the back of his mind, Frenkie knew he was being clingy. He’d always be calling someone once a day and expecting them to stay on call the entire day, they never do of course, and it stings him every time. He can’t blame them, they clearly have their own lives in the space of their home while his’ is empty.
This is why, when Barcelona inquired if he were available to participate in a ‘connecting with Barça players online’ project, he agreed because it would have him matched with another Barça player, maybe one he could talk to. When the club came back to him to say that ter Stegen was the one he was paired with, he was caught off guard. Sure, he liked the goalkeeper, and they were teammates, but they weren’t really friends—acquaintances at best.
And ter Stegen was so shy, even for Frenkie who usually takes the first step. The German never speaks up unless spoken to, opting to smile and nod as an answer. He’s pretty sure the goalie doesn’t agree with all the shit Piqué and Busquets spout, he just wants them to stop bothering him. He doesn’t even know anything about the man, for fuck’s sake! Only that he played and still supports his childhood German club and that his grandparents have never been to Camp Nou. Sometimes Frenkie swears ter Stegen was more introverted than Messi.
But then they started talking, and the Dutchman realized that, if he, who actually had friends (albeit few), was lonely, what of ter Stegen, whose only friends were back in Germany? The man has probably been lonely since he joined Barcelona! Not that it mattered now, because Frenkie was certain that he and ter Stegen—Marc, really, when the German told him to call him by his name, Frenkie was stupidly excited—were now friends, best friends even!
He’s learned more about the goalie within 2 weeks of talking to each other than he has with 1 year of playing with him. The man can cook amazingly (he knows because Marc sent a food package and Frenkie finished it in one sitting), sing, and even speak a little bit of Dutch (he says it’s because his father’s grandfather was Dutch). He also learned that he was just as clingy as Frenkie.
Marc was the first friend Frenkie could facetime the entire day without hanging up. The German would prop up his phone on his kitchen wall when he was cooking, would leave his phone outside the bathroom if he was showering, and would do house chores while his phone was on the sofa but would never hang up. Frenkie appreciates it, appreciates him. He never thought he would connect with the German of all people. Sure, Frenkie often has to be the one who takes the first step but Marc always follows after him and that’s enough for the midfielder. He likes Marc that way. He was Frenkie’s unique friend. All of Frenkie’s friends were mutual friends, but Marc was his only—no one else was friends with him.
Frenkie doesn’t want to think about what that entails.
If there was one thing Frenkie appreciated the most about being long-distance friends with Marc, it was that even when they went to sleep, they’d never hang up. They’d be on call the whole night, their sleeping bodies seen on the camera. It was like sharing a bed on video chat, platonically. Okay so, maybe Frenkie had been lonely this lockdown, but now he isn’t, he has Marc!
It was during one of their calls together where Frenkie was sitting on his kitchen aisle waiting for his food to heat up and watching Marc cook lunch on his phone that the Dutchman realized something. It had been Marc looking up at his phone and smiling softly that Frenkie realized he was fucked. The midday sun lit up Marc’s blonde hair and his eyes glinted like the brightest emeralds. He felt his ears redden and smiled back instinctively. It didn’t stop his throat from clogging up as if the butterflies in his stomach all suddenly flew up his trachea.
Shit. He might like Marc.
Romantically.
Naturally, the Dutchman panicked. His smile had dropped and he hoped Marc hadn’t noticed but alas, he did. The German had looked so worried when he asked Frenkie what was wrong, his lips almost pouting. Did Marc always pout when he worries? Frenkie thought distractedly. A few seconds had passed before Frenkie remembered to answer; he waved off Marc’s concern; the goalie looked like he wanted to prod him further but relented, continuing his cooking and hesitantly starting up a different topic.
Frenkie was ashamed to say he didn’t quite listen to all of it. He hoped Marc doesn’t think of him less if it was obvious.
Think of him less as a friend, Frenkie thought sadly. Because there was no way Marc could be gay, right? Isn’t there some sort of statistic somewhere that at least 1 player in a football club was gay or something? If it was Frenkie—is he even gay? Or could he be bi?—then it couldn’t be Marc surely. Although he’s never seen the man go on dates or even mention a girl, Frenkie thinks that they’re close enough that the German would tell him if he had a partner—a female at least. If Marc had a male partner Frenkie doubts Marc would tell him, they might be close but they’ve only been close for a few months.
The thought of Marc having a male partner felt like several knives to his chest.
He’d rather deal with Marc not being into men at all.
Turns out, Frenkie didn’t have to deal with any heartbreak at all. The goalie had initiated the video call that night, staring sleepily at the camera and muttering nonsense as he lay. Frenkie wasn’t going to sleep just yet, he had his phone propped up on his desk as he read through some sponsors’ proposed contracts. He occasionally smiled absent-mindedly at the sleepy German before catching himself. He wondered how he hasn’t noticed it before—how Marc hasn’t noticed it yet. Eventually, he finishes reading without signing anything concrete and lies down on his bed, making sure his face is still seen by the camera. It was only then that the Dutchman realized Marc had stopped muttering, in fact, the goalkeeper was now just staring through slitted eyes seemingly zoned out.
Frenkie doesn’t know where his courage came from.
“Sunshine, I miss you.”
Immediately, regret came down on the midfielder. His stomach churns but before he could end the call in haste, Marc’s slow, murmured words stop him, “I’m not any better, Dutch boy.”
There’s a look in Marc’s eyes; Frenkie can see it through the small gaps. The same look the Dutch national sees in his reflection when he catches himself thinking about Marc. His realization must’ve been so visible for the German, who only smiled (lovingly) before finally closing his eyes to sleep.
Ik hou van jou.
Frenkie sleeps.