Chapter Text
Erling has always seen soulmates as an inconvenience. Someone who you’re obligated to want, to love, to share everything with no matter if that everything is good, or bad.
The first time he feels them, when he’s sure he felt them, and not his own childish injuries, is on a slow summer afternoon, a few days after he turns 5. The pain shooting up from his lower leg all the way to his spine leaves him crying in his mother’s arms the rest of the day.
That was the first time Erling could say he felt the world crashing around him. He didn’t even meet his soulmate yet, and he already hates them.
By the time he’s 6, the dull ache, akin to a deep sadness, becomes part of his routine. At first he doesn’t understand. Then it’s all explained, emotional pain lingers longer. He decides he hates soulmates even more.
The years pass, he grows up. Sometimes he feels pain that becomes all too familiar to his own. He figures that whoever is his soulmate also plays their fair share of rough football. He experiences love and loss, and the notion of soulmates becomes even more ridiculous to him. When he’s about 14 the connection almost fizzles out to nothing, and he’s happy that his soulmate found someone else, that the universe gave him this gift, until one day a pang of pain hits him so hard he has to take off days from school and football. How ironic, he thinks. Erling figures he might have been way too happy to not have a soulmate, that’s why the universe was punishing him.
He is 20 when the world comes crashing down on him again. With nothing better to do, he sits down to watch the Champions League final. He is not a big fan of either club that’s playing, choosing to focus on his own career, but he figures it’s better than doing nothing. It’s not until the 50something minute that the universe decides to play another bad card with his life. He’s barely paying attention, when a burning pain spreads all across his face, mere seconds before the TV transmission shows the delayed “live” footage of Rudiger colliding with a City midfielder, sending him crumbling into the grass, holding the left side of his face, obviously in pain. Erling’s eyes widen in shock when the dots finally connect. He’s in pain. Both of them are in pain. At the same time. He’s still in shock when he calls it a night, and he spends his whole time in bed rolling around in pain, sweating, pale, and when he manders through blurry dreams, it’s always the same pair of blue eyes staring into his soul.
When he emerges from his bedroom the next day, he feels a few kilograms lighter. The fact that he now knows who his soulmate is finally registers, and it’s a terrible revelation. Erling’s never given his soulmate much thought, only finding it a pain in the ass when his clumsy, so clumsy soulmate would hurt himself for the hundredth time in the same day. He never actually thought about what his soulmate would be like. He’s seen the midfielder before, played against him, knew he was highly skilled, but somehow it would’ve never crossed his mind that he was his soulmate. He was easy on the eyes, talented, soft spoken, keeping to himself if not even a little timid, that much he knew from the very short interaction they had, professionally. Erling finds himself looking up way too much about the other, when he realizes he already knows his favorite color, food, movie and song. It feels like waking up from a daze, when he clicks the photos tab. His soulmate’s physical traits certainly weren’t a big decider for him, but the elegant beauty wasn’t unwelcome. He toys with the idea of keeping his newfound revelation to himself, but figures he would, at some point, accidentally say it. Calling his brother seems like the sanest thing to do. He doesn’t even let the older man get his pleasantries across when he drops the absolute bombshell on him.
“I found my soulmate.”
“Oh. That’s cool. What’re they like?”
“It’s Kevin de Bruyne. Do I look like I know?”
“IT’S WHO?”
*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*
He wonders if his soulmate can feel his pain as bad as he can feel his. Because lately he must’ve given him a lot of headaches with his own anguish. It got awfully lonely at the top, being the only one who people talked about at Dortmund. The club couldn’t wait to sell him, like he was some piece of merchandise, and his teammates were more than ready to reclaim the fan attention. It hurt. He’s almost ashamed about how fast he chooses City. It’s easy to say ‘well it’s where dad played’, even if he was other ulterior motives. As soon as he lays his signature on the contract it feels like a breath of fresh air, but somehow there’s still a weight lingering on his heart.
When he meets his new teammates, he anxiously gets through them as soon as possible, without seeming rude, because his soulmate apparently hung around to be among the last people. Being so close, he wanted to, he wanted—
“Uh, can you let go now?”
Great, another Haaland world class performance, he thinks. He lets go of the midfielder’s hand, only to realize he really stuck his left hand out to shake, embarrassing himself even more.
“Sorry, it’s muscle memory. I’m left handed, and yeah..”
“Don’t worry, I get it. I’ve been left handed for the last 3 decades, and I still do it sometimes.”
And if the universe made him this alike just to spite him, it’s doing a damn good job. For a moment Erling wonders if he should tell Kevin about their bond, but when he looks at him, soft smile and blue eyes looking up at him curiously, the words die in his throat. The midfielder isn’t ready. Erling’s not ready.
What good would telling him do?
He remains silent, hoping that the bond won’t cone back to bite at a bad moment.
Just because Erling has a soulmate, doesn’t mean he’s one of the fools who actually wait for their “destined” one, and stay abstinent from other relationships.
He’s been in love. Once or twice.
Maybe only once. Before his partner found their soulmate, and left him a heartbroken mess.
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“So, you got a soulmate?”
“Yeah, I do.” Haaland answers, slightly uneasy.
“Do you know them?” João asks, very direct.
Erling looks over at Kevin for a moment before answering. He stares at him, just as curious as the others.
“Uhm…yes, but they don’t know me. I mean they do, just not that I’m their soulmate.”
“Oh, so you didn’t find out at the same time.”
“Nah. But it’s fine, the concept of soulmates is ridiculous anyway.”
“That’s a rather cynical way of looking at it.” Kevin says, unimpressed.
“I just don’t believe love is that easy. You should know that by now, considering your track record.” Haaland responds, without thinking about what he said.
“Wow, that’s a bit…harsh.” The midfielder looks unfazed, but Haaland doesn’t miss the dull ache of hurt settling next to his heart.
It still aches, even late at night. He knew what he said was not necessarily nice, but didn’t expect the other to be so affected. He doesn’t think long before grabbing his phone and texting the other a short apology for what he said. A few minutes later his phone pings, only a smiley face as a reply, but as the pain next to his heart eases, he knows he did the right thing.
*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*
“Kick the ball then, big boy. There’s no way you’re beating my record.” Jack teases, but Haaland doesn’t back down from the challenge.
“You’re on. Watch this.” he replies, before kicking the football with as much force he can muster.
Perhaps turning away before getting a good angle on it wasn’t the best idea, but he doesn’t have any time to think about it, as not even a second later a loud moan of pain followed by several shocked gasps makes his blood freeze. Erling looks over at the crowd circling around a person, and he almost crawls in his haste to get over there, trying to see whom he’d hit. He can barely hear the quiet conversation from the centre of the circle when he feels the burning pain spread from his temple to his eye, and all his questions get answered. He pushes people around blindly, until he’s faced with the reality.
“Kevin? I’m so sorry.” His voice shakes, in pain and thoroughly scared.
“That was you?” the midfielder looks up at him, and there’s a questionable sadness in his eyes.
“Why would you do that?”
“You could’ve seriously hurt him!”
“Yeah, that was uncalled for.”
He wants to answer, but Kevin interrupts him as soon as his mouth opens.
“It’s clear that you have an issue with me. Don’t bother with your lame excuses.”
Erling steps back in defense, looking at all the hostile faces. He’s preparing for the worst when someone grabs his arm and drags him away. When he finally sees who it is, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Manu, oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.”
Akanji looks unfazed, staring right into Haaland’s soul. Erling loved him, he really did, but the way he’d be staring at everyone, analyzing them with a simple look still gave him chills.
“So, you kicked your soulmate in the face.”
“How—what—that’s not true! He’s not my soulmate!” Haaland splutters, trying to come up with an excuse.
“Really?” Akanji asks, before digging the heel of his cleats into Haaland’s foot, not enough to cause an injury, but to make a point. Before the Norwegian reacts, a soft “ow” can be heard from a certain teammate, on the other side of the pitch, “What an interesting coincidence.”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“It’s really none of my business,” the Swiss shrugs, “have you thought about telling him?”
“Oh no, God no, he already hates my guts.”
“That’s not how soulmates work.”