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Chapter Text

“And then the bastard brought up what I did to Giorgio back in like, sixth grade, and I- I mean-” Luis sputtered, unsure of how to articulate the rest of his sentence. “I wasn’t gonna let that slide. So I told Sergio Ramos that if he had a problem he could say it to my face and- you’re not listening.”

“I’m listening!” Neymar whined. “Finish the story!”

“Oh, not you!” Luis snapped, and stared expectantly at the third member of their little trio, who was staring into his own locker like it held the secrets of the universe. He was lost in his own thoughts, again, and it took way too long for him to notice Luis’ staring.

“Oh, uh,” Leo started. “I thought it was a very good story.”

“No you didn’t,” Luis sighed, slumping against the lockers behind him with a klang. Around him, the hallway was teeming with students excitedly reuniting with their friends after three months apart, and lonely freshmen staring at their maps as they tried to navigate around their new school.

“Don’t be so down, Luis!” Neymar said. He and Luis were on opposite sides of Leo as he went through his locker. “Look on the bright side, this is the last year you’ll hafta deal with Sergio.”

“Damn right it is. Senior year, baby,” Luis said, and offered up his fist for Leo to bump. Which he did, albeit awkwardly.

Leo was too observant to miss to flash of sadness in Neymar’s eyes. Only a junior, Neymar would be without his best friends next year. 

Leo was about to say something to make Neymar feel better when he saw a familiar figure heading his way out of the corner of his eye. Realizing it was his friend from football and one of the few people he wasn’t a nervous wreck around, Leo waved at him. “Hey, Paulo.”

Paulo was walking with his head held low, and seemed to be intensely deep in thought. It took him a few seconds to focus enough to recognize his friend. “Oh, hey,” he said with a lazy wave, not making eye contact. He then scurried away, muttering under his breath something along the lines of “If I have Mourinho for homeroom again I’ll kill myself…”

Leo and his friends made a collective “Ah…” in understanding.

“Poor guy,” Luis said, watching Paulo walk off to his homeroom. “Speaking a which, who do you guys have?”

“Galtier,” said Leo.

“Yes!” Neymar exclaimed, and gave his friend a high five. Leo needn’t ask to know they would be together.

“Agh, I hate you guys.” Luis groaned.

Neymar couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, please, youre jus jealous that you’re not gonna be with us for-”

“Uhm, excuse me…” Neymar and his friends turned to see who had interrupted him. Standing behind Neymar was some nervous-looking brown haired kid who had that Freshman Aura about him. Next to him was an even more nervous-looking brown haired kid who looked eerily like the first one. “My friend here needs to get to his lock- oh, hey, Leo.”

Luis and Neymar gave each other a look as if to say, ‘Are you seeing this shit?’ They were under the impression they were the only people Leo knew.

“Hi,” Leo said plainly, which, to be fair, was how he said most things. “Guys, this is Pedro, he lives in my neighborhood and it’s his first year at UEFA. Pedro, these are my friends.” Leo then refused to elaborate further.

Luis and Neymar waved awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah, as I was saying,” Pedro said, pointing to the locker behind Neymar. “My friend kinda needs to…”

“Oh! Sure!” Neymar said quickly, scurrying away from the locker. He watched Pedro’s friend closely; he looked young even for a freshman. No way he was old enough to be in high school. 

Luis was also glancing back and forth between Pedro and his little friend. “Man, you two are twins, it’s creepy!” He said with an amused grin.

Leo just rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry about them. How are you liking it so far?” 

“It’s nice, I guess… Though we’ve only been here for a few minutes now. I’m trying to show Gavi around but I’m just as lost. Hey, what does UEFA stand for, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the upperclassmen said in perfect harmony.

“Do you guys know where you’re going for homeroom?” Leo asked hastily, silently begging Pedro to change the subject.

“No, not really…” Pedro said. “Our schedules say we have Xavi but I can’t find the classroom.”

“I can take you, it’s not that far,” Leo responded, quietly shutting his locker. He then turned to his friends. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Luis and Neymar watched as Leo walked away with the two freshmen. The last thing they heard before they were out of earshot was Pedro saying, “Oh, my friend here is Pablo, by the way.”

“How does Leo know so many people?” Luis asked Neymar.

“I have no idea.”

* * *

Jordan was more than happy to have Klopp for homeroom again.

Around UEFA, it was common knowledge that if you had Klopp for any class, you won life. The tall German man spent more time chit chatting with his students about anything and everything than doing any actual teaching. The “World’s Best Teacher” mugs littering his desk were evidence of his students’ fondness for him. Right now, he was sipping coffee from one that read “The Normal One.”

This classroom hadn’t changed a bit from last year. The decorations were still red and it still felt even cozier than his own home. 

Jordan intertwined his hands behind his head and kicked his sneaker-clad feet up on his desk. This was going to be his easy year. Next year, he’ll be a senior, and have to deal with all the stress that comes with applying for college. This was his year to just kick back, relax, and-

“Hendo!” two voices shouted in too-perfect unison.

Oh, God, no.

Poor Jordan didn’t even need to look for the sources of the noise, because within seconds, they were sitting behind him. 

“I knew the schedule-making gods weren’t gonna separate us,” Andy all but screamed into his ear.

“It’s been too long, Hendo,” said Trent, giving Jordan a solid noogie. “I know we just saw you for Alex’s birthday party, but still.”

Jordan was close to tears. “Please stop…” Trent and Andy were Jordan’s friends, his dear friends, even. He’d take a bullet for either of them, but they weren’t the kind of friends one wanted to be around at 7:30 in the damn morning.

He finally turned to face the duo. “No way. There’s no way in hell the three of us happened to all get the same homeroom again with the same teacher as last year; you’re messing with me!”

“No siree,” said Andy, and he and Trent each pulled out their schedules in almost creepy unison. 

“Looks like we got most a the gang from last year,” Trent said. “Look, there’s Thiago,” he pointed to their mutual friend, who was dead to the world, asleep at his desk. “And there’s Mo.” Mo was sitting at his desk in the corner nursing his half-full coffee thermos. He was alone because everyone knew that Pre-Caffinated Mo was not to be spoken to under any circumstances. “And I’m pretty sure Ali’s gonna be here too.”

Jordan looked around and recognized even more familiar faces - Milly, Kostas, and Bobby, just to name a few - that he must have been too tired to recognize when he first came in. Any other student would have been over the moon to have so many friends in one class - and a part of Jordan was happy - but he also knew that his friends could get… out of hand, and Klopp usually assigned him the task of settling them down. Something about him being responsible, or something. Homeroom was first thing in the morning, used as a free homework and study period, and Jordan already knew he wasn’t going to be getting anything done there that year.

Jordan decided to take a look at Andy and Trent’s schedules to see if either of them had any classes, or maybe lunch, with him. What he saw caused him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “This doesn’t make sense…”

“Wot?” asked Trent, Scousely.

“You guys have… all your classes together.”

“Damn right we do!” exclaimed Andy, which caused Mo to shush him. He apologized and wrapped an arm around Trent’s shoulders. “Guess even administration knows we’re a package deal!”

“No, guys,” Jordan shook his head, a tad frustrated at his friends’ lack of understanding. “This shouldn’t be possible.” 

They just looked at him, and tilted their heads in the same direction.

“You guys are in different grades.”

Before Andy and Trent could inquire on why that was important, the only person they loved to annoy more than Jordan entered the room - he was saved!

“Virg!” 

* * *

Neymar immediately perked up when he saw his friend enter the classroom. “Leo!” he called. “I saved you a seat!” He took his bag off the desk next to him and Leo joined him. The classroom was already pretty full with students; Leo was one of the last to arrive, since he was busy showing around those freshman. Now that he was here, there was only one empty seat left.

Leo surveyed the room to see who they’d be sharing first period with for the next nine months. He noticed Kylian a few desks over talking to his friend, a tall, dark-haired guy whose name Leo couldn’t remember. He knew Kylian briefly, as he’s been friends with Neymar since last year, and Leo couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like him for whatever reason.

“Interesting group we have here, huh?” Ney asked, pulling Leo out of his thoughts. Leo always appreciated that about Neymar, as it was all too easy for him to get stuck in his own head.

“Yeah, seems so…” 

“Hey, you wanna spend the weekend at my place? I’ll invite Luis too. We’ll have the place to ourselves since Mom will be in Brazil for work, so we can play Mario Kart on the big TV as long as we want.” Neymar’s mom was a diplomat. As was Leo’s mom, and Luis’ dad, and the parents of every single one of their classmates. That was the whole point of UEFA, a school in DC for the children of ambassadors and diplomats working in America’s capital. Hence the student body being made up entirely of foreigners (except for that one kid Leo’s friend, Enzo, is always hanging around. What was his name, again? Christopher?).

“Sure,” Leo said, without much thought. “But I’ll hafta leave early Sunday morning for football.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ney looked like he was about to say something else, but something behind Leo caught his eye. “Oh meu Deus…”

Leo turned around to see an all too familiar figure standing in the doorway to the classroom. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” groaned Sergio Ramos.

* * *

As was the case with most students, Manuel’s favorite part of the day was lunch. He wasn’t really paying attention to whatever Joshua and Leon were talking about; he was just relishing in the fact that he wasn’t in class. The cafeteria was alive with its normal bustle and noise - his friends had to shout in order to be heard, and they were sitting right next to each other.

That relishing didn’t last long, as he soon felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulders and an even stronger voice in his ear.

“Robert’s in my history class,” Thomas said, speaking a mile a minute.

Manuel turned around, and sure enough, there was Thomas. He was just a little flushed and it was clear he had ran here after his last class. 

“What?” was all Manuel said. Joshua and Leon’s conversation behind him had stopped.

“What, do you not speak English anymore? I said, Robert ist in meinem Geschichtsunterricht!” Thomas shouted, sounding absolutely panicked. The only reason he wasn’t causing a scene was that the cafeteria was already loud enough. He put his bookbag down, took a seat next to Manuel, and put his head in his hands.

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Manuel said, rolling his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Uh… sorry to hear about that?”

“I can’t do this… I can’t see his face every day for the next year!”

“Why?” asked Leon. “‘Cause you spent your entire relationship being jealous of his friendship with Marco?”

“And then they started going out, like, two weeks after you guys broke up?” Joshua added.

“And now you hafta see Marco every week for footba-”

“Okay, screw you guys,” Thomas said, and his friends rolled their eyes, as they knew he didn’t mean it. He was too sweet to mean it. “I jus’ can’t do this… y’know he sits right behind me? Right behind me! The audaci- oh my God…”

Thomas’ friends all stared at him, and he stared at Manuel. “Did you… bring a whole jar of Nutella with you to school?”

Manuel, who had just pulled said jar out of his bag, looked at Thomas like he was stupid.

“... Did you bring a spoon?”

“I’m not an animal,” Manuel said, and pulled a spoon out of his jeans’ pocket.

“Anyway… I’m gonna fail this class. You try learning about the first World War with your ex leaning over your shoulder.”

“Kinda funny that you guys have that class together,” Leon chuckled. “Y’know, cause you guys are… history…”

Thomas hit his forehead against the table with a thunk. “This is gonna suck…”

Chapter Text

“'A Vote for Luka is a Vote for You…’ What does that even mean?” Luka asked, palming the presidential looking campaign button. It was fully decked out in red, white, and blue, and clashed against the pristine white leather seats of the car he sat in. It was also far too big to be worn subtly.

Sergio glanced at him from the driver’s seat, not caring that he was taking his eyes off the road for a little longer than necessary. If he crashed while looking at Luka, he would die happy. “It means that voting for Luka is voting for like, your rights, and stuff.”

“The senior class president is gonna defend people’s rights.” Luka had raised an eyebrow and his voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And what’s with the design? I’m not American. Literally no one at our school is American.” That technically wasn’t true but Luka didn’t wanna get into it.

“Ah, I’ll stop you right there. Do you know how many flags have those colors? I just secured you the French vote, the British vote, the Dutch vote, the-”

“The Croatian vote?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Luka fumbled with the campaign button some more, and after clipping it and unclipping it a few times, it failed to secure properly. “Sese, I think this one’s defective.”

“That’s fine, there’s six thousand more in the trunk.”

“What?!” 

“I had to buy ‘em in bulk; it’s cheaper that way.”

Luka just sputtered for a bit, too flabbergasted to get his words out. “The guy wearing three hundred dollar cologne cares about saving money all of a sudden?”

“Hey, Creed Adventus is a great fucking product; I smell like a Greek god!”

Just as he’d done a thousand times before, Luka looked at his best friend and thought, ‘This bitch is crazy.’

After a few moments, Sergio spoke up again. “So, once we get to school, what’re you gonna do?”

“Uh… hope for the best?”

Sergio made an obnoxious, buzzer-like noise. “Wrong. You’re gonna show up, you’re gonna look pretty, and charm the socks off of everyone you meet. Bump into someone just so you can pick up their books, give a kid your lunch money, restore peace to the Middle East, I don’t care. Be your likable little self that you always are, jus’… a bit more noticable.”

Luka shrugged off the little flutter he felt in his stomach. He wouldn’t say he looked “pretty” right now, but he was dressed nicer than he normally would be for school. Sergio had gotten to his house to pick him up earlier than usual, and had practically ordered Luka to change into some slacks and a dress shirt. Something about looking the part if he wanted to get elected for the fourth year in a row. Sergio had a way of bossing people around, though Luka was usually the exception. At least he’d been allowed to keep his sneakers.

“And what are you gonna be doing while im ‘charming their socks off?’”

“Same thing I’ve been doing,” Sergio said, turning on his turn signal like a decent human being. “Campaigning.”

“It’s the day of the election; most people have already chosen who they’re voting for. How’re you gonna change anyone’s mind?”

Sergio gave Luka the sweetest smile he was capable of, which made him look like a complete psychopath. “Gentle persuasion.”

* * *

“I just think it’s morally wrong,” said Neymar.

“Uh-huh,” Leo muttered, paying far more attention to his Switch than to his friend. They were in their first period but still had some time before class officially started, and Leo wasn’t ready for human interaction yet, not that he ever truly was. The room was full of students who hadn’t fully woken up. Galtier was not so discreetly using the microwave under his desk to warm up a croissant, and the whole room smelled like a bakery.

“I mean, the whole appeal of peanut butter is that it’s smooth. Like butter. I mean, have you ever been eating something soft and then suddenly felt a crunch? It’s terrifying! Why would you want to bite into some crunchy when eating peanut butter? It doesn’t make sense, and frankly, it’s not what God intended for-”

“Alright, Bert and Ernie!” Sergio Ramos shouted as he entered the classroom, interrupting a rant that Leo didn’t care to hear more of, anyways. Sergio marched his way over to the two and slammed some papers and pens down on their desks. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You two are gonna take these ballets I kindly gave you, and where it says ‘senior class president,’ you’re gonna write in ‘Luka Modric.’ That’s L-U-K-”

“We aren’t gonna be writing anything…” Neymar said, looking around the room and noticing that everyone was staring at Sergio with just as much fear in their eyes as he surely had in his.

“Excuse me?”

“His, uh, name’s already on the ballot. We jus’ hafta… fill in that lil circle next to it.” Neymar’s voice was shaking despite his best efforts. As he spoke, Sergio leaned in closer to him, and he did not like being this close. Neymar and Leo weren’t scared of Sergio, no. They just feared for their lives whenever he was in their vicinity.

“Oh.” Sergio just blinked like there wasn’t a thought in his head. “Well then, you’re gonna go to that circle right next to ‘Luka Modric,’ and you’re gonna fill it in.”

“Or…” inquired Leo.

In response, Sergio grabbed Leo’s Switch right out of his hands. “Or you can say goodbye to” - he glanced at the screen - “Animal Crossing New Horizons.”

With heavy sighs, Neymar and Leo filled out their ballots. “Y’know,” Leo started, which was weird, because starting conversations was like hell for the guy. “You don’t hafta threaten us. Everyone likes Luka. He does a good job as class president and everyone’s probably gonna vote for him anyway.”

“Less talking, more voting!”

Within seconds, Leo and Neymar had cast their votes for Luka. As promised, Leo’s Switch was returned to him, and he could continue to fish while neglecting the welfare of his villagers. All was right in Mr. Galtier’s class.

* * *

“I just wanna know what it stands for!” pleaded Erling. With every passing minute, he became more aware that this conversation was going nowhere. It was the passing period after homeroom and Erling was spending his precious time pestering the upperclassmen that had been kind enough to befriend him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack and Kevin said in unison for the sixth time that morning.

Jack looked at Erling like he was a child, despite the fact that he was only a year older than Erling at absolute most. “You’re getting worked up over the wrong things. What you should be worried about is that English homework you keep bitching about that I know you haven’t done.” He got a solid laugh out of Kevin, which was the point, as he really didn’t give a damn whether Erling was doing his homework or not.

Their joy lessened when Kevin and Jack saw Sergio walking in their general direction, and it evaporated completely when they realized he was most likely coming to talk to them.

“Oh, hey, Sergio,” Kevin said when he was within earshot. Kevin’s nervous laugh was obscenely obvious. “What brings you here?”

“I need to ask you something. The election today. You’re voting for Luka, right?”

“Uh…” Kevin looked to his friends for help, to which they responded by doing jack squat. He procrastinated by clearing his throat as much as humanly possible. “I, uh… won’t be-”

And just like that, Kevin’s shirt collar was in Sergio’s hands and his back was slammed against a locker. The noise caused most students in the hall to turn their way, but they stopped paying attention when they realized it was just Sergio threatening someone again.

To Erling’s credit, he did try to get between the two. “Let him go!” he told Sergio, though it came out more like a request than a demand. “He’s very small and you’re hurting him! Plus, why do you care so much if that little Croatian kid wins class president? It’s not like you’re running.”

Sergio barely gave Erling a second look before telling him off. “Beat it, Targaryen.” He then turned his furious gaze back to poor Kevin. “And why not?”

“Because people like me can’t vote in this thing!” Kevin said, trying to reason with Sergio, but it only made the grip on his shirt collar tighten.

“Cut the crap, De Bruyne, I know gingers can vote now!”

Now Kevin was too offended to take him seriously. “What? No, I meant juniors! Juniors can’t vote in the senior election.”

Sergio just blinked a couple times before finally letting go of Kevin’s shirt. “Oh. Carry on, then,” he said, and left. Kevin and his friends stared at him as he walked away.

After the shock of that whole incident wore off, Kevin shot Jack a glare. “Notice how the freshman tried to help me and you didn’t!”

Jack gawked at the accusation. “Yeah, look at him! He’s built like a linebacker, he could totally take Sergio!”

Erling look confused. “Linewhat?”

Kevin just rolled his eyes. “Jack, you gotta stop watching these American sports; it’s unbecoming of you.”

Jack gasped, offended. “Well excuse me for trying to understand another country’s culture-”

While Jack and Kevin bickered, Erling checked the time and realized they had only a minute untill class started. “Jack, don’t you have Guardiola again in like, a minute?” He knew from having homeroom with Guardiola that his policy was to show up on time or not at all.

“Oh, shit!”

* * *

By the time Sergio sat down for last period history, he had already threatened half the student population with bodily harm, which was about ten percent more than a normal day. He had been looking forward to this class, not because he was intending on learning or anything, but because he had this class with Gareth. Gareth, who was class treasurer and oversaw vote counting for senior elections.

Sergio took his seat next to Gareth and didn’t even bother to greet him before giving him an expectant look. “So?”

“So, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not at liberty to say anything about it.” That was going to be the end of it, but then Sergio gave him another look, and suddenly Gareth was overcome with the very real fear of being knifed in the middle of their history classroom. And that would really put a damper on everyone’s day. “But, what I can say is that it’s, uh, looking pretty good.” He gave Sergio a nervous smile that said ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sergio said, clapping Gareth on the back.

Gareth went about getting his books and stuff ready for class. He liked to take neat and organized notes, so he had highlighters of no less than ten different colors on his desk, and he constantly had to keep them from rolling off. Sergio, on the other hand, brought a single piece of looseleaf paper and a pencil that looked like it had survived a nuclear blast. Or the bottom of Sergio’s bookbag. Whatever’s worse.

A few more moments went by, and still the students had not settled down. It was the last class of the day, and everyone was restless and eager to just get out. Gareth took the opportunity to talk to Sergio some more.

“Y’know, you’ve, uh… really been putting in the work to get Luka reelected.”

“Of course,” Sergio said, as if Gareth had just told him an undeniable fact, like that water isn’t wet. “Class president for four years in a row and student council president. It’ll look great on his applications, and if anyone deserves to go to a good college, it’s him. Plus… he likes all this stuff, for some reason. It makes him happy, so…”

“Yeah. yeah, you’re right…” Gareth lowered his voice to a volume only Sergio was able to hear. Suddenly he was grateful for the loud classroom. “But you really went above and beyond. Far more than someone would go for… for just a friend.”

Sergio gave Gareth a look that lacked its usual threatening aura. He looked resigned to an undeniable truth, one that was slowly becoming more obvious to the people in his life. He took a deep breath, and spoke so quiety Gareth had to strain his ears to hear him.

“No one in their right mind wants to be ‘just friends’ with Luka Modric.”

* * *

The morning after the elections, Jordan went into homeroom late enough to be considered late, but early enough for Klopp not to care. The teacher was working on something on his computer. Jordan knew that if he asked, Klopp would say he’s grading, but Jordan could see the reflection of the computer screen through his teacher’s glasses, and the man was playing Tetris.

As Jordan made his way to his desk, he passed by Virgil. Normally, Virgil would say hi, but he had Alisson sleeping on his shoulder and didn’t want to risk waking him.

Before getting to his own desk, Jordan had to get trough Trent’s and Andy’s. He could see that they had papers laid out in front of them and were drawing some complicated-looking flow chart. He peeked over their shoulders and tried to make sense of it. “Part of me wants to know what this is,” he started, “but the other part of me knows that the answer will be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine.”

Andy wasn’t going to let him have the blessing of living in ignorance. “We’re trying to find out if it’s possible to be someones uncle and their granddad at the same time.” He and Trent smiled like toddlers showing off a poorly made drawing to their parents.

“Yup,” was all Jordan had to say about that. Luckily, the morning announcements came through the loudspeaker before the duo could tell him about the gory details. It was mostly the same soup, just reheated. The only announcement of note was the revealing of the class election winners. Most were people Jordan had never met or heard of, and besides, it was the senior election that had caused all the commotion the day before.

“... And the senior class president is Luka Modric! Congratulations to all the winners and thank you to everyone who voted.”

“Damn,” said Milly, one of the few seniors in the class. “Sergio put in all that effort for nothing.”

Jordan looked at his friend like he was crazy. “Huh? He wanted Luka to win; the bloke literally jumped Kevin over it yesterday.”

“Exactly,” said Milly. “Poor lad went through all that trouble to support the only candidate on the ballot.”

Chapter Text

Mr. Guardiola looked smug as all hell with Leo, Luis, and Neymar standing in front of his desk. Each of the boys had their head hung in what Guardiola hoped was pure, unbridled shame. The bell had already rung and the classroom had emptied out, leaving only the four of them.

“And I bet you thought you’d gotten away with it, didn’t you?” he said, not giving a damn about whether or not his Bond Villain grin could be considered unprofessional. “You two, I understand, but Leo? I’m disappointed.”

Luis knew Leo wasn’t going to speak up, so he took it upon himself. “He literally didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but you guys did, so he’s guilty by association. What did you think would happen when you turned in tests that had the same exact answers?”

“That we’d pass,” said Neymar, to which Luis shushed and elbowed him.

Guardiola rolled his eyes. “In addition to automatic F’s, the punishment for cheating is a day’s detention.”

Luis and Neymar groaned while Leo just looked a little dejected. “Okay,” Luis said with a sigh. “We’ll come back here after the final bell today.”

“What? No,” replied Guardiola. He looked happy, which automatically made the trio uneasy. “Saturday detention. Nine a.m. sharp.”

Neymar and Luis were too stunned to speak and Leo gasped loudly. “I have football Saturday!” The poor guy sounded like a mother whose child had just been ripped from their arms.

Guardiola opened one of his desk drawers and rummaged through it. “Damn,” he said, “that sucks.” He pulled three dreaded pink slips from the drawer and proceeded to write details on them before handing them to the three boys. He wrote with a little too much flair to be considered normal.

“You can’t just do that.” Leo was speaking maybe half a decibel louder than usual, but for him, that was practically screaming.

“Congratulations. Just for that little outburst, it’s getting worse.”

“Two Saturday detentions in a row?!” exclaimed Neymar.

“No. You wish, though.” Guardiola sat down in the plush seat behind his desk. He looked irritatingly comfortable. “Mourinho’s gonna be overseeing your detention.”

* * *

“Believe me, I hate assigning group work just as much as you guys hate doing it,” Klopp said in an effort to settle down his class, who had been loudly protesting their latest assignment. “But the district curriculum says you have to do at least one project in groups, and I wanna keep my job, so we’re doing it and getting it out of the way early. Now, I’m going to give you your partner assignments, so pay attention.”

Thomas was paying extremely close attention to the football formations he was sketching in his notebook. His history teacher was little more than background noise at this point, but Thomas was a good multitasker, so he listened carefully for his name while he doodled.

“-Thomas, you’re with Robert, Milly, you’re-”

Thomas’ pen flew out of his hand like it had a mind of it’s own. “What?” he piped up. ‘Dear God please anyone but him.’

Klopp chuckled warmly at Thomas’ antics. Oh, he had no idea what he was doing. “I said you’re with Robert; he’s right behind you.” He continued listing off names and Thomas thought about ways he could kill himself before the bell rang without causing too much of a scene.

Klopp always let his students pack their stuff and talk amongst themselves during the last five minutes of class. When that time came, Thomas had to muster up courage from every cell in his body to face the student behind him.

“Do you still work the morning shift on Saturdays?” Thomas asked. It sounded more like a threat than a question.

Robert seemed to be taken aback by Thomas’ boldness, because all he did was nod.

“Good. Stay after work; I’ll meet you there,” Thomas ordered, and left even though the bell hadn’t yet rang. By some miracle, he managed to leave with his head held high.

Robert most certainly did not stare at him as he walked away.

* * *

Leo had only two things on his mind come Saturday morning: football and murder.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be on the pitch with the ball at his feet and the wind in his hair and-

“Leo, anyone home?”

“Gosh, he’s doing it again.”

His friends’ voices snapped him out of his thoughts that were getting darker by the minute.

Leo looked around; he was sitting at a desk in a barren classroom. Not a single decoration graced the walls and the only thing providing any color was the American flag in the corner. 

“Dude, you’ve been catatonic since I picked you up,” said Luis. He sounded concerned. Dead silent was pretty much Leo’s constant state, but this morning something was off about him.

“You’re making me miss football,” Leo said.

A frown made its way across Neymar’s features. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this; it was us who tried to cheat and it’s not fair that you’re-”

Neymar was interrupted by the loudest door opening in recorded history. In stomped Mr. Mourinho, with his ever present white hair and chip on his shoulder. “What kind of atrocities did you people commit to deserve spending your Saturday morning with me?” he asked.

Luis and Neymar exchanged nervous looks from opposite sides of Leo. They were silently begging the other to speak first.

“We, uh, got caught… cheating,” said Luis.

Mourinho hadn’t even gotten to the front of the classroom before he started screaming. “Do you have no respect? Your academic dishonesty is disrespectful to your teacher, it is disrespectful to the institution of UEFA, it-”

“Man, what does that even stand for?!” asked an exasperated Neymar. It was far to early for this.

“Don’t worry about it! That disrespect just bought you another Saturday detention!”

Neymar just put his head in his hands, too stunned to speak.

“Now, you guys are going to split up; I want each of you in a different corner.” For a moment, no one did anything, until Mourinho snapped at them. “Well?” Suddenly, the three were scrambling to find new seats in the classroom, as far apart from each other as physically possible.

“So here’s what you’re going to do for the next two hours,” instructed Mourinho, who then said absolutely nothing for several moments. “Exactly that. Nothing. You’re going to sit and think about your blatant disrespect, and what mistakes your parents could have made to raise such disrespectful children.” With that, Mourinho made his way towards the door. 

Again, Luis was brave enough to speak up. “Aren’t you gonna stay here?”

“And spend my Saturday with you delinquients? Please. We got a Switch set up in the teacher’s lounge and I’m gonna be trying to beat Guardiola’s record in Mario Kart.” Mourinho must have seen the trio’s faces light up upon finding out he wouldn’t be there, because he said his next words very darkly. “But mark my worms, I will be checking in on you. Maybe every thirty minutes, maybe every ten, or every five. In fact, just assume I’m always watching. Becuase if I hear a peep out of any of you, or see a speck of dust out of place, it’s another Saturday detention.”

With that, Mourinho left, and Neymar waited until he couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore to speak up, voice nothing more than a whisper.

“Why does he want us to mark his worms?”

* * *

It was the first time in months Thomas had visited his local Starbucks, because he had been avoiding it like the plague. He was a regular back when him and Robert were still… him and Robert. He would spend Robert’s whole shift doing homework, studying, and mostly goofing off on the internet while his boyfriend would bring him free drinks.

Thomas spent a good ten minutes sitting in his car, mentally preparing himself to go inside. ‘You can do this, you can do this! Just pretend he isn’t your ex. He’s just a guy. A guy who you never dated and is most definitely not the reason Olivia Rodrigo and Mitski were your top artists on Spotify last year.’

This was pointless. He sighed and put his head on the steering wheel. When he accidentally activated the car horn, he saw Jesus, and jumped out of his seat high enough to hit his head on the ceiling of his car. 

Ignoring the fact that he might have aquired a concussion before breakfast, Thomas finally got out of his car. He felt like a stranger in the parking lot that he had been kissed in so many times before.

As soon as he entered, he was hit with the smell off coffee and fond memories. Sure enough, at what was once their usual table, there was Robert. He already had his laptop and some papers laid out in front of him, hard at work. Thomas approached the table and sat down across from Robert wordlessly.

Robert nudged a to go cup across the table. Thomas just looked at him. 

“Hot white chocolate mocha, extra white chocolate, two pumps of caramel,” Robert said. Thomas hoped that was the barista in him talking, and not the ex boyfriend.

“You forgot-”

“And whipped cream.”

Thomas’ desire for sugar outweighed his pettiness. He tried the mocha, and just as it had been each time before, it was like crack.

He hated how speechless Robert had rendered him. He wasn’t prepared to meet under these circumstances. The only times they spoke to each other now were when they met every two weeks to trade off Little Robert - the bunny they got when they were dating that they now shared joint custody of. And those meetings are always very brief.

“So,” Thomas started, pulling his laptop and textbook out of his bookbag. “There are eight topics we need to cover in the paper; I say we each take four and work on them separately. Then one of us does the introduction and the other does the conclusion.” Even he could tell that he was trying way too hard to sound like the unbothered king he knew he wasn’t.

“Sounds good to me,” said Robert. “But we’ll need to read each other’s work to make sure we’re not being redundant.”

Robert then absentmindedly turned on his phone to check the time, and Thomas noticed that his wallpaper was some generic ass photo of a sunset. He couldn’t fight the ugly, ugly thought that arose: he had been Robert’s wallpaper when they were together. And to his knowledge, Robert and Marco were still an item. Marco should be on that phone, but he wasn’t.

“How’s your brother?” Robert asked, effectively snapping Thomas out of his thoughts.

”Oh, uh… he’s fine.” Thomas wasn’t sure why he let his next few words slip out. “He still asks about you. It’s nothing compared to my parents, though; it’s always ‘Robert this, Robert that.’ I think they miss you more than I do! I mean, not that I miss you. But not that I don’t miss you! But not that I do, I just-” Thomas shut himself up by taking a sip of his mocha. It burned his tongue.

‘Shut up, Thomas, shut up, shut up, shut up, God, who says that?’

This seemed to flatter Robert some, as he let out a soft and endearing chuckle. “My parents ask about you too; they miss you.”

“Oh no they don’t, they always complained about me! Said I ‘talked too loud.’”

Robert gave him a look as if to say, ‘were they wrong?’

“Don’t gimme that look. I offered to close the door to your room when I was over but they didn’t let me!”

“Yeah, ‘cause they thought we’d start making out in there!”

“Robert, we were making out in there!”

The pair laughed, true and joyful, and Robert playfully kicked Thomas under the table.

After a moment, Robert noticed an especially huge textbook poking out of Thomas’ bookbag. “Damn, what class is that for?”

“Astronomy, I’m taking it as an elective.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah, I’m actually doing really well! Turns out I’m really good at…” Thomas waved his hands around, trying to find the right words. “Interpreting space, I guess. It's very cool, actually."

Robert smiled warmly. It was an expression Thomas thought he would never see again. “That’s ni-” Robert stopped suddenly, as his attention turned to something behind Thomas.

Thomas turned, and only a few feet from them was Marco Reus.

“Marco…” Thomas said. Suddenly he felt so utterly wrong.

“Marco, what, uh,” Robert said with an uneasy laugh. “What’re you doing here?”

Marco raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Visiting you at work. Y’know, like I do every Saturday. Only I don’t usually see you sitting with your ex…” There was plenty more to that sentence that went unsaid, and everybody knew it. ‘The ex you stare at when you come to watch my football matches. The ex you ask about whenever you happen to run into Manuel in the hall.’

“Oh! Uh…” Very suddenly, Robert got up and made his way to Marco’s side, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thomas and I were assigned to work together for a project, so uh…” He trailed off, rubbing the nape of his neck like Thomas had seen him do so many times before.

Marco just let out a short and thoughtful hum. “Okay then, I’ll get you get back to your work. We’re still on for tonight, right?” He placed a hand on Robert’s bicep as he spoke to him, and Thomas could feel his stomach turn. Suddenly, Thomas wasn’t in a Starbucks anymore. He was in his room six months ago, ugly crying into his pillow and wondering why he could never compare to Marco fucking Reus.

Robert had to blink rapidly a few times before he could form a coherent thought. “Uh, of course.”

“Good,” Marco said, and hesitated for just a second before straight up kissing Robert right then and there. It was short and it was gross, but not as gross as the fact that Robert had kissed him back.

“See you at training, Thomas,” Marco called out as he left.

Once Marco was gone, Robert scrambled to sit back down. “Sorry about that. So, uh…” He glanced at one of the many papers that was littering the table. “The effects of agriculture on early civilization.”

* * *

“So how’d your parents react when you told them you got detention?” Neymar asked.

Luis glared at him from the back corner. He had shushed Neymar no less than three times, but the boredom was killing him and he just kept talking. Luckily, none of those instances were interrupted by Mourinho’s occasional pop-ins. 

“I dunno, I haven’t told them.”

Neymar was facing away from Luis, but he could tell that Neymar looked surprised. “Really? Wouldn’t the school call them, or something?”

“I guess not. ‘Cause if that were the case, they would’ve flown in from Uruguay to beat my ass.”

The conversation ended there, and it was several more minutes before Neymar spoke up again. “Do you guys think I can go to Chick-fil-A and back without him noticing?”

Leo and Luis answered in unison. “No.” 

Another long silence, this time broken by Leo.

“The match is in half an hour,” he said, getting up from his seat in the front left corner. “I can still make it.” 

Both of his friends tried to stop him as he made his way to the classroom door. Luis prayed they weren’t making too much noise.

“Woah there, big guy,” Neymar said as he stood between Leo and the door. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t care, Neymar, I’ll take another detention, just-” He then tried to brute force his way through the door. Despite his size, he was a force to be reckoned with once he set his mind on something, as evidenced by Neymar struggling to restrain him.

“A little help here!”

After prying him away from Neymar, Luis put his hands firmly on Leo’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. He had to tilt his head down quite a bit to do so. “Look, Leo. I know missing this match is killing you. But if you leave, and Mourinho comes back and you’re not here, he’s gonna be livid. If the punishment for talking is an extra Saturday detention, you’ll probably get a month of them for leaving. And then you’ll miss even more football. So please, listen to your friends, and sit back down before he hears us and we all get in trouble.”

Leo wordlessly shrugged off Luis’ hands and returned to his seat. His friends wasted no time in getting back to theirs’.

The next five minutes were spent in pure suspense, wondering if Mourinho heard them and was standing on the other side of the door, luring them into a false sense of security and playing some sick mind game.

When they were pretty sure the coast was clear, Leo fucking booked it outta there.

“Hey-!” Neymar shouted, getting up to chase his friend.

Luis grabbed Neymar by the arm before he could get to the door. “Not worth it, now shut up and sit down before Mourinho comes back!”

Neymar stared at the open door, and once he could no longer hear Leo’s footsteps, he went back to his seat. 

For the next ten minutes, him and Luis sat in absolute dread, waiting for the earful they would get when Mourinho came in to check on them.

When the time came, Mourinho poked his head in the room. He stared, really stared at them, and his eyes narrowed. Then, he left.

“What the hell was that?” Neymar whispered.

“He’s gonna kill him,” Luis said. “Leo’s gonna have Saturday detention for the rest of his life.”

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Robert left Starbucks, and his face hurt from laughing so hard for so long. 

He left alone; he had to stay a few minutes later than Thomas to clean up all his papers and the mess they made from the sweets Robert ended up buying. While walking to his car, he checked his phone for the first time in literal hours.

Marco

6 missed calls

Marco

18 iMessages

Tommy

1 iMessage

“I am so fucked.”

* * *

As was typical for a Monday morning, the teacher’s lounge reeked of coffee.

“Guten Morgen!” Jurgen said as he entered, complete with his signature megawatt grin. He was the only person on Earth who could be this happy on a Monday morning. “What did I miss?”

“Diego and I were just talking about how we like to sit students next to students we know they have a crush on,” replied Pep. He and Diego Simeone chuckled evilly. They were sitting on the couch as Pep played around with the Switch he had installed. Something on the screen made his eyes narrow.

“Chrushes?” Jurgen asked, grabbing his Normal One mug from the cabinet. “That’s nothing; when I do group work, I pair students up with their ex-partners.”

Pep and Diego broke out into laughter. “Damn, Jurgen, you are evil!” Diego said once the laughter died down.

Just then, in came Jose.

“Morning,” said Pep. “How was your Saturday?”

“Actually, it was fine,” replied Jose, as he made his way to the vending machine. He seemed to be really deep in thought about what chocolate bar he would have for breakfast. “Those two you sent me were pretty well behaved; didn’t move a muscle.”

Pep furrowed his eyebrows. “Jose, I sent three kids to detention with you.”

“What? No, there was Neymar, and Suarez…”

“... and Leo, their little quiet friend.”

Jose punched the vending machine. “Merda, I knew I was forgetting something!”  

Chapter Text

“This is stupid,” Pedri groaned as he and Pablo walked into homeroom. His complaining was loud enough to attract the attention of their upperclassmen friends that sat in front of them.

The classroom was alive with the light hum of morning chatter, but it wasn’t necessarily loud. Xavi had taught his students the hard way that he hated excessive noise first thing in the morning. Really hated it.

“What did he do this time?” asked Frenkie, looking for any opportunity to avoid his last-minute homework. Next to him, Robert was also looking at the Spanish duo.

“Well, you tell ‘em,” Pedri said, shoving Pablo to their desks. Xavi had his room set up in that obnoxious pattern where two desks were right next to each other with absolutely no real estate in between, essentially giving every student an unofficial partner. Pedri and Pablo were right next to each other, and in front of them were Frenkie and Robert.

A small smile graced Pablo’s face as he sat down and faced his friends. “Well, my parents and sister will be going back to Spain for the weekend, and I didn’t wanna go, so they said they would leave me home alone-”

“Oh gosh, ” Robert groaned.

“So I wanna throw a party at my place while they’re gone.” Pablo wore an expression of childlike excitement, and looked to his upperclassmen for their approval.

Frenkie and Robert first looked at each other, then back at Pablo. Robert was the first to speak.

“And you think this is a good idea because…”

“‘Cause! I’m a freshman, throwing a big party will help me, like, get my name out there, and stuff.”

Pedri spoke from beside Pablo. He had his head comfortably cushioned on his arms and resting on his desk, so he had to look up to talk to his friends. “Lately, hes been all into ‘fitting in.’ Wants to make a buncha friends and stuff.”

“But Pablo,” Frenkie said, giving his friend a sympathetic look that he wore all too often. “You don’t need to be friends with the whole school; you have us! And Ansu, and Ferran…” He stopped to look around. “Wherever they are…”

“You guys don’t understand,” said Pablo, with a prominent pout. “People don’t wanna talk to me and it’s ‘cause they think I look like an eighth grader!”

Pedri furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, cause you technically should be an eighth grader.” Pablo peaked in elementary school and ended up skipping third grade, making him younger than even Pedri and the rest of his freshman classmates.

Pablo visibly deflated at the reminder of his youth.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Robert asked with an exasperated sigh. “Are there gonna be girls at this party? Everyone’s gonna wanna know.”

“Uh…” Pablo took a while to think about it, and he looked stressed. There was a right answer to that question, but he didn’t know what it was. “Sure.” 

Frenkie scrunched up his face the way one would after eating something disgusting, like seafood. “Ugh, a co-ed party? What’re you, eight?”

Pablo looked like Frenkie had gone and slandered his entire bloodline. “Okay, fine, no girls; jus’ us guys. Not that that’ll be a problem,” he said, visibly moping. “Girls at this school never talk to me anyways…”

“I’d hope not,” said Robert, looking up from picking at his nails. “You go to an all-”

Robert noticed Pedri adamantly shaking his head from next to Pablo. “Nevermind.” 

“Anyway,” Pablo said, leaning towards his upperclassmen friends. “Do you think you guys could tell your friends about the party? And please don’t mention that it’s being hosted by a Freshman. I want a lotta people to come. It’s on Saturday.”

Robert thought this was a horrible idea - all parties ever brought were property damage and trouble - but Pablo was looking at him with those big deer-like eyes and he couldn’t say no.

“Fine,” him and Frenkie said.

Pablo immediately lit up, and he gave a significantly less enthused Pedri a high-five.

“So,” Frenkie smirked, turning to face only Robert. “You got a date for this party?”

Robert just shook his head and started getting out his books so he could actually get some work done.

“That was a joke,” said Frenkie. He sounded like a frustrated parent trying not to snap at a toddler. “Does the name Marco Reus ring any bells…?”

“Oh! Yeah yeah yeah, of course,” Robert laughed, but it sounded faker than the rumors of Mew being under the truck.

“Marco who?” Pedri asked.

Frenkie waited for Robert to answer, and when he didn’t, he answered for him. “Robert’s boyfriend.”

Pablo looked taken aback. “You… have a boyfriend?” He then immediately regretted how that sentence came out. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he said, Seinfeldianly.

“Yup,” Robert said, and got back to his homework.

* * *

'Just ask him. Literally, what’re you being such a wimp for? The worst he can do is say no. And maybe laugh in your face. But don’t worry about that. C’mon, it’s not like you’re asking him on a date, for fuck’s sake.’

Sergio shook his head in an effort to banish those not-so-helpful thoughts as he walked into his art class. He hated art, and wasn’t any good at it. But he was taking this class for other reasons.

The reason was already sitting in his seat when Sergio walked in, and smiled when he entered the room. 

Luka had placed his bag on the desk next to him in an effort to save it for Sergio, despite the fact that people had already chosen their seats at this point.

Just as they did every weekday morning, Sergio’s legs carried him to Luka as if they were magnetically compelled to do so.

“Good morning,” Luka said with a smile. He had already greeted Sergio earlier that morning when he got picked up, but it was nice to hear it again.

“Hey,” Sergio said, carefree and casual as always. He slouched and kicked his feet up on his desk, displaying some fresh out the box Jordans. He silently hyped himself up for a bit, and then cleared his throat. “Y’know, I heard someone from Xavi’s class is having a big party this Saturday; you in?”

“I dunno…” Luka muttered as he went through his expensive art supplies. He didn’t know it was expensive, though; it was a gift from Sergio. “You know how I feel about these things. In a strange place, surrounded by all these strangers.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be there.”

Sergio had slouched so deeply that Luka had to look down at him, despite being shorter. “Well… Promise you won’t leave my side?”

It was the stupidest question Sergio had ever heard. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” exclaimed Alisson, head in hands. “You people actually think The Rumbling was justified; are you insane?”

“You’re the crazy one!” Andy shouted from across the lunch table. “You’re crazy for thinking the world ever would’ve treated Eldians fairly; there was no other way!”

“Eighty percent of the population,” was all Virgil said, in that deep, terrifying voice of his. He sat next to Alisson with his arms crossed.

Trent rolled his eyes with every ounce of strength he had. “Oh, you’re obsessed with that number. Jus’ say you don’t understand his character and go!”

Alisson was about to respond by telling Trent that he was the one who didn’t understand the story, but he then realized that the other person at their table had been mostly silent the entire time. “Whaddo you think, Mo?”

“I think it’s stupid that you’re spending your lunch period arguing over the morality of a fictional nineteen-year-old.”

Before anyone could retort, Milly walked up to the table; he was always the last to arrive for lunch. “Alright, who’s up for a party this weekend?”

Some people looked more enthusiastic than others. Alisson, for example, immediately replied with, “No, thank you. Virgil’s parents are letting us stay in their lake house for the weekend.” After saying his piece, he drank his entire Capri Sun in one sip.

Milly didn’t respond. He knew Alisson wouldn’t want to go even if he didn’t have plans; he hated crowds, and if he didn’t go, neither would Virgil.

“Who else is gonna be there?” asked Mohamed.

“The host is, uh…” Milly looked up as if the answer was written on the cafeteria ceiling. “I don’t remember. But it’s someone from Xavi’s class, so they’re all probably going. I know Sergio’s going-”

“Nope,” Mohamed said, and left.

Milly looked at the table; he was only talking to Trent and Andy at this point. “Okay, I know you guys are gonna say yes no matter who’s gonna be there.”

“Yup,” they said, and high-fived.

“Cool. Try to keep this on the downlow, okay? ‘Cause I don’t wanna end up having to drive the whole class.”

“Totally!” Andy said with a laugh, mere milliseconds before everyone’s phones went off with a notification.

Andy (Klopp’s Class group chat)

OI LOSERS WHOS GOING TO THE PARTY SATURDAY

* * *

“Chips?”

“Check.”

“Pizza?”

“Check.”

“Designated room for people to go make out in, because it will happen?”

“Check…”

“Alcohol?”

“Of course not, Pedri, don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, seriously.”

“I am serious!”

Pedri slammed his makeshift checklist onto the granite top of Pablo’s kitchen island. It echoed. Pablo’s house was just like his own - big, but lifeless. 

He made his way to the other side of the island - which took some time since it was so large - and grabbed his middle school-aged friend by the shoulders. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t have any alcohol?!”

“Of course I don’t; you and I don’t drink!”

“Yeah, but you know who does? Every high schooler attending a house party!”

Pablo stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh gosh… uh, I think there’s some in the basement?”

“Then let’s go.” Within seconds, Pedri grabbed Pablo’s wrist and dragged him towards his own basement. 

Pablo’s basement was less of a basement and more of a studio apartment some broke ass artist in New York would call home. It had everything one would need to live comfortably - TV, fully functional kitchen, bedroom. Additionally, there were many doors that led to other rooms, and the boys approached the one that led to some kind of cellar.

Upon entering the dark and dingy room, Pedri was disappointed to say the least. He looked at his best friend for a good few seconds before angrily shouting, “This is wine!”

“Yeah, and?! You said we needed alcohol!”

“No one wants to drink wine at a party!” Whilst raging more than a Minecraft Youtuber, Pedri took out and inspected some of the bottles. Expensive and Spanish - just as expected.

“Well, this stuff isn’t wine,” Pablo called from a few shelves over. “I think.”

Pedri joined his friend and found a goldmine of whiskey, vodka, tequila, and then some. “Aw, this is perfect,” he said, immediately going for the bottles.

“Woah, woah, woah, dude!” Pablo grabbed Pedri’s wrist, but his grip was weak as hell. “That’s my parents’ collection and it’s expensive, we can’t jus’ use it all.”

“Pablito. Do you, or do you not, want to throw a good party? Because I promise you, if there’s no good alcohol, everyone’s gonna hate you for the next four years.” That wasn’t necessarily true, as most of their current schoolmates wouldn’t be there in four years, but Pablo didn’t need to know that.

“My parents are gonna kill me…”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Now help me bring these bottles upstairs.”

* * *

By the time Milly and Co arrived, the party was in full swing. They would’ve been on time, but Trent and Andy wanted McDonald’s and Milly knew damn well he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until those two were satisfied. There was also the issue of fitting half of Klopp’s class into the car, but they managed.

“Alright lads,” Milly said, facing the group. They had just arrived at the host’s house and Milly had to speak pretty loud to be heard over the blaring music. “Now, I know I’m the DD, but that doesn’t mean you lot shouldn’t still be safe regardless. Remember: never leave your drink unattended, help your mate if he looks like he’s aboutta throw up, and most importantly: we never walk al-”

“Holy fuck is that a chocolate fountain?!” Trent shouted, interrupting Milly just as he had done so, so, so many times before.

“Oh my gosh, it is!” And just like that, Trent and Andy were gone.

* * *

Manuel and Thomas had brought Alphonso to the party to show him what it was like. The freshman had just moved to DC with his parents; he had grown up watching American movies and TV shows where high schoolers would go to crazy parties, and he wanted to see the real thing. 

“So this is it?” Alphonso asked, swirling around his red Solo cup filled with punch. They were standing by the banister on the second floor - which had a view of the living room below. They would see their fellow students running around and attempting to talk over the music.

“Pretty much,” Manuel replied. “You drink and dance until someone inevitably calls the cops. I don’t think it’s that fun, but Thomas likes coming to these things and someone’s gotta keep that maniac under control-”

Speak of the devil. Midway through Manuel’s sentence, he was interrupted by the only person at this party who didn’t even have to try to be heard over all the music.

“Hallo!” Thomas called out as he made his way to his friends; he had just climbed up the staircase. Like every other partygoer, he had a red Solo cup in hand. 

“There you are,” Manuel said, complete with a sigh of relief. “You shouldn’t run off; God knows what you’ll do if left unattended.”

“Please, I was jus’ getting some pu-oh, hell no!” Without elaborating further, Thomas hid behind Manuel. Thanks to Manuel’s large frame, Thomas was completely invisible to anyone in front of them.

Alphonso and Manuel looked around perplexed, until movement at the front door caught their attention. 

In came Robert, hand in hand with Marco.

“What? I thought you guys were on better terms!” Manuel said, turning around to face his friend.

“Yeah, but he’s still my ex; it’s still weird.” Before either of his friends could say anything else, Thomas just started giggling.

Alphonso frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

In response, Thomas looked mortally wounded. “What? No, I only drink when I'm in Germany! I just got some” - he hiccupped - “punch!”

Manuel snatched the cup from Thomas’ hand before Thomas knew what hit him. He brought it up to his nose and frowned. “Yup, it’s spiked.” He put it on the banister, where it would surely fall over if someone looked at it the wrong way. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Manuel had taken Thomas by the shoulders and started to lead him away when Alphonso spoke up. “But I drank that punch too!”

“Yeah but chances are you’re nowhere near as much of a lightweight as this guy is. C’mon.” 

* * *

“Good job putting this whole thing together!” Frenkie shouted. They were in the kitchen, which wasn’t the main scene of the party, but still loud enough.

Pedri raised his Solo cup in response. “Thank you! There’s no way Pablo coulda done this without me, lemme tell you.”

“Speaking of, what’s with you gaslighting him into thinking he doesn’t go to an all-boys school?”

Pedri just shrugged. “It started off as a joke, but now I wanna see how long I can keep it going.” He looked mighty proud of himself.

Frenkie looked around, and couldn’t help but notice the absence of Pedri’s twin. “Where is our little host?”

“Oh,” Pedri said with a chuckle. “He’s locked up in his room. The… oh man, what’s his name… the mean guy on my football team who’s always hanging around that Croatian kid dared him to eat a lollipop stick-first to prove he’s not a wimp; now he’s sick as all hell.”

Frenkie looked at Pedri like he was the worst best friend in the entire world. He was seconds away from scolding him for letting young, impressionable, Pablo do something so stupid, but before he could, there was a loud crash followed by a pained scream.

Pedri and Frenkie made their way to the source of the noise - it sounded like it came from the living room. There, everyone was crowded around something on the floor.

The duo shoved their way through the crowd to find Robert Lewandowski lying on the floor- ankle bent at an angle it most definitely shouldn’t be bent at.

“What the hell?” said Pedri.

“I, uh… well,” Robert’s words were slurring. He was like everyone else. Drunk. “I wanted to do something to prove I’m still… still, uh, young and hip and stuff-”

“You are seventeen years old!” his boyfriend shouted from the second floor above.

“And I was upstairs behind the railing thing, so I, uh, jumped a little, and…”

Frenkie looked down at Robert with a raised eyebrow and unamused look, looking much older than his mere fifteen years. “And?”  

“... Call an ambulance.”

* * *

As soon as the trio got into the second floor bathroom, Manuel locked the door behind them. The last thing they needed was for anyone else to see the sight of Drunk Out of His Mind Thomas.

He had just turned the lock when they heard the commotion from outside - the crash, the scream.

“What was that?” Alphonso asked, looking terrified.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Manuel looked at Thomas to assess the damage. Thomas had made himself comfortable sitting in a corner on the other side of the bathroom. He hadn’t puked yet, which was a good sign, but he was looking pretty loopy. He had gotten his phone out on th walk over, and stared at it for a few seconds before he started giggling again.

“Whatcha got there?” Alphonso asked.

“Oh, I, uh… I know this sounds crazy, but,” Thomas showed his friends his phone screen - it was on his iMessage app. He barely got his next sentence out before bursting into loud, hysterical laughter. “I’m kinda thinking of texting my ex...” 

"Like hell you are!" Manuel shouted, diving across the bathroom for Thomas’ phone. Luckily, Thomas, drunk and scrawny, was no match for him.

“Hey!” Thomas grabbed at his phone to no avail.

Manuel handed it to Alphonso. “Rule number one: friends don’t let friends drunk text their exes.”

* * *

Pedri entered Pablo’s room to bring him water and ibuprofen for the third time that night.

“How’re you feeling?” Pedri asked. He sounded way too cheery.

“I crave death. Both for me and whoever decided that lollipop sticks wouldn’t be edible.” Pablo said, lying on his bed and clutching his stomach for dear life. His bedspread, like most things in his room, was decked out in red and blue.

“Well, don’t freak out, but Robert jumped off the second floor railing-”

“What?!”

Pedri wasn’t gonna let that stop him. “We had to call an ambulance and I’m like, ninety, percent sure he shattered his ankle. But besides that, everything’s fine!”

“Ay, Dios-” Pablo was cut off by a notification from his phone. Curious as to who would be contacting him at this hour, he checked it right away, even though he was still nauseous. 

Whatever he read was apparently enough to shock him back into good health, because he immediately sat up. “Oh, my God. Oh, God, no, no, no.” Pablo did the sign of the cross in distress.

“What?”

“My family’s coming home Sunday morning!” 

Pedri checked the digital clock beside Pablo’s bed. Technically, it was Sunday morning.

Pablo buried his face in his hands, making his next words come out muffled. “That wasn’t the plan; they were supposed to come home Monday! I have to clean everything up, they’re gonna know about the drinks, and-”

“Hey, hey,” Pedri sat on Pablo’s bed across from him. He took his friend’s wrists and pulled them away from his face. “There is absolutely no reason to panic about whether or not you are gonna have everything cleaned up by the time your parents get home. Y’know why?”

Pablo just looked at him with those big, doe, eyes.

“Because you’re not. There is absolutely no way they’re not gonna know about this. You’re fucked.”

Chapter Text

On Monday morning, Guardiola’s classroom was buzzing with the carefree chatter of students whose teacher wasn’t in the room. The room had its usual sky blue decorations in place, but the man who painstakingly put them up was nowhere to be seen. Due to his absence, the students had the nerve to get out of their seats and talk to their friends, which resulted in many of them crowding around Kevin’s desk at the back of the room as he told some kind of story.

“So at this point the party’s in full swing, Pablo’s parents are gonna show up any minute, Erling’s foot is stuck, and I still got half a pie left-”

The sound of a door closing interrupted Kevin just as he was getting to what he had dubbed “the good part.”

Sure enough, the source of the noise was Guardiola himself. He had to pass by Kevin’s desk to get to his own and he couldn’t help but notice all the commotion. “What are you all doing? Leave Kevin alone; he needs to study.” He gingerly ruffled his student’s fiery orange hair as he passed by. 

Guardiola didn’t play favorites, except he did, and his favorite was Kevin. The junior was smart and the reason Guardiola’s class had the highest average GPA for the past four years (well, except for that one year Klopp got the better of him).

After their teacher had come in and essentially sucked out all the fun from the room, everyone got back to their seats in perfect silence. Guardiola liked silence.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher said absentmindedly as he got to his desk. “Sorry i’m late, I had to get my mail.” Everyone said their hellos and that was the end of that. Guardiola cracked open his school-appointed laptop and pulled up the roster he used to take roll. He could pretty much eyeball it at this point; he was good at remembering names and faces and was well past the point where he needed to call out names and wait for a “here.”

He noticed one of his students was missing and was about to happily mark them absent when he heard a knock at the door. Julian, who sat closest to the door, opened it, revealing a slightly flushed looking Erling.

“Excused absence pass?” the teacher asked, in a tone that indicated that he really didn’t care what the answer was.

“Uh, no…” said Erling. His eyes were downcast and he looked endearingly pathetic.

“Then you’re late.” Guardiola marked Erling late with a little too much enthusiasm.

Erling felt his heart drop a little. Guardiola had a very strictly enforced “three strikes policy” and he had already been late once. One more would land him in detention. “‘Please, I couldn’t find my way to-”

Guardiola held up a hand to shut his student up. “The ‘lost freshman’ excuse only works for the first week. Just sit down and… oh, what is it you guys say… accept this L.” He grabbed his mug from his desk and drank his coffee with great satisfaction.

Knowing debate was futile, Erling slumped into his seat. Kevin, who sat next to him, looked at him curiously. 

Erling spoke quietly as if leaking nuclear launch codes. “I stopped to pet a cat outside…”

Several minutes went by with the only sound in the room being that of pages turning and pens against paper. The students were studying, or at least pretending to, and Guardiola flipped through his mail. It was the same soup, reheated: assignments turned in late and an invitation to the staff team building exercise (a football game, how original). 

Everyone’s studying was interrupted by the sound of their teacher choking to death on his coffee. 

The students all just looked at him, unsure of what to do. Bernardo was the only one who actually got up. “Mr. Guardiola, are you okay?!”

After a few rounds of coughing, Guardiola finally regained the ability to speak. “I’m alright; thank you, Bernardo. I was just uh, flipping through my mail, and I got the silliest piece of news.” He knew his students didn’t need to know about said news, but deep down, he liked these kids, and he didn’t want to lie to them.

“Apparently the board is investigating me for ‘academic fraud,’” he said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, can you believe that? What nonsense…”

* * *

“You two…” Virgil said, head in his hands. “Are actually deranged.”

“Oh, boo hoo!” said Andy from clear across the room. “You’re just bitter that your pick didn’t make it past the round of sixteen!”

Virgil gestured wildly to the white board at the front of the room. On it, several fast foot chains were listed and organized into a tournament-style bracket, and each bracket had tally marks beside them. The class had gotten to the semifinals of their little competition. “Panda Express! How could you vote for that over Papa John’s?!”

“Easily,” Trent said with a level of snark that made his best friend proud. 

Never one to be left unheard, Cody had to speak up. “I agree with Virgil; the guys who put Arby’s into this competition shouldn’t be allowed to vote at all.” This sent Trent and Andy off, which in turn set everyone else off, and the classroom erupted into noisy bickering for the third time that Tuesday. 

From his seat, Jordan could see that Klopp was waiting for them all to settle down so he could speak. “Oi! Shut up!” he yelled, and everyone did just that.

Over at the front of the room, Klopp smiled warmly at his most trusted student. “Thank you, Jordan.” He popped the cap off the dry erase marker he was holding. “I know it’s a close one, but Trent was the tie breaker, so the winner is” - something at the back of the room stole his attention - “Jack Grealish?”

Everyone looked at Klopp, confused, then followed his equally bewildered gaze to a seat all the way in the back of the room. Sure enough, some dude holding a bag of chips sat next to a sleeping Mo. “Don’t mind me,” Jack said. “Just do what you’ve been doing. Like I’m not even here.”

“Uhh… Not that I mind having you here, but shouldn’t you be with Pep- Mr. Guardiola?”

Jack shoved a flaming hot Cheeto into his mouth before continuing. “We found out yesterday that Mr. Guardiola might lose his job, so I’m scouting out my options for a new homeroom.”

Klopp’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Lose his job? What? Why?”

“He got a letter saying that the Teacher’s Association caught him for ‘fraud,’ whatever that means,” he said with a shrug. “So do you lot do this kinda stuff every day?”

The students around him nodded. 

“You should come on Friday,” Darwin said from a few seats over. “It’s Powerpoint Day!”

Jack sat back and relaxed. Oh, he could get used to this.

* * *

Come lunch time, the teachers’ lounge looked as it usually did during lunch. Most people were eating, Tuchel was cleaning some Mysterious Substance from the microwave, and Jose was getting in a fight with the vending machine and losing.

Pep was startled when he heard someone enter and immediately shout his name. He looked up from his expertly, hand-crafted salad and sure enough, it was Jurgen, carrying some manila folder. Everyone else was startled be the noise, too, but upon realizing who it was, they went back to what they were doing.

“Ah, my clever Kloppo,” Pep greeted, gesturing for his friend to sit with him. “To what do I owe the-”

“Hey! Jurgen!” Pep was interrupted by none other than Jose. “Are you the one who keeps stealing my parking spot? You better not be; I’ll have you know it’s disrespectful to-”

Jurgen rolled his eyes. “Is the car that’s taking your spot a reliable German vehicle?”

Jose stopped to think for a second. “No.”

“Then it’s not me.” Jurgen then gave Pep his undivided attention. “So what’s this I hear about you being investigated for fraud?”

Pep immediately looked disgusted. “Don’t worry about it, it’s just baseless accusations. They’re accusing me of making my classes ‘easier’ so that I’d have a higher pass rate and class average.” With this statement, he used his fork to stab at his salad with almost excessive force. “My students are so smart that they’re arousing suspicion.”

“Actually, I’m not so sure that’s the case,” Jurgen said, looking uncomfortable. He threw the manila folder onto the table and took out some of the papers. “I found records of your final from last year and… It’s not looking good.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pep scoffed. “Last year’s final had a hundred percent pass rate.”

“Yeah, and it’s no wonder why. For starters, it’s multiple choice-”

“Because I asked the principal if I could make my final multiple choice and he said yes!”

“One of the answer choices for this question is the mitochondria!”

“Because it’s an essential organelle that the body requires in order to function, ever heard of it?”

Diego, who was sitting on a couch nearby and listening to every word of this exchange, couldn’t help but turn around and get his two cents in. “Motherfucker, you teach Spanish!”

After effectively silencing Pep, Diego got up and joined them. “Let me see this, maybe it’s not that bad…” He grabbed a copy of last year’s final and flipped to a random question.

30. The Spanish word for “orange” is ____.

          a. 3

          b. The Bite of ‘87

          c. Naranja

          d. Eggplant

“Yeah, no, you’re fucked.”

* * *

As Kevin walked over to the table where all his friends were eating lunch, he looked down at the food on his tray. There was gross, there was disgusting, and then there was this. He had a hamburger on his tray, amongst other things, and he didn’t even want to think about what kind of meat was in it.

When he got to the table, his friends were already chatting amongst themselves. 

“So you’re saying I should start parking in the staff parking lot?” Phil asked. “I dunno, sounds like I could get in trouble…”

“You won’t!” said Julian, who was sitting next to him. “My buddy Paulo does it all the time and he’s never gotten caught.”

“Alright,” said Kevin, effectively directing everyone’s attention towards him. “We need to talk strategy. And by that I mean, just in case Guardiola gets sacked, we need to know where we’re go-”

He was interrupted by Erling, who was sitting next to him, making some sort of choked up sound.

“Uh… are you okay?” 

Erling just shook his head. “It’s jus’ that… When I started high school I was so worried that I wouldn’t make any friends, but then I met you guys, and now we’re gonna be separated so I won’t see you and I have no idea where else to go and-”

“Woah, woah,” Jack said from where he sat across from Erling. “C’mon, mate, I’m sure you’ve got other friends… you play football, right? Any friends on your team?”

Kevin placed a comforting hand on Erling’s back, and after thinking for a bit, Erling spoke up. “Well… not many. There’s Martin, I guess he’s my friend…”

Jack’s face lit up upon learning that he managed to make one (1) friend. “Alright then, that settles that! If the worst happens and we get separated, you can join him in Arteta’s class.”

Erling nodded; he looked a little happier, which was something.

“What’s your plan?” Kevin asked Jack. 

“I like what I saw from Klopp’s class. Plus Jordan and Trent are there. You?” 

Kevin breathed a heavy sign. “Man, I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it… Well, there’s Inzaghi’s class… oh, but Romelu’s there; he hates me.”

“Ancelotti’s class?” Phil suggested, trying to be helpful. In response, everyone glared at him.

“And have class with Courtois, are you crazy?”

“Oh my gosh,” Jack groaned. “He stole your girlfriend in, like, sixth grade; you gotta let it go. I don’t think he even remembers!”

“She was everything to me!” Kevin’s voice was cracking like glass.

“Uh… What about Arteta’s class?” asked Julian, really hoping Kevin wouldn’t start crying.

“With Leandro? Hell no, I can’t stand that guy.”

“Okay do you, like, hate Belgians or something?”

“I am Belgian, dumbass.”

Erling let out a small gasp. “You shouldn’t hate yourself, Kevin…”

“I’m not having this conversation right now.”

* * *

Wednesday morning, Guardiola was absent again.

“Y’know, if the teacher doesn’t come within fifteen minutes, we’re legally allowed to leave, right?”

Ederson rolled his eyes. “Kyle, you say that every time he’s late, and yet you never actually try it.”

Aside from the rain pattering against the window, light chatter could be heard from the classroom. Several people were huddled around Phil, who had his DS out.

“I fuckin’ told you lot, Pokerus is a real thing! Read it and w-”

He was interrupted by the sound of the door closing, and everyone turned to see their teacher walk in. 

“You’re… still here,” Kevin thought out loud. 

“Well that’s no way to greet your teacher,” Guardiola said smugly as he made his way to his desk.

“It’s jus’ that we all thought you’d be gone by now, with the investigation and stuff…” Erling chimed in. “Not that we wanted that, or anything!”

Guardiola kicked his feet back up on his desk and rested his hands behind his head. “Well, I actually just got news from the school board. I guess they realized the value i provide to this institution, and how I not only push my students to be better, but inspire my fellow teachers as-”

“They didn’t wanna bother hiring a new teacher.” Jack stated.

“Yeah pretty much.”

Chapter Text

“And for number six, I got seventeen,” said Luis. It was early in the morning, so early that Luis and Leo were amongst some of the only students in the hall. They stood by Leo’s locker, comparing answers to their homework assignment that was due third period, and that Luis just did on the drive to school. 

He peered over to see Leo’s paper. “Whaddid you get?”

Leo looked at his paper with scrutiny, as if it had offended his bloodline. “I got South Africa.”

“Bitch, this is pre calc!” Luis snatched Leo’s paper from his grasp before he knew what hit him, and went over the question that was objectively not a word problem. “What are you on?”

Before Leo could respond by telling Luis that he’s on the ground, Neymar showed up at the trio’s morning spot. As per usual, Leo and Luis quietly analyzed their friend to see what fashion disaster he was wearing today. It wasn’t his worst look, but still pretty bad: blue denim jacket with equally blue jeans. His sneakers weren’t doing him any favors either; they were a bright yellow that Luis had previously dubbed “highlighter chic.”

“Hey guys,” Neymar said. “What’s new?” He sounded rushed, like he was asking out of formality rather than interest in what his friends were up to.

“Leo’s gonna fail pre calc.”

“I asked what’s new.”

Leo rolled his eyes and hoped nobody noticed.

“Hey, so uh…” Neymar looked around nervously. He was more jumpy than usual, too, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I kinda need a favor from you guys. Well, actually only one of you guys. And that’s for you to decide.”

Neymar gauged his friends’ expressions. Leo looked a lot more receptive to the unknown favor. 

Taking their silence as a cue to keep talking, Neymar continued. “So my cousin, uh, Maya, is getting married this weekend, right? And recently my family’s been all on my ass that I’m not dating anyone at my age, since Maya met her fiancee when she was only sixteen, but it’s not like she went to an all-girls school, so I think it’s really unfair to compare our experien-”

Luis cleared his throat, then spoke. “And this pertains to us because…”

“Right, uh, sorry. So I kinda really promised my parents that I’d have a date to accompany me to the wedding, and it’s on Saturday and I, uh…” Neymar made some vague hand gestures, clearly stalling. “Don’t have one. So, I was wondering if one of you guys would step in and help me out!” He then flashed a winner’s smile, as if he was a lawyer who had just closed a million-dollar deal, and not a high school junior wearing denim on denim.

Leo cocked his head in confusion. “So you want one of us to date you.”

“Well not permanently! We don’t hafta do much, just… whatever you do with your date at a wedding, I don’t know.”

Luis frowned, earnest and sympathetic. “Aw, I really would, but I don’t want to,” he said, and left.

Leo and Neymar just stared at each other for a while.

“Saturday,” Neymar said, already walking away to get to his class. “I’m picking you up at three. Oh, and try to be sociable!”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

* * *

“He’s picking me up in half an hour, what am I supposed to wear?”

“A suit, dude, its a wedding,” replied Angel. Well, technically it was Leo’s phone sitting on his nightstand on speakerphone that responded.

“I dunno if my suit still fits…” Leo said, fishing out the old thing from the dark crevices of his closet.

“Whaddo you mean? Doesn’t your mom drag you to those mixers at the embassy?”

“Have you ever seen me at one?”

Angel was silent for a good while. “Fair enough.”

Leo laid out his dusty ass suit on his bed while he fished around the bottom of his closet for his nice shoes. Finding them in his cluttered closet was a struggle; he had to sift through twelve pairs of cleats to do so.

“So,” Angel said after a while. “You dating Neymar. I’d say I’m surprised, but…”

“I’m not dating Neymar. I am being his date for one night.”

Leo could hear his friend smirking over the phone. “Yeah, like anyone’s gonna believe that. I always knew he had a crush on you.”

Leo dropped his newly found dress shoes in fear. “He said he’s going to crush me?”

“What? No- nevermind.”

“Hey, Angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how to tie a tie?”

“Oh, for fuck’s…”

* * *

Leo always hated parties, and this was no exception. 

Well, the ceremony actually wasn’t so bad. It required no human interaction; he just sat and watched with everyone else as Neymar’s, uh… sister, or cousin, or something proclaimed her love to some guy.

It was the after party that, well, sucked. The venue had music blasting, making it difficult to communicate with anyone. That, and the lighting was rather dim, so getting around was a pain. Neymar and Leo had taken upwards of an hour to get to their table, since they had to stop and greet family every step of the way.

He watched as Neymar, who looked quite nice in an elegant all black suit, was hugged by the umpteenth relative that evening. “Aw, it’s so good to see you!” she said. “And who’s the lucky-” Her face lit up upon seeing him. “Leo!”

Leo had no idea how this woman knew him by name, but he assumed they had met at one of Neymar’s birthday parties or something. She went in for a hug at the same moment Leo gave an awkward wave. 

“Uh, hello. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Neymar.”

Ney’s aunt or cousin or something looked at him like he was crazy, and Leo gave her a blank stare in return.

Neymar gave a loud, but forced, laugh. “Oh, Leo! You’re such a funny guy…”

Naymar’s family member laughed awkwardly in return. “Well, it’s good to see that you two have finally gotten together!”

Before Leo could say anything, Ney stepped closer to him and swung an arm around his shoulders. “Sure is! C’mon, Leo, let’s go sit down,” he said, and ushered Leo away.

* * *

Leo hated the general atmosphere of this evening, but at least the food was good. After walking through a warzone of relatives, he and Neymar finally got to their table and were served their food. They were seated at a table with Ney’s parents and sister, who were currently out mingling and socializing, all that disgusting stuff Leo hated.

“I can’t believe you,” Neymar said, mouth full of a damn good empanada. “Watching football during a fuckin’ wedding?”

Leo’s facial expression changed ever so slightly, which was practically an outburst for him. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about; my phone was on silent- oh my gosh.” Leo immediately ducked his head. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”

Neymar started looking around behind him for the source of Leo’s distress. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Stop doing that!” Leo said desperately, and Neymar listened, turning his full attention to his friend. “Why is Sergio Ramos at your cousin’s wedding?”

“What?!” Neymar exclaimed so loudly that it could be heard well over all the music and chatter.

“I’m not telling you where he is, ‘cause then you’ll draw attention to us, but what is he doing here?!”

“I don’t know, uh…” Neymar ran his hands through what had previously been his perfectly gelled hair. “I know Maya’s marrying some Spanish guy, maybe they’re…”

Leo tossed his fork onto the table. “Ney. What’s his last name?”

“What’s who’s name?”

“The Spanish guy your cousin just married, what’s his name?”

“...”

“Oh Dios mío…”

“What?! That doesn’t mean anything! There’s like, a bajillion people in this city, jus because two people have the same last name-”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Neymar’s expression soured significantly. “Hey, you’re the one who thought my last name was Neymar. If anything I should be more angry at-”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s coming this way, shut up!”

Leo had hoped that maybe it just looked like Sergio was heading in their general direction, but sure enough, a very determined and well put together Sergio appeared beside the duo. “Lionel. Neymar.”

Leo said nothing, while Neymar let out an almost comically loud gulp. “Hey, Sergio! You, uh, know the groom, or-”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I saw you.”

Neymar looked to Leo for help, for which he offered none. “Well, I’d sure hope so; I see you right now.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Sergio said, leaning uncomfortably close to poor Neymar. “You think I didn’t notice you staring at Luka during the reception?”

Neymar looked like he had just been accused of killing Kennedy. “I’m sorry, what? Dude, I didn’t even know you were here until like, right now. And I haven’t even seen Luka all night!”

Sergio looked quite taken aback. “Huh. So that’s how it’s gonna be.” He then stood there silently for an uncomfortably long amount of time, until the music changed. The song went from some loud party anthem to something nice and slow. 

“I am not gonna miss my chance to slow dance with Luka because of you clowns. But mark my words, I will remember this.” With that, Sergio reached over, grabbed an empanada straight off Neymar’s plate, and left.

The duo sat there quietly until Leo spoke up, for once in his life. “There is something seriously wrong with that guy.”

“Deeply,” Neymar said, before clearing his throat. “Y’know, we should go and, uh… try that.”

“Being psychopaths?”

“What? No, I meant dancing.”

Honestly, the thought of doing such a thing made Leo queasy. 

“It is a wedding, after all…”

Leo breathed a deep sigh. Oh, the things he did for Neymar. “Fine.” 

He went to get up, but before he could even do so, Neymar was up and offering him his hand to take. “You are my date, after all,” he said with a wink.

Leo and Ney’s arms were linked as they made their way over to the dance floor. The whole time, Leo silently prayed that everyone would be too preoccupied with that they were doing to even notice him. 

The millisecond the pair reached the dance floor, Leo stopped him. “Right here is good,” he said. He didn’t want to risk going further into the center and getting more attention.

“Okay,” Neymar said, unlinking their arms. Leo felt a little colder.

The two just stared at each other.

“You don’t know how to-”

“Not a clue, no.”

Neymar sighed. “Okay. From what I do know, basically you just-” he took Leo’s arms and placed them on his shoulders so they could hook around his neck. “And I just-” With more nerves than he’s ever had doing anything in his entire life, he placed his hands on Leo’s waist, as high as he possibly could while still technically being on his waist.

For some reason Neymar couldn’t explain, he felt… almost invasive. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Leo, whose expression remained unchanged as ever, just nodded. And really, it wasn’t so bad.

* * *

When Neymar says he loves a good party, weddings aren’t included in that sentiment. 

It’s just that they drag on for hours. Hours of greeting and making small talk with relative after relative, whom he knows he won’t see again until the next wedding.

In all the commotion, he had gotten separated from Leo, and he was now at a point where he hadn’t seen his friend for the better part of two hours. Knowing Leo, he figured that he just went back to their table to sit and be by himself - something that brought him great joy.

However, when Neymar returned to where he and Leo had been sitting earlier, Leo was gone.

He turned to one of his family members that had been standing nearby. “Hey, did you see my date go anywhere?” For some reason, using that phrase filled him with a joy he couldn’t explain.

“That short guy? Uh, last I saw, he went off to the restroom, but that was a while ago.”

“Thanks,” he said, and left.

* * *

“Holy shit, this place is nice!” was the first thing Neymar said upon entering the venue’s restroom. It really was; the countertop was made of a beautiful marble and the tiles had a sparkle to them.

Luckily, no one heard his remark, as the room was empty. Well, except for the boy sitting on the countertop.

“Leo!” he exclaimed, making his way over to his friend. “I knew I’d find you here.” 

In response, Neymar got Leo’s trademark silence.

“Is something the matter?” Neymar asked, brows furrowed with worry.

“Not necessarily,” Leo said, bringing up his legs so his knees were in front of his chest. “I just wanted to get away.

“I understand… it’s all the people, right?” Ney asked, and Leo nodded in response. “And the noise?” He nodded again.

“Well then, let’s dip.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, whaddo you say we get outta here? And go to McDonald’s.”

Leo chuckled a little. “That’d be nice, but you parents drove us here and I’m sure they don’t wanna leave early.”

In response, Neymar simply pulled they keys to his father’s Lobini out of his pocket, and smirked.

Leo got the message quite clearly. “If we take that car, your parents and sister have no way of getting home.”

“Please, I’ve got half the population of Brazil staying at my house; one of my cousins can give ‘em a ride.”

“Then let’s go,” Leo said with a smile, and Neymar helped him off the counter.

* * *

When they got to Leo’s house, Leo was asleep, and the car smelled thoroughly of McDonald’s. The amazing fast food restaurant was a short drive away from his place, but Neymar had wasted half a tank of gas driving around aimlessly and talking to his friend. Well, before he fell asleep.

Neymar couldn’t blame his friend; weddings always made him tired as hell. He questioned whether or not he should be driving in this state; he had only just gotten his license, and didn’t want to lose it so quickly.

Oh well. Someone had to take Leo home.

Neymar nudged his friend’s shoulder a few times. “Leo, c’mon. We’re here.”

Leo blinked a few times and looked around. He was in that post-nap state where he didn’t even know what year it was. Neymar recognized that look from the times Leo’s fallen asleep in class.

When he finally gained recollection of who he was, Leo offered his friend a warm smile that reached his eyes. “Thank you, Ney. I hope your parents don’t get too mad about taking the car.”

Neymar thought about the phone in his pocket, and how it was set to do not disturb so that he wouldn’t have to deal with his parents’ phone calls while he was out with Leo. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Well, first the detention we got a couple weeks ago, now this…”

“Oh, just get outta here!” Neymar said with a laugh.

Leo then got out of the car, and before he closed the door, he wished Neymar a goodnight and a safe drive home.

Neymar watched Leo enter his house, and let the fact that he just went on a date with Leo Messi sink in.

And he thought about how he wouldn’t mind doing it again.

* * *

It was Monday morning when Alexis and Paulo jumped Leo at his locker.

He flinched at the sudden appearance of his friends. “What the hell? You scared me.”

They didn’t seem to care that they had just taken decades off the poor guy’s life.

“So, how was it?” asked Alexis.

Leo looked genuinely confused. “How was what?”

Paulo then hit him on the arm with a little more force than was intended. “Oh, come on! Don’t play dumb; tell us about your date with Neymar!”

“My-” Leo balked. “How do you guys know about this?”

Alexis looked deep in thought as he answered. “Well, Neymar told Alisson, who told me, and I told Paulo.”

“And I told a great many people.”

Leo bumped his head against his locker. This was gonna be a very, very long day.

Chapter Text

Sergio never necessarily liked English class, but being forced to sit in front of Trent and Andy for any extended period of time was just cruel. 

He stared at the projector at the front of the dim room in hopes of ignoring the mindless chatter behind him.

“So I finally got that date,” said the dumb one.

“Hey, not bad that!” the dumber one replied. He high-fived Trent and spoke up again. “What’re you and Kylian gonna do?”

“He’s tutoring me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I told him I was struggling in history and now we’re meeting up at his house tomorrow night.” Trent sounded awfully proud of himself for pulling this off.

“What’re you talking about?” Andy questioned. “You’re great at history, mate.”

“Yeah,” said Trent, and Sergio could hear his smirk. “But he doesn’t happen to know that.”

Trent and Andy spent the rest of the class colluding about how Trent will make his move on Kylian, and Sergio spent that Monday morning strategizing, for he had an idea.

* * *

Sergio always felt a slight twinge of earned superiority as he walked by the hoards of students gathered on the lunch line in the cafeteria. The damn thing was so long the poor suckers who got there last ended up spending half their precious lunch period on line. He was one of the lucky ones; the fact that Luka made him lunch and gave it to him when he got picked up in the morning spared Sergio from this fate.

Despite how overcrowded the cafeteria was, Sergio always got to his table without so much as bumping into anyone. Somehow, people just tended to gravitate away from him, though he had no idea why.

At their usual table, sat Luka. On the first day of school for the past two years, Sergio had fought tooth and nail to get to the cafeteria early enough to nab one of the few booths the school offered. Luckily, the students of UEFA silently agreed on some kind of honor system; once you claimed a table on that first day, that made it yours for the year.

Luka munched on his sandwich as he jotted something down in his trusty planner, the one that he never went anywhere without. When Sergio sat down in front of him, Luka’s face brightened. “Sese!” he exclaimed, as if he was surprised to see Sergio at the same spot they sat in every day.

“Morning,” Sergio said, rounding off his daily routine of wishing Luka a good morning three times a day. One when he picked Luka up in the morning, one when they met for third period art class, and one at lunch. “Have I mentioned you look nice today?”

Luka smiled, and Sergio’s world felt brighter.

“You’re funny,” Luka said, and that was the end of that.

Sergio tore open his paper bag with the special hunger that came from being forced to be awake at 6:30. The sandwhich inside already had the crust trimmed off, courtesy of Luka. 

Sergio took one bite, and decided to put his brilliant plan into action.

“Y’know, I’m real worried about that English quiz tomorrow…” he said, with an overly dramatic sigh.

Luka seemed to either not notice or not care.

“... Did you hear me?” Sergio asked after an uncomfortably long time had passed with no answer.

Luka finally decided to grace Sergio with his attention, looking up from whatever he was writing. “Oh, about that English thing? I thought you were kidding.”

“Why would I be kidding? I’m worried about it and I’m, like, super behind on studying-”

“Sergio,” Luka said with a laugh. “You haven’t studied since that time you watched Hetalia before a history exam in seve-”

Sergio lunged over the table and desperately smacked a hand over Luka’s mouth, as if his friend had been exposing government secrets. He then looked around the cafeteria, ready to kill anyone who had been unfortunate enough to overhear. “Do not bring up the Hetalia phase,” he whispered urgently. “Are you crazy; we’ve been over this!”

Luka remained where he sat, Sergio looming over him, and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh- sorry,” Sergio stammered. By the time he sat back down his face was burning and he felt like an idiot. “So do you think you could help me study?”

“No way, dude!” Luka said, amused. “You’ve aced every exam you’ve ever taken, and unlike you, I actually do need to study for it.”

“Whatever you say…” 

This is fine. It’s a minor setback.

* * *

Come Tuesday morning, Sergio looked at his English quiz like it was the one thing getting in his way, and he had no mercy. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that it would look beyond suspicious if he bombed every question. So he answered all the easy ones as he normally would, and stopped at about half the questions that required more effort.

Provide an example of parallelism. (3 pts)

Describe how the speaker of the speech above uses allusion to support their claim. (5 pts)

Underline the thesis statement of the paragraph below. (3 pts)

Sure, Sergio could have left the questions blank and called it a day, but he still had thirty minutes to kill. So if he spent the remainder of the class doodling Luka in the margins of his paper, nobody needed to know.

No, really, no one had to know. He spent the last five minutes of class erasing like a mad man to ensure that was the case.

* * *

The next day was a sunny Wednesday, and Sergio waltzed into the cafeteria with an extra pep in his step, his eyes finding Luka just as they had done for nearly three years at this point.

“I can’t believe this,” he fake-huffed as he sat down across from Luka, slamming his quiz from yesterday onto the table for extra umph. “Also good morning.”

Luka, who was used to Sergio being this way, kept his nose in his book. 

“Luka,” he said, and was ignored again. “Lukita!”

Finally, Luka looked up from his book, startled. “Oh my gosh, what?”

Sergio urgently tapped his quiz that was laying on the table.

Luka didn’t bother looking at it; he just rolled his eyes. “Oh, boo hoo, you got an eighty five, y’know some people actually hafta work to get decent gra-”

“I got a C.”

“Shut up,” Luka said, snatching the paper off the table and examining it. “Holy shit, dude!”

Sergio put his head in his hands. “This is the worst performance of my academic career…”

Luka looked a little queasy. In the entire time Sergio had known him, Luka had never been good at the whole comforting thing. Not that Sergio had ever needed it, of course.

“Well, uh…” Luka started. “I’m sure this is just a one-time thing.”

Fuck. Sergio needed to sell it. “I just feel so disappointed,” he said, trying to sound choked up. “If I’m not smart, then… what am I? Where’s all my potential gone?”

“Uh… look, man, I’m sure its not that seri-”

“My parents will be so disappointed! They’re not gonna love me anymore; they’ll kick me out of the house and I’ll have to making a living by teaming up with my chemistry teacher and cooking crystal-”

“Okay, damn, I’ll help you study!” Luka said, if only to stop people from staring at Sergio, who was getting more distressed by the second. “It’s not that serious.”

Sergio reached over and grabbed Luka’s hand. “In your darkest hour, I will drop everything to rush to your aid.”

“Man, can’t you just be normal?”

* * *

Sergio loved Luka’s house.

It felt like a home from the moment he first stepped foot in there. It wasn’t like most of his other friends’ houses - places that are posh, but barren. A temporary lodging while his friends’ parents do their work in the United States. Luka’s place was different; if Sergio hadn’t known any better, he’d say Luka’s lived here for every one of his seventeen years. The crosses that graced every flat surface of the house, the lingering smell of some dish he couldn’t pronounce, the faint sound of old music… It all felt so lived in.

Luka let them both in, and when Sergio went to head to Luka’s room, Luka stopped him. 

“Hang on a sec, I forgot to make my bed this morning,” Luka said, and made for the stairs.

Sergio rolled his eyes. “I spend more time here than I do at my place; do you really think I care?”

Luka turned to face him, long unkempt hair swooshing around him. “I care,” he said with a smile that could only be described as gorgeous.

He disappeared upstairs and Sergio stood there as he fell a little bit harder.

After a few moments, he got tired of standing around and decided to head for the living room. 

Laying on the couch and scrolling through her phone was Jasmina, one of Luka’s sisters. She had the disastrous yet charming fashion sense that was typical of a middle school girl.

Jasmina smiled upon seeing him. “Hey, loser.”

“Hey,” Sergio said, approaching the couch and forcing her to scoot over so he could plop down. “Where’s the other one?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. What’re you doing?”

Sergio took a moment to answer, as he was trying to wrestle the TV remote out from between some couch cushions. “I’m waiting on your stupid brother.”

Jasmina let out a condescending kind of laugh. “You should be so lucky.”

Sergio just gave her a weird look, and she elaborated. “So you gonna ask him out today or what?”

“Ugh, this again! I don’t like him like that.”

“Yeah, and the Yankees are definitely gonna go all the way this year. You like him so much it’s pathetic,” she said with a smirk, and Sergio didn’t have to ask to know that she was getting so much joy out of pushing his buttons.

He should not have been getting so worked up over the comments of a girl who still shopped at Justice, yet here he was. “I just think Luka’s a good friend; that’s all! It’s not like I lie awake at night thinking about him…” Despite being in Luka’s living room, mentally, Sergio was somehere else entirely. “And his eyes, and his smile… and his laugh. And the speech I’m gonna give when I ask your parents for his hand in marriage.”

She looked at him, and he looked at her.

“But like in a platonic way, y’know-” Sergio started, trying to pull the backpedal of the century.

“Sese, c’mon!” Luka’s voice rang from upstairs.

Sergio got up awkwardly. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna-”

“Please do,” Jasmina said. “Don’t break his heart up there. Or do, that would be kinda funny.”

* * *

Upon entering Luka’s room, Sergio chucked his bookbag into the same corner that he always did.

While Sergio was downstairs, Luka had went ahead and gone into full Study Mode. He had changed into comfier clothes, including a pair of sweatpants he “borrowed” from Sergio in freshman year and never gave back, and was now standing in front of his mirror and tying his hair back. The perimeter of Luka’s mirror was littered with polaroid pictures, most of which featuring him and Sergio.

“Aw, damn,” Luka said, squinting at his own reflection. “I’m breaking out like crazy.”

Sergio’s words flew out of his mouth faster than he could stop them. “You’re perfect just the way you are!”

“... What?”

“What?” 

Luka rolled his eyes. “Well? Don’t jus’ stand there. Get your books out; we’re getting to business.”

Had it been literally any other context, Sergio would’ve make some remark about Luka being cute when he’s snappy, but Studying Luka didn’t fuck around and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to that.

Within moments, the two were sat criss cross applesauce across from each other, with books, papers, and a stupid amount of highlighters in various colors scattered between them. Luka made quick work of going through Sergio’s quiz and pointing out exactly where he went wrong and why.

“And that’s why this is a good example of parallelism, you see what I mean? It uses-”

“No, that’s repetition,” Sergio said without meaning to.

“Huh?”

“Oh, um… nothing, nothing, I just had my wires crossed. Keep going.”

* * *

When Sergio had come up with his master plan, he failed to consider just how boring it would be.

Yes, he got to hang out with Luka for hours on end, which he wouldn’t trade for the world, but listening to his friend educate him on topics he already knew about was putting him to sleep.

For the umpteenth time that hour, Luka was lecturing him on… man, he didn’t even know. What he did know was that Luka was just so captivating when he had his mind set on something. If Sergio really was struggling with school, Luka would have been genuinely helpful.

But for now, in his boredom, Sergio stared at his best friend. He stared at the way his hands somehow managed to balance all those damn highlighters, he stared at his eyebrows that furrowed whenever he was really focused on something, he stared at the strands of hair that were out of place and made Sergio want nothing more than to reach out and-

“Sergio?” 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the comforting realization that Luka was looking at him, and the horrifying realization that his stupid hand had a mind of its own and was now brushing against Luka’s cheek, in prime position to brush some stray strands of hair behind his ear.

He couldn’t just pull his hand back and apologize. He needed to think fast.

So, being careful to not use any force, he smacked his best friend in the face.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Luka exclaimed, flinching in surprise rather than pain.

“There was a bug on your face!” said Sergio, honestly proud of himself for the recovery.

“Still!” Luka said, before reaching over and playfully punching Sergio on the arm. 

Instinctively, Sergio cradled his injured arm; he was shocked at the amount of pain he was in. “When the hell did you get so strong?!”

Luka gave a smirk that told Sergio he was very satisfied with himself. “Since I became friends with your violent ass.”

The duo laughed, true and joyful, and the studying resumed.

* * *

“Sergio…? Anyone home?” Luka’s voice snapped Sergio out of his thoughts, or lack thereof.

“Huh? Yeah?” 

“Are you paying attention? This is important; it’ll help you with one of the questions that you missed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am…” 

After several uncomfortable hours on the floor, the duo were now sat on Luka’s bed. One look out the window told Sergio that the sun would be setting any minute now. He didn’t like driving in the dark.

Luka picked up the study materials that were scattered between the two, and moved them aside. “Y’know, I’m not stupid,” Luka said. “I know what you’re doing and I know why.”

“You do?” Sergio asked, trying not to sound terrified.

Luka nodded, moving closer to his friend. Now they sat next to each other on the edge of the bed. 

“I’ve… been real busy with student council stuff recently. And with my class president stuff, and my college applications. I know I don’t see you as much as I used to… And truth is, I’ve really missed you too.”

Something about Luka’s vulnerability was making Sergio feel particularly gutsy.

Was this his chance?

Sergio moved just the smallest bit closer to Luka as he continued. “The fact that you went through all this trouble to spend time with me… I’m honestly kinda flattered.”

Before Sergio had his chance, Luka moved in and brought him into a warm side hug.

“But you don’t hafta pretend to be bad at English to hang out with me! I’m here whenever you need me… That’s what friends are for.”

Sergio swallowed. The pill was bitter.

Friends.  

Chapter Text

Sleep was a beautiful, beautiful thing. Pablo loved sleeping. He couldn’t think about his problems when he was resting.

“Pablo.”

There was nothing like being wrapped up in his favorite blankets. He often woke up wishing he could stay in bed all day.

“Pablo.”

If anything, he slept too much. He could get nine, ten, even eleven-

“Oh my fucking-” Robert grabbed one of the pillows that Pablo wasn’t sleeping on and proceeded to beat the poor kid with it. “Pablo! Get. Your ass. Up!” 

Thanks to Robert’s effort, Pablo finally awoke, gasping like he was having Vietnam flashbacks. That’s just what waking up to being physically assaulted does to a person. 

Pablo grabbed Robert’s weapon of choice, which finally made the senior stop beating him. “What. The fuck, man?”

“Did you forget the field trip was today? It’s late; why aren’t you up?”

Putting the pillow he pried from Robert’s hands aside, Pablo began to worry. “Huh? Whaddo you mean late?” He looked to the digital alarm next to his bed. Damn, his nightstand was cluttered. “Motherfucker, it’s seven in the morning!” Pablo then turned the tables and smacked Robert with the pillow. Repeatedly. “The trip’s not for another three hours, I could. Have. Been. Sleeping!” 

Robert quickly managed to get the weapon of mass destruction out of Pablo’s hands. “Yes, but we have to get something to eat, stock up on gas, it’s Saturday so traffic’s gonna be a bitch, not to mention we hafta get there early so we don’t spend the entire day waiting on the line to get in since it’s gonna be crowded, and I wanna hit the gift shops first while they’re still stocked and the lines are short.” As he said this, Robert got Pablo’s bookbag and his shoes and brought them to him, and even rummaged through Pablo’s dresser and threw some clothes in his general direction.

Robert’s rummaging made the room even more of a mess than it already was, not that that changed much. Even before Robert started messing around with his stuff, his nice blue rug was wrinkled and bent out of shape, and his desk was littered with soda bottles from the Obama administration.

Pablo blinked as he looked down at the Minecraft creeper shirt Robert had thrown at him. “Who let you into my house?” he asked.

Robert went still as a statue. “... Don’t worry about it. You better be ready and outside in five minutes,” he said, and promptly left the room. As he descended the stairs, he called out, “Pedri’s waiting in the car!”

Pablo looked around aimlessly, and noticed that he hadn’t charged his phone overnight. Fuck. 

Not to mention, his tummy hurt like a bitch.

* * *

“How much you wanna bet you’re gonna lose a kid again?” Pep asked.

“Nothing,” replied Jurgen, sternly and without hesitation. “Because I’m not losing anyone.” He looked at his attendance sheet and the students grouped in front of him to make sure everything was in order. It was shortly before the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum opened, and the teachers were making sure all their students were accounted for. 

It was right before opening, so the grand-looking museum was nowhere near full capacity, but being one of the most popular tourist destinations in DC, it was still crowded enough for a student to lose his way in.

“That’s what you said last year!” Jose chimed in, approaching the duo. “And the year before that. And the year before that, and the year bef-”

“Yes, yes, I get it!” Jurgen didn’t like raising his voice in the slightest, but he was getting increasingly annoyed.

Pep, unfazed by his coworkers’ antics, just shrugged. “Just saying, for someone who claims that his students are ‘his own flesh and blood,’” he used air quotes, naturally, “your kids disappear faster than my prom date back in ‘89.”

Jose and Jurgen stared at him. After a prolonged silence, Jose spoke up. “Is there… something you wanna talk about?”

“No,” Pep said immediately, sounding more than a little choked up. He cleared his throat and wiped his nose before looking back at Jurgen and smirking. “But how’s about we do make that bet?”

Jurgen crossed his arms, looking down at his shorter coworker. “What’re your terms?”

Pep bit the inside of his cheek, no doubt overthinking as per usual. “If you manage to go this whole trip not once not knowing the whereabouts of one of your kids… I’ll do your lesson plans for a week.”

“And if I do lose one of them? Hypothetically.”

“Then you’ll do mine. Also, winner gets ten bucks,” Pep said, sounding confident.

“Alright then, you’re on,” replied Jurgen, hoping his voice didn’t convey how worried he actually was.

He and Pep fistbumped on it, with Jose as their witness.

Within a matter of minutes, the museum officially opened, and all the teachers led their classes in, with Jurgen paying closer attention to his class than most.

* * *

Trent and Andy were too busy gossiping to pay attention to the exhibits on display in the Early Flight section of the museum, a place filled with old planes and remnants from a time where human flight was a mere product of fiction.

Well, Trent and Andy didn’t gossip. They simply exchanged information. After all, if someone were to tell one of them something, it was pretty much an unspoken agreement that they would tell the other… right?

“That’s insane, man,” said Andy as the duo walked by a Lilienthal glider. “Are you winding me up?”

“I wish,” Trent scoffed. “That’s like, three separate times that she’s cheated on him, that he knows of… Poor João…” 

The duo continued to wander around. They remained with their group, but had gone off on their own just a little bit. From where they were, they could still see the rest of their class, but could easily slip away if they wanted to.

Naturally, the exhibits around them were all on the older side. The planes and gliders were all roped off due to the fact that they’d probably disintegrate upon human contact.

However, Trent’s mind, which was just geared for trouble, couldn’t help but notice the fact that the velvet ropes meant to keep people away from the exhibits could easily be compromised by a small child, or a determined dog.

He waited until the rest of their group got a little farther away before patting Andy on the shoulder. “Oi,” Trent said, vaguely gesturing to a particularly old looking plane nearby. “Bet you can’t touch that thing without getting caught.”

Andy squinted at the plaque in front of the exhibit, a 1909 Wright Military Flyer. “You want me to touch and potentially damage the world’s first military aircarft?”

“Naur, I want you to touch and potentially damage the world’s first military aircraft without getting caught.”

Andy was maneuvering under the ropes before Trent even finished. “You’ll get it on video?”

Trent was already taking out his phone.

* * *

Robert rushing his friends to the gift shop early had really paid off, as the shop was fully stocked and the line was nonexistent, as evidenced by the fact that they got out so early. He watched as Pedri and Ansu walked just a few steps ahead of him, childishly playing with the model planes they got at the gift shop and making plane engine sounds.

They were in the most tourist trap-y part of the museum. One gift shop wasn’t enough; they had to have an alley of them, in addition to a bunch of fast food places.

Eventually, Ansu turned to face Robert. “Where we going next?”

Robert opened his notes app and looked at the itinerary he so carefully planned out the week prior. “Uh… America by Air!” he said, hoping that the others didn’t notice that he didn’t sound quite like himself; his stomach was killing him and he was trying desperately to be strong about it. 

Robert, having been on this field trip the year prior, made quick work of leading his friends in the right direction.

“Hey…” Ansu said after they had been walking for a while. “This might sound weird, but do you guys feel like we’re forgetting something?”

Robert frowned. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I kinda do… But what?” He instinctively checked his pockets, and sure enough, everything was still in its place. Phone, car keys, etc.

Pedri just shrugged; he didn’t seem to care. “If we forgot about it, then it wasn’t important.”

* * *

“Guys?” Pablo asked, and just like the last ten times, he got no answer. He looked around the gift shop, alone and with no sense of where he was in such a big museum. The gift shop was large, and the section of the museum it was in was even larger. The bright fluorescent lights were doing something to his head.

The poor guy tried not to beat himself up for not charging his phone overnight and for wasting what little battery had to complete the day’s Wordle on the drive over.

Pablo continued looking around the gift shop in hopes of finding one of his friends, but to no avail. Eventually, he turned around and bumped right into someone a litter taller than him.

“Woah, sorry-” the older boy said, grabbing Pablo’s shoulders to make sure he didn’t fall. “Wow, you’re totally about to cry, uh… Are you okay?”

Pablo looked at the boy he bumped into; he looked vaguely familiar.

“I’m fine,” Pablo said, nodding vehemently. “It’s jus’ that I was here with my class, but now I can’t find them, and my phone is dead so I can’t call anyone, and this place is just so big I have no idea where my class could be,” he sniffled, “and my tummy hurts and I’ve been really brave about it but I don’t know how much longer I can be brave about it.”

“Uh…” The older boy looked at Pablo like he was crazy. “Hey, Nemanja?!”

Another guy popped up from behind a rack of overly priced t-shirts. “Yeah?” 

“Uh… lost child,” the first boy said, pointing to Pablo awkwardly.

Nemanja rolled his eyes as he made his way over. “Jeez, Paulo, have some tact.” Nemanja was very tall, and squatted a little with his hands on his knees so he could be eye level with Pablo. “What’s your name?”

“Pablo.”

“Okay, uh… Are your parents here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m here with my school for a trip.”

The other boy, whose name was apparently Paulo, shoved Nemanja out of the way so that he was the one making eye contact with Pablo.

“Dude!” Nemanja said after stumbling to the ground and getting back up. Paulo didn’t seem to care.

“Wait, do you go to UEFA?” Paulo asked.

Pablo nodded.

“Wha- you’re like, twelve!”

“I’m thirteen!”

“Guys,” Nemanja said, getting the others’ attention. “What class are you in, Pablo?”

“Xavi’s.”

“Okay, uh…” The other two could see the gears turning in Nemanja’s head. “So we’re gonna take you back to our class and have Mr. Mourinho call up Mr. Xavi and find out where your group is, okay?”

Pablo nodded, and followed the two older kids out of the gift shop.

* * *

‘Oh no,’ Jurgen thought as he looked around the Destination Moon part of the museum. ‘Oh no oh no oh no.’

This section of the museum was very space-themed, with constant reminders of the country’s victorious moon landing and the steps they took to get there.

If it were anyone else that Jurgen couldn’t find, he’d be mildly concerned at absolute worst. But as he walked around and realized that Trent and Andy were nowhere to be found, the deep realization that somewhere, absolute havoc was being wrecked set in.

He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he noticed Trent approaching him from the corner of his eye. That relief turned to terror when he realized it was just Trent.

As soon as he was within earshot, Jurgen asked, “Where’s Robbo?” 

His student visibly deflated, then cleared his throat. “Well- you see it’s so funny that you mention him-”

“Trent.”

Trent rubbed his hands together in the least sinister way possible. “He got caught by a guard and is in the security office…” He punctuated his statement with a nervous grin, as if that would make things better.

‘Disappointed, but not surprised,’ Jurgen thought. “Caught doing what?”

Trent just laughed, but not in a carefree way. “Like, don’t even worry about it, bruv-”

Jurgen held up a hand to stop his student from rambling. “Y’know what, doesn’t matter; I’m gonna find out anyway. Just… Hang tight here; we’re gonna go to the office together, I just have to do something first.” 

He then left Trent to go look around.

Unlike with his two troublemakers, one student he didn’t have trouble finding was his most trustworthy one, Jordan, who was with Virgil and Alisson at the Gemini VII Capsule exhibit.

“Jordan,” Jurgen said as he approached him, trying not to sound panicked.

“Yeah?” replied Jordan. Next to him, Alisson and Virgil continued their conversation, oblivious to the world around them. If Jugen noticed the way their hands brushed against each other, he pretended not to.

“Look, I need to go take care of something, just… keep everyone in line while I’m gone.”

“Sure thing,” Jordan said, giving a playful little salute.

Jurgen started to walk away, then remembered something, and turned back to Jordan.

“Oh, and if you run into Mr. Guardiola, tell him he just got ten dollars richer!”

* * *

Apparently, the head security guard had been expecting Jurgen.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Klopp,” the guard said after letting him and Trent in. The security office was just what Jurgen expected; that is to say, barely bigger than a broom closet. The officer’s desk was less of a desk and more of a nightstand with a laptop on it.

“So you’ve heard about me!” said Jurgen, jovially. He then looked at where Andy was sitting - on a metal folding chair in the corner of the cramped room. True to form, the teenager didn’t look guilty or ashamed. He had that look on his face, the one that told Jurgen that Andy and Trent were going to have a big laugh about this later.

The head guard put his pen down, finally done filling out his incident report. “Normally, I’d call his parents in this situation. But I could tell from the kid’s accent that he’s one of those diplobrats, and their parents tend to be… less than responsive.”

Andy and Jurgen exchanged a knowing look. 

It was something all the teachers at UEFA were aware of. Their students’ parents were diplomats and ambassadors, ambitious and busy people who had a tendency to be absorbed in their work, and… well, for lack of a better word, neglectful. There were exceptions, but Andy’s father wasn’t one of them.

Jurgen gave a polite smile. “Well, thank you for sending Trent to get me. Is there any procedure that needs to be done, or can we go?”

“The incident report’s been filed; kid’s free to go.”

Andy got up to leave before the officer could change his mind.

Of course, the three were interrupted before they could get out the door.

“He got off so easy since he didn’t damage anything. However, it’s a priceless artifact that easily could have been damage, so he’s walking away with a fine. And that will be going to his parents.”

“Of course,” Jurgen said pleasantly. “Thank you for your time; have a good day.” And with that, they left the office.

Andy and Trent kept giving each other looks the entire way back to the rest of the class.

“You kids,” Jurgen sighed, “are going to be the death of me.”

* * *

After a long and… eventful day at the museum, Pablo, Pedri, and Robert enjoyed a peaceful ride home in Robert’s Arrinera.

They had hit up the McDonald’s drive thru and decided to wait until they got to their respective places before eating. In the passenger seat, Pedri held all the bags of hot food, and Pablo was trying to balance three large drinks in the back seat.

“It’s a good thing those kids from Mourinho's class found you when they did,” Pedri said, taking a fry from Robert’s bag and hoping he didn’t notice. “I bet you were crying like a baby when they found you.” Pedri then giggled at his friends expense.

“I did not cry!” Pablo exclaimed, kicking the back of Pedri’s seat. 

Pedri, who was already irritable due to a stomach ache that had recently manifested, was going to snap at him, but Robert interrupted him.

“Hey, don’t do that, you’ll stain the leather!” he reprimanded. 

Robert loved his car. The thought that it would smell completely of fast food after this made him very uncomfortable.

Suddenly, his phone rang from where it sat in the front cupholder.

“Can you check that for me?” he asked Pedri.

“It’s Marco.”

“Could you answer it?”

Pedri did, and the phone connected to the car through bluetooth.

“Babe, you’re on the car speaker, Pablo and Pedri are here.”

“Hi!” said Pablo.

“Hey Marco,” Pedri chimed in.

The trio could hear Marco’s warm chuckle through the car speakers. “Hey guys. Robert, did you get what I asked for?”

Poor Robert just raised his eyebrows in surprise, grateful Marco couldn’t see his face. “I’m sorry? I, uh, couldn’t hear you there.”

“I asked if you got me something from the gift shop. Y’know, since I couldn’t go on the trip ‘cause a my football game today.”

“Yeah, yeah, I totally did! How’d the game go?”

“Good; we won! Everyone talks about how good the other team is, but every time they play us they just… bottle,” he chuckled. “I think Leo had a panic attack when he saw us on the pitch. Oh, and it helped that Paulo wasn’t there; he’s good…”

“Well, I’m glad,” Robert said with a nervous smile. “Hey, uh, we’re about to enter a tunnel and my service is gonna go to shit, so I’ll call you later.” There was no tunnel in sight.

“Okie dokie. Love you.”

“Uh-huh. You too. See ya later.” 

Pedri took that as his cue to hang up the phone. 

As soon as he could, Robert got into the turning lane and cut the wheel, prepared to make a very illegal U-turn.

“I didn't get him shit; I’m turning this fucking car around… Pablo, I’m making a sharp turn; hold on to the waters.”

Pablo, who had three large cups of ice water balanced on his lap, looked up in abject horror.

The U-turn was not kind to Pablo.

* * *

Come Monday, Jurgen entered the teachers’ lounge with his usual Monday morning cheer that baffled his coworkers.

It was a usual scene; the energy was practically nonexistent and the only splash of color was from the flyers on the bulletin board.

“Guten Morgen!” he greeted, with his signature light-up-a-room kind of smile.

His tired coworkers gave various grunts in greeting.

He looked around and noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Xavi?”

Pep looked up from his spot on the couch. He had the red and blue Switch Joy-Cons in hand, his lesson plans sitting abandoned next to him. “Didn’t you hear? His whole class is out sick. They say it’s a nasty stomach bug.”

“Damn,” said Jurgen. “That sucks.” He then made for the door.

“Wait, Jurgen!” Pep called out. “Don’t you owe me ten bucks?” He wore the knowing smirk of his that Jurgen hated so much.

“Scheisse, I was hoping you’d forgotten that!”

Chapter Text

‘Deep breaths,’ was what Sergio told himself as he watched from afar as Luka rummaged through his locker before fifth period. Students walked by Sergio, all on their way to their own classes, and some of them shot him odd looks, since he was just standing in the hallway staring at someone.

Nervousness wasn’t a feeling Sergio was used to, as it had only creeped up on him for the first time about three years ago, on that fateful first day of freshman year. But right now it was hitting him full force. His time to ask Luka what he wanted to ask him was running out, so he had to act fast.

Thus, after far too much deliberation on his part, he made his way over to Luka.

“Hey,” he greeted, leaning against the locker next to Luka’s all nonchalantly. 

“Sergio, hey,” responded Luka, grabbing some notebooks from his locker and slipping them into his bookbag. His locker was probably the neatest one Sergio had ever seen; there were shelves to keep things in order, and a mirror and dry-erase board with a to-do list on it attached to the inner door. “What’re you doing here? Your next class is in another building.”

Unsure of how to answer, Sergio just shrugged. 

“You’re skipping again,” Luka said with a fond smile.

“Not… skipping, per se. Jus’ being fashionably late.”

Luka chuckled warmly and went about his business, not having anything else to say.

After a few moments of hyping himself up, Sergio cleared his throat. “So, uh-”

“Luka!”

The duo turned to the source of the interruption - Ivan Rakitic.

“Ivan, what’s good?” greeted Luka as Ivan approached him and they did some weird handshake thing.

Sergio seethed. Ivan was Luka’s friend from football; he was very nice and Sergio hated him.

“Not much, same old,” Ivan told Luka when they were done with their little ritual. “Hey, I uh, actually came over here to ask you something.”

“Yeah, shoot,” replied Luka. 

“I was thinking… would you, uh, maybe be interested in going to Homecoming? With me?” He sounded nervous, yet polite, and gave Luka a smile so charming it made Sergio want to puke.

“That sounds-”

“Luka’s already going to the dance with me,” Sergio said loudly, giving Ivan the look that terrified so many of his peers.

Luka, to his credit, managed to keep his expression surprisingly neutral considering just how taken aback he was.

“Oh, shit man, I didn’t know! Sorry!” Ivan said. The poor guy sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’ll see you at football, ‘kay?”

Luka gave him a forced, tight lipped smile and nodded. “Mm-hmm!” 

With that, Ivan left, and Sergio hoped that would be the end of that. But before he could escape, Luka turned to face him. 

“I’m already going to the dance with you?”

Sergio nervously scratched the back of his neck. “Well, you see, I was actually-”

Luka hit Sergio in the arm, and luckily he didn’t put as much force into it as last time. “Stupid! I was about to get asked to the dance, what the hell was that?!”

“Well, I was just about to ask if you wanted to go, y’know, as like friends, and I wasn’t gonna let that guy steal my chance!”

“So?! Why didn’t you ask me to the dance days ago like a normal person? Instead of waiting until I’m literally being asked out-”

“Okay well if you wanted to go with what’s-his-face so bad, why didn’t you correct me?”

“Because,” Luka said, slamming his locker shut. “It would’ve been awkward, and weird, and it would’ve made you look like even more of a crazy person than you already are, if that’s even possible, and… God, I hate when you’re like this.”

Sergio probably should have been angry, but all he could think about is how much he appreciated Luka’s honesty. No one else would have the guts to chew him out like that.

Before Sergio could get a word in, the bell finally rang.

“Look, I gotta go to class,” Luka said, running a hand through his hair out of habit. “I’ll see you later.”

Sergio watched his friend walk away for a few moments before he remembered something. “Wait, so are we going to the dance or not?!” he called out, to no avail. “Luka!”

* * *

The cafeteria was always alive and teeming with noise, but today it was especially so. With the big day almost upon them, the excitement could practically be felt in the air.

“Marco, are you good, bro?” Mario asked, effectively snapping his friend out of his thoughts.

“Uh… what?” Marco asked, dumbfounded.

From his seat across from Marco, Jude rolled his eyes. “Have you been listening to a word we’re saying, bruv?”

Marco looked down at his uneaten lunch. It was cold.

Jude took his silence as an answer to his question. “We’re talking about our plans for the dance.”

Oh yeah. That’s was Marco was in such deep thought about. “Whatever,” he shrugged. “I don’t even know if im going.”

Next to Jude, Mario leaned a great deal forward, desperate for any shred of gossip. “How come?”

“Robert hasn’t asked me to go yet.” Marco said it like it was a totally normal thing, and not at all depressing.

Mario and Jude looked at each other, then back at Marco. 

“You mean to tell me,” Jude said, “that you’re the only person at this table with a boyfriend and he hasn’t asked you to the dance?”

Marco knew what his friends were going to say to this, so he figured he might as well say it with them.

“Dump his ass,” they all said in unison, Jude and Mario sounding urgent and Marco sounding tired of hearing this.

“See?!” Mario exclaimed. “Even you know it!”

“How many times do I hafta say it; I’m not breaking up with my boyfriend just because you people don’t like him!” In fact, Marco had probably said that hundreds of times by now. His friends made no effort to hide their… distaste for Robert, and although it stung to think about for too long, Marco knew that Robert’s old friends didn’t care for him either.

“But he’s just…” Jude paused, trying to find the right words, before settling on, “the worst! C’mon, Marco, it’s hot girl summer, not date a loser summer!”

Both Marco and Mario had to take a moment to process the stupidity of what Jude said.

“Uh… We’re not girls, it’s not summer, and I’m not dumping him,” Marco said with a tight lipped smile.

Mario looked forlorn as he picked as his disgusting food. “He treated you better when you guys were just friends.”

Marco didn’t give that too much thought.

* * *

“Alright, alright,” Klopp said when everyone was gathered in his classroom. “So what’re everyone’s plans for the dance? Mr. Guardiola and I got chosen to chaperone so I imagine I’ll be seeing you guys there.” He had no shame in the fact that he loved to get in on the students’ gossip, and honestly, they loved him for it.

“Word on the street is João’s bringing his girlfriend,” Harvey said with a smirk. Everyone around the freshman immediately turned to face him.

“Oh my gosh,” said Cody. “After all this time… we can finally put a name to her face.”

The class spent a good while talking about her transgressions before ultimately agreeing that everyone would do their best to find out everything they could about her if they saw her.

“Me and Robbo are going together,” said Trent when the subject eventually changed, fist bumping his best friend. Weeks ago, the two of them had moved their desks so that they were touching rather than just next to each other, and Klopp knew that trying to separate them was futile.

From a few seats ahead of Trent, Ibou whipped around to face his classmate. “Wait, wait, wait. Aren’t you talking to Kylian?”

“Yeah,” Trent nodded.

“And… you’re not taking him to the dance?”

“Well,” Trent said nervously, slinging an arm around Andy’s shoulders. “It’s bros before hoes, man.”

“‘Bros before hoes…’ okay,” Ibou said with a chuckle. 

“Oi, what’s so funny?” asked Andy.

“Nothing, nothing! I’m sure Kylian will take this super well.”

Trent honestly hadn’t thought about how this would make Kylian feel until now. He immediately began to overthink, and the room went quiet.

Mo took it upon himself to break the silence. “Kostas asked Thiago to the dance two weeks ago.”

“What?!” 

The room exploded.

* * *

The door to Luka’s room was open, but Sergio had the courtesy to knock anyway.

Luka, who was sat criss-cross applesauce on his bed typing away on his laptop with papers scattered around him, didn’t bother looking up. “I’ll look at your Minecraft house later, Diora, I’m busy.”

“Are you saying I look like a middle school girl?”

Hearing Sergio’s deep voice instead of his sister’s startled Luka a bit. “Oh… it’s you,” he said when he got over his shock. He sounded disappointed.

Even though Luka was upset with him, he still sat with Sergio at lunch and allowed him to drive him home. That was hours ago, though. It was now about eight at night, and Sergio had spent the entire evening thinking about Luka, so before he knew it, he was on the way over.

Sergio wished he had thought this through more. He had no idea what to say. “Uh… can I come in?”

“You already are.”

Sergio looked down. He had a foot in the door. 

Stepping in further, he wrung his hands together, unsure of what to do with them.

After a while of silence, Luka sighed. “Look, I’ve got an essay to wor-”

“I’m sorry, Luka,” Sergio blurted out. What surprised him wasn’t the fact that he apologized, but how genuine and vulnerable he sounded. “It was wrong of me… what I did earlier. You can, uh, make your own decisions and stuff, so if you wanna go with what’s-his-face, then have at it… It’s my fault for not asking you sooner. But, it’s our last year here, and I would really, really, like to go with you… But only if you want to!” Sergio was staring at the ground, unwilling to look at his friend’s face.

While Sergio was talking, Luka had picked up the papers scattered around him and moved them aside. “Come here,” he said, and Sergio looked up to see Luka looking at him with his arms open wide.

Sergio did as he said without a single thought in his mind.

He had hugged Luka several times before, and each time was better than the last. This time, he became certain that his arms were created to be around Luka.

“You idiot,” Luka said warmly. “I can never stay mad at you.”

“Thank God. I think you’re the only person who can put up with me.”

Luka finally pulled back a little. “Oh, I’m definitely the only one who can put up with you.”

The pair laughed, Sergio leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. Luka didn’t lean back.

After a few moments, Sergio finally let go of his friend and made himself comfortable. Luka’s laptop was still on the bed, screen having turned black after not being used for so long and essay long since abandoned.

“Okay, so what color tie are you wearing?” Luka asked. “‘Cause we hafta match.”

Sergio raised an eyebrow, trying to look cool despite the fact that he was utterly freaking out on the inside. “We?”

Luka dragged a hand down his face. “Oh, gosh, don’t make me say it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He gave Sergio a crooked smile, having no idea the effect he had on him. “I’d be honored to go to the dance with you.”

It was officially the greatest day of Sergio’s young life.

* * *

“Well, well, look who actually showed up!” shouted Mario.

If high school dances were anything, they were loud. Something Robert was well aware of, having been to Homecoming three times previously.

The school had made the gymnasium look nicer than usual with the decorations they put up, though the lighting was quite… dark. He had to squint a little to make out that the person standing next to Mario was none other than Mats.

Marco dragged Robert by the hand to go meet his friends. 

“We were worried you wouldn’t make it,” said Mats, giving Robert a subtle but pointed look. 

“Of course we’d make it, don’t be ridiculous,” Marco said with a nervous laugh.

“Well you weren’t sure two days ago,” Mario sounded as accusatory as a lawyer and Robert was starting to sweat a little. He knew these people weren’t super fond of him, though he had no idea why.

“I, uh, called and asked him to the dance a couple nights ago,” said Robert. Once the words left his mouth he realized that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

“He called you?” Mats asked.

Before things could escalate, Robert loudly cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, gonna go get some punch, ok?” He patted Marco on the back and got out of there.

He took his sweet time getting over to the punch bowl. When he eventually navigated his way there, he reached for a cup at the same time as-

“Thomas.” 

“Oh, uh… hey.” His ex looked back at him, eyes widening as they took him in. Even with music absolutely blaring, Thomas’ voice was well past the point of too loud.

“You look... amazing.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said with an earnest smile. “You’re, well… Not half bad yourself.”

Robert averted eye contact. When they were together, Thomas had made it… abundantly clear how good he thought Robert looked in a suit. He blushed to think about it now.

“Are you here with anyone?” he found himself asking. ‘Ohmygosh man shut up.’

Thomas shook his head. “Not like that. I’m here with Joshua and Manuel as friends.”

Robert breathed a sigh of relief and immediately criticized himself for doing so. He shouldn’t care. “Man, I miss those guys.”

“Oh, not as much as they miss you, I promise.”

They shared a good laugh, and then there was silence between them. Robert’s thoughts wandered, and he wondered if Thomas was thinking about the same thing he was. He wondered if he, too, was thinking about last year’s Homecoming, and how Robert picked him up at his house and had his breath taken away when he saw Thomas coming down those stairs. How he was so gentle pinning the boutonnière to the lapel of Thomas’ nicest suit. How they arrived at and left the dance, together.

“I imagine you’re here with-” 

“Yeah,” Robert said lazily. He sighed, knowing if he continued to talk to Thomas, he would never stop. “I should get going.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said with a forced smile. “You two have fun.”

* * *

“This was a mistake,” said a worried Pablo, smoothing down the suit that was two sizes too big for him.

“Yeah, well this is what high schoolers do. I think.” Pedri and his friend had been wandering around the gym aimlessly for the better part of an hour. They didn’t dance, so there was absolutely nothing to do. Not to mention the music was so loud it was hard to communicate.

Pedri felt something bump into him, and turned around to see Neymar and Luis.

“Hey little dudes!” exclaimed Neymar, despite being the same height as Pedri.

Pablo furrowed his eyebrows and did that little pout Pedri was so used to seeing on him. “Where’s Leo?”

The upperclassmen gave a solid laugh. “Leo? Come to a party? Are you serious?” asked Luis, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Well he went to that wedding, didn’t he?”

Neymar shrugged. “Yeah, but that was to help a friend, and ‘cause Luis wimped out like a little bitch.”

Luis gave his friend a good smack on the arm. “I didn’t wimp out; I jus’ didn’t wanna go meet your crazy ass family!”

“Oh, my family’s crazy?! My eyebrow still hasn’t recovered from Christmas of 2020-”

“That possum had nothing to do with-” Suddenly, someone walking by Luis abruptly knocked against his shoulder. Normally, he would’ve let it go, but upon turning around and seeing that the culprit was Sergio Ramos, something in him just snapped. “Fuckin’ watch it, man!”

Sergio whipped his head around so quickly it was a miracle it didn’t snap. Next to him, and wearing a matching white tie, Luka rolled his eyes. “Not again…”

With murder in his eyes, Sergio smirked. “Or what, you’ll bite me?”

“Oh hijo de puta,” was all Luis managed to get out before lunging at Sergio.

The two scuffled for a bit, with Luka just watching with a fond smile on his face like a fucking weirdo. People started to crowd around, and Pedri noticed those two inseparable kids from Klopp’s class recording it on their phones.

When he was confident he wouldnt get rekt by a stray blow, Neymar stepped in and wrapped his arms around Luis, effectively yanking him away from his opponent. “Hey, calm down! What would Stevie G think?”

Luis let out a theatrical gasp. “You dare bring up Stevie’s good name?”

Pablo brought a hand to his mouth in shock. “Oh my gosh, is this Stevie guy dead?”

“What? No,” said Neymar, finally releasing his friend. “He graduated; he’s in college.”

A few feet away, Luka was fixing up Sergio’s tie and halfheartedly scolding him. 

Suddenly, Guardiola and Klopp showed up, effectively dispersing the group. 

“What happened, is everyone okay?” Guardiola asked. After giving the students a once over and realizing that they’re both fine, he snapped to get their attention. “Suarez, Ramos, you two come with me. Now.”

The students did as told, giving each other dirty looks behind Guardiola’s back.

Klopp, on the other hand, was leaning over Trent and Andy as they showed him their phones. “Did you get any better angles?”

* * *

“And then,” Frenkie said in between sips of his punch. “Virgil had the fuckin’ audacity to tell me that he and Alisson were ‘going to the dance as friends,’” he used air quotes, naturally. “And I’m like… bitch! I have eyes, whaddoes he think I am, stupid?”

Robert nodded along absentmindedly, as his mind was elsewhere.

Just then, the music changed to a slow and romantic song, which could only mean one thing.

“Hey,” Frenkie said, raising his eyebrows. “Y’know what that means…”

“I do?” Robert said with a frown.

“Oh my gosh, you’re impossible. See, normal people would use this as an opportunity to go dance with the boyfriend that they’ve been neglecting all night.”

“Neglecting… oh, shit,” Robert said, shoving his cup of punch into Frenkie’s chest. “Hold this.”

“Sure thing…” was the last he heard of Frenkie before he booked it to find Marco.

Luckily, he didn’t have to search for long, as he found Marco talking to his friends in record time. When Robert found him, he grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“Robert,” was all his boyfriend said, like he wasn’t expecting him.

“Do you wanna dance with me?”

It was impossible to miss the way Marco’s face lit up, which made Robert feel that much worse about not giving him enough attention, both tonight and in general. “I’d love to!” Marco said, taking Robert’s hand in his before turning to his friends. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Mario and the gang waved at him, and they went on their way.

They got to the dance floor, and Robert gently tugged Marco to an empty spot. “Alright, c’mere,” he said, placing his hands on Marco’s waist.

If his smile was any indication, Marco was more than happy to loop his arms around Robert’s neck and tug him closer.

The two spent a few moments swaying to the music and enjoying each other’s presence before Robert broke the silence.

“You look really nice tonight. Those colors are… really nice on you.” He was referencing Marco’s black suit and yellow tie, and he was apparently unable to come up with compliments that didn’t include the words ‘really nice.’

“Thank you,” said Marco, drowning in the affection. “You cleaned up nice.” He then brought a hand to Robert’s gelled hair.

“Stop,” he laughed, “you’ll mess it up!”

Marco laughed along and eventually left his boyfriend’s styled hair alone. “Hey, uhm… can I tell you something kinda stupid?”

“What is it?” Sentences like that always made Robert nervous, like he was about to be accused of commiting a felony and get shipped back to Poland.

Marco breathed a heavy sigh before continuing. “I saw you talking to… Thomas.” 

He always said that name like it was some wretched thing.

“And I…” Marco paused. “I just don’t like it. Not because of you, so much, it’s just that… he makes me nervous, y’know? Knowing how much history you guys have, and sometimes I remember the way you talked about him when you were together, and gosh you just seemed so smitten-”

“Marco,” he said softly, bringing his hands up to his boyfriend’s face. “I broke up with him, remember? And do you know why I broke up with him? ‘Cause he made me choose between him and you. And… well, here we are.” 

He kissed Marco’s temple. “I chose you.”

Marco released a breath that he seemed to have been holding in for a while. “I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around Robert’s waist and pulling him into a proper hug.

The pair was silent, and Robert could feel Marco’s blonde hair brushing against his cheek. Silently, he remained grateful that Marco didn’t give him an ultimatum, or make him promise to not talk to Thomas under any circumstances.

Because all he could think about was how he and Thomas danced to this song last year.

Chapter Text

“Mind you, Mikel - Mr. Arteta, I mean - is two drinks in at this point, but, man, he is plastered. Which leads me to how the polar bear got involved-” 

Rather than teaching, Klopp was telling the class a story about what happened last time the teachers went out for drinks. Since it was far more interesting than the political structure of ancient Egypt, the students ate it up, Thomas being no exception.

Klopp was getting to the good part of his story - the police were getting involved - when Thomas felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder. He turned around to see none other than his own ex boyfriend, who had been sitting behind him in this class since the first day of senior year. Thomas used to worry that sitting in front of Robert would be a living hell as he tried to avoid him, but the bitter resentment that had once raged inside him had since subsided. It seems he could never stay mad at Robert for long.

“‘Sup?” Thomas asked. Did that sound cool? He hoped it sounded cool.

Robert couldn’t help but to chuckle warmly. That phrase wasn’t in Thomas’ vocabulary, so hearing it was kinda funny.

“I know I usually go to your place to pick up the little guy, but my car’s in the shop… So do you think you can swing by and drop him off on Sunday?”

Thomas tilted his head. “Aw, damn, has it been two weeks already?” He was referencing their custody agreement. Back when they were dating, the two had gone and impulse adopted a bunny together, because why not. Thomas named the black, blue-eyed bunny Little Robert, because he’s creative. When the relationship… didn’t work out, the last real conversation they had for months was about who would keep him. They decided to trade custody every two weeks.

Robert just nodded. He’d been keeping track.

“Man, you love that car. Having it not be in your garage must be driving you crazy,” Thomas said with his cheshire grin. Robert loved that car so much that when he let Thomas drive it, it felt akin to a marriage proposal. He laughed when he thought about it now.

Robert ran nervous hands through his hair. “You have no idea…” 

It was funny to see normally composed Robert so stressed. Thomas couldn’t help but smile. “So Sunday at two?”

Robert nodded. “See you then.”

 * * *

Thomas always hated driving in the rain. 

Well, hate wasn’t the right word. To be more specific, he was downright terrified of it. Every time he stopped at a red light he prayed to God above that he wouldn’t start hydroplaning. Little Robert, on the other hand, was resting peacefully in his crate in the passenger seat of Thomas’ gray Audi, unaware that Thomas was trying desperately not to think of all the possible ways he could crash this thing.

“Ugh, this sucks!” he shouted to no one in particular, voice shaking.

By the time he got to Robert’s place, Thomas’s hands were sweating bullets, and he had to wipe them dry on his sweatpants. He texted Robert that he was there and went about carefully removing the little guy’s crate and everything he brought with him. 

He got to the front door of the house. Robert’s dad made that sweet sweet ambassador money, so his place was a tad more opulent than most of the others that Thomas had been to, including his own. And he had been to many rich diplomats’ houses.

Timely as ever, Robert was opening the front door within seconds of Thomas getting there. He was dressed just fine, in some t-shirt he got from football and, like Thomas, sweatpants. His black hair, though, was unkempt. Thomas resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

“Hey, thanks,” Robert greeted, reaching out and taking the crate his pet was in. He then noticed the torrential downpour going on behind Thomas. “Holy shit, you drove in this? You hate driving in the rain.” 

Thomas’ facial expression told Robert he shouldn’t inquire further. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. But I was already on the road by the time it started.” He nervously glanced back to his car, dreading having to make that drive again.

“Poor thing,” Robert muttered. “You must’ve been scared outta your mind.” He then opened the front door further. “C’mon, I’m not gonna make you drive in that.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Thomas’ heart leapt at the offer. However, he knew hanging out at his ex’s house would more likely than not end badly. He was going to protest and just take the L and drive back home when he noticed movement from Little Robert’s crate. The small bunny had gone to the corner of the crate closest to Thomas, and was repeatedly sticking a stubby arm through the bars in an effort to reach out to him, in addition to making some whiny little squeaks.

“Looks like the little guy wants you to stay, too,” Robert said with a chuckle. He then gave Thomas a look that he just couldn’t say no to.

“Well, I guess I’ll stay for a bit,” he said, desperately trying to sound nonchalant. He entered the house with his head held high and could feel his ex’s lingering gaze on him.

Thomas couldn’t resist the urge he got whenever he entered the large entry room. “Echo!” he shouted, laughing gleefully as he heard his own voice bouncing off the walls. Normally, this would be followed by a noise complaint from one or both of Robert’s parents, but they were nowhere to be heard.

Robert seemed to read his mind. “Dad’s got some kinda social event with his coworkers from the embassy and he dragged Mom along with him. C’mon,” he said, leading Thomas from the grand entry room into the equally grand kitchen.

Thomas looked around at the place that he had considered a second home for years. It felt strange to be here after months of absence. 

The place looked like most of the uppity houses in DC, with white walls, high ceilings, and shiny floors. Expensive but low-effort “modern art” graced some of the walls.

When they arrived in the kitchen, Robert placed the bunny’s crate onto the empty kitchen island. Maybe that wasn’t the best place to put it, but his parents weren’t here to scold them, so what did he care? 

Next to the crate, Thomas placed a shopping bag. “I got his favorite toys and the treats he likes here. Y’know, the usual.” He gazed at the dining room table that he had spent so many dinners trying to impress Robert’s parents at. Getting them to like him was no easy feat, but he managed.

“Thanks,” Robert muttered, opening the crate to let the little guy out. 

He did, and after sliding a little on the granite countertop, immediately made his way over to Thomas. “Awww, hallo, Häschen!” he cooed as he scooped Little Robert into his arms.

“Hey, come on,” Robert said in response to his lack of affection from his pet. He wasn’t really upset, though. In fact, quite the opposite; the scene in front of him was sickeningly cute. 

He reached out his hands and Thomas happily handed the bunny over.

“You gotta show your other dad some attention, too, y’know” Robert said, giving the little guy some scratches that he seemed to appreciate. “Can’t blame you, though; Thomas is pretty great.”

Thomas wished that his heart didn’t melt the way it did.

Gently, Robert placed the bunny on the ground, and the little creature immediately booked it to the living room. “Of couse, that’s where all his toys are,” Robert said. “C’mon.” He took Thomas by the wrist and led him there.

The duo got to the living room and sat on the carpet near where Little Robert was rummaging through a box of toys, looking for something specific. He emerged with a toy that looked like a rope, and Thomas knew that meant he wanted to engage in some tug of war.

Robert took it upon himself to try and pry the thing from the bunny’s mouth. In this game, he was losing.

Thomas, who was never one to stay silent for long, decided to go for some small talk, because what else do you talk about with the person whom you were once certain you would marry? “You got any plans for later?”

“Yeah, Marco and I are catching the new Mission: Impossible tonight.”

And, God, did that hurt. That was their thing! Thomas had gotten Robert into those movies when they were still freshman; they had been waiting for this new one to come out for literal years.

And Robert was going to see it with Marco.

“That’s nice…” he said, just to fill the silence. His gaze wandered to the pristine, white leather couch that Robert was sitting against. Had he and Marco snuggled on it while binge watching the Mission: Impossible movies the way he and Thomas once had?

Was Robert just doing everything he had done with Thomas with Marco now? Had he shown Marco the music Thomas had gotten him into? Taken him to the restaurants he took Thomas to? Shared the same inside jokes they once had?

It made him sick. 

Thomas diverted his attention to dangling some key ring toy in front of Little Robert. He needed to stop dwelling. Because then he would cry, and when he cried, he cried.

Thomas hated silence. It made him jittery. He went for more small talk. 

“Manu bleached his hair again.”

“Shut up,” Robert said, giving Thomas his undivided attention. “No he didn’t!”

Thomas just nodded, a blush and a smile creeping up on his face. He reached to get his phone from the pocket of his sweats. “Yes he did, I was there! He-” he had to stop for a moment to laugh. “He put a poll on his Instagram story asking if he should do it, and like, seventy-five percent of people voted no!”

Robert let out some loud laughter, and Thomas, always one to laugh at his own stories, couldn’t help but do the same. 

“Did you? Vote no, I mean?” Robert asked.

“Of course not, I wanted to see if he would actually do it!” He scrolled through his photos for a little while more before he found the ones he was looking for. He leaned over to show Robert his phone. “Look, look, here’s the poll… and here’s all the photos I took of the process… and here’s the final product, ohmygosh, just look at him!”

Robert was clutching his stomach with laughter. “Oh my gosh, I think i’ve seen him around school, I didn’t even recognize him! He looks like Ryan Gosling in the Barbie movie!”

Thomas playfully hit Robert on the arm. “That’s what I said!”

Next to Thomas, Little Robert gave a low squeak, unhappy with his lack of attention.

“Okay, okay, sorry…” Thomas said, gently shoving the bunny over so he can scratch his belly.

Across from him, Robert was wiping away the tears that had been brought about from laughing so hard. “Poor Manu… he doesn’t pull off blonde the way I did.”

The bunny scratching stopped. Thomas shot his ex a look that said ‘Are you kidding me?’ “Robert… literally no one liked when you were blonde.”

“You dunno what you’re talking about; everyone liked when I was blonde.”

“No, everyone pretended to like when you were blonde. I was the only one who actually did.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I thought you looked nice! And y’know what they say about if a guy’s still cute even after he’s had a bad haircut…”

Robert smiled, absolutely beaming with pride. “You must’ve really liked me, then.”

Thomas plopped Little Robert down on his lap and leaned back on his hands. “But seriously, you have no idea. Everyone asked me if you had lost a bet.”

“I did lose a bet. To you!”

Thomas shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t gotten a cut recently and it was getting unruly. He remembered Robert once telling him he liked his hair like this. “Well, you never should’ve doubted my ability to-”

Thomas was interrupted by Robert’s phone dinging with a notification from the kitchen island.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Thomas asked.

“Nah,” Robert shrugged. “It’s probably not important; I’m not expecting anything. Now quit hogging my son.”

Robert reached for the bunny, but Thomas wasn’t going to let him go that easily. “What? It’s not my fault he has a favorite.”

“You’re bribing him with extra carrots and you know it! They’re packed with sugar, he can’t have too many-”

“Well if you wanna have him so bad, you’ll hafta get him,” Thomas said with a smirk, and got up off the floor, making for the stairs.

Begrudgingly, Robert got up to chase him. The last thing he wanted to do right now was run around, but he had long since grown used to keeping up with Thomas’ abundant energy.

“Get back here!” Robert called out playfully as he chased his ex up the stairs.

Being on their respective football teams, both of them were fast, but Robert was faster. Thomas made it about halfway down the hall before he caught up to him. Unsure of how to stop him, Robert did the first thing he could think of, and locked his arms around Thomas’ slender waist from behind.

“Gotcha!” he said, and reveled in the fact that for as long as he’s known Thomas, he’s been the only one able to render him speechless.

Thomas turned his head to look at Robert over his shoulder. “Well damn, I guess you win,” he said, followed by some light laughter.

Robert had Thomas in his arms. Their faces were close and-

The doorbell rang.

“You… should probably get that.” Thomas was as quiet as he was capable of being, which was to say, not very.

“Yeah,” Robert replied, eyebrows furrowed; he clearly wasn’t expecting anyone. He went downstairs to the front door, with Thomas lingering at the top of the staircase.

Robert opened the door, and while Thomas couldn’t see the person from where he was standing, he heard the last thing he wanted to hear.

“Babe, what gives? I texted you ages ago.”

Thomas could see Marco step in ever so slightly to give his boyfriend a kiss.

“Hey,” Robert said, scratching the back of his neck. “What, uh, what are you doing here?” He didn’t step back to let Marco in.

“Whaddo you mean ‘what am I doing here,’” he said with a laugh. “We agreed I’d come over to hang out before we go to the movie.” Tired of waiting for Robert to welcome him in, Marco went ahead and stepped inside. 

Thomas didn’t have time to book it. Marco laid eyes on him seconds after stepping inside.

Robert clearly noticed this, as he stepped in front of Marco. As if he was seconds away from marching up there himself. “Thomas was just here to drop off the little guy!” he said, sounding panicked. “It was uh, raining too hard for him to drive in, so he was just staying here to wait it out…”

“The rain let up ages ago. Is this why you were ignoring my text?” Marco’s voice remained calm, but he clenched his shaking hand into a fist at his side. He was an expert at feigning politeness even when he was feeling anything but.

“No, no that’s not it! My phone died.”

From the kitchen, Robert’s phone dinged with a random notification. Everyone in the room had the decency to ignore it.

The room was silent, and Marco was preoccupied with staring Thomas down from the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t notice the creature cradled in his arms. 

What he did notice was that his boyfriend’s hair was disheveled, and that his ex was standing at the top of the stairs. Marco turned to Robert, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“What were you doing upstairs?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it felt like one.

Marco had resumed his staring at Thomas, and the message was clear.

Thomas descended the stairs, and it felt like it took hours.

He held out Little Robert to his namesake. “Take good care of him, okay?”

Robert couldn’t help but smile. “Sure thing.”

Thomas lingered by the door. Despite the awkward atmosphere, he wanted to stay. “See you in two weeks,” he said, and left.

With Thomas gone, the room, and by extension the world, felt darker. Almost as dark as the look Robert was getting from his boyfriend, that told him everything he needed to know.

He was in for it.

* * *

As he stepped outside Robert’s house, Thomas reached for his phone in the pocket of his sweats. He needed to call Manuel. He needed to tell him everything.

The shouting from inside reached Thomas as he walked away, but he was too preoccupied with calling up his best friend to notice.

As Thomas pulled out of Robert’s driveway, he waited for Manuel to answer his call, and his heart beat a little bit louder, because he had feelings, he had feelings.

Chapter Text

“I’m jus’ saying, have either of you seen Mr. Guardiola and Obama at the same place at the same time? I think not.”

“Ney, what you’re gonna see is me abandoning your ass in the Nether if you keep saying dumb shit,” said Luis from his spot on the leather couch. He and his two friends were playing Minecraft in his living room, with Luis and Neymar in opposite sides of the couch and Leo situated on the floor between them. Leo liked the floor.

Every now and again, some of Luis’ six brothers could be seen or heard running around or beating the snot out of each other, but no one really cared, as that was commonplace in the Suarez household.

Leo was about to catch his eighty seventh fish that afternoon when a phone started ringing from where it was left on the table next to Luis to charge.

Luis glanced at the phone to see who was calling. “Leo, it’s your mom, you wanna answer it?”

“Yeah, if I don’t she’ll think I’m dead again,” Leo sighed. “Can you hand it to me?”

Luis had just removed the charger from the old phone when he felt a sudden weight on his lap. He looked down to find that Neymar had dove across the couch and was now prying Leo’s phone out of Luis’ hand. 

Luis was too stunned to react, so he let Neymar take the phone from him and hand it over to Leo.

“Here ya go,” he said with his charismatic smile.

Leo, who didn’t find this interaction strange at all, just took it. “Thanks,” he said, setting the Xbox controller aside and leaving the room.

“Hola, Mamá,” was the last they heard from him before he was out of hearing distance.

Now that they were alone, Luis looked down at his friend that was still sprawled across the couch, looking wistfully at where Leo once was.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” asked Neymar.

Luis shoved Neymar off of him before responding. “Y’know, that! Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Neymar said, grabbing his controller and continuing to play Minecraft as if nothing had happened.

“Bitch, you literally just dove across this couch to get something that was right next to me.”

“So?” Neymar asked. “I love diving. I dive all the time.”

Luis, who was too confused to form a proper argument, just shook his head before returning to his game. “Fuckin’ weirdo…”

* * *

Being in school was all about routine. Luis, along with everyone else at his school, woke up at the same time every morning, went about their morning rituals, went to the same classes, sat in the same seats, spoke to the same people, rinse and repeat.

Luis’ day was going pretty according to routine. He woke up, had Pop Tarts for breakfast, did today’s homework in Leo’s car on the way to school, and had to be physically restrained from duking it out with Sergio when they passed by each other after second period. Now, he was taking the same route to lunch as he always did, where he would sit at the same spot at the same table and talk to the same people as he always did.

Well, most of that was true.

Luis was always the last to arrive at lunch, so as usual, his friends were already at the table in the corner of the cafeteria when he arrived with his lunch tray. 

“Hey guys, you won’t beli- why are you in my seat?”

For the past two school years, the trio had always sat in the same way. Leo and Luis on one side, Ney on the other. There was no rhyme or reason behind it, that’s just the way they ended up when they first started sitting together, and it ended up set in stone.

But today, Leo sat where he always did, and Neymar was right next to him, in the seat closest to the wall.

Now Luis didn’t care one way or the other where he sat; no, it was the principle of the thing. Why change after two years, why now? The fact that Leo normally hated change also added to the strangeness.

In response to Luis’ question, Leo picked at his food, either because he wasn’t paying enough attention to hear it or because he didn’t care.

Next to him, Neymar had a too-innocent look on his face.

“I always sit here,” he said wth a smile.

That was blatantly untrue, and Luis looked to Leo to see if he also thought this was strange. Evidently, he didn’t, as he just continued to poke at some peas with his plastic white fork. Leo never ate anything at lunch anyways.

Deciding to just forget about this whole fandango, since if Leo didn’t notice then it probably wasn’t a big deal, Luis sat down in Ney’s former seat and plopped his tray down in front of him. Making no effort to touch his food, he leaned forward towards his friends. “So you guys won’t believe what I heard today.”

Neymar, itching for gossip, immediately gave Luis his undivided attention. “What?” he asked happily.

Altough Leo didn’t say anything, he was looking at Luis, which was enough for him to know that his friend was invested.

Luis had a devilish smirk on his face as he told his friends the news. “So. Julian told Erling who told Martin who told Bukayo who told Trent who told Darwin who told me…” he paused for dramatic effect, and Neymar took this chance to take a few sips of his chocolate milk. “That Kun has a crush on Leo.”

Leo barely blinked at this news. Ney, on the other hand, started choking violently on expired chocolate milk.

Being good friends, Leo and Luis just watched as Neymar fought for his damn life. 

After about a minute of coughing and gasping, Neymar finally regianed the ability to speak. Though his face was red and there were unshed tears in his eyes.

“Thanks for helping me,” he said loudly.

“We’re not CPR certified,” said Leo, voice barren of any emotion. “If we helped, we could have killed you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Neymar said, before coughing into his elbow once more. “So how come you’re so calm about… Kun having a crush on you?” He sounded accusatory, as if Leo had done something wrong.

Leo’s shoulders moved about a milimeter, his way of shrugging. “It’s probably not true.”

“How come?” Luis asked, before chucking a subpar fry into his mouth. Damn, it sucked.

“If Kun liked me, he would tell me.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Luis and Ney said in unison.

“Still, it’s not true. There’s nothing about me worth liking,” said Leo, and resumed to picking at his food as if he had just simply stated that the sky was blue, and not said the most depressing thing his friends had heard all day. 

“The fuck do you mean there’s nothing worth liking?!” Neymar shouted, so loudly that even over the normal noise of the cafeteria, several tables worth of students turned to face their table.

“Are… you good, bro?” Christian, the school’s resident American, asked from the table next to them.

“He’s fine,” said Luis. “Go back to your burger.”

“That’s a rude stereotype,” the sophomore replied, before taking a gargantuan bite out of his double quarter pounder.

After the exchange, everyone resumed minding their own business and that section of the cafeteria was alive with noise again.

“What Ney meant to say,” Luis started, “was why do you feel like that?”

“I mean jus’, objectively… I’m not excessively nice looking, or smart, or kind, or funny, so I find it hard to believe anyone would like me. It’s not depressing or anything, it’s just true.”

Luis and Ney made prolonged eye contact, both friends made deeply uncomfortable. Luis decided to intervene before Neymar inevitably said something cringe.

“There’s plenty to like about you, Leo. I mean, you’re great at football; that’s really impressive!”

“You don’t date people because they’re good at football,” Leo said, sounding surprisingly neutral despite the topic of conversation.

That really made Luis laugh. “You would!”

“Oh…” Leo said, doing that thousand yard stare he did that meant he was deep in thought. “I suppose I would.”

Luis took this as an opportunity to lighten up the conversation a bit. “But seriously,” he said, “could you imagine dating Kun?”

“Definitely not.”

“I know… gosh, that’s so weird!” Luis felt a little bad about laughing at Kun’s expense, but not bad enough to make him not laugh about this with his friends. Besides, who had to know?

“I mean… there’s nothing wrong with the guy, I guess. He’s nice enough. I just don’t like him like that.”

Suddenly, Neymar cleared his throat far too many times for it to be considered natural. “Do, uh, you possibly hypothetically maybe like anyone, perhaps, Leo?”

“No.”

“Oh…” 

For the remainder of their lunch period, Neymar didn’t say much.

* * *

At the end of the school day, Neymar was very content as he opened the door to his Lobini. His father’s, technically, but Neymar was using it today.

He couldn’t wait to go home, play video games, and wake up in the middle of the night with the crushing realization that he had homework to do.

“Ney!” someone shouted, and Ney turned to see that it was Luis.

“Hey man,” he greeted. “Aren’t you driving home with Leo?”

“Nah, I told him you were giving me a ride,” said Luis, getting into the passenger seat of Ney’s car. He didn’t even ask for permission to get a ride from him, but Ney honestly didn’t care.

“Cool,” he said, getting in as well. Neymar started up the car and turned on his ‘SUPER DOPE DRIVING PLAYLIST ;P,’ and was about to put the car in reverse when Luis interrupted him by putting his hand on the gearshift.

“Wait,” he said. Neymar looked at him, confused. Kendrick Lamar rapped in the background.

Luis stared at him inquisitively before speaking again. “Why have you been acting so weird recently?”

“I haven’t been acting weird,” said Neymar, way too quickly.

“Bitch, please, I have receipts. First of all there’s you doing gymnastics to pry Leo’s phone outta my hands, there’s you screaming in the cafeteria today, then there’s you asking if Leo of all people liked anyone, as if he’s ever felt a real human emotion in his life… and gosh, it’s almost as if you like him.”

Neymar just… stared. 

Luis looked like his worse fears just came true. “Oh, please tell me you don’t fucking like Leo!”

“And what’s so bad about that?! Hypothetically.”

Luis looked at his friend like he was stupid. “Dude… you can’t like Leo. Okay? You cannot , under any circumstances.”

“Oh yeah, and why not?”

“Becuase!” Luis said, and proceed to wave his hands around in vague gestures as he struggled to form a proper sentence. “It’ll upset the balance!”

“The what?!” Neymar asked, exasperated. Slowly but surely, both of the boys were raising their voices. 

“The balance! Like… there’s three of us, you see? Three friends. You can’t just have two of the three friends go off and date, it makes things weird!”

Neymar’s eyes were wide with confusion. He wanted to understand his friend, but was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. “I’m sorry, I still don’t follow.”

Luis breathed a frustrated sigh. “You can’t date Leo because all three of us are friends that hang out all the time, okay? Like Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke, or Harry, Hermoine, and R-”

“Okay you literally could not have chosen worse examples ‘cause Sakura and Sasuke and Ron and Hermoine literally end up married so-”

Neymar was interrupted by Luis reaching over and smacking him hard on the arm. “And you just spoiled Naruto for me, fucking thanks man!”

“Look, the series is twenty one years old, if you haven’t seen it by this point I don’t know what to tell you.”

Luis breathed an even heavier sigh, head in his hands. After a while, he lifted his head and looked his friend square in the eye. “It’s like… There’s you, me, and Leo, right? And… and if you guys start dating its just you and Leo. And then I can like… get bent, I guess.” He paused, and for a moment the silence was only filled by a one song ending and a Nicki Minaj song starting. “Basically what I’m trying to say is… if you and Leo start dating, or going out, or whatever, what happens to me, y’know? Like, what happens to us?”

Neymar’s eyes shifted around the interior of his car as the tried to rack his brain for something to say. He wanted to comfort his friend, he well and truly did, but he just could not for the life of him figure out what on God’s green Earth to say.

“Well, like… even though his two best friends got married, Naruto still hung out with them. He married the love of his life and even became Hokage-”

“Oh my fucking gosh, can you stop spoiling Naruto for like five minutes?” Despite his tone, a smile had made it’s way onto Luis’ face, showing off those teeth that terrorized many kids back in elementary school.

Neymar laughed, and things seemed to be… lighter.

For a few moments, the friends just sat there as the music played. Neymar assumed it was okay to start driving, and so he did.

About halfway to Luis’ place, Neymar asked a question.

“Do… you think there’s maybe a chance that Leo feels the same w-”

“Absolutely not.”

Chapter Text

“Every detail of this story makes me more inclined to break up with him for you,” said Jude as he and Marco made their way to Marco’s Audi. The final bell had rung only a few minutes ago, and already the students of UEFA were absolutely swarming the parking lot in an attempt to get into their fancy cars and get the hell outta there before the DC traffic reached its peak.

“Please don’t,” Marco said with a sigh as he got out his car keys. He had spent the better part of last period telling Jude about his boyfriend-induced problems. That was something he found himself doing quite a lot these days. He unlocked the car doors and got in the driver’s seat with a noticeable huff.

“Do I even wanna know what you told him next?” asked Jude as he got in as well, slamming the door shut beside him.

Marco snapped his seatbelt in and looked at Jude forlornly for a second before he continued. Now that they were in the car, it was a lot less noisy and Marco felt like his words had more weight to them.

“Basically, I was like, look. If he’s gonna continue to hang out with his ex, there’s nothing I can do to stop him, but he better make damn sure I don’t find out about it.” He punctuated his sentence by putting the key in the ignition and turning it so hard he damn near dislocated his wrist.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” Jude exclaimed, voice bouncing off the interior of the car. “Bruv, you’re practically saying he can cheat on you! I dunno why on God’s green earth you don’t just-”

“Dump his ass, yeah, yeah, I know… But I can’t. Maybe I’m just stupid.”

“I mean that’s the only reason I can think of for you to be getting so worked up over such a rancid boy.”

Marco sighed and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “Look, I’m starving, do you wanna get, like, Dairy Queen or something?”

“I could go for a Blizzard,” a deep voice piped up from the back seat.

Jude and Marco both screamed - no, shrieked - in horror and instinctively clung to each other as they turned towards the back seat to see their intruder.

“Erling!” Jude shouted with fried vocal cords at the same time Marco let out a loud “What the hell?!”

“I’m here to talk to Jude,” the Norwegian said, pointing to Jude as if no one in the car knew who he was.

Marco wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “How the hell did you get in my car?!”

Erling’s eyes shot up to the newly nonexistent sunroof, to the shards of glass on the floor of the car, and back to Marco’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Whaddid you wanna talk to me about?” Jude asked as his tachycardia subsided and he and Marco separated from their fear-induced embrace.

“I hear you’re changing homerooms.”

“I-”

“Wait, what?!” shouted Marco, snapping out of his thoughts of how he would explain his car’s damages to his mother. The poor guy whipped his head around to face Jude so fast he damn near broke his neck.

“Yeah, bruv, I was gonna tell you today but you kept rambling on about that stupid boyfriend of yours!”

“Why?” Marco asked, but it was clear he wasn’t talking to Jude, as he was looking up to the ceiling of his car. “Why me? Robert, Mario, Christian, Erling, now Jude… Why can’t I just have a friend stay in my class for more than a semester, huh? Haven’t I been through enough?” He then put his face in his hands, and Jude couldn’t tell whether he was playing up his emotions for dramatic effect or genuinely weeping.

Erling couldn’t tell either, but he couldn’t have cared less about Marco’s turmoil. “You should come to Mr. Guardiola’s class,” he told Jude.

“You think so?” Jude asked, frantically looking between Erling and poor Marco, who was still crying in the driver’s seat. “How come?”

“Well, you know the rules. At the end of every year, the class with the best GPA gets a pizza party. We’re surely gonna have the best GPA this year. You want a pizza party, don’t you?”

Jude just blinked at his friend. “I mean, yeah… I guess.”

“I’ll also give you a couple thousand dollars.”

“Oh…” Jude muttered. He was sure that would be a life-changing amount of money for people who’s fathers weren’t highly paid diplomats from England, but for him it was… Well, not much to write home about, but nothing to sneeze at either. “That’s nice.”

“Good. So you’ll join us?”

“I mean, I gotta think about it.”

Despite not getting the answer he wanted, Erling’s expression remained the same as it had been for this entire conversation. “Mr. Guardiola’s not gonna like this,” he said simply. And with that, he got up and made to climb out the same sunroof he came in through.

“The door, Erling!” Jude commanded, not wanting to make poor Marco’s already bad day worse.

Without question, Erling got back down from the sunroof and opened the door to his left. “One more thing,” he said before looking back at Jude. “I’ve been feeling funny lately. I think I have athlete’s foot.” 

Before Jude could respond, Erling was gone, and he was left sitting in a car with a broken sunroof and his friend weeping audibly text to him, and he started to consider whether or not changing homerooms was such a good idea after all.

* * *

Klopp’s classroom was, as usual, rather noisy. Mo hadn’t bothered to bring headphones to school and was thus blasting Egyptian music for all to hear, Diogo and Curtis were screaming at every little thing that occurred during their high stakes game of FIFA, and Kostas was engaged in what seemed to be a very intense phone call to someone back in Greece. And in the midst of it all was Trent, giving some of his friends a very detailed account of his movie and dinner date with Kylian.

“And I could tell he was gettin’ a little scared, so I pulled the old yawn-and-stretch maneuver,” he said, demonstrating the tactic on poor Andy who was next to him, and also too tired from the early morning wakeup to fight him on it. “Worked like a charm; kept my arm there until the credits rolled.”

His makeshift audience of Ibou, Cody, and Stefan applauded at his exploits, and he truly looked like the proudest man in the world.

“I can’t believe Kylian fell for that; that’s the oldest trick in the book!” said Ibou.

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Trent replied, smug grin still plastered on his face. “Okay, so that’s the movie part over. Now, for dinner, we-”

Before he could get to giving his friends every detail of the second half of his date, the group was approached by Jordan. “Trent, Klopp wants to talk to us,” he said pleasantly and headed for their teacher’s desk, seeming unbothered by whatever it is Klopp wanted him for.

Trent, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He wasn’t like Jordan. Good-natured, responsible Jordan. No, when Trent was called up to his teacher’s desk, it was never for anything good. 

Next to him, Andy shared his deer in headlights look, because he knew that whatever Trent was getting in trouble for, he was just as guilty.

The two best friends looked at each other. “He knows,” Andy whispered.

“Knows wot?” Trent asked Scousely.

“I dunno, lad, but we definitely did something wrong and he definitely knows about it!”

“Maybe it’s not so bad, yeah? Usually when we’re gonna get detention he drags us both up there.”

To this, Andy said nothing, and Trent went up to his teacher’s desk to accept his fate.

Before Klopp could even get a word in, Trent had already taken it upon himself to be his own defense attorney. “I dunno what you heard, but whatever it is, Robbo started it.”

“OI!” shouted a distressed Andy in the background, who went ignored.

“Relax, Trent, I just need a favor from you and Jordan,” the teacher said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his track jacket. How he got away with wearing a tracksuit to teach at a cushy private school every day was beyond anyone.

“Oh…” was all Trent said. Having a pleasant conversation at a teacher’s desk was very foreign to him.

“What is it?” asked Jordan, looking like a determined soldier ready to receive orders.

“You two play football with that Jude Bellingham kid, right?” Klopp questioned, putting his glasses back on.

The two students just looked at each other, unsure of how their teammate could possibly be relevant here.

“Yeah…” said Jordan.

“Well, I was wondering if you two could maybe talk to him regarding his change of homerooms…” Klopp said, hoping the sophomore and junior in front of him got the message.

“You want him to come here?” asked Trent. “I mean that’d be really cool, but why?”

“Because, Mr. Alexander-Arnold, of that GPA. Let’s just say a student of Jude’s caliber will be, uh, helpful in taking Pep down a peg…” Klopp said, rubbing his large hands together in Bond Villain fashion.

“Of course,” said Jordan, rolling his eyes at the teachers’ petty competition. “So you want us to talk to him and try and convince him to join our class?”

“And offer him some of your money as an incentive, of course.”

“Wha-” Trent balked. “Why our money?! Why not yours?”

“Because your fathers make a lot of money paper pushing in that embassy and I live on a teacher’s salary.”

Both students just darted their eyes around the room, suddenly hit with Rich Kid Guilt.

“So can I trust you boys to do this when you see him at football?”

“Absolutely,” said Jordan, and that was the end of that.

* * *

There was nothing like Sunday morning football. Jude got to wake up, play a game he loves with his friends, get Panera after (if only because Chick-fil-A was closed), and try to stay out of the house for as long as possible to avoid doing his homework. What a way to close out the weekend.

This Sunday was no different, as the crisp DC fall air blew around Jude, who was training with his friends before their game.

After training for a bit, he went to the cooler to hydrate a little, where he ran into Trent and Jordan. The duo went silent when he approached, so he couldn’t help but feel like he was interrupting something. Or being talked about. Or both.

“Hey, uh, Jude,” Jordan started, clearing his throat.

“What’s up?” replied Jude as he took a much needed swig of his water.

“Word on the street is you’re changing homerooms.” Jordan cringed at his choice of words, and if Trent’s disgusted look was any indication, he thought it was weird too.

“Yeah, I am.”

Jordan was about to speak up, but Trent took over for him before he could say something cringe. “Well, uh, do you know where you’re going yet?”

Jude looked across the nice green field as he thought about it. He still didn’t know where he was gonna go, despite Erling’s attempts at persuasion only a couple days before. He settled on a simple, “nope.”

“Well you should totally consider Klopp’s class,” Trent said quickly, and immediately regretted how desperate he sounded.

“Oh really? Why?” asked Jude, genuinely curious. He had heard good things about Klopp’s class, but didn’t know why it was such a popular choice.

“Well, for starters, there’s us,” said Jordan, playfully nudging Trent, who was more stiff and quiet than usual without Andy there to bring out the extrovert in him. “Plus, it’s jus’ really fun. You don’t hafta do much. Honestly, Klopp doesn’t care one way or the other whether you’re doing your work or not. Plus he’s really nice.” 

For the first time since deciding to change homerooms, Jude genuinely considered his options. “And what about the end-of-year pizza party? You think you’ll get it?”

“Yeah,” replied Jordan, at the same time Trent said, “For sure, bruv.”

Jude went quiet, and the other two became worried they weren’t being convincing enough.

“We’ll give you money!” Trent said loudly, which earned him a harsh elbow jab from the junior next to him.

“Dude!” said Jordan, with a harsh edge to his voice.

“Really?” Jude asked. “Why do people keep offering me money to join their class?”

“Who else has offered you?”

“Erling.”

“Damn-” Jordan was cut off by the sound of their bitch ass coach, Mr. Southgate, blowing his whistle as a way of telling the team to gather around before the game started, and the boys did just that.

* * *

By the time the game was over, Jude was feeling the very familiar mix of extremely happy and downright exhausted he had been accustomed to since he first started playing the beautiful game. His team had won a solid 3-2, and though he didn’t land a goal or assist, he felt like he played a part in it.

After celebrating a bit with his team, he went for a much needed drink of water. Unfortunately, he only got to enjoy his own company for a bit before the silence was interrupted by a shy voice from behind him.

“Um, excuse me…”

Jude turned to face a couple of his fellow freshman that he recognized from around school and who played for the opposing team today. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen one of these two without the other. Plus there was the fact that they looked so similar it was creepy.

“Hey!” Jude greeted pleasantly. “You’re, um… you’re from Xavi’s class right?” Unfortunately, their names were eluding him.

“Mm-hmm,” said the slightly taller one, with the shorter one just nodding. The taller one continued. “We, um… wanted to talk to you about changing homerooms.”

Internally, Jude rolled his eyes. “Sure, bruv, what about it?”

“We think you should come to Xavi’s class!” the shorter one blurted, and Jude heard his voice for the first time. It was so high it was honestly cute, but made Jude wonder whether this kid was old enough to be in high school. 

“Dude!” the kid’s friend scolded. “We were supposed to ask him if he’s made up his mind already first!”

“You were taking too long!”

“See, this is why Xavi didn’t fucking trust you-”

“I’m sorry,” Jude interrupted. “What’re your names again?”

“Oh. Uh… Everyone just calls me Pedri. This is Pablo.” He gave a little nudge to Pablo, who just gave Jude the Awkward White Person Smile.

“So how come you want me in Xavi’s class?” asked Jude, wiping some sweat from the game off his forehead.

“Just, uh…” Pedri started. “Y’know, just because.”

“Well, what’s in it for me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve received offers from some other classes, and they’ve all given me some kind of… incentive.”

Pedri and Pablo looked at each other like a couple of deer in headlights, a comparison aided further by Pablo’s everpresent doe eyes.

“Well, uh, Xavi lets us in on his Spotify family plan. So you’ll get Premium for free. But only three people can listen at a time,” said Pablo.

Jude shrugged. “I already have Spotify Premium.”

“Oh…” 

After a few more moments of awkward silence, one of Pedri and Pablo’s teammates came up behind them. Jude recognized him as Sergio. Though they had never spoken, he was easy to remember due to his… reputation.

“Alright, you two,” Sergio said to his underclassmen slash teammates. “Scram.”

“But we weren’t done talking to him,” Pablo protested.

Sergio just kind of stared at him for a few seconds. “You look like a pipe cleaner with eyes.” He then turned to Pedri. “Hey, wanna watch me snap your friend in half like a fucking twig? No? Then scram.”

The two freshman then scurried away, with Pedri wrapping his arm around Pablo in an almost protective manner.

When the two were gone, that left Jude and Sergio alone, and although Sergio hadn’t threatened Jude yet, he was already terrified.

“So… whaddid you wanna-” 

“You’re gonna join Ancelotti’s class.”

Jude raised his eyebrow in shock. He wasn’t expecting that. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you gonna make me fucking repeat myself?” 

“No! No, it’s just… I couldn’t help but notice how you’re not in Ancelotti’s class, so-”

“Yeah, maybe I’m doing this ‘cause someone asked me to, what about it?”

“Oh, was it that Luka guy-”

“Keep Luka’s good name out your fucking mouth!”

Poor Jude started to sweat bullets. Again. “I- I didn’t even say anything bad!”

“Oh. Right.”

Jude had backed away from Sergio a bit without even noticing. “So, um, are you gonna offer me something in exchange for joining his class, or-”

Sergio let out a sharp laugh. “Your ‘reward’ for joining Ancelotti’s class is me not beating the shit outta you… Well, see ya later.” Leaving no time for Jude to argue, Sergio left. 

And Jude was left there with his thoughts. He thought about whether or not Sergio was serious about beating the shit out of him, and about how he didn’t want to find out.

* * *

“And before I knew it, Mario had the ball, and I knew, I just knew he was gonna fake pass to Leon, right,” Marco explained into his phone. It was eleven at night, far too late to be up on a Sunday, but his parents didn’t care enough to tell him to go to bed. So here he was, in his big room that was dimly lit by LED lights, on the phone with his boyfriend telling him all about his football match earlier that day.

“Uh-huh,” came Robert’s tired response.

“So I was sure to put myself in a good enough spot to- wait, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m just trying to, uh… visualize it. Like in my head.”

“Well you wouldn’t hafta visualize it if you actually showed up to one of my matches…”

“Oh, my gosh,” Robert groaned, so, so tired of this. “I cannot keep having this conversation with you-!”

“Don’t gimme that!” said Marco, suddenly sitting up in his comfy bed. “You haven’t come to one of my matches in God knows how long-” 

He was interrupted from what would have surely been a good rant by the feeling of his phone vibrating against his cheek. He looked at the screen and saw that it was a call from Jude.

“Well, you’re in luck, looks like we won’t be having this conversation, ‘cause I’m getting another call. See you at school tomorrow.”

Robert didn’t ask who was calling or why they were bothering Marco so late. “Uh-huh,” was all he said before hanging up.

Marco answered Jude’s call and tried not to think about what just happened. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked into the phone.

“I’m scared,” Jude whispered.

A confused expression made it’s way onto Marco’s face. “Okay, um… Sorry to hear about that? Dare I ask what you’re so afraid of?”

He heard Jude take a deep breath over the phone. “Okay, so… At football today, Trent and Jordan came up to me and talked to me about the possibility of joining Klopp’s class, which was far from the weirdest thing to happen to me today, but that’s not the point.”

“Okay…”

“And, well, uh, long story short… I think Jordan might be taking the whole “you’ll never walk alone” thing a little too seriously.”

“Whaddo you mean?”

“I mean he’s parked outside my house at eleven at night!”

Marco immediately laughed, then felt kinda bad for doing so. “Wait, seriously?!”

“Yes, seriously! I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s his car… he drives a black Range Rover, right?”

“Bitch, how should I know? He’s your friend.”

“Yeah, yeah… oh my word, what am I gonna do?” The distress was evident in poor Jude’s voice. “I hafta call the bobbies.”

Marco raised his eyebrows, though Jude couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The cops, the police, the five-oh, whatever!”

“I mean, if he’s not hurting you, I don’t think you can call the cops…”

“He’s stalking me! There’s gotta be a law against that or something. C’mon, you watch Better Call Saul, you know the law, help me out!”

Marco paused for a second to think about what Saul would do in this situation, but all his conclusions only ended in felonies, deaths, and Chicago Sunroofs. “Yeah, sorry pal, I got nothing.”

He could hear Jude huff over the phone. “If he murders me in my sleep, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll be sure to bring that up in court,” Marco said dryly before he hung up. 

After tossing his phone on the nightstand and hoping that it didn’t break, Marco stared up at the ceiling. He still couldn’t believe Jude was leaving. That’s what Marco gets for getting too attached.

He really should know better by now.

* * *

After that eventful Sunday, Jude managed to go a few days without being coerced - sorry, persuaded - into joining another class, and he used that time to weigh his options. By the time he showed up to training on Wednesday afternoon, he already had his mind made up.

He was simply walking when Trent and Jordan, who were practicing penalties, noticed him.

“Jude!” Trent shouted, far too loudly for Jude to pretend he didn’t hear him.

He kept an awkward smile on his face as he approached the duo.

“So,” Trent started. “You decide who’s class you’re transferring to next semester?”

“I have,” said Jude, hoping his refusal to elaborate would prevent his friends from querying further. It didn’t.

Trent buried his penalty into the upper right corner, and had the decency to retrieve the ball and put it in place for Jordan to take his.

“Well, you’ve come to the right decision. Trust me, you’re gonna have a great time,” Jordan said confidently as he stared down the ball in front of him before charging at it.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have a lotta fun… in Ancelotti’s class.”

“Damn it!” Jordan shouted, and sent that ball up to the Lord.

Chapter Text

“Please, just give it back, Robbo.”

“No can do, Ali,” the junior said, standing in the middle of the row besides Alisson’s desk, and holding Alisson’s chemistry notebook out of his reach.

“But I need it! I have an exam next period and you know Mr. Simeone is merciless when it comes to-” Alisson attempted to reach for the notebook midsentence, but didn’t bother to actually get out of his seat to do so, so Andy just stepped back and evaded him, bumping into a desk in the process.

“If you want it so bad, then take it from me! You’re such a pushover, Ali, you gotta be more assertive!” said Andy, holding the notebook above his head. Really, he wasn’t trying to give his friend a hard time, just help him grow a bit of a backbone. Despite having a tall and menacing stature, Alisson wouldn’t hurt a fly. Even if he had every right to want said fly dead.

“Right, Trentski?” Andy asked, looking down at the person who’s desk he just bumped into.

Trent was resting his chin on his hand, content to observe the little interaction rather than participate in it. Though, he had to agree that his partner in crime had a point. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Before Alisson and Andy could continue their little back and forth, a tall figure approached and effectively stole their attention.

Said figure was Virgil, orange bookbag slung over one shoulder and hair tied firmly into his everpresent bun. Their class had a running joke about how none of them have ever seen him with a single hair out of place. He probably came out of the womb with it perfectly styled.

“What’s going on here?” Virgil asked, in a voice far too deep for a high school junior.

Alisson, sensing he had an advantage, spoke up before either of the other two could get a word in. “Robbo won’t gimme my notebook back.”

Virgil took one singular step towards Andy, using every single one of his six and a half feet to his advantage.

It seems that was all it took, as Andy immediately threw Alisson’s notebook back onto his desk like it was actively on fire.

“I hope you’re not bothering Alisson, Robbo,” another deep voice said from the back of the room.

The group around Alisson’s desk turned to see Mr. Klopp in one of his all too familiar tracksuits, walking in and closing the door to his classroom well over five minutes after the first period bell had rung.

“‘Course not!” said the junior with a nervous smile. “Jus’ fooling around, is all.”

“Good,” Klopp said as he passed through the group on the way to his desk. Despite it being miserably early in the morning, the man was as jovial as ever, likely aided by the large mug full of coffee in his hand. “I’d hate to give you detention.”

Trent laughed at the idea of Klopp giving anyone detention. He was the kind of teacher that let pretty much anything slide, and whenever something didn’t slide, he’d much rather sit down with the student and talk about their actions than give them detention. Though, if he were to hypothetically give someone detention, it would be for crimes against Alisson. Klopp loved all his students, but he had a soft spot for the gentle giant.

As Trent laughed, Klopp was passing by his desk and couldn’t help but overhear him. “You’d get detention, too, y’know.”

“Wha-” Trent sputtered, baffled. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Yeah, but you get the other one all riled up,” Klopp said, and Trent and Andy looked at each other and exchanged a knowing nod. Man had a point.

The various conversations around the classroom quieted down, and Virgil and Andy finally took their seats.

“Thanks for getting my book back,” Alisson said, giving Virgil a soft smile.

“It’s no problem,” replied Virgil, taking a seat at his desk beside Alisson. “But you need to tell me if those two are bothering you.” His voice was deep and serious, and he was giving Alisson the most stern look a sixteen-year-old could muster.

Alisson rolled his green eyes. “They don’t bother me, Virg, Robbo was just being silly! Don’t worry about it.”

“Hm.”

At the front of the class, Klopp slammed his hands on his cluttered desk, making a sound that wasn’t necessarily startling, but loud enough to get the attention of his group of hyper students.

“Alright boys!” the teacher started. “That time of year is upon us.”

“We’re gonna start our yearly Gilmore Girls run?!” Ibou shouted from the back, making several of his peers’ faces light up.

“No,” Klopp said sadly. “That’s not til later in the fall.”

“Aw…” 

“What it is, though, is the time of year that those stuffy embassies your parents work at take on a bunch of new hires!”

The classroom responded with complete silence.

“It means we’re getting new students.”

Suddenly, the class went from dead silent to alive with chatter.

“Do you know who they are? Where are they from?” asked Cody from his seat in the front row. 

“Yeah!” added Luis. “Are they from anywhere cool?” 

In any other school, the country of origin of their new classmates wouldn’t even be a thought, but this was UEFA.

“Please no one from England…” Kostas said at the back of the room, head in hands.

In front of him, Harvey and Curtis turned around at record speeds. “And what’s wrong with people from England?” asked Harvey.

“There’s too fuckin’ many of you.”

The Englishmen in front of him shrugged, silently admitting that Kostas had a point.

“If you lot would listen to me,” Klopp started, voice in that tone of his that was loud enough to get their attention but not loud enough to be intimidating. He had mastered the art of reeling in his rambunctious class while still remaining approachable and kind. “I was getting to that. Now I’m not going to do that thing teachers do on TV where they make the new kids stand up in front of the class and introduce themselves, because that’s just mean. So, I’ll be telling you their names now…”

Klopp fished around his cluttered desk looking for a certain piece of paper, and his class waited with baited breath.

“Aha! Alright, we have… Alexis, from Argentina-”

“Alexis?” asked Andy. “Thought this was an all-boys school.”

Virgil reached all the way across his desk to smack him upside the head on Alisson’s behalf.

Next to Virgil, Alisson just looked confused. “Wait, I already know an Alexis from Argentina.”

“Yeah,” said Klopp, thumbing through the new student files. “Turns out he’s new to the class but not new to the school. Used to be in De Zerbi’s class. Looks like the rest are new, though. But besides him, there’s Wataru and Dominik, whose fathers are the ambassadors of Japan and Hungary respectively-”

“Gah!” shouted Diogo from his seat in the center of the room, head in hands and voice so loud he made everyone around him almost see Jesus a lot earlier than they intended. “No more ambassadors’ kids, please…”

This comment of his earned him sharp glares from Mohamed, Virgil, and Andy. As the closest to Diogo, Andy took it upon himself to ask the obvious question.

“What’s wrong with ambassadors’ kids, Diogo…?” he asked, voice scarily low. It was so weird to see Andy as anything but loud, happy, and rambunctious.

“You guys are mean!” replied Diogo, who totally didn’t have tears in his eyes. “You think you get to boss everyone around here just because your parents get to boss our parents around at work, not to mention you all think you’re better than the rest of us for some fuckin’ reason… except for you, Mo, you’re an angel and we’re glad you’re here.”

“Diogo, man, the only only person who fits that description is that Portuguese kid who used to try to steal your lunch money” said Virgil, a little offended.

“Don’t remind me…” Diogo said with a shudder, resting his arms and head on his desk.

“Yeah,” said Trent curiously. “Whatever happened to that Cristiano kid?”

“Who?” asked Harvey. The other freshmen in the class looked just as confused.

“Cristiano,” started Virgil, taking over for a distressed Diogo. “He was this kid who used to go here, he was always doing fucked up shit and eventually got expelled. Word on the street is his parents sent him to boarding school in Saudi Arabia…”

The freshmen visibly shuddered. 

“I dunno… Saudi Arabia doesn’t sound so bad,” said Jordan, essentially thinking out loud while gazing through the window at what was going on outside. It was a familiar scene: Dusan and Federico from Allegri’s class lounging around the courtyard well after the bell rang, Dusan doing some elite level yapping and Federico definitely thinking about killing him.

Half the class looked at Jordan like he was crazy. 

“You boys done?” asked Klopp, popping his first of many daily captopril that he seemed to take at will rather than as directed.

When the teacher was met with silence, he continued. “And our last new student is… Ryan, from the Netherlands. Virgil, Cody, either of you know him?”

Both the Dutch kids scoffed. “Sure,” said Virgil. “Just because we’re from the same country, we must know each o-”

“Last name Gravenberch.”

“Oh yeah!” said Cody. “We went to primary school together.” This earned him a sharp glare from Virgil.

“Right, well. As I said, I’m not gonna make them introduce themsilves. So when they get here, just… try to be nice.”

“You don’t think we’re nice?” asked Alisson, clutching his bookbag close to his chest.

“Of course I think you’re nice; you’re all great boys,” Klopp said, with that gentle tone he so often used. “But it’s very hard to fit in with a new class, so I want you guys to make an effort to welcome your new classmates.”

And welcome them they would.

* * * 

The day of the new students’ arrival started like any other.

“And then, after the game was over-”

“Trent, I swear, if the next word outta your mouth is ‘Taylor’ or ‘Travis,’ I’m killing someone,” said Curtis. “And it’s probably gonna be Harvey.”

Harvey and Trent both glared at him. “Whatever,” Trent scoffed. “You’re just jealous that Taylor finally found happiness, meanwhile you have no bitche- oh my gosh.”

“Wot?” 

“He’s hot.”

“Travis Kelce?” Harvey asked with a sneer on his face. “Mate, you must be absolutely trippin’ if you think-”

“No, idiot, the new kid!” Trent whisper-yelled, as if said new kid, who was all the way at the entrance to the classroom, would hear him. “Look, turn around, but don’t make it obvious.”

Curtis and Harvey ignored the second half of Trent’s request, both of them damn near breaking their backs with how quickly they turned around in their seats.

Sure enough, standing awkwardly at the doorway with a brightly-colored bookbag was a student neither Curtis nor Harvey had seen before. His brown eyes were scanning the room, desperately looking for a place to sit amongst the chaos.

“Hey!” Harvey shouted, pointing at the new kid so he knew for sure he was talking to him. “Which one are you?”

“Uh…” the new kid started, looking behind him then turning back to face Harvey. “What?”

Curtis rolled his eyes. “Which one?” he asked. “Argentina, Hungary-”

“That one,” the new kid said, his accent becoming more apparent. Harvey and Curtis gestured for him to join them, so he did, looking around the room nervously as he approached the seat next to Harvey.

Meanwhile, Trent was dead set on staring down at his wooden desk, wanting to die as he felt his face heat up.

“Thanks for letting me sit with you guys,” said the newcomer, and if Trent was brave enough to actually look at him, he would’ve seen a smile that would’ve surely sent him into cardiac arrest at the tender age of fifteen. “I’m Dominik, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dominik,” Harvey said, remembering what Klopp told the class about being welcoming. “I’m Harvey. This is my buddy Curtis, and the lad who looks like he’s about to pass out right there is Trent.”

“Hi guys,” Dominik said, before turning to Trent, who was finally making eye contact with him. “Hi Trent. That’s a cool name. I like it.”

“Thanks, I’ve had it my whole life,” Trent said without thinking. Curtis and Harvey tried in vain to stifle their laughs. “I, uh… like your earrings.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Dominik, reaching up to fiddle with one of his diamond studs. “I mostly just got ‘em to piss off my dad.”

Trent laughed a little too hard to be considered normal, and Curtis took that as a cue to make some small talk before things got weird. “You really lucked out with being in Mr. Klopp’s class, y’know.”

“Yeah!” Harvey chimed in, not giving poor Dominik a chance to speak. “He just lets you do whatever in homeroom. And if you have him for history that’s even better. You couldn’t fail that class if you tried.”

“Yeah, I mean, you could’ve gotten one of the really strict ones. Like Mr. Arteta, or Mr. Mourinho, or Mr. Guardiola… I’m pretty sure he and Mr. Klopp have some kinda beef going on.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Dominik, looking amused about the lore he was getting. “About what?”

Curtis looked at Harvey, who had a mischievous little smirk on his face. “I’m so glad you asked.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Diogo and Ibou were getting to know another new kid in a different part of the classroom.

“Woah, Japan…” Ibou said in awe. “That’s so cool! And so far away!”

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” said one of the new kids, who had introduced himself to them earlier as Wataru. He seemed to be a little nervous, as evidenced by him constantly scratching at the back of his neck. “The air travel was so strenuous, I think I’m still getting over the jet lag.”

“And your English is so good!” Diogo said, impressed.

This earned the sophomore a smack upside the head from Ibou. “Of course he speaks good English, you hafta be fluent to get into this school!”

“Ow!” Diogo complained, rubbing the back of his head where he got smacked, when something occurred to him. “Wait… then what the fuck is Darwin doing here?”

Upon hearing his name, Darwin looked up from whatever he was currently writing or doodling. “¿Qué?”

“Nothing, Darwin, go back to what you’re doing.”

Wataru just blinked, unsure of what to make of that interaction. “Uh… he seems nice.”

“Everyone in the class is,” said Ibou with a shrug. “You’ll make friends just fine.”

“I dunno… That one guy keeps glaring at me,” Wataru said sheepishly, looking over to another side of the room.

Diogo and Ibou followed his gaze to where Cody and Virgil were chatting with one of the other new kids, Ryan. They needn’t ask to know which one of them Wataru was talking about. In fact, they both laughed.

“No, no,” said Diogo between giggles. “He’s not glaring at you; Cody just has the worst case of resting bitch face known to man.”

Again, poor Wataru was left confused. “Resting what?”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the boys of Klopp’s class to fall in love with their new classmates. They were all eager not only to get to know them, but to also fill them in on the, as they put it, “lore” of the school. However, they found that homeroom and lunch didn’t give them enough time to do so. Luckily, a bunch of kids in the class has planned to go to the mall that weekend to hang out as they so often did, and by the end of that first day, the new kids had already found themselves invited.

Which is how Ryan ended up in the middle of a mall food court in DC one Saturday, getting what was without question the hottest tea of his entire life. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Lemme get this straight,” the freshman said, rubbing his temples as if that would help him retain the information he just absorbed. “Robert and Thomas used to date.”

“Uh-huh,” said Trent, sitting across from him and plucking a Burger King fry off Andy’s tray.

“But then they broke up.”

“That’s right,” replied Andy, giving Trent a bombastic side eye.

“So Robert dates Marco now.”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s still in love with Thomas.”

“Yep.”

“And Thomas is still in love with him”

“Pretty much.”

“So why the fuck is he dating Marco then?!” Ryan exclaimed, earning stares from other people just trying to enjoy their meals in peace. 

Trent reached over and put a hand on his new friend’s shoulder. “That’s what everyone in this school has been trying to figure out for the entire damn semester.”

Their moment was interrupted when Diogo ran up to their table, so quickly you’d think he was in fear for his life. “Guys,” the poor guy panted, clutching the edge of the table to maintain his balance.

“Are you good, mate?” Andy asked.

“Your BeReal showed you at Game Stop with Curtis like five minutes ago,” said a worried-looking Trent. “... Did you just run up three flights of escalators?”

“Not important… Needed to let you know…” Diogo took a few more deep breaths while his friends looked on with intrigue. “João started following Magui on Instagram again.”

“No!” gasped Andy.

Trent was equally as taken aback. “You’re fuckin’ kidding!”

“Yeah, you’re winding us up!”

“I’m sorry,” said Ryan, totally lost. “Who are these people?”

Trent and Andy both started talking at the same time, and their accents made their words so confusing, that for a moment Ryan considered the possibility that maybe he needed to start taking English classes again.

“Okay, so,” Trent started when he and Andy finally figured out who would speak first. “Magui is this fucking bitch ass-”

“Hey guys!” called out a distant voice. The group turned to see Ibou on the other side of the courtyard, followed by Dominik. “We’re going to Hot Topic, wanna come?!”

“Do we ever!” Trent and Andy said simultaneously, not even bothering to consult the others or throw out their trays before running over to join Ibou and Dominik.

“So, uh… you wanna tell me what the deal with this João fella is?” Ryan asked Diogo, who he was now alone with.

He would come to regret asking that, however, as Diogo would keep him there for several hours explaining the dating life of some Portuguese kid Ryan had never met.

* * *

From his time at UEFA before being transferred to Klopp’s class, Alexis knew that that group was… a lot.

And he loved them dearly for it, don’t get him wrong. He was on good terms with most of them already from his friendship with Alisson. But he was more of a chill guy, and so he opted to hang out with the select few members of Klopp’s class that weren’t harbingers of chaos.

Which led to him chilling on a bench at the mall with Alisson and Mohamed, and even Wataru, another new kid who seemed to have learned the same lesson that Alexis did.

“You guys went to the Smithsonian?” asked Wataru after Alisson made an offhand comment about it. “Aw, I would’ve loved to go.”

“I got pictures!” Mohamed piped up. “Look, I’ll show you.”

He spent a few minutes showing the others his photos from the trip. It looked like he had friends from a lot of classes, not just Klopp’s.

“Who’s that?” asked Wataru, pointing to a long-haired guy with a white shirt in one of the photos.

“Oh, that’s Luka,” Alexis informed him. “He’s the senior class president and student council president. Busy guy.”

Wataru hummed in acknowledgement. “Kinda cute,” he added, to which the other three looked at him like he had just admitted to luring five children into a back room using a Spring Bonnie suit in 1985.

“No, no, you cannot say that!” Alisson whispered urgently.

“What, I don’t wanna ask him out or anything, just saying he’s cu-”

Alexis slapped a hand over the poor guy’s mouth. “No, no, don’t say it again! Unless you wanna get paid a visit from Sergio-”

“Who’s Sergio?”

“A fucking asshole!” said Mohamed in an uncharacteristic outburst. He looked like he had been keeping that in for a long time.

“Yeah, Mo’s still traumatized from what happened in that parking lot,” added Alisson, which clarified absolutely nothing at all for Wataru.

“I did not deserve what happened to me and he knows it.”

“I don’t think he does, buddy…”

“Wait,” interrupted Wataru. “Are Luka and this Sergio fella boyfriends or something?”

Alisson stopped to think for a moment. “Hmmm… kinda, I guess.”

An eager smirk crossed Mohamed’s face. “Yeah, you’d know all about being ‘kinda’ boyfriends, wouldn’t you, Ali?”

This prompted Alexis to absolutely lose his shit, and Alisson to cover his own blushing face with his stupidly large hands.

“No, guys, me and Virgil aren’t-”

“Nobody said anything about Virgil!” Alexis screamed, which sent Mohamed and Wataru into fits of laughter.

“I wasn’t gonna ask,” said Wataru when he recovered enough to speak. “But I was trying to tell whether or not something was going on between the two of you.”

“See?!” Mohamed shouted, to which Alisson looked even more like he wanted to die. “Even he could tell, and he’s known you for like five minutes, you are not slick, Alisson Becker!”

“Oh, man…” Alisson mumbled into his bear hands. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

“Where’s Ibou? I haven’t seen him in ages.” asked Andy. For most people, it would be a struggle to make themselves heard over the blaring notes of Welcome to the Black Parade, but Andy got by just fine. Mr. Klopp always told him he spoke at a volume akin to jet plane engines anyway.

“We lost him by the anime shirts,” replied Dominik, picking up yet another pair of edgy earrings. Like every other student at UEFA, the idea of a spending limit was lost on the Hungarian ambassador’s son.

Andy could pinpoint the exact moment a certain thought popped into Dominik’s head. 

“Hey,” the sophomore said, turning to Trent and holding the earrings up to his ear. “You’d look great with these.”

That little comment in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. But it was the combination of that, plus the lingering glances in the car, plus the notes passed in class the day before, plus all the other seemingly meaningless little comments that could be interpreted another way.

“He has a boyfriend!” Andy shouted, unable to hold it in any longer. The two sophomores looked at him like he was crazy.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to, uh…” Dominik stopped midsentence to desperately hold back a giggle, something that people who truly are sorry don’t often do. “Didn’t mean to step on your territory, Robbo.”

It was an odd choice of words, and it took Andy a second to realize the implication. “Wha- no, I’m not his boyfriend!” 

He looked at Trent, who had been silent for the entire interaction, and waited for him to fill in the blank. But it looked like he had taken a page out of their Polish friend’s book on being a good boyfriend, because he stayed absolutely silent on the matter.

“He’s dating this guy from Galtier’s class. Kylian. He’s in your year. Right, Trentski?” The last sentence was spoken through gritted teeth as Andy sharply elbowed his best friend in the side.

“Yes!” said Trent, voice cracking as he flinched from the sudden jab. “Kylian. I am… dating Kylian.”

“Uh… lucky guy, I guess?” said Dominik, and Andy couldn’t tell whether he truly was unbothered or just pretending to be. “I meant what I said, though, you’d look sick with some earrings.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, totally!”

“Yeah, like your mum would ever let that happen, mate,” said Andy. “Remember what happened when you told her about you and Jordan’s plans to get matching tattoos in the future?”

Trent shuddered. “Don’t remind me…”

A few seconds of silence passed, and Andy started to get the itch. He just couldn’t help himself. It was like he was genetically wired to either find trouble or make it himself. 

“There’s a Claire’s on the other side of the mall, y’know.”

* * *

Come Monday, Jurgen was scared. 

He couldn’t remember the last time his classroom was this quiet.

It wasn’t even dead silent. The classroom still had that early morning chatter about it, but Jurgen couldn’t shake the feeling that something, something crucial to the balance of the world, was just… off.

Naturally, his mind went to his biggest headache.

“Where’s Robbo?”

“Right here, boss,” a Scottish accent piped up.

Something about Andy was different. Did he get a haircut? Get taller overnight? Whatever, didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that Jurgen still didn’t know what was wrong.

Naturally, his mind went to his second biggest headache.

“Robbo, where’s the other one?”

“Oh, he’s not coming today.”

So that’s what was different about Andy, who was unrecognizable without his other half.

“Oh, how come?” asked Jurgen, already giving Trent an excused absence in the school’s database.

“Texted me this morning telling me not to bother picking him up. He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, what a shame. Tell him I hope he feels better.”

“Will do, boss.”

A couple seats to Andy’s left, Alisson turned to him, concerned. “What’s wrong with Trent?” he asked.

“Ear infection.”

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that it was completely unnecessary, Sergio always got out of his car and walked to Luka’s front door when he picked him up for school.

It was crazy to think that he’d woken up early to make the drive to Kalorama every day since he got his license in sophomore year. He tried not to think about the fact that, come June, he wasn’t sure when he’d be at the familiar house on Massachusetts Avenue again.

Luckily, he was snapped out of his spiraling by the abrupt sound of Luka’s front door opening.

“Good morn- good Lord, what happened to you?” asked Sergio.

“Whaddo you mean?”

The thing about Luka was that he always looked beautiful in Sergio’s eyes. Always. Without fail. When he was sweaty after a football match, when he was half asleep during their late night FaceTime calls, even the few times Sergio had seen him crying. He was always beautiful.

Today was no exception. Luka was still the stunner he always was, just…

“You look miserable. Gosh, Lukita, did you even sleep?” Sergio asked, in a voice so soft only Luka had ever heard it.

Of course, Sergio already knew the answer to that. Luka’s tangled hair and dark circles told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s neither here nor there,” came the senior class president’s dry response. He then brushed passed Sergio and got into his car before Sergio could question him further, or open and close the car door for him like he usually did.

When Sergio got into the driver’s seat, he didn’t buckle his seatbelt or even turn the car on. All his attention was on Luka.

“Luka, what’s wrong?” he asked, sounding so concerned he almost internally made fun of himself for being so pathetic.

“Nothing, can we just go?” Luka asked, running his hands through his hair repeatedly, messing it up even more.

“But-”

One word of protest was all it took to break the dam.

“Gah, just stop, okay, please?! I applied to three colleges last night, studied my ass off for econ, and I still don’t know shit, made thirty slides for AP lit, redid the whole agenda for next months’ student council meetings, and redid the budget, and oh my gosh - ” was what Luka got out before dissolving into tears.

“Okay, okay, Luka, look at me,” said Sergio, gently grasping Luka’s wrists and prying them from his face.

All Sergio could think of when he saw Luka’s tear stained face was how pathetically soft he was getting.

“Get out,” said Sergio.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get outta the car, we’re gonna go back inside and you’re actually gonna get some sleep.”

“No, I can’t, and unless you wanna be late for school-”

“Okay, quick, is any of that shit you mentioned - the test, the presentation - is any of it due today?”

“Okay, technically not, but I need to get my notes for-”

“Ask a friend for them, now get out.”

“Sergio, no-”

Sergio would be cold in the dirt before he threatened Luka, but he did channel a little bit of that energy he uses to scare his classmates. Just a little bit. “Sergio, yes,” he said. “Look, I’ll wake you up in time for third period, now get your pretty little self outta my car and back inside before I-”

“Okay, whatever you’re threatening me with, I know you’re not gonna follow through on it, but I’m gonna get out anyway.”

“Thought so,” Sergio said, following his best friend out of the car.

* * *

Mr. Allegri’s class was an ‘anything goes’ kind of class, not because Mr. Allegri was a chill teacher, but because he had no grip on those kids whatsoever. Which is why, in the middle of first period, a time that was supposed to be dedicated to studying and working independently, pretty much everyone was crowding around Wojciech, hanging onto every word he said.

Wojciech prided himself on the fact that he seemed to be the only person in this school, students and staff included, that wasn’t a damn gossip. But his classmates heard about what happened in his pre calc class yesterday, and wouldn’t stop pestering him until they got the play-by-play they demanded. 

“So then Thomas was all like, ‘No, Marco, I’m not talking to your boyfriend,’ and Marco was gonna leave the room, since it was, y’know, not his class, but of course Thomas couldn’t keep his mouth shut-”

“So what happened next?!” asked Kenan, so young, so full of life. His question earned him a sharp glare from the senior, who clearly didn’t wanna be interrupted while recounting his story.

“I was getting there , gosh. Anywho, then Thomas was all, ‘Your boyfriend’s talking to me,'” said Wojciech, complete with an overly whiny impression of Thomas’ voice. “He probably thought he was being quiet or something, but I don’t think God gave him that ability. And then the poor guy tried to play it off as a joke, and knowing him, it might’ve been one, because only he would say something that tasteless thinking it was funny.”

What followed was a loud mix of laughs, and questions regarding what happened next.

One of the only students not currently crowded around Wojciech’s desk was one Federico Chiesa. It’s not that he wasn’t interested in the tea being spilled, just that he was a lot more interested in not failing the biology test he had next period. He was about to go over, and probably cry over, the Krebs cycle for the tenth time when a package of some sort was unceremoniously dropped on his desk.

He recognized the wrapper. Store-bought biscotti.

Even though he didn’t need to look up to see who was hovering over his desk, he did anyways, and was met with the familiar brown eyes of Dusan Vlahovic.

Well, he would have been, if it wasn’t for the fact that Dusan was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. 

“For you!” said Federico’s fellow sophomore. “Authentic.”

To verify the claim, Federico read the label. Kirkland Signature.

“This is from Costco,” Federico informed the other.

“Well, it’s still good!” responded Dusan, sliding his bookbag off his shoulder and taking his seat. Federico recognized his outfit from the cringe “outfit of the day” TikTok he posted earlier that morning, and that Federico and all their friends promptly roasted him for.

When Federico noticed Dusan still staring at him with that hopeful grin of his, he put two and two together.

“Alright, whaddo you want?” he asked, with narrowed eyes.

“What, I can’t get you a tasty little treat every now and again? I hafta have some kinda ulterior motive?”

“I’m not stupid, Dusan,” Federico said through a fake smile. “Now out with it…”

“Will you go out with me on Friday?” asked Dusan, putting on the most charming smile he was capable of. Federico had to admit, the fact that such a smile was currently being aimed at him of all people did make his heart skip a beat.

Federico opened the biscotti wrapper and took a bite out of one of the treats. He’d probably get a stomach ache from eating something so sweet first thing in the morning, but oh well.

“Gonna take a lot more than some sweets to convince me to do that,” he said between bites.

Dusan read between the lines, and smiled. The game was on.

* * *

While Luka was taking his much needed nap, Sergio kept himself busy by driving Luka’s two little sisters to school. Even after that, he still had time to kill, so he raided Luka’s family’s fridge and watched Scrubs on their living room TV.

In a matter of hours, Sergio heard footsteps padding down the stairs, and soon enough, Luka emerged in his living room, bookbag slung over one shoulder, and overall looking much more put together. He didn’t seem fazed at all at Sergio treating the place like it was his own.

“What gives?” he asked, after he almost tripped. Seems he didn’t take the time to tie his shoes. “You said you’d wake me up in time for third period! Now, you’re lucky I woke up when I did, because if we leave now we can still make-”

“Yeah, about that…” Sergio said casually, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, an act Luka’s mom surely would have yelled at him for had she been there. “We’re not going to school.”

“The hell we are!” Luka said with a laugh, as if shocked by the audacity. “But seriously, dude, get your feet off my coffee table and in the car.”

“I am serious-”

“I thought you were Sergio.”

Sergio hated himself for chuckling at that lame excuse for a joke. “But seriously, you need a break from school. You’ve got too much on your plate and you’re too stressed, so I’m not driving you to school today. You need a break.”

“You know I have a car, too, right?” Luka asked, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“You hate driving,” said Sergio. They had been best friends for upwards of three years now, and the only time Sergio had seen Luka drive was on their trip to Croatia that past Summer, where Luka had looked miserable every time he had to get behind the wheel. It was a damn shame, too, because his car was really nice.

Luka stared at Sergio, and Sergio could see the gears turning in his pretty little head.

“I can’t just skip school.”

“Sure you can, I do it all the time!”

“What? No you don’t; you’ve literally given me a ride to and from school every day since you got your license.”

“Yeeeeah… Y’know how sometimes I just don’t show up to second period? Or lunch?”

“I mean, yeah, sometimes you disappear for a while, but I always assumed you were off -” Luka’s voice went quiet midsentence as he realized how stupid his train of thought sounded. “- doing homework, or something…”

“Yeah.”

Luka chucked his white bookbag onto the coffee table, and took a seat next to Sergio with a huff.

“I can’t believe you’re turning me into a skipper,” he said with what could only be described as complete disdain. 

“Look, if anyone has an excuse to skip for one day, I think it’s you.”

Luka didn’t say anything, and the two sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Luka asked. “If you’re turning me into a felon, I want it to be for something fun.”

Sergio thought about what he usually did when he skipped school. Sometimes he sat at home and did nothing. Sometimes he made a day of it.

“Oh!” he exclaimed after thinking it over for a little too long. He grabbed Luka’s shoulder and looked at him excitedly. “I got an idea.”

Luka’s brown eyes were filled with worry, as they usually tended to be after Sergio had an idea. “Do I even wanna know?”

“Don’t worry. I only end up hurting someone, like, half the time when I go to these things,” said Sergio, taking his phone out of his jeans pocket and typing furiously. “Okay, good, there is one today! But it’s not till later, so we’re gonna hafta kill a couple hours…”

Luka didn’t inquire as to what ‘it’ was, figuring he’d find out eventually. When told he’d have to kill a couple hours, he could only think of one thing.

“Wanna mindlessly stroll through Target?”

“Do I ever,” said Sergio, getting up and grabbing his car keys.

* * *

Second period left Federico feeling, for lack of a better word, fucking terrible. He had no doubt in his mind that he bombed the shit out of that biology test. And that his mom was gonna be pissed at him when she inevitably found out about it. Great. 

He was pulling his books out of his locker and placing them into his black and white bookbag as thoughts of his inevitable grounding ran rampant through his mind.

Finally deciding to head to his next class, which was English, he shut his locker and-

“Fede!”

“AH- oh my gosh, Dusan!” Federico exclaimed, hand placed firmly over his heart, which he was pretty sure just stopped beating for a moment there. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Not long,” his friend responded, as if he hadn’t just given Federico the worst scare of his life. “I was gonna say hi, but I saw you were really deep in thought and your eyes looked really pretty and-”

“Thank you,” Federico responded with a little grin. Even though his biology grade sucked, at least Dusan could lift his spirits. 

It seemed Dusan could tell something was up. “Something the matter?”

The sophomore slumped against his now closed locker. “Just totally tanked that test I had.”

Dusan looked even more upset than Federico. “Aw, I’m sorry, Fede… Y’know, that reminds me of this time in fourth grade-”

Dusan was good at two things. Football and yapping. Elite level yapping. Seeing as how Federico spent so much time with him, he had a solution for it: staring at Dusan’s handsome features and thinking about killing him until he finally shut up. 

“-ede? You listening?”

“I wasn’t thinking about killing you.”

“Nice,” Dusan replied, looking genuinely happy. “Anywho, I have something for you.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Federico, and for the first time since the other showed up, he noticed that he had his hands tucked behind his back.

Wordlessly, Dusan showed Federico what was in his hands, and Federico melted. A small, stuffed zebra, and a single white lily. His favorite animal, and the flower of his home country.

Federico’s gratitude was clear to see on his face, and it made Dusan feel like the proudest man in the world. 

“Oh, my gosh… I love them, thank you,” the sophomore said, bringing Dusan in for a hug.

When they separated, Federico took his gifts from Dusan, and looked at them with pure joy.

Dusan took this as his chance. He cleared his throat.

“So, uh… about Friday.”

Snapped out of his little moment, Federico glared at Dusan, all remnants of flattery stripped from his face. “What about it?”

In between a rock and a hard place, there was Dusan. He felt like, no matter what he said, he’d be screwed. Federico tended to have that effect on him.

“Do you, uh… Wanna go out with me?”

Federico bit the inside of his cheek, and looked at Dusan like he was studying him. Something which, if his biology grade was any indication, he wasn’t very good at. 

Dusan had no way of knowing what was going on behind those eyes, and it was creeping him out.

“I’ll think about it,” said Federico, before the turned around, gifts in hand, and headed to Mr. Arteta’s class.

Dusan smiled. Progress!

“Yes!” he exclaimed, before punching a nearby locker out of excitement.

He spent third period icing his hand in the nurse’s office.

* * *

“Trust me, Luka, where we’re going, we don’t need food; they have food there,” Sergio told his best friend as they perused the aisles of Target.

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to have snacks for the road,” replied Luka. He kept glancing behind himself as he and Sergio wandered throughout the store, petrified that someone he knew would see him, and report him to the FBI for cutting school. With how close they are to Quantico, he’d be arrested in a matter of minutes. He wondered, would he be sent to an American prison? Or would he be extradited back to Croatia and dealt with to the full extent of the law there? He wouldn’t last a day in juvie, not without Sergio there to protect him. And what would happen to his grades once he-

“It’s literally fifteen minutes away,” Sergio said, effectively ripping Luka away from his thoughts about what would happen to him once his mother paid his bail.

“Yeah, but the traffic, Sese.”

Sergio stopped dead in his tracks. “... Good point,” he said, turning around and grabbing Luka’s shoulders to do the same to him. 

They passed the section for cleaning supplies, then the electronics section, then the book section, and were turning a corner when they unceremoniously crashed into two people going the opposite way.

“Fucking watch it- ” Sergio started, and was about to forcefully shove the poor soul out of the way when he realized who it was.

“Robert?” he said, at the same time Luka said, “Thomas?”

The infamous exes stared back at them, and of course it didn’t take long for Thomas to start running his big mouth. “Hey!” he exclaimed, sounding panicked, like he was hiding something. “W-we were just using our lunch period to, uh, buy some food and stuff for our, um, our bunny! That we share, uh, his name’s Little Robert, get it, ‘cause he looks just like this guy. Cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, like he’s this small, and he’s got these blue little eyes, and this puffy little tail, and-”

Robert gave his ex boyfriend a look, and that was enough to shut him up.

In the midst of the extremely tense silence that followed, Luka and Sergio just looked at each other. Sergio could tell that Luka had something he wanted to say, but was too polite to say it.

So, naturally, Sergio did it himself.

“And you decided that buying stuff for the child of your little divorce needed to be a group effort?”

While he spoke, Sergio took a step toward the former couple, and while he hadn’t intended to be menacing, they clearly thought otherwise, as Robert stepped in front of Thomas in a vaguely protective manner.

“Would there be a problem with that?” the quiet-natured senior asked.

“Actually, yeah, I think there would be, you two-timing-”

“Okay, that’s enough of that!” said Luka, physically pulling his best friend away from a potential altercation, just as he did pretty much every other day of the school year. “Was nice seeing you guys!”

Both parties began to walk away, but didn’t get far before Robert spoke up again. “Wait,” he said, and Luka and Sergio turned around to face him.

Next to Robert, Thomas looked nervous. Neither Sergio nor Luka had ever seen him go this long without talking. Or, for a better word, yelling.

“Could you, uh, not tell anyone that you saw us here?” Robert asked. “Just that we’re technically not supposed to leave campus during school hours, even lunch, so…”

“Sure thing…” Luka said with narrow eyes. He had a sneaking suspicion those two weren’t worried about getting in trouble with the principal.

They continued to go their separate ways, but Luka turned around once again to see that Robert had his hand on the small of Thomas’ back as he led him away.

As Luka and Sergio continued to the snack aisle, Luka whipped out his phone and started typing furiously.

“I’m texting Toni,” he said when Sergio gave him a weird look. “Asking him if Marco knows about this. And if he doesn’t know, to tell him.”

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Fucking mess, those guys.”

* * *

Federico was one of the poor souls unlucky enough to have Mr. Mourinho for fifth period geometry. The only thing that made that class bearable was the fact that a couple of his friends were in it. They were using the time before the bell rang to chit chat, as once that bell rang, talking would earn them detention and a ‘respect’ rant.

“So, are you going out with him on Friday?” asked Weston, one of the maybe three American kids at UEFA. His parents weren’t ambassadors or diplomats of any sort, so nobody knew why he even went there, but he was a nice guy, so no one really bothered to ask about it.

“I dunno,” responded Federico, reaching into his bookbag to retrieve the three inch binder that Mr. Mourinho insisted - no, demanded - that all his students get for his class. “He was super annoying last week, so if he wants me to go out with him, he’s gonna hafta work for it.”

“Please, Fede, we both know you’re gonna say yes.”

Before Federico could give his friend an answer, the man of the hour, who was also unlucky enough to have this class, entered the room.

Dusan greeted his friends, and vice versa, before sitting down at his desk between them. He didn’t say much else, and Federico noticed a bandage on his hand that he didn’t bother to ask about.

He cleared his throat and got Dusan’s attention. “So, if I were to hypothetically go on this date with you,” he said, pausing to emphasize that this was indeed hypothetical. “Where would we be going?”

Dusan lit up, and Federico felt his heart constrict. “We’d be going to this nice Italian place! I-”

“I swear, if you take me to fucking Olive Garden again-!”

“Gosh, no, I’ve learned my lesson, okay?! Now would you chill out?”

“Excuse me?” Federico asked, voice almost as high as his raised brow.

“Nothing! Anyways! Yeah, I’d, uh… take you to this nice Italian place.”

“And how would we get there?” asked Federico. Being fifteen, neither of the boys had their licences yet, and there was nothing more embarrassing than asking his parents to drive him to his dinner date.

“It’s in walking distance from both our houses. So I’d go to your place and pick you up, and we’d walk there together.”

Satisfied with that answer, Federico prepared his next question. “And who would pay?”

“I would!”

“And you’d walk me home?”

“Yes!”

“And hold doors open for me?”

“Absolutely!”

Again, Federico looked at Dusan like he was studying him.

“Maybe.”

For the rest of the class, Dusan kept swinging his feet under his desk, unable to contain his excitement, which led to him getting shouted at by Mr. Mourinho multiple times.

* * *

Even on the way to their outing, Sergio refused to tell Luka where they were going. When they drove into Navy Yard, Luka started to have an idea of what their destination was, and when they got onto South Capitol Street, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Nationals park?”

“Yup,” said Sergio. “Sometimes I like to catch a ball game while I’m playing hooky.”

Luka almost physically recoiled. “That’s the most American sentence I’ve ever heard. And we sit next to Christian every day in second period. Well, I sit next to him every day. You, apparently, skip school, but still show up just to give me a ride home. Why you do this, I have no idea-”

“It’s because I’m madly in love with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, wouldja look at that, we’re here!”

Luka rolled his eyes as Sergio backed into an overpriced spot in the parking garage. The two got out, but instead of immediately heading for the exit, Sergio popped the trunk.

After rummaging through the nuclear wasteland that was the trunk of his car for a bit, he pulled out a baseball glove with a rather proud look on his face.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” said Luka, as Sergio gently grabbed his wrist and walked him to the exit. “But you are aware that you are, in fact, not a player for the Washington Nationals, right?”

“Luka, Luka, Luka. You really dunno shit about baseball, do you?”

Was that a rhetorical question? Of course Luka didn’t know shit about baseball. That was something Sergio bonded over with Luka’s little sisters, not him.

Sergio took his best friend’s silence as an answer. “It’s not like football; when the ball flies into the stands, you get to keep it!” he said, holding up his trusty glove for Luka to see, before placing his other hand on Luka’s shoulder and turning serious. “And I swear to you, Luka Modric, I will catch a ball on your behalf at this game. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Dude, I don’t even like baseball.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sergio replied as they got closer to the ballpark. “Sell it, give it to your sister, I don’t care, but I will catch it for you.”

Luka rolled his eyes, and they didn’t address the matter any further. 

“Wait, did you even buy tickets?” Luka asked after a while of walking through a sea of Nationals fans. 

He shuddered at the thought of Sergio using Ticketmaster again after the apparent hell he went through getting Luka Eras Tour tickets.

“No, but it’s fine, we can buy ‘em here.”

The ballpark wasn’t too unlike the football stadiums Luka had been to back at home. It was just as crowded, if not more, so Sergio held Luka’s hand as they made their way to their seats after getting tickets. Sergio insisted on getting seats at left field, something about having a higher likelihood of getting foul balls, or whatever.

“Alright, I’m gonna run and get food, whaddo you want?” Sergio asked when they finally did get to their seats.

“Oh, I had snacks in the car, we can get something later.”

“There is no later, Luka! There is no halftime, the closest we get is when we sing Take Me Out to the Ball Game during the seventh-inning stretch. Now whaddo you want, a hot dog, peanuts, a pretzel? Screw it, I’m just getting you everything,” Sergio said, and left.

Over the next several hours, Luka had a pretty good time, and found that he kinda liked baseball. It didn’t give him the same adrenaline rush that playing or watching football did, but it was fun enough, and he could see why his sisters and Sergio liked it. He spent pretty much the entire game with Sergio’s mouth a millimeter away from his ear, telling him the rules of the game and explaining what was happening.

Well, until the top of the ninth.

The millisecond Sergio noticed a fly ball heading in their general direction, he abandoned his spot at Luka’s side, tracking that sucker like catching it was his life’s mission.

And catch it he did, but not before tackling a family of four in order to do so.

“Luka! Luka, look, I got it!” he exclaimed, crawling out from on top of his pile of victims.

“You sure did…” said Luka, desperately hiding his face so that it wouldn’t show up on the jumbotron.

“Look, isn’t it cool?!” Sergio said when he got back over to his seat, extending the ball out for Luka to take.

Luka finally revealed his face from behind his hands. Sergio was still offering him the ball, and behind him were two parents consoling their crying children, clearly too preoccupied with their kids’ safety to yell at the teenage boy responsible for their tears.

“I can’t believe you brutally injured four people to get me this thing,” said Luka, not sounding flattered at all, even though a small part of him was.

“Pft, ‘injured,’ I barely touched them!”

Luka used the hand that wasn’t holding a baseball to rub his temple, as he reminded himself that Sergio wasn’t a bad guy, really, he just went into mental states where he commited atrocities and neglected the safety and wellbeing of people around him. People that weren’t Luka, that is.

“You pushed a ten-year-old girl to the ground!”

“It was a gentle nudge! And as long as I’m still seventeen, hurting children is fair game!”

“The family could press charges!”

That was, however, complete bullshit, and Luka knew it. Like literally every other student at UEFA, save for the few Americans, Sergio enjoyed diplomatic immunity. The family could not press charges for his little physical assault. They couldn’t press charges if he killed one of them with everyone in Nationals Park as witness.

However, Sergio seemed to be unaware of such a thing, and throughout the years, Luka was sure to keep it that way, because he was genuinely, unironically afraid of what Sergio would do if he found out the laws of this land didn’t apply to him.

“Oh, they won’t be pressing charges,” Sergio said, and Luka started to wonder what he said to that poor family after he tackled them.

Luka breathed a heavy sigh, and got back to the game.

* * *

It just so happened that most of Mr. Allegri’s class had seventh period lunch. Since that was the last period of the day, they could technically ignore the rules about not leaving campus and just leave anyway, but they decided to just eat lunch together most days instead. Plus, they were so hungry after six periods without eating, that they were even willing to eat sucky private school cafeteria food if it guaranteed a quick meal.

Which is why Federico was in the cafeteria with his friends from homeroom, sitting across from Kenan, the sweet freshman who followed him around like a duckling whenever he could.

“So, I think I’m gonna go out with him,” Federico said, after infodumping the day’s events to his younger friend.

“Really?” Kenan asked, like he truly couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, it sounds like it’ll be a good time. Even if I’ll hafta listen to him yap about who knows what over dinner.”

“Fede, can I ask you something?”

Federico tilted his head as he looked at the freshman. “Yeah, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“Why do you hang around Dusan so much if you find him so annoying?”

Federico blinked. Several times. A couple seats down, Tim and Weston started to chuckle.

“... Because he’s my boyfriend?”

“Your- then how come you spent the entire day internally debating about whether or not you were gonna go on a date with him?!”

“... Because he’s annoying?”

“Who’s annoying?” Dusan asked, once again appearing at just the right time. 

“You,” said Federico in quite a flirtatious manner, taking his bookbag off the seat he saved for Dusan, who didn’t seem to mind the insult, as he sat down with a smile on his face.

“So,” Federico said, before giving his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. “What time should I be ready Friday?”

Across from the lovebirds, Kenan wondered if any of the couples in this godforsaken school were in normal, healthy relationships.

* * *

“And don’t forget to text me that you got home safe.”

“Gosh, do we hafta do this every time? It’s like twenty feet from here to the door!”

“A lot can happen in twenty feet, this is a dangerous city!”

Luka rolled his eyes and unbuckled his seat belt. “You really think that not only am I gonna get kidnapped in the time it takes me to get to my front door, but that you’re somehow not gonna notice?”

“Just do it,” Sergio said as he watched his best friend get out of his car. He watched Luka like a hawk the entire way to his front door.

Begrudgingly, Luka did send Sergio a text when he got inside. Shortly after, he heard tires screech away at well above the speed limit.

He trudged his way up to his room, as despite his power nap earlier, the stress and exhaustion from his all-nighter were still getting to him. So, it was only natural that he collapsed onto his bed the second he could.

He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling and gently tossing his new baseball into the air and catching it, only to lightly toss it up again.

As he continued the hypnotic motion, he thought about the ball, and what Sergio did to get it.

Luka wouldn’t sell it. He wouldn’t give it to one of his sisters. 

He still had that image in his head, like it was only a few hours ago, because it was. Of Sergio, in front of several people he pushed and shoved like they were nothing, giving Luka a baseball he caught for him. He had this look in his eyes, like a cat who maimed something and brought it back to their owner to make them proud. To make them happy.

One thought played on loop in Luka’s mind, repeating every time he tossed that ball up to the ceiling.

‘Why’d I hafta fall for such a weirdo?’

Chapter Text

“Oh, no.”

Robert was a man - well, technically not a man until his next birthday - of routine. Wake up. Drive to school. Check the calendar taped to the inside of his locker. Get his books. Go to homeroom. Listen to João bitch about his girlfriend. Listen to Pablo bitch about his lack of a girlfriend. Etc.

Checking his locker calendar Friday morning revealed that his weekend was scheduled just like any other. Work on Saturday, football on Sunday. Only, this Sunday didn’t simply have ‘piłka nożna’ written there, no. It had the team he would be playing.

Thomas’ team. And by extension, Marco’s. And all of Marco’s friends that made no effort to hide the fact that they hated Robert’s guts.

“Oh no,” he repeated, dragging a hand down his face and genuinely considering trying to pick up a shift at work that Sunday so he could miss the game. But he couldn’t do that to the team. Wojciech would kill him.

Robert was stuffing his notebooks into his bookbag when he heard a klang, followed by a stern voice.

“Lewandowski.”

Robert looked to his left. Mario. It was weird seeing him alone, as he was usually flanked by Marco and Mats, who were the other two members of M Cubed or whatever the hell they called themselves. Oh, and sometimes that freshman who’s transferring to Ancelotti’s class tagged along, too.

“Uh… hi,” Robert replied, voice making it very clear just how much he didn’t wanna be talking to Mario.

Mario sauntered over like he owned the damn school, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest just a little. That didn’t change the fact that Robert was a fair deal taller than him. 

“We play each other on Sunday.”

“I’m aware.”

“Marco’s gonna be there.”

“I’m… still aware.”

“He will also be there.”

Mario wasn’t talking about Marco right then, and Robert knew it. Going from mildly annoyed to kind of ticked off, he swiftly shut his locker and gave Mario his full attention. 

“Don’t talk about Thomas like that,” the senior said calmly.

Mario just rolled his eyes and scowled at him even further, if that was even possible. “Yeah, well, your boyfriend’s really looking forward to this. He’s been talking about it a lot and is expecting to spend some time with you, since apparently you’ve been too ‘busy-’”

Robert rolled his eyes at his underclassman’s use of air quotes. “Yeah, sorry I hafta work for a living-”

“Miss me with that gay shit, Robert, you have a trust fund!”

“We all have trust funds, what’s your point?!”

“The point is,” Mario started, before glancing around the hall, as if he was worried about being overheard. “Marco’s hoping that you’ll spend time with him, and maybe even give him a little attention. A task that becomes impossible whenever you’re around that freak of nature you call an-”

“Mario,” Robert warned, in a tone he didn’t recognize on himself

“Just… No funny business, okay?” said Mario, overcome with an expression Robert couldn’t quite place. It looked almost like… longing. “You’ve got a boyfriend who loves you, so… I dunno, just try to show him a little affection on Sunday.”

“Marco’s a big boy; he can tell me this stuff himself,” Robert said dryly, and immediately regretted how mean he sounded. He breathed a heavy sigh before continuing. “Look, I… I really appreciate you being a good friend to Marco, and even though I already try to spend time with him, I’ll… keep what you said in mind, m’kay?”

“Gosh, I hope he dumps your ass.”

“Thank you, Mario,” was the last thing Robert told him before leaving.

As he strolled down the crowded hallway to Mr. Xavi’s class, waving to his friends whenever he passed them, he couldn’t help but think. Maybe he hadn’t been a great boyfriend to Marco since the school year started. Maybe he could stand to be a little more affectionate. Because he loved Marco. Marco was cute, and sweet, and smart, and a good boyfriend to him. He loved Marco, he loved Marco, he loved Ma-

Robert caught a glimpse of Thomas walking to class. He was talking to Manuel and being very animated while doing so, using various hand gestures while looking up at the much taller boy.

Suddenly, Marco wasn’t occupying Robert’s thoughts anymore.

* * *

“Hallo!” Thomas greeted as his best friend slid into the passenger side of his Audi, bright and early on Sunday morning.

“Hey,” Manuel replied, chucking his duffel bag into the back seat before giving Thomas a serious look. “You can still back out, y’know.”

The only thing Thomas was backing out of in that moment was Manuel’s obscenely large driveway. “Have you ever seen me back out of a football match?”

“Unfortunately not,” Manuel replied, surely remembering the time Thomas played through a game with a horrific case of the flu a couple years ago.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could hap-”

“Marco Reus kills you. Like actually, in cold blood, murders you on the pitch.”

“You’re making him out to be some kinda violent psychopath,” said Thomas, signature loudness bouncing off the walls of his car as the gate opened, allowing him to leave the ambassador’s highly protected residence. “He’s not Sergio, for God’s sake.”

“Do you not remember the incident in your pre calc class?! He almost swung at you!”

“Almost. He almost swung at me.”

“You’re awfully defensive of the dude whose home you’re actively wrecking.”

“I am not-!” Eager to set the record straight, Thomas pulled the car into an uneven parallel park, halting their ride before they could even get off of Foxhall Road and leaving the two a mere block away from the embassy their parents worked at together.

“It’s not like that, Manu.”

“Uh-huh,” said Manuel, though it was clear he wasn’t believing the inhumanly loud words his best friend was speaking.

“No, seriously! We’re not doing anything romantic; we just hang out on occasion sometimes. No cuddling, no hugging, no kissing, none of that. If he made a move on me, I’d stop him dead in his tracks. Not that he would, though, because he’s a good boyfriend.”

“To you. He’s a good boyfriend to you.”

“He’s not a boyfriend to me at all!” said Thomas, and Manuel knew his best friend well enough to know that saying those words physically pained him. “Look, I stand by what I told you that day I hung out at his house; I still have feelings for him. Like, big feelings. But he’s Marco’s boyfriend now, and I’m not gonna hurt Marco by stealing his boyfriend, not that I could anyways because if Robert still had feelings for me, he’d still be with me. And I just miss my boyfriend, Manu, I miss him so much-”

Manuel could tell from Thomas’ red rimmed eyes and cracks in his voice that he was about to cry, and when Thomas cried, he got hysterical and crashed right after. Which would mean there would be no way they’d get to football.

“Hey, hey-” Manuel started, playing his large hand on Thomas’ scrawny shoulder. That alone got him to stop talking, as Manuel rarely initiated physical contact on account of his general awkwardness. “We’re gonna miss football if you keep rambling, and we still hafta pick up Jamal.”

“Scheisse,” muttered Thomas, putting his car back into drive and booking it to their friend’s house.

* * *

Logically, Thomas knew that talking to Robert before the game might earn him a fist to the face from his midfield partner.

However, when he saw the familiar tall striker absentmindedly practicing some dribbling several yards away, he decided that surely a simple, platonic conversation would be nothing to throw hands over, not even for Marco’s possessive ass.

“Don’t mess up!” Thomas shouted when he was within a few feet of Robert, who was laser focused on his drill.

He wasn’t focused enough to block out Thomas, however, as he immediately messed up and lost his rhythm. Picking the ball up and turning to face his distraction, Robert only had one question. “Why?”

“To throw off the competition, obviously.”

In response, Robert couldn’t help but smile, a true smile that reached his eyes that were as blue as the sky above him. He was now much closer to Thomas, giving him his undivided attention. “Obviously,” he repeated, before changing the subject. “So how have you been treating my son?”

“Oh my gosh, don’t look at me like that! Little Robert’s fine! I’m a good bunny owner.”

“You give him-”

“-too much sugar, yeah, yeah, I know. But you hardly give him any treats, so it’s only fair.”

“I guess,” said Robert, with a charmed little smile, like he knew arguing would be futile.

“... Hey, uh, so, me and a buncha guys from the team are gonna go to Panera after this,” Thomas said, digging his cleats into the frozen ground, in a way that reminded Robert of when Thomas, then fresh out of the eighth grade, asked him out for the first time well over three years ago. “And I figured, since you’re dating Marco and you’re friends with most of us, that maybe you’d wanna come.”

Robert had barely opened his mouth to respond when Marco seemingly materialized beside him.

“Robert,” he said through a clearly fake smile. He was anything but subtle, having a gorilla grip on Robert’s upper arm, practically hugging it, and shooting Thomas a look that all but screamed ‘Stop talking to my boyfriend.’

“Oh, uh, hey,” Robert said without much enthusiasm, clearly hesitating before deciding to kiss his boyfriend hello.

Thomas clenched his jaw so hard, it became sore. 

“Thomas,” Marco greeted, leaning his head on Robert’s shoulder, the look in his eyes anything but cutesy.

“Cuddling up to the competition right before a game, Marco?” 

“Got a problem?”

Robert, who looked like he was craving the sweet release of death, finally spoke up. “Thomas was just inviting me to hang out with you guys after the game,” he said.

What Thomas didn’t expect was for Marco to start glaring at him again. 

Marco then looked up at Robert, his expression significantly less murderous. “Oh, but don’t you have… uh, something to do after this?”

“Mmm, nope. I can totally go hang out with you guys.”

Before anyone could inevitably say something they would regret, the sound of a whistle blowing rang throughout the field. Looking to the source of the noise, it was Thomas and Marco’s coach, Nagelsmann. He was gathering the team, likely for a pep talk or to talk strategy.

“Gotta go. Play well today,” said Marco, giving Robert a kiss on the cheek. “On second thought, please don’t.”

Robert seemed to genuinely find that funny. “See you two later,” he said.

The walk back to their side of the pitch took place in a horrifically tense silence. The whole time, Thomas was waiting for the moment Marco would yell at him, or curse him out, or tell Thomas to keep his paws off his boyfriend, something.

That moment never came. Somehow, Thomas felt worse than he would have if Marco had just yelled at him.

* * *

Robert’s team ended up winning 1 - 0, at least partially due to the fact that Marco simply refused to pass to Thomas no matter how open he was, really screwing up their midfield.

Despite having just scored against them, Robert was welcomed by the opposition with open arms during their post-match hangout, having been friends with most of them for several years. By pure coincidence, he and the guys from Thomas’ football team all had homeroom together for the past three years. Robert being placed in Mr. Xavi’s class for his senior year was a shock, but considering he had just broken up with Thomas the year prior, it saved everyone some awkwardness.

Rather than have a long, Last Supper-esque table in the middle of their local Panera, everyone pretty much split off into their little groups and changed tables as they pleased. 

After making his rounds with various old friends, Robert ended up sitting at a small table and catching up with Joshua and Leon, two of his old friends whom he hadn’t gotten to see at all that year.

Of course, it was only so long before the hot topic of Robert’s relationship came up. It was at some point in the conversation where Joshua and Leon just kinda… looked at each other for a few moments, exchanging a very knowing glance.

“So how’re things with Marco?” Joshua asked, not bothering to explain why he was just making uncomfortable eye contact with Leon for five straight seconds.

“You see Marco every week, shouldn’t you know?” Robert asked with a lighthearted laugh, before tearing into the free bread that came with his meal.

Leon groaned. “Yeah, but he’s always super vague whenever we ask about you! He never gives us any juicy details.”

“Things with Marco are fine,” Robert said at lightning speed, speaking through a mouthful of bread. “There are no juicy details.”

Before Robert could finish his sentence, Joshua perked up, clearly having something to say. “Oh! Speaking of juicy details! Y’know the English ambassador’s kid?”

“Harry, right? The kid whose name is on, like, everything in the school’s trophy cabinet?” Robert asked. It was crazy how some junior named Harry Kane had won awards in sports Robert didn’t even know UEFA offered. Swimming, tennis, darts, curling. Fucking competitive Pokemon battling.

“Yeah, yeah, him. Well, you didn’t hear this from us, but he’s thinking of asking out-”

“Wait wait wait,” Robert said seriously, dropping his half eaten bread in order to give his friends his full attention. “Isn’t he dating the Korean ambassador’s kid?”

Leon covered his mouth, actually scandalized. “Holy shit, do you not know?”

“They broke up last year!” said Joshua. “And it was messy.”

Robert was surprised, to say the least. Not that the couple broke up, no, as he didn’t really know them that well. He was just surprised he hadn’t heard about it. While he didn’t consider himself a gossip per se, UEFA was a school with a lot of drama, and if he’d learned anything from being at the center of a lot of gossip, it was that word travelled fast. 

“How did I not hear about this?” Robert wondered aloud.

“Well it, uh… kinda got overshadowed by an even messier breakup that was happening at the time…”

“Ah,” was all Robert said, before taking a few sips of his caffeinated lemonade that would probably give him a heart attack at the tender age of seventeen.

“Anyways!” exclaimed Leon. “The point is! So he and Thomas have gotten really close since the school year started, and he told me that he’s gonna ask Thomas out any-”

The rest of Leon’s sentence couldn’t be heard over the sound of Robert violently choking on his lemonade, his friends watching on as he cleared his throat so hard it had to have hurt.

“I’m- I’m okay, just,” the senior sputtered out in between coughing fits. “Just went down the wrong pipe, is all.”

After a few more moments of coughing and deep breaths, Robert regained composure. “Thanks for the help, you guys.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Joshua and Leon just… stared at him, quite uncomfortably, like they were waiting for him to say something.

Robert caved. “Dunno why he’d wanna do that,” he said.

His two underclassmen friends were leaned forward intently, like Robert was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh yeah?”

“And why’s that?”

“Because… I have plenty of experience in that department, and I can say that dating Thomas is not for the faint of heart.”

“You say that like it’s some bad thing,” said Joshua, taking a sip of Leon’s drink without him noticing. 

“I wouldn’t say that, it’s just… He’s high maintenance, y’know? You gotta take him out a lot, and text him good morning and good night every day without fail… Oh, and God forbid you call him by his actual name; you can only use ‘Tommy’ or some cute nickname, preferably in Polish. And you can kiss pretty much every hoodie you own goodbye. This Harry dude’s like, what, a junior? No way he has the life experience necessary to treat Thomas the way he deserves to be treated; he’s better off not even trying.”

Avoiding eye contact with his friends after his little rant, Robert looked down at the table and bit the inside of his cheek. Unhappy as he was to admit it, the mental image of Thomas, his Thomas, dating Harry, or anyone that wasn’t Robert, didn’t sit right with him whatsoever.

“I mean, that’s just my opinion,” Robert said in an attempt to pull the backpedal of the century. “Doesn’t really matter what I think. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Uh-huh…” said Joshua, nodding slowly.

“On a totally unrelated note,” Leon said, getting up without even bothering to pick up his tray. “I gotta go.”

Robert watched as Leon walked off. ‘Weird,’ he thought.

* * *

At a secluded little table in Panera sat Manuel and Thomas, discussing the game they previously played and where they went wrong. They had come to the conclusion that their loss was mostly Marco’s fault.

“And I’m like, holy fuck dude, I’m wide open, just pass to me,” Thomas said, doing his best impression of a person with an inside voice.

Manuel was about to respond when, out of no where, Leon jogged up to their table, an urgent look in his eye.

“You’re good,” he said, making eye contact with Thomas.

“I’m good?!”

“You’re so good.”

Thomas squealed as he and Leon did their little handshake, attracting the attention of several unfortunate people trying to eat in peace.

Manuel looked at the two of them with a displeased expression on his face, awaiting an explanation.

Thomas was more than willing to give him one. “Okay, so, do you remember that day I dropped off Little Robert at Robert’s place? And then I hung out with you, Leon, and Joshua after and told you everything that happened? And you were all like, ‘Maybe you should start dating again; I heard Harry wants to ask you out,’” Thomas said, doing an impression of his best friend’s deep voice.

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, I told Joshua and Leon to subtly mention the fact that Harry likes me to Robert. To, y’know, get his reaction.”

“Because you still have feelings for him.”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Do you not-” Manuel cut himself off before he got to his point, opting to look at Leon, who was still standing at their table. “The adults are talking.”

“So?” the junior responded. “I wanna listen!”

“Go bother Leroy or something.”

“Okay!” Leon said happily, and left.

Once Manuel and Thomas were alone, Manuel gave his best friend an accusatory glare. “Do you not remember what he did to you? How he hurt you?”

“Yes, I know-”

“Your family was so worried about you! You couldn’t get outta bed for a week, probably woulda been longer if I hadn’t de-Robertified your room for you.”

“Which I very much appreciate-”

“A-And now you’re just crawling back to him like a lovesick simp! While he has a boyfriend, a boyfriend who isn’t you! A boyfriend he brutally dumped you for! Gosh, do you not remember what I spent weeks telling you after the breakup? You’re a strong-”

“Independent German who don’t need no man, I remember…” Thomas said, looking at his best friend with big, kinda pathetic eyes. “... But he’s so cute, Manu.”

Manuel put his head in his hands, and reminded himself that Thomas wasn’t a bad guy, really. He was just embarrassingly, horrifically, pathetically down bad.

“I’m gonna ask Robert to gimme a ride home,” said Thomas suddenly, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Manuel gently grasped Thomas’ wrist as he got up to leave. “Dude,” he said. “You drove us here, remember?”

“Right… Here, use my car to get home,” said Thomas, fishing the keys to his Audi out of his pocket and placing them on the table.

“What? Don’t you think my parents are gonna be concerned when I drive home in a car that isn’t mine?”

“Please, Manu, we both know your father wouldn’t notice if you jumped off a cliff.”

“Rude but fair.”

“Tschüss!” Thomas called out happily as he disappeared from Manuel’s sight.

* * *

After catching up with Joshua some more, Robert was getting ready to leave when Thomas approached their table.

“Hey!” Robert exclaimed, face lighting up at the sight of his ex-boyfriend. “What’s up? Great game today, by the way; you were amazing.”

Thomas blushing was a sight Robert would never get tired of. “Danke, you were great, too,” he said, hands tucked behind his back. “Hey, I’m, uh, real sorry to ask this of you, but do you think you could gimme a ride home? My car started having issues on the way here…”

Before Robert could answer, Joshua spoke up. “I could give you a-”

Thomas not-so-subtly glared at him.

“Nevermind, actually. I have a… thing.”

“Of course I’ll give you a ride, tomcat,” Robert said sweetly, in a tone Thomas had called his ‘boyfriend voice’ once upon a time.

The two bid Joshua farewell, and were halfway out the door when Robert remembered something.

“Wait a sec,” he said, before going back inside.

From his spot at the door, Thomas watched as Robert approached the table where Marco was sitting with Mario and Mats. The couple exchanged a few words, and judging by Marco’s facial expression, Thomas probably wasn’t named in the conversation. After kissing his boyfriend goodbye, Robert left the table.

Thomas pushed down the guilt.

* * *

All good things must come to an end, and for Robert, that includes car rides with Thomas.

It almost felt like nothing had changed, as he knew the route to Thomas’ house like the back of his hand. Thomas’ phone automatically connected to his car’s speakers, letting The Tortured Poets Department play in the background while the two made jokes and mindless chatter.

Robert took his sweet time pulling into Thomas’ driveway. Rain pattered on the windows, obscuring everything outside and making it feel like the inside of the car was cut off from the rest of the world. Like anything that happened in there wouldn’t have real consequences.

They sat in the driveway for a few moments, Thomas making no move to get out of the car and Robert making no move to tell him to get out.

“Hey,” Thomas said suddenly. “Did you ever see the newest Mission: Impossible?”

It was a reasonable enough question to ask. Those were their favorite movies to watch together when they were a couple.

“No, I didn’t,” Robert answered. “I was gonna watch it with Marco that day you come over, but something came up.”

“Well, it’s on streaming now,” said Thomas, playing with his fingers as a little nervous tick. “You wanna come in and watch it with me?”

Robert was absolutely glowing at the thought. “Yeah, tota- wait a second.”

“Yeah?”

“If I go in there, will Simon kill me for breaking up with you?”

Thomas seemed to give it genuine thought. “... It’s a possibility.”

“Well,” Robert sighed. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The rain fell harder. Neither of the boys got out of the car.

They made eye contact, and held it for longer than intended, because neither of them wanted to break it.

“Don’t do it,” Robert said, barely above a whisper. Thomas almost mistook it for the rain outside.

“Do what?” asked Thomas, voice just as quiet.

“Don’t go out with Harry.”

Thomas’ voice was shaky as he responded. “I… I won’t. I couldn’t. I haven’t known him for that long, plus he’s only a junior, and I’m not trying to catch a case right now.”

Robert seemed content with that response.

It took every ounce of courage Thomas had in him to say what he said next.

“How long are we gonna keep doing this?” he asked, voice small.

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged that there was a this. They had wordlessly agreed to keep their platonic little hangouts on the downlow. 

“I… I don’t know, Tommy.”

The air was still. The boys were still. Everything in the car was still as rain battered the car.

In addition to still, it was quiet. Robert looked at Thomas, angelic against the white leather of the car, and who was looking back at him, and it was like he could hear the other boy’s heartbeat and breathing. 

The stillness and silence came to a crashing halt as the boys made out over the center console.

Robert didn’t know who started it. He just knew that one moment they were staring at each other, and the next, he couldn’t see anything. He just felt hands in his hair and desperate lips against his, his own hands running marathons from Thomas’ face to his curls to his neck to his shirt to everywhere in between, all the while Thomas made the most adorable little sounds that just drove Robert to keep going and going and going. In all their years of dating, he had never kissed Thomas with so much fervor, and the other boy was kissing Robert back just as intensely. Like he didn’t know when or if he would ever kiss Robert again, and was trying to commit the feel of him, the taste of him, every detail of him to memory.

If it weren’t for that damn center console, Thomas would be on Robert’s lap in seconds; he just knew it. Robert never forgot an old routine. And damn it, Thomas’ arms were Robert’s home and he was sick and tired of pretending that they weren’t.

All he did these days was pretend.

It went on. It went on and on and on for who knows how long, until eventually the boys needed to breathe and their kisses slowed, becoming more long and soft like they had been when the two were still together.

Robert was the first to pull away, if only by millimeters. His hand was resting on the back of Thomas’ neck and he could see Thomas’ slightly parted lips glistening.

They breathed heavily for several moments, basking in their own mixed breaths.

“So how ‘bout that movie?” Thomas asked after a while.

The two went inside, and nothing happened. They watched their movie, and they didn’t kiss again, didn’t even mention what happened in Robert’s car. They didn’t so much as hug or cuddle or hold hands, and they even left room for Jesus as they sat on the couch. 

Instead, they laughed, and chit chatted, and enjoyed each other’s company.

For the first time in months, Robert wasn’t pretending.

Chapter Text

“Martin Odegaard’s signing up for the play.”

When Alexis said that, he sounded like he was in a trance, and he looked it, too. Nothing could’ve disrupted the stare he was aiming at the object of his affection, who was standing at a table near the front of the cafeteria, writing his name on a piece of paper. Said table was covered in a tablecloth with ‘Fall Play - Register to Audition Now!’ written on the part that hung over the table, in big bold letters for the whole cafeteria to see. Manning the table were two student council members - Luka and Dusan.

Everyone at Alexis’ table looked toward the front of the cafeteria, then back at him with teasing smirks, as various ‘ooooh’s filled the table.

“Stop it, you guys,” Alexis said, turning red. He knew his friends were all about to mercilessly tease him about his crush on Martin, something he kept a closely guarded secret by telling his entire class. His only connection to Martin was that they had last period history together, and even then, they neither sat next to each other nor talked much. It was much more of a ‘stare at him during every class and hope he randomly talks to me one of these days’ kinda crush for Alexis.

“This could be your in, y’know,” said Virgil, and Alexis was inclined to believe the smart junior.

“Maybe…” Alexis mused. “I mean, if I sign up for the play, he’ll hafta see me all the time for like, rehearsals, and stuff.”

He then felt Andy’s hands on his shoulders, nudging him. “C’mon, lad, just do it! Sign up!” Andy said, and next to him, Trent wiggled his eyebrows.

“Fine, fine!” Alexis said, before those two could inevitably cause a scene. “I need the performing arts credit anyway.” He got up and crossed the cafeteria, staring down at his red Converse while he did so.

When he reached the sign-up table, Martin was already gone, but that was okay, as Alexis didn’t even know what he would’ve said to him anyways.

“Signing up for the play, eh, Alexis?” asked Dusan, the student council member who was taking this less seriously. He was slouched down in his seat, Jordan-clad feet resting on the table. Next to him, Luka was the definition of proper, as always, and was giving Dusan horrific side eye.

“Mhm,” Alexis confirmed, writing his name and school e-mail address on the sign-up sheet.

“That’s kinda gay, y’know.”

“I- uh-” Alexis sputtered. “You have a boyfriend.”

Dusan pursed his lips. “You got me there,” he conceded.

“Hope you’re not going for the lead role,” Luka interjected, likely to prevent his fellow council member from making another out of pocket comment. “‘Cause I’m your competition.”

“Aren’t you busy enough?” Alexis asked with a laugh.

“Apparently not,” said Dusan.

Alexis waved the two goodbye and headed back to his table. On the way there, he spotted his friend, Leo, so figured he might as well say hi to him.

“Hey guys,” he said, standing beside the table Leo sat at with his two friends. “Guess who just signed up for the play.”

“Congratulations,” Leo said neutrally as his friends smiled. “I hope you shatter your femur.”

Alexis paled. “What-?”

“He means break a leg,” said Luis.

Alexis hummed in understanding. “Well, see you guys later!” he said with a wave, going back to his friends.

With Alexis gone, that left Leo, Luis, and Neymar at the table.

“You guys have your performing arts credits done, right?” asked Neymar, nudging just so slightly closer to Leo.

“What credit?” asked Leo, furrowing his brows a bit.

“Uh, the credit you need to graduate,” Luis said. “You need to participate in a school production, or do music or some shit for a semester to get it. I got mine outta the way early.”

Leo visibly paled. He didn’t know the first thing about playing an instrument, so that only left… 

“I hafta be in the play,” he said, before gulping cartoonishly loud. 

Luis and Neymar didn’t even need to ask what had their friend so terrified. Just going off his personality, the thought of performing on a stage in front of a group of people probably terrified the poor guy. 

“I’m sorry, Leo, but you need it to graduate,” Luis said softly, but still loud enough to be heard over the Monday cafeteria chatter.

“Who’s running the play?” asked Leo, staring down at his tray full of the slop the school tried to pass off as food.

“Mr. Guardiola.”

“Okay… Okay, that’s good. I’m one of his favorites, maybe I can ask him to only gimme a small part.”

“Auditions are soon. I already got my credit, but I’ll go with you for moral support,” Neymar said, scooching closer so that there was literally no room between him and Leo. Plus, he was linking their arms and giving the senior massive heart eyes.

Across from them, Luis almost vomited. Neymar was getting so shameless these days. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, putting his head in his hands.

“What about Him?” asked Leo, ignoring the junior on his arm. “I love that guy.”

“Nothing Leo, just… Nothing.”

* * *

Thursday after school, several students, to varying degrees of willingness, gathered in the auditorium for auditions. Mr. Guardiola was sitting at a table close to the stage with Mr. Klopp, whom he brought on for second opinions.

True to his word, Neymar accompanied Leo, who didn’t seem pleased to be there one bit.

“I should be at training,” Leo muttered as he and Neymar entered the large auditorium, that was decked out in chandeliers and floor to ceiling windows. Missing training was far more than a minor inconvenience to him, if his incessant moping and bitching were any indications.

“I know, I know,” replied Neymar. He guided Leo to one of the empty mahogany tables set up throughout the room. They were a few minutes early, as students were still coming in. “Hey, did you ever talk to Mr. Guardiola about getting you that smaller part?” he asked as they sat down, and opened up his bag. He figured he might as well get some homework done during this. Though, he had a precedent for throwing all productivity out the window whenever Leo was around.

Leo nodded in response. “Yeah. He even did me one better and made a whole new role just for me.”

“Aw, that’s great! You got your audition monologue prepared?”

“Mhm. I think you’ll be impressed.”

“Well, I’ll hold you to it,” Neymar said with a laugh, eager to see what his friend was going to cook.

And so began the hours of auditions. Neymar had to admit, it was pretty fun to watch his nervous classmates go up on a stage and deliver melodramatic monologues. Mr. Guardiola’s equally melodramatic reactions were just the cherry on top.

Thomas was on stage delivering his monologue, and Mr. Guardiola had let Leo know previously that he was next.

He was not handling it well. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he said quietly so as not interrupt Thomas. “Like, actually literally throw up.”

“Ohmygosh please that would be so funny,” Neymar whispered. His attempt at humor did nothing to ease his friend’s trembling or diaphoresis. 

In fact, Leo jus glared at him.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, just calm down-”

“Oh, man, why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius, Ney.”

“Alright, damn, sorry. Look, just remember that no one’s gonna judge you. Well, except the judges-”

“Ney!” Leo whispered, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry! I’m here for you, okay? If it helps, you can make eye contact with me the whole time. It’ll tune everybody else out.”

“Leo! You’re up!” called Mr. Guardiola as Thomas was walking off the stage, looking mighty proud of himself.

Leo got up, legs wobbling like a newborn deer.

“You’re gonna do great,” said Neymar as his friend walked up to the stage. 

The few short steps to get on stage felt like ascending Everest, and the view from the stage was just as unsettling. Leo wasn’t used to towering over anyone.

“Alright, Leo! Tell us who you’re auditioning for!” Mr. Guardiola said happily, adjusting his gray turtleneck.

Leo shuffled over to the microphone on center stage. He had to stand on his toes and tilt his head up to speak into it properly. “Uh, I’m-”

“Project, Leo,” said Mr. Klopp, who was sitting next to Mr. Guardiola and nursing some coffee from the teachers’ lounge. Easy for him to say. With his class, projecting was a necessity.

“I’m! Auditioning for the role, of, uh, Tree Number One.”

Mr. Klopp turned to Mr. Guardiola, speaking much quieter this time. “I’m sorry, did he just-”

“Just roll with it!” Mr. Guardiola whispered back. “Alright, Leo! Show us what you got!”

“Right, so, um… My monologue goes like…”

Leo remained quiet for a few short seconds.

Then, those few short seconds turned into several, much longer seconds.

It was awkward. For everyone involved. But especially for Neymar, because Leo took him up on his advice and made direct eye contact with him the entire time.

Neymar loved staring into Leo’s eyes. He did it all the time. But this… this was getting weird.

Everyone but Mr. Guardiola was darting their eyes around the auditorium, waiting for one brave soul to speak up, when Mr. Guardiola shot up out of his seat and started slow clapping.

“That… That was more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined,” the teacher said, sounding genuinely choked up.

“Is anyone else hearing this?” Mr. Klopp asked, looking around the room. “For the love of gosh, please tell me I’m not the only one hearing this.”

“I mean, the way you completely embodied what it means to be Tree Number One! The word choice, the cadence, the inflections… Plus the backstory you gave the character…”

‘Is this it?’ thought Neymar. ‘Has Mr. Guardiola finally lost it?’

“Well, there’s no point in letting anyone else audition for Tree Number One. It’s all yours, Leo, you’re free to go.”

Despite having taken his sweet time getting up on the stage, Leo ran off like it was a race he was determined to win.

Mr. Guardiola sat back down while Mr. Klopp stared at him, bewildered. “Pep, what-”

“Okay, next auditioner! Kevin de Bruyne!”

Kevin, a junior from Mr. Guardiola’s class, got up from his seat and headed to the stage steps. He was halfway up them when he missed a step and fell. It wasn’t a particularly bad fall; the student just collapsed with an ‘oof.’

“Kevin!” Mr. Guardiola shrieked, hands grasping at his follicles. He ran over to where the student fell at lighting speed.

“Pep, he’s fine,” said Mr. Klopp, trying to reason with him. But he of all people knew there was no use.

“Oh my goodness, Kevin-” Mr. Guardiola said, kneeling down beside the student and looking him over for injuries. “I thought I’d lost you!”

“I’m fine,” said Kevin, rolling his eyes at the antics he was all too used to by now. “I just slipped a little.”

“You still scared me. How am I supposed to win the end-of-year pizza party without my star student?”

“On second thought, Kevin,” Mr. Klopp piped up, eyes alight. “Can you fall from somewhere higher next time?"

* * *

It’s not every morning that Thomas finds out he got the very coveted lead in the school play, so on Monday, after rushing to the theater classroom and seeing his name on the top of the cast list, he walked to his locker with an extra pep in his step.

He was humming an old German tune to himself and stuffing books in his bookbag when his locker was very forcibly shut for him.

Thomas made a surprised noise and flinched, before making eye contact with-

“Sergio.”

Sergio was the last person Thomas wanted to see, on any given day, ever. It was common knowledge around school that if someone was being approached by Sergio, it was never for anything good.

“Hey, tomcat,” the terrifying Spanish boy said, with a smile that was less a smile and moreso a baring of teeth. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the locker next to Thomas’ now closed one. It was weird; despite Thomas having a whole inch on him heightwise, Sergio seemed every bit bigger and stronger and more menacing.

“Sergio,” Thomas said again. “Hey, uh, how do you do?”

“Oh, I do great. But y’know who’s not doing so great?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Sergio commanded, with an aura that made Thomas feel like interrupting again would lead to severe bodily harm. Sergio inspected his nails as he continued. “My pal, Luka - I dunno if you’ve heard of him; class president, about yay tall, prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - wasn’t too happy this morning. See, he auditioned for the lead in the school play, only to find out this morning that he was reduced to an understudy… Your understudy.”

For once in his life, Thomas had the sense to keep his mouth shut, if only out of fear that if he spoke up, Sergio would deem it ‘interrupting,’ and pummel the absolute shit out of him in the middle of the hallway. Sure, Thomas wasn’t one of Sergio’s usual targets for maiming and life-ruining, but that didn’t make him any less terrified of the guy.

“Hey, on a totally unrelated note, where do you live again, Muller?”

“I don’t think I feel comfortable with you knowing where my family lives, to be hon-”

Sergio took half a step toward him.

“Massachusetts Avenue Northwest! Nice place, like ten minutes from my mom’s job. All that nice stuff.”

“You see, that’s so crazy. Because Luka lives on that same street. And I was rolling up to his place the other day, when I coulda sworn I saw a guy that looks like you, and a guy that looks like Robert, in a car that looks like Robert’s…”

Sergio didn’t finish that sentence, and he didn’t need to.

Oh God.

Oh, God.

No no no no no no no no no. 

Out of every soul in the damn school, bar Marco, the absolute worst person to see what happened in that car was Sergio fucking Ramos.

Thomas felt actually physically unwell. This weird, dizzy feeling he could only liken to the feeling he got when he realized Robert was gonna choose Marco over him all those months ago. 

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t care about the damn play, he cared about the fact that the boy who ruined lives for breakfast knew something that could, well, ruin Thomas’ life. And more importantly, Robert’s.

Sergio had a sick, sick smile on his face while Thomas processed the news.

Like the rest of the student body, Thomas always disliked Sergio, on account of him being a petty, aggressive bully. But Thomas disliked him so much more when he was a petty, aggressive bully that was actually right about something.

Thomas had never wanted out of a conversation so bad in his life. Was the bell for next period ever going to ring?

He grasped for straws, anything to convince himself that this wasn’t as big of a deal as it seemed.

“It’s not like you have proof or anything.”

Sergio raised an eyebrow, in a manner that a passerby might misconstrue for friendly teasing. “Do I need proof?” he asked, and both seniors knew the answer to that. “Look, nobody’s perfect. You wreck homes, I occasionally forget to use my turn signal; scandalous, I know! Point is, if you give up your role and let Luka take over for you, I might be willing to forget what I may or may not have seen that day.”

“Until the next time you need something from me.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Hang on, are you blackmailing me? Like, actually blackmailing me?”

“Don’t worry about that… Oh! And if you don’t give up the role, I’ll make sure you become the victim of a horrific accident the day of the play. But I feel like that goes without saying.”

“Do you get off on making people miserable?”

“It’s like crack to me, yes.”

“... I need the credit to graduate.”

“Well then, I guess you’re taking music next semester.”

Thomas glared at Sergio, hating this feeling of being completely under his thumb for the rest of his high school career.

“Fine. Tell Luka it’s his.”

“I knew a smart guy like you would see reason,” said Sergio as he pushed himself off the locker he was leaning on. He started to walk away, but stopped to place a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and lean in real close to his ear.

“Say hi to your mistress for me. Though, now that I think about it… I guess you’d be the mistress here. Funny.” 

And with that, Sergio was gone.

* * *

Pablo and Pedri didn’t have an ounce of carpentry skills between them, but here they were, on the auditorium floor, helping build sets for the school play while the cast was rehearsing.

“Okay, says here I need a… ‘Phillips head screwdriver,’” said Pedri, reading the Spanish section of some instruction manual.

“Who’s Phillip?” his fellow freshman asked, doe eyes filled with confusion.

“I have no idea.”

Pablo groaned in frustration. He hated not being able to do things perfectly on his first try. One of the lovely benefits of being deemed ‘gifted’ in elementary school.

“Gah, this sucks! Why do I even bother?”

“Because,” said Pedri, ever the calm and collected one. “The school said they’d give our class more money if we volunteered. And we’re currently too broke to afford a Christmas party.”

Pablo cutely bit the inside of his cheek and rummanged through the tool box next to him. He wanted that Christmas party, damnit. They were gonna watch The Polar Express and drink hot chocolate.

“Guys!”

The two boys looked up to see their friend, Fermin. He had a role in the play, but they must’ve been rehearsing a scene he wasn’t in.

Pablo and Pedri greeted their friend, who crouched in front of them. He had this infectious smile on his face, making him look even more like a ray of sunshine.

“You won’t believe what just happened to me.”

Fermin took his friends’ silence as a cue to keep going. “I just met, like, the coolest girl! She goes to the sister school that we’re doing the play with, and she’s a freshman just like me, and she’s Spanish just like me, and her name’s Aurora, which-”

“I’m sorry,” Pablo started, “Her name is fucking what now?”

Next to him, Pedri just closed his eyes and sighed.

“Aurora!” Fermin repeated. “Isn’t that the prettiest name you’ve ever heard? Gosh, her parents really cooked with that-”

“Those are my parents; that’s my sister!”

Both Pedri and Fermin broke into hysterical laughter.

“Really?!” Fermin asked. “Oh, poor girl.”

“Hey, this is not funny! Dude. You cannot date my sister.”

“Why can’t he?” Pedri asked. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“... Because!” Pablo said petulantly. “It’s, uh… weird!”

Of course. Pablo was still at that age where romance in general was something he deemed ‘icky.’ 

“Y’know what, Pablito? Now I’m gonna date her even harder,” Fermin said. Like Pedri, he loved to rile up their young friend, all in good fun.

“Ew! Stop!” Pablo said, doing a panicked sign of the cross.

“Oh my gosh, you are such a baby.”

“Shut up!” 

“Hey,” Fermin said with mock seriousness, before a smirk crossed his face. “That’s no way to talk to your future brother in law.”

“You-!” Pablo shot up off the floor, but Fermin seemed to have predicted his move, because he was already running away, laughing.

Having not reached his teen growth spurt just yet, Pablo’s little legs were no match for Fermin. 

Though, while chasing his friend around the auditorium, Pablo reached Marco and Robert, who were also working on set building. Marco didn’t even have to be there, but he probably wanted to help out his boyfriend.

“Hey,” Pablo said, slowing to a stop. He then pointed to a hammer lying discarded on the floor next to Robert. “Are you using that?”

Both seniors looked at him with concern. 

“Why do you ask?” asked Marco.

“Like, don’t even worry about it.”

Robert handed the hammer to Pablo with a simple warning of, “Don’t run with it.”

Pablo thanked Robert, took the hammer, and briskly jogged in the direction Fermin went in.

“I worry about him sometimes,” said Marco, going back to marking spots on a plank of wood for where it should be cut. 

“Don’t we all,” his boyfriend responded, before turning and resting his chin on Marco’s shoulder. “You need any help, sweetheart?”

Marco blushed furiously. “I can handle it. Thanks, though.”

“You’ve been working hard, I’m gonna get you some water,” said Robert, placing a kiss on Marco’s cheek. “Be right back.”

As Robert walked away, Marco got back to work, smiling like a lovestruck fool the whole time. Ever since that day they faced each other in football, Robert had been so sickeningly sweet to him. Going out of his way to make nice gestures, calling Marco sweet nicknames, FaceTiming him more often, all things that a normal ideal boyfriend should be doing, but that Robert had been neglecting to do since the school year began. 

For the first time in months, Marco thought that maybe things were gonna be okay between them.

* * *

On the night of the play, Luis had already taken his seat when he received an urgent text from Neymar about Leo freaking the fuck out, and urging him to come backstage.

“How is he?” Luis asked, briskly walking into the backstage area. Around him, people were rehearsing their lines and doing last-minute touches on their costumes.

His question was answered when Neymar wordlessly brought him to Leo, and he had to actively restrain himself from keeling over with laughter at the sight of his best friend, in full tree costume, huffing into a paper bag.

“Uh… Leo?” Luis asked, once he was sure he could get a word out without giggling.

Leo finally pulled away from the paper bag, looking at Luis with worried brown eyes.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“No, I’m not. What if I mess up my lines? Everyone’ll laugh at me and-”

“My brother in Christ!” exclaimed Neymar. “You have no lines!”

“Still! There’s so many ways this could go wrong! I could suddenly forget how to breathe, or I could blink too much, or I could blink too little-”

“Oh my gosh, Leo,” Luis said firmly, placing his hands on Leo’s trembling shoulders. 

Leo stopped talking.

“Look, just… Think of it like football.”

A silence overcame the group as Luis scrambled to figure out how to build on that analogy.

Turns out, he didn’t need to.

“Oh,” Leo said, all worry and emotion stripped from his face. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

With that, Leo left to the stage entrance without so much as a goodbye.

“I’d give anything,” said Luis, “to know what goes on in that kid’s head.”

* * *

The Monday morning after the play, Xavi sat at a table in the teachers’ lounge, frantically punching numbers into a calculator and jotting stuff down on a piece of paper.

“No, no… gosh, where is all this money going?” he muttered.

Across from him at the circular table, Luis Enrique, who just took over for Galtier’s class, smirked. “Have you considered not being broke? Or starting an illicit relationship with an oil wealthy Middle Eastern prince?”

“... Please kill yourself.”

Just then, Jurgen walked in, attracting the attention of Pep, who was sitting on the couch, doing his lesson plans.

“Kloppo!” Pep exclaimed, looking over the back of the couch as Jurgen grabbed his coffee mug from the cabinet. “Whaddid you think of the play?”

At their table, Xavi and Luis rolled their eyes. Of course, Pep didn’t ask either of them for their opinions on his play, but Jurgen-

After pouring some coffee into his mug, Jurgen turned to give Pep his full attention.

“I thought it was great!”

“Oh, I knew you’d-”

“The tree running offstage halfway through the first act really added to the immersion.”

“Oh, shut up!” Pep shouted, as the room filled with laughter.

Chapter Text

“So the word on the street is that Kylian’s officially transferring to Mr. Ancelotti’s class,” Frenkie whispered before the bell rang for homeroom, his homework that was due next period sitting neglected on his desk.

Robert’s response was equally quiet, so as to not incur the wrath of pre-second cup of coffee Mr. Xavi. “Yeah, but he says that every semester.”

“No, but like, I really think he means it this time.”

“Yeah, okay, Frenkie,” answered Robert, before going back to staring at his phone, engrossed in a text conversation probably with his boyfriend. “Not sure why he’d wanna transfer to that shitshow anyway.”

He was, of course, referring to the generational, primal beef their class had with Mr. Ancelotti’s. Even before they were taken over by Mr. Ancelotti and Mr. Xavi, even before any of the current students were even born, the classes situated in those rooms always had it out for each other. It was tradition, really.

The desk partners remained silent for several more moments, each focused on their own task, before Frenkie spoke up again. “Hey, dude, you had Mr. Mourinho for geometry your sophomore year, right?”

Robert, slouched so far down into his seat Frenkie had to look down at him, shuddered. “Unfortunately.”

Unceremoniously, Frenkie shoved his worksheet in Robert’s face, blocking the senior’s view of his phone. “Do you remember how to find the surface area of a polydodecahedron?”

Robert had the decency to actually look at the page before answering. “... No.”

“Damn,” Frenkie sighed, slamming his homework back on his desk.

The comfortable silence the two had fallen into was cut short by the sound of the seats behind Frenkie and Robert being taken by their usual residents.

“I’ve got good news!” Pablo exclaimed, leaning forward so he could be heard better by his upperclassmen.

Frenkie and Robert turned around in their seats, and were greeted by the sight of an excited-looking Pablo and a worried-looking Pedri, who had his hands on Pablo’s chair in case it tipped over from how far the freshman was leaning.

Pablo took his friends’ questioning looks as a cue to continue. “My parents got in trouble with the Spanish government!”

“For what?” asked Frenkie, only seeming mildly concerned.

“I dunno, some tax stuff.”

Frenkie and Robert responded in unison.

“Ah, I get that.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

“Anyway,” Pablo continued, “They’re in back in Spain for a bit to deal with some legal stuff, and so since it’s just me and Aurora, I fig-”

“I am not going to another fuckass party,” said Robert, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

“Why?” Frenkie inquired, with full snark. “‘Cause you got drunk at the last one and ended up shattering your ankle?”

“I was sober.”

“Yes, because sober people jump off balconies to prove they’re still, in your own words, ‘young and hip and stuff.’”

“Anyway,” said Robert, “What were you saying, Pablo?”

“Well, Aurora always hosts these slumber parties with her friends, and it always looks like they’re having so much fun, but every time I ask to join, Aurora slams the door in my face, so I figured that I could use this weekend to have a slumber party of my own!”

“Tell them the other reason,” said Pedri. Always tired, he had the same groggy voice and dark eye bags he always did first thing in the morning.

“Well, it’ll also help, like, get my name out there and stuff…”

“Oh, not this nonsense again!” Frenkie groaned.

“What, it’s not just for me!” Pablo exclaimed, grabbing his desk partner’s shoulders. “If I get super popular, then Pedri will by association, and maybe we can nab him a boyfriend.”

“I’m fourteen,” Pedri informed his best friend. “Mama says that’s way too young for a boyfriend.”

Robert shrugged. “I had a boyfriend at your age.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“WOW,” Robert exclaimed, earning him an icy glare from Mr. Xavi, who was doing some boring teacher shit at his desk. Robert then turned back to the front of his desk muttering something about ‘kids these days not respecting their elders anymore.’

“So are you guys coming or not?” asked Pablo. “It’s on Saturday and Sunday.”

“Yeah, hard pass,” Robert said with a grimace.

Pablo’s expression quickly turned into a pout, his ever present round, doe eyes making him the dictionary definition of adorable. “Why not? I thought you’d wanna hang out with me. Aren’t you my friend?”

“I am your friend. But you’re, what, fourteen?”

“Thirteen.”

“Exactly,” Robert said, turning more in his seat so he could give Pablo his full attention. “I know you don’t get it now, but if any senior agrees to come this slumber party of yours, I need you to come find me. And gimme their name and address. For science.”

After thinking about it for more than five seconds, Pablo supposed that made sense.

“You should probably keep it to just freshmen and sophomores,” Frenkie advised. “I can make it, by the way.”

“Okay, awesome,” Pablo said, turning to face Pedri. “Now, who else are we inviting?”

“Ferran,” said Pedri.

“Of course you’d suggest him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all… Oh, and we gotta invite Fermín. And João, too.”

“Cancelo?”

“Felix.”

Pedri looked taken aback. “I thought you hated João Felix.”

“Not anymore,” Pablo replied. “Gosh, Pedri, get with the program.”

“Okay, okay, damn… So we’ve got you and me,” Pedri started, using his fingers to keep count. “Frenkie, Ferran, Fermín, João-”

“I think that should be good.”

“Only six people?” Frenkie asked.

Pablo looked down at his desk, embarrassed. “I don’t have any more air mattresses…”

Robert, who had been absorbed in his phone for the past several minutes, made like William Afton and came back to the conversation. “Wait, wait, wait. So in order to become more popular around school, you’re hosting a slumber party… full of people you already know.”

Pablo glanced around the classroom. “Y’all hear something?”

* * *

With five out of the six guests in attendance, nothing kicked off a slumber party like sharing Taylor Swift album rankings. 

“Reputation over Red? Are you on crack, Frenkie?” Pablo asked with a sneer from his spot at the foot of his bed. Pedri had taken the comfortable spot at the other end of the bed, and was buried underneath a mountain of stuffed animals. Frenkie and Fermín were chilling on the floor while João was chilling on the sofa in Pablo’s stupidly large bedroom.

“Okay, hear me out-” Frenkie started, sounding defensive.

Luckily for everyone else in the room, his horrifically incorrect opinion was cut off by Pablo’s phone going off.

“Ferran’s here!” exclaimed Pablo, rolling out of bed and pulling Pedri out from under the stuffed animal pile. “By the way, Frenkie, we’re not done with this discussion.”

On paper, going downstairs to open the door for Ferran was a one-person job, but Mr. Xavi’s class liked to travel in groups, so everyone tagged along. 

“Ferran!” everyone said in unison when Pablo opened the front door to reveal their friend standing there with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Behind Ferran, his parents’ SUV backed out of the driveway and sped away.

“Sorry not sorry,” said Ferran, referring to the fact that he was supposed to be here half an hour ago.

“C’mon,” Pablo replied, beckoning his friend inside and shutting the door behind him, all while bouncing with excitement. In most houses, six people all crowded in an entryway would be a tight fit, but not in Pablo’s house, where there was plenty of room to spare. “Let’s go upstairs!”

Pablo led the group up one of the two curved staircases and into his room. It was hard to miss, as the Minecraft stickers on his door stuck out like a sore thumb against the otherwise bland house. It’s not that his parents were particularly fond of the minimalist aesthetic or anything, they were just never home long enough to leave anything lying around.

“This is my room!” Pablo told Ferran when he opened the door for his friends. The walls of Pablo’s room were light blue, with the bedspread, rug, sofa, and every other decoration being either dark blue or garnet. He had done his best to tidy up the place before his friends got here, which basically involved him sitting on his bed and playing on Aurora’s old DS while Pedri shoved everything he could find either in a drawer or under the bed.

“Sweet,” said Ferran, chucking his duffle bag next to the couch, the same couch that Pedri was stuck sitting on now that João had stolen his comfortable spot on Pablo’s bed.

“So Pedri’s gonna sleep in my bed with me, João’s already called dibs on the couch, and I’ve got air mattresses for the rest of you guys.”

“Dope,” replied Ferran, sitting on the floor right below the couch and rummaging through his duffle bag.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” asked Fermín. For a guy lying on the cold hardwood floor, he looked pretty comfortable.

Pablo looked like he had been waiting ages for someone to ask that. “Well, I figured we’d start with watching a mo-”

“Wait, not so fast,” interrupted Ferran. “I’ve brought some fun activities of my own.”

“Oh, cool! What’ve you got?”

Ferran took a few more moments to look for something in his duffle, and Pedri seized the opportunity to snatch something from Ferran’s bag.

“Aw, who’s this cutie?” Pedri asked genuinely, looking at the shark plush in his hand.

“That’s Señor Sharkie, and I don’t trust you with him,” replied Ferran, taking the plushie back and protectively clutching him to his chest. “What I was looking for… was this!” Victoriously, he removed his hand from his bag and brandished an empty glass bottle.

João glanced away from his phone long enough to send Ferran a solid side eye. “Look, I appreciate you trying to snag a beer for us, but isn’t the whole point to actually drink it?”

“It’s not for drinking, dumbass,” Ferran told his fellow sophomore. “It’s for spin the bottle.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed, with everyone a lot more interested in the glass bottle in Ferran’s hand. 

Pablo was no exception, bouncing up and down and looking a little too eager at the thought of potentially kissing one of his classmates.

“Don’t think so,” Pedri said nonchalantly, snatching the bottle from Ferran’s hand, an action that was met with several protests.

“Aw, c’mon!” 

“Pedri!”

“Buzzkill!”

Pedri sat up straight on the couch, seemingly unbothered by his friends’ protests.

“No way Pablito’s gonna have his first kiss with any of you people,” he said.

As much as Pablo wanted to complain, too, he thought Pedri’s sentiment was rather sweet.

“Fuckin’ killjoy,” muttered Ferran, snatching the bottle back from Pedri and stuffing it in his bag. “But that’s okay, because I brought another fun thing we could do.”

Everyone watched Ferran with anticipation, and when he revealed what he had brought, Pablo actually, unironically screamed.

“What the fuck, Ferran?!”

Pablo seemed to be the only one terrified, however, as everyone else looked on with intrigue.

“What?!” retorted Ferran. “It’s fun!”

“You brought a fucking ouija board into my house, are you crazy?!” Pablo shouted, his young voice reaching painfully high levels. He then proceeded to lunge at Ferran.

“Wha- dude!”

Pablo might’ve been smaller than all the other boys, but he was also scrappy.

“Beat his ass, Pablito,” Pedri said at some point during the little scuffle.

Once Pablo had successfully wrestled the rectangular box out of Ferran’s hands, he headed for the window with the most confident stride a thirteen-year-old could muster.

As his friends watched on in amusement, Pablo opened his window, took the board, fucking frisbeed that bitch as far as he possibly could onto the street below, slammed the window shut, and dusted his hands off.

“Where are you going?” Frenkie asked as Pablo marched towards the door leading into the hallway.

“To get my Virgin Mary candles!”

* * *

An hour later saw the boys chilling in Pablo’s room - lit by LED lights lining the ceilings and Virgin Mary candles on every flat surface, of course - eating snacks and getting the best chisme of their lives from João, who was telling them some stuff that happened at his ex-girlfriend’s school.

“So after Lewis was done breaking Nico’s heart into sixteen million pieces, he went and told Lando that the reason they broke up was-”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” interrupted Fermín. “Isn’t that the same bitch that Magui cheated on you with?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point!” said João, eager to get back to his story. “Anyways-”

“Gosh, that girl sucked,” complained Pablo.

“Agreed,” said Pedri. “I’m just glad you didn’t take her back when she came crawling back to you a few weeks ago.”

João didn’t say anything in return.

Ferran was the first to pick up on how uncharacteristically quiet his friend had gotten. “Oh, gosh, you didn’t-”

Ferran’s statement, plus the grimace that crossed João’s face when he heard it, told the rest of the group everything they needed to know, and the room promptly exploded, everyone crowding around the couch João was lounging on.

“What the fuck, dude?!” exclaimed Frenkie, at the same time Fermín just cried, “Why?!”

“Gosh, João, you are so stupid!” said Pablo. 

“Why the hell would you take her back again?” asked Pedri, his sentence muffled due to the fact that he was actively eating a banana.

Before João could defend his horrific dating choice, Pablo was speaking up. “Wait, Pepi, where’d you get that? I don’t think we have any bananas…”

“You don’t; I brought this from home,” Pedri said nonchalantly, before pulling another banana out of his pocket and offering it to his friend. “¿Quieres?”

“... No thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ferran wasn’t going to let Pablo and Pedri’s little side conversation distract them from the discussion at hand. He sauntered over to the couch and loomed over João, glaring at him like an interrogator. “Why didn’t you consult us before taking her back?”

“Because! It’s hard to get good relationship advice from people who aren’t in relationships.”

“You could ask Robert,” suggested Frenkie.

“People in happy relationships.”

“Ah.”

“Okay, but, João,” said Fermín, “You do realize Magui is literally the worst?”

“Yeah, well, it’s her or nothing!” João said defensively “I mean, it’s not like I have a lotta options at our school.”

“He’s right!” said Pablo, coming to his friend’s defense. “I swear, it’s like the girls at our school are invisible. None of them ever approach me, even when I’m wearing my coolest Pokemon shirt…”

The room went silent, with everyone slowly turning to face Pablo with concerned looks on their faces. Everyone except Pedri, that is, who was sitting next to Pablo on his bed and grimacing like he knew he was about to get in big trouble.

“Really?” asked Ferran, trying so, so hard to stifle a laugh. His friends were having the same struggle. “Not a single one?”

“Not a single one!” Pablo repeated, hugging his knees to his chest. “I dunno what it is about me that they find so repulsive…”

“Well…” said João, “Do you think it has something to do with the fact that you go to an all-boys school?”

Pablo tilted his head, his ever present frown and furrowed brows becoming even more pronounced, and making his expression criminally cute. “Whaddo you mean? We don’t go to an all-boys school. I mean, I thought we did at one point, but Pedri told me that wasn’t the case.”

“You seriously never once considered why you and your sister go to different schools?” Fermín asked, sounding genuinely concerned for his friend’s intelligence. Or lack thereof.

Pablo’s expression changed as the realization that he had been lied to dawned on him, and the quickly turned to face Pedri, who was fighting the urge to not laugh hysterically, and losing.

“You bitch!” Pablo screamed, grabbing a pillow from underneath his stuffed animals and whacking Pedri with it repeatedly, all the while laughter filled the room. “You’ve been gaslighting me! Since the school year! Started!” he cried, punctuating each sentence with another swing of the pillow while his friends laughed.

Pedri was no exception, making up a bulk of the hysterical laughter while he was beat with a pillow that had Tepig on it.

Unfortunately for him, that only fueled his young friend’s anger. “Oh, so gaslighting young Hispanics is funny now! I’ll show you funny-”

He moved to smother Pedri’s face with the pillow, but luckily, Pedri was much stronger than him. Plus, Frenkie and Fermín stepped in to stop the attempted murder.

“Dude, we have got to talk about managing your anger,” said Pedri, cheeks still flushed from the laughing.

Fermín, who had had a similar experience with Pablo the week prior, just shuddered.

“I am managing my anger, thank you very much,” said Pablo. “I’m seeing Janet on Wednesday.”

“Well then we need to get you a better therapist…” Pedri muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Anyways,” Pablo said, hopping out of bed. “I’m never speaking to you again.”

With his head held high, the freshman strode over to the couch. “Friendship ended with Pedri,” he announced, sitting down next to the couch’s other occupant. “Now João is my best friend.”

João swung an arm on the back of the couch, somewhat around Pablo. He turned behind him to flash a smile to Pedri. “I’m honored.”

* * *

“So! Movie time!” Pablo exclaimed after another hour or so of talking shit. “I know we’re not gonna come to a decision on our own, so I went ahead and prepared some suggestions.” He then sat down in front of the TV, rubbing his hands together cutely.

“Lay it on us,” said Ferran.

“figured maybe we could watch one of my favorites! They’re all really old, but they’re still good. We’ve got Legally Blonde, Mean Girls, The Devil Wears Pr-”

“What about a horror movie?!” exclaimed Ferran, to the delight of everyone except Pablo.

“But they’re so scary!”

“You’ll be fine,” Ferran said, stepping over Pablo to grab the remote. “One of you, go get snacks. I’m gonna turn on Netflix and look for the scariest thing on there.”

“On it,” volunteered Fermín, who promptly left the room like he was on a mission.

With the comfortable silence that followed, Frenkie used it as an opportunity to talk to Pedri.

“Aren’t you worried?” Frenkie asked, once he was sat on the bed beside the freshman.

“About what?” Pedri responded, barely looking up from his phone.

“Uh, about your best friend never speaking to you again? And immediately finding a new best friend to replace you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Watch this.” When Pedri spoke next, he raised his voice so that it carried throughout the large room. “Pablito, I’m sorry for gasli-”

Before he could even finish, Pablo was barrelling into him, shoving poor Frenkie off his bed in the process. “I could never stay mad at you!” he exclaimed, teary-eyed, and hugging Pedri like the cuddle bug he was.

A fond smirk crossed Pedri’s face as he wrapped his arms around his best friend.

“Ooh, I found something!” exclaimed Ferran. “Turn the lights off and get over here!”

Within less than a minute, the lights were off, and the five teenagers were sat on the floor in front of the TV, covered in comfy throw blankets.

Even during the opening credits, poor Pablo was shaking like a leaf, as the scary ambiance had him clinging to Pedri’s arm for dear life. At the first small jumpscare, his grip on Pedri tightened, and he let out a little ‘eep!’

“Hey, uh, I’m hungry,” said João, trying so hard not to sound like he wasn’t just as scared as Pablo was. “Weren’t we supposed to have snacks, or something?”

“Yeah,” Ferran replied. “We sent Fermín down for snacks, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

It was Pablo who spoke next, though his voice was muffled due to the fact that his face was buried in Pedri’s shoulder out of fear. “Yeah, I wonder what the hold u-” He stopped for a moment, sitting up and freeing Pedri’s poor arm. “Oh, hell no!”

After a moment’s struggle getting out from under the blanket, Pablo booked it out of his room. 

Upon emerging into the large hallway, Pablo was met with the exact sight he was afraid he would see: Fermín standing in the doorway to Aurora’s room, happily chatting it up with Pablo’s big sister.

“So yeah, you should totally come to one of my matches sometime,” Fermín was saying, leaning against one side of the doorframe and reaching his arm out to the other side, in a pose he undoubtedly thought was super cool.

“The hell you should!” screamed Pablo, marching over to his sister’s room and wrapping his arms around Fermín in an attempt to drag him away.

Unfortunately, all this did was amuse Aurora. “Leave him alone, Pablo, he’s not bothering me!”

“Not yet he’s not!” 

“Oh, let’s just humor the kid, Rora,” said Fermín, walking backwards while Pablo dragged him away by the collar. He held his hand up to his ear in a manner mimicking a phone, and unbeknownst to Pablo, mouthed ‘call me.’

Intending to do just that later, Aurora gave the boys a knowing smile before remembering something. “Hey, Pablo!” she called out. “Do you happen to know where all my skincare stuff went? I can’t find any of it.”

Pablo stopped dragging his friend away for just a second. “No,” he said, and continued on his way.

* * * 

Nothing rounded off a sleepover like blasting Taylor Swift and experimenting with skincare.

It was pretty fun for everyone who wasn’t Ferran, who was currently bracing for impact as Frenkie got ready to rip a pore strip off his nose.

“It’s not gonna hurt, I swear,” Frenkie said between giggles, Fermín and João stifling their own laughs behind him. “Okay, three, two-”

“OW, MOTHER FUCKER!” Ferran screamed, much to the joy of his friends. “You said you would pull on one!”

“I figured it would hurt less if you weren’t expecting it!” said Frenkie happily, inspecting the pore strip. “Ew, guys, this is so gross, come check it out!”

While everyone else scurried to see the biohazard that was on Ferran’s face, Pablo was sitting with Pedri on his bed, slathering some cyan stuff on his best friend’s face.

“Says here it’s supposed to come off as a ‘peel-off mask…’” Pablo said, reading the bottle he had in hand.

“It’s not gonna hurt, is it?” asked Pedri, raising a recently waxed eyebrow. 

“No, no, probably not. Now hold still.” Pablo continued dispersing the cyan stuff evenly throughout Pedri’s face, trying not to laugh at the sight of Pedri in a fluffy pink headband, complete with a bow on it, to get his hair out of the way.

“This smells like coconut,” said Pedri, wrinkling his nose. “You couldn’t get anything banana scented?”

“No, sorry, I couldn’t find anything banana scented while I was raiding Aurora’s room. I’ll look harder next time.”

Pedri laughed, and a comfortable silence fell over the two boys. 

“Y’know what would be fun?” Pedri asked after a while.

“What?”

A mischievous smile crossed Pedri’s face. “If we prank called someone.”

“Oh, yeah!” Pablo agreed, turning to face the others, who were currently debating what color to paint João’s nails. “You guys wanna prank call someone?”

The response was overwhelmingly positive, and in no time at all, all the boys were sitting on Pablo’s bed.

“Okay, first we need to choose our victim,” said Fermín, sounding dead serious. 

“I’m looking, I’m looking…” muttered Pedri as he scrolled through his contact list.

“Maybe Robert?” suggested Ferran.

“Nah, he’d recognize any of our voices,” João said.

“Prank calling Leo might be cool,” said Pedri, who had just come across the senior’s name on his contact list.

“Yeah, yeah! Let’s call Leo!”

“Okay, but I can’t do it, since he has my number,” Pedri said, before turning to Pablo. “Would you do the honors?”

As Pablo copied Leo’s number from Pedri’s phone onto his, he giggled manically, like prank calling someone was the most daring thing he’d ever done.

“Okay, okay, guys, shush,” Pablo said, before officially making the call and setting the phone, now on speaker, down in the middle of their little circle.

“Shit,” Ferran whispered as the phone rang. “We didn’t decide on what to-”

“Hello?”

Pablo cleared his throat before doing the deepest voice he could muster. “Hello, sir, is your refrigerator running?”

“I don’t know. Thanks for the reminder, though. I’ll go check now,” Leo responded, and hung up.

Everyone just sat there, staring at Pablo’s phone.

“... Do you think he actually went to check on his fridge?” asked Fermín.

“Most likely,” replied Pedri, before turning to Pablo. “Seriously, ‘is your refrigerator running?’ That’s the best you could come up with?”

Pablo looked down, disappointed. “I didn’t even get to the punch line…”

“It’s fine,” said Frenkie, now scrolling through his own contacts. “We just need to find a new victim. And get a better joke.”

Everyone sat in silence, thinking of something funny to say, when Frenkie had an idea. “What about Luka?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Ferran said, while everyone else nodded along.

“Okay, now don’t do any cringe ass boomer jokes this time,” Frenkie told Pablo as he showed him Luka’s number.

“Don’t worry about it. I promise I’ve got something good,” said Pablo. He then made the call, put the phone on speaker, and set the phone in the middle of the circle. And soon enough-

“Hello?”

Pablo leaned uncomfortably close to the phone, and doing a very ominous voice, said, “Expect a call from Washington in five minutes,” and hung up.

When the call was over, everyone just stared at Pablo again. 

“Aren’t… most of Luka’s calls from Washington?” asked Pedri. “Y’know, cause he lives here?”

“Callate,” said Pablo, playfully smacking Pedri’s leg. It was hard to take him seriously when he still had that cyan face mask and fluffy pink headband on. “Just wait, you’ll see.”

After five minutes had passed, Pablo reached for his phone and called Luka again.

“Hello…?” came Luka’s weary response.

“Yes, hello, were you expecting a call from Washington?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Well he’s been dead for two hundred years!” Pablo cackled, then hung up the phone. After a moment’s silence, he looked around at his friends.

“Why aren’t you laughing?” he asked. “That was hilarious.”

* * *

After a long night of watching movies, gossiping, and generally having fun, sleep came easy to the six boys.

By the time four in the morning rolled around, everyone was sound asleep, either on the couch, or on an air mattress, or in Pablo’s case, cozy in bed cuddling up to Pedri.

Surely nothing could’ve disturbed their little sanctuary.

BAM BAM BAM

All of the boys except Pablo jumped awake at the loud noise, panicked eyes looking at each other for an explanation.

“Pablo!” Pedri whisper-shouted as he nudged Pablo awake. Pablo tended to get clingy in his sleep, and even Pedri couldn’t pry himself out of the grip he found himself in. “Wake up!”

“... Huh?” asked a very groggy Pablo.

“Someone’s banging on your window!” said Ferran, using the same hushed tone as Pedri, lest whoever was outside overhear.

“Huh?!” Pablo cried, louder this time. “I knew it, I knew you shouldn’t’ve brought that fuckass ouija board-!”

The banging on the window resumed, and Pablo instinctively clung to Pedri with an ‘eep!’

“I am not moving that thing,” said João, pointing to the curtain that was protecting them from seeing whoever was outside.

“Well, someone has to,” added Fermín.

Pablo looked at Pedri, and even in the room lit only by Pablo’s dim nightlight, Pedri couldn’t say no to those wide, doe eyes.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” said Pedri as he rolled out of bed. “But you people are coming with me.”

Pedri slowly but surely inched his way to the window where the sound was coming from, with all his friends cowered behind him. Especially Pablo, who was clinging to Pedri’s shirt for dear life.

“Okay,” Pedri told himself, grabbing the garnet curtain. “You can do this. You’re so brave, you’re so brave, you’re so-”

Pedri pulled back the curtain, revealing an image that no one ever wanted to see outside their window at four in the morning, and that would probably haunt everyone in the room for the rest of their lives.

“Sergio?!”

The senior on the other side of the glass looked just as surprised to see this particular group, as many of the people in it were on his football team.

Everyone in Pablo’s room looked at each other frantically, and Frenkie was the first to speak up. “Uh, I really don’t think we should let him in h-”

Sergio held up a fist in a manner that suggested he was about to punch through the glass, and Pedri lunged forward and opened the window before he could do so. Immediately, everyone felt the chill of the fall air.

“I hafta say I’m surprised,” said Sergio. “Didn’t expect you guys to pull a stunt like this. Then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Mr. Xavi’s class is always up to no good.”

“What’re you talking about?!” asked Pablo, peeking out from his hiding spot behind Pedri. “And how did you get up here? We’re on the second floor.”

“... Don’t worry about that,” replied Sergio, before putting his intimidating face back on. “Anyways. I didn’t think you dweebs had it in you to send Luka a threatening phone call like that.”

“What threatening-”

“You know what you did!” shouted Sergio, looking like he was five milliseconds away from crawling through that window and finding new ways to violate the Geneva convention.

“What was threatening about Pablo’s dumb ass George Washington joke?!” asked Pedri, tucking Pablo behind him again.

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, you scared poor Luka. And you fuckers are so unbelieveably lucky that Luka limited my ‘violent outbursts’ to only ten a week, because otherwise I’d go in there right now and beat the shit outta every one of you… But since I can’t do that, I hope the knowledge that I know where you live deters you from making threats on Luka’s life ever again.”

“Oh, my gosh,” groaned Frenkie. “There was nothing threatening about that phone call!”

“And how’d you find out where I live?” asked Pablo.

“I have ways,” said Sergio. “Now I’ll see some of you at football tomorrow. Unfortunately.” 

And with that, Sergio ducked, and he was gone. Pablo thought he could hear the faint sounds of someone stepping down a ladder, but he was too scared to go and check.

In the wake of… that, what felt like an eternity passed before someone spoke up.

“Well, since none of us are going to sleep ever again,” said Ferran. “Wanna go troll the kids from Mr. Ancelotti’s class on Twitter?”

* * *

“Morning,” said Robert as he slouched into his desk on Monday. The bell had rang several minutes ago, but he was too busy talking to Marco to bother with being on time.

Rather than the cheerful greetings Robert was used to receiving, he was greeted with tired mutters from his friends.

“What the-” he turned around to see what was up, and was greeted with the sight of Frenkie and Pablo with the most horrendous eye bags of all time. Well, Pedri too, but that was normal. “Holy shit, what happened to you guys? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“‘Cause we haven’t,” droned Frenkie.

“Uh… Can I ask what happened?”

The trio all immediately looked traumatized.

“Sergio Ramos,” said Pablo. “Sergio Ramos happened.”

“Welcome to UEFA,” Robert said with a little laugh, and turned around to do his homework.

Chapter Text

Luis didn’t expect to be spending the time before first period calming his friend down from what was shaping up to be a freak out of epic proportions, yet here he was.

“Ney, remember what we talked about,” he said, grabbing Neymar’s wrists to prevent the poor guy from tearing his own hair out. They were standing in front of Leo’s locker, waiting for the third member of their friend group to show up.

“That’s right,” Neymar responded, taking a deep breath. For once, he wasn’t wearing an absolute monstrosity to school. Luis had helped him pick out something not horrendous to wear in preparation for today, so he looked pretty okay. Maybe even fashionable, some might say, from a certain angle. “I’m so brave, I’m so brave, I’m so brave… Oh, gosh, who am I kidding?! I can’t do this!”

“Oh, yes you can!” Luis said, the sentence sounding vaguely like a threat.

Neymar dragged his hands down his face for the hundredth time that hour. “Remind me why I said I was gonna do this today.”

“‘Cause I’m sick of your annoying pining, and if you don’t tell him today I’m gonna tell everyone that you’re a chicken.”

“Right, right, how could I forget?”

“And delete your save data on Mario Kart.”

Ney shuddered. It had taken him months to unlock gold Mario and he did not wanna go through that again.

“And tell Sergio Ramos that you said you could take him in a fight,” added Luis.

“Okay, enough with the threats, jeez!”

Luis must’ve spotted something that Neymar couldn’t see, because he smiled.

Neymar turned to find out what Luis was looking at, and saw Leo approaching them. Time seemed to slow down.

“Hey,” was all Leo said as he stepped between his two friends and started unlocking his locker.

“I have a thing,” Luis blurted out. “Bye.”

Luis walked away, leaving Neymar all alone with the sole cause of his little freak out earlier. Great.

As was normal, Leo made no effort to make any sort of small talk to fill the silence that had settled between them.

“Hey, Leo,” Neymar said, staring down at his shoes. He wore his nicest sneakers for today. “I, uh, kinda wanted to ask you something…”

Leo, who was rummaging through his locker, turned his head to look at Neymar, directing his ever present thousand yard stare at him. “What is it?” he asked.

Neymar couldn’t believe he was actually about to do this. He was suddenly aware of the fact that his palms were very sweaty, and his heart was beating like crazy.

“Well, you see, I’ve just been thinking recently. About, uh, us…”

Leo blinked, and said nothing. As usual, his facial expression and body language didn’t give anything away. He only spoke if he found it necessary, and it seemed he didn’t find it very necessary right now.

Neymar could hear Luis’ voice in his head telling him to just spit it out already, and he genuinely considered backing out like a little bitch. But he then remembered that if he did, Luis would erase his Mario Kart progress, and tell Sergio Ramos that Neymar-

“Do you wanna be more than friends?!”

Neymar was truly, deeply grateful that they had arrived that school so early, resulting in an empty hallway where no one overheard what he had just embarrassingly blurted out.

“Like best friends?” Leo asked, tilting his head. It was the most emotion he’d shown all morning.

Fuck. just when Neymar thought he had ripped the bandage off. Turns out he would have to do it again.

“No, Leo,” Neymar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s just that, I’ve kinda been thinking that maybe things should be different between us. I just feel like I’ve been thinking about you differently since the wedding, if you remember…”

Leo made no indication as to whether or not he remembered. Just stared.

“And so, I think that maybe we should be… more than best friends…”

“Oh. Okay,” Leo said with a shrug.

Now it was Neymar’s turn to say nothing, just stand there and blink.

“I’m sorry?” he asked in a high-pitched voice once he regained his composure.

“I said okay,” Leo replied, getting the last of his books from his locker and slamming it shut, giving Neymar his full attention. “Sounds good to me.”

“Oh… Great!” Neymar exclaimed. He hadn’t expected it to go this well, and was therefore too shocked to jump for joy.

A silence fell over Neymar and his now-boyfriend, leaving the two just staring at each other as tired students started to trickle in the hallway.

“Well, uhm, I should probably walk you to your class!” Neymar exclaimed. That seemed like a boyfriend-y thing to do.

“Why would you do that?” Leo asked, voice devoid of all emotion, as per usual. “My legs work. I can walk myself just fine.”

“I know, but like… it’s just a nice thing to do, y’know, now that we’re… official. Like, I walk you to your class and stuff.”

“We have the same class.”

Neymar was so embarrassed with himself he visibly winced. His first five minutes as Leo’s boyfriend weren’t going as planned.

“Well, then… Let’s just walk to class together!”

Leo shrugged and went along with it, walking at Neymar’s side as they headed to Mr. Enrique’s classroom for first period homeroom. 

On the way there, they passed by Federico and Dusan, who were walking hand in hand while Dusan yapped about who knows what, and unknowingly giving Neymar an idea.

Slowly and cautiously, Neymar reached between him and Leo, his fingertips lightly brushing against the senior’s in what felt like the riskiest move of Neymar’s young life.

“What are you doing?” asked Leo, sounding genuinely curious rather than accusatory. Plus, he didn’t move his hand away, which probably meant something. Hopefully.

“I’m holding your hand,” answered Neymar, not snatching his hand away, but also not interlocking their hands further.

“Why? It’s not gonna fall off or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, that’s not why-” Neymar paused to take a deep breath. Sometimes, it was pointless to explain things such as social protocols to Leo, so he settled on, “That’s just what we do now.”

“Oh. Okay,” Leo said, not protesting further as Neymar intertwined their fingers.

* * *

Tuesday after school, Leo was indulging in his favorite pastime, watching some old football game over and over and over again, analyzing every player’s position and thinking about what he would do in their place. He found it absolutely riveting. The highlight of his day, even.

Unfortunately, his paradise was interrupted by the sound of his doorbell ringing. His mom was working late, again, and his older brothers had long since moved out, so it was his responsibility to answer the door.

Pausing the TV with a little huff, he begrudgingly got up and navigated his way through his massive residence all the way to the front door, where his beloved dog, Hulk, was barking like crazy.

“Tranquilo,” Leo told his best friend, who stopped barking after getting a few pets.

Leo made sure to look through the peephole before answering the door, as he was an avid Criminal Minds watcher and thus didn’t fuck around when it came to safety.

He was perplexed to see Neymar standing on his doorstep, holding a bouquet of flowers.

Upon opening the door, the bouquet was promptly shoved against Leo’s chest.

“These are for you,” said a nervous Neymar.

Leo looked down. Kapok flowers. He was no botanist, but the last time he recalled seeing these was as a child in Argentina, and he would gamble to say they couldn’t even grow in Washington.

“Uh… whaddo I need these for?” Leo asked, inspecting the bouquet.

“They’re a gift,” Neymar responded, an expression crossing the junior’s face that Leo couldn’t quite place. He looked… almost frustrated, but Leo just chalked it up to the drive to W street during rush hour traffic not being kind to him.

“Oh. That’s cool. Thanks.”

A few moments of silence passed between the two boys, with Neymar looking at the senior expectantly.

“So I guess I should put these in a vase or something,” said Leo.

“Yeah, yeah… I could come in and help you, if you want.”

Leo tilted his head, confused as to why he would need help with a task as simple as putting some flowers in a vase. “Thanks, but I don’t need help,” he said. “It’s kind of a one person job. See you at school tomorrow.”

And with that, Leo shut the door.

Neymar clenched his jaw. Sometimes, his new boyfriend’s social ineptitude bordered on straight up mean.

Oh, well. Neymar would just have to step up his game.

* * *

Neymar started to get seriously concerned about the status of their relationship Wednesday after school.

The two were chilling on Neymar’s couch, playing Minecraft on his Xbox. They had just created a new world, and were doing all the basics of punching trees, getting stone, and of course, building their first house.

Night had fallen, and the two were going to go to bed, so they could go exploring the next morning without being attacked by mobs.

“Where’s my bed?” Leo asked, moving his character around the house Neymar built for them while Leo was off gathering resources.

“Over here,” replied Neymar, showing Leo’s character to where two beds were placed next to each other.

Leo went silent for a few moments, face flushing just a tad, before he spoke up. “You… put our beds next to each other,” he said.

Neymar smiled. Sure, Leo was too oblivious to pick up on the romantic undertones of hand holding or the giving of flowers, but even he knew how big of a deal two Minecraft beds being next to each other was.

“Well, yeah,” Neymar said, seeming quite pleased with himself. “There a problem with that?”

“I- I mean, it’s just that… that’s kinda, like, couple stuff, y’know?”

“Well, we are a couple.”

“A couple of friends, you mean.”

Neymar felt like he had been punched. No, he did not mean a couple of friends. Gently tossing his neon yellow controller aside, he looked at Leo like he meant business.

“Leo.”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?”

Leo narrowed his eyes, the same way he did when he was looking at his homework. “Whaddo you mean?” he asked, his own controller sitting abandoned on his lap.

“You. Me. What are we?”

“Uh… Latinos?”

“No. I mean yes, I mean-”  Neymar sighed, rubbing his temples as he felt a headache coming on. “What are we in relation to each other? How would you describe our relationship?”

Leo’s eyebrows furrowed in a manner that almost resembled an actual human emotion. The look was rather foreign on him. He answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’re super best friends,” he said, confused as to why he was suddenly being interrogated.

If it was possible, Neymar’s eyes would’ve popped right out of his head. “We’re fucking what?” he asked.

“Super best friends. Don’t you remember?”

Neymar frantically looked around the room, as if that would somehow make things make sense. “Remember what?”

“The other day, you asked me to be more than best friends. And I said yes.”

Neymar’s jaw dropped, as the junior was absolutely beside himself. Sure, Leo was dense, and had trouble picking up on social cues, and sometimes seemed to not have room in his head for much else other than football, but this…

“And you interpreted that as…”

“Super best friends, obviously.”

“Yeah, obviously…”

A silence fell over the two, and this time, it was anything but comfortable.

Immediately, Neymar’s gut reaction was to try to explain himself, to set the record straight. To tell Leo that, no, he had not meant ‘super best friends,’ whatever the hell that meant, and that he wanted to be Leo’s boyfriend.

But he figured that if Leo liked him that way, he would’ve made it known. Right? 

For once, it was Leo who broke their silence.

“So… you gonna separate our beds, or what?”

* * *

That night, as soon as Leo had left to go home, Neymar stomped up to his room, locking the door behind him. He was not in the mood to talk to people right now, even his family.

Diving onto his bed, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Luis.

While the phone rang, he pondered over what had happened over the past couple days. Why was he so upset? It’s not like he and Leo were ever even official. It’s not like what they had was real in any meaningful, tangible way.

Well, it was to Neymar.

When Luis picked up the phone, Neymar didn’t even let him get a word out.

“I think I just got dumped.”

“... Huh?”

“I said, I think I just got dumped. Which is weird, ‘cause apparently I never even had a boyfriend to begin with.”

“Oh,” said Luis, who was clearly not expecting his friend to be so emotional when he picked up the phone. “Sorry to hear about that?”

“Gee, thanks,” said Neymar, only half present in the conversation. Internally, he was already putting together his breakup-not-breakup playlist. 

“Look, I’m sure Leo will come around. You may not realize it, but he’s really comfortable around you, and I think he likes you a lot. Just… be more forward next time.”

Neymar thought it was funny how Luis hadn’t even asked what had happened. Maybe Luis just knew Leo well enough to figure that his obliviousness would get in the way. He had known Leo longer, after all.

Neymar turned over and stared at the ceiling, wondering whether there would be a next time.

“Hey,” Luis said, sounding a bit more chipper this time. “Since you didn’t end up telling Leo you liked him, that means I get to do all that stuff I said I was gonna do earlier.”

Neymar sat up unnaturally quickly as he remembered Luis’ threats, namely his threats to delete Neymar’s Mario Kart save file and tell Sergio Ramos that Neymar said he could take him in a fight. Neymar never even said that, but the thought was still terrifying.

“Hey, I indirectly asked the guy out! That’s gotta count for something!”

“Yeah, but the bet wasn’t to ask him out, it was to tell him that you like him. Which you technically didn’t do.”

Neymar breathed a heavy sigh. He was so screwed. “Hey, I gotta go,” he told his friend. “Gotta go plan.”

“Plan what?”

“My funeral.”

Chapter Text

Mr. Ancelotti’s classroom was decked out in so much white, Sergio always likened it to a psych ward.

Wednesday morning was no different. Halloween was a couple weeks away, and the cheap decorations of pumpkins and ghosts and things of that nature adorning the walls did little to cozy up the room’s almost clinical feel.

Sergio was chilling in the seat next to Luka’s, rather than sitting in his own homeroom class, because why not.

Vinicius walked in, taking his usual seat behind Luka. “Morning, Luka,” he said absentmindedly, before shifting his gaze to Sergio. “Morning- you don’t even go here.”

“Mind your business,” Sergio said, voice laced with his usual malice. “I can hang out in whatever class I want.”

After scaring Vinicius into silence, Sergio reached over and nudged Luka with his elbow, pulling the senior’s attention away from his homework.

“Hey, you remember my friend Fernando?” asked Sergio.

“Uh, yeah, I think,” replied Luka. “He graduated last year, right?”

“Uh-huh. He goes to GWU now, and…” Sergio leaned real close to Luka’s desk, urgency and excitement written all over his face. “He said I could come to a party there this weekend.”

Luka’s eyebrows shot up, but his gaze remained fixated on his pristine white Stanley cup that Sergio had gotten him months ago, and that he was lightly shaking around to prevent the ice inside from sticking together. “A college party… Sounds dangerous.”

“Well, no shit-” Sergio started, immediately changing his tone when Luka side eyed him. “Sorry. I meant, yeah. That’s kinda the point.”

“I hope you have fun,” Luka responded, leaning back and taking a sip from his stupidly overpriced cup.

“Well, uhm… I was actually hoping you would, uh, come with me…” Sergio said, sounding unhcharacteristically sheepish.

Luka’s response was immediate. “And why on Earth would I do that? I hafta study.”

Sergio rose an eyebrow. “And when’s your next exam?”

Luka muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what?” Sergio asked, leaning so close to Luka he was bound to fall off his seat any second now.

“It’s at the end of next week.”

“Thought so.”

“Okay, but I’m still not going. College parties are dangerous!”

“But like, I’ll be there! Would I ever let anything bad happen to you?”

“Hey, remember that time you abandoned me in Costco?”

“You need to learn how to let go of the past.”

“You mean last weekend?!”

“I was distracted by the good deals…”

Luka didn’t respond, and Sergio realized that he would need to do some more persuading. “Look,” he said. “You and I both know that once you’re actually in college, you’re gonna spend every minute of those four years holed up in the library, doing your nerd shit. So this is probably gonna be your only chance to go to a college party. Maybe you’ll even have a little fun.”

Luka knew that he would hate it. That he would be miserable the whole time, watching a bunch of drunk college kids running around doing who knows what. 

He looked into Sergio’s brown eyes, already feeling his conviction start to waver.

Sergio, the sneaky bastard, must’ve noticed the breach in Luka’s defenses. “And… I really want you to go with me, Lukita,” he said.

Luka closed his eyes and sighed. “... Fine.”

Sergio smiled, and before he could truly express how happy he was, Vinicius spoke up from behind them.

“Wow. That was… the simpiest shit I’ve ever seen.”

What happened next resulted in Sergio being forcefully dragged out of Mr. Ancelotti’s room, sent to the principal’s office, and culminated in him no longer being welcome in the nation of Brazil, but he didn’t care one bit.

* * *

Luka let out a comically loud gulp as he and Sergio stood in front of a large, imposing fraternity house on the George Washington University campus, in the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of DC. It seemed the party was contained inside - for now, at least - but there were a few partygoers hanging out on the porch, talking and laughing amongst themselves. They were all sipping from red Solo cups, of course.

“So, this is the place?” Luka asked.

“Uh-huh,” came Sergio’s blunt reply, as he was trying to hide the fact that he was lowkey just as nervous as Luka. “C’mon,” he said, taking Luka’s hand.

Leading Luka inside, Sergio couldn’t help but notice how… old everyone was. He saw a couple of people in their early twenties and wondered if they knew the dinosaurs personally.

The frat house was crowded as all hell, and was about ten times crazier than the last party they went to at that Pablo kid’s house. For starters, it smelled. All these old ass college kids dancing and sweating and drinking, plus the rancid stench of weed really stank up the place. Smell aside, everyone was pretty much either feeling each other up or playing beer pong.

Sergio knew to try heading for the kitchen first, as that would be the only room where it would be possible to talk without screeching to be overheard over all the trashy pop music. As he navigated his way around the frat house, trying to find the kitchen, Luka went from simply holding Sergio’s hand to using both of his arms to hold onto Sergio’s, probably in an effort to avoid being separated amongst the chaos.

It was hard for Sergio to focus with Luka literally on his arm like this. It made him feel like the strongest man in the world.

It also made him feel like he was essentially cosplaying as Luka’s boyfriend.

“Alright, here’s the good stuff,” Sergio said as the two finally found the kitchen, the only room in which the lights weren’t horrifically dim. On the kitchen island were a stack of red solo cups and several bottles of various kinds of alcohol, many of them empty or half empty.

Luka watched with curious eyes as Sergio inspected each bottle until he found the one he was looking for.

“Alright…” Sergio muttered, lazer focused as he poured the smallest possible amount of clear liquid into a Solo cup. “Drink up. If you want.”

“What is this…” Luka questioned, bringing the cup to his face to smell it, only to gag when met with the scent of literal rubbing alcohol.

“Don’t smell it!” Sergio said with a little laugh, lowering Luka’s hand away from his face. “It’s tequila.”

“Why is there so little of it?” Luka asked, swooshing the cup around.

“‘Cause, I only put enough in there for one shot.”

“Huh…”

Sergio put his hand over the top of the cup, as if to prevent Luka from drinking it right away. “Look, I’m not tryna encourage any bad habits, or anything,” he started, brown eyes looking seriously into Luka’s matching ones. “But, if you choose to indulge a little, just know that I will be staying totally sober, and I’ll be watching you like a hawk all night to make sure you’re safe and stuff.” 

“Don’t you wanna have a little fun, too?”

Sergio bit back the urge to say that he was always having fun as long as he was with Luka. Instead, he settled on, “I’ll be going to plenty more college parties in the future. But I’m pretty sure the same can’t be said for you.”

Luka couldn’t deny that his best friend had a point. “Okay,” he said, before deciding to be brave and take the shot.

He thought he looked really cool as he lifted the cup to his mouth and tilted his head back, but that went down the drain when he got the first taste of the drink.

“Ew, gross!” Luka exclaimed, scrunching his face up while Sergio laughed at his expense. “Why did you think I would like this crap?”

“You’re not supposed to like it, dumbass,” Sergio said, leaning back against the kitchen island. “It’s about how it makes you feel.”

“I feel disgusted.”

“Look, you don’t hafta drink it all at once if it’s too much for you.”

Before Luka could respond, a couple college kids stumbled loudly and obnoxiously into the sparsely populated kitchen, laughing amongst themselves.

“Hey,” one of them said sleazily as he leaned on the kitchen island, the beer on his breath hitting Luka in the face. “What’s your major?”

Luka had no idea how to respond. “Uh-”

In no time at all, Sergio was between the two, giving the wasted college student one of his most menacing stares to date. “Focus on your major instead of this minor,” he snarled, resisting the urge to swing at this guy and get kicked out after having just arrived. 

Before things could escalate, Sergio ushered Luka out of the kitchen. “C’mon,” he said, swinging an arm over Luka’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Fernando, I wanna catch up.”

* * *

After searching for a while, finding Fernando had proven to be a fruitless task, as it was too crowded and dark to look for anyone.

Luka and Sergio had settled on watching a game of beer pong in the living room. Sergio was squished into the corner of a couch, and Luka, well into his third tequila shot, was perched on the arm of the couch. Worried he would fall in his inebriated state, Sergio sat with an arm protectively around Luka’s waist to steady him.

“Yo, Sergio!” a familiar voice shouted, and Sergio turned his head to finally see his old friend Fernando, wading through the crowd with his friend, Steven.

Sergio greeted his old friend happily, doing their old handshake, making sure not to move from his spot or ease his grip on Luka.

“Nando, you look…” Serio started, unsure how to complete his sentence. In the months since Sergio had seen him last, Fernando had chopped off his long, blonde locks and started hitting the gym, resulting in the most severe case of twink death Sergio had ever seen. “... Good.”

“Aw, thanks man. Hey, you remember my buddy Stevie, right?”

“Yeah, of course. So how’re you guys liking college?”

Fernando and Steven both grimaced. “Honestly, zero out of ten. Would not recommend,” said Steven.

“Agreed,” added Fernando. “It’s not like UEFA at all. Everyone’s American. And… poor.”

Sergio did a full body cringe. The thought was horrifying.

“Honestly, I dunno why I didn’t go back to Europe for college. You should really consider it,” said Steven.

“Yeah, I don’t see that happening,” Sergio said, looking down in shame. “I’m not welcome on most airlines…”

Fernando just nodded in understanding, before turning his attention to Luka. “Hey, where are you thinking of going to college?”

In response, Luka looked at him with empty brown eyes, just nodding.

“He’s thinking Georgetown, and It’s nothing personal,” Sergio said, chuckling. “He just doesn’t know what planet he’s on right now.”

“Ožujak!” Luka shouted in response.

“Sh, go back to your drink, sweetie.”

That made Fernando raise his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you finally got the guts to ask him out,” he said teasingly.

Sergio didn’t say anything in response, but gave Fernando a look that more or less told him to shut the fuck up. He found himself grateful for the state Luka was in, one that pretty much guaranteed he would not remember this conversation tomorrow.

Before Sergio could find some awkward leeway into changing the topic, he spotted one across the room, in the form of Luis Suarez.

“What’s he doing here?” Sergio sneered.

The two college boys turned around, and even though there was a sea of people in the room, they both knew who Sergio was talking about.

“I invited him,” said Steven, turning his attention back to Sergio and Luka.

Sergio opened his mouth to speak, but Fernando spoke up before Sergio could inevitably say something horrifically mean. “There’s a lotta kids from UEFA here, actually,” he said, before breaking into a little laugh. “We actually, uh, just caught the Polish ambassador’s kid making out with someone in a closet upsta-”

“With who?!” the two high school students screeched. It seemed that even in Luka’s dazed state, he could sense the potential for tea, as he was leaning forward so much that he would’ve surely fallen over had it not been for Sergio’s hold on him.

“I dunno,” Steven said with a shrug, then sipped from his Solo cup as if he didn’t have information most UEFA students would kill for. “I mean, when we saw ‘em, the guy was like, ‘scheiße!’ and he slammed the door in our face, so I guess he was like, German, or something.”

Steven had no idea how unhelpful that was.

“Great, because that narrows it down,” Sergio groaned, mind already running wild with what he could do with this potential blackmail material. “Whaddi he look like? Was he blonde?”

“I dunno,” Fernando said. “It was dark in there.”

“Gosh, you guys are so useless!” Sergio said, as he could feel anger building up. He needed an outlet. So, he stood up from his spot on the couch and gestured for Fernando to take his seat. “Here. Watch my Luka,” he commanded.

As Fernando scrambled to take Sergio’s old spot beside Luka, Sergio waded through the sea of drunk college kids to find the person he loved to take his anger out on most.

Unfortunately, he ended up bumping into Robert Lewandowski instead.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to go cheat on?” Sergio sneered. He was standing way closer to Robert than he would’ve liked, and could see that his normally neat dark hair was an absolute mess.

“Don’t you have a restraining order to go violate?” the senior responded.

That hit a nerve, and Sergio almost swung, but the last thing he needed right now was to be on yet another government’s shit list. So he settled on simply declaring, “Hey! I haven’t gone within five hundred feet of Mo Salah all semester!”

“And thank God for that,” Robert replied, not bothering to wait for a response before nudging past Sergio and continuing in the direction of wherever the hell he was going.

With that out of the way, Sergio headed for the person he was looking for. 

Luis Suarez was chilling by himself, sipping some drink, when out of nowhere he made eye contact with Sergio, as if he was magnetically compelled to find trouble.

“Fuck you looking at?!” Sergio shouted over the noise.

Luis tossed his Solo cup aside, not caring one bit that his drink splashed on some innocent bystander. “Fuck you looking at?!” he exclaimed, sauntering over to Sergio.

Of course, the two went through the same song and dance they always did, exchanging blows and grappling each other for no other reason than that they didn’t like each other. Only now, they didn’t have to hold back, as there was no way this would earn them detention or a trip to the principal’s.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and after a few short minutes, Luis was forcefully held back by Steven as red and blue lights flashed through the window.

Sergio’s face lit up. “Are those the cops?” he asked, excited at the prospect of telling everyone that he was at a cop-raided party.

“Nah, just campus security. Probably just got a noise complaint,” Steven said, after pushing Luis aside and telling him to stay out of trouble. Around them, the music had been turned off, the lights had been turned on, and people were scrambling to leave. “They can’t do shit. Though… you and Luka should probably head out, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to be here.”

Sergio was never one to follow orders, but checking his phone told him that it was nearing on one in the morning, and he figured he should be getting Luka home safe and sound.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. See ya later.” 

And with that, Sergio went to collect Luka.

* * *

Drunk-as-hell Luka was proving to be kind of a pain in the ass.

Still, it was kind of endearing, the way he was leaning on Sergio for support as Sergio unlocked the door to Luka’s house as quietly as he could.

“Okay,” Sergio said soothingly before they entered the house. “I know you’re in a real giggly mood, but you have to be quiet so we don’t wake up your whole house, okay?”

Sergio waited for a coherent response, but one look in Luka’s eyes told him that there was not a single thought in that pretty head. Maybe a paperclip, but no thoughts.

Arm around Luka’s waist, Sergio shuffled them into the large house, making more noise than he would’ve liked.

After walking up what felt like the creakiest stairs ever created, the two trodded down the dark hall to Luka’s room, and Sergio was about to open the door when Luka started poking him violently on the shoulder.

“Ow, dude, would you cut that out?” Sergio hissed.

“But Sese,” he whined. “I have an idea.” The statement was slurred, but it was the first coherent sentence Luka had uttered in a while. And, unfortunately, Luka seemed to have forgotten about Sergio’s request for an inside voice.

“Dude, quiet, you’re gonna wake up your fami-”

Sergio’s sentence was cut off as the front of his white t-shirt was grabbed, and he was yanked forward and met with the taste of tequila and the feel of Luka’s lips on his.

Sergio wanted to kiss back. He had never yearned for anything more in his life. 

But Luka was drunk. It wouldn’t be right.

As soon as Sergio regained motor function, the placed a hand on Luka’s chest and lightly nudged him back.

“You’re drunk,” Sergio said simply.

“No, you’re drunk,” Luka responded, and went to tap Sergio on the nose, but ended up almost poking him in the eye instead. 

“Let’s, uh… Let’s get you inside,” Sergio said as he opened the door and ushered Luka into his room. He was staring at the hardwood floor to avoid looking at Luka, and had never felt this nervous in his young life.

Once they were in Luka’s room, things went a lot more smoothly. Poor Luka was out like a light the millisecond he hit his bed, leaving Sergio with the task of taking his shoes off for him, as shoes on the bed was probably Luka’s biggest pet peeve. Then, Sergio quietly padded downstairs to the kitchen, finding Luka’s Stanley and filling it to the brim with water. He then went back upstairs, and left it on the nightstand, along with an ibuprofen he had nabbed from the medicine cabinet. That way, Luka would have something to help with the hangover from hell he would surely have when he woke up.

Then, still reeling from what happened earlier, Sergio drove home.

* * *

When Sergio got home that night, he didn’t go up to his bedroom.

Instead, he immediately headed for the basement, where he found himself opening up his parent’s alcohol cabinet. The stuff in there was expensive and unopened, but Sergio didn’t bother to think about how he would explain a randomly opened bottle to his parents. Not like they would care, anyways.

He grabbed a bottle of tequila and sank to the floor. Before he even opened the bottle, he just pondered.

Why? Why had Luka kissed him? It probably didn’t mean anything to him. People did things they didn’t mean all the time when they were drunk. Said things they didn’t mean to say, kissed people they didn’t mean to kiss.

Sergio knew that that kiss was a first, for both of them. A first kiss that Luka wouldn’t even remember come tomorrow. And really, that was for the better.

Poor Luka had no idea that he had just changed Sergio’s entire world. For the rest of Sergio’s life, nothing would ever compare to that split second before he gathered the sense to push Luka away, for his own good.

Sighing, Sergio opened the bottle. And he drank, but not to get drunk and forget his sorrows. For once, he was drinking for the taste.

It was the closest he would ever get to tasting Luka’s lips again.

Chapter Text

In true almost-Halloween spirit, Manuel was sitting in front of the scariest thing he had ever seen in his life.

Cafeteria food. Only, not the typical cafeteria food, no. This stuff was… passable. That’s what was so scary about it. Four years in this school, and not once had he food been anything above dreadful. This was, dare he say… almost good.

“Caf food’s not half bad today,” Manuel told his best friend through a mouthful of hamburger. One that he slathered Nutella on, of course.

“Do you think Robert misses me?” Thomas replied, sounding choked up.

“Bitch, I don’t know! Eat your lunch.”

Thomas did just that, picking at his mashed potatoes like they had personally offended him.

As much as Manuel was dying to go one, just one day without talking about Thomas’ ex, the sight of his best friend sitting there, pathetically eating his lunch was… kinda sad.

Manuel sighed, knowing he would regret bringing this up. “Have… you and Robert talked since the game?”

“No,” said Thomas, petulantly dropping his spoon down onto his tray.

“Okay, uhm… did anything happen when he drove you home that day?”

Manuel noticed a dramatic shift in his best friend’s body language. Thomas placed his elbows on the table, making him appear much more closed off, and his eyes starting darting around the room, at anything that wasn’t Manuel.

“Thomas, you know you can tell me anyth-”

“Nothing happened,” Thomas said, before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Robert drove me home and nothing happened.”

“Are… you sure?”

Thomas’ green-blue eyes were steely as they finally met Manuel’s gaze. “Robert drove me home and nothing happened.”

The cafeteria may have been noisy, but at Manuel and Thomas’ table, there was a silence thick enough to drown them.

“I just dunno what happened,” Thomas said, and suddenly things were a lot less tense. “Like, we used to hang out and stuff, then he drives me home one day, and just like that, nothing! Like, what gives?”

Manuel put his food down, giving Thomas his full attention. “Have you considered - and tell me if this sounds crazy - that maybe he’s just trying to be a good boyfriend to Marco? By not talking to other boys? More specifically, one he dated for almost three years?”

Thomas just stared down at the table, looking like a child being chastised.

“Look,” Manuel continued. “I know you want him back, for… whatever reason, but if he wants to be with you, you should let him come to that conclusion on his own. ‘Cause if he goes back to you after secretly seeing you behind Marco’s back, you’re just gonna feel like a homewrecker.”

Thomas was really, really starting to hate that word.

“Since when do you know so much about relationships?” Thomas asked. “You’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“My brother’s making me watch Grey’s Anatomy with him.”

“Ah. Oh, speaking of brothers, my parents are making me take Simon trick-or-treating. So I’m probably gonna show up late on Wednesday.”

Manuel needn’t ask what Thomas was referring to. Wednesday night was Marco’s Halloween party, which almost everyone at school would be at. Nobody really knew why, but ever since his freshman year, Marco bore the responsibility of hosting the Halloween party, and it was always a good one. Maybe he was just the only student lucky enough to have his house to himself every Halloween.

And though it was weird to go to Marco’s house now, Thomas wasn’t about to miss out on the last Halloween party of his high school career.

“Isn’t he old enough to go trick-or-treating on his own?” Manuel asked. He knew that Thomas’ little brother was old enough that he would be starting at UEFA the following year.

“Yeah, but my parents don’t want him going out by himself at night. Something about Washington’s ‘violent crime rate,’ or some bullshit,” replied Thomas, complete with air quotes.

Manuel laughed. He didn’t laugh often, but when he did, it was usually around Thomas. “You want that kid to get jumped so bad, don’t you?”

“Ohmygosh yes that would be so funny.”

Thomas joined his best friend in his laughter, and soon enough, the two resumed their eating in comfortable silence.

“Y’know,” Manuel said after some time, “How come we never talk about my problems?”

“Oh, boo hoo, your dad doesn’t love you,” Thomas said with a playful roll of his eyes. “I’m dealing with things that actually matter.”

Despite the fact that that was a pretty mean thing to say, Manuel knew Thomas well enough to know that he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m just saying, if I hafta hear about Robert’s bitch ass every five seconds, the least you could do is-”

“Fine,” Thomas said, sighing dramatically and leaning back against the booth he was sitting in. “Please vent to me about Ambassador Neuer’s most recent acts of neglect, of which I’m sure there are many.”

“Okay, well-”

* * *

As Luka took his rightful place in the passenger seat of Sergio’s car after school, he couldn’t believe the argument they were having.

“Please, Lukita,” Sergio said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “It’ll be so much fu-”

“Oh my gosh,” said Luka, laughing at how absurd this was. “For like the tenth time, no!”

“But-”

“How many times do I hafta say it? We are not going as Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce for Halloween!”

“But you love Taylor!” Sergio protested, too engrossed in their little quarrel to even start the car.

“That doesn’t mean I wanna be her for Halloween!”

Sergio slumped his shoulders, seeing that this was shaping up to be a losing battle. Then, Luka heard him mutter something under his breath.

“What was that?” Luka asked.

“You can be Travis, okay?”

“Oh,” Luka said plainly, finally sitting back and buckling his seatbelt. “Why didn’t you just say so, Sese? Gosh.”

Sergio remained silent for a while, clearly not thrilled at the idea of dressing as a glittery pop sensation for Halloween. Still, if it meant doing a couples’ costume with Luka…

“I am not wearing a blonde wig, though.”

“Whatever you say, Taylor,” Luka replied with a smirk.

* * *

Come Halloween, it was technically just another school day. However, the teachers all knew that their kids would be extra rowdy, all excited for the night’s festivities, and that none of them would be in attendance the next day.

Klopp’s class was no different. If anything, he encouraged their excitement, having spent a couple days last week helping them decorate the classroom and making it as spooky as a high school classroom could be.

“Uh, Robbo?” Klopp asked, speaking to his student from across the room. “Why are you hiding behind the door?” He sounded stressed. And honestly, he had every reason to be when Andy was involved.

“Don’t worry about it,” came Andy’s typical response, which failed to lessen Klopp’s worry.

Before anything else could be said, Trent came darting into the room. “He’s coming, he’s coming!” he exclaimed Scousely, before joining his other half in hiding behind the open door.

The other kids in Klopp’s class watched with baited breath to see what the fresh hell those two were up to now, while Trent and Andy stifled their giggles.

Sure enough, it was only a matter of time before poor, unsuspecting Alisson walked in.

“BOO!” the disastrous duo screamed, jumping out from behind the open door at the precise moment Alisson walked in.

Trent and Andy got the response they wanted, alright, as Alisson let out a comically high-pitched squeal that conrtrasted his large, imposing stature. He instinctively placed a giant hand over his heart, which was now beating like crazy, as tears welled up in his green eyes.

As the rest of the class just grimaced and went back to their business, Trent and Andy dissolved into hysterical, stomachache-inducing laughter.

“Aw, bruv, we got him, we got him so good!” exclaimed Trent.

“Guys…” Alisson complained, blinking rapidly to get rid of any tears.

“Aw, lighten up a little, Ali!” Andy said, looping an arm over his taller friend’s shoulders. “Where’s your Halloween spirit?!”

“You two!” a deep voice boomed, and the three students at the door turned around to see a very angry-looking Virgil coming their way.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Virgil asked. “You scared him! You know how anxious he gets; that was mean.”

“Uh… Sorry?” was all Andy could think to say, as Trent clung to him out of fear for his life.

At his desk, Klopp figured that this situation could probably use intervention from a teacher, but it seemed that Virgil was doing a good job of handling it on his own.

“You better be sorry,” Virgil said, looming over his classmates. “I mean, look what you did to poor Ali-”

Virgil turned around to find that Ali was nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, great. He’s probably gone to his favorite freak-out closet!” said an exasperated Virgil, before turning back to Trent and Andy. “I’m gonna go calm him down, but when I get back…”

Virgil left the rest up to his friends’ imaginations. Despite his harsh words, his demeanor was still as calm and cool as ever as he left the room to go find Alisson’s favorite janitor’s closet.

Once they were sure the coast was clear, Trent and Andy shuffled back to their desks in shame, clinging to each other as much as physically possible until they sat down.

“I oughta give you boys detention for pulling a stunt like that on poor Ali,” Klopp said from his desk, which was in close proximity to his troublemakers. It made sense that he would be willing to dish out detentions for the crime of scaring Alisson, as he had a soft spot for the gentle giant. “But… I think that whatever Virgil’s going to do to you is punishment enough.”

The two boys just plopped their heads onto their desks.

Trent’s anguishing was interrupted when he felt some tapping on his shoulder a few moments later.

He looked up and turned around. Dominik.

“Seriously, a jumpscare?” Trent’s fellow sophomore asked. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Beside Trent, Andy lifted his head up at the sound of Dominik’s voice. Andy knew all too well how conversations between those two tended to go.

“Seemed like a good idea, at the time…” Trent muttered, looking down almost shamefully.

“Well, better luck next year,” Dominik said with a wink. “By the way… I got invited to some Halloween party tonight. Apparently it’s a big deal, or whatever.”

Trent seemed absolutely, pathetically lost in Dominik’s brown eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you mean Marco’s party. He hosts it every year, pretty much everyone at school goes.”

“And I take it that includes you?”

Trent nodded frantically.

“Well, would you… maybe wanna go with me?” Dominik asked, with all the charm in the world.

Trent’s mouth hung open for so long, surely a bug would fly in any minute now. “Uh…” he started, before he felt Andy violently kick his leg under the table. “Boyfriend! I-I mean, I’m going with my boyfriend.”

“Ah, right, Kylian,” said Dominik, nodding slowly. “Well. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah,” Trent agreed, voice small. “A shame.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you ditched us in order to dress up with your ‘boyfriend,’” Mario said while leaning on the island in Marco’s kitchen. He also did air quotes around the word ‘boyfriend,’ for some reason.

Mario was wearing a blue sweater, circular glasses, and a headband that had little chipmunk ears. Beside him, Mats wore a similar getup, but with a green sweater instead of blue and without glasses. They were Simon and Theodore without their Alvin.

It was early on Halloween night, and while the party wasn’t in full swing yet, a good amount of guests had already arrived. The Halloween party was always more laid-back than the ragers usually hosted by UEFA students, as it was usually just everyone eating candy and taking pictures of their costumes to post on Instagram later.

“Well, it’s Robert and I’s first Halloween as a couple,” Marco said, pouring some assorted candy into a glass bowl that would surely be shattered by the end of the night. “So of course we’re doing a couples’ costume.”

Next to Mario, Mats muttered under his breath. “Honestly, we thought you’d’ve dumped his ass by now…”

“What was that?” Marco asked, in that tone of his that indicated that his patience was wearing thin.

“Nothing,” Mats said meekly, doing his best to take Marco seriously while he was dressed like Rachel from Friends, in that one episode where she drunkenly married Ross in Vegas. 

Marco’s costume consisted of a simple black, long-sleeve shirt and some jeans. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was the fake beard and moustache drawn on his face with Sharpie.

He set the bag of candy down and looked into the living room, which was visible from the kitchen due to the house’s open concept. “How’s it coming along over there?!” Marco shouted.

In the living room stood Robert on the top step of a ladder, balancing precariously as he fixed some little pumpkin-shaped string lights to the wall. Similar to his boyfriend, his costume was rather lowkey, consisting of slacks and a muted green button-up. A dot was drawn on his nose with a Sharpie, along with whiskers on his cheeks, and ‘ROSS’ written in big, bold lettering on his forehead.

“I’m fine, babe,” Robert said, sounding a little uneasy. “Just… fighting for my life on this ladder. Nothing to worry about.”

“God, I hope he falls,” Mario muttered, quiet enough for Marco not to overhear.

“Agreed,” added Mats.

Just then, the doorbell rang, scaring Robert so bad that Mario and Mats almost got their wish. 

“More guests!” Marco exclaimed, and headed to the living room to help Robert down from the ladder.

Once Robert was safely on the ground, the couple made their way to the front door, Robert having a hand delicately on his boyfriend’s back as Marco opened the door.

“Happy Halloween!” Marco said to their two new guests. “Oh my gosh, look at you two; how cute!”

On Marco’s doorstep stood Pablo and Pedri. Pedri had an all-white outfit on, and a headband that extended into a halo.

Pablo, on the other hand, was wearing an outfit that consisted of red and black, with a similar headband to Pedri’s, except his had foam devil horns instead of a halo. He also had black face paint around his eyes and in a stitch formation on his forehead to make him appear scarier.

As Marco welcomed the freshmen into his large home, Pablo looked at the couple quizically.

“What’re you guys supposed to be?” Pablo asked.

“Ross and Rachel,” Robert answered, lowering his hand to rest on Marco’s waist.

If little Pablo’s expression was any indication, those words meant nothing to him.

“They’re this toxic couple from this old ass sitcom,” Pedri told his best friend. “Friends. Fer watches it sometimes, but he doesn’t let me join ‘cause apparently I’m ‘too young to be watching that stuff,’ or whatever.”

Pablo’s brows furrowed at the phrase ‘toxic couple,’ and he looked at his older friends. “But… Isn’t the whole point of Halloween to dress up as something you’re not?”

Pedri smacked a hand over Pablo’s mouth, but not quickly enough.

“Welp, we’ll be going!” Pedri exclaimed, using his charming smile to his advantage as he led Pablo away. “Lovely place you got, by the way!”

* * *

As soon as Thomas got back from taking his brother trick-or-treating, he booked it up to his room and got ready for the big party.

His costume was, of course, the same one he’d worn almost every year for who even knows how long: a Bayern Munich player. Yeah, it wasn’t the most creative, but it was basically just an excuse for Thomas to show off whatever Bayern gear he had accumulated that year, anyway.

Already running late, Thomas hopped down his stairs two steps at a time. Considering how much of a klutz he was, it was a miracle he was still in one piece, and not bleeding, by the time he got to the bottom.

He had grabbed the keys to his Audi and was about to head out the door when he heard a stern, all too familiar voice.

“Not so fast, young man,” said his mother.

Thomas turned to see his mom standing in the entryway, but far enough from the door that Thomas didn’t see her when he was coming down the stairs. She was in her formal work attire, and still holding her purse, so she probably only got in a few seconds ago.

“Mama!” he exclaimed happily, as it was rare to see his mom on weekdays. Normally, he would go and hug her, but he was really focused on getting to this party. “You’re home early!”

Thomas’ mom, Klaudia, placed a hand on her hip and looked at her son skeptically. “You’re going to that party, right?” she asked, using that no-nonsense tone she always used.

Thomas nodded, and his mom just stared at him for a good few seconds.

“You know, schatzi, the strangest thing happened in the break room at the office today.”

“Oh?” Thomas asked, confused as to why his mother was confiding in him about the goings on at the German embassy. 

“Yeah… Would you happen to know why Marco’s mother asked me how my ‘little homewrecker’ was doing?”

“... I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Thomas lied, before turning around and unlocking the front door as fast as humanly possible. “I gotta run, I’ll be home before midnight, make sure Simon saves some candy for me, okay bye!”

And just like that, Thomas was out of the house.

* * *

“Wow, that’s our fifth Taylor and Travis of the night,” Andy remarked as Luka and Sergio entered the main room where pretty much everyone was.

Luka, wearing a Kansas City Chiefs uniform and holding a football helmet, just giggled, and Sergio didn’t entertain that with a response. 

Beside Andy, Trent eyed up Sergio’s costume for the night. Black pants, a white t-shirt that read ‘NOT A LOT GOING ON AT THE MOMENT’ , heart-shaped sunglasses, and a black hat. Trent immediately recognized the look from the ‘22’ music video.

“You realize that Taylor didn’t even know Travis during the Red Era, right?” he said.

“You realize that I’ll stab you, right?” came Sergio’s immediate reply. “... And what the hell are you two wearing?”

Trent and Andy, who were standing awkwardly in the middle of the large room, turned to each other. Or, they tried to. It was quite difficult to move in their obnoxiously large, foam mustard bottle costumes.

“Tell him,” Virgil said from behind them. Sergio hadn’t even noticed Virgil was there, his large frame being blocked by the even larger costumes his friends were wearing.

“Virgil made us,” Andy said shamefully, pasty arms hanging from the costume’s cutouts. 

“It’s a punishment,” added Trent.

Beside Sergio, Luka stared, bewildered. “... Why are you both mustard?” he asked.

“Well, uh, I was told Robbo here would be ketchup.”

“And I was told that Trentski would be ketchup…” said Andy.

Behind them, Virgil just smiled.

It was then that Luka realized that Virgil was just wearing plain clothes. “And what’re you supposed to be?” he asked politely.

Virgil turned around to reveal that he was, in fact, wearing something that resembled a costume, in the form of some cheap costume wings strapped to his back. 

“The flying Dutchman,” he said, to which everyone in the crowded room responded with ‘ah’s.

“Alright!” exclaimed a new voice, and everyone turned to see Dominik entering the room, empty beer bottle in hand. “Gather ‘round, time to spin this motherfucking bottle.”

Several people joined Dominik in a circle on the hardwood floor, but Dominik just looked at Trent, who was still standing beside his best friend. Considering the sheer size of his yellow costume, he couldn’t have sat down even if he wanted to.

“Are you gonna join us, Trent?” Dominik asked, purposely batting his eyelashes at his fellow sophomore.

Unfortunately, Trent’s brain was busy melting into a puddle of goo, so Andy had to speak for him. Honestly, Andy gained a little more respect for Dominik in that moment. Simping for someone while they’re actively wearing a giant, foam mustard costume is quite the commitment.

“Sorry, but Trentski here can’t play. He’s got a boyfriend.”

Andy looked around the room until he spotted Kylian, who was wearing a ninja turtle mask, and winked at him.

“Oh, right,” Dominik said, with an embarrassed little laugh. “A boyfriend…”

‘Not that that’s stopped some of us,’ Sergio thought to himself, watching as Robert coincidentally happened to walk into the room, hand in hand with Marco.

Marco was about to say something, probably about the little game that was about to be played, when something in the adjacent room caught his attention.

“Hey Jude, put that down, it’s priceless! Jude-!”

Marco’s yelling was cut off by the sound of the door bell reverberating through the room.

“I’ll get it,” said Robert. “You go figure out… whatever that is.”

Marco placed a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek before running off in the other direction. “Jude, my mom will kill me if you break that!”

Meanwhile, Robert abandoned the budding game of spin the bottle to go answer the door.

After swinging the door open, Robert broke into a stupid grin when he saw who was on the other side.

“Tommy,” he said, voice dripping with affection. “You made it.”

“Well duh,” Thomas replied, stepping into the house almost nervously. He eyed up the party decorations, which were clearly his ex-boyfriend’s handiwork, then Robert’s costume. “I take it Marco’s Rachel?”

“Yeah, yeah… It’s no dirndl, though,” Robert said with a smirk, referring to a very specific Halloween.

Thomas blushed like crazy. “You shut up, that was one time!” he said with a little laugh.

Robert laughed too, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his beige slacks. He could’ve just welcomed Thomas in and gone back to the party, but he didn’t. He stayed there, and so did Thomas, almost like they didn’t want this tiny, fleeting moment to end.

“So, uh… Have you been here before?” asked Robert. If he was gonna keep Thomas here in Marco’s entryway, he might as well make some conversation.

Thomas looked back at Robert with a fond smirk and a raised eyebrow. “You and I have been to this party, like, three years in a row, you know that, right?”

“Right, right!” Robert exclaimed, lightly hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand, wondering how he could forget such a thing. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Thomas said with a little laugh. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the nearby curved staircase. “I’ve, uh… never been upstairs, though.”

“Oh,” Robert said simply. “Well, I can show you. Upstairs. So you can see what it’s like, and stuff.”

“Sounds good,” said Thomas simply, like they were talking about what to have for dinner.

Robert looked around to make sure no one was watching, and led Thomas upstairs.

* * *

Pablo was in the kitchen, enjoying what had to be his twentieth Hershey’s bar of the night when Pedri elbowed him in the side.

“Dude,” Pablo hissed.

In response, Pedri just smirked. “You should talk to that girl over there,” he said, nodding his head toward the other side of the kitchen, where Pablo could see the back of a girl’s head. Her short hair was very blonde and very beautiful, and she was wearing a long-sleeved white utility jumpsuit with all kinds of brand sponsorships plastered on it.

“Are you crazy?” Pablo whisper-shouted.

“C’mon, dude, I’m bored! And you’re always bitching about how you need a girlfriend, so…”

Pablo squared his shoulders. He needed to be strong. “Fine,” he said, finishing off his chocolate bar. He would need the courage. “How do I look? Is there chocolate on my face?”

“There’s no chocolate on your face, and you look adorable,” said Pedri, giving his best friend a clap on the back and nudging him in the direction of the pretty girl. “Now go get her.”

Pablo traversed through the large kitchen with butterflies in his stomach and legs made of jelly, and it took everything he had in him to work up the nerve to tap the girl on the shoulder.

She turned around, and Pablo was taken aback by two things: beautiful blue eyes, and the fact that this stranger was, in fact, a boy.

“Oh, uh- sorry,” Pablo stammered. “I thought you were someone else.”

“That’s okay,” the stranger said politely, before taking a sip out of whatever was in his Solo cup. He probably expected the exchange to end there, but Pablo couldn’t stop staring at the taller boy.

“Who’s class are you in?” Pablo asked. “I don’t think I recognize you.”

“Oh, I don’t go to UEFA, or whatever it’s called,” the stranger said, in an angelic voice and a slight accent. “I’m Marco’s friend; he invited me.”

“Oh, okay.”

“By the way, whaddoes UEFA even stand for? Marco and his bitch ass boyfriend refuse to tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pablo replied, the words flying out of his mouth faster than the speed of light.

“Damn,” the stranger said, rolling his eyes. He then extended a hand out for Pablo to shake. “Name’s Nico, by the way.”

As Pablo shook Nico’s soft hand, everything clicked. The name, the description… “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you! My friend’s girlfriend goes to school with you!” Pablo exclaimed excitedly, jumping up and down like he was meeting a celebrity. Which, in his mind, he was. “You’re the one who got brutally dumped by that Lewis kid, right?”

Nico quickly snatched his hand away, and tears welled up in his eyes. Damn it, even his crying face was pretty. “Why would you bring that up?” he asked, sounding horrifically offended as tears streamed down from his eyes.

Before Pablo could respond, Nico shoved past him and left the room. Pablo imagined he was finding a secluded place to cry his pretty eyes out in.

Damn. That went… Well, it went.

Feeling like an abject failure, Pablo trudged back to the other side of the kitchen, the one that had all the candy, so he could eat some chocolate in defeat. 

The freshman looked around for Pedri, but his best friend was nowhere to be seen. So, Pablo picked up a chocolate bar and went to town on it all by himself.

At least, he was all by himself, until Sergio Ramos sauntered over. Pablo felt his heart rate increase, and not for the same reason it increased when he talked to Nico.

“Dude,” Sergio said. “You’ve got chocolate, like, all over your mouth.”

“Wha-” Pablo wiped his hand over his mouth, only to find out that Sergio was right. “Damn it, Pedri…” he muttered under his breath.

Pablo continued to eat his chocolate in silence when Sergio elbowed him.

“Hey,” Sergio said, offering Pablo a lollipop. The stick side. Pablo got flashbacks. “Y’know what would be really funny?”

* * *

“And this,” Robert said, opening a very familiar door and ushering Thomas inside, “is Marco’s room.”

“Wow…” Thomas muttered as he stepped inside. Behind him, Robert had closed the door and turned the LED lights on so that they could actually see. Marco’s room was much like Thomas’ own: way too big for just one person. However, unlike Thomas’ room, Marco’s was very… monochromatic. “Dude really likes his yellow.”

Robert stood beside Thomas. “He’s a Dortmund fan,” he said.

Thomas looked down at his Bayern kit. “Well now this just feels wrong,” he joked.

Robert laughed, and Thomas smiled. Robert was the only one who consistently laughed at his jokes.

Robert made eye contact with Thomas, a kind, knowing smile on his face. “So,” was all he said.

“So,” Thomas echoed, his grin mirroring Robert’s own.

And so, the two perfectly performed a dance they hadn’t rehearsed in months. Robert stepping forward, Thomas stepping back. He was already close to the door, so it was only a couple steps before Thomas’ back was against it.

Robert, who had done a good job of keeping his hands to himself, placed one hand on the door, and the other on Thomas’ cheek.

Thomas wished it was possible to get a sensation tattooed on his face. As he looked into Robert’s blue eyes, all he could think of was that he was looking into the eyes of his future husband. He had to be.

“You’re so cute,” Robert muttered, and Thomas wondered how he could’ve ever been so stupid as to give this boy an ultimatum.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, Robert took Thomas’ left hand in both of his, bringing it closer to examine it.

Thomas knew what the other boy was looking for, and knew that Robert had found it when he started gently tracing the scar that went across most of Thomas’ palm.

Thomas smiled as he remembered how it got there, over a year ago. One moment, him and Robert were home alone, and Thomas was cutting up some carrots for Little Robert, the next moment…

Robert must have noticed the fond smile on Thomas’ face. “You remember,” he said, a smile of his own tugging on his lips.

“What I remember is how I was the one with a cut up hand, yet you were the one screaming and crying like a little bitch on the ride to the emergency room.”

He also remembered how Robert had held his hand - his good hand - the entire time that the doctor was stitching him up.

“I was scared for my life!” Robert said with a laugh. “I had to tell your mother that you damn near cut your hand off on my watch.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, letting out a laugh of his own. “Oh my gosh, you need to stop being so scared of her!” he exclaimed. “I’ve told you a hundred times, she can’t actually kill you! It would cause an-”

“-International incident with Poland, I remember.”

The two laughed, and they both could’ve sworn that they had just fallen even harder.

* * *

“Pablito, there you are!” Pedri exclaimed as his best friend walked into the main room, looking particularly unwell. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Pablo made a beeline towards Pedri, and stood real close to him, but Pedri didn’t mind. It’s not like the other boy had ever given him much personal space to begin with.

“I think Marco’s friend awakened something in me,” Pablo said, brown eyes locking with Pedri’s.

Pedri had absolutely no idea what the other was talking about. “Uh… congratulations? What-”

“Also,” Pablo started, eager to sweep that little tidbit under the rug. “Sergio Ramos dared me to eat a lollipop stick first. Again.”

All traces of lighthearted joking were stripped from Pedri’s face as he looked at Pablo with complete and utter seriousness. “You didn’t.”

The tears welling up in Pablo’s huge, doe eyes told Pedri everything he needed to know.

“You dumb bitch!” Pedri exclaimed. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?!”

“I know, but he said that if I didn’t do it, it would mean that I’m a little bitch, and Mama did not raise a little bitch!” Pablo declared, in a voice so whiny, so high, it damn near shattered the Solo cup in Pedri’s hand.

“Okay, dude, chill,” Pedri said, putting his free hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Gosh, you’ve also eaten your weight in chocolate, so you’re gonna get even sicker than last time…”

“Yeah, Pepi, about that,” said Pablo, still teary-eyed. “I can’t feel my stomach.”

Just then, the two were approached by Marco. “Hey,” he said, looking between the two. “Have either of you guys seen my boyfriend?”

“No, sorry,” said Pedri. “By the way, where’s your bathroom?”

Marco just grimaced. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. Just walked in on Dusan and Federico making out in there, and I don’t think they plan on stopping anytime soon,” he said, his expression looking like he had just crawled out of the trenches.

“Chill, dude, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Marco made direct eye contact with Pedri. “They were dressed as Bill and Hillary.”

Pedri shuddered, and Pablo would have, too, if he knew who those people were. “Yeah, okay,” Pedri said. “I could’ve gone my whole life without that mental image.”

“I tried to spare you,” Marco said, deadpan. “But yeah, you can use the upstairs bathroom.”

“Thanks,” Pablo said, before booking it for the stairs.

* * *

Robert and Thomas had no idea how long they spent reminiscing in the sanctuary of Marco’s bedroom. And honestly, neither of them cared. They were too busy exchanging memories of events they both remembered like the backs of their hands, but never got to talk about anymore.

Thomas thought about how he had years of memories with Robert, while Marco had, what, six months?

They had gotten tired of standing and were now sprawled out on Marco’s yellow bedspread, with a good amount of space between them, and their feet hanging off the bed.

Because despite how Thomas felt about Marco, putting his shoes on his bed would just be inhumane.

“And then,” Robert said, face sore from how much he had been laughing. “When my sister asked what happened to my neck-!”

Thomas covered his face in embarrassment, but he was laughing just as hard as Robert was. “Oh, gosh, I remember!”

“And you blamed it on a fucking curling iron!”

“Stop!” Thomas exclaimed, reaching over to lightly hit Robert on the shoulder.

“I don’t even own a curling iron!”

“I was thinking on my feet, okay?! Don’t blame me because you couldn’t think of a better story!”

“Uh, I am blaming you, you and your constant need to bite me!” 

The two spent a few more moments just laughing amongst themselves, until Robert gave Thomas an almost serious look. “C’mere,” he said, beckoning Thomas closer. “I gotta tell you something.”

Muscle memory was a real thing, because Thomas cuddled up to Robert in the most fluid motion possible. There was no awkward bumping or maneuvering, just two people who had done this a million times before. 

Thomas felt like he was taking his rightful place as he nuzzled into that space between Robert’s shoulder and chest, resting a scrawny arm over his midsection.

Robert responded in kind, resting his right hand on Thomas’ waist, and utilizing the left one to play with Thomas’ hair.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” Robert muttered, looping a short curl around his finger.

“You like it that way.”

Robert didn’t respond to that, just continuing to mess around with the other’s hair in a way that was sure to put him to sleep.

Thomas was restless. He was loud, and energetic, and hyper, but Robert playing with his hair like that relaxed every cell in his body. He wouldn’t mind staying in this position for all eternity. In fact, he’d prefer it.

He couldn’t even harp on the fact that it was technically wrong to cuddle Robert on Marco’s bed, because nothing, nothing, that involved being held by Robert could ever be wrong in any way. This was how it was meant to be. The two of them. Through no fault of Marco’s, he could never love Robert a single percent as much as Thomas did. Nobody could ever love anybody as much as Thomas loved Robert. That would continue until the end of time.

Robert pulled Thomas out of his thoughts by speaking to him, in that soft tone of his that absolutely melted the other boy. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t care for German food.”

Thomas playfully slapped the other’s chest. “Bullshit, you don’t.”

“I’m serious!” Robert said with a laugh.

“You literally eat - ate - German food all the time at my place.”

“Yeah, well…” Robert tilted Thomas’ head up so that they were looking each other in the eyes, and the expression in his blue eyes told Thomas that he felt the same way Thomas did, surely. He had to. “I’d gladly eat some subpar wurst if it means having a meal with the love of my life.”

Screw it. Thomas propped himself up on his elbows and took Robert’s beautiful face in his hands. Their last kiss was spontaneous, it was a heat of the moment thing that neither of them have addressed since. This wouldn’t be like that. Thomas knew damn well what he was doing and had every intention of going through with it.

He closed his eyes, felt Robert’s hand in his hair, and heard the fucking door open.

Thomas didn’t turn around to see who their intruder was. He just closed his eyes and grimaced, praying to God above that it was Marco. So this whole mess could finally be over.

“This… This isn’t the bathroom,” squeaked Pablo Gavi.

“No,” said Robert, sounding like an exasperated parent dealing with a child who just won’t listen. “It isn’t.”

“I’ll… I’ll go, then,” Pablo said, and Thomas heard the door close.

“I gotta handle this,” Robert said, gripping Thomas’ waist and gently moving Thomas off of him so he can get out of bed. “Pablo!”

He made a mad dash for the hallway, where he locked eyes with Pablo, the freshman’s unnaturally huge eyes making him look like a deer in headlights.

Before Pablo could respond, Robert dragged him into the bathroom - carefully, of course - and locked the door behind them. He stood in front of the door so Pablo couldn’t get out if he tried.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Pablo exclaimed, and really, he had every right to be a little miffed.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, only to realize he had no idea how he was going to negotiate his way out of this. “I… need you to do me a solid,” he settled on.

“You were in there with Thomas! You’re cheating!”

“Shhhh, would you keep your voice down?!” Robert whisper-yelled. “I’m not cheating, okay?” he said, the word rolling off the tongue like it was poison. “It’s not like we were kissing, or anything, we were just cuddling. And cuddling isn’t inherently romantic, I mean, you and Pedri do that shit all the time, and there’s nothing romantic between you guys.”

The look on Pablo’s face clearly indicated that there was more to be said on that front. But now was not the time.

“It looked like you were about to kiss,” Pablo said. 

Robert couldn’t really refute that, so he thought ‘fuck it,’ and resorted to gaslighting the kid. “Uh, no we weren’t,” he said, not sounding very convincing.

“Don’t try to gaslight me!” exclaimed Pablo, taking a couple steps back and pointing an accusatory finger at his upperclassman. “I’ve gotten enough of that shit from Pedri!”

“I’m serious! We weren’t kissing! Thomas just had something in his eye, and- why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Pablo paused to stifle a few giggles. “It’s hard to take you seriously with ‘ROSS’ written across your forehead.”

Robert rolled his eyes and smacked a hand over his forehead to get rid of the distraction, all the while biting back a sarcastic comment about Pablo’s own costume. Now was not the time to ignite the kid’s issues with anger management.

“Look, as your friend, I’m asking you… Please don’t tell anyone what you saw. Please.”

Pablo was silent for a good while, and Robert could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“Do my homework,” commanded Pablo.

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

“I graduate in June.”

“Until June.”

“Deal,” Robert said, and the two shook on it.

As they shook hands, Pablo smirked, realizing that this has been the best trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever. It didn’t just encompass Robert doing Pablo’s homework, no. Robert would have to do anything Pablo asked of him, lest Pablo blab about what he saw.

“Okay, what’s funny this time?” asked Robert.

“Nothing, just that… You’re kinda like my bitch, now.”

Robert closed his eyes and grimaced. “I guess… Hey, are you good, bro? You don’t look okay.”

“Well, I uh… Came up here looking for the bathroom,” Pablo said, looking downright green and clutching his stomach. “‘Cause I wasn’t feeling very well…”

“Pablo, no, don’t you dare, these are my favorite shoes- PABLO!”

* * *

By the time the last of the guests had left, it wasn’t even Halloween anymore. But that was okay. It’s not like anyone would be showing up to school the next day anyway.

“Jeez, babe, what got into you? You were sober for like, the whole party, then you just start drinking like your life depends on it,” said Marco, as he walked to the guest room, hand in hand with Robert.

“‘Cause, I was in a silly goofy mood. Doing silly goofy things… Getting thrown up on,” the poor, drunk boy said.

Marco dismissed his boyfriend’s ramblings as nonsense. “Alright, well, let’s get you to bed.”

When the two entered the large, elegant guest bedroom, Marco didn’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting to give Robert a headache. 

Robert flopped onto the bed without even getting under the covers, and Marco heard him mutter something while Marco was prying his oddly sticky shoes off.

“... You don’t deserve this.”

Marco furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of what ‘this’ meant. He assumed it just meant dealing with a drunk Robert.

“Nonsense,” Marco said, approaching the head of the bed. Robert’s eyes were closed. Marco smoothed back Robert’s hair, and placed a kiss on his forehead, which still had writing on it. “I love you.”

He was halfway out the door when he heard Robert’s slurred response.

“I love you too, Tommy.”

Chapter Text

“And that, Trentski, is how Grimace is responsible for the Mets’ success since June. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.”

“... For fuck’s sake, Robbo,” Trent said, head in hands. “I’m never asking you about the weather again.”

That was the first exchange Mr. Klopp heard upon entering his classroom Friday morning, and he knew better than to ask what they were talking about. He hadn’t yet had enough coffee to endure one of Andy’s ramblings.

“Good morning!” Klopp greeted as he weaved through the students’ desks and headed to his own.

He was met with a chorus of hi’s and hello’s from teenagers who were almost as tired as he was, but not quite. After all, he was still exhausted from staying up late last night to grade exams.

The first few minutes of first period progressed as usual, with Klopp silently taking attendance and the students doing literally anything besides the schoolwork they were supposed to be using this free period for.

Of course, while Klopp marked all his students ‘present’ on the school’s database, he totally didn’t listen in on the gossipping of the students in front of him.

“So, Weston told Christian who told Olivier who told me,” said Ibou to his friends, his naturally loud, charismatic voice making eavesdropping a breeze. “That Federico’s thinking of transferring homerooms…” He finished that sentence in a tone that indicated he was implying something.

This bit of tea earned Ibou a gasp from Alexis, Dominik, and Curtis. The four boys had angled their desks to better face each other, something the students always do in the morning. It was always a pain in the ass for Klopp to rearrange them at the end of every day.

“Federico’s friends with, like, his whole class,” Curtis said. “Why would he wanna leave?”

Ibou was more than willing to answer. “Well, Mr. Allegri got fired, right, and the dude they hired to replace him? Apparently he hates Fede’s guts, or something.”

The boys looked not only shocked, but downright offended. “How could someone not like him?” Alexis asked. “He’s, like, a total sweetheart. Well, to everyone that’s not Dusan.”

Ibou just shrugged.

“Well, I hope he transfers to our class,” said Dominik, sitting back and kicking his feet up on his desk, clearly not caring that Klopp had asked him not to do that on several different occasions. “‘Cause he’s really cute,” he continued, raising his voice a bit.

A few desks away, Trent started choking violently on his Monster energy drink.

“What’s wrong, Trent?” Dominik asked his fellow sophomore, voice so innocent it had to be an act. “You okay?”

Trent nodded, taking a comically loud gulp. “N-nothing, just that, uh… he has a boyfriend, so…” he said, voice much shyer than usual.

“Meh,” Dominik said with a shrug, shooting Trent his most charming smile. “Boyfriends are just a… minor speedbump.”

Trent looked moments away from a cardiac episode, and Klopp was about to ask if he needed to go to the nurse’s office when a knock was heard at the door.

Wataru, who was closest to the door, looked through the window next to the locked door, then back at Klopp. “It’s Mr. Guardiola,” he said.

“Let him in, please,” Klopp requested, and Wataru unlocked the classroom door to do just that.

Mr. Guardiola entered the room, clad in one of his signature gray turtlenecks. Sometimes Klopp wondered if those were the only kinds of shirts Guardiola owned. 

“P- I mean - Mr. Guardiola!” Klopp greeted with his megawatt grin, watching as Guardiola weaved through the scattered desks, stopping to smile at the kids who had him for Spanish class. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing, just,” Guardiola said, pausing to look at the maze of desks he just maneuvered through. “Gosh, your room’s a fucking mess, Jur- Mr. Klopp.”

“The boys like to move stuff around,” Klopp said, fond smile on his face. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be watching your kids?”

“They’re fine, I left Kevin in charge.”

“Ah, yes, letting a teenager supervise other teenagers… What could go wrong?”

Guardiola rolled his eyes, clearly not in the mood to get into a debate over his teaching methods. “Anyways,” he started, “Did you hear that the, uh… teacher supply store’s closing?”

“No,” Klopp said, sounding mildly upset. “The one on thirtieth?”

“Yeah, yeah, that one… Anyway, uh, they’re having this huge everything-must-go sale, so I figured that since tomorrow’s Saturday, maybe we could get some stuff… Together.”

Guardiola did that little movement that someone would do if they were tucking hair behind their ear. Only he had no hair.

“Yeah, sure,” Klopp said with a shrug, barely putting any thought into his answer.

“Great!” Guardiola exclaimed a little too loudly, earning him looks from the kids closest to Klopp’s desk. “I mean, uh, great. Hey, would you mind maybe giving me a ride? Just that my car’s in the shop and Uber isn’t exactly cheap, so…”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Klopp, followed by some silence. “... Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it! I’ll, uh, see myself out…” 

With that, Guardiola weaved through the desk maze and out the door.

Once Mr. Guardiola was gone, Klopp decided he should probably be productive and get back to grading those exams, since he wasn’t able to get through all of them last night. And so he began sifting through the absolute war zone that was his desk in an effort to find said exams.

After a few moments, Klopp’s fruitless searching was interrupted by the sound of giggles from his students.

“Robbo, put that down, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said out of habit, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“Wha- I’m not even doing anything this time!” exclaimed the junior.

That got Klopp’s attention, and he looked up to see that Andy was, in fact, not doing something stupid. “Oh. Sorry. Then what’s so funny?”

The giggles resumed, and Dominik was the first to pull himself together soon enough to answer. “Mr. Klopp, Mr. Guardiola was totally trying to rizz you up!” he exclaimed.

For a moment there, Klopp genuinely thought the sophomore in front of him was speaking Hungarian. “I’m sorry… what?” he asked, taking off his glasses and giving them a good clean, as if that would help him to better understand.

“I said, Mr. Guardiola was totally rizzing you up!”

“... Is that some kind of drug?”

“We’re saying he was trying to flirt with you,” said Virgil matter-of-factly from his spot next to the rarely used whiteboard.

Klopp put his glasses back on, and it all started to click. “Wait, so he wants tomorrow to be, like… a date?” he asked wearily.

Looking up, Klopp was met with looks that said ‘no shit.’

“... Oh,” came his response, sounding unpleased.

“What’s wrong?” asked Alexis, sitting with his chair leaning dangerously on its front legs. “You don’t wanna go out with him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, why not?”

“I just… am not interested in dating a bald person.”

“Well, that’s mean!” Mohamed piped up from the back of the class, having awoken from his morning nap just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. “I think the look is kinda cool. In fact, I might wanna go for it myself,” he said, pushing back his unruly curls.

Next to Mohamed, Kostas looked absolutely mortified. “Okay, we will unpack that later,” he said, gesturing to Mohamed’s hair.

“Can we unpack that now, actually?” asked Klopp, really not wanting to further discuss his dating life with a bunch of teenagers.

“No!” Kostas shouted indignantly, eager to get back to the topic at hand. “Look, whether you wanna date Mr. Guardiola or not, you just agreed to go out with him.”

Klopp leaned forward onto his desk, head in hands. “Yippee…”

* * *

Come Saturday, Pep got his long-awaited ‘I’m outside’ text from Jurgen, and was off his couch and at the front door of his apartment building in seconds. Of course, he actually stood at the door for a minute before opening it and heading outside. He didn’t wanna look desperate, or anything.

Outside Pep’s apartment building was Jurgen’s shabby old red Volkswagen that the German man had had since before some of his students were even born. Not that Pep could complain. His car - which was parked a block away, notably not at the shop - was no better. 

He trotted to Jurgen’s car with all the confidence in the world, stopping once he got to the passenger side door. “Beautiful day, huh Jur-”

Pep cut himself off as he opened the door of Jurgen’s car, only to find that the passenger seat was occupied by none other than Xavi Hernandez.

“Hey,” greeted Xavi.

Pep must have looked as confused as he felt, because Jurgen felt the need to poke his head out from behind Xavi and explain himself. 

“Pep, hey! I told some of the others about the sale, and we figured we’d make a day of it,” Jurgen said, directing his gaze to their friends in the back seat.

“Hi,” Mikel said with a polite wave.

At the window opposite Mikel sat Diego Simeone. “Yeah, Xavi’s broke ass wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to save money,” he snickered.

“Shut up,” sighed Xavi, only to get his seat kicked in response.

Pep wanted to tear his follicles out. This was supposed to be a one-on-one thing! It was just like high school all over again…

“You should get in,” Jurgen said, sounding tired of Xavi and Simeone’s bickering.

Pep rounded the vehicle, opening the door on Mikel’s side.

“You gonna move over?” Pep asked.

“I like the window seat,” came his coworker’s response.

Pep sighed. This was gonna be a long day.

Crawling over Mikel’s lap and into the miniscule middle seat was no easy feat, but after bumping into Mikel several times and uttering a stupid amount of apologies, he managed.

The group finally hit the road, Jurgen’s car making all sorts of questionable noises whilst doing so.

“Gosh, Jurgen,” said Pep, gazing down at the car floor, littered with empty fast food bags and assignments that were dated from several semesters ago. “Your classroom, your car, do you own anything that isn’t a complete mess?”

From the rear view mirror, Pep could see Jurgen roll his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll clean that up tomorrow, jeez.”

“That’s what you said about your desk, and you still can’t see the surface of-”

“Can you two knock it off?” Simeone said, and it didn’t sound like a request. “If I wanted to hear two people bitch at each other nonstop, I’d have dinner with my parents.”

“Speaking of parents,” Mikel said, not tearing his gaze away from the window, eyes set on the Georgetown streets that zoomed by. “First parent-teacher conferences of the year are coming up soon. So yeah, Jurgen, you might wanna have your room looking presentable for once.”

“Exactly!” Pep shouted, vindicated.

“Aw, don’t encourage him!” Jurgen groaned. “Besides, it’s not like any of the parents show up to those things anyway. Too busy doing…” He took a long, thoughtful pause, to the point where the other occupants of the car thought he was done talking. “What the fuck do they do again?”

Xavi, along with everyone else in the car, for that matter, looked at Jurgen like he was stupid. “They’re… diplomats,” he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a small child. Now that he thought about it, he found himself taking that tone with one of his students, Pablo, more and more these days.

“I know that,” Jurgen scoffed, offended, as he made no effort to hide his eye roll. “I mean, what do they do?”

“They… handle matters of diplomacy and promote their country’s interests,” said Mikel.

“Yes, but what does that mean?” said Jurgen. He was normally a patient man, but he had just spent an entire week dealing with teenagers, so needless to say, that patience was wearing thin.

“Jurgen, what do you mean?” asked Simeone, his coworkers humming in agreement.

“I mean… Look, I’m a teacher, right? Every day I go into work, I sit down at my desk. I take attendance, I give lectures, I grade exams, yada yada yada. These people - who make more in a month than I do in a year, mind you - they go into work, sit down at their desks, and…”

“Handle matters of diplomacy and promote their country’s interests,” interjected Pep.

“Oh my gosh,” Jurgen muttered under his breath as he rolled into a parking spot at their destination. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only sane one in this school. Everyone get out.”

* * *

In a store as small as the teacher’s supply store, getting someone alone was damn near impossible. There weren’t enough aisles to warrant splitting up, and anything said in one corner of the store could be heard by all the others. The whole place resembled The Backrooms, with the walls painted an offputting yellow, and the fluorescent lights constantly emitting an uncomfortable hum.

Hence Pep meandering in one of the aisles with Jurgen and Simeone, silently willing Simeone to turn around and walk away.

Luckily, his silent willing was interrupted by the sound of rushed footsteps, and Mikel bursting into their aisle. “Guys, Xavi is haggling with the cashier over the price of a singular pencil,” he said through laughter. “C’mon, you gotta see this!”

With that, Mikel scampered off, Simeone in tow. Leaving just…

“You’re not gonna join them?” Pep asked Jurgen, the only other occupant in their short aisle.

Jurgen took a moment to respond, as he was comparing the prices between two industrial-sized boxes of pens. “I’ve seen enough of Xavi’s haggling to know how this ends,” he eventually said with a little chuckle.

Pep looked at the contents of Jurgen’s cart, and saw that it wasn’t just the pens. He was buying everything in bulk, like the world was ending or something. “You cannot possibly need that much stuff,” Pep said.

Jurgen glanced at his almost-full cart. “Oh, it’s not all for me,” he said, as if it was obvious. “It’s for the students.”

Pep raised an eyebrow, confused. “I’m, uh… pretty sure our student body can afford their own school supplies.”

“C’mon, you don’t think their parents are actually reading those supply lists we send out every summer, do you?” Jurgen replied, chucking one of the boxes of pens into his cart.

“Yeah, fair point,” Pep conceded. “How much you wanna bet none of them show up to parent-teacher conferences?”

“Gosh, I hope they don’t. The last thing I wanna do is spend another afternoon correcting Robbo’s father when he gets his own son’s name wrong.”

Understanding that feeling all too well, Pep hummed in agreement, and silently went back to his browsing. He figured he should buy some autumn-themed decorations, seeing as it was now early November, and was internally debating over what color best complimented his classroom’s sky blue theme when-

“I think I’m gonna retire.”

With a confused look on his face, Pep turned to face Jurgen, who was still looking intently at the store shelves. “Sorry,” Pep started, certain he misheard. “Whaddid you say?”

“I said I think I’m gonna retire after this school year,” Jurgen restated, facing Pep and sounding like what he was saying was no big deal at all.

Pep spent a few seconds opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “Why?” he eventually settled on. His tone came in a whisper, as if discussing state secrets.

Jurgen’s response was equally quiet. “I’m just running out of energy,” he said with a shrug.

That response did nothing to clear things up for Pep. “Whaddo you mean?” he asked, sounding unconvinced, as if this was a decision that required his approval.

“It’s exactly as it sounds, Pep - I’m running out of energy. Believe me, if you had my class, you’d understand.”

Pep, who had recently spent a day as a substitute for Jurgen’s class, shuddered in agreement.

“Besides,” Jurgen continued, “I’m an opa now, and I’d like to actually spend some time with the little guy.”

Pep crossed his arms and scowled, clearly not thrilled about his favorite coworker ditching him for a baby he couldn’t even make conversation with. “You don’t even know if that baby’s fun to hang out with,” he muttered petulantly under his breath, hoping Jurgen wouldn’t overhear.

Jurgen did in fact overhear Pep’s snarky comment, but only let out a jovial laugh in response. “You’ve got a point!” he exclaimed, removing his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his red crewneck. Now that Pep thought about it, it did look like the kind of sweater someone’s opa would wear. “I don’t think the baby likes hanging out with me very much. Every time I look at the little guy, he starts screaming. My son says it’s because I ‘look like a serial killer.’”

Jurgen stopped rambling for a moment to give Pep a once-over. “Not you, though,” he said. “You’re perfect, I’m sure the baby would like you a lot.”

Pep froze in place, the sound of Jurgen’s voice saying ‘You’re perfect’ repeating on loop in his bald head. That simple sentence had him so ecstatic, that for a moment he forgot the horrid news that had just been forced upon him.

The news that Jurgen would be leaving.

“Now who’s my competition gonna be?” Pep asked, distraught.

Jurgen, who had just put his glasses back on, tilted his head, resulting in them almost falling off. “What?” he asked. “For the end-of-semester pizza party?” Naturally, he was referring to the pizza party that the homeroom with the highest GPA got the privilege of enjoying every semester.

“Yes! You’re my only real competition around here!”

Jurgen laughed and shook his head, clearly finding Pep’s distress amusing. “Pep, my class has literally beat yours once; I’d hardly call that competition,” he said.

“Yes, we always beat you guys, but we hafta try to beat you! With you gone, who’s gonna be our competition? Mikel?” asked Pep, who was clearly displeased at the idea.

“Mikel’s class puts up a good fight,” said Jurgen, not sounding very defensive.

“No they don’t!”

“No,” Jurgen agreed, “They really don’t.”

Jurgen must have thought that was the end of that, because he just went back to his shopping.

“Jurgen,” Pep said, getting the other’s attention. “I… I’m gonna miss-”

“Guys,” came a voice from the end of the short aisle, and Pep and Jurgen turned to see that Simeone had returned from watching Xavi’s haggling disasterclass. “Have I got the offer for you.”

He proceeded to approach his coworkers, doing his best impression of a polite smile. It was creepy as hell.

“Would any of you perchance be willing to take a certain student off my hands?”

Pep narrowed his eyes, immediately forgetting about his conversation with Jurgen. He did not fuck around when it came to transfers, and carefully curated his class to have the best GPA possible at any given time. “Who?” he asked.

Simeone’s smile faltered, as if he knew his proposal wasn’t very appealing. “João Felix,” he said warily.

Both Pep and Jurgen rolled their eyes, their competitive gazes becoming a lot less intense.

“Oh, my gosh,” Jurgen said. “You’ve been trying to get that kid transferred since last year, just let it go already.”

“I can’t!” Simeone exclaimed, the ever present wild look returning to his beady eyes. “He’s so annoying, and he’s constantly undermining my authority, he thinks he can do whatever he wants just because he was ‘gifted’ in middle school, somehow, and… I just hate everything about that kid!”

“You realize you’re beefing with a fifteen year old,” said Jurgen.

“Sixteen in a week.”

“That is not better.”

“Didn’t you pawn him off to Graham, or Xavi, or something?” interjected Pep, rubbing his temples to prevent an oncoming headache.

“They both gave the little punk back,” said Simeone, agitated.

Jurgen’s brows furrowed into a look of sympathy. “Don’t you think it’s kinda mean to talk about one of your students like that?” he asked. “I know some of them can be difficult, but they’re all sweet boys who just need the guidance theyre clearly not getting at home, so-”

Simeone opened his mouth - to tell Jurgen off, no doubt - but he was interrupted by Mikel and Xavi joining them in the aisle.

“Hey,” said Mikel. “Xavi and I were thinking about getting a beer, you in? He needs to drink his sorrows away after that embarrassing display of haggling.”

At the mention of beer, Jurgen immediately forgot what he was just lecturing Simeone about.

“Am I ever,” he said, rushing his cart to checkout as fast as he possibly could.

* * *

Jurgen’s favorite bar in the district was located in Capitol Hill, meaning it was frequented by very important important people who needed a break from doing their very important things.

Tonight, however, the bar was mostly occupied by a bunch of private school teachers. Once the initial group of five had gotten there, they ended up calling some of their other coworkers, and within an hour, over half the bar was occupied by the UEFA teachers.

“Jose!” Jurgen exclaimed when he saw Jose enter the dark bar and approach the group. “Don’t you, uh, not work with us any-”

“What?” Jose responded, abrasive as ever and he stuffed his hands into his too-long winter coat. “Just because I got fired, I can’t go to a bar anymore?”

“Fair enough,” Jurgen said, finishing off his fourth pint of beer and placing the empty glass on the counter for the bartender to refill. “Take a seat, uh…”

He looked around to see that the only seat on their side of the bar that wasn’t taken by a UEFA teacher was currently being occupied by some brown-haired man in a suit talking into a flip phone. He had that certain, unnameable sort of energy about him that many other DC residents had, that just made it obvious that he was someone important. Jose was about to approach the man, probably to ask for his seat at the bar, when the man started barking orders into his phone.

“Damn it, Donna, I need that meeting! Did you tell him Josh Lyman sent you?” the man exclaimed, impatiently tapping his fingers against the counter as he awaited a response. “Well tell him again if you have to! Leo said that if this isn’t done by tomorrow, the press is gonna ask CJ about it, and she won’t be prepared to-”

“Here, take my seat,” Jurgen offered Jose, getting up as the stressed man’s ramblings faded into the mindless chatter of the bar. It really wouldn’t bode well for Jose’s current job search if he got into a bar fight with someone important.

So Jose took Jurgen’s spot at the bar, leaving Jurgen to stand. After getting yet another pint, he meandered over to the edge of the bar, where Pep, Xavi, and Mikel were crowded around a piece of paper.

“What’re we looking at?” Jurgen asked, peering between Pep and Xavi.

Mikel, who was grading papers at a bar like a fucking nerd, looked up at Jurgen with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you wanna see the single worst paper I’ve ever had to grade?” he asked, clearly hoping for an affirmative.

“Is the Pope Catholic?” Jurgen responded without missing a beat. “Gimme.”

Mikel handed over the single sheet of paper, which had a sticky note covering where the student’s name should be, and one glance at the title already had Jurgen reeling.

“‘Mario, the Idea vs. Mario, the Man?’” Jurgen read aloud, feeling like he just lost years off his lifespan. “What the fuck?”

“Keep going,” urged Pep through an appletini-induced giggle. “It gets worse.”

Unfortunately for Jurgen’s remaining brain cells, he kept going. “‘Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck’... Who knows why he crushes turtles?’” he read. “Uh, to save the princess? Also gross.”

“No no wait, read this part,” Xavi insisted, pointing to the end of the third paragraph. His breath smelled like tequila.

“‘We think of Mario as a hero, but he is simply a one percenter’ - why are we saying this? - ‘of a more privileged variety. The lifekind. Perchance.’” That last sentence really did Jurgen in, and he slammed the paper onto the counter. “You can’t just say ‘perchance’!” he exclaimed.

“That’s what I said!” agreed Mikel, taking the paper back.

“C’mon, you hafta tell us who wrote that paper,” Pep pleaded.

“Can’t,” said Mikel, putting the paper back in his brown leather satchel. “It’s one of you guys’ boys.”

“I’ll buy your next drink if you tell us,” blurted Xavi, who must have been really drunk if he was willing to spend a cent he didn’t have to.

That offer was all it took, and in the blink of an eye, Mikel had the paper back out of his bag, and was ripping off the sticky note for his coworkers to see the name typed onto the top left corner.

Pablo Gavira

Pep and Jurgen let out dramatic gasps, turning to look at Xavi, who didn’t look all that surprised. “Checks out,” he said with a shrug. “Ever since like, Halloween, Pablo’s been on some weird shit about his ‘journey of self discovery.’ Lately, all he does in class is make goo-goo eyes at Pedri and pawn his homework off on Robert. So I’d bet money Pablo didn’t even write that monstrosity.”

Jurgen grimaced. The fact that that disaster of an essay was probably written by student seven months away from graduation, and not a thirteen year old boy, made it so, so much worse.

A few seats down, Jose craned his neck to look at Xavi. “So you’re just letting that kid turn in assignments he didn’t do?” he asked, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the bar. “That’s disrespectful, you know! Disrespectful to you, to his other teachers, to this institution, to academia as a whole-”

“Yeah, but if I get him in trouble, I hafta get Robert in trouble, and the kid’s about to graduate. Academic dishonestly would prevent him from going to college, and I’m not gonna ruin his life just because he’s doing his friend a favor.”

“No, no,” a polite voice interjected from a few seats down from Mikel. The group turned to see one of their coworkers that had been invited to their outing - Edin Terzić. “You should totally ruin that little bastard’s life.”

Jurgen raised his eyebrows in shock. “Wow,” he said. “That’s a… strong way to talk about a seventeen year old.”

“All due respect, Jurgen, I’ve lost count of the amount of times poor Marco’s cried over that rancid boy. And those are just the times that I know of. That kid is of the devil.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Jurgen scoffed, taking a swig of beer. He’d had Robert in his history class a few times, and knew that the Polish ambassador’s son was a pleasure to have in class. Sure, he had some drama following him, but what high schooler didn’t? “So he’s a bit of a player, good for him!”

Edin’s eyes narrowed, barely noticeable considering he was a few seats away. “That kid is evil,” he insisted.

“He’s not evil,” countered Xavi, quick to defend one of his students. “He’s just seventeen.”

“Yeah, well, I dunno about you, but a lot of people manage to be seventeen without cheating on their boyfriends.”

“He’s right!” Pep agreed, finishing his third or fourth appletini of the night, his face flushed. “In fact, some of us… got cheated on.”

Pep immediately started choking up, tilting his head on Jurgen’s shoulder.

“Oh, uh-” Jurgen sputtered, unsure of how to deal with this sudden contact, which was weird, considering how much of a hugger he was. Slowly but surely, he brought his hand to Pep’s smooth head. “There, there…”

Jurgen made eye contact with his coworkers in a silent plea for help. Of which he received none.

“Alright,” he said awkwardly, shifting Pep off of him. “You’ve had too much to drink; time to take our leave."

* * *

Fortunately, Guardiola’s appletini-induced hangover had left him by Monday morning, so the fluorescent lights of his classroom didn’t absolutely blind him.

As usual, his classroom was pretty quiet when he walked in five minutes before the first period bell rang. Only this time, he could tell it wasn’t just silence from fear of getting yelled at. No, this silence was anticipatory.

Being situated right in front of Guardiola’s desk, Phil was the first to accost him. 

“Soooo,” the sophomore started, leaning so far forward that his chair threatened to tip out from under him. “How did your date with Mr. Klopp go?”

Guardiola sighed as he lifted his head to find the expecting stares of twenty or so teenagers, all eagerly awaiting his response. In just a moment, they would look as disappointed as he felt.

“I don’t think he, as you guys say, ‘understood the assignment.’ ‘Cause he kind of, uhm… brought other people.”

The expectant stares of Guardiola’s class all turned to grimaces.

“Big yikes,” Jack hissed. “Negative aura.”

“Bro did not cook,” added Erling.

“It’s joever for bro,” Rodri chimed in.

“Me when I get friendzoned,” said Ilkay.

“It’s okay, Mr. Guardiola,” said Kevin, kind eyes filled with sympathy. “Men ain’t shit.”

Guardiola was going to thank Kevin, but John spoke up before he could do so. “It’s giving chronically single,” he said.

“L, plus ratio, plus you’re bald, plus you fell off,” said Ederson, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Maybe you didn’t mew hard enough,” suggested Josko.

“Went to the no bitches convention and everyone there knew you,” said Bernardo, and everyone in the class seemed to get a kick out of that, joining him in repeating that stupid 'no bitches' phrase over and over again.

Guardiola thunked his head onto the desk. Days ago, he thought Jurgen refusing his request to go out would be the worst possible outcome.

But no. Getting roasted by a room full of teenagers was so, so much worse.

Chapter Text

Even as someone in a relationship, Robert never understood what compelled high school couples to act like they were never going to see each other again before they parted ways for class. Because, once again, Dusan and Federico were entangled in each other’s arms, gazing wistfully into each others’ eyes before they separated for fourth period - which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that they were doing so right in front of Robert’s locker. Again. 

Robert wondered if he and Thomas had looked like that back in the day. No, he knew they had. It felt so long ago, when it had only been eight months.

“Uh, guys,” Robert said awkwardly when he approached the couple at his locker. “I hate to be that guy - again - but that’s kinda my locker, again, so, uh…”

Poor Federico turned an embarrassing shade of crimson, while Dusan remained unbothered. “Sorry, man,” he said, not tearing his love drunk gaze away from the boy he had barely separated from. “Got a little carried away.”

Federico at least had the courtesy to give Robert a sheepish, apologetic glance before he took Dusan’s wrist and led the whipped teen away, probably while quietly scolding him.

Finally free to open his locker, Robert stuffed some excess books from his old, busted bookbag in there, all the while thinking about what he and Marco were going to do after school, since they had made plans to hang out. 

He was contemplating said plans when an unwelcome voice piped up from next to him.

“Hi, Robert!” exclaimed Pablo Gavi, unknowingly looking like a little boy scout as he tightly held onto his bookbag straps. He still had the freshman light in his eyes - so young, so full of hope.

With a sigh, Robert brought out his folder and rummaged through it until he could find the papers he was looking for.

“Here you go,” he said, extending the papers to Pablo. “I got your algebra worksheet, the final draft of that paper for Mr. Arteta’s class, and I’m gonna work on your Spanish homework during lunch. Why you won’t do that yourself, considering that’s literally your first language and you’ll probably get a better grade that way is beyond me…”

Pablo smiled gratefully as he flipped through the homework the senior had done for him. “Hey, I’m the one who caught you cheating on your boyfriend, so I make the rules here,” he said, looking far to cheery for someone who was raking up enough academic dishonesty to potentially get him expelled.

Robert clenched his jaw as the vein on the side of his head looked like it was about to burst, like it often did when this topic came up. “For the hundredth time,” he started, “I wasn’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, me when I lie,” Pablo answered. Robert didn’t know what the hell that meant, and figured it was probably something the kids were saying these days. Great. Now he felt guilty and decrepit.

“Anyway,” Pablo continued, “You have lunch this period, right? You’re not busy?”

“Uh, no, actually, I have a test in Mr. Mourinho’s class. I don’t have lunch ‘til fifth period.”

Pablo grimaced. “That sucks,” he said, “‘cause I kinda need you to do something for me.”

Robert blinked. Did he misspeak? Was his English not as good as he thought it was? “I don’t think you understand, I just said-”

“I’m sorry, who’s the one with the blackmail material?” Pablo asked, not giving Robert a second to answer before continuing. “I need you to go to that coffee place you work at and nab a banana milk coffee for Pedri. He could really use a pick-me-up right now, and you know bananas are his favorite, so I wanna surprise him with-”

“Woah woah woah woah woah woah woah-” Robert said firmly, trying his best to sound like an adult, and even giving Pablo a little ‘stop’ hand to get him to shut up. “Our-” Robert started, before glancing around and lowering his voice. “Our ‘agreement’ was that I do your homework for you, not help you in your quest to woo Pedri.”

Pablo scoffed and crossed his skinny arms, trying to look as menacing as a freshman in a green Minecraft Creeper shirt possibly could. “Alright, fine then,” he said, sounding mighty proud of himself. “I’ll just tell Marco what I saw on Halloween.”

Robert visibly relaxed, dropping his tense shoulders. “No you won’t, kid,” he said, voice much softer now.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘cause if you do, you won’t have leverage over- what are you doing?”

“Nothing, nothing,” said Pablo, who had taken his phone out and was swiping through it. “Carry on.”

“Uh, okay. Look, what I’m trying to say is that you won’t tell Marco, because if you do, you won’t have anything to blackmail me with, and thus, you will have no one to do your homework for you, so can we stop pretending-”

Unfortunately for Robert, Pablo had just put his phone up to his ear. “Hey, Marco?” said the freshman, gleeful smile on his young face. “It’s me, Pablo! Just wanted to-”

“Wha- HEY!” Robert shouted, not even hesitating before jumping the kid in front of him in a desperate rush to end that phone call. 

What resulted was a good minute-long tussle between the two boys. Though Robert was a fair deal taller than Pablo and had long, lanky arms, Pablo was a scrappy little guy.

“Pablo- gimme that-” Robert pleaded in between reaches, the screen of the phone reading ‘Marco’ practically taunting him. “Gimme the phone, oh my gosh-!”

Pablo, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, laughing like a little maniac as he held that phone out of Robert’s reach for dear life. Unfortunately, he could only hold the taller boy off for so long, and Robert eventually snagged his phone.

With all the determination in the world, Robert hit the red button to end the call like he was disarming a nuclear weapon. “HA!” he triumphantly exclaimed, shoving the phone in his younger classmate’s face.

Amongst the commotion came a snarky voice from a few feet away. “Beating up a freshman now, are we?” 

Robert and Pablo were both equally displeased to see the amused grin of Sergio Ramos, standing there with his hands in his jeans’ pockets, and Luka at his side as always. 

It seemed the little scuffle attracted a few onlookers as well, as Robert spotted Trent and Andy watching them from several yards away, like Robert and Pablo’s altercation was the most interesting thing they had ever seen in their lives.

“That’s low, Robert,” Sergio said, shaking his head even though his voice was not at all disapproving, and in fact very mocking. “Even for you.”

Beside Sergio, Luka tried to give him a disapproving look, yet his lips momentarily curled into an amused, fond smile.

“Uh, we were just, uh,” Robert sputtered, beyond embarrassed that he was being called out by Sergio Ramos of all people.

“Don’t listen to him, Robert,” Pablo said defensively, trying and failing to hide the fear in his trembling voice. “He’s no better - you should’ve seen what he did to Pau the other day for ‘looking at Luka the wrong way,’” he said, complete with air quotes.

Luka raised his eyebrows, and turned his head to face Sergio, his dark blonde hair swooshing as he did so.

“You what?” he asked. Though his voice was calm, Sergio looked absolutely terrified, and Pablo thought it was nice to see fear etched on his face, for once.

“Ah, uh, nothing!” Sergio stammered, before turning to Pablo and not-so-quietly whispering through gritted teeth, “I will snap you in half.”

Poor Pablo squeaked in fear and cowered behind Robert, gripping the senior’s leather jacket for dear life.

To Robert’s credit, he tucked Pablo behind him in a vaguely protective manner, even though the kid was actively blackmailing him.

“You can do that later,” Luka whined, not-so-gently tugging on Sergio’s arm. “C’mon, I wanna get coffee before our lunch period’s over!”

“Yes, yes, of couse,” said Sergio, voice uncharacteristically and pathetically soft. He and Luka took a couple steps to leave before Sergio pretended to jump at Pablo for a second, making the freshman squeak in abject terror.

“Gosh, that never stops being funny!” Sergio said after letting out a nice hard laugh. He then waved Pablo and Robert goodbye, in a manner everything but friendly. “Bye, Pablo! Bye, adulterer!”

“A-what?” Pablo asked once Sergio and Luka had left through the nearby front door.

“Uh, nothing,” replied Robert. “Now what did you want me to get your little boyfriend again?”

“Pedri’s not my boyfriend,” Pablo said, with his cute little ever present pout.

“He could be, if you were man enough to ask him,” said Robert, as he slammed his locker shut and leaned back against it, crossing his arms.

“Not the toxic mascu-” Pablo cut himself off as he spotted something, or someone, behind Robert. “Oh, gosh…” he sighed, uncharacteristically exhausted.

Turning around to see what Pablo was looking at, Robert felt time stop for a second, and he could feel his heartbeat quicken within his chest, because Thomas was right in front of him, handsome as ever, in the maroon ‘Washington DC’ crewneck sweater he had picked up at Dulles a couple years ago, and had worn almost religiously since.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Thomas said sheepishly, voice loud as ever, which was music to Robert’s ears. “I just couldn’t help but notice you two getting accosted by Sergio Ramos, so, uh, you guys okay?”

“Better now,” Robert responded immediately, suddenly making it a point to fix up his hair which had gotten messed up while he was wrestling Pablo, and straightening the black leather jacket that he thought made him look so cool.

Pablo just watched the two’s exchange with a raised, judgemental eyebrow.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be in pre calc right now?” Thomas asked, pulling his sleeve up momentarily to glance at his expensive watch.

“Why do you know your ex’s schedule?” Pablo inquired, narrowing his big, brown eyes.

“Silence, Pablo, the adults are talking,” said Robert through gritted teeth, not moving his gaze even an inch, as he was too busy staring longingly into Thomas’ green-blue eyes to even glance at the interrupting freshman. “But, yeah, I’m, uh, skipping. I’m gonna go get some coffee…”

A cheshire grin crept onto Robert’s face as he got an idea. “You should come with me, tomcat,” he said, a juvenile sense of mischief in his voice.

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek, pretending to look really contemplative, but the look in his eyes suggested that he already had his mind made up. “Hm, I dunno,” he said, reaching out and taking Robert’s wrist, playing with the zipper on his jacket sleeve that was just there for decoration.

Poor Robert’s face was so red he looked moments away from heatstroke, like this was the most intimate thing in the whole world.

Pablo, meanwhile, gagged. Not that anyone was paying enough attention to him to notice.

“Maybe if you pay for mine,” Thomas suggested, his voice light and playful, like he was totally unaware that he was very actively sending his ex-boyfriend to an early grave.

“I can do that,” Robert said immediately. “White mocha, extra white chocolate, two caramels - just the way you like it.”

“A-are you seriously doing this?” Pablo stammered, loud enough to finally tear the two senior’s gazes away from each other. “Right here? Right- right in front of my homework?”

Robert and Thomas blinked, finally snapping out of whatever little trance they had each other in, and each realizing that they were, in fact, blatantly flirting with each other in the middle of the hallway, in front of Pablo and his precious homework, and who knows how many other potential witnesses. 

Robert was the first to speak. “Yup,” he said shamelessly, turning and leaving, with Thomas not far behind.

“Don’t forget Pedri’s coffee!” Pablo shouted as the two walked away, almost positive that Robert would be so caught up in spending time with his ex that he would forget why he was getting coffee in the first place.

“I know!”

Once the two were gone, Pablo let… that, sink in. Those two were so shameless with each other it made Pablo cringe, and also made him… yearn a little.

He wondered if there would ever come a day where he could flirt with Pedri like that, if he could have him under his spell the way Thomas had Robert under his. 

Fat chance.

* * *

Maybe Marco was weird for it, but he really enjoyed watching his friends argue over dumb shit during lunch every day.

“What’s the topic today?” Jude asked Marco as Jude took a seat beside him in the booth.

“The ending of Lost,” Marco replied, picking a dry, bland French fry off his plate.

“Mats here thinks the Islanders were dead the whole time,” said Mario, not-at-all-gently nudging his friend in the ribcage. “‘Cause he’s stupid.”

Mats looked truly, genuinely baffled. “I’m stupid for understanding the ending of the fucking show? They literally tell us-”

“Oh, my gosh!” exclaimed Mario, getting more heated with each passing second. “Did you not watch the fucking show?! Christian Shephard literally tells his son ‘the most important time of your life was the time you spent on The Island with your friends,’ or something like that, which-!”

“Yeah, he says that to Jack in the afterlife! ‘Cause they’re dead!”

“I’m gonna strangle you.”

“As if-”

Luckily for everyone at the table, Mario and Mats were stopped from potentially killing each other when Marco’s phone started to ring. Due to the volume of the cafeteria, the group couldn’t hear it ring, but they all felt the vibration on the table.

Having no decorum whatsoever, Jude turned the phone over, so the screen was facing up. In place of Marco’s usual lock screen - a photo of him and his friends at homecoming, a certain Polish boyfriend notably absent - was the incoming call screen with a contact name.

“Why’s Robert’s little freshman friend calling you?” he asked Marco.

“You know Pablo?” Mats asked, unaware that the two were in the same circles.

“Yeah, he anonymously sends everyone in Mr. Ancelotti’s class death threats on Twitter.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s right.”

“Guys, shush,” Marco told his friends, answering the call and putting the phone up to his ear. “Uh, hello?”

Jude shamelessly put his ear up to Marco’s phone as well, privacy be damned.

“Hey, Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s me, Pablo! Just wanted to- agh, hey-!”

Marco and Jude made confused eye contact with each other as unintelligible voices and sounds were heard over the phone. After almost a minute, Pablo hung up.

“What did he say?” asked Mario, as Marco set his phone back down on the table.

“Nothing,” replied Marco. “He said hi, and for the rest of the call I couldn’t understand a thing.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“Maybe it was something to do with,” Mats started, pausing for no other reason than to be dramatic. “Him.”

“Oh my gosh, Mats, you can use his damn name.”

“I prefer not to.”

“So, Marco,” Mario said, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms and legs. “How’re things with… him?”

Jude and Mats glanced at each other with a touch of fear in their eyes, not that Marco noticed.

“Actually, things with Robert are fine,” Marco said smugly. “Better than fine actually - he’s been sweeter than usual lately-”

“Marco,” interrupted Mats, “that bar is in hell.”

“Shush. But yeah, he’s been calling me more, being more affectionate, not as closed off as he used to be, it’s great.”

For a moment, there was silence, before all three of Marco’s friends spoke up at the same time.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Marco looked between his friends to see if they were kidding, but they all looked dead serious. 

“What?”

“He’s cheating.”

“So cheating.”

“Cheating so hard it’s not even funny.”

“Wha- I- I just told you guys things are going great between us,” Marco complained, running stressed hands through his blonde hair.

“Hm, now let’s think, bruv,” said Jude, not sounding condescending at all. “Why would Robert suddenly go from being cold, distant, and frankly kind of a douchebag, to being the perfect boyfriend overnight…?”

Marco didn’t entertain Jude with a response, but he kept talking anyway.

“Maybe it’s because he’s in a much better mood… because he’s seeing somebody else…”

“Somebody that makes him very happy,” Mats chimed in.

Poor Marco was trying to look unbothered, but it wasn’t going very well. 

“I make him very happy,” he said, crossing his arms and casting his eyes down to the table. “I mean, I-I’m a good boyfriend, so, I don’t know why I wouldn’t make him happy, I don’t know why he would need someone else for that. I don’t know what Thomas has that I don’t.”

Across from Marco, Mario looked like his own heart was being torn out of his chest.

“Don’t listen to them, Marco,” he said softly, “They’re just messing with you.”

“Uh, no we’re not,” said Mats.

“Dude.”

“Don’t act like you don’t hate Robert more than any of us.”

Mario and Mats had a little staredown, with Jude watching nervously, as the three of them understood the underlying meaning of that sentence.

“Whatever,” Mario scoffed, cearly unwilling to unpack that further.

“There was a little… incident, on Halloween,” Marco blurted out, looking like he surprised even himself.

“What do you mean?” asked Mario, vaguely protective tone in his voice.

“Well he kinda, sorta - keep in mind he was very drunk… called me by his ex’s name.”

“Damn,” said Jude, matching grimaces with Mario and Mats.

“While telling me he loved me.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Mats, loud enough to attract attention from onlookers. “Sorry. I meant, damn. That sucks.”

“Soooo, does this mean you’re gonna dump his ass?” Mario asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, like this was the most important thing in the world to him.

“‘Cause you totally should!” Jude said, quickly and urgently.

“Oh, yeah,” Marco said, making a show of rolling his eyes. “Just gonna go up to him like, ‘Hey boyfriend of eight months, my friends think you’re cheating on me, so we’re done. Deuces!’” 

“Oh, I can think of a lot more reasons than that,” Mario said. “For starters-”

“We are not having this conversation,” Marco said firmly, and went back to his subpar lunch.

Fortunately for Marco, almost the entire rest of the lunch period went by without any slandering of his boyfriend. Then, a few minutes before the bell was supposed to ring, Marco’s phone buzzed again - a shorter one this time.

“Someone’s popular today,” Mats observed, leaning over to check Marco’s phone. “Why is Luka Modric messaging you on Snapchat?”

“No idea,” Marco replied dryly, picking the phone up and tapping on the notification. He was met with a photo that was taken at that coffee place nearby, the one Robert worked at. It was a photo of two people from behind, standing at the counter. Marco didn’t have to look too hard to recognize the figure on the left as his boyfriend. Unfortunately, he recognized the boy standing next to Robert all too well.

As if Marco couldn’t figure it out himself, Luka’s caption read: ‘this your man???’

* * *

Marco spent the rest of the day thinking. 

Thinking about Robert, about their relationship, about what Luka had sent him, about what his friends had said. About whether or not Robert was really cheating on him.

His relationship woes were the only thing on his mind as he went about the rest of his classes, to the point where even easygoing Mr. Klopp got on his case for his blatant lack of focus during sixth period history.

Luckily, Marco and Robert had made plans to hang out after school that day, so Marco could finally stop worrying himself into a breakdown and just ask him about it.

School ended hours ago. The two had gotten something to eat, driven back to Robert’s place, played a fuck ton of FC25, and Marco still hadn’t worked up the nerve to confront his boyfriend, not after how sweet Robert had been these past few hours.

By the time Marco had worked up the courage, they were chilling on Robert’s bed, lying next to each other and just idly scrolling through their respective phones in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. 

Suddenly, Marco cleared his throat. “Hey, Robert?” he asked, embarrassed at how his voice broke. Off to a great start so far.

Robert tore his attention away from his phone and to his boyfriend. If his expression was any indication, he noticed Marco’s trepidation, and found it quite endearing.

“Yeah?” he said, sounding so sweet and considerate that Marco almost felt bad.

“Can you, uhm,” Marco started, tripping over his words as he went to the photos app on his phone and pulled up the screenshot of what Luka had sent him. “Can you please explain this to me?”

Marco showed Robert the screenshot, and he wished he didn’t notice the way Robert’s smile fell and his face paled. A small part of him felt good about having the upper hand, about having proof of his suspicions again, but he was mostly just curious about how Robert would try to explain his way out of this predicament.

“That’s not me.”

Marco raised his eyebrows at the sheer audacity. “What?”

“That’s not me.”

“That’s not you?”

“Not me,” Robert said, so criminally quickly that it was almost convincing.

“Robert, you-” Marco sputtered, so baffled he could hardly articulate his sentence. “You have the same fit on!”

“Oh,” Robert said casually, before looking down at his Nationals shirt and ripped, black jeans, as if to check whether Marco was lying. “That’s still not me though.”

“That’s still not-” Marco dropped his phone onto the bed, hearing the little clack as it landed on top of an abandoned Switch controller. He sat up, and ran his stressed hands through his blonde hair and looked up at the high ceiling of Robert’s bedroom, as if asking for divine strength to deal with this bullshit. 

“Y’know what, Robert? Fine. You and me are in a relationship, which means I have to trust you,” said Marco, sitting cross-cross on the bed and getting more up in Robert’s personal space. He spoke so neutrally and diplomatically, he thought he sounded like his mother. “So, if you tell me that it’s not you in that photo, then, well, I am going to believe you. Because I trust you.”

The two made eye contact with each other, Marco silently daring Robert to lie to him.

“That’s not me,” Robert repeated.

* * *

When Marco had problems like this, he liked to go to his mom for advice

She knew from experience was relationship drama was like, and had more decorum than his friends and two big sisters, so she offered more advice than simply “dump his ass.”

Fortunately for Marco, this Saturday was one of his mother’s very, very rare days off. So, that afternoon, Marco padded downstairs after sleeping in for way longer than what was considered healthy, intent on asking his mom for advice on his relationship issues.

To his surprise, his mom was in the large, beautiful entryway, dressed in her formal work attire. She seemed to be in a rush, and was scrambling to put on her classy black Louboutins.

“Mama?” Marco asked, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was confused - she had stressed several times that she was so happy to finally have a free day. “I, uh, kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Well, you should make it quick, Liebchen,” his mother, Manuela, said. Marco could tell from her tone alone that she was… displeased. “That idiot ambassador got in some hot water and had to fly back to Berlin on short notice, and who did he say should be in charge while he’s gone? Me. For fuck’s sake, Neuer went to Humboldt, you’d think he’d be smart enough to execute basic tax fraud without getting caught, I mean look at the Mullers - they’ve got that down to a science.”

During his mother’s rant, Marco had descended to the bottom of the staircase. It seemed his mom would be out of the door in seconds, so he had to be quick.

“Well, Mama, the thing is, I… I think my boyfriend might be cheating on me, and I could really use your ad-”

“That’s great, Schatzi,” came his mother’s response, speaking a mile a minute as she leaned up to give her son - who was a good few inches taller than her - a quick kiss on the cheek, before making a break for the front door. “Get yourself something for dinner, just put in on my credit card. And lock the door behind me - it gets dicey around here!”

After the slam of the door, Marco’s house was, as always, quiet.

* * *

“And then Sergio threatened to snap the poor kid in half, as he so often does,” Robert laughed into his phone. It was Saturday night, and he was on his bed, lying on his stomach as his phone sat in front of him on speaker mode. Normally, Robert didn’t have the attention span to just talk on the phone and do nothing else - he needed to pace around or play a video game or something - but right now, he was so enraptured by the conversation that he was perfectly content giving it all his attention.

“Aw, poor Pablo,” Thomas cooed from the other line. “He’s lucky - he only has to deal with Sergio’s bitch ass for one year, unlike us.”

“Gosh, could you imagine if we get stuck with him in college, too?”

Thomas scoffed. “I doubt he’s even going - I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually pay attention to anything academic.”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably threaten a Georgetown admissions officer to get him in so he can go to school with Luka.”

A laugh was heard over the phone, a sound that Robert wanted to bottle up and keep forever. “That’s so… hang on a sec - WHAT?!”

Robert instinctively lowered the volume, as anther shouty voice could be heard faintly over the phone, likely from another room. He couldn’t make out what the voice said, though, only hearing Thomas’ response of “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”

Thomas heaved a dramatic sigh before dropping his voice down to his normal - though still overwhelming - volume. “Gosh, kids are so nosey.”

Robert shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You are so mean to that boy,” he said disapprovingly. 

“He irritates me,” came Thomas’ blunt response, but Robert knew him well enough to detect some fondness in there.

Thomas’ brother was quite bothersome, that much was true, but as an annoying little brother himself, Robert tended to take Simon’s side when Thomas bullied him relentlessly, much to Thomas’ annoyance.

“Yet you love him,” Robert replied.

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, do you remember when-” 

Robert’s reminiscing was cut off as a notification banner dropped down from the top of his phone screen.

Marco
can you come to your door pls??? im outside

“... That’s weird,” Robert said simply.

“What?” asked Thomas.

“Marco just texted me and said he’s outside. But we didn’t have anything planned, at least not that I remember…”

Oh fuck. Did he forget he and Marco had something planned again? Shit, Marco would be pissed…

“Alright, well,” Robert sighed, “I’m gonna go see what this is about.”

“Good luck,” Thomas said with a little laugh.

“Thanks… Bye, Tommy.”

“Bye, Robert,” Thomas said, and hung up.

Robert rolled off of his comfy bed and left his room. As he padded down one of the two curved staircases that led to the entryway, he was internally panicking. Sure, he probably should be happy at the sudden arrival of his boyfriend, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to get yelled at, or something.

He could make out Marco’s blurry, jittering figure from the etched glass portion of the front door, and opened said door to see Marco on his doorstep, taking shelter from the light November drizzle.

“Hey Marco, wha-”

“Are you cheating on me?” Marco asked in one quick breath.

Taken aback, Robert raised his eyebrows and blinked a few times. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

Marco stuffed his hands in the pockets of his yellow Dortmund hoodie, hood still up and everything. “Are. You. Cheating on me.”

“Oh, not this again,” Robert groaned, running his hands through his black hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s made you so insecure all of a sud-”

“Oh, so you think I’m crazy!”

“I didn’t say crazy, I said insecure!”

Marco crossed his arms and frowned, tapping his foot impatiently against the concrete, his pristine white sneakers now slightly muddied from the rain.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said coldly.

Robert was at a loss for words for a moment. No, he was not cheating. Well, yes, he cheat- ed, one time, but surely that wasn’t as bad as cheat -ing, he thought.

Unfortunately, before Robert could simply deny it, his stupid mouth went ahead and said something else.

“Define cheating.”

Marco’s eyebrows skyrocketed upwards. “I’m sorry?” he replied.

“Like… like what would you consider, uhm, cheating.”

“I-” Marco sputtered, turning around and looking behind himself for a moment, as if he was expecting someone to jump out of the bushes with a camera and reveal that he was getting punked. 

He turned back to his boyfriend, jaw set. “Seeing someone else,” he said firmly.

“Like in what cont-”

“Romantically.”

“And you mean, like… actively cheating on you.”

“No, I mean - what the fuck else would I mean?!” Marco shouted, voice high and screechy.

“Alright, damn, sorry… No, Marco, I am not, uh… actively seeing someone in a romantic context right now.”

That was technically true. Robert felt like the smartest man alive.

Marco just stared, and Robert tried to find any indication in Marco’s eyes of whether Marco believed him or not.

Marco took a step closer to him, leaving practically no room in between them. “If I catch you -” Marco started, voice low, in a tone Robert had never heard from him before, “- talking to, or looking at, or even thinking about Thomas Muller, Robert, I swear…”

“Yeah, okay, message recei-”

“I mean it this time,” Marco said sharply, his tone leaving absolutely no room for interpretation.

“Okay… okay, yeah, that’s fine.”

Robert stood there silently, hoping that his answer was good enough.

And even though Marco seemed polite as he bid Robert goodbye and headed back to his car, Robert couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t.

* * *

It seemed Marco was going two for two in terms of showing up at people’s houses unnannounced tonight.

When he shot Mario the text that he was downstairs, his friend was at the door in record time, huge smile on his face. Sudden visits were not out of the ordinary for them.

“Marco, hey, come in, I was just thinking about… Are you crying?” Mario asked as he ushered his friend inside.

“I dunno. Maybe,” Marco said, determined to stay strong.

Not wanting to make his friend feel awkward, Mario simply smiled. “Alright, well, c’mon,” he said casually, already heading up the stairs. “I was just doing my homework.”

When the two entered Mario’s room, Marco removed his slightly damp hoodie and hung it on the doorknob, as Mario resumed his place at his messy desk, papers and pencils and empty soda bottles lying around. Marco had no idea how his friend got any work done in this environment.

While Mario did his homework, Marco sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands and contemplating. It was quite common for the two to hang out without talking, just enjoying each other’s company and each doing their own independent thing, so Mario just minded his business and didn’t ask questions.

“I don’t know,” Marco blurted out after about fifteen minutes, voice tight.

Mario spun around in his swivel chair, happy to drop his pen and leave his essay abandoned. “Huh?” he wondered.

“I… Everytime you and the others make some sarcastic comment about me dumping Robert’s ass, it’s always, ‘no, no, I could never,’ because I could never!’” he ranted. “But now, I… I don’t know, I’m not saying I can, but… I don’t know!”

Without thinking, Mario joined his friend on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on Marco’s beach to comfort him. When he heard that little ramble, a small part of his heart leaped for joy. He then shut that joy down right away, feeling like the worst friend on earth for getting any happiness out of such a thing.

“Marco, you… you don’t have to know,” Mario said calmly.

Marco sniffled, trying in vain to hide the fact that he could feel hot tears in his eyes, could feel the hostile, unwelcome warmth in his cheeks and the urge to scrunch his face up and bawl. 

“Look, you’ve got all the time in the world. No one’s forcing you to make a decision now. You can think about it, and… take all the time you need,” Mario continued. 

“... Thank you,” Marco said in a hurry, resting his head on Mario’s shoulder as quiet sobs racked through him.

If it were up to him, this decision would’ve been made ages ago, the very first time Robert made his friend cry. But it wasn’t his decision to make, and Mario wasn’t going to force his friend to do something before he was ready. Even if Mario thought Robert should’ve been dumped months ago.

The best Mario could do was offer his shoulder for Marco to cry on.

Chapter Text

Leo took driving very seriously. Not a mile over the speed limit, not a mile under, stopping - not slowing - at every stop sign. Always directly in the middle of his lane, hands at ten and two, using his turn signal for every turn and lane switch, even when there was no one behind his busted 2007 Toyota Corolla.

Sure, the fact that he didn’t drive like a fucking speed demon seemed to really piss off any DC resident unfortunate enough to be stuck behind him, but Leo truly didn’t care. It didn’t matter how hard or for how long people honked their horns at him - he had an unrivaled skill for tuning out obnoxious noise.

The reasons for that skill were his two best friends, who were currently in the car with him, jamming out to some music they were listening to thanks to the aux cord that they insisted Leo keep in his car that didn’t have Bluetooth capabilities. 

Neymar - bless his heart - seemed to be genuinely convinced he could hit the same notes as Ariana Grande, judging by how he had spent the entire ride from school belting along to her music. He was, in layman's terms, fucking awful, but Leo didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.

Luis, however, did.

"I don't know what's worse," Luis droned on from the leftmost seat in the back row. "your driving, or his singing."

"Definitely Leo's driving," Neymar insisted, stopping his screech-singing momentarily to do so.

"Yeah, dude, my abuelo drives faster than you," Luis said, kicking the back of the driver's seat, which was already stained with imprints of the soles of his Converse.

"So does mine," Leo stated, voice monotone as usual as his brown eyes scanned the the surrounding area of W Street. He was reminded of the last time he picked his grandparents up for Mass, a drive that ended in his sweet, heart-of-gold grandmother vowing to never get in a car with him again. 

Fully believing that statement, Luis didn't bother responding, leaving Neymar to fill the silence.

"Hey, you guys wanna hear my rendition of No One Mourns the Wicked?!" the junior asked, already queueing the song on his phone.

"NO," the two upperclassmen responsed in tandem, and Luis genuinely considered lunging over the center console and yanking the aux out of Neymar's phone.

Luckily for Leo and Luis' ears, Leo had just pulled into the driveway of his luxurious Dupont Circle home. 

The three teens all got out of the old car, each of them with their schoolbags slung over their shoulders, and coats on to protect them from the November chill.

Leo collected his mail, then opened the cold, wet-from-the-rain front yard gate to let his friends inside. They quickly stepped over the wet leaves and sidewalk leading up to the door, and Leo unlocked it with the effeciency of someone who really wanted to be warm again.

“You guys ready to completely ignore our homework?” Neymar asked excitedly, taking his shoes off by the dark wood door along with his friends. Leo’s mom was rarely ever home, but when she was, hell hath no fury like her seeing shoes on in her home.

“Am I ever,” replied Luis after he had tucked his black Converse by the door. “But first, food.”

Luis immediately made for the kitchen, Leo and Neymar following behind. Once they were there, Luis opened the double doors to Leo’s pantry, a walk-in that was big enough to be a bedroom. “Gosh, I love your parents, Leo,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “They buy the good shit.”

Leaving Luis alone to rummage, Leo unceremoniously threw his bookbag on the floor and tossed the mail he retrieved on the shiny top of the kitchen island. 

Standing across the island from Leo, Neymar was able to see the contents of the mail - a couple letters from the IRS marked ‘URGENT’ were scattered amongst a ridiculous amount of packets from colleges all around the country - each boasting statistics and percentages about how they’re the best place to be. Some were from the mail Leo just grabbed, while most of them had been sitting in the kitchen for a while now.

“You too, huh?” Neymar asked, flipping through a bunch of the packets - Georgia State, Florida Tech, Dartmouth. “I’m only a junior and I’m getting bombarded with these already.”

“Yeah, they’re really annoying,” Leo said, opening the fridge and retrieving a bottle of water. “That one over on O Street is especially persistent.”

“The one on-” could be heard from the pantry, before Luis emerged, tearing open a packet of cookies with his teeth and thus muffling his words. “You mean fucking Georgetown?”

“Yes.”

“No fuckin’-” Luis marched over to the kitchen island and sifted through the college packets until he found one he was looking for, all while chewing on a mouthful of cookies.

When Luis found one labelled ‘Georgetown University,’ he tore it open with his teeth, then read through it with a concentrated frown on his face, the same expression he wore when Neymar had gotten him to help beat the final Mew battle in Pokepark.

At some point, Luis just stopped reading, and forcefully shoved the packet against Leo’s chest.

“You bitch!” Luis exclaimed, as Leo quickly reached out and grabbed the edge of the marble countertop to prevent himself from falling. Sometimes, Luis didn’t know his own strength. “You got a full ride to Georgetown and didn’t tell us?! That’s fucking awesome, man, congratulations!”

“What?!” Neymar exclaimed, rushing to the other side of the island to clap Leo on the back and shake him vigorously by the shoulders, both Neymar and Luis laughing at Leo’s uncomfortable expression.

“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Leo said with a shrug once he was finally unhanded. “They keep offering me a ride, even though I already have a car and it’s really not that far away.”

“That’s a full ride, dumbass,” said Neymar, quite endeared. “Means they’re willing to pay your tuition for you.”

Though Leo’s stare remained blank, he furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t really get why you’re so excited, then,” he said, making a point of looking up and around his house - at the chandelier, the high ceilings, the authentic art on the wall. “I’m, uh, not exactly struggling to pay rent.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not about the money, Leo,” Luis explained. “It’s about the, uh, what’s the… oh, prestige! They don’t hand out those kinds of scholarships to anyone - I only got a partial. You must be really fucking good at football to get a full ride. Which we already knew, but still.”

“How’d you know it was for football?”

“Well it wasn’t for your academics, that’s for damn sure,” Neymar said, prompting Luis to keel over into his hyena laugh, while Leo rolled his eyes and muttered something about not tolerating this in his own house.

“Y’know, Leo,” Luis said once he had recovered, sitting on the kitchen island and sifting through the mountain of college letters, looking for the most prestigious names he could find. “We should go on some tours this weekend.”

“What, like the Eras Tour?” Leo asked, craning his neck to look up at the teen perched on his counter illegally opening his mail. “You know that’s been over for-”

“College tours, Leo,” Neymar said with a little laugh.

“Oh.”

“I mean, judging from all these letters, looks like we got our work cut out for us,” said Luis. “We can hit a few schools here, then one or two outside the city for a little road trip action.”

“Outside the city?” asked Leo.

Luis rolled his eyes. “You don’t hafta stay in DC for school, y’kno-”

“Yes he does!” exclaimed Neymar, unintentionally loud enough for his voice to bounce off the lifeless white walls of the house.

Luis sat there unamused, giving Neymar a look that said, ‘Really?’, knowing all too well the reason for Neymar’s insistence that Leo stay local.

Luckily for Neymar, his crush was the most oblivious boy in school, and probably the whole world, so Leo didn’t comment.

“... Right, well, anyways,” Luis started, “You wanna come with, Ney? Doesn’t hurt to start looking at options early.”

Neymar bit the inside of his cheek, and Luis thought he could hear the gears turning from underneath those stupid frosted tips.

“How early we leaving?” Neymar eventually said.

“I mean, most colleges open for tours pretty early, so…”

Neymar let out a concerningly long groan, throwing his head back and everything. “Fine,” he eventually said, “but only if you get me Chick-fil-A after.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Too early on Sunday morning, Neymar got the eloquently worded ‘outside fuckwad’ text from Luis, and trudged out of his house like a boy with no will to live, spurred on to keep going only by the promise of chicken nuggets later.

His mood didn’t improve once he slid in the back seat, as he was immediately assaulted by My Chemical Romance being played at a volume My Chemical Romance should never be played at so early in the morning.

“Could you possibly lower the-”

“No,” Luis insisted, taking a swig from a Red Bull before slamming it back in the cup holder and attempting a three-point turn on a very busy street with only one lane for each direction, making Leo do the Sign of the Cross in the passenger seat. “I need my energy.”

The ten minute drive passed with the three friends not saying much to each other, but the silence was still filled by the loud rock music and people honking at them. While Leo attracted attention on the road by being too good a driver, Luis got attention for the opposite reason.

“Alright!” Luis exclaimed once they arrived at their destination, putting the blue car in park and seemingly not caring that he was taking up two parking spots. “C’mon losers, let’s go further our educations, or whatever.”

At the entrance to the Georgetown University campus, several tour guides were going around with their official polo shirts, name tags, and lanyards, gathering prospective students into groups. They did so with the efficiency that came from it simply being that time of year, where acceptance letters started pouring in and kids started thinking about college seriously.

“This place looks… old,” said Neymar, looking up at the structurally beautiful building ahead of them.

“Yeah,” agreed Luis. “Looks like the kinda place you’d study Defence Against the Dark Arts at.”

“I wanna see the football pitch,” Leo said urgently, harshly tugging on the sleeve of Luis’ light blue hoodie, already staring off into the direction of where he assumed the pitch to be at.

“Leo, there will be plenty of time for-”

“Good morning!” said a cheery voice approaching the boys. They looked to see a girl - probably around twenty - with brown skin and blonde hair, donning the standard blue polo that all the other tour guides were wearing. Everything other than the standard shirt - the shoes, jewelery, watch - were brand names, styled perfectly and clearly displaying knowledge of high fashion. “Welcome to Georgetown! I’m Kate, I’m a junior European languages major with a minor in translation studies, and I’m gonna be your tour guide today!”

“Hi, Kate,” Luis and Neymar said in unision. Leo, who often forgot about social niceties such as greeting people, needed an elbowing in the side from Luis to remember to wave hello.

Kate beckoned for the boys to follow her, and they did, walking behind her like baby ducks.

“So, Georgetown is the oldest university in Washington, and one of the most represented schools in Congress,” Kate started, crisply reciting what was surely a well-rehearsed spiel all the tour guides had committed to memory. Still, she had a way with her words that made the boring facts sound interesting. She spoke with a British accent - probably Manchester, to be specific.

“We have a wide range of degree programs in both STEM and the humanities - oh, speaking of,” she said, turning around the face the trio. “Do you boys know what you want to major-”

“Football,” came flying out of Leo’s mouth before the poor girl could finish her question.

Luis and Neymar’s embarrassment to be associated with this boy stunned them into silence, and Kate blinked a few times in confusion, her perfectly threaded eyebrows raising as she was clearly trying very hard to remain polite and not just ask Leo what the everloving fuck he meant by that.

“I’m… sorry?” Kate asked, voice higher.

“I said I want to major in footba-”

“Sports medicine!” Luis exclaimed, voice shaky and not at all convinced. “He wants to study, uh… sports medicine.”

Leo furrowed his eyebrows, appearing slightly peeved as he looked up at the other members of the group. “No,” he said assertively, a rarity for him. “I meant football.”

“He means sports medicine!” Neymar insisted loudly, desperately trying to hold himself together, as he found the idea of Leo studying medicine of any sort to be downright laughable. “Sorry, it’s his English, it, uh… leaves a bit to be desired.”

Leo spoke up again, but luckily he was back to his normal quiet self, and could easily be spoken over.

“Right! Well, our sports medicine and exercise science programs are great for getting you into the field, especially with all the internship opportunities you’ll have,” Kate said, doing a good job of not sounding confused by Leo’s whole ordeal, despite the fact that she very much was. “And we have a very accomplished football team - trust me, I’m friends with a few of the players, so I go to a lot of the matches. They’re really nice, you’d fit in just fine.”

Leo frowned somewhat, thinking about how little he cared whether his potential future teammates were nice or not. “As long as they’re serious about football,” he muttered.

Kate grimaced a little as he fixed her already perfect hair. “Right, well! Onto the dining hall!” she said, quickly turning around to continue the tour.

* * *

Sometimes, Leo could be so dense that it was both genuinely impressive and headache-inducingly irritating.

“I don’t know how many more times I can say this, Leo,” Luis forced through almost gritted teeth, knuckles white as he changed lanes on the interstate. “There is no football major.”

“But I don’t see why I can’t major in it anyway,” Leo said for the third time from the passenger seat.

“Because-! Y’know what, I can’t anymore,” Luis sighed, before glancing at the rear view mirror to briefly make eye contact with Neymar. “Ney, please explain this to him in words he can understand.”

“Leo,” Neymar started, briefly removing his nauseatingly brightly-colored snapback and messing with his flattened-down hair a little. “You can’t just major in whatever you want - it doesn’t work that way. Schools can only offer majors that already exist, ‘cause they require certain credits and stuff and I dunno.”

Leo had this look in his dark eyes, like a child being told Santa wasn’t real, and was thus questioning everything they knew.

“And you mean to tell me, no one at these so called ‘institutes of higher learning,’ was ever smart enough to create a football major?” Leo asked, with all the sass he was capable of, which wasn’t much. But still.

“Guess not.”

“That’s dumb,” Leo sneered, resting his chin in his hand as he adamantly stared out the window.

“How much longer ‘til Baltimore?” Neymar asked after some silence, filled only by My Chemical Romance playing at a much more reasonable volume than earlier that morning.

“Like, twenty minutes,” Luis replied, glancing down at his phone that was functioning as his GPS.

“By the way,” said Neymar, voice higher than usual in what was probably an attempt at subtlety. “I really dunno if you guys wanna go to this school. I’ve heard Baltimore’s got, like, really bad crime, or something…”

Luis shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, well, Leo and I both got athletic scholarships, so it’s worth a shot, right?”

“But Luis, the crime!”

“Whatever! Look, I’ve been going to school with Sergio fucking Ramos since sixth grade, and I’m pretty sure that dude’s considered a criminal and a terrorist in, like, twenty countries. Including this one. So I can handle whatever ‘crime’ you’re so worried about.”

“... And I heard the traffic sucks up there, too.”

“Can’t be worse than DC, I promise.”

Neymar looked down at his neon yellow sneakers, tapping his foot against the floor of the car and thinking of something to say, until Luis’ voice, uncharacteristically softer than usual, pulled him out of his musings.

“We’re not gonna forget about you ‘cause we live in a different city, Ney.”

“Aren’t you?” Neymar asked, averting eye contact by staring out the window. “Leo’s the most ‘out of sight, out of mind’ person I’ve ever met. He literally left his phone at Georgetown.”

Leo perked his head up, frantically checking the pockets of his football team-issued windbreaker, only to find them all empty. Shit, his mom was gonna kill him for not answering his phone again.

Neymar, meanwhile, took Leo’s phone out of the pocket of his jorts and handed them to the senior in the front seat. “Lucky for you, I remembered,” Neymar said, while Luis laughed at the momentary fear in Leo’s eyes.

Luis continued. “Look, I know Leo’s kinda forgetful, and stupid-”

“Dude,” Leo said, offended, and not loudly enough for Luis to entertain him with a response.

“But I’m not forgetful and stupid. So I’ll make sure Leo here doesn’t forget to check up on your bitch ass.”

Neymar genuinely appreciated that, but instead of voicing his thanks, he just awkwardly stared out the window. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he was scared of his friends going to college and forgetting about him, and felt embarrassed now that Luis had so easily read him like a book.

“You don’t hafta worry about losing touch with me. And you, uh, definitely don’t hafta worry about Rizzless McGee over here,” said Luis, pointedly making eye contact with Neymar in the rear view mirror and raising his eyebrows at that last part.

Luckily for Neymar’s pride, Leo paid no mind to the clearly loaded statement, as he was too busy gazing out the window and probably thinking about football formations.

Neymar cast his eyes down and starting picking at his fingernails. It was hard enough to imagine Leo and Luis going off to college and finding cool new friends to replace Neymar with - it was an even worse form of torture to imagine Leo going off to college and getting involved with someone.

Of course. After years of knowing Leo, Neymar gets to have a crush on him for all of five minutes before he’s packing up for a college dorm. Neymar didn’t even get the chance to briefly entertain the idea of maybe confessing to him one day. 

He couldn’t believe his luck.

* * *

The trio practically screamed ‘high schoolers’ with the way they were dressed - decked out in baseball caps and drawstring bags, all clad in Johns Hopkins blue and complete with the school logo. The only thing saving them from complete and total embarrassment was the fact that they weren’t the only touring students around. But still, they stuck out like a sore thumb.

Minutes earlier, they were part of a much bigger, more noticeable group, led by a tour guide and everything, but the main tour had ended, and the boys were now wandering around campus and taking in the sights as they pleased.

Naturally, Leo wanted to inspect the football facilities for himself and see if they were up to his unattainable standards. 

On the way to where the confusing map said that the football pitches were, the trio walked through a scenic central courtyard. Surrounded by perfectly trimmed bushes, students were situated under trees or on benches, studying or chatting amongst friends.

“It’s pretty this time of year,” mused Neymar. Even though it was quite brisk, the shades of oranges and yellow casted on the ground by falling leaves made the chill worth it.

Luis was going to respond when he heard a crunch from under his foot. Thinking it was yet another fall leaf, he looked down to see that he had in fact stepped on a candy wrapper. Lacasitos. Huh. He had never heard of that brand before.

“Could do without the litter, though,” he said, and kept walking.

Luis made it a mere three steps before violently tripping. “Mierda-!”

“Motherfu-! Watch where you’re-!”

That voice was the same one that haunted Neymar in his dreams. To his astonishment, he looked down to see Sergio Ramos of all people, sitting on the ground between two bushes that were longer than he was tall. In his cramped position, he had one leg tucked into his chest, and the other stretched out on the sidewalk in front of him. It seemed Luis had tripped over his pristine red Air Jordan.

“Sergio?” Luis and Neymar asked at the same time.

Leo, meanwhile, just pointed to Sergio’s leg that was still sticking out as a tripping hazard. “Someone could trip on that,” he muttered.

Luis glared at him. 

“What are you doing here, Sergio?” Neymar asked, voice wavering.

“I could ask you clowns the same thing,” the senior said, not getting up from his spot on the ground. “What, they hosting the dork convention here or something?” He leaned forward and looked from side to side, as if genuinely searching for an answer to that asinine question.

“We’re touring. Hence,” Luis answered, gesturing to the trio’s matching hats.

“Oh. I thought you guys just dressed like that for fun.”

“We don’t.”

“Alright, damn, chill.”

Leo stood on his toes and whispered something into Luis’ ear.

“Just ask him yourself man, he’s not gonna bite your head off!” Luis told him.

Leo just stepped back and shook his head.

Luis let out a heavy sigh. “He wants to know what you’re doing on the ground.”

“Yeah,” Neymar interrupted, “And what’s all… that?”

He was of course referring to Sergio’s little setup. The teen had a pair of binoculars hanging from a strap around his neck, and the surrounding ground was littered - literally - with empty chip bags, Spanish candy wrappers, and energy drink cans.

Sergio clicked his tongue and skirted his gaze around the pavement. “I’m, uh… doing some college touring of my own. You could say.”

“By staking out between some bushes? How long have you even been here?” Luis asked, taking a step back as he realized the answer was probably ‘a while.’

Sergio stared up at the sky as if looking for answers, and Neymar noticed how prominent the dark circles under his brown eyes were.

“What day is it again?” asked Sergio.

“Sunday.”

“... Then shit, man, I dunno.”

Luis sighed and rubbed his temple. “Again, dare I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Oh my gosh, do you morons need everything spelled out for you?” Sergio said, sitting up a bit and turning around to point at something. “I’m here for him.”

Each member of the little trio looked more confused than the last as they looked at who Sergio was pointing at.

“That… nice old man eating a sandwich on a bench?” Neymar asked.

“Duh,” Sergio replied, sitting back down and shaking some leaves out of his messy dark hair. “He’s the dean of admissions - and therefore my ticket into this place. I’m learning his routine so I can, uh… gently persuade him.”

“You’re gonna threaten him,” stated Leo.

“No!” Sergio scoffed, offended. “I’m gonna threaten him and his family. Please. I’m not a fuckin’ amateur. Look, I know I can’t get into this place on academics - something which I’m sure you geniuses are very familiar with - so, yeah. Desperate measures.”

“What about an athletic scholarship?” asked Neymar.

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Ugh, believe me, I tried. Apparently college recruiters don’t like my ‘style of play’ and think I’m a ‘liability’ and a ‘lawsuit waiting to happen.’” His use of air quotes and mocking tone of voice made it clear that the senior thought these accusations were complete bullshit.

“No way,” Luis said in a dramatic, condescending tone. “You mean to tell me dislocating other players’ shoulders doesn’t pass at the college level?”

Luis and his friends had a good laugh at that. Even Leo chuckled a little.

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself,” Sergio said through gritted teeth. “I had it all figured out, y’know. I had already gotten the Georgetown guy’s schedule down, had my first threatening letter drafted up and everything - but no, after being dead set on Georgetown for three fuckin’ years, y’know what Luka says to me the other day? ‘Johns Hopkins has a great international relations program!’” he said, complete with an overly whiny imitation of Luka’s voice. “Like, what the fuck, my man?”

“Sergio, have you ever considered the possibility that there may be something deeply wrong with you?”

Sergio looked genuinely taken aback. “What? Of course not. You sound like that shrink Luka’s been making me see.”

“Well… the things we do for love,” Luis said, deadpan.

“Yeah, the- wait, for what?”

“Nothing, Sergio,” replied Luis, putting a hand on each of his friends’ backs, indicating that he wanted to get going. “Good luck with your felony!”

Sergio gave the trio a very impolite hand gesture as they walked away.

“Learning a poor man’s routine and threatening him just to go to school with Luka,” Luis said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked. “I’d say it’s unbelievable, but well, it’s very believable.”

“Yeah… but I think it’s a little bit romantic in a way, don’t you?” asked Neymar.

Luis turned his head dangerously quickly to give Neymar a look of total contempt and borderline disgust. 

“No, you fucking weirdo.”

* * *

“Alright, before we hit the road again I’m getting something from that coffee place,” Luis said, pointing to a place across the street that was teeming with college students in need of a caffeine fix. “You guys in?”

Leo violently shook his head.

“Oh, great, he’s gone nonverbal.”

“No,” Leo interjected, “I just don’t wanna go in there. There’s so many… people.”

Neymar chuckled at the way Leo whispered that last word like it was a curse. “You go, Luis, I’ll keep him company.”

“Alright. Later, losers,” Luis said, stuffing his cold hands into the pockets of his hoodie and jogging across the street without bothering to look both ways.

“C’mon,” Neymar said, gesturing to a nearby bench, and feeling relieved once he sat down on it with Leo at his side. Gosh, walking across all these campuses made him tired. And worked up an appetite - maybe he should’ve taken Luis up on that offer to get something.

Neymar took a moment to relax, looking up at the sky and putting his hands down on the bench, then jerking them away once he felt how freezing it was. Not just the bench, but the air was so frigid. Why did he decide to wear jorts today? 

Still, cold aside, it was quite scenic, with the fall leaves and bustling students around. 

All this scenery, and it was the boy sitting next to Neymar on the bench that held his attention the best. 

Leo was either totally unaware of the fact that he was being blatantly stared at by his friend, or just didn’t care. He simply stared ahead in front of him, still as a statue - quite the contrary to jittery, impatient Neymar.

“Hey Leo,” Neymar said, voice sounding much more sing-songy than he intended.

“Yes?” Leo replied, turning his head in one robotic motion to stare at his friend with those vacant eyes Neymar had grown so fond of recently.

“Would you stalk an admissions officer so we could go to school together?” Neymar hadn’t meant to sound desperate or anything, but he might as well have written ‘desperate’ on his forehead for how needy that sentence came out.

Leo - bless him - didn’t hesitate a millisecond. “Of course not.”

Neymar smiled through the sting in his heart. He felt a little pathetic. Sergio was out there committing felonies to be with the boy he liked, meanwhile the best Neymar could do for the object of his affections was try to guage his feelings through thinly-veiled stupid hypotheticals.

“... I’d do it for you,” he said, and meant it so deeply, so truly.

An admission, in his own way.

Leo went silent, not that that was a rarity for him. And maybe Neymar was being completely delusional, but this seemed like a different kind of silence. Not the silence Leo so often chose, out of not having anything of substance to say, but the silence that came from being at a loss, from wanting to say words but not knowing the right ones.

“Thank you,” Leo settled on. “That’s sweet. But very stupid.”

Neymar just hummed, resigned.

The next couple minutes passed with nothing being said between the two boys. Neymar was starting to grow restless - Luis really was taking his time getting that coffee.

Of course, the shared silence was rudely interrupted by Neymar’s stomach suddenly doing its best impression of a blue whale.

“I’m starving,” commented Neymar, as if that wasn’t just made abundantly clear. “Thank gosh we’re getting Chick-fil-A on the way home.”

“No, we’re not.”

Neymar chuckled. In hindsight, he should have known better than to expect humor from Leo.

Leo’s face was graced with something akin to pity. “Oh, Ney,” he said, with more emotion in his voice than Neymar had heard from him all day, or maybe even ever. “Luis only told you that so you would come with us.”

“But why don’t we just-”

Leo, for what might have been the first time in his life, initiated physical contact, resting a hand on Neymar’s shoulder and looking at him with such patronization. “Today’s Sunday.”

“... MOTHER FU-”