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“You’re so perfect, Tommy.” Robert said quietly, whispering into Thomas’ hair as he ran his right hand through it, the left securing Thomas against Robert’s body. The two lay on the couch together, enjoying a quiet moment, with Thomas resting his weight on Robert’s well-built frame. “Perfect for me…in every single way.”
Thomas, unusually, couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He just mewled into Robert’s chest, making Robert chuckle.
“Don’t need to respond,” Robert said, “Save your words. I think I’ve heard you say more things over the past week than most people do in their lifetimes.”
Thomas laughed softly.
“I hope this never changes.” Thomas said, his voice uncharacteristically light. “I hope we can stay like this forever.”
“Me too, tomcat.” Robert said, a blush creeping on his face from hearing the lightness in his boyfriend’s voice, “Me too.”
That was about two years ago.
Things had changed. A lot.
For one, Robert was no longer at Bayern. He’d moved to Barcelona and never looked back.
Two, when he left for Barcelona, he left Thomas too. Took all his things out of Thomas’ house. Never returned to his place on Thomas’ bed…or his couch…or anywhere else. Especially his place in Thomas’ heart.
Now all Thomas had of him were memories. Beautiful memories of the relationship that once was. Painful memories that made him red in the eyes. And memories of the breakup that made him feel red everywhere.
Thomas paced about his house, as he did a lot these days. He would walk to places in his home where Robert would normally be, imagining bumping into Robert there. But of course, he never did.
One of these places was Thomas’ dresser. He remembered all the times Robert would use it, keeping his clothes inside whenever he was staying over. The figure of Robert’s bare back and the shape of every single muscle, as Robert would undress and place his clothes inside, Thomas watching lovingly from his bed.
Now, there was nobody there.
Thomas opened the top drawer, the one Robert would always use, as it the one he didn’t have to bend down to reach. It was painfully empty. Thomas looked from side to side, taking in the drawer’s dark emptiness, like it was a black hole threatening to suck him in. And for a moment, he wanted it to.
Then he noticed something in one of the corners.
Thomas’ curiosity got the better of him, so he reached for it, pulling it out and straightening it in the air. It was a lush, red scarf. Instantly, the memory hit him. A night after dinner with Robert. It had gotten uncharacteristically cold that night, and Robert had already given Thomas his jacket, so Thomas bought Robert a red scarf with Thomas’ nickname for him, liebling, secretly embroidered into its seams. Ever since then, Robert wore it every single day he could.
Despite not intending to, Thomas caught a whiff of the scarf.
It still smelled like Robert.
And just like that, Thomas had the scarf held to his nose, curled up in bed, imagining Robert was with him, holding him close. Thomas felt the memories pouring in. Mostly the happy ones. But unfortunately, the one he could remember the strongest was the saddest one of them all.
The one that had burned all of the happy ones and left them all a saddening shade of blue.
They had been having a perfectly normal day. Well, to Thomas, it had felt normal. But looking back on it now, Thomas should’ve known something was wrong. In the weeks leading up to the Day, Robert had been acting differently. He wouldn’t answer every call. Thomas would crack his (admittedly, terrible) jokes and Robert wouldn’t even smile. Sometimes Robert would just stare into space, his face contorted in a horribly sad way, like he was staring at someone on their deathbed. One day, Robert had even asked what Thomas would do if he ever left for another club. It was a question that had been asked hundreds of times before; sometimes it was asked over filet mignon; other times it was asked into Thomas’ shoulder as the two cuddled on the couch; and even sometimes it was asked into the damp pillows after long nights. And Thomas’ answer was always the same.
“I’ll kill you and then myself.”
And Robert would always laugh his beautiful laugh, the one in which his blue eyes would shine like bright moons and Thomas would wonder if he could ever stop looking in them. Now, he wonders if he’ll ever see them again.
Robert did not laugh his beautiful laugh that day. Instead, his blue eyes took a glossy shade, and his back seemed to stiffen. He began to stare into space again, his face taking on the pallor of a coroner staring at his hundredth dead body. Now that Thomas had hindsight, he realized why his joke hadn’t landed that time. And why Robert took that look. Because something was already dying. Them.
But back to the Day. Robert had been scrolling on Twitter, doing his favorite thing - looking at transfer rumors. When you’re actually on the inside, looking at painfully false rumors could be very entertaining. He saw so many tweets about Robert Lewandowski moving to Barcelona. Ugh, as if. Robert would never leave Bayern, and even if he would, he would have told him already.
Robert came into the living room and sat next to Thomas, putting an arm around him. “Tomcat.” Robert greeted. Robert looked pained.
“Robert…is everything alright? Is there something you need to tell me?” Thomas asked, already sounding a little frightened.
“Oh, nothing, I’m fine.” Robert said, avoiding Thomas’ gaze.
“Robert…”
“I said I’m fine.” Robert said a little firmly. “I just…need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Thomas asked, already fearing he knew what he would say.
“I think we need to break up.”
Thomas almost laughed at how correct he was, and how Robert had said it. I think we need to break up. Need. Like the death of their multiple-year relationship was something that had to happen, something that was inevitable. Something that they had been building up to. Like their relationship was on life-support, and Robert was finally ready to pull the plug.
“I…got an offer from Barcelona.” Robert continued, noticing that Thomas didn’t fill the silence. “And I want to…I need to take it.”
Thomas still remained quiet.
“At Bayern…I’m not needed anymore. I need a team where I’m instrumental to success. Nobody needs me here.”
“I need you.” Thomas said emptily.
“Do you?” Robert asked, sounding like he immediately regretted the question. “I mean, does anybody? It’s like I’m a ghost at that club now. I need to think about my career.”
“What about me?!” Thomas asked, his voice finally taking its characteristic loudness. But instead of it due to his spirits being high, it was in fear of his spirits dropping too low. “You keep talking about your career and you haven’t even mentioned me!”
“Maybe…” Robert said, looking away and towards the window, “Maybe it isn’t about you.”
“What do you mean, it isn’t about me?” Thomas said acidly, “We are in a relationship. Everything we do…it’s for each other, and-”
“We were in a relationship.” Robert corrected, his eyes no longer blue like the moon, but like harsh ice.
Thomas didn’t know how to respond to that.
“According to your rules, I should be able to do what I want now, yes?” Robert continued, like he didn’t care about how painful what he had just said was, “You know, sometimes, it feels like all you can think about is yourself.”
“ I’m the one who only thinks about himself?!” Thomas snapped. “I’m not the one going off to another club just because I don’t feel special enough-”
“And yet you still managed to make this all about you! ” Robert said, getting up from the couch in anger, like he couldn’t bear to be near Thomas any longer. He walked to the window and clenched both his hands around the window’s edge. He turned back and glared. “It’s always me comforting you after a match. It’s always me who has to tell you things are alright. You never give me the space to ever talk about myself…it’s like you feel the compulsive need to make every single conversation about you and what you feel!” With that, he went back to staring out the window.
“I don’t know where you got this crazy idea that I’m some needy-” Thomas stopped and just gave up. “You know what, sure, if that’s what you’re convinced I am, we might as well break up!”
“Convinced…you think I’m making this up…this is why I never try arguing with you.” Robert said, sounding tired.
Thomas had always thought Robert never argued with him because they were the perfect couple.
“Is there someone else?” Thomas asked randomly, already expecting a no, but he just had to be sure.
“Wha- of course not.” Robert replied quickly, his back still to Thomas. The same back Thomas had seen thousands of times at his dresser. Except this time, instead of waiting to turn back to see Thomas, Robert seemed like he was trying as hard as possible to find every reason not to.
“Then why?” Thomas asked, almost pleading. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”
Robert’s stiff posture faltered. He couldn’t control himself anymore. He rushed from his place at the window and collapsed onto the couch, taking Thomas into his arms.
“Oh, my little tomcat… ” Robert said, his voice laden with almost-grief. “I still love you, more than anything.”
“Then stay.” Thomas said.
“I can’t stay. Not because I don’t love you anymore…I just don’t belong here anymore. I’m not part of Bayern’s plan. I’ve run my course and-”
“You’re part of my plan,” Thomas said, as he rested his hand on Robert’s cheek, waiting to catch the tears that would inevitably fall, “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“Yes, but Tommy, please, let me think of my career.” Robert said, but it was an exercise in futility. Thomas wasn’t hearing any of it.
“Please, please, I need you to stay.” Thomas continued to plead, not able to imagine a world where he didn’t play with Robert every day, where he didn’t give him key passes. What was a Tom without his Jerry?
“I wish I could stay too,” Robert said, running his hands through Thomas’ curly hair, perhaps for the last time, “But the contract’s finalized…even if I wanted to-”
“No, don’t even say it, don’t act like this isn’t your choice.”
“Tommy…please. Don’t make this look like I chose my career over you.”
“I’m not making it look like anything. That’s exactly what this is.” Thomas said, feeling satisfied that he’d had what was basically the final word in this conversation.
Robert, in an attempt to stifle his sobs, bit his fist and looked away. Thomas slipped out of his arms.
“So?” Thomas asked. “What will it be? Me or your… career?”
Robert remained silent, but his previous words spoke for him.
The contract’s finalized…
“That’s fine.” Thomas said, but it wasn’t fine, not at all. “What are you still doing here?! Get out!” Thomas said, suddenly feeling a burst of rage.
“Tommy, please don’t throw me out. Please. ” Robert said, still taking his place on the couch.
“Go. To. Barcelona.” Thomas said pointedly. “And don’t call me that. It’s ‘Thomas Muller’ now.”
Thomas went into his bedroom and came back out with a pile of Robert’s clothes, the ones that had accumulated from all the times Robert stayed over. He tossed them all onto the floor.
“Please take these with you on your flight to Barcelona. I have no need for them anymore.”
“Thomas…”
“Do you want me to throw each one at you till you get the point?” Thomas said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “I said, get out!”
“It’s fine.” Robert said, looking like it was anything but fine. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave. And take my stuff. I came with my car so I’ll just load the clothes in…”
“If you haven’t already flown off to fuck some Spanish guy in Barcelona, I’ll have the rest of your things waiting nicely for you on the porch tommorrow, or hopefully, later today.”
“There’s nobody in Barcelona…but that’s fair.”
No, it wasn’t fair, Thomas thought, but I don’t care.
Robert pathetically picked up the pile of clothes at Thomas’ feet, not daring to look up at him. Then, with a sigh, Robert left for his car, drove off, and never came back.
That was the Day.
Thomas clenched the scarf close to his body, like it was a lifebuoy and was the only thing stopping him drowning in his own thoughts.
He looked down at the deep red of the scarf…at the time, Thomas had purchased it, thinking it was Bayern colors. Now, as he observed the deep red color, and the blue color of the thread used to embroider the edges and write Robert’s nickname in the seams, Thomas realized, with distaste, that the scarf held the colors of Barcelona.
Thomas cried more. Perhaps, if he soaked the scarf with enough tears, it would no longer smell like Robert Lewandowski.