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120 minutes.
It hits Erling too hard and as soon as he goes through the corridor. 120 minutes completely lost. They fought for around 120 minutes and it was not enough to beat Madrid.
120 minutes. 7200 seconds. All gone with the wind. All gone with their chances.
Erling is not dumb, he knows you can never let your guard down with Madrid. The Greatest of them all. But he hoped. The thought. He believed.
Inside the field, it was obvious Madrid closed down right away. They protected and they stood firm. Only Kevin was able to break them down, and for nothing, only a glimpse of something that never really came.
Going back inside, inside the Etihad with nothing to hope for next feels so inexplicable heartbreaking that Erling really, has nothing to say. None of them really. Pep doesn’t have a speech prepare, or maybe he does, but he doesn’t say really much when they are inside. He says something to cheer them up, to help them relax. Some of them take it better than other. Grealish is a mess, he is swearing and shoving and saying something under his breath. Foden is holding it better, but he looks so sad, sitting alongside Julian, who just looks lost. Kevin looks bad, bad, bad. He did all he could, he definitely did more than Erling himself, which makes Erling go through some places he otherwise wouldn’t go.
But he does.
Last week was horrible. Pep and him had a talk about it. He told him not to be so hard on himself, that he has this. But what exactly does he have? A poor performance and not a single goal. People saying that the magic is gone and that this is it. Maybe they are right. It’s starting to hit him. He didn’t care before. Or maybe he does, it’s just harder to hide it now.
Julian says something to him but he doesn’t really listen. His voice sounds cracked. Erling is quickly struck by the fact that he is too young, and too talented, and that he probably could have done more than he has done these past few months if he simply took Erling's place. It always hits him, that precarious feeling, of wondering if it is better to sit back and let someone take his place, that someone is able to do what is impossible for him recently. He couldn't even play all the minutes; he was completely broken for the last few minutes left. Then he had to sit, and watch from the sidelines, as his little hopes were getting more and more out of his hands.
"Halaand." Julián's voice once again, this time stronger, less trembling. Erling just turns to look at him. His eyes are shining, there is still sweat on his face. "Someone is waiting for you outside."
He says it too quietly, like it's a secret no one else should know. Erling looks at him but there is nothing in Julian's face that gives him away.
So Erling gets up. His left knee hurts when he steps too hard, and it feels like a spirit is pulling his body back from exhaustion. He feels so shattered, and yet he knows that when his head hits his pillow tonight, he won't be able to sleep for a single second.
When he goes out into the hallway, he sees a few people around, not as many as before, he can still hear fans. “¡Así gana el Madrid!” it makes Erling just as nauseous. He can hear people talking in Portuguese and English and Spanish. So many accents, and so many words. Everything is quiet down for him, like he is submerged under water.
Then he looks up, and it's like everything comes back in color.
Jude doesn't look nervous when their eyes meet. He's covered in sweat, his black shirt sticking to his chest. Seeing him makes all sounds come out clear and crisp, as if he had brought him back to life. It’s so childish, completely ridiculous. They are no longer in Germany and his team has just been eliminated by Jude's team. But his heart beats nervously and treacherously against his chest.
Jude smiles softly, always sweet. He has a sparkle in his eyes, the shine of a champion. It should make Erling feel more defeated, but there's nothing Jude can do to make his heart beat less for him.
"Hello." he says, his voice a little hoarse after having shouted for so long with his teammates and the Madrid fans. Erling remembers when he arrived at the field and saw them, a small white spot in the middle of a sea of blue. Always so loyal and so believing. Erling understands now, there are not many things you can do against Madrid's white and gold hope.
Jude keeps looking at him when he takes too long to say something. He makes sense, he's not going to ask her how he is, or how he feels, the answer is completely obvious.
"Hello." Erling says. It's the first word he's said in a long time, his voice sounds hoarse and strange. But Jude doesn't seem to care, because his eyes soften even more. "Congratulations." He sounds too stiff saying it, but still doesn't distresses Jude.
"Thank you." he says. His voice sounds velvety. Although he doesn't seem scared of how Erling might react, he still seems like he's holding on a bit, walking on eggshells. Erling can see the exact moment when he decides to ask what he wants to ask, even if maybe he shouldn't. "How are you?"
It doesn't make Erling feel as bad as he thought it would. Jude sounds as syrupy as ever, as graceful as usual. Erling thinks of all the times he's seen him wrapped in sheets, his cheeks flushed, his skin crawling. Very few know how demanding he is when no one sees him, how he constantly seeks for more and more.
And even though, in that constant search for more, he never seems to lose who he is, he remains a good boy, with good intentions, raised by a good mother.
Erling can't be mad at him.
"Everything's fine."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you sorry you won?" Erling asks, smirking. Jude lets out a sigh. "It's okay. I'm fine."
Jude looks up and down the hallway and approaches. Erling feels a heat rise to his face and chest that he hasn't felt in weeks. They have spoken between games, they have spoken several times. But it doesn't feel like when Jude is close enough that Erling can see his brown eyes, his pupils dilate.
He looks so handsome under this light.
"If you want to do something later-"
"Jude-"
"Only if you want."
"We can't do any of that again-"
"Because?"
"Your team just eliminated mine and I have to go home and watch everyone says I'm a farce, and a lie-"
"You are not." Jude says it in a way that feels very real to him. As if it’s that easy.
Erling looks back at him. When he does it long enough, he feels like they're still in Germany, like they're still too young to know what they're talking about and like life is so easy. Erling eating Jude's mother's food, drinking with his father, playing video games with his brother. Then he'll be in his bed alone when everyone goes to sleep. Jude always looks better when he's under him, when Erling is able to make him sigh and laugh and cry.
He hasn't seen that image for so long, for so many nights.
"My mom told me to tell you that you can go to dinner with us if you want." Jude says and Erling's heart reaches out. Erling would like to touch his face, abandon his sky-blue pride, go to dinner with him and his family, pretend that everything is fine.
"Tell her I say hello."
"I wish you would come."
"No." Erling says and Jude walks away, and he would like to take his words back, but he doesn't. He stays strong for a long time. "I have to be with the team-"
"And with Julian-"
"Me and Julian have nothing going on, I've told you so many times." Jude looks at him like a wounded dog on the sidewalk. Now, that's a face Erling has seen a lot more often. Jude hurt by his words, Jude away because of him, Jude doubting his feelings. Erling knows that he deserves it, all the doubts that levitate above his head, he placed them there.
Whatever they had had no end as such. They just stopped seeing each other so often, sending messages so often. Erling didn't answer his calls on time in the early morning, so Jude stopped calling. Photos with Julian everywhere, Jude pretending he doesn't see them until he explodes and Erling has to guarantee him that there is nothing.
"Of course not." Jude says, almost barking, and Erling has the urge to fight back.
"I could say the same about you and all the losers on your team. Are you fucking them all?"
"You're a bloody idiot Erling, I don't know why I even came here."
But he doesn't move from where he is. He doesn't leave, he doesn't turn his back on Erling, he doesn't punch him in the face. He just leans against the wall. Erling has also seen the photos, the videos. Vini, Rodry, Camavinga, all hovering over Jude as if he belonged to them, as if they knew every bit of his skin like Erling does, as if they've eaten his mother's cooking on Sunday mornings, and knew all of his father’s jokes and they knew that their brother is a sore loser.
He is smart enough not to tell Jude how he feels. Until now, they are simply words on the table now.
"Sorry."
"At least it's nice to know that you do think about me." Jude says, his voice coming out too low. "I thought you didn't think about me at all."
"I always think of you." It's the most honest Erling has been in recent months. He seems to surprise Jude too much, and it pains Erling to think that he has let someone he loves so much feel like it’s no longer that way. He has to improve in so many things, a few minutes ago he thought it was only on the field, but off it he is still as lost as a child in a shopping center.
Jude approaches again and Erling prepares for a kiss, which doesn't come, but Jude holds him in a hug. His body still feels as small as ever, but stronger now. Jude feels completely equal against his body, and at the same time like a foreign object that his immune system will attack and reject. He doesn't smell the same as before, but he hugs exactly the same.
Erling holds him too tightly against his arms.
"I missed you." Erling says and can feel Jude's body shake. "I missed this. Talks in the middle of games are not enough."
"I missed you too." Jude says, and his voice is still just as quiet. "Don't come today but come sometime. Answer my messages again, my calls-"
"I will, I will. I'm sorry I didn't do it more-"
"And if I find out that you're fucking that kid, I'm going to cut off your genitals." He sounds so mean and angry for a second that Erling feels heat all over his body. He's never heard Jude sound like that. Will he keep that energy everywhere?
"I'm not fucking him."
"You better." Jude says and Erling laughs. "And don't ever imply again that I'm fucking the boys, they're my friends." It sounds sweet once again when he says it and Erling is overcome with happiness, because behind all that white and gold, it's still the same Jude dressed in yellow and black.
"Tell your mom I send my regards. And your dad. And your brother." Erling would like to tell them himself, but now is not the time.
Jude seems to understand. Erling can feel him move his face against his neck and place a too-soft kiss.
He doesn't make a single sound. No one around could suspect anything of what is happening. Only he and Erling know. How Erling knows how Jude is when things don't go his way, how he laughs in the middle of the night, how he moans into a pillow with Erling on top of him. How Jude knows how sweet Erling can be when no one is looking, how he listens to Jude's mom talk for hours without complaining. All those things that no one else knows about them, even though everyone loves to believe that they do.
Jude gets away from the hug and Erling wishes he was man enough to ask him not to and take him with him. But he suspects there's some strength in knowing how and when. Now it’s not. Something in Jude's eyes lets him know that he knows it too.
"Congratulations." Erling says again. Jude moves his head to the side, looking like a puppy.
"Thank you." Jude takes a deep breath. "I have to go."
Erling doesn't do anything, but smiles at him and Jude smiles back.
Only footsteps can be heard as he walks away. The screams of fans, the sound of cameras.
“¡Así es como gana el Madrid!”
And once again, he is submerged under water. What makes it better it’s knowing someone is waiting for him to ask for help to get out. He just needs to do the call.