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It’s always been just Martin and Leo. Leo and Martin. It was obvious, as soon as the Belgian had arrived from the south coast, Martin seemed to latch onto him like he’s the perfect catch. Ever since - they’d been inseparable, like it was more natural to see them together than to see them apart. Changing rooms, dining hall, before, after… even during matches. They’d always be snickering over one of their phones, blonde mops of hair furrowed together until they blend into one.
“Do you reckon they’ll ever fall out?” Ben White whispers to Gabriel Martinelli one afternoon after training.
“No,” is the immediate and blatantly obvious answer. Ben might as well have asked if bananas were yellow and the sun was round.
Ben shrugs, sparing a sideways glance at the pair, still both shirtless having discarded their changing to giggle over some video Leo was showing Martin on his phone.
It’s over an hour later before they both stumble out of the changing rooms, acting like two drunkens the way they bump into each other, moving in sync down the hallway. Ben tries to busy himself with sorting out his duffle bag in the corner, but he can still feel the strings of his heart tug on his emotions as they pass, laughter piercing through the air. How he longs for a relationship like that of his own. A person to count on. He longs for the balance they so effortlessly achieve - Martin’s level-headedness, Leandro’s banter. Together they’re the perfect jigsaw puzzle most people, including Ben, have spent years trying to construct. Something they seem to have mastered in a matter of months.
He watches as the pair slip out the backdoor - Martin performing some sort of headlock on Leo as they cruise their way over to the Norwegian’s car. They both get in, faces giddy with excitement, Leo in the passenger’s seat, Martin in the driver’s. Ben could swear he hears their laughter fading into the distance as they drive away.
Nketiah is so jealous of Leo. Martin wasn’t exactly mean to him when he stepped up to join the first team, not by any stretch. But he wasn’t quite as nice to him as he seems to be to Leandro. He looks around the changing room when Martin and Leo stride in together, easily chatting away about something Eddie can’t quite make out. He hopes to catch eyes with another member of the team - hoping they both share a judgemental look, both on the same page about the closeness of the two players. The look comes - it’s Saka - but it’s far from judgemental. He sends Eddie a casual smile instead. Is he not jealous too? Eddie huffs, yanking off his shirt and thumping it down on the bench.
Eddie watches warily as Ben White pokes Martinelli in the ribs, seemingly asking him a question. Martinelli’s response is short and concise, and he seems somewhat confused by Ben’s question. As if Ben had asked something dumb, like if bananas are yellow, or if the sun is round. It’s not unlikely.
Eddie yearns for a relationship with the magic that Martin and Leo seem to share. He used to have something similar, with some of the lads at U-21s level. It was similar, but not the same. Leo and Martin are joined at the hip. Him and the lads were not.
Especially after Martin’s ‘fall’, as the group have affectionately named it, Leandro has been closer to Martin than ever. Martin insists that the word ‘fall’ makes him seem like an old man, and that it was only a little trip that ended up having some overdramatic consequences. Leandro doesn’t seem so sure though, as Eddie has seen the way the Belgian grips at Martin’s arm when they still go for their evening walks around the training ground.
William Saliba was over the moon when Leandro Trossard joined, a fellow French speaker in which he needed so dearly in the team. Originally, Saliba had presumed that he’d be the only one Leandro would talk to in French, since no one else on the team spoke. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been so naive to presume that, as it comes naturally when Leandro has to carry Martin into the physio’s room one morning before training, red, raw blood trickling down the Norwegian’s face. Saliba watched timidly from the bed opposite them as Leandro held Martin’s hand gently when the medics oozed some antiseptic onto his cuts, whispering into his ear, mon amour. He’d then watched as Leandro scooped up a very dazed looking Martin into his arms, and carried him bridal style to his car parked out the front. Je t’aime. Aaron and Bukayo had scampered quickly after them.
Yet - the cuts on Martin’s face have faded into scratchy scars now. But Leandro hasn’t stopped fussing over him, Saliba thinks as the Belgian draws his phone out from his pocket, intent on showing something to Martin. They nestle their heads together, hunched together over Leo’s phone. Saliba looks around the room. He spots the tail end of a subtlety judgemental look directed towards the pair from Nketiah - out of all people. And on the other side of the room, he watches as Ben White and Gabriel Martinelli exchange a few words - the latter seemingly frustrated with the former.
Strange - he concludes. The whole locker room seems to feel the weight of Martin and Leo’s relationship; they’re third, fourth, fith, even sixth wheeling. It’s not a feeling of bitter envy, it’s more a demeanour of jealous observation. Curiosity itching away at all of them, watching and wondering how the pair interact so effortlessly without any risk of falling out.
The changing room falls silent, whilst Leandro and Martin’s laughter still pierce through the air.
It’s always been just Martin and Leo. Leo and Martin. It was obvious, as soon as the Belgian had arrived from the south coast, Martin seemed to latch onto him like he’s the perfect catch. Martin loved Leo. He loved everything about him; the way he made Martin laugh until his ribs felt battered and bruised, no longer protecting his lungs from the crushing weight of the atmosphere with Leandro by his side.
It’s always been just Martin and Leo. Leo and Martin. It was obvious, as soon as the Belgian had arrived from the south coast, Martin seemed to latch onto him like he’s the perfect catch. Leo loved it. He loved Martin. Sure, he’d been well loved and looked after as the wonderkid of Brighton, but that didn’t fix the Martin shaped hole in his heart he didn’t even know he had until he moved to Arsenal. He’d seen the Norwegian on the TV before, and of course he’d played against him in the league. But on the same team? That was a whole other reality.
When the pair stumbled into the changing rooms that afternoon, Martin swore it was the happiest he’s ever been. He’s so caught up in the giddiness of being with Leo, he’s so perfectly unaware of the shift in atmosphere in the changing room. A dozen pairs of eyes loom upon the duo as they slump themselves onto the bench - their names above their seats so naturally placed next to each other. Leandro had mentioned during training that he had some funny cat video to show Martin - something that surely only Leo would find funny enough to clutch at his ribs as he tried to tell the Norwegian about it. Martin didn’t mind - of course. He’d watch a thousand cat videos a thousand times over if it made Leandro so happy.
Half way through the video, however, Martin does feel a shift in the room. He lifts his head up from Leandro’s phone, slowly, as not to disappoint the other with his lack of genuine enthusiasm. Leo is blissfully unaware, as usual, still enthralled by his cat video.
Martin doesn’t see much, but he does catch the shift of a dozen pairs of eyes in the room, moving swiftly from where he was sure they lay upon him and the fellow blonde next to him. They’d so quickly shifted into busying themselves with some other task; changing or starting some small talk with those around them, that Martin soon doubted himself whether he had caught them or not. They weren’t piercing glares by any means, but still enough for Martin to be slightly taken aback by them. He was so caught up in the presence of Leo that he’d hardly noticed the rest of the room was already changed.
“Alright, Mar?” Ben White questions him, ruffling his hair as he strides out of the room, training kit slung in the corner whilst Martin’s still clings, sticky against his skin. Martin gives a forced smile and a nod in return. He so desperately tries to ignore the unwarranted coolness in Ben’s voice.
“Good. You’re always alright.” Martin catches the end of Ben’s slight whispered remark. A hint of hostility, perhaps?
The changing rooms empty out as rapidly as they filled up, players swiftly leaving out the door, aching to get back home. Martin and Leandro are left, however, changing in silence; Martin spares a glance sideways. Leandro’s facial expression has changed since he was watching cat videos, his eyebrows furrowed into a pattern which Martin can instantly recognise as confusion. He must have felt the shift in the room too.
“Do they hate us?” Leandro asks, a half whisper, although Martin is not sure who he’s whispering to. It’s only them in the room.
“No, Leo, they don’t hate us.”
“It seems like they do.”
Martin sighs sitting down on the bench to tie up his shoelaces, “I know, I don’t know what their problem is.”
“Maybe they’re jealous,” Leandro states, not a question, but not quite a statement either, “did you see the look Nketia gave me? I thought he might rip out my insides if I got any closer to you.”
Martin hums, not choosing to reply, standing up before picking up his duffle bag from the bench. Him and Leo make their way towards the exit, Martin letting out an exasperated laugh, breaking the unfamiliar awkward silence between them as they walk out towards his car parked at the back of the building. Martin tries to ignore Ben White out of the corner of his eye, fidgeting with his duffle bag in the corner of the corridor. Instead, he puts Leo into a headlock, poking him in the ribs until the Belgian shrieks with laughter.
“I don’t care if they’re jealous,” Leo declares when he gets into the passenger seat of the car, flicking on the switch for the radio, “I’d be jealous of me too if I got to hang out with Martin Ødegaard all day, everyday.”
Martin laughs, “Lucky you then,” reversing out of his space in the car park, heading towards the exit. As the car turns the corner, Martin spies a flash of movement in his wing mirror. Leandro doesn’t see - as he’s too busy fiddling with the radio to notice. Behind them, Martin witnesses the faces of Ben White, Eddie Nketiah and William Saliba, staring at his car as they leave the training ground. Martin doesn’t even want to try and describe the looks of animosity on their faces.