Archive of Our Own

I.february

Florian has a rule. It's more like a subconscious rule, a reflex he's adopted ever since playing on a professional level and that's limiting his exposure to media outlets. Any kind. He still uses social media of course, it would be stupid to not take advantage of his platform and reach. But deliberately seeking out content, articles, what have you, about you and your performance as a footballer? Criticism can be harsh and unrelenting, can affect your mental performance, which in turn can influence your overall performance so-

Hell no. 

But every rule has an exception, doesn't it? Sometimes Flo allows himself to smirk and scroll when they finish with a good game where Flo goes home with confidence and power thrumming through his veins. Like, these cool skill edits serve as a cherry on top so to speak, or like a dessert after a full, exhausting meal (meal being 90+ minutes of exhausting play, of course), and the Bayern vs. Leverkusen match is no exception. He left the stadium ecstatic and high on adrenaline with the promise of more. Imagine winning over the record champion? And a 3:0? On god, they dominated that match. 

Let's not get ahead of ourselves though. Florian, while on the pitch, obviously remained humble and respectful, shook hands and applauded his opponents on a good game. Did he have to suppress a grin while walking over to Jamal? Maybe. Did he lean a little too close when he said "good game" in a tone that was a little too teasing, too unserious? Maybe. Did he smile like a fool when Jamal whispered back in a both endeared and infuriated way, "you little shit"? Yes. And did Jamal smile back? 

He did.

They exchanged their round of memes and corny jokes via message afterwards but that's not the point right now. The point is that Florian felt a little too giggly and silly and looked some headlines up after the game and stumbled upon… this. 

The "this" in question being a headline with very unfortunate wording, something along those lines of "Musiala entices Wirtz to join Bayern in the future and hopes [...]"; he doesn't even register the rest because his eyes are glued to the word "entice" and the picture used, and it's a picture from their game, where they're both on the ground and Jamal's hand is on his back and it's- 

uncomfortable alright. That kind of uncomfortable you get from a lukewarm beer or when you order a pizza and the middle is cold, or when you hit the wrong spot on the ball and it does an unexpected curve and slithers across the pitch like shot by an amateur and your teammates laugh and all you can do is cringe and ask yourself if you really are a professional. But Flo has thick skin, so it's just a moment of discomfort,  nothing else. Florian just has to close the tab (even though he has the urge to read the article now), look outside the window for a moment, to bright city lights in the distance.

Florian doesn't linger on things, he focuses, he marches forward or in this case, he turns the lights off and goes to sleep.

-

II.april 

Okay, Florian might linger a little bit on this thing, after all. 

He truthfully assumed that it didn't faze him anymore: It was just a dumb article with a weird choice of words (and pictures), they have to sell their copies or lure in readers with clickbait, so…it was in the background of his mind. Especially after a break up with his girlfriend, of which the initial post-relationship depression barely hit because they ended it on good terms. Even then, any remaining woes were swept away by the ecstasy of winning the championship and the rush of getting dunked several rounds of beer on him…which Jamal messages him as a link and a 'congratulations on the title :)' and ah, something dies in him when he sees the link and his unassuming face in the thumbnail. 

So as a proper friend, he thanks him first, then links back a video of Jamal helplessly trying to get beer from his teammates after winning the 21/22 season. 

'At least I had my beer, unlike you'

Unfortunately, Jamal is quick-witted. 

'I'd rather have no beer than be showered in it ;)'

Florian stares back at the chat and has no comeback. ' Ha ha'  is his clever response and when Jamal doesn't immediately reply, he adds ' Looking forward to the Euros'. 

Jamal reads the message, goes offline. And that's when it happens, where his brain suddenly decides to think of the headline months back and somehow connects it to this very moment in a sophisticated assumption of "maybe your message was weird and that's why he's not responding". This train of thought, naturally, irritates him because 1) how does he even come up with that and 2) maybe it's connected because both instances just caused a weird, ominous feeling in his stomach in regards to Jamal.

But it's stupid. Of course. So he brushes it off. 

Jamal replies hours later with a 'Yeah, it'll be cool to play together again :)'. 

Florian stares at the message for one second, two seconds…maybe even three. It's like the warmth spreading all over his skin compels him to, pulls at the corner of his lips and forms a smile. And the smile immediately turns into a frown when the chat is interrupted by Jonathan's blunt message. 

'Did you ask Jamal by the way?' 

The universe works in mysterious ways, in ways that scare you because how come Jonathan asks about Jamal when he himself was busy staring at Jamal's text like a fool. The universe works in unfair ways too, because it summoned Jonathan to remind of … what again? 

'About what?' He asks. 

'The vacation?'  The question mark sounds passive aggressive in his opinion and ah, yes, he remembers. Very faintly. Somewhere in March, he believes. 

To add a little context, Jonathan and Florian planned on going to vacation together with their partners. Then Aaliyah and him broke up, after having everything booked. They contemplated on still going together, but decided it might be…uncomfortable, and when he talked to Jonathan about it, Jonathan just suggested asking Jamal. There was a short back-and-forth because Florian gets stuck up on little things ("why Jamal?" why didn't you name someone else?) and Jonathan is just pragmatic ("what do you mean 'why'? He's a good friend, so why not?").

  'I'll ask him' 

'Now?'

Florian opens up Jamal's chat again, hovers around the keyboard. A little clueless. Closes it again, and opens Jonathan's with an ultimate: 

'Nah. I'll ask him when we're back in camp.'

-

III. june 

He does not ask him. To his defense though, he's been busy with training… and stuff. 

Yeah, they train. Of course. That's what you do as an athlete. Florian was aware that he wouldn't only laugh and joke and discuss the previous basketball season with Jamal, and the training goes as usual until… his calf contracts and acts up during an offensive exercise. He sighs and holds up a hand to Nagelsmann to signal a " hold on a sec ", sits down, leans back and shakes it to ease the tension. The exercise wasn't even that intense, as if it's a cramp. 

Jamal jogs over and asks if he's alright and Florian just shrugs, "I don't know. I don't think it's a-" but he shuts up when Jamal kneels down and just pulls his leg towards him, completely unprompted. He lifts his calf up and starts shaking and kneading and Flo's brain short-circuits. Should he say something, god, this feels so weird. His muscle relaxes before the physiotherapist arrives, and he mumbles a thanks to Jamal without looking him in the eye. 

He still avoids eye contact when Jamal takes his hand to pull him up. They resume their training. 

But it gets worse. 

They're invited to a press conference and if the whole Wirtz and Musiala, or as the press wittingly came up with "Wusiala", was escapable then it is inescapable now. Don't even get started with the Scotland game, because while the moment of victory fills him with euphoria and a hunger for more, as soon as they're back in camp and he opens his social media, it's over.

The comments are mostly fine and cute and he smiles and feels warm about the appreciation, the people's newborn belief in the national team but some …Florian presses his lips together whenever anything relates to Jamal and him. He reads about " Dream duo this, Germany's hope that" and especially the "look how Jamal looks at him" comment sticks with him. The headline months ago is a joke to this. The nail in the coffin is when Rüdiger plays the song "Tausend und eine Nacht" during a training session. Yeah, the zoom one? The exact same one the dude at the press conference made a reference about? Like he was asking for a love story between him and Jamal? 

He's never heard of this song in his entire life, maybe in a distant past when he was a 5 year old and it might've been playing on his father's radio but, oh my god. The giggling from his teammates, the side-eyeing. Jamal, seemingly, being oblivious to it all and happily dribbling away. (Flo might've pretended to be unknowing too, though, but internally he was screaming).

Anyway, it's enough.  Later in his room he pulls out his phone and opens Juliane's chat. It's mixed with congratulations about the group stage, some hearts, some photos and what have you. He types out a dramatic, ' Juliane. Can you call'

She replies within a minute. 

'What's up?'

He doesn't even answer but presses on the call button. It rings once, twice, before Juliane answers with a serious, "Are you alright?" 

He doesn't know where to start so he bursts out: "Did you see the whole Wusiala thing?" 

"Uh…," she falters, then, "yeah?" 

"Is it weird?" 

There's a moment of silence. Scraping noises. Then laughter. " What?" 

"Juliane," he says, a little too sternly, usually he's the unserious sibling so this all feels very wrong and out of character and maybe that's why she starts to giggle more. 

"I'm sorry, it's just…you sounded so serious. Just something to get used to." 

Florian sighs. "Is that normal?" 

"You, being serious? That's not normal." 

He suppresses another sigh because he does not want to sound like a parent, but closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

"Florian," then her voice gets all serious and Florian gulps, "the Wusiala thing? Completely normal. Look at Podolski and Schweinsteiger, or Havertz and Brandt. They make these duos all the time. What do you mean?" 

Huh, makes sense. He didn't consider that for some reason. "I don't know…I guess just asking for your opinion." 

"I feel like I'm missing some of the context here," she says with a hint of amusement. 

Florian rakes his brain for an explanation, and usually he's determined and always finds a way, a way to pass, make room, press for possession …but these things are all football, this is real life and he just groans and gives up, "I don't know how to explain it." 

"I don't know Flo, just start somewhere," she replies in a gentle voice. That composes him a little and he's hit by a wave of gratefulness because man, he loves his sister. 

"Okay," he breathes out, "so remember the Bayern match back in February?" 

He can hear her grin when she says, "yeah of course." 

"So after that game I…found an article about me and…Jamal and it left me with a weird feeling I guess. Because…it was weirdly worded and all of that. And ever since the Euros, I get reminded of it because everyone just makes insinuations, like-" and now the ball rolls, "like did you see the press conference, Juliane? Do you know what that zoom thing was all about?" He gets a little too invested by the end, his voice becoming increasingly louder, and shakes his head. 

"Oh yeah, I saw that," she confirms. "So you feel weird because it…?" 

"It's weird?" 

"Weird like?" 

He sits up in his bed, hands going through his hair. "I don't know… I…," then it hits him, yeah, she'll understand, " do you know these dumplings mom made when we were kids?"

"You mean Dampfnudeln?" 

"Yeah! They always freaked me out as a kid. I don't know, the fillings, the form. I don't know how to explain it. I was just skeptical." 

Juliane cackles, "how did you suddenly think of food?" 

"Listen, you'll get it.  I never wanted to try them but you were like, but 'it's just like the doughnuts from the bakery!' " 

"Hah, yeah, I remember how we always argued about that." 

"Yeah and everyone else in the family always ate them up," Florian continues, "and then you said something stupid like 'oh I bet you're too chicken to try it even once' and-" 

"You tried them! And your face was disgusted, and then mildly confused, and then you looked just, sold." 

Florian laughs, "Exactly. And it was such a weird feeling, you know? The initial taste, I was expecting something gross but it was fine but like overall weird if that makes sense? Maybe because I was confused? But it was a weird experience if it makes sense?" 

"Florian, just say you were confused." 

"Okay. Yeah, I guess." 

"So you're confused about your feelings when it comes to Jamal?"

Florian splutters, his heart dropping all the way down the floor, "I, I…uh, I don't know. Maybe?" And then his brain catches up to the implications of that and he asks, voice a little too loud and panicked, "Wait, what do you mean?" 

"I'm meaning to say you should just talk to him about it? You know, see how he feels about all of that. The Wusiala stuff." 

Florian bites back a scoff, "What do I even say?" 

"I don't know Florian," he winces a little at the sarcasm, "just go up to him, show him a headline and ask him 'What do you think bro?'" 

"You make it sound so easy." 

"It's definitely easier than playing football, just do it. I know you can." 

-

IV. june to july

He can't. 

To be fair, he hasn't tried yet but it's easy to forget it amidst the chaos and thrill of a successful group stage, a successful round of sixteen. When he feels the victory, the title, at his fingertips just like with Leverkusen. He guides the ball easily, light on his feet, certain like arms embracing him in celebration, faited like his dream to become a footballer. 

But it's just as easy to be reminded of it when Jamal is as close as the next victory or title. Close, when they hug after a goal and he smells sweat and a hint of soap. Close, when their sides brush as they walk side by side. Close, when they sit next to each other on the couch or bed and stream a Euro or Copa America game. Jamal's touches leave imprints because he's wild sometimes: When he teases and pulls on his arm, pushes on his back or when he grabs his shoulder and complains about the referee while streaming. Unlike the way he dribbles where he is swift, soft, dances with the ball. 

Florian used to indulge him. Nowadays he's busy processing it. 1 am seems like the excellent time to let his mind drift a little, think about it, maybe contemplate on sending Juliane another dramatic text but no. He has to go to sleep. It'll be fine.

And then someone knocks on his door and he jumps. And then his heart jumps because he knows it's Jamal. One part of his brain is indignant, the other reminds him that they planned on watching the Copa America. Right. He thought Jamal would forget it since Florian, in a very monotonous and unmotivated tone, told him "Yeah sure" to his too chipper "let's watch Brazil vs. Columbia later!" 

But he actually followed through with it. Of course.

Florian groans and opens the door and Jamal doesn't even greet him, just walks by like he owns the place. Florian closes the door, "You can leave right away because we're not watching it tonight." 

"Why? " he turns around and answers like a hurt kid. 

"Didn't you say it starts at 3 am? Come on, we have to get up at like, 8. I can't do this." 

"We have around 4 hours of sleep, and training's done by 2. We can take a nap," he retorts, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Florian walks over and comes to a stop in front of him. 

"Jamal, I'm not discussing this." 

"Okay," he holds up his hands, "I get it. 3 am is really rough. But you already complained about the time and we compromised on only watching the top games. Of which is one today, you know." 

Florian crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. "Let's just watch the summary tomorrow morning." 

"No, let's have a sleep over," he reaches up to untangle his arms and pulls. Florian's throat closes up. 

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes. Florian swallows and clears his throat, looks away to Jamal's hands on his wrists. 

"No." 

A beat passes before Jamal speaks up. His voice isn't playful anymore, but gentle, soft. It grazes over his skin, leaves tingles all over. "Okay, I'm a good friend. So I respect that…" 

Florian meets his eyes. A little too hopeful, already on the verge of letting out a sigh of relief. 

"But I've already come all the way here-"

"Our rooms are on the same corridor-" 

"so I challenge you to a round of Smash Bros." 

"Fine," he surrenders. Jamal's hands are still on him. It's a soft hold, Florian could pull out now. 

He doesn't and waits for Jamal to let go. 

-

V. july

Another day at training camp, another day being confronted with confusing situations and feelings. It's not weird intense touches, or an irregular heartbeat or a bizarre headline. No. This time, it's Jonathan's fault (inside, he knows, it's his own). 

Most of his teammates, including Jamal, are finished with their lunch. He's left in the buffet room. Earphones in, one hand messages his family group chat while he giggles about an adorable gift his mother sent, the other plays around with his fork and fails to pick up the chopped meat on his plate several times. No one notices, hopefully, until someone pops out one earbud, stopping the Spotify shuffle and forcing him to turn around and meet Jonathan who's looking at him like an expectant parent. 

"What's up?" 

"It's a little difficult to meet one-on-one with you when Jamal and you are stuck to the hips," he starts and Florian draws his brows together, ready to argue (even though it's fact), but he rants on, "but you know, about our vacation. Did you ask Jamal or not?" 

Ah. He might've forgotten. Just like he might've forgotten to execute Juliane's advice. Oops.

"Judging by the look of your face, you didn't ask him." 

"I will, chill," he replies and shrugs. Inside, his stomach contracts as he pictures asking Jamal. This is bad. 

"I swear, don't complain about third-wheeling if we end up going without him," Jonathan adds, annoyed. 

"C'mon Jona, I'll ask him before we drive to Stuttgart. We have more than 2 weeks until we go." 

Jonathan nods but mumbles something about it being still too short notice. Florian doesn't register it, just stares at the black screen of his phone. Maybe for a full minute. He doesn't know why he almost breaks out in a cold sweat at the idea of asking Jamal. It's no big deal, no big deal at all! 

-

It's a big deal.  

Okay, it's not a big deal to hang out with the team in the lobby after the final training before they set out for Stuttgart tomorrow, and it's not a big deal to casually ask Jamal if he's planned on going on vacation while they end up on their phones, discussing different destinations and places. Or atleast, that's the outside perspective. Inside, his heart hammers against his chest, and he's surprised at this point that his voice comes out nonchalant when he says, "You know, you should tag along with me, Jona and Luisa." 

Jamal raises a brow, "oh, so you don't end up third-wheeling?" 

Flo rolls his eyes. "No. I mean, partly. But mainly because you're my friend and I just proved it to you through many googled pictures that Rhodes is nothing compared to unwalkable cities in the U.S."

"And I'm saying," he leans in, "I'm still going to the U.S. I've seen pretty much all of Europe." 

"We're going to the USA anyway during the World Cup, I don't get your argument." 

Jamal sighs but doesn't counter-argue.

"So you're not coming along?" Flo asks to be sure, swallows down the disappointment in his voice. 

He opens his mouth to respond but in this very moment, the whole room decides to quieten down and stare at Florian. Flo, however, still has his eyes fixed on Jamal until Jamal nudges him and tilts his head to the others to signal 'everyone's looking at you and expecting something'. Florian blinks, whirls around and looks back at the crowd, and eventually sets on Andrich, who stands in the middle of it all. 

"What's…up?" He asks, eyes darting around. 

Jo sits beside Robert and says, "Andrich says you'd bet your hair on whether we'd win the quarter final or not." 

"What."

"You're too young to be needing hearing aids," Müller replies from the other end of the room. Jamal, next to him, snorts. Faint laughter echoes around the room, before everything turns too silent for a proposal of a silly bet. 

"I mean, how, why?" 

This time, Robert speaks up. "To raise morale, obviously. Florian, you believe in us, right?" 

Florian nods wordlessly. 

"Then there's no need to worry because we just dare to dye your hair in case we lose. But we'll win, so no harm done, right?" 

Everyone murmurs in agreement like this makes perfect sense and is not absolutely random. Joshua agrees, "He has a point." 

"Okay," Florian reluctantly replies, "but why not you. You always dye your hair. Why does it have to be me?" 

"It's boring if I were to do it, because I'm known for it already" he reasons. 

"Infamous even," Müller throws in for emphasis. 

"And we're just doing it for fun," Rüdiger remarks. 

"Yeah, exactly. For the unlikely case that we lose. And if we do lose, which we won't, than at least we can look forward to a platinum blonde Wirtz," Deniz smirks. 

Flo frowns, "who said it's going to be blonde?" 

"What, you want neon green or something?" Andrich asks back. 

Florian sighs in defeat, but it's not like they're forcing him. Just a little peer pressure. Or maybe a chance to try something new? He looks over to Jamal, who has a shit eating grin on his face and way too much glee. Too much . "I'm in when you go on vacation with us," he mentally applauds himself for keeping his voice stable.  

Robert exchanges a look with Jonathan, forms words without saying anything out loud as they communicate telepathically. Meanwhile, Sané coos, "Ohh, honeymoon?" 

Jonathan corrects him, "more like a double date thing," and Florian wants to strangle him. But he would have to walk across the room to do it, so he bites the urge down. 

"Of course Bambi is in," Müller announces and slaps the table, "so it's settled." 

"Yeah, fine, we'll win anyway," Jamal says. His voice wavers a little. Barely there but Florian picks up on it. 

-

Later that night, when he lies in bed, Jamal texts:

'You know, I go no matter if we lose or win'

Florian buzzes with excitement, locks his phone because he has to collect himself for a second. God, why does the text sound so serious too? 

'Hell yeah! Looking forward to it'  

-

VI.

They lose. 

Tears and devastation that runs deep and hangs even heavier, are all short-lived because everyone looks up from their gloom and seats around the pool to Florian with bright blonde hair. And a heartbeat that stumbles over itself because while some snicker, others nod with noises of surprised approval ( ''doesn't look that bad'', "yeah, agree"), Jamal smiles in a way that's incomprehensible. Is he grinning in mirth, smirking in schadenfreude, smiling with something like fondness? 

Florian doesn't know, and his chest seizes up a little and he wants to hide. But Andrich walks over and hits him on the back, a little too hard, saying, "not bad, not bad" and that gives him a little confidence back. 

-

Said confidence evaporates in an instant when Jamal says, "it looks good on you, by the way." 

Florian holds his breath.

They're alone in Jamal's room with him being busy packing things, and Florian there to support him (aka procrastinate on packing up his own stuff), laying on the bed, scrolling through his phone. Music plays softly in the background. 

Seconds pass as he realizes that firstly, Jamal means his hair and secondly, that he has to respond. By the time he speaks up, voice cracking, awkwardness has already tinged the atmosphere. " Ah, thanks." 

Florian presses his lips together, then opens his mouth to add more, to do anything to break the uncomfortable silence that forms. " Uhm, yeah, I think I'm getting used to it. It is sometimes itchy though." 

Jamal hums. "Yeah, makes sense. You stripped every ounce of moisture your hair had." 

Florian sits up and looks over the edge of the bed where Jamal hunches over his luggage and sorts through clothes, pouches, bags, "That's not…true." 

Jamal tilts up his head to meet his eyes, grinning. "Yeah, it is true. That's what happens when you bleach your hair." 

"Well, I'm no hair expert. I just went with the flow." 

"Maybe you should do less of that then, huh?" And he snickers, one hand holding his stomach like he's just delivered the joke of the century or something. Florian raises an eyebrow.

"Going with the flow made me look good though, as you yourself said." 

"Don't let it get to your head," he retorts and looks away to roam through one of his bags. Flo turns over the words, don't let it get to your head , like pages he reads over again, looking for meaning. He doesn't find any, even though they echo around in his mind.

He blinks when Jamal offers a small spray bottle of…something. "It's oil. For your hair. You know, to make it less itchy?" 

"Oh," he replies, "how do I…" 

"You've never used hair oil?" 

"I doubt anyone else uses it on the team," he argues a little too defensively. 

"Well, Leroy uses it, so." 

"Well, it's Leroy, so." 

And Jamal laughs at that, a deep, rich sound and Flo decides it wasn't that funny, but it's nice…to listen to, to look at. At his friend having fun, of course. It's normal to be happy and warm when your friend laughs. He doesn't register Jamal asking, "what does that even mean?", and realizes he's been staring when Jamal snips his fingers in front of his face, "spacing out?" 

He snaps back to the moment, his head a little in panic mode as it rummages for anything possible to say. What about yes? Too simple. What about…uh…just ask something about the hair oil. I don't know. 

"Uh yes," his head mentally slaps him for that, "so how come you uh, use it?" His head, this time, leans back and waits if this was a fruitful answer or not. Florian himself feels a little helpless, weak, like his muscles would give out if he was standing. But he's not standing. He sits on the bed comfortably, and buries one hand, invisible to his friend's eye, in the sheets. He feels stupid. Why does he keep mumbling and stuttering? 

"I have coarse hair. You need something like oil to take care of it." 

"Ah…makes sense." He doesn't get the whole picture to be honest, but he doesn't trust himself to continue the conversation anymore. Jamal still holds the bottle, and Flo still hasn't taken it yet, and he should do that, probably. But Jamal's mouth twitches in a small smile and he shakes his head a little (he does that sometimes when he's about to explain or argue about something that Flo is seemingly wrong about), then he stands up and-

He pumps the bottle twice, rubs the oil in his hands and comes dangerously near and, firstly, that's not a lot of oil used alright, is that even enough? And secondly, "you don't trust me to use it on my own?" 

"Yeah," Jamal responds. No shame, with the bluntless that rivals that of Kimmich's, "I don't. You probably would've pumped half the bottle and you looked at me like I was handing over a math exam or something." 

"I did not. " 

"Shut up," he says with no bite and Flo holds still and surrenders. Reflex flashes up to hold his breath, but he suppresses it because it would be weird to hold his breath. Jamal would probably notice it. There is no reason to hold his breath anyway. This situation is very normal. They do…these acts of service all the time. Just like how Jamal took care of his calf, or when Flo tried to crack and adjust his back by lifting him up and both of them almost falling over in the process. One of the physiotherapists saw and chastised them for it, "you could cause serious injury!!"

But Jamal is quick, his fingertips gently combing through and it's a satisfying feeling, he's melting and surprisingly calm about it and wouldn't mind if it went on. He sighs internally at the loss of contact, contemplates asking for more head pats but realizes he has an ounce of dignity left and wishes to protect it from Jamal's possible teasing. 

When he scrambles off to wash his hands afterwards, Florian's mind whirls around.  Why are you making a fuss about an everyday, mundane situation like this one? Just bros helping bros out but you lose your tongue. Lose control over your body. What happens next? Choking on air? Florian! This isn't a five act drama or opera. 

Alright. He might have to talk to Juliane again. 

-

VII. 

He does not talk to Juliane when he comes home.

 Most of their conversations revolve around his hair, complaints about the Euro and its referring, exchanging vital information about their siblings' whereabouts or speculating on what to have for dinner. 

Florian lets himself fall into the ease of it all, forgets the tournament's pressure, the sore muscles and concentrates on his family before he continues to set off to Greece. 

Juliane side-eyes him when he mentions it. Greece, that is. Her voice remains awfully neutral as she says, "ah, so Jamal comes along?" 

"Yeah." 

"Cool." And that cool should be finite, affirmative. Just a quick yeah, I took note of it, have fun. But he hears the suppressed grin in her tone and shoots her a dirty look. 

"What?" She says in all faux innocence and Florian lets it be. 

Lets it all be. Because that's his plan for the vacation as well: Was he a little too nervous around Jamal? Did he stumble over too many ambiguous situations and headlines? Yes and yes and he concluded: He's been overreacting. Probably a subconscious thing. Can't really know, he's not a psychologist. But what he does know is that he's usually chill and focused and likes to take on a challenge, head-on and self-assured. So it's time to take some of the self-assurance back and indeed assure yourself that everything is fine and it's just your mindset man. Just focus, like on the pitch. 

So no need to talk to Juliane. 

-

All according to plan: the flight? Smooth. No need to have a rant about his nap in there and missing the lunch they served and having to endure Jamal swooning about how great it was. Yeah, I bet not as great as your nap.

 Apart from that, smooth.

Arrival at their mansion? Also smooth. It has to be, with its size or pool (including heating!) or the massive, light-flooded rooms or the view they have down the island. 

First activity by going out for dinner though?

Not so smooth. 

Maybe it serves as a reminder or as a culmination of all the things that have happened the past weeks…the things that shall not be named and may or may not include puzzling thoughts and moments about his friend. 

No actually, he's lying. It's definitely not a reminder. It's the drop of water that breaks the dam and starts a whole new set of events. 

Let's introduce the scene first:  a fancy restaurant with marble floors and dim lighting, and not entirely suited for Flo and Jamal's casual fit with tees, shirts, light jeans. Luisa and Jonathan might have taken it a little more seriously, summer dress and dress pants, but Jamal and him don't stick out like a sore thumb since the staff seem fine with it, so. All nice smiles and warm welcomes. But he's getting off-track. 

They've spoken to Luisa at the airport and on their way to said restaurant, friendly and polite smalltalk. She continues said small talk once they sit down and have their orders and that's where it all goes wrong. 

"So for how long have you known each other?" She asks and gestures between the two of them. 

Jamal shoots him a questioning glance, "around 3 years?"

Florian confirms it, "yeah, 3 years." 

Luisa nods, a little too enthusiastically, "I see! You fit each other very well!" Jonathan coughs and Florian squints his eyes and repeats the words over in his mind because …thanks? The comment is a little strange, but not entirely out of norm. Probably emphasizing their friendship dynamic or something. 

"Thanks, I guess?" Jamal replies. 

"But I can imagine," and now her expression turns serious, eyes intense, voice wobbling a little on what sounds like empathy, "it can be quite hard in a business like men's football, right?" 

He exchanges a confused look with Jamal and Luisa picks up on it, clarifying, "oh, you know. Jonathan told me how some parts of the fanbase can be toxic. So I get why you guys kinda keep it low." 

"Keep what low," Jamal asks, his face neutral, maybe bordering a little on curious or interested. Florian himself freezes up and stares like he's watching and listening to a thriller unfold in real time. Because this doesn't feel good. It dawns on him, like thunder in the distance. Thud, thud- 

"You know, the relationship." 

Boom. 

Florian doesn't look over to Jamal, but judging by Luisa's furrowed brows and eyes that glance over to Jonathan in a search for an answer or explanation,  they probably look back at her with mortification, shock, confusion. Jonathan gulps on his water and almost chokes. 

"You're not dating?" She asks. Oh, the naivety. Thunder strikes again. 

They both respond in unison, "what."

Jonathan leans in to whisper in her ear, audibly so, "they're not dating." 

"Oh," her gaze is blank and unfocused, blush creeps up her cheeks. Her eyes slowly glance and tiptoe over to Jamal and Florian, "I'm sorry for assuming." 

No one says anything. Jonathan clears his throat, Florian fidgets with his hands, Jamal pretends to find the ceiling interesting. Luisa can't bear the fauxpas or the fact that no other grown man on the table wants to move on by helping out a girl in need and laughing it off. Or something. Anything, at this point. So in a last effort to save the situation, she makes it worse, "I thought so because you know, originally you wanted to bring your girlfriend. But then you two broke up. And when Jonathan said that you'd bring Jamal along," she gestures vaguely between them, "and you seemed close. And I thought you didn't outright say it because it can be a sensitive topic. But I still wanted to let you know you're welcome!" 

That's a sweet thought and gesture but all Florian can do is look away from the scene of crime and search for rescue around the hall because someone is surely coming to serve their food. 

He almost flinches when Jamal speaks up, "No, it's fine. Don't worry about it," and wishes he'd say it to Flo too because my god, is he going to worry about it. 

VIII. 

They don't talk about the incident. And Flo tries not to think about it, once again.

The tight schedule helps, packed with days under warm sun, by airy promenades or high on mountains with breathtaking views. Speaking of mountains: They decide to split the group after a hike, because while Luisa and Jonathan insist on winding down by visiting some museum for local culture or whatever, Jamal and Flo argue back that winding down should actually include laying down or chilling. They're on an island that practically calls for beach.

 It's a short back-and-forth before they agree to go separate ways. No hard feelings. 

They arrive at a private bay with no soul in sight, and finding the spot was difficult enough because it was practically hike number two: speculating and trying to navigate with rough pointers on Google maps, then having to go along a slippery stoney way, him falling almost over and then turning back half-way because of Jamal's " oh sorry, my bad, kinda read the map wrong." 

You'd think after such a mini-adventure, Florian would long for floating around on waves, eyes closed and sun warm on his skin. But he stays seated on sand, very determinedly staring ahead as Jamal takes his shirt off. Maybe a little too determinedly because Jamal bends over, like straight in front of his face? The audacity. And now Florian has to face him and his bare skin.

"You okay?" 

Florian nods his head and hums. He does not take chances with his voice, what if it cracks? 

"You're not going to…?"

"Swim?" His voice cracks. Shit. 

"Yeah." 

"Not really." And again, it's not because he's too scared to ask Jamal to put sunscreen on his back or because he fears he might be distracted by his presence. You know, the presence of Jamal being top-less. It's not that. He's just too lazy and a little drained from the sun, the walking, and he'd rather lay down and dooze. 

"But you're really okay?" 

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" 

"I don't know, you've been a little quiet the past few days." 

Florian opens his mouth to argue and finds no real arguments except well, uh, we've been doing a lot, haven't we? But that sounds an awful lot like deflecting, and Jamal would call him out on that.

"Just thinking," he replies casually. Super casually. His eyes are glazed over, his legs a little restless, his lips pressed together. 

"About?" 

Florian could spin this into something poetic, something about losing the quarter-final or how the sun makes him lethargic or any other lie. But everything culminates into an accidental slip of tongue, like the words were dying to be told, like his head desired it as a way to relieve and let go of past woes. It's a question a little too unhinged and bold and the moment he says it, he regrets it almost immediately: "Do you think we come off as gay?" 

The headlines, the comments both online and from teammates, Juliane's little look, Luisa's innocent guess. Now Jamal's fallen expression who freezes up but catches himself immediately. Who tries to push for a laugh that doesn't reach his eyes, "Is this about Luisa?" 

Kind of.  "Forget what I've said. It's stupid." Everything tenses up in him, tight like a rubber band that's this close to snap. 

"I wouldn't say stupid," Jamal says quietly. 

"Weird then," Florian mumbles and tilts his head away. 

"The only thing weird is that you're thinking too much," and this time, the laugh sounds genuine. Cracks the tension a little and Flo smiles despite himself. Shoves Jamal, softly and like they often do but Jamal takes this as an opportunity to grasp his wrist and pull him forward to face him. And Florian is forced to meet his eyes.

He loses his voice. 

It's the color, the dark depth of which you're bound to fall in. So he quickly looks away, clears his throat. "What do you mean I think too much ?" 

"Let's be real, footballers seem pretty gay a lot of times. It's normal, " seeming is fine, being is another question, isn't it?

"Okay," he responds tentatively.  

"Seriously, Flo. There were even players who kissed on the pitch and no one batted an eye." 

"You're lying." 

"Gary Neville would like to have a word." 

Don't look at the hand on your wrist, don't look. Keep talking. You got this. "Okay fine but no one thought they're a couple, right?" 

Jamal lets go, finally, to swat his shoulder and snicker, "what, is the idea of me being your boyfriend so horrifying?" Then he averts his eyes. Puts a little distance between them. " Ah," and he sounds…insecure?, "that came out weird." 

He doesn't know if it came out weird, but he does know that it does weird things to him because Florian wants to be buried beneath the sand. Why did he have to say that? Now he's battling his inner eye to fight images of holding hands and doing boyfriend-y stuff like- like-

no, don' t think it!  

It takes every ounce of strength in his body to not stutter and try for an easy grin, "No. It's fine. And obviously you'd be a good boyfriend," he punctuates the ' obviously'   a little too strongly and his face burns, "actually, depends. Müller's influence on you made you a little too cheeky at times." 

"It's not cheekiness! It's called being funny." 

"And so humble, too." 

"Ouch," he feigns hurt, "but seriously. It's normal, Flo." 

"I guess. Yeah." He nods and glances over and sees Jamal's shy, unsure smile. Or the way he avoids his eyes again the moment he notices Flo looking over. And it makes him feel less alone, like Jamal might have had similar thoughts that made him wobble on worries and maybe he's been too reluctant to say it, too. 

It could be wishful thinking though but his intuition in regards to his friend is rarely wrong. 

IX.

Notice the ' rarely'? Because he's about to be very wrong. Actually, count to three because that'll be the amount of times he'll be wrong.

It starts out with an innocent plan of going out to a club. Depends on how you define innocence, as clubbing often consists of drinking and other ambiguous activities but the key factor is that Jonathan and Luisa, like with most of their activities, also planned this one and chose where to go. Florian trusted them as they have proven themselves to be reliable traveling buddies aka organizers.

So. That's the first thing he's wrong about. 

It was going so well, a little pre-game with wine here, an emotional cardplay there and now they're standing in line and just before they're let in, Luisa holds her stomach and says, "Guys, I think I'm not well." 

Jamal and Florian cast uncertain glances, but Jonathan is quick to respond. "I think it's better to get home then?" 

And before Flo and Jamal can even add and confirm ' yeah let's go' or ask 'oh what's the matter?' Luisa nods and quickly chimes in, "you're right, you're right," looks over to the both of them, "but you guys can stay! Jonathan will accompany me back home."

Jamal scratches his head, "uh, sure. But it wouldn't be a problem for us to go with you. We can leave together and go another time?" 

And Luisa almost seems panicked, "no, no, it's fine! You go have fun, I'll sleep it off! We only have a few days and between the guided tours and stuff, it'll be difficult to squeeze in another club night." 

Florian glances over to Jamal, and Jamal meets his eyes in a silent question, what do we do? And Flo just shrugs and turns back to her, "are you sure?" 

"I am!" 

She's even more enthusiastic than Flo himself right now, huh. 

They're discussing the ethics of splitting the group because both Flo and Jamal are hesitant to do so during Luisa's time of need.  But  Luisa insists and Jonathan joins in like a salesman practically selling the club, its music, interior,  what have you. They part ways with a promise that Luisa and Jona would let them know via text they're home. 

Now entering the club, the walls are high above them, the tiles reflecting underneath them and before them stretches out wide space with vibrant lights and music quaking in their ears. People are spread out, not too empty nor crowded. All in all, seems exclusive but especially-

male-dominated, to put it carefully. The more he scrutinizes his surroundings, especially the two guys making out in the corner, the more he realizes that-

"We're in the wrong club." 

"That doesn't make sense, Jona and Luisa literally accompanied us here," Jamal yells back over the music. 

"I don't care, we're in the wrong club," he gestures around wildly, "just take a look." Jamal follows the movements, eyes raking around, face focused until his mouth forms an "o" in realization. 

"But honestly? I think we should make the most of it." 

Florian splutters. "Yeah , you idiot. By going home." 

"You're such a buzzkill. Let's drink something." 

"We already drank wine when we originally swore off drinking." It's true. They talked about it during  the start of the season, bragged about it in training " only a beer every once in a while !" , since it hinders performance, muscle growth et cetera. 

But especially because it also makes you embarrass yourself. 

Jamal takes his arm, pulls him closer, leaning in, "swear off that stick up your ass." 

Florian is torn between scoffing at the comeback or snorting despite himself. He wants to tease back, can't come up with anything ,and instead says "Come on, that's foul. " 

Jamal ignores him and pulls him towards the bar, orders something which Florian can't hear because the music is too loud. He groans when he sees two shot glasses put on the counter, "this is Ouzo, isn't it." 

No offense to Ouzo, but it's kind of bad. The kind of bad that burns your throat, makes you reckless, and leaves you with a splitting headache after. 

"Yes," Jamal confirms and pushes the drink in his hands. Flo accepts and eyes the drink like it has personally wronged him. 

"Yamas!"

Glasses clink, Flo grimaces and Jamal is a man on a mission. Because the moment they set down their glasses, he ushers him to the dancefloor.

The music is loud enough to drown out any leftover doubts, the wine buzzes in his veins, the ouzo numbs out his taste buds, and he quickly relaxes and lets himself relish in it. He's not a good dancer, head-bobbing and swaying your body off-beat will only get you so far, but he doesn't care (even if Jamal is next to him). Then Jamal takes his hand and now he very much cares and looks over and sees Jamal talking to someone, raising their hands. The guy glances at their hands,  nods to Florian and Florian, confused, waves back, before he goes his way. 

"What was up with him?" 

"He was hitting on me." 

"Oh," Florian nods towards their joined hands, "and that?" 

"I told him you're my boyfriend." 

"Oh." That makes sense. 

He can't tear his gaze away from their hands, his neck burning up. It's not their first time holding hands. It's not their first time discussing being boyfriends either. It doesn't seem to faze Jamal, he keeps dancing and minutes pass before he notices Flo's rigid moves and drawn-up shoulders. 

"You okay?" And he leans in so close too, lips brushing his ear. It's hot, the middle of summer. It's hot, in closed rooms with people everywhere. And Flo still shivers. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" He yells back over the music. 

"You're tense as hell," Jamal points out and Flo laughs nervously. "Relax," he tells him and isn't he cruel for saying that when he pulls him in, twirls him around and laughs while Flo stumbles over himself and tries to find his balance? Jamal's other hand shoots up to his waist to stabilize and his skin prickles. His heartbeat jumps. He squeezes Jamal's hand and his friend squeezes back, and okay, okay, that grounds him. A little. Flo breathes in and out and lets Jamal move him around, eases into the music, their rhythm and Jamal's crinkled brown eyes when he glances up.

And oh, when he does, Flo finds him already looking back, but Jamal's eyes dart away like he's been caught.  

They drift closer and closer over the course of the night, like the sun closing in on the horizon during dusk. He doesn't notice it, can't notice it,  when his eyes stay fixed on his friend, and the way the light paints him in so many different colors and how these colors reflect and change in the almost black irises of his eyes. 

They're so close, Flo can still make out the mole beneath his eye. Then his eyes wander lower, lower, until they reach his mouth. He stares for a second too long, quickly averts his eyes back up to Jamal who-

stares back at him. Doesn't look away this time.

His throat closes up in a lump. Hot, cold, hot, cold . Jamal tilts his head, eyes lowering and Flo knows, he knows they're set on his lips. And he knows what's about to happen. He feels like he might combust, die of a heart attack, or altogether surrenders to it all and does it. Does something stupid.

Something stupid he wants. And this revelation unveils a little voice. A voice that creeps up on him, lures him in, whispers aren't you tired of being so on edge all the time? Aren't you tired of doubts and confusion? Doesn't it wear you down, down, down to depths of insecurity?

You could put an end to this. Just admit it and do it. Do it, ki- 

He kisses him. Surges forward with …a bit of force, and he hears a clink, then an oof, and pulls away with shame red on his cheeks and searching eyes because he's fucked up, he's done something very wrong, Jamal didn't want this and he should turn and run away and drown himself in the nearest beach (okay, that's exaggerated), but- 

Jamal presses two fingers on his lips…Flo narrows his eyes to make it out in the dim light and oh, is he bleeding a little? His stomach falls all the way down to the ground, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that he probably bit his lips because-

"This isn't an aerial duel, Flo. You practically crashed into me." 

He blushes and reaches out to inspect the damage, but stops halfway. "Uh, I-, god I'm so sorry." 

Then Jamal's expression turns all solemn and serious and Flo holds his breath, oh he's definitely going to talk about the fact that actually, what the fuck, why did you try to kiss me? But then he bursts out into laughter (being-wrong counter two!) and Flo's eyes scurry in confusion before he reluctantly joins in to laugh. A very nervous laugh. The kind of laugh when you're out with a friend and sounds bustle in the background, and they say something and you're too scared to ask what after the third time, so you just nod and laugh and agree. 

And then Jamal's hands cup his face - Flo's stomach does an odd little flip -  and his shoulders still shake while he laughs and he says, out of breath, "You're so stupid. You're so stupid." Florian is torn between being endeared by the fact that Jamal looks at him with delight and so much fondness that it kicks him straight in the guts,  or being offended and wanting to tease right back actually, like, you're an idiot too because it takes one to know one! 

But he doesn't do either of those things. He can't, because Jamal pulls him in. He can't, because he kisses him.  He can't, because he realizes he doesn't want to. Wants to savor the moment instead, wants to taste the blood on his lips, the bitterness of the alcohol, the desperation of longing for something you didn't know you needed. 

But wrong-count number three is still yet to come. 

-

Jamal is spread over half of the mattress with his mouth hanging open, peacefully sleeping and he wouldn't have thought that he would find a guy with drool on his mouth this adorable. But here we are. His momentary adoration is interrupted by his phone buzzing; he steals a quick glance and sees it's from Juliane.

For a moment, Florian stares, paralyzed, because what if he sent an embarrassing text to her while they went home? Something like 'Juliane!! I kissed Jamal!! Gimme a high-five.'

But (un)fortunately, it's worse. Depending on how you look at it. 

Even at the end, headlines come back to haunt him. 

She sends her a link with an article titled "dream duo on the pitch, dream couple off the pitch??" . The two question marks are very unnecessary in his opinion. Then his brain  registers what the article actually says and he fumbles to open the link with clumsy hands. He expects a photo of them kissing in the club or something, only God knows what a (German) reporter does in a gay club, but it's a photo from last night with them holding hands while they waited for a cab by the road. 

Okay.  Admittedly, it looks a little romantic: They lean into each other and giggle. But…so are half of their football photos together. And then it hits him. Wrong counter three: the media has always been right, he's always been wrong. 

He types out a bold response: 

'It's true' 

Seconds after, Juliane is calling him and he hurries to decline to not wake up Jamal. 

'Wtf. You declined?' Is her understandably scandalized reaction because not once in his life has he intentionally declined a call from her.

'He's sleeping next to me. I don't wanna wake him.'

Her capitalized ' WHAT?'  competes with Flo's past dramatic messages. 

'I'll explain later. Love you" 

He ponders reading the article for a moment. Instead, he takes a final look at it with a snort and a closing thought: It really comes full circle, doesn't it?