Chapter Text
It’s close to midnight when the phone rings.
In all honesty, Jude hasn’t been doing much sleeping. It’s hard to when every single time he closes his eyes, he sees Gio’s face, haunted and alone. The last time he remembers sleeping through the night was before. Before that one October evening when everything he loved and believed in came crashing down.
Though it’s been nearly eight months, he remembers it as if it were yesterday. It was during the October international break. They were at one of Southgate’s infamous “team bonding” dinners, laughing over lasagna and too-sweet wine, when his phone buzzed. Chris’s name lit up the screen, followed by three words that made his stomach drop:
Jude, please call me.
After that, it all blurs together—the sharp taste of fear, Chris’s voice, shaky and drenched in guilt.
“We, um… we went on a hike,” Chris had stammered. “Gregg called it team building, and… well, Gio, he…”
A pause thick enough to drown in.
“We can’t find him.”
The smell of lasagna, warm and rich, now turns Jude’s stomach. He remembers clutching his phone so hard he thought it might break, the cold tile floor beneath his knees as he slid down, the sudden hush around him as his teammates watched his face crumble. But mostly, he remembers the feeling of helplessness. Like his heart was being slowly torn apart, piece by piece.
“What do you mean you can’t find him?” he’d demanded, voice breaking, every word a desperate prayer.
Chris’s reply was shaky, nearly inaudible. “He was… arguing with Gregg. Gio, he said he needed space, so he took a detour off the path. But he… he never came back.”
Jude had felt his heart splintering into a million pieces. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything but sit here, thousands of miles away, helpless. In his head, he could still hear Gio’s voice, see the exhaustion in his eyes from the calls they'd had in the weeks leading up to this. Jude had spent hours comforting him, telling him to hang on, to ignore Gregg’s constant criticism and the icy stares from teammates who once called him “friend.” Jude had promised him it would all be over soon, that they’d be back together once the season resumed in Germany.
Now it’s June, and the trees that were once a fiery orange are now a soft green, life moving on while Jude remains frozen in that October night. There have been countless away games, birthdays, holidays, but none of it matters. All that exists in his mind are the memories: the desperate social media posts, the search parties, the candlelight vigils held by friends who hadn’t seen Gio in years. He remembers Marco’s tear-streaked face as he sat in a church Jude didn’t even know he went to, whispering prayers for a safe return. He remembers visiting Erling, who had transformed his room into a makeshift headquarters for the search, with maps of the Appalachian wilderness pinned to every wall and stacks of satellite images piled under his desk. Jude realized then that grief had twisted them all into different versions of themselves—a brother, a boyfriend, a friend. All they could do was hope against hope.
He’d tried to book a flight to New York the moment he heard, but his mother had stopped him.
“You can’t, Jude,” she’d said softly, her hand on his shoulder. “People are already talking, and you’re doing so well in Madrid—”
“I don’t give a damn,” he’d snapped, jerking away. “I’m not going to sit here while my boyfriend is lost in the wilderness.”
He flew to New York, ignoring every call from Madrid’s management. For weeks, he wandered through the unforgiving Appalachian mountains, shouting Gio’s name, poring over blurry footage and half-baked leads, and begging the search teams to keep going, just one more day. He only stopped when Madrid threatened to rip up his contract, and even then, he’d considered letting them. It took both Marco and Erling to convince him to come home, to wait, to hold onto the belief that Gio would be found.
But the nights—the nights are the worst. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Gio. Gio running toward him after a match, his face bright with joy. Gio lying beside him, his head on Jude’s chest, breathing in sync. Memories that used to make him feel warm now feel like knives, cutting deeper every time he dares to remember.
Tonight, he’s lying awake when the phone rings. He’d taken to leaving the ringer on ever since a police officer had told him gently, “Look, son, we won’t stop looking, but… you might want to prepare yourself.”
But Jude can’t prepare. He doesn’t believe in preparing, because he knows, in a place deeper than words, that Gio is still out there. He still feels him, a quiet warmth in his chest, like he had on the very first day they met. A part of him knows no one would understand if he said this out loud. They’d just smile at him with pity, try to make him see reason.
The phone rings twice before Jude grabs it, heart racing as he sees the caller ID.
Unknown Caller – New York.
“Mr. Bellingham,” the voice begins, quiet and professional. “We’re calling regarding your friend.” A pause, as if to steady the words. “He was found last night by a hunter and his wife. He’s currently being treated at Mercy General.”
For the first time in months, Jude feels something besides the numbness. A rush of relief, of panic, of overwhelming hopefloods through him, leaving him breathless.
“How… how is he?” Jude chokes out, voice barely more than a whisper as tears spill down his cheeks.
The nurse’s voice softens. “I… he’s not well. Severe hypothermia, frostbite, extreme dehydration and malnutrition, which has led to pneumonia. He has several wounds and is very weak.” She pauses, her voice weighted with the impossible. “It’s… it’s honestly a miracle he’s alive. It seems he survived by drinking creek water and eating berries.”
And then, just as quickly, the numbness threatens to return. Jude imagines Gio suffering, alone, in the cold, all because his coach couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Because of all the people who should’ve protected him, should’ve seen the signs.
He sends a quick text to Marco and Erling, and together, they book the first flight to New York. Marco murmurs prayers under his breath throughout the journey, hands clasped tightly in his lap, while Erling pours over case studies, his jaw clenched. Jude just stares at the ceiling, heart pounding with fear and something like hope.
By mid-afternoon, they arrive at the hospital, a swarm of press outside making Jude feel sick with nerves. Somehow, he manages to slip through a back entrance, the quiet hallways swallowing him as he walks with the doctor toward Gio’s room.
“He’s conscious,” the doctor tells them. “He… well, he was asking for you all.”
The words hit Jude like a punch. Gio woke up alone, again, because Jude hadn’t been there fast enough. He clenches his fists, biting back the anger and guilt clawing at him. He has to stay steady—for Gio.
“You go first, Jude,” Marco says, his voice thick with emotion. “We… we’ll give you time.”
Jude nods, forcing himself to breathe as he pushes open the door. The sight of Gio takes the air from his lungs.
This isn’t the Gio he remembers.
His once-soft hair has been shaved by a nurse, and his face is thin, ghostly pale, barely recognizable. Jude’s eyes trail to his arms, once strong and muscular, now marked with cuts and bruises, frail and trembling under the hospital sheets. An oxygen mask covers his face, and wires run from every angle of his body, each one a reminder of the pain he’s endured.
Jude steps forward, barely breathing, and reaches out a hand to gently stroke Gio’s cheek, as he used to do on early mornings before practice. Gio’s eyes flutter open, dull but alive.
“Baby,” Jude whispers, voice breaking as tears slip down his cheeks. Gio’s eyes widen, filling with tears of his own as he raises a shaky hand to Jude’s wrist, clutching it like a lifeline.
“You’re… really here?” Gio’s voice is hoarse, barely more than a breath. “I thought… I’m sorry…”
He breaks into a fit of coughing, his whole body shuddering. Jude reacts instinctively, sitting him up and bringing a cup to his lips. The sight of Gio, once so full of life, now barely able to hold his head up, is like a knife to his heart.
“I love you, Gio. So much.” Jude’s voice is thick with tears. “I missed you every single day… you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”
Gio’s fingers weakly squeeze his wrist, his own tears slipping down his sunken cheeks. “I was so scared… I shouldn’t have run… don’t wanna go back… it was so cold… I don’t wanna lose you.”
“You won’t,” Jude says, his voice steady with resolve. “Gio, I swear, you won’t. I’m here now. Marco and Erl are here, too. We’re all here, and we’re not going anywhere.”
Gio nods, his eyelids drooping, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “Hold me… please… I need to feel you. Just hold me.”
Jude climbs into the bed without a second thought, wrapping his arms around Gio as he had so many times before, in lazy mornings, in moments of joy, in moments of peace. Gio melts into him, his body warm against Jude’s chest, as if the simple act of holding each other could heal the deep scars left by this nightmare.
“I stayed alive for you,” Gio whispers, his voice barely audible. “Jack told me to… he said I needed to… for you. But I’m so tired, Jude. So tired.”
Jude tightens his arms around him, pressing his lips to the top of Gio’s head. “We’ll get out of here soon, baby. Somewhere warm. Just us. No hospitals. No nothing. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. Just rest.”
Gio sighs, his body relaxing into Jude’s embrace, whispering, “I want to see Marco and Erl… but I’m so tired.”
Jude kisses his head softly, whispering, “Rest now, baby. You can see them when you wake up. We have all the time in the world.”
And together, they drift into sleep, clinging to each other, finally feeling the warmth they’ve both longed for. The world outside can wait. For now, all that matters is the quiet peace they’ve found in each other’s arms, against all odds.