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Andy couldn’t understand it.
The training session was over, laughter ringing loudly through Melwood as they all headed back inside to get changed. Today’s source of laughter was the perhaps ever-present musings around Mo and Dejan. Or maybe less musings and more just prompting them to admit it already. It was hard not to notice Dejan's lingering touches on Mo, the possessive arm slung around Mo when he’d stand stiffly alongside Dejan in the canteen.
And yet it was teasing which invariably angered Dejan, refuting the playful insinuations that they were together with genuine irritation as he spat back his defensive retorts. He’d claim they were all wrong – that he wasn’t even into men, so he couldn’t possibly be into Mo – all the while keeping the status quo. He would brush off the rumours with derisive laughter and still sling Mo’s bag over his shoulder, saying they were heading off now. Everyone knew they weren’t exactly carpooling. They lived in completely different suburbs, in completely different directions from the training ground.
Andy thought Lovren was a prick. Perhaps he’d think him less of one, deeming this his attempt to brush things off and deal with the stress of playing in a league with not a single openly gay player in the top flight, if Mo was smiling. If he could at least offer a tight smile and half-heartedly laugh along. Instead Andy could only see the hurt which flickered across his face every time Dejan refuted the possibility that they were together, every time he’d scowl and insist he was straight.
He hated it; hated that nobody else seemed to notice, that Dejan’s frustration had just become more of a running joke, Mo seemingly scarcely considered in the equation. Andy, on the other hand would always find his eyes drawn towards Mo in those moments, to the poorly-masked stress clear in his features. How his happy smile from training would all but disappear, right in front of them all.
Perhaps he’d always been more inclined to look over towards Mo. They’d always got on; an easy friendship, full of light-hearted teasing. Maybe it was joining in the same transfer window, settling into a major club over the same summer meaning they naturally forged some kind of a bond which forced them together. And yet as everything Dejan seemed to develop, Mo seemed more distant. When they chatted, it was relaxed and as if nothing was going on – and yet on the training pitch Dejan seemed to constantly partner with Mo, would always sit next to him in the canteen and grind whatever conversation Mo had been engaged in to a halt.
But still nobody else seemed to have clocked it.
When Andy joined the club, almost immediately he’d found firm friendships. Millie was akin to an older sibling, perhaps paternal in the way he’d taken Andy under his wing. Things weren’t too dissimilar with Hendo, Andy certainly able to laugh like a lunatic with them both, though nothing could compare to his antics with Trent. Andy liked a laugh, and Trent was always up for one. His competitive nature more than rivalled Andy’s own. It was rare for Andy not to be grinning mischievously in training, were he honest. Not with such a fun group of people to be around.
And then the 6’4” god that was Virgil joined; another person Andy could happily get on the nerves of.
Even then, when he’d brought it up in passing, asking what they thought about Mo and Dejan, all he got were a few concerned shrugs. He realised that nobody had been paying quite as rapt attention as himself. To be expected, he supposed; it wasn’t as if Mo had said anything, and with his usual beaming smile in training he imagined people wouldn’t notice the change if they weren’t looking for it.
And Andy, well – he could admit that he was probably looking at Mo more than most. He’d probably been acting akin to a lovesick puppy, were he honest with himself (and the teasing from Trent rather indicated absolutely everyone else could see it too. Probably Mo included). It wasn’t his fault Mo was a literal ray of sunshine. An incredibly ripped and adorable ray of sunshine whose smile made Andy’s chest feel weird swoopy things, but whatever.
Regardless, something was going on and Andy didn’t like it. Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe Mo was perfectly happy and he should just leave them in peace. Still, that nagging doubt remained in the back of his mind.
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They were playing away: PSG in the group stages of the Champions League, right in the middle of an extremely busy week which had started with a win away at Watford and promised to end with the Merseyside derby. Thankfully the latter being at home, because Andy didn’t want to be doing three away games on the bounce – even if Goodison was just hopping to the other side of Stanley Park.
Andy reluctantly dragged himself out of bed for breakfast, his hotel room more than pleasant with a mattress he never wanted to tear himself away from. Washed and dressed and presentable, he ventured out in search of the stairs just for another door along the corridor to open. Mo, Andy immediately registered. Instinctively, he offered Mo a broad grin. However, as Mo emerged from Dejan’s room, he seemed on edge before he even saw Andy – if the strange tension he was carrying himself with was anything to go by.
Andy’s smile faltered.
“Morning,” he offered nevertheless, his tone forcibly bright.
Mo startled as his gaze darted across to Andy who must have torn him from his thoughts.
“Oh, morning,” Mo replied softly, awkwardly rooted to the spot as Andy walked over.
For a few brief moments, Andy studied him. He saw Mo’s strained expression, the darker shade beneath his eyes indicating nights of poor sleep. The slight slump to his shoulders, not drawing himself fully upright, confident and happy as Andy liked to see him.
But then Mo just offered him a tight smile and stepped away, quietly slinking back to his own room a few doors down.
Andy was left standing in the corridor watching after him, hearing as the door clicked shut. He didn’t like it. Something just seemed off, and he was almost entirely certain it had everything to do with the man whose room Mo just walked out of.
The game was far from their best. A 2-1 loss. Their third away loss in the Champions League that season – a new record for the club, Andy had been told. Their fourth consecutive loss in the competition. Mille’s penalty wasn’t the start of a magnificent comeback as they proceeded to play out an utterly goalless second half, all the action solely in the first. They could still progress to the knockouts, things weren’t over yet, but the mood on the flight was far from upbeat. Another loss on the road; yet more yellow cards which only had them all worrying about what that might mean for future suspensions.
And, as a defense, none of them were happy with each other. Virgil only half-cleared the cross for the first goal. Andy himself was too slow to react for the second. Without Alisson, Andy knew it would have been far worse.
Up front they weren’t exactly having a great game either with one solitary shot on target. So the journey back was muted, everybody disappointed.
When finally back at Melwood and able to head home at long last, Andy cast a glance over towards Mo. He was walking with Dejan, the other man a brick wall of stony silence with an expression to match.
Andy knew what his own night would look like: home, then bed. He rather hoped Mo’s was the same, even as he got into Dejan’s car, jacket wrapped tightly around himself from the cold November air.
Trying to push both his worries about Mo and their Champions League progression out of his head, Andy hoped the drive home would help. Warmth, sleep, and tomorrow would be a new day: there was a Merseyside derby to prepare for.
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The next few days, for Andy, were akin to a rollercoaster; twisting one way, and then the other. Since stumbling across Mo in the hotel corridor, their typically amicable, easy friendship faltered. Mo retreated somewhat. He seemed more hesitant, more wary of Andy.
Perhaps he worried Andy would gossip. Would divulge his eye-witness evidence of seeing Mo sneak out of Dejan’s room – finally the proof to confirm all the swirling rumours around him and Dejan. Instead, Andy determinedly did the opposite: he treated Mo the same as ever, tactile and talkative and teasing, all the while steering firmly clear of that moment in the corridor.
His doggedly upbeat antics eventually seemed to do the trick, Mo’s initial uncertainty as Andy chattered away at him in the changing room fading away just to be replaced by a bond even stronger than before. Mo’s unspoken thanks for Andy’s acceptance, perhaps. Or for his silence.
But Andy was far from complaining as they grew as close as ever, laughing together in training whenever Lovren’s back was turned – when he wasn’t watching them like a hawk, jaw set as he glared daggers into Andy. Things were left unsaid, that much of course Andy could tell, but for now he would relish in the renewed closeness with Mo. Relish in what he could get.
It’s a couple of weeks later, though, that Andy heard it. Raised voices echoed down the corridor adjacent to the changing room before training, Andy all but stopping in his tracks, bag swinging to hit against his leg when he came to an abrupt halt. Because he knew those voices. One was bitter, angry, spitting out accusations and insults in a stream of vitriol. The other sounded strained; vehemently protesting yet higher in pitch, full of worry. Dejan and Mo, the latter’s voice with a slight tremor to it.
Andy knew he should duck away, should head into the changing room and simply leave them be. And yet, as he heard Mo’s anxious pleading to Dejan, he found himself rooted to the spot.
“I’m done, Dejan.” Mo’s voice wavered but was firm. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be something you’re ashamed of.”
There was, at last, a pause. Then came Dejan’s voice, low and furious.
“That’s not– It’s not that simple, Mo.”
Andy exhaled sharply, a sudden wave of frustration entwined with protectiveness rushing over him as his fists clenched subconsciously by his sides. He strained to hear more, yet a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped. Whipping around, he saw Millie. Millie, looking at him with sympathetic eyes but an otherwise stern expression.
“Give them space,” came Mille’s quiet yet authoritative voice.
Andy looked at him, startled. They couldn’t just leave them, surely? Mo sounded so upset and Dejan so angry. It wasn’t their argument to get involved with. Andy hardly wanted to simply abandon Mo, but begrudgingly he acquiesced. Reluctant, he let himself be steered into the changing room though his mind was anywhere but the training session ahead. Millie was saying something to him, yet Andy hadn't registered a single word. Because Mo had tried to end things with Dejan. Finally, finally, it seemed he’d had enough. And he wasn’t merely sick of the squad’s merciless teasing; he was tired of Dejan himself. Of his almost aggressive reaction to insinuations they were together and yet the possessive way he acted with Mo nevertheless.
If things felt off heading into training, Andy’s worry only heightened upon realising one notable absence from the session. Mo wasn’t there.
With difficulty, he tried to stay focused. He tried not to let his worry show, to perform in drills and exercises like his usual self, but it gnawed at him. He was used to Mo’s presence, their little glances. Without him, the session felt dull. His usual rambunctious antics with Trent never materialised, Andy simply not in the headspace for their usual jokes and laughter. Not when Mo was simply nowhere to be seen.
Afterwards he lingered, searching for any sign of Mo. It was to no avail, though Mo’s bag still neatly remained on its peg in the changing room, untouched. Eventually Andy admitted defeat, having wandered the corridors for what felt like the hundredth time when the only people left were the cleaners and a couple of coaching staff – all of whom seemed entirely confused to see him. He drove home, feeling tense and uneasy.
Hours later, lost in some mindless television he put on as an exercise in distraction, Andy nearly jumped at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, his doorbell rang.
When he opened it, his breath caught.
Mo stood there, red-rimmed eyes glossy with unshed tears as he stood with shoulders curled inwards. Instinctively Andy stepped aside, wordlessly letting him in.
The door shut softly. Standing in Andy’s hallway, silence stretched out between them. Mo hovered near the door, gaze flickering around like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Andy stayed quiet; Mo had come to him, he wasn’t about to push him into a conversation. Instead, he gave him time, holding out a hand as he gestured to take Mo’s coat, watching as he shrugged it off and proceeded to toe off his shoes. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was still deciding whether he’d made the right choice coming here. There was a wariness to the motions that Andy didn’t like, Mo seemingly apprehensive towards him which was hardly something he wanted.
Finally, Mo sighed, raking a hand through his curls.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Andy leant against the wall, arms loosely crossed to stop himself from just pulling Mo into a hug.
“You don’t have to,” he said softly. Whether the comment was about turning up to Andy’s house or the entire situation generally, Andy wasn’t sure.
Mo let out a shaky breath.
“I ended it. With him. Whatever ‘it’ was.”
Andy’s heart clenched, a deep sympathy tempered by a sudden burst of selfish optimism which he berated himself for.
“Good.”
His blunt response drew a small huff of humourless laughter from Mo.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Andy studied him, the tension he carried himself with, the deep uncertainty in his expression.
“You don’t sound convinced,” he commented.
Mo hesitated, shoulders raising for a moment before he released them with a sigh.
“I just–” He shook his head. “I let it go on too long. I let him treat me like that. And I don’t know why.”
Andy swallowed hard. “Because you wanted to believe he cared.”
Mo blinked, startled, then looked away. “Yeah.”
It was Andy’s turn to sigh, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, fingers burying into the material of his jumper. Because he cared. Dejan didn't, but goodness knows Andy did.
“We should’ve stepped in, should’ve said something,” he said, regretful. “I should’ve done something.” Though quite what that would have been, he didn’t know. Confront Dejan and risk pushing Mo away? Seek Jurgen’s advice and likely breach Mo’s trust in the process? Instead he’d done neither – and yet Mo had still come to him. Had trusted him enough to do so.
“Should’ve, because, Mo, you deserve better,” he eventually said, voice soft.
Mo’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, to refute the point, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward, close enough now that Andy could see the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the uncertainty flickering in his eyes in such detail he felt his heart break a little further.
“I know,” Mo murmured, though sounding far from believing the words as they left his mouth. “I just—” He trailed off and then, before Andy could process it, he was reaching out, fingers curling around Andy’s wrist. “Is this okay?”
He looked at Andy with wide, apprehensive eyes, as if ready to flinch back at any moment.
Andy’s breath caught. His skin burned where Mo touched him. Bringing up a hand, he brushed away a stray tear on Mo’s cheek with the pad of his thumb before letting the rest rest against Mo’s face, gently cupping his cheek.
They looked at each other. Andy watched as Mo’s eyes flickered across his face, from his eyes down towards his lips before darting back up again. With distant surprise he raised his eyebrows, about to ask whether Mo was truly sure when suddenly soft lips met his.
It was soft, uncertain, like he was still waiting for Andy to pull away. But Andy didn’t. He kissed him back, fingers curling around his jaw as he felt Mo’s arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.
When they finally pulled apart, Mo let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know what this means.”
Andy squeezed his hand. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
And yet so much of him wished they could, as a nervous tension began to thrum through him. Because he didn’t understand what this meant either – was Mo simply taking comfort from kissing him? Affection which was genuine enough, but not rooted in the same kind of emotions which coursed through Andy?
Suddenly overwhelmed by his own maddening emotions towards it all, Andy blurted it out.
“Fuck, Mo, I like you,” he admitted, “I really do. Have done probably since I met you.” He looked away, suddenly unable to meet Mo’s gaze. “And I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, not when I should be here to support you, to comfort you. But I can’t keep up the lie, Mo,” he confessed, almost pleadingly though frustrated with himself for letting his guard slip. “Not when you’ve gone through all those lies and the secrecy recently.”
If there was anything Andy yearned to avoid, it was being in the slightest like Dejan.
Perhaps Mo sensed the panic, fingers of the hand settled on Andy’s waist moving in calming motions.
“We should talk in the morning,” Mo said softly. “But please, don’t worry. I rather adore you too,” he added wryly as Andy just stared at him, not quite allowing himself to register the admission.
“Can I stay?” Mo then asked.
“Yeah. ‘Course,” Andy replied, still rather too stunned to muster out much more.
Mo let out a breath and then, for the first time that night – and quite possibly since longer than that – he smiled.
Leading him to the sofa, Andy pulled a blanket over both of them. They sat in comfortable silence, and, as Mo slowly relaxed against him, his head resting on Andy’s shoulder, Andy let himself hope that this was the start of something better. Something a far cry from Mo’s experience of Dejan: something real. There were conversations left to have, plenty to explore when they inevitably spoke at length, but for now Andy tried to let himself exist in the moment. Because here was Mo: at his house, on his sofa, and in his arms.
He allowed himself to tune into the peaceful rhythm of Mo's breathing. Tomorrow was a new day, but for now he could lose himself in the fact that Mo was curled up next to him – away from Dejan and in the peace of Andy's living room. And that Mo, rather astoundingly, seemed to like him back. Granting himself a small smile, Andy tilted his head to rest against Mo's, the curls tickling at his cheek.
Well, he reflected, compared to how it started, this was certainly a much better end to their day.
And when he woke the next morning, the crick in his neck was all but forgotten as Mo lightly kissed him on the cheek when Andy blinked his eyes open, his thumb grazing against Andy’s freckles.
Yes, he thought. This was a turn of events he could really rather get on board with.