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The apartment was quieter than usual, the only sound being the spare key Marco gave Robert a few years ago jingling outside the door. Typically, there would be sounds from the TV reverberating in the space, but there were none to be heard this time around. Robert unlocked the door, greeted by the sight of Marco lying on the couch with his foot elevated by a stack of pillows. His ankle was wrapped in medical tape and compression bandages, purple bruises peeking out.
A torn ankle ligament was the diagnosis—a minor injury, not requiring surgery—but one that still kept him out of the game. Robert wanted to wince, remembering the anguish etched onto Marco’s features as he left the pitch on a stretcher. He had seen the footage, listened to the sound Marco had made when he went down, watched his face crumple with the realization of what this meant. The World Cup had only been days away, but Marco knew he wouldn’t be able to play.
Marco had a—now melted and soggy—ice pack resting on his injured ankle. He lay there, eyes closed and hands folded against his chest. Robert debated whether to wake him. He looked so relaxed lying there, eyes fluttering as if he were having a dream.
“I brought food.” He said, alerting Marco while holding up a bag with sandwiches for the two of them. Marco’s eyes flitted open, and he let out a groggy hum.
Sitting up, his eyes met Robert’s. “What are you doing here?”
“I cancelled my afternoon sessions.”
“No,” Marco was glaring at him now. “What are you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to bring food for a friend?”
“Is that what we are now? Friends?”
Robert stopped in his tracks. He knew there would be pushback from Marco once he announced the transfer, but he never expected their relationship to change in such a way. They were inseparable—Lewandowski and Reus. How did they get to where they were now?
The question hung in the air as Robert set the bag down on the coffee table. They’d always been more than friends. Friends don’t find excuses to brush their fingers when handing each other water bottles. Friends don’t shyly place their hands atop the other’s in coffee shops. And friends surely don’t steal kisses in locker rooms when the rest of their teammates are gone.
But everything had changed since the transfer news broke, and now, Robert wasn't sure what they were to each other anymore.
“Don’t.” Marco’s voice cut through the suffocating silence like a sword. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”
Robert grimaced. “Like what?”
“Like you pity me.” Marco struggled to shift his leg to a more comfortable position, pain shooting through his ankle, though not as agonizing as whatever they were dancing around right now. “Like this is some charity visit before you disappear to Munich.”
“That’s not—”
“Isn’t it, though? Your little guilt tour before you decide to abandon ship.”
Something hot and defensive rose in Robert’s throat. “I never abandoned anything, Marco. This is my career, my life.”
“Your life? What about our life? What about everything we built here?” He spat, knowing the team was the last thing on his mind at the moment.
The apartment suddenly felt too small. Walls were closing in, bound to crush them, and time was running out. He wasn’t used to the feeling. Whenever he was with Marco, time bent to give them as much as they needed. Taking things for granted was something Robert swore never to do; he just didn’t realize things were coming to a close so soon.
“You think this was easy for me?”
“You never said anything! You just—you pulled away.” He sputtered. “Every time the rumors started, you got colder, more distant. How was I supposed to know what you wanted when you wouldn’t even look at me?”
Marco tried to sit up, his weight shifting to favor his good leg. The movement was clumsy and desperate, and Robert instinctively reached out to steady him. Instead, Marco jerked his hand away as if it were burning.
The rejection stung harder than Robert would care to admit. He had convinced himself he was over it, willing the memories they had made to leave his mind. He raised his hands, complying with Marco’s request for space.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
“My way? My way would’ve been you staying. Not you leaving us for money and glory. We were supposed to bring glory to Dortmund.”
“It’s not about money—”
“Then what is it about, Robert? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you got a better offer and decided we weren't worth fighting for."
The accusation shocked him like a live wire, electricity traveling through his body, stunning him into silence. Composure fractured, words were begging to be shouted, and everything was falling apart.
"You want to know what it's about?" His voice was raw now, all pretense stripped away. "It's about lying awake at night wondering if you even still want me here. It's about watching you flinch every time someone mentions my name in the press."
It's about feeling like I'm slowly suffocating in something that used to feel like home.
Marco’s face went white. They both thought that they would crumble, turn to ash to be scattered into the ocean, separated from each other forever.
"If that's how you really feel, then just go. Go to Bayern Munich, go wherever you want. Just stop pretending this hurts you as much as it hurts me."
Robert stood frozen, watching the man he'd fallen in love with across a thousand training sessions dissolve into someone he barely recognized. Someone cold and angry and distant. Someone who used to whisper sweet everythings into his ear, but now spewed venom until it seeped into his heart.
For a wild moment, Robert wanted to cross the space between them, wanted to gather him up and promise that none of it mattered, that they could find their way back to each other. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he stood up and picked up the bag of sandwiches with trembling hands, the paper crinkling obscenely loud in the sudden quiet.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for anymore.
Marco turned away, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together. When he spoke again, his voice was defeated, and he was ready to crack and fall apart.
“We were going to win the Bundesliga, the World Cup, but you see, none of it mattered unless I won it with you. That’s all I ever wanted, Robert.”
Robert almost flinched, letting the words sink in, piercing his heart like an arrow. How could he have been so blind? It was as if the wind was knocked out of him when the weight of what Marco said settled in him, deep inside his bones.
Marco sat up, leveling his gaze with Robert’s, watching and waiting for a response, for any indication that his words meant anything to him. Robert looked at him, drowning in his eyes until it felt like his only option was to inhale and let the water fill his lungs. Then Robert kisses him, truly kisses him, entangling their limbs together until they’re fused together. Flesh and bone, meshed and merged.
Their lips are warm and bold against each other, pressing with a fervor that threatens to consume them both.
Robert is hungry, they both are, because they had been waiting for this moment for what seems like eons, chasing each other to the ends of the earth just to be in each other’s arms, to receive any contact the other will permit. So when Marco’s tongue slips past Robert’s lips, he grants access as his hand finds the nape of Marco’s neck.
They dance like this for a while, yet it’s not enough. If Marco had his way, the two of them would be twisted together like this until the end of time. That’s all he desires, all he craves, all he needs. It is a need that encompasses him, and it took root inside of him the day he met Robert. That first seed, planted by a smile he’ll never be able to shake, had been nurtured by each laugh and lingering touch. Now it had become something wild and uncontrollable, vines surrounding his ribcage and daring to spill from his chest.
It’s overwhelming, the desire and emotion swirling inside of Marco. He had told himself he shouldn’t, no, he couldn’t dream of this, even when his mind was only occupied by the thought of Robert. Daydreams of waking up next to him, living together, sharing their entire lives. A feeling so intense it wrecked him until he was worn and broken down, only being motivated to keep going by the reassurance that he would be by Robert’s side, even if it was simply as a teammate.
He could feel Robert’s exhale against his lips, taking it in because he was scared he wouldn’t feel it again. And oh, how he couldn’t bear to be left alone once more. Not when everything he wished for was in front of him again. The thirst had been quelled, but he was still stuck in the desert with no way out. Not unless he had Robert’s guiding hand, leading him away from the heat of the scorching sun beating down upon him.
He is blessed, blessed like holy water. And he wants to kneel in front of Robert, pray to him until his knees bruise and his mouth is dry from the worship that spills past his lips.
Marco built up the courage to speak after all those moments. “What now?”