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The final whistle inside the Allianz is met with disgruntlement that scurries down from the stands, trapping the dejection that clings to the Bayern players’ tired muscles. Flo watches them— how they slip towards each other, frustration mirrored— listening, lamenting, harsh whispers exchanged.
Flo searches the pitch, pulling his gloves off and thumbing the inside of his sleeves trying to catch Jamal’s eyes, almost lifting his hand to wave. Fingers still shaking with the adrenaline that stumbles through his body, wanting to drag him away from his hushed conversation with Olise but there’s arms on his shoulders before he can, hauling him backwards, nearly losing his footing in the damp turf.
Jeremie’s grin, beaming and bright, exhibiting no signs of a full-blooded ninety minutes, appears in Flo’s peripheral vision. His shoulders shaking from where he’s being tugged in all directions, dancing in a zig-zag line towards the section of away supporters, flags and flares flying as they serenade their team. Flo listens to it, celebrating with them all, arms wound around each other, bouncing in the bitter winter air to the sound of familiar songs filling their ears, jubilation thrumming wildly in their veins.
Flo’s cheeks hurt, prickling with the icy wind that dances along his face, applauding the supporters as their glee trickles down towards them. He turns, ducking out of his teammates’ grip and looks for Jamal— almost hitting him square in the chest, feeling him catch him with loose fingers wrapped around his wrist.
“Hello,” Jamal greets, steadying Flo just enough that he can tug him flush against his body, arms sliding around his shoulders, stilling at his neck and skimming the edge of his hairline with his thumb, cold fingers against warm skin.
Flo shivers, he blames it on the sunlight that had long disappeared behind the stunning expanse of the Allianz Arena.
“Good game, dude,” Jamal murmurs, his breath warm despite the temperature touching the shell of Flo’s ear, one hand sliding to rest against Flo’s back, fingers splayed out across the number ten. It sticks to him, clingy and uncomfortable but he still leans back into the touch.
For a moment, fleeting as it might be, Flo tucks his face into the curve of Jamal’s neck and exhales, a shaky breath of sorts that rumbles against the dip of Jamal’s collarbone, beneath his shirt. His heart still races in his chest, trying to escape his ribcage as the exertion from the game still rushes like Niagara Falls in his bloodstream, the adrenaline ceaseless and unending, mingling with something else, the distance between them erased in a single second. Sudden but wanted with an intension that could clean-break through his chest cavity.
The corner of Flo’s mouth tilts upwards when he pulls back, his hands coming up to rest against Jamal’s hips, nails pressing into the band of his shorts.
“Yeah, yeah,” He breathes out, aided by a small roll of his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You too, Jamu.” His breath hitches, catching on the nickname, the blush sitting across his cheeks like the sweep of a paintbrush in rose.
Jamal’s eyes soften slightly, sparkling slightly underneath the harsh floodlights that crowd them as they stand on the edge of the penalty area. And, Flo almost reaches out, wanting to trace the curve at the corner of them— maybe he’d close his eyes, his eyelashes almost touching his cheek, long and beautiful, fluttering open only to look back at him and maybe he’d steal the final breath from Flo’s lungs too.
He steps back, needing to put a foot or two of distance between them as the vision dances in front of his eyes like little dots from staring at the sun too long— in some ways, he has been.
The other players start to make their way off the pitch, Jeremie stops and shakes Jamal’s hand, leaving Flo with a pull to the back of his shirt. He falls backwards and reaches out with his gloves to smack him. Jamal laughs lightly, it feels like a siren song in Flo’s ears.
Jamal throws his arm around Flo’s shoulders, pulling him to his side and letting his fingers flitter over the badge that adorns his chest, thumb brushing across the space where Flo’s heart beats erratically, stupidly. They’re the last left behind, the Allianz emptying out and leaving the Leverkusen fans to continue their celebrations up in the corner, Flo goes easily with a small glance behind, his chest blossoms wildly, like the first flowers of spring as he lets himself be led.
Flo fits into Jamal’s side with ease, slotting into the curves and grooves of his frame, in the curl of the arm that’s slipped to his waist, loosely skimming at the hem of his jersey. But, he doesn’t think about how his dimples show when they catch the light, or how Jamal squeezes him slightly, or how the low rumble of his voice ignites a thread of gold that weaves and ties around his organs, pressing down. He doesn’t let go as they take the stairs to the sound of talking spilling out into the corridor, the winners and losers contrasting against each other in a cacophony of frustration mixed with glee.
Jamal’s gaze flickers across to the away dressing room as he steps back from Flo, the corner of his mouth turning down, the game permeating in needling flashbacks of the loss. Flo almost says something.
The seconds pass, surrounded by the blanket of emotions as they look at each other, there’s that familiar easy-going smile back on Jamal’s face that bounces between the frustration at the cup exit and Flo, who hasn’t dared to make a move towards his own dressing room.
Like quicksand, he’s stuck but not sinking, just steady. Anticipating.
“I—”
“I missed you,” Jamal interrupts, his gaze flickering across every angle— sharp and soft on Flo’s face, the contours of him, looking at the way his eyes widen at the words and the ghost of a smile that traces along his mouth, confused, surprised. “What?”
“Nothing,” Flo laughs. “Just.” He waves an airy hand in the space between them, fighting against the fatigue that is stealing all coherent words from him. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Come on,” Jamal groans, throwing his head back, exposing the expanse of his neck and Flo blinks, his eyebrows raising of their own accord. “Don’t make it weird, man.”
Flo laughs, a nervous bubble of something that comes out a little more raw than he expects, drawing his eyes along the line of Jamal’s throat as he lowers his head again, catching Flo staring with a small quirk of his mouth and sparkly eyes that could light up his darkest nights.
“I missed you too,” Flo murmurs, something tight pressing between his ribs, attempting to crack them open. “Dumbo.” He whispers, unable to help himself, trapping his tongue between his teeth, it comes out a little more breathlessly than he expects, unsteady but unyielding.
He watches the way Jamal relaxes, the subtle hunch in his shoulders disappearing at the echoed sentiment, like he was holding his breath, on tenterhooks waiting for it— for something nameless in the enervation and separation. As if he was half-expecting Flo to reject it, like the countless text messages and videos shared and late nights sharing whatever thought came to mind when sleep eluded them could have meant anything else.
Jamal has always been the first, at least for Flo.
“Flo?” Jonathan’s voice flies out of the dressing room, his head poking out from behind the doorframe looking both directions until he finds him, gesturing with a thumb pointed back over his shoulder. “You comin’?”
Right. Flo nods to himself, slow and jerky and almost turns around towards the dressing room when he feels Jamal catch his wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse point which thrums stupidly quickly underneath the pressure. Flo stops, Jamal clears his throat.
“Wait—”
Flo’s eyes flicker down to his wrist, encased, locked in Jamal’s grip before back up to his eyes, a razor of hesitance sliding across them, dulling them slightly, like he’s fighting it, whatever it is.
“Come out with me, some of us, tonight,” He says, in a rush of words that don’t sound coherent enough in his ears at first. “But, you’re not allowed to gloat.”
He shouldn’t, he knows that. He should celebrate with the team and take the bus back to the hotel, he should fall asleep in crisp white bedsheets and wake up with a clear head and take the train back to Leverkusen with the exhilaration still whirring beneath his skin. He shouldn’t, but Jamal is still looking at him, please flaring in the honey of his eyes, against the low lighting that feels like it’s changed to something warmer despite still bleeding burning red.
Flo’s always been bad at that, doing what he should, saying no to Jamal. They’re the same thing, he reasons.
“Okay,” He says, twisting his wrist out of his friend’s grip, reaching for the bottom of his shirt and tugging it off over his head, scrunching it up and tossing it at Jamal’s chest. “No promises about the gloating.”
Jamal’s eye roll feels imprinted against his chest, threatening to burst out of his ribcage turning his bones to dust as he slips into the middle of his team’s easy celebrations, a stupid— familiar, etched into his dreams, smile spinning around his head as someone yanks him into the centre of the room, in a headlock that he doesn’t even attempt to escape from.
*
The bar is busy, music and warmth punching Flo in the face as he pushes open the door, slipping away from the arctic temperatures that had slipped beneath his jacket, nipping at his skin and assaying to turn his blood into ice.
He searches for a glimpse of Jamal, or at least his Bayern teammates, sliding between crowds splitting off in the direction of the bar and hears Olise before he sees him, his French accent pinched and he’s shouting across the table and Flo wonders if he’s ever seen him that animated before.
Flo moves through the tables, following the sound of his voice until Jamal notices him, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards into that same old, gorgeous smile that sometimes makes Flo’s stomach do that scrunchy thing. Like he’s hanging upside down on the monkey bars and all of the blood has rushed to his head, making him feel dizzy but the kind of dizziness that makes you want to keep doing it, even if you know it’s no good for you.
Jamal shifts further along the booth, gesturing to the empty space beside him. Flo takes the invitation, offering a hello to the other guys, sitting beside Jamal, their shoulders brushing together. Jamal leans into him as a greeting, the warmth of his body underneath the layers of clothing scalding to the touch, and Flo almost does. Almost. His fingers tense at his side, flicking the zip on Jamal’s jacket, cold metal cutting through the heat of his fizzling skin.
The small tilt of his mouth upwards allows the ghost of a dimple to appear, small, barely noticeable in the mood lighting of the sconces behind their heads, but Flo stares. Only for a second. Something akin to honey trickling through his veins when Jamal trails off completely, pushing himself closer to Flo, their thighs pressed together despite the empty space on his other side.
It makes him go a little crazy, and Flo thinks he’d let Jamal drive him completely crazy if he wanted to.
And, he thinks he might.
He notices Jamal’s habit, of how he never forgets or lets his teammates forget that Flo is there, letting his eyes graze over Flo’s body as he reaches for his glass, tilting his drink towards Aleks whenever he makes an unhelpful comment with a searing stare. His hand rests on the table beside Flo’s, fingers touching the back of his hand— accidentally, deliberately. Flo eases into the conversations, he elicits a couple of laughs and starts to let himself feel like he’s a part of them, needling his way into the heart of it like he’s not part of the reason that they had been knocked out hours earlier.
Flo feels the blush sitting high on his cheekbones when Jamal makes an off-hand comment about something that happened during the international break, earning a few laughs. Flo kicks him lightly underneath the table, unable to ignore the way his heart soars at Jamal’s mouth curving upwards at the face— grimace, he pulls. Jamal’s chuckle is louder than theirs, lunging forward to wrap his arms around Flo’s body, coming to a stand on his shoulders, his chin touching the top of Flo’s head.
Flo’s shoulder hits Jamal’s chest, falling into his body and part of him wants to stay there, to crawl inside his skin and make it his new home.
And, it scares him. Just a little.
Jamal always has, in a way. A palpable tension brewing under the surface of a friendship that was always meant to be, inevitable, lost in lingering looks and finding reason after reason to touch the other— seeking each other out like they were the only two on a pitch of twenty two, a gravitational pull that pulled. It was Flo letting Jamal into his orbit for a second and Jamal never leaving in return, he never wanted him to, a firm hold on him, wanting him to stay forever, to keep him like he was the picture in an invisible locket.
Jamal never belonged to anybody, but he always, sort of, belonged to Flo.
Flo never considered that the feelings surpassed something else, that they slipped between the cracks in his ribs, tying them together with a ribbon spun out of golden thread. He doesn’t know when things changed, he isn’t sure if they ever had to. Was it always going to end like this? In feelings that burned through his body like he was on fire because of a single look, because Jamal always looked for him, at him, like he could expose the swathe of his heart with a single, unwavering gaze.
Boundless.
Irretrievable.
He thinks he imagines the lips that brush along his hairline, a barely there touch that ignites something deep within his stomach, coiling and pooling and unfurling something prodigious that bursts like a firework deep within his gut. Flo knows what it is, he’s always known what it is.
Of course it is, and he lied, he’s fucking terrified of it— of the magnitude it— them— could hold.
“Excuse me—” He cuts into the chatter that had drifted to white noise in his ears, Jamal’s grip on him falling as he stumbles out of the booth. His heart racing, threatening to lurch out of his chest and land in his hands— pulsing, holding everything that Flo has been scared to admit.
He catches Jamal’s eyes, focusses on the confused crease in his eyebrow and the are you okay? question that sits on his tongue but he doesn’t get to ask because Flo is staggering towards the bathroom, his legs like jelly, like he’s on ice without the skates.
The door swings open and Flo lunges towards the counter, wet and sticky with beer residue and an empty glass lying flat by the sink. He presses his hands into it and looks back at his reflection in the mirror, the look of someone staring back at him that he doesn’t completely recognise, because he’d never really wondered what he would look like when he realised he was in love with his best friend.
But, he is. In love with Jamal. Hopelessly, irrevocably, all-encompassingly, in love with him.
The sounds from the bar are dull and muted behind the bathroom walls, echoing distantly in his ears, drowned out by the blood rushing through them, like he’s sinking beneath the water, freefalling to the darkest depths of the ocean. A confession so raw that it could burst through the seams that hold him together.
The door swings open and Flo turns— Jamal stops at it, palm pressed flat against it.
“Flo?” He calls, his voice low and disguised by the music. “You alright?”
Flo might have laughed at that if the thought of making a single sound didn’t make him want to throw up, his throat burning with a confession that chokes him, his fingers trembling in the splashes of liquid underneath them.
It’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to fall for the pretty girl who would follow him over land and sea and sit in the stands cheering his name. He’s not supposed to fall for his best friend who looks at him like he holds the moon and stars in his eyes, like he could answer the questions of the universe with a single glance.
His best friend who understands him better than any girl ever could.
“Flo. Breathe,” Jamal’s murmur is grounding against his skin, soft and soothing against something that’s bristly and sharp, his hand rests against the small of Flo’s back, thumb rubbing circles that leave a spiral of heat behind, like the flicker of a lighter against something bare and exposed. “You good, man?”
This time Flo does laugh, a choked-up sound that is more like a sob but he nods, inhaling through his nose until it stings and exhaling it in a wobbly breath that betrays him.
“Sorry,” Flo apologises, backing away from the counter and drying his hands on the back of his jeans, but they never fully do.
“Do you?” Jamal asks, sinking his teeth into his lip, he doesn’t move any closer and Flo is grateful for that because he thinks if he does, he might actually throw up this time. “Want to talk about it?”
Flo looks up at him, the bathroom lights are cold and unwelcoming and they make Jamal look a lot paler underneath them, flickering angrily above his head but his gaze is unbending, holding a promise of sorts, that he’s there for him. Their friendship has always been a judgement-free zone, spilling secrets that they could never really share with anybody else but not this. Flo doubts it extends to a confession that could shift everything they’ve ever known off its axis, throwing the best thing that Flo thinks he’s ever had into doubt— that it could, would never be the same again.
“No, it’s okay,” he forces out, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, his heart aches in his chest.
Jamal steps closer to him, stopping in front of Flo, his fingers flexing at his side, tension palpable in the air. It would be so easy. It would be easy enough to close the gap, to lift his mouth to Jamal’s, to finally fall apart in the arms of the person it’s always been. It would be so easy, and maybe that’s why standing still takes everything Flo has.
Which is why Jamal doing something so insane is enough to knock the remaining air out of his lungs. His finger tracing the curve of his jaw and tilting his head up, honey staring into the ocean. He drops his eyes to Flo’s mouth, a blink and you’ll miss it glimpse that breaks something inside the both of them. One erratically beating heart and another that knows exactly what it wants.
Jamal’s still staring at his mouth, hesitation flickering in the light, and Flo feels his brain short-circuiting in real time.
“Flo,” he whispers, his breath touching his lips allowing the shiver to finally grow up his spine, rearranging everything he’s known, shaking with an anticipation that flares inside him. “Kiss me.”
And, Flo’s brain short-circuits all over again, honeyed adrenaline cascading through his veins, sticky and gooey and golden and he pushes himself up, kissing Jamal square on the mouth.
It’s. It’s everything.
Jamal’s mouth is warm against his, sliding together like he was made for this, for him, to kiss him as he robs the final breath from Flo’s lungs. His hands lift to rest against Flo’s hips as he pushes him back towards the counter, the cool ceramic of the basin pressing into his lower back, leaving indents, invisible marks to match the movements of Jamal’s hands on his skin.
Jamal kisses him with a pressure that’s soft but insistent, swiping against his lower lip with his tongue, his thumbs press into the soft skin just above Flo’s waistband, nails grazing scorching skin. Flo lets him in and nearly falls to his knees when Jamal changes the angle, dipping his head. It’s dizzy, intoxicating, it’s the culmination of tension that had burned through them, leading them to now, to something that he’s sure was always supposed to happen.
He kisses him twice more, cheeks flushed with a breathlessness that has his chest heaving and mouths chasing each other, leaving a last kiss at the corner of Flo’s mouth pulling a whine from him. Embarrassing— maybe— but Jamal’s eyes are glittery and beautiful and he can’t stop looking at Flo, with a wonder that presses down against his chest, threatening to snap everything inside him, leaving his body irreparable against the love that blooms and spills.
“You mean?”
“Yes,” Jamal laughs, low against Flo’s shoulder and it has something coiling within his stomach, letting Jamal hold onto him like he’s afraid to let him go. “It’s you. It had to be you.”
It’s better than a full-blown, unequivocal confession.
Lifting his hand, Flo traces the sharp edge of Jamal’s jaw, struck with a paralysing fear that this isn’t real, that his best friend who has always been one of the realest things in his life, is a dream that’s circling around his sleeping form. But, Jamal turns his head and leaves a kiss on the base of Flo’s palm and no, it’s very fucking real.
Flo wraps his hand around Jamal’s neck, bringing him closer— their foreheads touch for a moment before he kisses him again, giving into everything that he’s craved, savouring the taste that for a long time he was sure he could have only imagined, when he closed his eyes tight enough that he saw stars and.
Jamal leans into him and the pressure is enough to sink straight to his core.
“You live—” Flo gasps against his mouth, something akin to molten lava spilling into his stomach. “— Close, don’t you?”
Jamal hums against his mouth, keeping his arms locked around Flo’s waist, a crease in his forehead that Flo itches to smooth away, calloused fingers gliding over soft skin.
“Yeah?” The realisation washing over him, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “Yeah.” Tangling the word up in another kiss pressed to the corner of Flo’s mouth.
The bar is stuffy, warm and filled with a tension that clouds between them, clothes unsettled and bodies hissing with a heat and a desire that’s desperate to be sated. Jamal’s fingers are twisted in the sleeve of Flo’s jacket, bumping his thigh against the table as they reach it. The boys look up, taking in their matching flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips, glossy with something that isn’t the beer they’d been nursing, laying bare what had happened— even if they don’t say a word.
Jamal makes an excuse for them, somewhat believable until Michael turns around, hands cupped around his mouth and says something to Jamal in French but just as Flo arches his eyebrow, Jamal laughs, light and easy and like a song that he wants to listen to on repeat for the rest of his life.
French? The thought prickles his skin, like little icicles decorating his body in abstract patterns.
The cold air is a shock, piercing them, unrelenting as the dark December sky, as they wrap their jackets further around their bodies. Jamal’s hand flickers at his side, his little finger grazing the back of Flo’s hand, like he wants to reach out and twine their fingers together, and he would let him.
Flo is pretty sure he’d let him kiss him in the middle of the street if he wanted to.
*
The light flitters in through the open blinds, amber radiance dancing in beams across the bed and their bodies. Flo stirs when it catches on his face, settling on his eyelids as he blinks open to the morning that settles around him, the room, the arms that are tightly wound around his waist and the face pressed into the slope of his shoulder.
His body aches, muscles pulled and pushed and his arm is loosely wrapped around Jamal’s back, thumb pressed into the curve between his shoulder blades, he’s warm like the bed— but like the promise of something more too, like love could burst out of his skin like an array of dazzling colours filling the sky.
Flo stares at the ceiling for a moment, letting his body rid himself of the remnants of sleep, fighting against the lull of it because all he wants to do is close his eyes and slip back into the abyss, lose himself in his best friend and stay there until the New Year.
Jamal stirs at his side, fingers dancing along Flo’s ribs underneath the covers but his heart doesn’t race this time, it just thrums steadily in chest, safe and happy.
“I have to go,” Flo rasps, his voice thick with sleep as he brings his hand to Jamal’s head, nails grazing his hair, he leans into it, Flo blinks away a sleepy smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Jamu?”
He hums, tightening his grip. Flo throws his head back onto the pillow, he really does need to leave before his teammates rouse and notice he’s not there. He’s sure Jeremie would cover— but he’s not completely willing to test that theory.
Jamal leaves a kiss against Flo’s collarbone, fluttery and light but he still finds himself sinking into it.
“Okay,” And then his arms are gone from Flo’s waist exposing him to the sudden cold air of the room, the blankets pooling at his waist and for a second, Flo wonders whether taking the fine would be so bad after all.
The exhaustion still lingers as Flo forces himself out of bed, locating his clothes which are in and on every spare surface in the room, the blush sitting high on his cheekbones when he feels Jamal’s gaze spreading over every inch of him.
“Stop,” Flo huffs, pulling his jeans on and looking over his shoulder, his chest clenching at Jamal pressed into the pillows, the quirk of a lazy smile on his lips, soft eyes and softer edges and Flo almost. Almost. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like,” Flo waves his hand, his words eluding him, like you might be in love with me too. “That.”
He misses Jamal’s eye roll and quietly uttered helpful as he tugs his shirt over his head, letting it settle messily at his waist, dragging a hand through his hair, frowning until he remembers he kicked his shoes off somewhere by the front door, vaguely remembering the smack of them hitting the wall.
He leaves the room to go and locate his shoes, finding them where he thought, upside down just inside the front door and he drops to the floor to slip them on, his fingers shake slightly as he tries to tie his laces, messing them up the first time. Adrenaline still sparking beneath his fingers, memories of the night before washing over in kisses pressed to bare skin and words imprinted, tattooed in every space found. Flo shivers, he knows it’s not because of the cold.
Flo watches Jamal pad down the hallway towards him, one of his arms behind his back as he gets to his feet, unsteady at first letting Jamal reach him, he’s still sleep-warm when he rests his hand on Flo’s hip, heat radiating through his shirt like he could scorn him with a single flick of his wrist.
“Here, dumbo,” Jamal says, heavy and full of sleep and pushes his jersey from yesterday’s game against Flo’s chest, their fingers catching together, tangling between the red material. “If you have to leave so badly.”
Flo blinks up at him, Jamal still drowsy with sleep and his linear red marks dancing along his face, delicate patterns drawn across his cheeks from sleep. He leans in and kisses him slowly, revelling in the feel of Jamal’s gentle pressure and the way he holds him close like Flo might do something stupid like run away.
His heart rattles in his chest when Jamal wraps his arms around his neck, leaving one last kiss at the corner of the mouth and hugs him, leaning all of his weight against Flo, like he could fall back asleep in his arms.
“I—” Flo tries to say, love you, love you, love you. “We’ll figure this out, won’t we?”
“Hmm? ‘Course we will,” Jamal says, lips brushing the shell of his ear, leaning against him, the imprint of a smile against the side of Flo’s head. “Promise.”
It sounds like more than that and Flo leaves with the jersey tucked to his chest, the chilly bite of the early morning weightless against the feel of something deeper blossoming fervently within his core.