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Maybe it wouldn’t feel so much like the end of the world if Mario wasn’t leaving. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so much like the end of the world of they hadn’t been fighting so much lately. And maybe it wouldn’t feel like the end of the world if they had won the Bundesliga. But to be honest: they lost the Champions League and it would always feel like the end of the world. Except that maybe this time, winning wouldn’t even keep Marco from feeling this utterly depressed anyway.
They had won and lost so many games this year and he had known all the feelings. Not being able to make a change, not being able to live his dream, he had seen it all. But what killed him tonight was that he hadn’t even been able to lose with his Mario, to mourn with Mario, to be comforted by Mario. He was in the same hotel, a few doors distant, but it felt like he already was in Munich. They would be headed back to Dortmund the next morning, and soon enough Mario would leave again.
Mats was snoring in the other bed and partly, Marco was really happy that he was here. When they had both been awake, his company had kept him sane. But now that the darkness had fallen over their little room, Marco could only think about all the other hotel rooms he had been and with whom he had shared them and how. A voice inside his head screamed that all he should be doing right now was be with Mario and hold him close and enjoy every single second that was left of the time they had together, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hug him and pretend everything was okay, he couldn’t kiss without tasting the bittersweet goodbye, he couldn’t look at him without looking away, afraid that Mario would see the pain in his eyes. Mario had made his decision and no matter how sad Marco was, he didn’t want his friend to feel guilty about it. That was too selfish. But maybe it wasn’t selfish at all; maybe he just didn’t want to look Mario straight in the eyes because he knew he was going to crumble and cry, and Marco Reus was supposed to be anything but weak.
The next morning, when they boarded the plane, Robert took Mario’s usual spot next to Marco and nobody commented it, not even when Mario himself sat down next to Nuri instead. Everybody had their music on and it was silent the entire flight home. Justin Bieber’s Right Here was blasting through two headphones.
It remained silent again when they arrived in Dortmund and everyone went separate ways. A few goodbyes were mumbled. None of it was as formal as they had expected it to be. Marco had imagined all of them playing, Mario and him scoring a few goals, winning and being glorious all summer long. Then, even though he was still considered a traitor by some, Mario would be admired and they would chant his name and he would go in glory. The truth was nothing like it.
When Marco sank down in his comfortable chair, he realised it had been long since he had been truly alone. The silence was buzzing in his ears, driving him nuts. It was too quiet here, too empty. He had so much space to think, he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering off to the things he had been keeping away so carefully for weeks, months maybe. Slowly the hours passed as it started to dawn: it didn’t matter how many times he had made up fairytales in his head, or listened to stupid love songs. His life was a wrecked up story of being just a little too late every single time. And now he was alone his apartment, having pushed Mario too far away, while all he really wanted to do was be with him.
When he woke up well-rested on Monday he felt slightly better. The darks days still doomed ahead of him, but he realised sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to fix anything, so he went out for a run, promising himself to keep in shape over the summer. It was good, running always cleared his mind.
When he came back, all tired and sweaty, he was at the very least surprised when he found Mario waiting in front of his door. He could have run into his arms and held him tight, and he could have asked why he was here, but instead he said: “Why are you waiting here? You still have the key, don’t you?”
Mario frowned. “I was coming here to return it to you.”
Marco’s heart sank into his shoes, as if this was Mario’s way of saying goodbye. Here, have your key back. I won’t be around anymore anyway.
“Why? You’re still welcome you know. Always,” he added.
“I know. But... but it feels awkward lately.”
Marco stared at him a few second, taking in his body as if he saw his friend for the first time. Then his hand went to his pocket and as he opened the door with his own key, he said: “Come in.”
Both guys still sad from Saturday’s defeat, they didn’t say a lot, but it wasn’t as awkward as Mario said. This was still a second home to him, and the first thing he did when he entered, was kick off his shoes and make his way to the fridge to pour both of them drinks. He sat down on the couch and went through Marco’s channels, as he motioned the latter to take a quick shower. When he came back, his hair still wet and undone, Mario was standing in front of the cupboard where he had a few board games.
“I was thinking we could play monopoly,” Mario said without turning around to look at Marco. For some reason he had felt his presence the moment he entered the room. It brought a shy smile to Marco’s lips to realise that after everything that had happened the last few weeks, they were still like this. Still felt each other without seeing.
“That’s a boring game. By the way, it takes forever. By the time we’re done they’re already expecting you in Munich.”
He shouldn’t have mentioned Bayern, he realised a little too late, but Mario just turned around toward him and rolled his eyes. “You’re just afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because you suck and I will win.”
“You wish,” Marco shot back and they both laughed. “But seriously, monopoly is boring when you play with two.”
“We can always call Robby.”
Marco’s heart skipped a beat as he heard that name. Robert was a nice guy, but right now and right here, he just didn’t need him and his shit to come along. Who knew what would happen if two future Bavarians joined him.
Somehow Mario caught the dark change in Marco’s eyes – or to be honest, after everything they had been through, it was only logical for him to catch Marco’s slight mood changes – and he smiled, saying: “We can always just play Mensch ärgere dich nicht.”
The blonde couldn’t help but smile back as he recalled the hours he had spent playing that very game at Mario’s parents’ house, sometimes with the entire family, sometimes just with Mario. They were all competitive, which made the glory even greater when he defeated all the Götzes. And Marco was one to always claim his prize afterwards. There was a mischievous smirk on Mario’s face that made him feel like it wouldn’t be any different today. He felt a tingling feeling go through his entire body.
“Same bets as usual?” he grinned.
“Of course,” Mario said as if the blowjobs were part of the official game rules.
Marco kissed his way back up Mario’s stomach as the latter lay panting in his bed. The sheets were a mess but Marco didn’t feel like changing them, ever, as if in that way he could keep Mario here forever. His lips quickly reached his neck and he licked away a few drops of sweat. His hands still roaming over his lover’s upper body, Marco realised once again how perfect everything about him was. A lot of people judged him, called him feminine, fragile or fat, but all Marco could see whenever he looked at him, was that pure kind of unconventional beauty, that wasn’t in his hair or his eyebrows or his butt, but in the way his lips curled upwards when someone complemented him in an honest way, or the way his hands reached for Marco’s when he needed intimacy after sex – or in any moment for that matter. Marco knew it was the kind of beauty that would be there forever, even when he was wearing red or when he was eighty and old and grey and really fat; and as the tingly feelings moved from Marco’s genitals to his stomach, Marco could only wish that he would be there in sixty years to witness it.
“Remember,” Mario started when he had entirely caught his breath, shaking Marco out of his deep thoughts. “Remember when I said you would suck and I would win?” He wasn’t grinning, but he was smiling; the bastard was so proud of his own joke, and even though he bit his lip trying to prevent himself from laughing out loud, he let out a little giggle. Marco couldn’t help laughing along.
“I never said you wouldn’t,” Marco replied in a low voice, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Yes, you did,” Mario protested childishly, but his hands were now wandering up and down his boyfriend’s body.
“No, I just said you wished. And try to deny that.”
Mario gave in, too satisfied with the entire situation to truly argue with Marco.
They lay still for a couple of minutes, not kissing, only touching. Marco buried his nose in Mario’s shoulder, feeling his familiar soft skin burning under his face. His own needs still weren’t seen too, but he was in no hurry. They didn’t have anywhere to go for days. It was comfortable just to be like this, say many things without opening their mouths, letting their fingers do all the talking. It felt as if everything was okay now, like they were finally together after an endless struggle and from now on everything would be great in life; it felt like it had approximately a year ago, when Marco had come here and they had believed that they could truly stay in this very bed forever. Twelve months and a role reversal later, few had changed. Except that now someone was leaving, instead of arriving.
“I’m going to miss this,” Marco said eventually, breaking the silence with a voice that was hoarse from emotion.
Mario could have said I’m going to miss this too, and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel that way that he didn’t. He just needed to be sure. “What is ‘this’?”
Marco sighed loudly as he weighed the words. He considered them a few moments, but again, there was no hurry in their conversation; they had all day. “Being content with near to nothing. Being comfortable around someone as if I’m alone. The way you dance around in your boxers when you prepare breakfast.”
Mario laughed and Marco bit his lip trying not to cry. It was too beautiful, as if none of it had been real. Mario was something way too precious to let go off.
“Long silences that aren’t awkward,” Marco continued. “Celebrations. Annoyed teammates. Having someone that’s just...” It had been a long time since Marco had felt something that was so significant, yet wouldn’t be explained in words. “I don’t know. It doesn’t even matter what time of the day, or what day of the week it is, or what mood I’m in; whenever I call you, it just makes sense. Or whenever I come by and it doesn’t matter who’s home and who opens up the door, they just let me in, because it makes sense that I’m there. And when you stop by and you don’t ever tell me why, because when you’re sad I can see it in your face, and when you’re bored you just turn on the TV, and when you’re in the mood you drag me along, and when you just want to be there with me, it’s just... it makes sense. That’s what this is. This makes sense, you and I do.”
The way none of us feels like looking away when I talk about something this personal for a single second. The way you hear me out and listen. And how I have the feeling I didn’t need to say all this, because you felt it long before I mentioned it.
Mario swallowed hard, thought about it a few seconds and sent Marco a comforting smile. Stroking his thumb across Marco’s hand, he said:“It’s still going to make sense when I’m in Munich. I won’t be gone, I’m just somewhere else.”
The way Mario stated it made Marco feel like it made sense that ‘somewhere else’ didn’t equal ‘gone’. Long and short phone calls. Holidays. International call-ups. Short mid-season breaks, when the weeks were less filled with obligatory trainings and Marco would be able to hop into his car and maybe they could meet somewhere halfway and shag in a shabby hotel, and it would be far from the perfect place to be, but it would still make all the sense in the world.
They watched their German teammates play on Wednesday in the comfort of Marco’s bed, swearing that if they had been there in Miami, they would have lived up to all the expectations. But Marco was so glad that they weren’t there, because it was so much better to have Mario in his arms right here. Leaning his back against the headboard and his lover sitting between his legs, he knew that this was what they were supposed to be doing during his last days in Dortmund. Mario jumped up when Lukas scored after nine seconds, before settling back against Marco’s chest again. And when things got boring in the second half, they snuggled up under the blankets, not seeing a damn thing, but feeling all the more.
On Thursday they went to Mario’s to pack his last things. Marco checked his bag a thousand times, being stressed about forgetting something, even though he wasn’t the one leaving. Eventually Mario told him to stop freaking out over every single thing.
“If I forgot something, I trust you drop by to give it to me soon enough.” He winked but it was only half a joke.
Mario’s large bed was already shipped to the South, so he had to use the old spare one they had for guests. It made so much noise you could barely lift your hand without the wood cracking loudly, but Mario figured his parents would understand. Or to be honest, he didn’t really think about it until he saw Fabian’s significant looks over breakfast.
Mario took Marco to the Dortmund Zoo wearing long wigs and sunglasses so no one would recognise them. People had a way of praising them – mainly Marco, though – lately for his efforts despite the defeat, but he wouldn’t have any of it on his birthday. He wasn’t sure whether they looked like a lesbian couple or a weird straight couple or whatever, but at least people left them alone when they held hands. It was funny and they hadn’t laughed this hard in ages.
They went back to Mario’s in the afternoon and stayed in bed all day, turning their off phones as Marco resolutely ignored all the missed phone calls and congratulations text.
When it was nearly midnight and they were almost too tired to talk, Marco suddenly said: “You haven’t given me a present yet.”
Mario turned to him as he pulled the sheets up to their chins, pressing his body close against Marco’s. “Really? Wasn’t this enough?” He nodded his head towards the sheets.
“Of course.” Marco wrapped his hands tightly around Mario. Even after hours of hot sex, he hadn’t had enough of Mario yet. It was never enough.
“But I do have something,” Mario said, smiling happily. He stepped out of bed in all his naked glory and went to his cupboard. It was almost empty, except for a few old shirts he didn’t like anymore and a small package, that probably contained Marco’s present. It was small, but Marco had learned that the tiniest boxes could contain the most valuable objects.
Mario sat down on the bed cross-legged and handed his friend the object unceremoniously. It was a box and it was way too small to be anything but a ring, and Marco freaked out, because...
“Just open it, it’s not what you think.”
Marco looked up in surprise. “Not?”
“Do you think I wouldn’t go down on one knee if I would propose?”
It made sense, again, and Marco felt his stomach tingling again. Even when everything was about to fall apart, Mario had a way of making him feel like everything made sense.
“I love you,” Marco whispered, even though he didn’t want to become emotional in the first place.
“Yes, yes we’ve been over that, I love you too. Just open it so I can tell about it!” Mario jumped up and down on his bottoms in excitement, as if he were a child handing his mother his self-made piece of artwork on Mother’s Day.
Marco smiled, forcing himself to take his eyes off of that lovely human being. Ripping the pink piece of paper off quickly, he found a ring box underneath, but when he opened it, it wasn’t a proposing ring at all. It was silver, decorated with eight little golden balls.
“When I was eight I was really obsessed with jewellery for some reason,” Mario started his explanation.
“You never lost that,” Marco shot back.
“Not really, no. But I begged my parents for a silver ring for months. Well, I was starting to give up. But then I got in to Dortmund’s youth academy and my parents gave this to me a week later. They told me that getting further in football didn’t mean I had to leave my passion for jewellery, or anything else for that matter, behind and that didn’t make any sense at the time. But it does now.”
And it made sense to Marco too.
“Keep it,” he mumbled, pushing the box back to his friend and trying to keep the tears down.
“No,” Mario said resolutely. He left the box and took Marco’s hands instead. “I went to the jeweller and had it fit your size. It’s my special present for you.” He paused and made Marco look straight at him. “I remember where my heart is. I just want you to remember it too.”
“Going to Bayern doesn’t mean you don’t love Dortmund anymore,” Marco explained what hadn’t been said.
“Yes, and no. What I’m trying to say is that I can make progression in my career and go wherever I want, but I will never give up on loving you, simply because I can’t. You made all of this make sense to me. And we won’t lose it again.”
Marco remembered the years when he was playing in Monchengladbach. It had been great, but not good. Because no matter how much he loved playing there, there was a hole. Only after he came back a year ago, he realised it was the gap that Mario had left.
And they wouldn’t lose it again, Marco promised. If it were anybody else, he would have given up hope long ago, and he sitting here in the dark of the night wouldn’t be so extremely comfortable, but it was Mario. And they would be together despite the distance.
“I promise,” Marco whispered, before he leaned to press a long passionate kiss on Mario’s lips. Their fingers entangled when they fell asleep and would never be untangled, not even when Marco watched the plane fly away. He didn’t cry, because he hadn’t lost Mario. Not really.