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thing is, jude can’t get used to the time difference. it’s fucking ridiculous, but it’s the way with each state they move through. it’s as if the time changes back and forth, the numbers on the clock just. numbers, with no real meaning to them. it’s strange that the US has so many different timezones.
however many hours they pass through, he’s been staring at the text he got two nights ago, before the game up in mexico. the notification sits on his lockscreen. it’s a view of the moon, that changes day by day, wonders of technology he supposes. it’s supposed to be the moon and the stars, and there’s that text with the imessage logo that he can’t bear to swipe away.
u up?
it’s two words. and a goddamn question mark, and he’s been staring at it for ages. his eyes have genuinely gone dry looking at it. the fuck does erling mean when he asks if he’s up?
obviously he was up two days ago, he was up watching the game with norway and brazil, heart thudding in his chest for some reason.
he’s not a boy with a crush, he’s a player on the england team. and yet he’s still thinking – it’s not like erling cares about him in that way… surely. surely.
they were close when they played for dortmund together, but they grew apart after. it’s just how teams go, one season you’re living out of each other’s back pockets, the next you’re miles away. in different timezones.
u up.
it’s two words, and he’s staring at them, still rattled by the match in the azteca. he’s exhausted, and kane’s given them a day off to breathe well again after the match. he’s happy that the world’s been watching, happy that england’s watching, even if the match was in the early hours of the morning for them.
his phone pings again, and there’s another message. and then another.
u played well today!
well done.
the same imessage logo, he’s changed erling’s contact photo from a photo of him to his clash of clans character, it’s fucking ridiculous and silly, and it’s fun to think of it this way.
another ping.
r u not reading messages anymore?
he smiles, if only he knew. but the rat bastard would just laugh down at him if he knew how much sleep jude was losing over this shit, and not the match next week.
he opens the messages, and the read receipts go through immediately.
reading now :)
he types it out slowly, hopefully the smile conveys how his heart feels. but not too much, that would be too much before the match on saturday.
there’s this internal monologue in his head, that tells him that he should just tell erling how he feels. but that’s ridiculous, sometimes – sometimes the inside voice should stay inside.
played well against mexico.
he smiles again into the pillow. and then moves his eyes to the moon outside the window, the sky is clear enough that the moon is still visible. it’s waning, half of it vanished into the darkness of space. the other half still shining bright, silver light slipping into the room through the curtains he’s left open.
thank you :p
he types it out slowly, and then adds.
you didn’t do too badly yourself…
erling’s typing for a while, the circle loading and loading, and he realises what he fucking sounds like.
with brazil, i mean.
oh i got it. thank u.
👍🏻
i try.
the birds in mexico are different to the ones in england, he thinks. the birds chirp differently on the other side of the world, singing another song. obviously they are.
stupidly, he thinks . hopes. maybe erling hears different birds up in norway. maybe they’re sweeter, maybe everything’s sweeter up in norway than it could be in england, that’s why erling’s blush is sweeter than any cake jude could ever eat.
it scares him sometimes, if erling’s smile could ever become sickeningly sweet, cloying, like the godawful body spray that used to go around in 2017.
he’s staring at the text for too long, and erling’s typing again.
ready for saturday?
it seems forward. ridiculously so, he’s not asking erling out on a date, god no. it’s their offical match, and yet. some part of him is ridiculously happy that he gets to see him again.
only if you are, lord bellingham.
😉
it’s ridiculous, and he wants to smash his head into the phone, or kiss erling.
lord bellingham….
okay viking T_T
there’s a pause. the sound of someone walking on the street below, fireworks above somewhere.
goodnight jude.
that’s what erling sends. his fucking first name, heartfelt and kind.
goodnight erling.
stupidly. he hopes that erling can see the same light of the moon he’s in. on saturday, he’ll see him again.