Work Text:
Håland BVB
Where re you?
In Miami, I guess
Good
So where should we meet?
Bro
I heard you're sick tho?
I'm muchhh better now
Shouldn't you be in a total rest?
Did that almost too much alr
Ok send me your location
Jude himself, contrasting with how fast he replied to Erling's chat, still processing the situation. He couldn't help to laugh at himself, because he was happy, genuinely, and also pitied himself of the situation he had gotten himself to. It was decided that he would make arragements for the said meeting, though it appeared as last minute decision as he didn't plan about this at all, not in the last 5 minutes.
Meeting an opponent-friend before the match wasn't something so rare, in fact it wasn't really special. There usually be some banter, a light encounter to keep the tension at bay, in the name of sportmanship.
As Jude prepared himself, his anticipation persuaded him to believe that he would be happy this evening, and probably until he come back and go to sleep thereafter.
He realized he was in the mindset of—he would meet dear friend Erling, strictly just on the final quarter match, that he had been promised to the said man. He had pictured the moments-before-kick-off of the day that included the Norway's ace, obviously. And now to be true to himself, he felt sudden euphoria, adrenaline to meet the 'Håland BVB', contact name he never changed since the first time they exchanged numbers.
...
When the time aligned and he thought the guest was already close, Erling brought himself infront of the entrance door. He was really in his casual mode, home-clothes, hair untied, free to become messy. He was expecting a message for a signal, arm leaning on to the wall as if his excitement restrained on to it. His elongated finger tried to scroll up and down but spawning no new message from the counterpart.
Jude some inchies apart, outside, texted the host, finally. His face and fingers were still on the phone, but his ears already caught the distinct door-opening sound.
There was the big guy.
They shared wide grin briefly before collided in to a bro-hug, the one started with hands to arms clasped and their bodies followed. A faint huff was heard, Jude could only scent a whiff of Erling briefly, its taste mixed with the classic hotel-room flavour. The action made the hood Jude wore, fell on to his shoulder, it was the over-sized one.
When they were distanced and Jude was able to eye-to-eye his counterpart properly, his gaze almost pierced too deeply to Erling's. "Hey, whats up?"
Voice just on the right pitch, his smile didn't stop, just now hinting to reassurance and comfort.
The man taller than him drawn into his gaze, "welcome back, champ." He followed Jude's smile.
Erling didn't let his hand off of Jude's back, he escorted his friend into the room safely, while the door was returned to closed, automatically locked. They retreated to a wide, fabric couch.
Jude didn't let his gaze leave the other man. "Your face.. it looks red."
"Really?" He with his deep eyes wanted to deny it. Jude only hummed.
Erling grinned, "Well don't worry."
Jude let out a dry laugh with no sound and threw his back onto the plush couch, to a more relaxed composure.
"I still can't believe it actually." Erling said, still on his position.
"That you got sick?"
"No!" , "About us."
Factually Jude never let his smile down, it bloomed wider even. "Didn't you said the match with Brazil was gonna be tough? But later you said you just good at scoring goal and all."
Erling shooked his head faintly. "I didn't want to take it too much on me." , "But I guessed you really wanted to meet me, so I had to—." Jude elbowed the man.
"Thanks for the promise."
Now it was Jude that threw his gaze somewhere else, couldn't face Erling as before. "Anything for you my man."
"You're the best." Without permission, Erling then lied his palm over Jude's idle hand.
Noticing something, the dark eyes focused on to their hands. "Your hand's really warm. You sure you okay?"
There was a pause and Jude felt the grasp tighten. "You think if you get sick too and we both don't get to play, how do you think about it."
Looking over at Erling's face, impassive, but mischievous, also flushed —Jude had to pull his smile too wide, it bursted to a laugh. "Crazy." , "What a rigged game."
While Erling's hold didn't move a centimeter from his hand, as if attached to it already, he felt the urge to shake it off, that was an inexplainable feeling. Something twisted —and confused in his stomach, was he sick too?
"I can't wait for it to happen, but I don't want it to happen at the same time."
"Either way, you'll be happy to play the match."
Jude still couldn't come up with anything to elaborate, nor to look his counterpart in the eyes.
Suddenly Erling took the hand below him, pulling it closer to his face, to kiss it actually. "Good luck for your team."
Jude huffed. "Good luck, on your recovery."
Erling threw Jude's hand off of him, ending the contact.