Chapter Text
The Night Before the Match
The luxury hotel room in Miami was dead silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the air conditioning. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline gleamed like scattered diamonds. However, Jude Bellingham had absolutely no interest in enjoying the view. He was lying down, staring at the ceiling with his hands laced behind his head, completely trapped in his own thoughts. The sound of vehicles rushing along the road stretching far below his hotel room was his only companion in his distress.
The clock read 1:15 AM. The FIFA World Cup quarter final was less than four hours away.
Usually, Jude had his own ways of distracting his mind so he could rest. Whether it was reading a book, listening to a specific playlist, or calling his family back home. But tonight, the silence of the room felt incredibly loud. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain automatically replayed tactical match videos. He saw defensive lines, pressing triggers, and the movements of one specific striker he already knew entirely by heart.
Erling.
Jude rolled onto his side, letting out a heavy sigh. It felt so surreal. They used to share Uber rides back when they were in Dortmund, arguing about music or bickering over who had to pay the lunch bill, having random sleepovers, subtle touches and secret kisses when no one sees them—that was a long time ago now. Back when they were still teenagers, and dreams still felt distant yet familiar. Days as adolescents challenging the future with the raw ego of youth. That was Dortmund. The place where they first found each other, finding a peer who was their equal.
And then Manchester City happened.
And their own world, which had been floating inside a fragile bubble all this time, shattered. They moved forward. Of course, many things changed, but their friendship remained the same. At least, that was what they hoped was still there. But sometimes, in solitary moments like this, Jude's thoughts drifted back to Dortmund. Oh, how the time flies.
Strange. I'm not old yet, but I'm already reminiscing like an old man, Jude thought.
Now, they were about to step onto the biggest stage in football, carrying the hopes of two different nations, destined to collide with each other on the pitch.
Jude knew exactly how Erling played. He knew the sudden, explosive burst of pace that could leave world-class defenders looking like statues. He also knew all too well the relentless—almost terrifying—hunger in the giant's eyes every time he smelled a goal opportunity. For the past three days, the England national team's defensive briefing sessions felt less like discussing football strategy, and more like a survival guide for a natural disaster.
"Don't let him turn around. Watch his dummy runs. Don't give him an inch of space."
Suddenly, Jude’s phone on the nightstand vibrated. The vibration breaking the silence made him flinch slightly in the dark room. He reached for his phone, and the bright light from the screen instantly illuminated his face.
There was an incoming message.
Erling
Still awake? I know you are :)
Don't let the mental pressure stress you out, Judey. I need you at your best tomorrow so there are no excuses if you lose.
Jude stared at the message. A faint smile spontaneously appeared on his face, erasing the tension that had been gripping his chest all this time. Classic Erling. Arrogant, blunt, and completely unburdened by the world's expectations.
He quickly typed a reply.
Go to sleep, Viking. You're going to need the extra rest tomorrow while you're busy chasing my shadow all game.
Erling
👍⚽➡️🥅🏆🥇
Jude stared at that last message. A text consisting only of emojis—very typical of Erling's straightforward and sometimes... unique style. Jude smiled, tossed his phone gently onto the table, and buried his head deep into the pillow.
Surprisingly, the excessive anxiety instantly subsided. His nervousness hadn't vanished completely; instead, it transformed into something else—pure, adrenaline-pumping anticipation. This was the stage they had dreamed of since they were teenagers playing in Germany. It felt suffocating that today, one of them would have to crush the other's dream. Yet, he also felt happy because they could stand on the same grass, chasing the exact same dream.
He always remembered the words from his Erling when their paths parted, back when Erling signed the contract with Manchester City.
"I’m going to miss you, but it’s not like we won't see each other on the court anymore. I’ll see you on the court, Judey."
Back then, the blonde man had smiled brightly as always, full of confidence and conviction, and it had driven Jude to feel the exact same way.
He was going to play on the same field again with Erling.
He would see Erling again on the court.
He smiled.
Closing his eyes, Jude finally let himself drift off to sleep, the faint echo of tomorrow's stadium roar already taking shape in his mind.
In the Stadium Tunnel
The tunnel beneath the stadium always felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode, but tonight, the air was practically vibrating. The roar of the crowd outside sounded deafening, a force that shook the concrete walls. The FIFA World Cup quarter finals. There was no stage bigger than this—well, except the semifinal and final.
Jude Bellingham stood lined up in the hallway leading to the pitch, his eyes staring straight ahead. His breathing was steady, a measured rhythm he had perfected over years of playing crucial, high-stakes matches. He could feel the glare of the cameras fixed on him, the eyes of millions watching his every move. Yet, despite the weight of an entire nation resting on his shoulders, his thoughts drifted to the left.
Toward the massive figure standing just a few paces away in the opposing team's lineup.
Erling Haaland stood tall, looking less like a footballer and more like an unstoppable force of nature. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, hands on his hips, a hyper-focused smirk playing on his lips. To anyone else, he looked terrifying. To Jude, he just looked familiar.
As if sensing the gaze, Erling turned his head. His sharp blue eyes instantly locked onto Jude's.
For a moment, the intense World Cup atmosphere seemed to vanish entirely. The white-and-red of Jude's kit and the distinct colors of Erling's jersey faded into the background, replaced in a split second by memories of goals celebrated together, loud laughter in the dressing room, and Dortmund's massive Yellow Wall.
Erling didn't break his focus, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly. He gave a single, slow nod—a wordless challenge. Show me your best.
Jude couldn't help the slight smile that escaped his focused expression. He nodded back, his chest tight with a mix of a fierce, burning competitive spirit and something warmer. They had promised each other years ago that they would meet at the absolute summit. Now, here they were, standing on the edge of the ultimate battle.
The referee gave the signal. The line of players began moving forward toward the blinding stadium lights.
As they stepped out onto the pitch, the deafening cheers instantly exploded. Erling caught Jude's eye one last time before taking his position.
"Don't expect me to go easy on you," Erling's voice was drowned out by the roar of the stadium, but Jude could read his lips perfectly.
Jude took a deep breath, feeling the solid stadium turf beneath his boots. "You won't even get the ball," he replied with a challenging smile.
He knew Erling received the message because the Norwegian man let out a short laugh.
The whistle for the first half was about to blow, and for the next ninety minutes, they were enemies. But whatever happened on that pitch, the bond forged in black and yellow would never be broken.
The whistle blew.
Let's play the best match there has ever been.