Chapter Text
It is almost noon and The Velvet Drip is already stocked full of coffee beans and various milk, cream and all other necessities, just before the lunch break or noon rush begin. A few customers already on their seat waiting for their orders to arrive. Steam wand of the espresso machine hissed, but it was nothing compared to the frantic sputtering coming from Jack Grealish behind the counter.
Jude, currently in the middle of his first-semester freshman year and working a part-time barista shift, was calmly wiping down a stray splash of oat milk when his boss slammed his phone onto the prep station.
"Jude. Mate. You love dogs, right? Tell me you love dogs." Jack’s eyes were wide, his usually perfectly styled hair slightly askew.
Jude blinked, a wet rag still in hand. "I mean, yeah, of course. My family has—"
"Brilliant! Perfect. You’re off the clock," Jack declared, already reaching over the counter to untie the knots of Jude’s dark green cafe apron. "Actually, keep the apron on, you look trustworthy in it. Here’s an Oyster card[1], a security pass, and an address. Go, go, go!"
Jude stumbled backward as Jack physically steered him toward the cafe’s exit, practically shoving a crumpled sticky note into his palm. "Wait, Jack, what? It’s just 20 minutes before the lunchbreak rush. I’m supposed to—"
"No time! Erling is having a full-blown Scandinavian meltdown," Jack yelled over the roar of the coffee grinder. "His friend and regular pet-sitter—you know Aileen, the doctor? She just got called into the local hospital because of a massive pile-up at the M25[2]. Dozens of casualties. She had to run, Erling’s flight to Oslo leaves in 2 hours, and his puppy is currently destroying his life. Go save my giant Viking mate! I promise you, this will worth you all the trouble. You will make more than a month here."
Before Jude could ask who Erling was, or why a giant Viking needed saving, he found himself standing on the rainy London sidewalk. He looked down at the sticky note. It listed a highly prestigious address in one of Chelsea’s most exclusive residential towers. Now there is a small voice behind his back saying ‘What if it is a high-end prostitution like the 50 shades?’ But another voice quickly debunks it ‘No way. Jack is a proper nice big brother. He would not do that.’
So, twenty minutes later, Jude is standing in a private, high-speed elevator that opened directly into a penthouse foyer.
He expected the home of a wealthy Scandinavian -probably millionaire heir- to be quiet, minimalist, and smelling of expensive sandalwood. Instead, the moment the elevator doors slid open, Jude was hit with a wall of absolute domestic anarchy.
"No, no, nei! Bamsi, drop it! Nå!"
Jude stepped onto the polished herringbone hardwood floor and froze.
In the centre of a sunlit living room with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a towering young man was chasing around a mischievous, fluffy spitz dog with thick black-grey-white fur around. He was incredibly tall—easily six-foot-five—with a mop of messy blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a half-buttoned, crisp white designer dress shirt that was currently damp with what looked like slobber. His one hand was holding one sleek, custom-made Italian leather dress shoe.
The other shoe was currently being held hostage in the snout of the pup. Every time the giant blonde man tried to lunged forward, the pup —Bamsi—did a joyful little hop, throw the shoe and snatching it back in his jaw meters away, then darted to the other side of the table leg like an experienced striker on the field dodging every single defender jumped his way.
“Um, Hello.” Jude tried to greet them and the cute puppy immediately run to Jude as soon as it saw him. “Hey there cutie pie” Jude scratches its neck and ear, and soon the expensive leather shoe fall onto his hand.
“Oh finally!! You are a godsend.” The huge viking said and he take the shoe back from Jude’s hand and put the shoes on. “Naughty boy, Bamsi!” he scolds the doggie who naughtily waving his tail and ass as if he had found a new master. “Are you sent here by Jack?”
“Grealish?” Jude asks again just to make sure. “He said you have a bit of a puppy emergency.”
“Yeah. So sorry to call you in such a nick of time but I really have to fly to Oslo in less than 2 hours and I have no one I can trust to take care of Bamse and the house. I am Erling Haaland. Just call me Erling.” The blonde Viking offer his hand for a handshake.
“I am Jude Bellingham.”
“Hey Jude?” Erling asks in a playful banter tone.
“Yeah. Guess my dad is a Beatles fan.” Jude laughs back.
Erling let out a soft, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly in his broad chest. "Well, thank God for McCartney, then. And thank God for you." He checked his Patek Phillipe silver wristwatch, his face immediately tightening back into a mask of mild aristocratic panic. "Okay, Jude. I have exactly twelve minutes before my car downstairs departs for Heathrow. Here is the absolute basic rundown. You will need to house-sitting my place along with this bratty pup for five days. I will reimburse you for all your trouble 1k pounds, okay?"
As Jude nod, he points at the pup, “This is Bamse, means teddy bear. He is a Norwegian Elkhound. He is almost nine-month-old.”
He grabbed a sleek, leather-bound notebook off the kitchen counter and thrust it into Jude’s hands. It was covered in neat, heavy Norwegian print. "This is Bamse's schedule. Feed him twice a day. He likes his kibble mixed with a spoonful of wet food—the blue cans in the pantry. He is a high-energy dog. He needs at least one long walk or a hike a day, otherwise he starts chewing my baseboards. He’s already destroyed a four-hundred-pound rug this morning."
Bamse barked happily at the mention of his name, he jumps up and reach Jude’s stomach, sticking his paws on Jude's chest and looking up with big, starry eyes and drool all over Jude’s apron.
"The house is yours. The guest room is there you can put on any sheet you like on it. Sheets and blanket are in the wardrobe," Erling continued, talking at a mile a minute as he checked his pockets for his passport. "Cook whatever you want, the fridge is fully stocked. Everything is automated, but if the lights or the heating acting up, there's a tablet on the wall over there. Just tap it. Give me your number so we can contact each other." He offers Jude his phone.
Just as Jude types his number, Erling’s sharp blue eyes dropping from Jude's face to his drool covered, coffee-stained green apron and damp, rain-flecked hoodie on his shoulder. A frown creased his brow. "You look... cold. And Bamsi has completely ruined your clothes."
"Oh, it's fine," Jude began, gesturing vaguely to his chest. "Just a bit of mud and oat milk, I can—"
"Nonsense. I am not leaving my house-sitter to freeze," Erling interrupted, already striding toward the massive corridor leading to the bedrooms. "Follow me."
Jude, with Bamse practically glued to his knee, followed the towering giant into a master bedroom that looked like a five-star Scandinavian resort. Erling threw open the double doors of a walk-in wardrobe that was larger than Jude's entire shared university kitchen. Erling takes out a pale pink suit shirt and changes his slobber soiled shirt right in front of Jude, showing his perfectly sculpted pecs and abs and don’t get Jude started about his biceps. Jude thinks Erling is the perfect hot statue from ancient Greek comes to live.
Before Jude is done with his man-crush and almost drooling all over the expensive Persian carpet in the walk-in closet, Erling walks to a cedar drawer, pulled out a massive, cloud-soft heather grey Loro Piana half-zip sweater and a pair of thick sweatpants, and dumped them into Jude's arms. "Take these. They will be too big for you, but they are warm." Erling smiled down at him, a warm, genuine thing that made Jude's stomach do a strange, tiny flip. "Wash your clothes in the utility room down the hall, there’s a dryer too."
"Erling, I can't borrow this, it looks incredibly—"
"Jude," Erling said, his voice dropping into a soft, steady register that made his accent sound even richer. "You are saving my life today. Wear the sweater."
I’m a barbie girl
In a barbie world
Life in plastic
Erling picks up the call ASAP, before Jude got enough time to gather his thought on Erling’s choice of ringtone and arrange coherent words to say. “On my way. Yup, I got the house sitter here. Don’t worry. I am waiting for the lift.”
Erling turns back face to face with shyly smiling Jude -as if he wants to laugh but he tries very hard to be polite about it, grabbing his long black overcoat and his now-intact dress shoes. He knelt down to press his forehead against Bamse's fluffy one. "Be a good boy, Bamsegutt. Don't eat the English boy. You don’t mind to help me wash this shirt too?" Erling points at his coiled white shirt.
“Of course not. Just leave it to me.” Jude shows his adorable dimple smile totally ready to blind anyone with cuteness. Bamse was already leaning his entire weight back against Jude’s shins, yawning sleepily. He didn't even whine as Erling headed for the private elevator.
Erling paused at the elevator doors, looking back at the two of them. Jude was standing in the middle of the luxury foyer, practically drowning in Erling's massive grey cashmere hoodie, holding a giant puppy who was looking up at him with pure, instant adoration.
Erling let out a soft, mock-offended sigh. "Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head. "I buy you the best salmon treats in London, and you replace me in five minutes." He caught Jude's eye, his expression softening. "I will text you when I land. Thank you, Jude."
“Don’t worry. Have a safe trip.” Jude smile and wave goodbye and even hold Bamse’s front paw to bye-bye at Erling too until the elevator doors slid shut, hiding the grinning Erling from view.
Jude stood frozen in the middle of the foyer for a full thirty seconds, clutching the pile of heather grey cashmere to his chest like a shield. He left entirely alone in a multi-million-pound penthouse with a fluffy grey wolf and a sweater that smelled like expensive woodsmoke and the space feels too big, too empty, too soon.
Jude stared at the closed elevator doors, his mind still wildly replaying the image of Erling’s broad, muscular shoulders, the sharp cut of his abs, and the effortless way he had tossed his wet shirt aside. He is only thrown out of the trance by the rhythmic, heavy ‘Bong!’ of a designer grandfather clock in the corner.
Get a grip, Jude, he scolded himself, his cheeks burning a furious crimson. You’re here to watch a dog, not swoon over a wealthy giant.
Right on cue, a wet, cold nose nudged his bare wrist.
Jude looked down. Bamse was sitting primly at his feet, his fluffy tail dusting the herringbone floor, looking up at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. The wet silk tie was still hanging limply from the puppy's mouth, dripping a slow pool of water onto the expensive hardwood.
"Yeah, you're a little troublemaker, aren't you?" Jude murmured, kneeling down to gently slide the ruined tie out of Bamse’s teeth. "No wonder your human was losing his mind."
Bamse let out a soft, pleased huff, immediately rolling onto his back to expose his fluffy grey belly for rubs. Jude couldn't help but smile. The sheer contrast between this massive, empty luxury apartment and the goofy puppy demanding affection was incredibly comforting.
[1] Oyster Card is a blue, plastic smartcard used to pay for all public transport in London (the Tube/subway, double-decker buses, trams, and local trains)
[2] M25 is the massive, 117-mile circular highway (motorway) that completely surrounds Greater London. The M25 is famously cursed. It is one of the busiest roads in Europe and is notorious for massive, miles-long gridlocks and multi-car accidents.