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Jude Bellingham had loved Erling Haaland for so long that the feeling no longer seemed dramatic.
It did not arrive like lightning.
It did not knock the breath from his lungs or set fireworks off behind his eyes. It had simply settled inside him over the years, quietly and permanently, like sunlight warming the same spot on a kitchen floor every morning.
Jude had loved Erling when they were sixteen and sharing a packet of chips behind the school gym.
He had loved him at eighteen, when Erling had been signed by a club so enormous that reporters began waiting outside the school gates.
He loved him now, at twenty-four, while standing behind the counter of a small coffee shop and drawing a crooked heart into the foam of Erling’s cappuccino.
The heart leaned badly to one side.
Jude stared at it.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
From the other side of the counter, Erling leaned down until his broad shoulders nearly blocked the café lights.
“I think it is wonderful.”
“You think everything I make is wonderful.”
“That is because everything you make is wonderful.”
Jude’s hand paused around the cocoa shaker.
Erling said things like that far too easily.
He was an alpha, and not merely an alpha but the sort people wrote articles about. Powerful. Successful. Broad enough to fill doorways and famous enough that strangers screamed his name from across city streets.
Jude was a beta.
A barista.
A very good barista, admittedly, but still a barista whose greatest achievement that week had been convincing his manager to replace the café’s ancient milk frother.
The difference between them had never mattered when they were children.
Now, sometimes, it seemed enormous.
“Stop trying to distract me,” Jude said, carefully placing the cup in front of him. “You still owe me for yesterday.”
Erling blinked. “For what?”
“You came in five minutes before closing and ordered four coffees.”
“They were for my teammates.”
“You ordered one of them with oat milk, half a pump of vanilla, cinnamon, extra foam and no lid.”
“He is complicated.”
“You are complicated.”
Erling smiled.
His smile had never changed. Despite the magazine covers and sponsorships, despite the shining stadiums and the crowds chanting his name, he still smiled at Jude like they were sixteen again, crouched behind the gymnasium with salt on their fingers.
“Put it on my tab,” Erling said.
“You don’t have a tab.”
“Then I owe you my life.”
“You owe me six pounds fifty.”
“My life is worth at least seven.”
Jude snorted, turning away before Erling could see how badly he wanted to smile.
The café was unusually quiet that afternoon. Rain tapped softly against the windows, blurring the street outside into grey watercolour. The room smelled of coffee beans, steamed milk and the orange cake cooling near the kitchen.
Erling always visited when Jude worked the late shift.
It did not matter whether he had training in the morning, interviews in the afternoon or a match the following evening. Somehow, he always appeared.
Sometimes wearing a cap pulled low over his pale hair.
Sometimes in an enormous hoodie that made him look only slightly less recognisable.
Sometimes carrying lunch because Jude had once mentioned, six months ago, that he frequently forgot to eat during busy shifts.
Erling had remembered.
Of course he had.
He remembered everything Jude needed.
A spare umbrella when the forecast predicted rain.
A portable charger because Jude’s phone battery was constantly dying.
A packet of painkillers during the week Jude complained about headaches.
A new pair of gloves after Jude lost one on the bus.
He never made Jude feel helpless. Never pushed things into his hands and acted as though Jude should be grateful. Erling merely noticed, quietly, and made space.
“You said your boiler was making that noise again,” Erling said.
Jude glanced over his shoulder. “What noise?”
“The clanking one.”
“All boilers clank.”
“Not like yours.”
“You heard it once.”
“It sounded like a ghost trapped in a metal cupboard.”
Jude laughed. “It’s fine.”
“I called someone.”
The laughter disappeared.
“You did what?”
“A repairman. He can come tomorrow morning, but only when you are there. I gave him your number, but I told him he must message first.”
“Erling.”
“And I did not pay him yet,” Erling added quickly. “Because last time, you said it made you feel uncomfortable when I paid without asking. So he will tell you the price before doing anything.”
Jude stared at him.
Erling shifted slightly under the weight of the silence.
For a man who faced thousands of roaring football fans without fear, Erling became strangely nervous whenever he thought he had crossed one of Jude’s boundaries.
“I can cancel it,” he said. “I just thought you were cold last night.”
Jude’s chest tightened.
He had complained about the boiler during a phone call after midnight. Jude had been tired, rambling about his shift, and Erling had been abroad for a match. There had been noise behind him—teammates talking, luggage wheels rolling across a hotel corridor—but he had still listened.
“You remembered that?” Jude asked.
Erling frowned, as though the question itself made no sense.
“Of course.”
Jude looked away before his face could reveal too much.
“Tomorrow morning is fine.”
Erling’s shoulders relaxed.
“Good.”
“But I’m paying.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not buying me another boiler.”
“I had not suggested—”
“You were thinking about it.”
Erling took a long sip of coffee.
Jude pointed accusingly at him.
“You were.”
“It was only one thought.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“You like me.”
The words came out playfully, but Jude’s heart still stumbled.
He busied himself wiping the counter.
“Unfortunately.”
Erling’s gaze softened.
“Fortunately,” he said.
Jude pretended not to hear.
The rumours about Erling’s love life appeared so frequently that Jude had grown skilled at avoiding them.
They appeared on social media, entertainment programmes and the glossy magazines customers abandoned on café tables.
HAALAND SPOTTED LEAVING PARTY WITH SUPERMODEL.
FOOTBALL’S MOST ELIGIBLE ALPHA: WHO HAS CAPTURED HIS HEART?
MYSTERY ROMANCE? ERLING SEEN LAUGHING WITH AWARD-WINNING ACTRESS.
There was always someone beautiful beside him.
A model with silver earrings and high cheekbones.
An actress who had won three international awards.
A presenter with glossy hair who leaned close during interviews and touched Erling’s arm whenever she laughed.
Jude told himself it did not matter.
Erling was allowed to date.
Erling was allowed to fall in love.
Erling was an alpha superstar surrounded by glamorous people who understood his world. They knew how to stand beneath flashing cameras. They knew which designers to wear and how to smile without blinking under white-hot lights.
Jude smelled like espresso most days.
He owned exactly one suit.
The last time someone photographed him, it had been for his employee identification card, and he had looked mildly haunted.
Still, every rumour left behind a small bruise.
He hid them carefully.
Erling never spoke about the women himself, and Jude never asked.
That was how their friendship remained safe.
It was safe when Erling sent him pictures from hotel rooms at two in the morning.
It was safe when Jude watched his matches and screamed at the television.
It was safe when Erling rested his head on Jude’s shoulder after difficult losses, folding his enormous body awkwardly onto Jude’s small sofa.
It was safe when Jude fell asleep during movie nights and woke beneath a blanket he did not remember pulling over himself.
Love was dangerous.
Friendship was something Jude knew how to keep.
So he kept it.
Even when Erling arrived at the café one evening looking exhausted, his hair still damp from the rain and his expression unusually tight.
“Bad day?” Jude asked.
Erling sat in his usual corner.
“Interviews.”
“Ah.”
“One reporter asked which actress I would choose to be stranded with on an island.”
Jude began making his drink without asking.
“And?”
“I said you.”
The milk jug nearly slipped from Jude’s hand.
“You said what?”
“I said Jude would be useful because he knows how to make coffee.”
“On a deserted island?”
“Yes.”
“There wouldn’t be an espresso machine.”
“You would build one.”
“From coconuts?”
“You are very talented.”
Jude turned to face him. “You told a room full of reporters you wanted to be stranded on an island with me?”
Erling looked confused again.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I like being with you.”
There it was.
That effortless honesty.
That impossible softness.
Jude turned back toward the machine because his ears had begun burning.
“They’ll cut that part from the interview,” he said.
“They always cut out the good answers.”
A moment later, Erling appeared beside the counter.
He did not crowd Jude. He never did. Despite his height and alpha presence, he always seemed careful around him, leaving enough space for Jude to move comfortably.
“You are quiet,” Erling said.
“I’m working.”
“There are no customers.”
“I’m emotionally serving the empty tables.”
Erling smiled, but his eyes remained concerned.
“Did I do something?”
Jude’s heart twisted.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Erling studied him.
He had always been able to tell when Jude was lying, but he also knew when not to push.
“All right,” he said eventually. “But I am here.”
Jude swallowed.
“I know.”
That was the problem.
Erling was always there.
They went grocery shopping together on a Sunday morning.
It was such a painfully ordinary thing that Jude did not think to be nervous.
Erling had returned from an away match the night before and discovered his refrigerator contained only mustard, protein drinks, and half a lemon.
According to Jude, this was not food.
According to Erling, the protein drinks counted.
According to Jude, Erling was an idiot.
So they went to the supermarket.
Erling wore a cap, sunglasses and a plain black sweatshirt. The disguise might have worked better if he were not nearly two metres tall and built like a monument.
“You are drawing attention,” Jude whispered as they entered.
“I have not done anything.”
“Mate, you’re built like a brick wall.”
“Not my fault, is it?”
“Just… try slouching or something.”
Erling bent forward dramatically until his shoulders nearly reached Jude’s height.
“Better?”
“You look like you’re hunting for prey.”
“I am. We need chicken.”
Jude laughed so loudly that an elderly woman near the flowers turned to look at them.
They grabbed a trolley.
Erling had his hands on it straight away.
“I can push it, you know,” Jude said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So let me then.”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause you always ditch it halfway down the aisle.”
“I do not.”
“You literally did last time.”
“I was checking the pasta, mate.”
“You blocked like three people.”
“They could’ve gone round.”
“One of them was in a wheelchair.”
Jude pulled a face. “Alright, alright. You push.”
Erling smiled triumphantly.
They moved slowly through the aisles.
Jude chose vegetables. Erling added three bags of sweets.
Jude removed two.
Erling put them back.
Jude removed them again.
Erling waited until Jude was examining tomatoes, then quietly hid the sweets beneath a loaf of bread.
“You know I can see you,” Jude said without turning.
“No, you cannot.”
“You’re reflected in the freezer doors.”
Erling looked toward the glass.
Jude caught his reflection smiling.
It was small, private and so full of fondness that Jude forgot what he had been about to say.
They continued.
At the dairy aisle, Jude reached for the cheapest carton of milk.
Erling picked up the brand Jude preferred and placed it in the trolley.
“That one costs more,” Jude said.
“It tastes better.”
“You don’t even drink it.”
“You do.”
The answer was simple.
Jude looked at the carton.
“You remember which milk I like?”
“You have bought the same one for four years.”
“Oh.”
Erling adjusted his sunglasses.
“Also, the cheaper one makes your stomach hurt.”
Jude’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
“It only happened twice.”
“It happened enough.”
He said it in the same tone someone might use to discuss weather. No grand declaration. No expectation of praise.
Just care.
When they reached the bakery section, Jude paused beside a tray of cinnamon rolls.
Erling immediately placed one in the trolley.
“I didn’t say I wanted it.”
“You looked at it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You look at things you want for exactly three seconds longer than other things.”
Jude stared at him.
“You have timed this?”
“No.”
“You have.”
“I observe patterns.”
“You are terrifying.”
“You like me.”
Jude’s chest fluttered again.
“Unfortunately.”
Erling’s smile softened.
“Fortunately.”
Neither of them noticed the two teenage girls at the end of the aisle.
They did not notice one of them raise her phone.
They did not notice the short video being recorded as Erling took Jude’s shopping list from his hand, smoothed its crumpled edges against the trolley handle and quietly reminded him that they still needed tea.
They did not notice another clip being taken near the frozen food section, where Jude shivered and Erling immediately stepped closer, rubbing warmth into his upper arms without even thinking.
They certainly did not notice the photograph captured at the checkout.
Jude had become distracted while searching for his bank card.
Erling stood beside him, one hand resting protectively against the corner of the trolley so it would not roll into Jude, the other holding Jude’s scarf, reusable shopping bag and cinnamon roll.
His face was turned toward Jude.
The expression on it was gentle enough to change both their lives.
The video appeared online before they reached Erling’s apartment.
By the time Jude finished unpacking the groceries, it had over two hundred thousand views.
By the time he made tea, it had passed half a million.
Jude knew nothing until Erling’s phone began vibrating repeatedly against the kitchen counter.
“Your phone is having a crisis,” Jude said.
Erling glanced at the screen.
His face went still.
Jude immediately noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is your bad lying face.”
“I have only one lying face.”
“Yes. It’s bad.”
Erling picked up the phone.
Jude moved closer, peering beneath his arm.
On the screen was a video of them in the supermarket.
The caption read:
I JUST SAW ERLING HAALAND SHOPPING WITH THE CUTEST GUY AND WHY IS HE SO SOFT WITH HIM???
Jude watched himself argue over milk.
He watched Erling place the cinnamon roll into the trolley.
He watched the moment near the freezer aisle when Erling rubbed his arms.
The clip zoomed in on Erling’s face.
Jude stopped breathing.
He knew Erling cared for him.
He had always known.
But seeing it from the outside was different.
Erling looked at Jude as though every movement he made was worth noticing.
As though Jude were something precious.
As though the crowded supermarket had disappeared and left only the two of them behind.
The comments moved too quickly to read.
WHO IS HE?
Haaland has never looked at anyone like that..
The way he remembered his milk!
That is not an alpha protecting a random friend. That man is IN L O V E
He’s holding the cinnamon roll like it’s a royal baby I'M SICK
Someone find that cute guy RIGHT NOW I need answers
Jude’s stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
Erling locked the phone.
“It will be okay.”
“I’m standing here in my work uniform, Erling”
“You look nice.”
“That ain’t the point, and you know it”
“I know”
Jude began pacing.
“What if people come to the café? What if they find my accounts? My mum is going to see this. My manager is going to see this. Everyone will think—”
He stopped.
Erling waited.
Jude’s heart hammered.
“Everyone will think what?” Erling asked quietly.
“That we’re together.”
Something changed in Erling’s face.
It was subtle.
A soft closing.
A flicker of hurt hidden almost immediately.
“I will correct them,” he said.
The words made Jude feel inexplicably worse.
“Right.”
Erling looked down at his phone.
“I will ask my team to make a statement.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do. They should not bother you.”
“I can handle it.”
“You should not have to.”
There was no arrogance in his voice. Only firm, careful concern.
Jude sat on one of the kitchen stools.
“This is your life,” he murmured. “People photograph you. They write things. I knew that.”
“It is not your life.”
“No.”
“And they do not have permission to make it yours.”
Jude looked at him.
Erling stood beneath the warm kitchen lights, still holding the stupid cinnamon roll.
He looked enormous and worried and painfully sincere.
“You’re precious to me,” Erling said. “I do not want this to hurt you.”
Jude’s pulse stumbled.
Precious.
Not useful.
Not familiar.
Not merely his oldest friend.
Precious.
Erling glanced away first.
“I will fix it.”
The statement did not come from Erling’s management team.
It came directly from Erling.
He posted it that evening.
Jude is my oldest and closest friend. He is not a public figure, and he did not choose to be photographed. Please be respectful toward him, his work and his privacy. He is very precious to me, and I would appreciate everyone treating him kindly.
The internet, unfortunately, became even more emotional.
The words very precious to me were copied into thousands of posts.
Fans made compilations of every time Erling had mentioned Jude in old interviews.
A clip resurfaced from years ago in which a teenage Erling was asked who his best friend was.
“Jude,” he had answered without hesitation.
Another interview showed Erling naming Jude’s coffee shop as his favourite place in the city.
Someone found a photograph from high school: Erling asleep against Jude’s shoulder on a bus, while Jude held a jacket over both of them.
The café became busier.
To Jude’s surprise, most people were kind.
Some ordered drinks and left enormous tips.
Some quietly told him they hoped he was doing well.
One woman slid a napkin across the counter with HE LOOKS AT YOU LIKE YOU ARE HIS EVERYTHING written on it, then ran away before Jude could respond.
His manager placed the napkin on the staff noticeboard.
Jude considered resigning.
Erling visited less often for the next week.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he was trying to protect Jude.
That somehow hurt more than the rumours.
The café felt too quiet without him occupying the corner table. Nobody argued about cinnamon. Nobody appeared with lunch. Nobody sent Jude an offended look when he charged extra for syrup.
Erling still texted him.
Have you eaten?
Did the boiler man come?
You finish at eight. I can send a car.
The weather says rain. You forgot your umbrella. There is one in the café office. I left it this morning.
Jude stared at that message for a long time.
He found the umbrella exactly where Erling said it would be.
There was a note attached to the handle.
Do not walk home wet. You will complain about being cold and then refuse to wear proper socks.
Jude pressed the paper to his chest.
“This is ridiculous,” he whispered.
His coworker passed behind him.
“You’re in love with him.”
Jude nearly dropped the umbrella.
“I am not.”
“You’re cuddling a note.”
“I’m holding it.”
“Against your heart.”
“It’s where I keep what matters most.”
His coworker stared.
Jude sighed.
“I’ve loved him since high school.”
“Yes,” she said. “We know.”
“We?”
“The entire staff.”
Jude looked horrified.
“You draw hearts in his coffee.”
“I draw hearts for everyone.”
“You drew a skull in mine yesterday.”
“Well, ma’am, I suppose that was a reflection of the circumstances at the time.”
She leaned against the counter.
“Tell him.”
Jude laughed weakly.
“Now listen, he could have anyone he sets his sights on.”
“He shops with you.”
“He shops with lots of people.”
“He knows which milk does not upset your stomach, which tea you reach for when you're tired, how you like your coffee on difficult mornings, and a hundred other small things you never thought anyone noticed.”
Jude looked down.
“He’s an alpha,” he said quietly, “and a mighty famous one at that. Folks expect a man like that to be with someone extraordinary, and I’m not altogether certain I fit that bill.”
His coworker’s expression softened.
“Maybe you are extraordinary to him.”
Jude wanted to believe her.
That was the dangerous part.
Erling returned to the café after closing.
Jude was stacking chairs when he heard the knock.
Through the glass door, Erling stood in the rain.
He held two takeaway containers and wore the green scarf Jude had given him for his nineteenth birthday.
Jude hurried to unlock the door.
“You’re soaked.”
“I had an umbrella.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to someone.”
“Of course you did.”
Erling stepped inside, carrying the smell of rain and cold night air with him.
“I brought dinner.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Erling froze.
“I have not.”
“You’ve been sending umbrellas through the office like some kind of weather ghost.”
“I thought you needed space.”
“I didn’t ask for space.”
“No.”
“Then why did you disappear?”
Erling placed the food on the nearest table.
His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he needed time to organise his thoughts.
“People were watching you because of me,” he said. “I did not want to make it worse.”
“You made it worse by not coming.”
Erling looked up.
The café was silent around them. Outside, tyres whispered across wet streets. The hanging lights painted warm circles over the tables.
Jude’s hands trembled.
He curled them into fists.
“I missed you,” he admitted.
Erling’s expression softened instantly.
“I missed you too.”
“You could have said that.”
“I am saying it now.”
“You could have come.”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Erling swallowed.
For once, the famous alpha looked uncertain.
“Because you were scared people would think we were a thing.”
Jude’s breath hitched.
“I figured,” Erling went on, voice dropping a bit, “maybe that idea freaked you out.”
“It didn’t.”
Erling froze.
Jude could hear his own heart pounding.
“It didn’t freak me out,” he said again.
“Then why’d you look so bothered?”
“Because everyone was saying you were in love with me.”
Erling stared at him.
Jude’s courage nearly failed.
He thought of all the models.
The actresses.
The reporters leaning close beneath studio lights.
He thought of Erling choosing his favourite milk.
Holding the trolley steady.
Listening to complaints about a broken boiler from another country.
“You could be with anyone,” Jude whispered.
Erling frowned.
“I do not want anyone.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I do not.”
“You’re Erling Haaland.”
“Yes.”
“You’re famous.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an alpha.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m just—”
“Do not.”
The word was gentle, but firm enough to stop Jude completely.
Erling crossed the space between them.
He left a respectful distance, close enough for warmth but not touching until Jude chose to move closer.
“You are not ‘just’ anything,” Erling said. “You are Jude.”
Jude’s eyes burned.
“That doesn’t answer the problem.”
“There is no problem.”
“There is a very obvious problem.”
“The only problem,” Erling said, “is that I have been in love with my best friend for years, and apparently he thinks I want to date actresses.”
Jude forgot how to breathe.
The rain continued tapping against the windows.
Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed.
“What?” Jude said faintly.
Erling’s cheeks had turned pink.
“I love you.”
“You—”
“I love you,” Erling repeated. “I did not confess because I thought you only saw me as your irritating friend.”
“You are irritating.”
“I know.”
“And you’re in love with me?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
Erling considered it.
“Maybe sixteen.”
Jude made a broken sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Sixteen?”
“You gave me the last chip.”
“That was your grand romantic awakening?”
“It was a very good chip.”
Jude covered his face with both hands.
“This is unbelievable.”
“I also liked your smile.”
“Thank God.”
“And the chip.”
“Please stop mentioning the chip.”
Erling’s laughter was soft.
When Jude lowered his hands, Erling was watching him with that same expression from the supermarket.
Tender.
Patient.
Full of a love so obvious Jude could not understand how he had missed it.
“The models?” Jude asked.
“Friends. Colleagues. Some I met only once.”
“The actress?”
“She asked me where the bathroom was.”
“The reporter who kept touching your arm?”
“She made me uncomfortable.”
Jude’s eyebrows lifted.
“Why didn’t you move away?”
“I was afraid it would look rude on camera.”
Something hot and possessive rose inside Jude.
“She shouldn’t have touched you without asking.”
Erling’s smile became impossibly fond.
“No. She should not have.”
Jude stepped closer.
“Can I touch you?”
Erling’s breath caught.
“Yes.”
Jude reached up and placed both hands against Erling’s rain-cold cheeks.
The mighty alpha football superstar immediately leaned into his palms.
It was such a trusting, gentle movement that Jude’s heart nearly melted through his ribs.
“You really love me?” Jude whispered.
Erling nodded.
“Even though I’m a beta?”
A small crease appeared between Erling’s eyebrows.
“I love you because you are you. Being a beta is part of you, but it is not something you need to overcome.”
Jude’s eyes filled.
Erling lifted his hands but stopped before touching him.
“May I?”
Jude nodded.
Erling placed his hands carefully at Jude’s waist.
He held him as though Jude were precious.
As though Jude were not lesser.
As though every ordinary part of him was worth protecting.
“I do not need an omega,” Erling said. “I do not need a model or an actress or someone the papers think is suitable. I need someone who tells me when my refrigerator is embarrassing.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“Someone who remembers how I take my coffee.”
“You order the same thing every day.”
“Someone who knew me before everyone else decided they knew me.”
Jude’s mouth trembled.
“And someone,” Erling added, “who gives me the last chip.”
Jude laughed through the tears.
“You ruined it.”
“I made it better.”
“You absolutely did not.”
Erling bent his head until their foreheads touched.
“Can I kiss you?”
Jude had imagined the moment many times.
In every fantasy, there had been dramatic music, moonlight or some grand declaration beneath stadium lights.
Instead, they stood in a closed coffee shop beside stacked chairs and two containers of rapidly cooling dinner.
It was perfect.
“Yes,” Jude whispered.
Erling kissed him softly.
There was no alpha dominance in it. No demand. No overwhelming claim.
Only warmth.
Only rain caught in Erling’s hair.
Only the faint taste of coffee and Jude’s fingers curling into the green scarf around his neck.
Erling kissed him like he had waited years and could still wait longer.
When they finally separated, Jude remained close.
“So,” he murmured, “what happens now?”
“We eat before dinner gets cold.”
“Romantic.”
“Then I ask you to be my boyfriend.”
“You’re supposed to ask first.”
Erling’s eyes brightened.
“Jude?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
Jude pretended to think about it.
Erling waited with exaggerated patience, though his hands tightened nervously around Jude’s waist.
“Unfortunately,” Jude said.
Erling smiled.
“Fortunately.”
The second supermarket sighting happened three weeks later.
This time, they knew they were being watched.
Erling pushed the trolley.
Jude chose the vegetables.
Erling tried to hide sweets beneath the bread.
Jude removed them.
At the checkout, Jude reached for his wallet.
Erling caught his wrist gently.
“I invited you.”
“You always invite me.”
“Exactly.”
“That logic makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Someone nearby whispered excitedly.
Jude glanced toward the sound and spotted two fans holding their phones, though neither was filming. They looked nervous, clearly trying to respect Erling’s request for privacy.
Jude smiled at them.
They nearly collapsed.
Erling placed the groceries into bags.
His hand rested lightly at the small of Jude’s back as they walked toward the exit.
A reporter waited outside.
“Erling!” she called. “Can you confirm your relationship with Jude?”
Erling looked at Jude first.
Not the cameras.
Not his manager.
Jude.
It was a silent question.
Do you want me to answer?
Jude felt warmth spread through his chest.
He nodded.
Erling turned back toward the reporter.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The small crowd erupted.
“Jude is your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been together?”
“Three weeks.”
“Who confessed first?”
Erling glanced down at Jude.
“I did.”
Jude folded his arms.
“After wasting eight years.”
“I was building suspense.”
“You were being thick.”
The reporter laughed.
“Erling, what do you love most about him?”
Erling did not even pause.
“Everything.”
Jude’s face went bright red.
“That’s a cop-out.”
“It is true.”
“You’ve got to pick one thing.”
Erling studied him with theatrical seriousness.
“The way he looks at cinnamon rolls.”
The fans squealed.
Jude buried his face against Erling’s chest.
“You’re impossible.”
Erling wrapped one arm around him, careful and warm.
“You like me.”
Jude smiled where nobody but Erling could see.
“Fortunately.”