Chapter Text
Erling sat in the silence of the hotel suite, the ambient hum of the air conditioner the only sound filling the space. Normally, this room was a chaotic blend of Jude’s loud music, scattered gear, and constant chatter. But tonight, Jude had vanished the moment his brother touched down in the city, swept away by a brotherly reunion and the promise of a crazy night.
Erling leaned back against the headboard, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, feeling a strange void where Jude’s energy usually resided. A notification pinged at the top of his screen.
Jobe: jude is drunk af
Erling arched a brow, his interest piqued.
A second later, a photo loaded. It was a candid shot of Jude, looking absolutely manic. He was standing on top of a glossy black club table, a drink clutched in one hand, wearing oversized black sunglasses that slid slightly down his nose. His mouth was open in a wide, joyful shout, his grin stretching from ear to ear.
A small, amused smile tugged at Erling’s lips. He knew Jude loved to party, he was usually the one dragging Erling into the fray, but he hadn't seen him this completely uninhibited. There was something magnetic about Jude in this photo.
erling: wow, so handsome.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
jobe: hurry to the club down the street, hes gettin a lil out of hand
Another photo followed. This one was closer. Jude was still on the table, but now he was surrounded by a swarm of men and women, their hands reaching up to touch his waist, his arms, his legs. Jude was beaming, leaning into the attention with a reckless, drunken confidence.
The amusement vanished from Erling’s face instantly. A sharp, hot spike of possessiveness shot through his chest. He didn't like the way those hands were touching Jude. He didn't like the way Jude was letting them.
Erling bolted upright, shoving his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them properly. He rushed out of the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He jogged to the parking lot, threw himself into the driver's seat, and tore down the street. He parked the car wildly, half-mounting the curb, and rushed toward the entrance of the club.
The bass hit him like a wall the moment he stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne, sweat, and spilled vodka. It took no time to locate the source of the commotion.
Jude was always the sun that everyone else orbited. In the center of the room, a crowd had formed around a figure perched atop a table.
Erling shoved through the bodies, his large frame clearing a path. He found Jobe at the edge of the table, looking exhausted and stressed.
“He won’t listen.” Jobe groaned, glancing at Erling with a look of desperation.
Erling didn't say a word. He reached up and firmly tugged the bottom of Jude’s pant leg. The sudden pull snapped Jude’s attention downward. He blinked, his eyes glazed and unfocused behind the dark glasses, before his face split into a massive, goofy grin.
“Erling!” Jude shouted, his voice thick and slurred.
As Jude crouched down to get a better look at him, Erling seized the opportunity. He reached up, hooked his arms under Jude’s thighs and back, and scooped him off the table in one fluid motion, slamming his feet back onto the floor.
“Come on. Let’s go back to our hotel,” Erling said, his voice dropping to a low, soft tone, trying to anchor Jude’s drifting consciousness.
Jude’s expression shifted instantly. He scoffed, shoving hard against Erling’s chest to create distance. “You’re so borin’!” he exclaimed, his voice straining to be heard over the thumping bass. He tried to stumble away, his balance unstable.
Jobe stepped in, grabbing Jude’s arm. “Come now, Jude. It’s late.”
Jude violently shoved Jobe off too, his movements erratic. “Leave me 'lone!”
“We have practice tomorrow,” Erling noted, stepping closer, his voice steady but firm, attempting to bring some logic to the drunken haze.
Jude spun around abruptly, his sunglasses sliding further down his nose. He looked up at Erling, his eyed half-lidded. “I hate football.” he mumbled, his voice suddenly dropping. “And-and-I hate you.”
The words hit Erling like a physical blow. He knew Jude was wasted, he knew the alcohol was talking, but the bluntness of it stung. Erling froze, his mouth parting slightly, staring down at the smaller man. The silence between them felt heavy, despite the noise of the club.
“Eesh...” Jobe groaned awkwardly, glancing between the two of them, sensing the sudden tension.
Just as the mood turned sour, the DJ transitioned the track. The opening notes of “A Man After Midnight” began to pulse through the speakers. Jude’s entire demeanor flipped in a heartbeat. He jumped excitedly, his eyes lighting up.
As the lyrics hit the chorus-“Is there a man out there?”- Jude lunged forward. He practically collided with Erling, throwing his arms around the taller man’s neck.
“Gimme a man after midnight!” Jude sang loudly, his voice off-key and joyful.
He began to grind his hips rhythmically against Erling’s thighs, dancing with a provocative, clumsy energy. He pressed his body flush against Erling’s, sliding his hands up into Erling’s hair, completely oblivious to the irritation he had just caused.
From a few feet away, Jobe burst out laughing, quickly pulling out his phone to record the spectacle.
Erling looked down at Jude, the flushed cheeks, the dilated pupils, the way he was rubbing himself against Erling’s lap. He was still irritated, the "I hate you" still echoing in his mind, but the sight of Jude acting like a heat-seeking puppy for his attention was too much to ignore.
Without a word, Erling reached down and hoisted Jude up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey! Put me down, mate!” Jude yelled, though he was laughing now, kicking his legs weakly.
Erling ignored him, turning on his heel and marching out of the club and toward the car, the weight of the drunken midfielder a familiar, grounding presence against his back.
_______
The drive back to the hotel was quiet.
Not because Jude had finally sobered up. It was far from it.
He simply stared out the passenger window with his cheek pressed against the cool glass, watching the city lights. Every now and then he’d mumble something completely incoherent under his breath before falling silent again.
Erling kept sneaking glances at him from behind the steering wheel.
Five minutes ago he’d been dancing on top of a table. Ten minutes before that he’d announced to an entire club that he hated football. And somewhere in between he’d looked Erling dead in the eyes and slurred, “I hate you.”
Erling knew he was drunk. Knew Jude probably wouldn’t even remember saying it tomorrow. It still lingered.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
When they finally pulled into the hotel parking lot, Jude didn’t move.
“Jude.”
No response.
Erling sighed, walking around to the passenger side. He opened the door and found Jude exactly as before, staring blankly out the window.
“We’re here.”
Jude blinked slowly.
“…Mhm.”
“You gonna walk?”
Another blink.
“…No.”
“I figured.”
A tiny smile tugged at Erling’s mouth despite himself. He undid Jude’s seatbelt before crouching slightly. “Arms.” Without protest, Jude lazily wrapped both arms around Erling’s neck.
“Good.”
Erling slid one arm beneath Jude’s knees and another around his back, lifting him as though he weighed nothing.
Jude let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m flyin’.”
“No,” Erling corrected softly. “You’re being carried.”
“Same thing.”
He rested his head against Erling’s shoulder almost immediately.
Within seconds he was half asleep again.
Erling carried Jude through the lobby, the silence of the hotel a stark contrast to the thumping bass of the club. He could feel the heat radiating off Jude’s skin, the scent of expensive gin and sweat clinging to him. Every few steps, Jude would shift, his head lolling against Erling’s neck, his breath warm and uneven against Erling's skin.
By the time they reached the elevator, Jude had drifted into a heavy, drunken daze, though he remained clung to Erling. Erling pressed the button for their floor, staring at the reflection in the mirrored walls. He looked like a giant holding a broken doll. The sight stirred something protective in him, but the memory of those words “I hate you” still felt like a splinter under his skin.
The elevator dinged, and Erling carried him down the hallway and into the suite. He didn't bother with the lights, letting the dim glow of the city filter through the windows. He carefully lowered Jude onto the large bed, but as Erling tried to pull away, Jude’s grip tightened.
His fingers curled into the fabric of Erling’s shirt, pulling him down.
"Don't... don't go," Jude mumbled, his voice barely a whisper, thick with sleep and alcohol. His eyes were half-closed, fluttering as he tried to focus on Erling's face in the dark.
Erling sighed, hovering over him. "You need to sleep, Jude. And you need water."
Jude let out a soft, pathetic groan, his brow furrowing. He looked small in the middle of the bed, his sunglasses still perched crookedly on his face. Erling reached down and gently slid the glasses off, tossing them onto the nightstand. Without the lenses, Jude’s eyes looked glazed and vulnerable, swimming with an emotion Erling couldn't quite name.
"I don't... hate you," Jude slurred, the words tumbling out clumsily. He blinked slowly. "I don't. I just... you're always so... perfect."
Erling froze. The irritation he'd been nursing vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. He shifted, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his large hand coming up to brush a droplet of sweat away from Jude’s forehead.
"Perfect?" Erling asked softly. “…You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"You are," Jude whispered, his hand sliding from Erling's shirt to his cheek, his palm hot and slightly shaky. "You're so... steady. And I'm just... a mess." He let out a shaky breath, his gaze intensifying. "I hate that I like you so much."
The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered by the alcohol. Erling felt his heart hammer against his ribs. He had spent months dancing around this tension, playing the role of the stoic teammate and the protective friend, while Jude played the flirtatious boy. But here, in the dim light of their room, the masks were gone.
Erling leaned in, his face inches from Jude’s. He could smell the booze, but beneath it was the scent of Jude, something warm and familiar. "Is that why you were dancing for those men tonight?" Erling asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "To see if I'd notice?"
Jude’s lip trembled. He didn't answer with words. Instead, he arched his back, pressing his chest upward and pulling Erling down by the collar of his shirt. He closed the gap, crashing his lips against Erling’s in a messy, desperate kiss.
It wasn't a graceful kiss. It tasted of vodka and longing, a clumsy collision of teeth and tongue. But for Erling, it was the spark that lit a fuse. He groaned into Jude's mouth, his hand sliding from Jude's forehead down to the nape of his neck, gripping him firmly to deepen the kiss.
Jude let out a muffled moan, his legs instinctively wrapping around Erling's waist, pulling the bigger man flush against him. The friction of their clothes, the rough denim of their jeans rubbing together, sent a jolt of electricity through Erling. He broke the kiss for a second, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against Jude's.
"You're wasted," Erling whispered, though his grip on Jude's waist was tightening, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
"Don't care," Jude whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut. "Want you. Please, Erling... fuck, I want you."
The plea almost broke Erling's last shred of restraint. He didn't want to care about the practice tomorrow or the alcohol in Jude's system; but he did. What he wished to care about was the way Jude was shivering beneath him, the way he was begging for the very thing Erling had been craving for months.
Erling’s fingers remained curled around Jude’s waist, his grip firm enough to keep him steady, but gentle enough that Jude could pull away if he wanted.
Jude didn’t.
Instead, he searched Erling’s face with unfocused eyes, his breathing uneven from exhaustion more than anything else. There was something heartbreakingly vulnerable about him now. The loud, reckless boy who had danced on tables and shouted over club music had disappeared somewhere between the drive home and the quiet of the hotel room.
“I like you,” Jude whispered again, the words barely louder than the hum of the air conditioner. “So much.”
Erling’s heart lurched painfully.
For months, he had imagined hearing those words.
He had pictured countless versions of this moment, after a match, on a walk back from training, maybe sitting together in some empty stadium after everyone else had gone home.
Never like this.
Never with Jude barely able to keep his eyes open.
Jude reached up clumsily, his hand brushing against Erling’s jaw before settling there.
“Kiss me.”
The request was so quiet it almost disappeared into the darkness.
Every muscle in Erling’s body tensed.
God, he wanted to.
He wanted to close the tiny space between them and memorize what Jude’s smile felt like against his own. He wanted to stop pretending that every lingering glance and every unnecessary touch hadn’t meant something. He wanted to give in to the feeling he’d been trying so hard to bury.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
He forced himself to breathe.
This wasn’t Jude.
Or rather..It was Jude, but not the Jude who would remember tomorrow morning.
Alcohol had stolen too much from his judgment tonight already. It had made him dance on tables, throw careless words around, and lean into strangers without thinking twice. Erling refused to let it take this, too.
Their first kiss deserved to belong to Jude. Not to the alcohol. Not to a night he might wake up unable to piece together.
Erling slowly lifted his hand, resting it against Jude’s cheek instead. His thumb brushed beneath Jude’s eye with impossible care.
“When you’re sober,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Ask me again.”
Jude frowned.
“But…”
“When you’re sober.”
A tiny crease formed between Jude’s brows, as though he were trying with everything he had to understand.
“You… don’t want me?”
The question came out so small that it twisted something deep inside Erling’s chest.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Jude…” he whispered. “That’s the problem.”
Jude blinked.
“I want you far too much.”
The admission hung between them.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for longer than I care to admit.”
Jude’s lips parted slightly.
“But I won’t let your memory of us be one you couldn’t choose.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Jude’s shoulders seemed to sag, every ounce of energy leaving him all at once.
“…You’re nice,” he mumbled, the words slurring together.
“I try.”
“I’m sleepy.”
“I noticed.”
Jude gave the smallest nod before leaning forward without another word.
His forehead bumped softly against Erling’s chest.
Then his entire body followed.
He folded into him as though it were the most natural place in the world to be.
Erling instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him from slipping. Jude let out a content, sleepy sigh, his fingers still loosely tangled in the front of Erling’s shirt.
“You’re warm.” Jude murmured.
A faint smile finally found Erling’s face.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
His voice faded before he could finish the thought. Within seconds, his breathing evened out, slow and steady against Erling’s chest.
Haaland looked down at the sleeping midfielder curled safely against him and felt every bit of the fight leave his own body.
He lowered his chin gently until it rested against Jude’s hair.
Tomorrow, Jude would wake with a pounding headache. Jobe would undoubtedly have embarrassing videos waiting for him. They would have awkward conversations, half-forgotten memories, and questions neither of them were ready to answer.
But tomorrow, Jude would have the chance to choose.
And if, when the alcohol had long since left his system, Jude still looked at him the same way…
Then Erling would kiss him.
Until then, holding him was enough.