Chapter Text
The changing room was awfully quiet after the match, with only the noises of disappointed supporters trying to go home from this gigantic stadium dimmed out by the door.
They are part of Group F, alongside Japan, Tunisia, and Sweden. Everyone predicted they were at an advantage since the team was filled with decorated players from several top leagues across European soil. The real competition might only be Japan, one of the strongest Asian teams in the cup, but they are currently running out of their golden generation, with many familiar aging faces from the last four years making up most of the team.
The fact that the old, tired team of Japan were able to draw them in the first match of the Group stage was very humbling. The opinions changed from reliving the old glory of entering finals with ease like 2010 World Cup to the Netherlands might not make it past the round of 32.
Of course, Max was at the center of the conversation.
Max never really considered his opponent a weak one, a humbling experience of spending his years at Real Madrid where they could play like their life is on the line but got beaten by the team on the bottom of the classements after some miscommunication between all the hot headed stars. His arrival on the national team was hyped, alongside Virgil and Frenkie, the three was considered as the most feared one, with this year's World Cup being Virgil's last one, and the team wanting to make the silver medalist gained back his glory with the younger generation.
Max was a wonderkid. Emphasis on was.
He was twenty when they put him on the 2018 World Cup squad, after a tiring UEFA qualifying stages leaving the star striker of their team badly injured and had to actually miss the main event. The coach has no choice but to put this young Ajax winger in the place of what people think might be a bad decision.
Everyone has their expectation on this baby Alpha, and Max had nothing but ambition. The coach put him in the second round. When his feet touch the turf, magic happens to the team.
After the ninety minutes with ten extra minutes ended, Max answered everyone’s doubt. He assisted one of the goals and ended up scoring a beautiful one before the long whistle to end the match was blown. He continued to impress the mass. After several matches, several huge clubs were eyeing him, begging Ajax to let this one go. Within 4 matches, Max was able to score five and assist three, a beautiful and amazing talent for a twenty year old to do.
In the end, France won. But for Max, the cup still ended beautifully. His agent was foaming at the mouth with many big clubs lining up to secure his contract, making him rethink repeatedly about his decision to stay in Ajax who’s currently having a bad season with a coaching scandal.
Max was loyal, of course, he was raised by Ajax since he was a kid, with the young team seeing his potential when he could barely spell his last name playing on the toddler equivalent of a football academy. But he’s been in the club since he was seventeen, and everyone who begged him to come came from a bigger club with more opportunity than a team who barely let him play and almost didn’t agree when he was selected as part of the national squad. The team raised him, yet they doubt him.
So he signed with Real Madrid. One of the biggest transfers for a u-21 player playing on the main squad after Kylian in the previous years. It was a challenge but he was able to meet another player who’s on par with him.
But that was back then.
Now everyone talks about how the washed wonderkid lied about his injury, or his inability to touch the ball, even the rumor about his personal life that surrounds him.
Max was the quietest one in the changing room. Gakpo was next to him, trying to ignore the depressing emotion by talking about what food they should have for dinner. Max was fiddling with his jersey, somehow taking it off was harder when he’s already irritated.
“Easy there, Max,” A firm voice was able to calm his emotion down.
Of all of the guys on the squad, Virgil was the only one who’s able to calm him down. Max was titled Mad Max based on how many cards he gained during the first two seasons of his rookie years just because he couldn’t contain his emotion. He does have the skills to balance it out, so people would not give a fuck about it.
But now, he can’t even get expressive without people laughing at it. Max is twenty nine now, with shoulder and ankle injury, with the last five matches in Madrid getting benched and no goals on the World Cup qualifiers stage.
“Sorry, lots of huge emotion there,” Max answered. He probably set the changing room vibe off with his anger. He took a deep breath, trying to free himself with the overstimulating thought happening in his brain. Virgil gave him a friendly tap on the back of his non-injured shoulder. The ones that injured are still visibly taped, with the ligament weirdly cracking every time he flapped around trying to chase the ball.
The shower room was already pretty empty, he let the water run on his hair longer. It’s weirdly comforting, like a gentle tap of a rainfall washing away his heavy head. When the sky started to lose its color, he knew he had to get home.
-
It’s never a dull celebration every time England won a match, no matter who the opponent was.
They’re up against Croatia in the first group stage, with them being a strong contender to move forward with them in the round of 32, it was almost a blood bath.
George watches from the sidelines alongside his camera crew. He lost count on how many times his stomach dropped every time the team lost their ball possession.
He knew that as a professional, he was essentially standing on a no-mans land. But he’s British before he’s a journalist, can’t help but to have a bias, especially when the current line up was so hyped yet controversial.
England ended up winning 4 - 2, with the squad's captain scoring a brace in the first group match that year. George had the chance to do a post-match interview with the three goalscorer, with Jude still remembering him from the past year when he had to interview him after the qualifying.
The post-match pheromone surge is something that George will never get used to. The natural musk of a squad who mostly consist of Alpha with high adrenaline and stressor was nauseating. So even though the guys were all lovely, George was a bit overwhelmed by it.
He doesn’t know how most omega who have football careers could perform with hungry and annoyed Alphas surrounding them for almost two hours. George had to quickly put a scent blocker and spray his neutral scented odorizer.
One other reason that might be the cause of his unexplained primal fear is because of his unmated status with a pup. It was psychologically answered by his therapist, a response to protect himself and the baby that was bonded with him. But biologically? Nobody could really understand it.
The match finishes before noon, so he actually has several hours to spend the day and explore the food in America. For some reason, these mukbang videos always ended up finding their way on his FYP at night. The hunger is killing him, to be honest, the stadium food is kind of bland and nasty, and he deliberately skipped the catering because he knew he wanted something else since this morning.
Not many supporters left by the time George arrived at the parking lot. There’s still some England supporters waiting for their bus that recognized him from the TV and greeted him. If it was any other case, he would’ve asked the family if they wanted a lift, but George has somewhere to go, so he kept it in mind to do it in another match.
-
With the summer break in Europe coincidentally occurring during the World Cup and him having to work on reporting at the World Cup, there was no choice but to bring his son to the states. A seven weeks long ‘soccer’ camp that was directly sponsored by FIFA for many kids who joined the highest stage of the football cup was a perfect choice to register Theo in.
This world cup was the first time where Theo could experience the hype. He was merely a toddler when the 2022 World Cup happened, so he had nothing remembered even though George took him to the final in Lusail back then.
Now, he could speak for hours about how great the England national team were. Ever since he got into football, he could stand in front of the TV, looking at the strategy and line-up, and give his comment on how the match would be an awful or a good one. He spends days googling and reading wikipedias about his favorite player. In fact, he learned how to read because he wanted to know who scored a goal in a match he was watching, and how many goals the team had scored.
Ever since then, it’s only reasonable for George to put him in a local football academy. Every week since he was five, Theo rolls around the dirty grass and throws himself in the field to sharpen his skills. George feels like Theo never got tired of doing it.
“Dad!”
George was just barely pulling out of the parking lot when Theo saw the car he rented and excitedly waved his hand, “Dad! England just won! The coach told me.”
“Yeah, they did,” George answered. Theo smelt funny, like grass and dirt with a hint of the sun. Yet, his scent grounded George and made him less anxious. “How was the practice today?”
“It was great,” Theo downed a small bottle of Gatorade on the bench. The sugar withdrawal would probably hit him when they’re back in the UK, since every snack or drink they had here was too sweet. “The coach put me as a winger, and I learned how to make better assists, cause sometimes the coach said I was too eager and the ball ended up in the back of another player.”
“Well, you can’t always be hungry for everything. It’s a team sport after all,” George replied, “Were you happy?”
Theo smiled and nodded his head, “It was fun, and everyone here came from all over the world so I had a lot of new friends. They were trying to teach me many languages here.”
“I can teach you Spanish, do you know that I’m fluent at it?” he responded. It might be a little rusty now, it’s been a while since he spoke it. He would understand what people say in Spanish, but he had to roll his brain a little bit to string the words.
“Really? You never told me,” Theo was a little shocked. Sometimes George forgot that this little guy was only here for seven years, and he doesn’t know half of the life that George had lived.
Wonderwall was playing on the radio AUX with Theo singing along without knowing what the actual lyrics were. He asked him if he could control the spotify, and he played all the songs the England supporters blared in the stadium.
Theo has always been a happy boy, but this moment was for sure one of his core memories. Football has always been part of George’s family, with his brother playing it professionally in the premier league and part of the national team in 2018. He’s retiring in the European league now, moving to the states several years ago just like many senior European league players.
What most people don’t know is that part of Theo that George barely mentioned might also be the reason why Theo was obsessed with the sports. Every time the name that he remembers way too vaguely were mentioned at his work or on the mainstream media, he couldn’t brush past the fact he was part of why Theo is here.
It’s unfortunate as well, that George works on the field that is closely related to him. There’s some moment where they probably would have met but George always did a great job to avoid him.
He doesn’t want him to know. Sure, George always uses a neutral deodorizer and scent blockers, but Alpha has a different kind of instinct to notice his pup.
And George knew way too much, knew how the father of his child behaves behind the field, or how an Alpha athlete would act in general. He knew how powerful they are with their money. Custody has always been a sensitive topic for George, since he was unmated and unmarried, many people doubt he could provide everything for Theo.
That’s why George fought so hard for himself and Theo, to prove everyone who doubted him was wrong. He doesn’t need a rich Alpha or the alleged baby father of his to step up and act heroic just to end up being forced to let go of his custody like many stories in the past.
George also doesn’t want to be bothered by the tabloids, he knew that everyone’s eye was on this guy. He also had a huge following that would throw themselves in the fire if it means he will be happy. George doesn’t want to risk it, he enjoyed his liberty.
He was thankful that, despite Theo being born blond with pouty puffer lips that look almost identical to the absent Alpha, he has curly hair and gentle eyes just like him. He recently just had a haircut, but George used to grow his hair out so the curls will fall on his shoulder.
But dear God, Theo speaks way too much like him sometimes. The way Theo could recite the winner of every World Cup, the way he can guess iconic players and their jersey number. Even with the way Theo carried himself in the field and controlled his ball, it’s hard for George to just look away.
-
The diner they visited was occupied with few supporters from other countries. The Netherlands and Japan were playing in different stadiums, so beside some white and red jerseys passing around the street, there’s quite a few oranges and blues as well. The score is still 0 - 0 after the first stage, with some of the Netherlands supporters who chose to stay at the diner getting visibly irritated.
Theo was chewing his pancake quietly while his eyes locked on the screen. Besides England, Theo was a good sport to every team. If they win fairly, Theo will cheer on him, bonus points if it was a Real Madrid player, his favorite team.
“Dad, look,” Theo pointed at the screen, “They subbed Max’s off.”
George stared at the same screen that Theo was glued on, “He’s been underperforming lately. The team still scored 0 - 0. It’s pretty reasonable.”
Theo looks defeated. Max was one of his favorite players on Real Madrid. “I miss Mad Max. Do you think he’d ever be back?”
George sighed, “Hopefully, he’ll be back.”
He doesn’t think Theo will ever be aware of it.
-
Max had the same dream again.
He dreamt about the same night in Madrid, when he was twenty, feeling like he was on the top of the world. It was the champion’s league semi-final in Bernabeu. He scored a beautiful goal that people boast could be a strong candidate for a puskas win. Real Madrid won that day against Liverpool, with Max’s goal bringing the club to the next stage.
He saw someone so beautiful that day. Max saw him sitting on the commentator bench as a staff member when he hopped up to greet his friends. The beautiful omega he saw is not a senior, pre-occupied with tons of intricate microphone wires, helping his senior commentators tidying up the equipment they just used. The brunette curls were grazing his blue eyes beautifully when his lips said yes to Max's invitation for a drink after everything’s done.
Max had way too many drinks that day, so does the beautiful Omega that ended up spending his night in Max's apartment. He had the most intoxicating scent, like a rose infused old aged wine that stained his white shirt forever. Max wished that he was more sober when everything happened, so he can remember the Omega’s face way clearer under the dimmed light of his bedroom. His calloused hand still remembers the curve of his waist, sitting beautifully on his lap when they successfully escaped the buzzing Madrid night life before any paparazzi could catch a glimpse of today's goalscorer.
He left the apartment with nothing but a note,
‘Thx for the drinks ;) It's amazing. Take care. Gtg for work’
It was nothing but a casual hook up for him.
Max tried to get over the fact that he doesn’t remember Omega's name. It will pass, he thinks, he hooked up with too many Omegas that he’d just lost trace of after a while. He could just point his finger and everyone would fold under him.
Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about him. His unusual beauty and intoxicating scent was something that Max couldn’t get over from. Max still remembers how the soft touch of his finger touched the sensitive gland around his neck, with a sweet mouth chanting his name like a mantra when they both reached nirvana.
It was like the singing of a siren. Pure bliss was felt when Max realized he released his knot inside the Omega. No regret was felt by him, a mistake that the consequences were put aside on his dopamine filled brain.
He was a professional footballer, after all, with a career currently reaching sky high. Such things like commitment would just fuck everything up. He was young, and had everything ahead of him. It’s important for him to stay focused and remove himself from distractions.
So even though his heart desired the Omega, he knew he couldn’t afford himself an obstacle.
But now, Max couldn’t rattle the feeling of uneasiness. Why had so suddenly, of every Omega he had fucked in the past, he couldn’t get over this one? It’s been seven years, with no encounters with the Omega within his time on the sports when he was supposed to be a sport journalist. Did he accidentally hook up with an angel in disguise? Why did the universe decide to punish him with distraction when his career was on rock bottom?
It was hard for him to go back to sleep after that.
-
“You’re thinking of something?”
Max emerged from his daydream, “Huh? Nothing.”
“You seem quiet since the last match,” Daniel removed the infrared lamp from Max’s shoulder area, “It’s not your fault for the team's draw. Everybody knows you’re badly injured from last year.”
“It’s not that,” Max answered, “I just had a weird dream lately.”
“Such as…Netherlands winning the cup or something?” Daniel laughed, with Max sighing from the physiotherapist joke, “You know they say if you dreamt about horses that means good luck? Were there any horses?”
“There’s no horses in the dream,” Max replied, “What does it mean when you constantly dreamt about occurrences that happened many many years ago?”
“My nonna actually said it was a sign as well,” Daniel answered, “It was a sign that you need to take an actual rest and have your sleep studied, because it’s clear that you’re showing some distress.”
Max rolled his eyes, “It’s just I dreamt about this one Omega I went out with, like, seven or six years ago.”
“Dude, way too much information. I don’t care if you had a wet dream.”
“Gross, it’s not sexual. It’s just he’s constantly coming to my dream and I woke up super confused,” Max clarified, “You think the universe is trying to tell me something?”
“Maybe just a general good experience that seems to make you happy amidst all this life turmoil you’re going through right now?” Daniel replied. His eyes were watching Max’s pain spot with a micro needle twitching around the sore area.
Max sighed. He’d wished he had his answer.
-
Carlos had given him a call while he was in the physiotherapy session. He knew that it would straight up be some bullshit that pissed him off, cause even though Carlos was his best friend, he seems to never bring him good news as his manager.
But Carlos was the one person that would let a train pass a hundred tied hostages in a railway if it meant that Max would make it. Honestly, Max is under-appreciating Carlos. The Spanish man would constantly tease him if he knew Max would worship the ground he walked in.
“Hey man, what’s up?” Carlos started the conversation when Max finally called him back.
“Just finished another round of my physiotherapy,” Max answered, straight up, “Throw the news at me directly, Carlos, I know it’s something again.”
“What a pessimistic prediction, Max, lighten up a little bit!” Carlos answered and laughed, “It’s really nothing negative this time, they want you to coach a ‘soccer’ camp practice that they had for some selected kids. This week they have Ferran, Erling, and Mo Salah coming. I know you’d be an amazing choice for it.”
Max thought for a second. For sure, he has interacted with kids and he also has a niece and nephew. But with his career hitting the low, Max didn’t know if he had the confidence to do so, “Actually, I… I don’t know. They can’t do Virgil or someone else from our team?”
What if these kids hated him or did him dirty? Or what if he couldn’t get the kids hyped and ended up wasting these kids time when they could've been a better player with kinder heart coaching them?
“Max, come on,” Carlos answered, a thick Spanish accent could be heard with his annoyed tone, “This would be a good PR for you as well after the fiasco several months ago, I’m gonna be honest. I’m doing a lot of work for you to secure this one.”
“What? You agreed without telling me first?” Max answered, “Carlos, if you weren’t my best friend, I could bring you to the court, you have to be glad I gave you this job.”
“So it’s a yes. And you’ll have your coaching session next Thursday,” Carlos answered, “Come on, Max. If it’s not for me and your brother doing the heavy lifting, you’ll be bones. Appreciate me next time I deliver you some news, ok?”
“Fuck off, Carlos. Next time, just tell me beforehand. What if I had something that day and I couldn’t do it? You’ll disappoint a bunch of kids and their parents that probably paid thousands to FIFA for this camp.”
“How so? I’m the one holding your schedule tab, so I would know your schedule tab first before you do. Now say thank you Carlos.”
Max gets quiet a little behind his phone. Carlos was right, he needs a PR fix badly after the media slander he got several months ago.
“Thank you, Carlos,” Max said, “Just don’t do it again next time.”
-
Not long after Carlos gave him a call, the instagram page of the camp that Max was supposed to go to next week posted about him.
His throat immediately goes dry. His hand goes cold and his ears start to ring.
The comments were growing, and every time he refreshed, it seemed to constantly grow. Max swallowed his saliva, feeling a panic grow under his breath. He knew that curiosity would kill him, but he didn't want everything to be left unanswered. He just wanted to know if there’s people who're still excited about it, or should Max just pull out his attendance.
The comments were surprisingly still positive. With some Madridista getting hyped and his countrymen hyping his attendance, a simple emoji or comment in foreign language.
But he knew that the troll was coming. So he gave Carlos another call. Begging him to contact the instagram social media manager to limit the comments on the post about him.
It’s ridiculous, but everything that occurred to him this past year pushes him to the edge. A troll comments on a fucking soccer camp instagram account could ruin his day. He used to be an arrogant, smart-mouthed Max who earned his nickname, but now he’s just a coward who could barely kick a penalty.
He closes his eyes, reflecting on what happened. His refusal to agree on DNA testing after one of his casual hook-ups claimed the baby she gave birth to is his son were the start of everything going shit in his life.
After two trophyless seasons in Real Madrid, he couldn’t be bothered with more shit. He made a grave mistake of directly posting about his refusal on a personal instagram without consulting Carlos or anybody else, doing it directly after Madrid lost 0-2 to Atletico and Max missed a lot of chances with a fight occurring on the field between him and the opponent midfielder.
Everyone was pissed at Max, and the rumor of him fathering a baby spread quickly for the past week that Max was aware of. Maybe it’s the adrenaline high and stress due to everyone commenting the same shit on his recent post and instagram story, so Max doesn’t give a shit about rejecting the baby publicly.
It was snowballing so terribly. He should’ve known this is a move that should’ve been taken carefully. The tabloids were so quick to tear him apart. Max ended up doing the DNA test after a careful talk, with the mother of the baby bringing a lawyer to quickly secure everything she aimed to gain with this gossip.
The result was null, there’s no match of DNA between the baby and Max. Max doesn’t fear that he fathered a kid, he was afraid of the inability to bond with the baby and how he would be a terrible father because he doesn’t have one to begin with. He doesn’t know how to raise a kid, how to guide them to become a good person, or how to control his emotions when he has to deal with their temper tantrums.
And he had no feelings for the woman he was hooking up with. Not when his soul is still searching for the one he met in Madrid many years ago.
He doesn’t want to be a deadbeat that just gives the mother monthly financial support and stays focused on his career. That’s what his father does to him, and it creates a monster who has an inability to commit to anything besides a football career.
He knew it takes a lot to be a father, but he couldn’t articulate it perfectly. His fears translated to anger. The media doesn’t give a fuck, though, fair enough for Max who executed a terrible PR stunt on his instagram story without talking to anyone first.
Then it continued, with the injury occurring after a terrible clash when he attempted to score a goal. He knew something cracked when his body hit the wet grass, and everyone circled around him asking if he’s okay. With how Jude and Vini tried to resonate with the referee who only gave the person doing it a yellow card and ended up earning it themselves. On how the team fought for him after the match and ended up getting a fine for it.
And then an ankle problem, growing from his fucked up shoulder that affect his balance. It was swollen and Max was unable to walk after only playing for half a fulltime. It gets so swollen, a result of the legs doing an extra work carrying his weight that his shoulder was unable to, and Max’s style of play that sometimes resulted in opponent players reaching for his legs.
A string of bad luck that quickly buried Max’s reputation. An arrogant act with nothing to back it up. He reaped what he sowed, maybe that’s what he deserved.
“You good, Maxie?” Carlos sends him a message after the comment has been limited to the post.
“I’m good, it’s fine,” Max is better now, in a calmer state knowing there will be no troll coming on the official post.
But to be honest, Max doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay.