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“Ugh, what the hell was that?”
The content team has been doing this ridiculous attempts to cater to a wider audience, sure. It’s just a silly Valentine’s Day video, Jude isn’t sure why he reacts this way. All jiggly and bouncy, he’s peeling the uniform, practically jumping into his everyday clothes.
“Some were funny, no?” Erling shrugs, putting his stuff away in the locker and sits on a bench to change his boots, like a normal person.
“No. Absolutely terrible,” he scoffs. Jude is usually the slowest one to leave the training ground, but he’s already stepping towards the door trying to tie his shoe on the way out, but mostly jumping on one leg and cursing.
“Aren’t you…” Erling’s eyes lit up. He’s actually going to continue with this stupid shit.
“Absolutely not-“ Jude snaps out and starts jumping towards the door, with a backpack hanging somewhere on his elbow.
“Wait, wait. You hop so funny, I have a good one.”
“No,” he rolls his eyes, and..
"Aren’t you a bunny? Because you make my heart skip a beat!”
Erling tries to hold his thunderous laugh, and when Jude is turning away from the door to shoot a killing stare, Haaland finally loses it.
“What?” he asks.
“Don’t make it one of your stupid games, or I-”
“Oh, you want game?”
“Erling!” Jude crosses the room in two big steps and slaps his baseball hat down. Then he puts it back up. It’s impolite.
“What? It’s funny, you try,” Erling looks up with such playful glint in his eyes, every word leaves Jude’s brain, as he feels the competitiveness burning in his stomach.
He can’t hold the stare, he looks away and fixes his eyes on a trash can full of empty water bottles. Well, first of all…
“Your sense of humour is trash.”
“And?” Erling asks, not impressed at all.
“You are, in fact, trash…”
“Rude-”
“So I need to take you out,” Jude turns his eyes back on the teammate, trying his best to appear intimidating and confident.
It’s silent for a second, but then both of them burst out laughing. Jude steps away and sits on the bench next to Haaland to properly tie his shoes, waiting for his friend to finish dressing up.
They walk to the parking lot, talking nonsense, say usual goodbyes and share a quick hug.
Game it is.
***
On the next day of training the weather is chilly. February in Dortmund isn’t the best, to say the least.
Jude is always the freezing and miserable one, wearing gloves, hat(s) and scarf(s). He warms his hands by rubbing them together and, as a good midfielder, senses a trap. Jude looks back to Erling, who is jogging faster to match his tempo. Oh, no, here it comes.
"You look cold. Want to use me as a blanket?"
It’s painful to smile in the cold early morning, but they do, nevertheless. Trying to hide the shiver in the voice, Jude is fast to reply.
“You aren’t a blanket, pal!”
He stares at Erling, trying to catch on some detail to come up with a punchline. The Norwegian is wearing a hat as well, but it’s twisted in such ridiculous way, it seems like it has a pair of some animal’s ears. Oh, right.
“You’re more like a giant teddy bear.”
Erling smiles so genuinely, like it doesn’t matter how funny the next phrase will be, he’s just happy to continue with the game.
“I lost mine, by the way, so will you sleep with me instead?” Jude doesn’t quite believe he says it, still trying to make the most angelic face possible, but his heart is beating so fast.
They are trying to hold their faces from giggling too obviously, but whistle blows and erases their smiles — it’s a break. Erling jumps a little and turns away. Jude doesn’t see his pink face and rushes to get some water before the next part of the training session.
***
At the match a couple of weeks later against Union Berlin Bellingham sort of assists on a goal and falls down simultaneously. After the final whistle, Haaland rushes to celebrate the win with everyone despite not playing that day and catches Jude.
“What the hell he’s doing here in Berlin anyway?” Jude thinks, before Erling reaches to his ear.
"Did it hurt when you fell?”
Jude blinks in horror. Not now, not on a fucking stadium.
“When you fell from heaven?” Erling asks, looking straight into Jude’s eyes.
The delivery is flat and way far from the teasing one, and it’s the worst part of it all. Erling crashes into him and hides their flustered faces from the world, teammates and fans.
Later, when they are heading to the locker rooms, Jude notices someone from the staff wearing a small crucifix on a silver chain. He puts his hand to his mouth and asks, “Are you religious?”
Erling pretends to wipe sweat from his lips and jaw and whispers under his breath, “Why?”
“Because you’re the answer to my prayers,” Jude feels his ears burning, as he goes faster without looking back.
In the locker room after the match Erling is speaking with Reus, who is chuckling and seems to congratulate Erling on something. Jude turns up immediately.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, you don’t know? Erling, son of a bitch, didn’t tell anyone!”
Marco hands Jude the phone. Jude reads the headline from some blog post, something about Haaland and Man City. Well, it’s how it is in big sport, but it still feels like a kick in the gut. Erling sighs guiltily and asks not to make a big deal out of it, it’s still talking stages and nothing is decided. Jude still half-hugs him and makes a mess out of his grown hair, and barely stops himself from planting a big smooch on Erling’s cheek (the team barely stopped teasing about the last public one only a few weeks ago).
***
At the back of the bus later that night it’s way too quiet. Jude usually yaps and tries to know every single detail of every rumour of a transfer, no matter who it is, where to and for how much, but he doesn’t feel like it now. What a surprise.
“Hey, Jude,” Erling whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I’d take a sad song and make it better. For you!”
“Shut up!” he quietly protests and shoves Erling with a fist to his ribs, but still can’t hold his grin, it comes out a bit sad anyway.
Erling catches his hand and tucks it under his arm. Fighting stops, Jude lays his head on Erling’s shoulder, the best place on earth to stop worrying and spiralling into despair about something.
“I’ll miss you,” Jude whispers, it’s almost inaudible.
“I know.”
After a bit Erling asks him conspiratorially, “What club did you dream about? As kid.”
“You mean playing for?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Barcelona.”
“Real Madrid will sign you,” he says even more ominously.
“Seriously, shut up.”
“No, I know. It is all here,” Erling taps his forehead with his free hand.
Someone from front rows of the bus passes them a couple of chocolate bars, Jude unwraps one of them and smirks at Haaland.
“Mate, you’re like a candy bar. Half sweet and half nuts.”
***
The ride to Dortmund takes forever, when the bus finally pulls to the parking lot, most of the team jumps to grab their things and disappear into the night on the caravan of personal cars and taxis. Erling and Jude are the last to leave the bus.
“Wanna come?” Erling asks.
It’s a tradition to crash on each others’ couches after away games, and it feels especially important not to skip today.
“Sure!”
Tomorrow is a day off, couple of sneaked in beers and maybe an hour of video gaming will do good. Sleeping on Erling’s couch will do unavoidable damage to Jude's back, as usual, but the news made him all sappy and wailful. He decides to get as much time together as possible, even though they are basically attached to the hip like a couple of clumped-up dumplings. Dumplings? Oh, and food delivery. Double on everything.
When they finally arrive to Erling’s place, it is quite late and most of the decent places have already closed, so they order questionable noodles from the nearby Chinese spot.
It doesn’t feel like turning on the telly or Playstation, though. They just eat on the couch, talk about today’s match and gossip about brand deals and transfer rumours. At the latter part the conversation dies inevitably, as the last one thing to talk about is too hurtful to talk about.
“Jude.”
“Go on.”
Here comes the deflection stupid pickup joke. Haaland may look oblivious most of the time, but he always lifts the room in the gloomy mood.
“You are too beautiful to be so quiet.”
Jude almost starts to rant how shit this line is, but then…
Oh.
Oh.
He panics looking for signs for a reply on the walls and the coffee table with leftovers. Nothing. His eyes wander to Erling’s face, and he immediately notices a spot in the corner of his mouth. Jude courages up and blurts out the most straight-forward and obvious thing that comes to his mind.
“You’ve got something on your lips. Mind if I-”
It’s not clear who closes the distance first, but they are crashing into each other awkwardly. So what if Erling leaves for Citeh, when he’s here, holding Jude’s face so gingerly and being so careful and shy. Holy shit, they are kissing. Well, it’s just a peck, really.
Jude thinks of backing up to check if he misunderstood things, but Erling instantly pulls him closer. Jude gasps in surprise and opens his mouth wider. Well, holy shit, indeed.
He just lets go of his stupid train of thought and falls on his back, pulling Erling down with him.
It’s like dozens of times after celebrating a goal, but without prickly grass on the back of his neck. No stands singing and shouting, just the rustle of cushions and a faint electric buzzing of a turned off television. And no camera clicks and whistles. And no need to hold back.
Jude bites Erling’s lower lip a little, feeling his hands absent-mindedly wandering from Haaland’s hair to his lower back.
Erling backs off and stands up, dragging Jude out of the sweet embrace of the back-wrecking couch. Oh, he’s guiding them to bedroom. Oh, he’s red as a tomato, and smiling like crazy, and his blond hair’s a mess. This is ridiculous, Jude feels so giddy, and… tired.
At the bed he stops Erling from tugging his shirt up, holding both of his hands and giving a look. After all, Bellingham is the one who’s always cold. No need to say this out loud, they both nod and silently agree that there’s no need to rush things.
Not that they’ve got much time, but just as in a corny endeavour to flirt or in a bold attempt of a cheeky goal you need to calculate and then deliver, when the timing is right.
Jude doesn’t remember falling asleep, but wakes up early in the morning, finding himself in the knot of heavy limbs and soft breathes. He tucks a strand of hair from Erling’s face, kisses his forehead and dozes off, thinking that, unlike in football, no team has lost in this stupid game. And it’s not a draw either. And it’s not that stupid, because both teams actually won.