Chapter Text
It all starts when Erling walks into the locker room after the game. He inhales, mentally preparing himself for the sudden storm of pheromones on the other side of the door.
Instead, he opens it only to freeze in place, feet rooted to the ground like someone had just dropped a hundred pounds worth of ankle weights on him.
Holy shit.
The scent is unlike anything else he's ever experienced. It's rich, warm—the scent of bitter, earthy cocoa mixed with sweet vanilla fills his nostrils, with the barest hints of soft balsamic, woody undernotes—making for a heavenly amalgam of aromaticity.
To put things simply, it smells like coming back home from an unforgiving winter day in Norway to a cup of hot coffee brewed to perfection, placed right beside a warm fireplace, all cozy and comforting.
It smells like omega.
He needs more.
His alpha preens with satisfaction, urging him to pinpoint the addicting fragrance. He can feel his own scent flaring—the citrusy scent of blood orange and morning dew growing stronger by the second.
Alas, much to his disappointment, the scent barely lingers. Like a leaf in the wind, it goes as quickly as it comes, dissipating into the conglomeration of sweat and pheromones of rowdy alphas who wouldn't wear scent-blockers to save their lives.
He pauses and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply to try and locate any remaining traces of that addicting smell, but nothing turns up.
He's about to walk up to the nearest guy and ask if his scent is supposed to smell like fuckin’ vanilla and cocoa beans when all of a sudden, there's a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey. You good?” Jude appears at his side, towel around his neck. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
(In hindsight, he should really thank Jude for stopping him. An alpha asking another alpha about their scent is considered a challenge, which, in a team full of them, is almost taboo—if only for the sake of keeping the peace.)
He looks down at Jude, who has fresh scent-blockers pasted on right over his scent glands. That reminds him to rein in his own scent before someone starts raising questions.
They're the only ones who had ever worn suppressants while on the team, and Erling recently stopped wearing his; on the other hand, he's never seen the other man without his blockers—minus the time he'd gone unpresented—even after a year of playing together, attached at the hip.
They're medical grade, he notes, shelving the little change away for later study.
(He finds himself noting down the little details about the other man a lot, really).
He nods, forcing himself to stop thinking about that tantalizing aroma. “Yeah. I'm good.”
Maybe Jude just doesn't exactly appreciate smelling other alphas scents. The scent-blockers also dampen one's sensitivity to other pheromones, which sounds like a pretty damn good thing when dealing with a mixture of overpowering alpha pheromones (forgetting the side effects, of course).
A little part of Erling protests at the fact that he might never know what Jude smells like so long as they're actively playing in this sport, but he squashes it down.
Jude looks at him weirdly, but doesn't press any further. “Debrief is in a few minutes.”
“Got it.”
Jude pats him on the shoulder and brushes past him, leaving behind nothing but a slight warmth at the point of contact.
It tingles.
Erling ignores it, like the sensible man he is (ignoring his ever-growing feelings for someone who is, to his knowledge, another alpha, and also his teammate is always good).
Debrief goes as expected—Coach yells at them for the performance they put on in the second half—which, to say it was terrible would be an understatement—and storms out of the locker room. Reus gives his usual post-game speech. Press conferences are finished in a haze.
On a regular day, Erling would feel more inclined to listen to them (he swears he usually does!) if that fucking scent didn't sweep past him again, leading him astray like a sailor to a siren.
As he follows the trail of the slightest trace of pheromones, he vaguely feels like a child being led around with candy. Or a horse and a carrot on a stick. Both are accurate enough, much to his chagrin.
Soon enough, he finds himself back in the locker room, staring at the one and only Jude Bellingham, which leaves him confused, because Jude is… an alpha. Right? “Jude?”
The man in question looks up, eyes widening like a deer in headlights—and like the flip of a switch, the scent disappears. Again.
“Erling,” Jude greets, going back to rummaging through his bag. His voice has the tiniest tremble in it, and his hands begin to move just a fraction faster. His body is conveniently placed so that it's turned around just enough to still be considered polite, yet is also able to hide his face completely. “You alright?”
“Do you… smell something?” Erling can't help but ask, taking a step closer.
Jude seems to hesitate for a moment before replying, “No. Do you?”
Oh. Right. The blockers. “I swear I…” Erling falters. “Nah. Nothing. I was probably imagining it."
Jude huffs out a laugh, shoulders relaxing. His entire posture seems to do the same. “You know I can't smell pheromones the way that you do.” His voice is light, but it still holds that same edge from earlier.
Erling can't help but observe the other man—the sudden tenseness at his question. The careful tone he used before Erling waved it off as naught. “...Yeah. My bad.” A pause. “Why do you wear those anyway?”
The question comes out before he can stop it. “I mean—only if you feel comfortable answering. Sorry.”
Silence.
Jude zips up his bag and straightens up, slinging it over his shoulder. When he turns around, there's a smile on his face and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he says, “Sometimes you've got to give your nose a break from all the pheromones, mate. Y’know?”
He pats Erling on the shoulder on his way out, leaving him alone in the locker room, which now only holds the earthy stench of sweat and dirt. “Come on. The team's waiting.”
Huh.
Erling turns around and follows Jude out, shoving down the rising suspicions he's beginning to have back to where they belong: away from his mind, where he'll never have to think about them ever again.
In his defense, he really does try to not let any... recent intrusive thoughts bleed into his real life (he really does!)
Except he finds himself hanging around Jude even more than he usually does—which, to put it simply, has reached concerning levels of clinginess.
Even he can tell, which is also concerning because he can't fucking stop it.
It starts small—an extra brush of shoulders here and there, a few lingering touches every so often. Then it escalates to hugs that linger for longer than they should, or fleeting glances when he thinks Jude isn't looking.
It even gets to the point where he growls at one of the rookies during recovery for putting a hand on Jude's waist to move past him. His usually refreshing scent of citrus and morning dew turns sour, almost rotten with how angry he gets. Scares the poor lad out of his mind.
Which is bad. Like, potentially get him kicked off the team level bad.
It's baffling, and most of all, annoying when his instincts scream at him to protect and challenge whoever hurt his omega in the middle of practice when Jude gets a little roughed up.
Evidently, there's something wrong with his alpha, because it keeps treating Jude like an omega when he's not.
So he's set himself a goal: for today's practice, he's dead set on not causing a scene, whether that be growling at a fellow player or acting like an obnoxious teenager in love.
Should be easy enough, Erling thinks to himself as he walks out onto the pitch, where he sees Jude stretching near the benches with Jadon and Giovanni.
Giovanni must say something really funny, because Jude doubles over in laughter, leaning in dangerously close to the other man. Jadon isn't even laughing that much.
Something hot and ugly stirs within Erling's gut. His alpha roars with anger, telling him to make him back off and take what's yours.
He pushes it away. It's just Gio, man. What am I even doing?
Jude isn't his omega. For fuck's sake, he isn't even an omega.
His alpha must be broken. He's just about 99% certain of it. The thing inside him has totally gone fuckin’ haywire and is just projecting onto the object of his desires.
(Maybe he's projecting his feelings onto Jude, but it still doesn't make sense—because he couldn't give two shits as to whether the other man is an alpha or a beta or an omega. But that's irrelevant.)
He chalks it up to his alpha just being territorial over the person he has a crush on as he jogs over to the trio. “Warming up without me? Heartbreaking.”
Instantly, the first thing he smells is earthy pine sap with hints of peach, and black tea with honeyed undertones. They're much sweeter than usual, due to the happiness projected from said scents.
Deep down, he hopes Jude doesn't like black tea. Or pine sap.
Jude looks up at him, cheeks still dusted pink from how much he had laughed earlier, eyes filled with mirth. “Not my fault somebody woke up late.”
Erling sits down next to him, extending one leg out to stretch out his hamstrings. “You snoozed my alarm.”
“Did not!”
“Did too.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jadon roll his eyes and mutter there they go again.
Of course, that doesn't stop his playful bickering with Jude. In fact, it sort of pleases him that it's so often they do this, it's become somewhat of a signature move of their own. The morning dew in his scent turns just a hint lighter.
It's like a claim we have over him, his alpha purrs, content.
Erling resists the urge to keel over. Of course, it just has to ruin the moment. Jude isn't some kind of object to be claimed, or a piece of meat for the taking. Not cool.
“—ling?” A hand waved in front of his face snaps him back to reality. “You good?” Jude's concerned expression fills his vision. He looks so cute, Erling has to physically restrain himself from picking him up and peppering his face with kisses.
He blinks harshly a few times, forcing himself to focus. “Sorry. Yeah. Just got distracted.”
“By his awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping beauty?” Giovanni suddenly cuts in, crooning, making the other two burst into stifled giggles. “Oh, my beloved Judey-bear! My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,” he sing-songs, winking at Erling while doing so.
Erling's mouth drops open ever so slightly. At this point, Jude and Jadon are rolling everywhere on the ground, cackling, stretching be damned.
He can't quite hold back a huffed out chuckle of his own, a smile crossing his face. He hopes he isn't blushing (it's a futile effort, really—with skin as pale as his own? It's almost guaranteed). “Since when have you been reading Shakespeare? Got a lady of your own to impress?”
“Nah, I'm just educated like that. Call me Aristotle the way I recite this poetry.” Giovanni replies, pretending to dramatically flip his hair. "Perhaps it would do you well to do the same, if only to impress your fair maiden. Suitor. Fair suitor? Man, I see why the language is dead nowadays."
Erling opens his mouth to snark back at him when a whistle cuts through the air, interrupting them.
Coach shouts at them to start jogging laps and to quote, “get off their arses,” so they do exactly that, and like a moth to flame, Erling somehow ends up jogging right beside Jude. As usual.
Honestly, it's a regular occurrence by now for them to be attached at the hip 24/7 like there are magnets physically binding them together.
He quite likes the idea of that, really.
He looks down at Jude, who's… already looking right back at him.
“Erling,” Jude coos, dragging out the syllables in an almost provocative way of speech, “do you think I'm pretty?”
He must ask in mere jest (or a mocking jab at his earlier speechlessness, both are fair game), as he bats his eyelashes at him delicately, a perfect pout adorning his lips. His eyes look like that of a deer's, all big and dainty.
He's so—so fuckin’—
“Yeah,” Erling blurts out, completely deadpan, and perhaps a little too loudly for his own liking, for the nearby people around them all whip their heads around to stare at him.
…Well.
Perhaps he'd really ought to work on keeping his mouth shut.
Jude blinks, seemingly taken aback. “Wait—what?”
Erling silently thanks every higher being out there solely for the fact that Jude can't actually smell him, and whether he's joking or not, due to the scent-blockers that currently cover his scent glands. “I—I'm kidding. Of course. I'm kidding!” He laughs, but it barely sounds convincing, even to his own ears.
Jude doesn't look one bit convinced, instead fixing him with an unimpressed gaze.
He hears somebody snicker in the back. Touché.
“What?” Erling rubs his neck sheepishly, desperately trying to play it off. “Not funny? What happened to, uh… unorthodox… humor?”
Jude only raises an eyebrow before looking away and sighing, but the corners of his lips are upturned, like he's holding back a smile. “Whatever you say, man.”
When Coach blows the whistle again, Jude takes one more look at him, a faint smirk on his face and mischief dancing in his eyes, and jogs off ahead of him.
Erling really doesn't like that look. It's a look he's seen many times, and in the past, they've all either meant he was getting pranked later, or this was just another piece of blackmail Jude would hold over his head for the rest of time.
He really hopes it's not the latter.
At least Jude's dropped it. Erling may have gone and embarrassed himself in front of his crush and potentially exposed himself, but… at least he got a laugh?
He has the entirety of practice to get over it, really. Not that deep.
(He's gone off into the deep end in terms of coping. There really are levels to this.)
But he'll bounce back, like he always does.
…That is, until Jude wraps an arm around Marco fucking Reus—their goddamn captain—when they're kneeling and whispers something in his ear, his lips dangerously close to touching the sensitive flesh.
A slow smile spreads across the other man's face, and he nods. Then wraps an arm around Jude, rubbing his shoulder almost… lovingly.
It quite literally takes everything within Erling to not storm up to the two of them, to rip Jude away from Marco’s dirty, dirty grip that doesn't deserve to touch his omega—
Jesus. Am I okay? Erling thinks to himself as he pinches his arm, the painful sensation snapping him out of his daze. There's something wrong with me, isn't there?
He needs to see the team doctor, stat.
“Dude.” Jadon comes up to him when they disperse off into their groups for warm-up drills. “You're being so obvious right now.”
“Am I, now?” Erling deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. He's still glaring at Marco and Jude acting all chummy. Since when were they close? “I thought you'd never notice.”
“Brother. Chill. I think he's trying to make you jealous.”
“How do you know?”
“Just trust me, bro.”
Erling rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the extremely reliable and trustworthy advice, bro.”
“I mean—think about it!” Jadon taps the side of his head. He can practically hear the gears turning in the other's brain. “Since when are Reus and Jude tight like that? Since never. Plus, Reus is a beta.”
“What if Jude likes betas? He's also an alpha.” Erling worries his lip. “This isn't good. I—I have to do something.”
“What? Dude. Chill out. Wait,” Jadon snaps his fingers. “I got it. I'll distract Reus. You take Jude.”
Erling nods. For the first time, he actually doesn't regret telling Jadon and Giovanni about his little… thing for Jude, even after their relentless teasing.
Jadon sighs in resignation, scent souring slightly. The usually calming scent of pine sap melds into something slightly burnt. “Bro, next time the four of us hang out, it better be your treat. I'm sacrificing my own dignity today for you.”
Then he jogs off, muttering about how Reus is going to be on his ass about every little mistake and how he's going to be dealing with non-stop nagging for the rest of practice.
Erling steels himself, making his way towards Jude, who is still attaching himself to every person in the near vicinity of him—and sure, he might be a touchy person, but this? This is treading a fine line between normal Jude and he's gone fucking bonkers territory.
Then again, he can't really say anything about going fucking bonkers when he still can't separate the real Jude from the imaginary omega Jude his brain magically conjured up.
Maybe his rut is near? He'd have to check his calendar later.
Either way, he won't let Jadon’s sacrifice be in vain. “Hey.” He puts a hand on the small of Jude's back, making him flinch momentarily. “Since when were you and Reus close?”
Jude doesn't even look at him when he kicks the ball towards the net. It hits the top of the goalpost (probably on purpose). “Where is this coming from?”
“Nothing. Just wondering.”
“Really?” Another kick. It goes in and hits the corner of the net. “We aren't that close. But he's a cool guy.”
“Hm.” Erling swings his leg, sending the ball towards the goal. He uses more force than he's meant to, and almost trips over himself in the process.
“You know, he's a great friend, but I can't see myself with someone like him.”
“You don't say?” Those weights are really hitting, judging by the way that Erling keeps sending fucking rockets towards the goalpost. He can't seem to control his own strength, which is odd.
“Yeah.” Jude shoots him an innocent smile. “Not my type.”
They move onto passing drills. “Then what's your type?”
“Well… someone a little weird. Eccentric, if you will.” The pass Erling receives has more force behind it than he expects. “Naturally funny. Makes me laugh a lot. And…”
“And?”
“I don't like other midfielders. Maybe a good striker, y’know? Someone I have good chemistry with both on and off the pitch, if they also play.”
“...Is that it?”
“It's a type for a reason, mate. Not a ‘list the exact characteristics of your dream partner.’” A beat. “Well, if they have very… unorthodox humor, that's also a plus. Why so curious?”
Erling racks his brains to come up with a response. “Uh… I don’t know. Can't a guy have questions?” He tries lightheartedly, occupying himself with the new drill instead of looking at Jude's reaction.
“An awful lot of questions, if you ask me.” Jude slips in front of him where the players are lining up behind the training cones. “May I?”
“Yeah,” Erling’s breath hitches when Jude stands in front of him—the sheer difference in size between the two of them is impossible to ignore at this angle.
He essentially towers over the other man in both height and stature—it would be easy to wrap him in his arms completely and smother him.
Jude looks so… small.
Almost like an omega.
Maybe it's not just his alpha that's broken, because Erling goes about practice in somewhat of a trance; he's almost completely nonverbal during the scrimmage, and he misses goals that he usually would be able to score with his eyes closed.
He's also preoccupied with wrangling his scent under control, so much to the point where he considers going back to suppressants.
Meanwhile, Jude, on the other hand? Having the time of his life—it looks like he's a completely new person, and an even better player (which is saying something, because even on an off day, he's still that fucking good, nevermind on a good day like today).
Man.
By the end of practice, Coach pulls him aside as everyone else is changing in the locker room. “Erling. What was up with you today?”
Erling shakes his head. “Just an off day, Coach. It won't happen again.”
“It better not. If there's a problem, you tell me right away. We need you in tip-top condition.” A pat on his shoulder, and suddenly, he's all alone.
Top condition, huh?
He immediately turns and heads for the recovery room. To be specific: the team doctor.
Numerous of his teammates who are already going back to their respective dorms shoot him questioning looks or straight up ask him where he's going as he's walking, since recovery is a turn left rather than a turn right to the locker room.
(Jude, noticeably, is not among them.)
He only gives a vague answer, waves off their concerns politely, and keeps going.
“Hey, doc?” Erling pushes the door open to the recovery room, where the doctor is hunched over her desk, furiously typing away at a document. “You got a minute?”
The lack of pheromones in the room is like a breath of fresh air, especially after having about thirty various scents shoved up his nose for the past… as long as he can remember, really. He understands why Jude wears scent-blockers now—it's like the world has finally given him a moment of peace and quiet amidst the chaos.
The doctor holds up a finger. “No. Hold on. Wait,” more furious typing. “Okay.” She pushes her chair, standing up. “What's up?”
“...Are you okay?” He can’t help but ask at the sight of her… very apparent dark circles. She looks dead on her feet, really.
“You came all the way here to ask me that?” She replies with a sigh, taking a swig of her coffee. The mug is so large its size is almost comical. “I should be asking you that. Ignore me. What's going on with you this time?”
“Uh, how do I say this…?” Erling scratches his head. “I think my alpha's broken.”
The doctor blinks. “I'm sorry, what was that?”
“My alpha instincts, or whatever—they keep taking this friend of mine, who is an alpha, as an omega. And it's driving me nuts.” Irritation rises within Erling just from thinking about it.
She stares at him for a long while, before pushing her glasses up her nose and sitting back down in her chair. “Come here. Sit down.”
Before he can even sit, she's already behind him with a stethoscope. “Breathe.”
What follows is probably the most uncomfortable five minutes of his life—the doctor studies him like a specimen and circles around him, running all kinds of tests, and definitely pokes at him like he is one. Especially around the ribs.
After what seems like an eternity, she finally puts down… whatever the fuck she was holding in her hand. “Alright. I am happy to announce that there is nothing wrong with you physically.”
“Wow. That's great.”
“On the other hand, there may be something wrong with you subconsciously.”
"Oh."
“However, if I may,” she clasps her hands together, crossing her legs. “I do have a question. Are you a hundred percent certain that this person is an alpha? Have they shown you any medical records of some kind?”
Erling pauses. Hesitates before saying: “No.”
“Do you have any proof that they're an alpha?”
“Uh…” Now that he's thinking about it, he'd really just automatically assumed Jude would present as an alpha. After all, he had the proper physical characteristics of one. “I don't.”
The doctor looks at him. Blinks a few times. “So… you just… assumed they were?”
“Well, they look like one!” He protests weakly. “Kind of. They've been wearing blockers for as long as they've been presented, and I never really got to ask.”
The face she makes says enough.
“My bad.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a tad sheepish. “But why now? Why did this not happen before?”
“The body possesses abilities the rationale does not. One of those is an instinctive type of discernment—a gut feeling, if you will. Given an inch, it will take a mile. In terms of secondary genders, though, it's mostly for people you naturally gravitate towards. A single trigger could cause a varying level of feedback.”
“So you're saying that he—they are an omega?”
She pauses. “Maybe your alpha knows something you don't. Maybe it's trying to tell you something. Who knows? My only piece of advice would be to directly confront the object of your desires.”
“Thanks,” Erling stops. “Wait. How did you—?”
“I work for a team that consists of young players with raging hormones. You're not the first one to come to me with a similar story.” The doctor nods towards the door. “Having an honest conversation would do you well; that's all I can say.”
He gets up. “Thanks, doc. Sorry for the trouble.”
“It's okay.” A beat. “What kind of blockers do they wear?”
Erling looks down at her, then at the junction between her neck and her shoulders. “They kind of look like yours.”
She seems taken aback for a moment—then, a myriad of emotions flashes across her face, along with a faint flash of recognition before she settles for a professional type of calm. “These are medical grade blockers. Whoever you speak of really does not want other people to know their secondary gender.”
Oh.
“Then—could I still…?”
The doctor heaves a sigh, grabbing her mug and taking a sip of her coffee. “You could try, I suppose. Legally, I can't try and sway you towards one choice, so I'd like it if we forget that this conversation ever happened. If anybody asks, just say it was a routine check-up.”
“...Alright. Thanks again.”
“No problem. Off you go. Don't go about telling everybody about this."
When the door shuts behind him, Erling leans against it, staring up at the ceiling. The doctor’s clearly hiding something from him (rightfully so, it’s her job).
There's a small voice in the back of his mind that gets louder with every passing day, repeating the same thing over and over.
Thinking about it doesn't seem like such a wise idea, so instead, he begins walking back to his locker.
The mere thought of it seems impossible at first, but retrospectively speaking? It's more so that poor judgement and pre-existing prejudices on his part make his brain recognize Jude as an alpha, even during the period of time when the other man hadn't even presented yet.
In short: he’s an idiot.
As soon as he makes it back to the locker room, he pulls out his phone from his bag and immediately opens his messages. There's three notifications from Jude.
Jude: where are u?
Jude: dinner’s ready. i ordered takeout
Jude: come home asap. it's getting cold
He can't help but smile at the texts, fingers already typing out a reply.
Erling: coming
Erling: don't eat without me please thanks
A reply comes before he can even close the app.
Jude: feeling pretty hungry…
Jude: might eat all of it before you make it thru the door
Jude: better start hauling ass
Cute. A chuckle escapes his lips as he quickly puts on his slides and shoves his cleats in his bag. Then, as the wise man once said—he begins ‘hauling ass’ back to the dorms.
The walk is short, and the evening air is brisk upon his face when he reaches their building in the complex. It's also convenient that he and Jude are situated on the first floor rather than, say, the fifth floor.
When he pushes the door open, Jude is lounging over the couch, spread eagle and scrolling on his phone. Somehow he manages to take up the entire thing, even though the couch is made to be able to house more than five much-bigger-than-average-size athletes.
It's quite endearing.
“What took you so long?” Jude asks as soon as he takes his shoes off. “I thought you weren't coming back at one point.”
I’d be insane to not come back home to you, Erling wants to say. Instead, he settles for: “Recovery. Routine check-in.”
“Oh.” Jude pouts. “Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would've waited for you to come back so we could order together.”
The way his bottom lip juts out makes Erling's heart melt. He's so adorable it makes his heart hurt. “Sorry, I forgot about it until… thirty minutes ago, actually.”
“Now we have to reheat the food and it won't taste the same.” Jude grumbles, rolling off the couch and padding towards the kitchen. He tosses his phone on the table, the device clattering onto the wood and almost falling onto the floor.
Aw. He's sulking. Erling unslings his bag from his shoulder and follows him, making sure to keep his steps silent before he wraps his arms around the other man from behind. “I'm sorry, Jude. I’ll be better. Forgive me?”
Jude stills in his arms momentarily before relaxing with a huff. If he weren't wearing blockers, he'd probably smell sweet. Like cocoa and vanilla, maybe. “Perhaps if you sleep on the couch tonight.”
“The couch?” Erling grins, squeezing Jude tighter and resting his cheek on top of his head. “Alas, my fair maiden is terribly, utterly ruthless.”
Jude scoffs, resuming unpackaging the cooled food and putting it into the microwave. “What are you, Shakespeare? You and Gio are equally terrible.”
A streak of competitiveness flares up within Erling for no apparent reason (read: his alpha being weird again). “Ha ha. Very funny. I'm way better than Gio, just so you know.”
Jude shakes his head fondly. “Sure, sure. Mind setting the table?”
“‘Kay,” Erling gently untangles himself from him. The warmth of his body heat lingers even after they part. “What's for dinner?”
“Chinese. Wanted to practice using chopsticks for once.”
“Nice.” He grabs two pairs of chopsticks and two plates, just in case they need them. In an instant, dinner is ready—the perks of having delivery.
“So,” Jude starts when they sit down. “How was the appointment? Is your quad still strained?”
“Nah.” Truth be told, he hadn't felt anything in his quad in ages. “She said I'm good to go.”
“Cool, cool.” Jude grabs his phone. “You got any plans next Saturday?”
There's a slight edge to his voice. “No, why? You already know my schedule.”
“Well, clearly I don't know it well enough, based off today.”
“...Fair enough. Sorry.”
“Nah, I'm kidding. I'm not mad.” The corners of Jude's eyes crinkle slightly as he swallows another mouthful of noodles. “Would take a lot more than that to make me angry at you, of all people.”
Erling's heart flutters slightly at the statement. “That's comforting.” Then, he pauses.
Jude looks up. “Something wrong?”
Erling furrows his brows together. What the fuck?
The scent from a week ago is back.
In all its sweet, sweet torturous glory, with the heavenly notes of cocoa and vanilla accompanied by the underlying woody smell—it's back.
“You, uh.” he licks his lips, throat suddenly feeling parched. His own scent wavers with uncertainty, or—dammit, he can't tell what's what anymore. “D’you smell something?”
Jude freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “...No?”
“I keep smelling this—these pheromones, and it's driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasps. God, it's like someone is stuffing his head with cotton with the way his head spins. “Tell me you can smell it. Tell me I'm not crazy.”
Jude sets his utensils down on his plate and cocks his head in confusion, but there's a telltale clench in his jaw that says everything he's not. “Mate, you're crazy.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
There's a beat of silence.
The air feels charged with a tension he can't quite put into words. It's almost cold, like the temperature in the room has plummeted. Like the earlier cheerful mood was never there. "Really?" Jude says slowly, his face unreadable. “I think you're just tired.”
It's like a switch has flipped. He's no longer talking to his best friend, no—he's talking to the professional player Jude, with years upon years of media training.
But Erling’s alpha doesn't understand the difference.
“Jude.” He grips the table—grips it so hard, it hurts, but he does it anyway. The pain is almost like an anchor to reality. His scent fills the entire room, and it's so strong it's almost suffocating. “Are you—are you seeing somebody? Is there someone else?”
The thought of it is like a knife to the heart, but he says it anyway.
The other man blinks. Once, twice, then— “No. You must be imagining things.”
His voice is cold as ice.
Erling swallows. Nods. “Right. Okay. But—”
“I think we should get some rest, Erling.” Jude cuts him off. “For both our sakes.”
He gets up, pushing his chair back, then turns on his heel and leaves.
Erling stares at his plate, untouched. He pokes at it with his chopsticks before setting them down and slumping forward as his scent retreats back into its regular state.
‘These are medical grade blockers. Whoever you speak of really does not want other people to know their secondary gender.’
He buries his face in his hands, desperately praying for this whole thing to be a dream. Desperately praying that he'd wake up in the morning and he and Jude would return to their regular dynamic, full of playful banter and none of… this.
For once, he desperately wishes he never entertained the idea of being more than friends.
He gets his wish—well, sort of.
Jude is acting strange, to say the least. Then again, a lot of strange things have been happening over the past week.
But this? Jude has, quite literally, made himself scarce. One moment, he's acting all cheerful and Erling thinks things are back to normal, and then next? He's gone for an entire day, only coming back to the dorm after hours when he thinks Erling's gone to bed and the lights are off. He tries to catch him after practice to express his concerns, but as soon as he even steps in within the near vicinity, he's gone.
And it's obvious, too—even the team can tell. Giovanni and Jadon ask him numerous times if they're ‘going through a rough patch,’ only to be disappointed when Erling shakes his head and shrugs, equally as clueless.
Not only that, it shows on the field as well. During practice, sometimes it’s great—other times, there's almost zero communication between the two of them, which leads to terrible scrimmages and a lot of pent-up anger and frustration.
It also doesn't help that pre-season is over and the games' outcomes are actually starting to matter.
By the time their first regular season game rolls around, team morale is at an all time low—so they're already off to a terrible start.
Things are looking real great.
“Erling!” He whirls around, hoping to see Jude behind him, only to deflate a little when he sees that it's Marco. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
A quick glance at the clock tells him they have about two minutes before they need to head out through the tunnels. “Uh. Yeah.”
Marco slings an arm over his shoulder and begins gently steering them towards an empty hallway. “Look, I don't want to pry, but are there any, well, recent events that I should know about?”
“...No.”
Marco raises an eyebrow. “I know you and Jude are… well. Fighting.”
Erling throws his hands up in the air. “Man, I know just about as much as you do. He's a mystery. I don't know what I did wrong, for fuck's sake! Why don't you ask him, since you two are such good mates now?”
“What?” Marco seems taken aback before the realization dawns on him. “Oh. Are you talking about a few days ago?”
He looks around, then beckons Erling closer before lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’m only saying this because I'm your captain and I need you two to get your shit together. Jude asked me to act like that with him. Said he wanted to, quote, ‘put on a show and turn the tables for once.’”
Erling inhales sharply. He turns and grabs Marco's shoulders. “Did you ask him what he meant by that?”
Now it's Marco's turn to raise his hands up in surrender. “Nope. I don't know what game you two are playing, keep that shit off the field. Just—” a sigh. “Just try and talk to him, okay? And don't tell him I just told you that. Thanks.” He brushes Erling's hands off of him. “Let's go. It's time.”
Erling glances to the tunnel, where most of the team is already lined up. Jude, as expected, is all the way in the front, far, far away from Erling.
“And… Please welcome your home team, BORUSSIA DORTMUND!” The announcer shouts.
That's their cue. He exhales. What they need to do now is put their differences aside and get their shit together.
The fans roar with excitement outside the tunnel. Various objects are already being thrown around the stands, with a few landing in the tunnel. It's their first game, so the fans are extra hyped for today.
Easier said than done, he thinks when he looks at Jude, chatting away with Giovanni and Jadon.
He can only have faith that Jude will do the same.