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By the time the Norway team bus pulled away from the stadium, Erling was barely awake.
The match had taken almost everything out of him. Not because he was injured, and not because anything particularly dramatic had happened. It had simply been one of those World Cup matches that somehow felt much longer than ninety minutes.
Heat. Noise. Constant running.
A defender attached to his back every time Norway went forward. Extra time. More running. More tackles. More moments where his body stopped asking whether it wanted to keep going and simply did what it had been trained to do.
Norway had won.
That helped.
For the first half-hour after the final whistle, adrenaline had carried him through everything that came afterwards: handshakes, recovery, photographs, interviews, the long walk through the mixed zone while reporters shouted questions from behind the barriers.
Someone had asked about the quarter-final.
Someone else had asked whether Norway could win the whole thing.
Erling had smiled and given them the answers they expected.
One game at a time.
Proud of the team.
Anything can happen.
The usual things.
Then the bus doors had closed.
The lights had dimmed, and his entire body had seemed to switch off with them.
Erling sat near the back with his hood pulled up and his arms folded loosely across his chest. At some point, somebody had been talking to him.
He had replied.
Probably.
He couldn't remember what he'd said.
The bus hummed quietly beneath him as the tyres rolled over the smooth American roads. Cold air from the vents brushed across his face, and somewhere near the front, two teammates were still arguing about a moment from the match.
Someone laughed.
Erling barely registered it.
His eyes closed.
Opened.
Closed again.
His head tipped slowly towards the window until his temple came to rest against the cool glass. He stayed there, too tired to bother finding a more comfortable position.
A few minutes later, the bus rounded a corner and his forehead bumped lightly against the window.
Erling opened one eye.
"Ow."
Nobody reacted.
He closed it again.
By the time Jude's message arrived, Erling was properly asleep.
Jude: you alive
No response.
Five minutes later:
Jude: assuming this means no
Then:
Jude: congrats btw
The phone buzzed against Erling's thigh.
He didn't move.
The bus reached the hotel sometime after midnight.
The driver pulled beneath the covered entrance, where security barriers had already been arranged to keep the small crowd outside away from the players. There were still people waiting, of course there were. Norwegian flags. Phones held high. Children in shirts. A few photographers lingering despite the hour.
A World Cup didn't really have an off switch.
The overhead lights came on inside the bus.
Erling flinched.
His eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep, and for several seconds he had absolutely no idea where he was.
The stadium?
No.
Bus.
Hotel.
Right.
Someone was standing in the aisle beside him.
"Come on, sleeping beauty."
Erling lifted one hand without opening his eyes properly.
"Go away."
A teammate laughed.
"You're drooling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Erling wiped at the corner of his mouth anyway.
Nothing.
"Idiot."
He pushed himself upright and immediately regretted it.
His body complained all at once. His thighs ached from the match, his lower back felt tight, and his shoulders had stiffened from sleeping twisted against the window. Everything felt heavy in that familiar post-match way, as if someone had quietly added weight to every limb while he'd been asleep.
He yawned, long enough that his eyes watered, then planted his feet and stood.
For a second, his head felt strange.
Not dizzy exactly.
Just slow.
The change from sleep to standing seemed to happen faster than his brain could keep up with, leaving him blinking in the aisle while everything settled into place again.
He waited.
The feeling passed.
Fine.
Erling rubbed one hand over his face, tugged his hood back into place and followed the others down the aisle.
The night air outside felt warmer than it had on the bus.
Voices rose as the players stepped down, the small crowd behind the barriers stirring at the sight of them. Someone called Erling's name.
He lifted a hand automatically.
Smile.
Wave.
Keep moving.
He made it three steps towards the hotel entrance before stopping.
"Fuck."
A staff member looked back.
"What?"
"My bag."
"Which one?"
"Black one."
That earned him a look.
"They're all black."
Erling stared at him.
"Helpful."
He turned and headed back towards the side of the bus.
The luggage compartment was already open, bags being pulled out one after another and lined up along the pavement. Erling stopped near the opening, eyes still heavy with sleep, staring at the growing collection as though his own bag might eventually take pity on him and identify itself.
"That yours?"
"No."
"That?"
"No."
"That?"
Erling squinted.
"Maybe."
Someone laughed.
"You don't know your own bag?"
"It's been a long day."
He stepped closer to get a better look.
That was when it happened.
Later, nobody seemed entirely sure why it happened.
Whether the luggage door hadn't been secured properly. Whether somebody had moved it. Whether a gust of wind had caught it. Or whether Erling had simply stepped into the worst possible place at exactly the wrong moment.
There was a sudden metallic movement above him.
Someone shouted.
Erling looked up.
Too late.
The edge of the luggage-compartment door swung down hard and caught him directly across the lower half of the face.
The impact made a horrible, blunt sound.
His head snapped backwards.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Neither did he.
Then Erling staggered one step, his hand coming instinctively towards his mouth.
"What the fuck?"
The words came out thick and strange.
There was a taste in his mouth.
Sharp. Metallic. Unpleasant.
He ran his tongue carefully along the inside of his cheek, trying to work out what he'd done. Maybe he'd bitten his lip. Maybe one of his teeth had caught the inside of his mouth when the door hit him.
It was difficult to tell.
His whole face felt strangely numb, a deep pressure spreading through his mouth and jaw while his brain seemed to lag several seconds behind what had just happened.
The pain hadn't arrived properly yet.
He stared at the luggage door as though it had personally offended him.
Around him, every expression had changed.
One teammate's mouth had fallen open. Another was already moving towards him. A member of staff swore under his breath.
Erling frowned at all of them.
"What?"
Nobody answered quickly enough.
The metallic taste was getting stronger.
He swallowed automatically.
Bad idea.
Whatever it was coated the back of his tongue now, warm and unpleasant, but he was still too dazed to properly connect the sensation with anything.
Then something warm slipped over his lower lip.
Erling touched it.
His fingers came away bright red.
He stared at them.
For a second, he genuinely didn't understand what he was looking at.
Then his eyes flicked from his hand to the faces around him.
"Oh."
More blood gathered at his lip and ran over his chin.
Only then did the numbness begin to give way.
"Am I bleeding?"
The question was ridiculous.
Everyone could see the answer.
Nobody laughed.
That was when Erling realised it probably looked worse than it felt.
Someone thrust a towel towards him.
"Here."
Erling took it automatically and pressed it against his mouth.
Then the pain arrived properly.
Fast.
Sharp.
The numb pressure vanished beneath a sudden, violent throbbing that seemed to spread through the entire lower half of his face at once. His lip burned where the metal had split it. His jaw ached deeply, and when he closed his mouth experimentally, one of his teeth gave an unpleasant throb.
Erling sucked in a breath.
"Oh, fuck."
"Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You've got blood everywhere."
Erling looked down.
Several bright drops had already landed across the front of his white Norway top.
For some reason, that seemed more offensive than the injury itself.
"Oh, come on."
Someone nearby almost laughed.
Almost.
The team doctor appeared from the hotel entrance.
"What happened?"
"Bus door."
The doctor looked at Erling.
Then at the luggage compartment.
Then back at Erling.
"Of course."
Erling lowered the towel.
The doctor's expression changed immediately.
"Keep pressure on that."
Erling put it straight back.
"How bad?"
"Let me look."
"That's not an answer."
"Because I haven't looked yet."
The doctor guided him towards a chair just inside the hotel.
Erling went with him without arguing.
Normally, he argued about everything.
The hotel lobby was much too bright.
Erling sat beneath one of the overhead lights while the team doctor crouched in front of him. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn't stopped completely. Every time Erling moved his mouth, the cut threatened to open again.
"Try not to talk."
Erling stared at him.
"Seriously?"
The doctor smiled.
"Best medical advice I've given you."
Someone behind them laughed.
Erling lifted one particular finger in their direction.
The movement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Pain flashed through the cut.
He winced.
"Don't do that either."
"Can I do anything?"
"Sit still."
"Terrible evening."
The doctor carefully pulled the towel away.
Cold air touched the split skin first.
Then came the sting.
Erling sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Ow."
"Yeah."
The doctor examined the wound properly.
There was a deep split just below Erling's lower lip, extending slightly towards his chin. Nothing grotesque, but definitely more than something that could simply be cleaned and forgotten.
"You'll need stitches."
Erling closed his eyes.
"No."
The doctor looked up.
"Yes."
"Glue?"
"No."
"One of those little strips?"
"No."
Erling opened his eyes again.
"Why are there so many options if you're not going to use any of them?"
"Because this one needs stitches, Erling."
A teammate nearby snorted.
Erling glared at him.
The doctor continued checking his mouth.
"Any loose teeth?"
"No."
"Pain when you bite down?"
"A bit."
"Where?"
Erling pointed vaguely towards one side of his mouth.
The doctor checked.
"We'll get that looked at too."
Erling sighed.
"Hospital?"
"Yes."
That got his attention.
"Seriously?"
"You got hit in the face by a bus."
"Luggage door."
"I don't think that improves the sentence."
Erling leaned back in the chair.
The adrenaline was beginning to wear off now, which wasn't helping.
The throbbing in his face had separated into distinct points of pain.
Lip.
Jaw.
Teeth.
Each with its own unpleasant pulse.
His head had started aching too, a dull pressure where the force of the impact had snapped it backwards.
And underneath all of it, the exhaustion from the match was creeping back in.
Heavy.
Slow.
The kind that made everything feel slightly unreal around the edges.
Erling looked towards the glass entrance doors.
Outside, people were still waiting behind the barriers.
Phones raised.
Cameras.
Wonderful.
"Can we go out the back?"
"Definitely."
Erling nodded.
Then remembered his phone.
He pulled it from his pocket.
Three messages from Jude.
He stared at them for a second before typing with one thumb.
Erling: Minor problem
The reply came almost immediately.
Jude: that sounds worrying
Erling looked at the bloodied towel in his other hand.
Erling: Bus attacked me
A pause.
Jude: what
Erling: Door hit me in the face
Jude: WHAT
Erling took a photo.
The doctor noticed.
"Really?"
"Evidence."
"Of what?”
"The attack."
He sent it.
Erling: Looks actually quite good though
Jude called almost immediately.
Erling looked at the screen, then answered.
"What?"
Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strange around the swelling.
Jude was silent for perhaps a second.
"What the hell happened to your face?"
"The bus did."
"I gathered that part."
"Door came down."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
The doctor looked at him.
Erling looked away.
That tiny silence was apparently enough.
"Erling."
"It needs stitches."
"What?"
"Only a few."
"You've been hit hard enough to need stitches and you're still saying you're fine?"
"I'm sitting up."
"That's not the threshold."
Erling smiled before remembering that smiling was currently a terrible idea.
Pain pulled sharply at his lip.
He hissed.
Jude heard it immediately.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What hurt?"
"My face, Jude. Obviously."
"Where are you?"
"My hotel."
"No. Where are you going?"
"Hospital."
There was another pause.
Then Jude said, "Which one?"
Erling frowned.
"Why?"
"Which hospital?"
"You aren't even with us."
"I'm in the city."
Erling remembered.
England had played nearby the night before, and Jude wasn't travelling again until the morning.
Of course.
"I don't know."
Erling looked towards the doctor.
"Which hospital?"
The doctor told him.
Erling repeated it.
Jude didn't hesitate.
"I'll meet you there."
"You don't need to."
"I know."
There it was.
Erling looked down at the towel in his hand.
"Fine."
"Good."
The call ended.
The hospital was quiet by World Cup standards.
Which meant there were still several people who recognised him.
Security took him through a side entrance, but Erling barely cared by then. His face hurt too much.
The swelling had increased during the drive. His lower lip felt thick and stiff, and every time he spoke, the movement tugged unpleasantly at the cut. Even sitting still, he could feel his pulse beating through it—a steady, throbbing pressure that seemed to spread into his jaw.
He sat in an examination room with fresh gauze pressed against his mouth while the team doctor went through everything again with another clinician.
Questions.
Did he remember the impact?
Yes.
Had he lost consciousness?
No.
Any vomiting?
No.
Headache?
A little.
Dizziness?
Not really.
Any changes to his vision?
No.
They checked his pupils, then his jaw and teeth, asking him to bite down carefully and tell them if anything felt wrong. Nothing they found was immediately concerning.
The cut still needed repairing.
Erling was leaning back slightly against the bed when the door opened.
Jude walked in wearing a hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, his hair looking as though he'd dragged the hood over it before it had properly dried.
He stopped just inside the room.
Looked at Erling.
Looked at the bloodied gauze in his hand.
Then at the swelling around his lip.
"Oh my God."
Erling lifted his middle finger.
Jude laughed.
Relief, mostly.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"No, genuinely."
"Go away."
Instead, Jude walked closer.
"How did you even manage this?"
"I got hit."
"By a stationary bus."
"The door moved."
"Yeah, or someone really hates you."
Erling gave him a tired look.
Jude dropped into the chair beside the bed, his grin fading as he got a proper look at him.
"Are you actually alright?"
Erling nodded.
"Yeah."
Jude kept looking.
Erling sighed.
"My face hurts."
"That's more believable."
The clinician returned carrying a tray of supplies.
Erling glanced over.
Then immediately looked away again.
Jude noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
The tray was set down beside them.
Gauze.
Suture material.
A syringe.
Needle.
Erling's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Jude's mouth twitched.
"No." Erling glared at him. "Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"You're about to."
"I'm just surprised."
"Why?"
Jude nodded towards the syringe.
"Big scary footballer."
Erling's eyes narrowed.
"I don't like needles."
"I know."
"You absolutely did not know."
"I do now."
The clinician smiled faintly.
"It's just local anaesthetic."
Erling looked offended.
"Just?"
He glanced at the syringe again.
"You're putting a needle in my face."
"Yes."
"That seems unnecessary."
"It'll make the stitches painless."
"I'll take the stitches."
Jude laughed.
Erling turned towards him.
"I'm serious.”
"No, you're not."
"I am."
The clinician shook their head.
"Trust me. You definitely want the anaesthetic."
Erling looked at the needle again.
Suddenly the throbbing in his lip seemed much less important.
He swallowed.
Jude noticed.
Actually noticed.
The amusement disappeared from his face.
"You alright?"
Erling gave him a look.
"Obviously not."
"Fair."
The clinician moved closer.
Erling's shoulders tightened immediately.
"Where are you putting it?"
"Near the cut."
"How many?"
"A few small injections."
Erling closed his eyes.
"No."
Jude stared at him.
"Mate, you've just been smashed in the face by a metal door."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I didn't know that was coming."
Jude almost laughed.
Then he realised Erling was completely serious.
The bus door had been shock. There hadn't been time to think about it, no warning, no anticipation. One second he'd been looking for his bag and the next there had been metal, impact and blood.
This was different.
He could see the needle.
He knew exactly where it was going.
And he had to sit there while someone brought it slowly towards an already bruised, swollen part of his face.
That was somehow worse.
Jude shifted his chair a little closer.
"Don't look at it."
"Great advice."
"I'm serious."
"Easy for you."
"I'll talk."
Erling opened one eye.
"About what?"
"Anything."
"You're usually good at that."
"There he is."
The clinician cleaned carefully around the cut.
The antiseptic stung against the split skin.
Erling flinched.
Jude started talking.
Something stupid about the match at first. A referee decision Erling had already complained about twice. Then an argument they'd had months ago that Jude still insisted he'd won.
Erling gave the occasional hum or muffled response, keeping his mouth as still as possible while the clinician worked.
Mostly insults.
His eyes stayed closed.
His eyebrows drew together when he sensed the clinician moving closer again.
Then came the words he absolutely did not want to hear.
"Little sharp scratch."
Erling's hand immediately closed around the edge of the mattress.
The needle went in.
Pain flashed white-hot through his already bruised lip.
His whole body jerked.
"Fuck!"
Jude winced in sympathy.
"Yeah, that looked horrible."
"Helpful."
Then the anaesthetic began to go in.
That was worse.
A deep, burning sting spread beneath the skin, hot and sharp enough that Erling's eyes watered involuntarily.
He blinked hard and stared at the ceiling.
"That was awful."
Jude looked at him.
Before he could answer, the clinician moved to the next injection.
Erling inhaled sharply through his nose.
His free hand moved without thought.
Found Jude's forearm.
Closed around it.
Jude looked down.
Erling either didn't notice or had decided he didn't care.
So Jude said nothing.
"Nearly done," the clinician said.
"They always say that."
"Probably because it's nearly done," Jude said, laughing softly.
"Shut up."
Another injection.
Erling's grip tightened.
This time Jude didn't say anything at all.
When the clinician finally stepped back, Erling released a long breath.
Then he seemed to realise what he was holding.
He looked down.
His hand was still wrapped firmly around Jude's forearm.
Erling let go immediately.
Jude raised an eyebrow.
"Don't."
"Didn't say anything."
Erling glared at him.
"You were thinking very loudly."
His lip was already beginning to feel strange.
Heavy.
Thick.
Numb in a way that somehow made it feel twice its normal size.
Erling lifted his fingers towards it.
The clinician caught the movement immediately.
"Don't."
His hand dropped.
Erling sighed.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying telling him that tonight.
The stitches themselves were easier than the anaesthetic.
Mostly.
Erling could still feel movement. Pressure. The strange, unsettling tug of thread passing through skin that was numb enough not to hurt properly, but not numb enough to let him forget exactly what was happening.
He hated that almost as much as the needle.
Almost.
After the first stitch, Jude noticed that Erling had stopped looking anywhere near the clinician.
Instead, his eyes had fixed firmly on him.
“You know staring at me isn’t going to make it finish any faster.”
“You’re less disgusting.”
Jude’s eyebrows lifted.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Erling’s mouth twitched before pain pulled faintly at the swollen skin.
He stopped immediately.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Difficult. I’m hilarious.”
“Jude.”
The clinician paused.
“No talking for a minute, please.”
Jude raised his eyebrows at Erling in a look that clearly said, you’ve been told.
Erling narrowed his eyes.
The room settled into a strange quiet after that.
The clinician worked carefully while Erling stared at a point somewhere near Jude’s shoulder. Every now and then his gaze drifted towards the tray beside them, caught sight of metal or thread, and immediately moved away again.
Jude noticed.
He pretended not to.
By the time the final stitch was being tied, the exhaustion had started creeping back in properly.
The adrenaline from the impact had almost completely drained away now, taking most of the shock with it. What remained was less dramatic but somehow harder to ignore: a dull headache pressing behind his eyes, a swollen mouth that felt twice its normal size, bruising beginning to settle across his chin and jaw, and the heavy, full-body tiredness left behind by a World Cup match that had happened only a few hours earlier.
The whole evening seemed increasingly ridiculous.
Ninety minutes of football.
Extra time.
Interviews.
A bus journey.
Then somehow getting beaten up by the bus itself.
“Done.”
Erling’s eyes immediately moved to the clinician.
“Actually?”
“Actually.”
He let out a long breath.
Jude grinned.
“Proud of you.”
Erling gave him a flat look.
“I’ll hit you.”
“With what energy?”
Erling considered that for a second.
“Tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The clinician cleaned carefully around the stitches one final time, then went through what Erling needed to do over the next few hours: keeping the wound clean, what to expect from the swelling, and which symptoms would mean he needed to come back.
Erling listened.
Mostly.
His concentration was starting to drift. The headache had become a steady pressure now, and every few seconds he found himself blinking more slowly than the last.
Without really thinking about it, he rubbed two fingers against his temple.
Jude noticed immediately.
“Head?”
“A bit.”
“You told them?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Erling turned his head towards him.
“You don’t need to supervise every conversation I have.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
The clinician smiled.
Erling looked between them and glared at both.
The clinician reached for a small packet from the tray.
“I’m going to give you something for the pain before you leave.”
Erling looked at it suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“Pain relief. You can take a dose now, and I’ll give you some to take back to the hotel with you.”
Erling glanced from the packet to the clinician.
“Will it make me sleepy?”
“It can make you drowsy, yes.”
Erling frowned.
“More than I already am?”
Jude turned slowly towards him from the chair beside the bed.
Erling caught the look.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
The clinician’s mouth twitched.
“You’ve had a long day, played an intense match, and it’s very late. Now that the adrenaline’s starting to wear off, you’re probably going to feel the exhaustion properly anyway. This may make you a bit more drowsy on top of that.”
Erling glanced towards the clock on the wall.
It was later than he’d realised.
“How quickly?”
“Possibly within fifteen or twenty minutes. Everyone reacts a little differently.”
Erling gave a tired sigh.
“Great.”
“It’s not a bad thing. If you start feeling sleepy, don’t fight it just for the sake of staying awake. Let yourself rest.”
Jude made a quiet sound beside him.
Erling looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face is doing it again.”
Jude held both hands up.
The clinician handed Erling the tablets and a cup of water.
“Take these now. I’ll also give you enough to take back with you tonight. The instructions will be on the packet, including when you can take the next dose. Don’t take more than it says.”
Erling swallowed them carefully.
Even that small movement tugged unpleasantly at his swollen lip.
He winced.
“Still hurting quite a bit?” the clinician asked.
“Yeah.”
“Mostly the lip?”
“Lip. Jaw a bit. Head.”
The clinician nodded.
“This should take the edge off. The swelling may make everything feel tighter and more uncomfortable for a while before it starts settling, though.”
Erling looked deeply unimpressed by that information.
“Excellent.”
“It should at least make it easier for you to rest.”
“I feel like I could sleep standing up anyway.”
The clinician smiled.
“Then I don’t think the drive back to the hotel is going to be much of a challenge.”
Erling slowly turned his head towards Jude.
Jude’s eyebrows were already raised.
“He can sleep literally anywhere on a good day.”
Eventually, they were allowed to leave.
It was well past two in the morning by then.
The hospital corridors were almost silent, washed in that strange artificial brightness that made time feel irrelevant. Jude walked beside Erling while he kept his hood pulled up and one hand shoved deep into his pocket.
He looked exhausted.
Not dramatically unwell. Not pale enough to cause alarm.
Just completely finished.
At the exit, Erling glanced towards Jude.
“You’re going back to your hotel?”
Jude frowned.
“Your hotel.”
Erling stopped.
“What?”
“I’m staying with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’ve got your own room.”
“Very observant.”
“You’ve got training tomorrow.”
“Not until later.”
“Jude.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to.”
Jude looked at him.
“I know.”
Erling went quiet.
That answer had become increasingly difficult to argue with.
Jude shoved both hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
“It’s nearly half two. You’ve been hit in the head, your face is stitched up, and you’re absolutely knackered.”
“Just three stitches.”
“Basically reconstruction.”
Erling almost smiled, then seemed to remember just in time that smiling currently hurt.
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’re not spending tonight by yourself.”
The words were casual. Almost thrown away.
Jude didn’t even look at him when he said them.
That somehow made them harder to refuse.
Erling sighed.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“But you’re sleeping on the sofa.”
Jude looked at him.
“You’ve got a suite.”
“Still.”
“Unbelievable.”
The drive back to the hotel was supposed to take half an hour.
The roads were mostly empty by then, the noise and crowds of the World Cup finally thinning into long stretches of quiet highway beneath rows of streetlights.
Erling sat beside Jude in the back of the car with his hood pulled up, one arm folded loosely across his stomach and his head resting against the window.
For the first few minutes, he stayed awake.
Barely.
The adrenaline from the hospital had faded, leaving behind a dull headache and a deep, unpleasant throbbing across the lower half of his face. His lip felt swollen and heavy around the stitches. His jaw ached whenever he swallowed, and even the skin across his chin seemed to pulse faintly with every heartbeat.
He closed his eyes.
The cool glass against his temple felt good at first.
Jude was looking at something on his phone when the car rolled over a rough section of road.
Erling's head bumped lightly against the window.
Pain flashed through his face.
His brow tightened.
He shifted, trying to find a better position without properly waking himself.
Less than a minute later, another bump caught him closer to the injured side.
A small groan escaped before he could stop it.
Jude looked up from his phone.
Erling didn't open his eyes.
The road rattled beneath them again, and before his head could knock against the glass a third time, Erling lifted one hand and wedged it between his face and the window.
His palm became a makeshift cushion.
Jude watched him for a moment.
Erling was already drifting again, cheek resting against the back of his own hand, fingers curled loosely beside his temple.
It worked.
Sort of.
The next jolt pushed his head into his palm instead of the glass, but the movement still made his face tighten.
A few seconds later, his hand slipped.
His stitched lip brushed his knuckles.
Erling flinched in his sleep and tried to rearrange himself without opening his eyes.
Jude frowned.
"Mate."
No response.
Another turn sent Erling's head back towards the window. His hand caught awkwardly between them, wrist bent beneath the weight.
A quiet, miserable sound escaped him.
Jude put his phone down.
"Erling."
Erling's eyes opened a fraction.
"What?"
"That looks uncomfortable."
A pause.
"What does?"
"Your entire situation."
Erling blinked slowly, looked at his own hand trapped awkwardly against the glass, then seemed to understand.
"It's fine."
Jude raised an eyebrow.
"Obviously."
Erling closed his eyes again.
For another minute, stubbornness apparently won.
Then the car hit another uneven patch.
Erling winced sharply and opened his eyes.
"Fuck."
"Face?"
"Yeah."
He carefully pulled his hand away and rubbed at the uninjured side of his jaw instead.
His eyes drifted closed again.
"Everything hurts."
The words were quiet.
More tired than dramatic.
Jude's teasing disappeared.
"Head too?"
"Bit."
"Bad?"
"No."
Erling swallowed.
The movement tugged unpleasantly at his lip.
He grimaced.
"Just throbbing."
Jude nodded.
For a while, neither spoke.
Streetlights passed rhythmically across the inside of the car, briefly illuminating Erling's face before leaving it in shadow again.
Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark.
He looked exhausted.
Not ordinary post-match tired.
Completely spent.
The kind of tired that made holding his own head upright seem like an unnecessary amount of work.
Still, Erling tried the window one more time.
This time he tucked the side of his fist between the glass and his temple, hood bunched awkwardly beneath it.
Jude watched him attempt to arrange himself.
Hand.
Window.
Hood.
Shoulder.
Nothing looked remotely comfortable.
"You know you could use the headrest."
Erling opened one eye.
"What?"
"You don't have to sleep against the window."
"I'm not sleeping."
Jude stared at him.
Erling's eye closed again.
"Right."
The car took another gentle turn.
Erling's body shifted with it.
His shoulder bumped Jude's.
His eyes opened.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Jude glanced sideways.
Erling looked towards the window.
Then at his own hand.
Then at Jude.
There was clearly some internal argument happening.
Jude waited.
Eventually, Erling shuffled a little closer.
Not much.
Perhaps ten centimetres.
Then another few.
Jude said nothing.
Erling settled back against the seat, but his head hovered awkwardly for several seconds as though he was still deciding whether dignity was worth the effort required to keep himself upright.
Apparently it wasn't.
His head tipped sideways and came to rest against Jude's shoulder.
Silence.
Jude looked straight ahead.
Erling did too.
For approximately three seconds.
Then, quietly:
"Don't make it weird."
Jude's mouth twitched.
"I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking about it."
"I was thinking you've got an enormous head."
Erling closed his eyes.
"That's making it weird."
"No. That's just the truth."
"Shut up."
Jude did.
Mostly because Erling already sounded half asleep again.
A few seconds later, Erling murmured, "These painkillers are mad."
Jude glanced down.
"Why?"
"Feel like I've been drugged."
"You have. Medically."
Erling made a faint sound that might have been amusement.
Within another minute, the weight against Jude's shoulder increased.
Erling's breathing slowed.
The tightness around his eyes gradually disappeared, and for the first time since leaving the hospital, he actually looked comfortable.
Jude glanced down once.
Erling had angled himself instinctively so only his temple rested against Jude's shoulder, keeping the swollen, stitched side of his mouth clear.
Good.
The car continued through the dark.
A few minutes later, Erling's head began to slip.
Slowly.
His temple slid lower against the fabric of Jude's hoodie.
Jude felt it happening before he saw it.
He stayed still at first.
Erling shifted faintly in his sleep, apparently trying to correct himself. His head lifted perhaps an inch.
Then dropped again.
Jude sighed silently.
Very carefully, he shuffled sideways.
Closer.
Just enough that Erling had more shoulder to lean against.
His head settled again.
Erling didn't wake.
Another rough patch of road passed beneath them.
Jude braced himself slightly so the movement wouldn't bounce Erling's head around.
It worked.
Mostly.
A few minutes later, Erling started slipping again.
Jude looked down.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered.
No response.
He adjusted once more, sitting a little straighter and lifting his shoulder just enough to keep Erling's head in place.
Erling moved with him.
Settled.
Stayed.
Jude glanced towards the front of the car.
The driver seemed entirely focused on the road.
Good.
Nobody needed to witness this.
A few minutes later, Erling murmured something.
Jude looked down.
"What?"
No answer.
Erling's brow tightened faintly.
Then, very quietly:
"Jude."
"Yeah?"
His eyes stayed closed.
"You still there?"
The question caught Jude off guard.
He looked at him.
Erling was clearly barely awake, probably not even fully aware he'd asked.
"Yeah."
A small pause.
"Okay."
That was all.
The tension eased from his face again.
Within seconds, he was properly asleep.
Jude stared ahead.
He didn't tease him.
Didn't take a photograph.
Didn't move away.
He simply sat there while the city slid past outside.
Erling had spent half the drive using his own hand as a barrier between his face and the window because apparently accepting a human pillow required considerably more negotiation than getting stitches in his face.
Jude would absolutely mention that tomorrow.
Probably repeatedly.
Tonight, though, he stayed still.
When the car rattled over another rough patch of road, Jude adjusted his shoulder before Erling could wake.
And Erling, exhausted enough not to notice the gesture at all, slept through it.
They reached the hotel at nearly three.
The car stopped beneath the covered entrance.
Jude looked towards Erling.
Still asleep.
For a moment, he considered waking him straight away.
Then didn't.
The car remained quiet for another minute, the engine humming softly beneath them while Erling stayed folded against his shoulder.
Eventually, he stirred on his own.
His eyes opened slowly.
For a second, he didn't move.
Then awareness returned.
The hotel.
The car.
And, more specifically, where his head had been.
Erling sat upright too quickly.
Pain immediately tightened his face.
"Ah."
Jude frowned.
"Easy."
Erling rubbed one hand over his forehead and stretched his back slightly, trying to work some of the stiffness out of it.
Jude opened the door.
Cool night air spilled into the car.
Erling yawned, then absently lifted a hand towards his mouth.
His fingers brushed the swollen lip.
His eyes squeezed shut.
"Fuck."
Jude looked at him.
"Just don't touch it."
"I forgot."
"Well, don't forget."
Erling gave him a tired look.
"Don't start.”
They climbed out.
Erling stood beside the car for a few seconds, letting his head catch up with the rest of him.
Jude collected both bags.
Erling noticed.
"I can carry mine."
"I know."
"Give it."
"No."
"Jude."
"You've already lost one fight with luggage tonight."
Erling stared at him.
Then, despite himself, laughed.
The movement immediately pulled at the stitches.
His hand flew back towards his mouth.
"That's not funny."
Jude tried very hard to look innocent.
"Sorry.”
"You're not."
"No."
They headed inside.
The lobby was almost deserted now.
No cameras.
No reporters.
No teammates waiting around to inspect the stitches.
Just the night staff and the quiet hum of the air-conditioning.
At the lifts, Jude pressed the button.
Erling stood beside him with his eyes half-closed.
The doors opened.
They stepped inside.
Erling leaned back against the wall almost immediately.
Jude glanced over.
"You going to make it?”
Erling opened one eye.
"To the room?"
"Yeah."
"Probably."
The lift started moving.
Erling's eyes closed again.
A few seconds later, his shoulder rested lightly against Jude's.
Not his head this time.
Just shoulder.
Jude didn't move away.
Neither did Erling.
When they reached the room, Jude unlocked the door.
Erling walked inside and headed straight for the bed.
No argument.
No pretending he wasn't exhausted.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked towards Jude.
"You genuinely staying?"
Jude dropped the bags.
"Yes."
Erling nodded once.
"Okay."
No protest.
That alone said enough.
Jude found the spare blanket and tossed it towards the sofa.
Erling looked at it.
Then at him.
"That's tiny."
"I know."
"You'll complain."
"Constantly.
"You can take the bed."
Jude stared at him.
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"Because you're injured."
"My lip's injured. Rest of me works."
"Debatable after that performance in the car."
Erling's expression shifted, just slightly, into embarrassment.
Jude noticed immediately.
"Was a nice cuddle for me, though," he teased.
Erling looked down.
Jude shrugged.
"You were tired."
"Yeah."
His voice had gone quieter.
Jude let the teasing ease out of his own.
"You got hit in the face by a bus after playing a World Cup match."
"Door."
"Not improving it.”
Erling sighed.
Jude continued, "You're allowed to be a bit pathetic tonight."
Erling looked up sharply.
"Pathetic?"
"Very brave and handsome."
"Better."
"Still pathetic."
Erling grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him.
It missed by several feet.
Jude looked at where it landed.
Then back at Erling.
"See. Exhausted."
"Shut up."
Jude smiled.
Erling lowered himself carefully onto the bed, turning his head so the injured side of his face stayed completely clear of the pillow.
Within minutes, his eyes had closed.
Jude switched off the main light.
Before he crossed towards the sofa, Erling spoke.
"Jude?"
"Yeah?"
A pause.
"Thanks."
Jude looked back.
"For what?"
Another pause.
Erling's voice was already fading.
"Being here."
Something in Jude's expression softened.
"Any time."
Erling didn't answer.
He was asleep before Jude had even unfolded the blanket.