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He hears about it through the media before he hears it from Erling. Rumors circulating the internet about signing with Manchester City, DMs seemingly leaked, contracts apparently in the middle of negotiation. Even Gio sends him a post, question marks following it, and Jude has to respond and tell him he’s got no clue what this is about, even if he does have a suspicion.
Erling acts completely normal the next day, which throws him off even more. He’d expected an explanation, maybe some mention of it, but Erling seems to either not know or not care enough. He’s affectionate as ever, throwing his arm casually around Jude while they’re standing next to each other, like he always does.
“Nice day, eh?” he says, pointing to the sky. It is a nice day, the sky is clear and blue, fluffy clouds blocking the sun just enough that they don’t feel all of its wrath, but not so much that the sky turns gloomy with it.
“Yeah,” Jude replies, distracted. Erling shrugs and runs off, chasing the ball and whoever just kicked it.
Practice is practice, and Erling makes jokes throughout that don’t really hit Jude the same. He tries to lighten up, to push whatever feeling is grabbing at his heartstrings down, but he’s only eighteen, and his conscious emotional regulation only goes so far. Thankfully, no one seems to notice, not even Erling, who usually can see through him like a sheet of glass.
He plays fine, hangs out with his teammates like usual, keeps his head in the game, but every time he’s alone, there’s this clawing feeling in his throat that won’t go away no matter how many cups of water he drinks. It gets to a point, where every time he gets into the shower in the locker rooms, the feeling makes its way up behind his eyes until they burn, and he can’t tell if his face is moist with steam or tears.
The worst part is, he can’t seem to tell where this all stems from. Nothing’s changed, nothing about his regular day-to-day life, as far as he can tell. But there’s an emptiness that he leaves practice every day with, one that can’t seem to be filled no matter how many people he surrounds himself with.
The rumors on the internet don’t settle. Day after day, his feed fills itself with edits of Erling, of posts about his move to Manchester City, though it’s not been announced officially by anyone yet. Erling still sends him silly reels, some about football, some not, some about Dortmund even. But there’s also some about England, one about someone complaining about the dreary state of the weather, and Erling asking him if it’s true.
Jude doesn’t give that one a reply. Doesn’t want to think about what it means. It’s only the start of the month, and already, Jude feels like he’s spiraling. It’s the worst time for rumors like this to appear too, because the season is wrapping up, and if there was a transfer, it would happen now.
By the end of the first week of May, Jude feels like he’s officially lost his mind. He’s started turning down invitations to hang out, denies it when people ask, but his focus is definitely elsewhere throughout practice. Erling asks him a few times if he’s okay, to which he either ignores or brushes it off, tells him he’s fine, and reiterates the same phrases if Erling does push.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Jude says, probably for the millionth time today, but only because it’s about the millionth time someone’s asked him if something’s up.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Marco tells him, eyeing him up and down. “Jude, you know you can talk to me, right? To any of us.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jude replies, because it’s the correct response, and also because he doesn’t even know how to explain his situation, even if he could talk about it.
“Good,” Marco nods, and takes him back to rejoin the team. Erling flashes him a concerned look, which Jude replies with a talk later look.
He never does explain it to Erling, claiming to have a stomach bug so he can leave early, and makes it about two steps into his room before the feelings rip their way out of him, tearing into him until he’s a limp pile on the floor.
—
It’s Jobe that manages to drag it out of him first, who, on his short visit in Dortmund, shoves his way into Jude’s room one night and tosses his phone at Jude, screen open to his DMs with someone.
“What’s this?” Jude asks, squinting at the screen.
“Don’t say anything mean,” Jobe mutters, climbing onto the bed. He drops himself on top of Jude’s legs, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to his chest, huffing out a long breath.
“I won’t. What’s up?”
“Remember that girl I was telling you about?” he asks, voice sullen.
“I think I’ve got an idea of where this is going,” Jude says, actually holding the phone up to read what it says.
“I didn’t confess or anything stupid,” Jobe mutters, voice muffled through the pillow. “And she’s my friend. I’m just—I don’t like that she’s got a boyfriend.”
“That’s called jealousy, you donut,” Jude points out, handing the phone back. “You didn’t say anything weird, so, congrats. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I’m not omniscient, am I?”
“You’re an adult now. You should be better at this.”
“At what, giving advice?”
Jobe nods, lifting his face off of the pillow. “Like, I dunno, psychoanalyze me. Haven’t you gone through something like this before?”
“Can’t say I have, mate,” Jude replies, and laughs when Jobe groans.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny, Don’t worry, Jobey. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’ll think it’s funny when you get over it.”
“It’s not even like that.”
Jude laughs again, because Jobe’s pouting face is just that funny to him, and he only finds it funnier when Jobe whacks him over the head with his own pillow.
“Oi! You said you wanted my advice!” he protests.
“Not if you’re just gonna laugh at me!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Jude lifts his hand in surrender, waiting for Jobe to lower the pillow. “Really, though. You’re jealous that she’s got a boyfriend, and you’re still saying it’s not like that?”
“‘Cause it’s not!”
“Right, and I’m a fruit fly. Jobe, the first step of moving on is acceptance.”
Jobe raises the pillow again, and Jude quickly snatches a pillow for himself.
“I’m not jealous,” Jobe says instead, but Jude can see the cracks in his facade.
“No? Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know!”
“As an adult, I’m pretty sure I’m qualified to say that you’re jealous.”
“You’re full of shit,” Jobe scowls.
“And yet you’re still here for advice,” Jude points out. Jobe, without a good response, sits back down and crosses his arms over the pillow.
“I think you should just ride it out. Be yourself, but, y’know, don’t tell her you love her.”
“It’s not love!”
“Like, crush, whatever.”
“You’re useless at this. I knew I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“And who would you have rather asked?”
Once again, Jobe has no answer, and Jude chuckles. He pulls Jobe closer, his brother allowing him just this once, head resting on Jude’s shoulder.
“It’ll work out. ‘Least your best friend’s not moving to a different club. Different country. And he hasn’t even told you.”
“Mate, you’re not serious?” It’s Jobe’s turn to look surprised, cocking his head up at Jude. “Is this about Erling?”
“Have you seen the rumors?”
“Yeah, but they’re just rumors, innit?”
Jude stays silent, because yes, in theory, they’re just rumors. But rumors don’t start for no reason.
“Have you asked him?” Jobe asks, and Jude shakes his head.
“Nah. If it’s true, he’ll tell me. I’m not texting him about some stupid rumors.”
“You sound like you believe them, though,” Jobe points out.
“I don’t. When was this about me? This is about you and your girl problems,” Jude tries to drive the conversation back, but Jobe tucks his phone away and looks at Jude, all serious and solemn.
“Jude. You’re bothered. Y’can’t hide from me,” Jobe says, and Jude curses himself internally, because it’s true.
“So what? If he leaves, he leaves. ‘s how football works. I don’t…I don’t care.”
Jobe levels him with a deadpan stare, eyebrow raised.
“I don’t!”
“Right. Y’know, sometimes I feel like you care ‘bout him more than most lovers care ‘bout each other, d’you know what I mean?”
“No.”
Jobe snickers, taking a swat to the head, because the tone of Jude’s voice is entirely telling already.
“You’d think you were the one with the heartwrenching crush, with how much you pine after him,” he says, still laughing, and only stops when he realizes Jude isn’t laughing along. He looks lost in his own head, and Jobe stares at him for a moment before his eyes go wide, the puzzle pieces finally clicking. “You do, don’t you?”
“What?” Jude replies immediately, eyes wide. “No, I don’t, what—”
Excuses tumble from his mouth like a waterfall, but Jude’s not sure Jobe’s listening. Hell, he’s not sure he even knows what’s coming out of his mouth, except that it can’t be true, because if it is—if it is, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.
Jobe blinks at him, still speechless, and Jude stops talking to grab at his little brother.
“I don’t,” he states firmly. Or at least he tries to, but his voice cracks in the middle of the word, too obvious and too telling to pass off as anything else.
“No one can know,” he says instead, and those words come out much more natural. Jobe nods quickly, hands finding Jude’s.
“Yeah. No, yeah. I—that’s…yeah,” he manages, still staring at Jude like he’s just shattered his worldview.
“Good,” Jude tells him, because he doesn’t really know what to say either. The two of them sit like that for a while, Jude processing what he just admitted to himself, because he’s never heard it put like that before, and now that he has, he can’t go back. It’s a crazy thought, for sure, but the crazier part is that, unfortunately, it seems to be true.
Silence settles around them, Jobe staring down at his hands, fingers fiddling with nothing. Jude stares at the wall, replaying every moment he shared with Erling, now seeing them in a completely different light. I have a crush on Erling, he says to himself, in his mind, and watches helplessly as the words are rewritten. I’m in love with Erling.
No you’re not, he tells himself. Love’s a big word.
This is big, the voice inside his head points out. You feel it, don’t you?
No.
You’re lying.
You don’t know that.
I’m you.
Jude has no good retaliation, so he lets the voice think it’s won, and goes back to watching his interactions with Erling, slowly realizing that it’s not been casual to him for a while now.
“You think he’s really leaving?” Jobe asks, dragging him out of paralysis, and Jude shrugs.
“I hope not. I think, though, if he really wasn’t, he’d have talked about it already. He’s seen the rumors, I know he has.” Jude rotates the thoughts inside his head, looking back on all their interactions since he first heard. Erling hadn’t been any different, but he remembers laughing at rumors of people moving when they knew for sure those people weren’t going anywhere, knows that Erling’s chronically online enough that if he was going to, he already would’ve.
He can feel his throat closing up again, his feelings a vice-like grip on his heart, but now he knows what it is. He swallows roughly, inhaling through his nose, a small, wrecked noise rising from the back of his throat. It hurts to breathe, his lungs feeling like they can’t hold enough air, flattening his exhale into a thin scrap of breath.
He feels Jobe turn to him, wrapping his arms around him, and Jude rests his head on top of Jobe’s, squeezing his shoulder. He tries to say something, but the words get caught in his throat, and he feels like if he tried any harder, the pressure behind his eyes might burst.
“‘m sorry,” Jobe says quietly, and Jude squeezes his shoulder again.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, choking on his words as the dam bursts, and once the first tear falls, the rest come like a flood he can’t stop.
—
Jude remembers where he was when he sees the official post. It’s not a surprise, hasn’t been for a couple of days, but Erling still hasn’t said anything to him. Until they’re sitting next to each other, the first time they’ve hung out since Jude had his stupid, crazy realization, eating ice cream on a park bench, when Erling finally brings it up.
“You’ve seen the rumors, right?” Erling begins, and Jude sighs, turning to him.
“Yeah. What about it?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“You never mentioned it.”
“I was waiting for you to,” Jude replies. “They’re true, yeah?”
“They made the announcement post today.”
“So they did.”
Jude stops talking, blinks hard and swallows the lump in his throat. He thinks, if he kept going, he’d say some things he’d really regret, and it’s easier to stare straight forward and pretend like the confirmation doesn’t feel like a stab in the back.
“We’re going to keep in touch, right?” Erling asks, voice suddenly more hesitant.
“‘Course,” Jude nods, forcing a smile onto his face. “What, you think I’d let you forget me as soon as you get to England?”
“Never,” Erling smiles back, pulling Jude closer to him. It’s so casual, the way he does it, like a throwaway move with complete disregard for how his touch burns on Jude’s bare skin. Jude takes a bite of his ice cream, the cold serving as a counterbalance for how hot he suddenly feels, pressed entirely against Erling’s side.
“Manchester City, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s crazy, honestly.”
“Sure is.”
He lets Erling ramble about his plans, his thoughts, his concerns about English weather and their way of life, about being a new player all over again, humming in places that sound right and licking his ice cream in lieu of answers. The thing is, though, that he’s not entirely mad at Erling. He’s proud of him, happy that Erling sounds so excited about going, even through the jealousy and hurt spiking inside him, and that’s what makes it even worse.
It’d be easier if he could just either hate Erling for leaving or be entirely happy for him, but instead, he’s stuck in this stupid limbo of wondering how Erling could do this to him, then realizing what a shitty thought that is and immediately feeling guilty. Jude’s not entitled to Erling. He doesn’t get to be mad that his friend chose something better for himself, but he feels it anyway, and hates himself a little bit more for it.
At some point, he feels his eyelids drooping, Erling’s voice having evened out into background noise. He blinks once, feeling his lashes linger for longer than they should, and doesn’t realize why until Erling’s holding his face, fingers brushing away the tears.
“Talk to me, Jude,” he’s saying, but Jude can’t find the words. Can’t say them even if he wanted to, because his throat has closed up for the millionth time this month, so tight this time that it makes him dizzy. He wants to say that everything’s okay, except it’s not, he’s in love and he can’t say it because it’ll ruin everything.
Erling pulls him into a full bear hug, strong arms wrapped around Jude, and Jude allows himself to be drawn closer, to be held, even if it feels like a betrayal. Erling’s calm voice turns to sharp ringing in his ears, blurring the words beyond recognition. He’s not sure he’d want to hear them anyway.
“Don’t go,” he hears himself say, but it comes out all mangled and broken, so much so that Erling can’t seem to decipher what he’s said. Jude looks up, his vision swimming with tears, the knot in his chest seeming to get worse the longer he stays.
Eventually, the sobs that wrack his body subside into small hiccups, his mind too exhausted to keep torturing him like that. Sleep calls to him, and he allows himself to be dragged under by the inky darkness, too tired to fight back.
—
Jude wakes up in his own house, unaware of how he got there, only that Erling isn’t here anymore. The mere thought is enough to send a lance of pain through him, visions of the future where Erling has forgotten all about him clouding his thoughts. He curls up in his bed, grabs as many of his pillows as he can, and screams his heart out until his throat can’t take it anymore, and then some.
It’s cathartic, in a way, but a very temporary one. It’s enough of a fix that he can make the trip downstairs for some food, but not enough to stop the pang he feels when he sees the box of chocolate Erling bought for him, half finished, sitting in the front of his fridge. Technically, they’re not supposed to have sweets so commonly, definitely not as much as they do, but Jude has a sweet tooth that Erling’s always been happy to indulge.
Erling.
Jude feels himself slide down the counter, fridge door still open, feeling like someone had just split open his heart and was watching him bleed out. Like the way sweet caramel spills out of a chocolate shell. He sits there and cries, rubs his eyes until they’re sore and red, and that’s where his mum finds him, box of chocolate to the side, fridge door open, feeling like he’s going to throw up.
She gathers him into a hug, and for the second time today, he sobs and cries and screams his throat raw, until he’s shaking with it and can’t muster up the energy to keep going. She helps him up and tucks him into bed, where he stares at the wall for the next few hours, unmoving, body numb, until he finally falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Jude doesn’t really remember the days that follow. He knows he acted normal, as normal as can be, talked to Erling again—not about that night, though—and congratulated him on his move. People came up to him and joked about things, and he laughed back, because that was what he was supposed to do. If Erling noticed that he saw the sadness in his eyes, he didn’t say anything, and so neither did Jude.
The entire month is a blur of training, excuses, and hours of listening to sad music while staring at the ceiling. The tightness in his chest never does go away, getting worse every time he sees Erling, unclenching when they’re away, only to sink its claws right back when Jude thinks about him—which, with how much they text, the claws might as well never go away.
There are days where he’s standing somewhere, doing something, and all of a sudden, he’s taken back to a moment where he and Erling were there, doing the same thing, laughing about the same stupid shit, and it’s a punch to the gut every time. A reminder that he’ll never have that again. Those days, he gets home and cries for the time they could have had, the things they could have done, the moments they could have shared.
It gets better, though. When they stop seeing each other every day, Jude can feel the knot easing up. It gives him more space to breathe. Even more, when Erling finally moves to England. A small part of him is relieved that Erling is finally far away, just so he can stop feeling like he’s about to cry every waking moment of his day, but the rest of him longs for him back. Longs for the same comfort as knowing your best friend was a simple short drive away, that you would see each other every day at practice and be able to meet up whenever you wanted.
—
stupid donut: jude
stupid donut: did you see the new schedule
stupid donut: its dortmund vs city
string cheese: shut up
string cheese: no its not
stupid donut: [sent a link]
string cheese: fuck off
string cheese: shit
stupid donut: hey at least youll see him again
string cheese: not the point dumbass
stupid donut: hey im helping here
stupid donut: now you know
string cheese: this fucking sucks
stupid donut: you got this
stupid donut: i believe
string cheese: kill me now