Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Dortmund, 2020-2022
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You told me your darkest secrets
You know that I still keep them
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The first time Jude Bellingham met Erling Haaland, he was already intimidated by him. The tall, blonde Viking guy had already been making a name for himself and knew how to instil fear in every opponent. Even though Jude has been living with the pressure of being dubbed a ‘wunderkind’ himself, he’s still in awe of the Norwegian talent’s statistics.
Plus, he always seemed incredibly imposing.
Jude worried about a million different things when transferring, feeling equal parts excited and terrified about his future. He’s eager to show a European top team what he can do, eager to prove himself and be an asset to the team. But the world is also going through uncertain times; they’re smack dab in the middle of COVID and he knows absolutely no one on the Dortmund team. He has to face a new country, a new language and a new culture.
So when Jude arrives in Germany as a fresh‑faced 17‑year‑old already carrying far too much weight on his young shoulders, he expects Erling Haaland not to pay any particular attention to him.
He certainly doesn’t expect them to strike up such a quick and easy friendship.
In his very first game for Dortmund, Jude starts the match, feeling first‑match nerves and wanting to do well, and he scores in the 30th minute. Haaland is the first to reach him and lifts him straight up in celebration, smiling up into his face.
“Look at Juuuuuuude,” he yells, before the others reach them and pile on, and Jude feels like he’s already on top of the world.
A few days later, when they board the bus for their first away game, Haaland stops on his way down the aisle and points to the seat next to him.
“Hey, newbie. That seat taken?” he asks in his heavily accented English.
And even though he’s wearing the obligatory facemask, Jude can see that Haaland is giving him a disarming smile by the way his eyes crinkle.
Despite his imposing size, Jude quickly comes to find that the Norwegian is very down‑to‑earth, laid‑back and, above all, kind.
The rest, as they say, is history. They slip into a friendship with the kind of effortless ease that makes it feel as though they’ve simply always known each other.
Bus and plane rides are spent next to each other. They often crash into each other’s hotel rooms after games to watch a movie together or play some video game, and Haaland comes over for dinner at Jude’s house at least once a month.
It’s just Jude and his mum living in Dortmund; his father and brother stay behind in Birmingham, focusing on Jobe’s football career.
It takes exactly five seconds for his mum to become completely smitten with Erling Haaland.
He shows up for dinner that first time with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and actually helps put the finishing touches on dinner, claiming he’s a bit of a hobby cook himself. That’s all it takes for his mum to start issuing monthly invitations, declaring that Erling being in Germany on his own, without any of his family, is something she’ll try to make up for.
So really, Jude never stands a chance.
In retrospect, he likes to think the shift happens gradually.
There isn’t one single moment where he suddenly knows. Instead, it’s a collection of little things during that first year they’re teammates: private smiles, shy looks that linger, fleeting touches that last maybe a little too long.
Until one day, almost without noticing, all of it builds into something he finds harder and harder to ignore.
The first time he really notices something changing is at the beginning of their second season together at Dortmund. Haaland’s grandmother passes away rather unexpectedly, leaving the Norwegian completely wrecked with grief. Suddenly, the guy they all affectionately dub The Strong Viking doesn’t seem quite so invincible anymore. It’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s still only 21 years old, far from home, and expected to pick up where football leaves off as soon as possible.
There’s no room for grief in professional football.
And Jude, fresh off dealing with his own grandfather passing the year before, feels utterly helpless in the face of his teammate’s sadness. He recognises the hollow exhaustion in Haaland’s eyes and wants desperately to do something, but there’s no manual for comforting someone after a loss like that. All he can do is be there, sit beside him when Haaland wants company, and leave him alone when he doesn’t; quietly making sure he knows he doesn’t have to go through it by himself.
But having to watch Haaland go through the motions, smiling less and simply not being his charming self for weeks on end, leaves Jude with an ache in his chest he can’t quite explain.
And so suddenly, a voice pops up in the back of Jude’s mind to casually point out that it probably isn’t normal to be this affected by another person’s grief if that person is just a friend that you obviously only have friendly feelings for.
Sure, Jude has always been a very empathetic person, but even that doesn’t quite explain these strange, tender feelings that keep surfacing every time Erling Haaland is around.
Naturally, Jude does what any emotionally well‑adjusted 18‑year‑old does: he silences that annoying inner voice and proceeds to ignore it.
There really isn’t any other option, because thinking about this too long would surely lead to questions he isn’t ready to ask, let alone answer.
He’s never really questioned his sexuality at all, safe in his conviction that the couple of girls he’s liked in the past obviously mean he’s straight.
Never mind that one bloke in year 10 who comes out of nowhere and somehow manages to monopolise far more of Jude’s attention than is probably warranted. That is… something else. Admiration, maybe.
Curiosity.
Definitely not a crush.
At least, that’s the explanation he settles on. Besides, the boy moves away after just a year at their school, so whatever that is quietly and conveniently disappears before Jude ever has to examine it too closely.
Denial is an impressively effective coping mechanism.
At least, right until it isn’t.
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Erling realises something is shifting a couple of months before Jude does. They both have birthdays over the summer break following their first season as teammates: Jude turning 18 and Erling turning 21.
At the start of the new season, some of their teammates take it upon themselves to organise a joint celebration of these milestone birthdays. They go out together a couple of days before their first match, determined to introduce Jude to the best bars in Dortmund.
Erling feels content; quietly pleased to be reunited with the team and specifically with Jude, who somehow goes from being the talented newbie arriving at Dortmund to becoming one of his closest friends in the space of a year.
Jude, meanwhile, is positively ecstatic. He’s joyful in the way Erling has learned only Jude can be — completely unrestrained, basking in the glory of finally being of legal drinking age.
He keeps enthusiastically accepting every drink one of their teammates hands him.
Apparently, Jude Bellingham has exactly zero experience pacing himself.
Haaland, on the other hand, promises Jude’s mum when he picks him up that he’ll bring him back safe and sound.
And Erling Haaland does not take promises lightly.
So when Jude starts insisting he’s absolutely fine, while also swaying slightly on his feet, Erling decides to step in and cut him off.
“Here, drink this,” Erling says, pushing a tall glass of water into Jude’s hands.
“What’s this?” Jude frowns, staring at the offending liquid as if he’s never seen water before in his life.
“It’s water, Jude. It’ll sober you up.”
“I’m not drunk,” Jude insists.
“You just called that bartender ‘mum’,” Erling points out.
“I was being polite!”
Erling laughs, shaking his head. Getting Bellingham home will probably prove more of a challenge than he initially anticipates, but luckily, their teammates start leaving soon after, giving them final hugs and slaps on the back before gradually going their own separate ways.
Finally on their way to the car, Jude leaning heavily on Erling because apparently walking is no longer something to be taken for granted, Erling fishes out his keys as they round the corner where he’s parked.
“Hey,” Jude suddenly says, leaning his head on Erling’s shoulder and giving him a little nudge. “Tonight was fun, right?”
“Yeah,” Erling chuckles a little, “tonight was fun.”
“I’m so glad to be back but also…” Jude hesitates, “terrified, you know?”
“Terrified? Why?”
Erling looks at him quizzically, but Jude’s eyes stay fixed on the ground as he concentrates on staying upright.
“Just, you know,” Jude pauses. “The pressure. The attention. All of that will start again,” he sighs, and Erling is reminded that despite the confidence Jude carries so easily, despite the fact he conducts himself like someone twice his age, he’s still only 18.
Still so young. Still just a guy who has to grow up too fast, simply because he wants to chase his dreams.
He’s still thinking about how to respond when Jude speaks again, just above a whisper. “And I’m terrified I’ll just end up disappointing everyone.”
And Erling’s heart breaks just a little, because he’s all too familiar with that sentiment — with the constant pressure and fear that it might all be taken away as soon as performance goes down.
“But I’m really glad you’re here,” Jude nudges him again, smiling up at him sleepily. “You’re the best, Erling.”
And Haaland’s brain promptly stops working.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Erling smiles back automatically, but something inside him shifts right then. Because Jude’s comment is nothing more than a slurred compliment from someone who’s had too much to drink and is feeling sentimental.
It shouldn’t make Erling’s pulse stumble.
It shouldn’t make his stomach flutter and a sudden warmth bloom in his chest.
He knows that feeling; knows exactly what it means.
Because he’s had crushes before, and he hates how quickly he recognises it.
Fucking brilliant.
Erling has moved past the Oh‑no‑I’m‑gay panic a while ago.
Even though there are still no out and proud professional football players, everyone knows that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And while he might not relish the idea of having to hide a huge part of who he is for the foreseeable future, he’s made his peace with it.
Nothing to be done about it anyway.
But now, a new panic rears its head — the Oh‑no‑please‑not‑him panic.
Because Jude is his teammate. Erling has always considered himself a fairly rational person, and rational people do not develop feelings for teammates.
Not only that, Jude is also arguably his best friend and most likely very straight.
Of all the guys to be attracted to.
This is never going to end well.
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As it turns out, realising something feels different and actually doing something about it are two entirely different things.
Erling chooses the sensible option and decides to bury his feelings as deeply as he can, concentrating solely on football.
Jude is blissfully unaware that there are feelings to bury in the first place, so he carries on exactly as before.
For the following seven‑or‑so months, life simply goes on as it always has.
They train together, travel together, barge into each other’s hotel rooms to watch movies together and continue to tease each other relentlessly, all while performing like the dream duo they are on the pitch itself.
So what if Jude misses Erling whenever they’re separated for international duty? It isn’t unusual to miss your best friend — plenty of teammates do. There are interviews where players say as much all the time.
Besides, Erling is funny.
Anyone would miss someone who makes training more entertaining.
There is absolutely nothing noteworthy about checking his phone every five minutes to see if he’s replied to his latest text.
That is simply what best friends do.
Probably.
But whenever they reunite, they fall back into their familiar rhythm both on and off the pitch with ease, so it’s easy to carry on as they always have.
Until Erling signs with Manchester City.
The rumours have been swirling for weeks, of course, but when the news finally becomes official on May 10th — that Manchester has activated Haaland’s release clause — Jude realises with a sinking feeling that in just four days, they’ll be playing their last match together as teammates.
The realisation hits Jude harder than he expects.
Four days. That’s all they have left as teammates. After two years of sharing dressing rooms, training sessions, bus rides, and approximately every other mundane aspect of daily life, four days suddenly seems like a rather insulting amount of time.
Of course, that’s football. Players come and go all the time; careers take them to different clubs and different countries, and everyone knows that eventually their paths will diverge.
Jude has always understood that, of course.
He just doesn’t expect it to feel quite so much like having the ground pulled out from under him.
He can’t remember much about the actual game afterwards. He knows they win and Erling scores.
What sticks out most, though, is that he catches himself wondering how many more times he’ll instinctively look for Erling on the pitch — scanning left and right to know where their striker is — before remembering he won’t be there anymore.
Later, they go out with the team to celebrate the end of the season and Haaland’s goodbye. Marco Reus gives a speech that makes half of them — actual grown‑ass, badass professional athletes — tear up, and it makes Jude avert his face so he won’t start full‑on crying.
Reus finishes his speech with a toast.
“To Erling Haaland,” he says, raising his glass. “Thanks for pretending to like us for the last two and a half years.”
Everyone laughs while Erling just rolls his eyes and shakes his head good‑naturedly.
“Right, Haaland, serious question before you leave.” Julian Brandt suddenly pipes up, immediately alerting everyone it will be anything but a serious question.
“Are you finally going to tell us who your mystery girl in Norway is?”
Erling groans, lifting his eyes to the ceiling once again. “Not this again, guys, really?”
It has been a running joke with most of the team these past two years that Haaland must have the most beautiful of girlfriends tucked away in a Norwegian cave, because he never goes on dates. Whenever they’re all out together, the guys laugh every time an unsuspecting female tries to catch his attention, only to be firmly — but very gently — rebuffed.
Erling always just smirks, neither confirming nor denying any of the allegations and speculations, because letting them believe whatever they want is easier than having to come clean.
But now everyone seems to be piling on.
“No, really, we’ve literally never known you to go on a date.”
“Wait. Are you actually secretly married?”
“You spend more time with Jude than with any girl.”
Jude nearly chokes on his drink when he hears that last one, obviously embarrassed by being dragged into the spotlight.
The table erupts into laughter.
Erling laughs too — or at least he starts to. The smile reaches his face automatically, the same easy grin he wears every other time that joke comes up over the past few years. But this time, it lingers for only a fraction of a second before faltering, before something close to disappointment flits briefly across his features.
It’s barely noticeable — to anyone but Jude, at least, who prides himself on knowing all of Erling’s facial expressions pretty well by now.
Jude rolls his eyes dramatically. “I swear, you lot need new material.”
Jude has never joined in the prodding and goading before, and he isn’t about to start now.
“Yeah, but he didn’t deny the secret marriage, did he?” Akanji grins.
“That’s because denying it only makes you ask more questions.” Erling laughs, his jovial grin back in place.
The conversation dissolves into overlapping protests and more laughter, mercifully moving on to other victims, before anyone notices that Erling becomes just a little quieter for the rest of the evening.
Except Jude notices.
So when the others leave — with final goodbyes and promises here and there to keep in touch — only the two of them remain. This isn’t unusual, of course, since Erling drives him home often enough over the past two years that it’s become one of their routines.
“Are you okay to drive?” Jude asks. “I can order us an Uber if you want.”
“I’m fine, I only had two beers.”
They get in the car and Jude opens the window to let in some fresh air, letting his arm hang out, his mind going a mile a minute. He keeps replaying the conversation from the bar. If he stops to think about it, maybe it is a little strange that a good‑looking guy like Erling never really seems interested in dating anyone. Jude has simply assumed Erling’s entire focus is on football and on becoming the best striker he can possibly be. He knows Erling is obsessed with constantly improving his game and his stats, with becoming one of the greatest in the world.
So Jude has never really given it much thought.
But now, for some reason, he can’t seem to stop wondering about it.
Maybe there really is someone. Erling certainly has plenty of opportunities, even if he never seems remotely interested in taking them. Maybe he’s just private. Maybe he has someone back home. Maybe—
Why the hell does he care?
Jude frowns at the passing streets, unable to come up with a particularly convincing answer.
They drive on in comfortable silence. Jude reflects that Erling is one of the few people he can do that with: sit together in silence, without needing to fill it with small talk. But right now, it feels like there’s a weight there, in the car with them. There seem to be a dozen things he wants to ask.
They stop at a railroad crossing, the lights flashing bright red.
“Can I ask you something?” Jude turns slightly in his seat.
Erling glances at him briefly, before looking back at the train going past.
“Sure.”
“Did that bother you? The guys? And their jokes about your mystery girlfriend?”
Erling considers the question for a moment, shifting back into gear to start driving again.
“Not really,” he shrugs.
Jude nods, torn between wanting to leave it at that or ask why — if it doesn’t bother him — the Norwegian is slightly more subdued after their interrogation.
“I mean… they’re wrong, anyhow.” Erling adds after another few seconds.
“Wrong?”
Erling shrugs again.
“There’s no mystery girl.”
“Oh.”
Silence settles between them again, and Jude thinks that’s the end of it until Erling adds, as casual as though he’s commenting on the weather, “I’m gay, Jude.”
Jude blinks.
“Oh,” he says again. Then, after another beat, “Okay, cool.”
Erling glances sideways.
“Okay?” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
Jude looks genuinely confused.
“I just told you I’m gay,” Erling says, as if Jude hadn’t quite understood the first time.
“Yeah, I was here for that, mate,” Jude smirks.
“And…?” Erling tries again.
“And what? I don’t really think it changes anything.”
This makes Erling huff out a breath of laughter, shaking his head softly from side to side.
“Man, you are something else, Bellingham.”
They drive another minute in silence before Jude says, “Thanks for telling me.”
Erling just gives a nod in acknowledgement, and Jude can still see a trace of disbelief on his face, as though he hasn’t quite expected the conversation to go this easily.
Jude seems lost in his own thoughts after that, until, just before they turn onto his street, he shifts in his seat, back towards Erling.
“How long have you known?”
“Long enough,” Erling simply replies.
Jude nods, seemingly contemplative.
“Well,” he says, “I assume this explains why you’ve never appreciated Akanji’s efforts to introduce you to every blonde woman in Germany.”
Erling snorts and looks over at Jude while parking the car in his driveway.
“Yeah, that and I’m just not that into blondes anyway,” he can’t help but add.
“Good to know.” Jude smiles, the silence stretching on a few seconds too long. “You know, in case I want to set you up with someone.”
“Mm hm.”
“Thanks for driving me home, yet again.” Jude unbuckles his seat belt and gestures with his head to outside the car. “Right,” he opens the door, “I can’t give you a proper goodbye hug in the car.”
Erling smiles, getting out of the car and joining Jude in front of it.
Jude swallows, an odd emotion rising in his chest. He clears his throat to dislodge it.
“Come on, you big oaf,” he throws his arms open wide. “I bloody hate goodbyes so you’d better not make me cry.”
Erling steps forward and draws him into a bone‑crushing hug.
Two years, Jude thinks. Two years of his life spent sharing everyday, boring moments with this guy, learning on the pitch from this guy, celebrating wins and mourning losses with him.
Two years that are coming to an end, and who knows if their professional paths will ever cross again in the same way.
I’ll miss you, he wants to say.
I don’t know how to do this without you, he wants to scream.
I think I…, he wants to whisper.
But he says none of those things, so he just continues to breathe the same air and not think about the fact that this hug has gone on longer than any normal hug between best friends has any right to last.
Neither of them seems willing to be the first to let go and make this goodbye a real, tangible thing.
Eventually, Erling’s phone buzzing in his pocket breaks the spell, and both of them take a step back.
Erling grabs his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“Take care, Jude. I know you’ll continue to do great things. You’re an amazing player and don’t you ever forget it.”
Jude meets the other man’s gaze and finds he can’t look away.
“Alright, mate, you’re acting like we’re never going to see or speak to each other again.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding a little hollow.
“Feel free to call or text me anytime,” Erling says. Or all the time, he privately adds.
Jude nods.
“You know I will.” Jude gives him another hug, one‑armed this time, slapping him on the back.
“Good luck in Manchester. I’m convinced you’re going to take that team by storm, much like you did here.” He pulls back and finally allows a small smile to come through. “I look forward to seeing you on the pitch again soon, even if it will be on opposing teams from now on.”
“September sometime, yeah?” Erling says. “Champions League match. Better bring your best game, Bellingham.”
Jude smirks and watches as Erling gets back into his car, giving a final wave before driving off. The smirk drops from his face as soon as he can no longer make out Erling’s taillights in the distance.
With a sigh, he turns around towards his house, which is completely dark. Uninviting.
His mum has already left for Birmingham at the beginning of the week and he’ll be following her home tomorrow. As he lets himself into the hallway and trudges upstairs, the silence feels strangely unfamiliar. His phone is already in his hand before he consciously decides to take it out of his pocket.
He stares at Erling’s name and their text thread for a long moment.
This is ridiculous, he thinks. The man has driven away less than five minutes ago.
Surely, there has to be some socially accepted minimum waiting time before texting your best friend, alerting him to the fact that you already miss him.
Jude settles for: Home safe? and quickly hits send before he can overthink it.
There. Perfectly normal, best‑friend behaviour.