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Jude Bellingham should have had a relaxing Sunday. He had scored a goal in the first match of the season and Madrid had won. These usually were excellent conditions for a peaceful day off.
Instead he was fuming. Fuming because his boyfriend had not, as they had decided long ago, when their relationship suddenly (but not entirely unexpectedly) became a long distance relationship, kept him informed about vital decisions regarding his physique.
Now, Jude Bellingham would have found it ridiculous to forbid his boyfriend to cut his hair. He believed in him being his own person and besides, he loved that Erling did whatever he liked and didn't fret too much what other people might think.
However, he would have liked to be informed, and not learn from social media that Erling Haaland had decided to "rock a new look for the new season," or whatever journalists and commenters say when they like you.
He watched reel after reel, comment after comment, and the situation didn't improve. The bun was gone. No more long strands of hairs to pull on, to tug him closer or even to just run his fingers through. Truth be told, he loved playing with Erling's hair. Sue him.
Yes, the hair would grow back and after all, he had fallen for Erling, hopelessly and hard, back in Germany, when Erling still had short hair and looked so, so young.
And it still was his beautiful, gorgeous Erling. But was he even complete without his long hair.
The bun and Erling had become one and the same to him, and what if Erling didn't want to grow back his hair?
A sob escaped him, despite himself. He grabbed a box of tissues and allowed himself to shed a few tears for the blonde strands, sacrificed to the gods of looking like everyone else.
He hadn't been able to call Erling yet, his only sign of disapproval, or astonishment if one wanted to read it like that, being a comment on Instagram. "no way" as if this was enough to express the disappointment that Erling had kept his wish for a new haircut from him.
He couldn't exactly write "You're sleeping on the sofa next time you're in Madrid."
Jude called Erling again. For the 17th time. He usually didn't believe in trying every few minutes, they both had good reason to not always sit and wait for their phones to ring, but this was an exception. An emergency if you will.
Especially since no one would take him seriously. His ever level-headed brother would be furious if he called him crying and then telling him, the reason for his tears was not a break-up or being cheated on but a new haircut. Out of the question to call him.
Come to think, he only knew level-headed people with no empathy for his hair woes.
His phone vibrated. "♥ BABE 🇳🇴 is calling you".
He accepted a video call. Erling was beaming from ear to ear, whereas in Jude's eyes, a few tears were still glistening.
"Hiiiiii my sweet, sorry I didn't answer, there were people wanting interviews about my new haircut. Crazy, right? But now I'm all yours."
Usually, Erling's golden retriever energy made everything better. But now the haircut became even more real because Erling was moving with it, in real time, on his screen. No more chance to try and delude himself that this was all a joke and AI.
And Erling must have picked up on Jude's mood because he asked, "what's wrong? You don't look happy at all. Did some idiot suggest something like you could have scored two goals instead of just the one or did they say something about how you are not a good fit on a team? If that's what happened you know that's crap, right?"
"No, it's not that. It's- it's- YOU!"
The accusatory tone was a surprise for both of them. Jude hadn't meant to shout but it was just too much.
"Me?"
So now he had the nerve to act all innocent.
"Yes, you. Cutting your hair without telling me and leaving me to discover it on social media!"
Erling looked crestfallen.
"Don't you like it? I wanted to surprise you"
"Yes, you surprised me along with the rest of the world! It was a surprise alright! Do I not get firsthand information anymore?"
Erling looked sad. "I thought you'd like it."
At this, Jude couldn't go on. Making Erling sad was where he drew the line. Still, he had to make himself heard.
"Tell me, don't you like it?"
"Well, it's you so I suppose it's nice. But I loved your long hair so much. Still do. I feel like I don't recognise you anymore. And I just can't play with your short hair like with your long hair."
Erling froze. He had thought about practicalities such as saving time when washing his hair, no more dependency on hair ties, and also the thrill of making people flip out over social media.
But this was a good point.
"I've been so stupid! Can you forgive me? And I will grow it back!"
It was almost too easy.
"If that's what you want too, I'd be happier for it."
"Yes! Next time when I see you, will you at least run your fingers through my hair?"
"Maybe I just hadn't told you lately how much I love your hair and haven't shown you enough. When can you come over?"
Running his fingers through Erling's stubble might feel good too.