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Summary
The collision was hard and painful, and for a good four seconds, Thomas was out of it.
He came to the sound of his own name, pronounced with a particularly flat affectation.
“Müller. Müller.”
It was a string of sensations; a solid grip of hands on his waist and shoulder, turning him over, cold air in his lungs, roar of the crowd. There was a smudge of yellow and something green in his field of vision until finally, he could see a pair of icy blue eyes staring down at him. Lewandowski’s face was hovering above him, usual indifference replaced by a subtle expression of perturbed embarrassment, yellow kit stained in red in the front.
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December 2012, Saturday evening, Bayern Munich-Borussia Dortmund: Robert is horrible at tackles, Manu's a little possessive, and Thomas is caught in between.Series
- Part 2 of Slow Developments