Work Text:
She's sixteen the first time she kisses a boy. He's in the same year at school, and although they aren't friends, their friendship groups overlap. They're at a party at someone's house (parents away for the weekend), and although at the time she definitely thinks the few drinks she's had made no difference, when she looks back later, she was definitely a bit drunk.
Kris is cute though, he's got a kind smile, enough hair she can run her fingers through it and it's soft, silky. He's taller than her, but not by that much, and she likes that about him.
It's late. Far too late, she probably should have been home hours ago. But she'd text her mum to say that she was having a good time, that she'll walk home later, that she won't need a lift.
There had been a group of them originally, sat around the fire pit in the garden, chatting, passing drinks back and forth. The rest of the group have drifted off, some probably headed home, some back into the house, and it's just the two of them left, chatting. At some point she's moved closer, or he has, and they're curled up together on the bench, and his arm is wrapped around her shoulders. It's nice. She knows it's going to happen before it does, the silences have got longer, they keep looking at each other and looking away again, and in the end it's her who makes the first move.
She reaches up, running a hand through his hair, turning his head towards her, and she's closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his. They're warm, soft, slightly dry, and it feels nice. His hand is in her hair and she can feel his lips moving against hers, his tongue tracing along her bottom lip. When they pull away they're both breathing heavily and she smiles at him and he smiles back, and then, well, they do it again and the second time is even better.
Later, he walks her home even though it's out of his way, and they stop and kiss again a few times on the way. When she gets home she doesn't invite him in, and he doesn't ask. He waits to make sure she gets in ok though, and she waves at him before she closes the door. She grabs a glass of water from the kitchen, and then sneaks up the stairs to her bedroom, skipping the fourth from the bottom that sometimes creaks. In bed, she presses her fingers to her lips. She can still feel the kiss from earlier.
They get together at a few other parties, and it's nice, she likes him. But it never goes any further. She spends a weekend moping that he hasn't asked her out, and when her little brother that asks if she actually to go out with Kris she pauses and thinks about it. On reflection, she really doesn't, but she can still be pissed off that he hasn't asked.
---
She's nineteen when she leaves Bryne far behind her. Bergen is amazing, it's a whole new world. She's living in a tiny room in a slightly scummy shared flat a fifteen minute walk from the university. Early on, in her second week, one of her flatmates convinces her to go along to the running club. It's an open track session, and it's not her favourite, she much prefers cross country. It's still fun though, they're a nice bunch, and as they stand around chatting after the warm ups she thinks maybe she's made some friends. The session is better than she was expecting, the work out is way more interesting than the ones they used to do back at school.
She's on the final lap, and as she rounds the bend, into the final two hundred metres, a girl passes her on the outside. She kicks hard, not wanting to be outdone, but she can't make up any ground, and after she crosses the line she drops down onto the grass in the centre of the track next to her. The girl holds her hand up for a high five and it's cringe but she slaps her palm. The girl grins and she smiles back and oh...
So she's nineteen when she kisses a girl for the first time. It's different from kissing a boy. It's better. It's much better.
Marit kisses her outside the bar they head to when the track session is done. They're both kind of sweaty, and she tastes like beer, but her lips are warm and soft, her hand is tangled in Marit's ponytail, and it's kind of perfect.
---
She's twenty and she's in her little brother's flat in Salzburg. It's bare and slightly depressing, not a patch on her tiny box room under the eaves in Bergen, but he has only just moved in so it's understandable.
They're sitting on the sofa (the only available seat in the place), sharing a pizza for dinner, and he takes a deep breath and stares intently at the film playing on the tv and asks 'how she knew she liked girls'.
He knows about Marit, the whole family does. It’s not like there’s been any big discussion of her sexuality (she definitely hasn’t said ‘I’m gay’, or ‘I’m a lesbian’, or even ‘I like girls’), it’s more that Marit has come up in enough conversations, she’s made enough comments with context that has made their relationship clear. They haven’t all met her yet, but her mum has, Astor has. Erling hasn’t though, he’d been in Molde when she’d brought Marit home for a weekend.
She looks over at him, and drops the piece of pizza she was holding back into the box, wiping her hands on a napkin whilst she thinks. He looks small, hunched over, almost like he’s cowering, made small by the weight of her gaze, and she forces herself to look away, to stare down at the napkin twisted around her fingers. He’s so young.
He’s not though. He’s eighteen, and he moved away years ago now. He’s older than she was when she met Marit. When she knew.
“Marit.” It’s almost an explanation, but not really much of one, and she feels like she needs to offer more. “She smiled at me, and I just thought ‘wow, she’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen’ and I knew I needed to know her. And then she kissed me, and it was amazing, nothing like when I kissed boys.”
There are a lot of questions she wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to force him into saying anything he might regret. So instead she picks up the pizza again, takes another bite.
It’s then when he speaks, and his voice is quiet, hesitant. “I like girls. But I think maybe, I like boys too.” He falls silent, and she’s still chewing so she just waits him out, waits to see if he has anything else to say. “I think it’s ok though. I don’t think it’s a bad thing. But I don’t think I want to tell people. I don’t…” He tails off and shrugs, and finally looks over at her, meeting her eyes. “Football you know?”
She’s finally finished the pizza. “I’m proud of you Erling. You’re amazing, you know that right?” He shrugs again. “It’s ok if you like girls, it’s ok if you like boys. It’s all ok, It’s all good.”
“But, does it make me bad if I don’t tell people. If I don’t come out?” He sounds scared, small, anxious, words she’s never really associated with him before, and she shuffles over, closes the gap between them and pulls him in for a hug. He collapses against her, and his shoulders shake as she rubs her hands over them.
“No Erling. Never. No one has to come out. It’s your choice. It’s your life. You get to do whatever is right for you.” They sit there for a while, her shirt dampening where his face is pressed against her shoulder. Eventually though he pulls away and rubs his hands over his face a few times.
“I think I’m bisexual.”
She nods, not really sure what he wants to hear.
“I don’t think I want to talk about it.”
She nods. “That’s fine Erling, we don’t need to talk about it. But I’m proud of you, and I’m honoured you told me.”
“I mean with anyone. I don’t want to talk to mum and dad about it. I don’t want you to talk to Marit about it.” His voice is serious, and suddenly he sounds so grown up, so authoritative. And Erling might be her little brother, but at the same time, he earns more in a week than she spends on rent in a year. He’s not just her little brother any more.
Obviously she wants to talk to Marit about this. She wants to talk to Marit about everything. But she’d never betray Erling’s confidence like that. (A small part of her knows that had he not said anything, maybe she would have done, and she’s slightly ashamed of herself for that.)
“Of course Erling. This is between me and you.”
He smiles, and then the tv brightens, a massive explosion taking place in their film, and they both direct their attention back to the screen. He doesn’t move away though, and they watch the rest of the film pressed close together on his sad sofa in his bleak apartment.
—
She’s twenty four when she breaks up with Marit. It had been coming for a while, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. She moves out of their Bergen apartment, packing everything she wants to take into three suitcases and leaving their shared possessions behind. She’s not sure what to do, not sure where to go. Her training rotation finished a few weeks ago, and she’s done a few agency shifts whilst she applies for jobs, so there’s nothing keeping her in Bergen (her friends are Marit’s friends. She can’t bother them with this.), and she sits on the sofa for a final time, considering her next step.
She could go back to Bryne, to her mum’s, or to her dad’s. She doesn’t want to though. Going home with her tail between her legs, admitting she’d failed at being an adult, that she needs her parents to pick her up, to dust her off, to parent her. And this failure feels personal. Her mum loved Marit, probably still loves Marit (it’s not like she knows they’ve broken up), and she can’t face her, not now, not when she did this, she broke them. Marit did nothing wrong. And she can’t go to her dad with this. She’s never been completely convinced that he liked Marit at all. She might not want to break her mum’s heart with this, but she doesn’t want to see her dad being happy about it, not to her face.
She’s bought the ticket before she even finishes the thought, and then she has to rush to get a taxi, to drag her bags down stairs. She pauses in the doorway for one last time, looking back on the last five years of her life. Superficially, the apartment still looks like home, it’s not obvious anything has changed. You’d need to search through the cupboards to see the gaps she’s left, to see that this is now just one person’s home, not a shared life. She goes to lock the door behind her, and realises that she’ll never need these keys again. She leaves them under the mat, and leaves the building for the last time.
Several hours later, when Erling opens the door to the house in Manchester (already much more of a home than the bleak Salzburg flat), she manages to make it inside, to put her bags down, before she bursts into tears.
She stays with Erling for a full month, and although she does her best to wallow in self-pity, he makes it surprisingly hard to do so. He’s good company, he always has been, but it’s been a while since she spent this much time with him, and it’s nice to hang out with this new adult version of Erling. He bullies her into leisurely runs round the Cheshire lanes, round his favourite park, and she remembers how much she loves running. He attempts to convince her that yoga is fun, that it will help her ‘mindfullness’ but fails miserably (it’s too much like introspection for her). After a Saturday home game he takes her for a ‘big gay night out’ in Manchester’s Northern Quarter, and she remembers how to have fun again. She regrets it the next morning when she has to lie completely motionless on the sofa or throw-up the breakfast he’d forced upon her, claiming incorrectly that it would fix her.
She has to leave in the end though, to return to whatever her new real life will be. She doesn’t want to go back to Bergen though, it would feel too much like a step backwards, so she’s lined up three job interviews, different wards at one of the big Oslo hospitals. She’s crashing with a friend for a few weeks until she gets settled, until she gets things sorted. Erling insists on driving her to the airport, and when they get there he gets out of the car, and wraps her up in the biggest hug. She clings to him for a minute, but finally pulls away, squares her shoulders, and heads into the terminal. She’s got this.
—
She’s twenty seven when she caves, gives in to her friends demands, downloads Hinge. Making a profile is hard, she’s not sure what photo to use, can’t work out how to make herself sound fun and interesting, but also not like it’s all just lies. In the end, she just hands her phone over when they’re crowded around a table in a bar after a horrible dreary damp run. When she gets it back and reads through the profile, the woman she sees seems better than her, but close enough. She sets it live and thinks nothing more about it.
Several days later, she’s on a break at work, and for want of anything else to do, ends up clicking on the app, and what do you know, she has a match. Sofie looks cute, she’s got a great smile, and she’s left a message that makes her laugh. She replies, and shoots her shot, suggesting drinks in a wine bar not in her neighbourhood. Sofie agrees. It’s a date.
It’s a date.
She hasn’t been on a first date for an age. She’s not sure she ever really did go on a first date, that’s not really how her and Marit’s relationship went. She panics for a bit, and gives herself a stern talking to. She’s cool, she’s sexy, she’s fun. She can go on a date.
She goes on the date. Sofie is even cuter in person. She’s got a great smile, and when she makes her laugh all she can think is ‘wow, I need to do that again’. They’re on their third glass of wine when her phone rings, and she wants to ignore it, doesn’t want to seem rude, doesn’t want to pause the conversation even for a moment. But it’s Erling, and he doesn’t ring her often. She makes her apologies to Sofie, it’s her little brother on the phone, she needs to see if he’s ok, would she mind if she answered really quickly, she won’t be long. Sofie smiles and shoes her out of the bar onto the pavement so she can hear better.
There’s a hint of panic in Erling’s voice, and it stops her cold, smile disappearing immediately. He has a whole list of questions about surgery. What’s anaesthesia like? How long do you spend in recovery? How much pain would you be in? For a moment she worries that he needs surgery, that something catastrophic has happened, but there’s no way he wouldn’t have told her, there’s no way she wouldn’t have got a ‘breaking news' google alert. He reassures her that it’s not him, it’s a friend, that Erling just wants to understand. So she walks him through the basics of surgery, of a general anaesthetic. He doesn’t mention what the surgery is, and she doesn’t ask, but given his group of friends she assumes it’s an ACL reconstruction or something similar. As they wrap things up, he apologises for interrupting her evening, and she admits she’s on a date, that Sofie is inside, waiting on her. He laughs, and sends her back in, congratulating her on ‘getting back out there’.
Sofie smiles at her when she sits down. The table is fuller that when she left, small plates of food have appeared, and Sofie grins, says she needs some food if they’re having more wine. She reaches across the table and takes her hand, and Sofie leans in for a kiss. When they pull back, Sofie asks if everything is ok, gesturing at the phone, and she explains yes, her little brother, just using her for her medical expertise, and the conversation continues.
—
She’s twenty eight and she’s in Manchester for a weekend, introducing Sofie to her little brother. Sofie has a uni friend in the city, so they’ve parted ways for the afternoon, Sofie to meet her friend, she and Erling hanging out before the three of them have dinner together later. Erling is playing tomorrow, and Sofie’s never been to a match before, and she claims to be excited even though she’s not really big on sports. Erling has accepted the challenge though, aiming to convert her to the religion that is football, promised at least one goal in her honour.
She’ll never get used to the fact that when she introduces people to her little brother, she’s in fact introducing them to Erling Haaland. In Norway, in England, on the internet in general, it’s actively hard to avoid him, and people come in with preconceptions, with ideas of what he’ll be like. Sure, he’s larger than life (despite already being, well, large in life), fun, an easy way about him, always quicker to smile than to frown. But he’s also quiet, introspective in a way that surprises people. She’s protective of him, careful about who gets to meet the real Erling. She doesn’t go round bragging about him, protects his privacy as intensely as he does. Most people probably don’t know they are related, she doesn’t even mention her famous brother until she’s really got to know someone, and even then, if she does, it’s her brother Erling, not Haaland the robot.
But she wanted Sofie to meet him, wanted him to meet Sofie, wants to spend time with two of her favourite people. And so they’re here for the weekend, just a flying visit, heading back to Oslo tomorrow evening after the match. She doesn’t actually have much holiday to use this year, hoarding her days off for the summer, to watch Erling play in the World Cup, the first time Norway have made it for twenty eight years!
And so whilst Sofie is meeting her friend, she’s sat at Erling’s kitchen island, eating enormous sandwiches filled with tastes of home she’d brought over in her hand luggage. Erling had been at training that morning, had only got back shortly before she’d arrived, and they have plenty to catch up on, so the conversation flows. They’ve talked about a thousand little stupid things, and the longer it goes on, the longer she thinks he’s building up to something, that there’s something he’s working out how to tell her. It’s subtle, there’s not any one thing she can put her finger on, but there’s something there.
It’s when she’s rooting through the fridge for something sweet (it’s slim pickings, she ends up with yoghurt with a spoon of jam swirled through) that he pauses for a moment, silence stretching between them.
“I think I’ve done something stupid.” It’s not what she was expecting. Erling rarely does anything stupid anymore. It’s been years since he got stuck up on the roof all night in the depths of winter after an evening of star gazing.
“Go on.” She turns around from the fridge, and walks back around the island with her bowl. He’s purposefully not looking at her, and she’s suddenly taken back to a conversation several years ago in a different home, a different country. They were both different people then, they’ve both changed so much.
“I’ve fallen in love.” He pauses, and she knows what’s coming. “With a man.”
She swirls her spoon through the yoghurt, makes a pattern with the jam.
“With Jude.” And at this she does look over at him. She’s met Jude, but that was years ago when they were back in Dortmund. She knows they’re still friends, but this is somewhat unexpected.
“Oh Erling.” Her heart breaks for him. She’s never been there, crushing on a straight girl, but she can imagine how hard it would be, to know they liked you, but only ever as a friend, never anything more.
“It’s been years really, but he was here, came to visit when he was here to see the England medical team. And anyway, there was a really stupid situation with a drug test, and I thought that well, if someone else knows then I want you to know. Because you’d understand.”
She feels like she’s missed a whole chunk of the conversation, no idea how a drug test can possibly relate to this, but the fact that Jude came to visit, that he stayed with Erling. She feels a sudden wave of anger towards him, for being so oblivious to her brother’s feelings.
“How does the drug test fit in?” She licks yoghurt off her spoon, and looks over at him.
He blushes, absolutely bright red. “I thought it was for me, but it wasn’t, it was for Jude. And it was early, so I had to wake him up, and it was so obvious what we’d been doing.” And oh my god, she’d read this situation all wrong.
“Wait, you and Jude are together?”
He shrugs. “Well not together, but not not together. It’s still a bit complicated I think. We want to be together, but, well, football.”
She stares at him. “What the fuck Erling?” and he seems to shrink slightly under her gaze. ”Wait no, that came out wrong. I’m happy for you, I just didn’t know.” At that he relaxes, smiles at her. “So I repeat, what the fuck?”
It’s like a dam bursting, the words rush out of him, flood water sweeping away a small town.
“Nothing happened at Dortmund. We were just friends, he was my best friend. He’s still my best friend I suppose. But afterwards, when we first met up when I was here. We realised that it wasn’t just friends, that we liked each other.”
“That was years ago.”
“Yeah. It’s been a while. But I don’t want to come out, that hasn’t changed. And he doesn’t want to come out. And also, he’s in Madrid, so that makes things a bit hard. But we’re definitely not just friends anymore.”
“You’re sleeping with Jude Bellingham?”
He recoils, but he's laughing. “Urgh, you’re my sister, we don’t need to talk about it like that!”
“Oh I’m sorry, you’re in love with Jude Bellingham in a more than friendly way. Sometimes you do non-friendly things together. Is that better?”
He rolls his eyes at her. “Sure. We can put it like that if you want.”
“Are you happy?” It’s really the only thing that matters at the end of the day.
“Yeah. I love him Gabby. I love him so much. Even if we can’t really be together right now, even if it takes us years, it’s worth it. He’s worth it.” He sounds so earnest, so serious, and she slides off her stool and closes the gap between them, wrapping him in a hug, holding him tight. It’s both like and unlike the last time they had a similar conversation. This time there are no tears, but something twists in her chest, hope and happiness yes, but also something like pain, acknowledgement that he’s chosen a hard path. But maybe it wasn’t a choice, maybe it’s never really a choice. Maybe sometimes you just need to meet the right person, and that’s it, you’re set, sorted.
She pulls back, having joined some of the dots. “So all your questions about surgery?”
He blushes. “I was worried. And he didn’t want me to be there. Said I’d be ‘too obvious’”. Looking at his face now, she has to concede that Jude was probably right. Jude isn’t even here and somehow love is just painted all over his face. There’s no way Erling would be subtle if they were in the same room.
“Tell me about him. I want to know everything.”
—
She doesn’t tell Sofie of course, doesn’t tell anyone. She can keep her brother’s secrets.
—
Only then she does tell Sofie, because things have changed, and Jude lives in Manchester now, lives with Erling. They claim they don’t live together, but it’s all lies, they just have two homes.
They go over for a weekend, and it’s clear as soon as they set foot in the house that it’s not just Erling’s home any more. Jude is charming, funny, and they are so clearly in love, so clearly incredibly happy. If she has to pretend to be going to the bathroom and instead sheds a tear or two everyone is kind enough to overlook it.
—
She’s thirty three, and she’s marrying the love of her life. Sofie looks more beautiful than ever, and she’s never been this happy before, didn’t know she could be this happy.
It’s a small wedding, they didn’t want anything big, nothing extravagant. They’re back in the wine bar where they had their first date, and it’s changed but then again, so have they. But both of their families are there, and if her dad seems somewhat disapproving, well, that’s ok. He’s still here, she doesn’t need him to be happy. Her happiness is contingent on no one else's, just hers and Sofie’s. He hugs them both though, manages at least a pretense of happiness for them, and her step-mum sweeps them both into a massive hug, seems genuinely thrilled.
All the parents disappear off early, and it’s just siblings left. Sofie’s sister and her husband, her brothers, her half-sisters. And Jude, squeezed onto a loveseat with Erling, a loveseat that ideally wants to hold three quarters of Erling, let alone all of Jude too. He’s really just sat on Erling’s lap at this point, one arm around his neck, gesturing wildly with a glass of champagne, Erling smiling at him fondly, occasionally grabbing his arm to halt any dangerous movement of the glass.
She pours herself another glass of champagne and leans back against Sofie, curling up against her on the low sofa they are sharing. Sofie’s hand traces circles on her shoulder, and she takes a sip.
She genuinely couldn’t be happier.
—
She’s thirty three and it turns out she could be happier. Because nothing can beat how she feels now. Sofie is holding their baby, and her heart is genuinely about to explode because it shouldn’t be possible to be this happy.
It’s been a long day, people have been in to visit them, to meet Lukas, and she’s so tired, but somehow it doesn’t matter. It’s quiet now though, just the three of them, and there’s nothing else she could possibly want in life.
There’s a quiet knock at the door, and as it opens it’s Erling, tiptoeing into the room. He squeezes her into the tightest hug possible, and he’s gazing down at Lukas like he’s something truly miraculous. Sofie asks if he wants to hold him, and he sits on the edge of the bed, and Lukas is small, but he looks absolutely tiny in Erling’s arms. It’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and she snaps a photo, sends it to Jude with a heart eyes emoji.
The response is almost immediate. ‘Gabby, I can’t. What are you doing to me. It’s too much’. He follows up with more heart emojis that she can count.
She laughs, and Erling looks at her quizzically and she just shakes her head. If she can keep his secrets, she can also keep Jude’s secrets.
—
She’s forty, and she never thought that signing a piece of paper would be so difficult, and she just can’t stop crying. It’s too much. She’s not the only one crying though, Jobe isn’t doing much better.
Erling is looking at them with a face of confused delight, and Jude has given up, is just laughing at them both.
She didn’t think witnessing a wedding would be that hard.