Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He thinks that Erling isn’t going to come anymore—this is the one thought, through the cheering, through the singing, the chanting, the hands on him, the kisses, the hugs, the celebrations, the shots, the beer, the one thought of which is constant.

One moment, Jude is on the field, the entirety of his person buzzing like a live wire, electricity so potent it fries him from the inside out, looking up at the crowd, his heart like a hummingbird, stars in his eyes—star, star, he’s a star now—and then he’s in the locker room, and then he’s in the sprawling city, surrounded by his teammates who’ve never been happier, who can’t stop hugging him, grinning at him, thanking him, patting his head.

Jude lets himself enjoy it, because he is happy, because this is everything he’s ever wanted, but…

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s not coming anymore.

In between shots, he takes glances at his phone, and he gets shit for it.

Your girl blowing your phone up?

Trying to see where you are?

She waitin’ on you to get back, eh?

Alas, it’s not his girlfriend. He isn’t sure where she is, just like she isn’t sure where he is, but they’re right about one thing, she is waiting. Waiting for Jude to reach out, to tell her to be ready. She has expectations of him, like anyone would after a game like that, after an accomplishment like that.

Like Jude, she’s waiting.

Waiting to be taken apart piece by piece.

Jude rubs a hand over his mouth, plagued by guilt, even though he knows that theirs is a relationship of convenience, something casual, something for the cameras, and not much more. She hadn’t even asked him about the hickey on his neck—whether she cared or not, Jude isn’t sure. He figures that it doesn’t matter anyway.

It’s a morbid thought, he doesn’t like to think it, but this is true: he’s Jude Bellingham.

There are going to be hundreds of people around him who simply don’t care about what he does as long as he’s around, and if they do care, they’ll bite their tongues.

This much never fails to turn Jude’s stomach and make him question what’s real, if anything.

But Erling, he doesn’t have to question.

At least he never had to.

Jude can feel the bass of the music in his chest.

He looks down at his phone again, and there is nothing.

It’s 11 p.m., nearly 12, and there is nothing.

He wonders if Erling is mad at him. It’s ridiculous, he can’t be, the game is the game, and Jude surely wouldn’t have held it against him if Norway had defeated England. They both know that the game is the game, and Erling had embraced him so many different times—so much so that Jude had begun to wonder if he was trying to throw him off his game intentionally—it just doesn’t make sense for him to be angry.

Or maybe, perhaps he had a change of heart.

Maybe he realized, like Jude had been trying to tell him, that it was wrong, what they were doing was wrong on every single level. They aren’t kids anymore. Those days are over. He wouldn’t be wrong to have a change of heart, but something in Jude can’t accept that. Something in him needs to know for sure, and something darker just plainly does not want Erling to have a change of heart.

Something inside of him wants Erling to choose him, tonight.

This is Jude’s night, and he wants Erling to choose him, to be with him.

Jude manages to sneak away from his group, keeping his head ducked, beelining it to the bathroom, shaking hands and embracing people who recognize him on his way there. Inside, he locks himself in one of the stalls, bracing himself on the door.

He opens his phone.

He hasn’t sent Erling a message in months.

Hey x

He feels like he should delete the text, especially as time stretches on, turning seconds into minutes.

Three dots appear.

Hey Jude, and beside it an obnoxious number of English flags.

Were are you?

*Where

Aorry

Sorry

Jude stares at the screen.

Partying. U?

Same

It’s mad out here

Not enjoying it?

I am

Just bored

Probably going to leave soon and go back to the hotel

For a few seconds, his thumb hovers over the keyboard, ruminating on what the right words are.

What time are u guys leaving?

Three dots.

Miss me already?

Fat chance

Jude bites his lip.

Leaving in maybe an hr

Do you want to see me?

Want to talk to you in private before you go

I always want to see u

Are u sure

U didn’t reach out

I am having fun

U worry too much

Should I come to yours at 1?

I’ll come to you

Jude has second guesses—he doesn’t know if one of his teammates will knock on his door, or anything like that, and they could be caught, if that’s what Erling is even coming over for anymore.

But he can’t say no.

He doesn't want to say no.

Erling knocks on his door at approximately eleven minutes past 3 a.m., this much Jude knows because the knock rouses him from the early parts of slumber.

After he got to his room, stripped off his clothes and dove into the shower, he’d tried and failed to stay up for Erling, sending him an embarrassing amount of follow up texts, pacing around his room, turning on the television, gazing outside of his balcony, all the while fielding calls from his teammates asking him why he left early when the party was only just getting started.

With his fingers in his mouth, chewing his nails, Jude thought that maybe Erling changed his mind. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he had something better to do. Still, he waited.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, a digital clock on the bedside table glowing in block letters. He’d fallen asleep so suddenly he hadn’t even killed the lights. He’s been asleep for only ten minutes. He wakes to the harsh glow of the bedside lamp. Squinting, he pulls himself up, his socked feet hitting the ground. The room is so empty and cold that his body is overcome with gooseflesh, even underneath the violet hoodie he’s wearing—Erling’s hoodie. He taps his phone and notes that he has a missed call from Jobe.

As he walks to the door, he texts him to tell him he’s okay, just tired, he’ll call him back when he gets up.

He stares through the peephole at the same time Erling knocks again. He sees him standing there, his hair neatly brushed back into a bun, dressed in blue and white, straight from the club. Jude’s hand, laid flat on the door, forms a light fist. Still, he opens the door, feeling himself glare, giving himself away, but he can't help it.

His annoyance is laid bare. “What?”

Erling raises a pale eyebrow, then he smiles. “What do you mean what?”

“Like I said. What do you want?”

He chuckles now, like Jude is funny. Like he’s funny and cute and nothing more. “What do you want? You told me to come.”

“Yeah, yesterday.”

Erling simply asks, “Are you going to let me in?”

“Why are you so late?” Jude asks, his voice still soft with tiredness despite his tone. “You told me you’d be here at one.”

“I got caught up, I apologize,” Erling reaches out and Jude slaps his hand away.

“Caught up for two hours?”

“You are cute when you are upset,” Erling reaches out again, pinching his cheek, and Jude pushes his hand away again, but this time it’s with less fire, the compliment softening him like butter.

“Stop. God, stop.”

“Let me in.” Erling pushes the door open, walking past him, leaving Jude to let the door shut. Erling looks around, observing the room that is almost identical to his own. He toes off his shoes, kicking the pair of them together near the wall.

In the middle of the room, he looks so tall, so imposing, yet relaxed, calm. Jude stares at the width of his back, smells the obnoxious yet familiar scent of his cologne, and he begins to feel stupid for being upset.

“I thought you weren’t coming. I never would’ve made you wait like that. And you didn’t answer my texts.”

Erling doesn’t turn around. “I didn’t make you do anything. You made a choice to wait on me.”

At that, Jude prickles, feeling spiteful. “I could have been out still. I could have been with someone since you clearly weren’t arsed to…to even meet me on time. Or to even text me in the first place. I could have been doing something else.”

And now, Erling just shrugs, looking over his shoulder at him, unafraid to challenge him. “Then why aren’t you? You are right, you can be with anyone. You are…what? They’re calling you the people’s prince. Loads of people would want to be with you tonight. So why aren’t you with someone else?”

Jude’s jaw clenches. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. Must say though you are cocky tonight, Jude, full of yourself,” Erling smiles. “The win is going to your head, yes?”

“No,” Jude denies.

Erling turns around fully, looking at him head on. Jude takes a deep breath. “That is okay. You earned the right to be arrogant.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then explain how you meant it. Is this what you called me here for? To chat about your win? To rub it in? I saw it with my own eyes, you were great. I am proud of you. But we surely could have done this during the day.”

 “No. You were supposed to—"

Erling’s mouth spreads into a grin. “Why are you so far away?”

“I’m not.”

“You were so close earlier, I could see every single one of your eyelashes out there. I could count them. Now you are, what, shy? This is crazy. Come here. Tell me what I was supposed to do.”

Jude tries not to think of earlier on the field. The feelings of Erling’s hands on him, the rush that came from playing alongside and against him, the heady scent of his body—sweat, grit, determination, and earth.

He doesn’t want to go closer because he’ll lose his edge. He’ll lose his head.

“Why didn’t you reach out to me? Are you mad at me? Did I upset you?”

“No. Disappointed, yes, on the whole, but,” Erling sighs. “But that is the way these things go. I will be heartbroken and I will carry it with me until I can redeem myself.”

“You played well.”

“We did not. You played better.”

“We have a good team.” Jude admits.

Erling shakes his head. “Not your team. You. You played well.”

Jude feels his heart thump in his chest. “Thank you.”

“You earned your place. You’ll do well in the semifinals too. I don’t doubt it. Good luck to you.”

“Thanks,” he mutters.

Erling clasps his hands together. “Okay. So.”

Jude waits.

He waits.

He waits.

Erling watches him wait.

“Is that all?” Jude asks, dumbfounded. “Is that all you’re going to say to me?”

“Oh, right. You were saying there’s something I was supposed to do. My memory is bad.”

Jude scoffs. “You’re so…”

“You can’t blame me, this is a real thing, I promise,” Erling says, tapping his temple. “Sometimes I can’t remember. Refresh my memory.”

Jude rolls his eyes so hard it hurts him. He contemplates not playing into Erling’s game. He shouldn’t. But he does. “You were supposed to…reach out to me.”

Erling nods, backing onto the wall, crossing his long, thick arms. “Ah. What for?”

“You made me a promise.”

“I can’t hear you from all the way over there,” Erling says.

“I’m not going to come over to you. I’m mad at you.”

“I got caught up. You can’t hold that against me. It is a big night. You know that, you said it yourself, the party is still going, and you could have been there if not for me.”

Jude scoffs. “But you didn’t get caught up, though, did you? You just like doing this to me. I don’t even know why I’m…”

“Because you like it too.” Erling pushes himself off the wall, making his way over to where Jude stands, in the dark corner of the door. He crowds him, the whole of him swallowing up the rest of the room. He leans down just an inch. “Otherwise, you would not have opened the door.”

Erling tips his chin up. A soft smile then. Something to disarm Jude. Jude blinks heavy brown eyes, the warmth of Erling’s skin on his comforting in the worst way.

Erling says, quietly, “Forgive me.”

He kisses his cheek and Jude moves his head away. “Don’t touch me. You’re a dick.”

“Don’t worry, I only came to say goodbye.”

“What do you mean?”

“We leave for Norway tomorrow. I won’t see you for a long time after that I assume. Only God knows when. So, I wanted to say goodbye. And now I have.”

Jude asks again, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“It was good to see you. Being on the field with you was good as always. Truthfully, I missed it. So many memories.” Erling pats his cheek. He repeats, “You will do well in the semifinals.”

As Erling begins to pull away, Jude blinks. “Are you serious? Did you really—it’s 3 o’clock, Haaland. It’s three. You made me wait for three hours just to tell me goodbye? Could’ve been a text, couldn’t it?”

“That would have been rude.”

“Are you—” Jude stammers. Then he laughs. “You’re fucking with me. Stop it.”

“I am not. I wanted to say goodbye to my friend.”

“I thought we weren’t friends.”

Erling shrugs. “I go with what you say.”

“Yeah? Since when? I told you to join Real Madrid, you fucking didn’t so.”

Erling looks amused. “Where is this coming from? You’re still upset about that?”

“No. No. I just…I’m just saying.”

“From what I remember you refused to come to Man City.”

Because I didn’t want to come second to you while I was right in your face.

Because it’s better to be second miles and miles away from you.

It’s better to have some semblance of control.

How would I have controlled myself otherwise?

Jude says none of this.

“That’s neither here nor there, the point…” and he’s almost lost the point really because Erling is much too close, his brain is moving too slow, and now Jude is thinking of how much it hurt to know that they’d never play on the same pitch again as teammates when Erling signed for Man City. He’s remembering how much he cried, and he’s thinking about how it was so long ago, yet the wound sort of never closed, did it?

“The point,” Jude reiterates, closing his eyes briefly to think. “Is that you made a big fuss about us not being friends the other night. You said you don’t…you don’t…so I don’t really understand why you’re saying this now. What? Have I done something wrong?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. Why do you always feel that you’ve done something wrong? You’re perfect,” Erling warmly holds his cheek in his palm. “I just want to say goodbye. Why is this a problem, now?”

Jude basically whines, “Because you made me a promise.”

Erling looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Ah. Yes, I think I remember now. A promise. That was under specific terms though, Jude. If I won. I didn’t. You sent me home.”

“So what? What then?”

“Nothing.” Erling’s hands fall away from him.

“Are you seriously telling me that you’re not going to fuck me?” Jude asks, his voice rough around the edges, yet prissy, kind of demanding. “You’re taking it back?”

Erling lifts his shoulders again. “I don’t know, you don’t need me. You were friendly with so many different men on the field, I’m confident you can find someone else to do the job. You’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” Jude says through a bitter smile. “Are you serious? Someone else?”

“You said it earlier, you’re Jude Bellingham, everybody wants to fuck you. Maybe they can even do it better than me.”

And Jude can tell by the look in his eye that he knows he’s spewing bullshit. He knows that Jude has been standing where he left him for a long time, not moving an inch, all allegiance to him.

Jude Bellingham has only ever fucked one man.

He tried it before, with someone else, but he couldn’t go through with it. The man didn’t smell the same, didn’t walk the same, didn’t touch him the same. His dick wasn’t curved the same, it wasn’t the same weight in his palm, it didn’t taste the same.

Nothing was the same.

“You’re not funny.”

“This is quite insane, Jude, you were practically pushing me off you last time. Do you not feel guilty anymore?”

And no, it’s not that.

It’s just that Jude’s guilt is being staved off. He tucked it into a drawer in the bedroom of his brain and locked the door to that room. If it’s seeping out of the drawer, sliding its way into the carpet in a sluggish race to the door’s under crack, that is none of his business.

If he’s determined to do this before the guilt can slip its way under, that’s also none of his business.

 Jude pushes Erling backward, and he barely stumbles. “What are you doing? Stop. Why are you here, then?”

Erling holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I am trying to leave.”

“Why did you come if you were going to do this?”

“I came as a friend. I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Fine,” Jude calls his bluff, gesturing to the door. “Get out then. Go on.”

“Will you let me go?”

“What’d you say to me? I don’t own you. Go on. Go. Be with your girlfriend then. Or whoever. I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

Jude watches him open the door, watches half of him disappear outside, then he’s back, turning around to lean down and kiss him, the press of his plump lips on Jude’s, lingering, but quick. He pulls away before Jude can open his mouth to him, before he can let him in. Erling kisses his forehead. “Goodbye, Jude.”

And well, maybe if not for that, Jude could have let him go.

Jude breaks, holding him by his arms, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Haaland,” his voice sounds pathetic, a grating sound on his own ears but he can’t stop. “Shit. Okay. Erling. Erling. Erling, stop. Stop, stop, stop.”

 Erling smiles. “Oh, now I’m Erling. I was wondering when you’d stop calling me that. So formal, Jude. It hurt my feelings.”

“I didn’t want to—it’s too—” personal, Jude thinks. It’s too personal to call him by his first name. In Dortmund, he always called him Erling, but after…it just hadn’t felt right. It felt inappropriate. Like he was incriminating himself just by saying his name. It wasn’t right. It isn’t right. “Just. Okay. Okay, okay, what? What do you want? What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever, I’ll—”

“Are you begging me now, Jude?”

“Because, you always make me beg,” Jude says. “I hate when you make me fucking beg. God, okay. Okay.”

Jude’s hands slide down the length of Erling’s long, veiny arms and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling him deeper into the suite, guiding him past the kitchen, the small living room, into the threshold of the bedroom.

Then he’s on his knees, face level with Erling’s hips, his hands gripping his hands, Jude’s fingertips in his palms. He prickles with heat, smelling of soap, water, like vanilla, earthy sweetness, spice, extra clean from his bath. The bath he took because he knew Erling was going to come.

His knees dig into carpet and with his head bowed, he leans forward, one hand slipping to rest on Erling’s thigh. He says, softly, “Do you really not want me?”

He pushes his head lightly into Erling’s other thigh, nuzzling into the fabric of his pants, the hidden warmth of flesh underneath.

“Everyone wants you. You’ve made that clear.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Don’t be upset with me. I can fix it. I can make you feel better.”

Erling’s hand cradles his jaw. “And how are you going to do that?”

“With my mouth, if you want,” Jude says.

“You win and make it to the semifinals and your first order of business is getting on your knees?” Erling asks. “Did you even fuck your girlfriend?”

Jude buries himself in Erling’s leg. “Don’t bring her up.”

“But you can bring mine up? Are you two even still together? Does she know you like cock, yet?”

“I don’t know, does yours know what you like?”

“She knows that I like pretty things. That is enough. Look at you. And here I thought you only wanted it so badly last time because you were drunk. What is your excuse now?”

“Stop being mad at me.”

“I am not. I am trying to help you save your morals. All of that crying you did last time. All of the times you ignored me. Your morals are very important to you.”

“You’re punishing me because I won.”

Erling runs his thumb over Jude’s bottom lip. “Am I?”

“You’re bitter because I bested you.”

Erling’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t give Jude an answer to that. He just pushes his thumb past Jude’s lips, into the heat of his wet mouth, and Jude allows him to do this, the pad of his finger running over Jude’s rugged tongue, over his teeth.

Erling draws in a breath. “How long has it been now since I’ve seen you like this?”

Too long.

Two years. Maybe a bit more.

Before Erling’s child was born. Jude remembers because when he called him to tell him that she was pregnant, he was standing near a pool. He almost dropped his phone into the water. It felt like a black hole opened in his chest. It was hot.

A summer day.

Jude’s sweat coated his skin. The sun was merciless. His entire body fell into numbness. He wondered if that was it—he’d never felt heartbreak before.

He wondered if that was it.

He thought they still had time.

He thought it was only PR.

Maybe two years then.

“I didn’t think you still had feelings for me,” Erling continues now. “You always ignore me. How many times have I called you? Texted you? You treat me like I don’t exist and then I turn on the television and there you are, answering questions about me.”

Jude considers not answering him.

What is he supposed to do?

Jude attempts to speak around his finger but he can’t. Erling stuffs it into his cheek. “What do you expect of me? It wouldn’t have been right. You have a family now.”

“These are things I have to do. You know that. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I thought you knew that. But I guess not.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“It is the truth,” Erling says, a small smile unraveling on his face. “I wish it could have been you on my arm, but you have a cock, so.”

“You’re really fucking disgusting.”

“Yet you are still on your knees,” Erling sighs. “And stalling too. Either you are going to suck my cock or not. You’re not the only one who can get somebody else to do it. What? What’s that look? You don’t like to hear that? I don’t either.”

With his free hand, Erling pushes the waistband of his pants down, further and further until Jude can see the base of his dick, thin, light, neatly trimmed hair surrounding it. Jude begins to salivate before it’s even fully unsheathed, transfixed by the thickness, the vein that runs down the shaft, the mole that dots the right side, the bright pink, reddish color of the head as it pops out, more than half hard.

Jude almost moans.

It jerks.

Erling takes his finger out of his mouth so he can cradle the back of his head instead. “It misses you. Give it a kiss.”

Jude sinks forward, holding it by the base, dragging his full, brownish-pink lips across the length of it, open mouthed, his tongue sneaking out. A quick succession of a string of kisses. Then he drags his tongue across the underside.

It’s like riding a bike really.

He goes under to kiss his sack, and back up to kiss the head, avoiding Erling’s eyes, because he doesn’t want to look at him right now. He feels too vulnerable.

Jude opens his mouth, taking Erling’s dick inside, starting small, tiny bobs up and down, slow, purposeful, feeling the weight on his tongue, minding his teeth, Erling’s fingers gently rubbing circles over his kinky hair.

The click, click, of Erling’s dick going into his overly wet mouth echoes. Saliva slides down the shaft and also begins to slip down Jude’s chin, and he only makes it to half before it hits the back of his throat, making him gag, his throat closing around the head.

“You can take more,” Erling says, and he’s right because Jude has done it so many times before, but Jude is rusty. “Open your throat for me, Jude.”

With watery, wide eyes, Jude looks up at him, and Erling curses. “Come on. You can do it. Do it for me.”

Jude tries. He relaxes, and Erling’s hips shift forward to feed it to him, sliding it down into the textured, warm crevice, past Jude’s uvula, making him choke.

“There. There you go. Good boy. Stay.”

When Erling’s other hand comes up to grip the side of his face, Jude braces himself. Erling starts slow, thrusting into his throat with control, with care—careful enough that Jude manages not to fall into a coughing fit.

Foamy, sticky, wet spit coats the entirety of Jude’s mouth, over his chin, as he takes it over and over, as Erling fucks into his mouth over and over, deeper and deeper, and Jude whines. Erling groans above him, his thrusts growing more erratic, lost in pleasure, and Jude has to palm himself over his shorts.

“You really are good at everything, aren’t you? Look at you. You love it,” Erling says.

When he thrusts in so deep that Jude’s nose touches his pubic bone, Jude has to forcibly tear himself away, strings of spit still connecting them.

On a particularly ragged breath, Jude says, “Can you remember that I actually have to breathe please?”

“My bad,” Erling says, not looking sorry at all.

Jude takes another breath, massaging the pads of his fingers over his throat like that’s going to help. “‘S fine. Just a second.”

Jude begins to stroke him, twisting his hand over it in the way he knows Erling likes, rubbing his thumb over the frenulum, dipping to lick at his balls, sucking them, taking them into his mouth, of course, again, the way he knows Erling likes.

“You’re evil. You know that makes me come. I’m already on the edge, you know.”

“That was quick.”

“Seeing you on your knees like this makes me so horny I can’t think,” Erling says, and Jude moans against his skin, squeezing himself over his shorts, then just slipping his hand inside to satiate some of his own arousal. “What do you think your teammates would think of you now? You led them to victory and now here you are. Ditching them for me.”

Jude buries himself into Erling’s dick, pushing his nose into his fine hair, his wrists going limp, using all that’s left of his brain to admit, “They’d think I’m a slut, probably. Which is like, I guess I deserve that. I mean look at what you’ve got me doing—” A strike of pleasure skirts up his back, making him arch. “…shit, okay. I’m ready. I want it again, please. Can I get it again, now? I’m ready.”

“Anything for you.” Erling draws him back with a tight grip on the back of his neck and Jude’s mouth falls open immediately, naturally. “Take it all the way for me.”

Jude nods, and Erling slides back in.

The sounds are obscene, sticking onto the inside of Jude’s skull like chewing gum, tears running down his temples, blurring his eyesight, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline of it all, his own hand still massaging his dick over his briefs. He can feel the bulge getting wet with pre, and worse, he can feel his hole clenching, gripping onto what’s inside, and it makes him even more excited at what’s to come.

Here he is, on his knees for Erling Haaland hours after he kicked him out of the World Cup, days after he told him that he couldn’t do this, all because he needs it.

Jude needs this. He needs to have this. He’s done so well, he hasn’t done anything bad at all, he’s stayed away, he’s been so good, hasn’t he?

So, if it’s just the once, if he just lets Erling fuck him like this just once, just one more time before they have to be apart again, then does it really matter?

Is it so bad?

He tastes so good. He tastes like nothing. Like salt and skin. He moans unabashedly because he knows that Jude likes it. Jude likes it a lot when he can hear how good he’s making Erling feel. He likes to feel like he's doing something good. Likes to feel like he exists just for this.

He’s choking again. He grips Erling’s hip tightly, so tight that the pale skin might bruise. He taps his hip, looking up at him.

“A little more,” Erling says, and he’s red in the face, a bit sweaty. “You can take a little more. Just a little more.”

Jude shuts his eyes, and Erling pushes into the hilt, and around his dick, Jude’s throat seizes, and he coughs roughly, and he cannot breathe, and he thinks he’s going to throw up, then he’s going to pass out, and he wants to pull off of him, but this is more important than breathing.

“Don’t. Hold it. You wanted it. So fucking hold it like a good cock-sucking slut.”

Jude’s dick jerks so violently that he thinks he’s going to come in his underwear.

“Perfect,” is all the warning he gets before Erling’s fingers tighten on his head, and he’s pulling back out of Jude’s throat.

Jude tastes his come on his tongue, heady, salty, bitter, and he gags violently when Erling fully unsheathes with a wet, disgusting pop, his wide hand flying to his dick to stroke up and down the shaft, holding it over Jude’s face.

He paints him white, thick ropes of come flying over his nose, his cheekbones, one across his eyebrow, narrowly missing his eye.

It’s stark on his rich brown skin.

“Oh, come on,” Jude whispers hoarsely, shying away from it.

But Erling’s hand grips his jaw, keeping him in place. “Don’t fucking move.”

And for some reason, Jude listens, allowing him to finish, allowing him to slap the tip of his dick on his lips, onto his cheeks. And then, Erling pulls his phone out of his pocket, and the world sort of falls into slow motion as he watches him raise it up to take a picture.

“No,” Jude murmurs. “Delete it. Erling, delete it.”

“It’s for my eyes only. Relax.”

“You took it on Snapchat? No, God, just delete it, before you accidentally…”

“Shut up. Say hi.”

“Are you recording me?” Jude pushes his hand into the camera, and Erling shoves it away. “Erling, stop.”

“Yes, I’m recording you. Say hi.” Jude’s face burns. “England’s prettiest. The face everybody loves covered in my come. Look at him. Tell everybody that you just got finished sucking Erling Haaland’s dick.”

“Stop. Stop recording.”

“And you did such a good job too. You sucked it like you were being paid. Maybe I should pay you. A new line of business for you, Jude.”

“Erling.” Jude snaps, and Erling only smiles, pocketing his phone again, pulling his pants back up his hips. His dick isn’t even soft. It bulges the front.

“Fucking delete that, I’m serious.”

Yet when Erling leans down to kiss him, Jude finds himself meeting him halfway. In between his words, Erling kisses him. “I cannot delete it, you look amazing. Beautiful. I promise, I won’t show the world how their favorite midfielder celebrates. How much he enjoys a mouth full of cock.” Erling kisses over his neck, beneath his ear. “This is only for me.”

Erling puts his hands on Jude’s shoulders, clamping down gently to bring him up to his feet. On wobbly legs, Jude is pouting, his anxiety rising. “You’re going to accidentally post it. Please.”

“I will not, you’re worrying too much,” Erling kisses him again. “And you are boring me now. There are much more interesting things to talk about. Like, uh, did you prepare yourself for me?”

Against his lips, Jude says, “Um.”

“Um, what? It is a simple question.” Erling says into his mouth. “I asked if you stretched your pussy for me.”

A chill runs down Jude’s spine. He can’t even say anything about it. He can’t be disgusted. He can’t push Erling away. If anything, his hole just flutters at Erling’s words.

“I tried to, yeah,” Jude says, under his breath.

“How did you do it?”

“With my fingers, like you taught me, how else?” Jude says.

Erling smiles, pulling back. “You played with yourself before I came. So excited you couldn’t wait? You’re so cute.”

“You’re being a dick again.”

“Forgive me. It’s addictive. Tell me, did it hurt?”

“No.”

“You do it that often?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Erling’s head inclines. “I thought you said you were fucking someone else.”

“I said I tried to,” Jude admits. “I just wanted to see.”

“Next time buy a dildo.”

“I have a few actually, thanks.”

Erling tosses him onto the bed, Jude catching himself on his hands.

“And yet it is still not enough?” Erling asks. “Sit here.”

Jude sits on the edge of the bed, watching him as he starts to exit the room, heading toward the adjoined bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Just sit.”

Erling disappears behind the bathroom door. There’s shuffling. The running of water. Then he returns with a wet cloth, holding Jude’s face by his chin, running the cloth over his skin. It’s warm, soothing, tender.

“You’re quite the gentleman when you want to be.”

“Anything for the man of the match.”

“Did you have to be so rough though? My throat’s killing me.”

“You don’t like it when I’m gentle.”

“I do.”

“Not for long. Do you remember when you told me that one time—”

Jude winces. “Don’t bring that up.”

“Remember when we had no lube and you told me to stop being a pussy and spit on it?”

Jude grimaces. He does remember that. “I wasn’t like this before you. I swear it. I really wasn’t. You made me this way.”

“I’m sure you would’ve found your own way.”

And now Jude is smiling, and Erling is still rubbing his face even though it’s already clean, and he feels warm and fuzzy and taken care of. “Didn’t give me a chance, though, did you? Could’ve at least let me try something else first before you completely fucked me over.”

Erling looks entertained. “You didn’t want to try anything else.” Erling says, in a clear mockery of Jude’s accent, capturing the innocence, the childish reticence that only comes along with being a nearly nineteen-year-old virgin, “Erling, can I ask you something? Have you ever fucked another boy before? Would you be really grossed out if I—”

“Oh my God, stop,” Jude groans, covering Erling’s mouth, but they’re both laughing. “Stop it. Whatever. Stop distracting me from the fact that my throat’s on fire. You almost made me throw up.”

“You’re being such a baby,” Erling says, fondly. “Fine, I am sorry. I will make you some tea. I’ll use honey and lemon. Do you want me to put it in a bottle for you? Feed it to you?”

“That might actually be nice, yeah.” And for a moment, their eyes catch, and they linger, and Jude feels his heart tug.

“I will make you tea after I fuck you,” Erling says. “I promise.”

He folds the towel and puts it on the nightstand, leaving Jude there, sitting on the bed, kicking his feet, clearing his throat. When Erling returns, he pushes Jude backward by his shoulder, making him exhale roughly at the force as his back hits the sheets.

As Erling crawls over him, Jude swallows thickly.

Erling’s knees dip into the mattress one by one, his body draped over him like a chandelier as he settles, staring down at him. His fingers find the hem of Jude’s hoodie, his hand warm when it slips over the flesh of his stomach, thrumming over the ridges of his abdomen, index teasing his navel.

“So many clothes,” Erling shakes his head. “I must say I don’t like it.”

Jude finds himself fidgeting, feeling the sheets beneath him for something to do with his hands. “You used to like it. You used to like to undress me.”

“You used to like it too.”

“I still do.”

Erling smiles, the right side of his mouth ticking upward. “Winning makes your tongue loose. This is the most you’ve spoken to me in years. What else do you like?”

It’s just the once.

Just the once, Jude tells himself.

“This. You on top of me. And, like, when you talk to me while I’ve got you in me. I’ve missed it.”

“Me too.” Erling’s fingers hook in his shorts. “Up.”

Jude raises his hips, and Erling pulls them down, revealing the cut of his V line, the slight protrusion of his hipbones under his briefs, the curve of his thighs, and too, the fat bulge of his arousal. Jude raises his legs up so he can take them off, Erling helping him one leg at a time. He throws them somewhere left, running his large hands over Jude’s feet, massaging the pads of his fingers into the soles, bringing one to his mouth, placing a kiss to it. His hands slide up Jude’s legs until he’s massaging his thighs, digging his fingers into the thickness of them, fingertips slipping under his briefs.

The familiar touch fills Jude’s mouth with saliva.

He’s missed Erling so much. He’s trembling under his hands and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“You’re so hard you can cut glass. Poor thing. Would you like to come before I fuck you?”

Jude blushes. “I don’t know.”

“From what I remember you like to come while you're getting fucked. But I don’t know anymore. You could be different. Is your body different, Jude?” Erling runs his hands over the sides of Jude’s torso, fingers easing over his ribs, making his back arch. “It’s stronger, that is for sure. I remember once it felt like I could put you in my pocket.”

Jude asks, before he can stop himself, “You don’t like it now?”

Erling tuts. “Don’t put words in my mouth unless they are good ones.”

Erling’s eyes tear away from his thighs, and they lock eyes, Erling reaching up to tip his jaw, baring his neck to him so he can gaze at the fading hickey with pride.

Jude bites the inside of his cheek.

It’d been a bitch to cover up and he spent most of his time on the pitch hoping that he wouldn’t sweat the concealer off.

He says, “You’re not giving me another one.”

“Eh. We’ll see about that.”

“I mean it, I can’t, I barely was able to cover this one.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to give me one. A farewell for me. Or perhaps, I’ll just have to find better places to put them. What do you think?” Erling pulls at the band of his briefs, letting it snap against his skin before he cups his dick, making Jude make a sound too close to a whimper. “What now? Should I repay the favor?”

“We don’t have time for that,” Jude says.

“We have all of the time, you’re just impatient. Are you telling me you don’t want me to suck you off?” Erling looks playfully perplexed and Jude already knows what he’s going to say. “Or do you want something else?”

Jude rebuts weakly, “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

“The difference between me and you is that I don’t really give a fuck,” Erling’s hand grips his hip, turning him onto his front with slight force. “If I want to eat you out, I’m eating it.” Erling grips the waistband in both hands, and Jude knows he’s going to tear the fabric down the middle before he does it. The rip is stark in the air, and Jude winces. “I don’t mind telling you that.”

“Was that necessary? Honestly, do you have to behave like a beast?”

Erling’s answer is the red-hot sting of his palm on Jude’s ass. Jude moans in shock before he can stifle it. Erling forces him upward by his hips, then places one hand on his upper back, pushing him chest first into the bed—perfectly arched, vulnerable.

Jude hasn’t been like this in ages.

He’s fucking missed it.

He clutches at the sheets.

“Mm,” Erling hums, spreading him apart properly, finding a jewel plug nestled there, shoved inside of Jude. A familiar red ruby made extra shiny from all of the lube Jude used. He’s so wet and slippery inside, he can feel it. Jude doesn’t look back at him, and part of him hopes that he won’t mention it, but he already knows that it’s impossible for him not to. Erling taps it with his knuckle. “I haven’t seen this in a long time. I’m surprised that you still have it. All for me?”

“Who else?”

Erling spanks him again. “Wrong answer.”

“Yes, it’s for you.”

“What birthday was that again? Twenty-second?” He asks, and he’s playing dumb.

Jude says with gritted teeth, “Twenty-first, and you fucking know it.”

Erling runs his palms down Jude’s arched back, thumbs sliding into the deep line that cracks it in two, settling at his waist with a firm grip before his hands come back up to rest on his hips. “Right. It’s still my favorite present. So thoughtful, my Jude.”

“Fuck off.”

“But I do wonder,” Erling begins, pulling the torn underwear down until it’s at the widest part of Jude’s thighs. “What reason would you have to bring this here with you if you had no intention of doing this?”

“You’re talking too much.”

“What was all of that noise for last time if you packed this? And what would you have done if I didn’t allow you to seduce me?”

And at that, Jude feels something hot in his center, something indignant. “You couldn’t resist me if you tried.”

“There he is,” Erling taps his fingers on the plug again, harsher this time, making Jude jerk a bit on the bed. “That’s the Jude I know. Fucking brat.”

“I’m not,” Jude responds. “I’m just…fucking cranky because you made me wait and you’re talking so much. I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me,” Erling replies. “Take that back.”

“I kind of do, though. You tried to leave me here as well.”

“I was teaching you to use your words to ask for what you want.”

“You were being mean.”

“Being mean to you is fun,” Erling admits. “What a sight. Jude Bellingham.” He curls his fingers around the jewel, tugging the plug playfully until he finally gently pulls it out of Jude’s rim, his hole providing some resistance, holding onto it as he does so. “You’ve kept it from me for what? Two years?”

“I don’t know,” Jude says, gruffly, his cheek pressed into the bed. “When did you tell me she was pregnant?”

Erling only sighs. “I never would’ve told you if I knew you were going to break up with me.”

“Yeah, because you’re fucking greedy and you want it all.”

Erling laughs. “Why not? Looks like I can have it.”

And it’s so grating, so obnoxious, mainly because he’s right, Jude is making him right, and he doesn’t like it at all.

He wishes that he wasn’t making him right.

He wishes that he could stop.

“Erling, God, just shut—just fucking shut up, oh my God, can you just stop, you’re really going to make me fucking, like, cry or something, just—like, I’m going to throw you out, truly—”

Jude feels lips on him, warm on his skin, the fat curve of his ass, the right side, a slow, soft kiss, an apology. Still, he feels when Erling smiles against him because he’s sadistic. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. No more teasing. I promise.”

Erling trails kisses over him, until he’s dragging his wet, heavy tongue over Jude’s hole, making Jude’s body quake in his hands, drawing out a high-pitched sound from his already exhausted throat.

And Jude is kind of too far gone to mind his volume.

His dick is dripping—it’s wet for Erling when he reaches for it, stroking Jude slowly as he eats him out, dragging his tongue over and into him rhythmically, Jude rocking back into the sensation, his back curved so viciously it hurts. He carries Jude to the edge so quickly that it’s embarrassing, really. He kisses Jude’s perineum and his balls, before Jude says, “I’m going to—”

“Go ahead.”

Jude buries his head into the bed as his orgasm racks through his body, and Erling strokes him through it, his other hand squeezing Jude’s ass, fingers sliding over his hole. He circles it with his index and his middle, before he dips them inside, the stretch not even registering to Jude. He clamps around the fingers as he spills onto the bed, and Erling pushes them deeper, crooking at just the right moment, brushing his prostate.

“Oh, shit, shit—”

“I guess your body hasn’t changed after all.”

His fingers fall in and out until he adds a third, stretching him as much as he can, just for good measure, and also for his own pleasure.

Erling pulls away and Jude whines, causing him to shush him. “I have to take off my clothes.”

Jude still groans, feeling exhausted, feeling empty, limp, yet still so horny. He adjusts himself with trembling legs to look back at Erling, to watch him undress. Pulling his shirt off to expose the chiseled, slender muscle of his torso. Shedding his pants and his underwear. Taking off his socks.

He’s left only in his jewelry, a singular thick white gold watch. His dick is hard and heavy between his legs, like he never orgasmed at all. It’s so big, Jude doesn’t know how he fit it all in his mouth, but he did, he knows he did because it hurts so much to swallow. Jude’s eyes are hooded. He’s pushing back onto nothing, his hips swaying back and forth.

He doesn’t even know he’s talking until he feels drool dripping out of his mouth, onto the sheets. “…fuck me, please, please.”

Erling half-smiles, hooking one hand around Jude’s ankle and pulling, flipping him back onto his back. He drags the ripped underwear off his legs, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He looks at Jude’s hoodie. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I can take it off,” Jude says, already pulling it off and baring his chest. The second it’s off, Erling kisses him again, and Jude reciprocates, hungry for it. “Now, please.”

“So rushy, rushy,” Erling murmurs, settling on top of him, Jude opening his legs further to let him do so, slotting their bodies together, hooking his right leg onto his wide back.

“Please.”

“You are right,” Erling’s forehead touches his as he lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pushing into him, breaching his rim, stretching him with a slight burn. Jude grips his back. “I can’t resist you.” Erling’s face gets lost in his neck, inhaling him, the sultry scent of his cologne. “Like fucking drugs.”

He slides inside, and Jude squeezes him involuntarily, overly excited, and also so under-fucked that he almost feels virginal again. Erling is only slightly bigger than Jude’s largest dildo, and sometimes even he can’t fuck himself with it. There’s something about Erling that helps him take something so big, something that feels like it ought to rip him in half.

The first time he felt like he was going to die.

The second time he felt like he maybe never wanted to try again.

The third time his brain melted out of his ears.

And now is truly no different. It hurts, but it’s a good sort of hurt, the kind that leaves him feeling like he’s on fire, like he’s in an ice bath, like he’s floating. He’s so full, and Erling keeps pushing deeper, and deeper, then sliding back out, teasing him, preparing him for the hilt.

It feels so good that Jude is sure he’s too loud.

He’s sure that he’s saying Erling’s name at the top of his lungs and anyone else on the England floor can hear them, and he’s going to be so fucked.

Someone’s going to fucking hear him.

Erling shoves his fingers in his mouth.

“Jude,” is all he says. “Quiet.” But he can’t, and Erling knows he can’t. He’s always been like this. Erling used to call him his screamer. Erling’s fingers slide out of his mouth. “Try. For me. You’re going to wake the whole hotel up otherwise.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do. You’re just cock drunk. Be quiet.”

And so, he builds a smooth rhythm, fucking himself into Jude with a silent sort of vigor that’s borderline romantic, sensual, touching every inch of Jude’s walls, his balls slapping on the softness of his ass.

He clutches Jude’s hips as he drives into him, groaning into his throat, kissing over his flesh, biting lightly over his hickey, teasingly. He could put another one if he really wanted to now, Jude wouldn’t stop him.

In fact, Jude kind of wants that.

Erling slurs, “Jude.”

And Jude wants it so bad.

It always happens like this.

Jude loses his fucking brain. He wants things that are so nasty, so horrible.

And he says things like, “Erling.”

“Yes, Jude?”

“Do I feel good inside?”

“Always. You’re driving me insane. I probably won’t last. I already want to come again for you.”

Jude open mouth kisses his shoulder. “I wish you could take me like this all time. On the pitch. I was thinking of it on the pitch. Ah, you know what I wanted?”

“What did you want?”

“Wanted you to fuck me like this in front of everybody. I wanted you to—I wanted everybody to see it. I wish everybody could know, I wish you wanted me so bad that you’d fuck me like that—and it’s just you. Promise. Like I-I said I haven’t let anybody else. I tried but it wasn’t the same. Wasn’t lying. It’s always just been you.”

And Erling’s hands are holding him so tightly and he’s fucking him faster, and he’s saying something to him. He’s saying something to Jude, but Jude doesn’t know what he’s saying.

He’s falling away from his English.

“It’s always just going to be you, probably. ‘S so pathetic, I know—wait, what—" here, Erling pushes his knees back so that Jude’s legs are hooked over his shoulders, deepening the angle. “Oh. Fuck. I love it. I love it. Wait. I don’t know. I can’t understand. What are you saying?”

“Prinsesse,” Erling purrs thickly into his ear as he drives into him, and Jude’s knees tighten on his shoulder involuntarily, his spine shuddering, his toes curling over in his socks.

It’s the best part for him, this.

This is what Jude likes.

When Erling’s English starts to slip away from him, when his voice falls into a deep, rumbling octave that sounds like it’s crafted entirely for Jude and Jude only. When Jude can barely even understand what he’s saying, he can only pick out bits and pieces, stringing meaning together through context clues and English words that make it out, slaughtered still by his rough Norwegian tongue.

Jude can only understand, yes, yes, fuck, yes.

Erling pulls back, peeling himself out of his neck, a sheen of sweat over his skin, and Jude’s breath catches in his throat. Jude reaches up, pulling his hair tie off, Erling’s hair tumbling out, falling over Jude like drawn curtains.

And finally, in English, “Wife.”

Jude blushes so harshly that his face pinkens.

“Say it to me,” Erling says to him, dipping to bite at the curve of his pecs, to bite along his collarbone. “What are you? Say it to me.”

Jude says, hoarsely, “I’m yours.”

“My what? Tell me.” He grips Jude’s jaw, his thrusts driving him further up the bed, Jude’s head hitting the headboard. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

Jude covers his face with one hand. “I’m your wife.”

“Don’t hide now. I can’t hear you.”

“I’m your wife,” Jude repeats.

“Are you sure? You seem to have forgotten.”

“I’m sure.”

“My pretty little wife,” Erling says. “I love it. It is my favorite thing in the world. I love fucking you.” His hand slips to Jude’s throat, his mouth at Jude’s temple. “I love fucking my wife’s tight—”

Jude whines. “Erling, don’t.”

“—little cunt.”

Jude moans. His back arches off the bed. “Do you really?”

He’s breathing so heavy. “I love your fucking pussy.”

“Fuck.” Jude’s blunt nails drag down his back, leaving pink marks in their wake.

Erling pushes off him, standing on his knees, his stomach flexing as he thrusts, holding onto Jude’s thighs, Jude’s half hard dick flopping uselessly as he does so.

His form is dark, vignetted by the glow of the lamp. His form looks so strong. He looks larger than life.

Jude loves him so much.

He feels like he might cry.

This is bad. This is so bad.

“You’re beautiful,” Erling says, his mouth hanging open. “You’re the most beautiful boy in the world and you’re mine. Are you going to let anyone else touch you?”

“No,” Jude breathes.

Erling laughs, but it’s cut off by a deep moan. “Are you going to answer the fucking phone now when I call you, Jude?”

Jude’s face is now a deep, rosy pink. He looks up at Erling with big eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you going to break up with me again?”

“N-no.”

“What?”

“No. I said no. I won’t.”

Erling pulls out and Jude begins to fuss until he realizes that he’s just adjusting him, turning him over back on all fours.

“I hate this,” Jude mutters. “You know I hate this position, don’t, I want to see you—ah.”

“Shut up.” Erling pushes back into him, and Jude forgets his complaint. Erling fucks him until Jude collapses, unable to hold himself up, flat on the bed, limp and pliable. Erling leans over him, and he’s talking and Jude has no idea what he’s saying.

His hand wraps around Jude’s throat.

His voice is so deep, and he’s switching from Norwegian to English, to Norwegian to English, and the sound of flesh on flesh is so loud, so persistent, and it hurts, Jude’s entire body is going to feel like a bruise in the morning, he’s sure of it.

“My little whore,” Erling’s mouth is wet at his ear. “Made to take my dick. I’m going to send that video to your entire team.”

Jude can’t help it; he clenches around him, and his dick jerks with a dry orgasm, Erling’s palm coming down on his ass so fast it stings.

“I’m going to tell them how much you like this. I’m going to tell them how you don’t even fuck your own girlfriend because you’re too busy fantasizing about my dick.” Erling says, “I’m going to fill you up with my children. Do you want it? Say you want it.”

“I want it,” his moan is high and girlish.

Erling’s hips come to a standstill when he pushes himself in all the way, a guttural groan falling out of his mouth, his thumbs dipping into Jude’s back dimples. He falls on top of him, his body becoming dead weight, and suddenly Jude feels overheated, but he can’t move. They’re both breathing so desperately, like there isn’t enough air to breathe, sucking in each other’s oxygen.

Erling’s teeth dig into the junction of Jude’s shoulder and neck, and Jude whimpers. His hips lazily thrust, and Jude hisses, his hole tired and sore.

His voice is rusty and sluggish. “No. No more.”

“I want more. I’m getting hard again.”

“Break, please. Just a little break.”

Erling relents. “Okay.”

“You’re crushing me, Erling, please,” Jude tries to shift, but he’s stuck under Erling’s weight.

“I want to fall asleep just like this.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You cry for everything, Jude,” Erling replies with a yawn. “So prissy.” He lightly squeezes his waist before he pulls out, falling onto his back beside Jude. Jude cries out in discomfort when he tries to adjust himself, and Erling helps him, guiding him to lay on his chest. He kisses his forehead, running his thumb over the wrinkles there. “What do you want? How long do you want to break for?”

“Just a bit.” Jude reluctantly puts his head on Erling’s chest, sighing, trying not to think about anything, but failing.

He can’t help but to think about everything, about what he’s done, about what it means.

He knows logically that in a few weeks he’ll be back to Real Madrid and Erling will be back to Manchester City, and that will be it, and Jude will have to decide if that’s enough for him.

He’ll have to decide if he’s okay with coming second.

Erling sucks in a deep breath, his heartbeat loud in Jude’s ears. “You’re thinking so loud I can hear it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Erling says, his arm curled around Jude’s shoulders. “Fuck, I wish I had a cigar.”

They fall into silence and Jude has so many questions and he doesn’t want to ask any of them.

This was a dumb idea.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Erling speaks again, prompting Jude to look up at him. Erling almost looks taken aback by it, the vision of Jude on his chest. Erling traces a finger over his face, outlining his features. Erling says, “It really should have been you. Should have been us.”

“What do you want me to say to that?”

“Nothing. You’re right, too. I’m selfish. I want it all. I want this. You.” Erling admits. “I know what I’m asking of you. You don’t have to say yes. I know that you deserve better.”

Erling gently cups his cheek, and Jude’s eyes flutter closed.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“You don’t have to agree to anything. If you want, after this, you never have to see me again. You don’t need me.”

“I know. I just don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Do you want me to make your tea now?”

“Yes, please,” Jude says softly.

Erling leans in to kiss him, and Jude lets it happen. Kisses him back even.

He also lets Erling slip away from him, out of the bed, out of the room, until he’s laying next to a memory, a ghost.

He flops onto his back, jerking at the soreness, at the damp feeling of Erling's come starting to seep out of him, because, too, of course - and this much he realizes with a cold shock of shame - he didn't make him use a condom. It hadn't even crossed his mind. 

He feels for his phone.

Jobe’s sent him something. An Instagram reel of his two goals. He scrolls through the comments. So many people love him. His eyes are burning and he really wishes that he could call Jobe, but he really, really can't.

Jude frowns.

He hears Erling pouring water into the kettle.

He starfishes, staring at the ceiling.

He feels nauseous.

Fuck.