Work Text:
mono no aware
the gentle ache you feel when you realize a beautiful moment must come to an end
After England’s win against Norway, Jude can perfectly group his post-game emotions into percentage brackets. Exhaustion not counted, he feels ninety percent ecstatic about advancing to the semis, and ten percent hollow. Ten percent might not sound like a lot but it’s enough to make the scale wobble.
Roughly twenty-four hours have passed. He’s managed to create some distance between himself and the win now, he has debriefed and reset most of his feelings and impressions together with their mental trainer, and he has gotten both some modest celebrations and some sleep in. He’s back in his hotel room pretending like he isn’t staring listlessly at his phone, which is lying at the foot of the bed.
Jude feels a bit stupid and he’s not sure exactly why, which is undoubtedly the worst way to feel stupid.
He had the pre-game jitters, more than ever before, and seeing Erling’s broad back in the player tunnel brought on the butterflies as well. Although they might very well have been birds, for all the intense turmoil they caused him. Large fucking eagles crowding his gut. He’d opted for the banter because he didn’t really know what else to do. He kind of just gently tapped his boot against Erling’s backside to turn him around. Just to leave the responsibility on him, so he didn’t have to say anything, or greet him first, because he knew Erling would most likely put his arms around him and pull him into a hug.
And that’s what he did. He did it immediately. He turned with a frown, wondering who was nudging him, but then he saw who it was and his entire face lit up so brightly it made Jude’s chest ache. He doesn’t even remember what they said to each other. He just remembers Erling’s warmth, how he’d grabbed his outstretched hand first but then tugged him close against his chest, how tight the hug was. Erling’s large hands were pressed against his back, fingers digging into his jersey, and the hug lasted a few seconds longer than it usually would have. Erling never gives halfhearted hugs but this time he hugged Jude so hard he felt light when he released him, like he was about to float away.
Is this the reason he feels stupid now? That he seemingly doesn’t know how to initiate contact anymore? That he kept up the banter at the start of the game because that was easier? Because that was the only way he could touch and be close and draw a smile? Did he just think he was being charming and nonchalant while actually failing at the attempt?
Jude shrinks inside his hoodie, pokes at his phone with his toe. The screen lights up from the nudge but there are no new notifications on it. His emotional brackets might be down to eighty-twenty now. Eighty percent ecstatic, twenty percent hollow.
There are a lot of post-game photos floating around. He’s seen all of them, he thinks. He’s been sharing a few on Instagram for his victory post, as per tradition. Didn’t even realize until much later that the photo he included of him hugging Erling (one of the many photos of them hugging that night) was the only photo featuring a player from team Norway. There’s also one photo from the end of extra time, where Erling is being subbed off. The Norway striker walks up to him, briefly cradles Jude’s head against the crook of his neck, and tells him he did a good job. It was over in seconds, but Jude remembers how familiar he smelled, of sweat and exhaustion and safety. He had instinctively closed his eyes and leaned into him, which is the specific moment the photo captured.
Maybe that’s why he feels stupid, actually. He can convince his brain to forget but he can’t fully override muscle memory. He scored both goals for England last night. There were moments of celebration where it would have felt natural to jump into Erling’s arms or onto his back, to expect him to be there, cheering him on. Sometimes he expects someone else to be at the end of his assists or passes. His celebrations have become different and even though the reminder isn’t necessarily conscious, he still has to tell his body what to do. Put Erling anywhere on the pitch and Jude will go there. He definitely feels stupid for it. This isn’t Dortmund anymore. Dortmund was a long time ago. It’s Real Madrid now. And it’s England. It shouldn’t require a reminder but it does.
He’s pretty sure he’s at seventy-thirty. It’s like watching a battery drain in real time.
Jude tries to think back on what he had said to the press, post-game. He never remembers this. He remembers praising Erling and the Norwegian team, and he meant every word. Apparently he’s making headlines back home, something he said in response to a critical comment from Thomas about their team performance, but right now he can’t recall the exact words he used without checking, and he never checks the headlines after a match. There’s no reason to start now. Maybe that’s the actual reason why he feels stupid. His own words are nothing but a foggy blur in his memory. Meanwhile, he could probably quote Erling down to the ‘uh’s and the ‘um’s. Erling praised him, specifically, so much during his interviews and press conferences that Jude almost feels pathetic soaking in it. Praise from Erling always hits different, but there’s an awkward wrongness when the one who’s giving it to you, the one you admire the most, is clearly devastated. The hollowness within Jude continues to grow bigger and bigger. He might as well call it fifty-fifty now.
He sits up, grabs his phone, opens the chat. His conversation with Erling has been untouched since the Round of 16. His ‘i still miss u… tho ;)’ marks the end of it, almost a week ago. It’s like living in two separate worlds where it’s been a long, long time since he saw Erling, despite them playing against each other only a day ago. He scrolls, lingers a bit at the long run-on sentence.
this feels like the only time in a while that ill maybe get to hold u again
Jude is still stuck here. Erling, on the other hand, grabbed the opportunity. He anticipated it and he was right. He made sure it wasn’t wasted. Why didn’t Jude do the same? Despite knowing very well how tournaments like the World Cup works, was he not fully aware of the fact that one of them would be eliminated? Did he expect them both to go through to the next round by some absurd miracle? No, of course he didn’t. So why didn’t he do more? Looking back on yesterday’s match it feels like he didn’t respond much to Erling at all, or he just didn’t go about it right. He couldn't commit. Maybe this truly is the stupidity in question.
He checks social media. No posts from Erling since the announcement of the Norway-England match. He’s an athlete; athletes generally hate to lose. Jude is painfully aware of how it feels. Knowing Erling, he’s probably shouldering some of the blame as well. The pressure on him has been immense, not only during the World Cup but also in the months leading up to it, maybe ever since they failed to qualify four years earlier. It’s okay to acknowledge the pressure and admit its burden. He just hopes Erling knows the entire world loves him.
He almost writes it in the chat. Then he realizes how corny it sounds and deletes it with a shake of his head. He could start with an apology but he doesn’t know exactly what he’s apologizing for, and to inquire how he’s doing seems like such a terribly condescending and brainless thing to ask at the moment. Before Jude can even decide on an opening, the phone buzzes in his hand. He startles, fumbles it, and realizes that out of nowhere, Erling has actually beat him to it. It’s an uncharacteristically long first text for Erling to send and it starts with ‘just so u know’, which sounds vaguely ominous and lowkey threatening on its own. He’s glad he’s already in the chat and can see the whole message at once.
Just so u know the absolute best thing abt yesterday was to play with u again, even if it was against u. Another text ticks in before Jude has even finished reading the first one. idk if i told u that. mightve told the press actually. dont remember. This is followed by three crying-laughing emojis.
Before he can change his mind, Jude taps the phone icon next to Erling’s name. And before he can chicken out and hang up, Erling answers almost immediately.
“Jude?”
He sounds confused in an almost hopeful way. His accent comes through even stronger and gives his name a lift at the end, as though it’s part of a song.
“…Hi,” Jude says awkwardly.
“Hang on.” There’s a faint clatter, followed by a rustle, and the chattering voices in the background fade into silence. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I mean… Yeah. Just… couldn’t be bothered to type.”
“I get that.” Jude can hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s a long reply, then?”
“Not really. Just wanted to say that I didn’t know. Or, I don’t remember you saying that. About playing with me.”
“So I did tell the press?” Erling sighs heavily. “Fuck’s sake. I have to say, I was knackered by then. Felt like I was repeating myself.”
Jude snorts a laugh, despite himself. “No, you didn’t tell the press, mate. If you did then I didn’t catch it.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “You’ve watched my interviews?”
“Of course. They’re... of interest.” He tries to sound casual about it but he can feel himself blush. Thankfully they’re not FaceTiming. Jude decides to change the topic. “Um, when are you going back to Norway?”
“Tomorrow,” Erling says. “I’m officially on holiday so we’re going out tonight, don’t know where. Our flight’s in the morning. We’ve been invited to the Royal Palace so we have to make it back in time for that.”
Jude tries to ignore the way his stomach drops. “Oh, that’s cool,” he says, hoping the levity he forces into his voice comes off as believable.
“Yeah.” Erling pauses again, but not long enough for Jude to fill the silence. “Now England has to win it all, you know. You’re capable. You’re an amazing football player, Jude.” Another pause, but this one is suspicious somehow. “For a midfielder.”
“Fuck off,” Jude laughs. “Gassing me up only to hate on me for no reason.”
Erling joins in on the laughter, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, and Jude has missed that cheeky laughter more than anything, especially now, post-defeat. Somehow it hurts more this way. He reckons his percentage brackets by now have flipped to forty-sixty. That growing ten percent has really been carving out a bigger and bigger cavity in his chest.
“I didn’t forget,” Erling says once the laughter has died down.
“What?”
“That the absolute best assists came from you.”
He says it with such warmth, sincerity and fondness in his voice that Jude feels like crying for a second. It hits him harder than if Erling had straight-up said ‘I miss you’, like he did in those texts. This is a million times worse.
“Well, I… I pay attention to you,” he says quietly, just barely trusting his voice. “Always have.”
This time the silence on the other end stretches on for longer, so long that Jude suddenly fears he’s said too much and that he’s fucked up completely. His chest drains of whatever was left in it and is replaced by dread. Some things simply shouldn’t be discussed over the phone. Talk about feeling stupid. He is one hundred percent an idiot.
“Jude,” Erling finally says, and there’s something slightly business-like and formal about the way he says it. “When you get back to Madrid, let me know. Okay?”
Jude’s heart stutters, stumbles at the intersection of dread and confusion. “O–okay?”
“And I’ll be there. We’ll have to make time for us.” He pauses briefly again and Jude can hardly hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat. “Until you join City, that is.”
The laugh that tears from his throat almost comes out sounding like a sob. “And what if I want you to join Madrid? Then what?”
“Then we make double time.”
“Double time?”
He can hear the shrug in Erling’s reply. “Why not?”
By the time they hang up, Jude feels so light he could be pure air. He leans back against the pillows with an exhale and throws an arm over his eyes. He doesn’t even know what to think, other than to focus on what’s to come. The next match, the next step, the next journey. Even if all those things are fleeting, there’s always something coming. If Erling is the type to live in the moment, then Jude is going to fill the future space of what comes after. He’ll be there, too.
His emotional percentages are all over the place. But maybe, for now, he’s one hundred percent hopeful.