blogdaspocketes

A letter from Iroh lies abandoned on your nightstand. It arrived today. It was delivered by a falcon adorned with royal insignia. You have no idea how Iroh's falcons managed to track you down, and the soldiers Zuko sent you after have only run into you maybe three times in six years. You find it quite amusing.

Although perhaps you've become too practised at avoiding them.

Or maybe Zuko had finally given in. Part of you would have been relieved, but there was still this stubborn other one that wouldn't let you just move on from him as you should. And that little, treacherous piece of you only grew more hopeful with each letter Zuko's uncle wrote.

You wonder if Zuko wrote to you too. If he spent steady, sleepless midnights lying in his royal four-poster bed, thinking of you, cursing you on scraps of paper that will never reach you. You swallow the lump in your throat at the thought and ignore the sting in your eyes as you open Iroh's letter.

Dear Y/N, Six years without a word is a bit too dramatic, even for an old man like me, let alone Zuko. But I must admit he's handling it better than I ever could. I hope you're safe. You could at least write this down since we both know you're reading these letters. (My wise birds would sooner peck at anyone else who tried to take them away. And considering how perfectly they're returned to me, I'm convinced they're in your hands.) So, since my letters aren't working on you, I have to bring out the big guns. Happy reading, Iroh

You frown, sitting cross-legged on the bed and leaning against the headboard, rummaging through the envelope. Three sheets of paper fall out. You open the one that's more chipped and crumbled than the others.

You freeze, recognising Zuko's handwriting. You drop the paper onto the bed as if it were made of living fire and practically jump out of it, your bare feet hitting the squeaky wooden motel floor.

The old bastard sent you some of Zuko's letters that might have been for you.

They really shouldn't have had THAT much of an effect on you. You blame your reaction mainly on the fact that for six years you'd been so fervently avoiding any contact with him that now even something like the stupid, probably old letters Iroh easily took from whatever hideout Zuko kept them in made your heart race, your breath hitch, and you could hear the rush of your own blood.

Only when you feel the cold on your feet do you realise that your panic has gotten the better of you and has begun to freeze the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," you curse, trying to clear your mind and focus on melting the ice from the frosted floor.

The only thing missing from your misfortunes for today would be someone suddenly entering your room and discovering that you're not a non-bender examining the condition of the local lakes.

You don't even want to guess how quickly you'd find yourself in the nearest military base, waiting for transport to the palace. And straight to him. Just because you saw the letters he wrote.

"Is everything alright there, honey?" You're pulled out of your dark thoughts by a knock and voices coming from behind the door. "I heard some cracking."

After making sure there is no more ice in the room, you put on your robe and open the door slightly.

"It's okay, Mrs Birohna. I... I just thought I saw a spider and got scared. " You laugh awkwardly, hoping the old woman will buy your lie and leave you alone. So you can read the letters. Or burn them. You don't know yet which will be better for your sanity.

"I don't rent rooms with spiders…"

"Of course. I just imagined it. A strange refraction of light. Sorry for the noise."

The woman eyes you suspiciously but eventually nods, too tired to snoop further.

"If you can't sleep, make yourself some tea instead of waking up other people," she mutters angryly before you close the door behind her. A very polite woman. Now you know why the prices here were so low compared to other motels. And why you were the only one renting a room here.

You promise yourself this is the last time you'll stop here and return to bed with a small candle, which you place on the nightstand. You stare at the three new letters, trying to gather your courage. Which is idiotic, to say the least.

Because what could happen if you read them? Nothing. Just words on paper. Probably telling you how Zuko despises you and wishes he'd never met you. After all, you could stand it… right? At least that was what you deserved.

"Fuck it," you mutter, shaking your head and sitting on the bed. You were on Team Avatar when it was you against the world. Three stupid letters from your ex can't affect you like that.

With trembling hands, you reach for the first letter. Probably the oldest. The ink is already a little faded, and the paper is starting to crumble slightly at the corners, either from age or from constant rubbing—a nervous tic you'd seen Zuko exhibit several times before you left.

You hold your breath slightly when you see the date in the top corner.

A week after you left.

Y/N, Where the hell are you? I wrote to Aang, he said he hadn't received a letter from you in months. Not to mention that meeting, which clearly isn't happening. (Thanks for the extra ride, because of course I followed you like a fool the morning you left, only to be surprised that no one showed up.) Did you lie to me? Really? Is this how it's supposed to be now? One argument and you run away? This is so irresponsible and stupid, I never would have expected it from you. But maybe it's just one of your Water Tribe customs. Soak into the earth and evaporate. I won't argue with you over letters. I don't want to argue with you at all, but how the hell could you just… disappear? You're scaring me us all. Come home, Zuko

You snort, mad, as if he had no right to be so furious with your behaviour. No one has ever been able to piss you off like he does. And in a letter from six years ago. A week after you ran away... well, maybe he had a point after all.

You tossed the letters aside, your mood completely ruined. You'd expected at least one angry letter from Zuko-he wasn't exactly a calm man, after all-but it still stung.

So you decide to be absolutely childish and ignore the remaining two letters. There was no point in reading them. They were outdated; whatever Zuko had written in them, he certainly didn't think so anymore. He might not have been courting anyone yet, but he was definitely over you by now. It made sense not to dwell on the past.

However, your hand has a brain of its own and reaches for another one.

You shake your head, close your eyes, and rest your forehead against your treacherous hand, trying to talk yourself out of this idea.

And you really do put those letters aside. You're ready to throw the rest into the blazing fire in the morning. Because what would they change? Nothing. Absolutely. Six years have passed. Nothing could ever be between you again.

So you throw everything on the nightstand and stubbornly lie in bed with your back to them. And so you lie. The first hour passes. The second. Before you know it, it's 3 a.m., and you still can't sleep.

Finally, you roll over. Your gaze involuntarily drifts to the stack of papers on the nightstand beside you. And in the moonlight, Zuko's signature is visible, as if to spite you. Your heart beats slightly faster, and you're suddenly acutely aware of the water droplets beginning to form on your palms.

"Damn Iroh." You mutter, sitting down and picking up another piece of paper.

This one is different. Maybe a little... fresher than the first, but it's more wrinkled. Zuko's handwriting is uneven here, as if he wrote in a hurry. Your fingertips involuntarily trace the swirls of ink that form his name. You shake your head. Time to rip off this band-aid and read how he became hateful to you.

Y/N, This has really gone too far. You don't answer my letters, some of them just bounce back. Do you know how bloody scared I am for you? Six months of silence is probably punishment enough for whatever I've done. And help me, souls of all the Fire Lords, I don't even know what for you can be so angry with me. Where the fuck does it end? Do I really have to search the world for you like I did for Aang? If I go on an expedition looking for you, will you finally come home? Will you at least send me a fucking piece of paper telling me you're okay? Because I can do it. You know it perfectly well. You know me perfectly well. Just as I know you. So, don't make me chase you around the world, because sooner or later I'll find you and drag you back home. With or without your consent. And maybe I'm turning into my damn father, but what else am I supposed to do when the love of my life suddenly left without a word? No one has heard from you, no one. Not Katara, not Sokka, not Aang, not Toph, although she's a great liar and even if she knew anything, she wouldn't tell me. Let's end this cat-and-mouse game. For our mutual peace of mind. Mostly mine. Write and tell me where to come pick you up, Zuko

You look at the date again. Ironically, you were the closest you'd ever dared to venture to his palace. As if you'd somehow sensed it. You sigh, rereading his words. You'd break. You know you would. If that letter had fallen into your hands, you'd have returned to him. To that palace. You don't even know if it was the right thing to do. You're no longer sure of anything. And it's all thanks to Iroh.

You sigh as you begin another letter, convinced that nothing he writes could destroy you more than your own thoughts about yourself. And oh, how wrong you are.

Y/N, Do you know it's been four years already? It's pathetic that I know the more exact date with hours, minutes and probably seconds, right? Four years without seeing your smile, your eyes. Four years without hearing your voice. Four years living with only the memories of your scent, the taste of your lips, and the feel of your skin under my fingertips. Four years of dreams, haunted by visions of our future that we could have had, the past, and terrible visions that I am afraid to say out loud for fear of tempting fate by making them come true. Four years and I still can't find you or forget you. Sometimes I think I see you. In the palace, in the market, at those rare Gaang gatherings. (You worry us all, by the way.) But then those people who look so much like you turn, showing me their empty faces that couldn't even be compared to yours, and my heart returns to that strange state. Not quite alive, not quite dead. As if it still hoped you'd come back and we'd fix everything. I miss you so much it's pathetic. Every night, full of pride and honour, I sit at my desk and start writing you the desperate letters of a longing, abandoned lover. But I can't stop. Even if I wanted to. Because none of this matters when you're not here. It's disgusting, the power you have over me, and you don't even know it, you don't want to know it, because you run from me as if I could ever hurt you, and yet you're the one who ripped my heart out and took it with you, never even looking back. And the worst thing is that I don't even know why. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I've spent, and still do, wondering what I did to make you leave without a word. First, I thought someone had kidnapped you, that something had happened to you. I sent my soldiers out like a madmaniac searching for you. And do you know how my heart shattered when one of them told me they'd found you, but you were running from them? As if my father had sent his men after you? Then, I thought that maybe you'd found someone else, and Y/N, honey, the thought alone makes me want to set this whole palace on fire. I wanted to burn everything that reminded me of you, but still, after all these years, your room stands untouched, and I'm stuck with these damn little things of yours, celebrating them like some kind of relic, because what else do I have left of you? You don't even know (or maybe you know this feeling better than me) how hard it is when suddenly all you have left of your loved one who was with you every day are just some miserable little things that have already lost the scent of them? It's like you're dead. But you're not. And that's the only thing that comforts me and keeps me truly sane, with any shred of sanity that allows me to function normally and move on with my duties. And maybe that was the reason you left? My anger and control issues, but Iroh reminded me that I've changed, that I'm not like that anymore. And perhaps the greatest proof of his words is that even if I didn't want to, I still love you as much as the day you left. Maybe even more. And you don't know how much I wanted to hate you, to move on, but how could I hate someone who first gave me a chance? Who saw in me something more than an angry prince chasing a false sense of honour and pride. But I don't have any of them anymore. No honour, no pride. Nothing. The only thing left for me on this great golden throne, surrounded by people who treat me with respect and sometimes those who are our friends, is helplessness. Because that's exactly what I am. Helpless. Without you. My greatest love and loss of my life. So please come back. I'm begging you. I'll come to you on my knees and crawl like a worm if you want. Just come back and argue with me, yell at me, or stay silent from a distance where I can at least look at you. Just come home. So I can love you. Make me stop screaming your name on these rainy nights like some lost, stupid blind man, hoping to find his way back home. Yours. Even if you never read this, Zuko

You don't even pretend not to care anymore. Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you let out a single, pathetic, shuddering breath. Because you were truly convinced he couldn't love you anymore. Maybe he didn't? After all, it was a letter from two years ago... or at least that's how you try to soothe your tormenting conscience and heart.

Because maybe if he was as miserable without you as you were without him, on those nights when he was all you could think about... then maybe you made the wrong decision after all? Maybe six years of looking over your shoulder, travelling from country to country, running from your past and loved ones, were... senseless?

You flinch when you suddenly hear the cry of a falcon.

You bite your lip until it bleeds. You hiss, pressing your hand to your lips. You manipulate the red liquid, wrapping it around your fingertips and stopping the slight bleeding.

Falcon squeals once again.

"Stupid bird." You whisper, listening and wondering if the old housekeeper will suddenly burst into your room.

The falcon flies up to you and lands on your lap, pecking you punishingly on the thigh - not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a nice bruise.

"Ouch! Okay, okay. You don't have to torment me like that," you tell him, and you arch out of bed, looking into your duffel bag for some dried meat to give him and something to write with.

You weren't going to change your mind. You couldn't come back.

You're absolutely convinced of it. But Iroh seeps into your head through Zuko's letters, enough that with a trembling hand you reach for a scrap of parchment and a quill. You were about to do what Iroh asked of you. A small olive branch for all these years.

I'm safe and sound. I also hope your next tea is cold, overly sweet, and preferably tastes like that particularly disgusting dried herb from Ba Sing Se. Sincerely, You know who

What you didn't know was that this very short letter would be the turning point in your escape from the past.

"You could at least knock," Zuko mutters, looking over the parchment—a plan of new laws he wanted to introduce, which his advisors might not necessarily like.

“To my own nephew’s chambers?” Iroh teases him, entering with a tray of tea. "You didn't sleep, as usual?"

Zuko sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hand, and glances at the time candle on his desk. It was almost 5 a.m.

"A good ruler doesn't sleep," he replies, reaching for the teapot to pour them tea. His gaze lingers on the envelope on the tray. The envelope with his uncle's name written in your handwriting. "Shit," he mutters, pouring the tea and scalding himself with it.

He sets the teapot down on the table with a thud. Iroh gives him a disapproving look, wiping up the mess Zuko has made and watching him closely as he picks up the unsealed envelope.

"What is it?" He swallows hard, trying to control his emotions. The candle flame flickers gently from side to side, sensing his turbulent emotions and yielding to the bending he unconsciously does.

"Something I thought you'd want to read."Iroh shrugs and takes his mug, sipping his jasmine tea. "My falcon brought this an hour ago. The ink is fresh. It gives us... a narrower field of potential searches."

"I won't pursue her against her will," he mutters, tossing the envelope onto the table. He crosses his arms, making sure his willpower doesn't break, and he reaches for the letter like a pathetic desperado. "It's been six years."

"It's true. Just like you can't sleep at night, refuse to even talk to potential suitors, and spill your tea when you see an envelope with her handwriting."

Zuko blushes slightly with embarrassment. He should finally learn that lying to Iroh isn't worth it. Or he should do much better if he has already tried.

"I'm… simply tired of being Fire Lord. Stress, lack of sleep, and all that." He lists, avoiding looking at both his uncle's eyes and the letter from you which was still lying on the table.

He grabs the cup to avoid nervously fidgeting with his fingers or accidentally setting anything on fire. Six years without a word, and suddenly, a letter from you to his uncle lay before him.

"Mhm... well, then it's a good thing you're going on vacation with Aang and the others to Ember Island soon, right?" Iroh replies, not at all convinced by the overly casual attitude Zuko was trying to maintain.

Zuko just nods. His bun tilts slightly, and the metal flame ornament almost falls into his tea cup. Iroh tries very hard not to laugh at his nephew's nervousness.

"Get some sleep," Iroh says, standing up. "I'll make sure they write to Aang with a reminder. The boy may be the Avatar and protector of the world, but he can also be... forgetful."

"And the letter?" Zuko asks, turning towards the door - moving for the first time since he saw your handwriting.

"I've already read it." Iroh tosses casually over his shoulder, not even pausing, and leaves his chambers.

Zuko is left alone. With your letter on the table.

He loosens the collar of his robes, suddenly feeling stifled in his chambers. He glances at the map of his country, analysing every village within an hour of the falcon's flight...

He shakes his head. He had far more important things to do. Treaties and agreements to review, a meeting with the generals about future armaments... and yet he reaches for the abandoned letter.

And there are three things that Zuko knows for sure. The first one is that you're safe. The second: Iroh's next tea was exactly opposite from what you wished for his uncle to be. And the third one – most terrifying for him to realise – was that you still had so much power over him. And the proof for that was not only his earlier, awkward teenage behaviour but also his heartbeat accelerating with every word he read and the fact that he was able to read that letter in his head with your exact tone of voice.

Still, after six years, he was haunted by you. Zuko sighs, waving his hand to extinguish any fire in his room and plunging into a momentary darkness that breaks with the rising sun.

Thank you so much for reading this!!! If you want to, let me know what you think in comments! 🥰🖤🖤

Part 2 is comming soon, maybe even a little more if you want?

the day he held his son for the first time, he felt an overwhelming rise of love and protectiveness. his tiny fingers wrapped around jude’s finger, a grip so delicate yet so firm. it was a moment embedded into his heart, a moment that marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life, his fatherhood.

from then on, every decision he made, every step he took was lead by purpose, to provide the best for you and your son. his life was no longer just about football and fame, it was about bedtime stories and morning cuddles, about teaching his son to kick a ball and watching his eyes light up with joy. it was about you and him, and the beautiful family you had created together.

days like these served as reminders of just how fortunate jude was. on one of his rare days off, with no interviews to attend, no cleats sinking into soggy grass, he chose a restaurant he had been eager to try with you both. it wasn’t anything overly fancy, he had heard that this place served the best baked beans and eggs in town, and he was eager to share the experience with you.

the restaurant echoed with the soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of silverware against plates. the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces traveled through the air, mixing with the faint scent of clean fabrics and smoke. you enjoyed your meal, the flavors savory on your tongue, as you watched your son with a fond smile.

his face was smeared with pieces of his dinner, evidence to his playful eating. his laughter echoed in your ears, a cheerful tune that filled the room with warmth. he was singing to his father, his small hands clapping as he swayed in his chair. jude watched him with a loving smile, his eyes soft with adoration. it was a sight that filled your heart with a joy so deep, you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

as you reached for the check, your fingers brushed against the bills of the tip money. you tucked it safely into the leather folder, your mind already shifting to the tasks that awaited you at home. but before you could gather your belongings and usher your family towards the exit, a flash of color caught your son’s eye.

he darted towards a claw machine nestled in a corner of the restaurant, his small feet tapping against the tiled floor. his eyes sparkled with excitement as he pressed his face against the glass, his breath fogging up the surface. the machine was filled with an array of colorful toys, their plastic bodies gleaming under the bright lights.

“look, mama!” he called out to you, his voice bubbling with anticipation. “ducks!”

you exchanged a glance with jude, a silent conversation passing between you. with a nod of agreement, jude rose from his seat and followed your son towards the machine, his hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. you watched them, a soft smile playing on your lips as you drowned in the simple joy of these precious moments.

claw machines were infamous for being rigged, for swallowing up money without giving out any prizes. but as your son pressed his small hands against the glass, his gaze fixed on the tiny ducks inside, jude made a silent promise to win him one.

“papa, duck! duck!” your son’s voice rang out, his laughter bubbling up like a sweet tune.

jude couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and warm, echoing the joy in his son’s eyes. he shook his head in amusement, his fingers quickly fishing out a crumpled dollar from his pocket. “alright buddy,” he said, his voice a gentle warning of caution. “just one chance, okay?” his words were an attempt to soften the blow of disappointment.

you stood a little distance away, your coat wrapped snugly around you, the chill having had just begun to pour in with the evening. a warm smile bloomed on your face, your heart growing with love as you watched the moment of your little family happen before you.

your son nodded eagerly in response to jude’s words, his small body practically vibrating with excitement. his feet danced around, as his eyes never left the colorful ducks trapped behind the glass barrier.

the machine buzzed to life with mechanical sounds that filled the air around them. the plan was simple, jude would operate the joystick with ease, while your son would press the button at just the right moment to hopefully snag one of those teasing colorful ducks.

the air seemed to thicken with tension as jude’s hand closed around the joystick, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration. your son stood on his tiptoes, his small hands clenched into fists of hope, his breath hitching in his chest as he waited for the perfect moment to press the button.

the sweet moment, however, was cut short.

the claw dropped towards its target, only to miss by a hair.

your heart clenched as you watched your son’s face fall. his bright eyes clouded over with the hurt of defeat, the vibrant colors of the ducks now a deep contrast to his dimmed excitement. his small hands fell away from the glass, his shoulders drooping under the weight of his smashed hopes.

“no duck...” his voice was barely a whisper, a small echo in the area of the bustling restaurant. the words hung in the air, proof of his disappointment.

you watched as jude knelt down beside him, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on your son’s back. his lips were pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowed in thought. you could see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about their next move.

you were about to suggest a comfort prize when jude beat you to it. he reached into his pocket and pulled out another crumpled dollar bill. “okay, just one more,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. he offered your son a grin, a spark of determination lighting up his eyes. “this machine’s a bit cheeky, no?”

his words were met with a small nod from your son, his tears momentarily forgotten as he looked up at jude with revived hope. jude handed him the dollar bill, his son excitedly taking the money.

you couldn’t fault jude for indulging your son. after all, you had a sneaking suspicion that jude wouldn’t mind having a duck of his own. but for now, the joy in your son’s eyes was all the reward he needed.

raising your phone, you framed the scene before you, jude, your son, and the claw machine. the camera shutter clicked, capturing the moment in time. the love jude had for your son was undeniable, even through the digital screen. it was a love that was pure and real, a love that shined brightly in his eyes and softened his features. you beamed down at your phone, the image warming your heart.

looking up, you watched as your little boy, his face scrunched in concentration, reached out with a determined push. his small fingers, chubby and unsteady, hit the button with a force that drowned his size. your smile widened, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as he jumped up and down. his small body vibrated with excitement, his joy spreading as the claw descended. it moved with care, the claw’s grip closing around not one, but two ducks.

a gasp escaped your lips, your heart swelling in your chest as you watched the claw lift its prizes. the ducks dangled, and you held your breath, your eyes wide as you watched the claw move towards the tunnel.

“nice job, buddy!” jude’s voice rang out, breaking the silence that had fallen over you. his voice was filled with genuine pride, his eyes sparkling with excitement. his hand came down on your son’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze .

“yay! duck! duck!” your son’s cry echoed through the restaurant. his voice was high and clear, a noise of pure joy in the buzzing establishment. his small hands reached out to claim his prizes, his fingers closing around the plastic toys with a victorious squeeze.

his laughter filled the air, a sweet sound that had you grinning from ear to ear. you watched as he held up his prizes, his eyes shining with pride and excitement. the ducks were clutched tightly in his hands, their presence evident of his victory.

the sight of your son’s joy warmed your heart, a feeling of contentment washing over you. you couldn’t help but reach out to ruffle his hair, your fingers brushing against the soft strands. his laughter echoed in your ears, a sweet sound that you would cherish forever.

he scampered back to you, his small face alight with the glow of victory, his tiny hands clutching his won prizes. the sight of his joy filled your heart, as jude was quick to follow, his eyes flooded with amusement, the corners wrinkling in a way that made your heart flutter. “time to head home,” he announced, his voice a comforting sound that echoed, as he extended his hand towards you, his fingers warm and inviting.

“here papa, your duck.” your son’s voice was filled with pride as he lifted the blue plastic toy towards his father. jude’s grin widened, a sparkle reaching his eyes at the sight of the gift from his boy. he ruffled his son’s hair affectionately, his fingers disappearing into the soft curls. “thanks buddy, we can match now.”

the journey to the car was quick, surrounded by the soft night sounds, highlighted by the distant hum of the city. the air was cool against your skin, carrying the faint scent of rain, as the world slowed, the quiet only broken by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees and the distant noise of traffic.

jude’s hand was warm in yours, his fingers interlacing with yours in a familiar pattern. his thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a silent promise of comfort and support. his other arm cradled your sleeping son, his small body nestled against his father’s chest, one hand still clutching the duck he had won with such determination.

the soft glow from the streetlights painted them in a warm light, allowing shadows that settled on the pavement. jude’s face was softened by fatherhood, his eyes tender as he looked down at your son. his lips were curved in a gentle smile, clear proof to the joy he found in his family.

your phone was out before you knew it, the camera app open and ready. you framed them in the screen, capturing this moment of peaceful slumber against the beautiful mood of the city night. the click of the shutter was soft, almost lost in the quiet of the night. but it echoed in your heart, a reminder of this moment, and this feeling.

“another one for the scrapbook?” jude’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as not to disturb your son. his eyes met yours, twinkling with amusement and love.

you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “someday,” you replied, your voice filled with promise. “someday he’ll see how much we loved these moments.”

jude’s smile widened, his grip on your hand tightening. “can’t wait,” he murmured, his voice filled with anticipation and warmth.

♡ enjoyed reading? if you'd like to support my writing, my ko-fi is linked in my bio!

You turned him around so that he was facing you rather than the pitch. Immediately, he buried his face in your neck and started crying. 

“Mama, Daddy’s sad,” Your son cried, “Why is he crying?”

His cries, plus the look on your boyfriend’s face, were enough to make you tear up as well. You tightened your grip on your son and pulled him closer to you to comfort him. You wouldn’t be able to do the same for Jude quite yet, since he still had post-match duties to get through before he could come and join you and the rest of his family. 

“I know, baby,” you consoled your child, “I know Daddy is sad. Things didn’t go like he wanted, but he’ll be okay. He still has you and me, and grandpa and grandma, and uncle Jobe, and all these people who love him. We just have to make sure we’re extra loving when he comes and sees us, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?”

Your son didn’t respond. Just kept his head buried in your neck, but you were able to feel him nod. 

Jobe, who had been sitting on one side of you guys for the entirety of the match in the stands, placed a gentle hand on your son’s back. Looking at him, he shoots you a small smile, and you can tell that he is equally devastated as you about the result of the game. England had had such promise. 

“Hey, little man, what do you say, you and I play a game to pass the time while we wait for your dad,” Jobe tried to make your son feel better by distracting him. Normally this would work since your son loved his uncle. 

The little man in question simply seemed to dig himself further into you in response. It hurt slightly, but you knew that your son was hurting, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you just gave Jobe a look of thanks for trying. This was going to be a tough loss to recover from. 

It was almost half an hour later when Jude finally made it to where you and the rest of his family were. By that time, most of the stadium had cleared out, with only a few people lingering. They were mostly the players' families. 

Denise was the first one to see him as he walked up the steps to where you guys had been sitting. 

“Jude,” Denise called as both she and her husband stood up. You watched as Jude embraced his mom first and then his dad. 

“Look, babe, Daddy’s here,” You whispered in your son’s ear, causing him to finally lift his head from your neck. 

As soon as he saw his dad hugging his uncle, who had also gotten up, your son shimmied himself off your lap and took off in the direction his father was in. 

“Daddy!!!!!” He cried out. 

Jude pulled away from the hug with his brother and turned to face the caller. He smiled slightly as he saw his son racing towards him. Leaning down, he caught his son as he flew into his arms. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Jude whispered. 

Your son buried his face into his father’s neck, and you saw Jude straighten up with him in his arms as you walked over. When he saw you, you could see the pain on his face even though he tried to put on a fake smile for your sake. Without waiting for him to say anything and being mindful of your son, you wrapped your arms around both of them pulling all of you into a family hug. You could feel a part of Jude relax into your arms. 

You don’t know how long the three of you stood there in silence, just wrapped up in one another. When you eventually pulled away, Jude had tears in his eyes once again, trying really hard not to let them fall. 

Jude sat down, your son still clinging to him in his lap, but he had lifted his head from his father’s neck and settled for just watching him. You sat down next to him on one side, and Denise sat down on the other side. Both of you placing a comforting hand on either side of Jude’s back. Jude ran his hands over his face, and you could see him wiping at his eyes. 

“I really thought that today was going to be different. I really thought that we were gonna make it all the way. I really thought we were going to bring it home,” He spoke in a broken voice. “I guess we just weren’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. If only we had more time. Or one more chance”

By the end of it, Jude was actually crying. Your heart broke at his words. More than most, you knew how hard Jude worked, how hard he trained and pushed himself, and what this meant to him. He had spent so many nights dreaming of this moment, only for it to end like this. 

You rubbed his back and tried your best to comfort him. “That’s not true. You guys did everything you could. You fought till the very last minute. Whether you win or not, we are all so proud of you.”

Denise and Mark chimed in as well, offering their own words of comfort for their son. 

The whole time, your own son had been intently watching his own father. His arms tightened around Jude’s neck in a fiercer hug when he noticed that Jude was getting emotional. Eventually, he tried his best to comfort his dad, too. 

“Daddy,” Your son got his father’s attention by placing his small hands on both of Jude’s cheek, forcing him to look at the child. When Jude looked over at him, he continued, “Can we trade?”

“Trade?” Jude was confused. He looked over at you as if you somehow had the answer. You shrugged your shoulders also not knowing what the child meant. 

“You take my happy and I take your sad,” The little boy said as if it was the most simplest thing in the world. 

You melted at the heart of your little boy wanting to make Jude feel better. Judging by the softness that overcame Jude’s face, you could tell that he melted as well. For the first time since the game, there seemed to be a genuine smile on his face. 

“We don’t need to trade buddy. You don’t have to carry my sad,” Jude explained as he smiled through his tears. 

“But, I don’t want you to cry,” Your son responded with a frown on his face.

Jude wrapped both arms around your son and stood him in front of him, looking him in the eyes. “Then, how about this. We can share all of it. You can help me with my sad and I’ll help you keep your happy. Does that sound like a deal?”

He held out his hand for your son to shake. Your son thought about it for a moment before he responded by placing his tiny hands in his father’s much larger ones. “Deal.”

“Besides, you, your mom, grandma, grandpa, and Uncle Jobe. All of you are my happy.” Jude told your son. 

“So, does that mean it’s working?” His son asked innocently as he placed a kiss on Jude’s cheek

Jude laughed for the first time since walking off the pitch. “Yeah, buddy. I think it is.”

Looking on at the both of them, you knew that Jude was still upset about the game but you knew that he would be alright as well. 

That night, after Mark and Denise offered, your son decided he wanted to spend the night with his grandmother and grandfather, leaving you and Jude an opportunity to spend some time to yourselves. 

“You know something,” Jude started as you were both getting ready for bed. You were in the bathroom removing your makeup and brushing your teeth while he was changing into a pair of sleep shorts. “We did good raising that kid.”

You smiled as you finally stepped out of the bathroom to see him already laying down on his side of the bed. Joining him on the other side, it wasn’t long before the two of you found one another. Jude grabbed your waist pulling you close to him and you willingly went. Placing your head on his chest as you also threw your arm around his waist, you listened to the sound of his heart beating.  

“Yeah, we did,” You agreed. “He has his dad’s heart and I couldn’t be prouder… of both the men in my life.”

Jude kissed the top of your head. “You really think things will be okay?”

You knew he was thinking about the game from earlier again. You could tell that even though he felt slightly better it still bothered him. It might take a while for it to fully stop bothering him. English football fans could definitely be intense and you knew that it might take a while before the media let it go and settled down but eventually, you knew that Jude would move on to bigger and better things. 

“I do,” you responded confidently. “Even if you don’t win this World Cup. There are so many things in your life that you have to be proud of. You are an amazing player, Jude and you are going to keep doing great things.”

Jude looked at you for a while with a soft look on his face. He leaned down and briefly connected his lips to yours. It was a quick kiss but it took your breath away nevertheless. You almost didn’t want it to end but eventually, Jude pulled away, a smile on his face. 

“You know what I am most proud of?” Jude asked and then answered, “You and our son. You both are the biggest prize I could ever get.”