COULD I EASILY FILL HIS SHOES ?
PART FOUR... Jude Bellingham x F1 Driver
!!! Part One !!! Part Two !!! Part Three !!! Part Four !!!
.π₯ έ Λ
in which... jude bellingham is desperately and hopelessly in love with his best friend.
warnings: extremely inadequate knowledge on how sports work (sorry!), set during the mexico vs. england world cup, jude yearning aka "it's always been you" syndrome, inspired by the 1975, mutual dependence but only one of them knows why, natalie 'nat' cohen is my oc but no fc is established, friends who accidentally function as a married couple, emotional damage, no one tell him to move on because he physically can't, she also has no idea he's in love with her (angst!!!)
notes (plz read): ok so this is like the first shit i've ever written on here and although it's a small blurb, i'd like for it to be a bigger part of an actual story... so if you enjoyed it and want to see more, let me know! written for shits and giggles and mainly based off of my user (because i love yearning boys and friends to lovers). ok i'm done.. enjoy!
wc: 1.2k
The first mistake Jude Bellingham ever made was looking at Natalie Cohen long enough to memorize her. The second? Well that depended on who you asked.
If you asked his brother Jobe, he'd tell you it was when he stopped calling her Natalieβ something formal and safe, and began calling her 'Nat'β a nickname reserved for him and only him.
If you asked his mum, she'd tell you it was when she invited Natalie over for pizza and board games, curious to meet the girl her son continuously brought up. Jude insisted there was nothing there, everything he felt was entirely platonic. That day, he left her the last slice of food without thinking twice of it. His mother knew before him, because Jude never shared food.
If you asked his teammates, they'd tell you it was whenever his head turned before anyone else's after a final whistle, searching the crowd for one person in particular. They had deemed her Jude's lucky penny.
If you asked Natalie, she'd laugh and tell you Jude didn't make mistakes.
She'd be wrong.
Over time, his small crush on Nat devastated something vital within him, it corroded away the remaining strength of his hopeβ hope that his feelings for her would go awayβ until it felt like he was constantly drained by fear. Loving Natalie became easier than imagining a life where he didn't, and that scared the ever loving shit out of him.
A loud voice snapped him out of his trance,
"Bellingham!"
Jude blinked, immediately regretting his mind wander.
His manager stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across his chest, anger bubbling in his eyes. "You planning on playing today or are you too busy admiring the scenery?"
His eyes flicked down, disappointed in himself, before huffing out a "Sorry, coach." and jogging back into position.
The scenery, unfortunately, happened to be Natalie Cohen.
She was impossible to miss in a sea of white England shirts, mainly because she wasn't wearing one.
Jude frowned.
Is that...
He squinted.
A green Mexico jersey, number 9.
Jude stared, dissociating once more.
She caught him looking almost instantly, and, with absolutely no shame, she waved enthusiastically.
And gave him a thumbs-up. Her smile bright and pure.
In another man's shirt.
Yet, for a moment, he forgot about the jersey. Natalie's smile had always possessed the remarkable ability to soften every sharp edge inside him.
It just couldn't quite reach this one.
...
The roar of Azteca swallowed everything, with the match settling into its rhythmβ cleats scraping against grass, whistles, bodies colliding, thousands upon thousands of voices blending into one impossible sound.
Jude forced himself to focus.
But every now and then, he couldn't help himself. His eyes would drift towards the section where he'd seen Natalie before kickoff. She was still there.
Still wearing that bloody Mexico jersey.
Yet, in all her innocence, she continued cheering in the sea of white and green. Equal parts horrified for Mexico, but thrilled for him. Even dressed in Mexico's colors, she'd still celebrated every one of his goals.
She found Jude's exhausted eyes almost instantly after the last whistle was blown and Englands fans erupted into happiness, already staring at her.
"Congratulations!"
He'd heard the word a hundred times over in the last five minutes.
From teammates who'd nearly knocked him over in celebration. From coaches and reporters and strangers. None of them sounded quite like hers.
There she was, still wearing that stupid green jersey. Still smiling at him like she'd hung the bloody moon.
His chest tightened.
"You were cheering for Mexico." He deadpanned, breathless from the game, yet doing his best to sound offended.
"I was cheering for both."
"You wore another mans jersey to my match!"
"He signed it!"
Jude narrowed his eyes. "That's not helping your case."
"Wasn't supposed to."
She grinned.
God, he was trying so hard not to smile back.
She'd always done thisβ poked at him until the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Even now, after ninety minutes of running until his lungs burned out and another twenty of pretending he wasn't exhausted for reporters and interview, she could still pull a laugh out of him.
"You scored twice," she continued, nudging his shoulder. "I screamed for both goals."
"You also celebrated Mexico's."
"They're allowed nice things too y'know."
"They lost."
"They scored."
"They lost."
Nat rolled her eyes at his argument, and before he could start anotherβ her hand reached for him.
She threaded her fingers around his almost absentmindedly, giving his hand a gentle tug as another cluster of reporters began drifting in their direction.
"C'mon," she murmured. "You're swaying."
"I am not."
"You've been on your feet for two hours."
"I've been on my feet my whole life."
"Mhm."
Another tug. "We're leaving before someone sticks another microphone in your face."
Jude followed without resistance, letting her pull him away.
Not because she was pulling particularly hard. She wasn't.
Natalie could've led him straight into traffic if she'd asked nicely.
His pulse, however, refused to cooperate.
It skipped once at the contact before settling into something dangerously uneven.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
She held his hand the way she always didβ without thinking. Crossing busy streets, navigating airports, pulling him through crowds after matches, dragging him into shops she'd sworn she'd "only be five minutes" in.
To her, it was instinct. Practical and friendly.
Yet they made him dizzy. Every touch felt like being handed just enough air to last long enough until she touched him again.
She never seemed to notice what it did to him.
Never noticed the way his thoughts stalled whenever she slipped her hand into his. Never noticed how he unconsciously adjusted his pace to match hers. Never noticed that he never, not once, let go first.
Maybe she truly didn't see it.
Or maybe she'd spent so many years treating him like home that she couldn't imagine it meaning anything else.
He wished he could do the same.
Instead, he let her weave them through the tunnel, away from flashing cameras and shouted questions, his fingers fitting around hers with an ease that had been practiced over years.
He wondered, not for the first time, if she realized how unfair she was.
How she could wear another footballer's name across her back, spend ninety minutes cheering against his team, then smile at him for less than a second and erase every ounce of resentment he'd convinced himself he felt.
Almost.
His eyes drifted down.
The green jersey was still there.
He sighed.
"I still can't believe you wore his shirt."
Natalie looked down at herself before bursting into laughter.
"Oh, my God."
"What?"
"You're actually jealous." His heart sped up. He was so, impossibly jealous.
"I'm not jealous."
"Jude."
"I'm offended."
"Sure."
"You could've worn mine."
The words left his mouth before he had the chance to stop them. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hesitate.
Natalie smiledβ softly this time.
"I know."
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll wear yours next time."
She said it with the same casual certainty she had used to grab his hand. Like it meant nothing to her.
Jude smiled anyway.
It meant everything to him.
