maybel

but no matter how hard he pushed himself on the field or how jam-packed his schedule was that day, his mind would drift and he would think about you. if you had taken your last final. if you were preparing for graduation. if he consumed your thoughts as much as you consumed his own. if you were happy with someone else. someone else who deserved you.

the idea that someone else could make you as happy as he does made jude blind with rage. he drove the ball into the net forcefully, the ball spinning as the net caught it.

“jude,” a voice called out.

jude sank another ball into the goal, oblivious to the world. 

“jude,” the voice called out once more, nearer to the tense footballer.

the star athlete kicked another ball into the net, its path curving perfectly past the imaginary goalkeeper.

a hand clasped his shoulder, bringing him back to earth. “jude,” his coach said. “go home.”

“i'm fine, coach,” jude said dismissively, walking to the goal to retrieve the balls.

his coach blocked his path, putting his hand on his star player’s chest. “no, you’re not,” he insisted. “you keep going at this rate and you’re going to crash and burn tomorrow when we need you the most.”

“we need to beat dortmund in the finals,” jude said, looking straight at the goal with his jaw clenched.

“and we will,” his coach said reassuringly. “but right now you need to go home.”

jude looked to his right, seeing his teammates stand on either side of their coach, concern and worry splashed all over their faces. the ones who knew what happened noticed his pain for weeks but avoided the topic because they refused to deal with the fallout of even mentioning your name to him.

trent finally spoke out. “mate, we’re worried about you.”

jude ran his hand down his face. “you’re right,” he said apologetically. “i’m sorry. i’ll go.”

his coach stroked his cheek with his thumb. “good boy. everybody head out — we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

trent and kylian slapped his back comfortingly, a sort of wordless message that they were there for him. jude, for the first time in days, smiled genuinely and appreciatively at his friends as they headed home.

at home, jude leaned against the granite countertop with his jug in his hand. he was a dim figure in the dark kitchen and the only source of light was the control panel of his fridge. the memories of you and him — preparing dinner together, attempting to follow recipes, telling stories after dinner, and washing and drying the dishes together silently — haunted him.

his mom found him in the kitchen, staring into the void.

“good gracious,” she said, her voice strained. “what are you doing in the dark? have you eaten?”

jude wordlessly shook his head, taking another sip of his protein shake.

denise pulled out the premade frozen meal prepared by his personal chef and heated it in the microwave. “you can’t go on like this,” she ordered him in her motherly tone. 

“don’t know what you mean,” he murmured unconvincingly.

“you have been moping around for weeks,” she told him in a reprimanding tone. “you work yourself to the bone every single day. you snap at us and your friends at any given moment. you need to fix that attitude right now because i won’t put up with it any longer.”

“it's nothing,” jude said. “i’ll win another game and put this all behind me.”

denise sighed. she wasn’t aware of the specifics behind your split but she made an educated guess that it was about his career. her son’s life was complicated — sure, he was handsome, famous, talented, and rich, but it all came with a price tag. he could no longer walk the streets without being recognized, he feared being used by people whom he considered his closest friends, and he was plagued with constant anxiety about someday ending up a washed up football player.

it was one of the main reasons she loved you and jude together. you lived a normal life. he brought you out of your comfort zone and you brought him down to earth when everybody was pushing his ego to new heights every time he scored a goal. you taught him new card games, filled his life with interesting facts, and made his stomach hurt from all the laughter. with you, jude had the best of both worlds.

“it’s ninety minutes,” denised stated simply.

jude finally looked up. “what?”

“a game is ninety minutes,” she clarified. 

“she could be the rest of your life.”

he paused before closing the fridge. “it doesn’t matter. it’s too late.”

“it’s not too late,” denise sighed, cupping her son’s face with her hands. “be honest with her about how you truly feel.”

“she's good for you, son,” mark commented, emerging from the staircase to stand beside his wife.  “keeps you grounded. you both bring out the best in each other.”

“what should i tell her?” jude sighed, exasperated. “that i love her? that with one word i would walk away from everything just to be by her side? that it terrifies me that i have never felt this way about anyone in my entire life? that seeing her walk away from me has crushed me more than any other loss in my whole career ever has?”

denise and mark looked at each other knowingly, their son was head over heels for you.

jude froze, the realization that he loved you dawned suddenly. “i love her.”

“you do,” denise said, her face breaking out into a proud smile.

mark slung his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “go on,” he encouraged his son. “fight for her.”

IS IT KILLING YOU LIKE IT'S KILLING ME?

after the ceremony you and your friends had the deserted campus all to yourselves. you all decided to substitute a possibly fancy dinner with one last meal at the dining hall. your friends brought cupcakes and other pastries for the kitchen staff, to thank them for all the kindness they’ve shown you throughout the years. from early breakfasts to late dinners and late night cravings during exam season, the dining hall was a safe haven to all.  

while your friends reminisced and laughed at old memories, you nodded distractedly, half-listened to stories, and laughed just in time as the punchline ended. 

ping! a google alert brightened your screen. 

real madrid win champions league final as dortmund rue missed chances.

pride washed over you, but it was soon followed by a wave of sadness. you could imagine the stadium right now: confetti raining from the skies, the crowd singing the real madrid anthem, jude and his teammates lifting the trophy to the sky, and tears streaming down everyone’s face as the entire stadium celebrated. you pictured jude grinning from ear to ear right now and the thought alone made you smile sadly at the table. you could also picture him ending the night at a bar with his team, chatting it up with a girl and taking her home — that thought left a sour aftertaste.

despite yourself your hand itched to pick up the phone and text jude congratulations.

instead, you swiped right on the notification and watched it disappear. 

“you okay?” francie whispered concernedly, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“yeah” you responded, laying your head on top of hers affectionately. “i’m fine.”

after dinner, you all went on one final stroll around campus.

“are you sure you don’t want to join us at the pub?” francie asked.

“come on, for old time’s sake.” ayrton said as he slung his arm around your shoulder.

“you guys go ahead, i’ll be fine,” you encouraged. “i want to soak it all in one last time.”

ayrton and francie looked at each other knowingly but decided not to push you on the matter. “text us if you decide to change your mind,” francie stated, “or if you want some company.”

“i will,” you assured them. “go on. you deserve to have fun.”

“we deserve to have fun,” ayrton clarified, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “call us!”

after you parted ways, you started off in the direction of the halls. around you, the crickets chirped monotonously and the pathways were illuminated by the warm light shining through the buildings. the cool and refreshing breeze picked up the scent of the freshly cut grass and the smell alone soothed your nerves. 

on your way home your mind drifted back to jude. where was he? what was he doing right now? was he thinking of you? did he look for you in the stands earlier, wishing you were there cheering him on?

“figured you’d be the last one to leave campus.”

you froze. that was a voice you could recognize anywhere. 

you searched around for the voice and saw nothing but a deserted campus. confused, you were about to move forward when you heard the ruffling of the leaves above you.

you looked up to find jude balanced on the thick tree branch. he wore a pressed suit with no tie and the first two buttons undone. infuriating as it was, he was still as handsome as ever.

“what are you doing here?” your voice was breathy, unsteady.

“the girl of my dreams graduated with honors today,” he stated. “where else would i be?”

“you’re supposed to be in madrid.”

“the game ended two hours ago.”

“you’re supposed to be celebrating,” you said.

he leapt off the tree.

“there’s nowhere else i’d rather be right now than here with you,” he confessed.

“the last time we spoke…”

“i know,” he interrupted. “it was stupid—i was stupid.”

“i love you,” he announced.

“i knew it from the moment i met you. for whatever reason you seem to believe that the fame, medals, and championships make us incompatible, but strip those away and i am the exact same person. ever since you entered my life, everything has felt incredibly mundane when it is experienced without you by my side. i would move mountains, cross oceans, trade everything in a heartbeat just to be with you, to hear you laugh, to see you smile.”

you were rooted to the spot in disbelief and the silence of the night only amplified the violent outburst of emotion thrumming in your head and heart.

“baby,” jude whispered nervously. “please say something.”

you blinked back the tears threatening to stream down your face. “whatever was said that night was true,” you stated tiredly. “i’m not a supermodel and i can’t pretend to be one or look like one or act like one just so i feel qualified to be your girlfriend. let’s face it: you should date people that belong in your world and i should date people that belong in mine.”

it was a battle coming to terms with that conclusion because despite the fact that it was true, your heart kicked and screamed and protested inside your chest. i am truly, madly, and deeply in love with you, you desperately wanted to shout, i want to risk it all on us. 

feeling the dam of tears behind your eyes ready to burst, you side step to the left and walked past him. 

“my feelings for you are immune to whatever you or anyone has to say,” he called out. 

you turned around, eyes welling up with tears. he approached you with a determined look in his eyes. “what you don’t get is that i want you and there is nothing you or anyone can say or do to change that. fight it all you want but you know that we are meant to be together. to me, there is no other girl that is prettier, funnier or smarter than you. every other girl just pales in comparison. so, trust me when i say there is no competition for my heart—you already won.”

your knees nearly buckled under his resolute gaze. 

“the distance,” you breathed out. “you live in madrid and i live here. i can’t move to madrid. i would hate being followed and photographed in public. the time difference—”

jude let out a tiny humorless laugh as if it was a nonissue, as if he could give you the world with a simple snap of his finger. “it’s a two-hour flight with a one-hour time difference,” he said. “i’ll fly home or i’ll fly you out.”

you tried to imagine another nightmarish scenario of you two together, but you knew, deep down, that any fire your insecurities would light, jude would put out in an instant.

“it's going to take a lot more than that to push me away,” jude whispered tauntingly.

he smiled triumphantly as he sensed you were close to giving in. he wrapped his arm around your waist to draw you nearer, to make it all the more impossible to push him away, literally and figuratively. 

“so, is that a yes? or are you going to break my heart?”

“i don’t know,” you whispered.

jude clasped your hand in his, pressing it to his lips before placing it above his heart. “then break my heart, baby. do whatever you want with it—it’s yours. i’m yours.”

you slid your arms up and above his chest, wrapping it behind his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

in a few seconds he broke it off and murmured, “been waiting a long time to do that, haven’t you?”

you rolled your eyes, “shut up and kiss me, bellingham.”

jude grinned, capturing his lips in yours once more. 

you saw harry and trent conversing on the field and went straight to them.

“you’re on enemy territory,” you said while their backs were still turned to you, referring to when bayern munich beat real madrid 4-3 in the UCL quarter-finals a couple of months ago.

harry and trent turned around, both cracking a smile when they saw you.

“really?” harry asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “cause i feel right at home.”

across the field, jude was touring vivienne around the stadium when his eyes met yours. he pointed at you and vivienne’s gaze followed the direction of his finger, eventually settling on you. she waved hello and you waved back with a grin.

“he’s a natural, isn’t he?” trent teased, shooting you a knowing grin.

“think he’s made his position on that pretty clear,” you responded with a snort.

harry exhaled doubtfully. “i don’t know,” he drawled. “love changes people.”

trent nodded thoughtfully, suppressing a smirk. “heard that too, yeah.”

you rolled your eyes. “think you should trade in your cleats for some microphones, boys. you know, start your own podcast and give your shitty dating advice there.”

trent laughed out loud. “i think she’s talking about you, mate.”

harry scoffed, flashing trent his wedding ring. “well, i’m married so that’s 1-0, advantage harry.”

“well, i’ve won the champions league so that’s the only 1-0 that matters,” trent retorted sassily. 

you left the boys to their own devices, chuckling faintly at the remark as you approached jude and vivienne on the field. 

“hey,” you greeted the pair. “how's my favorite girl doing?”

vivienne reached for you and once jude placed her on her feet she dashed into your arms. “i missed you, too,” you laughed, the force of her hug almost knocking you over.

“what about me? did you miss me?” jude asked, pecking you on the lips.

“don’t make this about you,” you said, rolling your eyes.

you crouched down to plant a kiss on vivi’s cheek, but she soon became fascinated by the soccer ball settled in between jude’s feet. 

“come on, vivi,” jude said invitingly. “let’s score a goal for your dad.”

jude kicked the ball forward, his touch light as a feather considering that he was quadruple vivi’s size and strength. you ran alongside vivi, holding her hand to prevent her from falling over while she ran. 

jude stopped directly in front of the goal, gesturing for vivi to take the ball and shoot it. her gaze moved between you and jude, uncertain of her next move.

you gently let go of her hand and walked behind jude, wrapping your arms around him and caging him in. “go, vivi,” you nodded encouragingly. “i'll hold him back.”

jude laughed, leaning into your touch and turning his head to press a kiss to your forehead. “she’s got me,” he said, in a faux defeated tone. “i'm stuck.”

vivi stared at the two of you, clueless, but nevertheless she kicked the ball into the goal.

“amazing!” harry exclaimed, scooping his daughter up in his arms and giving her a kiss. “they’d make such good parents, don’t they?”

vivi blinked up at her dad, confused, and then pointed her tiny finger at your stomach, silently asking him if you were pregnant. trent spit out his water, wheezing in between laughs, while vini rolled over laughing, bending over and slapping his thigh.

“congrats, bro,” vini remarked, slapping jude’s back.

“no, no,” harry quickly corrected her with an alarmed look. 

jude laughed with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “who knows? maybe one day, if we’re lucky.”

you froze in shock. 

trent shot you a look, mouthing ‘i told you so’ in the most indiscreet way possible. 

you mouthed ‘fuck off’ in an equally obvious manner.

while the rest of the team walked back to the tunnel to grab dinner at your favorite tapas place, you stayed behind with jude so he could change into clean clothes and freshen up. the conversation you had earlier played on a loop in your mind — “who knows? maybe one day, if we’re lucky.”

“what are you thinking about?”

you turned your head sideways to find jude already staring at you, a brand new t shirt in his hands. 

“hmmm?”

“your face is doing that thing where it scrunches up,” jude said, stripping off his damp jersey. “that means something’s on your mind.”

“i thought you didn’t want to have children,” you said.

jude pulled his clean shirt over his head and dumped his jersey into his bag. “i didn’t before,” he admitted. “but now i’m not so sure. watching harry, fede, declan, and rodry play with their children sometimes gives me the baby fever.”

you let out a small laugh. “i get that.”

“i want to make you a dad” is what you actually wanted to tell him.

“what?” jude asked, his lips turning upwards into an amused smile. “you want to make me a dad?”

you froze, stunned that you actually said it aloud. “what?”

jude chuckled, pulling you close to him. “i'm flattered, really,” he whispered as his free arm tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “shall we go and do it?”

you stared up at him nervously. “go where?” 

jude grinned. “to dinner, my love.”

you continued to look at him with a dazed expression. thinking about jude being a dad. thinking about making him a dad.  “oh yeah sure,”  you murmured, walking to the tunnel.

“you were thinking about it. weren't you?” he called from behind you.

“about what?” you asked, pretending like nothing happened.

“about making me a dad,” jude whispered teasingly behind you. 

you rolled your eyes, jabbing his stomach with your elbow as your cheeks flushed crimson.

his laugh echoed throughout the tunnel.

JUDE, YOUR LONG-SUFFERING BOYFRIEND, who takes the time to listen to your rambling speeches on interesting things you learned from a movie, a book, or a lecture, even if he does so half-asleep and mumbling ‘that’s nice, baby’ or ‘hmm i'm glad, my love.’

“did you know the coldest planet in the solar system is uranus,” you said to him, snuggling deeper into his arms. “if you jumped into its atmosphere you would be hit by winds reaching 560 miles per hour, killing you instantly. if you were lucky — or unlucky, however you choose to look at it — enough to survive, you would still freeze to death because the temperature on uranus can be as low as -224 degrees celsius. you would survive a good 3-5 minutes.”

“that’s nice, baby,” jude mumbled, running his fingers up and down your waist. “best to avoid that place the next time we’re planning to go on holiday.”

you laughed out loud, amused that your boyfriend, in his sleepiness, thought you could easily travel to uranus as if it were the amalfi coast or the french riviera. 

still, you played along. “so what would be your favorite planet to go to then?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice level. “uranus is off the table for sure.”

“well, what’s your favorite planet?” jude asked, stretching his arms and yawning loudly.

“saturn,” you said without thinking twice.

“then that’s my favorite planet,” he said sleepily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “wherever you are is where i want to be.”

“the clouds that sit below its troposphere are made of ammonia,” you mentioned, staring up at jude, whose eyes were currently screwed shut as his chest rose and fell steadily. “if you dove from your spaceship directly into saturn, the closer you get to its surface the more the temperature drops. it can drop to -200 degrees celsius and it gets extremely dark because sunlight won’t be able to reach you.”

“so is that during peak season or off season for them?” 

“how are you still funny in your sleep?”

JUDE, THE LIFE OF THE PARTY, especially during karaoke. even if he was off the beat or out of tune, jude wasn’t going to let anyone rain on his parade.

“no i never felt this way before,” jude sang in a deep and gravelly voice to match that of bill medley. “yes i swear it’s the truth.”

“and i owe it all to you,” you both belted out in unison, both raising your hands up and encouraging the rest of the team to stand up and join you. 

you pointed the microphone in their direction as they stood up with their glasses and sang back in chorus, “i had the time of my life!”

“though i never felt this way before,” the squad continued to sing, some putting their arms around each other’s shoulders, swaying left and right. “yes i swear it’s the truth and i owe it all to you.”

arda took ahold of your hand and spun you around. you handed him the microphone and he readily accepted, singing, “cause i had the time of my life! and i’ve searched through every open door!”

trent and jude pointed at arda, in awe. the team jumped up and down excitedly, shaking his shoulders to encourage him to keep singing. you grabbed your disposable camera and wound it up, pointing it at the squad, who were too busy singing and dancing to notice, and snapped pictures of them. you even took a couple of videos to send to their social media manager. 

an arm snuck around your waist, pulling you to him. he intertwined your fingers in his and swayed you back and forth, “never felt this way, ’til i found the truth,” he sang. “and i owe it all to you.”

he twirled you around as you laughed at how hammered he was at this point. “you're not going to remember any of this tomorrow, are you?” you asked him teasingly.

“nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and grinning with no coherent thought in his head. “i’m having the time of my life. we’re the champions of europe! i’m on top of the world!”

“until tomorrow morning when you’ll be at the bottom of the floor puking your guts out,” you laughed as he continued to dance with you.

“well, like chihuahua said, every day above ground is a great day,” he cheered, downing another shot of tequila. he pointed at you and arda, who stood beside you, and said, “remember that.”

jude stumbled back to the rest of the team who was letting loose on the dance floor. he poured vodka straight from the bottle down vini’s throat and made silly faces while fede filmed a video for his instagram story. 

you turned to arda, feeling completely and utterly confused. 

“chihuahua?”

“did he mean pitbull?”

JUDE, WHO WAS AN ANNOYING WINNER, and an even more annoying loser. pick a struggle, you donut. hannah montana was wrong, you can have the best of both worlds, or in jude’s case, the worst of both worlds.

nights at the pub playing pool with jude were one of your favorite ways to kick back and relax. he would wear his adidas cap and casual shirt and jeans to blend into the crowd.

as you bent down to perfectly angle your cue stick to pocket as many balls as possible, jude crouched down beside you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

you chuckled, catching wind of his scheme to distract you. “what are you doing?”

jude shrugged, feigning ignorance. “just enjoying the view.”

you froze as warmth crept up your neck and spread across your cheeks at the simple remark. jude chuckled, amused at your visible reaction to his harmless flirting. 

you rolled your eyes at the sound of his laugh, rolled back your shoulders, and eyed the center of the rack. 

“you look so pretty tonight, baby,” jude whispered in his low, husky voice. the same voice he uses late at night when you’re tangled in the sheets and he’s not quite ready to fall asleep just yet.

he perfectly timed his remark because he uttered those words at the exact moment you drove the ball forward with your stick. flustered, your shot lacked the momentum to pocket any balls.

you turned your head sideways and glared at him. 

jude smiled cheekily, picking up his cue stick to follow the white ball. “better luck next time.”

you scoffed. “oh is that how it’s gonna be? be prepared to lose big time.”

jude laughed, unfazed by your barely disguised threat. “bring it on, babe.”

he shot two solids in one go, looking up at you with a smirk as each ball fell into the pocket. 

he moved across the table to take another shot, but as he crouched down, face scrunched up with concentration, you purposely bumped his hip, causing him to lose balance.

the cue stick veered left as a result and failed to drive the white ball forward.

you simpered, appearing pleased with yourself, but immediately masked it with a pitiful smile once jude looked up at you with a knowing frown.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you said without an ounce of sympathy. “didn’t see you there.”

jude exhaled, a humorless laugh falling from his lips. “uh-huh,” he said disbelievingly, his tongue pushing the inside of his right cheek.

“better luck next time,” you mocked, throwing his words back at him.

you hit three balls in succession, undisturbed by jude’s antics, and stared at the white ball, strategizing to shoot the next ball at the edge of the table without pocketing them both. hit it too directly and the white ball falls in, but hit it too obliquely and the white ball might not even hit the striped ball.  

“easy peasy,” you said nonchalantly to rile jude up. 

the striped ball entered the pocket according to plan, but the moment you lifted your eyes to jude to gloat, he took the opportunity to push the white ball into the pocket with his hand.

“i hate you.”

“i’ll live.”

the game went on until eventually only the black eight ball remained. it was jude’s turn because he successfully tricked you into believing that the crawling sensation on your back was a spider that had fallen from the ceiling when, in reality, it was his fingers moving downward. you let out a yelp and bumped your knee under the table, causing the surrounding people to look at you in concern.

while waiting for jude to return from the toilet you hid his cue stick behind you. as jude walked back to your table he gave you a knowing look after noticing his cue stick was gone.

“come on,” he said. “give it back.”

“i don’t know where it is,” you insisted, failing miserably at keeping a straight face. “maybe you brought it with you to the toilet.”

“the cue stick is taller than you!” jude said incredulously, also failing to keep his tone serious. “i can see it!”

he tried to reach for the cue stick sandwiched between you and the table but you shifted left and right, dragging the stick along with you. the both of you eventually stopped moving and stared straight into each other’s eyes, attempting to keep your laughter at bay.

jude folded first, letting out a tiny laugh as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. he leaned forward until your lips were mere meters away from each other.

your eyes drifted from his eyes down to his lips and you leaned forward to kiss him when he pulled back slightly, preventing your lips from meeting. 

he chuckled but eventually gave in, smiling as he kissed you.

JUDE, WHO KEEPS YOU ON YOUR TOES, by never letting you know his next move. randomly mentioned that you missed your favorite fish and chips shop? jude's pulling out his credit card to book a flight back to england. want to go on a late night drive? he's already twirling his car keys around his finger. feeling spontaneous? jude's stretching his arms, ready to spin you around and eat at whatever restaurant you point at after you stop feeling so dizzy. he was your partner-in-crime (when he wasn’t the one you wanted to commit a crime against).

jude maintained a steady speed on the wet and slippery road as he drove you both home from trent’s wedding reception. fat droplets of rain relentlessly splatter onto the windshield and the windows were starting to fog up from the cold. lorde played softly in the background as lightning struck the ground somewhere in the distance.

you rented a house for your weekend trip. it was perched on a small hilltop overlooking a massive lake. across the lake were acres of forestland and the leaves of its trees were swaying violently in the wind. mud painted the tires of the car as you pulled into the empty driveway, the well-lit house immediately greeting you.

jude turned off the ignition while staring straight ahead.

“we should jump into the lake.”

you laughed. was he being for real?

but jude was already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door while your brain was still processing the idea of jumping into a freezing cold lake. heavy raindrops drummed on the metal roof of the car as jude gestured for you to come outside.

“what?” you whispered, hurriedly unbuckling your seatbelt to join him in the pouring rain.

the rain soaked your entire body within just seconds. “you’re insane!” you exclaimed over the noise.

“live a little!” jude exclaimed back, tossing his shoes aside and running barefoot down the hill. 

you had no idea what possessed you to run after him in the pouring rain. it was probably a bad idea, and yet, you chased after him. the ruffled detailing of your dress sagged pitifully as it grew wetter every time your feet hit the ground and its butter yellow color looked almost translucent in the storm.

jude kept running, discarding his tie and jacket somewhere along the way. you both stopped where the dock met the land and stared at each other, possibly delirious from all the rainwater you swallowed.

the two of you laughed, fat droplets of rain streaming down your face.

this time you surprised him by running down the wooden dock, with your wet hair swaying wildly with each movement, dragging your dress along behind you. at the edge of the dock you jumped into the water without a moment’s hesitation, your dress ballooning to the top and surrounding you. 

jude chased after you, diving into the water and swimming straight towards you. 

“there’s my girl,” he said. 

fog rolled over the mountains and thunder roared in the distance. there was something about seeing raindrops paint jude’s face, with his white dress shirt clinging to his body and the steel gray sky hanging above both of you, that felt so cinematic.

“we’re going to get sick!” you yelled over the pouring rain, “your mom is going to kill us.”

“what?” jude yelled back with a mischievous grin, pretending not to hear you. “you’re going to kiss me?”

“we're so gonna regret this,” you said, already picturing the two of you laying in bed, sinuses leaking and your body temperatures through the roof.

jude stared at you, his expression soft. you both probably would come down with an extremely high fever but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it right now. all he wanted to do is live in the moment with you, as unbelievably reckless as it was.  

“no, we won’t,” he said tenderly.

for the next week, jobe dedicated himself to making your life hell on earth. 

he spent every suffocating minute reminding that you would be eating your words by the end of this week, and you were slowly and painfully beginning to regret ever challenging him to this bet. between jobe, a professional athlete who was trained to endure the most grueling training regimens, and you, spoiled princess since birth, it should have been immediately apparent to you who would come out on top by the end of this challenge.

he would firmly press his shirtless chest against your back in the kitchen, leaning deeply into you so you could inhale the bergamot and smoky vanilla emanating from his freshly washed skin, only to reach forward to grab an apple from the bowl of fruit and walk away innocently.

once, he intentionally left his airpods on your bedside table and texted you to bring it to him at the home gym so that you could drop by and hear all the shallow cursing and grunting that went on as he lifted heavy dumbbells. he smiled knowingly at you from the bench, back glistening with sweat and veins prominent on his tense muscles. ‘thank you, baby,’ he said, voice dripping with insincerity.

fed up with his antics, you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. you were sipping red wine in the kitchen when he approached you, white crisp shirt half-buttoned and black tie in his hand. you set the wine glass down on the counter, slung the tie around his broad shoulders before taking another long sip. your eyes never left his, even as you tilted the wine glass downward and spilled it all over his nice white shirt. ‘oh,’ you frowned, ‘sorry.’ jobe let out a small unbothered laugh and began unbuttoning his shirt while his dark eyes bore into yours, shrugging it off and throwing it into the sink. ‘it’s okay, my love.’

at a dinner hosted by adidas germany, jobe was innocently conversing with a close friend from birmingham. ordinarily, you wouldn’t think much of it, but he was noticeably giving her more attention than he gave you this entire week. whenever he leaned forward to hear her better or laugh at her comment with his arm around her waist, you would grasp the stem of the wine glass like a weapon. and when his playful gaze met your withering stare, he winked and returned to whatever he was doing.

tonight, you were in paris celebrating denise and mark’s anniversary.

you did everything you could do distance yourself from jobe: sat all the way on the other end of the car, stood on opposite ends of the elevator, hell, even booked a separate room from him — everything short of putting an ocean between you two. 

in the elevator going down from his suite you glared at the door, hands crossed over your chest. jobe was in your peripheral, leaning against the mirror with an amused look on his face. 

“you ought to relax, you know,” he remarked casually, chuckling at your discomfort.

you gritted your teeth, nails biting painfully into the flesh of your skin. “thanks for the advice.”

jobe grinned, relishing in your downfall. “don’t forget to smile later. gotta keep the act up.”

you ignored him and walked out of the elevator the moment the doors pulled apart. the both of you acted like it was business as usual, conversing casually to denise and mark about football, the financial markets, politics. you momentarily forgot that this week had been especially hellish due to your cold war with jobe, but you refused to back down. can’t take it back when it’s been set in motion.

while his parents were looking at the menu, jobe turned his head to yours, pretending to talk about the menu, when he was actually whispering the most obscene things in your ear. everything from ‘you look so pretty, baby’ to ‘can’t wait to get you alone’ and ‘it’s taking everything in me not to drag you back to my room and have my way with you.’

all while you sat in front of his parents, smiling politely with your arms crossed on your lap.

in the midst of a conversation about the mid-year market outlook, a hand began lightly caressing your thigh. your breath hitched in your throat as you nodded thoughtfully at denise’s story about her shopping experience at the la vallée village. jobe laughed, pretending that it was at his mom’s story and not at you, absolutely unbothered by whatever he was doing to you underneath the table.

once his hand reached your mid-thigh, your hand shot down and clamped it over his hand, preventing him from moving upward. you crushed his hand, warning him to stop, but your boyfriend was way stronger than you and broke free from your grip.

“my dear,” denise said concernedly, noticing your face lose color. “are you alright?”

“yes, i’m fine,” you breathed out, hurriedly rising to your feet. “i-i just need to use the powder room.”

denise accepted your excuse and continued her conversation with her boys. jobe smirked to himself as he took another sip of his wine. the rest of your company might not have noticed the tremor in your voice, but he certainly did.  

your head was spinning. all the staring, touching, and unholy murmurs in your ear were all tightening the figurative noose around your neck and you were on the verge of gasping and begging for forgiveness. jobe, on the other hand, was prepared to kick the stool underneath you just to see how far your pride and dignity would take you.

you stumbled into the powder room and headed straight to the sink.  

you grasped either side of it, steadying yourself as the white straight-edge porcelain dug into the palms of your hands. the deserted restroom was still and silent, save for the whir of the air conditioner. the dim, red backlit mirror reflected your breathless and frustrated expression, and the wallpaper, an aztec-inspired tribal pattern in warm red, yellow, and brown, seemed to grow redder with each passing minute.

jobe — the thorn on your side, the bane of your existence, the fire that consumed everything in its wake and razed all your defenses to the ground. he’s been pressing your buttons the whole week, never once letting up on your overstimulated nerves.

you inhaled and exhaled deeply, attempting to regain your composure. you pumped the ceramic soap dispenser and washed your hands slowly and deliberately, as if the vetiver and bergamot could cleanse your soul of the impure thoughts that clung like rust on iron.

this desperate need to exorcise your mind of jobe consumed you, and your distractedness made it all that easier for satan himself to slip into the powder room undetected.

after washing and drying your hands you looked up at the mirror and found him leaning against the wall behind you, his expression mischievous. 

“been here quite a while,” he remarked lowly. “almost thought you were secretly touching yourself to the thought of me for the last ten minutes.”

you scoffed at his filthy insinuation, anger bubbling deep within you. “the only time i would touch myself and think of you is when i’m dragging a knife across my throat wishing it were yours instead.” 

jobe let out a small laugh. “ouch,” he cooed, feigning hurt. 

you glared at his reflection in the mirror, hands anchored to the edge of the sink. 

“what do you want?” you gritted out, your body practically vibrating with rage. 

he pushed himself off the wall, positioning himself behind you. he was close enough for you to feel his presence but distant enough that your bodies weren’t touching each other.

“give it up,” he whispered, the teasing lilt of his voice had a sharp edge to it, as if he were sick and tired of the mind games. “apologize and i’ll consider taking it easy on you.”

you scoffed, the frayed threads of your patience slowly unraveling. “i hate you,” you seethed, punctuating each word. “i would rather burn in hell than apologize to you.”

he stepped forward, his toned body pinning you to the sink as he wordlessly tucked a strand of hair behind your ears, leaving the right side of your neck exposed. 

“from the looks of it, you’re already in hell,” he whispered into your bared neck, his warm breath tickling your oversensitive skin. desire pooled deep in your stomach as you fought to remain still. “think i don’t notice the longing stares? all the times you stare into space, dreaming of the time i finally have my way with you and fulfill every sick fantasy that no doubt plays in your head.” 

he slid his fingers up your waist slowly, each touch painfully igniting your raw nerves. “you’re frustrated, aren’t you,” he pointed out, his voice low and husky. “that as smart and as level as you are, you can’t seem to climb yourself out of this grave that i’ve dug for you.”

“you can do it, baby,” he murmured into your ear, his eyes never leaving yours. “apologize.”

the emotions inside you — passion, anger, frustration, lust — had reached a boiling point. you let out an almost animalistic noise and whirled around, pressing your chest to his.

surprise flickered briefly in his eyes. he grinned in a way that only victors could after witnessing the pain and the trail of destruction that followed him after each conquest.

you leaned closer to him, lips mere centimeters away from touching. the pulsing and flowing of blood pounded in your ear as desire clawed its way over the battered and bruised reason.

jobe let out a small laugh, appearing satisfied with himself. he leaned into you, prepared to close the gap after your desperation had brought you to him.

you gathered the shattered pieces of your self-control, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and shoved him forward, the force startling him as he stumbled against the wall. 

jobe let out a small laugh, almost proud that you still had some fight left in you. 

“i’ll apologize to you over my dead body,” you whispered menacingly, bunching up the lapels of his jacket up in your first, debating whether to push him further up against the wall or to pull him close to you and end your suffering immediately. 

a sly grin slowly formed on his lips. “how about over your naked one instead?”

“fuck you,” you snapped.

he reached into his pocket, pulling out his room access card and placing it in between your fingers. “promise?” he teased lowly, eyes flickering to your parted lips.

“you’ll come tonight, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, his words meaning two things at once. “be a good girl and come see me.”

bitterness swirled in the pools of espresso resting in the sunken depths of jude bellingham’s eyes. purple marked his underyes, evident from the exhaustion of today’s match.

jude stared endlessly into the darkness before him. the sun had dipped deep below the stadium, dispersing into the soft beams radiating from the streetlights lining the city of Atlanta, Georgia. cheers had evaporated into soft crickets of the night. jude wished to be at the stadium again–perhaps the roaring of the thousands would subdue the creeping hiss of failure in his mind.

there was no one to hush his insecurities or kiss his bruises away today and perhaps not even in the near future.

his bed had grown cold; desolate; void of life. there was no one to cheer him up.

not his mom because her flight was delayed. impeccable timing.

not ashlyn. they had opted for a break on terms their schedules were far too conflicting–five months and three weeks ago.

not his teammates because they were away at a pub, partying and drinking their sorrows away.

not even the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, evident of a successful match, because there was none.

jude bellingham had lost.

eyes frantically flickering across the ceiling in desperation to hold onto something, his mind wandered as he revisited today’s match–why did he lose?

it was England vs. Argentina. he was against messi today–his childhood hero.

now, of course, such failure may be an obvious conclusion against the great star lionel messi, but even a star begins to dwindle into mere dust after a while. was it foolish for jude to hope–believe–that he could win? that England could win? 

jude’s fingers traveled from behind his head to the warm perimeter of his throat, grazing with soft fingertips that jolted with memories of the game today.

“it was unfair.” jude bitterly thought as he flexed his fingers against the bruise on his throat in frustration.

there were fouls, and despite the politically correct answer that rolled off his tongue in the  post-game interviews, his heart was still constricted in grief. England was robbed of a victory, and jude couldn’t fathom the unprecedented sequence of events of today–messi ambushing him to the side in a chokehold.

a sob croaked deep within belligham’s throat, as it burned with the memory of messi’s touch. his touch did not feel warm, like the bright sun gleaming at him; consoling him; whispering through its soft rays that he performed well. no, it stung like an electric shock powered by greed and malice.

the skin no longer bore the marks of messi's grip, but the memory remained, charred blacker than any bruise. it wasn't the ache of physical pain that unsettled him. it was betrayal.

as a boy, jude had idolized lionel messi. posters had covered his bedroom walls. he had watched endless highlight reels, trying to imitate every kick, every strategy, every impossible goal.

never once had he imagined that the man he admired most would leave marks around his throat.

perhaps the old saying had always been right.

you should never meet your heroes.

“yo, mate, you coming to the afters with us?” a voice called abruptly. the door had creaked open, revealing a head of tousled hair. it was jude’s teammate. “we just nipped back from the pub to pick some stuff up, but we’re off to this party in town.”

jude’s breath hitched in surprise, his train of thoughts halted. he swallowed a thick pool of saliva swelling from the back of his throat, thankful the sliver of light from the door didn’t cast on his face and reveal his glossy eyes.

“nah, i’m alright. thanks, mate.” 

the teammate opened his mouth to insist on the offer, but nodded and closed the door instead, seemingly understanding jude’s current state of devastation and need to be alone.

jude exhaled in relief when the door closed.

he looked back onto the ceiling, thick brows scrunching in exasperation.

“this is pathetic,” jude murmured to himself, bringing his arms from behind his head and sitting up. “i need to move on.”

jude swung his legs over the bed, planting his feet on the cool tiles. he launched himself, but a sharp sting swiftly struck his right leg, immobilizing him and making him fall back onto the bed with a thud. the athlete gasped in pain and clutched onto his calf, feeling an abnormal heat thumping beneath his hand. 

jude’s calf was warm and taut beneath his palm. the muscle was swollen just enough to distort its usual definition. a faint purple bloom had begun creeping toward his ankle–jude ripped off his sock only to reveal the joint of his ankle was puffy, too, as he gently pressed his finger against the warm skin. was it an ankle sprain? surely he could sleep it off right? hell, how did he not notice before? was he so concerned with the match that it distracted him from his own health–he had to get a hold of himself for the next game; for his country.

a million diagnoses ran through jude’s mind, trying to decipher a possible cause– “can i still run for the game, though?” echoed louder than any other thought in his internal frenzy.

he planted his hands beside him again, and on the count of three launched himself again, grunting when his leg staggered beneath him. he shifted his weight to his left foot and sharply inhaled through his nose, pausing to recollect his breath. limping, he trudged across the room to the bathroom, but each and every step felt like he had stepped foot onto hot volcano rocks.

there was no way he could sleep this off. he had to go to the hospital.

“hey, girl, do you mind taking room 10’s vital signs? supplies all in the room. he was transferred from urgent care,” the charge nurse pursued, tapping her pen on her sheet of the patients before unclipping the paper from the clipboard. “we’re monitoring him overnight for his mobility and pain–actually could you check how his leg is doing too please?”

“fracture?” you questioned, taking the paper from her hands and scanning over the paper until your eyes landed on the designated room 10. 

“calf contusion and some swelling ‘round the ankle. sports injury.” 

you hummed and nodded in agreement. the charge nurse patted your arm and thanked you, winking at you before walking into another patient’s room down the floor. a soft giggle rocked your slumped shoulders at the gesture. 

it was 12:03 a.m, which was only five hours into your night shift, but oh hospital administration and everything worse, you were tired–no, exhausted. a deep knot twisted itself into your shoulders and neck, and you had half the mind to ask the floor doctor to diagnose you with scoliosis because you could feel your spine contorting into unimaginable shapes that your legs should’ve been in instead. 

“i need to get a hold of myself.” you chastised yourself, rubbing your shoulder blades as if that would ease the jarring soreness.

with an exhale, you walked over to the room, which was on the other floor. your unassigned floor. your nose scrunched in irritation at the thought, and you consoled yourself by telling yourself that at least you had a charge nurse who knew her “please’s” and “thank you’s.”

you tucked the sheet under your armpit, arriving at room 10. raising your knuckle to the door, you took a deep breath. long did you stop practicing your introduction to the patients when you were fresh in the field, the rehearsal playing itself on your lips like muscle memory.

delivering a rapid set of three knocks, you opened the door and entered the rather large room, focused on the paper you shuffled from your side. you reached for a pen from your right pocket, because the left pocket was stained with orange juice from a hostile patient throwing a tantrum since they wanted coke instead. you didn’t blame them–you wanted some, too, either way.

“hello, i’m [name]. i’ll be your nursing assistant for the day–night, sorry. i’ll be taking your vital signs and checking up on your..” you trailed and leaned over, glancing at the big whiteboard scribbled with various notes. 

✔ fall risk.

questions: when can i play again?

ah right–calf contusion. athlete guy. you recalled, the charge nurse’s words washing over you, and mentally slapped yourself for forgetting. you really needed another energy drink. did you remember to pack an extra one? the hospital vending machines were so expensive, and they didn’t even give a discount to the employees!

“my leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.” a deep voice rumbled, adorned with a rather thick accent. was it British?

yeah, i realize that now! how embarrassing. you thought to yourself, nodding in agreement anyways as you scribbled onto your personal notepad on the rather premium quality countertop.

occupied in your own thoughts, you were oblivious, or perhaps simply accustomed, to your patient’s scrutinizing gaze as you untangled the twisted wires from the vital signs monitor tucked away in the corner, dragging it closer to your patient’s bed. you unwrapped the cuff resting on the bars of the bed, still not looking at your patient. 

“i’ll be starting with your blood pressure, okay?” you finally looked at the patient, narrowed your eyes at the sight of him. 

the room was dim, but the faint lamplight of the nightstand beside him still illuminated your patient’s features, which were oddly familiar. the warm light served a contrast for the shadows paving under his skyscrapers of a cheekbone. tiny black hair lined his chiseled jaw. his thick brows furrowed together, and the creases in his forehead pressed against each other.

big brown eyes gazed upon you, but they weren’t inviting. no, they were dark and stormy and filled with worry. the puffiness underlying his eyes was a telltale sign. you felt a twang of pity.

you could tell he…wasn’t fully present, but nonetheless, he nodded, urging you to continue. 

leaning towards him, you gently rolled the sleeve of the hospital gown only to reveal a well-defined bicep. palpable veins jutted out. the phlebotomists would love this. 

“turn your arm towards me please.” you whispered unintentionally.  

he hummed in response, softly too, as he flexed his arm towards you. you could feel his prominent muscles stretch in your hold, sharply inhaling through your nose at the feeling. shaky hands hovering around his prominent veins, you quickly pressed your fingers on the spot above the indentation of his elbow for a pulse before wrapping the cuff around his arm and connecting the tube with the machine. it was routine, and you were thankful for your muscle memory carrying you, because why were you being affected by some anatomy?

“i’m going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.” you spoke–this time loud and clear–as you straightened your posture and reached for the pulse oximeter.

a crack erupted from your back, and a quiet grunt escaped your lips at the jabbing feeling. proper utilization of body mechanics wouldn’t make up for the years of fatigue nesting deep in your bones.

your patient stayed silent, simply looking forward now. his eyes drifted toward the whiteboard that reflected both of you.

he watched your movements.

you turned and clicked the green button on the screen of the machine. a faint whir filled the space between you as the cuff tightened around his arm. .

for some reason, you felt awkward, as if you were supposed to say something; ask something; compliment him something. 

“so…how does your leg feel…” you trailed off once again, eyes quickly darting to the whiteboard for no more than a second. 

you didn’t want to look any more unprofessional than you felt. 

 “jude?”

the name left your lips before you could even think about it.

why does that name feel so familiar?

“the imaging is rather reassuring. there’s no fracture, no tendon rupture, and no significant muscle tear.” 

the physician glanced over the results before looking back at jude. 

“what you have is a mild-to-moderate contusion to the right gastrocnemius, with some muscle spasm and soft-tissue inflammation.” the doctor paused, studying jude’s face; he opened his mouth before clenching his jaw in uncertainty. 

he was no stranger to an injured athlete's emotions. 

“the repeated hits to your leg caused some bleeding and inflammation within the muscle, which is what’s producing the warmth, tenderness, and swelling.” 

jude glanced at his leg, swallowing a thick pool of saliva collecting at the back of his throat. 

“and my ankle?”

“the ankle itself isn’t injured. the swelling you’re seeing around it is dependent edema. some of the fluid from the injured tissue has tracked downward toward the ankle and foot.”

jude sharply inhaled. only one thought played itself in his mind, like a broken record.

“how long?”

“if everything continues to improve as expected, you should be back to normal within about seventy-two hours.”

jude’s brows quirked up, and the tension pulling his jaw taut loosened, soft corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly. the doctor chuckled at the familiar sight. 

“so i can play then?”

“if your pain resolves, your strength and range of motion return, and you pass a proper return-to-play assessment, there’s no reason to expect this injury to keep you out long-term.”

jude exhaled deeply, as his shoulders sagged with relief. he can play.

“but i want to keep you here overnight, and possibly through tomorrow, because of how quickly the swelling developed and how difficult it was for you to bear weight when you arrived. we’ll monitor the swelling, your circulation and nerve function, and how well you respond to treatment.” 

the doctor closed the chart.

“this isn’t because the injury is particularly dangerous,” the doctor tapped his pan on his clipboard. “but it can be if you push yourself.” 

silence fell between them. jude’s eyes fell to his lap, and the doctor knew he was thinking things all athletes thought in crises like these. hesitantly, the doctor stepped forward and tapped his clipboard against jude’s foot resting on the hospital bed, covered by layers of sheets, in a playful manner.

“you did good, jude. we’re proud of you.”

jude’s eyes shot up in mild dismay at the gesture, and he offered a small polite smile. 

but it was only polite.

the doctor wouldn’t know–understand.

he had to–must–push himself. for his team. for his country. there was no other option but to bring it home. hours at the gym, late night practice in the heavy rain, subconsciously practicing dribbling as he walked down the stairs of wherever he was–it was all to win.

the familiar click of the door closing behind the doctor did not do much to ground him amidst his inner turmoil. 

seventy-two hours.

would he be able to sprint?

change direction?

strike the ball?

what if the swelling didn't go down?

what if he wasn't cleared?

what if—

it was only until a knock on the door interrupted jude’s spiral, and a raspy voice forced through the room. 

jude’s eyes passed over the girl standing by the door–another healthcare worker donned in scrubs carrying a complimentary paper. she didn’t look at him. he didn’t look at her for long, either, averting his gaze to his leg. 

she spoke something, perhaps an introduction. jude did not hear, neither did he care really. 

it seemed she didn’t care as much either, as she hesitated with her answer, like she didn’t know–didn’t care to know. why would she? she couldn’t possibly understand. jude noticed the pause in her words. 

“my leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.” jude twitched in annoyance, bouncing his unaffected leg as he fiddled with his fingers. he flexed the toes of his affected leg, now wrapped in soft cotton, but the soreness halted him. 

jude wasn’t really annoyed, but the game, the injury, his teammates, his coach–he still didn’t notify them–it all drowned him, kicked him to the ground in a state of hopelessness like how messi did on the field.

since his admission, everything was really just a blur–the entire routine of it all.

another healthcare worker. 

another set of questions.

another person checking his legs–or vitals, this girl said, too.

he'd lost count of how many people had examined him since he'd arrived, or really throughout his entire football career.

doctor.

nurse.

medic.

physio.

someone from imaging.

they all morphed into one, now, their voices dissolving into one long stream of medical terminology.

jude’s eyes drifted shut in an attempt to calm his bumbling nerves. lord, if they brought in a psychiatrist for his mental health–

“i’m going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.”

jude opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at you. you were standing beside the bed with a clothespin-looking device and an assortment of tubes in your hands. he nodded.

he should contact coach now; tell him of his condition. surely, he will be able to play in–

warm.

the hairs on the back of jude’s neck pricked up, bristling against his skin like the freshly trimmed grass poking through his socks at practice. a softer shock jostled him at the feeling.

he hadn’t realized that he was so cold. even with the upgraded hospital room generously offered by the hospital for someone of his status, a hospital room remains a hospital room. the plethora of white sheets pooling around his legs did nothing to keep him warm. was jude shivering, or trembling from anxiety? jude did not know, only that for a moment his mind was no longer centered on the game.

it slipped somewhere distant.

so did the doctor’s voice.

so did the swelling in his leg.

but the warmth remained.

jude watched your movements through the reflection on the whiteboard. he blinked slowly, as if coming to consciousness, as his gaze followed your hands adjusting the clothespin thing on his finger.

you were careful, but there seemed to be a disconnect in your movements. he noticed the way you flexed your fingers after rearranging the tubes of the machine and the way you seemed to comfort yourself by resting your hand on your lower back.

“so… how does your leg feel–jude?” he noticed the pause in your question, again, and this time he did not feel annoyance but rather intrigue.

“it’s better. the physio was helpful.” jude responded, this time less curt and now looking at you fully. “my leg is still sore, but there isn’t as much as pain, yeah.”

you quickly jotted down in your notebook, before walking around the bed and pulling a chair to sit on in front of the bed. 

“alright. i noticed that in your chart you’re at risk for falls,” you set down your notebook atop of the fluffy white blankets next to his foot. “would you say it’s less painful to walk now compared to when you first came in? on a rate of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest and 10 the highest.”

jude was fully facing you now. your posture was straight; confident with knowledge in your field, as you spoke as if you were declaring an order. but the shoulders in your uniform were rounded, and the tilt in your head seemed heavy, like the weight of your head was simply too much to bear. jude knew that look from practice when he leaned against his teammates after a long session.

“yeah, it’s about a 4/10 now. it was a solid 8/10 when i first came here–felt like i was stepping over hot rocks.” jude admitted freely, straightening his own posture and clasping his hands in his lap like a schoolgirl.

you offered a small smile. nothing more; nothing less.

“i’m going to check the swelling over your foot now, okay, and for any discoloration.” you spoke–declared–as your fingers diligently moved to unwrap the cotton wrapped tightly around his leg. 

slowly, you unrolled the yellow padded sock and peeled away the covering around his ankle, too. a waft of an earthy musk hit your nose, like moisture trapped inside of a shoe after a rainy day. your nose twitched ever so slightly.

with practiced ease, you pressed your fingers gently around the area.

there it was again, warmth. 

and also a sting.

“ah–!” jude gasped, instinctively reaching over to his leg and meeting where your hand was. 

“sorry,” you immediately retracted your hand, trying to ignore the faint spark you felt when your fingertips touched for a split second. “it seems the ankle is fine, but your leg is a bit tender. there’s also some discoloration, but it’s not as much.”

“it’s alright.” jude murmured, his hand remaining where it was. did your fingers touch? he could feel the jagged edges of your nails.

you pulled back and wrote down something in your notes. jude wondered how you still had space left with all of that notetaking. 

turning around to face the table of supplies your charge nurse had left, you soaked up a few white towelettes in the basin of water before wringing out all the extra moisture. you wished someone could do that with your spine.

“i’m gonna clean your leg and change your dressing.” you winced as the smell hit your nose again. 

holding your breath in, you swiftly wiped over jude’s leg and then over his ankle. grabbing a new wet toilette, you twisted your index finger in the middle of the cloth, twirling your finger into the crevices between jude’s toes before wiping over the front and back. the calluses on the back of jude’s toes hitched onto the cloth–dry and immovable.

jude had leaned back now, retracting his hand and smoothing over some of the sheets besides his leg in an attempt to aid you. he watched your movements: the way your voice was still firm, yet your touch was gentler than before as you cleaned. his eyes tracked over from your hands to your face, and he quickly grasped a deeper look on the expression you wore on your face: the shadows underneath your eyes were darker than the navy of your uniform, and a few strands of hair had escaped whatever attempt you'd made to keep them in place, framing the perimeter of your face. 

you looked exhausted. 

not the polished kind of tired he'd seen on television, where someone smiled through it for the cameras.

you looked genuinely and painfully tired.

a cooling sensation on the back of his toes snapped jude out of his thoughts. you were spreading lotion on his toes, specifically dabbing it on the calluses formed from many a wear of his cleats and a run on the field. he sheepishly smiled at the tickling feeling, biting his lip to refrain himself from cracking a giggle.

you quickly redressed and bandaged the new cloth around jude’s leg before throwing away the old dressing and cleaning up the table, pausing as you finished up your duty. the nagging suspicion your subconscious had developed towards your patient prompted you to say something–ask: 

“you got a question there on the board.” your voice was soft again but laced with unease.

jude glanced at the board, opening his mouth before closing. 

“i’ve got a game in three days,” jude promptly responded, flexing his toes as his mind returned to the game. these past ten minutes were probably the longest he ever went without thinking about the game. “gotta make sure i can kick the ball proper.”

you slowly shook your head in understanding.

“so… you’re a–soccer player?”

“footballer.” jude responded curtly, blinking at the name. the correction came quickly, almost instinctively, before he could stop himself.

you blinked, too, surprise somehow relaxing your weary features as your brows lifted slightly from their dreadful droop. jude quickly realized that was the first–no, second, because you had smiled earlier (although it was a very small smile)–solid expression you made since your visit.

“sorry?”

jude recognized how it sounded and quickly shook his head.

“no, sorry. footballer. we call it football.” 

“ah,” a small smile of amusement tugged the corners of your lips. “right, then. footballer.”

“footballer,” you quietly repeated to yourself, as if tasting a new flavor of energy drink and pondering if it was going to become your new regular. you worked with a multitude of different people with diverse backgrounds, and curiosity had kickstarted your brain now.

“i suppose that’s the… British term?” you hesitantly asked, careful to not overstep a boundary.

“yeah.”

you simply nodded again at the confirmation, as if marking away the information on your own very whiteboard in your mind. you were not great at conversing with your patients; it was why you switched to night shift.

“makes sense.”

a brief silence passed before a strong sense of intrigue had now replaced the simple and polite curiosity within you, spurring you to ask another question, “if you don’t mind me asking… your accent. it’s from the uk, right?” 

jude studied your face.

“yeah. England.”

“oh.” you glanced back at his chart, still completely unaware. “that explains it.”

jude hummed in agreement.

“so what game, then?” you asked again, becoming more confident in your conversational abilities.

jude grimaced, his brows knitting together and his nose crinkling in utter befuddlement. 

for years, jude had become accustomed to people knowing him before he introduced himself. fans knew his name. reporters knew his history. strangers knew his goals, his statistics, his performances. healthcare workers often gave him special treatment, like how he was automatically upgraded to a vip room without coach’s request today or how many nurses and doctors would use their position to ask a personal question or an autograph or something else a regular fan couldn’t. 

for some reason though, this very woman before him didn’t know anything. she only treated him like a regular man with a regular injury.

“you don’t know?” jude questioned in disbelief.

“know what?” you retorted with equal confusion.

“who i am, mate.”

“well, you’re jude–” you quickly glanced toward his chart, doing a double-take. your eyes darted to the whiteboard, processing the medical notes before the name finally clicked. a sharp gasp cut off your breath. “oh. you’re jude bellingham. that soccer pla–the footballer.” 

jude chuckled at your realization, and your quick correction at yourself.

“you recognized my accent but not me, darling?”

author's note: poor reader is just trying to do her job but jude's got stinky feet

"Fucks sake, what do you expect me to do?" Jobe's voice rings out over the phone. "I'm working, I can't just be there whenever you want." You're shocked by his harsh words, tears welling up in your eyes. But you quickly shrug them away.

"Are you serious right now, I know that-- you don't think I know that Jobe?" your voice raises irritatedly. "I've supported you through all of this, I understand, I never asked or expected anything from you, and I never complained, it didn't matter because I had you." you voice out frustrated. "What matters is that you never call, you never check up on me anymore, you're always either exhausted or out with the team. Your excuses are getting predictable." you accuse him. "It's like I don't even matter anymore." Your voice breaks on the last word, your confidence slowly shrinking.

Jobe sighs and after a few seconds he finally speaks, "Love-- fuck I'm sorry, I never meant for you to feel like that, like an after thought, genuinely, I'm sorry."

You clear your throat, masking away your sadness. "It's fine, I just need you to try, please."

"I will baby, you don't have-" He gets cut off by the sounds of his teammates speaking loudly. "Shit baby, I have to go right now, but we're good right?" He asks slightly rushed.

You sigh inwardly, "Sure sure, I hope have a good pra-"

And before you can finish your sentence, the line goes dead.

You stare at the blank screen disappointed, because the truth is, it was never fine. It's not been fine for a while now. And the worst part-- Jobe just doesn't seem to really care anymore.

The struggle of the different time zones has slowly been creeping it's way into your and Jobe's relationship, at first everything seemed somewhat manageable, you both optimistic about figuring out the long distance, but now after months of being apart, that has changed drastically. Everything between you two getting harder to manage with each passing day.

This doesn't bother you though, what bothers you though is that it seems he's completely forgotten you exist.

"What are you doing, baby" You'd ask. "Me and the boys are out tonight- Yeah, can you get me a drink!" He'd laugh with teammates. "Just having a few beers tonight, before coach kills us Monday morning", "That sounds nice baby, just don't have too much fun." You'd try to joke. "Yeah yeah" he'd say nevermindedly. "Night baby" is all he'd say before he'd end the call.

You'd put up with this for months, because the truth, is you love him so much. You love his quirks, his laugh, how stupid he sometimes could be, his little moods... you love everything about him, and you simply can't imagine what you'd do without him in your life. And that's why you decided to put up with it, because just maybe you two could make it work.

A single tear falls from your eye at the thoughts forming in your head and you swipe it away, realising. I won't cry. Because if you did, you'd be admitting to yourself that your and Jobe's relationship truly is struggling.

Your phone rings, Denise's name lights up the screen. You take a composing breath before answering. "Hi Denise," you say sweetly. "How's everything?"

From the moment you met Jobe's family two years ago, you and Denise immediately clicked, she was like a second mother to you, always listening to you rant about the silliest stuff and giving the most perfect advice when you're struggling at work.

"Hi baby girl, how are you-" she doesn't give you a second to answer and immediately continues talking. "When are you flying in for Jobe's game?"

You're eyes shoot open instantly, you haven't even though about that. You sigh before speaking, "Honestly, I don't even know if I should go..." you say softly.

"What do you mean?" she askes softly.

"Denise, you know I'd never ever want to turn you against your son... it's just that I don't think Jobe would even want me there right now." you say defeatedly.

Denise gasps softly, "How could you even say that, that boy loves you more than anything, why wouldn't he want you there?" concerned she adds, "You're his everything." she states it as a fact.

"It just hasn't felt like that these last few months, and I know it's supposed to be hard- us being so far apart and everything, but why doesn't it feel like I'm his everything anymore?" You speak softly, tears now freely falling from your eyes.

"Oh, you poor baby." Denise speaks softly. "I know it's hard, but you and Jobe are each other's person. I know that for a fact. You two may be going through a rough patch right now-- it happens to the best of us-- but you'll make it out. Trust me. And I know that boy would absolutely love it if you were there supporting him, even if he can't say it." She speaks purposefully. "Look, me and Mark are going in two days time and we're booking you a ticket." You're about to speak when she cuts you off, "No, no, listen to me. You're coming and that's the end of the story. You don't want me calling him and biting his head off for how he's been treating you, do you?"

You laugh through your tears, sniffing. "Yeah no, I don't want that... you're right." you're quite for a second before speaking, "Thank you Denise, I appreciate you so much."

"Aw" she laughs, "You don't have to thank me, I mean you're my daughter in law, I'm here for everything-- especially slagging off Jobe." she whispers the last part.

At that you laugh out loudly, "Denise!"

"Yeah yeah", she replies brushing her comment off, "We'll see you at the airport then?" You sigh happily, "You will, you and Mark have a nice day."

"Thank you baby girl, you too. Bye" she replies. You sing out a bye before ending the call.

You sigh loudly, even if Jobe didn't want you there, you'd be there. Because even if things were rocky right now, you'd still support him through anything and everything.

The energy in the first half of the game is electric, the stadium roaring with infectious support. The crowd shouting proudly at every successful pass and practically jumping out of their seats each time a goal is attempted. But somewhere past the second half, the game changed for the worst.

The ball gets passed to him successfully, he dribbles up to the box with precision and attempts to score--the crowd groans in disappointment-- he missed the shot. Your eyebrows draw together concerned.

Your eyes find Jobe automatically-- he's off his game today, missing passes and standing around, it's like his head is not in the game at all.

Denise's hand finds yours and you turn to give her a faint smile. "Don't worry so much" she smiles and all you could manage was to nod your head while your eyes were fixated on the field.

The game flew by fastly, The team attempting to score, but missing every time, and now they're unfortunately behind by two points.

In the last minute the crowd started to get restless, slightly irritated and disappointed, nothing was going correctly, and you could see that.

The final whistle blew harshly, and Jobe's hands found his head disappointed. You hate to see him like this, let down in himself.

You sit in the stadium seats quietly, watching the supporters slowly leave, one by one. The players finally moving towards their families.

Jobe turns away from the crowd, heading towards where his parents usually sit.

"Go to him... " Denise's gentle voice snaps you out of your head, softly squeezing your shoulder.

"Yeah..." you say nodding softly. You stand from your seat hesitantly, and your legs slowly start moving towards the entrance Jobe's walking to.

You carefully walk towards the end of the seats, your heart pounding against your chest with every step.

A few strides from you Jobe abruptly stops as he notices you. You stare at each other for what feels like minutes, you can't seem to understand what he's thinking, what's going on in he's mind-- but then you're absolutely shocked.

Jobe's shoulders slouch down, he's head looking down, and his hand comes up to cover his eyes. Is-- is he crying?

He starts moving and so do you and when you're finally in front of each other you whisper softly, "Jobe?" concern lacing your voice.

His looks at you and you immediately find his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You silently move to hug him and his head falls on your shoulder softly, his arms move around your waist tightly.

And you swear this hug feels a hell of a lot like an apology.

Jobe sniffles softly, his head still on your shoulder and his hands now pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"I'm so so so fucking sorry, love." he says into your shoulder. "Jobe, baby--" you start your hands gently rubbing his back. He interrupts you swiftly, now looking directly at you, "No, don't baby me, I don't deserve your comfort right now, I've been nothing but an absolute dick to you-- and you didn't deserve it... any of it. I was stressed, overwhelmed and overworked, and I took it all out on you and you never said anything... I know I don't deserve you after how shitty I've been-- but god am I happy you're here right now."

Your heart swells at his apology, and you go soft immediately. You throw your arms around his neck gently and you sadly smile at his words.

"Jobie-- for you, always" you whisper honestly. He laughs his eyes still full of tears and he's hands find your cheeks gently, "I love you." he says soflty before kissing you. And you kiss him back.

The kiss isn't rough nor is it demanding. It's deliberate and soft-- it's apologetic.

You laugh breaking the kiss, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Let's go find your parents..." You joke, intertwining you hand with his.

A/N

hihi! i've been working on this for WAY too long, and i genuinely don't know if it works, im sorry but i just needed a yearning jobe. hopefully you all enjoyed it <3

jobe had dragged her inside after school with grass stains on both of their knees and a football tucked under one arm.

“mum!” jobe shouted. “we’re starving.”

his mother looked up from the stove before smiling. “and who have you kidnapped today?”

y/n answered before jobe could. broad smile on her face. “i came willingly.”

jude, thirteen then, barely spared her a glance as he walked through the kitchen toward the fridge.

she, however, watched him like he’d personally invented gravity. and that’s when it started.

it became something everyone noticed eventually. not in the exaggerated way children teased each other, but it was just there. you could notice it without much effort.

whenever jobe invited her over, she’d end up lingering wherever jude happened to be. if jude was practicing free kicks in the garden, she’d find an excuse to sit on the patio with homework she never actually touched. if jude was watching football in the living room, she’d suddenly be interested in whichever teams were playing. if he walked into the kitchen, she’d somehow already be there asking jobe if he wanted a snack.

she wasn’t subtle. never had been. never really tried to be either.

she would ask jude questions no one else did.

“did training go well?”

“what boots are those?”

“did your ankle ever stop hurting?”

she remembered things. too many things. things that the best friend of your younger brother shouldn’t really remember.

one afternoon she looked up from helping jobe with homework and casually said; “you have trials tomorrow, right?”

jude blinked. “yeah.”

“i’ll be rooting for you.”

it was simple and quick. she said it without even expecting a reply. as if just stating something that he shouldn’t need to overthink.

she smiled before looking back down at the maths sheet as though she’d simply commented on the weather.

he remembered thinking that she was weird. not in a mean way, just weird. odd.

because why did she know that?

years passed. jobe and y/n stayed inseparable. jude became a professional footballer. they were basically the same, only older.

the visits never stopped. if anything, they became more frequent.

whenever jude came home during breaks, y/n always happened to be there. helping his mum bake, watching a movie with jobe, sitting outside with headphones around her neck laughing so hard she nearly fell off the garden chair.

it didn’t necessarily mean she was there for him. she really wasn’t. she was there because it was her home now too. that’s how she felt about it.

she’d wave when he walked in anyways. always.

a soft greeting with that sweet smile that seemed to never fade. “hi, jude,” like she’d been waiting for him.

he’d nod, small smile that didn’t always reach his eyes, respond nonchalantly. “alright,” and keep walking.

she never seemed offended. never pushed. never expected conversations longer than a few minutes. but she existed around him close enough to notice, and far enough not to get in the way.

his teammates figured it out before he ever did.

one summer, several of them were staying over while training nearby. jobe had invited y/n around because they were planning to watch a match together.

she walked into the garden carrying chips and lemonade and greet everyone with that same enthusiasm she always carried herself with.

“hi!”

and then she’d look at jude.

“hi,” with a completely different voice. smaller and softer. almost shy.

she had never been particularly shy. kept to herself maybe a little, never nervous in normal settings though.

so it wasn’t a surprise when one of his teammates noticed instantly.

after she disappeared back inside, someone elbowed him. “dude.”

“what?”

“that girl.”

“what about her?”

“she’s in love with you.”

jude nearly choked on his drink, laughing uncontrollably. “no, she isn’t.”

“oh, come off it. you didn’t see the way she looked at you?”

another teammate laughed. “i’ve seen insurance sellers less committed than her.”

jude rolled his eyes, a bit more serious now. “she’s jobe’s friend.”

“exactly.”

“so?”

“so she’s been staring at you for ten minutes.”

“i wasn’t even talking.”

“that definitely didn’t stop her, mate.”

the conversation dissolved into laughter. jude tried laughing too, but it was a different mindset now.

he couldn’t stop noticing.

the way she’d unconsciously turn toward him whenever he spoke. how she’d laugh louder when he made jokes. how she’d immediately ask if he wanted another drink before anyone else. how she always chose the chair closest to him without seeming to realise she’d done it. how she remembered tiny details he’d forgotten he’d ever mentioned.

it was a lot. it wasn’t normal.

then came the teasing.

“oh look.”

“there she is.”

“your little shadow.”

“jude’s biggest fan.”

he denied it every single time. rolling his eyes and drifting the topic to anything else.

“she’s just friends with my brother.”

“mhm.”

“nothing else.”

yet the jokes kept coming. and eventually, they started irritating him.

not because of y/n. she hadn’t done anything wrong. but everyone kept making it into something.

every time she walked over; “there she comes.”

every time she smiled; “oh, she’s looking.”

every time she asked him something; “damn, she’s obsessed.”

he started becoming hyperaware of it. of her, of where she stood, of whether people were watching, whether they were going to make another joke.

instead of simply seeing y/n, he started seeing everyone else’s reactions to y/n.

and resentment quietly settled somewhere it never should have.

it happened during another barbecue.

the house was loud as it usually was. children running through sprinklers and music floating from the speakers with adults talking over one another.

y/n and jobe had gone inside to find ice cream while jude leaned against the fence with three friends.

one of them nodded toward the patio doors. “so, when are you going to tell your girlfriend?”

jude groaned. “for god’s sake.”

“what?”

“she’s not my girlfriend.”

“you sure?”

another snorted. “mate, she follows you everywhere.”

jude rubbed a hand over his face, irritation overflowing. “i know.”

“so?”

he laughed, but there wasn’t any humor behind it. nothing was funny, he just needed the conversation to end.

“it’s honestly…” he searched for a word. one that wasn’t mean but one that could explain the situation. “…annoying.”

possibly the worst choice of wording ever.

his friends were no longer laughing. smiles had dimmed a bit as well. he was being serious.

“i can’t go anywhere in this house without her appearing.”

one of his friends chuckled. “that’s harsh.”

“i’m serious. i walk into a room and she’s there. i go outside and she’s outside. it’s like having a second little sibling.”

another laugh, but jude only shook his head. “i just want one visit where she’s not attached to my side.”

one of them muttered. “damn,” not even being funny. but there was genuinely nothing else that they could’ve said. jude wasn’t being nice.

he shrugged. “i don’t mean to sound horrible, but it gets old,” he looked down at the grass. “i don’t even know why she likes me. i’ve never done anything.”

none of them noticed the kitchen door had opened. or that y/n had frozen halfway through stepping outside. a tub of vanilla ice cream in one hand, spoons in the other.

her smile disappeared so quietly no one saw it happen. not even jude, seemingly too busy speaking his mind.

she stood there for perhaps two minutes. long enough to hear every word and long enough to understand exactly what he meant.

then she turned around and walked back inside without making a sound.

jobe found her standing in the laundry room. she was staring at the washing machine doing absolutely nothing.

“you alright?”

she blinked, being pulled out of her thoughts. “oh. yeah.”

“you found the ice cream?”

“mhm.”

“then why’re you in here?”

she looked toward the hallway.

for a second, jobe thought she’d cry. her eyes did that little thing where they watered, but this time it wasn’t out of happiness like it usually was.

instead, she smiled. “i’m suddenly not very hungry.”

“you sick?”

“no,” she handed him the tub. “you take it.”

“what about you?”

“i think my mum wanted me home anyway.”

jobe frowned. “no she didn’t.”

y/n sighed. “i know,” her smile trembled. “but i’ll pretend she did.”

before he could ask another question, she was gone.

the first few days, jude didn’t notice. not really.

life had a way of swallowing small absences before anyone realized they were gone, and he was fairly busy. like any other footballer was.

training started before sunrise, recovery sessions blurred into media obligations, flights, matches, interviews. by the time he came home, he barely registered that the house was quieter or that there was an absence that was impossible to miss.

it wasn’t until the following saturday. he walked into the kitchen, already expecting to hear two voices arguing over something ridiculous. it was mostly the same thing: jobe insisting pineapple belonged on pizza, y/n insisting it absolutely didn’t. or y/n stealing chips from the cupboard only for jobe to yell; “mum! she took the last packet again!”

but instead there was only silence. just his mother humming while she stirred a pot on the stove.

jude opened the fridge. “where’s jobe?”

“training.”

“and…” he hesitated. “…y/n?”

denise looked up. “oh. she’s not coming over much lately.”

he nodded absentmindedly. “right.”

he grabbed a bottle of water and left. it didn’t really bother him. it didn’t feel strange.

not yet.

then another week passed. then another and another.

and he noticed she’d vanished.

there was no extra backpack by the front door, no shoes kicked off in the hallway, no voice calling “hello?” before she’d even stepped inside, letting herself in like it was her house. no asking his mother if she needed help cooking, and no laughter spilling upstairs because she and jobe had found another stupid video to laugh at.

nothing.

“is y/n busy?” the question slipped out before jude realized he’d spoken.

jobe didn’t even look up from his phone. “dunno.”

“you haven’t seen her?”

he nodded. “i have.”

“so why isn’t she here?”

jobe shrugged. “she doesn’t come over anymore.”

“why?”

another shrug. “says she’s busy.”

that should’ve been enough. people got busy. they grew up and had lives to live. only issue was that y/n had never been too busy. not for jobe, not for his family, and not for him.

his eyes drifted unconsciously toward the empty chair in the garden.

the one she always chose. every single time.

and wondered why he didn’t like that she wasn’t there.

a month. one whole month and he hadn’t even seen her once. not even by accident.

until family dinner. his mother had invited y/n’s parents over, something she’d done for years.

jude almost smiled to himself while walking downstairs. absentmindedly and without questioning why. he just expected things to feel normal again.

expected y/n to already be sitting beside jobe and expected her to grin awkwardly when he walked in.

jobe looked up. “oh, jude’s here.”

she turned and barely glanced at him. “hi.”

just one word. polite, no smile, no dirty look either. but it felt dull.

then she turned straight back to jobe. “did you finish that game?”

“yeah, but you would’ve hated the ending.”

“no spoilers.”

“i wasn’t gonna—”

she laughed. it didn’t look staged or fake. but how dare she? like jude wasn’t standing three feet away.

for the rest of dinner she never addressed him once. if she needed salt she asked jobe, if she wanted another drink she asked his mother, if someone asked the whole table a question she answered everyone except him.

she wasn’t being rude. y/n was never rude. that almost made it worse.

but she was being indifferent. like he’d become another chair in the room.

and he didn’t like that.

his mother noticed first. after dinner she quietly nudged him while washing dishes. “you two alright?”

he frowned. “who?”

“you and y/n.”

“what?”

“she hardly spoke to you.”

“oh,” he shrugged, looking back at the dishes. “didn’t notice.”

his mother gave him a look that clearly said she knew he was lying. but she didn’t push.

the dinners kept happening every few weeks. every single one looked exactly the same.

y/n arrived, hugged his mother, teased his dad, spent an hour laughing with jobe, helped clear plates, thanked everyone, and went home.

jude existed somewhere in the background.

she never sought him out anymore. never accidentally wandered into the same room or asked about training. never remembered his matches.

never looked at him. not really.

and that hurt him more than he’d ever imagined it could.

it became embarrassing how often he caught himself searching for her.

walking downstairs expecting to hear her. coming home wondering if her shoes were by the door.

listening for her laugh before remembering she didn’t come anymore.

then little things started surfacing. tiny things he’d never appreciated.

his mother sighed one afternoon while baking. “i miss her.”

jude looked up. “y/n?”

“mhm.”

“why?”

his mother smiled softly. “she always helped without asking,” denise looked at him. “made tea, set the table.”

“kept me company.”

the house suddenly felt empty. and it was weird because there was definitely people there.

jobe noticed too. though he’d never admit it directly.

one evening jude found him sitting alone in the garden. football balanced between his feet.

“no y/n?”

jobe kicked the ball lazily. “no.”

“you two argue?”

“nope.”

“so?”

“i don’t know,” jobe frowned. “she just stopped coming around, i guess.”

one afternoon jude was cleaning out an old cupboard looking for a charger.

instead he found a tiny notebook. blue cover with dog eared corners.

he flipped it open absentmindedly. he didn’t know who it belonged to, but he laughed at the thought of it being jobe’s.

then he froze.

every page was covered in football fixtures. england matches, champions league nights, training schedules.

written in tiny handwriting with stickers and words highlighted in so many colors.

he recognized it instantly. this was something that belonged to y/n.

there were notes beside certain dates. those were surrounded by extra stickers.

“wish jude luck.”

“ask how recovery went.”

“don’t forget his birthday.”

a folded receipt slipped from between the pages.

he unfolded it and found a photograph. years old with folded corners and faded color.

jobe was making a stupid face, y/n laughing so hard her eyes were closed, and jude. standing beside them looking mildly annoyed because someone had insisted he join.

he couldn’t even remember the picture being taken, but y/n had kept it. all these years.

his chest tightened and his hands trembled slightly.

he carefully slid everything back exactly as he’d found it and didn’t mention it.

that night, he couldn’t sleep.

his friends’ voices echoed through his head.

“she’s obsessed.”

“she’s always around.”

“your shadow.”

then his own.

“it’s honestly annoying.”

he squeezed his eyes shut. he hadn’t just rejected a confession or simply said he wasn’t interested.

he’d mocked y/n’s presence. someone who’d spent years making his family feel warmer. someone who’d celebrated every goal he ever scored. someone who’d never once asked him for anything.

and she’d heard him. he was sure of it.

she’d heard every word.

the realization settled slowly and painfully. it wasn’t just that y/n had stopped following him around or that she’d grown out of him. she’d stopped feeling safe around him.

and he was realizing just now.

a few days later, jobe wandered into jude’s room without knocking.

“you did something.”

jude looked up from his phone, frowning. “what?”

“to y/n.”

his stomach dropped as he put his phone away. “why do you think that?”

“because she won’t come over.”

“so?”

“so she loved this house,” jobe’s voice was unusually serious. “she practically lived here. i ask her every week and she always says no.”

jude swallowed.

“what reason? ‘busy.’ and she’s obviously lying,” jobe looked directly at him. “i’ve known her since we were ten. i know when she’s lying. you did something.”

jude stared at the floor. “i don’t know.”

“liar.”

the words lingered long after jobe left.

jude admitted it to himself. he knew exactly what he’d done.

he just hadn’t realized how much damage one conversation could do. because it wasn’t only her discomfort towards him, but he’d taken his mothers and his brother’s person and pushed them as far from them as he could without meaning to.

it got worse when he started noticing her everywhere.

a café she’d recommended. a song she’d once played in the car. a mug she’d accidentally left behind that his mother refused to throw away.

he’d hear someone laugh in public, turn his head, and feel disappointed when it wasn’t her.

he’d score during a match and look toward the family section without thinking. as if expecting to find one familiar face beaming brighter than the rest.

she wasn’t there. of course she wasn’t.

and every time something inside him sank a little further. so deep it became impossible to deny.

he hadn’t been annoyed by y/n, he’d been annoyed that everyone else noticed her feelings before he did. embarrassed by the teasing. too immature to separate her quiet affection from his friends’ jokes.

so he’d taken his frustration out on the easiest target. the person who deserved it least. the one with the sweetest smile.

and now the silence she’d left behind echoed louder than she’d ever spoken.

by the end of the second month, jude realized something that made him sit awake until nearly dawn.

the house hadn’t become quieter because y/n talked a lot; it had become quieter because she’d filled every room without trying. he just hadn’t understood it until she stopped.

and perhaps the cruelest part of all was that the only reason he finally understood how much she mattered was because he was living in the emptiness she’d left behind.

by the third month, guilt had stopped feeling sharp, but it was heavier. the kind that followed jude everywhere.

it waited beside him in the gym, sat beside him on team buses, appeared in hotel rooms when the television was on but he wasn’t watching.

it even found him during matches. after goals. after victories. during celebrations where everyone else was smiling.

he’d catch himself looking toward the stands.

it was ridiculous. she’d hardly ever come to his matches. she preferred watching from home because she claimed, very seriously, that she got less nervous through a screen.

still he looked. every time. and every time he was met by the same disappointment.

and he had no one other than himself to blame.

“you’ve been weird,” trent dropped onto the bench beside him after training.

jude didn’t bother looking up. “i’ve always been weird.”

“no. you’ve been…” he searched for the word. “…quiet.”

“i’m tired.”

“no, you’re something else.”

jude laughed once, but it lacked its usual warmth. “you sound like my therapist.”

“i’m serious,” trent nudged his shoulder. “did something happen?”

jude almost answered. almost said it aloud.

i broke someone’s heart without even realizing she’d handed it to me.

but he chose to shrug his shoulders. “nah.”

one rainy tuesday, he came home unexpectedly because training had been cancelled.

the house was empty except for his mother, who was sitting at the dining table with a cardboard box.

he walked to where she was and saw what the box had inside. old photographs, birthday cards, school drawings.

jude sat beside her. “what’re you doing?”

“sorting,” she smiled. “i’ve been meaning to for years.”

he reached into the box absentmindedly and pulled out a picture of jobe missing two front teeth. y/n beside him with scraped knees.

himself in the background looking deeply offended because someone had forced him into the frame like always.

his mother laughed. “you remember that?”

“no.”

“you complained for ten minutes. ‘why do i have to be in every picture?’,” she imitated his younger voice perfectly.

jude smiled despite himself.

then another picture. y/n sitting on the kitchen counter, decorating cupcakes. flour all over her nose and denise beside her laughing.

another.

christmas. y/n wearing the paper crown from a cracker while his dad pointed the camera at everyone.

another.

jobe’s birthday. y/n holding the cake looking grumpy because she insisted she’d drop it if she didn’t concentrate.

another.

summer barbecue. y/n asleep on the garden swing with a book resting on her chest.

his mother noticed where his eyes lingered. “she really grew up here.”

jude swallowed. “yeah.”

denise looked back into the box. “i miss having her around.”

he stared at the photograph. “so do i.”

the words came quietly because he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

his mother looked at him and asked gently. “did something happen?”

the house was quiet for a minute. long enough for rain to become the loudest thing in the room.

“i think…” his voice cracked unexpectedly. “…i think i hurt her.”

his mother didn’t interrupt. she waited the way mothers somehow always knew when silence was more important than questions.

jude rubbed both hands over his face. “my friends kept… making jokes.”

“what jokes?”

he laughed bitterly. “that she followed me everywhere. that she had a crush on me.”

his mother raised one eyebrow. “she did.”

“i know. i know that now,” he shook his head before correcting himself. “i knew then. i just…” he sighed. “i got embarrassed. and one day they brought it up again,” his stomach twisted. “i called her annoying.”

his mother went completely still.

“i said i couldn’t go anywhere without her and that she was attached to my side. that i wanted one visit where she wasn’t around.”

his voice became quieter with every sentence. “i didn’t know she was behind me.”

the rain outside filled the silence as his mother looked down at the photographs scattered across the table.

“oh, jude.”

heartbroken. for both of them. because she knew who her son was, but she also knew who y/n was. sweet and patient y/n.

“she heard all of it?”

he nodded. “every word.”

his mother closed the photo album. “i wondered.”

“you wondered?”

“i couldn’t understand why she suddenly looked uncomfortable here,” she looked toward the window. “i thought maybe she’d simply outgrown us.”

jude felt sick. “no.”

his mother reached over and squeezed his hand. “you owe that girl an apology.”

“i know.”

“no,” she looked him directly in the eye. “you owe her one without expecting forgiveness.”

that’s what was jude was the most scared about. that maybe she wouldn’t forgive him because she really didn’t have to.

he wanted her to anyway.

he spent the next week trying.

twice he drove toward her house. twice he turned around.

every version of the conversation sounded selfish.

i’m sorry because i miss you.

i’m sorry because i realized i like you.

the apology couldn’t be about him. it had to be about what he’d done.

fate, however, had different plans.

it happened at jobe’s match, a local charity event. jude had agreed to come support his brother and he had arrived late.

he stopped abruptly when he saw y/n.

she was standing beside the refreshments table helping hand out drinks to children while laughing at something a little girl had said.

she looked exactly the same and completely different.

she hadn’t noticed him yet. she was smiling with that same charisma she had always had. the one he loved so much but realized too late.

his feet moved before he’d fully decided to.

“y/n.”

she turned and smile slipped gradually. like she’d folded it away.

“oh, hi.”

there it was again. that polite voice. the one she’d started using after that afternoon. the one that wasn’t rude but lacked sweetness.

he hated it.

“can we talk?”

she hesitated and looked toward the children waiting for juice. “i’m helping.”

“i’ll wait.”

she blinked as if she’d expected him to give up. but twenty minutes later she walked over to him.

“what did you need?”

jude suddenly forgot every sentence he’d rehearsed.

“i’m sorry.”

she looked at him. though there was no trace of surprise on her face, she did look as if that was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

“i’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for weeks—months. and every version sounded wrong,” he took a shaky breath.

“you heard what i said, and there isn’t a version of it that isn’t awful.”

y/n stared at the grass between them, unable to look at him just yet.

“i was embarrassed. i let people teasing me become more important than…” he looked at her. “…than your feelings. i spoke about you like you were something i had to put up with when really…” his laugh broke halfway through. “you were just… being kind to me.”

y/n stayed quiet.

“i made you feel unwelcome in a place that felt like home. i took something safe away from you.”

he closed his eyes for a second as he felt his chest tighten. “i’m so, so sorry.”

y/n finally looked up and her eyes were glassy.

“i kept wondering what i’d done.”

his heart stopped. she sounded small. so small. and it was him who had done that.

“i thought maybe i’d been too loud,” she laughed softly through her tears. “or talked too much,” she paused to regain her breath. “so i tried talking less. i thought maybe i bothered your parents. so i started leaving earlier,” her voice trembled. “and then i heard you.”

“i realized…” she shrugged. “…it was just me.”

jude closed his eyes. every word landed like another weight on his chest.

“it was never just you. it was me. i was immature and i was cruel and i hurt someone who had never done anything except care about me.”

she wiped quickly beneath one eye. “i stopped coming because i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable anymore.”

“i know,” his voice sounded barely above a whisper. “and i hate that that’s what you walked away believing.”

she studied him for a long moment. “so what changed?”

the question was fair. of course it was.

“what made you apologize now?”

he smiled sadly. “you disappeared.”

she frowned slightly.

“i don’t mean physically, i mean you disappeared from…” he gestured helplessly. “…everything. the house, my family… my life.”

“my mum misses you, jobe misses you.” he swallowed. “and…” he laughed once. “so do i.”

she didn’t answer. she had no idea what to say. she was hearing things she’d convinced herself would never hear because it wasn’t jude who she had blamed.

“i never found you annoying. i found it embarrassing that everyone noticed you because they noticed before i did.”

y/n frowned. “noticed what?”

he held her gaze. “i stopped looking for reasons you’d always be around and started hoping you would be. so when you left…” he smiled through wet eyes. “it felt like someone had taken all the light out of my childhood home.”

y/n stared at him. searching his face and making sure this wasn’t guilt speaking. making sure this wasn’t pity and he just didn’t want to make her feel more pathetic than she already was.

“you really hurt me.”

“i know.”

“i cried all the way home that day.”

his eyes closed.

“i thought i’d embarrassed myself.”

“you didn’t.”

“i thought…” her voice cracked. “…if the boy i’d liked for years couldn’t stand being around me then maybe i was just…”

she couldn’t finish what she had tried to say. it was too much and there were too many mosquitoes and she didn’t like crying in public.

jude stepped forward instinctively but then stopped himself.

“i’m not going to ask you to forgive me, okay? you don’t owe me that. i’m not even going to ask if you still feel the same. because after what i did, i haven’t earned the right to know.”

y/n looked at him for what felt like forever.

and then very quietly said. “i don’t think those feelings ever went away. i just buried them.”

she smiled softly. but jude felt satisfied when noticed this time it was real.

“for what it’s worth, you were never actually annoying either.”

he laughed. his shoulders finally dropping for what felt like the first time in months. “i can work with that.”

she shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“i didn’t say you were forgiven,” she hesitated. “but i think i’d like to come by your house again.”

jude’s smile softened. “i think mum might actually cry.”

y/n laughed. “i missed her.”

“i know.”

“and…” she glanced at him. shrugging her shoulders. “…i missed you too.”

he stared at her, almost afraid to believe he’d heard correctly.

“so…” he asked carefully. “can i walk you back to the pitch?”

she pretended to think about it. “hm. i suppose. but only because jobe’s probably wondering where i’ve gone.”

he smiled. “and because you don’t want him thinking i’m annoying?”

she groaned, laughing as she lightly nudged his arm. “oh, don’t ruin the moment.”

he caught himself smiling wider than he had in months.

three months later, the bellingham house sounded like itself again.

it happened so gradually that no one could pinpoint exactly when y/n had started letting herself stay until midnight again. or when she stopped asking, “is it alright if i come over?” and simply walked through the front door with the familiar “hello?” like she’d done since she was ten.

denise had cried one evening while y/n was helping wash dishes.

she wrapped her arms around her and whispered. “i’ve missed having you here.”

y/n had hugged her back just as tightly. “i’ve missed being here.”

neither of them mentioned why she’d ever stopped coming. some wounds didn’t need reopening once they’d finally begun to heal.

jobe, however…

jobe noticed everything.

he noticed that jude somehow always knew when y/n was arriving, that y/n unconsciously saved the seat beside her, that whenever jude came home from training, the first person he looked for wasn’t his parents anymore.

it was her.

one evening they were all watching a film, or at least attempting to.

jobe was invested. his father had fallen asleep twenty minutes earlier and his mother was pretending not to.

y/n sat tucked into one corner of the sofa, jude on the other.

that was how it started.

then halfway through the film, jobe reached for the popcorn and paused.

“hang on,” his eyes narrowed. “when did this happen?”

y/n blinked with a small frown. “what the hell are you talking about?”

“you two.”

both of them looked down simultaneously.

without either of them consciously remembering it, they’d ended up shoulder to shoulder. y/n’s legs tucked beneath her and jude’s arm resting lazily behind her on the sofa. their hands intertwined.

y/n immediately let go, but jude didn’t.

he simply looked at his brother. “what?”

jobe stared shaking his head unbelievably. “no. what? when?”

jude shrugged. “a while ago.”

“a while?”

“three months?”

“three months?!”

his voice cracked and his parents woke up.

denise yawned. “what happened?”

jobe pointed dramatically. “they’ve been dating for three months.”

“yes, jobe, i know.”

jobe whipped around. “you knew?!”

“i’ve known since the second week.”

his father stretched casually. “i thought everyone knew.”

jobe looked personally betrayed. “i didn’t know.”

dating jude turned out to be nothing like she’d imagined when she was younger. at ten she’d thought it’d be grand gestures like flowers, fireworks and movie-like moments.

instead it was ordinary. wonderfully ordinary.

it was jude waiting outside her university lecture with two coffees because he’d remembered she’d had an early class. it was y/n bringing dinner to his apartment after late training because she’d noticed he’d forgotten to eat properly.

it was grocery shopping together and somehow spending forty minutes arguing over pasta sauce. it was falling asleep halfway through documentaries neither of them had actually wanted to watch.

it was peace.

no guessing. no pretending she didn’t instinctively drift toward him or that he didn’t instinctively reach for her.

one rainy afternoon she wandered into the bellingham kitchen where denise was.

eventually she spoke. “you know…”

y/n looked over.

“i used to think you’d marry one of my boys.”

she nearly dropped the knife. “excuse me?”

she laughed. “not because you had a crush. i didn’t even know about that until much later.”

y/n hid her face. “oh my god.”

“i just couldn’t imagine you belonging anywhere else.”

that evening jude found y/n sitting on the back garden swing.

the same one she’d fallen asleep on years earlier.

rain had finally stopped and everything smelled like wet grass.

he walked over quietly. “you disappeared.”

she looked up. “i wanted five minutes.”

“without me?”

she smiled teasingly. “i know. terrible.”

he sat beside her and y/n rested her head against his shoulder.

“you know…”

“what?”

“i still catch myself wondering if i’m bothering you.”

his entire body softened. “you really believe that?”

“sometimes,” she paused. “it doesn’t last long but…” she shrugged. “that day stuck with me.”

jude nodded once. “i know, baby.” he reached for her hand. “i don’t expect it to disappear.”

“it shouldn’t,” she looked at him. “you hurt me.”

“i did.”

“and some days i remember it.”

he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “when you do, you tell me. i don’t care if it’s ten years from now.” he kissed the back of her hand. “if i have to apologize for that day for the rest of my life i’ll do it.”

she laughed through watery eyes. “you’d get sick of saying sorry.”

“i don’t think so.” he leaned closer.

a breeze stirred the trees around them.

somewhere inside the house jobe shouted,

“mum, where’s the garlic bread?”

his mother shouted back, “ask y/n.”

y/n laughed instinctively. she looked toward the kitchen windows glowing warm against the evening sky and then she answered just as loudly.

“top oven!”

jobe yelled back. “thank you!”

jude smiled.

“what?” she looked at him.

“it feels like home again.” he kissed her forehead and then he intertwined their fingers. “you’ve always been home.”

this time, when she smiled there was no hesitation behind it. no fear that she’d overstayed her welcome. no instinct to make herself smaller.

because the girl who had once quietly slipped out the back door, convinced her presence was a burden, was gone.

and in her place was someone who knew, with complete certainty, that she was loved. not because she stayed out of the way but because she had always, without realizing it, become part of the family long before she ever became jude’s girlfriend.

the porch light flickered on as the sun disappeared.

inside, someone laughed. jobe yelled something incomprehensible about burnt garlic bread.

his father blamed the oven. his mother blamed jobe.

y/n squeezed jude’s hand. “c’mon. they’re probably setting the kitchen on fire.”

he stood with a grin. “probably.”

she started toward the house and he caught her hand before she could get very far.

y/n turned. “what?”

jude smiled in that quiet, unmistakably fond way that was reserved only for her now. “i’m really glad you came back.”

y/n’s expression softened. “i know.”

she stepped back toward him, rose onto her toes, and kissed him gently. “when you apologized,” she murmured against his lips, “i wasn’t sure if we could ever get back to what we had.”

he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “we didn’t.”

she frowned slightly.

“we got something better.”

she believed him completely.

together, they walked back into the warm, noisy house. where someone was already shouting their names, where dinner was almost certainly burning, and where neither of them would ever again have to wonder whether they belonged.

bitterness swirled in the pools of espresso resting in the sunken depths of jude bellingham’s eyes. purple marked his underyes, evident from the exhaustion of today’s match.

jude stared endlessly into the darkness before him. the sun had dipped deep below the stadium, dispersing into the soft beams radiating from the streetlights lining the city of Atlanta, Georgia. cheers had evaporated into soft crickets of the night. jude wished to be at the stadium again–perhaps the roaring of the thousands would subdue the creeping hiss of failure in his mind.

there was no one to hush his insecurities or kiss his bruises away today and perhaps not even in the near future.

his bed had grown cold; desolate; void of life. there was no one to cheer him up.

not his mom because her flight was delayed. impeccable timing.

not ashlyn. they had opted for a break on terms their schedules were far too conflicting–five months and three weeks ago.

not his teammates because they were away at a pub, partying and drinking their sorrows away.

not even the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, evident of a successful match, because there was none.

jude bellingham had lost.

eyes frantically flickering across the ceiling in desperation to hold onto something, his mind wandered as he revisited today’s match–why did he lose?

it was England vs. Argentina. he was against messi today–his childhood hero.

now, of course, such failure may be an obvious conclusion against the great star lionel messi, but even a star begins to dwindle into mere dust after a while. was it foolish for jude to hope–believe–that he could win? that England could win? 

jude’s fingers traveled from behind his head to the warm perimeter of his throat, grazing with soft fingertips that jolted with memories of the game today.

“it was unfair.” jude bitterly thought as he flexed his fingers against the bruise on his throat in frustration.

there were fouls, and despite the politically correct answer that rolled off his tongue in the  post-game interviews, his heart was still constricted in grief. England was robbed of a victory, and jude couldn’t fathom the unprecedented sequence of events of today–messi ambushing him to the side in a chokehold.

a sob croaked deep within belligham’s throat, as it burned with the memory of messi’s touch. his touch did not feel warm, like the bright sun gleaming at him; consoling him; whispering through its soft rays that he performed well. no, it stung like an electric shock powered by greed and malice.

the skin no longer bore the marks of messi's grip, but the memory remained, charred blacker than any bruise. it wasn't the ache of physical pain that unsettled him. it was betrayal.

as a boy, jude had idolized lionel messi. posters had covered his bedroom walls. he had watched endless highlight reels, trying to imitate every kick, every strategy, every impossible goal.

never once had he imagined that the man he admired most would leave marks around his throat.

perhaps the old saying had always been right.

you should never meet your heroes.

“yo, mate, you coming to the afters with us?” a voice called abruptly. the door had creaked open, revealing a head of tousled hair. it was jude’s teammate. “we just nipped back from the pub to pick some stuff up, but we’re off to this party in town.”

jude’s breath hitched in surprise, his train of thoughts halted. he swallowed a thick pool of saliva swelling from the back of his throat, thankful the sliver of light from the door didn’t cast on his face and reveal his glossy eyes.

“nah, i’m alright. thanks, mate.” 

the teammate opened his mouth to insist on the offer, but nodded and closed the door instead, seemingly understanding jude’s current state of devastation and need to be alone.

jude exhaled in relief when the door closed.

he looked back onto the ceiling, thick brows scrunching in exasperation.

“this is pathetic,” jude murmured to himself, bringing his arms from behind his head and sitting up. “i need to move on.”

jude swung his legs over the bed, planting his feet on the cool tiles. he launched himself, but a sharp sting swiftly struck his right leg, immobilizing him and making him fall back onto the bed with a thud. the athlete gasped in pain and clutched onto his calf, feeling an abnormal heat thumping beneath his hand. 

jude’s calf was warm and taut beneath his palm. the muscle was swollen just enough to distort its usual definition. a faint purple bloom had begun creeping toward his ankle–jude ripped off his sock only to reveal the joint of his ankle was puffy, too, as he gently pressed his finger against the warm skin. was it an ankle sprain? surely he could sleep it off right? hell, how did he not notice before? was he so concerned with the match that it distracted him from his own health–he had to get a hold of himself for the next game; for his country.

a million diagnoses ran through jude’s mind, trying to decipher a possible cause– “can i still run for the game, though?” echoed louder than any other thought in his internal frenzy.

he planted his hands beside him again, and on the count of three launched himself again, grunting when his leg staggered beneath him. he shifted his weight to his left foot and sharply inhaled through his nose, pausing to recollect his breath. limping, he trudged across the room to the bathroom, but each and every step felt like he had stepped foot onto hot volcano rocks.

there was no way he could sleep this off. he had to go to the hospital.

“hey, girl, do you mind taking room 10’s vital signs? supplies all in the room. he was transferred from urgent care,” the charge nurse pursued, tapping her pen on her sheet of the patients before unclipping the paper from the clipboard. “we’re monitoring him overnight for his mobility and pain–actually could you check how his leg is doing too please?”

“fracture?” you questioned, taking the paper from her hands and scanning over the paper until your eyes landed on the designated room 10. 

“calf contusion and some swelling ‘round the ankle. sports injury.” 

you hummed and nodded in agreement. the charge nurse patted your arm and thanked you, winking at you before walking into another patient’s room down the floor. a soft giggle rocked your slumped shoulders at the gesture. 

it was 12:03 a.m, which was only five hours into your night shift, but oh hospital administration and everything worse, you were tired–no, exhausted. a deep knot twisted itself into your shoulders and neck, and you had half the mind to ask the floor doctor to diagnose you with scoliosis because you could feel your spine contorting into unimaginable shapes that your legs should’ve been in instead. 

“i need to get a hold of myself.” you chastised yourself, rubbing your shoulder blades as if that would ease the jarring soreness.

with an exhale, you walked over to the room, which was on the other floor. your unassigned floor. your nose scrunched in irritation at the thought, and you consoled yourself by telling yourself that at least you had a charge nurse who knew her “please’s” and “thank you’s.”

you tucked the sheet under your armpit, arriving at room 10. raising your knuckle to the door, you took a deep breath. long did you stop practicing your introduction to the patients when you were fresh in the field, the rehearsal playing itself on your lips like muscle memory.

delivering a rapid set of three knocks, you opened the door and entered the rather large room, focused on the paper you shuffled from your side. you reached for a pen from your right pocket, because the left pocket was stained with orange juice from a hostile patient throwing a tantrum since they wanted coke instead. you didn’t blame them–you wanted some, too, either way.

“hello, i’m [name]. i’ll be your nursing assistant for the day–night, sorry. i’ll be taking your vital signs and checking up on your..” you trailed and leaned over, glancing at the big whiteboard scribbled with various notes. 

✔ fall risk.

questions: when can i play again?

ah right–calf contusion. athlete guy. you recalled, the charge nurse’s words washing over you, and mentally slapped yourself for forgetting. you really needed another energy drink. did you remember to pack an extra one? the hospital vending machines were so expensive, and they didn’t even give a discount to the employees!

“my leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.” a deep voice rumbled, adorned with a rather thick accent. was it British?

yeah, i realize that now! how embarrassing. you thought to yourself, nodding in agreement anyways as you scribbled onto your personal notepad on the rather premium quality countertop.

occupied in your own thoughts, you were oblivious, or perhaps simply accustomed, to your patient’s scrutinizing gaze as you untangled the twisted wires from the vital signs monitor tucked away in the corner, dragging it closer to your patient’s bed. you unwrapped the cuff resting on the bars of the bed, still not looking at your patient. 

“i’ll be starting with your blood pressure, okay?” you finally looked at the patient, narrowed your eyes at the sight of him. 

the room was dim, but the faint lamplight of the nightstand beside him still illuminated your patient’s features, which were oddly familiar. the warm light served a contrast for the shadows paving under his skyscrapers of a cheekbone. tiny black hair lined his chiseled jaw. his thick brows furrowed together, and the creases in his forehead pressed against each other.

big brown eyes gazed upon you, but they weren’t inviting. no, they were dark and stormy and filled with worry. the puffiness underlying his eyes was a telltale sign. you felt a twang of pity.

you could tell he…wasn’t fully present, but nonetheless, he nodded, urging you to continue. 

leaning towards him, you gently rolled the sleeve of the hospital gown only to reveal a well-defined bicep. palpable veins jutted out. the phlebotomists would love this. 

“turn your arm towards me please.” you whispered unintentionally.  

he hummed in response, softly too, as he flexed his arm towards you. you could feel his prominent muscles stretch in your hold, sharply inhaling through your nose at the feeling. shaky hands hovering around his prominent veins, you quickly pressed your fingers on the spot above the indentation of his elbow for a pulse before wrapping the cuff around his arm and connecting the tube with the machine. it was routine, and you were thankful for your muscle memory carrying you, because why were you being affected by some anatomy?

“i’m going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.” you spoke–this time loud and clear–as you straightened your posture and reached for the pulse oximeter.

a crack erupted from your back, and a quiet grunt escaped your lips at the jabbing feeling. proper utilization of body mechanics wouldn’t make up for the years of fatigue nesting deep in your bones.

your patient stayed silent, simply looking forward now. his eyes drifted toward the whiteboard that reflected both of you.

he watched your movements.

you turned and clicked the green button on the screen of the machine. a faint whir filled the space between you as the cuff tightened around his arm. .

for some reason, you felt awkward, as if you were supposed to say something; ask something; compliment him something. 

“so…how does your leg feel…” you trailed off once again, eyes quickly darting to the whiteboard for no more than a second. 

you didn’t want to look any more unprofessional than you felt. 

 “jude?”

the name left your lips before you could even think about it.

why does that name feel so familiar?

“the imaging is rather reassuring. there’s no fracture, no tendon rupture, and no significant muscle tear.” 

the physician glanced over the results before looking back at jude. 

“what you have is a mild-to-moderate contusion to the right gastrocnemius, with some muscle spasm and soft-tissue inflammation.” the doctor paused, studying jude’s face; he opened his mouth before clenching his jaw in uncertainty. 

he was no stranger to an injured athlete's emotions. 

“the repeated hits to your leg caused some bleeding and inflammation within the muscle, which is what’s producing the warmth, tenderness, and swelling.” 

jude glanced at his leg, swallowing a thick pool of saliva collecting at the back of his throat. 

“and my ankle?”

“the ankle itself isn’t injured. the swelling you’re seeing around it is dependent edema. some of the fluid from the injured tissue has tracked downward toward the ankle and foot.”

jude sharply inhaled. only one thought played itself in his mind, like a broken record.

“how long?”

“if everything continues to improve as expected, you should be back to normal within about seventy-two hours.”

jude’s brows quirked up, and the tension pulling his jaw taut loosened, soft corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly. the doctor chuckled at the familiar sight. 

“so i can play then?”

“if your pain resolves, your strength and range of motion return, and you pass a proper return-to-play assessment, there’s no reason to expect this injury to keep you out long-term.”

jude exhaled deeply, as his shoulders sagged with relief. he can play.

“but i want to keep you here overnight, and possibly through tomorrow, because of how quickly the swelling developed and how difficult it was for you to bear weight when you arrived. we’ll monitor the swelling, your circulation and nerve function, and how well you respond to treatment.” 

the doctor closed the chart.

“this isn’t because the injury is particularly dangerous,” the doctor tapped his pan on his clipboard. “but it can be if you push yourself.” 

silence fell between them. jude’s eyes fell to his lap, and the doctor knew he was thinking things all athletes thought in crises like these. hesitantly, the doctor stepped forward and tapped his clipboard against jude’s foot resting on the hospital bed, covered by layers of sheets, in a playful manner.

“you did good, jude. we’re proud of you.”

jude’s eyes shot up in mild dismay at the gesture, and he offered a small polite smile. 

but it was only polite.

the doctor wouldn’t know–understand.

he had to–must–push himself. for his team. for his country. there was no other option but to bring it home. hours at the gym, late night practice in the heavy rain, subconsciously practicing dribbling as he walked down the stairs of wherever he was–it was all to win.

the familiar click of the door closing behind the doctor did not do much to ground him amidst his inner turmoil. 

seventy-two hours.

would he be able to sprint?

change direction?

strike the ball?

what if the swelling didn't go down?

what if he wasn't cleared?

what if—

it was only until a knock on the door interrupted jude’s spiral, and a raspy voice forced through the room. 

jude’s eyes passed over the girl standing by the door–another healthcare worker donned in scrubs carrying a complimentary paper. she didn’t look at him. he didn’t look at her for long, either, averting his gaze to his leg. 

she spoke something, perhaps an introduction. jude did not hear, neither did he care really. 

it seemed she didn’t care as much either, as she hesitated with her answer, like she didn’t know–didn’t care to know. why would she? she couldn’t possibly understand. jude noticed the pause in her words. 

“my leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.” jude twitched in annoyance, bouncing his unaffected leg as he fiddled with his fingers. he flexed the toes of his affected leg, now wrapped in soft cotton, but the soreness halted him. 

jude wasn’t really annoyed, but the game, the injury, his teammates, his coach–he still didn’t notify them–it all drowned him, kicked him to the ground in a state of hopelessness like how messi did on the field.

since his admission, everything was really just a blur–the entire routine of it all.

another healthcare worker. 

another set of questions.

another person checking his legs–or vitals, this girl said, too.

he'd lost count of how many people had examined him since he'd arrived, or really throughout his entire football career.

doctor.

nurse.

medic.

physio.

someone from imaging.

they all morphed into one, now, their voices dissolving into one long stream of medical terminology.

jude’s eyes drifted shut in an attempt to calm his bumbling nerves. lord, if they brought in a psychiatrist for his mental health–

“i’m going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.”

jude opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at you. you were standing beside the bed with a clothespin-looking device and an assortment of tubes in your hands. he nodded.

he should contact coach now; tell him of his condition. surely, he will be able to play in–

warm.

the hairs on the back of jude’s neck pricked up, bristling against his skin like the freshly trimmed grass poking through his socks at practice. a softer shock jostled him at the feeling.

he hadn’t realized that he was so cold. even with the upgraded hospital room generously offered by the hospital for someone of his status, a hospital room remains a hospital room. the plethora of white sheets pooling around his legs did nothing to keep him warm. was jude shivering, or trembling from anxiety? jude did not know, only that for a moment his mind was no longer centered on the game.

it slipped somewhere distant.

so did the doctor’s voice.

so did the swelling in his leg.

but the warmth remained.

jude watched your movements through the reflection on the whiteboard. he blinked slowly, as if coming to consciousness, as his gaze followed your hands adjusting the clothespin thing on his finger.

you were careful, but there seemed to be a disconnect in your movements. he noticed the way you flexed your fingers after rearranging the tubes of the machine and the way you seemed to comfort yourself by resting your hand on your lower back.

“so… how does your leg feel–jude?” he noticed the pause in your question, again, and this time he did not feel annoyance but rather intrigue.

“it’s better. the physio was helpful.” jude responded, this time less curt and now looking at you fully. “my leg is still sore, but there isn’t as much as pain, yeah.”

you quickly jotted down in your notebook, before walking around the bed and pulling a chair to sit on in front of the bed. 

“alright. i noticed that in your chart you’re at risk for falls,” you set down your notebook atop of the fluffy white blankets next to his foot. “would you say it’s less painful to walk now compared to when you first came in? on a rate of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest and 10 the highest.”

jude was fully facing you now. your posture was straight; confident with knowledge in your field, as you spoke as if you were declaring an order. but the shoulders in your uniform were rounded, and the tilt in your head seemed heavy, like the weight of your head was simply too much to bear. jude knew that look from practice when he leaned against his teammates after a long session.

“yeah, it’s about a 4/10 now. it was a solid 8/10 when i first came here–felt like i was stepping over hot rocks.” jude admitted freely, straightening his own posture and clasping his hands in his lap like a schoolgirl.

you offered a small smile. nothing more; nothing less.

“i’m going to check the swelling over your foot now, okay, and for any discoloration.” you spoke–declared–as your fingers diligently moved to unwrap the cotton wrapped tightly around his leg. 

slowly, you unrolled the yellow padded sock and peeled away the covering around his ankle, too. a waft of an earthy musk hit your nose, like moisture trapped inside of a shoe after a rainy day. your nose twitched ever so slightly.

with practiced ease, you pressed your fingers gently around the area.

there it was again, warmth. 

and also a sting.

“ah–!” jude gasped, instinctively reaching over to his leg and meeting where your hand was. 

“sorry,” you immediately retracted your hand, trying to ignore the faint spark you felt when your fingertips touched for a split second. “it seems the ankle is fine, but your leg is a bit tender. there’s also some discoloration, but it’s not as much.”

“it’s alright.” jude murmured, his hand remaining where it was. did your fingers touch? he could feel the jagged edges of your nails.

you pulled back and wrote down something in your notes. jude wondered how you still had space left with all of that notetaking. 

turning around to face the table of supplies your charge nurse had left, you soaked up a few white towelettes in the basin of water before wringing out all the extra moisture. you wished someone could do that with your spine.

“i’m gonna clean your leg and change your dressing.” you winced as the smell hit your nose again. 

holding your breath in, you swiftly wiped over jude’s leg and then over his ankle. grabbing a new wet toilette, you twisted your index finger in the middle of the cloth, twirling your finger into the crevices between jude’s toes before wiping over the front and back. the calluses on the back of jude’s toes hitched onto the cloth–dry and immovable.

jude had leaned back now, retracting his hand and smoothing over some of the sheets besides his leg in an attempt to aid you. he watched your movements: the way your voice was still firm, yet your touch was gentler than before as you cleaned. his eyes tracked over from your hands to your face, and he quickly grasped a deeper look on the expression you wore on your face: the shadows underneath your eyes were darker than the navy of your uniform, and a few strands of hair had escaped whatever attempt you'd made to keep them in place, framing the perimeter of your face. 

you looked exhausted. 

not the polished kind of tired he'd seen on television, where someone smiled through it for the cameras.

you looked genuinely and painfully tired.

a cooling sensation on the back of his toes snapped jude out of his thoughts. you were spreading lotion on his toes, specifically dabbing it on the calluses formed from many a wear of his cleats and a run on the field. he sheepishly smiled at the tickling feeling, biting his lip to refrain himself from cracking a giggle.

you quickly redressed and bandaged the new cloth around jude’s leg before throwing away the old dressing and cleaning up the table, pausing as you finished up your duty. the nagging suspicion your subconscious had developed towards your patient prompted you to say something–ask: 

“you got a question there on the board.” your voice was soft again but laced with unease.

jude glanced at the board, opening his mouth before closing. 

“i’ve got a game in three days,” jude promptly responded, flexing his toes as his mind returned to the game. these past ten minutes were probably the longest he ever went without thinking about the game. “gotta make sure i can kick the ball proper.”

you slowly shook your head in understanding.

“so… you’re a–soccer player?”

“footballer.” jude responded curtly, blinking at the name. the correction came quickly, almost instinctively, before he could stop himself.

you blinked, too, surprise somehow relaxing your weary features as your brows lifted slightly from their dreadful droop. jude quickly realized that was the first–no, second, because you had smiled earlier (although it was a very small smile)–solid expression you made since your visit.

“sorry?”

jude recognized how it sounded and quickly shook his head.

“no, sorry. footballer. we call it football.” 

“ah,” a small smile of amusement tugged the corners of your lips. “right, then. footballer.”

“footballer,” you quietly repeated to yourself, as if tasting a new flavor of energy drink and pondering if it was going to become your new regular. you worked with a multitude of different people with diverse backgrounds, and curiosity had kickstarted your brain now.

“i suppose that’s the… British term?” you hesitantly asked, careful to not overstep a boundary.

“yeah.”

you simply nodded again at the confirmation, as if marking away the information on your own very whiteboard in your mind. you were not great at conversing with your patients; it was why you switched to night shift.

“makes sense.”

a brief silence passed before a strong sense of intrigue had now replaced the simple and polite curiosity within you, spurring you to ask another question, “if you don’t mind me asking… your accent. it’s from the uk, right?” 

jude studied your face.

“yeah. England.”

“oh.” you glanced back at his chart, still completely unaware. “that explains it.”

jude hummed in agreement.

“so what game, then?” you asked again, becoming more confident in your conversational abilities.

jude grimaced, his brows knitting together and his nose crinkling in utter befuddlement. 

for years, jude had become accustomed to people knowing him before he introduced himself. fans knew his name. reporters knew his history. strangers knew his goals, his statistics, his performances. healthcare workers often gave him special treatment, like how he was automatically upgraded to a vip room without coach’s request today or how many nurses and doctors would use their position to ask a personal question or an autograph or something else a regular fan couldn’t. 

for some reason though, this very woman before him didn’t know anything. she only treated him like a regular man with a regular injury.

“you don’t know?” jude questioned in disbelief.

“know what?” you retorted with equal confusion.

“who i am, mate.”

“well, you’re jude–” you quickly glanced toward his chart, doing a double-take. your eyes darted to the whiteboard, processing the medical notes before the name finally clicked. a sharp gasp cut off your breath. “oh. you’re jude bellingham. that soccer pla–the footballer.” 

jude chuckled at your realization, and your quick correction at yourself.

“you recognized my accent but not me, darling?”

author's note: poor reader is just trying to do her job but jude's got stinky feet

footballgossip

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 568,463 others caption: trouble in paradise? reports are showing it’s now the third game in a row that y/n y/l/n, jude bellingham’s girlfriend, has missed. has something happened behind the scenes? a break up, perhaps? 🌶️👀

user1: he’s finally free 😫 -> user2: lol stay delusional, he’d never give you a chance

user3: why would he stay with someone who’s never at his matches anyways?? -> user4: lowkey you have a point…….

user5: maybe if she showed up and actually supported her man……. -> user6: she has a career to focus on too 🫩

user7: it’s no one’s business if they broke up 😭

user8: icl, y’all all our here simping for jude if they broke up, i want y/n…. -> user9: she’s kinda mother though 👀 -> user10: hot as fuck with a career too 😮‍💨😮‍💨 -> user11: i’d be at her ward for every minor inconvenience tbh

“i can do two hours overtime at best tomorrow,” y/n said, tapping her bed against her leg.

her stethoscope sat round her neck, as it usually did, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, clipboard in hand.

“can we push it to three?” doctor simmons winced, “i know you need to watch your boyfriend play, but we’re struggling out here,”

she sighed, closing her eyes.

she’d promised jude that she’d at least watch the match, even if she couldn’t be there, but an extra hour of overtime meant she’d almost certainly miss it.

“please?”

y/n’s eyes opened again at the tone in his voice. they really needed her.

“…fine,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “you owe me for this one!” she turned on her heel, marching back into her ward as another patient was wheeled in.

it wasn’t until later that evening, when she was finally free of her duties, that y/n saw the post.

she never usually gave the time of day to gossip blogs - they were always stirring up drama in places it didn’t need to me, twisting truths and spreading misinformation.

but then, she was jude’s face plastered over the post.

trouble in paradise?

“give me a break,” y/n muttered under her breath, the corny title making her scowl as she shoved her phone back into her pocket.

it was no one’s business about their relationship either way, but that wasn’t why y/n was pissed off. in truth, there was trouble in paradise.

she’d noticed the replies from jude getting shorter at shorter every match she missed, his smile getting less wider whenever she face timed him.

but again, it wasn’t the business of gossip blogs.

y/n had made it more than clear that she’d not stop her job for this relationship - being a doctor had been her dream for years. she wasn’t going to let it go in the name of being a WAG.

“hey baby,” y/n smiled, a bagel hanging from her mouth as she grabbed her coat from the breakfast bar.

“hi,”

jude had come back from the match in the early morning, joining her in her when she was already asleep.

he looked tired, lifting his coffee from the side and brining it to his lips, the steam drifting upwards and curling. y/n was too busy to notice, searching for her car keys.

“where are they?” she muttered, eyes flicking to the time on her phone.

shit.

“in your hand,” jude mumbled, taking another sip of his coffee as he watched her realise.

“crap,” she said, pocketing them along with her phone, “i’ve got to run, the ward’s going to be busy as fuck-,”

“you coming to the match next week?”

y/n paused. she hadn’t expected that question.

“i…i’ll have to check if i can find the time,” she swallowed, watching his blank expression.

of course she did. it was always about whether she was free, and never that she wanted to go see him. he felt like an afterthought.

“right,”

“baby, i promise i’ll try make it-,” she out her coat down, stepping towards him, her fingers just grazing the side of his cheek before he turned his head.

“y’said that last time,” jude muttered, raising his eyebrows, unimpressed, as he took another sip of his coffee.

“jude, i have work-,”

“you have a boyfriend too,” he turned back to her, “i’m not an afterthought, y/n!”

y/n swallowed, his voice raising slightly, his grip on his mug tightening so hard, he was sure it could crack under the pressure.

he was hurt.

she could see the hurt in his wide eyes, before he swallowed, turning his head again.

“why do i even bother,” jude laughed bitterly, turning on his heel towards the stairs.

“jude-,”

y/n paused. it was either going after jude, or getting to work late, and she couldn’t afford that.

with a sigh, she gathered her things again, turning to the door.

his words filled her head, taunting her, almost.

why do i even bother?

she didn’t understand them. why did he bother trying to explain? or, why did he bother dating her? or…

her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as she drove towards the hospital.

it wasn’t like she was putting off seeing him on purpose.

the ward had been fuller, these past few weeks. accident season, as y/n called it. they just needed her to help hold down the place.

y/n had come home late that day, her stuff in her arms, tired.

she’d planned out what she was going to say to jude; the explanation, the apology, the sweet kisses…

but he wasn’t home.

“jude?” she stepped into the kitchen, eyes darting round the space. nothing.

she tried the living room, their shared bedroom. still, nothing.

frowning, y/n took her phone from the kitchen island, opening it. and there it was, the notification glaring back at her:

jude: hey, staying with my mum for a few days before the match. couldn’t call. sorry.

y/n blinked.

of all the texts he’d ever sent her, she’d never read something so…un-jude-like.

he’d always been a fond user of emojis - the red heart being his favourite, but this message? void of any. it was like he’d typed it, half-arsed, an excuse he wanted to send her.

y/n hadn’t messaged him much since. the ward had been even busier - she ended up returning home later than usual each day.

their conversations got shorter and shorter, and jude stopped face timing her.

every time he did, he’d get the same excuse.

“hi baby, could you call later? i’m on my way to the ward,”

but whenever he did call her later, she wouldn’t pick up. as always, work took priority for her.

“hi darling,” y/n walked quietly into one of the more quieter rooms.

the tv was on in the background, on low volume, as the old lady in the bed looked up. she was a kind woman, with a sweet face that warmed with a smile when she saw y/n.

“hi dear,” she watched as y/n walked beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“how’re you feeling?”

“good,” the woman smiled, “how about you?”

y/n swallowed. jude came to mind straight away. god, she missed his perfect face.

“i’m alright too,” she said, shaking the thoughts away, “you had dinner?”

she nodded. “compliments to the chef,” her eyes twinkled, “dear, could you ask if they have more channels? all that’s been on this evening has been this football,”

y/n followed her hand, pointing to the screen.

jude.

his face flashed onto the screen, his hand covering his mouth as he leaned over, saying something to his teammate.

y/n hadn’t realised how long it had been since she’d seen his face.

he was smiling too, eyes twinkling as he walked off pitch.

they’d won, probably.

the camera followed as he walked over, his mother beaming at him in the stands.

but what caught her attention was the woman beside his mother. y/n had never seen her before. nor had jude told y/n about her.

she had a wide smile on her face as jude pushed himself onto his tip toes, pressing a kiss to her cheek. dangerously close to her lips.

y/n tensed.

“dear?”

her attention was snapped back to the old woman, who had been watching her quietly.

“is everything okay?”

“oh, yeah,” she nodded, shaking the thoughts from her mind, “i’m okay,”

“that footballer caught your eye?” the lady smiled, looking back to the screen, where jude was, now standing opposite a reporter, “he’s quite handsome,”

y/n laughed, her face heating up.

“shame, i think that young lady was his girlfriend,” the old lady shook her head.

y/n swallowed again, her hands unconsciously balling into fists.

girlfriend.

the word left a bitter taste on her tongue.

“maybe she is,” y/n forced herself to laugh, a smile on her face, “listen, i’ve got to head back to the ward to make sure dr simmons is all good, okay?”

the woman nodded.

“i’ll come back and visit you before i leave,” she gently squeezed the old lady’s hands, turning her back to her.

the tv caught her eye again.

“no girlfriend in that stands today? watching at home?” the reporter had asked, the question seemingly innocent enough.

she noticed the way his jaw ticked at the question.

“…no,” jude swallowed, forcing himself to smile.

y/n shut the door.

y/n barely remembered the drive home. the whole way, the interview played out in her head.

no.

not “she’s working”, or “she couldn’t make it”.

by the time she’d unlocked the front door, she was exhausted, angry, and far too hurt to cry. 

by the third day, she’d almost convinced herself she was overreacting. almost.

the front door clicked open just after eight that evening.

“i’m home,” 

jude’s voice echoed through the hallway, no answer drifting back from any of the rooms as he toed off his trainers, wandering towards the kitchen.

y/n was chopping vegetables, her knife way too big for such a small job, a lot more force going into each slice than usual.

jude leaned against the doorway, arms folded.

y/n didn’t even look up.

“baby?” 

nothing.

“y/n,”

the knife stopped, and y/n looked up, her expression unreadable.

“so..?” he blinked, eyebrow raised. 

“who’s the woman?” 

“what?” jude’s brows drew together as he frowned, his voice filled with genuine confusion.

“the one you kissed after the match,”

“oh, her,”

“her,” y/n echoed, that one word being enough to make her scowl for a split second.

“it wasn’t-,”

“don’t,” she lifted the knife again, not threatening, just enough to make him know she wasn’t messing around, “who is she?”

“an old friend,” jude put his finger on the edge of the knife, lowering it gently.

“you never told me about her,”

“didn’t know she was going to be there,” he shrugged, dropping his kit bag onto the floor, a very clear smirk on his face, “you’re overreacting-,”

that pissed her off.

“i’m overreacting?” y/n put the knife down, her voice low, “i’m not the one who went on live television and told the world i had no one watching at home or in the stands,”

jude swallowed, the smirk wiping from his face.

he could tell she was serious, a scowl on her face, every word like a direct attack on him. it was kinda hot.

y/n’s gaze followed his hand as it dropped from his side, not-so-subtly moving over his crotch. she blinked. there was no way this man was real…

“are you serious?”

“what?” jude’s voice was tighter, choked almost as he adjust his shorts, almost defensive.

“i’m pissed as fuck at you,” y/n pointed an accusing finger over the island at him, “and you’re covering a fucking boner?” 

the way she said it, like he was pathetic.

it was embarrassing to admit the thrill that jumped through him at her condescending tone.

“‘m not covering anythin’,” his voice was stuffy as he pushed down harder, palm splayed over his crotch. 

“if there’s one thing i know about, it’s anatomy,” y/n folded her arms over her chest, “don’t lie to me again,”

jude nodded.

as much as it pissed y/n off, the look on his face sure was…something. his eyebrows pulled together, eyes wide, hand desperately moving to cover his growing boner.

she hadn’t even realised he’d moved closer, leaving over the island, lips half pouted.

“i’m not kissing you,” 

“y/n,” he groaned, pushing himself back so he wasn’t leaning towards her anymore, “‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to do that,” 

she rolled her eyes. his whining wasn’t gonna fool her.

she dropped the chopped vegetables into the bowl, moving round to his side of the island to drop the dishes into the sink.

“you accidentally kissed some random girl?”

“on the cheek!”

“a kiss is a kiss,” y/n scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, wiping the juices of the vegetables clean.

jude almost whined again, his breath hot on the back of his neck, hands coming to the side of her body.

she was in a loose t-shirt and baggy joggers, jude’s chin dropping to rest on her shoulder, pressing a hot kiss to her neck.

as angry as she wanted to be at him, y/n could feel her own  body responding to him, her breath catching in her throat and neck unconsciously moving to the side to give him more access.

“go upstairs,” y/n stepped to the side, pulling away from his hot, desperate lips, “i’ll be there soon, okay?”

jude was painfully hard in his shorts now, her wanted nothing more than to take her over the island right then and there, but he knew better then to argue with her.

his hand lingered on her waist for a split second, only letting go when he had to.

of course, jude was upstairs when she got there. 

the sight would’ve been absolutely hilarious if y/n wasn’t pissed at him.

jude was sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and lips slightly swollen from biting down on them, his hands in his lap, covering his painfully hard dick.

she nodded. 

“good,” 

his head perked up at the word, watching as y/n moved forwards, walking towards him.

her hand came to his jaw, pulling his face up, just like he did to her when he was pissed.

god, he was pretty.

y/n leaned down, her lips meeting his almost immediately. 

the desperation was evident in the way jude moved, his tongue pushing past her lips, moving into every crevice possible, his arms coming to wrap round her.

he tasted like mint, eyebrows drawn together in pleasure as he deepened the kiss impossibly further.

the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his shorts was evident as she reached a hand down, palming over the bulge as he moaned into her mouth.

“ahh- fuck,” jude gasped, the kiss breaking as his head fell back.

his hands were either wide of his thighs, fisting at the duvet to stop himself from grabbing her right there, his hips bucking and twitching against her hand.

“you’re so hard, aren’t you, hm?” y/n cooed, her voice taunting as she squeezed, his thick cock jumping slightly, a loud moan leaving his mouth.

“it’s f’you, it’s all for you,” jude gasped, eyes screwed shut, “‘m so hard for you,”

“yeah? all for me?” she echoed his words, her other hand pulling the waistband of his shorts forwards so she could grab him properly.

“oh fuck- its f’you, it is, i swear,” jude choked out.

he didn’t expect her to grab him, her hand hot against his throbbing dick, veins popping along his perfect shaft.

that was one thing about jude that pissed y/n off.

he dick was big, it was addictive, and god did he know it.

“jerk off for me,” 

jude’s eyes shot open as y/n let go, his hand jumping to her wrist at the loss of contact.

“y/n, please, i need you,” he tugged on her arm, dick twitching in his lap, pathetic.

“let go,” she said, his hand reluctantly releasing her arm, “good. now jerk it off. you did this to yourself,”

cruel. she was absolutely cruel.

jude stared at her, slowly taking himself into his own hand. it didn’t feel as good as hers.

“go on,” 

he swallowed, watching as y/n stepped back, his hand slowly moving up and down along his dick.

it twitched in his palm, barely, a series of soft whines leaving his lips.

he tried closing his eyes, imaging it was y/n’s hands. nothing. hers were softer, nothing like his,

he tried keeping them open, looking over her pretty face, imagining it was her mouth. still nothing. she was just…better.

“y/n, please,” jude tried moving his hand faster, spreading his pre-cum from his tip down his shaft for some sort of lubricant. it barely did anything, “you’re s’much better, need you, baby,”

y/n hummed, watching him. god, what a pathetic sight.

her hands came to the waistband of her joggers, dropping them down to her ankles and kicking them off, her t-shirt and bra following too.

the cool air hit her body as she straightened, jude’s hand speeding up.

it was good, but god, he wanted the real thing.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful- ah, i need you, baby, please, i learnt my lesson,” he whined.

“did you?” y/n let her panties follow too, kicking them off her ankles into the pile with her other clothes. jude swallowed, eyes wide.

“i did,” he nodded frantically, “i won’t do it again, fuck, i just wanted to make you jealous,”

y/n hummed. she wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer yet.

her pussy glistened as she brought two fingers to her lips, spreading them open for him to see.

his gaze dropped down to her sweet core, glistening with arousal, like a flower covered in rain. y/n bit down on her lip, hoping she wasn’t giving away just how hot the sight in front of her was.

she hummed, watching as he stared at her with dark eyes, his hand moving pathetically along his dick, desperate for friction, moans leaving his pretty lips every few seconds.

an almost pitiful little whine left jude’s lips as she slid a finger into her hole, an exaggerated moan leaving her lips as her head tipped back.

y/n watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, hips jerking into his own hand.

“no, eyes on me baby,” she said, pushing another finger into herself, “keep them open,”

she imagined it was his, thicker and longer, curling it just like he usually did.

“oh fuck, baby don’t tease,” jude whimpered, hips bucking i to his hand desperately, “s’pretty, fuck, i need you. i won’t be stupid again, i swear,”

“and?”

“and you’re the-the only girl i want,” jude was rambling, now, his words almost coherent, “please,” 

that was enough.

she moved forwards, pulling her fingers gently from her pussy, til her legs brushed against his.

“you promise you won’t do it again?”

“promise,” 

y/n pressed her hand flat to his chest, pushing him back until his back hit the mattress, moving to hover over his dick.

jude’s breath hitched, the warmth of her sweet core so close, teasing, almost.

“please,” he gasped, hands coming to her hips.

y/n sank down onto him, his tip stretching through her as they both moaned, the sounds coming out in a sweet symphony.

it felt like she was splitting herself in half on his thick cock, sinking down onto him.

her hot pussy enveloped his dick, her sweet juices coating him from tip the shaft til she was all the way down.

“oh fuck, that’s it,” y/n moaned, head thrown back as he twitched inside of her.

she leaned forwards, resting on her knees as she lifted herself up, leaving just his tip inside of her, before she sank back down.

jude whined, a high-pitched, pathetic sound, his hands coming to her waist.

“oh baby-,” jude gasped as she did it again, his tip slamming into her cervix as she set a rhythm, bouncing on his dick.

“i’ve got a job, jude,” y/n spoke, her breath hot against his cheek, “look at me,” 

jude whined, forcing himself to open his eyes.

“i can’t come to every game on a whim, alright? i understand you’re, fuck, pissed because it’d been a while,” 

he responded with a moan.

“but i’m trying, okay?”

jude nodded frantically, his hips jerking to meet hers as she bounced, his body burning with pleasure.

he could’ve finished right there and then if he wanted to.

y/n moaned again as his head hit that sweet, spongy spot inside of her, the room filled with the lewd, wet sounds of their sex.

“jude,” 

he made a sound, somewhere between an acknowledgement and a moan.

“m’legs hurt,” y/n mumbled, her voice quiet.

he blinked.

“your legs-?”

“don’t make it a big deal,” her bounces slowed slightly, becoming messier as he swallowed. 

both of them let out a soft breath as she pulled off of him, letting jude turn her onto her back quick, sliding his dick back into her.

“fuck,” y/n moaned, eyes fluttering closed again as he sat comfortably inside of her.

jude had her knees pushed to her chest, his dick buried to the hilt, filling her to the brim.

“‘m sorry for bein’ stupid earlier,” he leaned down, lips dragging down her neck and collarbone as he set a rhythm, sloppy but better than hers.

his chain hung from his neck, hovering over her face, his hips snapping against hers.

“ah, right there,” she gasped, head pushed back into the mattress as he sped up, slamming into that same spot again and again.

the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin and their moans, mixed together.

“so beautiful, so fucking pretty,” he rasped, slamming into her, “that pretty face,” he pressed a hot kiss to her neck.

he kept his rhythm til his tip slammed into her cervix, setting a quick, deep pace in and out of her.

it was almost too much, her body shaking as she drew closer to her orgasm, a few sloppy, messy thrusts and his hand dropping down between her legs to rub hot circles into her clit-

“fuck, fuck, fuck- jude!” y/n cried out, eyes rolling back as her vision went white.

jude kept on going, fucking her through her orgasm with long, deep thrusts.

“‘m so close, baby,” he gasped into her neck, lips dragging down her hot skin, “y’feel so good, oh fuck-,”

jude pushed all the way into her, his cum spurting out in thick, hot ropes inside of her as he moaned, face buried in her neck.

he moaned into the crook of her neck, his arms that had previously been braced either side of her head now wrapped tightly round her.

“‘m sorry,” jude mumbled again, his voice soft, “for being a dick about your work,” 

“you don’t need to keep apologising, baby, it’s okay,” y/n said, biting on her lip to hide a smile. he genuinely was sorry.

“i know, just want you to know,” he muttered into her neck, fiddling with the necklace on her collarbone.

y/n smiled to herself.

“what about we shower, then talk out schedules, hm?”

jude looked up. “i’d like that,”

select tags here

can’t say i’m a fan of this tbh.

Jude just had magic, or it was puppy love talking. Probably the latter for you. He was able to convince you to stay longer than you expected. Luckily, you had approved time off longer than your vacation. But the downside is crunch time, because it's around the time Caleb's regular season starts and school starts for him. You will be busy when you get back home.

Jude said that he would do anything, so you told him he was going to have to fly cargo here cause you only packed so much. So you called your sister to pack things you wanted to be in Madrid.

You woke up with a heavy body on top of you. You mumbled as you felt up Jude's back, your hand going through the back of his hair.

"You're heavy as fuck." You whispered against him.

Jude groaned with a deep tone as your voice woke him up. His larger body closed in tighter around you. You moved your hand to the side of his neck. You moved it lightly as his head moved to your chest.

"I have to pee." You said.

"Why?" Jude's voice was deeper and raspier.

"A normal body function?" Your voice became light with questioning.

"No, just stay longer." Jude turned on his side, pulling you with him.

"I have to go."

"We can do it together," Jude said.

"What?"

You wiggled in his arms so much that Jude groaned, letting go of you and turning away from you. You chuckled as you got out of bed, quickly going to the bedroom. You came back to Jude in the same position. You walked closer over to his side.

"Don't you have practice or a photoshoot to do?" You put your hands on your hips.

A deep frown appeared on his face as he opened his eyes. "You want me out of my own home?"

"No, I'm just asking."

"Right." Jude rolled his eyes before turning around again, facing the other way.

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy." You chuckled.

Jude sat up on his hands as he squinted his eyes at you. He leaned over to wrap his arm around your waist to pull you back into bed. He lay down and wrapped his arms around you.

Jude looked down. "I didn't notice this before." He picked at your pajamas.

"Maybe cause yesterday, you grunted like a caveman the whole time." You laughed. "Went straight to sleep after taking a shower."

"I was tired, love." Jude tilted his head. "I have my first game soon."

"Stand up," Jude said. "I want to see you fully."

You looked at him before you smiled, shaking your head. You got out of bed and stood before him. And slowly turned so he could see your pajamas, facing him again, putting your hands on your hips.

"I like the lace, but you know what I like the most?"

"And what is that?" You tilted your head.

"These shorts." Jude's hand reached up to play with the bottoms. You let him pull you closer to the edge of the bed. He put his head on your stomach. His hands came up to massage your ass.

"Jude, what are you doing?" You laughed.

"I appreciate things I like."

Jude lifted his head back, giving you a lazy smile. You took his hands off your butt, getting back in bed. Jude gave you a light frown before he pulled back into your lap. His hands went right back to your ass.

Jude looked down at your chest. "I really do love mornings like this."

You were confused by his words, looking down, noticing your hardened nipples poking against the top. "Of course you do." You rolled your eyes.

"You're a pervert."

"Is it really perverse? If you're my girlfriend."

"I can't deal with a horny you today."

"This is barely horny."

"Oh, I would know." You smiled.

"Hey, you can't use the kitchen incident from the other day against me." Jude

"You literally said, 'Wow, your cooking is always as good as eating you out."

"And I meant that." Jude nodded his head proudly.

"You're so sexy, I can't control what I say." He added.

"Yes, totally." You nodded your head.

You were about to say more when the door opened. Feet pattered against the floor before a smaller dent was made in the bed.

"Good morning, Caleb." You said without looking back.

"Morning," Caleb said quickly.

Caleb nudged himself between one of your arms. Looking between you and Jude.

"You're up to something." Jude looked at him.

"What?" Caleb feigned cluelessness. "No."

"Yeah?" Jude said back.

You wanted out of the way before anything could happen. You got off of Jude's lap, and the minute you did. Caleb jumped on top of Jude, almost putting his full body weight on him.

Oh fuc-"Jude groaned. "My god."

"Caleb, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Nothing, mommy." Caleb smiled at you.

Jude grabbed both of Caleb's arms with his hands. Jude laughed with a breath. "I know what this is."

Caleb laughed loudly as Jude moved his hands to tickle him. You moved more out of the way when they started to wrestle. It ended as Jude pinned Caleb to the bed.

"I can stop right now if you say the magic word." Jude sang.

"No!" Caleb wiggled under him.

"Really? That's too bad." Jude faked looking around as Caleb struggled under his hold.

"Fine!" Caleb said. "Please."

"Thank you." Jude smiled as he let him go.

Caleb lay there as you thought it was over, but it wasn't done. Caleb jumped back on top of Jude, causing him to fall back in bed.

"You're like a spider." Jude wrapped an arm around Caleb's back to move him. But Caleb clutched his arms tighter around Jude's neck.

"I'm going to go." You said as you got up from the bed.

"What? Help me!" Jude said desperately.

"She can't help you," Caleb said.

"You hear this?" Jude was shocked.

"No, I don't." You said as you walked out of the room.

You ignored Jude's shouts of agony mixed with Caleb's laughter. You decided to busy yourself in the kitchen instead. You cooked breakfast while you watched your phone blow up. You might have had a small slip-up in the group chat you were in. You might have said too much about why you're in Madrid. You're backtracking hard in the chat, hoping they can forget what you said.

You turned as you heard footsteps. You turned around to see Jude carrying Caleb sideways.

"You don't know the hidden strength he has," Jude said.

"That's why I don't try it with him." You turned back around.

"He started first!" Jude raised both eyebrows at you.

"I didn't." Caleb stuck his tongue to blow raspberries at Jude.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Jude shook his head.

"Caleb, be nice; we're going to explore today."

"Really? I almost forgot!" Caleb excitedly said.

"Without me?" Jude pouted.

"You have responsibilities." You walked closer to pat his chest. Then you grabbed Caleb, setting him back on his feet.

"I can miss one practice."

"Didn't you just say you have your first game soon?"

"Have fun without me, I guess."

"You will be alright, Jude."

"Caleb." You sighed for the fifth time. "Do you want this face mask?"

"I'll stop moving." Caleb stood still.

"Hold on." Jude grabbed Caleb by his waist to place him in his lap as he sat down on top of the toilet seat.

"We can look alike, remember?" Jude smiled slightly, not to crack the facemask.

"Yeah." Caleb nodded his head.

You bent down, getting closer to Caleb's face. You brushed his face with the facial mask, reminding him to keep his face still.

"That is too cute." You said as you stepped back, looking at Jude and Caleb.

Jude smiled. "You should take a picture."

"Right." You said excitedly.

You grabbed your phone from the counter. "Smile, boys, but be careful cause I'm doing those face masks again."

Jude hugged Caleb closer to his body as Caleb pressed his cheek against his lightly. They both beamed at your camera as you took the picture.

"Cute." You said as you strolled through the pictures.

"Now, Caleb." You looked at him. "After we're done, I gotta finish styling your hair."

"Mommy!" Caleb whined.

"It will be over as soon as you know it."

"Now get up, lovebug so that I can wash your face."

"Can you wash mine?" Jude tilted his head.

You raised an eyebrow. "You are a grown-ass man."

Jude made a shocked noise. "Rude!"

"Mommy's right." Caleb nodded his head.

Jude snapped his head to Caleb. "I'm not buying that candy for you now."

"What!"

"Baby, don't be petty." You shook your head.

"Yeah?" Jude said. "How about no."

Jude bent down towards you, whispering in your ear. "I'm still going to buy it."

"You bend so easily." You laughed lightly.

"He's an adorable kid."

You ended up washing the masks off both Caleb's and Jude's faces, much to your dismay. You looked at Jude's face as you wiped the cleansing wipe across his face.

"I like the facial hair." You said.

"You like it? I was thinking of shaving."

"Really?" You made a sad noise. "You look so fine with it."

"I'll keep it for you." Jude wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you down so he could kiss you.

A loud sigh was heard as you broke apart. You turned your head to Caleb standing at the doorway.

"Can we leave?" Caleb said. "I'm hungry."

Jude laughed quietly. "Our reservation is an hour from now."

"Really?" Caleb said excitedly. "Okay!"

Caleb walked away while you looked back at Jude. "You're good with him."

"Do I?" Jude brought you closer so you landed in his lap. "I try to."

"You're the first man I brought around him in a minute." You confessed.

"Better be on my best behavior then." Jude smiled.

Liked by jobebellingham, djedspence, kylianmbappe and 900,000 others

judebellingham my love

jobebellingham I knew it

judebellingham shut it🤫

jobebellingham posted this to the main account btw, dummy

djedspence my girl was talking to her at the game

judebellingham yeah?

djedspence said she was nice, good job mate, she's beautiful

kylianmbappe 👍🏽

user20 who is this pretty woman? like my god

user57 I love when pretty people get together

user89 forget him, I want her

user10 I hate when people say this cause they never mean it

user30 right??

user45 probably cryin behind the screen lmfao

"Jude." You whined as he buried his head in your neck.

"Stop." You giggled.

"You look so good with my name, love," Jude whispered in your ear.

"This is what a simple jersey does to you."

Jude pulled back to give you a look. "It's more of the person wearing it."

"Stop it, you're crowding me against the counter." You put your hand on his neck.

"Why do you act like you don't like it?" Jude hummed.

"Can you wish me luck for today?" He tilted his head.

"What type of luck?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Any that you can give me." Jude looked at you as his eyes became sharper.

You stared. "Please." You pushed his face, making it turn sideways.

"That rejection was harsh, baby." Jude turned his head back, pouting.

"Cause you want something more." You responded.

"Fuck not even a little?" He played with the top of your pants.

You rolled your eyes. "What do you want, Jude?"

"You."

"And you're revoked." You laughed. "Cause I know what this is."

"It will bring good luck!" He tried to explain.

"Maybe if you win, you might get something." You hummed.

"Oh, you just gave me a great motivator." Jude kissed you on the lips.

"One more thing." You grabbed his arm as you pulled back.

"Those photos you posted?" You said.

"Oh, that." Jude winced. "Posted to my main account instead of my private one."

"Yeah, and now my account is blowing up."

"Sorry, I just decided to keep it up cause I want people to know who I'm with."

"You're fine." You waved your hand. "Wish you would've told me though."

"My friends are blowing up the group chat now." You picked up your phone, showing the locked screen of ever-growing messages.

"Let me see," Jude said. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah." You unlocked your phone for him.

You watched as Jude scrolled through the group chat. "First off, your friends are truly American."

"Jude." You laughed.

"Why am I being reduced to just a British man?" Jude laughed.

"What? Really?" You said, shocked, or pretended to be.

"What? Really?" Jude copied your facial expression. "You knew."

"Who's Shawn?" Jude asked as he read more.

"My friend's current boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "None of us like him."

"Oh?" Jude raised an eyebrow. "There's a story behind that?"

"You're such a slut for gossip." You laughed.

"You said yourself that I was a good gossip partner."

"Mostly cause I enjoyed your facial expressions." You said. "You're very expressive."

"I've been told that before." Jude shrugged his shoulders.

Jude looked back at the messages. "And look out for those Birmingham men?" He repeated out loud.

"That's my best friend." You winced. "She dated a Birmingham man before."

"Damn, she's saying all that?" Jude showed you the long paragraph. "Us Brummies ain't that bad."

"You can learn the lore another day."

Yes!" Jude nodded his head quickly.

Jude handed you back your phone. "You're going to have to teach me some American slang after reading that."

"Well, as long as you teach me yours cause what you call things is totally different sometimes." You added.

"I wasn't that bad."

"Jude, you had me looking up Birmingham slang."

"When you can just ask the source?" He questioned.

"I guess I could do that."

"I can delete the photo if you want me to." Jude went back to the original topic.

"I think I'm fine with you keeping it up." You said. "I'll tell you if I change my mind."

"Okay, love." Jude put his hand under your elbow to bring you closer.

"But I'm also posting something since you blew up the spot." You added.

"I said I was sorry." Jude pouted.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes before kissing him.

"You gotta go before you're late." You pulled back from him. "You smell good, by the way."

"Thank you." Jude smiled, happy you liked it. "A new fragrance I'm trying out."

"That just gave you a boost in your step." You laughed.

"Yeah cause you like it?" Jude nodded his head.

"Go, Jude." You pushed on.

"I'll see you at the game." He kissed you one more time.

♫ now playing: show u off by brent faiyaz

Liked by yourbrother, your sister, yourcousin and 600,000 others

yn’s_world since somebody wanna show off judebellingham

judebellingham who is that handsome man?

yn’s_world you’re about to get blocked

judebellingham what? I just got here!

yourbrother I knew first

yoursister why are u lyin???

yourbrother I don’t why you are talking to me…..you ain’t know

yoursister I know where you live

yn’s_world get out my comments agruing

user60 she’s so pretty, I’m obsessed

user30 this man has never had a ugly girlfriend

user25 always been baddies

comments are limited

"Caleb, can you sit down for one second?" You huffed.

"I'm sorry, Mommy." He sat back down in the seat next to you.

You sat in one of the private sections of the stadium. You could tell it was filled with families and players' partners. A group of women came up to you to introduce themselves.

"You must be Jude's new girlfriend; nice to meet you."

"We like to hang out sometimes after games; you should come one day."

"Thank you, I only started to date him, so I don't know too many people."

"Oh babe, we can teach you everything you need to know!"

Maybe talking to them was easier than you thought. You got into their circle pretty easily, as they gave you their phone numbers and added you to the group chat.

"I know we're going to see more of you."

"Next time you're back in Spain, we would love to hang out."

You talked to them as they told you more about the team and the coaches. They also told you about some teams from other leagues that have been happening. It made you more relaxed as you fell into a more easy convo with them.

You pulled Caleb into your lap as you got more comfortable in the seat. You were enjoying Jude playing as you could see he was back in his element after the World Cup. You and Caleb pointed out things during the game. Mostly Caleb, as he would tell you things. It was a close game for the first game of the season. The game was almost over before one final goal was scored in the last round. You clapped as Real Madrid won their first game of the season.

You pulled Caleb in front of you as you walked back to the locker rooms. You stood against the wall, waiting for Jude.

You knew Jude was an attractive man; anybody could tell that. Before he came into your orbit. You heard his name mostly from your son, but you had heard your sister say that he was fine as fuck. You never really bothered to look him up, beyond the fleeting pictures you saw.

There was something about post-game that gave him an afterglow. You almost had to hold your breath when he came up to you. His facial features were sharper, and his eyes were sharper and lidded.

It didn't take long until Caleb was trying to get in his arms. "You must like being carried by me?" Jude laughed.

"You're comfortable." Caleb shrugged. "I like it."

It was an innocent interaction between your boyfriend and your son. Your mind was still swirling as Jude's voice rasped from yelling. And that laugh? You averted your eyes when Jude's connected with yours.

"Why are you all the way over there?" Jude looked at you.

"What?"

"Come here." Jude used the hand that wasn't occupied by Caleb's body to beckon you.

As soon as you were closer to him, Jude pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. You melted against his side. His cologne still clung to his body as if he didn't play for as long as he did.

"Hold on." Jude pulled his arm away to adjust his bag. He wrapped his arm back around you as he started to walk. "I'm tired."

"You did so good, baby." You smiled as you wrapped an arm around his hip while you walked.

"Thank you, love."

"You looked so cool!" Caleb said.

"I did, didn't I?" Jude smiled.

"So cool that I should get a gift, right?" Jude looked you in the eyes.

You remembered your convo earlier. You averted your gaze to all. Only to look back to find Jude still staring. You felt your face heat up from the constant eye contact.

"You think so." You said instead, teasingly.

Jude squinted his eyes before he nodded his head. As if to tell you, "We'll see about that." Jude dropped his arm from you, opting to grab your hand as he brought you closer.

"I think so." He said back to you.

When you got back to Jude's place, you told Caleb that dinner would be ready soon. He nodded his head before he went to the other room. You froze slightly when Jude stepped closer to you. His chest touched your back. His hands came to grasp your hips.

"What about me, baby?" His voice dropped lower as he spoke to you.

"What about you?" You said back to him.

Jude's laugh was dry. "Wow, it's like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So we're forgetting about our earlier convo?"

You stayed silent, and that was enough for Jude to turn you around before he lightly guided you to the wall. His body encompassed you as he looked at you. His head lowered as he kissed you. Your eyes closed as you felt his soft, full lips against yours. Jude's pressed his body closer to you, pushing your body more against the wall.

Jude pulled his head back. "You remember now?"

"No, I don't." Your smile turned flirty.

"You're a funny fucking girl." Jude smiled, turned sharp. "I have all night and all day to remind you."

"Maybe then I can remember." You told him.