#landonenorris

NEULLER – BLISS 5: “Move out of my way before I make you.” 

–––––

Look, it has been a shit game. They know that. Thomas knows it more than most of them, what with all his attempts on target either being unsuccessful, or, infuriatingly, hitting the crossbar. But in the end, the meager one goal they managed to scratch together was still nothing compared to the four they had managed to concede. Four.

Unsurprisingly, Manu is pissed. His eyes are cold, ablaze with a dangerous blue fire, teeth clenched, with rage surely bubbling in his stomach only waiting to burst out.

He’s a volcano ready to erupt, and, Thomas thinks, their defence is doing good by avoiding him for as long as they can. After showering, they’ve scrambled to the far corner of the dressing room, huddling together, talking quietly among themselves. They look a crushed, and Thomas can only relate to the feeling.

Just as he wants to walk over to them and give them a few encouraging words as Nikki’s eyes grow wide as their captain walks – no, stomps – through the door, looking ready to kill. Lucas and David seem almost equally apprehensive and only Jo has raised his chin defiantly, that crazy little bastard.

Thomas sighs.

It’s well known amongst the team that he is the only one who dares to approach Manu when he’s in a mood like this, and certainly the only one with the ability to calm him down. Getting up, he rubs his hands against his sweatpants and takes a few steps towards his husband.

He puts a hand on Manu’s shoulder before the older one has a chance to plant himself in front of the defenders, flinching a little bit when Manu whips his head around to now glare at him, instead. Thomas gently kneads Manu’s shoulder, looming dread pooling in his stomach when it doesn’t make their captain look any more placid at all.

At first, he wants to talk to him in a quiet voice, to offer a distraction, but Manu is still glaring at him, eyebrows drawn tightly together, mouth tense.

“Manu?” Thomas asks, realizing that this time, calming down the storm brewing might not be as easy as usual, “is everything alright?”

His suspicion is confirmed only seconds later, when Manu basically growls at him. 

“Thommy, I swear to god. Move out of my way before I make you.”

And okay, that’s – that’s different.

Thomas would be lying if he claimed the coarseness of Manus’ tone, his assertiveness didn’t send a shiver down his spine, but as it is, he just so manages to keep his composure, offering his goalkeeper a tight nod, letting his hand slip away. Letting him go.

It’s not pretty.

Thomas is convinced that all the defenders feel at least one foot shorter once Manu’s is finished tirade, more or less shouting at them for the better part of ten minutes, with everyone else scrambling out of the room as fast as they can. 

Thomas himself observes it all from his own locker with bemusement, respect and something awfully close to appreciative desire. 

At some point, Lisa texts him some new information on a pregnant mare of theirs, so he gets distracted to the point where he doesn’t even realize when Manu’s torrent of words stops, startling only when his husband drops down next to him on the bench with a grunt.

His expression has eased, at last, and now, he simply looks exhausted, slightly grumpy, and a little more defeated than generally Thomas likes him to.

Pocketing his phone, Thomas feels a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “Did that help?”

Manu groans, running his hand over his face, tousling his hair until it sticks out at odd angles. He shrugs quitely, then and unpromptedly drops his head on Thomas shoulder. He hums when Thomas lifts a hand to scratch his scalp, and while Thomas massages the worries away as well as he can, they just sit there quietly. 

In leaving, Nikki cast the two of them another look. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip, and his cheeks are still reddened with what’s probably embarrassment, easing up a bit only when Thomas nods at him, managing a small smile before rushing after the others.

Then, they’re alone.

“You scared the kids quite a bit there, babe.”

Manu huffs. “They’ll be fine. I just, um – had to let that out.” He shrugs again, a small motion against Thomas side when his shoulder rises and falls.

Thomas grins. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda hot.”

When Manu blinks up at him with wide eyes, he only winks.

“Hmm.” Manu fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt. “Well, don’t get used to it,” he grumbles as he gets up with a groan, reaching for his gym bag. “You coming?”

And when Thomas gets up, grabbing his own bag and then taking the hand Manu has extended, waiting for him, he knows that things will be just fine.

There will always be games that they lose. 

But for Thomas, there’s always a Manu waiting for him. And honestly, most days, that’s all he needs. (But even he can’t deny that wins usually leave a better taste in his mouth.)

Thank you so much cutie 💛

Dior 2001 - Rin

Und wir tanzen durch die Nacht, durch die Nacht Lichter in der Stadt Wir dreh’n Donuts auf einem Parkplatz Ljubav ist die Macht

(Translation  And we’re dancing through the night, through the night, Lights in the city We’re making donuts in a parking lot, Ljubav is power)

Rin is one of my favorite German rappers and I remember listening to this song a lot on the subway in Toronto (I also had to play it in class there once because my teacher was curious about German rap music). I like this one because it’s less of the typical German rap, it’s less aggressive, more vibey, and easy to sing along to. Also, Ljubav is the Croatian word for love (if I’m not wrong) - Rin has Croatian/Bosnian roots so he uses the language in his music once in a while.

HÖMMELS – BLISS 11: “You are being extra sweet today.”

–––––

It’s a rainy day in March, and for once, Mats is the first one up. Something must have awoken him, and he knows that Benni didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning all night … so at eight in the morning, Mats leaves him with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to make breakfast as soon as Benni would come downstairs. He only got a tired grumble in reply, and thus, he stroked his husband’s hair, and went to make himself a big cup of coffee.

After perusing his bookshelves for a while, he finds one he would like to start – there isn’t that much time to read with parenting two toddlers and a job – he settles down in his favourite armchair. 

Eventually, Coco joins him, falling asleep on his feet, but other than that, it’s only the sound of the raindrops hitting the windows keeping him company.

The book is off to a slow start, and Mats moves sluggishly through the pages, and by the time it’s half past eight, he’s almost ready to put it down. He pushes up his glasses, rubbing at his eyes–

Startling when there’s small hands gripping his sweatpants, tugging softly.

Basti looks extremely sleepy, still. For a moment, Mats wonders how the hell he got out of his crib before sluggishly remembering they’d switched them out for real beds over a year before. God, he really is still tired, too, he thinks, taking another big gulp of coffee for good measure. 

A crooked smile finds its way onto his lips then, as he ruffles his son’s hair.

“Hey there, bud. Couldn’t sleep?”

Basti frowns. “It’s loud,” he determines, before yawning widely. Their younger son has never been afraid of thunderstorms, Mats knows, but his brother is the heavier sleeper all together – it’s no surprise that Basti woke up from the heavy rain and strong gusts of wind rocking the trees, making them groan.

Mats smiles, putting the book to the side. Coco protests with a quiet whine when he leans forward, gently putting his hands on his toddler’s waist, picking him up. Basti giggles delightfully when Mats lifts him into his lap, but his eyes are a little bit drowsy, they keep fluttering shut as Mats presses a kiss onto his head.

He’s not often this cuddly, Basti really isn’t. Especially compared to Felix, who doesn’t like being separated physically from either his parents and/or his brother for too long, growing restless and scared if he doesn't have that comfort. Mats is used to a Basti who’d wiggle out of his arms to play in a pile of leaves, attempt to climb an old tree trunk, to try chasing after Coco when she runs away, having yanked her leash out of Benni’s hand.

Even more so, Mats treasures moments like these, where this almost kindergarten-ready toddler (and god, time has passed so fast, he still remembers what it was like shortly after they’d brought their boys home) becomes his little boy again.

“Are you tired, bubbe? You’re being extra sweet today.” 

Basti sighs, first shakes his head and then, reluctantly, nods, cuddling closer, hiding his face in Mats’ chest – that, incidentally, feels like it might burst from the sheer fondness he’s feeling in this moment. 

“A lil’,” his son mumbles, and Mats leans down to kiss his hair. 

“That’s okay bubbe, you can sleep here for a while, if you want. I’ll protect you.” Basti’s nod is small, but Mats can feel it and it makes his heart stutter.

The first time he fell in love, he’d been just barely twenty and he’d met Benni for the first – well, actually second – time in his life. The second time, he’d been in a hospital, seeing his sons for the first time.

This feels exactly like that.

He only notices that they’ve both fallen asleep – Mats with one hand still loosely curled around his mug, the other resting on Basti’s head, Basti breathing gently against his chest – when someone tugs at his pants yet again. 

At first, blinking his eyes open again, he doesn’t quite catch onto it – Basti’s already sitting in his lap, isn’t he, so what–

Oh. It’s Felix.

The older twin is looking up at him with wide eyes, looking first at Mats, then at his brother. 

“Baba, wanna cuddle too!”

Mats’ heart sings. In all honesty, Basti alone is growing a bit too heavy to sit in his lap all the time, but nevertheless, he doesn’t hesitate to pat the space next to him that’s still empty.

“Hop on up.” Felix does so quickly and efficiently, climbing up with short stubby legs, shuffling around until he’s comfortable.

Mats chuckles. “Careful Lix, don’t wake your brother. I don’t think he liked the storm very much.”

Felix nods as if he understands exactly what Basti is feeling. “Is scary.” Mats holds him closer, nodding earnestly as he ruffles his hair, watching fondly as Felix carefully snuggles up to Basti, tugging at Mats arm, wanting him to hug them again.

“A little bit, maybe. But I’m here, me and Basti will take care of you. Sleep well, bubbe.”

A few minutes later, Felix does. And soon after, so does Mats, coffee and book long forgotten.

(Benni finds them when it’s already close to ten, and Mats just barely flickers into consciousness as he drapes a blanket over them, letting them sleep.

It’s only two days later that he notices a newly printed photograph joining the others on their fridge – Mats, with the twins on his lap, all three of them asleep, Coco laying on his feet as she watches over all of them.

Mats looks at Benni, and Benni only winks. Mats feels the butterflies in his stomach cause a ruckus.

The love of his life and their children.

Everything is exactly as it should be.)

ANGER 20: “Let go of me.”

–––––

Marc hates it. He honestly, truly does.

He’s known Bernd Leno for what feels like forever, and never ever had the barely older goalkeeper not been able to make his blood boil to the point where he could hear it ringing in his ears.

There’s always been a distaste to watching him, a quiet loathing that came naturally with their rivalry, a flame that grew higher when people had started jokingly comparing them, both by their abilities as well as their looks, fiercer, more seething.

Marc has always hated being faced with Leno, and now, here they are, playing their first senior tournament for Germany together, number two and three (in an order that’s not even clear to Jogi Löw, apparently) behind one Manuel Neuer, a goalkeeping legend in his own right, and Marc hates that he has to share this experience with him.

But moreso, Marc hates how it’s not only kindred hatred he feels for the other blond, not anymore.

He has no idea when it has started, but there are feelings now. Pesky, annoying, terrible feelings that came seemingly out of nowhere – and yes, Marc is in fact pointedly ignoring the voice at the back of his mind whispering that it’s only a small journey from hatred to something else; after all, both of them are very much intense emotions.

He hates it.

Leno is eating breakfast, and it makes Marc want to stab his pancakes. Violently.

Leno is talking to Tah, smiling and gesturing, his hair unstyled and slightly curled and … yes, Marc is begrudgingly admitting it – is looking cute.

Shocking, terrifying. Entirely unwanted. Definitely not the way one should feel about their personal achnemesis. But that doesn’t change the fact that Marc does, and has probably since they boarded that flight to go to Switzerland for training camp. He’s found he started to find Leno adorable, good-looking, and god behold, he’s even caught him being sweet at times.

Not to Marc, of course. No, never to him. For him, Bernd only had icey glances, sneers and annoyed huffs. And while at first that had been welcomed, as it had been all those years, by now, Marc finds that it stings each time Leno’s smile turns into a frown when Marc enters his field of view, finds that himself wondering what it would feel like to be at the receiving end on one of those sunshine smiles instead. Heck, he’s started to wish for it, even.

God, he’s a mess. A bumbling, idiotic mess with a goddamn crush – on Leno, of all people.

Marc is pretty sure that someone up there is currently laughing at him. This could happen only to him, truly. And now he’s not only stuck with the petty, annoying outrage mixed with a good bit of jealousy and annoyance with Leno, but also struck by how pretty his eyelashes are, how much he loves it when his hair is soft after a shower. He marvels at the way Leno’s voice sounds, appreciates the way his training shirt stretches over his biceps.

Sure, Marc has always been aware that men interest him as well, but – him? Really, universe?!

But as it is, stabbing his pancake once again, until it looks like a mushy lump more than anything else, he knows that at this point, there’s nothing he can do about it.

Mario, next to him, is sending him concerned glances.

“You okay?” he asks, and Marc only grunts, almost disbelieving of what Bernd Leno’s presence has reduced him to.

Honestly, he shouldn’t even be surprised when it only gets worse once they have to turn up for training. Manuel keeps shooting him curious looks (or are they simply confused?) as if Marc’s ambivalent feelings were so obviously painted on his features that it’s a miracle that Bernd himself hasn’t picked up on it yet.

– and that’s another thing. For a few days already, Marc has been able to catch himself slipping, thinking of the idiot by his first rather than his last name. It’s such a stupid name, old-fashioned and really not for a young goalkeeper, but it suits the idiot, it really does.

Marc wants to kiss him.

Yes, he actually wants that. Yes, it scares him too. Leno has very pretty lips. Thin but delightfully pink, as if he was always chewing on them. Marc thinks of them often, and even for his annoyed, flustered brain, that thought is usually a bit too much.

Especially now, when he keeps staring at Leno’s mouth as he’s whispering to Tah once again. Manuel, on his right, elbows him into the side, quirking an eyebrow. And yeah, he should really pay attention to what Löw is saying, he knows that, but looking at Leno is just so much more interesting now; so, he keeps doing it.

It’s only three minutes later, when Löw is almost done, that it ends in disaster – Leno catches him staring.

Immediately, Marc can feel the blood rush to his cheeks as Leno musters him with scrutiny. He has to turn his head away to hide his blush – Mario, on his left, probably has noticed, but at least Marc is sure the younger could have no idea what’s actually going on; or at least, he hopes so. This is so embarrassing, he doesn’t even want to picture how it would be admitting this crush to someone.

Of course, that’s not all of it.

As soon as they return back to the goal, Manuel walking ahead with Andi Köpke, Leno next to Marc, it gets brought up again.

“What’s your deal, ter Stegen?”

Marc blanks.

“I mean,” Leno coughs awkwardly, “I know you’re weird, but you’re acting even weirder than usual.”

Marc blatantly ignores the insult, then simply shrugs. “I don’t know why you assume that’s any of your business. Newsflash: it’s not.”

He hates this. Hates that for a second, Bernd looks actually concerned about him. Hates how it makes his heart skip, that treacherous, silly heart.

“Hey,” Leno puts a hand on his arm. Violently, Marc janks it out of his grip.

“Let go of me,” he hisses, something in him shattering when he sees how Leno’s face falls, regret flooding over him like a spring tide, and for the first time in his life, he wants to apologize to him.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, not after the way they’ve treated each other for so many years, from hurling insults to ignorance to borderline fistfights  – but yet, he hopes that his eyes show his remorse plainly. 

He wants him to know.

Leno takes a deep breath. “Alright, then. Sorry for trying to care.” And with a huff, he stomps away, taking ridiculously long strides with those ridiculously long legs to catch up with Andi and Manuel.

And Marc, Marc is left behind, wishing he could reach out and lace their fingers together. Wishes he could mumble an apology and give his biggest rival a hug. He pictures what that would feel like, how it would come to be, sees them being caring towards another, supportive, bickering; and it’s then that he realizes.

He would do anything for that to become an actual possibility. And from now on, he will do anything to make it become a reality.

He likes Leno. Bernd.

And he fiercely, desperately wants him to know that – even if it’s in the face of rejection. But even more so, he hopes that the kindness the older has shown him if only for a moment … he hopes that it means that he’s not alone in this.

God, he really hopes that he isn’t.