Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thomas Müller made a group chat called: bayern won the bundesliga

Thomas: alright dickheads we've got a GROUP CHAT now

Thomas: it took us long enough but we're all united now

Jerome: mein gott don't say that thomas

Thomas: here's a safe space where we can send pics of manu conceding xxx

Manu: No the fuck we can't

Mats: 

Manu: Oh fuck off

Thomas: NEUER THE WALL

Marco: fuck off with ur bullshit group name

Marco: we're coming for u this season

Benni: Guter Witz! 

Miro: What is

Miro: this ?

Mats: look at miro completely incapable of using a phone+typing

Thomas: i n t e l l e c t u a l

Mario Gom: Don't come for him he's trying

Mario Gom: it's a group chat Miro

Julian D: I'd rather not be able to type or use a phone if i was getting msgs from a guy like u mats

Mats: what are u saying, pussy?

Julian D: Im saying that i dont know how benni finds ur complete s l u t t i n e s s so attractive

Julian D: I saw ur texts when i was at schalke.

Thomas: WHAT DID HE SAY

Benni: You know you didn't have to bring me into this Draxler. 

Julian D: U weren't complaining at all back then.

Julian D: U weren't complaining at all.

Mats: damn right he wasn't

Josh: why have i never heard this before i need some context

Joshua: ok jule just pmed me the context

Joshua: mats... go to church

Mats: i will not 

Lukas: first of all

Lukas: why is everyone on this team so fucking gay

Per: oh shut up lukas that's the pot calling the kettle a goddamn pot

Thomas: did LUKAS PODOLSKI really judge someone else for being gay

Manu:

Jerome: LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

Jerome: mEiN hAsE 

Miro: You are ga 

Miro: You are gay Lukas too

Thomas: the judge has delivered his verdict

Basti: u scored an own goal there poldi

Lukas: first of all

Lukas: i wasn't saying i wasn't gay

Lukas: i was enquiring as to what juice this goddamn team is drinking that EVERYONE is gay

Lukas: it's a football team

Lukas: and EVERYONE is gay

Lukas: what gives

Jonas: I don't think Miro is gay?

Jonas: I mean i don't want to assume

Jonas: But he has sons

Jonas: I mean not that you can't be gay and not have sons

Jonas: But he had a wife

Jonas: But he could be bi

Jonas: Sorry I just scored multiple own goals too :(

Thomas: miro put the poor boy out of his misery

Miro: I am

Manu: Yes? 

Mario Gom: !!!!!!!!

Mario Got: is he saying he's gay or has he left his sentence unfinished

Mario Got: there's like multiple ways u can read that sentence

Marco: is it like, Yes, I am Gay or is it I am ... ___?

Mats: where has he gone

Thomas: MIROSLAV

Miro: Sorry

Miro: My pgone turned off

Miro: I am bi JOnas

Jonas: Oh ! That is so nice :)

Lukas: ok so he's not explicitly gay but still 

Lukas: everyone else is

Basti: he has a point???

Fips: I can't believe I'm talking in this chat and agreeing with Lukas but here I am.

Fips: Thomas if I leave this chat you will add me straight back won't you.

Thomas: of course.

Fips: I am going to retire.

Basti: it's about time

Lukas: lmao it's been long enough. hurry it along fips

Fips: There's more chance of that happening than you starting for Arsenal Lukas.

Manu: And there it is

Thomas: 1-0 TO FIPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Lukas: what happens now.

Miro: Retirement

Lukas: NOW you type fast enough

Lukas: there's more a chance of me retiring now than YOU scoring a goal out of the box first miro

Miro: It is my turn to retire

Lukas: 1-1

Lukas: ok so back to the gay

Lukas: ANYONE straight??? in this squad???

Julian D: Sami and mesut seem pretty straight to me

Jerome: 

Julian D: What

Mesut: what are u ugly gossipmongering fools talking about now

Jerome: 

Mats: we're talking about absolutely nothing

Thomas: 

Julian D: What the FUCK is happening

Joshua: pm me jule

Sami: Wtf

Mesut: wtf 

Private Chat between Joshua Kimmich and Julian Draxler

Julian D: What the fuck is going on now

Julian D: Why are the degenerates sending reaction gifs

Joshua: sami and mesut are in the closet you fucking idiot

Julian D: Fr?? 

Julian D: Actually. Wait. 

Julian D: Shit. You're right 

bayern won the bundesliga

Julian D:

Sami: Can you guys stop the bullshit

Mesut: literally 

Sami: What are you all talking about

Lukas: mesut and sami

Mesut: what

Sami: What

Mesut: .... what

Basti: he answered your question

Sami: How?

Manu: He JUST SAID

Mats: mesut and sami!

Mesut: WHAT??!?!?!?!?

Thomas: i really don't know what you're confused about you asked a question and he answered

Thomas: mesut and sami!!

Private chat between Manuel Neuer and Thomas Müller

Thomas: manu i'm literally s h a k i n g

Thomas: with laughter

Thomas: they really don't get it

Manu: Dont know how they haven't suffocated being in that fucking closet for so many years

Thomas: LMAO

Thomas: honestly though we're the most gentle accepting environment.... like... ever??? why wont they just come out already plsss

Manu: Gentle? Have we been playing for the same national team? 

Thomas: ok maybe not gentle but we're not homophobic <3

Thomas: germany more like germagay

Manu: That doesn't work Thomas

Thomas: shut up

bayern won the bundesliga

Jerome: listen i really don't understand the confusion it's literally mesut and sami

Sami: Es hängt mir zum Hals heraus Mesut

Mesut: ich auch

Mesut: i'm going to leave this chat

Mesut Özil left the chat 

Sami Khedira left the chat

Thomas Müller added Mesut Özil to the chat

Thomas Müller added Sami Khedira to the chat

Sami: Mein GOTT!

Miro: Mesut and Sami

Thomas: mesut and sami indeed.

Chapter Text

Private chat between Sami Khedira and Mesut Özil

Sami: Mes

Sami: Mes

Sami: MES ANTWORTE MIR

Mesut: ffs sami am i not allowed to sleep

Mesut: WAS

Sami: Im still thinking about what those idiots on the group chat were talking about

Mesut: are u really getting urself worried about the stupidity that spouts from our teammates mouths

Mesut: you should be immune to their nonsense by now 

Sami: Yeah they're dumb but I scrolled up and Draxler was like

Sami: 'Sami and Mesut seem pretty straight to me'

Sami: And Jerome went 

Sami:

Mesut: and??? it's just jerome making a 'joke'

Sami: But then Thomas and Mats and Miro got in on it

Mesut: sami. it's thomas and mats. miro doesn't even know how to use his phone properly

Sami: What does that have to do with the fact HE'S IN ON THE JOKE

Mesut: ever heard of something called 'teasing'? it tends to happen in teams of grown men

Mesut: i bar thomas from the 'grown men' category

Sami: Lol 

Sami: Well u can be dismissive but I'm keeping an eye out

Mesut: you do that and i'm going to go back to fucking sleep

Mesut: thanks for waking me up with this gripping fucking news

Sami: You're welcome

Sami: Night Mes <3

Sami: (edited) Night Mes :)

Mesut: night sami <3

bayern won the bundesliga

Thomas Müller added Jogi Löw to 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Jogi Löw left 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Thomas Müller added Jogi Löw to 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Jogi Löw left 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Thomas Müller added Jogi Löw to 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Jogi Löw left 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Thomas Müller added Jogi Löw to 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Jogi: Thomas I will remove you from the starting lineup.

Jogi Löw left 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Private chat between Benedikt Höwedes and Mats Hummels

Benni: Mats julian hummels

Benni: Did you use all the milk again

Mats: benni

Mats: listen

Mats: when ur with somebody

Mats: u have to learn the arts of sharing

Mats: all ur beloved possessions with ur beloved

Mats: i think u need to learn to adapt and realise a relationship involves 2 people

Benni: MATS YOU USED ALL THE MILK

Benni: I CAN'T KEEP BUYING MILK

Mats: WHY NOT YOU'RE A FOOTBALLER

Mats: YOU COULD BUY LIKE A BILLION MILK BOTTLES

Benni: IT'S NOT ABOUT THE COST OF MILK

Benni: IT'S THE PRINCIPLE

Benni: I DON'T USE UP ALL YOUR RESOURCES

Mats: I BEG TO FUCKING DIFFER

Mats: YOU USE UP ALL MY LUBE

Benni: OH MEIN GOTT MATS 

bayern won the bundesliga

 Jerome: can i add lewy to this chat

Marco: no

Jerome: was i asking u

Marco: no but the answers no

Jerome: y not

Marco: this isn't a BAYERN chat this is a DEUTSCHLAND chat

Jerome: y is it called bayern won the bundesliga then

Marco: because thomas is a reprobate

Jerome: ur not even the maker of this chat marco go away

Jerome: THOMAS

Thomas: yes

Jerome: can u add lewy to this chat

Thomas: hmmm

Marco: if u add lewy you should add bvb players js

Jerome: he was ur TEAMMATE marco

Marco: 'was' is the operative word

Mario Gom: We 'd have to  add stuttgart players too

Benni: And schalke

Julian B: leverkusen

Thomas: yeah jerome i like lewy but im gonna have to agree with the crowd here

Thomas: if i invite lewy i'll have to invite the whole bundesliga let alone rafinha arjen james thiago javi blah blah

Thomas: let's keep it german

Jerome: dammit

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Jerome: they said no rob

Robert: :(

Robert: Is it bc Marco said so

Jerome: yes hes salty

Jerome: also thomas said he'd have to invite the whole bundesliga if he let in a non-germany player

Robert: Ok :(

bayern won the bundesliga

Jerome: hope you dickheads are happy

Marco: i am, actually! 

Jerome: he was your BEST FRIEND 

Marco:

Marco: he means nothing to me

Marco: https:// /ReusSZN/status/1045943295640293376

Mats: marco it's been 3 years.

Marco: tHeRe aRe rEaLlY fUnNy vErSiOnS oF tHaT vIdEo

Marco:

Mats: mario literally left dortmund too.

Marco: HE LITERALLY CAME BACK.

Jerome: i find it amusing that all your closest friends left dortmund 

Marco: i don't find it amusing at all. 

Manu: No club loyalty these days

Benni: MANUEL NEUER DID YOU REALLY

Benni: MATS DID HE REALLY

Benni: DID YOU

Mats: he did

Mats: marco that's arguably worse

Manu: I forgot.

Basti: own goal

 Private chat between Thomas Müller and Robert Lewandowski

Robert: Thomas

Thomas: yes

Robert: Can I join ur group chat

Thomas: no

Robert: Why

Thomas: you're not german

Robert: WE'RE BEST FRIENDS

Thomas: our friendship status doesn't make u german

Thomas: just use the bayern group chat

Robert: But

Thomas: but nothing

Robert: :(

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Robert: He said no

Jerome: told you so

Jerome: you don't want to be in our group chat anyway

Jerome: marco's currently trying to put a curse on mats' family bloodline for leaving dortmund

Jerome: don't think he's over it yet so

Jerome: best to steer clear. 

Chapter Text

Private chat between Marco Reus and Mario Götze

Mario Got: marco did you take my jeans

Mario Got: the light blue ones

Mario Got: with like the ripped knees

Mario Got: because i want to wear them

Marco: oh yeah i put them on this morning

Marco: looks like you're going to have to go without them

Mario Got: marco

Marco: mario

Mario Got: you can't just??? take my jeans

Marco: why not

Marco: you took my hoodie

Marco: and also my nice shirt

Marco: and when i told u to give them back

Marco: u said 'no they smell like u'

Marco: i was like

Marco:

Mario Got: but that's different than jeans

Mario Got: taking ur significant other's upper body clothing is acceptable

Mario Got: taking the jeans i wanted to wear today is just not

Marco: well. sucks for u ig

Mario Got: MARCO

Marco: just wear another pair of jeans damn

Mario Got: but there's certain outfits you just have to fuckin coordinate

Mario Got: and you've thrown a wrench in my plaN

Mario Got: i'm meeting with marcel 2day!!

Marco: poor you having to go through the ardous (arduous????? how tf do you spell it) task of picking new clothes

Marco: 

Mario Got: fine

Mario Got: be like that

Mario Got: now i have to change my whole outfit

Mario Got: are you happy?

Marco: im bathing in the blood shed by this catastrophe

Mario Got: im breaking up with u

Marco: you do that, honey

***

It was approaching two in the morning, and Jerome Boateng was still awake. In the darkness of his bedroom, his face was illuminated by the dim glow of his phone. He was trying valiantly not to make noise, but he was reading one of those text chains that made it really fucking difficult not to laugh.

Robert, who was lying next to him, shifted slightly next to him, mumbling something incoherently. "Jeri...?"

"Shh," Jerome murmured, as though he wasn't giggling raucously. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Robert obliged, his head dropping onto Jerome's side. Jerome smiled down at him, and then returned his gaze to his phone.

bayern won the bundesliga

Fips: In my defence.

Fips: You never said it was a secret.

Basti: BECAUSE I WOULD'VE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE OBVIOUS

Fips: It's just a tattoo.

Thomas: a fuckigng ASS tattoo

Thomas: saying AHA

Basti: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FIPS

Basti: I WAS DRUNK

Lukas: he really was

Thomas: i genuinely think that I've never laughed harder in my entire life

Thomas: AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A SENIOR MEMBER OF THE TEAM

Marco: i thought me and mario were the gayest people

Marco: and then you just come out and say this fips

Mario Got: i'm actually kind of offended

Mario Got: if we were going to be teased

Mario Got: for being relentlessly gay

Mario Got: at least let us hold the top spot

Jerome: im hooting i just woke up rob

Basti: I WAS DRUNK

Basti: I GOT IT REMOVED

Lukas: which i was kind of offended by

Thomas: i can't believe the state of this team

Thomas: i KNOW me and manu have never been this bad

Manu: If we have then fade me fr

Sami: Thisis so fuckinrf funny

Sami: Lukas you didn't think to take a single picture

Mesut: i mean 

Mesut: he didn't really need to

Mesut: he was seeing it in person

Sami: Honestly

Sami: I can't believe they used to be in denial

Sami: And then they do shit like that

Sami: Didn't it go on for like 10 years

Miro: Yes

Miro: I saw it all

Fips: You have no idea.

Miro: I have dealt with

Miro: 15 years of gay footballers

Miro: Also closets

Miro: People in closets I mean

Basti: we were never in denial

Lukas: i don't see the denial part of it all

Jerome: ARE YOU SHITTING ME

Thomas: just shut up you two

Mesut: yeah you two were so obvious

Mesut: like glaringly obvious

Sami: Who were you trying to fool

Jerome clutched his mouth, letting out a sharp giggle that this time woke up Robert completely. Squinting at Jerome blearily, he said, "What's happening?"

"Sorry for waking you," Jerome laughed. "It's just the group chat. Sami's just thrown a bucket of irony over all of us?"

"What'd you mean?" Robert asked. Jerome showed him the chat. Robert's eyes widened.

Julian D: Jesus C h r i s t

Joshua: i wonder HOW you two could be so obvious basti and poldi... honestly!

Marco: years of close friendship that's actually homoerotic tension and being disgustingly close and unaware about it... ridiculous right? 

Mesut: literally

Mesut: don't know why people can't just accept the obvious truth

"Oh, my God," Robert said in disbelief. "Is he joking or is he..." 

"He really isn't," Jerome snorted. 

Miro: I am still dealing with it

Fips: You really are, Miro.

Sami: What'd you mean

Sami: Everyone's pretty much out in the open in this team now lmao

"Jerome... he's not serious," Robert murmured, looking genuinely concerned.

Jerome was laughing so hard he was sure he was going to cry. One second later, he received not a group chat message, but a private message, from Mats.

Private chat between Mats Hummels and Jerome Boateng

Mats: BOA I REALLY

Mats: I REALLY CAN'T TOLERATE THIS

Jerome: robert is literally staring at the screen in disbelief

Mats: CAN WE JUST TELL HIM HE'S GAY

Jerome: wouldn't be half as fun

Robert looked disapprovingly at his partner. "You can't have fun at Sami and Mesut's expense, they need a push in the right direction!"

"We can't interfere, Rob," Jerome giggled. "Basti and Poldi figured it out eventually. And given how obvious everyone's being, they'll realise it soon."

"I hope so," Robert sighed, as the chat exploded with inappropriate reaction gifs to Sami's statement. "Poor Sami will look back at this and die with embarrassment."

"All the better for it," Jerome sniggered. Robert settled down, telling him he should sleep now, but the group chat was more important.

***

 Private chat between Mesut Özil and Sami Khedira

Sami: Come on Mes

Sami: You cant tell me they're being normal

Mesut: yes i can

Mesut: i don't know why you're convinced there's a conspiracy theory

Mesut: we've known these fools for like a decade

Mesut: they've absolutely always been like this

Sami: I just

Sami: You know?

Mesut: i really dont

Sami: You REALLY dont?

Mesut: i really dont.

Sami: Fine

Mesut: don't be annoyed sami

Mesut: i just think u worry too much

Mesut: its like... why are you worrying. dont worry. you know what im saying 

Sami: Thanks for the insight Mes

Mesut: you're welcome sami

Mesut: i think that the time has inflated ur paranoia tho

Mesut: it's like 3 am and i didn't even realise

Sami: Yeah Basti's ass tattoo distracted me

Mesut: literally

Mesut: can you believe

Mesut: he got an ass tattoo saying AHA

Mesut: im in shock

Mesut: god i hope i never end up like them

Sami: Honestly Mes the transformation

Sami: wE aReN'T toGeThEr 

Sami: TO AN ASS TATTOO OF POLDI'S CATCHPHRASE!!

Mesut: every time i hear the words ass tattoo i lose it

Sami: A good way to end the convo

Sami: Bc I'm tired

Sami: Night mes x

Sami: Don't stay up too late

Mesut: nah if you're gonna sleep i will too

Mesut: cya sami <3

bayern won the bundesliga

Thomas: where are they

Thomas: they've just DISAPPEARED

Manu: Probably had enough of the bullshit

Mario Got: honestly they're both fucking adorable

Jerome: rob says we have to point them in the right direction

Fips: Absolutely not. You people have no sense of direction whatsoever. You will probably make them never want to talk to each other again.

Fips: Let fate take its course.

Basti: worked out for us i guess

Marco: it's tempting though

Mario Got: god it really is

Fips: NO.

Fips: Promise you all won't interfere.

Thomas: fips come on

Fips: I'm your captain and it's NO.

Mario Gom: I agree with Fips tbh just let them find themselves

Mario Gom: If we embarrass them it might not work out

Basti: yeah ig we should stick with gentle teasing

Thomas: hold on what if they look back and see all of these messages

Thomas: what if they're reading right now

Manu: They're offline

Thomas: ok everyone delete ur messages relating to this

Fips: I can't believe I'm saying it, but thank you Thomas.

Chapter Text

bayern won the bundesliga

Toni: I know I haven't talked on this chat, because, like

Toni: What self-respecting person would

Toni: But I want to know what u guys think Jogi's gonna do for our international break games

Thomas: first of all im offended

Thomas: second of all we know the tactic

Thomas: deploy the GOAT, he scores the goals and we win

Miro: Thank you Thomas

Thomas: opa i don't know what level of reality you're operating on

Thomas: but it's not this one

Thomas: i was talking about ME

Toni: Speaking of being out of touch with reality

Toni: Seriously like what's Jogi going for

Toni: Who thinks they're guaranteed a start

Marco: it goes without saying.

Marco: mats is going forward obviously

Marco: he's a killer at the headers

Mats: OF ALL THE THINGS

Mats: YOU TARGET MY ONE REAL INSECURITY

Mario Got: to be fair it'd probably do you some good to have your insecurities targetted

Benni: Lol

Mats: DON'T 'LOL' ME BENEDIKT DEFEND MY HONOUR

Benni: Lol

Toni: Oh my god can someone answer my question seriously

Mats: right so now ive broken up with my beloved partner of many years

Mats: how about i go ahead and insult you reus

Mats: why don't i target UR insecurity

Marco: do it, pussy. 

Marco: my self-love serves as a barrier to unsolicited opinions

Mats: do you even have an insecurity

Mario Got: honestly mats? i don't think so

Mario Got: he's more self-assured than u are

Marco: told u. self-love armour

Marco: if YOU really loved yourself mats u wouldn't have dyed ur hair blond

Mats: IT WAS A BET

Mats: I'M REALLY NOT ENJOYING YOU COMING FOR ME 

Mats: CAN WE GO BACK TO TEASING SAMI AND MESUT

Toni: CAN WE GO BACK TO MY QUESTION

Jerome: everyone gets their time in the flames mats

Niklas: Sometimes you fall flat on your ass in them

Niklas: Can't be helped

Niklas: Speaking of starting lineups... I rekcon I'm in for a shot!

Jerome: LISTEN YOU LITTLE FUCKER

Jerome: WHEN I SAID EVERYONE GETS THEIR TIME IN THE FLAMES

Jerome: I MEANT EVERYONE BUT ME

Niklas: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Niklas: Toni asked I answered

Mats: not this. niklas out here praying on jerome's downfall 

Jerome: I'M NOT GOING TO HAVE A DOWNFALL

Jerome: WHAT ABOUT POLDI

Jerome: HOW MANY HAS HE SCORED FOR ARSENAL

Lukas: oh come on.

Lukas: i was minding my own business.

Fips: Just like you do in the box.

Lukas: YOU;RE OUR CAPTAIN YOU CAN'T BE DOING THIS

Lukas: BASTI BACK ME UP

Toni: OH MY GOD CAN WE??? TALK ABOUT??? FOOTBALL??? 

Basti: what'd you want me to do poldi? lie?

Lukas: this is

Lukas: unbelievabl

Lukas: at least i

Lukas: at least

Lukas: SCHALKE ARE 16TH IN THE BUNDESLIGA

Benni: This is a bloodbath

Benni: Every time I think I'm safe

Jerome: talk about a fall from grace

Marco: not even hero to zero benni

Marco: second to

Marco: i don't even know

Benni: Bold words from the man whose club stopped winning the Bundesliga the second he joined it.

Benni: And who lost the Champions League to Bayern 😍✌️

Marco: right so let's talk about sami and mesut!

Mario Got: 

Thomas: i think we should follow benni's lead and talk about bayern's endeavours in the 2013 champions league! 

Marco: um... i think we shouldn't?

Mats: to be honest i agree with marco

Mats: you're coming for me too there

Mats: let's talk about thomas's goal drought

Thomas: right i'm not liking that topic of conversation

Thomas: mesut and sami it is!

Sami: You can't say anything about me

Sami: Champion's league???

Sami:  Die Tat wirkt mächtiger als das Wort

Sami:  Mes on the other hand

Mesut:  sami khedira

Sami: When did arsenal last win something.

Sami:  Wasn't it like

Sami:  Nine years?

Mesut:  SAMI KHEDIRA

Lukas:  sami khedira.

Mesut: did  real wIn the league tho

Mesut:  DID THEY

Jerome:  ok insulting real madrid??? i can get behind that

Toni: Jesus Christ 

Sami:  Champion's League>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> La liga???????????????????????

Sami:  Anyway JUVE won the league.

Thomas:  did THEY win the champion's league?

Sami:  ARSENAL DON'T WIN ANYTHING

Fips:  There's only one viable option to end this chaos.

Fips:  Admitting that you are all useless and unworthy of praise. 

Fips:  I am the only person immune to the shambles. 

Basti:  um

Basti:  ???

Basti:  what have i done

Lukas:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ynHt02etqw

Basti:  gott ist tot 

Fips:  See.

Fips:  I am above all of you barbarians.

Fips:  On both a moral level and a footballing level.

Miro:  What about me

Miro:  16 goals

Miro:  I beat Ronaldo

Miro:  Nice Ronaldo

Fips:  I suppose Miro isn't bad either. 

Mats:  i really want to make a box joke but you know what miro?

Mats:  you're the best one

Fips:  But I won the Champion's League and captained us to winning the World Cup.

Thomas:  opa is better

Thomas:  he's germany's highest scorer

Manu:  I assisted him in demolishing England

Manu:  Sweetest moment

Manu:  You can't insult me either

Manu:  I've saved your asses so many times

Thomas:  honestly? agreed, queen

Jerome:  miro is still our god

Jerome:  16 

Jerome:  that bra71l goal really took the cake

Lukas:  i' ll take it over fips

Basti:  yeah i can get behind the decision of miro being the best of us

Mario Got:  my world cup winning goal doesn't count???

Mario Got:  miro was subbed out for me???

Julian D:  Mario

Julian D:  Are you a record-breaker

Mario Got:  i won us the world cup???

Julian D:  But are you in the guiness world records

Mario Got:  winning goal???

Julian D:  I'm not seeing a response to my question

Julian D:  Not a world record breaker??? Not been playing forever???

Julian D:  You're invalid

Mario Got:  

Miro:  Case Klosed

Toni:  I'm never talking in this group chat again

Chapter Text

Manu was eating an omelette when his boyfriend dragged his sorry carcass into the kitchen and hurled himself into a chair with a moan. He paid Thomas not the slightest bit of attention as he munched on his breakfast, but after several moments of being stared at dolefully, he finally broke.

"I'll make you your stupid hangover drink."

Thomas sighed happily. "Manu, I knew there was a benevolent deity out there that sent me you, and if I'm ever annoying to you again-"

"I'll know you're back to normal." Manu placed the rest of his omelette between his teeth and pushed his chair back as Thomas rummaged in his pocket and took out his phone.

He winced as he turned it on and was temporarily disarmed by the brightness of the screen. "Mein Gott. It's like looking at an eclipse."

After adjusting his settings, he turned to the group chat, which had become his habit to check over the past week.

bayern won the bundesliga

Marco: i got like

Marco: thirty drunk snaps from mats last night

Marco: what were you all DOING

Benni: What.

Marco: don't worry urself benni

Marco: he was saying shit like 'dortmund is actually an ok team and i know i pretend that im apart from it but ofc i have an attachment and i wish u well'

Marco: 'but i obviously want bayern to crush you'

Marco: and then he sent me a picture of a shirtless thiago alacantra who was chugging beer

Benni: Ok carry on.

Mats: benni do u have absolutely no faiath in me

Mats: if i was gonna send drunken nudes

Mats: it wouldn't be to marco

Benni: Excuse me? Who WOULD they be to then?

Mats: anyway! wtf marco i never said any of that

Marco: how would you know. you were wasted

Marco: anyway what the hell were bayern doing

Mats: well you know how wies'n is meant to be fun and family friendly

Mats: yeah we took the fun and family friendly out of it

Marco: you bavarians are so fucking weird

Marco: don't bayern have a troupe of cameras following them so they can show the whole world they're having fun

Mats: they went eventually.

Mesut: i actually miss going to oktoberfest to be honest

Mesut: england doesn't have any of that

Mesut: they have gratuitous drinking but not the atmosphere

Lukas: honestly.

Fips: You two don't wish you were there yesterday.

Fips: The esteemed Robert Lewandowski dissolved into tears and called me his dad.

Jerome: ok fips? that was funny as hell

Thomas: you guys didn't even see arjen

Thomas: you know when you rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time

Thomas: he was just patting both and giggling

Thomas: anyway i have a mruderous hangover and manu?? is being a king and making me my special Drink

Jerome: does he want you to die

Jerome: that shit is disgusting

Thomas: um??? how about you shut your filthy mouth

Thomas: it's reinvigorating

Basti: it reinvigorates your immune system as it tries to eject the shit entering your body

Basti: thomas i'd take the hangover over that monstrosity

Basti: and my head t h r o b s

Jerome: rob is like flat out lol

Jerome: he really went all out last night. the drunken affection levels were off the charts 

Basti: ugh wish that was me

Basti: wies'n isn't the same without lukas my heart is cold and lonely

Mats: oh stop your damn pining schweinsteiger

Mats: the international break is literally in like,,,, a week

Lukas: you all don't understand 

Lukas: WE'RE ON OTHER SIDES OF THE GLOBE

Thomas: germany isn't fucking mordor

Basti: you guys don't get it long distance is HELL. i would like my significant other in the flesh,, 

Mesut: yeah well

Mesut: we cant' always get what we want schweinsteiger

Mats: and what is it you want mesut?

Thomas guffawed, attracting Manu's attention. As he uncharitably set Thomas's hangover drink (thick, green, containing steeped coffee grounds, diet pepsi, mint sauce and taken with an aspirin) in front of him, he looked at Thomas questioningly.

"Check bayern won the bundesliga," he giggled. Manu sighed and rummaged in his pocket.

Mesut: what

Lukas: what is it you want?

Mesut: i'll tell you what i want

Mesut: for all of you to stop being so fucking weird

Mesut: you've got sami thinking there's a conspiracy theory against us

Manu roared with laughter. "Oh, mein Gott, they're going to be the death of me." 

Jerome: where is sami mes?

Mesut: probably sleeping

Mesut: he hasn't answered my texts yet

"He knows what Sami is doing at all times!" Thomas gasped, as he tipped his drink down his throat. "This is unbelievable."

Mario Got: why hasn't he answered your texts?

Mesut: bc??? he's sleeping??

Marco: what if he's ignoring you

Mesut: what

Mesut: why would he be ignoring me

Marco: shit happens

Thomas: yeah, once manu ignored me for like a day because i put 4 pens past him in training

Manu: That is literally not true?

Mario Gom: I put a single goal past you in training once and you threatened to run me over

Mario Gom: It's perfectly believable.

Manu: This is libel

Jerome: maybe u should check he's not ghosting u mes

Mesut: you're all full of, as the british say, shite

Thomas lapsed into giggles as the reaction images came flooding in. "Oh, Manu, if only Fips hadn't stopped us from interfering. I don't have the self-control to keep going on like this."

"To be entirely honest with you, I feel like Sami's on the verge of realising it, anyway," Manu sighed, sipping his coffee and pushing a plate of toast at Thomas. "If he's suspecting there's a conspiracy theory."

"Vielleicht, but he's also a fucking moron, so I wouldn't get too excited." Thomas grinned. "If they don't hurry it along, my good conscience will weigh me down, and I'll have to step in."

"God help them." 

"Go to hell, Manu. I'll get Mesami together one day, you wait and see." He finished off his hangover drink and shuddered slightly (out of exhilaration, of course). "They don't know what's coming for them." 

***

Private chat between Mesut Özil and Sami Khedira

Mesut: hey

Mesut: what you doing

Mesut: im bored

Mesut: are u awake

Mesut: sami

Mesut: SAMI

Mesut: are u ignoring me

Sami: I just woke up damn

Sami: Calm down

Mesut: aha see i knew you weren't ignoring me

Sami: You barely gave me time to reply

Sami: Why would I be ignoring you

Mesut: just something the idiots said

Sami: The idiots eh

Sami: Who's worried about what they think now

Mesut: not ME

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Fips: Whoever keeps anonymously posting the pictures of me from last night:

Fips: Cease.

Leon: give me one (1) good reason

Fips: I will give you three.

Fips: One- I am a professional player and deserve respect.

Leon: not good enough

Fips: Two- I am the captain of this godforsaken team.

Leon: still not good enough

Fips:  Three- I have incriminating photos of YOU I can leak to the media.

Leon: ok almost good enough

Fips: Goretzka.

Fips: Delete them.

Leon: it's not even me

Leon: i just think it's funny

Fips: I can assure you it's not.

Fips: Thomas.

Thomas: WHY do you ALWAYS assume it's me

Mats: 

Mats: fips looking to blame thomas for everything that happens ever

Joshua: it's more like this

Joshua: 

Fips: Both are apt.

Fips: And for good reason. 

Fips: If it's not Thomas who is it.

Fips: Delete them.

Jerome: like leon said

Jerome: give us one good reason

Fips: I GAVE THEM.

Jerome: leak my photos, pussy

Jerome: i got nothing i'm ashamed of

Mats: i'd be ashamed of photos of me if i looked like you

Jerome: MATS

Fips: Don't derail the conversation with insulting again please.

Fips: Jerome if it's you I swear to God.

Jerome: it wasn't me actually

Manu: It could be someone who isn't german

Manu: Robert

Fips: Jerome.

Fips: Tell your loathsome significant other to delete them. Right now. 

Jerome: you have nothing over him

Jerome: the embarrassing pictures will remain in the history books forevr

Fips: No.

Fips: Jerome.

Jerome: Philipp.

Marco: listen fips

Marco: your embarrassing pics even out the scales between us

Marco: if we're trash people you deserve to be a little trash too.

Fips: Why.

Fips: Why do you all insist on doing this.

Fips: One of these days I'm going to.

Fips: No. I won't say what I'm going to do to you. 

Fips: I'll let you find out for yourselves. 

Chapter Text

Private chat between Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski

Basti: what time does ur flight arrive

Lukas: um

Lukas: ein moment

Lukas: 2 o'clock

Basti: G R E A T

Basti: that means we have a lot of time to hang out :(

Lukas: wow thanks basti

Basti: sorry that was meant to be a smiley

Basti: :)))))))))))

Basti: im actually extremely excited

Basti: i've missed you SO much

Basti: like you don't even understand

Basti: how much i've missed you

Lukas: of course i understand

Lukas: how'd you think i've been feeling

Lukas: surrounded by the english and a goalscoring draught

Lukas: all i've wanted for this whole season so far is just to see u again

Basti: aW

Basti: love you <333333333333

Basti: when we see each other we can see each other again

Lukas: how insightful

Basti: i mean we can do stuff with each other

Basti: thank god we have a day off too

Basti: i'm just gonna? be with you

Lukas: sounds like a plan my love

Lukas: we're gonna make fips' life hell too though right

Basti: do u even need to ask? 

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Jonas: I'm really excited to come to Munich and see everyone again!

Thomas: we're excited to see u too

Thomas: miss seeing you in matches jonas my beloved

Jonas: Thanks! 

Mats: yeah it's gonna be nice seeing u again jonas

Mats: in the same part of deutschland and everything

Toni: I'm not excited to see you idiots again

Toni: All you're going to do is make fun of the real madrid goal drought

Manu: You know us so well <3

Sami: What will you all be saying to me ;)

Sami: That's right, NOTHING

Julian D: I'm sure mesut has things to say

Sami: Oh yeah yeah yeah back to Sami and Mesut is it

Sami: I'm immune to your stupidity now

Toni: Tell me your secret Sami

Miro: It will be good to see everybody

Miro: I am coming from rome at

Miro: 1 o clock

Thomas: OPA me and manu will meet u

Miro: I am going to Stuttgart first

Miro: To go with mario

Thomas: excuse

Thomas: me?

Thomas: manu

Manu: Yes

Thomas: did miro just

Manu: Yes

Miro: Don't be offended

Thomas: TOO LATE

Thomas:

Thomas: wtf opa

Thomas: i've been waiting to see you all this time

Thomas: and you just SAY you're going with mario

Thomas: you don't even miss me!

Miro: I do

Thomas: i don't think so

Miro: I do

Thomas: you don't act like it

Miro: I do

Miro: We will see each other soon

Thomas: no go and see fucking stupid MARIO

Mario Gom: Thanks, thomas

Leroy: can't wait to land in munich and play with u guys!!!!!!!! :)))))

Jerome: yeah leroy, training is always pretty fun

Joshua: i just gasped

Leroy: jerome...

Julian D: Which Julian do you think is getting into the starting lineup

Julian D: B or D

Thomas: jogi likes his d

Manu: LMAOAFOEJRIJGERIJG

Mats: I SPAT OUT MY DRINK

Julian D: I was about to be flattered but then I realised u were talking about ball scratching

Leroy: do u think if i scratched jogi's balls he'd let me into the starting 11

Marco: you know what keep that up your sleeve in case u get really desperate

Marco: jogi is so surreal at this point i wouldn't discount the possibility

Manu: I'm honking

Julian B: leroy let's make it a double job

Julian B: i'd really like to... just be on the pitch. for like 1 second

Marc-Andre: To be honest

Marc-Andre: I share the sentiment

Marc-Andre: I'm not complaining or anything

Marc-Andre: And Manu you're like the best human on the planet and the best goalkeeper and I would never think to doubt you

Manu: Good. 

Marc-Andre: But

Marc-Andre: Yeah

Bernd: thanks for sharing!

Marc-Andre: You know what

Marc-Andre: I'm just happy I'm here and Bernd isn;t

Fips: That isn't the team mentality, Ter Stegen. 

Fips: Wait what am I even saying. As if any of you know what that is. 

Marc-Andre:  Team mentality  can suck my dickthere's only one team and it's the 3 good goalkeepers and the trash one

Marc-Andre: Aka Bernd

Bernd: you know what ter stegen

Bernd: you're unbelievable

Bernd: i think u should get benched for barca

Bernd: because all you do

Bernd: is act the fool

Bernd: and barca don't need a foolish keeper

Marc-Andre: Even your comebacks are mediocre. Sad! 

Bernd: at least i didn't concede against PERU

Marc-Andre: Yeah because you haven't played at ALL

Thomas: the waves of sexual tension really jumped out

Marc-Andre: THE ONLY TENSION THERE IS

Bernd: IS ANGER TENSION

Marc-Andre: AND NOTHING ELSE

Mario Got: wow guys it's okay

Mario Got: you don't need to be aggressive about missing each other

Mario Got: when me and marco were apart he was passive aggressive and pining

Mario Got: he got over it!

Marc-Andre: WE'RE NOT PINING

Bernd: WE'RE REALLY NOT

Toni: This is lovely

Toni: It's great to know this group has the game winning mentality

Joshua: the same game winning mentality madrid has?

Marc-Andre: HA

Jerome: LOS BLANCOS

Jerome:  NEARLY BROKE A RECORD

Jerome: AND WHAT WAS THE RECORD

Jerome: WHAT WAS IT I HEAR YOU ASK

Jerome: THEIR LONGEST GOALSCORING DROUGHT

Toni: For God's sake

Toni: You're getting nutmegged for that Kimmich

Joshua: nutmeg ur opponents instead of ur teammates

Jerome: you couldn't even beat your goalscoring drought record

Jerome: saddos

Toni: Thomas will you let me leave this group chat

Thomas: sure

Toni: Really?

Thomas: can't stop you can i

Toni: Ok then

Toni: Bye losers

Toni Kroos left 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Thomas Müller added Toni Kroos to 'bayern won the bundesliga'

Toni: Fuck's sake.

***

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Robert: Heyyaaa

Robert: I'm at the airport

Robert: Gonna be leaving for Poland

Robert: I wish you the best of all the luck with the German National Team because God you'll need it

Robert: Go and destroy everyone xx

Jerome: heyyy text me straight after u land ok xxxx

Jerome: i will you go and be the goalscoring god you are schatz

Jerome: love love love u and see u after the break 

Jerome: missing you already

Robert: Missing you too, call me later!

Jerome: you got it xx

***

Private chat between Sami Khedira and Mesut Özil

Sami: Hey Mes

Sami: What time are you guys coming from London?

Mesut: we're coming in at 2

Mesut: when are u coming from turin?

Sami: An hour earlier

Sami: Can't wait to see you bro

Mesut: same 

Mesut: i've missed you a lot

Mesut: i hope the team hotels abroad have a table tennis setup

Mesut: we can have our honourary game where i demolish u

Sami: Good joke

Sami: You're brazil whenever we play

Mesut: um???

Mesut: don't you feel guilty blatantly lying???

Mesut: i'm the federer of the table tennis world

Sami: You can't even SERVE

Sami: Anyway before you talk more shit I gtg

Sami: Save it until we see each other in person

Sami: See you soon ja?

Sami: Love ya bro 

Mesut: ugh fine i'm excercising restraint

Mesut: see ya

Mesut: and love ya too you goofy bitch

Chapter Text

Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Robert: Hey love!

Robert: I've landed

Robert: Can you call

Jerome: yesss

Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski.

Jerome swiped right on his phone excitedly, and he was greeted with a sight that caused something warm to bloom in his stomach: Robert's beaming face. Thomas, who was sitting next to him on the bench, leaned over Jerome and pressed his face against his phone screen.

"Get out of my sight, Müller," Robert said in tones of mock disgust. "You're ruining the view."

"I-"

"Am the view, yeah, yeah," Jerome said, hitting Thomas gently and pushing him away from the screen. Thomas settled backwards, looking disgruntled. "Anyway, hey, baby! You're at the airport right now?"

"Yeah, I'm the only player here so far, everyone's coming from, well, everywhere," Robert informed him. "What about you? Are the team all around?"

"No," Thomas answered glumly for Jerome. "Miro isn't here, because he went to Stuttgart to see Mario."

Robert laughed, and Jerome wanted to reach through the screen and pull him back into Munich. "I don't blame him for trying to escape you, Müller."

"Hey!" Thomas pointed an accusing finger at Robert. "You watch your tongue, Lewandowski, or as vice captain of Bayern Munich-"

"You'll boss me around from the bench?"

"Ugh, you-Ugh," Thomas said eloquently, standing up dramatically. "I, am going to my boyfriend. Away from you."

"Auf wiedersehen!"

Thomas pressed his middle finger against the camera lens before flouncing off to where Manu was talking to Mats and Joshua. Robert's white teeth were still showing in a grin and he winked at Jerome, who once again felt that leap in his stomach.

"I miss you already," Jerome said sullenly, pulling a face at Robert. "I can't believe we're not going to see each other for, well, a week."

"I know," Robert sighed, leaning backwards in his chair. "At least we'll have matches to take our mind off things, huh? Another international break where people will call out Lewandowski for not scoring for his country."

Jerome frowned at Robert's self-deprecating tone. "Hey, now, Rob, don't be stupid. You'll put them in the back of the net, I know you will. You're the captain and you've got nothing to prove."

"Ugh. Why can't every team be Wolfsburg?" Robert said cheekily, and Jerome rolled his eyes affectionately- Robert had more than earned his bragging rights with regards to scoring on that day- Jerome grinned to himself as he remembered the scenes afterwards- Pep's face was still engraved into his memory. "We've got matches versus Italy and Portugal... It's going to be a tough one."

"Hey, now. You know Italy aren't at all the team they were," Jerome said soothingly, for what felt like the hundredth time. Robert had paced around at home before leaving for the international break lamenting the state of Poland's calendar. Robert was incredibly confident, but when he was under scrutiny, he could lose some of his nerve. Jerome had been trying to comfort him for a while, but at this point he privately thought the only thing that had to happen was Robert had to face them and get the matches out of the way.

Robert was about to respond, but he was interrupted by a yell of delight. Jerome glanced up and saw what had caused the noise, and then he grinned widely. Lukas Podolski had arrived on the training ground, along with Mesut and Per, both of whom looked embarrassed and exasperated, and Leroy, who looked bemused- Lukas had dropped his bags and had raced towards Bastian without the slightest care in the world. Jerome turned his phone camera to show them colliding and hugging each other tightly, before pulling back and kissing. 

Robert burst out laughing. "Oh wow. We should count ourselves lucky we play on the same team, Jeri, we'd die if we were as far apart as they are."

"I'm dying right now," Jerome declared emphatically. 

Robert blew him a kiss, and then, grinning, he said, "I wonder how Mesut will react to seeing Sami again?"

Jerome guffawed. "Oh, wow, I forgot all about that. Obviously they'll rugby tackle each other and fuck on the spot, Rob."

"Don't make it awkward for them," Robert implored. "They need to navigate love in their own way."

Jerome placed a hand on his chest in mock indignation. "It's not me you need to be scolding, Rob. These guys are out of control."

Robert gave Jerome a look. "You know you enjoy making fun of them."

"I'm only human," Jerome laughed. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about them, Fips would flay us alive if he found out we were interfering with them. He's issued a ban on it."

"Fips has the right idea,"  Robert sighed. 

"Boateng!" Jogi had strolled out along with his assistant coach, regarding the team with the air of someone readying himself for catastrophe- the German team all gave each other identical, evil grins. "Phone away until the briefing is over."

"It hasn't even started yet, nobody's here but Bayern and England!" Jerome protested, but he received a look that made him sigh in defeat. "You heard the man, Rob. I have to go."

"Aw..." Robert looked genuinely disappointed. "Well, we can talk later. Call me when you can, okay? I love you!"

"I love you too," Jerome said softly, blowing his boyfriend a kiss back, and stared sadly as Robert's smile disappeared from the screen. Mesut rolled his eyes as he thumped down beside Jerome on the bench.

"You two are disgusting," he said conversationally.

"Your face is disgusting," Jerome responded mildly, as the two shared a hug. "It's good to see you again. England treating you well?"

Mesut made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. It was clear his attention was elsewhere- he was craning his neck and looking out at the distance. Jerome remembered Robert's words and valiantly managed not to smile.

"Looking for someone?" was all he said, innocently.

Looking surprised, Mesut glanced at him before blushing slightly. "Yeah. Sami. He said he was with Emre and on his way."

He jerked his head up, looking hopeful, as there was the sound of commotion signalling a new arrival- but it wasn't Sami and Emre. It was Marco, Mario Gotze, Julian Brandt and Weigl, Timo and Matze, accompanied by Jonas, Benni, Mario Gomez and Miro.

"OPA!" yelled Thomas, and Miro smiled as, all animosity about his decision to go to Stuttgart first forgotten, the lanky forward ran to attack him in a hug. Jerome and Mesut grinned at each other before getting up from their bench to greet the rest of their team.

When they joined the huddle of players, Jerome exchanged Looks with Marco and Mario, who both in turn looked at Mesut, who was still looking out at the distance, past the embracing Mats and Benni. 

"This is going to be so fun," Marco muttered to Jerome, who sniggered, attracting Mesut's attention.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Jerome said simply, and when Mesut shrugged and turned to look out for Sami again, both he and Marco lapsed into silent giggles.

As Jogi walked up and down, checking his watch, evidently annoyed by Spain, France and Italy's lack of appearance, the team all had their catch-ups, all club rivalry forgotten, Fips and Per being harassed by Leon and Serge, Basti and Lukas murmuring into each other's ears, Joshua making fun of Mats and Benni, the Julians messing around with Leroy, Timo and Matze chatting cheerfully with Jonas, and Miro listening to Thomas talk his ear off while Manu and Mario Gomez sighed in exasperation. Mesut was the only one who stayed quiet, and then his face brightened.

There were the arrivals from Italy, Spain and France. Toni was grinning despite himself at the team, Marc-Andre looked downcast for some reason, Emre slightly shy, Julian Draxler grinning as Joshua ran out to meet him and Thilo rushing forwards to wrap up his friends in a hug. And Sami- well, Jerome thought to himself, covering his mouth to stop him from giggling- he had no eyes for anyone but Mesut.

"Oh, Gott." Marco and Mario both clung to each other, nearly hysterical with laughter as Sami strode straight past everyone else to hug Mesut. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jerome saw Fips stamping on Thomas's foot to stop him from making a comment. 

"Missed you," Mesut breathed, into Sami's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

"Missed you too," was all Sami said, but he didn't need to say anymore. The two clung onto each other for a good while until they began to notice the giggling that had broken out around them- they let go of each other, both red in the face, but smiling nonetheless.

Toni made his way over to where Jerome, Marco and Mario were all acting like children. He hugged Jerome in greeting and then gave the couple a weird look. "What's so funny?"

Marco and Mario gasped in unison, which was slightly disconcerting. "Oh, my God, Toni doesn't know."

"What don't I know?" Toni asked, puzzled. "Am I missing something here?"

"Oh, wow," Jerome said in awe. "You don't know about..."

He gestured subtly to where Sami and Mesut were standing with their shoulders pressed closely together. 

Toni made a face. "No... Is this about your stupid group chat?"

"Oh, God, just wait til you hear-"

They were interrupted by Jogi yelling, "RIGHT! Listen up! Are you barbarians listening-?"

There was a sudden unneccessary chorus of, "Yes, Jogi!", undoubtedly led by Thomas.

Jogi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't missed this. I haven't missed this at all."

"C'mon, coach, is this the warm reunion you-" Thomas began, but he was cut off by Fips elbowing him and giving him a specialised captain stare that had Thomas grumbling discontentedly.

"Right, now I think I have your attention- Sane, Draxler, stop talking- we can start the briefing, now that everybody's here."

Toni was still looking at Jerome expectantly. Jerome gave him a grin and whispered, "Later." 

***

 Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno

Marc-Andre: I'm in MUNICH

Marc-Andre: Where are YOU

Bernd: up your ASSHOLE

Marc-Andre: You're in LONDON

Marc-Andre: Enjoy not PLAYING

Bernd: why are you capitalising your last WORDS

Marc-Andre: Because I want TO

Marc-Andre: It's called EMPHASIS

Bernd: emphasising the fact you're a DICK

Marc-Andre: I'm still here and you're NOT

Bernd: i don't want to be where you are ANYWAY

Bernd: you're the WORST

Marc-Andre: I'm better than YOU

Bernd: you're not even going to PLAY

Bernd: manu will be up for good REASON

Marc-Andre: You're so MEAN

Bernd: you started IT

Marc-Andre: Well we're going to EAT

Bernd: talk to you LATER

Marc-Andre: Ok FINE

Bernd: bye THEN

***

Following the team briefing for the first day of the international break, the team were released for the day and warned that training for their match versus the Netherlands would be intense. Instead of dividing into groups, they decided a team lunch was in order. Everyone was mostly happy about this, but some of the reunited couples looked a little sulky that instead of spending time with their significant other they were forced into a gathering with a group of rowdy fools.

"So, are you going to tell me what the hell you were saying before about Sami and Mesut?" Toni insisted to Jerome, attracting Thomas's attention- he barked with laughter, and once again, talked for Jerome.

"Oh, God, it's so funny," he said, almost hitting Manu with a forkful of pasta as he gesticulated wildly. "They're basically locked in the closet. They don't even realise it."

Toni looked very taken aback. "Sami and Mesut? Really? I never noticed that from them."

"Because you're emotionally oblivious and don't pay attention to anything," Mats informed him. "It's as obvious as the fact that I'm the best centre back in the world. It's as obvious as the fact-"

"That you're actually a mediocre club traitor?" Marco said cheerfully. Mats set down his cutlery and lunged for him, but was held back by Benni, who rolled his eyes.

"Can you two manage not to be at each other's throats for one goddamn second?" he said exasperatedly. "Mats, sit down and eat your damn pasta."

Mats was still glaring at Marco as he lowered himself back into his seat. Marco popped a mouthful of salad into his mouth with the air of somebody who had succeeded in all his endeavours in life, said endeavours being trying to piss Mats off as much as possible. Toni tried to bring the conversation back on track.

"So you say they're in the closet," Toni said, looking like he was trying to work out a complex maths problem. "But... why? I mean, this team radiates gayness, why do they feel uncomfortable about theirs?"

"Ah," said Basti wisely. "You've hit the nail on the head."

"Have I?" Toni looked more perplexed by the second. "Are you sure they're not just... really close friends?"

"Toni," Manu sighed. "You're good at football, but you just don't get relationships."

"I just don't see it!" Toni protested, trying to defend his obliviousness. "I know you all are gay, don't I?"

He looked even more indignant and confused as his teammates all shared looks. Jerome took sympathy and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Toni," he said indulgently. "Toni, Toni, Toni Kroos."

"Jerome, Jerome, Jerome Boateng?"

"Observe young Marco and Mario here," he said conspiratiorally, gesturing at said couple, who both posed and beamed as if in front of a camera. "They're gay, right? You can see it from a mile away."

Toni nodded solemnly.

"And Basti and Lukas. The gayest, do you agree?"

"Why, thank you," Lukas said, placing a hand on his heart, making Marco and Mario look offended.

"Yeah..."

"Now, observe young Sami and Mesut." Manu was cackling at the tone Jerome had taken, like the narrator of a wildlife show. He jerked his head towards the other end of the table, where Sami and Mesut were sitting together, their heads quite close together, laughing at something quietly. It was like nobody was around them- Mesut murmured something in Sami's ear, causing the taller man to double over with laughter, placing a hand on the small of Mesut's back- Mesut looked somewhat pleased with himself. "You can't honestly look at them and say you don't see the gay."

Toni looked like he was having a revelation. "Okay, I see it. Wow, that's obvious. I'm sorry for doubting you."

"It's alright, Toni," Thomas said, grinning. "You tend to think you know everything about your teammates when you've been with them for this long.

"That's really obvious, though," Toni said, shuddering. "That's kind of sickening. Have you guys hatched a plan to get them together?"

"We were going to," Benni said. "But Fips told us it would just ruin their friendship."

Toni shrugged. "He has a point. You're all annoying and sadistic."

"We're not sadistic," Mario said. "We just want them to be happy."

"Well, if you want them to be happy, you'll keep your big noses out of it," Toni said briskly, assuming a businesslike demeanour, which Jerome thought was distinctly unfair as just a few minutes ago he hadn't even realised Mesut and Sami liked each other. "You hear that, Schweinsteiger?"

Lukas choked on his drink.

"Hey! My nose isn't big!" Basti protested, 

"And you call me oblivious."

***

Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Jerome: so toni

Jerome: JUST REALISED

Jerome: that toni and mesut are gay

Robert: What?

Jerome: lol sorry meant sami

Jerome: it's late

Robert: Serious question honey

Robert: Is toni blind?

Jerome: LOL 

Jerome: he's extremely oblivious sometimes

Jerome: but then i pointed them out and then it was like all the gears fell into place

Jerome: it was funny

Robert: Was it a slow look of dawning realisation

Jerome: yep

Robert: Ha

Robert: Though I don't know how it took him so long

Jerome: once a real madrid player, always a real madrid player

Robert: Honestly.

Jerome: real madrid more like

Jerome: FAKE madrid

Robert: Wow, good one, jeri

Robert: How hard-hitting

Jerome: shut up i'm tired

Jerome: so i'm going to sleep now

Jerome: miss you baby <33333333333333333333

Jerome: talk tomorrow !!

Robert: Of course

Robert: Goodnight baby !!<33

Robert: Miss you too

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Thomas: so

Thomas: is everyone ENJOYING their rooming arrangements?

Marco: obviously

Thomas: was i asking you?

Marco: w h a t

Thomas: pipe down gay

Marco: you're LITERALLY gay too

Thomas: i pose my question again

Thomas: is everyone ENJOYING their rooming arrangements?

Jerome: no

Toni: Stop fucking pining it's for a week jerome

Jonas: I like mine!

Miro: They are good

Lukas: you know we do ;)

Sami: We always have the same rooming arrangements

Sami: Why are you being a weirdo

Thomas: 

Thomas: how dare you sir

Mesut: you say it like thomas being a weirdo is out of the norm?

Sami: Point taken

Thomas: ARE you enjoying yourself sami?

Sami: What the fuck

Sami: What do you think me and Mes are doing in here? Fucking?

Mario Got: well, you said it

Sami: I'm not going to dignify any of you with a response

"What's wrong with them?" Sami said, from his bed. He had thrown his things onto the ground and had climbed into bed straight away, unable to be bothered with any doing anything else- he was tired as hell. 

"Too many headers," Mesut said wisely, turning off his phone. "They've lost a few brain cells over the years- it's science. I'm going to sleep now, Sam, are you going to start an argument with them?"

Sami sighed, looking down at the chat. "No. I can't be bothered to try and unpick their nonsense. I'm tired."

"Well, go to sleep, then," Mesut said, rolling his eyes. "We'll be facing more of their nonsense tomorrow, you need to have your wits about you."

"You're right." Sami tossed his phone onto his bedside table, settling into the hotel bed as Mesut flipped off the room's light. "Night, Mes.  It was nice seeing you today."

"You know it," Mesut said sleepily, getting under the covers. "Love you, bro."

"You too."

Chapter Text

The dining room was full of laughter and chatter when Mesut and Sami walked in that morning, but when people noticed their approach, the noise seemed to fade away, being replaced by badly suppressed snorts. Fips, who had been trying to ignore Leon's relentless taunts about those goddamn photos Lewandowski had taken during Oktoberfest (but was getting closer to the edge by the second), was glad of the opportunity granted to him to glare. Really. Were the teams such degenerates that the mere sight of Mesut and Sami could reduce them to cackling schoolchildren?

Wait. Why was he even asking himself that question? 

Fortunately, Mesut and Sami didn't seem to notice the exponential increase in sniggering as they took seats by Toni and Jerome (the former looking exasperated, the latter trying very hard to look completely neutral)- either because they were used to the team's stupidity by now (and Fips shared the sentiment), or because, put bluntly, they were fucking morons themselves.

"I'm fucking starving," Mesut informed his friend, ignoring everyone else, reaching across Toni and getting some toast. "Do you want anything?"

"Yeah, grab me a sausage, will you, Mes?"

"Müller, if you dare make a smart comment," Fips intoned, giving Thomas the type of look that scorches, because Thomas was wearing an expression that spoke of not keeping his damn mouth shut. "Just let them be."

"One comment!" Thomas pleaded, as Mesut got up to get them some food, and Sami turned to talk to Leroy. "He was talking about sausages!"

"Leave it, Thommy," Manu advised in Fips' place, because the diminuitive captain looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel in frustration. "Just contain yourself. Laugh inwardly."

Thomas looked as though he wanted to argue, but a distraction arrived in the shape of Jogi, who looked thoroughly disgruntled as per usual.

"Bad day?" Marco asked his coach cheerfully. "Or should I say bad night. 'Cause the day hasn't even started yet and you're already pissed."

Marco received nothing but a withering look in response as Jogi pulled a chair out of the breakfast table, standing on it- he had tried in the past to gain the team's attention by diplomatic means, but over the years, he had realised that trying to be diplomatic with the German National team was like trying to grab a raging bull by the horns. 

"OK!" Jogi attempted to call to order, and the attention of the table turned to him just as he had been hoping- but not for the reasons he wanted. The team all lapsed into giggles at the sight of their coach standing on a chair, with morning hair and an angry expression on his face. "Good morning, everybody-"

He broke off, sighing, as a superfluous chorus of "Good morning, Jogi"s sounded across the room, and his hand returned to its natural position- pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sind sie fertig?" he asked sardonically, and Fips stepped on Thomas's foot for what felt like the hundredth time that morning to stop him from wasting any more time. "Alright, so. Today we're going to be starting our training for the two fixtures this week- we have France in three days for the Nations League game, and the friendly versus Russia three days after that. I don't care what your personal opinions are about the validity of the Nations League- I need to add to my list of trophies, so you will win, and you will train hard."

"At least he's straight to the point," Sami muttered to Mesut. "You agree with him, don't you, Mes? You definitely need to add some trophies to your record."

Mesut hit him. Jerome had heard Sami's comment and reached under the table to high-five him.

"We'll be starting off with stretches, and then the three mile run- not a word of complaint, or it'll be four- and then we'll be splitting off into personalised training sessions. The goalkeepers will be having their own training- Manuel, Ron-Robert and Marc-Andre-"

Manu shrugged, looking indifferent- he was used to training alone- Ron-Robert looked enthusiastic- and Marc-Andre looked strangely miserable.

"The rest of you will be doing your circuits and then we're going to be working on our set pieces. Understood- no, don't answer-"

But the damage was done. There was yet another superfluous chorus, this time saying, "Yes, Jogi".

Jogi sighed. "That... that was my fault. I want you all out on the training ground on time when breakfast is finished. If you're late you're picking up the equipment at the end."

That was something they all took seriously, and so when breakfast was over, they all practically trampled over each other to get to the changing rooms on time.

***

Miro was sure that once upon a time he had been able to run a straight three miles without his body complaining. But as he jogged along with Basti and Lukas, who evidently didn't want to leave him behind in the dust like the rest of the team, his body was putting up a good fight about existing, let alone running.

"I'm getting old," he wheezed. He was genuinely quite offended at his body- he had always prided himself on his fitness, and he was always training hard, but now he was getting a stitch at one mile done. "I'm not sure how some people can willingly decide to make a career out of running."

"It seems pretty easy," Basti said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I mean, you don't need any particular skill, all you need is perserverance and patience. I don't think a footballer could be a runner. We can run, but we can't run."

"Thanks for that insight, Basti, it'd be really annoying if you'd made sense, there," Lukas joked, as Miro shot Basti a puzzled look. "So we can run but we can't run? Are footballers in some weird Schrodinger's Cat reality of running?"

Basti gave Lukas a supremely unimpressed look. "You really need to understand the subtleties of emphasis. 'We can run', I didn't put emphasis on the 'run' there, because it's just normal running. 'We can't run', I put emphasis on the 'run' there, because it's, like, next level running. Like, intense running. There's a difference."

"Why couldn't you just say, 'we can run for a warm-up, but we can't run professionally'?"

"Because... you can suck my dick?"

"You just convoluted everything you were saying."

"I didn't convolute anything, you're just too stupid to understand spoken language."

"You're too stupid to understand anything."

Miro regarded the couple with bemusement as they debated the subtleties of tonal choice and traded petty insults. "Are these... the sort of conversations you two have? Regularly?"

They both looked at Miro as if they had just realised he was there (they probably just had, Miro thought wistfully. Couples.)

"Well, yeah," Basti said thoughtfully. "Most of our conversations consist of Lukas being an idiot."

"Most of our conversations also consist of Basti being annoying." Lukas gave his boyfriend a nasty look and received a pout in return. Lukas looked at Miro in amusement. "Why, what did you think we talked about?"

Miro considered this question. "Well... sex."

Basti threw his head back and laughed. "We're not that shallow! We have other conversations sometimes!"

"But I prefer the sex ones," Lukas said, grinning- and then, for reasons best known to himself, he smacked Basti's ass, causing the renowned midfielder to yelp and change his focus of mind from running to chasing after his boyfriend.

As Miro forlornly watched them run far ahead of him, yelling at eachother, he considered retirement. How much longer could he deal with such adolescant libido?

You've been doing it for fifteen years, a small voice in his voice said in response. No need to retire over it.You know you'll be dealing with the gays forever anyway.

***

When the ball hit Marc-Andre squarely on the forehead, Manu knew it was time to intervene.

They had been doing very simple drills to warm up at first, whilst Ron-Robert trained with the goalkeeper coach, just shots at goal they needed to try and save. Manu could see that Marc-Andre was distracted, from the moment he had accidentally lobbed Manu's shot over the crossbar. He had restrained from commenting on it, thinking that it would probably just serve to embarrass the youth. 

Unfortunately, he just seemed to be becoming more erratic by the second. Manu sighed as the boy shouted apologies to anyone who would listen as he sprinted after the ball that had just bounced off of him, deciding it was time to intervene.

"Marc-Andre?" he asked diplomatically, when the Barcelona goalkeeper returned to the post, looking abashed. "Is something the matter?"

It was a simple question that received an almost comical reaction. Marc-Andre dropped the ball he was holding, turned scarlet, and stuttered out- "Something the matter? No! Of course not!"

Manu's arched eyebrow spoke for him. 

Marc-Andre wrung his hands together, pointedly avoiding Manu's gaze. "Really, nothing's the matter."

Manu's eyebrow inched higher. It was an expression he sometimes gave to his defenders when they made questionable choices and forced him to make a save. And it was inescapable.

With his soul having been forced out of his body and left to wilt under the force of Manu's judgement, Marc-Andre finally seemed to dissolve- it was like he had been punctured, he sagged like a deflating balloon. "Okay, it is something."

"I'm going to take a wild guess. It's a shot in the dark. My eyes are closed and I'm fumbling for an answer. I'm probably wildly wrong," Manu deadpanned. "But is it to do with a certain Bernd Leno?"

Marc-Andre gently turned his head away from Manu's shit-eating grin out of concern for the delicacy of his emotional health. "I don't know where you got that idea from, but it's probably best to, like, get rid of it."

"Oh, I told you, it was just a vague guess, calculated from years of observing petty complaining and sexual tension," Manu snorted, his lips stretching into a smile Thomas called his devilishly sexy smile. He was sure Marc-Andre wouldn't share the sentiment. "Come on. Are you really going to Mesut-and-Sami me about this?"

It was a mark of how notorious Mesut and Sami had become that Marc-Andre actually puffed up his chest in indignation at the comparison.

"I'm not Mesut-and-Sami-ing you!" he protested. "I was just saying, you're wrong! I mean, you're right about most things, like ways to go for a penalty and, and goalkeeping, but you're woefully wrong about what you said about a minute ago!"

"Then what is it?" Manu asked slyly. "If it is something and it isn't Bernd, you can tell me what it actually is, can't you?"

Marc-Andre suddenly became very interested in a strap on his keeper's gloves. "Oh, we've gone very off-track, haven't we, we'd better get moving before we get yelled at-"

"Marc-Andre..." Manu said ominously. "I warn you, my boyfriend is possibly the most interfering person on the planet, and my tongue just might slip about a certain crush-"

"Don't tell Thomas!" Marc-Andre said frantically. "Please don't, oh, my God, this is emotional blackmail!"

"I'm just concerned your situation might be impacting your goalkeeping ability!" Manu said innocently. He really had no intention of telling Thomas anything that was a secret, he was trustworthy, but he was enjoying the panicked expression on Marc-Andre's face. "You can tell me, you know, I don't tell people things."

"You just threatened to tell my secret to your interfering boyfriend!"

"Aha!" Manu laughed. "So you admit you do have a crush!"

"No!"

"You just said I threatened to tell your secret! So you do have a secret! And that secret is your crush!"

"It was hypothetical!"

"MANUEL NEUER! MARC-ANDRE TER STEGEN!" Jogi bellowed at them from the other side of the pitch. "WILL YOU STOP TALKING AND DO SOME DAMN WORK!"

Marc-Andre jumped as though he had been shot and rushed off to the goalkeeper coach as soon as Ron-Robert returned, looking bemused. Manu cursed Jogi for somehow still having some influence over the younger ones.

"This isn't over, ter Stegen!" he yelled after Marc-Andre, who didn't look back. 

***

After a few hours of training, they were finally allowed to split for lunch, with Jogi drilling into their heads the importance of the Nations League. Sami and Mesut found each other through the crowd- they had split into groups to practice putting penalties past the three keepers. 

"I'm really losing my patience with him," Mesut muttered darkly after Jogi- the manager had yelled at Mesut for tying his shoelaces when Thomas had literally been the one to bend down and loosen them. "You'd think he didn't have the best squad in the world at his hands."

"Best squad?" Sami chuckled. "You're pretty confident in us, aren't you? I think I saw Manu aim a tame shot at Marc-Andre that just bounced off of his head. Toni was right about this team having a real winning mentality, wasn't he?"

Mesut looked at Sami in disbelief. "We've won the World Cup! Or is that not enough for Mr Juventus always wins the league?"

Sami rolled his eyes. "You really need to get over this insecurity complex you have about your club. If you really want to win something, why don't you tranfer, Mes, honestly. I can persuade Juve to do a little charity and take you in."

Mesut's fist connected with Sami's bulky shoulder. The central midfielder responded by slinging his arms around his friend and practically pulling him to the ground in a goofy hug. Mesut struggled against Sami's grip, determined not to let the idiot make him laugh, but eventually he conceded to the embrace, flinging his arms around Sami's shoulders and hugging him back. As Sami laughed his deep laugh and said something about Mesut always coming around eventually, Mesut thought, wow, he had really missed the feel of Sami's arms around him. 

He really was a great hugger.

"Seriously," Sami said, once the two had released each other, Mesut stumbling a little. "You should come to Juve, some day. You could play with good players, it'd be a new experience for you."

"What, players like you?" Mesut laughed.

"Yeah."

Mesut blinked. Sami didn't look self-assured or cocky at all. He wasn't even looking at Mesut- he was staring ahead as he walked, frowning slightly.

"Well, Sami, I hate to burst your bubble," Mesut said hurriedly, trying to pick up the ball that had just been dropped by his moment of confused silence. "But I have played with Cristiano Ronaldo, and you have played with the likes of, well- who?"

He blithely ignored the withering look he received in return.

"I know you don't respect decent football, so I'll ignore that comment," Sami said calmly. "But- well- wouldn't it be cool? If we played together?"

Mesut shrugged. "We do play together. For Deutschland."

"Well spotted! I meant for club, idiot." Sami wasn't looking at Mesut again, which was strange- he usually gave full eye contact when they were together. "You're saying you wouldn't want to play together?"

 "Of course I would," Mesut said in surprise. "That's a stupid question. If I had the opportunity to play with you at club level, I'd take it in a heart beat. Always."

The frown on Sami's face lapsed into a smile, but instead of replying, he seized Mesut into another bear hug (which was more like an affectionate headlock), ruffling his hair as the two headed towards lunch. They didn't notice Jerome, Marco and Thomas trailing behind them, all three of them beside themselves with glee.

***

Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Jerome: BABE

Jerome: FIRST OF ALL

Jerome: HEY 

Jerome: I LOVE YOU

Jerome: I MISS YOU

Jerome: AND I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU!!!

Robert: I'm going to take a wild guess sweetheart

Robert: Is it about Mesut and Sami?

Jerome: first of all

Jerome: am i that predictable?

Robert: YOU'RE not predictable

Robert: I'm just assuming

Robert: As it's all of you together

Robert: And they're there

Robert: I'll be hearing a lot about this

Jerome: well you're right

Jerome: you WILL be

Jerome: anyway

Jerome: what was i saying

Jerome: oh yeah

Jerome: mesut and sami

Jerome: they werelike, hugging

Robert: They've reached that base already?

Jerome: stop being SARDONIC let me tell my story 

Robert: Sorry continue, they werelike, hugging, and...

Jerome: and sami was like

Jerome: making fun of arsenal

Robert: Who wouldn't

Jerome: that's what i was going to say!! :)

Robert: We finish each other's sentences!!!! :DDD

Jerome: STOP with the sardonicness rob i'm not feeling it :(

Robert: Sorry continue, so he was making fun of arsenal

Jerome: and then he said, maybe you should come to juve

Robert: Does he want Mesut to have a successful international club career?

Jerome: LOL

Jerome: he'd be content with winning a league at least

Jerome: OMG STOP SIDE TRACKING ME

Robert: SORRY CONTINUE, and then he said, maybe you should come to juve?

Jerome: and he said maybe u could play with good players

Jerome: and mesut said "what like you?"

Jerome: and sami got all serious and said yeah

Jerome: and mesut started panicking bc wow GAY and made a ronaldo comment i won't repeat

Jerome: because you hate ronaldo

Robert: Thank you baby.

Jerome: and then sami said but wouldn't it be cool if we played together?

Jerome: and mesut said (get ready for the gay)

Robert: I'm ready

Jerome: "If I had the opportunity to play with you at club level, I'd take it in a heart beat. Always."

Robert: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Robert: That's so football gay

Robert: "I want to play with you at club level" is like saying I want to be in a relationship with you

Jerome: ISN'T IT

Jerome: anyway

Jerome: i just had to update u

Jerome: i have to go back to training!!!!

Jerome: i loooooooooveee you hope your having fun

Jerome: talk later!!!!!!!!!

Robert: Keep me updated 

Robert: Talk to you in a bit <3 

Chapter Text

Mesut had to attend a physio check-up before he was allowed to go to dinner, and so Sami entered the dining room alone, feeling, for some reason, annoyed. He flopped down into a seat next to Marco and Mario, leaving a seat free for his friend- but it was promptly filled by Mats.

"Um?" Sami said, when Mats brightly ignored his expression of disbelief. "That seat isn't for you?"

"Why?" Mats said in a challenging sort of tone. "I don't see a name on it, so it's mine."

"I was saving it," Sami said irritably. "For someone I like."

"Really?" Mario said, with interest. "And who would that person be?"

Sami looked from Marco and Mario's innocently enquiring expressions to Mats' raised eyebrow and dropped his head into his hands. "For Mes. Who else?"

"Who else indeed," Julian Draxler said, as he, Joshua and Marc-Andre sat opposite them. "It's not like Sami could possibly have any friends other than Mesut."

"I'll correct that for you," Sami snorted. "It's not like this squad could have anyone else I could like."

"So Mesut is special," Joshua said slyly.

Sami regarded the now sniggering players (barring Marc-Andre, who was stabbing moodily at a potato), with suspicion. "Yeah, he's special in that he's the only person in the squad who doesn't have fucking issues."

"Except Miro," Marco interjected, and the players all shared a sagely nod. Miro was the undisputed figurehead of the team.

"Yeah, except Miro," Sami said thoughtfully. "But he's not sitting next to me, so I'd rather it be Mes."

"Well, you snooze you lose," Mats said, shrugging, though the corners of his mouth were threatening to tip upwards, and Marco and Mario had turned firmly away so Sami wouldn't be able to see them giggling. "I'm here now, you can deal with me, can't you?"

Blowing out an aggrieved gust of air, Sami settled back in his seat. He didn't know how long Mesut would take at the physio, so he guessed he was stuck in between Mats and Marco, who were bound to be annoying.  He sighed. He had been privately hoping to spend as much time with his friend as possible during the international break, because when else did they see each other, barring when they had the odd week off?

"What's wrong with you, Marc-Andre?" he asked, deciding to ignore Mats. "You're treating that potato like it just got a penalty past you."

"I've said it time and time again," Marco said wisely, before Marc-Andre could react to Sami's statement. "Pining. It's a bit like puberty. You get all moody and drag your feet around because you don't want to be around anybody.

Looking aghast, Marc-Andre covered his face with his hands. "What is it with everyone saying I'm pining? I'm not! I'm just minding my own business, over here!"

"Nobody else minds their own business in this team, Marc-Andre, you should've learned that long ago," Sami told him sympathetically. "These bastards enjoy their schadenfreude."

"Listen," Mario said, leaning forwards, a kind expression on his face (though Sami could clearly see the devious spark behind his eyes). "When Marco and I were but youths-"

"I'm older than you, Mario, why are you acting like you're an old veteran telling a folk story?" Marc-Andre said in bewilderment. Mario ignored him.

"We faced a slight wrinkle in our loving relationship that Mats will comment on in just one moment-" 

"He left Dortmund to go to Bayern." Mats fulfilled his destiny and Marco scowled deeply. "One of many. A worse leave than me, if I do say so myself-"

"Don't say so," Marco intoned, gritting his teeth. It was lucky Sami was acting as a barrier between the two of them. Mario continued:

"Marco, suffice to say, was not particularly pleased. He said words, like-"

"Ah, fuck, I can't believe you've done this," Marco filled in for him. Sami reluctantly gave him the high-five that was admittedly deserved.

"And I said words like, it's for my career! I love you, but I have to do what's good for me!" Mario re-enacted, ignoring the high-five Marco tried to impose on him as well. "There was a lot of sulkiness. Mats told me-"

"He shot a goal at Roman, it got saved, and then he yelled, you'd better save Mario's, because he's not playing for us anymore!" Mats recalled with a wistful smile on his face. "Jurgen gave him such an unimpressed look."

Sami stopped Marco from hitting Mats just barely.

"So we fell out for a bit, and then Marco got knocked out of commission in the World Cup, and we realised how stupid we were being, and that it didn't matter about who played where or club politics or team dynamics, we loved each other, and now look at us!"

"Is there a point to this story?" Marc-Andre asked weakly.

"No, it's just an excuse for Marco and Mats to hit each other," Joshua chuckled.

"There is a point," Mario insisted. "The point is, we had that period when we yelled at each other on the phone and we were being childish, and now wir sind ein Herz und eine Seele!"

Marc-Andre looked as though he didn't quite understand what was going on. "But what does it have to do with me! Are you talking about Bernd too? I just don't understand what everyone's obsession with us is! We're rivals! Not boyfriends!"

Sami sighed, giving Marco a look that was strangely reciprocated with more giggling. "If you say so, kid, if you say so."

"I'm going to eat my potatoes," Marc-Andre said emphatically. "And I'm going to talk to Julian and Joshua."

Julian and Joshua shrugged in unison (what was it with the gays and their ability to sync perfectly?). "Whatever you want."

Mario looked slightly disappointed by the less than enthusiastic reception to what he clearly thought would have been a motivating story.

"I thought that'd have a better effect," he whispered forlornly, as Marco squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Like, I thought he'd go, oh, wow, I love him after all!"

 "Some people you just can't reach, they have to figure it out themselves," Sami muttered indifferently. "He'll work it out eventually. What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

***

Aching, annoyed and absolutely ravenous, Mesut practically stomped out of Dr Müller-Wolfhart's office when his session was done. He wished that hamstrings didn't exist. What were they even good for? They were just a useless addition to your legs that got injured, meaning painful physio appointments while the doctor apologised but told him it was for his own good.

He entered the dining room with a murderous expression on his face, ignoring the various jokes about Arsenal that were shouted at him by his teammates (Poldi and Per looked miserable). He cast his gaze across the table, and then saw, with another pang of irritation, that Sami hadn't saved a seat for him. He was sitting in between Mats and Marco, who both pulled faces at him as he stared at them in disbelief.

"Sorry, Mes!" Sami called to him. "I told them I was saving a seat for you for you, but they're, well, dickheads."

An apt conclusion, Mesut thought, as Marco and Mats beamed at him. "Alright, then."

He turned around dramatically, looking for somewhere else to sit. There was a space next to Jonas and opposite Miro at the end of the table, by Basti and Lukas. He took it, making a disgruntled noise as he sat down, making eye contact with Sami who was wearing a genuinely apologetic expression and gesturing at his leg. Is it okay? he mouthed.

It's fine, Mesut mouthed back. Sami smiled at him, he grudgingly smiled back, and his grin stretched as Sami was suddenly trapped in a headlock by Marco and pulled backwards in his seat.

He turned to Jonas, who had always been shy, a bit like Mesut, but very nice. He was the easiest person to deal with on the team, Mesut liked him a lot. "I wish body parts didn't exist."

"Difficult physio session?" Jonas asked, smiling at him. Mesut nodded, rolling his eyes.

"I swear, Wolfhart bent my leg in ways it should not have been bent. I'm aching so much right now."

"He's good at his job," Miro said from across Mesut. "But I always dread being told I have an appointment with him."

"Right?" Mesut said, diving into a bowl of noodles, shovelling it into his mouth with an almost indecent enthusiasm. "But I guess I have to be fighting fit for the match against France, Jogi isn't taking any chances with injuries. He's really into this Nations League."

"It's like he said," Miro said with a smile. "He wants to add to his trophy collection.  I'm not really opposed to the idea. I can add to my goal tally."

Jonas regarded Miro with something close to reverence. "You're so cool, Miro. 71 goals! Maybe you can hit one hundred one day, and you'll become even more of a- oh, wow!"

"What?" Mesut asked amusedly, because Jonas looked awestruck. The Koln player blushed as he realised that they were looking at him in confusion.

"Oh! Sorry, it just occurred to me- you've got 71 goals... and you scored your last international goal for Germany in a game where we won 7-1!" Jonas looked very excited by the information, and Mesut hid his smile in his noodles. It was quite adorable.

"Good spot, Junge," Miro said with a soft smile. "Maybe I shouldn't add to my tally after all. Something wrong, Mesut?"

Mesut startled from where he had been staring at a point further up the table. He hastily stuffed his forkful of noodles into his mouth, blushing. "Y-Yeah, mir geht's gut, warum?"

 "You just looked distracted, is all," Miro said gently. 

Blushing more deeply, Mesut set down his fork rather more forcefully than he had intended to. Sami had just caught his eye across the room and had winked at him, rolling his eyes at his rowdy teammates around him. He wasn't sure why he had gone so red, there was absolutely nothing that had happened that merited his face growing so warm, and no reason for him to feel embarrassed at all-

"Yeah, I guess," he said finally. "I've just been thinking. About... about the Nations League. Yeah. The Nations League."

He practically drowned himself in his glass of apple juice, vaguely thinking of Iwobi as he did so, and trying very hard to ignore Miro's penetrating gaze, and Jonas's private smile.

***

Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Jerome: has your training been going okay?

Robert: I'll be honest with you

Robert: Not really

Robert: I don't know what it is Jeri

Robert: We seem to just lack cohesion

Robert: I'm not feeling anything click with our play

Jerome: maybe you just need a game environment to really get your gears going

Jerome: sometimes we act like complete fools in training

Jerome: but in a game the pressure kicks in and we really focus

Robert: Yeah but

Robert: You guys are used to winning stuff, you can mess around, but you know what's important

Robert: I assure you we are NOT

Robert: I've not even played in a fucking world cup

Jerome: look love

Jerome: maybe in a match environment you'll be able to work out exactly what you want from your team

Jerome: you just need to be pushed and realise that there are stakes

Jerome: you in the collective sense not just you

Robert: I know but I feel like we lack ambition, hope for a better future for the team

Robert:  I just want us to move up in this league, I really want us to be something more than just another team in the world, you know?

Robert: I want to win something

Robert: And I don't want to be mocked

Robert: Lewandowski, the man who's achieved nothing for his country

Jerome: oh come on rob

Jerome: you're the fucking top scorer!

Jerome: and even if you guys don't win vs portugal, 

Jerome: it's just the group stage of the nations league

Jerome: does it really matter?

There was a moment of silence on Robert's end, and Jerome frowned down at his screen worriedly. And then he realised how tactless he had just been. Of course it was easy for him to say the Nations League didn't matter, he had won the World Cup. Robert hadn't. Robert wanted more from his country, he would feel the exact same way if he was in his boyfriend's position. Jerome was very competitive himself, he always felt awful upon losing, or feeling like he wasn't achieving anything. He suddenly felt very guilty, and hurriedly began to type.

Jerome: i didn't mean it like that

Jerome: of course it matters

Jerome: i chose my words wrong

Jerome: im sorry

Robert: No it's fine baby

Robert: I know what you mean, and I appreciate that you're trying to stop me from worrying, you don't need to apologise

Robert: I just  don't think you understand it's different situations for us

Robert: You're so talented, you've got one of the most talented teams in the world

Robert: You have a reputation and you're driven to be the best

Robert: I feel like we're stuck in the 'qualified' bracket

Robert: We're good enough to get into these tournaments, but what else?

Jerome: well

Jerome: now's the time to find out

Jerome: this new competition might be the best time for developing your country's growth

Jerome: more competitive matches more regularly

Jerome: finding out what you want

Jerome: if anyone can make it better it's you, rob

Jerome: and i'm still sorry i said that stupid thing about the nations league not mattering

Robert: Listen baby it's fine 

Robert: Thank you 

Robert: And you're right, we can just look forward, there's still time for me as the captain

Jerome: so much time !

Jerome: it's not going to be an instant shot to the top

Jerome: but you care so much that i know you'll put everything you've got into it

Jerome: i believe in you so much baby

Robert: Thank you baby :')))

Jerome: i'll be watching ur game vs portugal along with the bayern gang

Jerome: i spy with my little eye a man of the match award and a hattrick!

Robert: DON'T JINX IT

Robert: TOUCH WOOD

Jerome: SHIT YOU'RE RIGHT

 ***

bayern won the bundesliga

Mats:

Mats: thomas trying to exist without saying something stupid

Thomas: mats

Thomas: it's literally 4am

Thomas: did you just wake up and think, let me drag thomas on the gc

Mats: can't wake up if you don't sleep ! :(

Thomas: that's even worse

Thomas: even your insomnia-ridden thoughts involve roasting me

Thomas: this team depresses me

Mats: roasting thomas is existence in its base form.

Thomas:

Thomas: i'm just here, minding my own business

Thomas: and here i am getting abuse heaped upon me

Mats: you never mind your own business

Mats: why are you even awake?

Thomas: i get bored by sleeping for too long

Thomas: but manu is out til like, the afternoon

Toni: I'd like you to know I fucking hate you both so much

Toni: I was having a really nice dream that we won el clasico

Toni: And the vibrations just woke me up

Thomas: oh that's horrible

Thomas: we ruined your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy the feeling of a club win

Toni: WE FUCKING KNOCKED YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING UCL

Toni: I DON'T GET HOW YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE STATUS TO DRAG ME

Mats:

Mats: why don't you just turn your phone on silent

Toni: Do you even know how inconvenient that is

Toni: Just be normal people and fucking lseep at normal times

Thomas: just suck my balls?

Marco: why's everyone awake what's happening

Marco: are we talking about something good

Toni: When do they fucking ever talk about something good

Marco: i can list a number of times

Marco: they all involve dragging various people

Toni: You've never dragged me

Toni: Because you fucking CAN'T

Toni: How'd you like them apples?

Marco:

Marco: the refs dodging all the complaints about madrid being offside

Toni: Listen

Toni: It's too early for this

Marco: go back to sleep then, pussy.

Marco: i never thought i'd be defending bayern but here we are

Mats: :)

Toni: WE WON 3 IN A ROW

Toni: HOW IS IT CHEATING

Toni: YOU'RE JUST BAD

Sami: OH MY GOD JUST GO TO SLEEP

Sami: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL

Sami: HOW ARE YOU DRAGGING EACH OTHER AT THIS TIME

Thomas: i can do it at any time of the day sami

Thomas: day, night, afternoon

Thomas: im a raumdeuter you see

Thomas: finding pockets of space in a conversation where i can slip a drag in

Sami:

Marco: oh come on sami

Marco: are you saying you didn't laugh

Marco: i don't try and actively encourage thomas

Marco: but that one was a good one

Sami: Nothing Thomas says is good

Toni: That's ALMOST what I said

Miro: Hello

Miro: It is early

Toni: Yeah, we NOTICED

Mats: the whole gang's in!

Marco: i'm going to wake mario up

Thomas: i would wake manu up but do i want to die? that's the real question

Toni: Why are you acting like this is a party

Toni: I came onto this to complain

Sami: Same

Mats: so why don't you GO toni and sami

Thomas: because they secretly enjoy it!

Mario Got: i can't believe this

Mario Got: marco woke me up saying to check the gc

Mario Got: i thought it'd be quality mesami content

Mario Got: but it's just you all plotting to annoy everyone

Mario Got: why wasn't i involved earlier?

Sami: Quality what content?

Fips: I HATE THIS TEAM.

Fips: SO MUCH.

Basti: what we all tlaking about here boys

Leroy: look i'm always here for late night shittalking

Leroy: but i'm slightly paranoid that if jogi catches us like, just shittalking instead of getting rested

Leroy: he'll bench me

Thomas: is this still even a fear for you

Thomas: how many times do we have to drag you for you to realise you'll always be benched

Leroy:

Mats: anyway why would jogi catch us

Mats: do u think he patrols the corridors?

Mats: poking his head in to our rooms to see if we're fucking or whatever?

Marco: what do u even think jogi is

Marco: he's not a schoolteacher

Leroy: he acts like one!

Julian D: What, always disappointed in you?

Mario Got:

Thomas: jogi can't bench the REAL talent of the team

Thomas: he acts like he has power over us

Thomas: but, we're like nuclear weapons

Thomas: you know?

Thomas: like, someone has power on whether they use them

Thomas: but that shit can blow up in their faces

Thomas: so who really has the power? the weapons or the user?

Mats: ... what?

Toni: Why are you trying to divulge meaning in what he says

Toni: It's early morning rambling

Thomas: its M.A.D actually

Thomas: mutually assured destruction

Toni: B.I.T.C.H

Thomas: that? is not even clever

Miro: I thought

Miro: It was quite fgnny

Marco: looks like the judge has delivered his verdict, huh, thomas?

Mario Got: und das dicke Ende kommt noch

Thomas: miro if you even say it i will

Miro: Case Klosed #2

Chapter Text

 It usually took Thomas a while to get to sleep, mostly because his head was so full of energy that he spent more time thinking than trying to rest. It was a mark of how tired he was that he drifted off to sleep within the hour he had climbed into bed with Manu, not even thinking about the game tomorrow. All he registered was the warmth of Manu's arms and how soft the pillows were and how he wanted to die draped in hotel duvets before he slipped into a pleasurable unconsciousness.

But the respite did not last long. Thomas was roused suddenly from his slumber by a sharp cry that instantly set off every alarm bell in his body. He jerked upright in alarm, turning towards the source of the noise, immediately on alert even as he rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes.

There was another agonised sound from beside him, and Thomas felt his heart clench. Manu was twisting fretfully this way and that across the silk bedsheets, his face contorted with fear and pouring with sweat. He was having a night terror. Thomas was well versed with dealing with this situation, but it didn't stop his chest from constricting as Manu curled into himself tightly, clutching tufts of his hair, mumbling something fearfully to himself in his sleep.

His boyfriend, despite his reputation as Germany's stoic, fearless wall, reacted to pressure differently to the rest of them. While he marched onto the pitch with his blue eyes cool and his stance composed, the stress wormed its way into his dreams. Nobody but Thomas would be able to comprehend the sight of the famed Manuel Neuer thrashing about and crying as he slept- intrusive thoughts proved to be his emotional downfall. Manu constantly apologised for waking Thomas up in the night, and being so affected by them, calling himself 'pathetic'- but the mere description of Manu's dreams had disturbed Thomas. He couldn't imagine experiencing them himself.

Thomas mentally told himself to get a grip and help his boyfriend instead of dithering about. He switched on the light in the room, and then he leaned forwards to where Manu was tightly wound into himself, radiating anxiety, and gently began stroking his boyfriend's head. "Baby... it's okay... you're safe..."

It was a delicate motion, but Manu still jolted awake as if he had been clubbed over the head. For a moment his blue eyes were blown wide with panic, but then he seemed to realise it was Thomas before him, and not some nightmare figure.

"It's okay," Thomas said softly, as Manu stared at him. "You're safe, Manu, you're safe. You're in the hotel room. I'm here. Just breathe."

Manu took several deep, ragged breaths. "Oh, Gott. Es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid, I'm so stupid."

"No," Thomas said insistently. "I don't want to hear any of that. You're not stupid. It's okay. You can't control it."

"I am," Manu said aggressively, covering his face with his hands. "It was just a stupid dream. And I woke you up. And it's the match tomorrow. I'm sorry-"

"No!" Thomas repeated, taking Manu's hands and gently pulling them away from his face. "Manu, look at me. I don't give a good god damn about the match. I just want you to be okay. Are you okay?"

Manu gave a shaky nod, and then he dissolved into tears. "Oh, Gott. Nein. It was horrible, Thomas, that one was a horrible one..."

He trailed off, sobbing quietly, and Thomas inwardly cursed football's existence, for causing his boyfriend such anxiety. He draped his arms around Manu's neck, letting the goalkeeper bury his face into Thomas's chest, silently relieving himself of the accumulated stress. Thomas continued to mutter soothing nothings, squeezing Manu a little tighter as he felt how the man was shivering. It was times like this when Thomas really put things into perspective and remembered that things weren't the easy ride he wanted them to be. As much as he wanted to reach into Manu's head when the nightmares were happening and beat the fear away, he was helpless. And he hated feeling helpless.

Eventually, Manu seemed to settle down, going still against Thomas. Thomas thought he was asleep, until Manu pressed a kiss to his jaw. Thomas reciprocated exceedingly gently.

"Thank you, Thommy," Manu hiccoughed, his eyes still very red. "Just- thank you. I'm sorry."

"I told you, you big goofy coconut head," Thomas whispered. "There's nothing to be sorry for. This is what I'm here for, looking after you, heh? And you to me."

Manu shifted slightly so he was lying down again. "Always. I love you. All my dreams... They involve losing you somehow. Because the idea of that is what haunts me most."

"I'm right here," Thomas murmured back. "It'll take a hell of a lot for you to lose me that easily. I'm here to stay."

Manu made a noise of affirmation as Thomas shifted downwards so he was lying down too, his forehead pressed against Manu's. The light remained on, and it wasn't questioned. For several moments, Thomas lost himself in the sensation of Manu's warmth, of hearing his deep breathing that broke through the silence, staring at his beautiful, beautiful face. And then Manu's eyes opened, and he was suddenly met with contemplative blue.

"Thomas?"

"Hmm?" Thomas murmured.

"If you score a hattrick tomorrow," Manu mumbled. "I'll keep a clean sheet."

"Naturlich, Schatz," Thomas laughed. "You should be doing that anyway. But you have a deal."

Manu smiled and closed his eyes again, snuggling closer to Thomas, and went completely still after several more minutes- finally, it seemed, content.

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Mario Gom: If I say something relating to my feelings right now

Mario Gom: I'll get laughed at won't I

Marco: it depends on various factors

Marco: the context of your feelings

Marco: how serious the feelings are

Marco: and how the feelings are affecting the team

Fips: That's actually a mature response, Marco, well done.

Fips: No wait.

Fips: This is the precursor to a horniness joke isn't it.

Marco: i'll be honest with u fips

Marco: the thought occurred to me

Marco: but i decided against it

Marco: so it's really you who made the horniness joke isn't it

Mats: incredible

Mats: the conversation was derailed before it even started

Mats: not a single meaningful response to mario

Marco: ok my response WAS meaningful you dick

Marco: fips took the meaning out of it

Fips: Listen. I have been on this fucking team since 2004. I had good reason to suspect a horniness joke.

Basti: He really did

Benni: Good job everyone, we broke the concept of healthily sharing emotions

Mesut: did it ever exist?

Mario Gom: Don't worry Benni

Mario Gom: I was prepared for this eventuality

Mario Gom: I'm going to go and bury my head in sand

Miro: No stay

Miro: Everybody no se

Miro: No sex joke

Miro: s

Miro: Mario

Miro: Tell us what is wrong

Thomas: yeah everyone shut up

Thomas: what's up

Thomas: if anyone makes fun of u they'll answer to me

Mario Gom: Ok now I'm self conscious

Mario Gom: But I'm going to go for it

Mario Gom: I'm fucking terrified for tomorrow

Jonas: Why is that?

Mario Gom: This is going to sound stupid

Mario Gom: But... I'll just be blunt

Mario Gom: I suck

Mario Gom: I feel like I haven't done anything meaningful for us, and everyone's always critcising

Mario Gom: And I know we like to make fun of each other's clubs, but Stuttgart literally HAS been doing garbage

Mario Gom: And I'm old and I don't think I'll be able tokeep up that much longer in games

Mario Gom: I'm just scared, I sound like a pussy, I know, laugh it up

Mario Gom: But yeah, that's it, ich bin ein Angsthase :(

Mario Gom: Go ahead and hit me with the mockery

Fips: Oh Mario.

Fips: What do you mean, you haven't done anything meaningful for us?

Fips: You're an important part of this team.

Thomas: you really are?

Thomas: euros 2012???

Thomas: 2016??

Marco: look the fact im unanimously agreeing with thomas an fips should tell u that u ur valued and important

Marco: it's ok to be nervous

Jerome: literally the amount of times i've practically been terrified to step onto the pitch

Jerome: it happens to lots of players, it's not being a pussy

Mats: and criticism really gets to me, but you know what i do

Mats: i put up a shield of obstinancy

Mats: im the one on the pitch doing the playing, they aren't in my position

Mats: the fact you're working this hard is enough

Mats: are you playing football to satisfy others or yourself

Mario Got: after 2014 my form dipped, didn't it? i didn't let it stop me

Mario Gom: I wasn't expecting this wow I'm slightly overwhelmed and scared

Mario Gom: What did you guys smoke after dinner?

Thomas: love and affection

Thomas: 

Thomas: we have your back mario??? always??

Miro: And you say you are old

Miro: But I am 36

Miro: Which id older

Miro: Don't worrt about bad form

Miro: All you need is the desire to beat everyone

Miro: I beat the goals recprd because 

Miro: I needed to beat Ronaldo

Miro: Even though I am old

Sami: If you think about it, Miro's pride is why he's still here

Sami: Which is weird, you'd think Miro'd  be the last person to be proud

Sami: But hey, he's the record scorer

Sami: Never say never Mario, there's always time

Mario Gom: :')

Mario Gom: Ok guys I'm? Smiling right now

Mario Gom: :)))

Thomas: let's all set up mario with a hattrick

Mesut: sure

Mesut: can i be the one who gives the world-class assist tho bc im getting some criticism atm too

Lukas: ok but? i could do with a goal too

Lukas: can me and mario share the hattrick

Julian D: Then it isn't a hattrick you spoon

Lukas: im unexpectedly hurt by that

Jonas: Who says there has to be 1 hattrick? Hattrick for both of you! :)

Lukas: ok that's a valid point

Lukas: 2 hattricks

Thomas: i think you should settle with a single goal Lukas

Thomas: ill take the hattrick

Thomas: i'm the top forward in this team

Thomas: and the top attacking mid

Toni: Guter Witz!

Thomas: deiner MUTTER ist ein witz

Marco: look we need an even distribution of goals here

Marco: everyone knowsim world class so i'll give up the privilege and let someone else take the spotlight

Benni: Mats is furiously typing right now

Mats: i'll have u know benedikt i was going to ignore marco's narcissism there

Mats: i was GOING to say that i'll score the honourary cb goal

Jerome: lmao, a header?

Mario Gom: After that show of team spirit I think we should avoid roasting

Mats: im showing character development

Mats: im just going to ignore

Leroy: like you ignore the target?

Leroy: sorry i never get to do the raosting i wanted to slip one in

Marco: im so fuckign proud

Marco: our leroy's growing up

Julian D: How has he grown up

Julian D: All he did was drag Mats

Marco: exactly!

Marco: the formative part of my life was my first mats drag

Marco: it's character building stuff, roasting him

Benni: I think there's literally a vein pulsing in his forehead

Mats: i don't think so? i feel fine

Marco: 

Mario Gom: I'm going to bring the conversation back on track

Mats: do.

Mario Gom: Thank you so much, guys

Mario Gom: I just really needed to hear some of that

Mario Gom: I'm glad that you all still believe in me

Basti: of course we believe in u

Basti: we might always act like we're at loggerheads but all we want for each other is success

Basti: ok, i'm discounting mats and marco from that because i don't know if THEY want success for each other

Basti: but everyone else is here for each other

Mario Gom: :')

Miro: Yes

Thomas: how insightful, miro

Thomas: but basti is correct :)

Basti: but of course

Leroy: guys im really HERE for this team togetherness

Leroy: our chats may just consist of slagging each other off but inside we're like

Leroy: a FAMILY

Toni: Let's not get too hasty here

Toni: And what does 'slagging off' mean

Mesut: it's a british term for insulting

Toni: Anyway yeah the sentiment of everyone being nice to Mario is nice, but

Toni: There's still majority dickheadedness

Mats: don't be miserable toni we need to preserve htis unity

Mats: for the pitch tomorrow

Mats: i put forward a motion

Mats: the day before a match all roasting ceases

Mats: how does that osund

Miro: I agree

Benni: Sounds good to me

Thomas: that's a difficult one

Marco: absolutely not

Marco: a hard no from me

Leroy: please

Julian D: Good luck with that Mats

Marc-Andre: Can we ban talking about like, relationships too

Lukas: it's kind of funny how each of those responses perfectly characterises everyone

Lukas: miro is nice, benni just can't be bothered to deal with mats whining, thomas is torn between his fundamental instincts of being annoying and supporting his teammates

Lukas: marco is firmly against being civil, leroy is just desperate

Lukas: julian is secretly a messy bitch who likes the drama, and marc-andre is just in denial

Thomas: i'd protest but? you're kind of right

Benni: Correct.

Miro: :

Miro: :)

Marco: im firmly against being civil if im aware there are people who need to be dragged

Marc-Andre:

Julian D: You know what, Lukas,

Julian D: You're not wrong.

Leroy: if you were in my position, you'd be desperate too.

Mario Got: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd8PE2QK9-A

Mario Got: leroy when jogi doesn't sub him on

Jerome: there is no air in my lungs.

Marco: fyuck

Marco: fuckfeoing

Marco: this is why i love you

Marco: every possible timeline aligned to make the meme usage possible

Thomas: leroy right now

Thomas:

Leroy: God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

Chapter Text

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Robert: I know you'll be busy

Robert: So I just want to tell you now

Robert: I'm rooting for you so hard baby

Robert: Fucking annihilate them for me will you

Robert: I love you so much Jeri! <33

Jerome: fuckign fuck i love you more

Jerome: im kind of nervous but im in that stage where i just need to get on the pitch

Robert: I get it it'll be time soon

Robert: I'll be watching before my match

Robert: If you win I'll win

Robert: Deal?

Jerome: NATURLICH!!

Jerome: oh yeah if i don't get time to say it later GOOD LUCK TO YOU TOO HONEY

Jerome: if we were playing together t'd be so much easier wouldn't it

Robert: 600%

Robert: You make everything easier for me tbh

Robert: But we can manage it anyway :)

Robert: You're starting?

Jerome: AHSHEHFURFHUF I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Jerome: and yeah me and mats

Jerome: also leroy's starting omg

Jerome: when we found out it was like kabadaboosh

Jerome: the kids face

Robert: Awww well he deserves his time

Jerome: don't tell him i said it but yeah he does

Jerome: so yeah, its me in the starting lineup, whew

Robert: Good

Robert: Make THEM fall on their asses

Jerome: ok an uncalled for throwback to THAT incident we don't talk about it rob!

Robert: It wasn't a roast it was motivating!

Jerome: oh alright then i'll take it

Robert: 

Robert: Go get them Jeri!

Jerome: you fucking got it baby

Jerome:

***

Mesut was jumping up and down on the spot when Sami entered the changing room after the warm-ups. The expression on his friend's face was a mixture of bemusement and fondness, and Mesut didn't have time to explain how he was nervous as all hell, because Sami had converged on him and enveloped him in a hug, effectively silencing him.

Surprised but pleased by the sudden display of affection, Mesut reciprocated the hug, smiling against Sami's chest. The central midfielder held him close for several moments before releasing him, grinning. "Sorry. I just thought you needed a hug. You're looking a bit shit."

"Nice," Mesut groused at the slight on his personal appearance (he probably was a lot paler than usual). "And here I thought you had developed compassion for your teammates. Why are we the only people here?"

Sami seemed to realise they were alone in the dressing room, and he frowned in surprise. "Wait, you're right. Why are we here by ourselves? The idiots were just behind me."

"Do you think we shouldn't be here?" Mesut said somewhat nervously. "Did Jogi tell us to stay behind for a moment and we just didn't hear him? What if we're missing an important talk?"

"He didn't say anything," Sami said, peering around the empty room as if expecting his teammate to be hiding under the benches. "Wait, let me go and che-"

He was interrupted by a sudden roar from outside. "WILL YOU IDIOTS GO INSIDE, WE HAVE A MATCH IN ONE HOUR!"

"Ah, there they are," Mesut said dryly, pulling off his shirt just as the rest of the team spilled inside the changing room, looking not the slightest bit abashed as Fips stormed in the lead, Thomas in fits of laughter about something behind him. "Probably just lagged behind to make stupid comments about something, huh?"

There was no reply from Sami. Mesut glanced at him, and realised Sami was pointedly rummaging through his kit, as if he was searching for something of vital importance rather than his shirt. Mesut made brief eye contact with Marco, who was, for some reason, scarlet in the face with laughter. Mesut, blinking in bewilderment, returned to pulling on his clothes, diverting his thoughts from Marco's howling to thinking about the match again. It was a tough fixture today. No matter how much the team joked, the Nations League would be a great thing to add to their list of achievements, and, privately, he really wanted to win something.

He turned to Sami just as the latter was shirtless, and blinked for some reason as he watched his friend's back muscles ripple. And then he shook his head to clear it, not sure why he was staring, and said, "God, it's always weird playing against Oli."

"Who?" Sami said, looking slightly disgruntled as he adjusted his jersey. Mesut stared at him in disbelief.

"Olivier!" he said, knowing that Sami knew who he was. "You know him, Sami, he's my literal teammate, how stupid you can get? Anyway, yeah, it's weird playing against him on the pitch, same with Laurent and Laca. I always get the urge to pass to him on the pitch, sometimes, too."

It was meant to be a joke, but Sami scowled a little.

"Hm," he said non-commitedly, doing up his laces. "You'll survive, you've scored against them before. Just remember that you're playing for us, ok, Mes?"

Mesut watched Sami's expression, which was now decidedly neutral, wondering if he was imagining the touch of impatience in his friend's voice. The midfielder was certainly making a show out of putting his socks on, pulling them up his legs swiftly. When he had put them up, however, he made eye contact with Mesut and grinned easily at him, and Mesut relaxed in the familiarity of the smile. He was getting really paranoid, recently, wasn't he?

As Mesut and Sami lapsed into small talk, Marco regaled Mario, Jerome and Toni with what he had just seen, their conversation going unnoticed amongst the chatter of the changing room. He was practically in tears, as he leant against Mario, only wearing one sock so far and struggling to talk between his laughter.

"I swear," Toni said, starting to get irritated by Marco's incomprehensible giggling. "This had better be really funny, Reus."

"It is!" Marco gasped, clutching Mario and shaking him as if to get him to understand just how funny what he had seen had been. "Mein Gott! Mesut- he took his shirt off while he was talking- and then I saw Sami staring at him- as if he was some sort of Greek God-"

He gesticulated wildly as he laughed, catching a passing Mats on the shoulder. Mats gave him a positively scorching look, which Marco responded to by hugging him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"What the- what's gotten into him?" Mats demanded, his arms flailing by his sides. "Why is he laughing so hard?"

"Guess," Toni said scathingly. "Mesut and Sami, again."

He probably had been expecting a shared exasperated look, but instead Mats suddenly looked delighted. "Shit, what happened, Marco?"

"Ugh, why are you all so obsessed?" Toni moaned, but Jerome shushed him and gestured for Marco to continue his story, looking just as excited to hear.

"Sami was staring at a shirtless Mesut as if he was a Greek God," Mario filled in Mats as Marco was too caught up in his laughter to explain. "And then-"

"No, I want to explain!" Marco said, surfacing from Mats' shoulder. Mario rolled his eyes. "Me and Sami made eye contact after I had just watched him eye-fuck Mes, and then he turned literally the colour of Manu's shirt-"

He pointed at Manu, who was wearing his long-sleeved red attire and looked puzzled at being the object of scrutiny from the gathering of voyeuristic players.

"And then he dived into his kit to avoid looking at me- and then Mesut looked at me when he realised Sami had turned away-" Marco passed a hand over his eyes, shaking. "And then he watched Sami getting shirtless, and he literally made the white guy blinking meme face- the exact-"

Jerome barked with laughter. "Both of them?"

"Both!" Marco said hysterically. "You don't understand, it's the funniest thing I've ever seen! Then he tried to change the subject and started talking about Giroud, about how it's weird playing against him, then Sami got jealous! He was like, 'just remember you're playing for us', and he tried to act like he didn't know who Giroud was! I can't!"

The group, including Toni, albeit grudgingly, roared with laughter.

"What's going on here?" Fips said, stalking up to them, a positively dangerous look creeping over his face. Mats hurried off to continue changing his clothes as the captain approached. "Why aren't you changed, Marco? Why are you laughing like an idiot?"

"It's about-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Fips said suddenly, holding a hand up. "Get dressed, quickly! We've got an important game literally in forty five minutes and you're still acting like fools! Unglaublich!"

He stormed off, clearly in a towering temper. Fips tended to get moody before big matches, his captain's armband radiating energy and reminding them all he was their leader. Marco, Jerome, Mario and Toni all giggled at the sight of the short man going off to shout some more at people. 

"Ah," Marco sighed wistfully, past the point of hysteria and now looking enlightened, wiping the tears from his face. "I think we should all offer thanks to whatever deity has lent us this entertainment, not many teams can be this privileged to see this amount of tomfoolery."

"True," Jerome said wisely, and then he assumed the voice of a pundit, placing a hand on his chest."We hope the closet gods eventually succeed in their endeavours of ejecting Sami Khedira and Mesut Özil from their chamber."

"A-fucking-men," Mario said solemnly. For a moment the three players stood gazing dreamily into the distance, with Toni watching them in disbelief, before Fips yelled, "MARCO!" and the forward jumped like a bullet, hurrying to get dressed.

***

Jogi looked stressed as he stood before them, his face inexplicably pouring with sweat before he had even stepped on the pitch. It was a rather rare glimpse into the man's current mood- usually, on the pitch, he looked completely unreadable, even when a goal was zipped into the net. Thomas wondered if the Nations League really meant that much to him.

"Here we are," he said, wiping his brow. Thomas couldn't help but grin a little at the look of anxiety on his face- did he really have no faith in them? "We're about to face France. And we're all well aware of how strong a squad they have. Lloris between the sticks, Mbappe like a bullet, and that goddamn Antoine Griezmann- not to mention Kante, Pogba and the likes of their midfield and defence. We're in for a tough game. But you know what we have? We have a team that perserveres. We fight even through bad results. We have a most talented starting lineup-"

The praise was reacted to excessively- Thomas pretended to faint and there was an eruption of "awws", making Jogi look like he regretted existing.

"There's a reason you so rarely get any praise," he said ominously, and there were some melodramatic gasps. But everyone remained quiet to let him continue talking. The excitement a match brought was beginning to bloom between them, and Thomas felt slightly jittery. "But, what was I saying. We have a most talented starting lineup. We work as a unit. If the result doesn't go our way, we don't let frustration impede us. We continue onwards. No matter what happens today, we are still one of the most successful football nations out there and we will show them who we are."

"He's acting like this is a World Cup final. It's a fucking group game," Mats muttered, but he was shushed by Benni, who was watching Jogi carefully.

"It's a home game which means we're going to have to be more than impressive. We're going to show those fans what they came here for, what they always come here for. Understood?"

There were cheers of affirmation. Thomas stifled a giggle as he looked at Leroy, whose face was shining with determination- it was good that he was actually part of today's starting lineup, despite all the jokes. Marco was wearing his obnoxiously overconfident grin, but it was the one that made everyone else feel more confident as well. Manu, on the other hand, did not look particularly confident- his gaze was directed at the ground, and he was wearing a slight frown on his face.

Thomas slipped his hand in the crook of his boyfriend's elbow, giving him an encouraging smile. Manu's face relaxed and brightened and the two of them shared a private, affectionate look before returning their attention to Jogi.

"Lass uns gehen," Jogi said, and the team all erupted into cheers, ready, once again, to give it their all.

*** 

It was time to line up in the tunnel, and finally, the nervousness that had been building in Mesut leeched away, being dissolved by the sounds of cheering from outside, to be replaced by a familiar determination. He licked his lips, flexing his arms and legs, jumping up and down on the spot again just like Leroy was doing behind him. Marco was in front of him, chatting cheerfully to Thomas, who also looked completely at ease, while Manu adjusted the straps on his gloves.

Sami reached across the line to tap him on the shoulder. Mesut glanced back at him and grinned as he received a wink in return. Leroy, apparently thinking Mesut was smiling at him, gave him a radiant smile in return.

"I'm fucking hyped up," Leroy whispered to Mesut gleefully. "I'm starting! This is going to be amazing!"

"You deserve it, kid," Mesut responded, smiling softly. "Why don't you go out there and show Jogi why you should always be starting?"

Leroy nodded enthusiastically and bounced up and down, cracking his knuckles. He looked even more excited as the kids in their Germany shirts arrived, all looking slightly daunted by the sight of the team all in a state of advanced enthusiasm. Mesut smiled down at the little girl standing next to him, receiving a shy grin in return.

At that moment, France arrived, Hugo Lloris leading. Mesut watched the Spurs keeper, who he usually privately felt a bit of animosity for because he was part of his rivals' team, walk up with a small boy tripping after him. France were talking amongst each other just like Germany were, but when they saw teammates, they grinned and shouted out greetings. Olivier reached out to give Mesut a brief, one-armed hug as they lined up, muttering, "Bonne chance, mon ami."

"Und du," Mesut said back, slapping his friend on the back and grinning. Marco turned back to look past his shoulder, and then turned away again, whispering something in Thomas's ear, the two of them silently cackling. Mesut glanced back to see what they were laughing at and made brief eye contact with Sami, who turned almost instantly to talk with Jerome. 

Mesut turned to face the front again when Sami did not look at him again, frowning thoughtfully at nothing.

***

Stepping out onto the pitch from the tunnel was like suddenly hearing several cannons go off at once. Sami winced a little but grinned at the same time as the roars of the crowd grew exponentially louder as the teams moved onto the pitch. He was proud of his country's supporters, who were all leaping up and down and punching the air. The level of enthusiasm for football shown in Germany was unrivalled, he felt. The cheers bouncing around the stadium elevated his spirits the louder they got.

As the national anthem started for the home side, Sami let his eyes wander, travelling inexplicably to the French players. For some reason, he found himself watching Olivier Giroud, who was shifting somewhat restlessly as the German players sang the anthem out of tune, Thomas winking horribly at the camera as it passed. The man was so effortlessly stylish even when he was doing nothing but fidgeting. Sami scowled and looked away. Attractiveness wouldn't win the game. He had stupid hair, anyway. It was like a gelled up wall. He was sure that if he touched it it would feel like touching a rock-

"Sami!" Jerome hissed, elbowing him in the side. Sami glanced at him in surprise, suddenly realising his thoughts had strayed well off the beaten path they usually took during a match into a weird paroxysm of annoyance. He realised France had already started their anthem. "You're not even on this world, are you?"

"I am," Sami muttered stubbornly. "I was just thinking about something. Anyway, they're just singing, I'm not obligated to listen-"

Jerome gave him a sly look. "Yeah, you're too busy glaring. You're eyeing Giroud like you want to kill him."

"What? I don't care about Giroud," Sami said irritably. "The only reason I'd be glaring at him is because I'm sizing up how best to get the ball off him."

"Just don't get a red going after him," Jerome joked, grinning, but then the smile slid off his face. France had just won the kickoff flip. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Sami had returned his gaze to Giroud, who was now doing a last-minute stretch, before scowling even more deeply. He wasn't even entirely sure why the man's existence was suddenly one of the most annoying things on the planet for him, but it was a good thing, he guessed. He was now even more motivated to beat them.

"In position," Fips hissed at them, as they made their way to their side of the pitch, by the home side, who cheered. "Come on, Jungen, wir konnen dieses gewinnen."

Sami cracked his knuckles, glaring at the opposition, who were looking equally determined. Damn right they could. They would.

***

The starting whistle blew, and play began slowly. A France player zipped the ball backwards in a pass that seemed to take an age to reach Lloris. It was the tentative starting moments, where players segued from the outside world into the separate reality that was football. Manu took deep breaths as he stood alone in his box, watching everything unfold before him with his unlimited view of the pitch.  For some reason, the sharp clarity he usually viewed the game with hadn't come to him yet. He was feeling shaky.

It was a feeling he was wholly unused to. He was used to having the single-minded approach to games, reacting when the ball came close or the opposition streaked up to the box, anticipating when to rush off of his line to intercept an attacker, or otherwise watching his teammates' movements carefully. The crowd usually felt so far away during match time. Now he was almost hyperaware of the home fans behind him, eagerly awaiting a great Manuel Neuer save.

He shook his head, punching the crossbar, probably attracting bemused looks from the fans behind him. Now was not the time. He was going to have to combat this- this stress by making a fucking good save. And now it looked like the opportunity was coming towards him in the form of Antoine Griezmann, who had managed to streak ahead-

But there was Mats with a neat interception, and Germany were in possession. Manu relaxed slightly, stepping backwards as he watched Mats pass to Mesut, who weaved and passed in the midfield to Thomas, who had managed to appear out of thin air in a pocket of space where N'Golo Kante hadn't seen him. His eyes followed Thomas's more careful run towards France's box, and his breath caught in his throat as Marco sprinted ahead, one arm raised towards Thomas. Thomas chipped the ball towards Marco, Marco was in position- 

But Benjamin Pavard reacted, claiming the pass. Manu saw Thomas throw his hand up in a brief display of annoyance but he returned his pursuit of the ball. Pavard had passed to Kante, who in turn had passed to Giroud, who sent a long ball towards Mbappe, who was waiting to receive service. There was a threat. It was almost incredible how quickly Mbappe moved with the ball in tow, but they had Leroy. Leroy had enough pace to pressure the Frenchman, whose face contorted with frustration as he tried to get past, but Leroy put up a fight and soon he had the ball-

And away he went, like a moped, sprinting down the pitch. Manu grinned to himself as Leroy initiated a sublime pass to Toni, who in turn passed to Marco. They were drawing near! Mesut was running up the right wing- Marco passed to him just as Varane converged upon him- the French defenders were in the box, growing bigger- Marco got past Varane- Mesut passed back- Marco took the shot-

And put it wide. There was a great ooh of disappointment from the home end, but also a great deal of applause for the superb run. Despite Marco's frustrated stance, he also was gently applauding what had been a decent effort. Manu, while feeling a little put-out by the miss, felt that if Germany kept playing like that, they were bound to score soon.

Meanwhile, there was a definite sense of grumpiness around the technical area. Sitting on the bench was always a little annoying, but it became a lot annoying when Lukas Podolski was sitting next to you. Miro had tolerated his complaints for years, but they were particularly animated today. Basti had given up trying to console him, just sighing whenever Poldi yelled out something in annoyance- and Miro shared the sentiment.

"COME ON!" Lukas bellowed, making Leon jump in front of him. "THAT'S A YELLOW!"

Miro sighed again. He was sure he would start hyperventilating in this match for the amount of times he had done it so far. "He's got one, Lukas, don't worry yourself. Look, Marco's fine, see?"

Marco had indeed gotten back to his feet after a clumsy challenge from Hernandez, who was raising his hands as if he didn't understand why he had been booked. Miro wondered vaguely if he was aware of the rules of the game. Overly aggressive sliding tackles tended to be looked down upon.

"I would've done it better," Benni muttered, sitting backwards in his seat with his arms folded. Miro didn't doubt it. Benni was most impressive with the standing and sliding tackles. "No class from these defenders these days."

Fips showed them an example of what class Benni was talking about with an inch-perfect challenge against Mbappe, who looked furious as the ball was taken from him. The nineteen year old reacted most impressively, however- his focus instantly changed from getting forward to Fips. Fips passed to Jonas, who passed back to Manu, who hadn't had much to do yet, who passed again to Fips who this time found a way to get forwards.

Fips passed to Sami, who had a momentary spark of vision with some fantastic dribbling around Kante. Miro's eyebrows raised, impressed, and he could tell that Jogi was surprised by it too. 

"I'll tell you why he did that," Lukas giggled, leaning forwards. "He caught sight of Mesut. All he could think was, I need to get to him."

Miro couldn't help but laugh at that- indeed, Sami's dribbling resulted into a pass to Mesut. Their teamwork was very impressive indeed. Mesut showed his class as usual by filling any space he could, letting Leroy take the ball and rocket ahead. 

"Shit, if he doesn't bury one," Basti said urgently, as the whole team sat bolt upright. The French defenders had now formed a wall, covering Marco, Toni, Sami and Mesut. Mats had sprinted ahead, though, and he took the pass from Leroy. In some sort of twist of fate, Mats crossed the ball to Marco, who had broken free-

"GO ON, BABY!" Mario yelled, suddenly on his feet, eyes bright and burning, and the whole team followed. "DO IT! GET ONE!"

Marco brought his foot down and sent the ball hurtling towards the net in a volley-

Lloris dived-

But it hit the back of the net! The team erupted into cheers as Mario was beside himself, yelling hoarsely in delight as Marco celebrated, with the team all rushing to hug him. Mats, who had inexplicably gotten the assist, looked slightly dazed as he and Marco hugged.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Benni said in awe. "Mats and Marco combined to make a goal happen."

"It'll be difficult for them to get a fight out of that display," Miro chuckled, as the team sat down, delirious at their lead within the first half-hour of the match. "That was a good one. He more than made up for the last wide shot."

"Damn right he did," Mario said proudly, looking as though Marco had followed in his stead and scored the winner in the World Cup final.

The game was far from over, it had only just begun. France, perhaps buoyed into action by Germany's goal, pressed forwards. Jerome managed to seize the ball in a great tackle from an approaching Griezmann in order to deliver his classic, penetrating diagonal pass, but there was nobody there to receive it. Lukas swore with great volume and expression as Basti sympathetically patted his shoulder. Mbappe had received Jerome's pass. The defenders rushed into place, but the rocket just managed to get past Fips and Jonas. Jerome tried a sliding tackle, but he just missed. The whole team were on their feet, along with the French bench, as Mbappe took a powerful shot-

"NEUER THE WALL!" Joshua yelled, as the team cheered. Manu had anticipated the shot correctly and had dived to catch it, in a very good save. There was almost relief on Manu's face as he scooped up the ball, but he assumed a neutral mask as he threw the ball to Jonas. Miro himself felt relieved for him, hopefully he continued making saves of the like to remove some of the recent scrutiny around him.

"That was so good," Marc-Andre said appreciatively, and there were nods of agreement.

Germany fortunately recovered from their brief defensive lapse and made their way forwards again. Time was ticking by to half time, what would be better than to up their lead by another and be more secure? There was a chance in a Toni maneuver that got Thomas to the net, but Lloris this time reacted with a save. 

"Close, though," Benni said, and there were noises of disappointment. It had been close.

The half-time whistle blew before Germany could build upon some of their recent runs. Everyone was in good spirits as they returned into the changing rooms, though none of them were overconfident. A 1-0 lead, while still a lead, was not secure enough- there was every chance France could get back into the game.

Jogi said as much as he regarded them in the dressing room-

"Right, so, obviously, I'm pleased with our performance. You've made good runs and you've managed to score one. But I don't want us to feel overly proud. There were still some chances that should have been buried, so I want more of an emphasis on clinical finishing. Defenders, you've done well with interceptions, but Jerome's pass should never have been claimed by Mbappe. Overall, though, if we keep playing like this, I don't see why we shouldn't score more."

There were affirmative whoops. Mario was still clinging to Marco, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Jogi deigned not to comment, knowing by this point it was unpreventable.

Thomas sidled up to Manu, who was staring somewhat vaguely into the distance, and nudged him. "You did so well, Manu. That was a really great save."

"Thanks," Manu whispered back, smiling softly, squeezing Thomas's hanc. "Clean so far."

"Let's keep it that way," Thomas murmured back.

Jerome was cracking his knuckles, his jaw set. He wondered if Robert had watched him on the pitch, if he was drawing encouragement from seeing Jerome play. Jerome knew that he often find it reassuring to watch Robert play. Maybe, if they could keep this lead up, the good play would leak into Poland's performance too. He was so absorbed in thinking about this that he didn't notice Mesut and Sami standing by each other, conversing in low voices.

"That was some dribbling out there, Sami," Mesut told him, grinning. "I've never seen you with such footwork before. What was motivating you?"

Sami made a non-committal noise in his throat, deciding that it would be untoward to tell Mesut that the sight of his Arsenal teammate Giroud had filled him with enough spite to suddenly turn into Hazard. "I felt inspired. It happens, once in a while."

"Oh, really? What did you see?" Mesut asked cheekily. Sami cleared his throat noisily and shrugged pointedly.

"Is talent really that hard to believe for you?" he asked, feeling that directing a roast at Mesut would take the heat off him. Just as he had been anticipating, he received a punch in the side.

After spending some time getting their affairs in order, it was finally time for the second half to start. The team all lined up, with a change being made- Marco was coming off for Mario Gomez (the man looked utterly anxious) because he had complained of a twinge in his thigh, and they didn't want to risk anything. Otherwise the team remained unchanged for the second half, with Leroy looking like he couldn't believe his luck as if he hadn't imagined being able to play both halves.

France's lineup, like Germany's, had one change after half-time, with Lacazette coming on the pitch (Mesut and him spent several moments frivorously winking at each other when they saw each other), and Griezmann being on the bench.  But the rest of the team remained the same, they had switched formations, however, going into a 442, clearly to protect themselves from further goals.

When the whistle blew, play started off just as slowly as it had in the first half, but the fans in the stand still chanted as if they were watching end to end football. A drum was banging in the crowd, and the players seemed to start moving to the rhythm. From the bench, Miro tapped his thigh, thinking to himself. The game had been great so far. Were they about to see more?

France were currently in possession, but the press was effective enough to stop them from breaking forwards.  Eventually, Leroy, bless him, stole the ball off of Lacazette and charged towards goal. But the idea of scoring within a few minutes of the second half was too good to be true, and Lloris made another save. This time Germany had to stop France. Jerome came to save the day, intercepting Mbappe and getting things back on track.

"Wonder if Robert's watching him?" Basti asked thoughtfully, as the team silently thanked him for existing and Sami took the ball. "I know Jerome watches all of Robert's international game."

"Of course he does," Leon said, rolling his eyes. "They're obsessed with each other. They're so in love, they can't stand to be apart."

"I think it's cute," Basti declared. "It's like me and Lukas. Whenever we're apart-"

"You get piney and annoying?" Joshua enquired. Basti scowled.

"No, we get more in love."

"Yeah, but," Leon said. "Not that I want to praise you two, but you're more impressive than Jerome and Lewy. You can handle Lukas being in London all the time, but Jerome and Robert get all mopey when they're apart for a damn week. It's sickening."

"They care about each other," Mario said, shrugging, Marco lying with his head in his lap. "It's better being grossly over the top than thoroughly in denial."

"Speaking of denial, it's racing down the pitch," Miro pointed out, and the team's attention was withdrawn from their gossip towards Mesut and Sami, who were indeed charging towards the goal, Mario, Thomas and Toni following. They all, leapt to their feet, chanting, "JA! JA! JA!" as Mesut passed to Sami for a shot on goal. He shot- but it hit the post-

"Gott verdammt!" Lukas yelled, but Miro remained jumping up and down, because Mario Gomez had caught the rebound, he chested it, and then he swung his foot- 

And scored! There were roars of delight, and Mario, looking delighted and faintly shocked, was crushed in the midst of a huge team hug. Jogi was actually pumping his fist in the air, and the team all cheered Mario's name. Mesut and Sami both gave Mario a hug, but it was nothing compared to the hug they gave it each other. Sami threw his arms around Mesut and the two remained in a tight embrace, with the team all dancing around Mario, who was grinning bashfully but happily.

"What on Earth are they doing?" Lukas asked, as Mesut and Sami separated. "It wasn't even Sami's goal or Mesut's assist-"

"They got the ball up there, stop complaining, let them love it up," Basti scolded, nudging Lukas gently. "And now we're two up! We should have this in the bag!"

"Spoke too goddamn soon," Leon said, and suddenly everyone was on high alert. France weren't going to take a second goal conceded lightly and they were pouncing towards Germany's goal. "Shit, they're going to score, Basti, aren't they, this is why we don't jinx things- I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"

Manu had punched away the ball shot at goal, and had hastily returned to counter yet another shot taken in the space of a second, making a superb double save. But that wasn't the least of it. Mbappe's two efforts had failed, but Lacazette was there for another shot- he shot a blisteringly powerful ball that was sure to go in, but Manu reacted blindingly fast and headed the ball away from goal, and finally caught the last ball that was aimed at his chest. In the space of a few moments, Manu had just saved four shots on target. Mbappe and Lacazette looked on in disbelief, and the team were all yelling for their Manu. Moreover, Manu had just thrown the ball out for Mesut to take, and they were back in possession, sprinting along, and this time Sami was by him again, and was it really going to be a-

"HATTRICK!" Lukas yelled, in transports of delight. "THE LOVEBIRDS DID IT!"

Germany had just scored two in the space of around five minutes, and what goals they were! Torn between laughter and delight at the way Mesut and Sami celebrated, by throwing their arms around each other and practically pulling each other onto the ground in a hug, the fans all went insane with joy. The game was truly theirs! They were three up!

There was no chance for the rest of the game. Inspired by their three goals, from Marco and Mario and Sami individually, the team kept up a fighting effort until the last minute. Substitutions of Julian and Niklas took place, and when Jerome and Toni came to the bench, they were grinning like idiots.

"I can't believe Mesut and Sami were the ones who did it, what the fuck," Jerome said, after he received several hugs. "God, the way they were hugging each other! That was amazing."

"It's love!" Lukas said gleefully. "It makes you a better player! That's why we're the best team in the world! We're all in love with each other! We're so gay!"

As the fulltime whistle blew and the Germany bench rushed to celebrate with their team, with Sami and Mesut never taking their eyes off of each other, it was clear that Lukas's conclusion was one that couldn't be argued with. 

***

Private chat between Olivier Giroud and Mesut Özil

Olivier: Felicitations mon ami

Olivier: C'etait un bon jeu

Olivier: I'm glad you and Sami got to collaborate for a goal

Mesut: thanks man!!

Mesut: yeah that was the best moment

Mesut: assisting your best friend to a 3-0? doesn't get much better than that

Olivier: Thank you for your sensitivity, Mesut

Olivier: Why don't you just replay footage from all three of your goals to make it easier?

Mesut: ... my bad

Mesut: i mean, sorry, you guys were great, better luck next time

Olivier: Tu es un dickhead

Olivier: But really, I'm happy for you 

Olivier: You never told me you and Sami actually went for it though

Mesut: went for what?

Olivier: Your relationship?

Olivier: I would've thought you would've told me about it

Mesut: WHAT?

Mesut: ME and SAMI?

Mesut: LMAOOO

Mesut: you think we're together i cannot

Mesut: we're friends oli honestly

Mesut: i know the team is super gay but we aren't lol

Mesut: tho i get where u might get the idea from

Olivier: You're not gay?

Mesut: no lol

Mesut: anyway if i was gonna be gay with someone it wouldn't be with THAT big idiot

Olivier: So I got the wrong end of the stick there?

Mesut: you did indeed

Mesut: i'm literally laughing

Mesut: i can't believe you thought we were dating

Mesut: i'm telling sami that

Mesut:

Olivier: 

Olivier: I thought my gaydar was undefeated

Mesut: well, it's met its match

Mesut: youre such a weirdo

Mesut: you know that if i was anything id tell u stupid

Mesut: now i gtg the team all want to celebrate the win

Mesut: i mean... we want to solemnly talk about our respect for france or whatever

Mesut: bye loser

Olivier:

Chapter Text

As Robert watched the final whistle blow, and saw Germany celebrating their performance, he felt something strange combine with his overwhelming pride for his Jeri- anxiety.

His usual cool confidence leading up to games had been replaced by a real nervousness ever since he had woken up this morning. He would have thought watching Jerome confidently handling the defence, and watching his teammates from Bayern putting in a good effort on the pitch, would have soothed his nerves and given him the motivation to give a similar performance later today. Now all he was thinking was: I can't do that.

He didn't want to doubt his teammates. But there was only one way to describe Poland's recent training sessions- not enough. And that, funnily enough, wasn't enough to give him confidence for later. They were facing a strong Portugal side, the current European champions, with Cristiano fucking Ronaldo in the lineup. He privately thought that winning this match would be a huge obstacle. He cracked his knuckles nervously, knowing that soon they would have to head to the stadium for the pre-match preparations. How was he going to do this? Where was he going to summon up the resolve from? Was unearned confidence enough? It did work for Marco...

Then, suddenly and inexplicably, it came to him, just as he saw a sweaty but grinning Jerome standing before the camera for the post-match interview. Robert's heart seemed to expand in his chest as his Jeri, his love, listened to the interviewer speak, breathing heavily, looking beautiful with the burn of victory in those brown eyes he knew so well. He had never wanted to kiss the man more, but he was miles away, trapped behind the screen.

"Gut gemacht, Jerome Boateng. That was a very promising match, with your side keeping a clean sheet and scoring three impressive goals," the interviewer said, sounding pleased. "What were your thoughts on the game?"

"Thank you," Jerome mumbled, smiling shyly at the interviewer. It was a little strange- when he was with those he knew he was exuberant and confident, with those he didn't he was rather quiet. "We're extremely pleased with the result. We weren't at all overconfident coming into this game, we were very aware of the talent France boasts, and we knew it would be a difficult challenge. It makes the victory even sweeter. Overall... a difficult obstacle we managed to surpass."

"Yes, well, the team certainly looked in form today, with Manuel Neuer in particular attracting a lot of attention for his quadruple-save in the seventieth minute. What were your thoughts on your national and Bayern teammate's performance?" 

Jerome's face brightened. "We were ecstatic with Manu's performance. Facing strikers like Lacazette and Mbappe is no mean feat, and the shots they gave him, we were sure one would go in. But he kept us safe, like he has done a lot of times. Hopefully... hopefully that will take some of the recent criticism away from him."

Robert knew what Jerome was talking about. People were very reactionary, tending to look at statistics rather than the actual performance of the goalkeeper. Manu had been faced with some impossible shots to stop, and had been in very good condition for club, yet people didn't realise it- just as Jerome had said, hopefully the criticism would go away now.

When the interview was over, Robert almost reached out to Jerome as he bid goodbye to the interviewer and set off, out of sight of the camera. He felt a strange sense of loss as he saw the empty space where his boyfriend had just been, but also a new sense of hope inside of him. He wanted to see the pride he was currently feeling in Jerome's eyes later on when they saw each other again. He wanted Jerome to be watching his victorious post-match interview, taking comfort from seeing him. Smiling to himself, he stopped cracking his knuckles and instead rubbed them determinedly together, alight with the fervour he usually felt when standing with Jerome in the locker room after a victory. Why was he being so nervous, constantly in doubt? Poland would do enough, and so would he, if it was the last thing he did. He would do it because it was his duty- to himself, to his country, and to his Jeri.

***

"I'm still buzzing," Marco declared to the team, as they finally finished joking around and making fun of France (Miro had tried to gently scold them and remind them not to get overconfident, but they had just won, and it was difficult to dampen the team's ego even in losses) and got to getting dressed. "That game was like, was like a drug. I scored, Mario scored, Sami scored, Manu was a god-"

Blushing but grinning all the same, Manu took a melodramatic bow to great applause. 

"Seriously," Jonas said admiringly, his shirt around his neck. "That quadruple save was one of the most amazing goalkeeper maneuvers I've ever seen."

"Well, what do you expect?" Manu said, gesturing at himself flamboyantly but giving himself away by going redder. He didn't have the same knack for comfortable narcissism like Marco did, though he was confident. "But thanks, Jonas, I definitely didn't wake up this morning thinking that was going to happen. Honestly, I thought it was going to go so much worse."

"And look at you now, Schatz," Thomas said proudly, kissing his boyfriend. "Clean sheet and that! That'll shut people up!"

"I think I should be getting more credit," Mesut declared. "My assist to Sami was Michael-worthy. More than that. It was Mesut-worthy. Sami wouldn't be on the score sheet without this assist magician here."

Sami grinned, yanking Mesut into a headlock-slash-hug and ruffling his hair, earning a squawk that was more chicken than human, as everyone carefully avoided each other's gazes (Marco and Mario were the weak links- Marco had to stuff his knuckles in his mouth after a half- glance at his boyfriend). "You have my sincerest thanks, Mes. But, as always, I was still better than you. Did nobody notice my dribbling? Because I did."

"Yeah, we were wondering," Jerome said mischievously. "What brought that out in you, eh? You looked like you were trying to spite somebody. Angriest dribbling I've ever seen."

With a most awkward expression, Sami shrugged. "You and Mesut, asking the same question. It was all me. No faith in me, honestly."

Mesut laughed, elbowing his friend in the side. "Not grateful to me? I've always been your number one fan."

This was too much for Marco, who suddenly grabbed Mario by the neck and kissed him to bury the sound of his laughter. Mesut and Sami stared at them in disbelief, as Jerome gave a sustained, high pitched giggle which turned into a severe coughing fit. Thomas was displaying remarkable restraint, possibly because Fips was giving him an acidic look, daring him to laugh and attract any more attention to their strange behaviour.

"That was a weird time to kiss," Sami said, eyes narrowed at Marco and Mario, who had separated, Marco facing away from everyone and leaning into Mario, who was patting his back sympathetically. Miro highly suspected that Marco was silently crying with mirth. 

"You should be used to it by now," Mesut said impatiently. "Honestly, you're all disgusting. I bet Jerome and Lewy will be doing more when the break's over. What time's his game?"

Glad that Sami and Mesut weren't continuing their behaviour that was extremely difficult not to laugh at, Jerome enthusiastically jumped at the question. "He's playing in three hours. Everyone is watching that game, by the way, we're cheering my baby on."

Marco surfaced from Mario, highly red in the face and suspiciously red-eyed due to his tears of laughter,  but looking indignant. "I think not. Why do I want to watch your stupid boyfriend play?"

"Because you're going to support him and watch him get his hattrick and Man of the Match award," Jerome said ominously. "That's why."

His tone dared them to argue, but nobody tried to- Marco attempted to, but Mario elbowed him, knowing that Jerome would veto it. He wanted to support Robert, he held no objections to it, though Marco was still touchy about anything related to the subject of Dortmund players going to Bayern. Everyone dissolved into chatter, pulling on their clothes, having been very distracted by their post-match bragging and Mesut-and-Sami-mocking endeavours. Said players were already dressed, Sami sitting on the bench, staring thoughtfully into space, which was most unusual for him, when did he ever think?

"What's the matter with you, big boy? What's on your mind?" Mesut asked, nudging his friend gently on the shoulder. Sami made a face at him.

"Nothing," he said delicately, in a tone that suggested it was everything. "Just... certain things."

"Well then it's not nothing, is it?" Mesut said impatiently. "Is something bothering you?"

"No," Sami sighed. "It's literally nothing important, just..."

He gave the game away by throwing a cursory glance at Marco, who was muttering to Toni and Jerome, the former of which rolling his eyes and the latter giggling uncontrollably. In the last second, Jerome's eyes flickered up and met his. Mesut followed his gaze and sighed.

"You're still worried about their behaviour. Honestly, at this point I don't know what to tell you, you're paranoid. You're worse than me, just before the match I thought you were mad at me for talking about Olivier," Mesut laughed. "When will you realise that this team is full of idiots- barring Miro of course."

The man had just passed by with his bag slung across his shoulder. He gave Mesut a shrug, as if to say, what can you do, which Mesut reciprocated with a shrug that somehow managed to eloquently express years of exasperation with the morons he loved like brothers.

"Yeah," Sami said absent-mindedly, still aware of the three in his peripheral vision. "You're right. Just idiots."

***

Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno

Bernd: hey asshole

Bernd: i was watching the match

Bernd: well done

Bernd: the team did better without u

Marc-Andre: Yeah, because they knew you weren't there

Marc-Andre: It filled them with relief, knowing that they were protected by a good keeper

Bernd: that was too long and stupid to be effective

Bernd: just like the time it takes you to react to a shot

Marc-Andre: The time it takes me to react to a shot

Marc-Andre: Is the amount of time it takes Jogi to pick between me and you

Marc-Andre: I.e instantly

Bernd: ok

Bernd: that was a good one

Marc-Andre: It was wasn't it

Marc-Andre: I split it up so it wouldn't be too wordy

Bernd: an effective roast

Bernd: 10/10 for content, 8/10 for execution

Marc-Andre: It should be full marks for both you biased scumbag

Marc-Andre: What have you been doing then

Marc-Andre: Dickface

Bernd: i've been, like, existing

Bernd: and like, enjoying my position as a starting keeper

Marc-Andre: That doesn't even make any sense

Marc-Andre: I start at Barca

Marc-Andre: So I'm still a starting keeper anyway

Marc-Andre: You're not even here so you're even worse than me

Bernd: YOU KNOW WHAT TER STEGEN

Bernd: YOU KNOW WHAT

Bernd: JUST LET ME GET A ROAST IN

Bernd: FOR ONCE

Marc-Andre: WHY WOULD I EVEN DO THAT WHAT DO I GAIN

Marc-Andre: JUST ACCEPT YOU'LL NEVER WIN THIS THING

Bernd: I WILL

Bernd: I AM WINNING

Bernd: NOBODY LIKES U

Bernd: OK

Bernd: FUR DIR HABE ICH NICHTS ÜBRIG

Marc-Andre: UND ICH FÜR DICH

Bernd: I'M GOING

Bernd: BYE

Marc-Andre: GO THEN

Bernd: I AM

Marc-Andre: I KNOW YOU ARE

Bernd: STOP REPLYING TO ME

Marc-Andre: WHY ARE YOU REPLYING TO ME

Bernd: I'M NOT ANYMORE

Bernd: FINAL BYE

Marc-Andre: BYE

***

When they returned to the team hotel, where they would spend the night before making their travels to Westfalenstadion for the second home game of the international break, they were all incomprehensibly still full of energy. Jogi, who had ceased from scolding because, well, they had won the game very impressively, was on the verge of a nervous collapse when they finally exited the bus. Thomas had led the team in a rowdy medley of songs throughout the entire journey back to the hotel, and their coach had received three mock marriage proposals already. Post-victory Germany were slightly more of a nightmare than regular Germany. With confidence pumped into them and a clean sheet, they were unstoppable.

Instead of doing what he hoped they would do and resting, they all practically ricocheted off of the walls, with Jerome yelling at them that they all had to be in the team's common room to watch the Poland versus Portugal match. Perhaps a normal coach wouldn't have had to ask near thirty year olds to not injure themselves horsing them around, but such was the job of the Germany coach.

Jerome was practically bouncing up and down with excitement as he hastily shot off last minute good luck messages to Robert, who would probably be preparing right this instant. Toni, who was sitting on his bed with a magazine in his hands, sighed as his friend enthusiastically sent a video of himself yelling, "Viel Glück, Schatz!"

"Seriously, he's Lewandowski, what do you think he's going to do, get a red and score nothing?" Toni sighed. "You really have no faith in him."

"I do have faith in him," Jerome said indignantly. "It's just me showing my love and support, is that such a difficult concept to understand for you?"

"Yes," Toni said flatly. "'Love and support' is for losers."

"Explains Madrid," Jerome bit back.

Toni sighed. 

Half an hour for the match, the team congregated in the common room, being shepherded in by Bayern players- Marco was complaining loudly, but most of the others looked interested to see what the game would bring. It was good to evaluate international competition, and a game with Ronaldo in it tended to attract more attention, to Jerome's resentment. Hopefully, though, Robert would show them what it meant to be a good striker, though he didn't voice this sentiment aloud, for fear he would jinx it- although, what if he had already?

Surreptitiously touching the wood of the floorboards beneath him, Jerome settled down on a sofa, as the rest of the team gathered around, talking amongst themselves. They usually spent time here anyway, to watch games or just mess around. Thomas and Manu sat on either side of Jerome, Toni was sitting by Marco and Mario, Miro by Fips, Basti and Poldi, Mesut and Sami huddled up on the floor. The rest of the Bayern lot had formed a sort of cinema-like viewing in front of the TV, with the others either on their phones or staring at the pre-match events.

Jerome licked his lips nervously, taking a Snapchat photo of the Poland match and debating whether he should put it on his story with a good luck message. He tapped out a message, saying, "Viel Glück, mein Freund!" and sent it off to his story. Right now it was mostly pundit conversations, and nothing was happening.

"He'll be fine," Thomas said, nudging Jerome, when it became apparent Jerome was nervous. "You're being silly. You know Robert has things in the bag, he's got the biggest cheerleader egging him on..."

Jerome gave a faint smile back, but kept his eyes focused on the screen. Now the teams were lining up. He craned his neck slightly trying to spot Robert out of the group- putting his glasses on to get a better view. The camera rolled down Portugal first, practically caressing Ronaldo's face when it passed him, making everyone roar with laughter.

"But that'll be the only time it focuses on him this match, 'cause Robert's going to knock it out of the park!" Joshua yelled, to affirmative cheers from Bayern, and a disinterested grunt from Marco, who was clearly suppressing his snarky comments for Jerome's sake.

Finally, it was time for the game to start. Jerome's heart was thumping as the teams got into position. Come on, Rob!  he thought. I'm here, baby, and I'm watching you!

The whistle blew. Poland kicked off. And so began the some of the most torturous ninety minutes in Jerome's life.

The best thing Jerome could say about the game was that Robert was trying so hard. He was pressing forwards whenever he could, trying to make runs up to the box, but he was consistently being thwarted. When Portugal got the ball into their final third, he put his heart and soul into trying to defend. Three times, to Jerome's relief, he managed to steal the ball back from the Portuguese strikers, doing his defence's job for them. There were cheers from the team as Robert zipped the ball in good passes, receiving them and dribbling around the defence to the best of his ability.

But there was just no escaping the fact that Poland looked disjointed. Multiple times in the first ten minutes Jerome's heart had practically leaped out of his throat because they had given the ball away. Portugal, like it or not, were clearly the most dominant side. They were practically living inside of Poland's box, with Szczęsny being another one of the few bright spots- he had made three saves so far, to appreciative murmurs from the team.  He wasn't quick enough, however, to stop an incoming Ronaldo. Jerome swore very loudly as the Portuguese managed to sink a ball into the top corner of the net, upping the scoreline already. What had the defenders been doing?

But he didn't lose hope. It was only a one-goal lead, and there was Robert, running down the pitch, and everyone was avidly watching him, even Marco, who seemed a little wistful at his former teammate's control over the ball. Milik was right by him, and it seemed they had gotten past the defence- everyone cheered, but Milik's foot didn't reach the pass. Jerome's head was in his hands as Robert's potential assist fizzled into nothingness just like the momentum, and the ball went out for a goal kick.

He held his head even more tightly when the long ball from Patricio was received by that fucking bastard Ronaldo, who maneuvered straight past the defenders as if they didn't exist. He shook his head wordlessly as the hated striker shot hard at goal, Szczęsny diving and so nearly reaching the ball, but missing just by milimetres. There were groans and Jerome squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Robert staring at the ground, looking as though somebody had slapped him. 

Two goals (a brace for that bastard Ronaldo) having gone by in the first half, and the pundits were talking about Lewandowski’s commendable effort- but Jerome knew it wouldn’t be enough for his boyfriend, who looked utterly dejected as the whistle blew.

"Robert had some good moves," Mesut offered Jerome, who was still holding his head as the pundits talked. "It's not over. There's still another forty five minutes where Poland can shape themselves up. Two goals isn't that strong of a lead. Lewy will score soon."

Jerome nodded vaguely. "Yeah. He will. He'll score."

Thomas slapped Jerome on the shoulder. "You know it. He always does."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, he's pulled batshit crazy strokes of inspiration out of his ass, remember Wolfsburg? Don't rule out a Polish return."

It was perhaps Marco's encouragement that made Jerome take his hands away from his head and nod.

The second half started, and Jerome thought, maybe, maybe his teammates were right. Almost right away, Poland had managed to work forwards, with a shot that missed the target but was a shot nonetheless. Jerome practically flew out of his seat when Robert was shoved over in the box, in one of the other few breaks that Poland had made through Portugal’s defenders.

“It’s alright, he’s not hurt!” Thomas said gently, when the camera cut to Robert getting up, looking disgruntled, and the referee jogging up to give the yellow card and blowing his whistle to signal a penalty. “It's a penalty! Look, he’s going to put this one away, and that was a promising run, there’s a chance they can come back from this, 2-1, huh?"

Hope wasn't lost! Jerome’s heart thudded in his chest as Robert stood a few yards behind the ball, his face a neutral mask but with anxiety in those blue eyes he knew so well, eyes that he had known full of the flames of victory, but now looked incredibly uncertain. Manu rested a hand on Jerome’s shoulder and Sami gave him a reassuring smile as Robert prepared to take his penalty, Jerome waited for his boyfriend to sink it in-

“Scheiße!” Jerome shouted furiously, smacking his head, as Robert swiftly chipped his ball into the left corner but was prevented by Patricio, who dived in an admittedly very impressive reaction save. The camera cut to Robert’s face, which he was covering with his hands- when he removed them, he looked disbelieving and angry.

“Ah,” Thomas said, looking uncomfortable, as play resumed and Patricio got high-fives from his team. “It happens… That was a good save…”

As time went by, Robert was starting to get more aggressive, Jerome could see he was angry by the penalty miss- such an event could be disastrous for the focus. At seventy minutes in, he collided with Ruben Dias in his pursuit for the ball, causing the Portuguese to drop to the ground and a yellow card to be received. It was a clumsy, worrying challenge, and he hoped Robert learned from it. Jerome swore as Portugal got ready for their free kick, sitting at the edge of his seat.

“ Fucking Ronaldo!” Jerome yelled, as the Portuguese tapped in the ball after a few moments of chaos in the box, Szczęsny managing to punch the ball away but Ronaldo getting the rebound. Three -nil. There was no way it was ever coming back after this, Jerome thought to himself, as the hated Ronaldo celebrated his hat-trick, and Robert kicked the post in anger. His teammates sighed, knowing how disappointed Jerome must be feeling.

To Poland’s credit, they didn’t give up. Jerome found himself jumping up in the air along with the Bayern players as Robert sprinted up the left wing and received a beautiful cross from Milik, swooping his foot in a perfect arc- and the ball hit the crossbar.

“Gott verdammt!” Jerome bellowed, as the Bayern players all groaned and Marco made a strangled noise halfway between a groan and a sigh.

Robert had slid across the ground on his knees, banging his head on the ground. Milik rushed over to give him a consoling pat on the back and helped him to his feet.

“That was so close, ” Manu said in awe. “ Gott, his luck is so bad today. It's crazy.”

Jerome winced as Robert surged forwards again, taking a shot that he put too high, sailing way over the target. He wasn’t sure he wanted to watch the end of this, but he knew he had to hold on. Robert closed his eyes and jogged back as Patricio once again went to take the goal kick. But it was claimed by a Polish player, and suddenly the Polish were in possession again. Maybe they would be able to break the clean sheet- why did he exist?

“Nein!” Jerome and Thomas bellowed at the same time, as a Polish defender gave the ball away by mistake and Andre Silva streaked up towards goal, the opposition caught out of position and being punished for it. Szczęsny tried valiantly but was unable to keep the bottom corner shot out, a neat finish that would be impossible to stop by even Manu. Four- nil.

“It’s okay, Jerome,” Mats said, his face half contorted by his wince. “You win some, and you lose some. Robert’s done well today.”

Jerome nodded tersely, but his nod soon turned into a groan of disbelief as a corner given to Portugal following another few moments of defensive chaos was transformed into yet another goal, the score going up to five.  It really wasn’t Robert’s day whatsoever. Jerome flinched horribly as he remembered the encouraging talks he had had with Robert, the good luck kisses, the messages and videos he had sense. “Oh, mein Gott, can this game just end? I don’t think I can watch anymore…”

“Ten minutes left, surely nothing else can happen,” Sami said hesitantly, and there were noises of agreement.

How wrong Sami was.

Jerome buried his face into his hands as Robert made a desperate sliding tackle to dispossess Ronaldo, and was shown his second yellow card of the match- and then,  the Polish captain, with an expression of utmost disbelief on his face, was shown red. Then, as if to rub insult into injury- the penalty whistle blew.

"Oh, my God," Leon said in a hushed voice. 

“Jesus Christ, I can’t watch anymore,” Jerome murmured, as the cameras all focused on Robert, who was breathing heavily, staring at the ground as he made his way off of the pitch to a chorus of jeers from the crowd. He shut his eyes tightly, not listening to the pundits’ criticism of Robert’s clumsy, if not malicious challenge, or to the sound of his teammates’ words of sympathy. It had been one of the worst games he had ever seen from his boyfriend- well, not from him, but one he had starred in. He wondered what Robert was thinking, wished beyond anything else that he was there right now, but feeling helpless instead. 

"Maybe Szczęsny can save this," Manu said hopefully. "Maybe he can keep it out, they're due some luck."

Jerome just kept his eyes closed, not wanting to hear what happened, but also desperate to know what was going to happen. Let him miss, let him miss-

“ Es ist ein Tor! ” the commentator shouted. Of course it was.

The game was over. Jerome opened his eyes and stared blankly at the 6-0 scoreline, along with the red card icon on the list of players. How could it be possible that something could so badly? He had genuinely believed Robert could produce something good with his team, he had never anticipated something like this happening. 

Sami and Mesut patted Jerome's shoulder and Miro gave him a sympathetic look as people hastily changed the channel. Basti leaned over to Jerome, saying, gently, "Go and talk to him."

"And tell him he did okay," Marco called, as Jerome obliged, getting up from his spot on the sofa, getting many encouraging looks. He pulled his phone out of his pockets, ignoring the sudden surge of tweets in his notifications and the trending Lewandowski hashtag, and going straight to his chat with Robert.

***

Private chat betweet Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Jerome: baby

Jerome: you played well

Jerome: you had chances

Jerome: this is going to sound annoying and you're going tot hink im just saying this

Jerome: but don't beat urself up

Jerome: it was such bad luck i promise

Jerome: ur performance didn't look that bad

Jerome: i know u won't want to reply right now

Jerome: just do it when you can

Jerome: just call me when you want ok

Jerome: just don't get too upset

Jerome: and don't blame urself

Jerome: baby i know ur not in the mood but it's been a few hours

Jerome: can u just let me know if ur ok

Jerome: u can just text im ok

Jerome: you don't have to talk

Incoming call from Jerome Boateng.

Call failed.

Jerome: ok i'll stop spamming u

Jerome: just please call when u can

Incoming call from Jerome Boateng.

Call failed.

Jerome: i love you 

Jerome: so much

Jerome: im here for u

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Manu woke up with sunlight pressing against his eyelids. When his eyes cracked open, they were poked by a sudden dazzling ray of light, making him squint. For a moment, he felt very warm and comfortable, and wanted to drift off again, but then a thought occurred to him- was it morning?

He turned his head to the side, blinking in confusion, and was met by a pair of green eyes that were creased affectionately. 

"No nightmares," Thomas murmured, smiling. "You slept all throughout the night."

Manu considered this piece of information, tilting his head to the side. He hadn't had a nightmare that night. That was new. "No nightmares. But I did have a dream."

"What was it about?" Thomas asked, tenderly pushing Manu's hair off of his forehead. Manu stared into space thoughtfully.

"I was following you somewhere. It was bright outside," he said, recalling the vague world he had traipsed through, quiet and wispy and not at all as sharp and vivid as his dreams usually were. An almost white world.

"Where did I take you?" Thomas whispered.

"I don't know," Manu admitted. "I woke up before we could get there. It was a nice dream, though. I felt... as though I was safe."

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, Thomas's lips quirked up in a grin that was a little more proud than necessary, but was unfailingly pretty nonetheless. Manu was seized by a sudden urge and leaned forwards, and they shared a soft kiss, Thomas's warmth being the only thing he really registered in the moment before his thoughts kicked in, reminding him of why he had had such a peaceful night, that night.

"It was because we won," he said, as he pulled away. "That's why I slept so well."

"Well, we'll keep on winning," Thomas said decisively. "Keep the nightmares away out of sheer spite."

"Something I'll be good at," Manu chuckled, though a tiny voice in his head told him that it wouldn't be as easy as that. "What time is it?"

Thomas turned his head, reaching his arm out to blindly grope for his phone. When he brought it around, he showed Manu the screen. It was nine thirty in the morning. Considering that they had gotten into bed at around midnight, and he had fallen asleep at around one o'clock, he had slept undisturbed for around eight and a half hours. That knowledge to him was almost surreal, and while it might have sounded like a small achievement to anyone else, it filled him with an untraceably delighted feeling.

"There's two things we can do," Thomas said, tossing his phone behind him, as Manu smiled to himself. "We can get out of bed and start getting our things packed, or, we can stay here for a bit... and figure out the rest..."

Manu blushed as he realised what Thomas was talking about, and ignored his boyfriend's lecherous grin as he mumbled, "Staying here sounds good..."

"You think so?" Thomas breathed, draping his arms around Manu's shoulders and leaning closer into him. "Well, you lead the way, Manu."

Manu, now the colour of his goalkeeper shirt, obliged.

***

Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski.

Jerome answered the call on the first ring, practically diving for his phone the second he saw the screen flash and swiping right before he even saw what the caller I.D. was. He waited eagerly as the camera flickered into life, and fell backwards onto his bed as Robert's face came onto the screen.

"Oh, Rob," he said immediately, before Robert even had the time to open his mouth. "I'm so sorry, baby. I can't even imagine what it must've been like. But you have to realise that it wasn't your fault, you were the one who offered the most hope to the team, it was just luck that wasn't on your side-"

Robert, whose eyes were slightly bloodshot and whose face had been decidedly blank as it had appeared on Jerome's screen, gave a tentative smile. "Oh, Jeri."

"It's true," Jerome said insistently, staring sadly at his boyfriend's dejected expression. "What happened, it wasn't the norm, it won't happen again. I know it won't. I know it'll sound infuriating, but sometimes a loss can really light a fire under a team's ass, you have another game this week-"

"Not me," Robert said bitterly. "I'm coming home early."

Jerome paused mid-spiel, remembering the red card and inwardly cringing. "Oh... right. Yeah, you are. But, but there's next time. There are more fixtures. There are other games in the group, nothing's decided yet. It's not over."

"If we keep playing like that, it will be."

"But you won't keep playing like that," Jerome insisted. "Nobody would, after that sort of performance. None of your team wants to repeat that again, you'll all be spurred into working harder! I know you will be! When you next play again, I know that you'll perform better, Robert Lewandowski isn't the type to stay down for long, okay? You've always gotten back up and kept on fighting for the top, and nothing's changed now!"

The expression on Robert's face suggested that he wanted to argue, but his face softened slightly anyway.

"Oh, Jeri," he said again. "I miss you so much. I'm sorry that I was ignoring you yesterday. I was ignoring everyone, pretty much. Not that anyone was really talking at all. We got shouted at the length of Warsaw last night. I don't blame Jerzy. Look at what we did yesterday."

"It was..." Jerome said hesitantly, not wanting to lie. Robert filled in the blank for him.

"Shambolic. I didn't have the heart to shout at anyone. Why would I, anyway? I missed a goddamn penalty, missed every shot I took, and got a red card." He laughed a little, but it was a short, harsh sound that Jerome didn't like the sound of. The sight of Robert's empty expression, of his self-deprecation, hit him like knives in the chest. "And now I'm coming home early. I got rid of Twitter on my phone for a bit. Did you see the Lewandowski hashtag?"

Jerome sighed. "I didn't look."

"You should have. There was some funny stuff on there. Though the good tweets about Germany must have flooded them out," Robert said coldly. And then his face broke and he covered his face with his hand. "Shit, I'm sorry. What's wrong with me? I'm being such a bastard."

"It's fine, baby," Jerome said understandingly, though he had winced at the Germany comment. But he knew that Robert didn't mean to be bitter. "Fuck Twitter. They've said plenty of horrible stuff about me in my time, you know. You just have to shut them up with another Wolfsburg."

Robert gave another reluctant smile, though it was rather watery. "The opportunity had better come quickly."

"It will," Jerome said firmly. "When... when are you coming back to Munich?"

"My flight's later today," Robert said flatly. "The sooner the better, though. I'll be going straight back to training..."

That answered Jerome's second question. He had been wondering if Robert might come to Westfalenstadion for Germany's friendly, but he did need to get back to club training. He hid his disappointment. "Well, we're going to Westfalen later today."

"Marco won't be obnoxious about that." Robert genuinely laughed this time. "Playing at home in his stadium. You guys will knock it out of the park again."

"That's if he even plays." Toni had entered the room just as Robert had said his comment. Jerome turned the phone towards him, and Toni gave Robert's face a nod of greeting- Robert's face gave him a hesitant smile back. "He was whining about his thigh yesterday. He's got a physio when we get to Westfalen."

"You've got other options," Robert said dismissively, secretly enjoying a small dig at Marco. "Gomez, Klose and Podolski are in good condition. Wait, no. Is Podolski in good condition? When was the last time he scored for Arsenal?"

It was a genuine question, but Toni and Jerome guffawed, having spent too much time on the group chat and considering even normal comments to be a subtle roast. Robert looked confused.

"No, seriously," he said. "When was the last time Podolski scored? I'm not trying to insult him or anything, you psychopaths."

"Oh," Toni said, looking taken aback at the concept that people could ask normal questions that weren't sarcastic. "He scored an offside goal at the start of the season, and he hasn't done much since. He's been looking good in training, though, he's probably going to be starting over Marco in the game."

"I feel bad for Poldi," Jerome said. "He's been having a bit of a run of bad form, it might be part of his injury. But he'll be fighting fit soon, when Müller-Wolfhart's done with him."

"Some players do play better for country than for club," Toni suggested, and then he cringed, looking apologetically at Jerome, thankfully out of the line of sight of Robert, whose expression had somewhat darkened. "Uh- I mean- anyway, Jerome, I came in here to tell you that Jogi wants us to get our stuff together, the bus leaves in an hour-"

"Ugh," Jerome complained. "We just started the call." And then he looked down at Robert, who was looking moody again. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll call you when we get to Westfalen, okay? And... text me before you get on your flight, and when you get back to Munich..."

Toni suddenly but thankfully had disappeared from sight. 

Robert nodded curtly, but smiled at Jerome. "Yeah, I will. I love you. Good luck with Marco's bragging on the bus journey."

"I'll need it," Jerome said with a grin, and he blew a kiss at Robert, who blew it back with a little less energy than usual. And then Robert hung up, disappearing from the screen. Jerome stared at the disconnected message for a moment, remembering Robert's bad mood, and he winced a little at the thought of another loss for Robert...

They had better win their next Bundesliga game...

***

Private chat between Mats Hummels and Benedikt Howedes:

Mats: where the HELL are u

Mats: why hav u left so early

Mats: did u take my razor?

Benni: I left early because I woke up early

Benni: I tried to wake you up but you were just being stupid

Mats: what do u mean

Mats: wheres my RAZOR

Benni: I haven't touched your razor fool

Benni: Why would I take it

Benni: You've probably just misplaced it

Mats: i'd sooner misplace my ass

Mats: that razor is ALWAYS in my toiletries bag

Mats: it never leaves it

Mats: it's special to me

Mats: it gives me a perfect shave

Mats: YOU misplaced it

Benni: I HAVEN'T

Benni: You've just put it somewhere and forgotten where

Mats: look maybe i'd do that with any other worldly belonging but NOT with my razor!!!

Mats: you're perfectly aware of how important it is to me!!!

Benni: BUT I HAVEN'T TOUCHED IT MATTHIAS

Benni: I have my own razor thanks one that doesn't give me a weird hipster trim

Mats: DON'T DO ME LIKE THIS BENEDIKT

Benni: I'M SORRY BUT IT'S WHAT I  THINK

Mats: YOU HAVE NO TASTE

Mats: IT'S STYLISH

Mats: WAIT 

Mats: HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT

Benni: WHAT

Mats: MARCO

Benni: WHAT ABOUT HIM

Benni: WAIT

Benni: OH NO

Benni: MATS WE LEAVE IN AN HOUR

Benni: DON'T FIGHT MARCO

Mats: HE TOOK MY RAZOR

Benni: YES BUT

Mats: I'M GOING TO KILL HIM

***

Marco had just thrown a pile of clothes the length of the room when Mario entered, carrying a stack of toast. He blithely ignored his boyfriend's supremely unimpressed look, scooping up another armful of his possessions to throw into the suitcase. "You know, I should've been a basketballer. My aim is perfect."

"You lazy pig," Mario said disdainfully, as Marco managed to get everything but a can of hairspray into the open suitcase. "When you open your suitcase in Dortmund and everything falls out, don't expect me to help you clear it up."

"I won't need you to. This? This is disordered order," Marco declared, marching over to his suitcase to chuck the can of hairspray back in. "I can find everything just fine. I'm just making life more efficient for myself."

"Footballers," Mario scoffed, wrinkling his nose as Marco marched back to retrieve more of his belongings. "They're so self-righteous."

"I'm self-righteous because I'm always right, Mar, get with the programme," Marco said. Mario opened his mouth to argue this, but before he could, there was a roar of, 'MARCO!' from outside of the room.

"What the hell did you do?" Mario said instantly, as Marco clapped his hands over his mouth to conceal his shrill giggle as the dulcet tones of an irate Mats Hummels floated down the corridor.

"Will you believe me if I said I did nothing?" Marco returned, his voice half-strangled with laughter. Mario gave him a look of abject disbelief.

"Why would you even and try and say that? In what possible world would I believe it?" Mario said. 

"A fair and valid point. Okay, so, maybe I did do something. So you know Mats' razor? The stupid one that makes his beard all fancy that he thinks looks so good? Yeah, I stole it. But here's the real kicker- I gave it to Jonas." Mario began to grin, but he was also half-torn by exasperation by his boyfriend's complete childishness. "I told him it was mine, and asked him to keep it for safekeeping, and you know Jonas, he doesn't question anything, he's too nice. Mats will never suspect it's him. Anyway, I did it because, seeing as we're going to Dortmund, I'm going to be hearing a lot of snarky comments from him- so I decided to get my shots in before the battle even begins."

 He jumped as somebody outside banged on the door, but he instantly grinned widely and sharply. "My, Mario, we appear to have a guest!"

"Do we, now?" Mario said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as Marco assumed a neutral expression and hurried to answer the door, tipping an enormous wink back at his boyfriend. Before he had the chance to open it properly, it was flung open, and a livid Mats Hummels stood in the doorway, his finger already pointing straight at Marco in an accusatory gesture.

"REUS!"

"Mats, mein Freund!" Marco said, sounding delighted, rushing forwards to envelope the half-dressed defender in a hug before he could start ranting. "Long time no see! To what do we owe the pleasure of-"

"Stop the bullshit, Reus! I know you took my razor! It cost 100 euros! Give it back!" Mats yelled at him, though as he was half-consumed by the hug, his ability to angrily gesticulate was limited. "I can't believe you! We're literally leaving in one hour and you've decided to be a stupid PILLOCK! HOW OLD ARE YOU?"

"Mats, I have no idea what you're talking about," Marco said in a tone of gentle concern, even fixing an expression of alarm on his face. "Your razor? I've never touched it in my life. Maybe you misplaced it-?"

"YOUR DICK WILL BE MISPLACED IF YOU DON'T GIVE IT BACK RIGHT THIS MOMENT!"

"I'm afraid," Mario said, red-faced with laughter. "That I will have to object to. You have to file a contract with me before doing anything with my boyfriend's dick, thank you-"

"I'LL FILE A CONTRACT WITH A HITMAN IF YOU DON'T-!"

"I could file a complaint with the DFB for that, you know, you just threatened to assassinate me," Marco said, his poker face unmatched by any other- Mario, on the other hand, had unfortunately lost his resolve, and had to turn away to laugh into his hands, overcome by mirth.

"What is going on here?" A voice said from the corridor before Mats could respond to this, and Basti appeared in the doorway, already dressed, sunglasses propped on top of his blond head, and an expression of great bemusement on his face. "Why has Mats got a towel around his neck? Why is he yelling?"

"That's just what we were asking," Marco said in a worried tone. "Mats just stormed in here, yelling his head off- do you think he's been concussed by a header? They say that aggression is a symptom of it-"

"I'll concuss him, I really will, Basti!" Mats told the midfielder furiously. "He's taken my razor, and it cost 100 euros! Do something about him! Tell him to give it back!"

Basti sighed, and then said, patiently, "Do I look like a Grundschule teacher to you? I'm not here to break up your petty fights. Just you two wait until Fips gets his hands on you-"

"There won't be anything to get his hands on once I've got my hands on this bastard! He's stolen my stuff!"

"I haven't! That's another symptom of a concussion,  confusion!" Marco said insistently, shaking his head. "It's a big problem in football, you know, maybe you should get your head checked out, Mats-"

Mats disbelieving yell was cut off by the appearance of Lukas, who looked completely bewildered by the scene before him. "What are you all doing? Fips is losing his mind, we're definitely going to be late at this rate, Thomas and Manu just got downstairs-"

"These two idiots are having another fight, Marco took Mats' razor and Mats is trying to get it back," Basti summarised for him. Lukas shook his head at Marco in disbelief.

"Are you five? Give it back to him, you idiot, we really need to be leaving soon-" 

"It isn't me who has it!" Marco said insistently. "These are all unfounded accusations!" 

"Unfounded?" Lukas said in amazement. "It's you, Marco, we all know that if you haven't taken it you've pawned it off on someone else to hide-"

Marco spluttered indignantly, hardly able to believe his genius plot had been uncovered so quickly, but he wasn't going to admit that. "Seriously, come and check my room. Every inch of my room. Pat me down if you have to-"

"I'd rather you didn't," Mario put in from the side.

Mats had bypassed red and was now turning maroon.

"If you're so innocent, why is your boyfriend giggling like a little idiot?  He knows it's you who took it! 

"Don't break your neck jumping to that conclusion," Marco said staunchly. "You need to think outside the box, I'm not the cause of every inconvenience that happens in your life. Maybe Mario's laughing because you're threatening me with murder over a lost razor. Anyway, maybe it's better that it's gone. 100 euros for a razor that doesn't even give a good shave? Sounds like you've dodged a bullet, Mats-"

There was yet another interruption to Mats' indignation by the arrival of Miro, who did not seem at all surprised by the sight of conflict between Mats and Marco. He just, in a typical Miro fashion, sighed.

"I had a feeling it might be something like this," he started, but he was cut off by Marco, who acted as though he was relieved to see a sensible presence. 

"Benevolent Opa! Finally, we have a gentle mediator who can settle these tides of confusion and unfounded accusation. Mats is accusing me of having a possession of his and threatened to murder me, when I've done nothing of the sort," Marco declared dramatically. Miro's expression was reminiscient to Lukas's disbelief, but it was also combined with the sort of exasperation that was only borne of years of witnessing utter stupidity. 

"I'll settle these tides of confusion," Miro said firmly. "With an ultimatum. Would you rather it be Mats who murders you or Philipp, Marco? He's about one second away from bursting every blood vessel in his body."

"Even Miro!" Marco gasped. "Seriously, all of you come and search my room, I don't have anything in there."

"Marco," Basti said, with the air of someone explaining something very simple to someone very obtuse. "Fips is going to kill you."

"Why? I've already said I don't have it!"

"Marco, we know you have it! It's you!"

"Good evidence, Basti, you should be a lawyer. Being me doesn't mean I'm a thief!" Marco turned to Mario, who was so far gone by this point he had actually fallen to the floor. "Mario, back me up! I didn't bring any razor in this room, did I?"

"H-He-" Mario choked, getting back to his feet, but the rest of his sentence was incoherent. 

"He's not a reliable source," Marco said immediately. "He can't even talk. So I remain innocent until proven guilty."

"Your general existence proves your guilt," Basti said firmly. "You two have had it in for each other since the day you were born."

"Well, this mystery is going to get solved very quickly," Lukas said under his breath, as Mats started to yell again. "Fips is coming."

Indeed he was. The short captain was stalking down the corridor with Benni, Marc-Andre and Jonas behind him- Benni looking exasperated, Marc-Andre startled, and Jonas nervous. And Fips enraged.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

They were so engrossed in their idiocy they hadn't noticed him approaching, but when he shouted, Mats jumped mid-curse as if he had just been shot. Miro sighed again. Basti and Lukas carefully avoided each other's gazes. Marco looked at Jonas and felt a sudden panic inside of him, realising his ingenious plan looked a lot less solid at this moment. And Mario fell down again, hiding his face.

"HUMMELS! REUS! GOTZE!" Fips bellowed, scarlet in the face. "ARE YOU AWARE THAT WE ARE MEANT TO BE LEAVING THIS HOTEL IN THIRTY MINUTES TIME! AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED PACKING, AND YOU AREN'T EVEN DRESSED!"

"It's nothing that you need concern yourself with, Fips," Marco said hastily, but Mats had already pointed directly at Marco.

"I've got everything, I was ready, then I saw that my razor was gone! The razor I spent 100 euros on! And I know I didn't lose it because I always make sure it's safe in my toiletries bag! And I know that this idiot took it and hid it somewhere!" Mats yelled, and then he froze. Possibly because Fips' face, which had been furious just a moment ago, had suddenly gone extremely blank. He cast a wary look at the rest of them, who reciprocated the look with one of their own.

"So this is what it's really about," Fips said softly, a smile spreading across his face- a smile that was not welcoming in the slightest. It was a smile that preceded annihilation, the destruction of worlds, the loss of all dear and near to the heart. "A stolen razor. Well, this really clears everything up for me. I understand, now. Please forgive me for misreading this situation. When I came up here, I was foolishly expecting this situation to be one that involved adults. I see now that it was ludicrous to have the thought even cross my mind. We're only dealing with professionals here, NOT STUPID CHILDREN!"

Marco cringed as Fips' voice amplified significantly, and Mario let out a cry of laughter and lay backwards on the carpet, having completely lost control. Everyone else was struggling to keep their faces straight.

"YOU'RE ALL UNBELIEVABLE! WHAT WILL MAKE YOU ACT LIKE ADULTS? DO YOU HAVE TO BE GIVEN INSTRUCTIONS FOR EVERY LITTLE THING YOU DO TO STOP YOU FROM LOSING YOUR HEADS? DO- DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, 'OK, MATS AND MARCO, DON'T HIDE EACH OTHER'S THINGS, MAKE SURE YOU DON'T LOOK AT EACH OTHER IN CASE ONE OF YOU TAKES IT THE WRONG WAY, DON'T EVEN BREATHE IN THE SAME VICINITY, BECAUSE OTHERWISE MATS WILL BE ACCUSING YOU OF, OF TRYING TO CONTAMINATE HIM WITH THE FUCKING PLAGUE'? YOU'RE ALL BEYOND COMPREHENSION! YOU'RE FUCK-UPS FROM START TO FINISH! YOU'RE, YOU'RE A FUCKING OMNISHAMBLES! YOU'RE LIKE A BAD COFFEE MACHINE, FROM BEANS TO CUP YOU FUCK UP!"

Marco opened his mouth and closed it. Mats looked as though Fips had picked up a tree trunk and clubbed him over the head with it. Mario's hands were over his mouth and his eyes were wide. And the players behind him looked as though the ground had been stolen underneath their feet.

And then, there was a timid cough. The sound went unnoticed amongst the deafening silence in the room, and because every single person was struggling against the tide of mirth that was threatening to break loose and drown them all. Fips was breathing too heavily, glaring too powerfully, to notice it. So the cough happened again, this time slightly more pronounced. This time, Fips glanced to his right, and saw a bright-red Jonas standing forwards.

"What?" he demanded, and Jonas jumped with a flinch.

"S-Sorry... I don't mean to interrupt," he said in a small voice. He reached into his pocket, and Marco swore under his breath, knowing that his plan was officially scuppered. "It's just... Y-You were talking about a razor, Mats... Is it th-this one?"

And he pulled out of his pocket Mats' razor, holding it up for everyone to see.

***

Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno

Marc-Andre: Ok Bernd you just missed

Marc-Andre: The funniest thing I've ever seen just happened

Marc-Andre: I can't

Bernd: what? did u manage to save a goal?

Marc-Andre: Seriously stop trying none of your roasts work

Marc-Andre: Anyway omf

Marc-Andre: Mats and Marco were yelling at each other as per usual

Marc-Andre: Mats was saying that Marco stole his razor blah blah

Bernd: he did didn't he

Bernd: but marco was denying it?

Marc-Andre: Ofc

Marc-Andre: And we came up with Fips because Fips was ready for murder and tbh we all wanted to see it

Marc-Andre: I dragged Jonas along too

Marc-Andre: Fips's face was like

Marc-Andre: 

Bernd: honestly that's his resting face

Bernd: find a better gif

Marc-Andre: Find a better personality

Marc-Andre: Anyway Mats said it was about the razor

Marc-Andre: And Fips went absolutely bonkers

Marc-Andre: It was fucking incredible

Marc-Andre: It was living art

Marc-Andre: He called them an omnishambles

Marc-Andre: And then he said "you're like a bad coffee machine, from bean to cup you fuck up"

Bernd: FUCK LAMFMEOKFEO GET HIM A LAUREATE'S AWARD

Marc-Andre: RIGHT???

Marc-Andre: But wait til you hear the biggest plot twist of your miserable life

Bernd: im howling what 

Marc-Andre: JONAS coughs to get everyone's attention

Marc-Andre: And guess what he fuckingngn pulls out of his pocket

Bernd: the razor

Bernd: omfl

Bernd: in what world did JONAS steal someone's stuff

Marc-Andre: Marco gave it to him and told him it was his lol

Marc-Andre: He thought it was smart and that Mats would never suspect Jonas

Marc-Andre: You should've seen the expression on Fips' face

Marc-Andre: He looked like Marcelo did during 7-1

Marc-Andre: Totally finished

Bernd: it's such a stupid situation but it's??? so funny??? 

Marc-Andre: Sums up this goddamn team

Marc-Andre: Sucks you have to hear it from me 2nd hand xx

Bernd: we almost got through three minutes of conversations without you being a dickhead

Bernd: it was too good to be true wasn't it

Marc-Andre: It's a natural instinct to me

Marc-Andre: Trying not to insult you is like holding my breath

Marc-Andre: Eventually I have to give in to the urge

Bernd: yeah well

Bernd: i hope u fucking conceed you fucking coconut head

Marc-Andre: Conceed

Bernd: don't fucking start it's two letters out of place

Marc-Andre: I'll conceed, you're right about that

Bernd: im not even going to bother.

Bernd: they don't think it be like it is, but it do

Bernd:

Chapter Text

Westfalenstadion was the home to Borussia Dortmund, and therefore, would be the home to a lot of pettiness and arguments over club rivalry over the next few days the national team were in the vicinity. As they stepped onto the bus, Marco, who had been noticeably subdued after the fiasco with the hidden razor, cleared his throat, stopping in the middle of all the rows of seats, holding everyone up behind him. Fips, who had taken a seat by Leon, gave him a burning look that the self-righteous forward did not acknowledge.

"Everyone!" Marco declared, and a cacaphony of groans sounded from behind him. "I have an announcement to make."

"Reus, I'll shave your fucking head, I swear to God-" Mats started to threaten from where he was sitting by Benni, but was silenced by a hand that smacked over his mouth. It was probably for the best- if either Mats or Marco said another word to each other for the next few days, Fips was liable to have a seizure.

"What is going on here?" Jogi demanded. "Are you trying to hold us up more, Reus? After you and Hummels are already running an extra two miles in training?"

"I just have to make an announcement!" Marco protested. "I'm just here to say, as we are heading to my home, my stadium, my entire life, you're all protected. My aura surrounds you and we will win this friendly versus Russia."

The second chorus of groans was louder than the first and Mario pushed an indignant Marco into a seat, saying, "Baby, just don't speak for about two hours."

"I was being motivating!"

Mesut and Sami took their seats, Mesut automatically taking the window seat and Sami taking the aisle seat. Mesut suffered from motion sickness, and it had just become unspoken habit for him to climb over Sami's knees to get to sit by the window. Following Marco's non-speech, the bus was practically rocked to the side with how loud it was, with everyone feeling distinctly rowdy as the prospect of their second international matchday grew closer. Mesut was pleased he was experiencing an upwards surge in the team's play recently, and hoped he would get a chance to start in the friendly- though there was every chance the reserve team would be playing.

 His thoughts were disrupted by a kick to the back of his chair and a shout of laughter. Him and Sami shared looks of matching horror and turned around, and his worst fears were confirmed- Thomas was sitting behind them, grinning wolfishly, with Manu looking exasperated next to him.

"Oh, Gott," Sami said desperately. "It's not too late to change seats, is it?"

"It is," Mesut said gloomily, as Jerome and Toni sat in the two seats in front of them and Leroy and Julian sat in the seats next to them. "Just our fucking luck."

"Come, now, young Sami and Mesut, that's no way to treat your friends," Thomas said, leaning forwards and pressing his face in the gap between the seats in front of him. "All Manu and I are here to do is engage in friendly conversation!"

"Engage with someone else," Sami said irritably, and he flicked Thomas's nose protruding between their two seats. The two of them resolutely turned around and Thomas looked faintly disheartened as Manu patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Honestly, what do they think we're going to do?" Thomas asked him, just loud enough for Mesut and Sami to hear- the two exchanged looks once again.

"I wonder," Manu said more quietly. "Probably make fun of their blatant in-closetness and harass them for the whole bus journey?"

Thomas gasped in mock horror.

"Hey," Marco said, reaching an arm over the top of the seats to try and grab Thomas's head. "You guys can't have all the fun. If we're going to make fun of anyone, it has to be a team effort, or it's unfair."

"You just spent this whole morning harassing Mats, I think you can survive, big boy," Thomas returned, unmoved by Marco's words of complaint. He was a little offended that Fips had blown his top and that Mats and Marco had been thoroughly eviscerated while he was absent from the proceedings. "And get your hands away from me, I'll bite you, Reus."

"Oh, really?" Marco challenged, and his hand blindly groped around in mid-air before finding Thomas's face. "Do it, pussy."

Thomas sighed and grabbed Marco's hand, pulling on it so the forward yelped and was dragged forward in his seat. When he let go, Marco's limbs returned forlornly to his side.

Meanwhile, Jogi was standing at the front of the bus, gazing down at the rows and rows of children and silently doing a head-count, knowing that there was every possibility that one of them could have gone missing in the short walk from the hotel to the bus. When he sadly concluded that everyone was safely here, he took a deep breath, knowing he would have to muster quite a lot of power in his voice to silence them all. Before he could embarrass himself by yelling hoarsely and being ignored, his assistant, Hansi, passed him a whistle.

Well, it mostly worked in training, why not here? Jogi put the whistle to his lips and blew on it, causing a currently standing Marc-Andre to jump violently and hit his head on the roof above him, falling down in a rather ungainly manner, attracting roars of laughter.

"That's also how he reacts when someone says Bernd's name," someone, likely Marco, called from the midst of the indistinguishable crowd of idiots.

"Bernd? Who's Bernd?  I don't know a Bernd! That sounds like a stupid name! I'm not in love! I don't want to have sex with him!" another idiot, sounding like Joshua, shouted out, and there were more roars of laughter.

Marc-Andre put his head in his hands.

"Tell me," Jogi said calmly, once the catcalls had died out any everyone turned their attention to someone new to mock (i.e, their eternally suffering coach). "Do you ever think there'll be a day where I can perform a single action without you all acting like uncivilised barbarians?"

"Keep trying, don't let a bad result get you down," Thomas yelled from near the back of the bus. 

"Toni Kroos to Real Madrid, 2018." Jerome offered his contribution to the inane back-and-forth, and there was laughter, particularly from Bayern players, who would never forget the Champion's League semi-final of 2017. Toni leaned against the window and stared longingly out at the car-park as if he had suddenly entered a sad music video.

Jogi passed a hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the view of the giggling toddlers for a second, and imagined a world where he had inherited a serious and respectable team, who didn't delay journeys by half an hour because of stolen razors and idiotic quips. Returning to reality was disheartening.

"Sind Sie fertig? Ja? Also," Jogi said, before anyone could respond sardonically to his rhetorical question. "When we arrive at Westfalenstadion-"

"YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE!"

"Reus-you-are-already-running-an-extra-two-miles-don't-make-it-three," Jogi said in one breath. "We'll start training and also have the routine physio check-ups for everybody. If you already have a scheduled appointment on top of the checkup, you don't need to attend. I expect everybody to be keeping up with their treatments. We can't afford to have players taking ill care of themselves and not being in form for games. This game versus Russia might just be a friendly with no competitive weight, but you all are well aware by now that friendlies are most important for tactical development and keeping up with our international form."

There were nods of agreement at this- Marco in particular looked a little more solemn. He was one who took international games far more seriously than others, because his awful run of luck in terms of injuries and not being part of tournament squads had made his international playing time increasingly limited. He had been delighted at the inclusion of the new Nations' League- to win an international achievement with his country was a dream for him.

"Gut," Jogi said in a satisfied sort of tone. "Okay, you can all resume your meaningless conversations. I'll brief you some more on the arrangements when we get to the hotel, we're already running late."

Marco and Mats were suddenly avoiding his gaze.

***

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Jerome: hihi baby ! <333333

Jerome: we're on the bus rn

Jerome: and u were absolutely right

Jerome: the second marco opened his mouth something obnoxious about bvb came out

Robert: What did I tell you

Robert: Marco is possibly the most predictable person on the planet

Robert: He likes to pretend he has layers of mystery and subterfuge

Robert: But he really just has layers of self-righteousness 

Robert: Everything he says consists of club patriotism, narcissism and/or insulting Mats

Jerome: none ever spoke a truer truth

Jerome: where are you right now?

Robert: Airport

Jerome: oh

Jerome: right

Jerome: when is ur flight?

Robert: Hour and a half

Robert: I should be in munich before it gets dark

Jerome: will you meet with arjen or david?

Robert: Hell no lol

Robert: I'm going to go home and mope

Jerome: baby

Robert: Don't "baby" me Jeri I've earned the right to mope

Jerome: even so

Jerome: i dont want u to just sit around feeling sad u know??

Robert: Well, I've done plenty of it already

Robert: Wow the levels of self-pity really jumped out

Robert: I'm being annoying aren't I

Jerome: you're never annoying

Jerome: all im saying is that u should take ur mind off things

Jerome: do kickboxing or something

Jerome: go for a run

Jerome: hang out with someone

Robert: I don't feel in the mood for it

Robert: I feel like I shouldn't be enjoying myself

Jerome: what are you talking about?

Robert: This isn't a holiday

Robert: I got sent home because I got a red

Robert: I fucked my team over

Robert: I shouldn't be enjoying myself you know?

Jerome: that was just the stupidest thing i've ever read

Robert: Yeah? Well you wouldn't know what it feels like ffs

Jerome: are you fucking kidding me right now robert?

Jerome: ur literally acting like i've never faced a loss

Jerome: news flash: i have! and i've gotten reds! and i've felt shit about it!

Robert: You're right 

Robert: I'm sorry

Robert: I know I'm just being more and more obnoxious

Robert: I don't mean to be Jeri

Jerome: it's okay baby

Jerome: all im trying to do is help

Jerome: i know what it feels like to lose out on things

Jerome: and so do you!

Jerome: i don't want to bring up the ucl final of '13 but i will

Jerome: that game was one of the biggest of ur life

Jerome: and you failed it

Jerome: ok this motivating pep talk went the wrong way

Robert: LMAO

Robert: Honestly I'm not offended I get what you're trying to say I got through the disappointment

Robert: But it just feels different tho

Robert: That game wasn't humiliating, it was just disappointing

Jerome: look

Jerome: i know that for us football is our whole life

Jerome: everything feels momentous when you're at the peak of your career and have such high expectations on you

Jerome: but it isn't! there's still so much time! one disappointing result doesn't equal everything!

Jerome: seriously rob

Jerome: the disappointment of this will fade away

Jerome: the next game is what matters the most right now

Jerome: we lost the world cup final, got knocked out at 2 semi finals, then we finally won the cup

Jerome: we lost out so many times but we eventually got the gold

Jerome: many victors have lost so many times

Robert: As always

Robert: You're right

Jerome: that game wasn't the best of your career

Jerome: but it doesnt define ur career either

Jerome: u've got to keep moving

Jerome: don't look back otherwise you'll get lost in the could've would've should'ves

Robert: You knwo what you're fccking right

Robert: I'm seriously gonna cry

Robert: I've never loved somebody as much as I love you

Robert: Seriously I just want to fucking consume you

Jerome: baby it was so romantic before u said that weird shit

Robert: I was meant to write "in a hug" at the end

Jerome: i fucking love you so fucking much too im literally screaming ur my favourite ever person and i just wish that u were here right now instead of fucking toni bc i just want to kiss u so abadly but we'll see each other soon look what you'vedone to me it's literally been a few days and i feel like weve been apart a year bc i just love you that much

Robert: Honest to god Jeri I just can't imagine the concept of not??? Having you??? It's unthinkable??? Even marco wouldn't be able to find the words for how much I love u and he manages to find words for everything

Jerome: skdjefjerijerifjeijei the love is that special

Robert: It's more than special

Robert: It's just??

Robert: Like a divine force

Robert:

Jerome:

***

Journeys with the German national team tended to be fun, but, Sami reflected, only when you weren't sitting in a seat with Thomas Müller behind you and Jerome Boateng in front of you.

He and Mesut had shared more exasperated looks than was healthy in the first ten minutes of the journey alone. By the thirty minute mark, Mesut's eye had started twitching and Sami's forehead was against Jerome's seat, his eyes closed as he tried to repress the urge rising within him to tear his teammates apart. Whether it be the simple act of seat-kicking, poking and pretending it wasn't them ("I watched you do it, Müller!") or generally just existing, the two of them made sure it was impossible to relax. They were occasionally aided by Marco, who yelled something stupid once in a while just to remind the group he was there. The only moments of respite they had was when Leroy chipped into the conversation- for a few moments, all roasting would turn to him.

"Mesut," Sami said between clenched teeth at one point, as a hand slapped the top of his head before drawing hastily away. "Please restrain me. I am about to undo my seatbelt, stride backwards, take Thomas Müller by the throat, and hurl him straight out of that window."

Mesut laughed, leaning over to grab Sami around the waist and pressed his head against Sami's shoulder. "Is that enough for you?"

"Perfect," Sami said, wondering just why his stomach had turned upside down. That most certainly wasn't a normal sensation to him.  "Just... stay like that. Until we retire from this godforsaken team."

"You got it, Sami," Mesut said peacefully.

Sami avoided Jerome's gaze as the defender turned around to be annoying and turned back almost instantly with his hands over his mouth.

Overall, it had been a journey they hoped they would fucking forget, because otherwise they would be filled with fury for the rest of their lives. When the bus drew towards the hotel, the two of them practically clung to each other, exchanging looks of delight. They would finally be able to stretch their legs, feel fresh air against their faces, and have ample space to beat Jerome and Thomas to death.

When the bus stopped, there was an influx of chatter as everyone stood up, sounding like stampeding elephants. Jogi tried to conduct order as everyone rushed towards the bus's exit, but he was practically trampled over as everyone spilled into the open air, sick of off-tune singing and bad jokes and the constant cycles of roasting. Jerome had instantly sprinted towards Marco (ignore him, Sami, you're being paranoid, Sami thought to himself) and Fips was yelling at someone again. Jogi was checking his phone as everyone collected their luggage, frowning slightly at the screen.

"Thank every single fucking god out there," Mesut gasped, as he lugged his bag up to where Sami was standing. "I thought I was going to combust if I stayed in that fucking bus a second longer. Where's Thomas? I'm ready to kill him now."

Sami jerked his head to the little gathering of players who were all huddled together as if sharing a world-shattering secret. Mesut glanced at them and sighed.

"I don't want to go over there. They'll just be annoying," he said, stretching his arms back, so his shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin and the crease of lean abdominal muscles before he swung his fists by his side, trying to coax energy back into his body.

Wait. What had he just noticed?

"Listen up!" Jogi yelled over the crowd, before Sami could probe the sudden feeling of all-consuming bemusement inside of him. "I know you're all planning on charging into the hotel like baboons, but I have a little announcement to make."

There were noises of dread as Sami stared blankly at the ground.

"I've been evaluating the level of focus in this group recently, and frankly, as everybody will without a doubt be shocked to be hear, it's atrocious."

"Really?" Fips asked. "Are you really telling us that enlightening statistic now- oh my God. I just did what they did. I'm turning into them."

"You are one of us, Fips," Marco guffawed. "It's buried deep down there-"

Marco was instantly quelled by the look that Fips gave him. After the omnishambles rant, he didn't dare test his luck further.

"Do you see?" Jogi asked, gesturing at Fips and Marco, Fips sighing and Mats looking entirely unabashed. "Do you see my point, perfectly characterised? Our play remains to be solid and we're winning games. But the focus levels have been worrying. I attribute this to the abundant amount of gayness within this squad. The fact that practically all of you are in a relationship means you will never have your attention in the right place-"

Toni burst out laughing. "I've literally been saying it all along!"

"-so, as a test, for this fixture, rooming arrangements will not be up to you. You will all be required to room with somebody you don't usually room with. This should hopefully limit late night... shenanigans and focus all of our attention on football only-"

There was a loud chorus of protestation, with every single gay person exclaiming in indignation and the straight (definitely in the minority) shrugging. There was one person, however, who didn't react. Manu, who was standing by Thomas, had suddenly turned very white. Thomas did not react in his signature overdramatic way either. He looked at Manu instantly, an uncharacteristically urgent look on his face, and looked back towards Jogi.

"Jogi," he said in a voice that was different from the shock and annoyance of everyone else. It caused Miro to look at him with a frown. "I don't think we should do this, Manu and I-"

"Absolutely no exceptions, Müller," Jogi said dryly. "You and Manuel definitely need separating. Though Müller, you're not going with Reus, that'd only happen if the hotel wanted demolishing-"

"Jogi-" Thomas began, looking at the pale Manu again, but Jogi held a hand up that said no arguments. He looked as though he was going to continue arguing, but Manu suddenly grabbed his wrist and shook his head. "Manu-"

"It's fine," Manu said quietly, though he didn't look fine. "I can handle it."

"Manu, this is different," Thomas whispered. "Jogi would understand-"

"No," Manu said more firmly. "I'm not a child, Thommy. I can handle this."

Thomas looked taken aback. "I never said you were a child-"

"Seriously," Manu said flatly. "I'm a grown man, okay? I don't need people to coddle me. I can handle different rooming arrangements."

"It's not a question of how grown you are-"

"Drop it, Thomas!" Manu suddenly snapped, and Thomas blinked. "It's fine!"

Thomas fell silent, staring into space with a frown, and Manu was suddenly blinking very hard. It seemed that nobody noticed- nobody but Miro, that was.

Chapter Text

As the air was rent with yells from everyone as they scrambled to find a suitable rooming partner, Miro cast a glance at Thomas, who was looking mildly upset, and then at Manu, whose jaw was tight. Making a decision in the moment, he strolled over to the pair, looking carefully at Manu.

"Manuel?" he asked, causing the blond giant to blink and give him a tentative smile. "Would you like to room with me?"

Manu looked surprised, and glanced at Thomas, clearly having expected that Miro would go for him. Thomas was watching Miro, but he didn't display any sign of indignation at his boyfriend being chosen over him. In fact, Miro could detect relief in his eyes. Although Miro didn't know what was going on, he was sure his instincts, which had never wronged him before, were correct in asking Manu to be his roommate.

"Sure," Manu said finally, nodding at Miro. "That's fine."

Miro smiled at him, but he was still focusing on Thomas, who slightly raised his eyebrows, sending a clear message- I'll tell you later. He then turned to Mario Gotze, who had jumped on him, asking him if he wanted to be his roomate, while Mario Gomez and Jonas had stepped next to one another.

Jerome had stepped next to Sami, and Lukas by Mesut, with Toni finding a partner in Julian Draxler, and Marc-Andre with Leroy. Most of everyone had found a roommate by now, barring a very conspicious pair. Fips, who was standing by Basti, took one look at the two that were left, and immediately said, "Absolutely not."

"No," Mats said, looking at the grinning man in front of him with a nauseated expression on his face. "A hard pass from me. Toni, swap with me."

Toni's smirk answered for him. With a sense of dawning horror, Mats glanced around at everyone who had found their roommates, and said, "No. You can't do this. This... this can't be happening."

"Come, now, Matthias," Marco said softly, with the same glint in his eyes that Didier Drogba had worn before taking the last penalty kick of the 2012 Champion's League final. "That's no way to talk about your roomie."

Mats turned to Jogi, hoping his wordless horror would express everything wrong with what was happening at that moment.

"As much as I want to put you two on opposite sides of the world, perhaps this arrangement will work," Jogi said contemplatively, the exact opposite of what Mats wanted to hear. "It will serve as punishment for your collective stupidity, you two being forced into close-quarters where you will annoy each other. Serves you right for being children. You're sharing a room."

"Jogi," Fips protested. "This punishment is because of a lack of focus, and you've put the most childish, unfocused players in the squad, who literally fight every second of the day, together. This is the worst idea I've ever heard-"

"Who's coach?" Jogi said severely, and Fips turned to everyone else to convey his disbelief. But everyone was grinning. Mats and Marco being forced to share a room was bound to be a source of limitless entertainment. Nobody else seemed to share the concern that the hotel would be brought down by the amount of pettiness that was bound to be ricocheting off of the walls soon enough. Mats turned to Benni, who was fighting a smile as he patted his boyfriend's elbow sympathetically, and Mario and Marco grinned at each other.

With rooming arrangements decided and everyone but Mats pleased with who they had found, the team finally started making their way into the hotel. Manu was walking well ahead of everyone else, with Thomas not following him. Mesut fell by Sami, who had gotten his suitcase wheel stuck in a grate and was swearing as he struggled to pull it free.

"Happy about who you're with?" he asked, helping Sami pull his luggage out of the grate. Sami patted his arm in thanks.

"Yeah, I'm with Boa, there's worse people to be with, I suppose," Sami sighed. "Not that I had much choice. He practically forced me to be with him at gunpoint. What about you?"

"Lukas," Mesut said, shrugging. "I've roomed with him a couple of times at Arsenal, so it's not a big deal."

"A couple?" Sami said in surprise. "Do you not room with him all the time?"

"Not always, he rooms with Per mostly," Mesut said non-committedly. "I mostly room with Oli when we're away."

Sami said nothing.

When they entered the hotel, Jogi barely had time to tell them to be civilised before everyone was racing off to find their rooms. Jerome was waiting for Sami in their room, and when the midfielder entered, he grinned maliciously and gestured at the bed.

"I got the better one," he announced smugly. "Your one has weirder springs. You snooze you lose, kid."

"You cheating bastard," Sami said, annoyed as he heaved his luggage onto his own bed and bouncing up and down on the mattress to test if Jerome's conclusion was true. It was. Sami thought it was distinctly unsportsmanlike that Jerome had claimed a bed without having the honourary race from the doorway, but he also thought that it would require too much effort to argue about it.

Meanwhile, Manu was standing by his bed when Miro entered the room, staring down at the suitcase that had been hurled onto the mattress. Miro glanced at him warily as he placed his own belongings on the bed. He had never seen the goalkeeper in a mood like this. Manu tended to be quieter than Thomas, but to be entirely honest, everyone was. The keeper usually was quite energetic and positive, and never seemed downcast. Even after conceding a goal he got back up again and fought back harder. 

He hesitated, and then decided to speak. "Are you alright, Manu?"

Manu's expression gave him away- his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah! Just thinking about something. So, um, Jogi wants us to get r-ready for training, right?"

"Yes," Miro said softly, his slight frown growing deeper. This seemed to be something serious, and he was concerned. "We should head towards the changing rooms, hm?"

"Yeah," Manu repeated, thoroughly avoiding Miro's gaze. "Yeah, we should. You're right."

He seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, giving Miro an odd, tremulous look, before he jerked his head slightly and decided against it. Miro, who had been waiting patiently to see if he would speak, sighed slightly. He hoped Thomas would tell him what was wrong.

Whilst this somewhat serious exchange was going on, a much less earnest conversation was going on just outside in the corridor. Marco and Mats were standing outside their room, both of them evaluating the situation inside. There were two beds in the room, and that meant one was better than the other. No matter how many times Fips said they were both the same bed, just hurry the fuck up and pick one, the fact of the matter was that the decision of who took which side held more weight than a club transfer decision. When you were a footballer and you spent a lot of time travelling to various hotels, you learned that swiftly. Mats still remembered the time he had actually fell through his bed onto the floor having jumped on it after a club victory.

"Listen," Marco said diplomatically, as Mats narrowed his eyes, trying to judge by the appearance of the beds which one he wanted. Which bed gave off the more comfortable aura? "How about I just-"

He didn't finish his sentence, because his sentence hadn't really been intended to be a sentence- it had intended to be a clever ruse. While Mats's attention was momentarily diverted from the beds, he struck- he darted forwards to reach a bed first. Mats yelled in fury and managed to catch him by the back of the shirt before he could get to his bed. Dejected that his plan hadn't worked, Marco returned to the doorway.

"You filthy cheating bastard," Mats growled. "You can't use dirty tactics here. If we're really going to be forced to share a room together, we're going to do it properly."

"That makes it sounds like you want us to-"

"No. Take that thought and incinerate it. Destroy it. It doesn't exist," Mats said firmly, looking a little sick as Marco grinned. "We're going to be fair and impartial. It's going to be a race to the best bed. We need to get someone who will fairly judge the race."

The second the words were out of his mouth Benni appeared behind them, having been looking for Mats. When he saw what they were doing, he sighed loudly. Why was it that such a high proportion of German players tended to sigh so much? 

"Have you two seriously not picked your beds yet?" he asked in disbelief. 

"No, we have to have the race, Benedikt," Marco said insistently. "As Mats said, if we're going to be forced to share a room, we need to do it properly. With all the correct procedures in place."

"You literally just tried to distract me and get the better bed first-"

"Lies and libel-"

Benni pushed past them and entered their room, rolling his eyes so hard Marco was gently concerned that they would lodge at the back of his skull and never return to their normal position. "I'll officiate this race. And then you two can hurry the hell up and get down to training. We've already wasted enough time in the day because of you idiots, I don't know what Jogi was thinking letting you two room together-"

"I know," Mats said darkly, while Marco looked mockingly offended.

"Really. You forget everything your Golden Boy has done for you, Matthias."

"Why do you keep calling me Matthias?"

"Isn't that your full name?"

"Enough!" Benni said, before Mats could respond to this and contribute to the inanity. "Are you two ready?"

"But we have a biased judge!" Marco protested. "What if he tries to help you win, Matthias?"

"Do you want Fips to come and see what you two are doing again?" Benni asked sweetly. "You can tell him that you haven't picked your bed because you haven't had the race to it yet. See where that gets you. You actual children."

"Okay, Benni is fine!" Marco said brightly. "Ready, Matthias?"

Mats grumbled incoherently in response, but he poised himself for the race. Benni stood further into the room, his face still contorted with exasperation, raising his hand to conduct the race. 

"Eins, zwei, drei- go!"

The two of them bowled over each other to reach the right bed, leaving their luggage scattered in the doorway. Unfortunately, owing to the fact that Marco was a forward and Mats was a defender, the former reached it first. Swearing, Mats hit Marco's shoulder before stomping off to retrieve his suitcases. 

"It'll take more than self-righteousness to beat me!" Marco crowed triumphantly. He heaved himself off of his bed, snapping his fingers dramatically, and went to retrieve his own luggage. "Better luck next ti- HEY!"

Mats had darted past him holding his bags, and had taken the bed Marco had just claimed as the forward had left his sanctuary.

As the yelling began, Mesut, as was the norm, sighed. He didn't want to start training straight away, but Jogi seemed adamant about maximising efficiency.

Lukas was sullenly dragging his feet across the floor, flinging his belongings around. Mesut suspected he knew why. "Poldi, are you moping because you're not rooming with Basti?"

"Of course I am," Lukas bit at him. "I don't get to see him that much, and I see you all the time. This international break was supposed to be about spending as much time as possible with my love but apparently Jogi doesn't want us to get distracted."

"I thought the international break was meant to be about playing for your country?" Mesut said dryly. At Lukas's unimpressed look, he sighed yet again. "Honestly, Poldi, there's still literally every other hour of the day you're not spending in here to see him. It's not the end of the world."

"Yeah, well it's easy for you to say, you don't miss anyone as much as I miss him-"

Mesut rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because you're the only person in the world who misses anyone from this squad. News flash, I have lots of friends in the team too, and I miss Sami so much when he's not around. I know how you feel."

Lukas's eyes suddenly brightened. "You miss Sami, eh?"

"Of course I do," Mesut said flatly. "He's my best friend. It's not some big story."

"Of course. You two and your close platonic bond have withheld the strain of separation, I suppose," Lukas sighed.

"Why are you speaking like that? You sound like Marco," Mesut said suspiciously. "You know what, don't answer. Let's go."

He strode towards the exit of the room as Lukas watched him slyly, thinking about Fips and his no-interference policy. Honestly? They were the ones unravelling things for themselves. Perhaps, soon enough, there would be no need to interfere.

***

When everyone barring Mats and Marco had finished their run at the beginning of training, with Marco having been given an extra mile for calling Mats "a hairy bed thieving fucker" in the vicinity of Jogi, they all assembled at their different stations for the training session. Manu, Marc-Andre and Ron-Robert had gone off with the goalkeeper coach, with the outfield players all starting with circuits, all of them making faces at Mats and Marco as they passed.

As Toni, Leon and Jerome started off the circuits, the other players were being distracted by them and Mario was too busy waving at Marco from the other side of the field, Miro saw the perfect opportunity to talk to Thomas, who was picking at the hem of his jersey. He gently tapped the man on the shoulder, attracting his attention.

"Oh, Miro," Thomas said, looking relieved. "I thought you were Jogi."

"Why would you think that?" Miro asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. I just thought you were him. Don't ask me questions!" Thomas flapped his hands about before looking serious again. It was an uncharacteristic look. "Thank God you're here. Look, I know you want to ask me questions about what happened earlier."

"I do, actually," Miro said softly. "Manu seemed very out of it when we were in the room. I hope it was okay I asked him to be my roommate?"

"No, it was fine, it was perfect," Thomas said earnestly. "I'm glad it's you. You're understanding."

"Could I ask why you're so glad?" Miro asked, genuinely confused by the whole situation. "Can you tell me what's going on with Manu? Why was he telling you to 'drop it'? Is there something wrong with him that he can't change rooming arrangements? Not to sound nosey or anything, it is your business-"

"No, it's not being nosey, I know you're concerned," Thomas said, and then he hesitated. He glanced over to the other side of the field, where Manu, Marc-Andre and Ron-Robert were doing some drills with the goalkeeper coach, and then he rubbed his eyes. "I want to tell you. I just feel like Manu would be really angry with me."

Miro understood what was going on. It was a battle between Thomas's two instincts- concern for his boyfriend's wellbeing and respect for his privacy. He thought that Manu probably would be angry if Thomas told him what was happening. All he said, was, "I would never tell anybody else, or him. It is your secret and your decision. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you do, it would be completely confidential."

"Yeah," Thomas said vaguely. He looked more reassured. "You won't tell him I told you?"

"I won't say a single word," Miro said seriously.

"Yeah. No, this is for his own good. And you're rooming with him, so it makes sense for you to know," Thomas said in a low, tense voice. He went silent as Leon jogged back, looking delighted at a perfect circuit, and Joshua lined up for his turn. "This is going to sound strange and I want you not to judge him, please."

"I would never judge him." Miro was starting to get seriously worried, now. 

"Well..." Thomas hesitated some more, before he finally went for it. "Manu... has a problem."

Miro waited for him to continue as the team started yelling with laughter at Jerome, who had got his foot stuck in the net and was swearing loudly, trying to prise himself free.

"What sort of problem?" he asked, when it became clear Thomas would need prompting.

"Well..." He rubbed his nose. "It's a... it's, well... it's a night problem. A mental one. He's doesn't have a mental illness or anything, but... he has... well, he has nightmares."

Miro did not say anything, waiting patiently once more for Thomas to elaborate. The younger man was fidgeting a lot now, twiddling with his thumbs, unconsciously reaching to the back of his head to smooth down his hair, and glancing again at where the goalkeepers were gathered.

"They're not small nightmares," he said finally. "They're not just your occasional bad dream. They're... they're quite bad. They get worse in stressful times."

Miro's eyes softened. 

"He... he kind of... he reacts to them badly." Thomas nervously bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as Jerome finally released himself and raised his middle finger for everyone laughing to see, causing Jogi to tell him to do thirty push-ups as punishment. "He... he screams. A lot. And he cries. And thrashes around. And it's hard to wake him from them."

Now Miro understood. He understood Manu's reaction to Jogi forcing them to change roommates, and his anger at Thomas for trying to get Jogi to let them off. He felt a wave of sympathy rise inside of him, but Thomas hadn't finished speaking. It was clear he was venting something he hadn't spoken to anyone about.

"When we first roomed together, it was scary. It was so hard to get him out of that world he was in. As we grew closer and had a better bond with each other, it became easier for me to calm him down when he had one. But it's still difficult for me to do it now. It just hurts so much, Miro, so much, to see him in pain. To see how the anxiety gets to him. I've tried to tell him to get help, but he thinks they'll mock him, they'll stigmatise him for talking about his problems, that footballers shouldn't show vulnerability, and it's bullshit. He doesn't want anyone to know about it. That's why I was glad to see you were rooming with him, you're so kind, and you wouldn't judge him, and I know nobody else on this team would, but you're just more... more..." He didn't seem to be able to find a word for it. 

"I completely understand, Mulli," Miro said very softly- Thomas had to strain his ears to hear, as there was a surge of noise. Mats had just joined the rest of them after having finished his laps, grinning devilishly at Marco as he was forced to continue running.  "You don't want people to find out that Manu has this problem, sometimes it can feel very scary, knowing that other people are aware of your biggest vulnerabilities, especially when you're on such a huge public stage, and everything you do is scrutinised. I won't pretend that mental health problems are widely acknowledged in football. We're making developments in the sport, but hell, even wider society is less understanding of it. However, I really think that things won't change unless you try to speak out. Manu will continue to be miserable if he doesn't take the leap of faith and trust that others can help him."

"I know," Thomas said miserably. "But Manu thinks the media will never let it go, that fans would mock him, that he'd be the goalkeeper who's afraid. I haven't been able to persuade him otherwise. I've tried to tell him that mental health is such a serious issue, but he just... he just says that they're just nightmares, I can handle them."

Miro nodded in understanding. He understood the mindset. "But Manu must understand that mental health is just as important as physical health. To be a footballer requires just as much mindpower as it does physical power. But, of course, it's also more than football. He needs to be true to himself as Manu, not Manuel Neuer, Germany's number one goalkeeper."

"Yeah," Thomas said sadly. "You're right. I wish he could realise it."

"He could," Miro said gently. "He just needs time, and support. I know he doesn't want to talk to people about it, but perhaps you could ease him into a mindset where he trusts other people. Perhaps, as we're roommates for the rest of this break, I might get an opportunity to speak with him. If he has a nightmare, he could confide in me about it. And I could help to persuade him to get some help. It might be a long and painful process. Aller Anfang ist schwer. But once he's taken that first step, he'll find that it's easier to take many others."

Thomas was smiling in a rather watery way. "Oh, Miro. I knew it was a good idea to talk to you. Thank you so much."

"Don't worry, Mulli," Miro murmured, giving Thomas a brief hug. "We're a team. I'm always here to help my teammates, I have been for fifteen years. Thank you for telling me about this. Maybe now we can start to help Manu, and I'll be there for him if he has a nightmare again."

Before Thomas could burst into tears at his idol's expansive kindness, Jogi blasted his whistle.

"Klose, Müller, you're doing an awful lot of chatting over there!" he said threateningly. "You're up next for the circuits!"

Miro squeezed Thomas's elbow as Thomas quickly brushed his fist over his eyes, and then the two of them headed towards the circuits.

***

"Will you stop it!" Marco cried, as Mats dispossessed him for the fifth time with a superb standing tackle.

Mats, who had taken control of the ball and casually flicked it backwards, smiled smugly. "What's the problem, Reus? Having trouble with the ball?"

As it turned out, Marco was having trouble with the ball. Perhaps spurred by every injustice Marco had ever inflicted upon him, Mats had made it his personal mission to steal the ball off of him at every opportunity during one of their practice half-field games. Jerome hadn't fared so well, having been nutmegged by Joshua, who was crowing about it to anyone who was listening. Why had he decided to become a world class defender when he was facing Marco of all people?

"Good work, Hummels," Jogi called approvingly from the side, where he had watched Mats dispossess Marco. "Not so good work, Boateng."

Jerome gave Mats a filthy look, mirroring Marco perfectly, before returning to his position.

Mats reacted to Jogi's praise by placing a hand on his heart and acting as though the man had just offered him a knighthood. It was a reaction on par with Marco's best melodrama, and the forward didn't like it one bit. He hated receiving a taste of his own medicine- it tasted bitter and infuriating and he wanted to vomit it out onto Mats's stupid ugly face.

"Let's try it again, shall we?" Mats asked sweetly, as Marco stormed back to his own position with the ball beneath his feet. Oh, he was going to nutmeg the stupid, cocky bastard and score through the cones if it was the last thing he did. And if he didn't, well, dispossessing Marco would be the last thing Mats did.

Come on, Reus, he thought to himself, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, getting ready to show Mats up. You're a yellow and black god. You're a hornet. Sting him right where it hurts.

He set off dribbling, his lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Mats had come out to meet him again. Surprise him, Marco thought. Feint. 

He made as though he was going to take the ball to the left, but instead moved to the right, but instead moved back to the left again in a double feint that would've beaten any defender. Mats, however, had anticipated his move correctly, and had slid to get the ball. But Marco managed to jump over him and keep control, and yelled in triumph, making his pursuit towards the cone. But then, out of nowhere, Jerome stole the ball from him, passing it back to Mats, who was grinning.

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Marco yelled, as Jerome took a bow.

"Yes, he can," Mats said, high-fiving Jerome. "Better luck next time, Reus. Maybe you need a break, you're looking out of form..."

The obsceneties that poured out of Marco's mouth earned him another lap around the field, and Jerome and Mats bumped shoulders. "Serves him right."

Mesut and Sami, on the other side of things, were taking a break, drinking water. They had just done a vigorous passing drill, with Mesut by far excelling and Sami looking to work on his long balls. They were pleased with the day's work, however, and couldn't stop grinning as they drained the ice cold drinks and poured some over their faces.

"You're looking amazing, Mes, honestly," Sami said earnestly. once he had run his hands through his short hair and brushed some water from his forehead. "If you take this form back to Arsenal, you'll really be able to shape things up again, maybe get that away win versus Bournemouth."

"STOP." Mesut threw some water over Sami, and the central midfielder raised his arms over his head to protect himself. "But thanks, Sami. You're not looking too shabby yourself. That diagonal pass nearly gave me an orgasm."

It was a lewd comment that Sami responded to by choking halfway through a sip of water. Though why was he doing it? He had heard worse. "It's the only time you'll see play that good, heh?"

Mesut launched himself at Sami and started hitting him, but Sami easily restrained him by grabbing his wrists and putting him in a headlock. Best friends or not, Arsenal taunts were the way to set Mesut off.

Jogi walked past as they were wrestling. Without even looking at them, he said, "Do you want to join Reus on his fifth extra lap, Özil and Khedira?"

"We're good, Jogi," Mesut said instantly, at the same time Sami said, "Mes, does, Jogi, he needs to keep up his dropping form."

What Mesut said next had him joining Marco, who grinned at him in greeting as he approached.

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Fips: Everybody.

Fips: I don't know where you all are but I can't make this announcement at dinner so I have to use this godforsaken group chat.

Fips: I don't like going against our esteemed coach.

Fips: But sometimes you have to put your foot down.

Fips: We need to change our rooming arrangements.

Marco: a big agree

Mats: aw, i thought we were ROOMIES

Basti: i'm offendd i want to room with lukas but?? what s wrong with me?

Fips: Okay not all of us.

Fips: I mostly mean Mats and Marco.

Jerome: y

Jerome: its funny

Fips: Jerome it is not.

Fips: Was that razor fiasco funny?

Marc-Andre: Yes

Basti: yes

Lukas: yes

Mario Got: yes

Marco: yes

Mats: fuckdg no

Bernd: i wasn't there but it SOUNDED funny so a yes from me

Marc-Andre: Lol you weren't there

Bernd: 

Jonas: Kind of

Jonas: It was also kind of terrifying

Benni: Honestly it IS funny but it's also stupid

Benni: And I know I'm meant to be completely exasperated by this

Benni: (I am)

Benni:  BUt there are just some losing battles Fips

Fips: We can easily just swap Marco or Mats with somebody.

Jerome: i think the fuck not

Jerome: nobody agree with him

Jerome: we need them to be together to witness Drama on a big Scale

Leon: nobody agrees with fips anyway

Leon: besides jogi threatened us with benchness for our next fixture if we did

Leon: he might make us do it again as well

Leon: besides if this goes catastrophically wrong he'll see it was a mistake to mix us up in the first place

Jonas: I don't think it's catastrophic, I mean we all get along

Jonas: Apart from Mats and Marco of course

Joshua: jonas sweetie you can't break up the gays

Julian D: They conspire

Julian D: They get aggressive

Julian D: Just look at Marc-Andre

Marc-Andre: F

Marc-Andre: O

Marc-Andre: R

Marc-Andre: T

Marc-Andre: H

Marc-Andre: E

Marc-Andre: L

Marc-Andre: O

Marc-Andre: V

Marc-Andre: E

Marc-Andre O

Bernd: nobody likes u

Marc-Andre: F

Marc-Andre: G

Marc-Andre: O

Marc-Andre: D

Marc-Andre: YOU SON OF A BITCH BERND

Julian B: are u serious bernd

Julian B: es war perfekt

Julian B: im actually annoyed at u for breaking up that perfect arrangement of letters

Bernd: what was i going to do? let him look impressive?

Marco: he doesn't need you to let him look impressive

Bernd: listen here

Fips: Every time.

Fips: Every time I try to say something of importance.

Fips: The conversation goes off into a land of stupidity and incompetence.

Fips: Every. Single. Time.

Fips: It's my entire life.

Fips: Just you all wait.

Fips: It will come and bite you in the ass.

Fips: It always does.

Fips: This arrangement is bad news.

Jerome: what's the worst that can happen smh

Jerome: we'll live

Leon: famous last words?

Chapter Text

Thomas had just finished towelling off his hair when he realised he was not alone in the changing room.

As he raised his head and looked upon the other person in the room, he felt a strange new sensation of wariness. There was Manu, standing in front of him, a tentative look on his face, his lips quirked up at the sides in an uncertain smile.

"Hey," Thomas said, his voice slightly rough- he hadn't used it in a while (which meant for about thirty minutes). "You good?"

"Ja," Manu said softly. "Und du?"

"Mir geht's gut."

The two of them looked at each other for a while, before Manu's eyes creased and he laughed. It was a deep, warm laugh that had Thomas laughing too. The two of them walked towards eachother, Manu taking Thomas's head in his hands- which was odd, he was usually the far more shy of the two of them- and leaned forwards to kiss him. The kiss lasted several moments and it spoke of a denial of the truth that was lingering in both of their heads. When they pulled apart, Thomas almost didn't want Manu to say what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry."

"Nein," Thomas said quietly, shaking his head. "What is there to apologise for? I understand your anger."

"It wasn't anger," Manu said in a pained voice. "It was... it was pig-headedness. I shouldn't have ignored you today. I'm sorry. I just didn't want to accept what you were saying, or to feel like I was being, being a burden."

"You're never a burden." Thomas caressed the side of Manu's face, his face sad. "But you know that what I'm saying... It can't be ignored."

"Of course I know," Manu said quietly. He looked agonised for a moment. "I've been thinking about what to do. I don't want anyone to know about this. If we went to Jogi and asked him to let us change the rooming arrangements, he'd want to know why. And then it'd be a cycle of you should get therapy, a footballer can't feel like this, blah blah blah. I don't want to deal with that. I don't want Miro to deal with it either."

"You can't keep hiding," Thomas murmured. "It'll come out eventually. You know it will."

Manu nodded. "Yeah, I do. And I don't know what I'll do what it does. I just can't deal with it right now. This... this is the worst time to deal with it. People are questioning me already. What will they do when they find out I'm a certified loony-"

"Don't call yourself that-"

"Is it normal, Thomas?" Manu said wearily, which was almost worse than him snapping. "Is it normal to see such things? I live a priviliged life. I'm a rich footballer. There are people who have it worse than me. They'll wonder what the hell is wrong with me that I see such violent, horrible things in my sleep. Then they'll say I'm weak. That I can't handle the pressure. That I should be grateful that I have things so easy. That I should deal with the imaginary bad because I have the real good."

"They are full of shit," Thomas said coldly. "This isn't about what other people think. Mental health is just as important as physical health, Manu!"

Manu actually chortled, as if he didn't think Thomas was being serious. Thomas felt infuriated. "Oh, really. Ha! Like anybody cares about that. I'm here to catch balls and save my team from losing. That's all anybody cares about me for. For a few moments per game I'm forced to come to life and if I make a mistake then I'm worthless. They don't give a good god damn about my mental health."

"What will make you understand?" Thomas said frustratedly. "Others don't matter! It's about you!"

Sighing, Manu pressed his forehead against Thomas's. "Thommy, this is stupid. We just keep going around in circles and fighting about this. I can deal with it. I've been dealing with it for a while. It's just a minor inconvenience compared to the multitude of shit things that happens in the world. What is telling others going to achieve? Oh, Manuel Neuer has nightmares, just like plenty of other people in the world, stop the press, waste people's time."

Thomas stared at Manu in disbelief. How much pride could one person have?

"We should go to join the others," Manu said firmly, before Thomas could disabuse him of these notions. "I'm starving, that training session really took it out of me. You good with that?"

No, Thomas thought angrily, but Manu's expression was so closed off he knew there was no point of arguing further. He just hoped Miro would be able to penetrate Manu's thick armour of denial and get him to stop avoiding the obvious goddamned truth. And he was meant to be the obstinate one.

"Fine," he said flatly, taking Manu's outstretched hand and resisting the urge to squeeze it overly hard. "Lass uns gehen."

***

By the time dinner rolled around and everyone was finally in one place again, having dispersed after training (the couples, mostly, wanted time alone), Mats was at his breaking point. Although he had schooled Marco thoroughly in the half-field defensive maneuvers for a while, the bastard had nutmegged him during a proper practice game after a momentary lapse of concentration, and Marco had scored from it. Jogi, who had been yelling criticisms for everyone to hear during the game, had actually given him praise for the move, and Marco had not stopped crowing about it ever since.

"I outdid myself," Marco said smugly, through a mouthful of bread, but then he paused, as if in thought. "No, wait. I'm always this good. So what I really mean is, I did myself."

Mats pointed at Marco with his knife, almost knocking over his glass of water. "You, Reus, I would sell to the devil for a single breadcrumb of schnitzel."

"My net worth is higher than yours by like eight million-"

"One breadcrumb!" Mats yelled, accidentally spraying himself with sprouts.

"Close your mouth when you're eating," Benni scolded, passing him a napkin. "Seriously, can't you two give it a rest for a single moment?"

"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit. So I can't stop, Benedikt," Marco declared, stealing a potato from Mario's plate and wincing as he got jabbed in the side as payback.

Sami leaned forwards thoughtfully to take a sip of water, as Mats spluttered indignantly. There was only so much arrogance one man could display before they collapsed like a Jenga tower of carefully hidden self-doubt. What was Marco insecure about?

"Excellent is a habit, huh?" Sami said pensively, a spark of deviousness in his eyes that Mesut read correctly. "Explains a lot about-"

"If you finish that sentence I will take the fork I am holding in my right hand and impale both of your eyes. I will withdraw your eyes from your skull. Then I will dip your eyes in sauce and eat them," Mesut said serenely. 

Sami took Mesut's right hand (the man blinked), and moved it towards his eyes, his expression completely challenging. "Do it, pussy."

Mesut's eyes narrowed. "Don't test me, Khedira."

The two of them did not break eye contact for several moments. Those around them were staring in open mouthed disbelief as they observed the waves of sexual tension that had suddenly crashed around the dining room. It consumed everything. Even Jogi looked slightly windswept from his spot at the end of the table. Eventually, Mario proved to be the weakest link once again, slamming his head down onto the table with his shoulders silently heaving, as Marco slung an arm around his shoulder in utmost solidarity for his plight. Jerome buried his face in his glass of water, but emerged again, hiccoughing.

As always, it was Sami again who noticed that everyone was staring, and by extension, silently howling with mirth, and he dropped Mesut's arm so suddenly it slammed onto the table. Mesut looked surprised, especially as Sami's cheeks were dusted with pink, but he shrugged and returned to his food. Jerome suddenly stood up, claiming that he had to go and talk to Thomas about something, and limped away because he was doubled over with laughter.

It was getting out of control. It seemed that every single exchange with Sami and Mesut these days would be fraught with sexual tension that would never be resolved. One day Mario's ribs would actually split. Though, if Sami was beginning to notice...

Perhaps it would take after-game euphoria to boost them forwards. Maybe this Nations League would be a perfect way to get a big international win, and maybe Sami and Mesut would, in the passion and emotions of the aftermath, would look at each other and realise, this wouldn't have been half as enjoyable without each other... 

Though, Marco thought wisely, as he always did- they might be stuck in some sort of warped recurrence. Maybe things like this would just keep on happening, and in the end it would amount to nothing. Maybe the separation of club life from an international career would make it difficult to keep a consistent feeling of hidden horniness. Maybe every time they left for their respective countries and returned to each other again, they would be back to stage one- absolute fucking denial.

It was all about breaking the deadlock. They were stuck in a sort of dance, like a constant tap-dance that never ceased, a consistent movement but never any settlement. It was like running on a treadmill- you never went anywhere. Something needed to happen to shatter the glass table- ceiling? Whatever it was. And when the painted world of straightness was removed, perhaps Sami and Mesut would realise that what they needed was each other.

But it was difficult taking that first step into intimate love, Marco was aware of that. It could take courage, especially because it meant admitting things to yourself you had never thought about. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Marco had not thrown himself at Mario's feet and instantly declared his love. He had thought about himself, about what he wanted to share, about how he wanted his life to be. Being a professional footballer meant you had certain committments and dedications. It was something of a selfish sport despite being a team sport. You wanted the best for yourself, that's how you got into the game. Transfers were difficult to deal with, especially with a significant other. There was never a firm feeling of being settled down, never a desire to settle down. The Bayern/Dortmund Mario saga was an example of that... and it had not been pretty.

But, he thought to himself, tilting his head thoughtfully to the side, if anyone could break through those barriers, it was those two. They had the love inside of them. They had respect (mostly) for each other's careers. They had dealt with being apart. They had an unbreakable friendship. They just needed to realise that life was short and few people made such a huge impact on your life. You had to take a leap into faith sometimes, even if you were scared. Perhaps it would not be long now.

He felt a nudge in his side and looked up. Mario was looking at him curiously. "You've been conspiciously silent, baby. What are you thinking about?"

Marco thought fast. "Dick."

"How profound," Mario said, having laughed in surprise. "Well, you're not going to get any for a while, because of a certain arrangement..."

"Says who?" Marco demanded. "Mats doesn't mind if you sneak into our room-"

"Yes. Yes he does. I don't know how you could possibly think he wouldn't."

"We can always get up there after dinner," Marco said slyly, ignoring Mats spluttering. "I feel like I haven't reminded you how much I love you recently... And life's too short to not tell you it every day..."

He looked at Sami out of the corner of his eyes. The man was not paying attention to their conversation. Instead, he was staring down at his plate, with Mesut's head rested on his shoulder as they spoke to one another.

***

That evening, they watched England face off Croatia in a Nations League game- or rather, trash talked England as they lazily chatted with one another about this and that. It was the best kind of night for Fips- it seemed that everyone didn't have the energy to be uproariously stupid, just faintly stupid, and that was acceptable, he supposed. He himself was contentedly drinking a glass of water while watching England's midfield failing to create and half talking to Robert, who Jerome had on a video call.

"How are you, cap'n?" Robert asked, the brightness of his smile even evident through the video call. "Faring with the team alright?"

"As well as one can," Fips said honestly. "Which is to say, not well at all. It's bad enough dealing with the Bayern lot. It seems like Germany consistently produces complete toddlers in their lineups."

"You love us real- you have a healthy resp- you tolera- you're aware of our existence?" Jerome had to correct himself three times, as Fips reacted to everything he said with a look. 

"Too right I'm aware of your existence," Fips said darkly, as Lukas launched a paper aeroplane across the room that managed to poke him on the nose. He picked up the aeroplane, tore it into two, and placed it neatly onto the arm of the sofa as Lukas made an annoyed noise and set to making another one to throw at someone else.

Robert laughed loudly, and the expression on Jerome's face was sickeningly soft. None of these people had any spine, these days. A laugh could turn them into mush. "You shouldn't be complaining, cap. We're winning for you, aren't we? You wouldn't have the Champions League to your name without u- well, no, actually, not me. Them."

"Right," Fips said dryly, as Robert looked suddenly glum. "If you had to deal with Mats and Marco, you wouldn't be so complacent, mark my words."

"Why, what have they done now?" Robert asked eagerly. 

"Oh!" Jerome let out a strangled laugh. "I completely forgot to tell you. Marco and Mats got forced into rooming with each other."

"What?" Robert burst out laughing. "Whose stroke of genius was that?"

"Jogi's." Fips scowled. "I knew from the second he told us we were changing rooming arrangements that those two would end up together. It's Murphy's Law. In this team, it's the only fucking law that applies to this dimension. Everything goes wrong. It was poetic, really."

Robert was still laughing, wiping his eyes. "Jeri, I expect a full report."

"You've got it, baby." Jerome winked.

"Look, Marco, it'd be one thing if you were just an average, run of the mill dickhead who's easy to ignore. But instead you're an average, run of the mill dickhead who makes it your sole purpose to gain attention and be annoying. You're barely even a regular, functioning person. You're just narcisissm in a bag of skin and calcium-deficient bones-"

"And you, you're like, like a twelve on the fucking-boring-garbage-person-ometer, you're, you're so dense light bends around you!"

Robert roared with mirth, having heard Marco's insult float through the screen. "Okay, you can't deny, Marco's good at this."

"Then, Lewandowski, you and I have vastly different meanings of the word 'good'. 'Good' for me is maturity, quiet enjoyment and acknowledgement that we are leading adult lives."

"And 'good' to me is having fun in life."

"That's where you and Fips part ways," Jerome chuckled, as Fips gave them a burning look. Overall, he was quite sure his idea was fun was far different from Lewandowski's idea of fun, or the rest of this damn team's idea of fun, and that, he thought wryly to himself, was a relief.

***

It was nighttime. Manu had been watching time tick away with apprehension as the team had lazed around in the common room, and now Jogi had poked his head into the room, demanding that they all get to sleep for a long day of training tomorrow. Thomas had given Manu a look that spoke a thousand words, trying to reassure him. Manu responded with a shrug that managed to eloquently express his resignation to the fact he would not be sleeping that night, and that he had made his peace with exhaustion. Sadly, from the outside, it still looked like a shrug.

"I love you," Thomas whispered, wrapping his arms around Manu's neck, his lips just touching his boyfriend's skin, causing warmth to travel throughout Manu's body. "You'll be okay. You'll be safe. I love you."

"Mm," was all Manu said back, kissing Thomas back.

He walked past Marco and Mario, who were also wrapped up in each other, and Mesut and Sami, who gave each other a hug, and entered his room. Miro was already there, stretching and yawning, wearing his night clothes. He was tired. Think about that, Manu. When he saw Manu, he gave a tentative smile. 

"Hello, Manu, are you feeling alright?" he asked, pulling back his bedsheets. Manu offered a non-committal nod in response, rummaging for his toothbrush.

"Yeah, I'm great," he said, pulling out his brush and some toothpaste. He didn't like hotel toothpaste. "Just gonna go, and, get ready for bed. For a long, refreshing night of sleep. Ready for feeling, um, well-rested."

What was that? he asked himself, as he turned around and lumbered to the bathroom, feeling Miro's eyes on his back. He made sure he took his time, applying his toothpaste to his brush with military precision, and practically attacking his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. There was a simple solution to his problems. All he needed to do was not sleep. He wasn't sure why the genius idea hadn't occurred to him in all his hours of panicking. It was easy! All he had to do was watch an entire box-set on his phone, or scroll mindlessly on social media, or even engage in bayern won the bundesliga. He had heard a fact about how blue light emitted from phones could keep you awake. It was simple, clever, and everyone benefitted. He benefitted from not having a nightmare, Miro benefitted from not waking up, Thomas benefitted from not having to be worried sick...

When he returned to his room, Miro was already under the covers. "I'm an old man, Manu. I can't stay up until four A.M, sorry to disappoint."

"Ha, don't worry about it. If you stayed up too late we'd have to bring out the walker in training."

A pillow found Manu's head. Manu tossed it back.

"As a matter of fact, I am going to sleep," Manu announced, drawing back his bedcovers with an almost indecent verve. "I am going to climb into bed and fall into a slumber and when I wake up I'll feel fresh and renewed."

Miro peered at Manu from where he was lying in bed. "Good to hear it."

Manu smiled back at him until Miro flipped the light-switch, plunging the room into darkness. His easy grin slid off his face like mud.

Easy, Manu, he thought to himself, taking out his phone. All you have to do is stay awake.

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Manu: Proposition

Manu: I think we should ban nighttime

Jonas: It is 3 in the morning Manu

Manu: Exactly my point

Manu: It is 3 in the morning

Marc-Andre: What's the point in there?

Toni: I really need to turn my vibrator off.

Manu: No, don't

Manu: You need to be woken up from the sham we call sleep

Manu: Wait did you say vibrator

Toni: Why did humans build autocorrect

Manu: First of all I GIGGLED that tickled me

Manu: Second of all

Manu: I need thoughts on this proposition

Manu: Consider what sleep actually is

Manu: It's like, 5 hours of the day where you're unconscious and doing nothing productive

Manu: Life is too short to waste time on it

Manu: What if during sleep, there's a supernova or something, but nobody sees it because they're all closing their eyes and being stupid

Marco: did u get ur hands on alcohol

Marco: because if u did im coming to ur room

Manu: No

Manu: I'm drunk on careful thought, my friend

Manu: Late night is the best time for serious contemplation

Manu: I think we should do everything at night

Marco: i do some things at night

Marco: because it's socially unacceptable to do it in broad daylight and in public apparently

Toni: That is... disgusting

Marco:  it's human.

Manu: But do you see my point

Manu: Life could end tomorrow

Manu: We could, like, die and what if we died in our sleep

Manu: That would be horrible

Manu: The last thing you'd be doing is drooling unproductively

Manu: So that's my motion, ban sleeping

Toni: Manu, my motion will be violently strangling you.

Manu: You're not well-versed in the art of late-night thoughtfulness, Toni.

Manu: Violent threats aren't philosophical and outside the box.

Toni: Your head will be outside the box

Manu: You're right it is

Manu: My thoughts are so innovative

Manu: After football I'll be an inventor

Manu: An inventor of good ideas

Marco: manu seriously lead me towards whatever ur wasted on right now

Marco: it'll help blot out the tide of relentless entropy that is life

Marco: and the sound of mats snoring

Marco: i kind of want to get two cotton buds and put them up his nose

Manu: That's also not late-night thoughtfulness

Manu: That's just stupidity

Marco: i'll have u know

Marco: i'm coasting towards enlightenment

Marco: the sight of mats looking stupid is what fills me with contentment

Marco:

Manu: Marco

Manu: You are stupid

Marco: speak for yourself

Marco: im not the one who's somehow found a way to get off their face

Marco: seriously i could do with a drink please manu.

Manu: Again

Manu: I'm not off my face

Marc-Andre: Yeah well

Marc-Andre: You sure sound like it

Marc-Andre: Go to sleep

Manu: No

Manu: It's against my principles

Manu: You guys are awake anyway

Toni: Yes, because you woke us up

Manu: I was doing you a favour

Marco: honey

Marco: go to sleep

Manu: Not for the wide world

Manu: You guys are all weak

Manu: This is why I'm the best goalkeeper of all time

Manu: No offence Marc-Andre

Manu: I can withstain anything

Marc-Andre: What does withstain mean

Marc-Andre: Do you mean withstand

Manu: It means you're in love with Bernd

Manu: Erbsenzähler

Marc-Andre: Look

Marc-Andre: Your late night thoughtfulness is more like late night dumbassery at this point

Marc-Andre: I'll let that comment pass because you're clearly going through something

Manu: That's where you're wrong amigo

Manu: The only thing I'm going through is a self revelation

Marc-Andre: Existential crisis?

Manu: That's literally the opposite of what I said

Manu: I'm completely fine

Manu: You're all just boring

Manu: Hosenscheißeren

Marc-Andre: Whatever you say, Manu.

Marc-Andre: What am I even doing talking to you

Marc-Andre: I'm probably going to be starting in 2 days i need to be fit

Marc-Andre: Goodnight Manu sweet dreams

Manu: BAD night

***

The next morning, Thomas woke up at around seven o'clock completely naturally, his internal body clock probably setting an alarm to alert him to worry about Manu. He groped for his phone, picking it up to check to see if he had received any texts in the middle of the night. He hadn't. Instead, bayern won the bundesliga had many new notifications.

Thomas's eyebrows continuously raised as he scrolled through Manu's late night texts, and all the jigsaw pieces fell into place. And he sighed, very deeply, as he realised his boyfriend had combatted the night's bad dreams by not sleeping at all.

"Oh, Schatz," he murmured to himself, as Mario turned in his bed with a grunt. "That's how you're going to play it. You idiot."

He swiped through his apps and then found his last conversation with Miro, which had been about the impracticality of skirts. He started tapping out a message.

Private chat between Thomas Müller and Miroslav Klose

Thomas: hey

Thomas: u awake

Miro: I a

Miro: I am now

Thomas: let me guess what ur typing rn is that manu isn't in bed

Miro: Yes

Miro: He is not here

Thomas: did he sleep at all?

Miro: I am not sure

Miro: I fell asleep

Miro: Sorry Thomas

Miro: I wasn't woken by nihtmare .

Thomas: don't worry miro don't apologise

Thomas: that idiot didn't sleep

Thomas: fuck if he's going to be THAT LEVEL OF STUBBORN

Thomas: im pissed

Miro: Just saw group chat

Miro: Silly boy

Miro: Should I find him

Thomas: no

Thomas:  i will

Thomas: u just relax and go back to sleep

Miro: Ok

Miro: If you end me i will help

Thomas: what

Miro: If you nee d me I will help

Thomas: you got it

Chapter Text

It didn't take Thomas long to find his boyfriend- not that he was expecting it to. Manu was sitting alone on a sofa in the dimly lit common room when Thomas entered it, staring blankly at the TV, with his eyes bloodshot and a heartbreaking look of despair on his face. 

Thomas did not speak as he walked over to the sofa, settling himself besides Manu. In a similar vein, Manu did not acknowledge him. For a few minutes the two of them silently watched an advert involving a woman washing her hair with orange scented shampoo, and then Manu mumbled something. But it was in such a small, strangled voice that Thomas didn't hear what was being said.

"What did you say?" he asked softly, his eyes slowly turning from the brand name flashing on the screen to his boyfriend's broken expression. Manu's eyes were twitching. It was clear he was forcing them open.

"I said... 'm sorry," Manu croaked, his voice rough from tiredness. "'M such a goddamn idiot."

"I'm not disagreeing." Thomas's voice wasn't harsh. The white-hot anger he had been feeling as he had strode out of his room to find his boyfriend had faded at the sight of him looking so small. "I can't believe you. Of all the things you decide to do, you decide not to sleep at all. Are you even aware of how much of a wreck you look? You're shaking. Jesus Christ, Manu."

Manu leaned forwards, rubbing his eyes whilst making a discontented noise. Indeed, there was a slight tremor in his hands, and his leg was bopping nervously up and down. There was a sort of exhausted energy about him, like his body was using up the last of its stores of strength and was soon set to be running on empty. Thomas watched him for a while, trying to combat the waves of powerful frustration that had returned inexplicably by keeping his expression decidedly neutral, biting down the urge to start screaming at his boyfriend at the top of his voice.

"I know it was stupid," Manu said finally, giving Thomas a look that was almost pleading. "But what was I to do?"

"What were you to do?" Thomas asked in cold disbelief. A muscle was now jumping in his jaw. "I don't know, Manu. Take care of yourself, maybe? How are you expecting to train while you're in this condition?"

He really didn't give a good god damn about training, but he had finally come to the conclusion that trying to sway Manu with personal, emotional arguments wasn't likely to be effective. Perhaps targetting his professional life, the football side of things, would be a better way to get him to see the consequences of his actions. He was trying his damnedest not to be argumentative- if he sounded overly angry, it would give Manu more incentive to be defensive rather than listen to him. Perhaps making him feel guilty would work better than trying to get him to see reason.

"I'm not starting versus Russia."

Thomas actually laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you serious? That's your reasoning? You're not starting, so you're perfectly obligated to mess yourself up?"

Manu flinched at the ice in his tone, and leaned away from him. "It means that I have more leeway to."

"And when Jogi yells at you the length of Dortmund for not playing well?"

"It's better than the alternative," Manu said quietly. "I don't care what Jogi says to me, I didn't want to burden Miro, I didn't want to cause any trouble. I've said it time and time again, it'd only bring up awkward questions."

"That's what you're more worried about?" Thomas shook his head, taking a deep breath to control his frustration. "Du bist unglaublich, Manuel."

Manu flinched again at the use of his full name. "Was willst du von mir?"

"You know what I want."

"Well, you're not going to get it!" Manu hissed, now sounding fierce. The expression on his face was somewhat scary- his bloodshot, dilated eyes burned with anger. "We keep going around and around in circles! I''m getting goddamn sick of it! I don't want to talk to anyone about this! I don't like thinking about my nightmares, Thomas! It's bad enough experiencing them! Dwelling on them only increases the power they have over me! They're terrifying! They make me feel sick! It's not so easy to just start a conversation about them and pour out all the... all the horrifying things I see in them!"

Thomas's face softened considerably, and a seed of guilt was sown inside of his stomach. But he didn't back down. "I know, Manu. I know how terrifying they are, they scare me hearing about them. And I know you just want to act like they don't exist. But if you don't do something about it, you'll be stuck in this predicament forever. Starting is always the hardest part, but once you take that hard first step you can take many others!"

"You keep saying that you know it's a difficult first step, but you're still pressuring me to talk about it as if it's as easy as telling a doctor I have a stomach-ache!" Manu exclaimed, throwing his head backwards against the wall and closing his eyes. "You don't understand! You think that the only thing that matters is how I feel, but that's just a naive way to look at things! Our whole job, our career, is about putting on a performance! Millions of spectators follow us, they get invested in our game, they watch our best moments and our worst! They're putting money into watching us play, we have the capacity to uplift their spirits! How would it be, if people found out that I have nightmares like these, had thoughts that run so darkly? Do you think it'd be pressure-free and entirely understanding? Of course not! They'd think I was, I was fucking insane! They'd stigmatise me, they'd call me weak, they'd want me out for risking the team's performances with my, my problems!

"Do you know what I dreamed about the night before the France match, Thomas? I dreamed that the crowd were rabid, that they were tearing my teammates, my friends, apart limb from limb, while all I could do was watch from my goalpost! They came for you and they ripped you to pieces right in front of my eyes, and then they turned to me! Do you even understand what it's like to see things like that almost every night? To feel so set upon? It's not as easy as you think to just up and get help for it! They say it's confidential but something like this would never go ignored!  I can't risk it, Thomas! Everything I've worked for, all these years, could be tainted if this knowledge gets out! And it's not just dreams! This constant anxiety, this fear, it's killing me more than it's killing you! But it's too complicated, going out of my way to, to talk about it with others, okay? Not now!"

He took a breath, opening his eyes again, and Thomas saw they were full of tears. 

Thomas had remained silent throughout the entire outburst, and when Manu finally had finished ranting, his arms, which had been lying limply by his side, reached out to snake around Manu's shoulders. Manu leaned into him, his shoulders silently shaking. 

"I don't know what to do for you," Thomas said hoarsely, as Manu quietly cried. Admitting it felt like a blow to the chest. All this time he had been passionately arguing that Manu should talk privately with someone, but it was clear he had been lacking empathy. He hadn't put himself in Manu's shoes. What seemed like a perfect solution wasn't, as Manu had said, easy to implement.  Saying that he didn't know what to do felt like an admission of giving up. He felt like he was failing Manu. Some situations were too complicated to breach. 

"I don't know either, Thommy," Manu sobbed. "I don't. This is so hard. Football isn't meant to be like this."

Thomas privately agreed. As he held onto Manu, blinking hard himself, he thought that he had reached a point of no return. It seemed that the only way forwards was to keep putting his faith into what Miro had told him. Manu can't stay awake forever. I won't let him. Miro would be able to help, when Manu eventually succumbed to tiredness He alone wouldn't be able to do anything. But there was no way in hell he was going to leave Manu to deal with this forever.

Help us, Opa, he thought. Because I'm not enough anymore. 

***

Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira

Sami: Man Mes I woke up early this morning

Sami: Weird night

Sami: I had this dream

Sami: So you know the beach on Campo Bahia

Sami: There was like a massive tidal wave

Sami: And like everything was floating even the houses

Sami: And we all had to evacuate through helicopters

Sami: And me and u were sharing a helicopter

Sami: But there were no seats??? So we had to like sit on each other???

Sami: And then Marco came to the helicopter and flipped a switch and then it shot into the sky 

Mesut: ok

Mesut: first of all

Mesut: did u take whatever manu took last night on the gc

Mesut: weird ass dream

Mesut: why were we sitting on each other

Mesut: but honestly marco launching us to potential doom seems realistic enough

Sami: Oh wow I wasn't expecting u to be awake lol

Sami: It's like 6 why are you awake

Sami: Also yeah wtf the dream was so weird Jogi was like a runway conductor whatever they're called

Sami: Air traffic person?

Mesut: i was on a video call with oli

Mesut: and idk what the term is actually let me google it

Mesut: it's just air traffic operator

Sami: You were talking with Giroud?

Sami: At 6 in the morning?

Mesut: at like 5 actually lol we j woke up early

Sami: Why were you talking so early

Sami: That's just weird

Mesut: sami you're literally texting me early as well

Mesut: why is it different if u do it lol

Sami: Because we're FRIENDS so it's not weird if I text u at any time

Mesut: you are aware oli is my friend too?

Mesut:

Sami: Yeah well 

Mesut: you're so weird

Mesut: why do i get the feeling that you don't like oli

Sami: Your feeling is wrong

Sami: I don't care about him

Sami: I don't know him so I can't dislike him

Mesut: i guess that's true lol

Mesut: but u have a tendency to dislike people you don't know anyway

Mesut: you disliked laurent for some reason

Sami: I did not dislike koscielny

Mesut: you absolutely disliked koscielny

Sami: Wrong

Sami: Just like with Giroud, I have no opinion

Mesut: sami. i saw your face when you were around him

Mesut: loathing could not begin to describe

Sami: You're just overanalysing

Sami: I have no reason to dislike EITHER of them

Mesut: tell that to lolo

Mesut: even he noticed it

Sami: "Lolo"?

Sami: Maybe I dislike him bc you give him such obnoxious nicknames

Sami: AND because France are like our rivals

Mesut: that's just not true

Sami: It IS

Sami: Don't you remember the fucking euros

Sami: I'm just not getting all pally with the enemy

Mesut: LMAO the enemy

Mesut: most overdramatic thing i've ever heard

Sami: They are the enemy

Sami: They're our opposition

Sami: When we're with our countries they're our enemy!

Mesut: what so are your juve teammates your enemy?

Sami: Yes

Sami: If I faced Mandzo I'd be impartial

Sami: If I faced Paulo I'd be impartial

Sami: Unlike you with Giroud and Koscielny

Sami: You said yourself you'd pass them the ball by accident!!!

Mesut: that's just because you get used to playing with them!!!

Sami: No it's because you're a stupid coconut head

Mesut: you're so annoying

Sami: YOU'RE so annoying

Sami: You and your FRENCH ARSENAL teammates all are

Sami: More like FRENCH LOSER teammates

Sami: Because you're ARSENAL

Mesut: im going to nutmeg u

Sami: Do it

Sami: Try and dispossess me I dare you

Mesut: just u wait

Sami: I'm waiting

Sami: I'll always be waiting

Mesut: UGH save me a seat at breakfast when you go down so i can slap u

Sami: Text me when you're going

Mesut: ok

Mesut: you're the stupid coconut head

Sami: 

***

The sky outside was clear and sunny, but Mats's expression was nothing short of a hurricane warning. As he stalked into the dining room at breakfast, several pairs of eyes followed his approach and multiple grins were exchanged. 

He took a seat directly next to Benni, who looked at him warily. "What did he do?"

"What did he do indeed." Mats' voice was taut, as though he was going to snap at any moment. Benni could sense that he was going to be dealing with a morning full of whining.

A few moments later, Marco appeared in the doorway, looking as though he had found light and nourishment after days of seeing the dark. As always with his approach, everybody's attention turned to him. When he was absolutely sure that everyone was watching him, he flourished his hands dramatically, marched into the dining room and pulled back the seat Marc-Andre had just been about to sit in and stood on it. Behind him traipsed Mario, who was for some reason bright red.

"Everyone," Marco declared, and everyone started jeering and whistling, barring Manu, who was sitting at the other end of the table with his chin buried firmly in his hand, and Miro, who was watching him worriedly out of the corner of his eye. "Please. I know you're excited to see me, but I need absolute silence for my announcement, because it applies to every single one of you."

Marc-Andre's expression was remarkably similar to Jogi's- both of them looked as though they were looking for the easiest route to retirement. Everyone by this point had had absolutely enough of Marco's antics and were ready to boo him off of his self-made stage, but of course, running into a brick wall wouldn't deter him from completing his journey of annoying everyone, let alone their protests.

"Just hurry up, will you?" Marc-Andre said wearily, looking up at Marco, who patted his head.

"Now, now. Bernd loves you back," he said absently, and that got a laugh out of everyone, although Jogi looked very bewildered. Marc-Andre sat down and crossed his legs on the floor, placing his hands on his knees so he looked like he was about to start meditating, or perhaps put himself into a self-induced coma. "Now, is everyone listening?"

"Reus, do you remember yesterday, where you ran five extra laps because of your stupidity?" Jogi asked in a tone that was both inquiring and threatening.

"I do, Coach, I do indeed," Marco said fearlessly, looking his coach directly in the eyes. Jogi wondered how he could have ever thought that Marco was one of the nice, humble, normal ones. He clearly had a problem with character judgement. "However, this is something that concerns you too, so don't be too hasty."

"Oh my God, will you just fucking say it?" Jerome demanded, and everyone agreed vocally, Lukas throwing a napkin at Marco. "Mats is about to burst a blood vessel. Just look at him. Look at his face."

Mats was smiling serenely, but it was a Fips' classic- the calm before the storm. Everyone started giggling once more when they noticed it, even Benni was sympathetically covering his mouth to stop himself from snorting.

"Because Mats is so desperate to hear it," Marco said in tones of mock concern. Mario, behind him, was shaking his head, as if to say, why did I ever think being with this was a good idea?  "Everyone-  this morning, I got laid. That is all."

"Are you serious?" Jerome yelled, as everyone started booing, and Marco stepped down from his podium and looked shocked by all the insults being hurled at him. "That's it? You fraud!"

"Mats was in for a nasty surprise when he came back into our bathroom to get his razor this morning," Marco added.

The penny dropped, and everyone started groaning, some people started cackling, and Mats took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, standing up. Benni pulled him back down, however, before he was going to be forced to join Marco in the three extra laps he had just been condemned to by Jogi- the man did not look remotely abashed, but Mario most certainly did.

***

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Jerome: we're not disgusting are we

Robert: I sure hope you don't think so

Jerome: i don't

Jerome: it's just that

Jerome: some couples just push the boundaries with their grossness

Robert: Marco?

Jerome: how did u even

Robert: Honey it's Marco

Robert: Unfortunately I played with him and fucking gotze

Robert: I know that man too well.

Jerome: um what is that supposed to mean

Jerome: that has weird undertones

Robert: What

Robert: Ew NO

Robert: I don't mean it like that you weirdo

Robert: Don't get worried

Jerome: well as you said

Jerome: it's marco

Jerome: it's not unlikely that he'd have some sort of suspicious background

Robert: Trust me you'd know about it

Robert: Reus isn't the type to be discreet

Robert: Nor is he the type to sleep around tbh

Robert: He's pretty heavily loyal yknow

Jerome: i mean ur right

Jerome: but he gives off such a chaotic energy

Robert: To be honest

Robert: Anyway what did he do?

Jerome: just said that mats walked in on him and mario fucking in the shower or whatever

Jerome: u should have seen matss face LMAOOOO

Jerome: honestly we're not like that

Jerome: we're so normal

Jerome: we're a nice, normal, loving relationship

Jerome: like pda is just diasgusting

Robert: Like ?? There's a time and a place???

Robert: I am eating a sandwich, can you not fjcking do the deed while i just want to enjoy some wholemeal bread, tomatoes and kefir

Jerome: kefir is disgusting

Robert: Your fucking attitude is disgusting

Robert: Don't even ever talk to me

Robert: It's my birthright

Jerome: it tastes so bad

Robert: YOU taste so bad

Jerome: 

Jerome: you aint ever complained before now

Robert:Stop

Robert: Just stop existing tbh

Jerome: if that happened ud be floating alone in a canopy of nothingness

Jerome: u love me

Robert: Fuckign doubtful

Jerome: the only thing in doubt is the your olive green bomber jacket

Robert: JEROME WHAT YOU CAN'T JUST BREACH BOUNDARIES LIKE THIS

Chapter Text

Following yet another breakfast debacle, which had involved Mats bodily hurling a plate of croissants across the table right into Marco's face, which had in turn provoked Marco into throwing a mug of cold coffee back (yet resulting in Jerome getting soaked instead), there were three players running extra laps at the beginning of the day's training session. Jerome had been forced into running in between Marco and Mats, even though he was inclined to kill Marco himself for getting him into this.

"Lovely day," Marco commented, as they passed a corner of the field and Marc-Andre, who was using a stretch-band to pull Ron-Robert's leg back, gave Marco a filthy look. "I can feel the sun invigorating all my pores, kissing my very-"

"Shut up," Jerome advised him. 

"I'm trying to break the monotony of the jog, Jeri, Jesus," Marco said in affronted tones. "I've had to do this like forty eight times over the past two international breaks, and this time it wasn't even my fault. Forgive me for trying to find entertainment for myself."

"What the hell are you talking about, it wasn't your fault?" Mats's policy (which he had proudly declared to Benni before exiting the changing rooms) about ignoring everything Marco had to say, evaporated before they had even finished their first kilometre. "You're literally the entire reason we're here. Everything is always your fault."

"I'd like to wind back an hour ago," Marco bit back. "If I recall correctly, I wasn't the one who picked up a plate of croissants and flung them at me."

"I only picked up the croissants and flung them at you because, as per fucking usual, you were being a huge bastard and kept talking about dicks covered in water," Mats snapped, but he also shivered at the mental image. He didn't like to think about any sort of dick that wasn't Benni's, let alone Marco's. "All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and the world would be fine and dandy, but I guess stopping you from talking shit is like trying to stop a plant taking in sunlight. The only way to do it is draining the blood out of you."

"Wow," Marco gasped, giving Jerome a mockingly astonished look which Jerome reciprocated with a deadpan stare. He wasn't feeling too partial to Marco this morning. "You've upped the wordplay, Mats, maybe soon enough you'll be on the path to getting people to laugh at your jokes. I didn't do anything to you, Hummels, besides talking to my lovely boyfriend-"

"I beg to fucking differ," Jerome said darkly. "My Gucci shirt has a massive coffee stain on it."

"Just stick it in a washing machine, pussy," Marco said impatiently, waving a hand.

"Listen. That shirt cost over a thousand Euros. Anything I say you would regret now, and I would regret later."

"Stop being so obsessed with fashion, then, mein Gott, don't you know that fashion is the industry that is the second-worst for the environm-"

Jerome timed his shove perfectly- Marco yelled and stumbled over a cone that Mario had just been running up to. He and Mats shared a high-five and when Marco returned to them, he looked thoroughly, thoroughly disgruntled.

"You can giggle, Hummels, at that hilarious bit of physical comedy, but you still saw me and Mario pounding it out," he said, scowling, and Mats's smile dropped immediately.

"Don't, Mats, you idiot," Jerome intoned, pushing Mats away again. "Both of you are too much. I swear, it's almost like the author of whatever dumbass dimension this is just tries to make you fight as much as possible. Resist the urge! You're adults!"

"God, I'd swap my newborn and half my wages for a chance to play on a team without him on it," Mats said glumly. 

"You're the changeling, though, you got swapped over from Dortmund," Jerome said reasonably, as Marco's eyes rolled up into the back of his skull. "So you have no choice in the matter."

"Seeing as I'm the actual, Dortmund-blooded prince and not some weird, sickly fairy kid nobody wants," Marco said, rushing to try and find another insult to get himself back into the verbal war. "I'll swap my newborn for a centre-back who actually has heading accuracy."

"While you're at it, get a new prolific winger for us, will you? Bayern, I mean," Jerome said thoughtfully. "I love Arjen and Franck and Kingsley, but God, one of them is always injured. Always. There's no natural squad rotation. Just injury rotation. So that's what I want, hit me up."

Marco winced. "I think you're banking too much on my going rate per kid. I can get you a better centre back- granted, that's easy- but a prolific winger for Bayern? I'm great, but I can't work miracles all the time."

"Are you trying to suggest we've never had a good winger?" Mats asked in a dangerously sweet voice. "Honey, our wingers have won us multiple leagues. The group chat isn't called Dortmund won the bundesliga, is it?" 

It was taking a lot of effort for Jerome to separate the two of them, now. However, a distraction arrived in the shape of Jogi. All three of them in sync saluted their coach as they jogged past him, which prompted their coach to look at them suspiciously. 

"How much have we run?" Jerome groaned, as they finished their second mile. "I don't think I can go on for a second longer. My legs won't be working for the match tomorrow."

"You've managed all this while, you'll be fine," Marco said gently, but Jerome was panting too much to be able to recognise the insult. "We've got another two miles to go."

"I miss Rob," Jerome said as he dragged in more breaths. "Running four miles with him would be a cinch. He makes everything more fun."

Mats groaned. "Don't start talking sappily about Lewy. I swear I'll run ahead of you if you do."

"I'm inclined to agree," Marco said, shuddering. "Lewandowski is just as bad as Hummels in my book. And my book holds equal weight to the-"

"If you even dare say it-"

"Like you can outpace me, Hummels," Jerome said, sentences behind the other two, because he was lost in thought about Robert's smile, and his arms, and the way his legs looked when he was running, and the look of concentration that showed in his blue eyes. "I miss him so much. I wish he was coming to Westfalen to watch us in the match."

"I'm glad he isn't coming. We don't need a tainted presence in our grounds," Marco said in a disgusted voice.

"Why isn't he coming?" Mats asked in surprise. "I mean, club training will be over by then, surely he can come to Dortmund to watch you on..."

Jerome made a face. "Well, I don't think he... well... wants to. I don't know. He didn't really say why he wasn't coming, but he just hasn't been feeling in the mood for it, since, well..."

His voice trailed off, and both Marco and Mats knew he was talking about Poland's unmitigated disaster versus Portugal in the Nations League game. Jerome half-warily glanced at Marco as he spoke his words, but he needn't have. Marco was annoying, but he wasn't cruel. He wasn't laughing. His face was neutral, unlike Mats's sympathetic expression, but Jerome could tell that he wouldn't make fun of  what had happened. At heart, Robert was still his teammate, and that was why he was always disparaging about him, Jerome supposed. He still cared.

"He was fine," Marco said shortly, causing Mats and Jerome to look at him in shock. "Why are you looking at me like that? He was. He was definitely one of their best players on the pitch. Yeah the red and the missed penalty doesn't say much, but the fact was he had loads of chances. It was just luck."

He looked ahead, still unsmiling, but Jerome felt his lips quirk up at the side. Somehow, it was Marco's praise, which was hard to earn (because it was so often directed at himself) that made him feel better about it all. Even Mats was grinning a bit. Marco noticed it, and rushed to disabuse them of the notion that he was being nice.

"Oh, don't look so happy. He's still a dickhead," he said sharply. "Being a good player doesn't mean you're a good person, honestly-"

"Yeah, yeah," Jerome said softly, as Marco tried to tear down any sort of accusation that he still had a semblance of care for his former teammate or anyone in the world. "Whatever you say, Marco."

***

It didn't take long for Jogi to realise something was wrong with Manu. The keeper was slow and sluggish, with his reactions being far from what they usually were. It seemed that none of his shouted criticisms about positioning and focusing were getting into his head either. It was only after Toni took a shot and Manu didn't even dive for it that Jogi blew his whistle. Toni didn't laugh as Manu rubbed his face, looking dejected. He patted Manu on the shoulder as the other man headed towards the coach, ready to get relentlessly criticised, as Marc-Andre took his place in front of goal.

"Neuer," Jogi said flatly, as Manu dragged his feet across the glass and stared at his shoes. "I don't need to tell you what was wrong with that performance, do I?"

"Nein," Manu mumbled. "Es tut mir leid."

"I would shout at you for that piece of terrible play, but I know it's probably got nothing to do with your quality. You look ill, Neuer. Are you sure you're fit enough to be in training? Do you need to go to the medical area and get checked out?" 

Heat rushed to Manu's face as he scuffed at the ground. Did he really look that bad, that Jogi was speaking gently, and suggesting that he go to the medical area, instead of criticising him? Maybe Thomas had been right. "No... I can play on..."

"Are you sure, or are you just saying that because you feel guilty? Because I think you're just saying that because you feel guilty," Jogi said, with a small smile on his face. "Neuer, go to the medical area. You're of no use to us playing like this. Beside, you're most likely not going to be getting minutes in the Russia match. Better you spend some time resting than making yourself more ill."

Manu felt even more embarrassed, but he knew instinctively that Jogi was right and that he was going to have to accept that he couldn't play when he was this crushingly exhausted. But maybe this was a good thing- maybe he could hide somewhere and take a nap, so he would be well-rested to spend the night awake-

No. He couldn't do that. There was every possibility a random staff member would stumble upon him yelling his head off and he really didn't want to be caught in a compromising position. He sighed deeply, wondering why he had been punished to this predicament. He was a good person. He had a kids' foundation, and he tried hard. Yet suffering came to him anyway. Maybe it was some sort of cosmological karma- 

"Off you go, Neuer," Jogi said firmly, and Manu hung his head and turned around to walk away from the field. He wasn't really looking where he was going, wanting to be as discreet as possible so nobody noticed him leaving. In his half blind stumbling, however, he ran into a tall figure, and almost fell to the ground before he was caught by the wrists by a pair of steady hands.

It was Miro. Of fucking course it was Miro. "Careful, there, Manu, are you okay?"

Manu swore inwardly. So much for nobody noticing him. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Are you going somewhere?" Miro asked, his eyebrows creased in concern. Manu hated that look. It made him feel like he was just causing unneccessary worry to people. But he supposed in his current state, with his eyes so badly twitching and his knees wobbling as he moved from tiredness, he was bound to attract some concern anyway.

"No," Manu muttered distractedly in response to Miro's question. "I mean, yeah. Jogi's banished me off the pitch to go to the medical area. Because I just played like shit, because I'm, well... I'm kind of ill."

"Ill?" Miro's eyes were like fucking X-Ray scanners. Manu could feel them looking through every molecule in his skin and reaching his brain, dissecting every thought he had ever had, every lie he had ever told. "I'm sorry to hear it. Do you want me to escort you to the medical area? You're looking a bit shaky."

"No!" Manu said hastily. "No, I'm fine, I'll just head there now, it's not a problem. I don't want to waste your time."

"You wouldn't be wasting my time-"

"Seriously, Miro," Manu said with a tentative smile. "You just keep on training. I'll get there fine. It's only a five minute journey, shouldn't take too much out of me."

Miro looked uncertain. "If you're sure-"

"I am," Manu said firmly. "I'll see you later, okay? Hopefully they'll just give me a painkiller or two. And then I'll be golden."

Miro smiled a little, and then patted Manu on the shoulder before heading off to his training station. Manu's overly hearty smile disappeared from his face as quickly as Lukas did when faced with a goalscoring opportunity for Arsenal. 

He wasn't going to be able to keep this up forever, was he?

***

 Though the sky had been an unfettered blue when the players had set out to training, clouds had gradually drawn further and further together as time went by, and by one o' clock, it had started to rain. Mesut, who had just been taking a water break after having done the two-touch challenge (and winning by a landslide) against Mats, gazed up at the mass of grey above him and groaned loudly. He hated playing in the wet.

"Fucking hell, it goes from bright blue to this," Sami said grimly, as a chorus of complaints began to sound like a jumbo jet revving up, particularly the drama queens of the squad. "Let me guess, Jogi is going to-"

The whistle blew sharply, interrupting his words, and Sami gave Mesut a look as if to say, what did I tell you? 

"Listen up!" Jogi called, as Joshua started laughing at Julian, who had just slipped on grass and landed on his ass. "I don't want to hear any whinging from any one of you! It's a bit of water, you're not drowning! We're continuing to train at our hardest! We're going for a practice game, now, okay?"

"Is the man serious?" Marco yelled, but Jogi's deadpan expression answered before anybody else could. Muttering strings of words that were just quiet enough for him not to be running yet again but loud enough to get Jonas to burst out laughing, he pulled up his socks and began to jog a little on the spot. If he was going to be forced into playing a practice game, he was going to win.

"Ter Stegen, you're on one end. Zieler, you're on the other," Jogi was yelling, as everyone started dragging their feet around and grumbling.

Benni and Mats were on one side, Jerome and Niklas on the other.  Marco was placed on the opposing team to Mats, perhaps to rev him into better form so he could score more. Sami and Mesut were also separated. Lukas was the striker opposite to Marco. The makeshift subs for the practice game jogged over to either side of the pitch, already shouting abuse and getting ready for their own game of trash talking.

"You've got me behind you, Luki, we're going to wipe the smile off of Reus's face," Basti said encouragingly, as Lukas glared at Marco, who had already started the bullshit and was flexing his muscles with as much obnoxious self-admiration as he could. "Best striker in Europe, facing off Dortmund's little friend."

Mats had heard Basti's comment and was just about to reach for the high-five (but also the slightly doubtful comment about Basti's judgement on the best striker in Europe), but Jogi's whistle startled him into action. Everyone had been too busy jostling and laughing at each other to notice it, barring Marco, who had instantly shot forwards and, as per usual, snatched the ball.

Infuriated by their delayed reaction, the opposing team raced towards the striker, who had his tongue sticking out of his mouth and was practically dancing on the ball. Jogi was just about to yell at him to stop showboating and start focusing properly, but he didn't have time to. Benni had hit him with a sliding tackle that caught Marco unawares. Crowing with laughter, everyone on the sidelines started imitating Marco's tapdancing motion, causing him to stick his middle finger out as he moved back into the game. The strange thing about Marco was the way he could be completely absorbed into a game, yet still laugh and joke as if he was lounging around with friends.

Benni had passed to Basti, who in turn passed to Jonas who was taking the game seriously, as, unlike the rest of his teammates, he was a hard worker. Jonas passed forwards to Lukas, who was forced to pass to Thomas as Jerome was pressing him hard. Thomas, in his usual reliable fashion, was ambling towards the opposing goal, but he didn't look as though he was focusing on the ball.

"No you don't!" Marco yelled, as he sped forwards to dispossess Thomas. Thomas swore at him, but he didn't seem to be particularly upset about it. In fact, there was clear distraction in his eyes, Miro noticed from his spot on the side. "And Reus, charges down the middle-!"

"And gets tackled!" Mats finished the sentence for him, indeed initiating a standing tackle that had Marco swearing so loudly that Jogi threatened to gift the opposition with a penalty. Mats zipped the ball in a neat pass to Lukas, who had run ahead past Niklas, who seemed genuinely surprised for a moment that he had been surpassed, having seemingly briefly blanked out.

"Focus, Sule, any lack of concentration could be the difference between losing your mark and conceding a goal!" Jogi shouted disapprovingly. Sule made a face but jogged up to where Lukas and Sami were passing to one another. Jerome tried for a sliding tackle, but Sami just managed to escape, giving him a cheeky grin and finally initiating the cross that had Lukas arching forwards, with his leg splayed-

"Und es ist ein Tor!" one half chanted, in the tone of a commentator, while the other groaned and started yelling out insults, as Jogi blew his whistle to signal the goal, and Ron-Robert stood up looking annoyed. 

Marco's reaction was remarkably restrained, even with everyone being as provocative as possible. "Stay celebrating, darlings. Marco hasn't engaged yet."

"Well, he should be engaged from the beginning," Jogi said flatly, before anyone else could respond. Everyone roared with laughter as Marco's smug smile dropped like a weight.

Play started again. This time, Mesut got onto the ball first, and had his lip trapped between his lower teeth as he navigated around Benni, who wasn't able to dispossess this time. Mesut passed to Fips, who, with characteristic perfection, gave the ball to Toni, who made a decent run forward before having to draw to a halt again, the centre back on him. But Mats wasn't able to stop him- Toni succeeded in passing to Marco, who was grinning as he took possession yet again. In his post, Marc-Andre was getting ready to move into action-

"OH MY GOD! MESUT OZIL! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Marco's aghast cry was as a result of what had happened in the briefest flash of a moment. Marco had given the cross to Mesut, who had been in the box, and Mesut, having taken the ball, had done something so inexplicably stupid that Marco had thrown himself to the ground in horror, skidding along the turf on his knees. Mesut had passed beautifully- to Sami, who was on the other team.

"Sorry!" Mesut yelled, looking highly embarrassed, as everyone started screaming with laughter from the sides. "Sorry- I just got- confused-"

"Thanks, Mes!" Sami yelled, racing ahead with the ball, as Mesut tried to recover from his mistake and Marco paid for his dramatic reaction- he had to scramble to his feet to catch up. All in all, the terrible display resulted in Basti putting a second goal away for his side.

"And that is an example of what not to do, under any circumstances, ever!" Jogi yelled, furious at what he had just seen. "Ozil, try and score for your side! Reus, enough of the theatrics! Khedira, Schweinsteiger, good work!"

"Think it's time for Marco to engage, yet?" Fips asked dryly, and Marco clenched his jaw, and everyone on the sidelines clutched each other, beside themselves. They couldn't believe the evidence of their senses. Mesut was so in love with Sami that he passed to him even when they were playing against each other. There was something surreal about the fact that their denied love was able to break through the usual competitive spirit of the game, but both of them still hadn't realised anything.

"Can you imagine if Mesut had to play against Juve- no, hold on, I can't say that with a straight face. Arsenal versus Juventus, that'd mean they were in the Champions League," Mario giggled, covering his mouth, as Leroy, being a Premier League player, went for the high-five. "But seriously, just imagine, you're in the box, you think your precious Ozil is about to float one in, and then he gives a beautiful pass- to his boyfriend!"

"They're really on another plane of shambles," Julian said with an air of somebody who couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. "Can you believe that there was a time I thought they were straight? Sometimes I go back to that conversation and I just start laughing. It's too much."

"Speaking of too much," Leon sighed.

Marco had finally managed to find some luck with the ball, but Joshua, at the very last moment, had made the clearance. But Marco's team were insisting the ball had gone over the line. It looked like there was a fight brewing, especially because Marco had surpassed Mats in his chase towards goal and Mats absolutely didn't want Marco to capitalise off of his mistake. Marc-Andre, having come off of his line trying to stop the striker, was also looking to save his own skin. The subs who had been watching instead of talking about Mesut and Sam all joined in the huddle of indignation, purely because it was fun.

"IF THAT WASN'T A GOAL, I'LL EAT MARIO!" Marco was yelling. "AND THAT'S NOT A EUPHEMISM! I GENUINELY WILL EAT MARIO!"

"YOU'D BETTER HOPE HE TASTES GOOD, THEN!" Joshua bellowed back. "BECAUSE I CLEARED THAT LIKE THE DEFENSIVE DEITY I AM! IT DIDN'T GO ACROSS THE LINE!"

"MARIO, COME OVER HERE!" Mats shouted. "YOU'VE HAD A GOOD LIFE, I'M SORRY IT HAS TO END THIS WAY!"

"WHAT?" Mario cried.

Jogi, who was currently afloat in a sea of idiocy, was trying to get his voice to be heard over everyone throwing their opinion in. Not everyone had even seen what had happened, but they were all insisting on one thing or another- some annoying people, like Jerome, purely for the fun of it, were playing the devil's advocate and supporting both sides of the argument. Trying to get an accurate eye witness account was impossible, because Fips was biased and Miro hadn't been watching.

"ALRIGHT!" Jogi hollered, after he had heard enough. He fumbled for his whistle and blew on it sharply, managing to quieten down the rabble a little bit. "Clearly none of you can be mature or trusted! We're going to have to check the goal line camera!"

He made the square motion in mid-air with his fingers. There were cheers and people practically started trampling over each other to reach the video reviewing station, so Jogi had to order them all to stay still. Marco was ranting at the top of his voice and Marc-Andre was insisting that he had seen what had happened all along, and that Joshua had cleared it, even though he had dived to catch the ball from Marco and had just missed it and hadn't seen Joshua saving him.

The staff behind the viewing station all looked a little intimidated as the whole team looked as though they were on the verge of rioting, but Jogi looked utterly unaffected. He leaned forwards as the goal-line camera footage flashed on the screen. Everyone watched him as though he was a referee watching VAR to decide on a potential World Cup winning penalty. Jogi's brow creased as he stared at the footage, worrying at his lower lip. This was a difficult decision to make. It was unbelievably close, so close that his verdict really had to be based on whether he liked Joshua or Marco more. And seeing as Marco had been acting up recently...

"NOT A GOAL!" Jogi called out, and there was an uproar, and Marco fell to the ground as if he had been gunned down, as Lukas's team started hooting and the other team were torn between complaining and laughing. Benni and Mats approached Mario and seized his arms, pulling him towards his boyfriend.

"Open wide, Reus," Mats said, pushing Mario over so he landed on his boyfriend in a tangle of limbs. Marco remained face down like a petulant child even as Mario's weight fell on him.

"Come on, baby," Mario chuckled, after he had aimed a kick at Mats for pushing him. He helped Marco upright- the striker looked as though he was about to explode. "For what it's worth, that was a good run."

"Damn right it was," Marco said, looking pissy, but flourishing his head unneccessarily as he got to his feet and cracked his knuckles. "Right. Mario, this isn't just a practice game anymore. This is warfare. Hummels and ter Stegen are going to get nutmegged so badly the mental trauma will force them out of play."

***

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Robert: Not to blow my own trumpet but

Robert: I just managed to flip a pancake so cleanly that it rotated 360 degrees in the air before landing on the pan with a sizzling smack

Robert: What have YOU done today Jeri

Jerome: nothing as weighty as that i assure u

Jerome: ive been slide tackling like a motherfucker for like the whole day

Jerome: i genuinely thing my ass will have grass imprints on it forever

Robert: It's beautiful anyway

Jerome: ja i know that

Jerome: what's new?

Jerome: anyway i can't believe ur making ur pancakes while i'm not in the vicinity?

Jerome: isn't it OUR THING 

Jerome: rebelling against the repressive dietary code with ur beautiful food

Robert: Yeah it is

Robert: But I'm a naughty bitch

Robert: And I was wallowing in depression so I needed to eat my feelings away

Jerome: why u wallowing in depression whats up

Robert: Oh you know

Robert: I'M SITTING ON MY ASS WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS WITH THEIR NATIONAL TEAMS DOING SHIT

Jerome: ok but

Jerome: rn it's just friendlies

Robert: IT'S CONTEXT JERI

Robert: I GOT A RED CARD

Robert: AND YES I'M STILL SALTY

Robert: AND MAYBE IT SEEMS LIKE I'M COMICALLY OVEREXAGGERATING 

Robert: BUT I'M NOT

Robert: I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES

Robert: I DIDN'T MEAN TO START VENTING IN CAPITAL LETTERS BUT SHIT HAPPENS

Robert: LIKE POLAND VS PORTUGAL

Robert: DO YOU GET IT

Robert: SHIT HAPPENS

Robert: BECAUSE WE'RE SHIT

Robert: AND I AM TOO 

Jerome: ok rob sweetheart just breathe

Jerome: i'm going to call

Robert: NO DON'T CALL I DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE ME BEING PATHETIC

Jerome: you're never pathetic

Robert: RIGHT NOW I AM

Robert: HOW AM I C R Y I N G WHY AM I LIKE THIS I'M A STUPID COCONUT

Robert: AND I'M STILL TALKING INC APITAL LETTERS WHY

Jerome: because you're upset

Jerome: baby i know it's hard to take andi wish i was with u right now and i know u don't want me to start motivationally spouting again because u just want someone to vent ur frustration to so do it im rightttt here to listen and absorb it all i love u <33

Robert: THANK YOU

Robert: I'M SO EMBARASSED

Robert: I'M SOBBING OVER A STACK OF REALLY NICE PANCAKES

Robert: AND THE PANCAKES WERE MEANT TO CHEER ME UP

Robert: BUT THEN YOU SAID THE PANCAKES WERE OUR THING AND I REMEMBERED YOU WEREN'T HERE AND NOW I'M CRYING EVEN HARDER SIGJRIEGHIRU

Jerome: robert one time you walked in on me in the kitchen making a sandwich at 2 in the morning and just sobbing over the bread because the mean comments on twitter got to me

Jerome: i sympathise with your plight

Jerome: it's not embarasssing

Jerome: seriously if you want embarassing dont u remember you once tried to smack my ass in training but smacked arjen's instead

Robert: OK TRUE

Robert: IT WAS AN ACCIDENTAL KERFUFFLE THOUGH

Jerome: you still got a handful of him

Jerome: tbh i don't blame you

Robert: THA'TS REALLY FUNNY BC IT'S ARJEN AND HONESTLY

Robert: YOU'REARIGHT HES KIND OF A GOD

Jerome: my point is you've done plenty more questsionable things than crying over some gorgeous pancakes and because u miss a total stud like me

Jerome: i'd cry if i was in ur position too

Jerome: i'd really miss me

Robert: YES TRUE MY PANCAKES ARE SO GOOD AND I EVEN PUTTHE CHOCOLATE ROCKS ON BECAUSE INSTINCTIVELY

Robert: I THOUGHT "JEROME LOVES THE ROCKS" AND THEN I REMEMEBRED

Robert: YOU'RE NOT HERE

Jerome: baby when i come back in like 3 days ther'ell be all the chocolate rocks in the world

Jerome: both a euphemism and not

Jerome: i swear rob just call me call me call me i need to see ur face now

Robert: I'M UGLY RIGHT NOW

Jerome: ROBERT LEWANDOWSKI DON'T TRY ME YOU'RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON ON THE PLANET

Jerome: CRYING OR NOT

Jerome: YOU COULD START BALDING AND YOU'D STILL BE THE SEXIEST AND THAT'S A FACT

Robert: STOP I'M GONNA HYPERVENTILATE

Jerome: CALL ME

Robert: BUT

Jerome: BUT NOTHING

Robert: I'M WARNING YOU I'M SUPER BLOTCHY

Jerome: I WILL LITERALLY FLY TO MUNICH AND EAT YOU IF YOU DON'T CALL ME

Robert: THEN I WON'T CALL

Jerome: ROBERT

Robert: FINE

Robert: UGH 

Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski.

***

After the day's training (the practice game had ended up as a 4-3 loss to Marco's side- after Marco had been subbed off, Miro had been brought in to actually score something, much to Marco's chagrin), the team were spent. They were so spent that they actually willingly stumbled up to their bedrooms when they were told to, some people going up to sleep early. When Miro entered his room, prepared to never wake up again (scoring hattricks had never been so tiring), he was unprepared to see Thomas and Manu sitting together.

"Oh," he said blankly, as the two looked up at him- Thomas's eyes were very red and Manu was staring at the carpet. "I'm sorry, I'll come back later-"

"No," Thomas said quickly, standing up. "It's fine, we've finished talking. Um, so, Manu, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Ich liebe dich."

"I love you too," Manu said just as hastily, leaning into Thomas and kissing him. Miro looked away- not because he was embarrassed, no, he was used to public displays of affection- but because it all seemed a little too private.

Thomas gave a brief hug to Miro as he hurried towards the door, and muttered something in his ear- "Viel Glück, Opa."

Miro patted his shoulder but didn't have time to say anything else as Thomas had already left the room, leaving him and Manu alone. For a second there was quiet, as Manu swung his arms by his side a little awkwardly. And then he grinned a grin that wasn't really a grin- more of a grimace. 

"Good training session?" he asked hesitantly.

"It was eventful," Miro said, smiling. "There was drama with a disallowed goal, I, being my usual reliable self, scored a hattrick to equalise us, but Mario scored the winner. Mesut also passed to Sami, who was playing against him, and that inspired quite a breakdown of sanity in the squad."

Manu's smile was too sharp and wide to be real, and Miro felt a little pained by how obviously unhappy he looked. "Right. Well, Schneider told me I was, uh, a little feverish, probably because it's flu season, but that it's nothing to worry about."

Did he, now?  "That's good. I hope you feel better soon."

"Yeah."

At that point it was obvious that the conversation couldn't be dragged out any longer so Miro mumbled something about brushing his teeth before bed and Manu mumbled in agreement. He clumsily lumbered off to the bathroom as Manu sat down at the edge of his bed, returning his deadpan stare at the floor. He could already feel his shoulders sagging. He knew that if he lay down he would absolutely drop off instantly. He couldn't manage another day like this. He just couldn't. Thomas would- he would- well-

Manu arched forwards, sighing, running his fingers through his hair. This international break would be over soon. Maybe- just maybe- he could last until then. He had certainly heard of people pulling off multiple sleepless nights, there were definitely stressed office workers out there who had done all-nighters and were fine afterwards... Maybe Marco and Mats would cause some mayhem in the night so Jogi let them return to their original arrangements again...

There was one thing for certain, Miro was eyeing him a little too closely when he returned from the bathroom. Manu suspected it might have been because he looked like complete shit, but he couldn't help but cast his mind back to when Thomas had hugged him-

Stop, Manu. Just stop. Don't get paranoid.

"Well," he said in a falsely cheery voice (God, every time he spoke he wanted to pull his vocal cords out, he couldn't have been worse of an actor), "We should be getting to sleep, right? Hopefully I'll feel better so I can participate in tomorrow's training."

As fucking if.

"Of course," Miro said brightly. "Good night, Manu. I hope... you sleep well."

So do I.

The two of them got into their own beds. Manu had never felt so tense around Miro before. He felt miserable. Usually spending time with the older man was fun and Manu loved hearing his bursts of dry humour and the insights he had. Now Manu felt as though he was dragging down the mood and that poor Miro deserved to be with someone fun, for God's sake. He should have gone for Thomas. 

As the light turned off, Manu waited for a moment before sneakily reaching out for his phone and hastily turning down the brightness as a colossal weight of resignation settled in on him. You can do it again. It's just staying awake. Not a penalty save. Don't be pathetic, Manu. This is for the good of literally, everyone...

He made a good effort. His eyes stared blankly at the dimmed light of his phone screen as he swiped through Instagram without really seeing anything, blindly tapping at every photo. Unfortunately, the aches of physical exhaustion from his overly prolonged sleeplessness were enough to start dragging his eyes down. He tried rubbing them with his fingers to coax a little bit of, well, energy into them? To try and stop them from blurring with tiredness?

But time dripped on and the only sound Manu could hear in the room was deep, slow breathing- and he couldn't stop his eyes from drooping. He cursed himself, trying to put himself in an uncomfortable position, wriggling around, but his body was going limp- his mind was gently pulling him away towards unconsciousness-

No.

Don't sleep. Don't sleep. Please don't-

Chapter Text

His eyes flickered open, and he was swathed in darkness. For a moment, he wondered if he had briefly blacked out, and was still in bed. But there was something different about where he was lying, on his front, his head pressed against the- the headboard of his bed? No, it wasn't. He made a noise of confusion and tried to get up, but he found that he couldn't. His back connected with something solid and he fell forwards again. He wasn't in bed. He was in- in some sort of enclosed, small space.

Manu's eyes widened. He could feel a dead weight beneath him, but he couldn't see what it was. He was suddenly all too aware that there were- there were walls around him, sealing him, restricting his movement. His breathing had instantly become more shallow. Any semblance of calm he might have feigned went out of the window. He hated the sensation of feeling trapped. Cold fear crawled down his throat as he tried to move again, his hands groping around beneath him for some sort of hold on the ground- but instead, they came into contact with- was that skin? Was it a person underneath him?

He shifted more violently, trying to move upright, his neck hitting the top of wherever he was trapped, trying to see what the weight beneath him was. It was so dark. He blinked aggressively, trying to get his eyes to focus. It was definitely a person beneath him. His heart was racing, hard, panic closing up his throat. It felt as though the edges of his world were pressing in on him, and that everything was going to collapse, and he wasn't alone, who was it-

He let out a cry as he finally realised who the person lying beneath him was. Oh, God! It was Thomas! White and stiff and unmoving, those light green eyes fixed, blank and empty, his lips slightly parted. He was dead! Manu arched backwards, trying to break free of where his boyfriend was lying dead beneath him, but he couldn't move, he couldn't move, he was suddenly aware of the fact there was blood everywhere, all over him, where had it come from-

And then he screamed so loudly he thought his throat was going to tear. Mindless, savage horror consumed him as Thomas's body seemed to be rotting away beneath him. His pale skin was nothing more than mutilated flesh, peeling away- and maggots were erupting from his body- and he was being torn apart, silently decaying- Manu couldn't move, he was rooted to the spot-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO- NO!"

Miro shot out of bed like a bullet, panic filling his entire body as Manu's howl tore him from his slumber. For a moment he felt disorientated, not quite sure what he was meant to be doing with his legs, but then he mentally cursed himself. Go to Manuel! You knew this was going to happen, Miro! Thomas told you!

Half torn by desperation, he staggered over to where Manu was lying, tangled in sheets, clutching at his head and shouting out. It was a terrifying sight. The usually calm giant was writhing, tears forcing their way out of his closed eyelids. Miro dragged in a deep breath, recalling what Thomas had told him. It would be difficult to wake him. Stay calm and collected-

"Manuel!" he called in a clear, though slightly trembling voice. "Manuel, you're dreaming! It's me, Miro! Please wake up!"

But his voice didn't seem to be able to penetrate whatever world Manu had entered. Miro was really starting to panic, now. He leaned forwards, his hands shaking, and gently seized the goalkeeper's shoulders, shaking them- not too aggressively, but hard enough so Manu could feel it.

"Manu, please!" Miro said desperately. "It's just a dream! You're safe!"

"NO!" Manu shouted, his fists flailing and almost catching Miro in the face. Miro jumped backwards, staring down at him. This wasn't going to do. He was going to have to get Thomas. He turned around to run for the door, but then he heard another, final cry before there was a gasp and spluttering as if someone had just come to the surface after drowning. Miro's head whipped around, and he saw Manu sitting upright, his eyes wide open his body quaking so violently the sheets rolled off of his bed.

Was he awake? Or was this some kind of unconscious reaction? Miro moved towards Manu, noticing how his pupils were dilated with terror, and he didn't seem to be in the moment. But then Manu's gaze shifted towards Miro as he dragged in desert-dry gasps, tears pouring down his face.

"Miro?" he stammered, and Miro felt a surge of relief that he was being recognised. "Oh Gott. Oh, mein Gott. Nein. Nein!"

Miro sat down at the edge of Manu's bed as the goalkeeper dissolved into horrified sobs, burying his face in his knees, pulling into himself. His heart was still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. That had been... terrifying. He hadn't been expecting to feel as scared as he did, and he was furious at himself for being so ineffective. Manu looked as though he was about to cross the line into hysteria so he rushed to calm the man down.

"Manu," he said hoarsely, as Manu wept. "Oh, Gott, Manu. Please calm down. It's okay. You're okay. You're completely safe. You're in a hotel room and I'm right beside you and nothing is wrong. I promise you whatever- whatever that was- it wasn't real."

"I know!" Manu wailed. "I know it wasn't real! That's the point! I let something that wasn't real affect me like this, because I'm pathetic! I just- I- oh, Gott! This wasn't supposed to happen! I knew I shouldn't have gone to sleep! Now I've ruined everything! I've ruined your night and now you know something's wrong with me, Jesus, I can't!"

Miro recalled everything Thomas told him. Manu doesn't need a startled, speechless version of you. He needs the version of you everyone knows. Be helpful. "There's nothing wrong with you. Nightmares happen to a lot of people, it's nothing to be ashamed of! From- from your reaction, it seemed to be really frightening, and I'm glad you woke me up, so I could help you!"

Manu shook his head, apparently deaf to what Miro had to say. "I'm so high fucking maintenance. Nobody else- reacts this badly.  Look at me! I'm so sorr-"

"I don't want to hear an apology, okay?” Miro said firmly, but also gently, because Manu was so distraught he was sure that being heavy would only serve to upset him more. “I’m concerned about you. I don’t care at all about being woken up, it doesn’t matter. I’d rather it be like that than me sleeping away without knowing you’re suffering. Besides, I was expecting it…”

He knew from the second that the words came out of his mouth that they were a grave mistake. Manu paused in the midst of his tears, a strange expression stealing onto his face. It was incredulity, mixed with anger, as he glared at Miro through red eyes.

Shit! You shouldn’t have said anything! Idiot! You told Thomas you were going to keep your mouth shut!

“What do you mean, you were expecting it?” Manu demanded.

Miro swore inwardly but kept his expression as calm as possible as he spoke. “I didn’t mean that I was expecting… this to happen. All I meant, was, that, I’ve been suspecting something is wrong for the past few days. You didn’t sleep last night, you were messaging the group chat, and you seemed unhappy about the rooming arrangements. I just assumed it was something to do with sleeping.”

He marvelled at the way he managed to keep his voice perfectly even, looking Manu directly in the eye. Anyone else would have believed what he was saying, but Manu did not look at all convinced. In fact, he looked even angrier.

“It was Thomas, wasn’t it? Thomas told you!” Manu insisted.

“Manuel-” Miro didn’t want to lie.

“I knew it! I knew he told you!” Manu said furiously. “I told him not to tell anybody!”

“Maybe Thomas did tell me,” Miro said hesitantly. “But why is it bad that Thomas was concerned about your wellbeing? He only told me because he was desperately worried, not for any other reason-”

Manu shook his head vigorously, snatching up the bundle of sheets from the floor and pulling them aggressively back onto the bed. His emotional state had been replaced by anger. “I don’t care if he was worried, I told him that I didn’t want people to know about this, he promised me he wouldn’t say, and he broke that promise! Who else has he told?”

“Nobody,” Miro said insistently, sensing that he had to appease the situation quickly. “I promise you, I’m the only person who knows. And I swear I would never tell anybody. Ever.”

There was a moment of silence as Manu breathed heavily, hugging his arms to himself, and Miro watching him sadly. He knew his job now was to persuade Manu not to remain angry with Thomas, and show him that Miro discovering his secret was not an inherently bad thing. This was what Thomas had asked him to help with.

“Manu,” Miro said quietly. The man did not look at him. “I know that you feel as though you can’t let anybody discover your vulnerabilities. I know that you’re terrified that if people find out about this anxiety, these nightmares, you’ll be ostracised. But if you’ll permit me to say so, I believe you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

Manu stared at his knees.

“Nobody has to find out about this. You could see a private psychiatrist. It’s strictly confidential. I went through therapy myself, once,” Miro said quietly. He had been. Lots of footballers had been, behind closed doors. In such a high-pressure sport, lapses in mental health were natural, not something to be stigmatised- though, of course, it would take a while for people to realise this. “The only thing you’re doing by not sleeping, by trying to hide it, is making it more conspicuous. It won’t get any better if you keep trying to contain it. It’ll burst out of you.”

“I’ve managed-”

“No,” Miro said softly. “You’ve struggled along and just managed to keep things under wraps. And now the situation is rising to the surface and threatening to spill out. Managing the situation would be healthily coping with it and getting help. It shouldn’t be , aus den Augen, aus dem Sinn. ”

“I can’t,” Manu said desperately, but with the air of someone who was trying to convince himself. “You don’t understand-”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been playing for many years, Manuel. Players have come and gone with these sorts of problems. I’ve watched them suffer.  A good man, Robert Enke, took his life because his problems became too much. I never want to experience something like that again. This problem is preventable. It can be stopped before it gets completely out of hand, now somebody else knows about it and can help you. You can be helped, Manuel, the only question is whether you're willing to accept it. It'll be hard, but it's better than floating along in a stasis and getting nothing done about it.”

Manu had fallen deathly still at the mention of Enke, his eyes fixed on the foot of his bed. And then he looked at Miro for the first time. 

"I can't do it now," he mumbled. "Maybe I'll think about seeing someone when we return from the international break. Bayern would be more suited to dealing with it because it's where I am all the time. But I'll think about it. Nothing for certain."

Miro tried not to beam with delight at the assurance that Manu might actually consider seeking help. "Thinking about it is more than enough for a start. Maybe you'll be able to realise how important it is to keep yourself healthy mentally. That you could battle this fear away."

Mumbling something incoherently, Manu turned his head away from Miro. Miro was sure he had started crying again.

"We care about you, Manu," he said firmly. "And while I would never want to force you into anything, I also never want to see you suffer. I would do anything to help you out of this. Thomas would, too. That's all this is. Not overreacting. We want to help you actually get the situation under control."

 Manu turned his gaze back to Miro again. Indeed there were tears trickling down his face. "Thank you. It's more than I deserve."

"Oh, Manu," Miro said softly, thinking upon all the players who thought they deserved less because they supposedly had everything, of the friends he hadn't been able to help. He also thought that things were going to change, and that this time it would be different- Manu would not suffer in silence. "You deserve the world."

***

Private chat between Bernd Leno and Marc-Andre ter Stegen

Bernd: r u playing today

Bernd: bet u r

Marc-Andre: Yeah I am ugly

Marc-Andre: What's it to you

Bernd: it's nothing to me

Bernd: nothing but HUMOUR

Marc-Andre: What, is the concept of starting at a senior international level a joke to you?

Marc-Andre: Sad. You should believe in yourself more!

Marc-Andre: One day it'll be a serious option for you!

Bernd: Do you know 90% of household dust is made of dead human skin? That's what you are to me.

Bernd: i could hire marco to come up with a dramatic way to explain how much i hate you

Bernd: and even he wouldn't be able to do it

Bernd: my hatred is that strong

Marc-Andre: Awww tears are running down my face from my spot in the goalpost as I go to prove myself at an international level

Marc-Andre: Bernd HATES me how will I ever recover

Bernd: i hope u score an own goal and concede a penalty and get nutmegged 

Marc-Andre: Anything else?

Bernd: i hope your voice breaks on tv if you're doing an interview

Marc-Andre: Cool I'll keep it in mind

Marc-Andre: You just stay tuned and watch it all happen

Marc-Andre: Watch me conceed all these goals eh

Bernd: you're still not over it huh

Bernd: anyway

Bernd: im not going to watch

Bernd: it'll just make me feel annoyed and uninspire me

Bernd: it's the opposite effect to watching manu

Bernd: he makes me want to be the best i can be

Bernd: you make me think football is ugly

Marc-Andre: Pathetic

Marc-Andre: A whole host of roasts and you go for "you make me think football is ugly"

Bernd: enough

Bernd: it's harassment you arschgeige

Marc-Andre: Aw let me serenade you with my arschgeige

Marc-Andre: I'll play sad music and let you get into your feelings

Bernd: nah

Bernd: save it for when u need funeral music

Bernd: when you put 40000 people to death simultaneously with embarrassment

Marc-Andre: Ok I don't know how to respond to that

Marc-Andre: But it doesn't mean it was a good roast

Bernd: but it was?

Marc-Andre: It really wasn't

Marc-Andre: Look I'm going to ask Jonas if he thinks it's a good roast

Bernd: tell him i'll never talk to him again if he says it wasn't

Marc-Andre: Jonas came up with his verdict

Marc-Andre: He said it was awful and that you're a shit person and a shit keeper

Bernd: like jonas would ever say something like that

Bernd: he's probably watching u type that with pure panic in his eyes

Marc-Andre: Lol

Marc-Andre: He just yelled, "I NEVER SAID THAT OMG BERND IS GREAT MARC-ANDRE SAY IT WAS YOU WHAT IF HE GETS MAD AT ME"

Bernd: i could never get mad at him

Bernd: tell him that i love him with all my heart

Marc-Andre: Poor him

Marc-Andre: He j blushed

Marc-Andre: And said "thanks you're great too"

Bernd: honestly if anyone ever came for him they'd face the might of my rage

Bernd: what a sweetie

Marc-Andre: H o n e s t l y

Marc-Andre: Anyway I'd love to stop and chat but I'd rather get type 2 diabetes

Marc-Andre: See you after my meister of the match award flachwischer

Bernd: i'll be here to comfort you when it all goes to shit

Marc-Andre: Bye

Bernd: bye

***

Mesut was changed before everyone else, as per usual, and he was absorbed in thought. The mood was less vibrant today in the changing rooms, because friendlies not holding any competitive weight tended to mean that players were a little less enthusiastic about them. The only ones really rowdy were the younger ones who were starting (Leroy, to his utmost astonishment, had been told he was starting two games in a row), and Marco, who loved international games. But Marco was always rowdy.

"What's up?" Sami asked, when it became clear that Mesut wasn't going to reveal anything about why he was looking so pensive. 

Mesut looked up at Sami vaguely. "Thinking."

"About what?"

"Well," Mesut said slowly. "Have you ever put your own name into Twitter?"

Sami considered the question. He hadn't ever done that, actually. That was strange, seeing as he had been relatively famous for some years now. Maybe he should try it. "No, I haven't. Do you reccomend it?"

"No. I'd only reccomend it if you were a masochist who thrives upon negative comments to do well. It's like opening a door to a room where everyone tells you how shit you are."

"Oh, Mes," Sami sighed. "Why the hell are you looking for negative comments? You know that half of these people sit around on their ass writing match reports and tweeting, stuff like, oh, Khedira's pass just missed Boateng, he's finished, Jogi Low needs to shape up the squad or get out?  While they probably couldn't score an open goal with Loris- no, I can't be mean about Loris. I just can't. I feel so bad for him."

"You're right," Mesut said glumly. "It just sucks when you give all these assists and be the midfield god you are and the only thing they say is, Ozil was invisible, he only created space for all his teammates and made one assist..."

"I wish you a speedy recovery," Sami chuckled. "Honestly, you're just one of those players who people love to hate. No, it's not even just you. People just love to hate everything. There are people who could be walking around the fucking Garden of Eden and complaining about a lack of mobile reception. They're naturally miserable. Just use my policy. Whenever I see a mean comment, I think, I won a World Cup."

"Fair and valid," Mesut said, shrugging. "We did win a World Cup. That should've given us an immunity til the end of our careers. Any criticism about us, we can just say, we won the most important competition in the world. But apparently in football you're only as good as your last game."

Sami sighed contemplatively. "It's true. It's a binary sport. I could score 7 goals in one game, score nothing in one game and suddenly I'm a wreck. It's madness. But, hey, if you're really worried about dealing with criticism, why don't you ask Marco how to handle it? He swaggers around with a ton of unearned confidence, it has to come from somewhere."

"That's true, what's his secret?" Mesut said wonderingly, a rather adorable expression of curiosity stealing onto his face that caused Sami's lips to quirk at the side. And then he had to quickly look away. "I'll ask him now. REUS!"

Marco, who had his shirt gathered around his neck as he was lost in conversation with Mario, turned around at the sound of his name being called. When he saw who was calling him, he grinned, and waddled over towards the two of them.

"You requested my presence? What do you need to me to cure with my healing hands? Maybe your lo-" Marco began, but Mesut cut him off impatiently before he could finish his sentence.

"Nothing, idiot, we just need you to answer a question. How do you deal with criticism?"

Sami looked at Marco curiously. The man had placed a hand to his chin and made to lean against the wall, but accidentally poked himself on a hanging peg.

"Criticism? I'm not too familiar with that concept, care to weigh me in on what it means?" Marco asked. Sami grabbed the shirt around his neck and pulled it so Marco yelped. "Alright, alright, fool! You want to know how I deal with criticism? Well, it's a rare event, because my performance has been compared on many an occasion to one Lionel-"

"No it hasn't-"

"Messi, and everyone loves him, barring Manu.  Anyway, people find it hard to criticise what they love. But for the people who do criticise, out of spite for the fact that I am infinitely better than them, and they can't hope to compete, I adopt a simple policy. I think, are your words going to help me win everything? No? Then you're irrelevant."

Marco beamed at the two of them as if he had spoken words equal to the weight of Buddha's teachings, before flouncing off again to get changed as Fips' laser stare travelled across the changing room. Sami and Mesut both exchanged looks, ones of mingled exasperation and thoughtfulness, which was an emotion they had never felt after a conversation with Marco before.

"You know," Mesut said pensively. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that is some really good advice."

"Maybe we should note this day down in a calendar," Sami joked. "He's right. Most online criticism is irrelevant, unless you really fuck up. And you haven't ever really fucked up, Mes. You're perfect."

Mesut smiled at him genuinely, his eyes twinkling, and reached out to take Sami's hand, and squeezed it gratefully.

When he let go, Sami swore he could feel his skin burning.

***

The game was due to start, and the players were lining up in the tunnel. Lukas was stretching at the back, while Leroy was excitedly chattering about the fact he was playing his second match in a row during the international break. Julian Brandt seemed to be in a state of shock that he was even standing in the starting lineup, looking around as if someone was going to pull him out of a dream, even though it was a friendly and Jogi experimented in friendlies. The wonderstruck wingers seemed to be waiting for the moment Jogi announced there had been a mistake and pulled them out again. The defenders- Joshua, Thilo, Benni- all looked relaxed, barring Niklas, who despite all his snarky comments to Jerome, seemed to be feeling a little nervous. Mario and Basti had been through this a million times before. Leon always looked impassive. Marc-Andre was standing still, with his expression unfathomable, but his insides squirming.

It wasn't due to nerves- he wasn't that overjoyed to be starting (even if he had inwardly done somersaults of joy when he had seen the team sheet). He had played much more momentuous games. No, his butterflies were because he was thinking back on his conversation earlier in the day, with a certain Bernd Dickhead. Inexplicably, his thoughts had travelled to all the other times he had started for Germany, whether it be in the youth teams or for senior friendlies, when Bernd hadn't been in the squad or hadn't been placed first on the list. Every time, without fail, Bernd had either messaged him or spoken to him before the match, with a comment that was never friendly, but somehow comforting. The man had never said a nice word about him to his face, yet Marc-Andre had found himself waiting for the moments where they spoke, because afterwards, he always felt... satisfied?

Obviously it was because he always managed to find a way to effectively roast Bernd- that was the source of his satisfaction, without a doubt. It wasn't because he enjoyed speaking to the man. What a suggestion! Marc-Andre's lips actually twitched at the thought, but had to straighten his face as he saw cameras in the tunnel. No doubt someone had taken a shot of him smiling and was now rushing to write a headline- Ter Stegen finally satisfied to get Germany playing time!

The Russian players filed into the tunnel alongside the Germans, Igor Akinfeev leading his team. The man gave Marc-Andre a nod and a smile of greeting and it took Marc-Andre a while to realise he was meant to smile back. Akinfeev didn't seem to be perturbed by his late reaction, nor did he seem to be perturbed by the jostling and chattering of his team behind him. He seemed to be along the same lines of Manu, calm amongst the tide of pre-match emotions and team stupidity.

They waited for a while, Leroy tapping Marc-Andre on the shoulder to give him a good luck and Lukas getting a little impatient, wanting just to get out onto the pitch. He always felt stronger in a Germany shirt. Time passed until finally it was time to step out onto the pitch, into Westfalenstadion. Marc-Andre could almost understand where Marco's relentless energy came from now. Playing in a stadium with this atmosphere was electrifying. There was already a drum pounding and Germany fans chanting, just like it had been in the Allianz Arena.

The team strode out, Marc-Andre trying not to swing his arms too hard and trying to match Akinfeev's calm march. There was a tide of white and then there were the red supporters of the Russians, who were also passionate for their country. It was nice playing in Westfalen when the supporters were on your side.

The subs were lolling about on the bench, Marco lazily pretending to conduct the chanting and Thomas and Manu engaged in conversation, with Miro sitting far away from them. Jogi was checking over some last minute details, his eyes flitting up and down the lineup, as the national anthems began. The visitors went first. Marc-Andre gripped the back of his arm behind him as he stared ahead, mentally going over what he remembered about Russian penalty takers. He had the names and directions they went in scribbled down on his water bottle. 

The swelling music of Germany's national anthem started, as did the off-key extravaganza. The only player who seemed to be in tune was Mario, but he looked like he was going to explode with laughter because Basti, while passionate, was probably tone-deaf with how badly he sang. The camera rolled down the line and Marc-Andre tried to ignore the lens, which seemed to enjoy poking the players in the face.

Finally, the pre-match time-wasting was over and the captains, Basti for Germany and Akinfeev for Russia, shook hands and did the coin flip. Germany won the kick-off. The referee gestured for the teams to get into position, and Marc-Andre, hoping Bernd was watching right now, jogged towards his post, getting ready to show him up.

***

Was Bernd drinking beer and sprawled out on his sofa in sweatpants and nothing else when he turned on his TV to watch Germany play? Yes. Was it a sign that he was miserable at his lack of action during the international break and the fact Marc-Andre was going to prove how good at keeping he was while he was doing nothing at home?

... Also yes.

He petulantly shut off his phone, having shot off a picture to Marc-Andre looking awkward during the national anthem on bayern won the bundesliga, just to show his spite, and folded his arms. The two teams were in position, and the game was about to start. There were a few shots of Jogi pacing up and down with his hands in his pockets, and the Russian manager looking angry already as he regarded the events that were about to unfold. Bernd amused himself by imagining the manager dealing with the likes of Marco, Mats and Thomas. His bald head would swell like a balloon.

It was kickoff, and Germany were in possession, starting off relatively slowly. It was those few moments of passing back and forth to get into things and quickly work out positioning. Indeed, Leroy started off the momentum by running forwards, finding space between some Russian defenders and taking the pass from Basti. Bernd marvelled at how Leroy always looked so determined when he was playing, as if these games were the most important of his life. It was just a friendly.

A voice, sounding suspiciously like Marc-Andre, sounded in his head: you sure wouldn't be singing the same tune if you were playing.

Bernd responded to the voice just like he would do to Marc-Andre: shut the fuck up.

He didn't care. He didn't! 

Leroy was working forwards with the ball, managing to niftily avoid Fernandes. He passed to Julian Brandt, who put in a burst of pace- he really was very fast on the ball. Unfortunately, the moped was stopped in its track by Fernandes again- the right back had rushed forwards and cleared the ball off the line before Julian could do anything. Joshua jogged off to take the throw-in, as there was a cut to the bench. Marco was sitting low in his seat, talking to Jerome, who was half keeping an eye on the game and half laughing at what he was saying. Thomas's arms were folded and his expression was oddly serious. Miro was drinking water.

The sight of them all being together gave Bernd a pang.

Joshua threw the ball out for Leon to take, which he neatly managed to catch between his feet. He was a rather dainty player, Bernd thought to himself. Leon started moving forwards again, but was forced to pass backwards so he didn't get dispossessed. Basti took the ball, and jogged back a little bit to put more space between himself and the defenders. So far Russia had barely gotten a touch on the ball, but it was still early days-

Just as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Cheryshev managed to tackle Basti and was running ahead. The winger was relatively speedy but Niklas was on him immediately, forcing him to pass to Smolov. Smolov made ahead, and Bernd's eyebrows lifted as he neared the box, and Marc-Andre started jumping up and down. Surely they wouldn't get a shot on target-?

He didn't. Benni pressured him, so instead of passing to Cheryshev who had half-heartedly entered the box, Smolov put a tame shot well off target, that Marc-Andre jogged to collect, it was so slow. Bernd scowled as his arch-enemy scooped up the ball and threw it to Thilo, who seemed to decide to up the pace a little. He ran forwards, passed ahead to Leroy, though the man was out of position. It was a mark of Leroy's speed that he managed to collect the ball before it went off, and dribbled forwards before zipping it to Julian Brandt. Again, the winger sped up again, and the Westfalen cheers grew louder and louder as he evaded defenders. 

Bernd paused with his lips over his bottle of beer as Brandt crossed the ball into the box, where Mario Gotze was there to meet it. His heart had inexplicably started pounding. A goal at ten minutes in? Surely that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness. Mario managed to catch the ball between his legs and took a shot- it was definitely on target-

But Russia's main man Akinfeev managed to knock it out of the way. No matter. It went out for a corner. The disappointment from the German crowd turned into chanting again as Joshua went out to get the ball for the corner, and everyone got into position. Set-pieces were a strong part of Germany's game. Bernd resumed his beer-drinking as Joshua went to initiate the corner. And then he noticed that Joshua was still growing that terrible moustache. He pulled out his phone quickly.

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: i think if someone scores from this corner joshua should be made to shave that atrocity

He returned his attention to the game. Joshua took the kick. It floated into the box. Bernd sat upright as Leon jumped into the air. Everyone knew aerial strength was his game. Perhaps he would prove it with a-

Header! But nothing came of it. Bernd groaned as Leon took a remarkable shot with his head, but it was just off target. Bernd went back to the group chat.

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: joshua you're safe today

Open play started again. Bernd wasn't too concerned about what had just happened. After all, there was plenty of time left in the game and luck couldn't save Russia for long. Indeed, after a rather tame run up to Germany's box, Benni stole possession and worked his way forwards. 

He passed to Joshua who passed back to Benni, giving Mario time to get into a good position to receive the next ball. Bernd watched Mario thoughtfully as he pursued the opponent's box. Everyone in Germany both had unconditional love for Mario, seeing as he had given them their World Cup, but they had also criticised him too. Maybe he would remind them why he was so loved. Bernd grinned as Mario took a shot, but his grin dropped off his face as Akinfeev caught it.

Russia made their way back to Germany's half. Cheryshev was a rather difficult man to stop, but Marc-Andre was surely well-versed in dealing with him, both of them being in La Liga. Bernd made a face as Marc-Andre indeed saved the shot and it went back to Germany.

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: luck won't get you far ter stegen

Finally, it seemed like the monotony broke and said break came in the form of one Leroy Sane. Leroy managed to dribble past everyone, passed the ball to Basti, and ran forwards to receive the pass back. Bernd almost choked on his beer as Leroy took a shot that sank into the top right corner of the net! There was explosive cheering from Westfalen and Leroy jumped in the air, grinning, looking delighted after having scored his first goal for Germany, as his teammates jumped on him with wide smiles on their face. Jogi was nodding when the camera was on him.

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: well done leroy u've achieved something keep it up

Germany did keep it up. Perhaps inspired by his goal, Leroy continued the momentum and was initiating good passes all over the place. It seemed that it was only a matter of time before Germany managed to get one through again. 

Or so he thought. Unfortunately for Thilo, his pass was intercepted by Smolov and the Russian striker made his dash for goal. Bernd wondered if karma was truly out to get him for his thoughts. If Russia scored he'd eat his ball. Or would he celebrate because Marc-Andre hadn't kept a clean sheet. He battled between his two instincts, one of them being spite for his rival and the other being hope for his team.

He decided to settle on grudging acceptance as Marc-Andre pulled off a second save. 

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: anyone could have saved that shot

Bernd: i would've caught it

Bernd: not knocked it off for a corner

Said corner resulted in nothing, with Niklas heading the ball out for Lukas to take. The wingers were making their way up either side of the pitch and were available to receive the pass, but Lukas instead decided to pass to Mario, putting faith in him as they entered the box. Mario didn't take the shot, however, because he didn't have a clear opportunity, so he gave it back to Lukas, who moved his leg so fast Bernd didn't actually see what had happened until the commentator yelled, "Tor!"

Bernd blinked as Germany celebrated their goal, having not even realised that Lukas had pulled off the shot. On the replay, it seemed that he had put in some of his explosive Podolski power, zipping the ball in so quickly it was a blur. It had been a missile of a shot, Akinfeev having had no chance of reaching it. Lukas had scored goals with a similar level of power over his career- he was quite the formidable striker when on form.

The second goal of the first half established a solid lead and that was enough to satisfy Bernd as Germany entered half-time with a few more chances that were either cleared or saved, with Marc-Andre only having to make one more save. 

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: well done everyone

Bernd: apart from ter stegen

Bernd: you were just there

He got up to traipse to his fridge, leaving his phone tossed onto his sofa, to get some more beer. He knew he was acting like somebody in an existential crisis- his apartment was messy, he was badly shaven, looking to get drunk and shirtless. But what else was he to do? Be productive? What a  foolish idea.

When he returned to the sofa, he passed the time by looking through Twitter to see what people were saying about the match. There wasn't much being said about Germany other than details about the scoreline, namely because there was a match between Croatia and Spain going on at the same time for the Nations League, that seemed to be more lively. Bernd half-smirked as he saw news that David de Gea had conceded two. 

He tipped his alcohol down his throat, pushing one hand through his hair and staring lazily at the screen as Germany returned to the tunnel, Marc-Andre looking stupid as per usual, and with changes having been made- Basti was out and Julian Draxler was in his place, and Miro was in place of Lukas. The Russians had added in an extra defender to their lineup, probably to prevent the goal difference from deepening. Bernd privately thought that was a good idea.

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: can u make it 4-0 pls

Bernd: 2-0 sounds a bit lame 

Bernd: 3-0 is acceptable buuut

Bernd: 4-0 sounds like a better battering

There was the second kickoff, with the Russians taking the ball. It was almost excruciatingly slow, with tentative movements forwards before passing backwards to avoid being intercepted, before Cheryshev finally set the pace of the match by getting past Benni and getting forwards. Bernd looked at the messages he had just sent to the group chat and wondered if he was going to pay for what he had just sent. Fortunately, nothing came of Cheryshev's move as Smolov was unable to receive the pass and the ball went off for a throw-in.

Joshua took the throw-in and it was received by Julian Draxler. It seemed like Draxler had good cohesion with Leroy, or Leroy was good at reading the game, because a slightly dubious pass based off a slightly clumsy reception of the ball managed to reach him. It was almost admirable to see how dangerous Leroy looked on the ball- his dribbling ability, his pace and his tactical awareness made him a serious threat. It was almost guaranteed that he would make an impact on any game he entered.

It was also admirable to watch Brandt on the ball. The winger wasn't going through good times at his club, but he put in performances that truly were reminiscient of Mesut. He also seemed to embody the role of the no. 10 just as surely as Miro embodied the role of a no. 9, seemingly dancing across the pitch and being very in control of everything. Then there was Leon, who had been considered Germany's wunderkind from the get-go, the spiritual successor to Ballack and Matthaus. And, whilst he was not with them due to to injury, Kai Havertz, was already looking to be another one of Germany's midfield gods. It was almost insane to see how much young talent they had.

But you're not one of them, the voice that was uncannily like Marc-Andre, he hated it, sounded in his head. You're decent enough, but you're not going to be a main man on the squad. Marc-Andre will take Manu's place. You'll never get your chance with the team because you're the same age-

"GO ON!" Bernd yelled, partly because he wanted to drown out the little voice that appeared when he drank and partly because Gotze had the ball. This time, instead of having to pass it back, he took the shot himself, and it hit the back of the net. It was a lovely little finish that poor Akinfeev just couldn't reach, based off of a flick from Leon.

Bernd wondered if Marco would be overreacting as his boyfriend had scored. Surely enough, when the camera cut to the bench, everyone else looked pleased and were grinning at the third goal, but Marco had grabbed the top of Jerome's head and was shaking it wildly, looking beside himself with joy, as Jerome's eyes rolled.

The game was definitely over, now. 

Bernd drained the last of his second beer, setting down the bottle on the table, and debating whether he should be pathetic and go for a third one or, put a shirt on, go for a jog and freshen up a little. Maybe he should shave. He gnawed his lower lip contemplatively, and then decided that he rarely got to indulge his pathetic side. Nobody would know he was acting like this, it wasn't like anyone had cameras in his apartment- or so he hoped. And it seemed like the game had drawn to a stand-still, anyway. Nothing had really happened since the third goal- there had been a few chances for Miro, but they had either been cleared or saved. 

He traipsed to the fridge, picking up his third bottle, uncorking it with his teeth and tossing the cap aside. With his bottle hanging from his mouth, he went back to the sofa, expecting to see the ball still being in play. He was surprised to find he had missed something in the minute he had taken to get another drink. Everyone was gathered around Germany's end of the pitch, and it looked like Smolov was about to take a penalty. The situation was explained by a replay-it looked like Benni had accidentally gotten a handball in the box. It didn't look like there was any intent behind it, but handball rules were fairly skewed anyway.

Bernd watched as Marc-Andre jumped up and down, getting himself ready, and felt extremely annoyed again. He was known as the penalty saver out of the two of them, it was what he was best at. If Marc-Andre saved this penalty it would just be the final nail in the coffin. 

bayern won the bundesliga

Bernd: go on ter stegen

Bernd: show us how you bottle things

He waited, nails scraping impatiently at the label on his beer bottle, as Smolov prepared to take the penalty. It would be extraordinarily annoying if Marc-Andre saved this. The clean sheet didn't matter, they hadn't conceded from open play, so it had no bearing on the team's performance. Don't show me up again, he thought in annoyance. I'm just trying to live my life.

But when had Marc-Andre ever had consideration for Bernd's life? Bernd's angry frown deepened and he practically chugged down his beer as Marc-Andre went the right way, and managed to palm away Smolov's effort. The Russian striker had stalked away, looking furious, but the Germany players were patting Marc-Andre on the head and Benni, who had looked annoyed at the handball call, gave him a quick hug. 

Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno

Bernd: nobody likes u

Bernd: you're the worst

Bernd: u suck

Ugh. Marc-Andre was the fucking worst. Bernd couldn't bring himself to watch the rest of the game. He grabbed his TV remote and slammed his finger on the power button so it flickered off.

***

bayern won the bundesliga

Joshua: hey

Joshua: what's wrong with my moustache

Joshua: it's a new style

Chapter Text

Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen

Marc-Andre: You say nobody likes me buttt I think people were cheering my name pretty loudly 

Marc-Andre: 40,000 ended up dying from an orgasm

Marc-Andre: I'm just that good

Marc-Andre: Managed to save a pen, didn't get nutmegged, unfortunately I didn't get the opportunity to save an own goal

Marc-Andre: Job well done I reckon ! What were YOU up to?

Marc-Andre: HA I see you can't bear to talk to me

***

Two consecutive wins for Germany were all well and good in theory, but in practice, it resulted in a hell of a lot of complacency and a racket that was almost impossible to quiet down. Jogi could barely shut them up to congratulate them (he was reconsidering actually doing it in the first place), as the team had been too busy recounting everything they had done well, and arguing over who had been the best member of the squad during the break- naturally, Marco was convinced that he had earned the prize for this.

"Let's review the facts," Marco said firmly, standing atop the bench in the changing room, batting away Jerome, who tried to pull him back down. He cleared his throat and puffed his chest out, assuming a look of importance that made him look like Jogi trying to gain control of the team after somebody had scored an own goal in training. In other words, totally incompetent in the face of incredulity. "I was the best. That is all."

"Hard to argue with those objective facts," Mario said with a fond grin, and Marco beamed back at him sunnily. But everyone else was looking at Marco like he was a bag of mulch and dead leaves- though for Mats, the expression was not particularly different from his resting expression.

"The only objective fact of the matter is that Marco ist ein Fickfehler," Mats said firmly. "He's out of the running."

"Oh really, supreme and mighty Hummels, our unbreakable wall, the one who had never once made a mistake in his elusive chase for gold, oh heading god of Munich and the Allianz Arena?" Marco said in one breath reeling around on his pedestal to glare down at Mats. "What, pray tell, did you contribute to our noble country? Is your name on any score sheet?"

"He assisted your only goal," Jerome said disbelievingly. This fact seemed to be sour to both the defender and the forward and they both side-eyed each other. "If anything, both of you are out of the running. You've literally caused trouble every day of this break, it's a miracle you got anything done at all. I nominate-"

He was interrupted by Marco giving a loud, dramatic groan, falling forwards on top of Mario, who almost collapsed under the sudden weight. Jerome literally just stared at him as he got to his feet, brushing himself off theatrically as if he had rolled in sand after falling down a hill. Marco seemed to notice all the incredulous gazes on him and said defensively, "What? I have feelings too. Jerome's words hurt."

"Just..." Leon said, before Jerome could open his mouth. "Ignore him. Treat him like a Stuttgart player. You know how, when they try to bring up how it'll definitely be their year this year, you just say, mm, nice, you do that? Do that to Marco."

Mario Gomez and Ron-Robert looked extremely downcast.

"That was so unneccessary," Mario said glumly. "We're trying, you guys. You know, we won the title-"

"Like ten years ago. Literally anything you say is invalid. Let the big boys do the talking, Mario, honey," Marco said gently, and so Mario turned to Ron-Robert for solace- but his teammate simply shrugged.

"I wasn't around for the good days. Sorry," he said apologetically. "We kind of do suck."

Mario sat down on the bench and slumped his shoulders, pulling his shirt over his head so he could retreat from the world.

"I was around for the good days," Sami offered. "Before the Bundesliga went downhill under the weight of Bayern's dominance and Dortmund became shit-"

"I will literally pluck out your eyes-"

"We were the kings. Now I'm the king of two other leagues, too." Sami looked thoughtful for a moment, wearing an expression uncannily similar to Marco when he was being overbearingly egotistic. "Wow, guys, my career has been great. I've won three leagues, the Champions League and the World Cup. I'm such a good player, aren't I?"

"Yeah, okay," Mesut laughed. "That's like saying Kiko Casilla is better than Manu because he won three Champions Leagues as a reserve. Don't suck your own dick too hard, okay?"

Toni, who had been fairly quiet up to this point because honestly, did he want to engage with the team, muttered something about Mesut and Sami and dick-sucking that made Jerome let out a sudden shrill cackle. Everyone looked at him- Toni, tickled by his own contribution, could only let out a sustained giggle. 

"Sorry," he gasped, as Mesut blinked at him and Sami became interested in his shoelaces. "I was just. Thinking about Kiko. Yeah. It was a funny suggestion. Him being better than Manu."

"Who's better than Manu?" Manu himself had appeared beside them, already changed, his bag slung over his shoulder. Marco, who had just realised what Toni was getting at and had been about to comment on it, frowned at him. He really looked like shit. His eyes were heavily shadowed and pretty bloodshot. How had he not noticed before?

"I am." Marc-Andre, who had been frowning at his phone for a bit instead of getting changed, joined them. "No, sorry. I can't make that joke. You're a god, Manu. Don't be offended! I just don't have that level of self-righteousness to make a comment like that yet."

"It's alright, kid, it takes years of practice," Marco promised him. "Anyway, speaking of who's better than who, we've been getting sidetracked, here. We're having a discussion about who's been the best this break and we've just unanimously agreed it's me-"

"That'd only be true if we transported ourselves into another reality where you've somehow lived up to that statement." Marc-Andre tried his hand at being witty again. He looked around at their amused faces. "No, sorry. It sounded better in my head. Too wordy?"

"Too wordy. You've been with us this long and you don't know how to roast yet? Fucking loser," Toni said, putting emphasis on the loser because Marc-Andre was technically a club rival of his.

Marc-Andre looked miserable. "You managed to eviscerate me with two words. Teach me how to do it. I want to practice on Bernd."

Manu, who had been looking a little vague up until that point, leaned forwards to mutter something to Jerome, who fell into his broad chest and practically started sobbing with laughter. Marc-Andre looked bewildered and Mario Gomez sighed, pulling him down to sit beside him. "It's alright, kid. Just don't... just don't talk."

"Let's get back into this debate," Toni said firmly, because he was convinced his performance had been great and wanted to brag a little. He took Marco's place standing on the bench- the Dortmund forward looked a little annoyed that the place he so commonly inhabited had been taking by a filthy Real Madrid player. "EVERYONE!"

Everyone who was changing, or talking amongst themselves, or kissing, looked up from what they were doing (Jonas had to gently nudge Basti and Lukas, looking guilty as he did so). 

"Come over here. We're talking about who's been the best out of us during this international break."

These words triggered some sort of chain reaction and everyone was rushing to join the group. It looked like a fun debate was brewing- Fips looked like he was preparing himself for war (it was bound to be) and Leroy looked excited- for once during these discussions he could be part of the equation. Thomas, who usually would have been doing back-flips to exaggerate about himself, walked over to stand by Manu with less verve than he usually had. Marco's eyes lingered on the two of them before he turned his attention to Toni, who was conducting the discussion.

"Alright, schwache Schwänze, here are the facts," he said imperiously. "We have five scorers. We have Mario Gomez, we have Mesam- sorry, I mean, Sami- we have Mario Gotze, we have Leroy, and we have Lukas."

"Hey!" Marco said indignantly. "You omitted me!"

"Because you've been omitted from the running already," Toni said dismissively. 

"Good," Fips said suddenly. "I hope Hummels has, too. These two have elevated my blood pressure far too much considering I exist on a diet that involves literally no cholestorol whatsoever."

"Yeah, Hummels is out," Toni said. "We need objective representation and these two have literally been the stupidest since day one. So, we have five scorers, but we also have the goalkeepers and everyone else's performances to keep in mind. I personally weigh in and say that I was the best, and you can all suck my dick individually."

"And you were sounding so reasonable," Fips sighed, as sounds of indignation floated around the room and the rash arguments began. 

"Hold on, hold on!" Sami said, holding his hands up (he had been staring at Toni for a good while, but had been woken up by all the commotion). "We have other things to keep in mind! Like the quality of our opponent and the importance of our games!"

"True," Toni said contemplatively. "That means I have even more reason to be labelled the best. I faced France."

"Hold on, now!" Leroy, who seemed to have summoned up the courage to talk without fear of ridicule, intervened. "I faced both France and Russia, so my performance is doubled in its value!"

Everyone ignored him.

"I think my performance was pretty great," Marc-Andre offered, from where he was still sitting beside Mario Gomez. "I saved a penalty, and every shot on target-"

"Yeah, all three must have really put you under a lot of strain," Leon snorted. "Shut up, ter Stegen, you're irrelevant in the face of what Manu did. That quadruple save, as well as the others in the match, absolutely stole everything inside of me. You saved, what, eight on target, from France?"

Manu blushed as everyone looked at him thoughtfully. "Yeah, I did. But it's not surprising when I do it, so maybe we should give a most improved player to Marc-Andre-"

Thomas burst out laughing and Mario gave Marc-Andre a look, as if to say, I told you not to talk.

"What does eight shots on target say about the quality of our defence?" Julian Draxler said, nudging Joshua, who hit him. "I think Fips, Jonas and the centre-backs should be out of the equation."

Fips gave Julian a look that could have burnt a hole through a solid block of titanium. "How dare you. I was perfect. Not a single foul in ninety minutes of play and a 93% pass completion rate. You could only dream of having stats that good."

"You can eat me," Jerome said gently. "I was better than you could ever be in your life. My slide tackling was the only thing stopping the ball from hitting the back of that net."

"Sorry," Jonas said nervously. "I was a little clumsy in that game."

There was an instant rush to reassure him, and Thomas actually hit Julian for making him feel bad. 

"No, Jonas, baby, you were perfect and nothing you ever do is wrong. Ever," he cooed. It was a little weird how protective Thomas was over Jonas- the man went bright pink to the tips of his ears. "It was all Fips. All of it. Bad right back."

"Thomas."

"If anything, we should be talking about the defence in the Russia game," Benni said brightly. "We didn't let-"

"Benni. You were facing Russia. Sit on my lap and just keep quiet for a bit," Mats said, and Benni glared at him. 

"Go and score a header!"

"Guys!" Leroy broke in before Mats could lament upon the fact his own boyfriend had turned against him. "We've completely forgotten about me? I think I was pretty great. I created all these chances, and all the space for you to score your goals, and I scored one-"

"Yeah, yeah," Mesut said dismissively. "Cute, you created some space. Have you forgotten you play alongside the god of space? The assist king? My assist to Sami was orgasmic and none of you can say anything otherwise-"

"These jokes just write themselves," Mario Gotze mumbled to Jerome, who had sat on the bench cross-legged, but was facing the wall, because he couldn't endure anything anymore. He was liable to fall apart like a Jenga tower if someone removed another block of his sanity with all these inadvertent sex jokes.

"So I think that I should win the award for best-"

"Seriously, you're talking, but it's not words spouting out. It's just shit," Sami said with a nauseated expression. He put on a high pitched voice. "Oh, look at me, I'm Mesut Ozil, I prance around like a ballerina and give easy passes to the best central midfielder in the world-"

"You play with me and you're saying that?" Basti said indignantly. "You think you can just play with me and say you're the best central midfielder in the world?"

"Uh," Sami said. "Yeah, I do."

It looked like a precursor to another fight. Fips' antennae was twitching as he regarded Basti's slowly reddening face, and decided to step in, but Lukas beat him to it.

"I scored a Podolski power shot and nearly knocked Akinfeev out. It was the most dynamic move we had in the two games and it was so fast Fernandes had literally no idea what had happened."

There were noises of affirmation, that had been a pretty cool move. But once again, someone brought up the fact that he had scored against Russia, and the torrent of abuse restarted, and Lukas sagged like a deflating balloon. It looked as though this situation would never resolve itself. Fips, who had been cut off by Lukas the first time, stepped in to be the captain again, because otherwise they would be running around in circles til the end of time (Mario looked like he was about to step in and talk about his goal, best to stop him before he did).

"Look. I think we should base our conclusion on who helped us the most." Fips' eyes travelled next to Thomas. "Manu is the only one who hasn't been overly obnoxious. He pulled off that quadruple save to deny France a goal. As well as another four to keep us clean. Without him we wouldn't have been able to maintain our lead. He was inspired. So I think my vote goes to him."

Manu looked like Fips had clubbed him over the head with a table leg, but Fips remained impassive. Fips was their captain, and he knew how to read his teammates. Though he had not spoken a lot to Manu and Thomas in recent days, their subdued state had not escaped his notice, nor had Manu's poor condition and exhausted stance. It had caught his eye partly because a quiet Thomas was a rare sight, but also because he cared for his teammates. He knew Miro was involved in the situation, and that the man was handling it- it was the only reason he hadn't stepped in yet out of worry.

To Fips' surprise, it was Marco who stood up abruptly and declared, "You have my vote. Manu, it's yours, if it couldn't be me. I can't bear to have any other outfield player take the title of the best, so it's up to the goalkeeper."

His eyes very, very briefly met Fips before flashing away again.

"Of course I agree," Thomas said brightly, putting his hand up. "I was great, but Manu, you stole the show."

"Sure!" Jonas said brightly.

"Eh-" Lukas started, but off of a glare from Fips he went, "Ugh, fine. Barely acceptable."

"I'll go for it," Mesut said. 

"Whatever," Sami sighed.

"C-Cool," Jerome spluttered, still slightly teary-eyed minutes after.

"I'm being gracious, unlike Bernd," Marc-Andre said in a dignified voice. "A yes from me."

"Alrighty,"  Mario Gotze said, because he had met his boyfriend's eyes and had seen something in them.

"Of course," Miro said softly.

"Manu's amazing! Yeah!" Leroy said enthusiastically.

"Of fucking course," Leon said dreamily. "I still remember that moment. Big yes."

It went around the group, peer pressure causing everyone to agree that Manu was the best, even Toni, who looked fairly disgruntled. But also genuine love. Manu was so red that he would've blended well with Bayern's kit.

"Jeez," he mumbled. "You'd have thought I hadn't been that good before."

There were explosive groans at the less than gracious response, but everyone read his badly hidden smile correctly and knew he was secretly delighted. And they were happy to see it. Manu deserved the best.

After all, what would Germany do without their sweeper keeper?

***

Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno

Marc-Andre: Still not replying eh

Marc-Andre: Bet you're wallowing in self pity back home

Marc-Andre: It's ok Bernd! 

Marc-Andre: Maybe I'll get a mild injury at some point and you'll be able to be the second keeper x

Marc-Andre: Why don't you reply to me so I can enjoy these roasts more smh

***

Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski

Jerome: can't believe the international break's pretty much over

Robert: Can't you?

Jerome: ... sorry baby

Jerome: but seriously im kind of sad

Jerome: forgot how damn fun it is being with the guys

Jerome: now everyones going off again

Jerome: but im also fucking happy because I GET TO SEE YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jerome: <33333333333333333333333333333333333

Robert: IKR

Robert: I've literally been sleeping alone and it fuckinggn sucks

Robert: But soon you'll be here and all will be gucc! 

Jerome: seriously it's only like a day and then you'll be right here isn't that crazy

Robert: Imagine being away from Robert Lewandowski for a week thats a no from me

Jerome: ikr

Jerome: i cant believe im about to say this

Jerome: but i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

Robert: Say that again and I'll believe you

Jerome: i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

Robert: I'm still dubious

Jerome: i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

Robert: I'll tentatively believe you

Robert: But I get it he's fun to be around

Jerome: not just him toni i always feel sad to say bye to

Jerome: mario

Jerome: fucking MESUT AND SAMI

Robert: FEUHGIEURH any more news about them?

Jerome: just the fact that they keep making comments that are so easy to manipulate into sex jokes

Jerome: it's truly incredible

Jerome: it's sad they didn't realise anything tho

Robert: Nothing was going to change over one week baby

Robert: Plenty of other breaks and opportunities

Jerome: what if they return to club life and just return to square one

Jerome: that'd be really shit

Robert: If they really are in love with each other

Robert: It'll only grow stronger

Jerome: poetic thoughts b

Jerome: unfortunately they're stuck in a loop of inadvertent sex jokes

Robert: You're condemned to it when you're with Germany

Jerome: indeed

Jerome: i gotta head off now rob see u soon we wanna do some hanging out and stuff before we part ways

Jerome: talk to u sooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn <3333333333

Jerome: ich liebe dichhhhhhhhhhhhh <33333333333333333

Robert: Ich auchhhhhhhhhhhhh <33333333333333

Robert: Can't wait to see youuuu <33333

***

When they had finally reached the hotel again after an hour of time-wasting, everyone started to feel a little deflated as they realised soon their time together would be reaching an end and they wouldn't be in close quarters for a while. The Bundesliga players were a little less gloomy, because they could see each other more, but the international players had gotten increasingly more wistful as time passed by.

Mesut in particular was feeling rather miserable. He had known all along that his week with Sami would go by a little too fast, they always did. But it was only when Jogi told them that they should start packing their things away that the fact really hit him and he realised that he would be in England and Sami would be in Italy and it would be a month before they saw each other again.

"Hey, now," Sami said in a voice of false cheer, as they went up the stairs towards the rooms. "At least we get to spend our last night together. Jogi's letting us change back to our original rooming arrangements because we don't have any more matches."

This brightened his spirits a little. Indeed, people were lugging their luggage across the hallway to reach different rooms, shouting abuse or fond goodbyes at their roommates of the past few days. Mats and Marco were fighting yet again, trying to eject each other from their room because neither of them wanted to carry all their things to their significant other's room (Marco in particular had just left his things scattered all over the floor and couldn't be bothered to pick it all up). Fips was making his way down the corridor to break up the ensuing shouting match.

"Bye, Mesut," Lukas said dispassionately, as Mesut took his things past Basti, who was beaming at his boyfriend. "You were a shit roommate and I hated sharing with you."

The door slammed in Mesut's face before he could respond. He suspected Lukas and Basti were on top of each other already.

Jerome was struggling with his suitcases on his way back to Toni and Sami was not deigning to help him. His arms were folded as he leaned against the doorway but his face broke into a smile as Mesut approached. Jerome gave him a filthy look as Mesut entered his room and closed the door in his face, so it was just the two of them.

"Good to be back," Mesut said approvingly. "I swear, I don't know how Basti puts up with Lukas, he sounds like a fucking mechanical drill."

"At least you didn't have to handle Jerome talking to Lewandowski at like three in the morning. I swear, that guy is pretty fragile, he was drunk-sobbing and telling Jerome he saw his basketball, took a shot, missed it and went, but you would've gotten it in! I miss you so much!  Mind you, Jerome isn't much better."

"They haven't handled long-distance so well," Mesut said, grinning. "D'you remember the international breaks when Robert was still at Dortmund and Jerome used to go on and on about how cute he was? And about how he was so conflicted because he was a club rival but also so cute? And Marco used to get so annoyed about it?"

"Goddamn," Sami laughed. "I remember that. And now look at them. I can't imagine them ever breaking up. They're weak, though. We handle being apart from each other all the time-"

Mesut raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Uh," Sami said, turning bright red and laughing. "Jeez, that sounded wrong. I mean we handle being apart as friends, not as fucking boyfriends-"

"No, I get it," Mesut said with a grin, though his face was suspiciously warm too. Even though the hotel room was pleasantly air-conditioned. "Your heart can't bear it when I'm away from you. I fill everyone's lives with light-"

"Yeah, okay," Sami cut him off with a sigh. "Narcissistic rambling really only works if Marco is the rambler. I'm going to have to cut you off. But, Mes, you're kind of right. I'm seriously going to miss you. We should try and visit each other on days off, huh?"

Mesut beamed. "Sure! I'll call you when I have one, I can make a trip to Turin. So it's not all doom and gloom, huh?"

The expression on Sami's face was soft at Mesut's words. He opened his arms and Mesut walked into them without hesitation, and they hugged, both of them feeling a little more complete.

In a room just down the corridor, right next to the one where Mats and Marco were being yelled at by Fips (though they were yelling back), Thomas had just waved off Mario, who had gone off to join the kerfuffle with an expression of resignation on his face. He was waiting a little nervously, picking at the hem of his hoodie, waiting for Manu to arrive. Eventually, he did, pulling his bags into the room and not looking at Thomas.

"Welcome back, eh?" Thomas said a little anxiously. "Feel alright, Schatz?"

"Yeah," Manu said quietly. He raised his head to make eye contact. Thomas winced. He still didn't look good at all. He looked ill. But his expression was neutral. "Thomas?"

Thomas bit his lip. "Yeah? You okay?"

He didn't like the look on Manu's face. In his experience Manu usually looked calm when he was angry about something, but he didn't know what he could be angry about. He had a suspicion it had something to do with last night. Manu had briefly told him that he had had a dream last night, but he had told Thomas that they would talk about it after the match. And now...

"I know, you know," Manu continued, still impassive. Thomas stared at him and his stomach plunged. "I know you told Miro."

 Thomas felt a little faint but he did not look away from Manu. Had Miro told him? After Thomas had begged him not to?

"Manu..." he mumbled. "I'm-"

Manu raised a hand. "It's okay. I'm not angry. And it wasn't Miro who told me. He kept his word. I just guessed."

Relief crashed through Thomas and he could've laughed, but he didn't, because Manu still looked serious. 

"I was pissed," Manu said thoughtfully, and Thomas winced. "I was really pissed. But Miro helped me realise that it's stupid to be. You were just trying to help me. You love me. And I love you too. The fact that you went against me because you were worried shows that you care, so much. I understand that. I'm sorry I've been giving you a hard time for it and worrying you more."

Thomas was still unsure about where he was going, so he kept quiet.

"Thomas," Manu said in a slow voice, now sounding less relaxed and a little more anxious. "Miro... Miro told me to see someone. And I still think it's a stupid idea. And I'm still scared about it. But... if I did. Hypothetically. You'd stand by me, right? You'd help me no matter what happens?"

Thomas felt himself melt away as pure delight rose in him like molten lava bubbling through the ground, exploding to the surface. "Manu, you idiot, of course I would! I'd do fucking anything for you and I'd never ever not! Are you really thinking about it?"

"You're sounding a little too excited," Manu said, but he was grinning a little. "It's still a solid maybe. Nothing for certain. You know that, right-?"

"Maybe's enough!" Thomas cried, and he launched himself at his bemused looking boyfriend, just as the bellowing outside reached max point.

"WILL YOU JUST DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! YOU TWO ARE SO ANNOYING! YOU'RE LITERALLY THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE! IT'S NOT THAT HARD! JUST DECIDE WHICH ONE OF YOU IS LEAVING!" Fips roared, now bright red in the face with fury.

"NO! I'M NOT GIVING HIM THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME DRAG ALL MY STUFF DOWN A CORRIDOR! WAIT, GOTZE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Mats shouted back. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Uh," Mario said, gesturing at his stuff. "I'm coming to my room?"

"YOU SEE? HE'S HERE ALREADY! CLEAR OUT, HUMMELS, I SWEAR TO-" Marco yelled, but Mats interrupted by cupping his hands over his mouth and bellowing:

"BENNI!"

There was a moment of quiet and then Benni poked his head out of the doorway. "Yes?"

"Bring your stuff down here! You're coming to this room! I'm not leaving!" Mats said furiously.

"Höwedes, if you leave that roo-" Fips and Marco began in unison.

Benni silenced them with a raised hand.

"You want me to leave my room and drag all my things down there?" Benni asked in a soft, dangerous voice that Mats seemed to recognise immediately. "And what, pray tell, would possess you to think I'd do something like that?"

Mats pointed weakly at Marco, who glared defiantly back, and spluttered out some words. "He- Reus- annoying- stupid- satisfaction-"

"Listen, my dear Mats," Benni said gently. "You're going to take your things and come to my room and Mario Götze is going to enter his room. I am not going to move a single inch from where I am now."

"But-"

"BUT NOTHING! I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH YOU AND MARCO FOR THE PAST WEEK AND AT THIS POINT I'D RATHER STICK A RUSTY PAIR OF PLIERS DOWN MY THROAT AND EXTRACT MY OWN BALLS FROM INSIDE MY BODY THAN DEAL WITH YOU TWO A SECOND LONGER! MATS JULIAN HUMMELS, COME TO MY ROOM  AND STOP BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD! AND YOU, REUS, DON'T LOOK SO SMUG! YOU'RE JUST AS ANNOYING, NO, EVEN MORE ANNOYING THAN HE IS! KEEP IT UP AND I'LL MAKE A HAT OUT OF YOUR FUCKING ENTRAILS!"

Silence. And then Mats dashed into the room to collect his luggage and Benni retreated back into his room.

Fips looked a little offended. "I was just about to say something like that. He stole my thunder."

***

Mats and Marco did not remain subdued for long. At dinner that evening, which was also partly a celebration for the week's good work, Mats pulled out Marco's chair as he went to sat down and the man landed on his ass, looking like a fool. Mario just managed to grab Marco's wrist before he could reach for the jug of iced water and Fips practically shoved Mats to the other end of the table.

Thomas and Manu entered the dining room looking a lot happier than they had done for a while, and took seats by Marco and Mario, the former of which peered at them over the glass of water he was tipping down his throat. Before he could say anything, Marc-Andre, Mesut, Sami, Jerome and Toni took seats around them, followed by Leroy, the Julians, Jonas and Joshua. They were already causing a racket, reaching for food and snatching it out of each other's grasp, resulting in a lot of swearing.

The attention shifted to Marc-Andre, who was staring down at his phone.

"Who're you texting?" Sami asked, as Jerome slapped his arm for taking the noodles away from him. 

"Bernd," Marc-Andre said vaguely, without fear of mockery (he was too distracted for that). "Hey, Mesut, have you heard from him today? Or Lukas, where's Lukas? He's just gone silent all day."

"Worried?" Leroy asked. "I thought you didn't care at all about him."

"I don't," Marc-Andre said quickly. "I just- I-"

"Well, to answer your question," Mesut cut in through the babbling. "I did hear from him. He messaged me something about a training schedule after the break and we talked a bit about the match."

"When was that?" Marc-Andre asked, frowning.

"Uh." Mesut shrugged and fished out his phone. "Like, three hours ago."

"Oh." Marc-Andre took in the information. So Bernd was ghosting him. No matter. Who even cared? He stowed his phone away in his pocket. "Well, okay. Whatever."

"Not going to ask him why he's blanking you?" Jerome asked, beating Sami to the soy sauce and being the one who received the slap this time. 

"No," Marc-Andre said flatly. "I don't even care. He can do whatever. I don't even want to talk to him."

Everyone avoided each other's gazes. Mats, from his spot down the table, yelled, "What's going on, guys?"

"Shut up, Hummels!" Marco yelled back.

The conversation turned to what everyone was feeling about club prospects, and as per usual, devolved into a roasting session. Everyone just managed to contain themselves when poor Jonas started talking about the 2.Bundesliga- nobody wanted to make any jokes about it, because that would just be in poor taste. Everyone joined in roasting Toni and Leroy, it was a group activity. And when Lukas and Basti arrived to the table late, both of them positively glowing, the roasting was turned up several notches with Fips getting involved too.

But it couldn't be ignored that there was a deal of wistfulness about the roasting. 

Finally, Jogi stood up at the foot of the table to make a speech, just as Marco was about to take his time in the flames. Thomas, in his newly rejuvenated state, loudly hushed everyone, making more noise as he pretended to try and make everybody quiet. Everyone joined him, all of them shushing each other. 

Jogi wondered what he had done to deserve a team consisting entirely of schoolchildren.

"Plan A was to start this speech with praise, but there are many more letters of the alphabet," he deadpanned, glaring at all of them. "Now I will start this speech by saying I am glad I don't see you every day like your club managers do. I don't know how they take it. I can handle summer tournaments but every day- no, I'm getting too old to think about that."

Fips nudged Thomas before he could open his mouth, though his lips twitched imperceptibly, happy that Thomas had seemingly returned to his normal state.

"Now, I'll preface this by saying I am pleased with your-" Jogi paused to let the necessary mockingly shocked whoops take place, before continuing. "-performance this break. Barring certain lacks of focus, you could tell when we played we were calm and confident. This is good. This is what I like to see. I'm also glad you seem to be taking this Nations League seriously. It is excellent training for the big tournaments."

Nods.

"Going forwards, I hope we can carry forwards this momentum. I hope you will continue to represent our country with pride."

His lips twitched as he said it. The thought of this lot representing anything other than a challenge to one's self-control was seemingly ridiculous. But he meant what he said.

"Enjoy your return to club life, and continue to remain healthy and in form, as well as disciplined. I can rest easy knowing Mats and Marco will not be together, so I will still have a centre back and a forward alive for the next break. That's all. I'll enjoy my time off from you."

Choruses of "awws" travelled around the room and everyone, led by Thomas and Marco, chanted, "We love you, Jogi!"

"Hm," Jogi said as he sat down again. "God only knows why I haven't retired yet."

Chapter Text

 Manu did not sleep peaceably that night. His dreams that night involved psychologists dissecting him with scalpels while he was strapped down, ignoring his pleading, explaining at the top of their voices everything that was wrong with him to a derisive crowd. He progressively became more desperate, begging for them to let him go, saying that his mental state wouldn't affect his keeping, all he wanted to do was play-

And Manu awoke with a start as one of the masked, robed figures raised his medical instrument and brought it down hard onto Manu's face. But there was something about this sudden return to reality that was different. For one thing, he hadn't woken Thomas- his boyfriend was still lying calmly in his arms, his eyes closed. Manu took several deep breaths to try and steady his panic, running his fingers through Thomas's hair as he tried to remind himself that the psychological dissection was nothing but paranoia.

Eventually, sunlight began to stream through the windows as Manu stroked Thomas, staring wistfully into space. When Thomas finally began to stir, he shifted in Manu's arms and blinked sleepily at him.

"Sleep well?" he murmured sluggishly.

Manu couldn't bring himself to tell the truth as he looked into Thomas's hopeful face. "Yeah. I did."

Thomas beamed and leaned against him, and Manu continued to caress his hair, staring blankly into space. In a short while, they would be forced to get out of bed, so they could all return to their respective cities.

That short while seemed to last forever, until the relative peace of the morning atmosphere was awoken by Jogi's yell that the international-bound players all needed to start getting their shit together. Mario and Marco would be going to their home just a few miles away, so they had no need to hurry- in fact, they were busily not hurrying at that very moment. The Bundesliga players were also relaxed, their  journeys weren't particularly long either, they were just getting on trains. It was the international players who were hopping about on one leg, throwing around the belongings they had not bothered to pack yet. They'd be flying all over the place.

Basti, who was propped up on one elbow watching Lukas hastily cram things into his suitcase, found it hard to stop the lump in his throat from getting bigger as Lukas looked around frantically for his things. The lump exploded as Lukas turned around to look at him after struggling to zip up his suitcase, and then frowned, asking, "Basti, are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Basti said brightly, and then he burst into tears.

"Oh, Basti," Lukas said, sitting down by his boyfriend as Basti tried to stop crying and failed miserably. Lukas hated it when Basti cried because it usually tended to make him cry too. "I know how you're feeling. We've just got to do what we always do, huh? Soldier on. Settle for phone sex."

Basti gave a wet giggle, but didn't stop sobbing. It didn't matter what Lukas said, whenever they had to separate it was always the same thing, every time. Lukas was the slightly less open of the two of them- he tended to let out his emotions about the distance between them in private. But Basti always ended up weeping when it was time to part, and so Lukas did too.

"Come on, my love," Lukas said in a shaky voice, pressing his forehead against his boyfriend's, thumbing away the hot tears seeping from those beautiful eyes. "You know I'm right by you. Always. No matter where we are!"

"I want you to really be here," Basti whispered back. "Not in fucking London all the goddamn time. I want you by my side and in my arms."

Lukas felt tears squeezing out of his own eyes. "I know. It's horrible. There's not a day that goes by where I don't miss you. But we can visit each other in our days off, okay? I'll go straight to Munich and we can spend all day with each other-"

His voice broke off as a thought travelled across his mind. He didn't want to only spend days with his love. He wanted to spend all the time with him.

"I wish I could see you off," Basti said desperately. "Fuck the train. I'll get another ticket. I'll go to the airport-"

"Basti," Lukas said gently, planting a kiss on his boyfriend's lips. "If you come it'll be even harder to say bye. Come on, baby, we knew this wasn't going to last forever, no matter how beautiful it felt. We've handled this before, haven't we?"

"Barely!" Basti wailed, and he dissolved into even harder sobs as Lukas smiled sadly and embraced him, deciding it was just better for him to let it all out.

Meanwhile, Jerome did not seem to share Bastian's sadness as he watched Toni sit on his suitcase and battle with the zip. He was in the middle of texting Robert, the excited feeling he associated with a teammate receiving a penalty stirring in his stomach.

Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng

Robert: I'll come to the station

Jerome: ofc u will

Jerome: am gonna be dying the whole journey

Jerome: it's pointless beyond belief there's still a few hours left

Robert: :(

Robert: I swear we've just gotta go driving or something and go to dinner tonight to celebrate everything

Jerome: a done deal 

Robert: My brain's like

Robert: Kabadaboosh

Robert: I'll have you in my arms SO soon

Jerome: i'm kabadathrilled

Jerome: skskskskks i am smiling at the thought of u

Robert: I always smile at the thought of you

Jerome: YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE LEWANDOWSKI

Jerome: JUST KISS ME ALREADY

Robert: Depends on how fast it takes you to get here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jerome:

Toni yelled in annoyance as he still couldn't jerk the zip from where it was obstinately stuck. "Hey, dick face! D'you want to fucking help me out?"

"No," Jerome said, after a few moments of contemplation. "I don't."

Muttering various strings of words, Toni stood up, easing the tightness in his legs from where he had been squatting for so long. And then he lifted his suitcase up, taking a hold of the zip.

"Right, you stupid bastard suitcase," he said firmly, a malevolent glint in his eyes that sometimes appeared during matches, when he was about to initiate a game-changing pass. "I'm going to rip you apart-"

As he spoke the words, he yanked the zip  backwards with so much force the suitcase actually opened- and half of the contents fell out. Jerome took a video of Toni bellowing with great volume and expression and sent it off to Robert, laughing whilst feeling content.

Robert: Thats prob what he looks like after a Real Madrid domestic fixture

Jerome showed Toni the message and Toni said many words in Spanish that Jerome didn't know- but he didn't dare ask for clarification.

In a room down the corridor, a former Real Madrid player himself was spending an inordinate amount of time painstakingly shaving his beard while another former Real Madrid player quietly packed his own things away. Mesut and Sami had grinned at each other in the morning as they had jumped out of bed to start getting ready, but the reality of what the day would bring- leaving each other- had somewhat sobered them. 

Sami tried to ignore the leaden feeling in his stomach as he gently tugged his razor across his jaw, focusing every bit of his being into getting the perfect shave. Mats would be in tears at how intricate it was going to be. Mesut was being unusually neat as he piled his shirts into one corner of his suitcase and several pairs of underwear. Putting his attention into it helped him keep his mind from wandering to sad thoughts.

There eventually came a point where they couldn't ignore their emotions anymore- there wasn't enough to distract them. As Sami, wearing his heavy, stylish jacket, re-entered the room, Mesut found himself instinctively glancing away, dreading the moment where he would go out of sight for a month. But the man came right up to him and forced him to look, placing both hands on his shoulders.

"C'mon, Mes," he said brightly, but he also sounded a bit flat. "It's time for you to go back and get those away wins!"

"It's time for you to eat me," Mesut said, without much feeling. He gazed wistfully up at Sami. "Enjoy winning everything in the Farmer's League."

"City won your league by how many points, again?" Sami's retort, again, sounded somewhat half-hearted. 

The two of them stared at each other again, floundering around for something to say, but this time there were no heartfelt declarations, nothing to warm either of their heavy hearts. Sami cleared his throat and released his grip on Mesut's shoulders, and Mesut stepped away and looked around, not knowing why he felt so suddenly disappointed.

The eternally efficient Miro was one of the few international players (in fact, he was the only international player) who wasn't panicking as he closed his suitcase and heaved it onto the bed. He made a face as he looked around at his now half-empty hotel room- Mario had not yet fully tidied up his side.

"Looking forward to returning to Rome?" the Stuttgart striker asked lazily, still cocooned in blankets. "Italy's a long way away. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Mario," Miro said gently. "It won't be for too long."

"Really?" Mario asked dubiously, turning onto his front and kicking his feet up. "Time seems to run as slowly as Per when you're playing shit... I assure you this international break will feel like ages away after our first match back."

Miro laughed. "Don't worry. You know Stuttgart, you pick things up in the second half of the season-"

"Just escaping the relegation zone, my idea of an ideal career-"

"You'll rebuild in time. Don't get too down." Miro went over to Mario to pat him on the head- the man looked up at him through dark eyelashes and suddenly seemed to be acting quite coy. "I'll be watching all your matches, obviously."

"Naturally. Can't miss a Bundesliga stalwart," Mario exhaled, deflating a little as Miro moved away from him again. "I'll obviously be watching all your games too, Opa. Don't do your back in with the flips you're bound to do."

"Ha. I've had to stop doing those. Luan and Noah emulate them at home and it won't do if my sons break their necks trying to copy their Vati."

The grin on Mario's face was suddenly a little too stretched out. "Ha... Luan and Noah. Yeah. Your kids."

"That's right," Miro said, a little puzzled at the way Mario said it. But he smiled anyway, Mario tended to have a strange way of fizzling out of conversations sometimes. 

Miro's thoughts travelled to Manu as he gazed at all his luggage. He was going to have to exchange a few words with Thomas before he left.

More than a few words were being exchanged in Leroy and Marc-Andre's room. The Barcelona goalkeeper was in a towering temper, storming around and shouting while he looked for one thing or another while the Manchester City yelled back, goaded past endurance at Marc-Andre's inexplicably awful mood. 

"For the last time, I didn't take your damn cologne! You must have dropped it somewhere!" Leroy hollered, as Marc-Andre grabbed a handful of clothes and shoved them into his suitcase. "Why the fuck would I want to smell like- like a freshly rained on pine forest? I have my own, unique scent!"

"Yeah, shit!" Marc-Andre shouted back, slamming more stuff inside. "Where the fuck is- ugh! For fuck's sake!"

He had just found the bottle beneath a pile of jeans.

"What the fuck is your problem, Marc-Andre?" Leroy said angrily, as the man started stalking around the room again. "Why have you suddenly transformed into a huge dickhead? This isn't the way we should be saying goodbye to each other, man! We should be being nice to each other! What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything!" Marc-Andre yelled at him, though his accusatory tone contradicted his words. "It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Well, you're sure not acting like it!" Leroy stormed. "Yelling at me and being all moody-"

"You're so stupid!" Marc-Andre shouted. "It's not about you! It's about that stupid idiot Bernd!"

And he left Leroy blinking as he seized up his finally packed luggage and stormed out of the room, practically tripping over everything in existence as he went.

He practically shoved past Jonas as he hurried down the corridor. The Koln left-back looked startled and turned back to call after him, "M-Marc-Andre, are you okay-?"

"It's fine, Jonas," Leroy called from inside the room. "He's just being moody. About Bernd, apparently."

Jonas gave Leroy a weak smile before hurrying ahead, holding something in his hands. He stopped in front of Room 318, knocking timidly on the door.

Benni answered it, looking surprised to see him.

"Hi," Jonas said nervously, holding up a glass bottle of fragrance. "I was just wondering, um- Marco gave this to me as a present last night, and I've just remembered everything about the razor, and I was wondering, is this actually Mats' or-?"

Benni sighed.

"Yeah, it's Mats'. Jesus, Marco will never stop, will he? Thank you, Jonas, sorry you lost your 'present', which was actually mine to him. I'll just pretend it was there all along or Mats will try and find Marco and flay him alive." He took the bottle from Jonas and smiled at him, and Jonas smiled shyly back before rushing away again, hoping Mats wouldn't appear and find out about the mixup and get him involved again.

The Bundesliga players were finally starting to rouse and get moving, because they wanted to say goodbye to the international players before they departed before taking their separate ways around Germany. Luckily, Jonas managed to dart past Marco's room just as the Dortmund forward flung open his door to the world dramatically.

The last day of the international break wouldn't be the best day for Marco and Mats to finally murder each other.

***

When everyone was as ready as they could be (which was to say, only barely prepared but forced to hurry because Fips was starting to get ratty), they all stood in the hotel lobby with their goodbyes hanging off their lips. Those going to the airport would still remain together, but the Bundesliga players were all ready to set off.

"Bye, asshole," Toni said shortly to Jerome, going for the handshake, but he was consumed in a hug anyway and resigned himself to it, patting Jerome on the back. 

Marco and Mario were both hugging Mesut and Sami. Mario seemed to be overcome by giggles as he and Marco switched hugging partners, and Sami just watched him flatly, though there was a flicker of fondness in his eyes.

Mario and Miro shared an embrace. When Miro withdrew from him, he cupped the Stuttgart striker's face in his hands and smiled affectionately before letting go and moving onto Thomas, leaving the man standing there slightly open mouthed.

"I hope everything goes okay with you, Thomas," Miro said softly, squeezing Thomas's hand before also giving him a big hug. "Please call me, and let me know what happens with Manu. I wish you luck."

"Oh, Opa! I'll miss you so much!" Thomas sniffed, about to explode into tears, but he resigned himself to burying his face in Miro's shoulder.

Basti was sobbing again, clinging onto Lukas as if he never wanted to let go (he didn't). Fips was patting Basti sympathetically as he quietly said his goodbyes to Lukas, who was hugging his boyfriend with a pained expression on his face. It was always difficult watching the two of them separate.

Julian and Joshua were hugging so tightly it was hard to tell if they would be able to let go.

Marc-Andre seemed to have recovered from his sudden fit of anger earlier in the day and was awkwardly shaking Manu's hand. The taller goalkeeper gave Marc-Andre an embrace and patted him on the back.

"Hope things work out with you and Bernd," he said cheekily, and a shadow passed over Marc-Andre's face.

"Yeah, that'll only happen when Beckenbauer returns to become an international player," he said flatly. He really meant it, despite his convoluted wording. Leroy, who was waiting to say goodbye to Manu, rolled his eyes. The two of them had made up after their temporary dispute of the morning, though Leroy still didn't know what Bernd had done.

Jonas cringed as Marco charged towards him.

"Good luck with everything, Jonas!" he said loudly, squashing Jonas with a hug, even though Jonas wasn't actually leaving yet. "Look, my hug is transferring some of my brilliance over to you. You're brilliant now. Even more brilliant. Enjoy the present I gave you!"

He looked hopefully over at Mats, but the man was busy exchanging embraces with Mesut and Sami. 

"Ahahahaha that kind present." Jonas's was suddenly so nervous he was sure he would fall apart. "Y-Yeah, thank you for that! And thank you! For your luck! Even though we aren't really saying bye yet-?"

Marco patted his cheek, clearly distracted, and flounced off to throw in his final few roasts of Marc-Andre. Jonas sighed in relief.

Manu gave Miro a big hug, trying to put a lot of unspoken emotions into it, because he couldn't really express them through his words. Luckily Miro seemed to understand, because when he withdrew from Manu he gave him a soft smile.

"You are strong, Manu," he said gently, and Manu could have started crying just like Basti was.

Finally, having done his rounds with everyone else (and having been delayed by roasting Leroy and waiting for Basti to release hold of Lukas for a moment), Jerome reached Mesut and Sami. The two of them regarded him with a grin, and then, without even thinking about it, they rushed into each other, dissolving into one big group hug. Jerome thought about Robert's words from last night as he squeezed them. Their love would only go stronger.

"We're all counting on you," he said with a grin, when the three of them broke apart. Mesut and Sami exchanged puzzled looks.

"For what?" Sami asked.

Jerome waved a hand airily.

Eventually the goodbyes had to end and the players had to depart. Jerome practically waved his hand off as he watched them retreat, particularly gazing at Mesut and Sami and winking as Toni glanced back one more time to give him the middle finger. When they were all gone, everyone stood in relative silence, Basti now hugging Fips as he cried.

***

The departure of Bundesliga players was less bittersweet, as they would be seeing each other regularly and wanted nothing but failure for each other domestically. When Jonas said goodbye, however, there was a great deal of sadness in everyone as they all hugged him individually. They wouldn't be seeing him as much anymore.

"Bye, everyone," he said with a sad smile. "Good luck with all your club stuff over the next weeks! I wish you all the best! Thanks for a great week!"

"We love you, Jonas!" Thomas said brightly, and the man blushed. "Good luck with your club stuff too! I wish Koln the best!"

There was a chorus of agreements before Jonas set off, a lonely figure.

"I could cry," Thomas said, the second he was out of sight, waving his hands in front of his face. "I could seriously fucking cry. Oh my god."

"That kid," Manu said sadly. "I'll really miss him."

It was almost as if several years would pass before they all saw each other again.

Mario and Marco remained with everybody as the players from Leverkusen, Hoffenheim and everyone else went off. Soon it was just Bayern and Dortmund left. 

"Aw, Basti!" Mario said very sadly, as he went to embrace the still heavily tearful Basti. "I hope you feel better soon!"

It was a sign of how upset Basti was that Marco didn't make fun of him at all. In fact, he understood the man completely. "You'll be alright, Schweini. Keep your head up. Lukas wants to watch you win, alright? Just not against Dortmund. He'll be proud when he sees you're second in the Bundesliga a month from now."

He patted Basti on the back as the man's tears soaked his shirt, and then released him and turned around to the rest of them.

"Well, it's been a good fucking week. I'm glad I proved myself to be better than all of you."

He hugged Jerome first, then Thomas, then Manu, then Fips (after briefly checking the man wouldn't murder him), then everyone else, and Mario followed. That left Mats for last, and the two players regarded each other highly suspiciously.

Fips's expression was suddenly wary.

"Matthias," Marco began diplomatically. "You really suck. You're a shit player, and a shit person, and I stole your cologne and gave it to Jonas as a present."

"Well, he clearly realised it actually belonged to me, because he gave it back because I still have it," Mats said without missing a beat, smiling smugly at Marco's downcast expression. "Anyway. Marco. You're the most annoying person on the planet. You literally can't shut up. You're a narcissistic bastard. And I hope we defeat you and knock you down into relegation."

They regarded each other for several moments.

"Well, you can't say fairer than that," Marco said finally, extending his hand for a handshake. Mats accepted the handshake and did his best to break the other man's hand. 

Fips sighed. "I suppose it's the best I could hope for."

"Auf wiedersehen, then, bitches!" Marco said brightly, as Mario very quickly hugged Mats. "I hope your train gets delayed! See you in a few weeks for the fixture where we will make you all cry!"

"Bye to you too," Thomas called back, as Marco and Mario took each other's hands and turned around to walk away, absolutely ready to wrap themselves up in each other after a long week. 

Jerome grinned after them, not feeling too sad. As Marco said, he'd see them in a few weeks anyway. As the Bayern team all turned to look at each other, sighing, ready for their train journey home, he quickly opened his phone to where Robert was his lock screen. His love would soon be right in front of him, and he couldn't wait to be in his arms again.

***

Private chat between Lukas Podolski and Bastian Schweinsteiger

Lukas: at the airport honey :((((

Lukas: missing u so much already

Lukas: just wanna ditch all these assholes and run off back to u

Basti: the feeling's mutual im waiting for the train

Basti: but it's a train to the wrong place :(

Lukas: basti my baby :(((

Basti: am still crying you know :

Lukas: come on baby we'll video call as soon as we get back home yeah??

Basti: ofc

Basti: it's not just the same :(

Basti: my entire mood is just : :(

Basti: nobodys making fun of me bc i look so pathetic

Basti: fips is just gently patting my shoulder

Lukas: mesut isn't talking to me

Lukas: he's just slumped over sadly

Basti: he probably gets how we feel :(((

Lukas: he has NO IDEA

Lukas: what i'd do to be with u right now

Basti: ahhh luki 

Basti: i'll literally hyperventilate lol

Lukas: just breeeatheee

Lukas: i swear at the first opportunity i'll come to munchen

Lukas: ill get injured somehow

Basti: no luki don't joke about that

Basti: stay happy and healthy that's what i want

Basti: nothing else

Basti: actually id like some phone sex once in a while

Lukas: ok my darling

Lukas: anything for u

Lukas: a nude a day keeps the hamstring injuries away

Basti: profound advice but entirely true

Lukas: keep winning okay my baby

Basti: always

Basti: we're bayern!!!

Basti: :)))

Basti: call me straightaway straightaway when u get home ok

Lukas: obviously

Lukas: i love you so much

Basti: und ich <33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

Chapter Text

"Well, this is it." Sami's expression was unbearably sad as he looked down at Mesut, but there was a softness in his eyes. Mesut, who was lingering around the gate leading to the London departures, was seized by a sudden urge. He flung his arms around Sami's shoulders, almost knocking the man backwards, and held onto him tightly.

"We'll call," he whispered a little urgently, tightening his grip, because he felt like something was slipping away from him. "We'll text. We'll visit. We'll do what we always do."

Sami grinned. "Of course. It's not like we're being cut off from each other."

But there was a strange sort of sadness in his eyes, as if he couldn't really convince himself of what he was saying.

Mesut held him even more tightly.

"I love you, man," he whispered after several moments of remaining still, before he finally let Sami go and stepped back from him. "Good luck, with, like, everything. Juventus. Life. Anything or... anyone."

Sami frowned, but Mesut had already turned away, picking up his suitcases, and heading towards Lukas, who stood alone in front of the departure gate. 

"See you," Mesut called back for the last time, urging himself not to turn around and look at his friend as he did so. But he did anyway. His gaze locked on Sami's for a fraction of a moment and suddenly all he wanted to do was drop his bags and stay, but Lukas's hand had gripped the crook of his elbow and then, just like that, Sami was out of sight.

Mesut was roused from his reflection by the sound of a soft sob beside him. He raised his head from where it had been pressed against the window and glanced to his right. Lukas had one elbow rested on the arm of his chair and was covering his face with his hand.

"Oh, Poldi," Mesut said, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. Lukas crying was a pretty rare sight and it always gave him a pang when he saw it. They were the same tears he had seen after the World Cup of 2014, after the journey was all over, and it had been time to return home. "It's not so long til you'll see each other again."

"It'd be easier to deal with," Lukas hiccoughed, leaning against Mesut's shoulder. "If we weren't so close."

Mesut understood what he was saying. The more dear somebody was to you, the more difficult it was to be apart from them. In the life of a professional footballer, things were always moving, and there was barely time to settle- new opportunities were cropping up every day. For two people as in love as Basti and Lukas, who were that far apart, it was a huge challenge to overcome. It was a mark of how strongly they loved each other that they had lasted this long. 

His thoughts inexplicably travelled to the man he had left behind at the airport.

"Take comfort in the fact that all of this?" Mesut gestured at Lukas's tearstained face. "Means that you love him so much. You two are inseparable, and that's why it's so hard for you to deal with. I bet my magic feet that Basti is probably just as miserable as you are right now."

"Is that meant to reassure me?" Lukas snorted a little, giving Mesut a disbelieving look. Mesut reflected on what he had just said and winced.

"I mean... Basti is probably taking comfort in the strength of your relationship and feeling a renewed vigour as he rushes forwards to greet daily life again?" Mesut stumbled out in one breath, without checking to see if what he had said made sense.

Lukas's judgemental look only grew stronger. "Now I see why you can't be our captain, with motivational skills like that."

"I motivate you just by being here," Mesut declared, but he ruffled Lukas's head fondly, earning him yet another unimpressed stare. "C'mon, Poldi. Turn that frown upside down. Let's break that goal drought for your Basti when we get back, eh?"

The disparaging expression on Lukas's face was replaced by a tentative smile. "Alright, then, if you're offering. You can load me up with assists while you're at it, too, for your-"

He broke off, suddenly looking away, and Mesut stared at him. When Lukas saw his face, he laughed a little awkwardly and sat upright again. 

"For your own personal pride," he finished clumsily. "So damaged by our away games. Yeah. You'll need to build up that dignity again."

"Right," Mesut said slowly, returning his gaze back to the window. "My dignity."

For some reason, he wasn't feeling the same bemusement he always felt when the team suddenly started acting weird. In fact, he was almost certain that he knew just what name Lukas had barely refrained from saying.

***

"Mario,  Mario, my Mario..." Hands cupped his jaw, fingers tracing his cheekbones. "If only things were different..."

"SHIT!"

Mario Gomez flew awake from the doze he had just been about to settle into by a sudden scalding sensation in his lap. He leapt to his feet as the coffee that had been set before him spilled all over his trousers, and for a few seconds, he danced around like a madman in the moving train carriage, swearing at the top of his voice.

It was lucky he was in a private carriage, and that only Ron-Robert was sitting opposite him.

"Jesus!" Mario said, once the burning hotness seemed to subside and he was able to gingerly touch his sodden jeans, scowling as he saw the brown stain. "You could've stopped that from falling on me, you know!"

Ron-Robert seemed totally indifferent in the face of Mario's indignant glare, not looking up from his phone. "Not my fault you dozed off and didn't put the lid on."

"Ugh." Mario picked at his clothes and snatched the packet of tissues Ron-Robert had produced from his bag to start mopping at himself. "Just my luck. I've probably got burnt flesh or something. I might not be able to play."

"That'd do you some good."

Mario's eyes would probably pop out of his sockets with how furiously he was staring at Ron-Robert, but the man continued to blithely ignore him, flicking through whatever inane app he was finding so interesting. He sat down in his seat again, after making sure that it wasn't wet, and had finished cleaning up the mess his coffee had made. He smiled awkwardly at the attendant and mouthed an apology as she gathered up the coffee-soaked tissues and hastily rushed off to get another one for him.

"What are you even doing?" Mario asked grouchily, when it became clear Ron-Robert wasn't going to look up from his phone. The man responded by showing him the group chat. Mario sighed. He should have known.

bayern won the bundesliga

Toni: Jerome I fucking know it was you who kept my lucky laces

Toni: You stupid bastard

Toni: You'd better fucking fly over to Madrid and give them back to me

Jerome: lucky laces???

Jerome: first of all if you've got a possession like that you're just asking for them to be stolen and made fun of

Jerome: second of all although i echo my point above and say i WOULD have stolen them if i had known they existed

Jerome: i ain't touched anything

Toni: YOU LITERALLY ARE SO ANNOYING

Toni: I THOUGHT I'D FINISHED DEALING WITH YOUR MALEVOLENT PRESENCE NOW I'M ON A PLANE SAILING AWAY FROM YOU BUT NO

Jerome: LOOK I HAVEN'T TAKEN ANYTHING

Jerome: I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO REASON TO WANT YOUR 'LUCKY LACES'

Jerome: (THEY'RE CLEARLY NOT LUCKY ANYWAY CONSIDERING YOUR RECENT RESULTS)

Toni: ICH WERDE DEINE MUTTER ESSEN

Mario shook his head as he leaned back from the phone screen as more messages appeared, accepting his new cup of coffee from the attendant and thanking her whilst also profusely apologising about the spilled one (she looked a little spooked as she assured him all was okay). "It's not even been a single hour since we all started heading back to our own places, and they've already devolved again. Jesus. This team is very single-minded."

"You say that like they evolved over the break," Ron-Robert sighed, sipping his tea and looking wistful for a moment. "I swear, I don't know what they did at the youth academies when that generation went through. You know, Thomas, Mats, Marco, Mario, Jerome, Mats, Toni... Wait, does Manu count? Wow, I forgot Manu's only a year younger than you."

"Oh, Manu definitely counts," Mario said with a grin. "There's certain divides in Germany's football generations, you know. Fips, Basti, Lukas, me, Roman, Michael, we're part of the older generation, though Michael is a little older than our generation, maybe. Manu downwards to the other Mario is the next generation. I know Marc-Andre is actually older, but I count him as part as the third generation. Or maybe I just count the other Mario as part of the second generation? Wait, that's the same thing. Oh, who knows? Time isn't fucking real."

"You forgot about Miro," Ron-Robert chuckled. "He's been around since 2002. If anything, he's the timeless deity."

"Ahahahahaha Miroslav yes of course." Mario rubbed his palms together and swallowed. "So, um, er, how are you feeling about our fixture against Leverkusen? What do you reckon Markus will go for?"

It was the perfect question for deflection, the best weapon a footballer had in their arsenal. As Ron-Robert instantly began pontificating upon every game Leverkusen had ever played and analysed all the potential penalty takers and goalscorers, Mario discreetly wiped his hands on his clothes.

***

Fips was sitting opposite Basti on the train, both of them having been left alone by the other Bayern players so Basti could have some space. He needed it. Although he had stopped crying constantly now, his eyes were still very red and every once in a while he'd bury his face in his hands again. Fips had run out of soothing things to say and had settled on gently patting his friend on the shoulder whenever he succumbed to tears again.

He felt sympathy, but by this point he knew there was not much he could say to ease things for Basti or Lukas. Fips had never quite felt the pain of being apart from the one he loved most for the majority of his everyday life. It was worse that Basti and Lukas weren't just schoolboy lovers, they had a serious, long-term relationship- their situation was bound to cause a lot of strain. Fips quite understood his friend's pain.

On the other side of the train, Manu and Thomas were being unusually silent. Thomas's head was pressed against Manu's shoulder and he was fast asleep. Manu's eyes were vacantly focused on the rolling scenery outside the train window. Leon, Joshua and Serge had tried harassing them, but Manu's look had deterred them and they had gone off to be stupid alone at the end of the train.

Meanwhile, Jerome was trying to calm the storm that had started around Toni's lucky laces. 

bayern won the bundesliga

Jonas: I just want to let you know Toni I don't have them I promise

Toni: Ah no Jonas I know you wouldn't take them

Jonas: Oh I'm not accusing you of accusing me it's just because of that whole razor situation

Jonas: Haha

Toni: Shit you're onto something

Toni: Is it REUS?

Toni: REUS!

Mats: type a little louder so he can hear it over all the sex he's having with mario at this very moment

"It was me who stole them, you know."

Jerome looked up from the accusations flying on the group chat to see Mats giggling as he regarded his own phone from where he was curled up in his seat. "Did you really?"

"Yeah. I totally forgot about it, too. I was going to give them back but I only remembered it when, well,  I saw Toni accusing you of stealing them." Mats laughed, throwing his head to the heavens. "To be fair, it's like you said, who wouldn't steal lucky laces off a teammate? No wonder Real Madrid are losing shit."

"Ach, vielen dank, Mats," Jerome said darkly. He held up his phone to snap a photo of Mats and sent it off to bayern won the bundesliga, informing Toni that Mats had just confessed to committing the crime he had been accused of. Benni, meanwhile, gave his boyfriend a supremely unimpressed look.

"You know, you complain about Marco every second of every minute of every hour of every day, but you're just as bad as him," he sighed. "You just don't seem to see it."

Mats held his heart as if he had just sustained a mortal wound, his eyes blowing wide in horror, making him look uncannily like his mortal enemy. "Benni! You can't say that about your beloved! I'm nowhere near as bad as that!"

Irony seemed to sail over his head, just like Benni's cricket bat would if his boyfriend continued to push his luck. 

"Fuck lucky laces, there are more important things to worry about!" Jerome said suddenly, with feeling, turning off his phone and now looking extremely giddy. "I can't believe we're almost in Munchen, where Rob is! I've literally never been more excited for something in my life."