Chapter Text
May 19, 2014 - DFB-Pokal Victory Dinner, Munich
Another season gone, another trophy won. When the final whistle blew, it signaled Bayern’s second trophy of the season. Victory has always been so much sweeter when it’s against Dortmund, and the Bayern players soaked in every second in the Berlin stadium. Even with his injury, even though it was a situation he’s been in so many times before, Bastian relished every moment. And he ignored that it still felt a little emptier than it did in 2008 all those years ago (when the one person he had needed to be there was celebrating alongside him).
The victory dinner, two days later, is slightly rushed, given that so many players have to go to their respective national teams the next morning, but nothing can stop Manuel and his ever present bottle of beer. Bastian sits between Philipp and Thomas, who seems to be listening avidly to Javi.
“Sí, sí, el equipo de Alemania tiene mucho talento pero España ganó la Copa Mundial, ¿no?” Javi is talking rapidly in Spanish, the way he always does when he forgets that Thomas can’t actually understand him (although Thomas is nodding along, clearly not caring about the language barrier). “Y Alemania perdió en 2008 y otra vez en 2010 cuando jugué con España. Pues, está claro que España es la mejor.” Bastian watches as Thomas just laughs and pats Javi on the back. He’s almost completely sure that Thomas had no idea what Javi was saying, but then again, it’s never really mattered to either of them before. It's not like Thomas pays attention to half the things that are being said to him anyways.
On his other side, Philipp leans in and asks, “You’re very quiet today Basti, what’s wrong?” Philipp has always regarded Bastian as his little brother and he can always tell when something is off.
Bastian forces down another gulp of beer and fakes a smile before answering. “I’m fine, I’m just tired.” It’s a weak lie and Philipp knows it.
“Just relax. Go home and relax. I don't know why you're even nervous. He's your best friend, god damn it,” Phillip says quietly, careful not to let anyone overhear. He shakes his head (and doesn’t roll his eyes because he is mature and sensible, obviously) as Bastian turns white. Philipp has known Bastian for nearly his entire life, so of course he knows Bastian even better than Bastian knows himself.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Bastian manages to say.
“Sure you don’t. But really, Basti, just calm down, what do you think is going to be different?” Philipp feels like they’ve had this conversation a million times before (probably because they have).
Bastian can't bring himself to drink anymore; his stomach churns at the thought of finishing even one beer. He wonders how Manuel manages to keep that amount of food and alcohol down. “I promise you, Fips, I’m fine.”
Philipp just gives him a sad look. “Okay.”
Bastian glances at his watch and decides he's stayed long enough. “I'm going home. Early train. See you guys,” he says to the team. As soon as he walks out, Toni, Jerome, and Mario crowd around Philipp to confirm their suspicions (in reality, Mario has no idea what’s going on because he’s newer, but he follows his more experienced teammates anyway).
Meanwhile, Thomas is as clueless as usual. “It's not even 10 yet and he doesn't have kids,” he points out to Javi, who is usually the only person who is just as oblivious as Thomas. But this time, even Javi can sense something is wrong. “Wait, is something wrong?” Thomas glances at Manuel, who usually informs him about these things, but Manuel is currently very drunk, standing on a chair, and hugging (or suffocating, Thomas can’t tell) a disgruntled Arjen Robben.
Philipp sighs. Even after all these years, he has trouble understanding how Thomas can be such a good footballer and still behave like he never left kindergarten. “Yes, Mülli, there’s something wrong,” he says, managing to sound much more patient than he feels. “Bastian is worrying about meeting Lukas again.” Toni and Jerome exchange exasperated looks as Mario wonders why this is a problem at all, and Thomas’ face floods with confusion.
“But aren’t they together?” Thomas asks. Everyone stares at him. “Why are you all looking at me like I’m crazy? Haven’t they been together for 8 years or 10 years or something?”
Philipp can't help but chuckle. Sometimes it really does seem like they're a couple. Philipp is more than aware of this because he’s had to deal with it for the past ten years, but Thomas has only really known them for four years, so the fact that even he has caught on is remarkable.
Mario looks at his teammates. “Wait, I thought Bastian was dating that model. Sarah, right? And doesn’t Lukas have a kid?” The others regard him fondly, remembering how young Mario is. He hasn’t been exposed to the antics of Lukas and Bastian for as long as the others have. Toni wraps his arm around his younger teammate and pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.
“When we get to training, pay attention to Bastian and tell me what you see,” Toni says.
Nearby, Thomas pulls Manuel away from Robben, who looks relieved to be alive and free, and shouts, “YOU TOLD ME THEY WERE TOGETHER!” The German internationals wince as everyone turns and stares at Thomas.
Manuel sees everyone looking in his direction and suddenly the last five beers didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Thomas, get away from me,” he groans. Thomas may be clueless most of the time, but he knows Manuel is serious because he never calls him Thomas, especially when he’s drunk.
“Oh shit, oh shit.” Thomas stumbles back and dives behind Javi, holding the poor boy in place as a shield. “He’s gonna blow.”
Manuel heaves once and upchucks everything he consumed in the last few hours. Some of the newer players look a little scandalized, but everyone else just takes it in stride. Javi turns to Thomas, muttering, “Joder, vosotros alemanes estáis locos. ¡Es increíble!”
Philipp is almost relieved that Manuel threw up. At least Bastian’s problems are forgotten for the rest of the night. But right before he’s about to leave, Thomas reaches out and grabs Philipp’s arm. “Hey, Fips,” he says, and he has a mischievous look on his face that Philipp knows means trouble. “I bet Toni and Jerome 20 Euros that Lukas and Basti would get together by the end of the World Cup, but they bet me 50 that our favorite duo wouldn’t do it without me saying something first.”
“It’s been ten years, what makes you think this World Cup is going to be any different?” Philipp asks him.
“I just have a gut feeling,” Thomas says, vague as usual.
“Are you sure it’s not just gas?” Philipp teases lightly.
“75 euros. They’re going to get together,” Thomas says.
“All right, fine, Mülli, whatever you say.” Philipp gives in because Thomas is surprisingly persistent and he knows they’ll be here all night if he doesn’t accept. They shake hands, and then Thomas’ face splits into a devilish grin and Philipp feels an oncoming sense of dread.
“Oh, and if I win, I get to be best man at their wedding,” he smirks, and then he literally skips away, leaving Philipp standing there, cursing hyperactive 24-year-olds. (And really, is there even proof that Thomas isn’t younger than that?)
****
May 19, 2014 - FA Cup Victory Dinner, London
Nine years. It’s been nine years since Arsenal has won anything. So when the final whistle blew, the Arsenal players ran out into Wembley Stadium and celebrated like they’d just won the Champions League. The last time Lukas had experienced euphoria like it was in 2008, when he was still at Bayern Munich, winning the Bundesliga and the DFB-Pokal. But it hadn’t been the same, it couldn’t be, not when Arsenal hasn’t won anything for so long, not when there were only two other Germans celebrating the title beside him this time (though neither one is really who he wants to be celebrating with).
A victory dinner is scheduled two days later and an unlimited bar is provided, courtesy of the club. As usual, Lukas seats himself between Olivier and Mesut, with Per on Mesut’s other side. Everyone is chatting animatedly but Lukas remains uncharacteristically silent. Occasionally he laughs softly at his drunken teammates, but otherwise he does nothing but fidget with his fork, leaving his pint untouched.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” Olivier nudges him playfully. Lukas smiles reassuringly, but Olivier continues. “You should be happy! We’ve won a trophy, we have free drinks, and soon we’ll be off to Brazil!” Lukas stiffens at the mention of Brazil while Olivier looks baffled. Per and Mesut glance at each other, realizing what is going on with their friend. They know what (who) is really on Lukas’ mind.
Per finally decides to speak up. “Lukas, you should go home, sleep. Have Monika make you some soup. The plane leaves early and you look like scheiße.”
“Like merde, or as our English friends say, absolute shit,” Olivier agrees, but behind his cheeky grin, there’s concern in his eyes. Lukas glares at them both but knows he can’t really argue (he has no energy to do so anyway), so he gets up, nods at the three of them, sends smiles to the others, and leaves. The door slams behind him and the restaurant goes silent. Most of the boys throw the remaining Germans questioning glances only to receive shrugs in return. Once Lukas is gone, Olivier turns to Per and Mesut. “What was that guy’s name again? The one with the yellow hair and big nose?”
“Bastian,” Per says at the same time that Mesut answers, “Schweinsteiger.” The two Germans collapse into a small fit of laughter at that. As he recovers, Per chuckles and says, “Don’t let Lukas hear you saying things like that about him, though.”
“Mais, il a un très grand nez! C’est pas normale. I only state the truth. And he –” Olivier pauses, looking for the right words – “they are a thing, no? Les amoureux?”
“Not yet,” Per says, barely managing to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “But they’ve been at it for ten years now, for as long as I’ve known them. Honestly, it’s almost sickening to watch. I’m not sure how much longer they’ll be able to hold out.”
Olivier whistles under his breath. “Jesus, I thought Mathieu and I were bad, but ten years is ridiculous. C’est incroyable! I just kiss the damn boy when I feel like it, during matches sometimes, in front of everyone. What are they waiting for?” Per and Mesut have no answer, because they’ve been wondering the same thing for years.
A portion of the team had overheard the conversation, as much as Mesut and Per had tried to keep their voices down. They arrange themselves in a circle as they whisper to each other about the new discovery. “Boy toy,” and “Closet,” are among the few words Per is able to pick out from the conversations and he feels a little indignant on Lukas’ behalf.
“Putain, vous Allemands sont bizarre.” Olivier shakes his head. “And the English love their gossip.” He downs the rest of his drink and stands up. “Well, I guess I had better head out, the plane leaves early tomorrow. Bonne nuit, mes amis.” He taps Laurent and Bacary on their shoulders on his way to the door, and they’re both quick to follow him out.
Per and Mesut remain behind for a little longer and are soon the only ones left. Mesut turns to Per and says, “Lukas looked really out of it, didn’t he?”
Per nods in agreement. “This happens every time. Give them an hour together and it’ll be back to normal.”
“I might throw up if they play rugby again,” Mesut groans. “They’re worse than those American romance movies.”
“I don’t see them being able to deny it much longer. I’d bet 50 Euros that they’ll be together by the end of the World Cup,” Per says.
“Make it 75 and you’re on,” Mesut grins. “Shake on it?” Per just smirks back as he accepts.
****
May 20, 2014 - Train to South Tyrol
Bastian takes another sip of the lukewarm coffee as he glances nervously at his watch for the tenth time in half an hour. “Damn train is running late,” he mutters to no one in particular. His teammates are much less concerned about the delay. Thomas has disappeared to god knows where as he always tends to do, Toni and Mario are talking quietly to each other, probably about Philipp and Manuel’s injuries, and Jerome is reading. Suddenly, there’s a crash at the back of the carriage and everyone jumps in their seat.
“Sorry!” Thomas calls out, reappearing behind a cart and quickly trying to rearrange the food that has spilled all over it. Next to Bastian, Jerome sighs, puts down his book, and gets up to go help out.
Once things are settled, Thomas plops down next to Bastian, stealing Jerome’s seat. Bastian throws Jerome an apologetic look, and Jerome just sighs again and goes to sit by Toni and Mario. “So, are you ready?” Thomas asks.
“What? Yeah,” Bastian says quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve been to the World Cup before. Nothing unusual or anything.”
“Well, the last time I saw you sweat this much was after the full 120 minutes against Real Madrid in 2012, so what is it? You look like a fucking fountain.” Thomas says casually. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what’s on Bastian’s mind, but he really loves messing with people. And of course, he’s also a little concerned about the man’s frankly odd behavior.
Bastian doesn’t answer, but he understands this is just Thomas’ way of trying to calm him down (he silently tells himself to get a grip).
When they arrive, Bastian is the first one off the train, rushing out to meet the driver who had been assigned to transport them. The five Bayern players pile into the single car and they make their way to the hotel. Bastian has to suffer Thomas’ bony elbow sticking into his side, but he can see Mario fidgeting and Toni’s leg bouncing up and down on the other side, and is grateful to be sitting by the door.
When they reach the hotel entrance, Bastian suddenly feels incapable of getting up.
Thomas clearly doesn’t notice this because he tugs at Bastian’s sleeve impatiently like a child. “Come on, Basti, get out, I wanna see grandpa Miro!”
Slowly and reluctantly, Bastian gets out. Behind him, Thomas scrambles out, nearly hitting his head on the door frame, and rushes into the hotel excitedly, completely forgetting about his luggage. Toni shakes his head and grabs both his and Thomas’ bags, then accompanies Jerome and Mario as they walk through the doors.
The hotel is gorgeous, no doubt, but Bastian ignores the decor as he resolutely pretends that he isn’t straining to see if Lukas is already here. But the lobby is mostly empty, with just a few members of the technical team milling about.
“Bayern’s the only team that’s here, Schweinsteiger,” someone says cheerfully. “But they should all be arriving soon, don’t worry!”
Bastian sinks down on one of the expensive couches next to Thomas, who’s complaining to no one in particular that Miro isn’t here yet, and closes his eyes, waiting to hear the telltale sound of his teammates bursting through the door.
****
May 20, 2014 - Verona Villafranca Airport
Lukas’ ears pop as the plane makes its final descent. He shoves the book he is reading into his backpack and shakes Mesut. “Wake up, lazy, we’re here.”
Mesut rubs his eyes. “Jesus, did you sleep at all?”
“It was only two hours,” Lukas says. He checks his watch nervously. “We should be there by lunch if the train’s not late.”
Mesut knows why his friend is so agitated, but he also knows that Lukas won’t appreciate it if he brings it up. He had started to mention meeting Bastian for lunch as they browsed for magazines with the rest of the team (minus the Bayern players) at Frankfurt airport before boarding the plane, but stopped himself when he saw Lukas' face turn white and his ears redden at the mention of their friend. If only Per could be here – he’s known Lukas for a long time and is better at dealing with this kind of thing.
Lukas races to collect all his belongings and is probably the first person off the plane, stopping only to apologize for knocking into various passengers. Mesut hurries after him, concerned about his friend’s strange (but admittedly, not entirely unexpected) behavior. By the time he catches up to him, Lukas is waiting impatiently at the baggage claim, watching the empty carousel go around. His backpack is half unzipped, his shoes are untied, and his eyes are sunken. Mesut walks up to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, the luggage is going to be a bit delayed. Me and some other guys will wait for the stuff, you go ahead with the others to the hotel, okay?” Mesut says quietly. Lukas halfheartedly tries to protest, but eventually he gives in and thanks his friend.
Lukas and half the team take the train into South Tyrol, then pile into taxis to go to the hotel. He can barely breathe as his taxi rolls to a stop. Miro seems to notice, because he tells him quietly, “Just breathe, Lukas. You’re fine.” Everyone else has already gone in, but it still takes all Lukas’ strength to get out and walk into the lobby.
****
It’s noon, and everyone (besides Manuel, Philipp, Per, and Sami, but they’re definitely not arriving until later anyway) has arrived now. The players greet each other fondly, all club rivalry forgotten. In one corner, Thomas is talking rapidly to Miro, who’s clearly not following anything that the younger man is saying, but he’s smiling anyway. Benni, Mats, and Julian are chatting animatedly, and Mario, Marco, André, and Toni are sitting together. Roman, Kevin Großkreutz, Erik, and Marcel are gathered on a couch. Mesut is sitting next to Bastian and talking to Jerome, and Ron-Robert, Shkodran, Lars, Matthias, Christoph, and Kevin Volland are sitting at a large table.
The lobby is still full of laughter and chatter when Lukas walks in, but it seems to fade away when his eyes find Bastian, hunched over in the corner of the couch, quietly staring at nothing. Bastian, almost as if he can sense Lukas’ gaze, turns at that exact moment and his eyes meet Lukas’. In a somewhat dreamlike state, Lukas feels himself moving towards Bastian as Bastian slowly, shakily stands up. And then suddenly, they’re wrapped in each other’s arms, clinging at each other in a desperate hug (they both ignore how complete they feel).
“Missed you,” Lukas breathes quietly.
“I know how you feel,” Bastian murmurs back, nuzzling his face into the crook of Lukas’ neck. They inhale each other’s scent, smelling the colognes and shampoos they have come to know so well. Neither of them realize they’re still clinging on to each other until giggling breaks out around them. When they finally break apart, both their faces are slightly red, but they can’t help but smile.
Thomas nudges Miro. “Hey, wanna make a bet?”
Miro raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I’ve never lost a bet before, you know, Mülli.” Thomas gives him a look that clearly says Of course I’m sure. “All right, then I bet you 100 Euros that they won’t get together until after the World Cup is over.”
Thomas grins. “You found out about the bets we were making already? God damn. I never get to explain anything. But honestly, look at them. 150 Euros that they’re not going to last that long.”
“200 Euros. After the World Cup,” Miro says. “They need the adrenaline to do anything drastic. And there’ll be plenty of that when we win.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Thomas smirks as they shake hands. “But I like your confidence. I knew there was a reason I look up to you.”
Jogi stands up on a chair, and shouts for everyone to shut up. “Okay guys, we have a slight problem. Some idiot, that definitely wasn’t me,” (behind him, Hansi coughs awkwardly to cover up a snort), “gave the hotel the wrong information and now they’re down a room. The manager says there’s one room left, but it’s a single bed suite,” (usually reserved for honeymoons, he doesn’t add), “so I’ll be needing...”
“We’ll take it,” Lukas says before Jogi can even finish his sentence. Bastian looks around shyly, hearing snickers from his teammates, and Lukas reddens after realizing his mistake. Even Jogi and Hansi are looking strangely at them.
“300 Euros,” Thomas whispers to Miro. “Those fuckers aren’t going to last.”
The team watches as Bastian and Lukas gather their bags and grab the room key from Jogi. They say something about dropping off bags and meeting everyone else at lunch in a moment. Marco exchanges a look with Mario (he was about to volunteer for them), who raises his eyebrows at Toni. “Was that just me or did that actually happen?” he asks.
Thomas overhears him and skips over, “Oh my god, Toni. They don’t even need me. You and Jerome better be prepared to hand over 50 Euros. And Mario, buddy, this is just the beginning. It’s going to get so much worse.”
****
May 23, 2014 - Training Camp
“They're late,” Thomas says gleefully, “I can practically feel the money in my hands.” He shoves another mouthful of eggs into his mouth before continuing. “I wonder what they're doing in the honeymoon suite.”
Miro looks disapprovingly in his direction. “Thomas, what have I said about talking with your mouth full?” Marco, Mario, and André, who are watching from across the table, have to stifle their giggles when Thomas actually pouts at Miro’s condescending tone. “You have to set a good example for the younger ones, Mülli.” He gestures to the two boys across from them.
“You know I’m actually older than Thomas, right?” Marco asks.
“But you’re not more mature than me,” Thomas says as he uses his fork and knife to arrange the food on his plate into a smiley face. “Plus, I’m winning this bet, so that makes me a winner and therefore better!” He then dramatically flourishes his napkin and places it on Miro’s head. “Look, here they come now. They look pretty loved up if you ask me.”
Miro turns and looks at the aforementioned pair critically, the napkin still draped on his head. Bastian has his arm around Lukas, who is nearly doubled over with laughter. They don’t acknowledge any of their teammates, too caught up in whatever they’ve been talking about. “No, nothing happened,” he says.
“How can you tell?” asks Mario, who’s genuinely curious about this whole ordeal.
“Well, they’re still completely comfortable with each other,” Miro says patiently as he carefully removes the napkin and places it firmly on Thomas’ lap. “Based on previous observations, like with you and Marco here, things are awkward for at least a few days when such a major step is taken.” Mario and Marco both blush at the words, surprised that Miro knows about the depth of their relationship (though it’s not like they’ve ever been good at hiding it). “And also, it’s clear that neither one is aware of the other’s true feelings, so they’re going to remain oblivious for quite a bit longer.”
Lukas and Bastian sit down in the last two remaining seats. "Basti, can you get me some eggs, the fruity looking thing, and whatever else you want to have?" Lukas asks Bastian.
“Why am I always the one getting up?” Bastian complains.
“Please?” Lukas asks. He leans on Bastian and gives him the most blatant puppy dog eyes, and everyone at the table can see Basti’s features visibly soften as he caves in to Lukas’ request.
Upon watching this, Mario nudges Marco. “Hey, Marco, you wanna get me some...” he starts cheekily.
“Don’t even try,” Marco warns, smirking, even as his arm snakes around Mario’s shoulders.
Bastian returns with Lukas’ and his food, and soon everyone has finished their breakfast, so they all head to the training pitch. Bastian has to leave to do his individual recovery workout, and Lukas sends him off with a hug and a whispered, “Don’t worry, I know you’ll be back in no time.”
Behind them, Thomas is reenacting Manuel’s throw up scene, but with more gagging. “Look at them,” he says to Per, who arrived yesterday (he hasn’t stopped talking about his new kid) and happens to be closest to him. “How can anyone think they’re not gonna get together by the end of this tournament? They’re not even gonna make it out of training camp at this rate.”
Per just ruffles Thomas’ hair, smiling fondly. “I wouldn’t be so sure, buddy. I’ve known them for ten years and they’ve pretty much always been like this.”
****
After an intense session of training, everyone is ready to head to their rooms and just collapse into bed, but the dinner smells too good to skip. Grumbling about new bruises and sore spots, the team files into the banquet hall.
“Oh my god,” Thomas says as he stuffs his face. “I want to marry the food.”
“Calm down, man,” Manuel says, but he too is shoving food in his mouth.
“When have you ever known him to be calm?” Philipp mutters, but the slight smile he has on his face ruins any chances of him appearing stern.
“I liked it better when you weren’t here. Why couldn’t you stay in Munich a little longer?” Thomas retorts, but everyone knows he’s kidding. “By the way, did you see Poldi’s new Facebook post?” At this point, everyone is eagerly listening in on the conversation. Lukas and Bastian had volunteered to console Lars about his injury and help him pack, so they’re the only ones not around.
“No, what was it?” Mats is the one who impatiently gestures for Thomas to continue.
“He did one of those ‘who’s in the picture with me?’ posts with a picture from training, and guess who it was?” Thomas doesn’t pause to let anyone answer. “Well, I know this will surprise about zero of you, but it was Basti! Could he be more obvious?” He thinks about this for a second and then continues, “Wait, never mind, don’t answer that.”
“But isn’t Lukas married? And Bastian has a girlfriend, right?” Erik asks as Julian and some of the other new players nod in agreement. They all look very confused.
“It’s pretty much an unspoken truth that Basti and Sarah are more like siblings,” Philipp is quick to say. “They love each other a lot, but they’re not in love.”
“And Lukas and Monika are the same way,” Miro says. “They got married for Louis, but it’s clear that their feelings for each other are basically platonic. It's kind of like friends with benefits. But not those benefits, I guess.” The youngsters drink in this newfound knowledge, fascinated. Everyone continues to eat in relative silence; the only sound is made by Manuel, defensively hiding his bowl of Nutella and fruit as Thomas tries to steal from it.
The moment is broken just seconds later as Lukas, Bastian, and Lars walk in. Poor Lars looks distraught, and the other two have sympathetic looks on their faces. Some of the Dortmund players get up to comfort Lars (they all know his brother, of course) as Lukas and Bastian sit down.
Lukas shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stares at Bastian's knee.
"What's wrong?" Bastian asks. Lukas has been off all night, ever since Lars found out the bad news. Thomas shifts closer to hear the conversation, but Manuel kicks him under the table, signaling him to stop eavesdropping. He ignores Manuel and scoots a little closer. Bastian and Lukas are too caught up in their conversation to notice Thomas fall off his chair in enthusiasm. Next to him, Miro sighs and helps Thomas back onto the chair.
"Look, even if I somehow got worse and couldn’t play anymore, I'd stay with you guys. I promise you I'll stick around. It’s going to be alright," Thomas manages to catch Bastian saying. His eyes widen when he sees Bastian reach for Lukas’ arm and give a comforting squeeze.
He looks triumphantly at Philipp and whispers quite loudly, “Hey Fips, you wanna increase that bet to 500 Euros?”
“From 75? Are you crazy?” Philipp chokes on his drink. Toni pats him on the back as Thomas nods.
“I’m ready to win as much money as possible,” he says.
“Just agree to it, Philipp,” Miro says with a soft smile, “because he’s going to owe me 300 and Toni and Jerome another 50 each. We’ll take you out to dinner when we win.”
“Whatever you say, Opa,” Thomas says cheerfully. “We have a deal, Fips?”
“Sure, sure, fine,” Philipp grumbles. “I’m getting too old for this crap.”
Miro’s grin widens. “You’re telling me.”
****
Later, when everyone has finished dinner, said their goodbyes to Lars, and returned to their rooms, Manuel is on the verge of falling asleep when Thomas literally jumps on top of him in excitement. “Ow, what the hell are you doing, Mülli?”
“He posted another picture, Manu! Look at this!”
Thomas shoves his phone at Manuel’s face, who peers at the screen blearily. He’s still annoyed, but he does have to admit that the selfie of Lukas and Bastian really does make them look like a couple. The closeness, the smiles on their faces, the wink emoji in the caption, it all contributes to the coupley feel of the picture.
“You know, Mülli, you might just be right about them,” Manuel says. “They really don’t seem like they’re gonna last much longer.”
****
May 28, 2014 - Training Camp cont.
Lukas and Bastian are practically bouncing as they head to their seats at the table. “Why the hell are those two so happy?” Kevin asks. He’s bleary-eyed and can barely keep his head up.
“Probably has something to do with Bastian being able to train with the whole team today,” Matthias guesses. “I could hear them celebrating last night.”
Thomas clears his throat, “How exactly were they celebrating?”
“Not the way you want,” Erik says. “But you’d think they’d try to be a little more sensitive.” He gestures to the other end of the table, where Mats is talking soothingly to Benni and Julian, who are still in a state of shock from yesterday’s accident. “I heard that they need to go in for a psych eval later.”
Laughter bursts out around where Lukas and Bastian are sitting, and when even Julian manages to crack a smile, Erik decides to forgive them. The energy is a hundred times higher around the pair as they tell stories and fling food around the table. The younger players are starting to see the amount of influence that Bastian and Lukas have over the atmosphere of the entire squad, and they observe in awe and admiration.
Practice is better than usual, with Bastian and Lukas joking around and generally brightening the mood of everyone else. Sami hasn’t stopped smiling since he arrived two days ago, which is understandable; he did win the Champions League, after all, and now he’s fully recovered from his injury and practicing with the rest of the team. The happiness is contagious, apparently, because everyone on the team feels much more cheerful and optimistic about the World Cup than they had before today. Best of all, even Jogi seems to be affected because he decides to end the practice early. Everyone jogs off the pitch in high spirits, making plans for the remainder of the afternoon and night.
“We can go skiing,” Lukas says. “I know you love it. Plus, we seem to have the right company.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bastian says affectionately.
“No, seriously, that’s Hermann Maier, the Austrian skier.” Lukas points to a man standing in the lobby. “Wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Well, considering that we’re professional football players, I’d guess he’s here to see us, Luki,” Bastian teases.
“Or maybe he wants to get you back into skiing,” Lukas says, grinning.
“Well, going skiing is out of the question, but I want a picture.” Bastian pulls Lukas’ phone out of his friend’s pocket and tugs Lukas over.
Thomas happens to walk in just as they take the picture. He spots Philipp sitting on one of the couches, watching Cameroon’s most recent match (their captain is such a nerd), and skips over to him. “Look at them. Isn’t it cute? He even knows which pocket Lukas keeps his phone in. I don’t think Lisa remembers where I keep my phone.”
“You don’t even remember where you keep your phone, Mülli,” Philipp reminds him, pausing the game. “That’s why you make Manu keep it, remember?”
“Oh my god, that’s right, Manu has it! I've been looking for the past two hours. Shit, I probably have ten missed calls from Lisa by now.” Thomas jumps up and runs off to look for the goalie.
Philipp is about to resume the match when Per sits down in the empty seat. “He’s something else, isn’t he?” Per chuckles, shaking his head a little.
“And we still love him,” Philipp agrees. “But the real issue is those two.” He doesn’t even need to gesture at Lukas and Bastian, who are uploading their picture to Facebook, for Per to know who he’s talking about.
“If they do finally get together...” Per trails off. “I mean, I want them to be happy, but...you know, the media hasn’t exactly been kind to Schweini and they wouldn’t mind ripping apart our Prinz Poldi either. Most of the team would be okay, and in fact, they’re probably expecting it, but there's always one or two assholes.” Neither man says any names, but they’re both thinking about all the controversy Roman has gotten into in the past. These days, the attitude has been a bit better, but it is still risky business.
“Have you made any bets yet?” Philipp asks a few moments later.
Per grins and says, “Just one with Mesut. Why, you interested in making one?”
“Thomas bet me 500 Euros, but I think we can be a little more reasonable about it, don’t you?” Philipp replies. Per nods in agreement. “Alright, I’ll bet 100 Euros that they’ll get together some time in July.”
“That’s pretty vague, but you’re on,” Per says, and they shake on it.
Philipp turns the match back on and Per settles in to watch, but he ends up taking a nap. With Per asleep and most of the team gone, Philipp lets himself worry a little about his two friends. Per was right: the sick fucks in the media loved this sort of story and they would never allow Bastian and Lukas the benefit of playing the victims. There’s no doubt that they wouldn't hesitate to drag Monika, Louis, and Sarah into hell, too. The team has dealt with the media for years now, and it’s never really gotten any easier.
But even as he worries, Philipp can hear the laughter bubbling from Bastian as Lukas tells him another ridiculous joke. He stops watching the match again to observe his two friends fondly. Just looking at how bright their smiles are, how their eyes sparkle when they look at each other, makes Philipp reflect on the last ten years. He knows just how special this thing Lukas and Bastian have is, and as he watches just how happy they make each other, he thinks that maybe even with all the trouble it could potentially cause, it’s still worth it.
****
May 29, 2014 - Training Camp cont.
Everyone is very chatty and spirited at breakfast, and the team is scattered across the dining area. Erik is eagerly listening to Miro talking about his first World Cup in 2002, and Manuel and Thomas are simultaneously eating and playing FIFA on Manuel’s phone as Philipp watches disapprovingly. Marco, Mario, André, and Toni are eating together and laughing, and Mats is talking quietly to Julian and Benni. Mesut, Jerome, and Per are listening to Sami talking about his Champions League experience (Mesut looks a little wistful as he learns the details of his old club’s victory). Christoph and Shkodran have put on some music for everyone to listen to, and Bastian is attempting to teach Lukas how to drum along to the beat.
“You're holding the sticks totally wrong.” Bastian patiently takes the pretzel sticks out of Lukas' hands. “It’s gotta be comfortable, look.” He wraps his fingers around the sticks properly and holds his hands out for Lukas to see. “Now you try.”
Lukas takes the pretzel sticks and shoves them into his mouth. “Did it,” he grins through a mouth full of pretzel. Bastian shoves him lightly as Lukas laughs. “No, I’m serious, I held them right when I took them from you!”
“I can't believe it. I'm best friends with an idiot,” Bastian says.
Of course, Thomas manages to overhear them and he mutters to Manuel, “Just best friends? Yeah, right.”
****
Training feels more relaxed than usual somehow. It could be that Miro is currently in goal and everyone is taking turns shooting as hard as they can, laughing as Miro runs out of the way to avoid getting hit in the face every time.
“I have so much respect for you right now,” Miro calls out to Manuel. Then he jumps out of the way as Thomas kicks a particularly hard shot. “Thomas! I want to keep my head, if you don't mind!” Thomas just laughs his obnoxiously loud, yet somehow endearing laugh.
As they wait, Lukas jokes around with Per, Mesut, and Sami, so Bastian takes advantage of a rare moment to speak to Philipp alone. “Hey, Fips,” he says softly. Philipp smiles at him, so he continues, “It’s Lukas’ birthday soon, and I have no idea what to get him. It's kind of a big deal, our tenth year together and all, so I want it to be perfect.”
Phillip suddenly feels like Thomas might be 500 Euros richer very soon as he watches Bastian look at Lukas with what can only be described as heart eyes. “Oh my god, what am I, a love guru? I didn’t sign up for this,” he grumbles to himself. Then, because he loves Bastian as dearly as he would a brother, he says out loud, “You guys have so many inside jokes and memories, Basti, surely you can think of something.”
Bastian kicks at the grass. “But Fips, I can't give him memories. It has to be something amazing,” he says.
Philipp wants to say that he can think of a few amazing memories that Bastian can provide for Lukas, but he keeps quiet and thinks for a moment. “Isn't Poldi really into Formula One?”
“That's perfect!” Bastian hugs Philipp in excitement and starts rambling. “I'll get us tickets or something to the Grand Prix back at home. Maybe he can bring Louis along and we can just spend a few days watching the races. I know a few guys who can get us decent tickets. There's got to be something after the World Cup, unless we win of course, then that might be tricky to schedule. Usually there's a few weeks before we have to go back to our clubs. I can plan out a whole weekend. Oh my god, I have to get tickets now, what if they're sold out already?”
Philipp looks around. Nobody seems to really be doing anything productive (Marco’s in goal now, but he’s just fooling around with Mario instead of actually trying to stop anything). “I'll cover for you. Go get the tickets now.” Philipp knows it’s a risk, but Bastian is the vice captain, so he has some privilege.
“Are you sure?” Bastian asks, but it’s clearly just a formality because before Philipp can insist, Bastian is already jogging away. Philipp can see Lukas glancing his way, confused and concerned. Per places a hand on Lukas’ shoulder, reassuring him that Bastian is fine, but it doesn’t do much to ease Lukas’ worried expression. It’s obvious that Lukas can’t take it anymore because he runs off to follow his best friend before Philipp can call out to stop him.
“What's going on?” Per, Mesut, and Sami circle around Philipp. For a moment, Philipp is annoyed. He hates it when people, especially people like Per, gather around him, making his already meager 5’7” stature seem even smaller. But then he remembers that he’s more mature than all of them put together, and anyway, he’s their captain and he’s in charge, so Philipp shakes it off. Looking (up) at his teammates, Phillip quickly informs them of Basti’s planned trip for Lukas’ birthday.
“That's sweet,” Mesut says, smiling. “I planned a birthday trip with Mandy once.” His eyes get dreamy and the others watch, amused.
“You and Mandy have been dating for how long now?” Per raises his eyebrows suggestively.
“Never mind that now,” Sami says. “The point is, it’s very clear that Lukas and Bastian are going to get together. It’s just a question of when, really.”
Miro, who has been quietly listening to the entire conversation from a few meters away, chooses this moment to clear his throat. Being the one true veteran on the team, he’s always had a lot of influence without really trying, so even though he’s not very loud, the entire team turns to listen to him. “Now, I know a lot of you have been making bets on Lukas and Basti’s impending relationship.” Everyone shuffles uncomfortably, unsure about whether they’re going to be reprimanded (except Thomas, because he knows that actually Miro doesn’t disapprove at all). “So, I’ll make a bet with all of you. If Lukas and Basti get together before the end of the World Cup, I owe every single one of you 50 Euros each. But if it happens after, which it will, you all owe me. And yes, Thomas, before you ask, this is in addition to the one we already made.” Thomas grumbles a little as everyone else nods, mostly in awe of Miro’s self-assurance.
“Are you sure you’ve got enough money, old man?” Mesut jokes. “You haven’t heard the way Lukas talked about Bastian when we were back in London.”
Miro smiles an all-knowing smile. “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”
****
“Basti?” Lukas pokes his head in the door of their room. Creases of confusion form in his forehead as he watches Bastian jump up and slam his laptop shut. Bastian looks at him wide-eyed and red-faced; a deer in headlights.
“What are you doing here?” Bastian asks, wincing after he realizes how sharp the question had sounded.
“I was just worried. I thought something was wrong. You just ran off the pitch, Basti, you never do that.” Lukas closes the door behind him and crosses the room to sit next to Bastian on the bed. “Please tell me if something’s wrong.”
Bastian is touched to see how much Lukas cares about his well-being. He puts his arm around his friend. “I promise you, everything is alright. I just had to check something really quickly and my phone is dead.”
Lukas is relieved at first, but then he sees the laptop and remembers how hastily Bastian closed it, like he was hiding something. “So, what were you checking?” he asks carefully.
“Nothing that you have to worry your pretty head about,” Bastian chuckles. His smile seems forced. “Luki, I promise if something was wrong, you would be the first person to know.” Lukas is far from reassured, but he’s more caught up on the fact that Bastian just called him pretty.
“Pretty, huh? I don’t think I’m as pretty as you used to be with the bleached hair, what year was that? 2006?” Lukas teases, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.
“Hey, your hair wasn’t much better when we met, what was it, 2004?” Bastian reminds him. “So much gel, Lukas, so much gel.”
“I was 19! Just a teenager trying to make his way in the world...” Lukas says dramatically before they both start laughing.
“Come on.” Bastian pulls Lukas up. “We should get back, pretty boy.” Lukas takes out his phone as they walk.
“Hang on, wait,” Lukas says. “I’m gonna post this picture on Facebook and ask everyone to caption it, let’s see what all the fans think is going on.” Bastian glances at the picture. It’s the two of them during training, Lukas jumping higher than Bastian and Bastian trying to push him. It’s a really nice action shot, Bastian thinks.
“Ugh,” Bastian says, squinting at the small screen, “Is my hair really getting that gray?”
“Don’t worry, you’re still beautiful to me, old man.” Lukas grins and ducks out of the way of Basti’s playful shove.
“We’ll see who’s the old man. Race you to the pitch!” Bastian takes off before Lukas can retort, leaving his friend to chase after him in faux anger.
****
Back at the pitch, Thomas’ phone lights up with a Facebook notification. Manuel gives him a weird look when he sees that it’s Lukas’ page and not his own.
“I’m keeping close tabs on my investment,” Thomas says. He opens it to see the picture. “God, look at this Manu, it’s like they’re not even trying anymore. Honestly, next thing you know, there’ll be a leaked sex tape.”
Manuel gags a little at the thought. The whistle sounds to bring the boys back to focus on practice (Jogi looks absolutely done with his team at this point because seriously, why are they all children?) and Manuel can’t look in Bastian and Lukas’ direction without wanting to shoot Thomas for the mental images that pop into his head.
“Pssst, Mario!” Thomas whispers very loudly. Marco automatically turns his head with a look of suspicion on his face and Thomas rolls his eyes at him. “Calm down, I’m not trying to steal your man, honestly, who’d have thought you’d be the jealous type. I just wanna make Mario feel at home. You see Mario, to be truly a part of this family, you must place a bet. 100 Euros for Lukas and Basti getting together within two months.”
“I never made any bets,” Marco mutters under his breath and Mario pats his arm reassuringly before he leans over to Thomas.
“Alright, you’re on,” Mario says, and Thomas grins as they shake hands.