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It was insane.
There were already four seperate Ilkay and Robert videos on Barcelona’s page- it had been less than six months. It was like they were long lost best friends or something, the ease with which they spoke.
That used to be him. That used to be them.
Marco.. Marco liked Ilkay. Really- they’d been friends back in the day. But now, he just felt like another person trying to steal the one thing he cared about away from him- like Müller and everyone else at Bayern before him.
“The distance will be good for us,” the Pole had said. “We.. I love you, Marco. You know that. But- but I just.. we argue so much now and I don’t want to do that anymore.”
Marco had nodded, forced the tears back down his throat. “Yeah,” he’d sighed. “It could help.”
He’d so desperately hoped it would be true- that the few thousand miles extra would help them fall back in love again.
It had, in a way. Marco was constantly longing for him, to be laying in his bed and listening to his terrible singing of Polish folk songs. It was like a part of his soul had up and moved to another country.
The worst part was that Robert was fine. Getting along with his new teammates, banging in goals like he always had. Abd here was Marco, now stripped of the captaincy because he was as old and washed-up as a piece of driftwood, curled up in his cramped apartment.
He could afford a mansion by now- but for some reason, the downtown flat was just.. right. It was where he’d lived most of his life, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. That was a trend in his life, huh?
Marco was whatever the opposite of ‘coming out of your shell’ was. No, thank you- he’d built that shell over twenty years, and the one time he’d left things had gone.. not good. Not even a little good. So yeah, he’d be staying here in his shell like a hermit crab, thank you very much.
He’d lived like that for a while. And then Robert had shown up, had dragged him from his walls and his shell and his fear and thrust him into a world he hadn’t known existed. Those two years had been the best of his life- the stolen kisses between joyous giggles, the dull ache in his head from a particularly late night that he’d be thinking about in training nonstop. Those were the years- young, in love.
And then Robert had left.
Something about career and legacy and future and money, he hadn’t listened. Marco had left him the day the announcement had dropped.
He couldn’t stay away for long.
In a year they were back together, slightly less young but still as stupidly in love as ever. That had really been the case throughout their relationship- frequent separations and reunions, stupid decisions, desperation in every choice they made. It was an almost overwhelming sort of love, the sort that neither man was ready for, nor prepared to accept.
They’d struggled. For years, too much went unsaid, too many days and weeks and months wasted into the void of fear and loss. They’d gone nearly four months without talking once, just for them to end up fucking in a closet in Signal Iduna and crying. Neither of them had said a word.
It was years. Years of forcing down feelings for the sake of careers, years of fighting and anger and unknown motivations.
It was inevitable that it would all spill over eventually.
For them, it had come in the form of a late night in Bremen, where years of unsaid words and pieced-together feelings boiled over.
Robert had made the Barça move official the next week.
———
“Robert?”
The Pole looks up at the phone, usual smile on his lips. “Yeah, Marcy?”
Marco huffs. He hates the nickname, and Robert knows it.
“I, uh. Miss you.”
“I miss you, too. I have a weekend off soon, maybe I could visit?”
Marco smiled weakly. “Yeah. Yeah, I.. maybe.”
“..Do you not want me to? If you still need space, I can-“
“I need space?? Robert, you left! The fuck do you mean I need space?”
“..Whoa. I- did that strike a nerve? Marcy-“
“Don’t call me that. For fuck’s sake, I’m done with this. Every call we’ve had since you moved, I’ve called first. If you don’t want me anymore, just tell me. Please.”
“..Fuck. I- I had no idea that- Marco, no. I love you, I just- I thought- after the Bremen fight, I.. thought you needed space, I-“
“Bullshit. You’re fucking around with Ilkay and making me beg for any ounce of attention, I don’t- I don’t understand you. I don’t.”
“Marco- I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I thought you were angry. I’m sorry that-“
“Fuck. Robert, you- I hate you. I hate you.”
The striker falls silent.
“I’m coming home.”
It wasn’t a question of what he meant- Marco’s flat was more of a home to the both of them than any house they’d signed ownership of.
“You-“
“Nah. Done with this- done with the cryptic bullshit.”
Marco’s heart is pounding in his chest. “I.. I don’t-“
“I love you, Marco.”
And the line falls dead.
———
He’s there in six hours.
The sun has set, the dull orange glow slowly fading out into black, starless night. Robert would have loved this- sitting out on the balcony, coffee in hand to keep them up late into the night. Tehy talked so much, somehow yet so little about the important things.
He’s half asleep, the moon casting the only visible light around him, when the knock comes. His phone buzzes soon after. [I’m here. open the door?]
Fucking bastard. Says it like a question, like Marco could ever say no. Like he had the strength to turn him away.
He pulls himself to his feet, drags one foot after the other across the foyer to the front door. It wasn’t exactly a long walk.
“Hi.”
He barely gets the word in before there’s arms around him, a face buried in his hair. “Fuck,” he huffs.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I- made you think I was ignoring you or- anything like that.”
Marco sighs. “‘s fine, you know I read into shit too much for my own good.”
“Exactly- I know that, so I shouldn’t have done what I did. We should have talked before I left.”
“We- we did.”
“No. We didn’t. Not.. fuck, Marco, don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“The- the thinking one. When you think I’m talking stupid.”
“Robert-“
“We should have done this years ago. We should have had a real conversation, but we didn’t and that’s my fault. But we’re doing that now, whether you like it or not.”
Marco bites down on his lower lip as the Pole drags him by the hand into the kitchen, his eyes downcast.
“I love you,” he says. It’s something he’s said often, but this time it feels strangely different.
“I love you, and I want to be with you, and I don’t give a shit about the- the glory of the money or the fame or the legacy. Not anymore.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Robert?” Marco huffs, only half joking. It was true- that had been Robert’s entire life for years. Money and glory and legacy.
“I’ve done shit I’ve regretted,” he sighs, gripping both of Marco’s hands in one of his own, “but I don’t regret you. I’ll never regret you.”
Robert’s intense. He’s always been that way. But Marco can practically feel the raw emotion radiating off him, can spot the barely concealed tears pricking his eyes.
“What are you trying to say?” the blond croaks.
“That I love you. If our lives were different, maybe we’d be married and- and have a house on the coast somewhere. But we don’t, and this is our life.”
“Robert-“
“Shut up- shut up, shut up. You- I- I love you, and I say that a lot but it’s true. I love you and- and if you say the word I’ll leave. Pay out my Barca contract and move home yesterday.”
Marco freezes. It’s like it’s 2015 again, and he’s dreaming of the day Robert would do this exact thing- show up at his door, tell him he’d made a mistake. Tell him he’d do whatever it took to keep him.
“You’re fucking with me,” is what he manages to come up with. “You- it’s been ten years, and you’re telling me this now?”
“Marco- I know I’ve been shit. But I want- I- I’m.. we’re both nearing the end of our careers, yeah? And- and mayeb- we can get a place together, in Dortmund or- anywhere else. Can live out all the lost years.”
“They didn’t have to be ‘lost years’ in the first place,” he spits, “but you only care when you’re at the end of your career, is that it? You only care ‘cause you can hide me easier.”
“Marco. That’s- that’s not what this is, okay? I- I was scared. For a long time, but I- I want to make it right. I really do.”
Marco just laughs. “You had a decade to do that. A decade, Robert. Don’t- do this, not now.”
“Why? Why can’t I want this to be real?”
“Because I wanted that first!”
Robert screws his eyes shut, grip loosening. “..Marco..”
“No. No, I wanted it so badly. So badly. And what did you do? You left. You went to Munich and- you left me behind.”
“Marco. We.. we’ve talked about-“
“That doesn’t mean I’m past it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I.. Want you. So badly.”
He reaches out, tries to cradle Marco’s head in his hands. The German doesn’t let him.
“So much- you caused me so much pain, you fucking asshole. And now you show up here, saying you want to be something ‘real?’ Fuck off. You- fuck off.”
“Marco, I’ve loved you for half of my life. You know that. You know-“
“Why didn’t you do this earlier? I made peace with us being.. this, years ago.”
“Please.”
God. That tone, that fucking pleading tone. Those eyes. He can’t crumple, he needs to stay firm.
“Marco.. Baby. Please. Give me a chance- one chance to show how much I care.”
Marco sighs, drops his gaze. “And what are you gonna do?”
“Prove it. I have- god- years of shit. Letters, voicemails, all that. I can prove it. Prove that- that I- I was an idiot but I cared. I care, and I need you to know how much I love you. You’re the most important person in my life, you have been for a decade.”
“Robert..” Marco sighs, more sad than angry now. “We’re not young anymore.”
“Who says you need to be young to be happy?”
“I..”
“Marco,” Robert pleads, stepping forwards and taking the German’s hand in his own. “Let me care for you. Please. Let- let me love you, truly love you.”
The blond cranes his neck up, eyes watering. “You have one chance.”
Robert’s face lights up. “Okay- okay, I- fuck. Thank you, thank- I’ll make it worth it. You won’t regret this.”
Neither of them really know what they’re doing, what they want. Except each other. That much is pretty damn clear.
“I don’t want to lose you. Never again.”
“Never again,” Robert echoes, hands drifting down and wrapping around Marco’s waist, lips melting into each other’s.
He sighs, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m gonna do better,” he promises. Marco desperately wants to believe him.
“You fucking better.”
Robert just smiles, sighs, and kisses him again. It’s all he can do to keep from crying.