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Finally. Finally, the EUROS were over—finally, Trent made up his mind and completed his first ever transfer. Jude was beyond happy; Dominik wasn’t. He was aware of Jude’s “relationship” with the scouser. He could tell they weren’t just common fuck buddies. They clearly had intimate moments together.
That was something Dominik couldn’t get over. Yes, he and Trent shared something similar back in Liverpool—but he would be stupid if he thought their arrangements had anything on the way Jude could make Trent smile in seconds. Or how Trent stared at Jude with adoration even for nothing at all.
Again, something Dominik found himself getting jealous over. Of course, he had no right to be jealous. The beauty of his and Trent’s agenda was that they weren’t exclusive. So why did he care so damn much? Why did it irk him so deeply when Jude was even around him?
He didn’t know. Jude was a good guy, obviously—handsome, charismatic, talented. No wonder Trent liked him so much. He’d had subtle encounters with him when the two had their respective clubs in Germany.
But Dominik couldn’t help but think he at least had a little bit of Jude had. Dominik was just as handsome, in his eyes. He and Jude were the same height for fuck’s sake. But then he remembered Trent has probably known Jude much longer. Qatar, Germany, and the occasional Nations Leagues.
Trent had only known Dominik this season from Liverpool. That frustrated Dominik, but again, he knew he had no business feeling that way.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Dominik remembered he was at preseason training for Liverpool, and the pitch felt fucking empty. And he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Mo and Darwin looked pretty bummed.
Trent left without even getting to meet Klopp’s replacement. The Arne Slot guy. Maybe Trent knew that Liverpool would just place 3rd again, even under a new manager. After all, Madrid now had Mbappe; not to mention how they won a treble last season.
Of course, Dominik didn’t think Trent was selfish for this. He’d spent mostly his entire life at Liverpool, only to win a couple trophies. It was the only logical thing to do to move to another club.
But Dominik was so, so upset. He’d only known Trent for about a year and a half, and they’d shared so many moments. And now the defender just left with a goddamn Instagram post. Fucking hell.
Dominik was muttering something to Mo about Trent’s departure as they did some passing. “He just left. Without anything to say.” Mo just nodded at Dom’s words. Clearly, the Egyptian didn’t want to hear the numerous amounts of complaining and moping he knew would come from Dominik.
”You’ll be alright. He did the most he could here.” Mo replied, but this didn’t ease Dominik in the slightest. He purposefully knuckled the ball towards Mo with a pouty face, huffing. “I miss him though. One season wasn’t enough.”
Mo just smirked at his complaint. “Text him. You sound obsessed.” He said while knuckling the ball in return. Dominik just continued rambling on until training was over, where the ride home back in his car was unbearably lonely.
Of course, he wanted to text Trent. But he was probably partying in Madrid with Jude and the entire rest of the club. But he wanted to see Trent again.
Once Dominik arrived back to his Liverpool house, he decided against his will and texted Trent.
— are u good ??
It was a stupid thing to ask. But Dominik just wanted an excuse to talk to the scouser. Goddamn it.
After being left on delivered, the hungarian just pulled up the YouTube video of Trent’s interview with Gary Neville. This was Dominik’s go-to when he wanted to have a wank.
In the middle of Dominik’s sloppy jerk off sesh, he received a text back from Trent, causing him to immediately let go of his dick and grab his phone. He frowned at his own unhygienic-ness, but just opened the text from the older lad:
— yea
What the fuck? Delivered for 15 minutes for that? Dominik just let out a frustrated groan and tossed his phone back on the cushion. There he was, just lying still, one hand on his cock and the other hanging off the side of the couch.
He then began to think about Jude again. The damn brummie couldn’t stay out of his head. Dominik was supposed to be jealous of him—not daydreaming.
But his body just said otherwise. He couldn’t blame Trent for his attraction towards Jude, really—Jude’s easygoing face and sharp features definitely weren’t something to be ignored. His eyes, too. They were piercing.
Dominik sighed and sat up, yanking his briefs back up his hips, his dick limp again. Why couldn’t Trent had just stayed for one more season?
No. Nevermind. Dominik found those thoughts a bit selfish. Trent had grew up with Liverpool, it was time for him to leave.
But he was just upset that he didn’t get to spend more time with the scouser. Especially since it was Dominik’s first season with the Reds.
As Dominik continued convincing himself that it was the right thing for Trent, he felt another vibration from the couch. Dominik leaned up, his shorts still sat on his shins from the unsuccessful self-pleasure attempt.
He picked up his phone, glancing down at the extra text from Trent. Cute of him to double text.
— wbu
Dominik then retracted the thought of Trent being cute. He was such a dry texter. A small frown began to etch itself on Dominik’s lips and he tossed his phone somewhere else back on the couch, leaving Trent on read.
A dickhead move, but in Dominik’s eyes he had a reason to be pissed. Mostly from Trent’s dry form of communication. And a little bit of how he moved to Real Madrid because his international-duty fling convinced him to.
The second night of knowing Trent was now in Spain. And Dominik was sitting on his couch, upset and pouting. Just like the first night.
He’d get through it. He tried to remind himself. But being away from the scouser was unbearable.