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Marco woke up to a foreign sense of peacefulness. And he didn’t need to go very far to understand why: the moment he tried to get off the bed, he realised he was unable to move his legs because somebody was practically sleeping on top of him. Somebody who was also drooling on his shoulder and mumbling nonsense in his sleep. And this somebody happened to be Mario. His Mario. Things had gotten pretty heated pretty fast the night before, ending with clothes scattered everywhere on the floor of his bedroom and naked bodies rediscovering one another. It had been strange but incredibly familiar at the same time, like finding that old toy you used to play with everyday when you were a kid and it took you two minutes of fumbling to remember how to use it but once you got the hang of it you were fully back on track. But Marco was still amazed about how easy it had been to fall into their old rhythms, and waking up with Mario sprawled on top of him shouldn’t have made his heart swell, but it did anyway. But then again, feeling loved was a blessing and he never got used to it. “Let me get up, babe,” he said, trying to move Mario’s legs without much success, getting just an incoherent grunt in response. But he knew how to make him move, “Mario let me go make breakfast, yeah? I’ll make you pancakes?” After a couple of grunts more, he felt the weight lifting from him. He got up, not without kissing his boy’s forehead, and stretched a bit, his muscles sore from last night’s activities. “God, your ass is still one of the best things I’ve ever seen.” Mario said from the bed, suppressing a yawn, “Better than the Cristo Redentor?” Marco wondered, sliding into a pair of sweatpants, “The Cristo doesn’t make me horny, so yes, definitely better,” Marco laughed, because Mario was still the most ridiculous person on the planet and some things never changed. “Go get a shower, Gӧtze. You smell,” Marco said, heading towards the kitchen, that stupid smile still plastered on his face. He heard Mario’s voice calling from the bedroom, “I smell of your dry come, babe!” Some things truly never changed.
Marco heard the sound of a camera going off and he didn’t really need to look up to guess what was going on, “We need to discuss your Instagram addiction. It’s getting out of hand,” he said from his positions on Mario’s lap, who only snorted and kept taking selfies, asking for advices on the right filter to make, quoting here, ‘my cheekbones shine bright like diamonds’. Marco was in love with an idiot. They were tangled up on his couch, the last Step Up movie playing on tv but they weren’t really paying attention, too busy catching up with each other’s life and trading embarrassing stories of their apart time (“I dreamt about you once in Brazil, and it wasn’t even hot or else, but I woke with a hard-on and André’s laughter will haunt me forever.” “You live for romanticism, don’t you?” “You want romanticism? Get Thomas as a boyfriend. He spent every goddamn night calling Mario after dinner when he thought nobody could hear him. It was disgu—” “Wait. Are we boyfriends now?” “Yes, you dumbass. I didn’t drive 6 hours just to fuck you and leave.” “I technically fucked you.” “Yeah, and it had been great.” ). After another couple of minutes of deciding if Valencia was indeed a better filter than Brannan, Mario pocketed his phone and levelled his face with Marco’s to look at him straight in the eyes, “You know what I miss?” And Marco didn’t trust the smirk that was forming on his lips, not at all, but he sighed heavily, “What Mario?” “Hearing you sing!” Which. No. Marco was a shy guy, okay? “I’m not singing.” And Mario pouted, damn Mario and damn his cute little pout. “C’mooon,” he said, batting his eyelashes like the idiot he was, “No. Forget about it.” But Marco was smiling fondly and Mario was smarter than he gave him credit for and he knew he had already won, “I drove all the way from Munich to Dortmund Marco! Six long, restless hours in my lonely, cold car—” “I am sure your car has air conditioning,” but Marco was full on laughing now. “Still. You owe me. We wouldn’t be here without me!” “But-” “I scored a goal for you on the World Cup Final, Marco Reus sing something to me!” And how could he say no? The memory of Mario running around the pitch with his jersey still made him shiver. “Okay okay. What do you want me to sing?” And Mario’s smile got so big and his eyes so bright and Marco loved him so so much, “There’s this song I’ve been obsessing over? It’s from Ed Sheeran’s new album and makes me think a lot about you. It’s called ‘One’, do you know it?” And he probably didn’t get why Marco started laughing like a maniac, but when their lips collided, the song long forgotten, it probably didn’t matter anymore.
All my senses come to life
While I’m stumbling home as drunk as I
Have ever been and I’ll never leave again
‘Cause you are the only one
And all my friends have gone to find
Another place to let their hearts collide
Just promise me you’ll never leave again
‘Cause you are the only one