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Being sick is one of the things Jonas really despises. He doesn’t like to feel tired all day, having to miss trainings, and not to mention the sore throat and runny nose. It’s just a cold that will be over in a few days, but it’s still annoying. That’s why when the doorbell rings at 6.30 in the evening, Jonas frowns. Who could it be? He’s not expecting anyone. And more importantly, he’s not in the mood to socialise.
He mutters in annoyance as he stands up from the couch and strides towards the door. But all the words he wants to say never leave his lips when he opens the door. Marco is standing in front of him, with a smile on his face.
“Marco? What are you doing here?” Jonas asks. He knows Jonas is having a cold, and that he’s not supposed to be near him.
But Marco doesn’t seem to be affected by the not-so-pleased reaction. He is still smiling. “Hi to you, too,” he says softly. And as he reaches out to touch Jonas’ face, Jonas quickly steps back and shakes his head. Marco gives him a half-hearted grin and pulls his hand back. “Right, sorry.”
When Marco has come in, Jonas closes the door. “Why are you here?” Jonas asks again in his hoarse voice, following Marco who crosses the living room.
“To make sure you eat well. You haven’t eaten, have you?” Marco asks as he continues to walk into the kitchen, before putting the plastic bag he carries on the kitchen counter. Jonas stops in the doorway. Marco turns to look at him and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Well?”
“I haven’t,” Jonas finally replies. He doesn’t feel like eating, despite he knows he has to. “But I’ll make something later.”
Marco smiles, taking out a white food container from the bag. “No worries. I brought you this nice, creamy tomato soup. It has a lot of vitamin C, which is good against cold. I googled it,” he says, with a grin. “It’s delicious, too.” Jonas can’t help but smile. Marco’s enthusiasm is infectious.
“You came all the way from Dortmund to bring me tomato soup?” Jonas asks, trying to sound neutral, despite the warmth in his chest that Marco is doing this for him.
“Of course.” Marco has begun to look for something to heat the soup. He finds a soup pot and carefully pours the soup into it. “I got some bread as well, just need to warm them a little bit.” He turns to Jonas. “Do you have a baking paper?”
Jonas motions at the drawers near Marco. “Second drawer on the left.” And he watches as Marco takes a sheet of paper and places it on top of a baking tray, before arranging the bread and putting them into the oven. “Please don’t burn my kitchen.”
“I’ll try.” Marco laughs. He straightens up and washes his hands. “I can’t remember if they should be in the oven for ten or fifteen minutes, but we’ll take a look at them later,” he adds, with a smile.
For a moment they merely look at each other in silence, and then Marco softly asks, “How are you, Jonas?”
“I’ve been better,” Jonas replies, still having his eyes fixed on Marco. “You shouldn’t be here, Marco. I don’t want you to get sick as well because of me.”
Marco is holding his gaze. “I won’t. I’ll keep my distance,” he says in a reassuring tone. “And I won’t touch you, although I want to,” his voice drops to a whisper “…I really want to...”
Jonas feels his heart pound faster at the words, but he remains on his place. He can’t make it more difficult for Marco, for both of them. He is thankful when the timer goes off, and Marco turns his attention to the bubbling soup in the pot.
The bread is slightly dry. Jonas supposes that it’s been in the oven for too long. But the soup is warm and tasty. They’re sitting opposite each other, on each side of the long kitchen table. “Now you know the bread should be in the oven for ten minutes, not fifteen,” Jonas says jokingly, making Marco chuckle. “But the soup is really nice. Who made it?”
“My mum did. She asked me if I wanted her to cook something and I chose that,” Marco replies, parting his bread and chews on it.
“It’s really kind of her,” Jonas says with a smile. “No question that it wasn’t you who made it, since there’s no burning onion in it,” he adds.
Marco narrows his eyes but he fails to hold back his laugh. “That was one time. And I was answering my phone.” Jonas laughs, and it makes him cough. He reaches for his water glass and takes a sip. Marco says he shouldn’t talk too much, and begins to tell the story about how Gonzalo joked that he wouldn’t play golf with Marco anymore because he sucked badly last time.
Jonas can’t help laughing—and coughing one more time. “God, sorry,” Marco hastily says. ”I shouldn’t make you laugh. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jonas replies, after drinking some more water. His voice is still coarse, but it will get better. “I still can’t believe you went golfing with Gonzo. Didn’t you think golf is boring?”
Shrugging his shoulder, Marco says in a gentle tone, “I did. But you like it, and I thought I’d learn a bit about golf so I wouldn’t totally embarrass you—and myself—when we play together. Next time I shouldn’t be so bad.” He gives Jonas a heartfelt smile.
Jonas blinks. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to,” Marco replies softly. They lock eyes for some long seconds before Jonas averts his gaze back to his nearly empty bowl. He loves Marco’s presence here, but he shouldn’t get used to it. It will only be harder when he leaves. And Marco has to leave.
When they are done with dinner and Marco has put all the dishes into the dishwasher, they move to the living room and watch the handball match between Denmark and Sweden on TV. Jonas is sitting on the sofa, and Marco on the armchair on his far right. Way too far for his liking, but it’ll have to do.
Then Jonas goes to the bathroom to clean out his runny nose, and when he’s back Marco is chuckling at something on his phone. He looks up at Jonas, still grinning. “It’s Marcel. He sent me a picture of this trophy, that bastard.” He lifts his phone to show Jonas the picture.
“It’s a nice one,” Jonas says, still standing behind the sofa. “Where is it from?”
“He went karting with Robin, Timo, and some other guys on that indoor track,” Marco explains, placing his phone on the table. “Marcel won and obviously needed to brag about it. I told him it was only because I wasn’t there.”
Jonas is quiet for a second, and then he asks, “Why didn’t you go with them?” despite already knowing the answer.
Marco looks at him. “Because I wanted to be here,” he says softly, before rising up from the armchair and taking one step towards Jonas. “I wanted to see you.” He takes another step forward, and one more.
Jonas’ heart is pounding wildly in his chest, and it takes all the willpower he has not to close their distance and press their bodies together, feeling Marco’s arms wrapped tightly around him. “Don’t… Marco…” he whispers.
Marco stops on his tracks, his eyes never leave Jonas’. “It’s so hard, Jonas… not being able to touch you, or kiss you,” he says as his voice become huskier.
“I know,” Jonas says, taking one step back. One step that feels like a hundred miles away. “But we can’t.”
Letting out a soft sigh, Marco nods. Jonas watches him as he turns around and sits back down on the armchair. They don’t talk much for the rest of the evening. Jonas can’t really focus on the match; he keeps glancing at Marco from time to time, and most of the time Marco is also looking at him. He doesn’t want the match to end, because then Marco will have to leave.
The match ends in a draw, and it’s over ten o’clock in the evening. Jonas licks his lips that feel so dry, hesitantly turning to Marco. “It’s getting late,” he starts, hating every word of it. “You should probably go back.”
Marco is watching him, the look in his eyes is almost too much. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks, sounding hopeful, and melancholic at the same time. “I’ll go back tomorrow morning.” He smiles faintly.
How can Jonas say no to that? Although he knows that it’s not a good idea. When Jonas doesn’t reply, Marco says again, “If we stay on each side of the bed, it will be fine. And we can put a pillow in the middle. I need—“ he pauses, taking a deep breath. “Please, Jonas?”
“Okay,” Jonas finally says.
Because he needs this, too.
~*~
Marco’s eyes snap open when he feels something touch his stomach. He blinks for a few times to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the room. When he feels a movement next to him, he remembers where he is. Jonas is lying close to him, his arm resting on Marco’s stomach, and the pillow between them is nowhere to be found.
He knows he should move away from him, should disentangle himself from Jonas’s arm. But he can’t. He wants this—screw it, he needs this. He reaches out to touch Jonas’ face, the skin feels warm under his touch. The brunet snuggles closer to him in his sleep, and Marco is more than willing to let him.
Jonas murmurs something that sounds like his name. Marco smiles, brushing Jonas’ cheek with his thumb. “I’m here,” he whispers very softly.
As though he hears him, Jonas responds by burying his face in the crook of Marco’s neck. Marco closes his eyes and places his hand on top of Jonas’ arm that lies across his chest, letting sleep claim him once again, wishing the morning won’t come too soon.
~*~
“It’s good that you’ve been able to play again,” Jonas says, moving his phone to another ear. He wrote to Erik earlier to wish him good luck for the game against Ingolstadt, and instead of writing back, Erik called him. Jonas is in Mainz with the team, and they are having a time off after dinner.
“Yeah, it’s really good,” Erik replies. “I hope you’ll start tomorrow.”
Jonas smiles and says, “Thanks. Same goes to you. Is Schmelle still unavailable?”
“He is. And now Marco and Ilkay, too.”
Jonas almost drops his phone at the mention of Marco’s name. But he quickly regains his composure. “Really? What’s wrong with them?” he asks, trying to sound as neutral as he can.
Erik doesn’t seem to notice anything. “Marco is having a cold, and I think Ilkay got it from him,” he explains.
Fuck.
It’s his fault. He shouldn’t let Marco sleep near him two days ago. He remembers that in the morning when he woke up, he lay close to Marco, too close. But Marco assured him that he would be okay, that he didn’t catch a cold easily. Now Marco is sick, because of Jonas. And he’ll most likely miss a match.
God, what has he done?
“Jonas? Are you still there?” Erik’s voice on the other side of the line rouses Jonas from his reverie.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Jonas says quickly. They talk a bit more about handball, and then Erik says he’s going out for dinner. So, Jonas says he’ll talk to him soon and they end the call.
As he looks down at Marco’s number on his phone, his roommate enters the room, asking him if he wants to play card with some of the other guys. Jonas tells him he needs to make a phonecall first. “I’ll be there in a sec,” he adds. Julian nods and leaves the room again.
Marco answers the phone after the fourth ring. “Jonas?” he says, his voice sounds raspy. He is unmistakably sick.
“You’re sick because of me,” Jonas blurts out, feeling very guilty. “I shouldn’t have let you sleep with me. Now you won’t be able to play on Saturday, and it’s all my fault.”
“Jonas, listen to me,” Marco says, sounding firm despite the hoarse voice. “I was fully aware of what happened. Nobody else but me was responsible for what I’d done.”
“But—“
Jonas still tries, but Marco cuts him off, “You were asleep; you didn’t know what you were doing. I was awake.” He pauses for a second, letting out a cough. “I could have moved away. But I didn’t... I chose not to,” he says.
Jonas sighs softly, “Marco…”
“It’s not your fault, Jonas. It’s mine.”
“Still, I’m sorry,” Jonas says, closing his eyes before opening them again. “I can’t be there for you.”
There’s another cough, and then Marco’s voice saying, “It’s okay. I’ll live,” still trying to joke.
“But I’ll be there on Saturday, once I’m back from Mainz.” Jonas has pretty much recovered from the cold, and if he’s being careful, he won’t get infected again.
He doesn’t need to see Marco to know that the blond is smiling. “I can’t wait.”
Jonas smiles, too. “Try to rest a lot, okay?” he says. “I mean it.”
“I’ll try,” Marco says, before adding,” May I choose what kind of soup you’ll make for me?”
“No chance,” Jonas replies, and then laughs. “Take care, Marco.”
“I love you,” Marco says softly, making Jonas’ chest feel warm, something only he can do.
Jonas clutches his phone tighter. “I love you, too.” So much. He’s still struggling with this distance between them. So is Marco. And it’s only been less than a month. Everything won’t get easier, Jonas knows that. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
For now, his only concern is that Saturday can’t come quickly enough.