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The lack of light when he opens the door takes him by surprise. Andre doesn’t expect it to be this dark; in fact it shouldn’t be this dark. His eyes search the room, slowly adjusting to the blackness, until they spot a figure on the bed.
“Jonas,” Andre calls as he treads forward, hoping there’s nothing on the floor he could stumble on. “Why didn’t you turn the lights on?” His hand moves along the wall and finds the light switch. But before he flicks it on, Jonas interrupts him.
“No,” he says. “Don’t turn it on.”
“Why not?” Andre doesn’t get it.
“…Please.”
Andre’s hand remains on the switch for one more second, before he takes a deep breath and pulls his hand back. Jonas is—well—unpredictable at times, but being alone in the dark like this is something new. “Okay, I won’t,” he relents, walking towards his bed and sitting down. “Now tell me what this is about?”
Jonas is sitting on his own bed, seemingly leaning on the wall from what Andre can make out to. “I was just… thinking.”
Raising his eyebrows, Andre turns to look at him. “In the dark?” He sees Jonas give a shrug; a gentle one that could have been missed if he wasn’t aware.
“Darkness is good,” Jonas replies. They said the absence of one sense enhances the others; it might be true after all. Andre can’t really see him, and his other senses begin to pick up things he didn’t pay attention to before. Like how Jonas’ voice sounds detached and unreachable. He also notices that they’re sitting close, since there isn’t much distance between the two beds. If he stretched out his hand a bit it would touch Jonas’ arm.
Andre decides that he won’t argue about the darkness thing. Jonas is not being himself, and he needs to know why. “What’s bothering you?”
Jonas is quiet for some time that Andre thinks he’s not going to reply. But he waits; the soft hum of the air conditioner is the only thing he hears, a little louder than their breathing. How long have they been sitting here—three minutes? Five? Time seems to stand still when they’re not doing anything like this. Or maybe it’s the darkness, Andre has no idea. Just as he’s about to joke about falling asleep, Jonas speaks.
“I wasted my chance. Who knows when it will come again.”
Andre turns his head to look at him, at his obscured face. The Bremen match... of course. To be fair, he didn’t screw up badly, although he didn’t make an impression either. But it’s just one match, there are many many more to come.
“It’s one match, Jonas,” Andre says softly. “You’ll just have to do better next time.”
Jonas shakes his head. “But when is the next time? The next friendly, you mean?” Andre hasn’t even opened his mouth to respond when Jonas goes on, with a sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a brat. I’m just… I expected so much from myself, but instead I played like shit. It’s… disappointing.”
“It’s all right, I get it.” Andre gives a small smile, though Jonas won’t be able to see it. “I was beating myself up after the Manchester City game, too; I should have done better. But what’s done is done, right? You can’t do anything about it, you might as well move on.”
“It’s different with you,” Jonas says in a somewhat insisting tone. Andre doesn’t know why it gives him an urge to smile, perhaps because it sounds so… Jonas. “You’ve been excellent, everyone knows that. You don’t have to prove anything. But me—I have everything to prove.”
Andre reaches out and touches Jonas’ arm. For a second he feels Jonas’ body stiffen, and it makes him wonder if he’s gone too far, but then Jonas begins to relax, so Andre lets his hand stay there.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” Jonas murmurs. “I was—maybe a bit naively—hopeful once, thinking if I played well it would be enough.” He pauses, moving slightly. “It wasn’t. And I questioned myself if I was really that bad. I wanted to believe I wasn’t, but if so then why didn’t I play? I began to second guess myself a lot; I guess it still shows.”
“It does,” Andre admits. He sees Jonas’ head move, facing him. “Nothing I say will make you feel better, but consider this: everyone has bad games, but there is always a next match. Whether it’s a Champions League or a Cup one doesn’t matter—a match is a match.”
Jonas says nothing, maybe letting the words sink in. Then two things happen at once: Jonas’ voice breaking the silence with a “thanks” and his hand on top of Andre’s, gently trailing his knuckles with a thumb.
Andre doubts this would happen in the light; there must be something about darkness that makes people do things they otherwise wouldn’t.
Yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.
Without he realises, Jonas has shifted closer. Andre can almost see his eyes as he blinks, twice, and his lips part. He is so close now, Andre would only need to lean, maybe, an inch forward and their noses would bump. When Andre stays still like this, he can feel Jonas’ breath on his face. Then what’s keeping him?
I can’t… Jonas is my friend. And he’s in a rather vulnerable state right now. Andre can’t—will never—take advantage of him, not like this. So, he takes a deep breath and moves back, already wondering if he’s done the right thing. He clears his throat, frowning as it sounds way too loud in the silence. Jonas pulls his hand back.
”Tobi suggested playing pool,” Andre says, trying to put back some normality between them. “I came here to ask you. But if you don’t feel like it, it’s okay.”
He feels rather than sees Jonas smile. “Sounds fun.”
Later when they’re downstairs, playing pool with Tobi, Chris, Juli, and the other Tobi, with Lars and Tony cheering (actually, interrupting is more like it) in the background, Andre tries to keep his head in the game. He shouldn’t keep thinking about what happened in the room earlier. It’s nothing worth pondering. Jonas was feeling down, and people can be weird in the darkness. But it’s easier said than done, he thinks as he glances at Jonas for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, his senses being too aware of every little thing. Like, how Jonas’ laughter sounds when Tobi is cracking a joke, and how he smells of clean clothes and soap when Andre walks past him.
And this time there is no darkness to blame on.