#once again here we got with the chaos vs quality argument | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

3one3 · 8 years ago

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The Sequel - 883

Intruder

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“You’re getting crumbs all over me.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“Do you care?”

“No. Did you like the stew?”

“I told you I did. And I ate the whole bowl. Twice.”

“Just checking.”

Mwah, André narrated in his head as he kissed Christina’s. She was curled up on him and eating from a plate of charcuterie in his lap, awaiting the kickoff of APOEL vs. BVB on TV. As a special favor for him, she “slaved” over a hot stove to make a paprika-laden salmon and potato stew that she thought was sort of like Hungarian goulash fish. It also vaguely reminded her of the fabada that Juan loved, since that too was a reddish-orange broth with stuff floating in it that she didn’t particularly like. Lukas enjoyed it, obviously, because it stained everything it touched and was more or less a soup. Lukas loved soup. He and Dad dined on salmon and potato stew while Mom showered and answered emails. Her work schedule dictated a late lunch, so she wasn’t hungry at dinnertime even if the menu had been more to her liking. She was looking forward to the dried meats, cold cuts, cheese, and bread anyway. Her morning grocery shopping was influenced by the hunger from which she suffered at the time. All sorts of cravings landed in her basket. There were chocolate covered pretzels in the kitchen for the second half.

“How many ridiculously healthy fish stews do I have to make for you to get fit enough to play football instead of watch it on TV?” Christina inquired, almost disdainfully, while she took in the line-up and formation graphic on the screen. She wasn’t a fan of Peter Bosz’s decision-making, and seldom understood it. Her question wasn’t about disparaging her partner’s slow progress back to the team, but her desperation to see him bring them some useful quality.

“How many times do I get to laugh at you later when you complain about getting acid reflux from eating in this position?”

“None. If you love me you’ll just get me an antacid and rub my head.”

I like her so much lately, André thought, smiling again before kissing to the right of her topknot once more. I like her when she’s relaxed and fake-bossy and cute and making me special meals and wanting to be together for everything. She even stayed in our bathroom this morning and trimmed her toenails outside the door to the toilet while I was in there so that she could tell me all about how she did 15 pull-ups and felt so strong with the weights. Which, by the way, he continued remarking to himself while his girl hummed the Champions League song and chewed salami, I’m pretty sure is down to her having a more regular routine- sleeping in the same place, having her meals at more or less the same time, having the choice to make whatever she wants instead of hotel food, relaxing regul-

“Mario looks less fat this week. Is the black kit that slimming or is he getting leaner?”

“I don’t know. If he lost any weight, I know where to find it. You put on some padding this week,” he joked, poking at her side.

“I know. I lost a handful of pounds when I was sick.”

“Here we go.”

“We should put Real and Spurs on the computer or iPad or something, yeah?”

“You want to get up and get it?”

“No.”

“You want to get up so I can get it?”

“No.”

“Then I guess not.”

Dortmund was in trouble in their group. Real Madrid and Tottenham were each on 6 points going into matchday three, and the Bees were on none. APOEL was in the same boat, after heavy defeats to the other two. Dortmund’s best hope to get to the knockout stages of the competition was beating APOEL and hoping that Real Madrid would defeat the London club, as Tottenham still had to travel to the Westfalenstadion and would be an easier target for the needed second win than Real Madrid at the Bernabéu. Christina thought her team’s new manager tactically inept. To her it was as if he watched footage of opponents to prepare for the game and then chose to do the exact opposite of what she would do, and what she thought was the obvious right plan. She also thought him incapable of adjusting or organizing the team from the touchline, or his seat in the dugout, where he seemed to spend all his time. On top of that, he couldn’t change a game. His substitutions seldom made a difference. The team lacked balance and organization, always, and there was never any leadership on the pitch.

André’s irritation and dismay was triggered by far fewer issues. He just wished the team had more fight in it, and more responsibility. He saw things spiral out of control, or turn into 11 guys each doing their own thing based on their own ideas, and no one taking ownership of his role. There were a lot of new pieces put together, a lot of in and out due to injury, and a regular lack of experienced personnel, as well as lack of consistency from everyone. The Bees were getting away with in the Bundesliga for the most part. In fact, they were still atop the table. But they suffered an embarrassing defeat at home at the weekend that exposed the same problems plain to everyone watching the Champions League.

His teammates were especially bad against APOEL. They were sluggish and unmotivated. A Bürki mistake led to a goal, which ignited serious fire under the home side and seriously demoralized the visitors. Most of the match was a mess, tactically speaking and also in terms of execution. Personality-wise, it was a disaster. It was painful to watch. The other team had to sub off their main striker and goalkeeper due to injuries in the first 40 minutes- two of the most key players- and were still looking more capable than the Germans. And Tottenham opened the scoring in Madrid, just to make the situation more fraught. Both BVB and Real managed to get equalizers eventually, but the former’s attempt to secure a winner was equal parts chaos and heart attack. They almost conceded a winner at least twice as often as they looked like getting one for themselves. The score line in the other game was not helpful. Christina’s attitude at the whistle was one of resignation and bitterness, but without any surprise. Her husband was legitimately shocked by the terrible performance, and profoundly disappointed.

“Think of it this way: you were never going to get far in the knockout rounds anyway, not this year. Wouldn’t you rather have a chance to win the Europa League than get spanked by Barcelona or Chelsea in the round of 16?” the non-footballer posed for consideration while taking apart her bed. The housekeepers changed the sheets and made it up nicely, which meant Christina had to pull it all apart and rearrange the pillows. André was trying to figure out the gas fireplace under the TV. They hadn’t had occasion to use it yet. He was looking forward to real cold setting in so that they could light the real wood-burning fireplaces in the foyer and living room. In fact, he was looking forward to the winter holidays, when he’d have an excuse to have those two going as well as the tiny gas one in the kitchen that was visible on the other side of the wall in the dining room too. Zoe put a glass-enclosed gas fireplace in every new wall she added to the house, and then cut a big hole in an existing wall in order to add one to the round room with the Jacuzzi.

“I guess. But we need to get a hold on things before we get momentum in the wrong direction.”

“Yeah, for real. Especially now that Heynckes is back at Bayern and they’ve maybe possibly stopped their delicious descent into mediocrity. I think you’d be perfectly happy without European football in exchange for a Bundesliga title.”

“Correct.”

“Oh, that looks nice,” the rider smiled when she realized he got the low flames ignited. She didn’t pay any attention until she crawled into bed and got under the covers. “Come snuggle! We can pretend we’re somewhere alpine.” André yawned twice while he watched the fire for a second, and then he stopped in his dressing room to discard his sweatpants before he slid into the predominantly navy linens with his favorite girl and set the fireplace remote down. She picked out the new sheets on a shopping trip with him in the city. They had some thin white stripes spaced far apart, and they were incredibly soft. Christina didn’t like duvet covers because of the bunching issues, but she was willing to overlook that because the linen set felt so nice.

“Tell the truth,” the player requested with a sort of facetiously probing squint as he got settled on his pillow and captured her legs with his. “You just want Chelsea to win the Champions League.”

“Yep.” She nodded from the opposite pillow and poked at his chest while his left palm settled on her right side. “But I also think you all never had a chance.”

“I know.”

“It was fun to watch together and like, be real about the team,” she chuckled. “I’ve been biting my tongue about it for...I don’t know...13 months? I dunno if Reus mentioned it, but I vented some frustration about it at him yesterday and he took it pretty okay and suggested that you are a big boy and could handle it too, so...”

“I can always take it. As long as you aren’t mean just to be mean or argumentative,” André replied with an assuring, easy expression. “I even enjoy your angst sometimes. It’s like having Arsenal Fan TV right in my living room.”

“Heyyyy.”

“You have a cute nose.”

“You have a crooked nose.”

“Should we turn the other way and look at the fire? It doesn’t make much heat, so if you don’t look at it it’s kind of pointless.”

“Okay.”

The couple shifted into their more standard positions, with him on his back and her under his arm and on his chest. Both rejected turning the TV on, or queuing up some music. They wanted to just chat until ready to sleep. Contrary to the prior conversation, Christina did feel bad endlessly hammering Borussia Dortmund, and she did want to give her blonde boy something better to think about at bedtime, so she pivoted to romance. The two baby pink boxes with the black satin bows sitting on the bench in her closet were on her mind.

“Let’s go out tomorrow night for dinner, no Munchkin. Someplace with tablecloths.” And then after dinner I’ll put my new outfit on and be all sexy and stuff.

“Like Palmgarden tablecloths and tasting menus, or like Pfefferkorn tablecloths and sizzling steak plates?”

“Steak.” But if we have steak, is he going to eat a whole cow and then be too tired and full for my outfit?

“All right. Make sure you ask Espen in the morning if she can stay. Don’t forget and spring it on her at 4. She hates that,” André yawned. He also scooted down the bed some. Just because the squad was in Cypress didn’t mean he had a day off. He trained with the youth team and the other first team guys coming back from injury, and did his individual work too. Feeling sleepy and ready to kill the lights and fire came earlier than expected for him.

“She hates everything lately.”

“I think I’m done with the fire actually.”

“Tired, babe?” The little bundle of warmth trying to suck up whatever additional heat she could get lifted her head for a second and rested her chin on his pectoral muscle. Her quiet, sympathetic tone was affectionate and sweet to his ears, and in a way it actually made him even more sleepy. It was the voice she used when tucking Lukas in at night, or comforting him after some toddler-spec calamity. It was like she was asking if he was really tired because she could do something for him if he said yes, like cuddle in some different, better way, or say something that guaranteed him pleasant dreams. He nodded at her. “Kill the fire, then. And be big spoon? You can use me as leg pillow.”

They got comfortable in the proposed arrangement, in the dark, in their pocket of warmth to insulate them from the cool, fresh air around them from the cracked window, and they did their standard quiet last words for the night. One said “Night night, sweet dreams, love you”, and the other, “Love you, Prinzessin”. About two hours later, Lukas turned up in their bed with his pony, complaining that he couldn’t sleep without Spencer and Lucky. It was a curious claim given that the dogs weren’t even allowed in his room, let alone his bed.

He seldom took advantage of the increased freedom since switching from the crib to his toddler bed, and when he did, his parents took him back where he belonged and tucked him back in because he wasn’t allowed to do the “can I sleep with you?” thing that so many kids get dependent on. He knew in general that he wasn’t supposed to get up during the night, or wander around. He knew he’d get in big trouble if he messed with the baby gate blocking access to the stairs, or tried to get in any of the closed doors. Only his bathroom door stayed open at night. The door to the master bedroom was always closed, but he could open it. The others had childproofing mechanisms to keep him out. Mom and Dad didn’t want him coming in their room because they didn’t want to get rid of all the safety hazards in there, or put things away every night. But they didn’t want him to panic about being alone either, so they didn’t lock him out. They just told him it had better be a serious emergency if he was coming in, and he seemed to grasp that pretty well up to that point.

Christina was too comfortable to get up and take him back to bed, and André was too sleepy, so they told him he could stay with them if he forgot about needing the dogs. The little boy was reluctant. He thought it over for a minute. His mom hugged him into agreement. Then he wanted his own spot between the grown ups, and he said “Sorry, Mommy” and gave her a kiss when he sensed her irritation at the whole affair. He ended up sleeping on André’s right bicep, spooning his stuffed animal. Christina slept with her back to the boys, and wasn’t sure if the big one even knew the little one was there. It was a relief to wake up in the morning and find that Lukas hadn’t been crushed or smothered in the night by his father’s migratory cuddle instincts, especially since it was really cold and he usually tried to snuggle close to her for extra warmth.

“You are an adorable sleepy little human,” she grinned at her son while he fought the attempt of sleep to draw him back to his dreams. His eyes could barely stay open, and his hair was a mess, and his cheeks were pink. He still had Dave in his arms, though he’d moved off his dad’s arm and was using his dad’s pillow instead. I’m supposed to be rushing him to the potty now, Mom realized. But can’t we stay here for a little? He’s so sweet, she cooed inside. “Want to wake Daddy up?” Lukas nodded and began to try to get up. His tiny body wasn’t cooperating yet, and he kind of fell over.

“Da-Daddy,” he laughed in the process. Dave was used as leverage to help him get on his hands and knees, and he then crawled onto André’s chest. The player stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Hi Daddy.”

“Hi Mausi,” he mumbled back.

“We need snuggles,” his wife chimed in. His brain was as slow to get into gear as Lukas’ body was, so it took him a few seconds to comprehend exactly where he was and what was going on. And when he did, it made him feel old. This is one of those moments when you realize your life is unrecognizable, he thought. You wake up with a wife and a toddler in your bed, and your back hurts, and you need 3 more hours of sleep, and it’s 6 in the morning and that’s when the toddler’s day starts, so, you know, it is what it is. This is what I wanted. I imagined this. I fantasized about it, even. And it’s nice, I guess. He’s such a happy kid, André added as he held onto his son and turned over onto his side and took him with him. His eyes were still shuttered against the real world because he wasn’t done with the one in his head. I love them. I love our family. We have everything. But this morning was better in the fantasy. “Munchkin sandwich,” Christina interjected into his reflection. She’d moved closer and was trying to get her feet between his calves and her arm over his side. There were more replica trophies downstairs in the fantasy, and the bed was in London, and I was waking up after a big European night at Stamford Bridge, after a big goal. I’m tired, the Borussia forward yawned.

“Dave sandwich,” Lukas giggled, trying to squeeze his stuffed animal between him and his mom the way his mom was trying to squeeze him into Daddy.

“Let’s all by quiet and go back to sleep,” André suggested.

“Chyea,” his girl snorted. Once the baby is up, the baby is up, he reminded himself. Oh well. I guess I- Wow. Slowly opening one eye gave him a reason to stop the mild internal complaining. She looks good today. What a smile.

“Morning, Prinzessin.”

“Morning, boyfriend.”

“Did you sleep good, Mausi?”

“Uhhuh.” Lukas fought to wiggle onto his back so that he could talk to both parents.

“Well don’t get used to it because you’re not sleeping in here again,” his Mom reminded him, stern but still smiling. André thought their little one should be allowed to sleep over more often if it was going to make her so happy in the morning. He thought she looked better rested than she should have been. He kissed Lukas’ head and smelled his nice kid’s shampoo scent and continued to take in the glow coming from the adjacent pillow. The morning didn’t seem too far off the fantasy anymore.

“Where did he go?” he asked Christina while pulling the comforter up over the little boy between them.

“I dunno. Must have run off. Guess he didn’t want any kisses.”

“I’m here!” Lukas giggled under it.

“I like kisses. I’ll have his.”

“No! Me! Mommy!”

“Do you hear something?” she questioned.

“Nope.”

“Mommy!”

André made exaggerated kissing sounds and leaned over the covered blob to smooch his girl all over the place. Soon tiny arms and legs were punching and kicking up from the blanket. The rider made kissing noises too, and kept asking her partner where else he needed kisses after a sweet one on the lips. An anxious child emerged out of the top of the comforter and got viciously kiss-attacked by both parents, which resulted in so much laughing and giggling that he almost wet his overnight diaper. He had to shout and say he needed to go before Mom and Dad realized what was up. André took him to the bathroom since he was about to wet himself too. Christina rolled over to check her phone. There was a text from 3:18 am.

“When are you coming home again?”

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