Chapter Text
“That dude sucks man.”
Jude was drying the remaining water off his hair, a towel in hand and another tightly wrapped around his hips. The cold air of the locker room heavily contrasted with the hot shower he had just taken, but his pace remained sluggish. His legs hurt him like hell after running around for the entire training session and his lungs felt like they were going to explode with each breath he took.
The stinging pain under his eyes didn’t help either, a petty reminder of his exhaustion. He could have blamed it on the fact that it was only the beginning of the year, getting back in shape had always been a challenge in early September.
He knew however the reason for his state was not because of the few pounds he had gained this summer. He huffed to himself, he wished it was only a matter of summer ice cream.
When Erling walked up to them, already dressed —the Norwegian never failed to criticize how Jude was always first in showers and yet last to leave— he scanned his face and turned to Brahim who had been sitting on the bench.
“He looks like shit,” Erling pointed out.
Jude rolled his eyes and turned to get his stuff out of his locker, ignoring the giggles coming from behind him and the playful bet he does coming from Brahim. He didn’t feel like protesting. Because he did look like shit.
“Your roommate would be my absolute nightmare,” Brahim said to resume their previously unfinished conversation. Jude had changed in an extenuating slow pace, and the three of them were finally making their way toward the exit of the training camp.
“What’s it with him?” Asked Erling in return. When he received no response from Jude, he turned to Brahim, who always was in a talkative mood. Jude admired this side of his friend. When he found himself in a slightly negative state, Jude tended to be unable to hide it. His face was so expressive, his younger brother would always tell him he hoped he’d never have to play poker to save his life. Stupid imagery, though verisimilar, if the pout he knew his face displayed was any sign.
“From what I’ve gathered from mister mumbling over there, his roommate is a pain in the ass who can’t stop making noise when Jude’s sleeping.” The shortest turned his head from Erling’s tall figure to Jude’s, “I think you should fight back.”
Jude raised an eyebrow, “You told me last week I should let him warm up to me,” he quoted with an annoyed tone, “where has that gone?”
“Out the window, obviously. That was before he made your room turn into The Bachelor. I’m telling you, he won’t stop until you stop him.”
Though it seemed to be a dramatic way to put it, Jude agreed with Brahim. His roommate had been showing for two weeks straight he had no intention of stopping his night activities.
Jude had been stressed out at the idea of not knowing his roommate. The previous year, he had been paired up with Erling. Though they clicked on pitch and Erling was an absolute sweetheart under his icy accent, they couldn't be more different in lifestyles. And the small two room place had brought out the worst of it. Jude was so so lazy outside of football, whereas Erling was the type of guy to count his every step throughout the day. Yeah, that kind of guy.
So when Jude and him agreed they had to part, Jude thought it would not hurt trying to pick a larger room. The registration in August was an anxious hell, and absolutely everyone and their mother tried to get the few fourth floor rooms which became available when the last years left. They were larger, not by much but in student measures? It was a priceless space, a ten room villa. And ten room villa he got.
The place had four goddamn rooms, Jude had felt like an emperor when he had entered with his three suitcases and his bag. A yellowish living room with an open kitchen, a bathroom with a huge square sink –this was the best by far, no more trying to balance everything on the oval sink– and two bedrooms. He had picked the one on the left after weighing the pros and cons. They were identical, but the left one was further from the kitchen and he did have some weight to lose with training starting again soon.
He had wondered how he and his new roommate would get along. Would they become friends? Would they completely ignore each other? What if he got himself a racist prick? Would his roommate be a foreigner? He hoped he was, there was something about exchange students’ solidarity that couldn’t be replicated. Erling and Brahim had been proof of it: separated by frontiers but united by European sarcasm and a common hate for America. Questions and questions had flooded his mind for a week, but none of them got close to would his roommate try to fuck the entire female population of California until two in the morning every single night?
Jude’s head hurt at the thought of the past days. His face probably showed it too.
If he had had to bet how his first interaction with them would go, he definitely wouldn’t have put any money on how it actually went down.
He knew his roommate would arrive a bit later as the receptionist told him when he picked up the keys, which had given him a full week of the apartment to himself. Fuck no he didn’t complain, he could shower without warning anyone he was doing so and could jerk off whenever he felt like it– a luxury really, and he planned on keeping the second picked up habit now that he was in a place with two separated bedrooms. Overall, the anxiety had lessened at the stress-free rhythm he had picked up.
Until there was a loud bang coming from the living room, pulling him out of a deep sleep. The rest went like this.
Jude tapped his phonescreen, too bright for his liking though at minimum luminosity, and read midnight sharp. While opening his bedroom door, he prayed for this to be his roommate and not some sick psycho or thief. Not for safety, just too lazy to deal with it, the thief could have stolen his will to live that he would have just sprawled back on his bed with no objection.
But it was not a thief, instead, there was a guy with two large suitcases and a box with stuff spread across the floor that must have caused the loud sound. The boy was crouched down, helplessly trying to gather with sharp movements what seemed to be Barcelona jerseys and other blue and red stuff. A blaugrana? Jude blinked for a few seconds before his sight accommodated the light of the living room.
At that instant, his eyes finally caught a proper glimpse at the face of the guy.
The first thing he could focus on at first was his round cheeks. They were awfully red, contrasting with his pale skin. Jude had never envied that, thank his mom for her share of melanin that prevented him from blushing at any given situation. Though he did blush sometimes when he was really really embarrassed or enthusiastic, he'd deny it until the day he'd die.
His gaze travelled further up, and he realized it wasn’t just his plush cheeks that were red. His brown eyes were embedded by the pink-tinted skin around, glistening. He had been crying, obviously. It’s only when the other stood back up with his box and stared intensely at him that Jude registered he hadn’t said anything in a hot minute.
His hand felt sweaty by his side, tension cramping his shoulders.
“Hey, nice to meet you.” He instantly regretted how his voice sounded hesitant and cleared his throat in an attempt to cover the crack up. There was a beat of silence in which the other did nothing but stare, gawking big doe eyes. Jude became hyper-aware of his spiderman pyjama bottom when the guy seized him up and down under his long lashes. Was it the wetness of his eyes that made them appear such? No, they looked naturally long. “You alright?” He attempted again.
From all the multiple choices he had in that tricky game, he of course had chosen the one triggering instant crying. Fuck of an option that was.
Jude’s heart sped up at an alarming pace when hot tears streamed down the boy’s face and a few hiccups passed the barrier of his thin pinkish lips. His eyebrows came together and Jude felt an intense rush through his veins screaming to do something about it, like right before his brother Jobe was about to cry when they were younger.
His mouth barely opened when the other interrupted him.
“Do I look fucking alright to you?” He said between uncontrolled hiccups. Very, very thick Spanish accent. So much that Jude almost looked past the angry tone the sentence carried. “I got dumped over text, lost two of my suitcases because of these puto americanos, somebody poured coffee on my favorite shirt and you have the fucking nerve to ask me if I’m alright?” He paused, cheeks flushed more than physically possible, brown iris drowning in unshed tears. He had said the second alright in an exaggerated british accent. “ Pregúntame una vez más y te golpea tu cara.”
Jude hadn’t had the time to register the dried coffee stain on the Barca logo, that the large yellow ‘MESSI’ on the back of the shirt disappeared behind the slammed door of the bedroom on the right.
And for now two weeks straight, the guy –whom Jude still didn’t know the name of, thanks to their messy meeting– had brought a different girl to fuck every night. And Jude didn’t particularly enjoy, to say the least, also knowing every time one of the participants had an orgasm. Really, he’d pass on that. If he overlooked the horrible, terrible, horrendous noises he’s been hearing, he’d add it was a pretty fucked up way to cope with being broken up with.
It would be unfair to say he hadn’t tried to talk to the guy. But the only answer he got from asking if he wanted them to eat together for dinner was a scoff and a I have other plans that totally don’t include you.
“What do you reckon I should do?” Jude asked, desperate to have his ten-hours nights back.
Jude heard a loud groan coming from the other side of the entry door. Undoubtedly, the walls were very thin in this apartment.
He was cleaning his plates after eating dinner on his own when his roommate barged into the living room slash kitchen. He walked up right next to him, and Jude could feel the heat emanating from his body. He couldn’t fathom what he had done to the universe to have such a prick as his roommate. He started to miss Erling’s neat folding and strict cleaning process.
“The fuck is that thing at the door?”
Well, at least he succeeded in having some kind of words that were not moans. The crazy part was knowing by heart the type of whimpers the other made when he was about to come, or how long he usually lasted, but not his name. Unbelievable.
“I think you know how to read.” Jude snapped back. He had a right to be angry too, even more so really. The guy was not about to make his peaceful apartment turn into a fuckhouse anymore.
Jude dried his hands and raised an eyebrow toward him in defiance. This only seemed to agitate the small guy even more. He really was small. Too small for all that energy to fit in such a tiny body. “Stupid English, you find this funny?”
Maybe a grin on the corner of his lips betrayed his slight amusement. He had to thank Brahim and Erling later, because their combined evil had been a success and his roommate’s cheeks were back being crimson red, but now of anger. The frown was back too, and his round orbits on the verge of coming out of their sockets.
Jude wasn’t really a confrontational person. However when he did get mad, Lord knew his mom would punch him in the mouth at how petty he turned.
It seemed his roommate was as unwilling to lay down arms.
“Let me get something straight: I’ve been beyond patient with you. You want this to be a whorehouse? Well, whorehouses have rules.”
The piece of paper on the door displayed just them.
Rule number one: if you are here to fuck with the Spanish roommate, make sure to take your shoes off at the lobby as to not forget them when you leave. Some of you ladies forget some heels.
Rule number two: no noise after 10 pm, the guy might tell you it’s okay, it is not. Some people need their sleep please thank you.
Rule number three: please don’t eat from the fridge. I get that he might be an extremely good lover, but eating my protein bars before leaving is honestly too much. At least go for the yogurts, they're less expensive.
Rule number four: please use protection, he had a different girl yesterday and will have another one tomorrow. Stay safe.
To say he was proud of his set of rules would be an understatement. Jude felt a heavenly sweet flutter in his chest from the moment he wrote these words with the approval of his friends. Aside from the parts he included while giggling, the rules were actually pretty serious. He finally had had enough of forgotten shoes, missing food, uncontrolled high tunes. Fourteen days had been more than enough.
The boy huffed and puffed before settling on letting out another groan of frustration and some mumbling before slamming his bedroom door. Jude took it as a sign of his victory, the satisfaction of seeing his worked up face nicely lulling him to bed for his first somewhat correct night.
Jude had cried victory way too early.
The guy, in fact, did not stop. So much that Jude had been able to pick up his name from one of the girls he had come across in the morning. ‘Is Pablo gone already?’ She had asked, red heels in hands, smudged mascara under her eyes. Well, she had decency to follow rule number one, not so much of rule number three. Which reminded him that for some unknown reason, the paper with the rules was still on the door. Maybe for Pablo to break every one of them.
The girl’s question was left unanswered, because first, he had to register who Pablo was for a second, but also, how classy of him to leave the girl he had just slept with alone, there, in his own apartment, with a stranger too. At seven in the morning. A loser, to Jude’s eyes. The bare minimum was to leave a note, a message, something, just not put an Irish goodbye in his own place. Jude couldn’t exactly qualify as a gentleman himself, that was for sure. But never in his short twenty years had he left a girl or a guy without a word.
But Pablo didn’t stop at that, oh no. War had been declared, and Jude was a man on a mission. Pablo started off strong. Two girls. The same night, at the same time. Twice as much noise. Twice a stomach to feed. And where did he find all that stamina? Maybe there was something about him that for some unknown reason attracted all the girls. Definitely not his irking personality. Maybe his eyes. Or his accent.
How greedy.
Pablo had even had the nerve to start eating from Jude’s stuff too, though he couldn’t prove it yet, he felt it. He was getting in his head.
Jude had struck back with a genius idea from Brahim. He’d stolen all his chargers. Computer, phone, playstation remote. Everything was carefully kept in his room –obviously, he wasn’t as sadistic as to throw them away. Maybe some of these things weren’t his, or gifted, or paid with hard work. Erling did knock some sense into him for him to tame his growing insanity. The scheme had worked, Pablo furiously –he always seemed to be furious anyway– searching his room like a detective on a mission. Or more like a dealer who had just lost his drugs. Completely mad overall. This only heightened their mutual hatred for another week.
Not so surprisingly, they couldn’t stand each other, but somehow their lifestyles seemed to be the only thing in sync. Pablo never left the shower uncleaned, but he did have a habit of letting laundry pile up. A fair balance. He also went on runs in the morning, judging by his flushed and sweaty face, the rilling up shorts over his toned thighs and how breathless he came back home. Usually, by the time he was back, Jude had just finished eating his breakfast and headed to classes.
Training was until six, sometimes six thirty, in the evening, an hour Pablo never seemed to be present at when Jude came back. If only the day ended at nine.
Jude woke up with pain punching his eyes open. He stretched his long limbs out of the one-person bed that was so short his feet kept on dangling. The floor felt cold under his naked feet, October was starting strong, and with the new month came new ideas. His lips stretched in a sheepish smile while he stared at an imaginary point before him. What if for the next seven days he kept every single window open to freeze the apartment? A slight October fifteen degrees celsius was basically a hot day back in England. Spanish people however were known for their dramatic measure of temperature, gloves out at the first cloud in the sky.
It was with this bright idea in mind that Jude walked up to his bedroom door, opening it with his tired, so tired mind. He was gazing at the kitchen, eager to fill his empty stomach, when something got stuck under his right feet. Something weirdly thin and slimy.
Jude had learned in his biology class the name of every single bone in the human body. The average adult had two-hundred-and-six of them. Incredibly high, right? While his nose scrunched up with disgust, he wondered how much time it would take to break all of one’s bones. He also wondered if it would count as a community wellbeing to kill his roommate.
“A condom?!” Erling shouted over the music.
“A used one,” Jude added, the feeling of it under his feet still fresh in his right sneaker. “I actually can’t do it anymore, that’s it, I call it quits,” he took a sip from the mournful vodka-redbull mix in his hand, “I’ll just live with insomnia and eventually die from it.”
“How dramatic,” Erling rolled his eyes before a smile bloomed on his face, “I think you’ll die from all the coach’s screaming.”
Right.
Having terrible nights made him exhausted to a point it was actually having an impact on many areas of his life. The first one was, as Erling mentioned, his lack of energy in training. The coach was on his back every damn second of each session, screaming to Jude to use his long legs better. A football field had never felt so long to cross. There was a growing agony in his chest every time the coach took him on the side at the end of training, underlining that if he kept up with these performances, he couldn’t be on the starting eleven for future competitions. Headaches of frustration and disappointment and so much tiredness always pounded into his head. For fucks sake, he wasn’t fourteen anymore. He had to do better.
The second was his classes. He wasn’t very passionate about them but was still in the high average, putting in the effort to honor the scholarship he had worked so hard to earn. But now, he was sleeping more and more in classes, asked for the material every other day and fell behind in at least three classes. With the first exams approaching, he felt an overwhelming sense of submersion, a wave of work staring at him and his brain was incapable of focusing correctly for more than half an hour.
The third was his absence in conversations. His younger brother Jobe had always been more of a listener than a talker, and now their rare calls fell flat when Jude had nothing to say. Jobe filled in as much as he could, trying to make something out of Jude’s incoherent mumbling about a horrible roommate. They usually ended in Jude falling asleep on his own nonsense, short divine naps. He hadn’t even been given some time to text back his friends from London, the messages piling up with each passing day.
His absence in conversations was also felt by his teammates. He was sincerely sorry for the blank stares he kept on giving to Rodrygo or Aurélien. Brahim and Erling too, although they both knew the beast as they called him, were not particularly bothered by his attitude. But they truly wanted Jude to get better, have a change of scenery for a bit. So, when Jude had asked them if they were up for going out tonight, the two agreed instantly.
Not even a foot in, Brahim had quickly disappeared into a corner with a tall girl with beautiful curly hair and glittering dark skin. The little guy had a thing for them.
Which left Jude and Erling, one trying to drink away his thoughts while the other made sure he didn’t absolutely lose his mind.
“I might start getting medication to knock me out.” Jude admitted, drinking the rest of his now fourth cup in a single gulp.
“I can’t knock you out but I can knock you up.” Erling joked with a sly smile.
This did get a smile and a chuckle out of Jude, stupid Erling. He was super duper great at flirting with Jude as a joke. It’ll always remain a joke, and Jude was glad Erling allowed himself to make these types of messing around with him regardless of Jude’s obvious attraction to boys.
“I think you actually can knock me out.”
They danced for a bit more, Erling’s face fully red, Jude’s forehead completely sweaty.
The Norwegian should have been dancing with someone other than his football teammate. He felt a tad guilty, sensing that Erling might think he was obliged to keep Jude company as Brahim had already left and the English was obviously not in the right state of mind to be by himself.
It took a few hours more of restless dancing and laughing and drinking before Erling, as a good guardian angel, decided it was time for Jude to leave the alcohol behind to find the way to sleep. They had training on Monday, and even a good drinker like Jude had to avoid getting wasted, specifically with his shitty performances lately.
“Alright, I think we’re good here.”
Erling let go of him for a split second, jamming the door lock with the keys he had got from all the way inside Jude’s back pocket. Jude’s body weighed more than ten tons at the moment, and he had the intent of taking advantage of his bodyguard doing all the work for him.
The door opened, Jude stumbling on his own feet more than once as he tried to catch up on his friend. He was moving so damn fast, super speed he could use at training.
His face hit onto Erling’s back.
“Move along, I might just collapse on my knees right now.”
Erling cleared his throat.
Pablo was sitting on the small crooked round table, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Jude definitely didn’t see that coming.
The alcohol pumping in his veins traveled north to his head then evaporated in the air. He blinked a few times, and the drinks could have been to blame for the harsh way he knew he was about to talk. But his healthy diet and tall figure made him a good drinker. Heavy and unbalanced, yes, but not senseless. The sight of Pablo had sobered him up anyway.
“You’re not fucking tonight?” He started with a vague nod thrown toward his roommate. “Can’t get your little thing up after being such a dick?”
He couldn’t tell if Erling truly coughed or if he was hiding a laugh. Anyway, a frown found its usual place on Pablo’s face. Jude firmly believed he was going to bite back with threats or insults. To his surprise, Pablo only flexed his palms in and out on the table that moved from one unstable wooden foot to another, before he decided to fold them under it, resting on his thighs.
“I wanted—”Pablo stopped himself for a second. The frown disappeared as Jude stared at it, as if becoming aware of it. “I’m not bringing anyone over anymore.”
Jude would thank God if he believed in it. But then calumny left his mouth again.
“About fucking time, you’ve fucked half of the state’s twenty-year old girls.” Jude refrained himself from bringing statistics into this. He was too tired to calculate the odds of Pablo fucking girls who were probably friends or related just for the sake of proving his point.
Erling slid a hand around Jude’s bicep and lightly squeezed it. “Don’t mind him, he's drunk, I’ll get him to bed—”
“Where were you? You’re home earlier usually.”
Jude almost took a step back at the question. Or maybe a step forward. Erling pressed his arm again.
To what extent did this dude’s nerves defy any concept of reason?
“I was drinking myself stupid ‘cause my roommate has been a pain in the ass for more than a month.”
Pablo made a face at Jude’s outburst. The English thought he was actually being pretty reasonable at this moment. Robbed of his nights and his dignity and now he was being copped around by this guy he didn’t know anything about and drove him legitimately crazy.
“I deserve that.”
“No shit.”
There was the sound of a quick goodbyes from Erling and that of the door closing behind him. Jude’s eyes were glued to Pablo’s. The other clenched then unclenched his jaw, and his shoulders sagged a tiny bit in an exhale. Jude’s figure mirrored him, judging it was enough tension for tonight.
He grabbed the other chair and sat in front of him.
“I don’t think we’re gonna be the best friends in the world,” Pablo nodded in agreement, “but we can at least not fight for the entire year. Takes too much energy and last time I checked, you took it all.”
Pablo’s eyes fled to the side. “This morning was a bit too much, I’ve been told.”
Ah. So this entire moral awakening had been the product of someone else knocking some sense into him. Had Pablo bragged about how he’s been Jude’s nemesis? He chased the thought away in a long sigh.
“A bit is a euphemism, that was absolutely mental.”
“Well, you’ve stolen my chargers for a week—”
“You’ve fucked two girls at once next to my fucking room—”
“You locked me outside.”
Jude scoffed, “Not on purpose, I just forgot to take my keys off the lock and you rang the bell like a madman, poor you had to wait five seconds.”
Pablo straightened in his seat. “You called me a whore.”
Okay, he did mention the apartment turning into a whorehouse, but he never called him a whore, that was straight up lying.
This guy would go beyond anything to drive a point home.
“I didn’t.”
Pablo's lips stretched into a tiny smile. Jude tried hiding his surprise at the new expression he unlocked. “You should know the walls are thin.’
And it clicked in Jude’s head, slower than it should have.
Perhaps the word had escaped him during one of his calls with Jobe. Damn these walls. He’ll be filling up a complaint against the university. After graduating, that is.
“Pablo, by the way.”
“So I’ve heard, Pablo.” He drummed his fingers on the surface of the wooden table before smoothing out the surface. Pablo raised an eyebrow and he blurted out, “I’m Jude.”
“Jude,” the other repeated for himself, testing it out. “Jude.”
There was something about his accent that completely changed the pronunciation. He said the ‘u’ like he’d say ‘moon’, his lips in a prominent heart form. And the ‘d’ was strong and heavy on his tongue.
Jude wondered if Pablo replayed the scene just to correct the pronunciation of his name in his head, too.