Work Text:
It’s on this first day of autumn that Jude realizes he’s fallen in love.
The sun hangs high in a sea of blue, the air smells crisp and every breath he takes leaves his nose running. He’s one of the first lads on the training pitch because setting up cones suits him better than putting them away when his muscles are sore and he’s aching for a hot shower. Tiny bits of frostbite gnaw away at the lawn, and he finds himself yearning for summer long before winter has even begun.
He jogs back to the sideline, sleeves tucked over his hands and face buried deep inside the fleece neckerchief their co-trainer’s handed out at the entrance gates, and watches as another wave of black and yellow figures passes over the grass.
At the front, he spots Julian walking with a bounce in his step, and behind him, Donny’s talking to Gregor who looks back at him like all the wonders of the universe are sealed within his eyes.
Of course, Jude thinks and smiles, but he isn’t looking for them.
Moments later, he sees him, and the cold is sucked from his lungs.
It does not take Gio long to notice Jude’s gaze on him, and when he does, his face lights up with a smile that promises warm mornings and breakfasts in the sun. He comes running at him, and Jude wants to scold him for being reckless despite his freshly healed injury, but he forgets all about it the instant Gio sinks into his arms, and they sway in the gentle breeze like two pieces of a puzzle interlocking.
He looks pretty as ever, his cheeks round and rosy, and Jude notes with glee that he’s finally acted on his advice and groomed his eyebrows. He teases him about it and Gio tells him to shut up, but his laugh rings out over their trainer’s voice calling them to attention.
“I missed you,” Gio whispers, their hands brushing while they walk.
And Jude realizes love happens quietly, blooms slowly, melting from one day into the next like summer into autumn.
Two weeks later, seized by sudden braveness, he asks Gio out and when he says “yes” Jude thinks his heart might burst.
In the middle of October, they take a walk along the muddy riverside, and already Jude is mourning his once-white Nikes. But he knows it’s worth it because Gio keeps picking up chestnuts and handing them to him, keeps stepping on piles of golden leaves, and he squeals in delight whenever they crunch with the most perfect sound.
They wave ships hello and goodbye as they sail by on the canal, and they don’t grow tired of it, even though the cargo has yet to wave back.
Gio skips ahead and pivots on his heel, so he’s facing Jude whilst shuffling backwards.
“What’s your favorite season then?” he asks, apropos nothing.
“Probably summer. Can’t be bothered with the cold, you know?”
“Hm, that’s boring. I like this though” he squashes another leaf beneath his shoe. “I think fall’s my favorite.”
“Autumn,” Jude says.
“Uh autumn.” His mock impression meshes with a giggle, and he scrunches his face up in an attempt to remain serious. “I’m British and I’m posh and I talk like I’ve got a giant stick up my—“
He’s quick to dash off before Jude can get a hold of him, his hand lunging at nothing but air. Laughing, he chases after him, but the competition in it runs off somewhere. He stops, and ten feet ahead of him, Gio does the same, the sun’s crystal glow illuminating his body.
Then, Gio cups his hands around his mouth and finishes his sentence, screaming for all the world to hear: “Ass!”
And maybe it’s embarrassing how that only makes Jude fall for him harder.
The coffee shop lies hidden away between the cobblestone alleys of Dortmund’s old town, where rusty signs still dangle above doors and window shopping means you actually have to enter the store.
Gio orders waffles and a banana milkshake, and when Jude asks for milk in his tea the waitress darts him a funny look. They sit outside at a table for two, their legs locked underneath it.
It’s the time of the year that reminds people to set up candles on their windowsills because the sun goes to sleep early and suddenly, everyone seems to care about sustainability. Carved pumpkins find their places on doorsteps among plastic spiders and glow-in-the-dark skeletons. Jude considers inviting Gio to go trick or treating, maybe Erling would like to tag along as well. Are they too old for that kind of stuff? He doesn’t feel too old for having fun.
Right as Gio intends to take a bite out of his waffle, the wind picks up and blows specs of icing sugar across his face, and Jude can’t stop laughing at him.
On a whim, he sketches a gazelle onto a paper napkin and tells Gio to guess what animal he’s drawn.
“That’s a zebra.”
“No way, it’s a gazelle! Don’t you see its antlers, right there.”
They hover over the wonky drawing, their foreheads touching in shared concentration as they slide the napkin back and forth.
“Dude, no offense, but looking like that, the poor guy’s bloodline’s gonna die out very soon.”
Jude pokes him with the pen. “Well, do a better one.”
To be fair, Gio at least gets the shape of the legs right.
“This one’s just a giraffe that got its neck broken,” Jude comments.
“I guess there’s a solid reason why we’ve become footballers and not… napkin artists.”
“Wait, let me do another one.”
Jude shields his work from Gio’s curios glances and scribbles You’re pretty cute at the bottom of the napkin, then passes it back over the table.
The smile he receives is all red cheeks and crinkling eyes, all bashful blinks and avoiding eye contact. It’s enough to make his heart flutter, like a thousand butterflies launching from his chest. It’s more than enough to have him convinced the sun’s not going down but coming back up over the orange-bathed rooftops.
“Real smooth, mister. Real smooth,” Gio mutters around a forkful of waffle.
Jude can’t contain a smile.
Afterwards, Gio drags him into a record store. The windowless room is dimly lit and the walls are black, lined with posters of guitars and framed records Jude doesn’t recognize. The cashier eyes them warily through half-rimmed glasses as they browse the rows, though it’s more Gio flipping through crates filled with records and Jude watching him.
He doesn’t even own a record player and he suspects that neither does Gio. Perhaps they’re only here to catch a glimpse of a time they’re too young to know, a time that poses mysteries even though people back then lived the same ordinary lives as they do today.
Autumn brings that sense of melancholy, he supposes.
Gio’s eyebrows shoot up, and he tugs a record from its crate.
“Jude come look, I know this one. My grandpa had it stored at the front of his shelf all the time.”
The dusty cover reads Françoise Hardy. It shows the sun and a black-and-white woman, a red tear spilling from her eye.
“Is it any good?”
“Ah I don’t quite remember the songs. You see, I was very young back then, and also it’s in French so…” he drops the record. “You can probably search her up on Spotify. If you want to know.”
Jude picks the record back up, and—knowing full well that he will never listen to it—buys it anyway.
Outside, Gio’s waiting for him with his hands stuffed inside his pockets, and when Jude exits the store with a wrapped record under his arm, he tilts his head in question but does not say anything.
“The cover looked ace,” Jude lies. In reality, he just wants something to remember this day by, something tangible to store at the front of his own shelf. Or maybe he just wants to hold a piece of Gio’s past as much as he wants to be a part of his future.
They walk together under the last caress of sunlight. Like so often, their hands gravitate towards each other, brushing but never sticking.
This time, Jude takes his hand.
Gio jerks his head around and stares at him, incredulous. “We’re in public,” he says, yet he does not withdraw his hand.
“And I’m in love,” Jude responds.
He watches Gio’s eyes go wide, his mouth gaping. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing at all.”
“No, say that again.”
Gio shoves at him and they stumble over the cobblestone. Luckily, Jude reacts fast enough to steady them, clinging to Gio's arm. Their laughter mixes with a whistling gust of wind, sending red and yellow leaves tumbling past their clumsy feet.
“Say it!”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
The space between them narrows down to a mere breath of air as Gio slings his arms around Jude’s neck, pulling him closer and closer still. He’s bright, and he’s beautiful, and a split-second decision is all it takes to toss Jude’s mind into a free fall.
They share their first kiss on the streets of Dortmund, and it’s an awkward tangle of chapped lips and clammy hands that don’t know what to do with themselves, and not even the pigeons on the sidewalk pay them any mind.
With a wordless gasp Gio draws back. His breath tastes like sugar, and his eyes gleam like melted honey.
“I’m in love with you,” Jude tells him, at last.
Eventually, the night creeps in on quiet footfalls.
Jude unlocks the front door and turns to Gio, whose face looks pale underneath the bluish porch lights. Standing still, they’re both freezing, each waiting for the other to initiate a goodbye that isn’t wanted.
“Hey, do you want to come in? You can sleep over. If you want.”
Gio shuffles his feet across the stone steps, throws a glance over his shoulder where late traffic’s rushing by. “I thought your mother doesn’t like surprise visitors?” he asks, voice hopeful.
“She’s back home for the week. We've got the whole place to ourselves."
A knowing smile comes to life between them.
“Oh okay.”
They huddle up under a pile of wool blankets, and Gio spreads out across Jude’s chest, getting lost in the steady pumping of his heartbeat.
It’s dark, and they light a candle by the windowsill.