Work Text:
"Something horrible, atrocious, unimaginable happened."
"Are you okay?"
"NO, I AM NOT. PLEASE PICK ME UP."
When Jobe Bellingham received his brother's call merely ten minutes after dropping him off at a Four Seasons hotel, he didn't know what to expect. Jude had been acting strange since the World Cup. His thoughts seemed to wander more quickly, and his phone had become far dearer to him than usual. When Jude finally asked his brother to discreetly drive him to a hotel during their family vacation, Jobe had finally put the puzzle pieces together: Jude was in a dating phase.
Secretly meeting a lover in a hotel? It was breaking-news material. No wonder Jude had sworn Jobe to absolute secrecy and insisted on moving under the cover of night. But that was ten minutes ago. Now, Jobe was staring at an alarming call.
He circled back around the block, pulling up right where he had left him. The older Bellingham climbed in, looking utterly shell-shocked and on the verge of tears.
"What happened?" Jobe asked, panic creeping into his voice.
"I am still processing. Please, just drive."
Jobe would have to wait for his answer. For twenty-one long years, he had known his brother. He knew Jude was expressive, possessed a flair for the dramatic, but never like this. Worried, Jobe drove blindly into the night. The seatbelt alarm began its insistent, piercing beep. Jobe had to nudge Jude's thigh to snap him out of it; he hadn't even buckled in. Jude just stared blankly ahead into the dark street, his eyes searching for something that wasn't there.
About twenty minutes later, Jobe rolled into the private parking lot of the hotel where their family was actually staying. Mum and Dad were convinced the two had gone out partying. Returning this early would look incredibly suspicious. Jobe didn't particularly care about Jude's love affairs, but his brother desperately needed time to collect himself before facing the world.
"Jude?"
The older man opened his eyes. He had closed them tightly, perhaps dreaming of a better, kinder reality.
"We can sit here for a bit," Jobe offered gently. "And you can tell me what happened. If you want."
Jude looked at Jobe, pondering the offer. Then, his lips started to quiver. He unbuckled his seatbelt, threw his weight forward, and collapsed right against Jobe’s chest. He began to weep.
"I was caught off guard," Jude choked out, his voice hitching. "There was nothing I could do."
Startled, Jobe wrapped his arms around him. What the hell had happened to his big brother? Jude’s grip tightened around Jobe’s jacket, holding on for dear life.
"I was so scared. I just ran away," Jude continued, his words dissolving into audible sobs.
It was awkward trying to hold Jude over the center console—and difficult to hold him in general because Jobe had never seen him like this. All his internal alarm bells were screaming. A thousand frantic questions surged through his mind, but he just held Jude tight. It was the only thing he could do.
"Why... why would he—" Jude stammered.
He? Jobe froze. He had assumed Jude was meeting a woman. Oh no. Was this Jude's coming out? Was this secret lover a man? And now Jude had suffered some horrific experience. Not only was he a gay footballer in a brutal industry, but had he been ridiculed? Attacked? Worse?
The absolute worst-case scenarios flooded Jobe's mind. He envisioned some high-profile scam, an influencer setting up hidden cameras in the hotel room for blackmail. His mind raced. He needed more information. This needed to be handled with extreme care, with lawyers, with their parents!
But Jude couldn't bring forth a coherent sentence anymore. Jobe was left utterly in the dark—trapped in the same pitch-black despair that had just shattered Jude’s heart.
"Are you okay?"
"Getting there."
Jude and Jobe now sat by the ocean, at an industrial harbor where no one lingered during the night, far away from the crowded tourist beaches. Just the two Bellinghams, surrounded by a heavy, suffocating silence. They sat right on the edge of the asphalt, just above the massive wave-breaker stones. The gentle white noise of the waves crashing against the rocks filled the air. Jude sat with one leg drawn up, resting his chin on his knee. Jobe’s signature smile was completely gone, his face etched with pure worry. He kept an arm around Jude’s back, drawing soothing circles to comfort him.
Jude sniffled. They had driven away from the hotel once more. Jobe reasoned that if Jude hadn't told him or their parents about being gay until now, he must have a good reason. He wanted his brother to feel safe enough to open up.
"I am just so disappointed," Jude whispered.
"Jude, what happened?" Jobe stirs the conversation into a more productive direction—he needed to know what was going on.
Their dark eyes met. A distant streetlamp, the moon, and the faint glow from a hotel on the other side of the bay provided the only light. Jude took a deep, shaky breath.
"I fell in love."
Jobe held his breath. He knew it. For Jude to admit he had already fallen that hard—this was huge.
"I never thought I would, but... he..."
"He?"
Jude slowly nodded, confirming Jobe’s suspicions. He wasn't even afraid to admit it to his little brother anymore. Jobe felt honored by the trust, but his heart ached. What terrible thing could have happened in those ten short minutes?
"He is a good person—It happened so fast," Jude continued, staring at the water. "One moment we were just normal friends, and the next, I was thinking about him every single day. I barely have any free time as it is. I’m glad we’re on a family vacation, but I had to meet him. Just for a quick... you know."
Jobe nodded, his eyes swimming with sympathy.
"So I went up to his hotel room. I was so excited to see him, but the lights were off. Before I could even turn them on, I was attacked."
Jobe’s blood ran cold. "I’ll fucking kill him—"
"Romantically," Jude clarified.
Jobe blinked. "Oh. Right. Continue..."
"He was in this playful mood. Giggling, saying how much he missed me. We were hugging tightly. I couldn’t even get out of that narrow hallway and into the actual room before his hands were on my waist... and we started making out."
Jobe listened carefully, trying to give Jude the space to process and find his words. He couldn't rush him. Jude had tears welling up in his eyes; just recounting the events seemed emotionally draining.
"Was he a bad kisser?"
Slowly, Jude shook his head, as if Jobe's question was completely ridiculous.
"No. He was an excellent kisser. But there we were, longing for each other, making out in the dark hallway—I had missed him so much—I just wanted to be as close to him as possible. And so, my hands started to trace his frame. His broad back. His shoulders. And then, I arrived at the back of his head. His beautiful blonde hair. The hair I loved so much…"
Jude had to choke back a sob. Jobe handed him a tissue to blow his nose. Jude wiped the tears from his face, and Jobe scooted closer, pulling him into a half-hug to support him.
"It was gone..." Jude finally whispered, staring out into the vast, dark ocean.
"His hair was gone?" Jobe asked, waiting for the tragic punchline.
"Yes. Just gone. Poof. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling—or rather, the lack of what I was feeling. So I turned on the light. And there he was. My beautiful Nordic Viking... without his locks." Jude hiccuped. "I ran away so fast I almost fell down a flight of stairs. It was shocking."
Jobe held his breath. The silence stretched between them.
"Did you just say... you ran away because of a bad haircut?"
The entire monumental buildup of Jobe's worst fears, his deep empathy, and his brotherly protectiveness shattered like a poorly edited CapCut transition. He violently pulled away from his inconsolable toddler of a brother and scoffed, incredibly loud.
"WHAT THE FUCK? I THOUGHT YOU WERE ASSAULTED! I THOUGHT YOU SUFFERED A HOMOPHOBIC ATTACK!"
Jude looked startled, staring wide-eyed at his baby brother. "What? Why would Erling be homophobic? He literally ate me out. That makes no sense."
Jobe felt a sudden wave of nausea. "I DON'T WANT TO KNOW THAT!"
He had officially had it up to here with his brother. Abruptly, Jobe stood up. No. Not today, universe. God, why did he ever worry about this twat? Without looking back, he started stomping toward the car.
"Wait, Jobe! Where are you going?"
"To the hotel. I am not wasting another fucking minute on you."
"But—but I am not done grieving yet! You can't leave me stranded!"
"GET YOUR FUCKING LICENSE!" Jobe yelled back over his shoulder. Though, out of pure habit, he did slow his pace just enough so Jude could actually catch up and get to the goddamn car.
"Why are you so angry all of a sudden?" Jude asked, stumbling after him.
Jobe awakens his inner homer Simpson and momentarily strangles Jude with both his hands.
"Argh!"
"ANGRY? No, I’m not angry! You’re a TWAT, that’s what you are!" Jobe hisses, pushing him away and letting go just as quickly.
Jude defensively clutched his own throat, sucking in fresh air. First, his lover betrays him with a haircut, and now his own brother is attempting murder? What was happening to the world?!
"Forcing me to lie and act all secretive about some meetup!" Jobe ranted, pacing furiously. "Forcing me to drive you to a quick fuck and asking me to wait in the car! Then you come out crying, acting as if the worst thing in human history just happened!—Do you have any idea what a rollercoaster of annoyance, anger, and genuine fear you just put me through?!"
Jude blinked, totally bewildered.
"I thought you were going through some late-stage homosexual awakening and were terrified to share it, or had just survived a traumatic experience! I was already playing through scenarios of how to explain this to Mum and Dad! I thought we had to mobilize lawyers and a therapist! And you, you stupid cunt, are crying over hair?!"
"He had beautiful hair!" Jude cried out defensively. "I could grab a beautiful handful of it!"
"I DON'T CARE!" Jobe yelled, slamming the car door open.
God, he hated that twat. Who was the actual donut now?
Somber and hollow, Jude stared at old photographs of Erling’s beautiful long hair. He had actually printed them out and neatly glued them into his wallet. Like a heartbroken teenager mourning an ex, his fingers traced Erling’s lush, former hairline, occasionally kissing his fingertips before gently caressing the glossy paper. He had been doing this all morning.
"What on earth is going on?"
Mark, Denise, and Jobe stood huddled around the corner of the livingroom, watching Jude as if he were a rare exhibit at the zoo. Jobe had a completely unimpressed look on his face, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"His boyfriend cut his hair," Jobe said flatly.
Mark blinked. "Jude is gay?"
Denise gaped. "Jude managed to get a boyfriend?"
Mark and Denise stared at Jobe, then looked back at Jude, who was currently whimpering over his wallet. The youngest Bellingham simply shook his head, entirely done with this family and the world. He turned to retreat toward the pool bar, where he could maybe drink away his memories of that pathetic older brother of his.
"Wait, you can't just leave!" Mark called out, reaching a hand after Jobe. He desperately needed more context!
"Erling Haaland's Instagram," Jobe threw back carelessly, before clicking the door shut behind him.
Denise already had her phone pulled out. Her thumbs flew across the screen, and within seconds—there it was. Plastered all over Haaland’s Instagram story and latest posts. The famous Viking had uploaded one of his typical, unfiltered pictures, devoid of any background music, with a caption that read: “Short hair, don’t care.”
The parents stared at the image on the screen, then peered around the corner once more. By now, Jude had opened his own phone, likely viewing the exact same picture to relive the trauma of last night. Right on cue, he let out another painful sob. Denise and Mark quietly decided to retreat as well.
"I am very hurt, Erling."
"I am very sorry," the blonde giant answered, entirely bemused. His fresh buzzcut was now fully on display in the bright daylight.
"I think I need some time to heal before I can look at you again."
Jude stood on the massive balcony, staring down at the luxury resort. A few seagulls drifted through the sky, perfectly rounding out the cinematic misery of the scenery. Behind him stood his betrayer, practically begging for forgiveness (though not really).
"Oh, baby... it’s just hair."
But the Englishman shook his head, his posture rigid. Even as two massive, strong arms wrapped around him from behind and a gentle kiss was pressed into his cheek, Jude kept his eyes steadfastly closed. He exhaled a dramatic, theatrical sigh.
"Trust is a fragile little thing, Erling. It takes years to build... only an electric shaver to destroy... and even more years to rebuild." He spoke like a true, tortured poet.
Erling actually had the audacity to chuckle. "Jude, please. I just wanted a fresh start for the new season. And it’s summer. It’s hot."
In one swift, dramatic motion, Jude broke free from Erling’s embrace. He turned around, bravely forcing himself to look at his butchered boyfriend. The hair was short, prickly, and entirely foreign.
"How can I still trust you?!" Jude cried out in an accusatory tone, throwing his hands up. "You fooled me! Played with my innocence! How do I know you didn’t shave more than your head?!"
His final argument landed like a heavy blow, and his eyes pointedly darted below Erling's beltline. Erling was first speechles—then snickered, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
"But Jude—" Erling tried again, stepping closer. His large hand reached up, cupping Jude's overly dramatic, pouting face. "I thought you liked me shaven downstairs. Didn't you say it tickles your nose otherwise?"
Jude froze. The poetic aura instantly vanished. He forced his tense shoulder muscles to relax, the ultimate defeat washing over him.
"Yeah, okay, fine, I said that," Jude grumbled, finally breaking character. "But for real, what the fuck? You can’t just spring this on me. I have a fragile heart!"
Bellingham looked up into Erling's lake-blue eyes like a grumpy cat that desperately wanted to be pet but would never, ever admit it out loud. His arms remained stubbornly crossed. Upset face or not, Erling leaned down and kissed him, a massive, victorious smile plastered on his lips. He really had snagged the most ridiculous boyfriend on earth.
Jude reciprocated the kiss, but his arms stayed firmly locked against his chest.
After all, there was nowhere to put his hands now that Erling's majestic locks were gone.
The true tragedy of this whole ordeal.