[ficlet] you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed
Title: you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed
Pairing: per mertesacker/manuel neuer
Rating: pg13 for language
Genre: mild angst, mild romance
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: for insects, who wanted per/manu. set after the euro qualifier against azerbaijan, 876 words.
what the fuck happened? blinks across his screen when he finally gets the chance to check his phone. Per winces, jerks, and nearly drops the cell on the floor when one of the doctors examining him brushes his cheek. I'm fine, he types back gingerly after one of the nurses swabs the residual blood off his face. You don't need to worry about me, okay?
i'm not stupid, per, is the prompt reply, and Per can feel Manuel's muted disdain radiating from his words, has to bite back a smile so he won't fuck his eye socket up even more. you were right in front me when it happened, i saw how bad it was. how long are you out?
When he doesn't immediately respond, Manuel proceeds to text him every twenty seconds with multiple variations of are you hiding something from me? and you might as well tell me because the team's going to find out soon enough anyway and brb blackmailing the shit out of hansi until he spills the beans. MANUEL, I DON'T KNOW YET he finally sends back emphatically before turning his phone off and stuffing it under the hospital bed's pillow.
Ten minutes later, he looks up from the doctor's clipboard to see a panting Manuel in the doorway. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew which hospital I was at," Per sighs, exasperated, as he plops down into one of the large bedside chairs. "Don't you have a train back to Gelsenkirchen to catch?"
"It's not important," Manuel says, dropping his gloves on the counter and his muddy sports bag on the floor. One of the nurses sends it a disapproving look and Manuel pointedly ignores her. "How are you?"
"Fractured my eye socket," Per mumbles, diligently studying the backs of his hands, "and my sinus."
"Fuck," Manuel breathes. When Per glances at him again, he's already pulled his phone out, tapping on the screen with quick jabs of his thumbs.
"What are you doing?"
"Informing the rest of the team," he says darkly. "I think the coaches and Bierhoff are coming to talk to the doctors, but none of the other players are allowed."
"Then why are you here?" Manuel raises his eyebrows and pins him with an are-you-really-asking-this-question-right-now look. "Okay, okay," he says, shoulders hunching as he leans back against the pillows. "Wohlfahrt says I'll probably be out for six weeks, at least."
"So you won't be around for Turkey," he replies flatly. "How terrific."
Per shrugs, lips evening out into a thin line. "I might be able to play, but I'll have to wear one of those Plexiglass masks." Manuel grunts in response and rubs a hand over his face. "It could be worse," he continues, fiddling idly with the bandage across his left eye. "For a while I thought I might actually go blind."
"But you won't, right?" Manuel blurts out, and Per's a little surprised to hear a tinge of fear in the keeper's voice. "You won't go blind or anything. You'll be okay-after it heals you'll be fit to play."
"My eye's fine," Per says hastily, the right corner of his mouth edging upward. "You should be worrying more about not letting goals in, like that one from the second half."
"Hey!" Manuel yells, ignoring several shushing noises from the nurses bustling in and out.
"Kidding, kidding," he laughs.
Manuel huffs. "You weren't even there to see it."
Per reaches back and pulls his phone out again, waves it in Manuel's displeased face. "Constant internet access, it's the way of the future." Manuel coughs loudly and scrunches up into a ball on the chair, brings dirty cleats onto the seat so that he can prop his head on his knees. He looks curiously endearing still dressed in his sweaty kit (the one he didn't bother to change out of before he came, no doubt), heels of his palms rubbing at his eyes.
"You should go," Per says finally, after a short moment of easy silence. "You look tired."
Manuel tilts his head and surveys him through narrow eyes. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"Seriously," he says, sliding down until his head hits the pillow. "I've got perfectly qualified doctors looking after me, and you have more important things to be doing."
"This is important, too-"
"Priorities," Per says firmly. "Think about your priorities."
Manuel sighs and uncurls from his position, bends down to pick his bag up and plop it in his lap. "Get well soon," he murmurs, reaching over to pat Per's hand. "I'd like to see you out on the pitch in a Zorro mask."
Per snorts and ignores the way Manuel's touch sends thin tendrils of warmth up his arm. "Have a safe trip back."
When he wakes up in the morning, there's a crumpled blue Post-It pressed into the side of his hospital gurney, one that reads, in Manuel's schoolboy scrawl, none of the convenience stores were open so i couldn't get you anything nicer, but i don't need a designer get-well-soon card to tell you that you better heal yourself up. those are cheesy as shit anyway. also, practice how to jump so you Don't get elbowed in the face next time. cheers, manu.
fin
A/N: :| sorry it's so short, danni B(
Pairing: per mertesacker/manuel neuer
Rating: pg13 for language
Genre: mild angst, mild romance
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: for insects, who wanted per/manu. set after the euro qualifier against azerbaijan, 876 words.
what the fuck happened? blinks across his screen when he finally gets the chance to check his phone. Per winces, jerks, and nearly drops the cell on the floor when one of the doctors examining him brushes his cheek. I'm fine, he types back gingerly after one of the nurses swabs the residual blood off his face. You don't need to worry about me, okay?
i'm not stupid, per, is the prompt reply, and Per can feel Manuel's muted disdain radiating from his words, has to bite back a smile so he won't fuck his eye socket up even more. you were right in front me when it happened, i saw how bad it was. how long are you out?
When he doesn't immediately respond, Manuel proceeds to text him every twenty seconds with multiple variations of are you hiding something from me? and you might as well tell me because the team's going to find out soon enough anyway and brb blackmailing the shit out of hansi until he spills the beans. MANUEL, I DON'T KNOW YET he finally sends back emphatically before turning his phone off and stuffing it under the hospital bed's pillow.
Ten minutes later, he looks up from the doctor's clipboard to see a panting Manuel in the doorway. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew which hospital I was at," Per sighs, exasperated, as he plops down into one of the large bedside chairs. "Don't you have a train back to Gelsenkirchen to catch?"
"It's not important," Manuel says, dropping his gloves on the counter and his muddy sports bag on the floor. One of the nurses sends it a disapproving look and Manuel pointedly ignores her. "How are you?"
"Fractured my eye socket," Per mumbles, diligently studying the backs of his hands, "and my sinus."
"Fuck," Manuel breathes. When Per glances at him again, he's already pulled his phone out, tapping on the screen with quick jabs of his thumbs.
"What are you doing?"
"Informing the rest of the team," he says darkly. "I think the coaches and Bierhoff are coming to talk to the doctors, but none of the other players are allowed."
"Then why are you here?" Manuel raises his eyebrows and pins him with an are-you-really-asking-this-question-right-now look. "Okay, okay," he says, shoulders hunching as he leans back against the pillows. "Wohlfahrt says I'll probably be out for six weeks, at least."
"So you won't be around for Turkey," he replies flatly. "How terrific."
Per shrugs, lips evening out into a thin line. "I might be able to play, but I'll have to wear one of those Plexiglass masks." Manuel grunts in response and rubs a hand over his face. "It could be worse," he continues, fiddling idly with the bandage across his left eye. "For a while I thought I might actually go blind."
"But you won't, right?" Manuel blurts out, and Per's a little surprised to hear a tinge of fear in the keeper's voice. "You won't go blind or anything. You'll be okay-after it heals you'll be fit to play."
"My eye's fine," Per says hastily, the right corner of his mouth edging upward. "You should be worrying more about not letting goals in, like that one from the second half."
"Hey!" Manuel yells, ignoring several shushing noises from the nurses bustling in and out.
"Kidding, kidding," he laughs.
Manuel huffs. "You weren't even there to see it."
Per reaches back and pulls his phone out again, waves it in Manuel's displeased face. "Constant internet access, it's the way of the future." Manuel coughs loudly and scrunches up into a ball on the chair, brings dirty cleats onto the seat so that he can prop his head on his knees. He looks curiously endearing still dressed in his sweaty kit (the one he didn't bother to change out of before he came, no doubt), heels of his palms rubbing at his eyes.
"You should go," Per says finally, after a short moment of easy silence. "You look tired."
Manuel tilts his head and surveys him through narrow eyes. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"Seriously," he says, sliding down until his head hits the pillow. "I've got perfectly qualified doctors looking after me, and you have more important things to be doing."
"This is important, too-"
"Priorities," Per says firmly. "Think about your priorities."
Manuel sighs and uncurls from his position, bends down to pick his bag up and plop it in his lap. "Get well soon," he murmurs, reaching over to pat Per's hand. "I'd like to see you out on the pitch in a Zorro mask."
Per snorts and ignores the way Manuel's touch sends thin tendrils of warmth up his arm. "Have a safe trip back."
When he wakes up in the morning, there's a crumpled blue Post-It pressed into the side of his hospital gurney, one that reads, in Manuel's schoolboy scrawl, none of the convenience stores were open so i couldn't get you anything nicer, but i don't need a designer get-well-soon card to tell you that you better heal yourself up. those are cheesy as shit anyway. also, practice how to jump so you Don't get elbowed in the face next time. cheers, manu.
fin
A/N: :| sorry it's so short, danni B(