Hot Air Buffon
Hot Air Buffon
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Schweinski
Warning: Cursing.
Disclaimer: This is a fictional, nonprofit work for entertainment purpose only. The situations here depicted do not correspond to real events, nor should the characters in this story be taken as accurate reproductions of the people on which they were based. The author has no connections to Bastian Schweinsteiger, Lukas Podolski, their families or acquaintances. No harm is intended through this work.
Author's notes: The title is a PPG reference, and was chosen solely because of the wordplay. Episode #35, "Hot Air Buffoon". There is no mention of Gianluigi Buffon in this story.
They had lost, he felt like getting very drunk, and yet once again the day was saved thanks to the fucking Powerpuff Girls. He flicked the channels aimlessly, sprawled over the hotel bed, smelling defeat in his clothes - all the while having stupid thoughts like why the hell did they show kid's cartoons when most kids are sleeping anyway. He had the slight impression that part of his brain had been turned off after the game, and now there was a kind of static in the back of his head making some sort of tweeeeeeeep sound, or maybe it was daaaamn or loooooser, he wasn't sure. There was something about the mating ritual of meerkats on Discovery Channel, and even though he didn't really care he just left it there like a screensaver and threw the control away from his hands.
Then someone knocked at the door. It was probably room service or something, or maybe someone else trying to inject disposition on him, so he pretended to sleep until he heard the faint "Basti?" through the door and it happened to be Lukas.
"Hey", he said while opening the door.
"Hey", answered the other one with a kicked puppy look.
Lukas entered the room, fidgetting with the hem of his shirt. "The others are out there drinking". It wasn't as if Basti had asked anything, but he probably just felt he should say something, and that seemed adequate.
They just stood there, in silence, not knowing exactly what to say, or do, and not looking at each other really, just. The floor seemed a lot more interesting, though it had the strange property of making people brood over things, which never did any good. So Basti dared a glance at Lukas. He was frowning, and that coming from Lukas was a bad sign, it was a bad sign coming from anyone but with Lukas it used to be worse. And so he almost asked "what's wrong" (stupid, inconsiderate, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious), but the other one chose that moment to swallow a sob and murmur "can I have a hug?".
The older one just sighed, himself feeling a bit like crying as well, and pulled his friend closer. Lukas rested his head on his shoulder, and his arms locked around Basti with such strenght he could almost hear a rib or two snapping. But they didn't let the tears come; both stubbornly refused to weep, boys will be boys, after all. Minutes were spent like this, the two holding each other tight, sniffling and making small choked sounds. They didn't say anything at all, because they were both too miserable for thinking full sentences, but also because none of them would pay attention to what the other said - and most of all because Basti knew Lukas didn't come to his room to hear yet another "it will be alright" (it won't), "you were brilliant" (he wasn't) or "that's how football goes" (it shouldn't be). Lukas came to his room in search of a friend to just be there. To be sad and sigh and frown and hold.
But he didn't really rationalize any of that. His mind was sliding between slight hunger, the smell of Lukas' cologne, the amusing fact that it was a cologne from Cologne, and the TV now announcing the ruthlessness of a white shark's attack. The tears had given up, but he held his friend still - there was nothing better to do.
He heard a whispered "Scheiße" coming from somewhere between his neck and his shoulder. "Sorry", Lukas added without further explanation.
"Nevermind", said Basti caressing his arm, then he blurted out, "D'ya wanna stay here?"
Lukas didn't expect it. Neither did Basti, in fact, for even while he added "we can watch The Powerpuff Girls or something" his brain was already screaming bloody murder at him, and he was certain that that had been a little too much, a little too gay even for the so-married-Duo-Infernale-Poldi-und-Schweini, but before he could further make a fool of himself Lukas said "sure" and hid his face on his shoulder again.
So Basti let out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding, and ran a hand over his friend's back, patting it slightly. They were both just too damn emo yet to crack a joke about Cologne colognes; but he had hopes that a few cartoons would make the loss a bit easier and maybe, just maybe, save the days to come.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Schweinski
Warning: Cursing.
Disclaimer: This is a fictional, nonprofit work for entertainment purpose only. The situations here depicted do not correspond to real events, nor should the characters in this story be taken as accurate reproductions of the people on which they were based. The author has no connections to Bastian Schweinsteiger, Lukas Podolski, their families or acquaintances. No harm is intended through this work.
Author's notes: The title is a PPG reference, and was chosen solely because of the wordplay. Episode #35, "Hot Air Buffoon". There is no mention of Gianluigi Buffon in this story.
They had lost, he felt like getting very drunk, and yet once again the day was saved thanks to the fucking Powerpuff Girls. He flicked the channels aimlessly, sprawled over the hotel bed, smelling defeat in his clothes - all the while having stupid thoughts like why the hell did they show kid's cartoons when most kids are sleeping anyway. He had the slight impression that part of his brain had been turned off after the game, and now there was a kind of static in the back of his head making some sort of tweeeeeeeep sound, or maybe it was daaaamn or loooooser, he wasn't sure. There was something about the mating ritual of meerkats on Discovery Channel, and even though he didn't really care he just left it there like a screensaver and threw the control away from his hands.
Then someone knocked at the door. It was probably room service or something, or maybe someone else trying to inject disposition on him, so he pretended to sleep until he heard the faint "Basti?" through the door and it happened to be Lukas.
"Hey", he said while opening the door.
"Hey", answered the other one with a kicked puppy look.
Lukas entered the room, fidgetting with the hem of his shirt. "The others are out there drinking". It wasn't as if Basti had asked anything, but he probably just felt he should say something, and that seemed adequate.
They just stood there, in silence, not knowing exactly what to say, or do, and not looking at each other really, just. The floor seemed a lot more interesting, though it had the strange property of making people brood over things, which never did any good. So Basti dared a glance at Lukas. He was frowning, and that coming from Lukas was a bad sign, it was a bad sign coming from anyone but with Lukas it used to be worse. And so he almost asked "what's wrong" (stupid, inconsiderate, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious), but the other one chose that moment to swallow a sob and murmur "can I have a hug?".
The older one just sighed, himself feeling a bit like crying as well, and pulled his friend closer. Lukas rested his head on his shoulder, and his arms locked around Basti with such strenght he could almost hear a rib or two snapping. But they didn't let the tears come; both stubbornly refused to weep, boys will be boys, after all. Minutes were spent like this, the two holding each other tight, sniffling and making small choked sounds. They didn't say anything at all, because they were both too miserable for thinking full sentences, but also because none of them would pay attention to what the other said - and most of all because Basti knew Lukas didn't come to his room to hear yet another "it will be alright" (it won't), "you were brilliant" (he wasn't) or "that's how football goes" (it shouldn't be). Lukas came to his room in search of a friend to just be there. To be sad and sigh and frown and hold.
But he didn't really rationalize any of that. His mind was sliding between slight hunger, the smell of Lukas' cologne, the amusing fact that it was a cologne from Cologne, and the TV now announcing the ruthlessness of a white shark's attack. The tears had given up, but he held his friend still - there was nothing better to do.
He heard a whispered "Scheiße" coming from somewhere between his neck and his shoulder. "Sorry", Lukas added without further explanation.
"Nevermind", said Basti caressing his arm, then he blurted out, "D'ya wanna stay here?"
Lukas didn't expect it. Neither did Basti, in fact, for even while he added "we can watch The Powerpuff Girls or something" his brain was already screaming bloody murder at him, and he was certain that that had been a little too much, a little too gay even for the so-married-Duo-Infernale-Poldi-und-Schweini, but before he could further make a fool of himself Lukas said "sure" and hid his face on his shoulder again.
So Basti let out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding, and ran a hand over his friend's back, patting it slightly. They were both just too damn emo yet to crack a joke about Cologne colognes; but he had hopes that a few cartoons would make the loss a bit easier and maybe, just maybe, save the days to come.