[ficlet] speak to us of friendship
Title: speak to us of friendship
Pairing: bastian schweinsteiger/holger badstuber (idol worship!)
Rating: pg
Genre: crack, humor, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: based on this gif, for insects. in which holger has a lot of feelings and thomas is devious. 810 words.
Bastian Schweinsteiger.
How can he even begin to describe Bastian Schweinsteiger?
"This is stupid," he says aloud, Thomas's face inches away from his. "I don't want to talk about role models. Can we talk about, I don't know, things that don't remind me of Mean Girls?"
"Are you high?" Thomas asks, shit-eating grin in place and eyebrows raised. "What does Mean Girls have anything to do with anything?"
"Nevermind," Holger breathes, smoothing his hair back with a hand.
"Why are you turning pink?" he responds delightedly. "Is poor Holgi embarrassed? Is his favorite player a shitty one?"
"As if!" Holger thwacks at Thomas's arm and he jumps up just in time to avoid it. "Don't you have better things to be doing?"
The next moment, Miroslav pokes his head into the room and barks out a stern "Thomas!" His friend's head whips around and a cowed look flashes across his face. "Strikers' training in ten minutes, come on!"
Holger sinks back into the couch and exhales, rubbing at his temples. On even the best of days, Thomas was still sometimes too much to handle, all enthusiasm and peppiness where Holger had intensity and patience. Today, he'd gotten it into himself to ask everyone which player they looked up to the most and why: an innocent question, to say the least, but inexplicably embarrassing nonetheless.
It's not really idol worship, Holger thinks, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. He just respects Bastian a lot-the way he carries himself on the field, how he is always serious when he needs to be, deference to referees (and not, if their calls were shit).
Yeah, that's it. Respect.
The clock on the wall says 1:30, an hour before defense practice begins. Last month's edition of Kicker is on the coffee table in front of him, its cover a little battered from wear and tear, and Holger picks it up, flips through. As if by some sort of divine interference, the page he ends up on shows Bastian's face against a blue background-ah, he thinks, annoyed, of course it has to be the issue with his interview.
Even though he can probably quote the article by heart if pressed, he leans back against the sofa again and starts rereading it. The questions are mundane; they ask about training and the national team, and Bastian fields the occasional transfer rumor query with his usual class. There's nothing wrong with liking Bastian Schweinsteiger, he says to himself, turning the page. After all, who doesn't?
"Hey, what are you reading?"
The sudden voice from behind scares the hell out of him, and for a moment, he thinks Thomas is back to torment him with more questions. He shoves the magazine into the crack between soft cushions and looks up, mouth open and ready to yell-and then he realizes it's not Thomas.
"Hi," he squeaks, and Bastian gives him a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. Or maybe it's the why-are-you-being-so-shady look-sometimes the differences between the two are too subtle for Holger to tell. He reaches for the glossy paper squashed into the pillows and Holger yanks it out and away.
If anyone had walked in at that precise moment, they would've seen a peculiar scene indeed: Bastian Schweinsteiger, midfielder extraordinaire, leaning forward against the back of a sofa for a magazine, and Holger Badstuber, the up and coming young defender, half twisted away from the couch and dangling said magazine over the coffee table.
"Holger," Bastian snaps testily after a moment of silence. "That's my magazine. I've been looking for it everywhere. Give it to me."
He gapes and slowly retracts his extended arm. Once the magazine is within his reach, Bastian snatches it out of Holger's hands and smiles. "Thank you," he chirps cheerily, turning on his heel and exiting the way he came.
Holger blinks after him.
"OH MY GOD," Thomas screeches into his ear when they go out for dinner after practice. "I TOTALLY KNEW IT."
"I wish you had a mute button," Holger moans tiredly, almost face-planting into his pasta. "Knew what?"
"Bastian was talking in the locker room and said something about a magazine," Thomas crows. "He's your favorite!"
"Are you stupid?" Holger sniffs, spearing a tortellini and willing himself not to turn red. "How do you know?"
"I took the thing out of his room and planted it there," he replies, waggling his eyebrows. "I had my suspicions, you know-"
"I hate you!" Holger roars, reaching across the table to grab at Thomas, who evades with a quick dodge and a smirk.
"Don't worry, it's not like I told him or anything," he says, trying for a soothing voice. It only makes Holger angrier. "Though he did say he thinks you were reading the article about him-"
"I hate you," he repeats, grumbling into his bowl. "A lot."
A/N: LMAO IDEK SORRY, THIS IS INEXCUSABLE :| SIGH :|
Pairing: bastian schweinsteiger/holger badstuber (idol worship!)
Rating: pg
Genre: crack, humor, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: based on this gif, for insects. in which holger has a lot of feelings and thomas is devious. 810 words.
Bastian Schweinsteiger.
How can he even begin to describe Bastian Schweinsteiger?
"This is stupid," he says aloud, Thomas's face inches away from his. "I don't want to talk about role models. Can we talk about, I don't know, things that don't remind me of Mean Girls?"
"Are you high?" Thomas asks, shit-eating grin in place and eyebrows raised. "What does Mean Girls have anything to do with anything?"
"Nevermind," Holger breathes, smoothing his hair back with a hand.
"Why are you turning pink?" he responds delightedly. "Is poor Holgi embarrassed? Is his favorite player a shitty one?"
"As if!" Holger thwacks at Thomas's arm and he jumps up just in time to avoid it. "Don't you have better things to be doing?"
The next moment, Miroslav pokes his head into the room and barks out a stern "Thomas!" His friend's head whips around and a cowed look flashes across his face. "Strikers' training in ten minutes, come on!"
Holger sinks back into the couch and exhales, rubbing at his temples. On even the best of days, Thomas was still sometimes too much to handle, all enthusiasm and peppiness where Holger had intensity and patience. Today, he'd gotten it into himself to ask everyone which player they looked up to the most and why: an innocent question, to say the least, but inexplicably embarrassing nonetheless.
It's not really idol worship, Holger thinks, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. He just respects Bastian a lot-the way he carries himself on the field, how he is always serious when he needs to be, deference to referees (and not, if their calls were shit).
Yeah, that's it. Respect.
The clock on the wall says 1:30, an hour before defense practice begins. Last month's edition of Kicker is on the coffee table in front of him, its cover a little battered from wear and tear, and Holger picks it up, flips through. As if by some sort of divine interference, the page he ends up on shows Bastian's face against a blue background-ah, he thinks, annoyed, of course it has to be the issue with his interview.
Even though he can probably quote the article by heart if pressed, he leans back against the sofa again and starts rereading it. The questions are mundane; they ask about training and the national team, and Bastian fields the occasional transfer rumor query with his usual class. There's nothing wrong with liking Bastian Schweinsteiger, he says to himself, turning the page. After all, who doesn't?
"Hey, what are you reading?"
The sudden voice from behind scares the hell out of him, and for a moment, he thinks Thomas is back to torment him with more questions. He shoves the magazine into the crack between soft cushions and looks up, mouth open and ready to yell-and then he realizes it's not Thomas.
"Hi," he squeaks, and Bastian gives him a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. Or maybe it's the why-are-you-being-so-shady look-sometimes the differences between the two are too subtle for Holger to tell. He reaches for the glossy paper squashed into the pillows and Holger yanks it out and away.
If anyone had walked in at that precise moment, they would've seen a peculiar scene indeed: Bastian Schweinsteiger, midfielder extraordinaire, leaning forward against the back of a sofa for a magazine, and Holger Badstuber, the up and coming young defender, half twisted away from the couch and dangling said magazine over the coffee table.
"Holger," Bastian snaps testily after a moment of silence. "That's my magazine. I've been looking for it everywhere. Give it to me."
He gapes and slowly retracts his extended arm. Once the magazine is within his reach, Bastian snatches it out of Holger's hands and smiles. "Thank you," he chirps cheerily, turning on his heel and exiting the way he came.
Holger blinks after him.
"OH MY GOD," Thomas screeches into his ear when they go out for dinner after practice. "I TOTALLY KNEW IT."
"I wish you had a mute button," Holger moans tiredly, almost face-planting into his pasta. "Knew what?"
"Bastian was talking in the locker room and said something about a magazine," Thomas crows. "He's your favorite!"
"Are you stupid?" Holger sniffs, spearing a tortellini and willing himself not to turn red. "How do you know?"
"I took the thing out of his room and planted it there," he replies, waggling his eyebrows. "I had my suspicions, you know-"
"I hate you!" Holger roars, reaching across the table to grab at Thomas, who evades with a quick dodge and a smirk.
"Don't worry, it's not like I told him or anything," he says, trying for a soothing voice. It only makes Holger angrier. "Though he did say he thinks you were reading the article about him-"
"I hate you," he repeats, grumbling into his bowl. "A lot."
A/N: LMAO IDEK SORRY, THIS IS INEXCUSABLE :| SIGH :|