Fic: (Darling So it Goes) Some Things are Just Meant to Be
Title: (Darling So it Goes) Some Things are Just Meant to Be
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: G
Word Count: 6211
Pairings, Characters: Mario Götze/Marco Reus
Genre/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff
Summary: “So, basically what you’re telling me is that you used your brother’s dog to pick up some guy you literally bumped into at the park,” Robert says, giggling. “Dude, that’s low, even for your already extremely low standards.”
Or, Mario takes in his brother’s dog and meets Marco on one of his walks.
Author's Note: Finally get to publish this after like five months of on and off writing!
“Are you serious?”
“Mario, please,” Fabian pleads with his younger brother. “I just need you to take her just for a little while, until I can negotiate with the building’s board.”
“I don’t know, Fabian, a dog?” Mario scratches the back of his head and tries to stifle a yawn. It’s too early in the morning to be making logical and responsible decisions. “Why can’t Mum and Dad take it? Felix could take care of it.”
“They can’t, I already asked,” Fabian replies, defeated. “Please, Mario, you’re my only hope. I can’t afford to put her in a doggy hotel or have the vet take her. It’s either this or I have to give her away.” Mario can hear in his voice that he’s close to tears. Shit.
“Fine, fine. I guess I can take her for a little while.” Mario sighs quietly and looks at the empty corner of the kitchen, large enough to hold a water bowl and food dish. “I think I have some room.”
“Oh my god, thank you so much, I owe you big time.” His brother immediately brightens up. “I’ll bring her over tomorrow around two, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Mario replies and tries to hold back another sigh.
“Thank you so much, Mario, seriously,” Fabian says and Mario can’t help but smile as they say good-bye and hang up.
“What the fuck did I just do, oh my god,” Mario groans out as he throws his phone on his nightstand and flops back into the bed, praying that he could go back to sleep.
•-•
“I can’t thank you enough, seriously,” Fabian says to Mario the next day as he hands him the leash and food bowl.
“I still can’t believe you named your dog Borussia,” Mario mutters under his breath as he eyes the block letters that spell out her name in multiple eye-bleeding colors. He seriously begins to question if his brother and he are even related because seriously, Mario would never buy something that hideous, not even at gunpoint.
“Shut up, you would have, too, you fucker,” Fabian replies as he smacks Mario on the back of his head. “And don’t even give me that bitchface, you totally would and you know it, too.”
Mario rolls his eyes because it is simply not true; if anything, Mario would have named his dog either Dortmund or after an actual player because he has something called class and, oh yeah, a brain, but he leaves this information out to prove a point.
The dog, Borussia, Mario thinks with disdain, comes padding up to him, her nails clicking against the wooden floor the entire way, and starts nuzzling her head against his leg. Mario can’t help but smile slightly as he reaches down to pet the German Shepherd, stroking his knuckles up and down her muzzle. She grunts lowly in approval and headbutts him lightly once before lying down at his feet, and Mario can’t help but think that, okay, maybe her name is hideously bad, but the dog itself is not all that terrible. In fact, she’s kind of cute.
“You’ll be fine, right?” Fabian looks more unsure than the time when Mario dared him to drink ketchup for ten euros and Mario takes pity in him because he knows how much he cares about this dog, despite his questionable tastes in names and food bowls.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s only for a couple weeks, right?” Fabian nods anxiously, staring at Borussia helpless. “Then we’ll be fine.” Mario notices that his brother won’t look at him so for the sake of getting his attention, he punches him in the bicep. His brother’s head snaps up to glare at Mario but Mario won’t have any of it as he clutches Fabian’s other bicep. “We’ll be fine, okay? You can come and visit any time you want. I know the drill, feed once in the morning, once at night, same thing with walks. We’ll be fine, okay?”
“Okay,” Fabian gasps out with an unsure but genuine smile spreading across his lips. “I’ll call you later, okay? See how you’re faring and all that sentimental crap I know you’re into.”
Mario’s face turns sour. “I’m not sentimental,” he mutters indignantly, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest petulantly. Fabian just chuckles and hugs his younger brother shortly and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Mario looks down at Borussia, who stares back at him blankly. “Well, I guess it’s going to be just the two of us for a while,” he says while trying to muster as much cheerfulness in his tone as possible, but it sounds strained even to his own ears. Borussia must be able to sense it, too, because she stares at him for a little bit longer with what Mario swears is a judgmental look and then just lowers her head back on the ground.
“Well, alrighty then,” Mario sighs.
•-•
“A dog?” Robert repeats incredulously, drawing out his words deliberately, much to Mario’s dismay. “You offered to take care of a dog?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Mario bites back. Calling Robert was a mistake, one that Mario will now know never to make again.
“A dog,” Robert says again, this time his tone almost wondrous. Mario swears he’s the luckiest guy in the world right now because if they were talking face-to-face, Mario may have punched him in the face because that’s just the type of friends they are.
“You do know what a dog is, yeah?” Mario says because he seriously beginning to question Robert’s sanity and intelligence. “Ears, tails, likes to bark, man’s best friend. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Shut up asshole, I know what a dog is. I’m just confused as to how you’re supposed to take care of a dog since you can barely even take care of yourself.”
“Fuck off,” Mario says with no heat. “I take care of myself just fine.”
“Mario, mate, you’re a broke college student with a shit-ton of loans and a shit job,” Robert reminds him, because clearly, he has forgotten. “Not to mention hopelessly single, which, by the way, with your recent track record, doesn't seem to be changing anytime soon.”
“You suck, Lewandowski,” Mario retorts lamely since he can’t think of a better comeback since all of what his shitty friend just said is true.
“At least I suck more than you do.”
Mario chokes on his spit while Robert cackles loudly.
•-•
Taking care of a dog wasn’t as bad as Mario originally thought it would be. Borussia adapted quickly to his schedule: they woke up together, ate breakfast together, hung around the flat when Mario didn’t have work, school or a social life, ate dinner together, went to bed at the same time. Mario didn’t even mind getting up a little earlier in the morning to walk her. In fact, he looked forward to the morning and nightly walks; they allowed him to clear his head and just get away from the madness for a little while.
One morning, Mario gets up like every other morning, puts his most comfortable high tops and his gray beanie to match the gloomy weather outside. He whistles for Borussia, who jumps to her feet and comes sliding towards the door, where Mario is standing with her leash in hand.
They walk to the park that’s a couple blocks down from Mario’s building like they do every morning. Usually the park is filled with a ton of people, from dog walkers to parents with their toddlers, but the freezing rain must’ve drove most of them away since Mario and Borussia are literally the only living creatures in sight. Mario shrugs and decides to enjoy the peace and quiet for once, not bothered with the loud shouts from the kids playing football or the loud squawks of the birds living in the trees.
Mario lets his mind drift as he lets Borussia pull him along. He hadn’t had breakfast before he left his flat, so clearly food is the only thing that’s on his mind. He thinks about the pretzels Robert brought over last night with a six-pack of their favorite beer and a desire to watch crappy reality shows until the early hours of the morning. For such a shitty friend, Robert really knew the key to Mario’s platonic bro-heart.
He is so wrapped up in his own mind that Mario doesn’t even register that he’s bumped into something until said thing squawks indignantly. Mario looks up at the thing and finds a tall-- and by that, he means taller than him, which is about everyone on the planet, really-- rather attractive guy staring back him with wide eyes.
“Shit, sorry, mate,” Mario manages to squeak out with the last tiny piece of dignity that he has left, “I wasn’t paying attention.” Despite the freezing rain that feels like needles every time it hits his skin, Mario can feel his cheeks start to heat up in embarrassment. He would be the unlucky bastard that bumps into a really hot guy because he was busy daydreaming about pretzels of all things.
The guy chuckles lightly, his lips twisting up into a crooked half-smile. “It’s fine, man, no worries,” he replies mildly but Mario is seriously distracted by his lips so he only half-hears him. “Cute dog, by the way.”
It takes Mario a few extra moments to process what he just said, but he gets there eventually. His cheeks may or may not get impossibly redder. “O-Oh, uh, thanks. She’s not really mine, but thanks.”
“You stole a dog?” The stranger’s eyes go wide.
Mario’s eyes widen and he can’t help but laugh slightly. “No, no. She’s my brother’s dog, but owning pets is against the rules in his new building, so I’m watching her for a while.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” The half-smile reappears and Mario’s eyes dart back to his lips and stay there. “Do you mind if I pet her?”
“No way, man, go for it,” Mario says and then turns to Borussia. “C’mon Borussia, you big mush.” Borussia stares at Mario, clearly unsure, but lightly headbutts at the blonde’s lower thigh and nuzzles her head against his leg. Mario smiles as the stranger’s smile grows even bigger.
“Dortmund fan, I take it?” he asks, and when Mario nods automatically, he smiles widely. “So am I.”
And that’s how Mario finds himself standing outside in the deserted park in the freezing rain, talking to the guy he initially embarrassed himself in front of for almost an hour. He learns his name is Marco and he was born in Dortmund and has been a Dortmund fan from birth. They also attend the same university and share a secret love for Justin Bieber’s music but not his personality, because seriously, he’s a shitty dude.
Marco checks his watch and winces. “Shit, I promised my friends I would be over before ten to help them paint their living room,” he says apologetically. Mario shrugs with a half-smile. Marco looks unsure for a moment and then says, “This might sound creepy because we only met, like, an hour ago and we don’t really know each other, and you can say no if you don’t want to, seriously I’ll understand, but can I have your number?”
Against Mario’s will, a huge smile spreads across his face and replies, “Sure,” easily. They program their numbers in each other’s phone and share a smile and a weird mix between a handshake and hug before going their separate ways, Marco heading to his friend’s flat while Mario retreats back to his own building.
And even Mario was holed up in his bedroom for the rest of the day with a nasty cold, it was worth it.
•-•
“Wait, let me get this straight, you met this guy where exactly?” Robert asks for clarification because he’s an asshole who doesn’t listen. Mario takes back his previous thoughts of Robert making up his shittiness as a friend and decides that if this friendship with Marco works out, he can replace Robert as his go-to friend.
“At the park near my flat while I was walking Borussia, you idiot,” Mario repeats himself with a sigh. He’s learned that Robert never listens to him the first time when he tells him anything. “I bumped into him accidentally, and we-” Robert cuts him off with a loud, sudden burst of laughter because he’s an asshole and Mario really hates him.
“You bumped into him?” he says, his voice strained by his laughter.
“Yeah, see, I was thinking about food, like you know the pretzels that you left in my flat last night, and-” Again, Robert cut him off with laughter.
Mario hangs up on him to prove a point.
And then he calls him back seconds later, greeted by Robert’s laughter. “I hate you,” Mario tells him. “You’re the worst friend ever.”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s still friends with me after all these years. Technically, it’s your fault that I’m the worst friend ever.”
“Shut up,” Mario says because he’s a master at comebacks and Robert is definitely in no way correct in his accusations.
“So, basically what you’re telling me is that you used your brother’s dog to pick up some guy you literally bumped into at the park,” Robert says, giggling. “Dude, that’s low, even for your already extremely low standards.”
“Fuck off, I hate you, asshole,” Mario says, his cheeks bright red. He hangs up this time, and even waits five minutes for Robert to call back this time, because he has a point to prove.
•-•
Miraculously, Mario bumps into Marco a couple of days after their first meeting by accident again, but this time it was because of a more substantial reason, which was that his music was too high for him to hear anything, which resulted in him tripping when someone started to pass him from behind. That someone turned out to be Marco.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Marco jokes when Mario takes out his earbuds with a huge smile on his face. Mario finds that he likes Marco even better in the sunlight then in the rain, his hair styled to precision, just like Mario’s.
Mario laughs at his corny joke because he has a soft spot for corny jokes told by ridiculously good-looking guys who are die-hard fans of Dortmund and secret lovers of Justin Bieber. Or something, he doesn’t really know.
“Hi Borussia,” Marco says to the dog and reaches out pet her. She pushes her head into his hand eagerly, panting happily as he strokes her hair gentler. “She’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s great. I can see why my brother didn’t want to give her up,” Mario says, looking fondly down at Borussia, who looks back up at him, wagging her tail happily.
They talk for a few minutes, which sees Mario blushing about a million and a half times because he has no self-control. He’s both extremely relieved and just a tiny (more like a lot) bit disappointed that Marco doesn’t comment on the color of his cheeks throughout the entirety of their conversation. Seriously, Mario is doing some hardcore flirting here and it’d be nice if Marco reciprocated, even just a little bit.
Marco’s phone beeps and when he looks at it quickly, his face changes. “Shit, I totally forgot again. Mats is totally going to kill me,” he mutters under his breath and types out a quick message before tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, I have to go. My friends still need help finishing painting and I promised I would be over there like a half an hour ago.” Mario thinks Marco’s cheeks heat up slightly but then again, he does have a bit of an imaginative streak, so there’s that. “I just get caught up talking to you and you kind of made me forget.”
Shit. Mario takes back what he said before about Marco not flirting because seriously he must’ve have taken that line out of some romantic comedy or something because damn. That doesn’t stop him from blushing a bright red though.
“It’s fine,” he manages to splutter out like a complete idiot. “I have class in like forty-five minutes anyway so I should probably start moving.”
“I guess I’ll see you later then?” Marco says, almost like a question. He looks completely unsure of himself and Mario kind of wants to hug him just to get that look off of his face. Seriously, Marco should never look that sad, like, ever.
“Yeah, sure,” Mario says, making sure to smile extra wide to reassure Marco. “Text me?”
Marco looks a bit relieved, and honestly Mario could really just kiss him, among other things. “Okay,” he says and digs his hands in his pocket. “Have fun at class, then, Mario.”
“Have fun painting. Please try to negotiate with your friend to refrain from killing you. Otherwise, I have no motivation to keep walking Borussia and it’s going to be all your fault when she bites me and pisses on my head when I’m sleeping.”
Marco laughs loudly and honesty, turning a few heads in the process. Despite the dirty looks from new mothers and a grumpy old man, they grin at each other, so uncomplicatedly happy.
“You’re so ridiculous,” Marco tells him, shaking his head, but his smile is growing bigger by the minute and Mario thinks being ridiculous is a very good thing in Marco’s book.
Marco’s phone beeps once again and he pales slightly. “I really need to go now, or the next time you’ll be seeing me is in the obituary and on the front page of the newspapers, telling the tragic story about a college student who killed his innocent and extremely attractive friend for being late,” he says apologetically, while Mario just chuckles. He looks torn between staying and going, and all Mario does is just shoos him away with his hand and a reassurance that he doesn’t want to be peed on by his brother’s angry and (slightly) fat dog.
Mario watches as Marco crosses the park, narrowly dodging football games and children messing about near the garden area. Mario sighs and tugs Borussia along, who is caught up watching Marco leave, too. She looks up at Mario with those stupid sad puppy eyes that usually mean she wants more food or someone to play with (Mario always gives into her, but he’ll never admit to it).
“I know, Borussia, I know,” he says because he’s knows, he really does. “I want to follow him, too, trust me.”
As Mario walks back to his apartment with a depressed dog and a wistful heart, he wonders when his life has become a bad romantic comedy, complete with the chance meetings and stupid, cheesy dialogue. And just to put icing on the cake, his musing make him five minutes late to his lecture, while half of the class laughs at his expense and his horribly red face when the professor makes a pointed remark directed at him.
•-•
Robert just laughs at him, doubled over the couch, clutching his stomach and tears streaming down his face, when Mario tells him about his encounter with Marco later that night. “Your life really is a romantic comedy, Jesus Christ, it’s super disgusting,” he guffaws. It’s official: Robert Lewandowski is officially the worst best friend in the entire universe and Mario really does hate him. Seriously, he is this close to punching him in the face.
“Why are you even here? I hate you,” Mario says but it sound weak even to his own ears as he lightly punches Robert in the arm. “All you do is drink my beer, eat my food, jack up my electric bill by, like, a million euros, and then just laugh in my face to top it all off.”
“Well, you haven’t kicked me out yet, so I figured I’ll try my luck here, seeing as you love me more than you’d ever admit,” Robert teases after he finally starts to pretend like he’s a functional human being again. “Come on, admit that you love me at least just a little bit.” Robert pokes him as he repeats this mantra over and over again until Mario lands a kick right in his gut and Robert doubles over again, but this time it was because of the pain. Mario smirked at him with a satisfied curl in his lip. “You’re an asshole,” Robert wheezes out finally.
Mario just laughs at his pain. He laughs until he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. He fishes it out and smile immediately when he sees it’s from Marco.
“Aw, did your non-boyfriend just text you? That’s adorable,” Robert mocks, even though he’s still clutching his stomach. Mario raises his foot again and the Pole just holds up his hands in surrender with wide eyes. “I beg you please don’t kick me or I might actually die right on your couch, I swear.”
Mario just rolls his eyes and lowers his foot, and reads the text. Hey Mario. Do you want to meet up in the park tomorrow at like nine? I know it’s early but my friends are almost done painting and they need someone to take their dog out, so I volunteered, Marco’s text says and Mario can’t help but feel excitement bubble up in his chest.
“I think I was just asked out?” Mario tells Robert with a face-splitting grin, happier than he has been in months. “He wants to meet me at the park to walk dogs together.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a loser, it’s gross,” Robert says but Mario can tell he doesn’t mean it by the huge smile on his face. Maybe Robert is only the worst best friend in the solar system, not the whole entire universe. “Seriously, who the fuck goes walking dogs as a date?”
“Shut up, we do,” Mario says, giggling like mad because somehow Marco has a magical ability to make him revert to a twelve-year-old who was just asked out on her first date by her crush. It is kind of pathetic, really. And kind of pathetic, he means really fucking super pathetic.
Robert just shakes his head and looks down to where Borussia is lying on the floor next to the practically broken coffee table that Mario refuses to throw out. “So tell me Borussia, how do you deal with such a loser? It must be hard,” he says to the dog with a sympathetic expression.
Borussia just stares back at him blankly, head cocked to the side, before laying her head back on the floor, probably annoyed that her peace of mind was interrupted.
Mario chuckles lightly and punches Robert in the arm, letting him off easy this time because he’s still in his twelve-year-old girl phase. “Shut the fuck up, you’re the actual worst.”
“I am, but you love me anyway, even if you abuse me,” Robert replies, faking crying because he’s an actual dumbass.
“Yeah, whatever.” But the thing is, Mario kind of does love Robert, even if he’s an asshole.
•-•
Mario won’t admit it, but he may or may not spend an extra ten minutes getting ready the next morning. Borussia watches him curiously as he styles his hair a different way for the tenth time in under a minute. Finally, he just decides to put a beanie on because beanies are always his go-to, especially when he has the rare bad hair day.
“Borussia,” Mario calls for her. He picks up her leash and hooks it onto her collar. He goes to open the door but decides against it, turning on a dime to look down at the German Shepherd, who just sighs at him. Seriously, Mario swears this dog is giving him attitude. “Look, Borussia, you better behave today. This is a very important day, no messing around, okay? You’re going to respect the hell out of that dog, even if you don’t like it, okay? I don’t care if it’s annoying or if it tries to paw at your face. You’re going to walk with it like you mean it, and you’re going to like it, okay?”
Borussia stares back at him, growing more and more annoyed as the minute goes on. She headbutts Mario’s thigh. “Borussia, I’m serious. No messing around today,” Mario tells her sternly. Mario swears he sees Borussia roll her eyes at him. Seriously, this dog is another Robert Lewandowski, it’s terrible. “I’m watching you, dog.”
They finally leave the flat, Mario walking faster than he ever has in his life to the park so that Marco doesn’t think he’s that guy who’s never on time for anything, which actually might be the truth because Mario is literally late for everything. It’s kind of terrible, if he’s honest. Maybe he should be late; giving Marco false hope would be wrong.
Borussia keeps up with his stupidly fast walking and they make it to the park at nine o’clock on the dot and Mario mentally fistpumps at his once in a lifetime punctality. They continue walking through the park, looking for Marco. Finally, Mario just sits on a bench because he might as well be stationary as he waits. Not that he’s lazy or anything.
Borussia sits next to him, resting her head in his lap, staring up at Mario with big puppy eyes that can only mean one thing. Mario rolls his eyes but strokes her head gently anyway. Puppy eyes are his biggest weakness, except maybe for pretzels. Great, now he was getting hungry, too. He knew he should have eaten something before leaving his flat.
During his musings, he doesn’t notice that a familiar figure is approaching him until it is standing right in front of him. Mario looks up to see Marco, a huge smile on his face and a leash in his hands. He looks down just in time to see a black Labrador Retriever puppy excitedly paw at his knees and shins. The bastard is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen and Mario can’t help but haul him up in his lap. The puppy licked his face excitedly and Mario giggles.
“His name is Adler,” Marco informs him, and even if Mario can’t see him because of the puppy blocking his view, he can practically hear Marco’s smile in his voice. “One of his owners is a Dortmund fan while the other roots for Schalke, which is unfortunate, really, because he is a nice guy. So, they went for something neutral.”
“He’s so cute,” Mario says, not squeals, because he is a grownass masculine man who doesn’t squeal because grownass masculine man don’t squeal.
“Yeah, right now,” Marco laughs. “My friend calls me at, like, four in the morning asking how to shut the thing up before it wakes the whole building up with its barking, as if I know what the hell I’m talking about when it comes to dogs.”
Mario just coos at the puppy. “He’s so cute though. How you be mad at a face like that?” He holds up Adler with an adoring smile. He swears he would take him home if he could.
Marco just laughs, carefree and light, and Mario becomes completely entranced by the way Marco’s whole face relaxes when he smiles and the way his smile curves more to the left than it does to the right. He’s so wrapped up in staring at Marco’s artwork of a face (wow, maybe Robert is onto something when he said Mario’s life is a really disgusting and cheesy romantic comedy, because seriously, who in their right mind says that?), he doesn’t notice that Marco is talking to him and standing up.
“Mario, hey, come on, wake up,” Marco says, snapping his fingers in front of Mario’s face. He eventually snaps out of it and wonders if Marco thinks he’s a weirdo who can’t stay focused for more than two minutes. Seriously, it’s not his fault that Marco’s face is so nice to look at.
Mario blushes and apologizes with a low, shy murmur as he stands up, too, tugging on Borussia’s leash softly to signal her to follow. She shoots him an unimpressed look as her slumber was interrupted once again in less than twenty-four hours by Mario’s friends. Marco just continues to smile brightly as him and teases him for the color of his cheeks. Mario swats him in the shoulder lamely because he can’t think of a witty comeback, which is unfortunate, really, because Mario needs to show off his sass skills so Marco knows what he’s in for in the long run.
They walk through the park, which is pretty much dead since the temperature dropped like a million degrees the night before, with their hands brushing against each other occasionally, but neither of them comments on it or moves away from the other. Instead, Marco sends Mario a bright grin and Mario has to bite his lip to prevent himself from shooting an embarrassingly eager and pleased smile in return.
Marco talks about the last Dortmund game when he gets tired of the silence, no matter how comfortable it is, making wide arm gestures as he talks about something that makes him particularly excited or upset. Mario just nods along, adding a few comments in between, but seeing Marco speak so passionately about something makes Mario smile uncontrollably because he is weak and falling so embarrassingly fast for Marco that he is one hundred percent sure that Robert is going to laugh at him until he goes into cardiac arrest because he’s such a loser.
Mario’s stomach growls somewhat loudly just as Marco is finishing his long rant about Dortmund’s defense tactics, which causes him to stop halfway through his speech about the center backs’ movement off the ball and burst out laughing. Meanwhile, a mortified Mario blushes and shrinks into his coat and scarf.
“I may have forgotten to eat breakfast this morning,” Mario mumbles into his scarf while Marco continues to laugh at him.
“It’s okay, I’m kind of hungry, too,” Marco says. “Maybe we could find a café or something?”
Holy shit, this is even more of a date than Mario could have asked for. Seriously, his life is both the greatest and worst thing ever. Not wanting to look a gift horse in its mouth, Mario forces an easy smile and says, “Sure,” even though he’s pretty sure it sounds strained, because really, he’s even struggling to breathe right now, how is he expected to speak?
They left the park as a crowd of loud kids came, a football in the leader of the group’s hand. Mario vaguely recognizes some of the faces from the pick-up matches that usually held in the park’s grass area around the time Mario walks Borussia on the weekends and holidays. It makes him think of when his mate and him used to play street football back when they were in primary and secondary school.
Another smooth silence falls over them as they walk a couple blocks over to some pretentious indie café that was inexpensive, and therefore a godsend for people like Mario, whose bank account numbers are pretty embarrassingly low. Mario stands outside with the dogs as Marco goes in and orders for them, watching as Marco orders and smiles and breathes and exists.
Mario is in too deep but he can’t seem to make himself care. Instead, when he sees that Marco is staring at him through the window, making funny faces at him, Mario makes funny faces right back and laughs hysterically like the idiot he really is. He then thanks all that is holy that Robert is nowhere in sight and will never have to know the full extent of his idiocy.
Several odd, and rude if you ask Mario, looks from passing strangers later, Marco walks out of the café with an admittedly dorky but equally adorable look on his face as he hands Mario his hot chocolate (because coffee will never be good unless you have a paper due at eight in the morning the next day and it’s already midnight) and his pretzel, which also constitutes Marco’s inquiry of, “So what kind of coffee place sells Bavarian pretzels?”
Mario of course defends the best snack in the world with, “A damn good one, that’s what type,” which has Marco smiling that insanely dorky and incredibly hot smile again that has Mario melting right into the pavement. And lord, does he hate himself in that very moment because he’s acting like the lovesick teenager he once was but vowed to never be again. And yet, this blond-haired, blue-eyed god of a man has him reliving his awkward teenage years, filled with bad decision and stupid drama.
They walk further with the dogs and somehow they end up in front of Mario’s complex and before he knows it, Marco is standing in his living room with a dog that’s not even his, drinking his cappuccino innocently like he doesn’t know the effects that it’s having on poor little Mario, which he probably doesn’t by the way because Mario is one hundred percent lovesick and slightly crazy and Marco is only, like, twenty percent maybe. Mario kind of wishes that Robert was with him for the first time in his life so that he could slap the stupid out of Mario and tell him to pretend to be a functioning human being. Also, he’s probably tell him to stop drooling over Marco because frankly, it was super disgusting.
They end up watching re-runs of Game of Thrones because Marco made an off-hand remark about the Lannisters while flipping through the channels and Mario almost jumped on him then and there because he has met his perfect nerd match. Popcorn and pretzel bits are littered all over the floor in front of Mario’s shitty television because it’s apparently cool now to throw shit when someone dies but Mario doesn’t even mind as he presses closer to Marco’s body heat.
Somehow, they meet in the middle and Mario finds his head resting on Marco’s shoulder while Marco strokes the back of his neck and his hair and Mario has to actively restrain himself from making embarrassing cat noises. And that’s how Robert finds them.
Robert for his part did not look one least bit surprised at Marco’s presence. Instead, the Pole just headnodded like the douchebag he is and says, “What’s up, I’m Robert, Mario sort-of roommate.”
“Lies!” Mario protests indignantly. “He’s a thief who refuses to stay in his own flat.”
“Yeah, because you have an endless supply of beer, food and football. Can’t ask for anything better than that,” the Pole counters easily and Mario hates him so, so much. And when Robert sees Mario’s maximum-intensity bitchface pulled out, he realizes he should probably haul ass right out of his apartment. “Anyway, I’ll be going now. Cute dog, by the way. Hope you enjoy the rest of your date!”
Both Marco and Mario’s eyes go wide and their cheeks go red. Then Marco squawks out, “Date?” and Mario wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him because that would be easier than this.
“Um,” Mario supplies intelligently and goes impossibly redder and becomes more unsure.
“Do you want this be a date?” Marco asks seriously and Mario is kicking himself hard.
“Um,” is all Mario can seem to say.
“Mario,” Marco says, with more urgency this time, “do you want this to be a date?”
Mario closes his eyes tightly, as if bracing himself for a punch, when he whispers, “Yes,” quiet enough that even he himself has trouble hearing it.
Everything is still for a moment where Mario expected cursing or door slamming or something until finally he feels a small but still present pressure against his lips and he melts into like he needs it, like Marco’s lips are meant to be apart of his, and maybe that’s the truth.
They kiss for what seems like centuries, chaste at first but increasingly passionate and deep and Mario kind of wants to cry because his life is kind of perfect because Marco is kind of perfect in every which way, from his patient but fiery kisses to his somewhat mischievous half-grin and the way he laughs at all of Mario’s actually terrible jokes like they’re actually funny and worth laughing at. It’s one of the most beautiful feelings in the world and Mario never wants to stop feeling it, ever.
They are forced to break off after both of their faces take on a slightly purplish tint due to the lack of air but Mario thinks it looks adorable on Marco.
“So, date it is then?” Mario huffs out breathlessly, effectively cutting the tension and Marco can’t help but bark out a chuckle and pull the smaller boy closer to his chest.
“Yeah, date it is, then,” he agrees and smiles his heart-stopping smile and Mario needs to take a second to just step back and breathe.
“Good,” he replies smoothly, and tilts his head upwards, placing his lips back onto Marco’s.
Neither of them did much talking after that.
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: G
Word Count: 6211
Pairings, Characters: Mario Götze/Marco Reus
Genre/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff
Summary: “So, basically what you’re telling me is that you used your brother’s dog to pick up some guy you literally bumped into at the park,” Robert says, giggling. “Dude, that’s low, even for your already extremely low standards.”
Or, Mario takes in his brother’s dog and meets Marco on one of his walks.
Author's Note: Finally get to publish this after like five months of on and off writing!
“Are you serious?”
“Mario, please,” Fabian pleads with his younger brother. “I just need you to take her just for a little while, until I can negotiate with the building’s board.”
“I don’t know, Fabian, a dog?” Mario scratches the back of his head and tries to stifle a yawn. It’s too early in the morning to be making logical and responsible decisions. “Why can’t Mum and Dad take it? Felix could take care of it.”
“They can’t, I already asked,” Fabian replies, defeated. “Please, Mario, you’re my only hope. I can’t afford to put her in a doggy hotel or have the vet take her. It’s either this or I have to give her away.” Mario can hear in his voice that he’s close to tears. Shit.
“Fine, fine. I guess I can take her for a little while.” Mario sighs quietly and looks at the empty corner of the kitchen, large enough to hold a water bowl and food dish. “I think I have some room.”
“Oh my god, thank you so much, I owe you big time.” His brother immediately brightens up. “I’ll bring her over tomorrow around two, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Mario replies and tries to hold back another sigh.
“Thank you so much, Mario, seriously,” Fabian says and Mario can’t help but smile as they say good-bye and hang up.
“What the fuck did I just do, oh my god,” Mario groans out as he throws his phone on his nightstand and flops back into the bed, praying that he could go back to sleep.
•-•
“I can’t thank you enough, seriously,” Fabian says to Mario the next day as he hands him the leash and food bowl.
“I still can’t believe you named your dog Borussia,” Mario mutters under his breath as he eyes the block letters that spell out her name in multiple eye-bleeding colors. He seriously begins to question if his brother and he are even related because seriously, Mario would never buy something that hideous, not even at gunpoint.
“Shut up, you would have, too, you fucker,” Fabian replies as he smacks Mario on the back of his head. “And don’t even give me that bitchface, you totally would and you know it, too.”
Mario rolls his eyes because it is simply not true; if anything, Mario would have named his dog either Dortmund or after an actual player because he has something called class and, oh yeah, a brain, but he leaves this information out to prove a point.
The dog, Borussia, Mario thinks with disdain, comes padding up to him, her nails clicking against the wooden floor the entire way, and starts nuzzling her head against his leg. Mario can’t help but smile slightly as he reaches down to pet the German Shepherd, stroking his knuckles up and down her muzzle. She grunts lowly in approval and headbutts him lightly once before lying down at his feet, and Mario can’t help but think that, okay, maybe her name is hideously bad, but the dog itself is not all that terrible. In fact, she’s kind of cute.
“You’ll be fine, right?” Fabian looks more unsure than the time when Mario dared him to drink ketchup for ten euros and Mario takes pity in him because he knows how much he cares about this dog, despite his questionable tastes in names and food bowls.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s only for a couple weeks, right?” Fabian nods anxiously, staring at Borussia helpless. “Then we’ll be fine.” Mario notices that his brother won’t look at him so for the sake of getting his attention, he punches him in the bicep. His brother’s head snaps up to glare at Mario but Mario won’t have any of it as he clutches Fabian’s other bicep. “We’ll be fine, okay? You can come and visit any time you want. I know the drill, feed once in the morning, once at night, same thing with walks. We’ll be fine, okay?”
“Okay,” Fabian gasps out with an unsure but genuine smile spreading across his lips. “I’ll call you later, okay? See how you’re faring and all that sentimental crap I know you’re into.”
Mario’s face turns sour. “I’m not sentimental,” he mutters indignantly, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest petulantly. Fabian just chuckles and hugs his younger brother shortly and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Mario looks down at Borussia, who stares back at him blankly. “Well, I guess it’s going to be just the two of us for a while,” he says while trying to muster as much cheerfulness in his tone as possible, but it sounds strained even to his own ears. Borussia must be able to sense it, too, because she stares at him for a little bit longer with what Mario swears is a judgmental look and then just lowers her head back on the ground.
“Well, alrighty then,” Mario sighs.
•-•
“A dog?” Robert repeats incredulously, drawing out his words deliberately, much to Mario’s dismay. “You offered to take care of a dog?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Mario bites back. Calling Robert was a mistake, one that Mario will now know never to make again.
“A dog,” Robert says again, this time his tone almost wondrous. Mario swears he’s the luckiest guy in the world right now because if they were talking face-to-face, Mario may have punched him in the face because that’s just the type of friends they are.
“You do know what a dog is, yeah?” Mario says because he seriously beginning to question Robert’s sanity and intelligence. “Ears, tails, likes to bark, man’s best friend. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Shut up asshole, I know what a dog is. I’m just confused as to how you’re supposed to take care of a dog since you can barely even take care of yourself.”
“Fuck off,” Mario says with no heat. “I take care of myself just fine.”
“Mario, mate, you’re a broke college student with a shit-ton of loans and a shit job,” Robert reminds him, because clearly, he has forgotten. “Not to mention hopelessly single, which, by the way, with your recent track record, doesn't seem to be changing anytime soon.”
“You suck, Lewandowski,” Mario retorts lamely since he can’t think of a better comeback since all of what his shitty friend just said is true.
“At least I suck more than you do.”
Mario chokes on his spit while Robert cackles loudly.
•-•
Taking care of a dog wasn’t as bad as Mario originally thought it would be. Borussia adapted quickly to his schedule: they woke up together, ate breakfast together, hung around the flat when Mario didn’t have work, school or a social life, ate dinner together, went to bed at the same time. Mario didn’t even mind getting up a little earlier in the morning to walk her. In fact, he looked forward to the morning and nightly walks; they allowed him to clear his head and just get away from the madness for a little while.
One morning, Mario gets up like every other morning, puts his most comfortable high tops and his gray beanie to match the gloomy weather outside. He whistles for Borussia, who jumps to her feet and comes sliding towards the door, where Mario is standing with her leash in hand.
They walk to the park that’s a couple blocks down from Mario’s building like they do every morning. Usually the park is filled with a ton of people, from dog walkers to parents with their toddlers, but the freezing rain must’ve drove most of them away since Mario and Borussia are literally the only living creatures in sight. Mario shrugs and decides to enjoy the peace and quiet for once, not bothered with the loud shouts from the kids playing football or the loud squawks of the birds living in the trees.
Mario lets his mind drift as he lets Borussia pull him along. He hadn’t had breakfast before he left his flat, so clearly food is the only thing that’s on his mind. He thinks about the pretzels Robert brought over last night with a six-pack of their favorite beer and a desire to watch crappy reality shows until the early hours of the morning. For such a shitty friend, Robert really knew the key to Mario’s platonic bro-heart.
He is so wrapped up in his own mind that Mario doesn’t even register that he’s bumped into something until said thing squawks indignantly. Mario looks up at the thing and finds a tall-- and by that, he means taller than him, which is about everyone on the planet, really-- rather attractive guy staring back him with wide eyes.
“Shit, sorry, mate,” Mario manages to squeak out with the last tiny piece of dignity that he has left, “I wasn’t paying attention.” Despite the freezing rain that feels like needles every time it hits his skin, Mario can feel his cheeks start to heat up in embarrassment. He would be the unlucky bastard that bumps into a really hot guy because he was busy daydreaming about pretzels of all things.
The guy chuckles lightly, his lips twisting up into a crooked half-smile. “It’s fine, man, no worries,” he replies mildly but Mario is seriously distracted by his lips so he only half-hears him. “Cute dog, by the way.”
It takes Mario a few extra moments to process what he just said, but he gets there eventually. His cheeks may or may not get impossibly redder. “O-Oh, uh, thanks. She’s not really mine, but thanks.”
“You stole a dog?” The stranger’s eyes go wide.
Mario’s eyes widen and he can’t help but laugh slightly. “No, no. She’s my brother’s dog, but owning pets is against the rules in his new building, so I’m watching her for a while.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” The half-smile reappears and Mario’s eyes dart back to his lips and stay there. “Do you mind if I pet her?”
“No way, man, go for it,” Mario says and then turns to Borussia. “C’mon Borussia, you big mush.” Borussia stares at Mario, clearly unsure, but lightly headbutts at the blonde’s lower thigh and nuzzles her head against his leg. Mario smiles as the stranger’s smile grows even bigger.
“Dortmund fan, I take it?” he asks, and when Mario nods automatically, he smiles widely. “So am I.”
And that’s how Mario finds himself standing outside in the deserted park in the freezing rain, talking to the guy he initially embarrassed himself in front of for almost an hour. He learns his name is Marco and he was born in Dortmund and has been a Dortmund fan from birth. They also attend the same university and share a secret love for Justin Bieber’s music but not his personality, because seriously, he’s a shitty dude.
Marco checks his watch and winces. “Shit, I promised my friends I would be over before ten to help them paint their living room,” he says apologetically. Mario shrugs with a half-smile. Marco looks unsure for a moment and then says, “This might sound creepy because we only met, like, an hour ago and we don’t really know each other, and you can say no if you don’t want to, seriously I’ll understand, but can I have your number?”
Against Mario’s will, a huge smile spreads across his face and replies, “Sure,” easily. They program their numbers in each other’s phone and share a smile and a weird mix between a handshake and hug before going their separate ways, Marco heading to his friend’s flat while Mario retreats back to his own building.
And even Mario was holed up in his bedroom for the rest of the day with a nasty cold, it was worth it.
•-•
“Wait, let me get this straight, you met this guy where exactly?” Robert asks for clarification because he’s an asshole who doesn’t listen. Mario takes back his previous thoughts of Robert making up his shittiness as a friend and decides that if this friendship with Marco works out, he can replace Robert as his go-to friend.
“At the park near my flat while I was walking Borussia, you idiot,” Mario repeats himself with a sigh. He’s learned that Robert never listens to him the first time when he tells him anything. “I bumped into him accidentally, and we-” Robert cuts him off with a loud, sudden burst of laughter because he’s an asshole and Mario really hates him.
“You bumped into him?” he says, his voice strained by his laughter.
“Yeah, see, I was thinking about food, like you know the pretzels that you left in my flat last night, and-” Again, Robert cut him off with laughter.
Mario hangs up on him to prove a point.
And then he calls him back seconds later, greeted by Robert’s laughter. “I hate you,” Mario tells him. “You’re the worst friend ever.”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s still friends with me after all these years. Technically, it’s your fault that I’m the worst friend ever.”
“Shut up,” Mario says because he’s a master at comebacks and Robert is definitely in no way correct in his accusations.
“So, basically what you’re telling me is that you used your brother’s dog to pick up some guy you literally bumped into at the park,” Robert says, giggling. “Dude, that’s low, even for your already extremely low standards.”
“Fuck off, I hate you, asshole,” Mario says, his cheeks bright red. He hangs up this time, and even waits five minutes for Robert to call back this time, because he has a point to prove.
•-•
Miraculously, Mario bumps into Marco a couple of days after their first meeting by accident again, but this time it was because of a more substantial reason, which was that his music was too high for him to hear anything, which resulted in him tripping when someone started to pass him from behind. That someone turned out to be Marco.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Marco jokes when Mario takes out his earbuds with a huge smile on his face. Mario finds that he likes Marco even better in the sunlight then in the rain, his hair styled to precision, just like Mario’s.
Mario laughs at his corny joke because he has a soft spot for corny jokes told by ridiculously good-looking guys who are die-hard fans of Dortmund and secret lovers of Justin Bieber. Or something, he doesn’t really know.
“Hi Borussia,” Marco says to the dog and reaches out pet her. She pushes her head into his hand eagerly, panting happily as he strokes her hair gentler. “She’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s great. I can see why my brother didn’t want to give her up,” Mario says, looking fondly down at Borussia, who looks back up at him, wagging her tail happily.
They talk for a few minutes, which sees Mario blushing about a million and a half times because he has no self-control. He’s both extremely relieved and just a tiny (more like a lot) bit disappointed that Marco doesn’t comment on the color of his cheeks throughout the entirety of their conversation. Seriously, Mario is doing some hardcore flirting here and it’d be nice if Marco reciprocated, even just a little bit.
Marco’s phone beeps and when he looks at it quickly, his face changes. “Shit, I totally forgot again. Mats is totally going to kill me,” he mutters under his breath and types out a quick message before tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, I have to go. My friends still need help finishing painting and I promised I would be over there like a half an hour ago.” Mario thinks Marco’s cheeks heat up slightly but then again, he does have a bit of an imaginative streak, so there’s that. “I just get caught up talking to you and you kind of made me forget.”
Shit. Mario takes back what he said before about Marco not flirting because seriously he must’ve have taken that line out of some romantic comedy or something because damn. That doesn’t stop him from blushing a bright red though.
“It’s fine,” he manages to splutter out like a complete idiot. “I have class in like forty-five minutes anyway so I should probably start moving.”
“I guess I’ll see you later then?” Marco says, almost like a question. He looks completely unsure of himself and Mario kind of wants to hug him just to get that look off of his face. Seriously, Marco should never look that sad, like, ever.
“Yeah, sure,” Mario says, making sure to smile extra wide to reassure Marco. “Text me?”
Marco looks a bit relieved, and honestly Mario could really just kiss him, among other things. “Okay,” he says and digs his hands in his pocket. “Have fun at class, then, Mario.”
“Have fun painting. Please try to negotiate with your friend to refrain from killing you. Otherwise, I have no motivation to keep walking Borussia and it’s going to be all your fault when she bites me and pisses on my head when I’m sleeping.”
Marco laughs loudly and honesty, turning a few heads in the process. Despite the dirty looks from new mothers and a grumpy old man, they grin at each other, so uncomplicatedly happy.
“You’re so ridiculous,” Marco tells him, shaking his head, but his smile is growing bigger by the minute and Mario thinks being ridiculous is a very good thing in Marco’s book.
Marco’s phone beeps once again and he pales slightly. “I really need to go now, or the next time you’ll be seeing me is in the obituary and on the front page of the newspapers, telling the tragic story about a college student who killed his innocent and extremely attractive friend for being late,” he says apologetically, while Mario just chuckles. He looks torn between staying and going, and all Mario does is just shoos him away with his hand and a reassurance that he doesn’t want to be peed on by his brother’s angry and (slightly) fat dog.
Mario watches as Marco crosses the park, narrowly dodging football games and children messing about near the garden area. Mario sighs and tugs Borussia along, who is caught up watching Marco leave, too. She looks up at Mario with those stupid sad puppy eyes that usually mean she wants more food or someone to play with (Mario always gives into her, but he’ll never admit to it).
“I know, Borussia, I know,” he says because he’s knows, he really does. “I want to follow him, too, trust me.”
As Mario walks back to his apartment with a depressed dog and a wistful heart, he wonders when his life has become a bad romantic comedy, complete with the chance meetings and stupid, cheesy dialogue. And just to put icing on the cake, his musing make him five minutes late to his lecture, while half of the class laughs at his expense and his horribly red face when the professor makes a pointed remark directed at him.
•-•
Robert just laughs at him, doubled over the couch, clutching his stomach and tears streaming down his face, when Mario tells him about his encounter with Marco later that night. “Your life really is a romantic comedy, Jesus Christ, it’s super disgusting,” he guffaws. It’s official: Robert Lewandowski is officially the worst best friend in the entire universe and Mario really does hate him. Seriously, he is this close to punching him in the face.
“Why are you even here? I hate you,” Mario says but it sound weak even to his own ears as he lightly punches Robert in the arm. “All you do is drink my beer, eat my food, jack up my electric bill by, like, a million euros, and then just laugh in my face to top it all off.”
“Well, you haven’t kicked me out yet, so I figured I’ll try my luck here, seeing as you love me more than you’d ever admit,” Robert teases after he finally starts to pretend like he’s a functional human being again. “Come on, admit that you love me at least just a little bit.” Robert pokes him as he repeats this mantra over and over again until Mario lands a kick right in his gut and Robert doubles over again, but this time it was because of the pain. Mario smirked at him with a satisfied curl in his lip. “You’re an asshole,” Robert wheezes out finally.
Mario just laughs at his pain. He laughs until he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. He fishes it out and smile immediately when he sees it’s from Marco.
“Aw, did your non-boyfriend just text you? That’s adorable,” Robert mocks, even though he’s still clutching his stomach. Mario raises his foot again and the Pole just holds up his hands in surrender with wide eyes. “I beg you please don’t kick me or I might actually die right on your couch, I swear.”
Mario just rolls his eyes and lowers his foot, and reads the text. Hey Mario. Do you want to meet up in the park tomorrow at like nine? I know it’s early but my friends are almost done painting and they need someone to take their dog out, so I volunteered, Marco’s text says and Mario can’t help but feel excitement bubble up in his chest.
“I think I was just asked out?” Mario tells Robert with a face-splitting grin, happier than he has been in months. “He wants to meet me at the park to walk dogs together.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a loser, it’s gross,” Robert says but Mario can tell he doesn’t mean it by the huge smile on his face. Maybe Robert is only the worst best friend in the solar system, not the whole entire universe. “Seriously, who the fuck goes walking dogs as a date?”
“Shut up, we do,” Mario says, giggling like mad because somehow Marco has a magical ability to make him revert to a twelve-year-old who was just asked out on her first date by her crush. It is kind of pathetic, really. And kind of pathetic, he means really fucking super pathetic.
Robert just shakes his head and looks down to where Borussia is lying on the floor next to the practically broken coffee table that Mario refuses to throw out. “So tell me Borussia, how do you deal with such a loser? It must be hard,” he says to the dog with a sympathetic expression.
Borussia just stares back at him blankly, head cocked to the side, before laying her head back on the floor, probably annoyed that her peace of mind was interrupted.
Mario chuckles lightly and punches Robert in the arm, letting him off easy this time because he’s still in his twelve-year-old girl phase. “Shut the fuck up, you’re the actual worst.”
“I am, but you love me anyway, even if you abuse me,” Robert replies, faking crying because he’s an actual dumbass.
“Yeah, whatever.” But the thing is, Mario kind of does love Robert, even if he’s an asshole.
•-•
Mario won’t admit it, but he may or may not spend an extra ten minutes getting ready the next morning. Borussia watches him curiously as he styles his hair a different way for the tenth time in under a minute. Finally, he just decides to put a beanie on because beanies are always his go-to, especially when he has the rare bad hair day.
“Borussia,” Mario calls for her. He picks up her leash and hooks it onto her collar. He goes to open the door but decides against it, turning on a dime to look down at the German Shepherd, who just sighs at him. Seriously, Mario swears this dog is giving him attitude. “Look, Borussia, you better behave today. This is a very important day, no messing around, okay? You’re going to respect the hell out of that dog, even if you don’t like it, okay? I don’t care if it’s annoying or if it tries to paw at your face. You’re going to walk with it like you mean it, and you’re going to like it, okay?”
Borussia stares back at him, growing more and more annoyed as the minute goes on. She headbutts Mario’s thigh. “Borussia, I’m serious. No messing around today,” Mario tells her sternly. Mario swears he sees Borussia roll her eyes at him. Seriously, this dog is another Robert Lewandowski, it’s terrible. “I’m watching you, dog.”
They finally leave the flat, Mario walking faster than he ever has in his life to the park so that Marco doesn’t think he’s that guy who’s never on time for anything, which actually might be the truth because Mario is literally late for everything. It’s kind of terrible, if he’s honest. Maybe he should be late; giving Marco false hope would be wrong.
Borussia keeps up with his stupidly fast walking and they make it to the park at nine o’clock on the dot and Mario mentally fistpumps at his once in a lifetime punctality. They continue walking through the park, looking for Marco. Finally, Mario just sits on a bench because he might as well be stationary as he waits. Not that he’s lazy or anything.
Borussia sits next to him, resting her head in his lap, staring up at Mario with big puppy eyes that can only mean one thing. Mario rolls his eyes but strokes her head gently anyway. Puppy eyes are his biggest weakness, except maybe for pretzels. Great, now he was getting hungry, too. He knew he should have eaten something before leaving his flat.
During his musings, he doesn’t notice that a familiar figure is approaching him until it is standing right in front of him. Mario looks up to see Marco, a huge smile on his face and a leash in his hands. He looks down just in time to see a black Labrador Retriever puppy excitedly paw at his knees and shins. The bastard is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen and Mario can’t help but haul him up in his lap. The puppy licked his face excitedly and Mario giggles.
“His name is Adler,” Marco informs him, and even if Mario can’t see him because of the puppy blocking his view, he can practically hear Marco’s smile in his voice. “One of his owners is a Dortmund fan while the other roots for Schalke, which is unfortunate, really, because he is a nice guy. So, they went for something neutral.”
“He’s so cute,” Mario says, not squeals, because he is a grownass masculine man who doesn’t squeal because grownass masculine man don’t squeal.
“Yeah, right now,” Marco laughs. “My friend calls me at, like, four in the morning asking how to shut the thing up before it wakes the whole building up with its barking, as if I know what the hell I’m talking about when it comes to dogs.”
Mario just coos at the puppy. “He’s so cute though. How you be mad at a face like that?” He holds up Adler with an adoring smile. He swears he would take him home if he could.
Marco just laughs, carefree and light, and Mario becomes completely entranced by the way Marco’s whole face relaxes when he smiles and the way his smile curves more to the left than it does to the right. He’s so wrapped up in staring at Marco’s artwork of a face (wow, maybe Robert is onto something when he said Mario’s life is a really disgusting and cheesy romantic comedy, because seriously, who in their right mind says that?), he doesn’t notice that Marco is talking to him and standing up.
“Mario, hey, come on, wake up,” Marco says, snapping his fingers in front of Mario’s face. He eventually snaps out of it and wonders if Marco thinks he’s a weirdo who can’t stay focused for more than two minutes. Seriously, it’s not his fault that Marco’s face is so nice to look at.
Mario blushes and apologizes with a low, shy murmur as he stands up, too, tugging on Borussia’s leash softly to signal her to follow. She shoots him an unimpressed look as her slumber was interrupted once again in less than twenty-four hours by Mario’s friends. Marco just continues to smile brightly as him and teases him for the color of his cheeks. Mario swats him in the shoulder lamely because he can’t think of a witty comeback, which is unfortunate, really, because Mario needs to show off his sass skills so Marco knows what he’s in for in the long run.
They walk through the park, which is pretty much dead since the temperature dropped like a million degrees the night before, with their hands brushing against each other occasionally, but neither of them comments on it or moves away from the other. Instead, Marco sends Mario a bright grin and Mario has to bite his lip to prevent himself from shooting an embarrassingly eager and pleased smile in return.
Marco talks about the last Dortmund game when he gets tired of the silence, no matter how comfortable it is, making wide arm gestures as he talks about something that makes him particularly excited or upset. Mario just nods along, adding a few comments in between, but seeing Marco speak so passionately about something makes Mario smile uncontrollably because he is weak and falling so embarrassingly fast for Marco that he is one hundred percent sure that Robert is going to laugh at him until he goes into cardiac arrest because he’s such a loser.
Mario’s stomach growls somewhat loudly just as Marco is finishing his long rant about Dortmund’s defense tactics, which causes him to stop halfway through his speech about the center backs’ movement off the ball and burst out laughing. Meanwhile, a mortified Mario blushes and shrinks into his coat and scarf.
“I may have forgotten to eat breakfast this morning,” Mario mumbles into his scarf while Marco continues to laugh at him.
“It’s okay, I’m kind of hungry, too,” Marco says. “Maybe we could find a café or something?”
Holy shit, this is even more of a date than Mario could have asked for. Seriously, his life is both the greatest and worst thing ever. Not wanting to look a gift horse in its mouth, Mario forces an easy smile and says, “Sure,” even though he’s pretty sure it sounds strained, because really, he’s even struggling to breathe right now, how is he expected to speak?
They left the park as a crowd of loud kids came, a football in the leader of the group’s hand. Mario vaguely recognizes some of the faces from the pick-up matches that usually held in the park’s grass area around the time Mario walks Borussia on the weekends and holidays. It makes him think of when his mate and him used to play street football back when they were in primary and secondary school.
Another smooth silence falls over them as they walk a couple blocks over to some pretentious indie café that was inexpensive, and therefore a godsend for people like Mario, whose bank account numbers are pretty embarrassingly low. Mario stands outside with the dogs as Marco goes in and orders for them, watching as Marco orders and smiles and breathes and exists.
Mario is in too deep but he can’t seem to make himself care. Instead, when he sees that Marco is staring at him through the window, making funny faces at him, Mario makes funny faces right back and laughs hysterically like the idiot he really is. He then thanks all that is holy that Robert is nowhere in sight and will never have to know the full extent of his idiocy.
Several odd, and rude if you ask Mario, looks from passing strangers later, Marco walks out of the café with an admittedly dorky but equally adorable look on his face as he hands Mario his hot chocolate (because coffee will never be good unless you have a paper due at eight in the morning the next day and it’s already midnight) and his pretzel, which also constitutes Marco’s inquiry of, “So what kind of coffee place sells Bavarian pretzels?”
Mario of course defends the best snack in the world with, “A damn good one, that’s what type,” which has Marco smiling that insanely dorky and incredibly hot smile again that has Mario melting right into the pavement. And lord, does he hate himself in that very moment because he’s acting like the lovesick teenager he once was but vowed to never be again. And yet, this blond-haired, blue-eyed god of a man has him reliving his awkward teenage years, filled with bad decision and stupid drama.
They walk further with the dogs and somehow they end up in front of Mario’s complex and before he knows it, Marco is standing in his living room with a dog that’s not even his, drinking his cappuccino innocently like he doesn’t know the effects that it’s having on poor little Mario, which he probably doesn’t by the way because Mario is one hundred percent lovesick and slightly crazy and Marco is only, like, twenty percent maybe. Mario kind of wishes that Robert was with him for the first time in his life so that he could slap the stupid out of Mario and tell him to pretend to be a functioning human being. Also, he’s probably tell him to stop drooling over Marco because frankly, it was super disgusting.
They end up watching re-runs of Game of Thrones because Marco made an off-hand remark about the Lannisters while flipping through the channels and Mario almost jumped on him then and there because he has met his perfect nerd match. Popcorn and pretzel bits are littered all over the floor in front of Mario’s shitty television because it’s apparently cool now to throw shit when someone dies but Mario doesn’t even mind as he presses closer to Marco’s body heat.
Somehow, they meet in the middle and Mario finds his head resting on Marco’s shoulder while Marco strokes the back of his neck and his hair and Mario has to actively restrain himself from making embarrassing cat noises. And that’s how Robert finds them.
Robert for his part did not look one least bit surprised at Marco’s presence. Instead, the Pole just headnodded like the douchebag he is and says, “What’s up, I’m Robert, Mario sort-of roommate.”
“Lies!” Mario protests indignantly. “He’s a thief who refuses to stay in his own flat.”
“Yeah, because you have an endless supply of beer, food and football. Can’t ask for anything better than that,” the Pole counters easily and Mario hates him so, so much. And when Robert sees Mario’s maximum-intensity bitchface pulled out, he realizes he should probably haul ass right out of his apartment. “Anyway, I’ll be going now. Cute dog, by the way. Hope you enjoy the rest of your date!”
Both Marco and Mario’s eyes go wide and their cheeks go red. Then Marco squawks out, “Date?” and Mario wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him because that would be easier than this.
“Um,” Mario supplies intelligently and goes impossibly redder and becomes more unsure.
“Do you want this be a date?” Marco asks seriously and Mario is kicking himself hard.
“Um,” is all Mario can seem to say.
“Mario,” Marco says, with more urgency this time, “do you want this to be a date?”
Mario closes his eyes tightly, as if bracing himself for a punch, when he whispers, “Yes,” quiet enough that even he himself has trouble hearing it.
Everything is still for a moment where Mario expected cursing or door slamming or something until finally he feels a small but still present pressure against his lips and he melts into like he needs it, like Marco’s lips are meant to be apart of his, and maybe that’s the truth.
They kiss for what seems like centuries, chaste at first but increasingly passionate and deep and Mario kind of wants to cry because his life is kind of perfect because Marco is kind of perfect in every which way, from his patient but fiery kisses to his somewhat mischievous half-grin and the way he laughs at all of Mario’s actually terrible jokes like they’re actually funny and worth laughing at. It’s one of the most beautiful feelings in the world and Mario never wants to stop feeling it, ever.
They are forced to break off after both of their faces take on a slightly purplish tint due to the lack of air but Mario thinks it looks adorable on Marco.
“So, date it is then?” Mario huffs out breathlessly, effectively cutting the tension and Marco can’t help but bark out a chuckle and pull the smaller boy closer to his chest.
“Yeah, date it is, then,” he agrees and smiles his heart-stopping smile and Mario needs to take a second to just step back and breathe.
“Good,” he replies smoothly, and tilts his head upwards, placing his lips back onto Marco’s.
Neither of them did much talking after that.