(no subject)
Chapter 46 - NEW
It was nearing two in the afternoon on Saturday, and the match was half an hour away. The bus ride here had been a mixture of relaxation and tactics. Bastian ended up having a seat to himself the whole ride - which made him more than happy. Usually he sat next to Lukas, but since the striker hadn't come, that had left him on his own. So instead he'd stretched out across two seats and pretended to listen as Hitzfeld discussed the game, while in reality he'd been busy texting with Lukas.
He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do, having this physical evidence of their relationship available, but he couldn't help it. He enjoyed keeping the messages and reading them through again later, knowing who they had come from. Besides, it's not as though anyone actually had access to his phone. As long as he never lost it, he'd be fine.
Claudio Pizarro was sitting behind the midfielder, listening to Hitzfeld, but at the same time watching Bastian's reflection in the window. The younger man had been constantly at his phone, sending messages back and forth with someone. It was unusual behaviour for him - usually Bastian always paid full attention to the coach when they discussed pre-match tactics. So the Peruvian striker couldn't help but wonder, as he watched Bastian texting away, just who he was talking to.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't Daniela. He'd promised Mark not to say anything after the incident in Madrid, but curiosity was a part of his nature, and he couldn't help but be intrigued. He wasn't above accidentally picking up Bastian's phone again to flip through messages to find out what he found so fascinating. The problem would be finding an opportunity.
It was the tenth minute, and Bastian sat, watching as Brazzo controlled the ball, sending it up the field to Roy. The Dutch striker held onto it for a bit, deking past the opposing defender and looking across the box to see who was open. He sent a pass in to the middle, finding Andreas open, who held the ball before passing it off to Christian, who kept it on the left as he looked in to the centre. Bastian saw the opening immediately - Roy had ducked behind the defender covering him, coming into an open bit of space in front of the net and the next moment he knew - the ball was sailing towards the striker, who jumped up to meet it, a well timed header sending it into the net.
Bastian jumped up, turning to his side and finding Roque, who more than willingly threw his arms around Bastian's shoulders and celebrated with him. If they could only score a second, or hold on to their slim lead, that would be enough. They all wanted the three points, and they were all excited to see a goal scored so early. But sometimes the early goals proved to be a team's downfall.
The second half had started and immediately Bastian was worried. His team looked tired, sluggish, even, and it wasn't sitting well with him. He was in the middle of warming up right now, doing some exercises behind Roque. He wanted to be out on the field, he wanted it badly. He was nervous right now, worried that a resurging Monchengladbach would score an equalizing goal. Demichelis especially was having a bit of an off game, and had already committed a few slightly dangerous tackles. Bastian was surprised he hadn't earned a card yet.
He watched as Andreas deftly moved the ball around on the defenders before sending a pass up towards Philipp. Only the pass didn't reach him, and Bastian shook his head. Andi wasn't exactly playing his best in the game either, though Bastian suspected that he had picked up a slight knock early in the first half. Whenever he thought no one was looking, he'd seen Andi walking with a bit of a limp.
Suddenly, three minutes later, the thing Bastian had been dreading occurred. Micho went in for a foul and hit one of the players hard, studs into the shin and not even a toe to the ball. Immediately the whistle was blown and a free kick awarded to the home team, along with the deserved yellow card to Demichelis, much to the delight of the fans. It was just outside the penalty area, and Bastian stopped warming up to watch. Olli was screaming instructions at the defenders, and Bastian had a bad feeling.
Roque stopped warming up as well and stood next to him, his arms crossed. “If they score on this, I'll fucking kill him.”
“Hitz should have pulled him at half, he's been struggling all game. He should have started Daniel,” Bastian shook his head and waited.
Michael Delura lined up to take it, and the seconds it took to get everyone in formation and position dragged by for the two substitute players stuck in the opposite end of the field. Then the whistle was given to allow play to start, and Bastian could only watch on in shock and disappointment as Delura's ball sailed perfectly over the wall and found the head of Peer Kluge, who sent it up and past Oliver Kahn's outstretched hands.
The game was tied, and two much needed points were slipping away.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the end of the game and Bastian sat on the bench, not having moved an inch since sitting down. He'd really thought he'd make a difference, coming back tonight. He thought that when he was subbed in after the goal, he thought he'd bring the team back and score one to put them in the lead again. But he hadn't. They'd drawn Monchengladbach - a bottom team, and even though he knew it wasn't his fault, he still couldn't help but accept some of the blame. They all should have done better.
Everyone else was in the showers by now, letting the warm water soothe their aching muscles. But he sat on the bench still, bothered enough to not join everyone else. He thought he was alone.
But seconds later, when his phone was plucked out of his hands, he looked up and saw Claudio Pizarro standing before him. “I couldn't help but notice you texting someone a lot while you were on the bench, and earlier on the bus,” the Peruvian said, a smirk on his face.
Bastian glared at him and reached for the phone. “Funny, Pizza.” He tried not to make too big of a deal over having his phone snatched away.
“So, who were you texting? Your girlfriend?” There was something about the way he said it, about the inflection of his voice when he said the word girlfriend, that set Bastian on edge.
“Nope, I was texting your wife,” Bastian replied, hoping he didn't seem more nervous than he should about the question.
Claudio just smirked as he held the phone. “Really? Then you wouldn't mind if I checked to see what you and she were discussing?” He held the phone up in his left hand, grinning at Bastian.
The Bavarian shook his head, still trying his hardest to look non-phased. “Go ahead, that is, if you want to hear her talking about how disappointing in bed you are.” He winked at his team mate, wishing he could just lunge out and grab the phone back.
Pizarro grinned and looked down at the phone. “Awfully intriguing, the opportunity to see if you're telling the truth, or if you're hiding something.” He glanced from the phone to Bastian. “Are you sure you weren't texting someone else?”
Bastian wasn't sure whether he should feel as paranoid as he was currently feeling. Was Pizarro just being a dick, or was there some chance that he actually knew something? “Who else would I be texting?” What was Pizarro getting at anyway? This was really starting to get on Bastian's nerves.
“I don't know, maybe someone who's not here right now.” Pizarro flipped the phone over in his fingers, dying to open it and confirm whether his suspicions were true.
Bastian laughed and shook his head. “Someone who's not here right now? Well, doesn't that make sense. Why on earth would I be texting someone who was here right now?” Bastian knew exactly what Pizarro was referring to, but he refused to admit it.
“Someone who's usually here, but wasn't able to come.” Pizarro studied Bastian's face, he thought he could see a flicker of nerves in his eyes. He was tempted to lock himself in a toilet stall and read through the messages, because he was that curious. But he didn't. He wouldn't stoop that low. Especially not since the chance existed that Bastian hadn't been texting Lukas. Maybe that message he'd read in Madrid had been intended differently than how he'd taken it. But the possibility existed that it did mean what he'd thought it meant.
The Peruvian had no chance to question him further though, as just at that moment Oliver Kahn walked back into the dressing room. He looked back and forth between the two, finally settling his gaze on Bastian. “Something going on here?”
Bastian looked pointedly at Pizarro, who shrugged and tossed his phone back to him. “Nope, just a bit of friendly banter.” He grinned and tried his best to look amused.
Kahn wasn't fooled, though he didn't say anything. “Good. We're leaving in forty minutes, so if you two want a shower, make sure you go now.” He walked over to his spot and sat down, pulling clothes out of his locker. Bastian slid his phone into his bag, but glanced at Pizarro, who was watching him suspiciously.
The striker decided his chance for this night was up, so he quickly moved to grab his things and head for the shower, leaving Bastian alone with the keeper. The moment the Peruvian was out of earshot, Kahn glanced over at the young man. “What was that really all about?”
Bastian looked over at the captain and shrugged. “Nothing, really. You know Pizza,” he tried to infuse a little laugh into his comment. But Oliver Kahn knew him better than that.
“You sure there's nothing going on? You seem bothered.”
Bastian shrugged, looking over at the older man. “Just upset we lost, that's all.”
“We didn't lose, Bastian, we drew.” Oliver leaned over to put socks on.
“We lost,” Bastian shook his head and leaned back against his locker. He knew it didn't do anyone any good to take such a negative attitude after a game, but maybe it would convince the keeper that nothing else was the matter.
“Well, then you'd better make sure you do your best to ensure we never lose again,” Kahn sat back up after putting on his socks, a slight grin on his face. He was disappointed as well in the result, but he'd played enough games in this league to not be surprised to lose out on points near the end of the season when you were playing teams who were fighting relegation. Every point mattered to them. “Now go take a shower, we're leaving soon.”
Bastian nodded and hoped his bag would remain safely in his locker while he was away. He'd have to watch to make sure Pizarro didn't change their phones. Bastian wouldn't put it past the Peruvian.
It was nearing two in the afternoon on Saturday, and the match was half an hour away. The bus ride here had been a mixture of relaxation and tactics. Bastian ended up having a seat to himself the whole ride - which made him more than happy. Usually he sat next to Lukas, but since the striker hadn't come, that had left him on his own. So instead he'd stretched out across two seats and pretended to listen as Hitzfeld discussed the game, while in reality he'd been busy texting with Lukas.
He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do, having this physical evidence of their relationship available, but he couldn't help it. He enjoyed keeping the messages and reading them through again later, knowing who they had come from. Besides, it's not as though anyone actually had access to his phone. As long as he never lost it, he'd be fine.
Claudio Pizarro was sitting behind the midfielder, listening to Hitzfeld, but at the same time watching Bastian's reflection in the window. The younger man had been constantly at his phone, sending messages back and forth with someone. It was unusual behaviour for him - usually Bastian always paid full attention to the coach when they discussed pre-match tactics. So the Peruvian striker couldn't help but wonder, as he watched Bastian texting away, just who he was talking to.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't Daniela. He'd promised Mark not to say anything after the incident in Madrid, but curiosity was a part of his nature, and he couldn't help but be intrigued. He wasn't above accidentally picking up Bastian's phone again to flip through messages to find out what he found so fascinating. The problem would be finding an opportunity.
It was the tenth minute, and Bastian sat, watching as Brazzo controlled the ball, sending it up the field to Roy. The Dutch striker held onto it for a bit, deking past the opposing defender and looking across the box to see who was open. He sent a pass in to the middle, finding Andreas open, who held the ball before passing it off to Christian, who kept it on the left as he looked in to the centre. Bastian saw the opening immediately - Roy had ducked behind the defender covering him, coming into an open bit of space in front of the net and the next moment he knew - the ball was sailing towards the striker, who jumped up to meet it, a well timed header sending it into the net.
Bastian jumped up, turning to his side and finding Roque, who more than willingly threw his arms around Bastian's shoulders and celebrated with him. If they could only score a second, or hold on to their slim lead, that would be enough. They all wanted the three points, and they were all excited to see a goal scored so early. But sometimes the early goals proved to be a team's downfall.
The second half had started and immediately Bastian was worried. His team looked tired, sluggish, even, and it wasn't sitting well with him. He was in the middle of warming up right now, doing some exercises behind Roque. He wanted to be out on the field, he wanted it badly. He was nervous right now, worried that a resurging Monchengladbach would score an equalizing goal. Demichelis especially was having a bit of an off game, and had already committed a few slightly dangerous tackles. Bastian was surprised he hadn't earned a card yet.
He watched as Andreas deftly moved the ball around on the defenders before sending a pass up towards Philipp. Only the pass didn't reach him, and Bastian shook his head. Andi wasn't exactly playing his best in the game either, though Bastian suspected that he had picked up a slight knock early in the first half. Whenever he thought no one was looking, he'd seen Andi walking with a bit of a limp.
Suddenly, three minutes later, the thing Bastian had been dreading occurred. Micho went in for a foul and hit one of the players hard, studs into the shin and not even a toe to the ball. Immediately the whistle was blown and a free kick awarded to the home team, along with the deserved yellow card to Demichelis, much to the delight of the fans. It was just outside the penalty area, and Bastian stopped warming up to watch. Olli was screaming instructions at the defenders, and Bastian had a bad feeling.
Roque stopped warming up as well and stood next to him, his arms crossed. “If they score on this, I'll fucking kill him.”
“Hitz should have pulled him at half, he's been struggling all game. He should have started Daniel,” Bastian shook his head and waited.
Michael Delura lined up to take it, and the seconds it took to get everyone in formation and position dragged by for the two substitute players stuck in the opposite end of the field. Then the whistle was given to allow play to start, and Bastian could only watch on in shock and disappointment as Delura's ball sailed perfectly over the wall and found the head of Peer Kluge, who sent it up and past Oliver Kahn's outstretched hands.
The game was tied, and two much needed points were slipping away.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the end of the game and Bastian sat on the bench, not having moved an inch since sitting down. He'd really thought he'd make a difference, coming back tonight. He thought that when he was subbed in after the goal, he thought he'd bring the team back and score one to put them in the lead again. But he hadn't. They'd drawn Monchengladbach - a bottom team, and even though he knew it wasn't his fault, he still couldn't help but accept some of the blame. They all should have done better.
Everyone else was in the showers by now, letting the warm water soothe their aching muscles. But he sat on the bench still, bothered enough to not join everyone else. He thought he was alone.
But seconds later, when his phone was plucked out of his hands, he looked up and saw Claudio Pizarro standing before him. “I couldn't help but notice you texting someone a lot while you were on the bench, and earlier on the bus,” the Peruvian said, a smirk on his face.
Bastian glared at him and reached for the phone. “Funny, Pizza.” He tried not to make too big of a deal over having his phone snatched away.
“So, who were you texting? Your girlfriend?” There was something about the way he said it, about the inflection of his voice when he said the word girlfriend, that set Bastian on edge.
“Nope, I was texting your wife,” Bastian replied, hoping he didn't seem more nervous than he should about the question.
Claudio just smirked as he held the phone. “Really? Then you wouldn't mind if I checked to see what you and she were discussing?” He held the phone up in his left hand, grinning at Bastian.
The Bavarian shook his head, still trying his hardest to look non-phased. “Go ahead, that is, if you want to hear her talking about how disappointing in bed you are.” He winked at his team mate, wishing he could just lunge out and grab the phone back.
Pizarro grinned and looked down at the phone. “Awfully intriguing, the opportunity to see if you're telling the truth, or if you're hiding something.” He glanced from the phone to Bastian. “Are you sure you weren't texting someone else?”
Bastian wasn't sure whether he should feel as paranoid as he was currently feeling. Was Pizarro just being a dick, or was there some chance that he actually knew something? “Who else would I be texting?” What was Pizarro getting at anyway? This was really starting to get on Bastian's nerves.
“I don't know, maybe someone who's not here right now.” Pizarro flipped the phone over in his fingers, dying to open it and confirm whether his suspicions were true.
Bastian laughed and shook his head. “Someone who's not here right now? Well, doesn't that make sense. Why on earth would I be texting someone who was here right now?” Bastian knew exactly what Pizarro was referring to, but he refused to admit it.
“Someone who's usually here, but wasn't able to come.” Pizarro studied Bastian's face, he thought he could see a flicker of nerves in his eyes. He was tempted to lock himself in a toilet stall and read through the messages, because he was that curious. But he didn't. He wouldn't stoop that low. Especially not since the chance existed that Bastian hadn't been texting Lukas. Maybe that message he'd read in Madrid had been intended differently than how he'd taken it. But the possibility existed that it did mean what he'd thought it meant.
The Peruvian had no chance to question him further though, as just at that moment Oliver Kahn walked back into the dressing room. He looked back and forth between the two, finally settling his gaze on Bastian. “Something going on here?”
Bastian looked pointedly at Pizarro, who shrugged and tossed his phone back to him. “Nope, just a bit of friendly banter.” He grinned and tried his best to look amused.
Kahn wasn't fooled, though he didn't say anything. “Good. We're leaving in forty minutes, so if you two want a shower, make sure you go now.” He walked over to his spot and sat down, pulling clothes out of his locker. Bastian slid his phone into his bag, but glanced at Pizarro, who was watching him suspiciously.
The striker decided his chance for this night was up, so he quickly moved to grab his things and head for the shower, leaving Bastian alone with the keeper. The moment the Peruvian was out of earshot, Kahn glanced over at the young man. “What was that really all about?”
Bastian looked over at the captain and shrugged. “Nothing, really. You know Pizza,” he tried to infuse a little laugh into his comment. But Oliver Kahn knew him better than that.
“You sure there's nothing going on? You seem bothered.”
Bastian shrugged, looking over at the older man. “Just upset we lost, that's all.”
“We didn't lose, Bastian, we drew.” Oliver leaned over to put socks on.
“We lost,” Bastian shook his head and leaned back against his locker. He knew it didn't do anyone any good to take such a negative attitude after a game, but maybe it would convince the keeper that nothing else was the matter.
“Well, then you'd better make sure you do your best to ensure we never lose again,” Kahn sat back up after putting on his socks, a slight grin on his face. He was disappointed as well in the result, but he'd played enough games in this league to not be surprised to lose out on points near the end of the season when you were playing teams who were fighting relegation. Every point mattered to them. “Now go take a shower, we're leaving soon.”
Bastian nodded and hoped his bag would remain safely in his locker while he was away. He'd have to watch to make sure Pizarro didn't change their phones. Bastian wouldn't put it past the Peruvian.