Erik Durm One-Shots

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"Oh my God, look at that face"
You look like my next mistake
Love’s a game, wanna play?

         ”You seriously have an issue, Victoria.”

         “I don’t seriously have an issue, Andressa.” Mimicking the tone of my friends’ voice with an eye roll, I massaged my temples; my head was hurting like a bitch.

         “I’d be surprised if it wasn’t!” Andressa said sarcastically and I was so hangover slash tired I didn’t even realized I had commented out loud “With the amount of Jose Cuervo and Durmming you had last night.”

         I groaned, crossing my arms on top of the table and resting my head between them.

         “I cannot believe “Durmming" is a thing now." My voice came out muffled, and I knew I shouldn’t get my airways so damn close to the disgusting coffee shop table that obviously had seen better days, but I couldn’t help it.

         All I wanted was a nap. And some Advil.

(Mainly a nap.)

         Andy was viciously typing on her phone, the annoying clicking sound making my head want to explode, but she refused to put the damn thing on silent because phones were like free shots of tequila on a bar to her: blink and they’re gone. I’d never seen someone with such a big talent for losing phones in my life.

         I knew she was smirking when she said on a sing song voice “Durmming is so a thing. Texting G right now to say you won’t be attending your lectures this afternoon cause you got so Durmmed you can’t even walk.”

         Hitting both of my hands on the table in disbelief, I almost squealed “I did not! Stop! This is insulting and I demand you to stop! Just because one time I-“

         “Said if Erik Durm was in a band he’d be a” She cleared her throat “Durmmer, cause he hit it good.”

         I looked at her. She looked at me. In five seconds we were laughing like the insane third year Uni students we were.

         “You’re prob the most incredible drunk person alive. Sober you’re a bit meh, but drunk…” Andressa muttered, still texting “How was it, tho?” I knew she was trying to feign less interest than she had, and I mentally thanked her for it.

         Last thing I needed was to make this whole Durmming thing seem bigger than it was already.

         Analyzing the tips of my orangey-red hair - no split ends, as always, thank you hair Gods - I shrugged “Same old, same old. Eyed me all night, bought me a round, asked if I had company, I said no, did that awkward chit-chat for like, five seconds, asked if I wanted a ride and then…”

         “Then you got Durmmed!” Pointing at me, my best friend giggled like a maniac, attracting looks from the other poor customers who probably weren’t used to such a cheery person at the ungodly hour of seven AM.

         “This is why I will never, ever introduce Erik to any of you.” I said matter-of-fact.

         “Aww.” Andy pouted “Just because we’re your slightly insane best friends and he’s Mr. Erik Durm, famous football star, the shy, blue eyed German golden boy who always opens the door and buys you drinks before Durmming your brains off?” She smirked “You’ll have to invite us to your wedding, so I guess I’ll meet him there!” My friend shrugged, and with a ring coming from my phone, she snatched it from the table before I could reach for it “Ooh, text from The Durm!” Smirking, her eyes read through the screen and I wanted to hit her in the face “Aw, he uses emojis. Cute.”