[ zehn ]
The last few days were a blur for Bastian. One day blended into the next as he no longer felt a desire to get out of bed. How could he be having such severe withdrawal symptoms from a girl he had just seen--and interacted with--a handful of times? He didn't know how, but the girl with the sickly palid skin tone and bags under her dimming eyes had found a way to wedge herself into his heart.
It wasn't difficult, really.
He had been inviting, and willing to let her in. Now that which he had known from the start became a reality for him, he couldn't make himself let go so easily.
Bastian avoided practice for a couple of days that nearly dripped into becoming two weeks, until he was given a warning by the board of directors at Bayern Munich. It had been a distinctly particular phone call from one of the team's lawyers, saying to him in a certainly threatening tone, "Mr. Schweinsteiger," He felt a pang in his heart as he heard the way he was being greeted. Primrose had once told him she could never imagine someone calling him Mr. Schweinsteiger because she thought he looked too sweet and funny to be regarded as a sir. Thomas thought the same thing. "This is your first warning. You have missed practice several times without calling in sick or informing the team that something personal has happened. You are to report to practice immediately, and should you decide to continue skipping out on your duties as a player for Bayern Munich, we will have to take legal action against you for what will be considered a breach of contract. You have been an esteemed part of the team for years and we would like for it to continue that way."
Without even letting him speak, the lawyer hung up. But Bastian was glad he didn't have to talk to the lawyer, they wouldn't understand him anyway. All they were trained to do was to carelessly milk people of their hard earned money.
Wanting to avoid any trouble, he painstakingly showed up to practice the next day. The locker room which had been all hustle and bustle came to a complete silence as he passed his team mated to get to his locker. None of them dared to talk to him, not when he looked like he didn't want to talk to anyone.
The only one who dared to approach him was Thomas. In an attempt to start a conversation, he commented, "I noticed your shirts are much cleaner now." He gestures to a button down shirt his friend was wearing. After a few days, he noticed they were rid of the ever present coffee stains that had made an appearance after he met Primrose.
Bastian looked down at his shirt, noticing it absent of all stains as well. "Its just...Primrose doesn't drink coffee with me anymore." He remembered with a sigh the first time he met Primrose at the cliche cafe setting. He had been so nervous about meeting her for the first time that he had clumsily spilled coffee all over himself, the table they sat at, and even on Primrose. She assured him it was fine, but Bastian had continued to feel bad about it for a while.
"How come?" Thomas wondered.
He was also aware of Primrose's condition and feared the worst.
"I don't know." Bastian replied, but his words were laced with denial.
Thomas eyed his friend. "Do you not know? Or do you not want to know?"
Those were two different things. If Bastian hadn't seen Primrose in a while, it had one of two reasons. Thomas knew them well, and he knew they were both possible.
"I just don't know." Bastian insisted.
"Bastian..." Thomas began, taking a step in the direction of his team mate and friend. Bastian already knew what would come from his friend's mouth--pity. He didn't want that. Not then, not ever. He refused to let the idea of Primrose fade in his memory.
His patience thinning down to a small sliver, Bastian said, "I said I don't fucking know. Is it really that difficult to believe that I might not know every whereabout of Primrose Bennett? Perhaps I don't know what happens to her every second of every day."
Thomas raised his arms up in defense. "Geez, relax. Don't get so defensive. It was just a question."
It took a minute for Bastian to cool himself off for snapping at Thomas. After all, it hadn't been Thomas' fault that everything had happened. Getting up from his seat on the bench, he dopped his belongings in his locker and announced, "I'll be outside if you need me. I just need to get some air right now."
The blonde footballer took off before anyone could stop him.
"Bastian!" Thomas called after him.
Philipp walked up behind him, a frustrated and authoritative tone in his words. "Dammit Thomas. What did you do now?"
"Nothing!" Thomas assured. "I just said something about his shirts being cleaner."
But one little comment was all it took to bring back a boat load of painfully fond memories.
-
fucking sigh. finally a damn update from me because SOMEONE wont leave me alone. lol jk. this update was definitely in order. i normally post the last chapter and the epilogue on the same day, but im really sleepy so the epilogue will have to wait until tomorrow.
i hope you all enjoyed this story. i certainly enjoyed writing it until i hit that writers block with it. we have some new stuff planned which is definitely new. so stay tuned for that.
thank you for all the support you have given this story.
-clary
