The Black Eye

"Shit!! Mmmmmm..."

A loud boom and somebody's yelp made you flinch and open your eyes at night. It took you some time to realize that it was not a dream, but Julian's low husky voice, which sent your heart into a series of somersaults immediately.

Alarmed, you rushed out from under the blankets and switched on the nightstand light to see him crouch on the floor with his both hands against his right eye, still cursing.

You jumped out of your bed to see what'd happened. He was barefoot in his T-shirt and grey sweatpants he always slept in, so you understood what had made him burst out a whole bunch of curse words in the middle of the night.

"I asked you to close this door, Y/N! Tssssss" he hissed with pain still pressing his hands against the eye.

Oh no...That xxcking bathroom door no xxcking way ever closed by you. 

Some weeks ago Julian was close to banging his face with fireworks against the side edge of the door on his dark way to the bathroom, but tonight, after he'd asked you a hundred times to close that door and after you'd forgotten a hundred times to close it, he finally found it.

"I'll tear it off, Y/N, I swear!" he blurted it out, angered.

A bit anxious of what you could see on his face in a moment, you sat down on your knees in front of him.

"Let me look!" you leant towards his face, but he only twitched his head away.

You clicked your tongue irritated, "Don't be a donkey, LET ME LOOK!"  and tore his hands off his  face. He gave you a furrowed glance, winking quickly as you turned his face toward the light. You could clearly see it on his still sleepy face that the place, which he kissed the door with, was getting redder. He really hit it hard and wasn't overreacting.

"Damn...," you whispered.

"What?" his face changed. You said nothing but got back on your feet and darted off to the kitchen in the search for something cold from the fridge. 'Stupid door, I'll tear it off myself... Stupid Brandt, couldn't turn the light on.' you thought being angry at the door, at Julian and yourself all together.

When you got back to the bedroom with a packet of ice in the towel, Julian was standing in front of the mirror puzzled. Your anger turned to pity when you saw him rake his fingers through his tousled hair and examine the right cheekbone.

"I'm soooo gorgeous...," he met your look in the reflection of the mirror and gave a half smile, "Thank you, love."

In 3 days Julian was supposed to take part in a press conference of his team and (as it became clear now) broadcast his blue eye live to the whole Germany. He looked at his reflection once again and sighed.

Even though you made him a mess and felt like shit about that, you fought the urge to snort with laughter the moment you saw his sighing reflection in the mirror. He looked entertaining with that redness near the eye, his tousled hair and a smile of no hope.

"No, I still don't understand, how you could hit it so hard," you came to him. "Just don't run around the house stallion-like, you're not on the  football pitch!"

"Just close the doors around the house normal-like and nobody will hit them," he imitated your high voice, getting a bit angry again at your tries to excuse your fail. "Stop it, Y/N, or we'll fight now because of this door".

He was right, that was always a wrong way to go when it was mostly your fault. So you raised on tiptoe, softly kissed his swelling cheekbone on his still furrowing face and applied the cold, strongly intended to fix the things up.