distance (antoine griezmann)

two

valentine reus.

It was five in the morning when Marco had dragged me into the receiving area. He was clad in only pajamas while I was clad in one of his jerseys and boxer shorts. I questioned him as to why he would even dare to wake me up at this time but he just glared at me.

"Why am I here?" I asked him once again. His eyes just trailed to the side and I was even more confused. "Marco!"

My brother's head snapped towards my direction and it seemed like someone flipped a switch because he suddenly ran across the room. When he came back, he was holding my phone. My head cocked to the side and my eyebrows were raised in mock.

"What's with my phone?" I asked Marco. He grunted and sat beside me, making me slightly bounce on my seat because of how fast he sat and how heavy he was.

"Someone was texting you, and it read unknown number. Who was it, Val?" I took my phone away from him and checked my messages. What Marco said was correct because my message box was filled with texts from an unknown number. I opened almost all of them to see that it was never even supposed to be sent to me. Considering the fact that, this person kept calling the receiver as Olivier. I mean, if it was for me, he or she should have called me Valentine.

"Marco, these messages aren't for me," I said calmly. Marco seemed to calm down a bit but it didn't mean he was over the topic.

"Oh. Well, who is it for?" He asked. I told him it was for someone named Olivier.

"Olivier? Well, it doesn't ring a bell." Marco stood up and walked away. I shrugged and decided to go back to my room.

"By the way, you'll have to go with me during training." Marco added.

"Whatever." I deadpanned.

⚽️

Marco gave me a kiss on the forehead before running off to do some laps. I lied back on the bleachers as I watched Marco and his teammates do whatever they do during trainings.

Don't get me wrong, I abolutely loved football, but there are just some times where I wonder why they would rather waste their time chasing a ball instead of actually doing something productive, you know? I mean, who am I to judge? All I ever do is watch countless episodes of The Walking Dead and The Flash while gobbling on some jellybeans or whatever sweets I can find. I mean, yeah, I'm Valentine bloody Reus and I'm Marco Reus's sister. I'm supposed to be making a name for myself or something, but here I am still fangirling over 5 Seconds of Summer and fictional characters.

You could say that I lived a pretty normal life, I guess.

"Hey, little Reus!" Mats shouted, chucking a sweaty towel at my face.

"Ew!" I grimaced. I pinched (no I don't appreciate Mats's sweat) it off my face and threw it back at him. He chuckled and took a seat beside me, his long arms slinging around my shoulders.

"How are you doing, Little Reus?" he asked, his loud laugh echoing through my ears. Most girls would think that Mats Hummels was the sweetest and cutest person ever. Well, they're damn wrong. Mats was sweet, but at times he'd get really mean and the best thing to do is to literally punch him right in the face. He was cute, but for me, he was like the devil's spawn. I mean, men are supposed to respect women, right? Well, for Mats it was the other way. He doesn't even respect me (well he does, but like 98.9% of the time he doesn't) because this one damn time, he tripped me right in front of the most beautiful man in the world a.k.a Claudio Marchisio.

And yes, I do fangirl about Claudio.

"You aren't mad at me anymore?" I asked him, interlacing his hand with mine (we do that sometimes).

"I was never mad, Val." Jürgen called Mats back to the fields and he immediately jumped up, causing me to almost faceplant on the grass.

"Thanks for that Mats!" I shouted at him. He whipped around and gave me two thumbs up before going back to training.

⚽

"It's already 8 p.m, Val." Marco complained. I whined and kept tugging at his leg. The situation as of now is, I want McDonalds, but Marco being the pussy he is, won't buy me any. So, I was sat on the floor tugging at his joggers like a whiny child.

"Marcoooo," I whined once more, prolonging the last letter. "I want a cheeseburger."

"You're so obsessed with McDonalds, Valentine. Go make toast or something." He dragged his leg across the living room before I decided to actually let go of his leg.

I stood up and crossed my arms across my chest, "Fine, I'll make toast. But if you don't buy me McDonalds the next time I ask, I'm going to move in with Mats."

"He's got a WAG, Val." He deadpanned, staring at his phone.

"WAG is such an ugly term. Why don't you guys use bae or footbae instead?" His eyebrows scrunched when I said those words and I could tell that he'll be laughing later on.

"Bae is such a basic word . . . and footbae? Really? It sounds like the term and you'd use for the football player you like, like how you'll be calling me footbae from now on." Marco wiggled his eyebrows at me and I gagged.

"I'd rather shave my eyebrows off than actually call you footbae . . . which I had made it up, by the way." Marco laughed and waved me off.

"Go make your toast."

"Fuck you."

Marco laughed loudly and I stomped my way to the kitchen. I "angrily" made toast while checking my phone for messages ever so often. I reached for my phone and almost died because I almost touched the toaster. The bread popped out and I took it out, spreading Nutella all over it. I put them together and bit into it. Such a basic sandwich.

My phone buzzed and I was yet again suprised.

from: unknown number

hello! sorry for accidentally texting you and not my friend, olivier. i appreciate the fact that you didn't cuss me out though haha [alot of people cuss me out because i wrong send alot]. so um yeah bye. this is still "grizi" by the way.

⚽