LJ
Taking a deep breath, Luka pushed open the gate, the hinges creaking softly, and made his way up the stone path to the front door. His heart beat a little faster as he reached out to press the doorbell, the soft chime echoing inside the house. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and Jude stood there, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Mate, you made it!" Jude exclaimed, stepping aside to let Luka in.
Luka nodded, stepping into the warmth of the house. The air inside was thick with the smell of something delicious—rich, hearty, and comforting.
"Thanks for inviting me," Luka said, glancing around the hallway. The interior was cozy, with wooden floors and warm-colored walls adorned with family photos.
"No worries, mate," Jude replied, clapping Luka on the back. "You're in for a treat. Mum's been cooking up a storm."
As if on cue, a voice called out from deeper in the house. "Jude? Is that Luka with you?"
"Yeah, Mum, we're in the hallway!" Jude shouted back, before turning to Luka with a grin. "Brace yourself, she's gonna fuss over you like mad."
Luka chuckled nervously, following Jude down the hallway and into the living room. The space was warm and inviting, with soft lighting, plush sofas, and a large rug that looked perfect for sinking your toes into. The mantel was lined with framed photos—Jude as a child, grinning with missing teeth, Jude in his football kit, and a few of what Luka assumed were family vacations.
Before Luka could take in more of the room, a woman appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. She was in her mid-forties, with kind eyes and a warm smile that instantly put Luka at ease. Her dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a floral apron over a cozy-looking sweater.
"Ah, you must be Luka," she said, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached him. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Jude's told me all about you."
Luka felt a blush creeping up his neck. "It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Bellingham. Thanks for having me."
"Oh, please, call me Denise," she insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "And you're always welcome here, dear. Now, come on, let's get you both settled. Dinner's almost ready."
She ushered them into the dining room, which was just as inviting as the rest of the house. The table was set for three, with plates and silverware gleaming under the soft light of a chandelier.
Luka took a seat at the table, his stomach rumbling in anticipation as Denise bustled back into the kitchen. Jude sat across from him, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh.
"Mate, you're in for a proper feast," Jude said, his eyes twinkling. "Mum's shepherd's pie is legendary."
Luka smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the cozy atmosphere
A few minutes later, Denise returned, carrying a large, steaming dish of shepherd's pie. The golden-brown crust was perfectly crisp, with a hint of bubbling gravy peeking through the cracks. She set it down in the center of the table, along with a bowl of peas and a basket of freshly baked bread.
"Here we go," she said, beaming at the two boys. "Tuck in, before it gets cold."
Jude didn't need to be told twice. He immediately grabbed a serving spoon and began piling a generous portion onto his plate. Luka followed suit, the rich, savory smell making his mouth water.
The first bite was pure comfort—warm, hearty, and full of flavor. The beef was tender, the vegetables perfectly cooked, and the mashed potatoes were creamy with just the right amount of butter. Luka couldn't help but close his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste.
"This is amazing," he said, looking up at Denise with genuine appreciation. "Thank you so much."
Denise smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm glad you like it, dear. There's plenty more, so don't be shy."
"So, Luka," Denise said after a while. "How are you finding Germany? Must be quite the change from Manchester."
Luka paused, considering his answer. "It's... different," he admitted. "But in a good way. The football culture here is incredible. The fans, the atmosphere—it's all so passionate."
Denise nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yes, Dortmund is known for its football. The Yellow Wall is something else, isn't it?"
Luka smiled. "It really is."
Jude, who had been quietly demolishing his second helping of shepherd's pie, grinned. "Especially when you score in front of them, mate. There's nothing like it. Feels like the whole city's celebrating with you."
As they finished their meal, Denise cleared the plates, waving off Luka's offer to help. "You're our guest tonight," she insisted with a smile. "Just sit back and relax."
After dinner, Luka and Jude made their way to the living room, where the TV was already on, displaying the FIFA 21 menu.
Luka lowered onto the plush sofa while Jude grabbed the controllers from the coffee table, tossing one over to Luka with a grin.
"Ready to get schooled, mate?" Jude said, grinning from ear to ear as he dropped onto the sofa.
Luka chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted himself on the sofa. "We'll see about that. Just don't cry when I make you regret inviting me over."
Jude laughed, and they quickly navigated to the team selection screen. Jude, naturally, picked Dortmund, scrolling through the lineup to make sure everything was set. Luka's eyes scanned the squad list, noting the usual suspects—Haaland, Reus, Sancho, Bellingham.
"It's a shame you're not in this one." Jude said as he finished setting up his team.
Luka threw him a glance as he continued scrolling through the catelogue of leagues, eventually pausing on the Premier League. "I'm just happy I'll be on the next one." He said.
"Aye," Jude said before continuing. "But they've got your rating in shambles mate, seventy-one? I have no idea what games they were watching, I mean, come on—79 pace, 67 shooting, 75 passing, and 82 dribbling? They're seriously underestimating you, mate."
Luka laughed halfheartedly. "They must've mixed me up with some Sunday league player," He said, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
Luka soon decided on Liverpool and with his team selection sorted, they began the game.
Jude leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen. "Right, let's show this lad what you can really do Jude."
Luka chuckled, his fingers dancing over the controller. "Careful now, you might make me cry if you don't score a hat-trick in the first five minutes."
The pixelated players darted across the screen, a blur of yellow and red. Jude's Dortmund pressed high, trying to force an early mistake from Liverpool's defense. And that they did. Jude's virtual Haaland picked the ball of Gomez before smashing the ball past Alisson, he let out a whoop of triumph. "Get in! That's more like it!"
Luka shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. "Typical. The one time I don't want him to score..."
"Ah, you love it really," Jude grinned, then his expression softened. "Speaking of scoring, mate, thanks for that run you made today. Really opened up that space for me."
Luka's mind flashed back to the Augsburg match earlier that day. "Thanks, mate. But that finish was all you. The way that ball curved…reminded me of Ronaldo."
Jude laughed, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "Come off it. I'm not in that league yet."
"Yet," Luka emphasized, raising an eyebrow. "Give it time."
As they continued playing, the conversation drifted back to the match. "That Augsburg lot were proper physical, weren't they?" Jude said, wincing slightly as he remembered a particularly rough challenge.
Luka nodded, his fingers dancing over the controller as he maneuvered Salah past a lunging Hummels. "Yeah, they really came at us. Felt like I had three shadows the whole game."
"Tell me about it," Jude agreed. "But we showed 'em, didn't we? That comeback... mate, I still get goosebumps thinking about it."
Luka smiled, remembering the electric atmosphere in the stadium as they'd fought back from a goal down. "It was something else. The way the fans stayed behind us, even when we were trailing... at United, they would have been filing out before half time."
"That's Dortmund for you," Jude said, a note of pride in his voice. "Through thick and thin, they're always there."
As virtual Jude scored a goal on screen, the real Jude let out a cheer. "I'm on fire today! First in the real match, now this... FIFA needs to bump up my rating!"
Luka laughed. "Steady on, mate. Your head's going to be too big to fit through the door at this rate."
"Oi!" Jude protested, but he was grinning. "Speaking of FIFA ratings, though... can you believe they've only given you a 71?"
Luka's smile faltered slightly. "Yeah, bit disappointing that."
Jude shook his head vehemently. "Disappointing? It's a bloody travesty, that's what it is. Eleven goals and thirteen assists in thirteen games?"
"Well, it's fourteen games now," Luka reasoned, trying to stay humble. "But still, I haven't even played half a season, they wouldn't give me a high rating...not yet atleast"
"Still," Jude insisted, "they should've seen your potential. But don't worry, mate. After you keep performing on the pitch, I reckon they'll be scrambling to update your stats in the next patch."
As they continued playing, the conversation drifted to the upcoming international break. "You heading back to Croatia?" Jude asked.
Luka nodded. "Yeah, got a couple of World Cup qualifiers. You?"
"Same," Jude replied. "England's got Andorra and Hungary. Should be interesting."
There was a moment of comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of crowds cheering on the TV. Then Jude spoke again, his tone more serious. "You know, mate... I've been meaning to ask. What are you thinking about next season? Your loan's up, isn't it?"
Luka felt a knot form in his stomach. It was a question he'd been asking himself a lot lately. "Yeah, it is. And my contract with United expires too. It's... complicated."
Jude nodded understandingly. "I get that. Lot of big decisions to make, eh?"
"Tell me about it," Luka sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I love it here. The football, the fans, the city... everything. But..."
"But it's not home," Jude finished softly.
Luka looked at him, surprised. "Yeah, exactly. How did you know?"
Jude shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Because I feel it too sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I love Dortmund. But there's always that part of me that wonders what it would be like to go back to England. To prove myself in the Premier League."
Luka nodded, feeling a sense of relief that someone understood. "Exactly. But then I think about what we could build here. You, me, Erling... if we all stay, if we could convince the club to strengthen the defense..."
"We could be unstoppable," Jude finished, a glint in his eye.
As the FIFA match wound down, with Jude's Dortmund narrowly edging out Luka's Liverpool, they both sat back on the couch, controllers forgotten.
"Look, mate," Jude said, his tone serious. "I know it's not my place to say, but... I really hope you stay. You, me, Erling... we could really build something special here."
Luka felt a warmth spread through his chest at Jude's words. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Jude said firmly. "But whatever you decide... just know that you've already made your mark here. The goals, the plays you've been making? Mate, you're already becoming a legend."
Luka laughed, feeling a blush creep up his neck. "Now you're just taking the piss."
"Am I, though?" Jude grinned. "Eleven goals and thirteen assists in thirte- well, fourteen games? Mate, that's ridiculous. You're ridiculous."
"Says the lad who's bossing the midfield at eighteen," Luka shot back.
Jude grinned, accepting the compliment with a nod. "Fair play, mate. But how's that ankle of yours? Saw you wincing a bit towards the end of the match."
Luka's face fell slightly as he was reminded of the dull throb in his ankle. He leaned back, stretching his leg out in front of him. "Ah, yeah. It's not too bad, but the doc says I'll have to sit out the first game against Cyprus for Croatia. Bit gutted about that, to be honest."
"Aw, mate," Jude sympathized, his brow furrowing with concern. "That's rough. But better to rest it now than push too hard and make it worse, yeah?"
Luka nodded, sighing. "Yeah, you're right. Still, it's frustrating. Feels like I'm just hitting my stride, you know?"
"Trust me, I get it," Jude said, leaning forward. "But look at it this way - you'll be fresh for the next one. And knowing you, you'll probably come back and score a hat-trick or something ridiculous."
Luka chuckled, shaking his head. "Now who's taking the piss?"
They shared a laugh, the tension easing from Luka's shoulders. As the laughter died down, Jude's expression turned thoughtful.
"You know," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "speaking of the future... I've been meaning to tell you something."
Luka raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh yeah? What's that then?"
Jude took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Well, it's just... my agent's been getting a lot of calls lately. Like, a lot."
"Yeah?" Luka prompted, he knew how that felt.
"Yeah," Jude confirmed, running a hand through his hair. "It's mad, really. Liverpool, United, City... even bloody Real Madrid have been sniffing around."
At the mention of Real Madrid, Luka felt a jolt of recognition. Jude in the iconic white kit, holding up a Real Madrid scarf at the at the Bernabeu. .
"Real Madrid?" Luka echoed, he wasn't suprised, I mean how could he? He knew the future after all. "That's... wow. That's huge, mate." He feigned suprise.
Jude nodded, looking a bit overwhelmed. "I know, right? It's mental. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it here at Dortmund. But Real Madrid... that's the stuff of dreams, isn't it?"
Luka nodded, Jude would end up at Real Madrid. But that was still a ways off.
Haaland would leave. Jude would leave. And Luka... well, that was the question, wasn't it? Stay at Dortmund and try to build something lasting? Return to England and prove himself in the Premier League? Or perhaps a new challenge altogether?
All the power was in his hands, and with it came the burden of choice. To stay or to go? To build or to seek new horizons?