stuck on you || draxler

seize

vendredi 10:44

Julian Draxler was eager to see his girlfriend. He knocked on the door of her flat, awaiting for her to come open it in her Batman or whatever she was wearing pajamas.

It didn't long for coming over to Marcelle's place to become a normal occurrence. Whenever Julian had time in his busy schedule, he would always go over to Marcelle's just to spend some quality time together.

Sometimes she'd be napping, so he'll have to call to wake her up, or she might have just gotten home from training, so sometimes her hair will be in a big mess, and she'll have one sock on when she answers the door—Julian can never seem to expect anything from her, and he loves it. She's so eccentric, so quirky and yet, he can never find himself not wanting to be with her.

This time, Marcelle answered the door half-asleep, her hair in a wild mess contained by a PSG winter hat, and dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed, and Julian could tell—it was ten in the morning, and on a normal day, she'd never force herself to wake up any earlier.

She frowned. "Why are you here? It's too early!"

"Marcelle, it's already ten."

"But still!" she exclaimed, letting Julian in her flat and closing the door behind him. "Some people like to sleep at this hour."

Julian laughed. "I love you, you know that?" he said, getting in for a side hug. "And why are you wearing a hat?" he pointed at her beanie. "It's not like you're going skiing."

"Um, excuse me—I don't know what world you come from, but it's really cold here especially on a January morning. I mean, look at you!" She gestured to his outfit—a sweatshirt and a pair of black joggers. "Aren't you cold?"

He's freezing. "No, not really."

Marcelle turned around and huffed, marching away into the kitchen like a toddler. "I hate you, Julian Draxler. I'm breaking up with—"

"I'm kidding, Schatz," he interrupted her with a hug from behind.

Even though Marcelle might be done with Julian's shit at times (all the time), he never seems to get enough of her. He thinks that she's, honestly, amazing.

Regardless of the way she acted towards him was not any different than before, he still thought she was totally worth the effort. "You eat breakfast yet?" he asked, standing by her side as she scanned the refrigerator before shutting it closed.

"No," she responded. "When I woke up, I was going to text you if you wanted to get McDonalds."

"McDonalds?"

"Yeah, but then—"

"Hold on—" he interrupted her once again. "You're a professional footballer, and you wanted to get McDonalds for breakfast?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point. I was going to text you if you wanted to get some, but now it looks like it's too late."

But McDonalds? What kind of athlete prefers McDonalds? "But why McDonalds? If I were you, I'd probably eat at, like, a local café."

"Okay, we can there, if you want. As long as it's food, I'll eat it."

Amazing, he thought, nodding his head. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Shut up," she chuckled, pushing him away. "Now, is there a reason why you showed up at my door this morning?"

"Did you not want me to come?" he said, acting as if he were offended, putting a hand on his chest.