1. Kick (Thomas Muller)

in which Thomas pronounces Libby's name

Thomas's eyes widened as he scanned the girl that held his suit jacket from the previous night up in his face.

He couldn't form words. Literally.

"Are you going to take it?" The girl waved the jacket around. Libby was annoyed and dissapointed by Thomas Muller. She was also a bit let down because he didn't know who she was.

But that wasn't important at the time. After playing as forward, which was surprisingly still on her mind, everyone would know her as the screw up of America. Even Thomas Muller.

Thomas immediately grabbed the jacket and nodded politely, digging out the wallet, sighing with relief.

"Thanks." He stated, not knowing exactly what to do. The only girl he had actually emotionally talked to was Lisa.

"Um, thank you, Thomas, is it?" Libby played it off as if she wasn't familiar with him.

"Yes, Müller, from Germany, and you?" Thomas asked, kind of  shocked that she didn't know him. He shrugged it off, not wanting to seem too stuck up.

"Stimme, Libby Stimme, from America." Libby unintentionally mimicked Thomas's introduction.

Thomas smiled, "Liebe...?" He said in a hushed tone. His accent was so thick, he could not form her name properly.

"No, Lib-bee," Libby said sternly. Thomas stifled a laugh and tried once more.

"Lee-buh" he burst into an unneccesary laughter. Libby looked around, a little bit amused by Thomas, but not showing it on her serious face. She was still a bit cross from the masquerade ball.

"Okay then. Leebuh or whatever. I should go now." Libby began to walk away from the laughing Thomas, not caring about her name's pronunciation. She was probably never going to see him again, so what was the point?

"Liebe! I should apologize first!" Thomas shouted down the hall. Libby cringed and turned around, to find Thomas racing towards her, a crooked grin that was slapped on his face.

"No need, it's all good really." Libby said really quickly, briskly walking towards the elevator to escape this. She ddn't want anything else to do with Thomas Müller and his inconsiderate self.

She managed to climb into the elevator and quickly close the door, a playful look on her face, which escaped to Thomas as mischeivious.

This caused Thomas to smile as he, defeatedly, walked back to his room, jacket in hand.

Libby Stimme, he thought to himself, his grin still plastered on his face. What a character.

"Who was that?" Bastian asked immediately as he entered the room, throwing the jacket on his bed.

Thomas shrugged, "I don't know, but I really want to find out."

Bastian smiled widely, feeling proud of Thomas for possibly moving on, even if he knew nothing major would happen. Bastian was sick and tired of seeing Thomas broken and they needed him to be healthy for the world cup...and he needed his friend back.

Later that night, Thomas was comfortably in his bed. His phone luminated his face as he scrolled through every seeping detail of Libby Stimme. Thomas watched her interviews and games, having nothing better to do. 

She was something amazing all right.

______________________________

Libby woke up bright and early, as usual. Her heart felt lighter as she got ready for the day, knowing that she would be back at home in three days. 

She completely disreagarded her meeting with Thomas, and continued her day with ease, noticing that Hope was back, but still fast asleep.

Libby quickly realized she had nothing more to do after a few interviews, so she decided to head out to the field once more, this time no fancy ball on her mind. The only ball she was thinking about was her soccer ball.