Soccer/Football Imagines

Thomas Müller [~] High School

You sighed walking into your new school. Your father had moved you and your family across the country for his job. You weren't really happy about it because you had to leave your friends and everyone you had ever known behind. And you were worried about kids in this new school; were they mean or nice? Friendly or hostile? You sighed again, walking through the front door of the school, flanked by your father. You walked silently into the main office, looking around at the cluttered mass of papers all around you.

"Can I help you?" said one of the ladies behind the desk.

"My name's (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the new student. I'm here to get my schedule-" The lady cut you off by tossing a pile of papers into your arms. You barely caught them in your arms, a paper or two falling out of the packet. You flipped through them, finally finding your class schedule. You bid goodbye to your father, who had to go to work and left the office, seeing as the lady behind the desk was of no help whatsoever. You kept your head down as you walked through the hallways, looking at the room numbers of the classrooms you passed.

You stopped and walked into your math class. The math teacher seemed to be in the middle of a long and boring speech about something mathematical when he stopped mid-sentence, realizing your presence. "New student?" he asked. You nodded, fearing that if you spoke your voice would have cracked. "I'm Mr. Hathaway, your math teacher. Here's the textbook, flip to page 125, and sit in the desk next to Thomas. Thomas, raise your hand."

A boy your age raised his hand. He was sitting farther back, forcing you to walk all the way to the back of the classroom, everyone's eyes following you. As you sat in your desk, Mr. Hathaway once again began his speech. Within five seconds, your eyelids immediately began to droop. He was so boring. "I'm Thomas, Thomas Müller, and you are?" You turned to see Thomas turned to look at you in his seat.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I'm from Hanover," you replied. Thomas smiled at you and leaned towards you.

"Hathaway over here has been boring kids to death for four decades. The tests are easy, don't worry about taking notes," Thomas suggested. You nodded and thanked him for the tip. The rest of the class dragged on until the bell dismissed you. You bid Thomas goodbye, seeing as the two of you had talked to each other for a good portion of the class. Not like Mr. Hathaway took notice or even cared that no one was paying attention to him. You found your way to your next class, history. Walking into the classroom silently, you were surprised to see Thomas already in the classroom, unaware you two were in multiple classes together. The teacher, a woman who looked fresh out of college, handed you a textbook that looked older than you were and waved you off to find a seat. You took the only available seat, the one right in front of Thomas.

You quickly started on the notes the teacher wrote on the board, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on the back of your head. After the bell rang to signal the end of class, you gathered your things. A tap on the shoulder startled you. You turned around to see Thomas standing with a goofy grin on his face. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"That's okay."

"I was wondering what your next class was, seeing as we currently have two consecutive classes together."

"Uh . . . gym," you replied, checking your schedule. Thomas smiled and told you that he did too. After placing your books in your locker, which was ironically next to Thomas', he led you to the girls locker room before walking into the boys. You walked into the locker room to see a bunch of girls your age all clustered around the mirror, talking in high pitched voices, reminding you of your old school. You quickly changed and walked out into the gym, seeing the teacher standing off to the side of a couple other students. You walked over and introduced yourself. The gym teacher, Mr. P, as he told you to call him, motioned for you to stand in the line that was forming.

You walked towards the end, where Thomas was standing. As the teacher went around taking attendance, you started to notice the height difference between you and Thomas. He was tall, with you being much shorter than him. You silently cursed your parents for their short stature that you had inherited from them. "Alright, pair up, I want you to find a partner and practice dribbling against them."

You stood looking like a lost puppy until Thomas asked if you wanted to be his partner. You agreed and followed him to a corner of the gym, after grabbing a football from Mr. P. After about five seconds of seeing Thomas with the football, you knew that there was absolutely no shot you would beat him at dribbling. "You're really good," you commented.

"Thanks, I'm going to be a professional footballer, after I graduate," he replied, juggling the ball with great skill.

"Maybe I'll come see one of your games then, when you're famous and all."

"I'll be sure to send you a ticket," Thomas stated, smiling as he passed the ball to you. It was the start of your and Thomas's long relationship. Nearly six months later, Thomas asked you out. You of course said yes. The two of you had been inseparable ever since. When he was first signed to a professional football club, you were so happy for him. When you finally got your dream job, he was so happy for you. You each supported each other as much as possible.

On your five year anniversary, he proposed. You were married shortly afterwards. As your husband moved up the ranks in the football world, you were right there to cheer him on. There was no way better to describe your relationship than "happily-ever-after".