Peace - Erling Haaland Fanfiction

Chapter 20

I was relieved not to have to work on match day. The City vs. Liverpool game was a big deal, with both teams being strong contenders. As it was still early in the season, City needed to start off strong. I sat in front of the TV with Olly in my lap, while Mum and Tilly sat on either side of me. We were all excited for the match. When the team lined up and the camera panned to Erling, an involuntary smile appeared on my lips. It seemed like he was looking at me when he winked at the camera. Mum and Tilly didn't miss this and teased me about it. Olly barked excitedly as the match kicked off, and we all sat in anticipation.

The first opportunity arose when Foden passed the ball to De Bruyne, who then passed it to Erling, but his shot went wide. The commentators didn't hold back, criticising him for missing what seemed like an easy goal. The second opportunity came when Gvardiol brought the ball forward, but his progress was halted by an interception. Erling had to step in to regain possession, but once again, his shot was blocked by a defender. Several similar opportunities came and went without Erling managing to score, leaving us feeling a bit disappointed.

"He's creating opportunities, but he just can't seem to put the ball into the net today," Tilly sighed, her eyebrows furrowing in distress.

What felt even worse was the commentary criticising him. I was certain there was more to it, as he didn't typically miss chances like these. As halftime approached and the score remained 0-0, we sat back in our seats, unable to say a word, just exchanging looks of concern.

"He must be under a lot of pressure. Liverpool is a big team, after all," Mum said reassuringly. "Let's wait and see. There's still plenty of time left."

The second half began, but unfortunately, there was no improvement. Both City and Liverpool missed more chances. In the end, the match ended in a draw between the two teams. However, Erling's reaction was upsetting to see. He appeared visibly worn and frustrated.

"Check up on him later," Mum suggested, noticing the concerned look on my face. I hadn't realised it, but I found myself clasping my hands, perhaps out of a desire to console him. While I had seen City lose before, I had never seen Erling look so defeated.

The match was followed by a discussion between the football pundits who gave their opinions on the game, and they seemed to drag Erling through the mud, calling him things like a 'League 2 player' and making jokes about his missed opportunities. The unfair criticism enraged me, so I turned off the TV and retreated to my room. All I could think about was him and how he must be feeling. The harsh criticism was relentless, and I didn't know if he would get to hear all of it, but I knew it would deeply affect him.

A few hours had passed, and I tried to shake off my thoughts and focus on other things, but I couldn't. So, I hurried to Erling's place. When he opened the door, I was taken aback. His eyes were barely open, his hair was disheveled and falling over his shoulders, his face was sweaty, and he was panting heavily. His fair skin was flushed red, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body even from a distance. His condition shocked me, and I gasped almost immediately before rushing to grab him, fearing he might collapse.

"Erl, you're burning," I exclaimed, concerned, as I supported him to the living room and helped him onto the couch. There, I noticed the iPad, with an article open that had been published recently, heavily criticising him. It was titled 'Erling Haaland is a League 2 player.'

"Don't read rubbish like this," I said firmly, switching off the iPad.

"Maybe they're right," he said weakly, his voice raspy. "I might be a terrible player. You saw the match."

"It has nothing to do with your skills. It just wasn't your day today. And look at your state, you probably weren't feeling a hundred percent before the match," I reassured him, holding onto his warm hand and stroking it gently.

He sat up straight, meeting my gaze directly, his eyes filled with sadness. "Day in and day out, these idiots keep calling me names. They keep comparing me, humiliating me, downright hating on me," he said, pointing at the iPad, indicating the football pundits. "I've become the best version of myself, yet they don't see it. I have more than 60 appearances with this club, and more than 60 goals. What more do they want?" His anger was palpable, but then his expression softened, morphing into one of sadness. "What more can I do?" he asked, his voice filled with despair.

My heart ached for him. I knew the burden he carried was heavy, but I hadn't fully grasped its weight until now. I had overlooked how the pundits consistently criticised City and its players, likely fueled by jealousy of their success. They had done it in the past too, and they never seemed to stop. With a long sigh, I hugged him tightly, my body acting on its own accord, seeking to console him, be with him, and provide him with comfort.

I felt his arms wrapping around my body, and he gently pulled me onto the couch beside him, whispering, "Stay with me, Aria, just for tonight."

I couldn't argue with him, not when he was this weak. I turned to face him, noticing his eyes were shut tight as he breathed heavily. Beads of sweat dotted his face, and he clenched his teeth, yet he held me tightly, pulling me closer. I pressed my forehead against his, feeling the heat radiate from him, but also sensing he was starting to feel better. As I caressed his cheek, I saw him slowly drifting into sleep, which brought me a sense of relief.