Soccer/Football Imagines

Mesut Özil and Marco Reus (Part 3) [~] Choices

Marco Reus and Mesut Özil (Part 3)

A.N. By popular demand, I am publishing the next part of the Mesut Özil vs. Marco Reus imagine series. The fight for Mariyam's heart is tied currently, so state who you want her to end up with in the comments. (One person gets one vote). On with the imagine!

Mariyam hadn't moved from her bed for the rest of the day. After about an hour without any response from her, Marco showed himself out of her house. Mariyam decided that the best way to avoid the topic while she was debating the idea in her head was to go about business as usual. She showed up to work like usual, acting as if nothing was wrong.

But, she could only keep the charade up around others. When she was home in her house, all by herself, her thoughts drifted to the two Germans who had been fighting for her heart. She tried flipping a coin, but it didn't serve her problem at all. She was conflicted. She tried all kinds of decision makers but nothing was making her decision any easier. Following the advice her mother had given her long ago, Mariyam decided to weigh the pros and cons of each guy.

She decided to start with basics. They were both absolutely gorgeous, so the shallow route was blocked. They were both successful in their fields, they were both outstanding goal scorers, and they were both amazing with a ball at their feet. Mariyam decided it was best to remove football from the equation and to just focus solely on personality, since none of the easier exits were available. She would have to go the hard route.

First there was Marco. He was cute at one moment and totally kick ass the next. He had little ticks which Mariyam smiled at, because she knew just how to set him off. She had never seen the bad part of Marco, the angry side of him. He was reckless at times and could be really touchy feely around her, depending on how many drinks he had had. But, he was also so sweet to her that her legs would turn to jelly the way he would talk to her about how beautiful she was and the like. Marco could talk to anyone, and was comfortable in most situations, never seeming to break a sweat in front of her. She had only known Marco to be the adorable, fun-loving guy who was ready at a moment's notice to go do something crazy and fun. He didn't care about the serious stuff with her; they didn't really have any serious talks, just talks about their lives which usually resulted in both of them cracking up until they were rolling around laughing so hard that tears came to their eyes. Whenever Mariyam would want to have a good time, or to laugh off something bad that had happened at work, she would always call up Marco. He had an immediate effect on her, always bringing a smile to her face.

But, there was also Mesut. He was reserved and didn't like to talk much around those not close to him. He had an amazing smile, which Mariyam wished she saw more. He was stubborn, overly so sometimes, and determined to achieve his goals. Although he was a man of a few words, the way he gazed at Mariyam always sent shivers down her back. Mariyam had seen the angry side of him, the scary side of him. He had been so angry about what people were saying about him in the press, about the lies they were printing about him, that he exploded in a fit of rage. Mariyam had shown up to his house as a surprise and had been stunned by Mesut's rage he had held up within him. But, when Mesut saw her, his rage had died down and the vulnerable Mesut had shone through. The one who was afraid of being laughed at and ridiculed like he had been since he was born, either for his eyes or for his Turkish decent. He was good at hiding things, just not from Mariyam. She was able to break the barriers he had built around himself faster than anyone else ever had. Mesut had seen her vulnerable side too. Mariyam had gotten depressed for a short spell of time after a few of her relatives dies seemingly all at once. Mesut had been there comforting her, only focusing on soothing words of comfort, and just letting Mariyam cry on his shoulder as he held her tightly in his arms.

Having made the list, Mariyam hung it on her refrigerator and stared at it every day. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and plucked it off the fridge and crumpled it in a ball, throwing it under her bed in a fit of anger. Mesut hadn't attempted to contact her, like he had promised. He wanted to stay away from her so that she and Marco could have the perfect relationship. Marco, on the other hand, had reached out to Mariyam repeatedly. Deciding that she would honor Mesut's wishes, she decided to sit down and have a conversation with Marco.

They agreed to meet up in Dortmund, seeing as Mariyam had a business trip to the town next door. Deciding it would be best to have the conversation in private, Marco had picked Mariyam up from the airport and they would have their formal discussion at Marco's home. The ride was filled with small, meaningless talk. How was work? Did you score any goals recently? How's your parents? And the like.

They left her luggage in Marco's car after he parked the car, since he would be driving her to her hotel room after they had finished their discussion. Mariyam kicked off her boots, walking through the familiar halls of the Dortmund home, stopping in the living room. Marco invited her to sit across from him. They sat for a minute, just twiddling their thumbs and staring at the ground. This was new, for the both of them. You would've thought someone had died with the deathly silence that passed in between the two of them. Deciding to break the silence, Marco sighed. "How's Mesut?"

"I wouldn't know. He hasn't contacted me, said he wanted to let our relationship flourish without him tampering with it," Mariyam replied. Marco nodded.

"Look, Mariyam, I know that we're hardly what you'd call your typical best friends. I have feelings for you, past the friendship stage feelings, and I'd like to think that you share similar feelings for me," Marco stated.

"I do, I do feel something for you, Marco. It's just . . . I'm so conflicted," Mariyam explained, rubbing her face tiredly.

"And what about Mesut? How do you feel about him?"

"I have feelings for him too, Marco, if I'm being completely honest. I'd be lying to you if I said that I didn't. But, I haven't spoken to him in months. Maybe the distance will stop the feelings from returning," Mariyam shrugged, not sure how she felt about her feelings for Mesut likely fading. Marco nodded from the couch across from her, grabbing one of her hands.

"Mariyam . . . I have feelings for you. And no other guy out there is going to deter me from my feelings. I can't help how I feel about you, just like how you can't help feeling the way you do about Mesut. It does hurt to see you have feelings for another guy, but I love you too much to let you go without a fight."

"Marco, there is no more fight. Mesut surrendered and I'm going to honor his wishes," Mariyam sighed, squeezing Marco's hand reassuringly.

"I don't want to force you into anything that you don't want, Mariyam," Marco responded, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Mariyam's hand, causing her to shiver involuntarily.

"Trust me, Marco. I want this," Mariyam assured Marco. A smile broke across Marco's face as he stood up and walked around the coffee table. Pulling Mariyam into a tight hug, Mariyam buried her face into his shoulder, trying to shake off the doubts she still had. She would grow out of her infatuation with Mesut, she had to, for herself, for Marco, and for Mesut.

Meanwhile, staring out at the dreary streets of England, Mesut sighed to himself. He had let the girl he loved go, for his friend and teammate. It was best for all of them. "I would have just dragged her down with me," Mesut thought bitterly. "She doesn't need the load I already carry on my shoulders, I don't want her to have to shoulder it too," Mesut told himself as he stared down distastefully at his tea. The lemony scent reminding him of the shampoo Mariyam used, the one he had bought for her when he was in Singapore last year. A lone tear trailed down his tanned cheek, landing in the tea, as Mesut watched the rain continue to pelt the soaked English streets.

A.N. Those that are picking Mesut's side, don't lose faith yet. There's no clear winner yet, it's tied. I'm on vacation next week and I'll probably dreaming up the rest of the imagine. Don't know how long this thing is going to go on for, but I hope you guys will read it through completely. Comment who you want to win if you haven't already and I'll hopefully get the plot figured out.