stuck on you || draxler

seize

"I knew you were going to come over today because you always do, but why in the morning? You know I always sleep in, especially with the fact that I don't have training today."

Okay, maybe she did make a good point. Julian knew very well that she sleeps awfully a lot, even on days she had training, she will sleep for as long as she could.

Julian stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a piece of paper. "Do you have any plans today?"

"Well," she spoke, "at three, I'm going with Laure to—"

"I cancelled all of your plans." He showed the piece of paper. A ticket. PSG - Monaco. "You, my love, are going to my match today."

"And who said that I wanted to go to your match today?" she crossed her arms.

"You."

She did ask him about it two days ago. "Fine," she admitted, leaning into his body as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, Julian." She separated from him. "Tu sens comme un garçon."

"Mais j'ai pris un...how do you say 'shower' in French?"

Oh my God. "How are getting around France with the knowledge you have? You sure don't need  lessons still?"

"You're so mean to me." He followed her into the living room, sitting on the couch next to her, resting his legs on the cushions. She laid her laid against his chest, turning on the TV to some French news broadcast that talk way too fast for Julian to understand what they were saying. "But you are coming to the match, right?"

"Of course I am," she told him. "I'm not going to bail out like last time."

He gave her an uneasy look.

"What? The only reason why I didn't go last time was because I had something more important than you."

"Wow, thanks for the honesty," he said, almost sarcastically, and Marcelle was unsure whether he was serious or not. "But I really want you to go, so I can have some sort of support out there." Ever since his career took him out of Germany, Julian hardly ever got to see his parents anymore.

Fortunately, he had Marcelle, who seemed to be serious about going to his match tonight. "What am I supposed to wear tonight? Am I supposed to look nice or...?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You're part of PSG now—wear something PSG related."

"So I can wear my Marquinhos jersey?"

"What—no! Wear my jersey instead." He pointed to a very poorly folded piece of clothing sitting on the dining table. "Look, I even got you one. It's also long-sleeved just in case you get cold."

Marcelle smiled and caressed his cheek with her thumb. "Aren't you a little prepared for this?" she scrunched her nose.

"Sorry," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I just really want you to have a good time. I don't want you to be bored or unhappy just to support me," he said. "Also, you might be sitting up top with all the other wives and girlfriends of the players, but if you want a different seat I can totally —"

"It's fine, Jule." Wives and girlfriends? Wow, this just got very real very fast. "Are they nice?" she asked. "The, uh, wives and girlfriends, I mean."

"I don't know—I'm sure they are. Why?"

She gave him a terrified smile, and he could see right through it.

"You're going to be fine, Schatz." Julian rubbed her arm comfortingly. "It's nothing you can't handle."

"Yeah, but—wives and girlfriends? WAGs? I feel like I don't belong there."