stuck on you || draxler

vingt

"Julian!"

"I told you not to get mad!" he defended himself. "Everything was going on at the time, and plus, you were doing Champions League, I was at international duty, so it wasn't like I had the time to explain to you!"

In opposition, Marcelle was all panicking, nervous, and angry as hell. How the hell was she supposed to act normal after just being told she was going to meet her boyfriend's parents about half an hour from their home? "What do you mean no time? You had yesterday, the day before. and the day before."

"...Okay, yeah, but there really isn't anything to worry about!" he tried to reassure her. Oh geez, now he felt like he made a mistake, even though it was merely tiny. "They're going to love you the same way I love you."

"How can you be so sure?" Marcelle quickly retorted. "I'm truly a mess inside and out. I don't know a single word of German, they—like other people in the world—could think that I used you to get fame, or they could just not like me!" And with that, she ended the conversation by burying her face into her hands.

Of course she wanted to accepted and liked by her significant other's parents—didn't everyone?

She had seen way too many bad romantic movies where the boyfriend's parents didn't like his girlfriend which led to a sort of bittersweet-type of relationship between them. The idea of something like that just scared Marcelle to the bones. She had her boyfriend, and she was destined to keep him until time prevents her from doing so.

Thinking of every flaw within herself was unavoidable as it was the only thing that kept her busy in the silent rest of the car ride to Gladbeck.

She's mean. Sometimes she acts like she's still sixteen, and when she's really into it, she'll completely burst.

She's also thinks she's kind of mediocre looking, appearance wise. Her face stays blemish free but looks a bit dead, and she never puts on makeup. Never has the "time" for it. Not to mention her hair is riddled with split ends, and she keeps picking at them no matter what, so there's always hair on the floor of her flat.

The more she thinks about these things, the more nervous she gets about meeting Julian's parents. She knew nothing about them, he rarely ever talked about them, but she had the impression that they amazing considering that they raised the man she loved.

Her head's resting on the window, staring down at the road when she saw that they had turned into a neighborhood.

"You're going to be fine, schatz," Julian tried to reassure her one more time before they got to his parents' place. "Don't overthink it."

"Yeah," she breathed, almost scoffing. "And I just realized that I'm wearing fucking striped pants to meet your parents in."

Julian stopped briefly to glance at her pants and boy—they were striped alright. Navy blue with white striped going down vertically to match with her grey sweatshirt. A true fashion icon.

"Um..." He struggled to find words to describe his feelings about the pants. "I'm sorry, but those are the ugliest pants I have ever seen."

The Frenchwoman gasped and crossed her arms, further sinking into the passenger seat. "These are forty euro pants, Julian!"

"Some ugly ass expensive pants, then. I should take a photo of it and post it on Instagram."

She only shook her head and rolled her eyes, watching as Julian drove up to a light yellow house with a white door, a path of gravel leading up to the front porch. It looked nothing more than a cute, simple house. Nothing to be scared of.