Fics like Come Back With Your Shield, or On It

“You’re welcome.” Erling’s smile shifts to the side of his mouth. “You memorized the call log?” It’s the baller in him, the same man that can make a country’s hope crawl from a 60-year-old grave, that clips the ball over a smothering backline, making a chance out of an empty field, long trampled grass. “So did you,” Jude says, lowering his head to look at him after he does. Erling looks like the sort of guy who’d stop running after putting up a 3-0 lead, like he’d smile and start again if the score lifted to 3-1. “Maybe,” he says, not looking upset about being caught at all. Something’s wrong with the English national team: Kane’s sick, Declan’s sick, fucking Tuchel's sick, and before anyone can get them sorted they’ve been knocked out the bracket and sent packing for Europe. It’s only after pre-season training begins that Jude learns not only is he the lucky one the problem followed home, but also that the lads are right as rain now that they’re a country away from him—and worst of all, that all the way over in Manchester, Enzo Maresca’s at his wit’s end and pointing the finger at the one person Jude’s Flo has to remind him monthly to block.

Fics like Come Back With Your Shield, or On It

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