Under Your Skin | Jude Bellingham

010

As planned, the next day I went to Jude's house for dinner. I surprisingly had no complaints when it came to Jude's cooking — it tasted delicious and was perfectly cooked. Jude grinned with satisfaction when I complimented his food, slightly surprised but glad to have proven that I was wrong to doubt him. Now we were seated in the living room of his house; Jude playing Fifa and me using this opportunity to update my socials. I did my best to pay no attention to the comments from people speculating that Jude and I were dating, the very thought making me want to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded. It'd taken this long for me and Jude to learn how to tolerate one another, so there was just no way we'd ever get together.

It was odd how relaxed I felt in Jude's company, curled up on the sofa and just content to exist side by side with him without the urgency to utter a word. Usually I'd sit so rigidly around him, doing my best to pretend he didn't exist. I smiled, secretly admitting to myself that he did make good company and I'd enjoyed the time I'd spent with him tonight.

"How is that not a foul?" Jude exclaimed. I glanced upwards from my phone, laughing to myself when I saw the genuine outrage on his face. He shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening, treating the game as seriously as any real match. "That's so poor from the ref, that is!"

"It's just a game, Bellingham," I giggled.

"Excuse you, I'm playing in the Champions League Final."

"As Dortmund?"

"Mhm."

"Top ten things that will never happen. Number one: Dortmund reaching a Champions League Final."

Jude glared at me, and I laughed again.

"I'll have you know that we won it back in 1997," he quipped before passing the ball to himself in the game and completely missing the net with his shot.

"That was like twenty-six years ago," I reminded him. "And you weren't even born then."

"Yes I am well aware," he grumbled, huffing with annoyance when the corner he fired into the box was headed away. "Fuck's sake, man!"

"You are awful at this game. I could beat you easily."

"Sure you could," Jude said sarcastically.

"I could. Jobe and I play it together and I win like 99% of the time."

"Well, I'm better than Jobe." His comment was awfully timed as the opposing team scored a goal. "Oh my days."

"Mhm, you were saying?" I said.

Jude responded by launching one of the cushions at my head. I dodged it and laughed.

"I'll prove you wrong," he said, "as soon as this game is finished."

"I look forward to beating you, Bellingham," I retorted. He acknowledged my comment but chose to ignore it, focusing his attention back on the screen. He ended up going 2-0 down but somehow managed to make a comeback and win 3-2. Jude turned to me, smiling triumphantly. I rolled my eyes. There seemed to be an increasing pattern as of late — Jude was always proving me wrong and I hated it.

Jude passed me the other controller and moments later we were both yelling at the screen, head-to-head in an intense game of Fifa. Jude huffed with annoyance whenever I managed to intercept his pass or score a goal, growing increasingly annoyed when I took the lead with the minutes on the clock rapidly ticking down. It was a very close game, but I ended up beating him 4-3.

"Whatever," Jude muttered, placing his controller down with some force. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He frowned down at the screen as he read through the notification before letting out a heavy sigh. I noticed the sudden change in his mood, the playful twinkle gone from his eyes and a worried crease now residing on his forehead.