Fandom: German National team
Pairing: Klinsmann/Loew, various
Disclaimer: I still don't know people mentioned in this story and I still hope it isn't true. The plot is still only my fantasy
Author's notes, previous chapters and music here
Timeline for the series is here
Rain. Rain is falling, keeps falling and falling, spilling raindrops like colored gems across the window-glass. Rain is falling, streams of water coming down the rooftops, little whirlpools of water gathering on the pavement. It keeps falling, and everything now smells of autumn rain, and under the dark evening sky in the light of the streetlamps everything is glittering, drops of water on every surface are glittering, sparkling, shining. Like diamonds, like ambers and amethysts scattered around.
Rain is falling, and golden leaves are falling too, torn off the trees by the wind. Carpets of leaves gather on the ground, and they are covered in raindrops too, and they too are glittering in the neon lights that flash above the shop-windows.
He is standing at the balcony door, his cheek against the cold glass, and watches the rain fall. He is standing there for quite some time, almost unmoving, almost silent, and the room behind him is almost dark, save for the lamps in the corridor with their warm orange light that is not strong enough to break the spell of the glorious sight in front of the window – rainy evening in the big city.
“What’s going on with you?”
If he’s heard the question, he doesn’t show it. His eyes seem to be fixed on the evening city under the rain, and his mind too… maybe.
“What is wrong with you?” In the same careful, almost tender tone. Not expecting a reply, not expecting to be noticed.
But reply does come – in the form of one word. “Nothing”, he says, and then laughs, and falls silent again. His hair, golden under the sun, now, in the near-darkness, seems to be the color of straw, or maybe the color of leaves under the rain. The lights from outside outline his silhouette, and the shadows hide his face. And he looks young again, and vulnerable somehow, and yet – so unreachable, like he was back then, twenty years ago, and like he still is now.
Not daring to touch, not daring to move closer, not daring to move at all, just sitting on the low couch and watching him watch the rain. And it feels good, ridiculously good, foolishly good. And the rain keeps falling, and the leaves keep dancing in the wind and fall on the pavements, on the cars parked under the windows, on the windowpanes…
“Don’t speak, Lothar”, barely audible whisper turns into little cloud of mist on the glass, almost invisible in the darkness anyway. Don’t speak, just smile and don’t say a word, any word. The rain keeps falling, soft steady rhythm against the glass, and the lights are bright, and everything is like in a movie, and everything seems strangely right.
Just an ordinary rainy evening in the big city.