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Chapter Text

Mortivacation

a Bundeslihaha: Loose Canon story

Chapter 1: This is a No-Pollyanna Zone

Freiburg im Breisgau, Summer 2018

If you asked Sport-Club Freiburg if he had a connection to the city-state of Hamburg, he would say: “yes! FC St Pauli is a good friend of mine.”

They were not so close that he would hate St Pauli's city-archrival, but it's not like Freiburg had any love lost for the other man, either. Last he checked, the Dinosaur had only what could be described as a professional working relationship with him. So why was he helping HSV's drunk ass to his house again?

Your conscience, Freiburg.

Of course, of course. He didn't have the heart to leave him. St Pauli had called Freiburg in panic. Said that HSV was yelling blue streaks and rambling about clocks on the phone before saying he had a 6 am ticket to go to Freiburg im Breisgau. What else could he do except pick the inebriated club up at the train station at noon?

Hamburg wasn't heavy, thankfully—he was almost as light as Sechzig—but he was much taller than Freiburg himself and smelled like beer. But it wasn't so bad. He was at least still conscious.

“Hey,” Freiburg said as they arrived at where his bike was parked. “You still there?”

Hamburg looked… mortal. He didn't wear his ostentatious pearl necklace. He carried a messenger bag with no club pins or patches. His hair was a graying mess and he didn’t even bother covering his bald spot, which, Freiburg was surprised he even had. He wasn't wearing his jersey, either—that shirt is as plain as it goes, simply a light blue long-sleeved shirt. Except for his signature red trousers, nothing could mark him as the personification of the great Hamburger Sport-Verein.

Maybe that's the point.

“Who… are you?”

“You know me,” Freiburg said. In his civilian attire, he lacked the brown curls of his wig or the curves of his public persona—Hamburg wasn't close enough to him, or sober enough, to recognize him out of it. “I brought another helmet. Go sit in the back.”

“Of… of the bicycle?” Hamburg was blinking behind his glasses. Those were different too. Instead of his usual square blue frames with the pearl chain, they were black-chained, silver-framed aviators.

“Yes,” Freiburg replied, “Unless you're not well enough to sit upright? We can take the bus.”

“I… I'm fine.” Hamburg massaged the space between his eyebrows, fingers moving towards the bridge of his nose, under his glasses. “Where are we going?”

Freiburg offered the northern club a bottle of water from his bag. “Polly told me you wanted to visit me…”

“Polly?” Hamburg asked. He took the bottle, squinted at it, shook it… before shrugging and taking a swig.

“Pollyanna Weißbraun. Your neighbor.”

He choked on his drink. And crashed into a coughing fit. Freiburg waited until his throat and chest settled down before patting him on the shoulder. “Better?”

“Mmmh… right…” He took a few more sips of the water. Freiburg watched for any possible accidents, but thankfully, there was none. “I remember now. Freaking Pollyanna Weißbraun… Of course they'd tell you I went here.”

“We're friends,” Freiburg nodded. “Anyway, what should I call you? We can’t use the usual names.”

“Mmm… call me… Hilmar.”

Freiburg couldn't quite hear it over the zipping of his own bag. When he took out his second helmet from the bag and gave it to Hamburg, he asked, “...like the mascot?”

“That's Hermann,” he scoffed, chin haughtily rising as he put the helmet on. “My name is Hilmar. H-I-L-M-A-R. And… do you think it's so bad when- when you know a Pollyanna Weißbraun?”

You really had to get a dig at St Pauli again, huh? You're not making it easy for me.

“It's not the worst name. It's cute, actually.” Freiburg took the bottle, put it in his own bag, and zipped it back up. “Now, come on board, Hilmar, we're going to my house.”

“Your… house?”

He's even more annoying when out of his faculties, isn't he.

“Yep, my house. I don't know what you call it up north, but it's the place I live in when I'm not stuck in that godforsaken mansion.”

Freiburg unlocked the safety chains of his bicycle, pulled it out of the parking space, and sat himself on the front saddle.

“Gods-for… forsaken is right,” Hamburg slurred, his voice shuddering. “It’s… puh… punish… punishment from the gods. For… something. They're punishing me…”

The bike shook a little with Hamburg's weight. He put his arm around Freiburg and leaned onto his back, clinging like a barnacle to the base of a ship, or whatever ocean metaphor he would say in the circumstances.

“Polytheism, huh?” Freiburg asked, steering themselves away from the train station, “I didn't know you worship many gods.”

His metamour, Köln, was a Catholic, ceremonially… not exactly theologically. Freiburg himself wasn't religious, and neither was Dortmund. And, okay, his Bienchen used to joke about worshipping Dionysus because it was his human name, but, heh, he could barely name the Greco-Roman pantheon! (That was Augsburg’s speciality.) Non-joking polytheism, though? His curiosity was piqued.

“I don't worship a lot… just- just the football ones. And the deities of death, ‘course, it's healthy to respect death…”

It made sense that Hamburg revered those who presided over death. He was a mortician, after all.

Freiburg switched to another, more comfortable gear of his bike. They were out of the station now. His home was always warm, especially in a June like this, but the waters of the Bächle brought some nice coolness into the air. HSV might’ve enjoyed looking at the traditional buildings of his city, maybe taking the S-Bahn. He might’ve tried to trip the older club so he could fall into the Bächle and tell him about the myth that he’d marry a Freiburger. But no, he had to be fucking drunk.

“Football gods?” Freiburg wondered aloud, “There's more than one football god? What does each of them do?”

“Ugh… mmm… believe so,” Hamburg answered. “There’s the holy ghost—Abstiegsgespenst—and its red lantern… have to appease it or we’ll face its light… there’s the god of fan culture… and the one who punishes me constantly… the many-faced god of clubs!”

“You feel punished,” Freiburg repeated. He took a left turn on his bicycle. “Do you think they have any reason to punish you?”

Hamburg grumbled something.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I need to puke.”

Dammit.

Freiburg spotted a trash can. He pulled up to the side of the road and hoisted the older club's body so he stood upright. “How much did you drink?”

“I don't know…” His voice had taken a weak lamenting tone as he crashed himself to the edge of the trash can. “I don't know!”

“I'm going to take off your glasses, alright?” Freiburg said.

Hamburg made a noise of agreement.

Standing on her toes, Freiburg carefully lifted the glasses off of his head. And then he threw up all the contents of his stomach. Which… didn’t seem to be a lot. It might just be liquid, actually. Did he seriously ingest alcohol on an empty stomach?

“Done? I'll get you some food and water.”

Head still bowed inside the bin—must smell awful, Freiburg thought, moving backwards to breathe fresher air—he started sobbing. He didn't get why Hamburg came over here, 600 km away, when he had two partners much closer to his home… came so far, not to gloat, not to watch an away match, but to bare his most vulnerable self to a practical stranger.

“We're taking the bus after this,” Freiburg announced as gently as he could, “Is that okay with you?”

The sobbing grows louder. Freiburg sighed and walked closer to him, stroking circles on his upper back. “Hey, I'm here. I'm not leaving you alone, Hilmar. I know how it feels.”

Hamburg lifted his head from the trash can and spun around. He immediately swayed, so Freiburg held him up by the arms.

He hiccuped. “You would know…”

Freiburg resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he took a deep breath. Imagined his feelings being released into the air, the waters, the trees, the trash can. He put Hamburg’s glasses back on. “I'm sorry that you have to experience it too.”

“I don't deserve it,” Hamburg moaned, his words cloying, heavy syllables sticking to Freiburg like tar, “M'fans don't deserve it either!”

“Your fans have been so loyal, despite it all, and I know they'll stay by your side,” Freiburg said, an arm around his side. He'd loved his fans for this security; Hamburg would appreciate his own too. “They want you to get back up next year. I know it. Mine did too.”

Hamburg looked at him. Not with the usual looking down on him, but… a strange thing in his gaze. What was it? Respect? Freiburg didn't know how much he cared for the respect of a club like him, but he gave him a reassuring smile. 

And that smile was the last thing SC Freiburg could give Hamburger SV before the latter blacked out.

Bonus: Mortivacation poster with human names

Chapter Text

Mortivacation

a Bundeslihaha: Loose Canon story

Chapter 2: Salvaging the Shipwreck

Tick.

Tock.

“It’s so loud,” a voice protested, covering her ears, “Can it stop?”

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

“It shouldn’t stop, though,” another voice, a deeper, older one, argues, “We’re too big, too established, we have the money, the fame-”

54 years.

“The last ones have been so awful, though, haven’t they?” another voice, younger and more frustrated, asks the others, “Isn’t that your fault? You separated the amateurs from the seniors. There’s no development pipeline.”

“How is that my fault!?” the second voice shouted. “I don’t have a say here!”

“You shafted me too,” the first voice sighs, “I still can’t be-reef everyone has to sac-reef-ice them-shellves for your insanity. How is that fair?”

“I know it’s not!” Glass shattered at the second voice. He trembled, blood trickling down his fists. His knuckles are spiked with the broken shards. “I haven’t had a say since 1983! I have- I have to go back! I can’t go back! I want you here too!”

The younger one began sobbing.

He smelled the fire. The smoke of the pyrotechnics lit up in frustration. His body shriveled and rotted away—they didn’t even bother burning him into ashes. The pyrotechnics’ remains entered an urn from his fan cemetery, blue, white, and black, surrounded by spray-painted flowers.

262 days.

The two others cornered him, dressed in what they all used to wear in the funeral home, before he became Hamburger SV the celebrity, back when he was-

15 hours.

-in the harbor, jumping off the pier and dying. His corpse was recovered by a group of sailors—they took off their hats in respect, but otherwise did nothing else. The young man took him.

“No need to worry, gentlemen. He’s in good hands.”

8 minutes.

The younger man strapped him in. The woman patted disinfectant fluid all over his skin—he remembered the smell of it so well. She then bent him so and so, to offset the effects of rigor mortis. He wondered if relegation would kill him, all those years ago. Now he knew that it did.

1 second.

The young man prepared the machines. The woman touched his carotid artery. The young man his jugular vein.

Two.

Incisions were made.

Three.

She connected his bloodstream to the machine. Something came out. It tore a scream out of his lungs.

Four.

It wasn’t blood.

Five.

It looked like blood, because the furious light of the Rote Laterne, carried by the Abstiegsgespenst, was shining down on him-

“What can I do for you, O Holy Ghost, what can I do to shield myself from Your crimson light?”

“It’s too late.”

Six.

The light burned. The light cleansed.

Seven.

Or maybe it was the embalming fluid that cleansed him. They used to be full of formaldehyde. Now they were changing it, right? Some regulation or other? He’d left the bodies. He’d jumped around too much. If he was mortal, would he be treated this way?

Tick.

“Mr Perlmann,” Kühne sneered, “Are you enjoying my contributions?”

Why was he allowed in the prep room again? Even families weren’t generally allowed.

Tock.

“No,” Hamburg groaned. His neck pricked with needles and thread—they were suturing his incisions closed. Good. His supervisor would be happy with their work. “What do you want from me?”

Tick.

“I just wanted to tell you… You’re the worst investment I’ve ever made. You were the third pearl of this city, and now? You’ve been stained.”

Tock.

“Good!” he yelled between the sting of soap and shampoo, “Fuck you!”

Kühne huffed. “Well, at least you’ll look good for the funeral.”

Hamburg found himself standing upright. Unmoving. He looked down to see himself dressed to the nines and constricted by… what was around him…? Oh… pillows… flowers… right, he was in a coffin. And… white roofs… green grass… blue, white, and black choreography depicting a graveyard, a skull, a drowning man. Of course his fans were watching his execution. Was it an execution?

The god of fan culture descended upon him. Their face was eternally morphing—sometimes like people he knew, other times with eyes on their neck, on their hair, nose glitching out, lips parting with no sound.

“Do you think you’ll be missed?” Their voice thundered in the Volksparkstadion. It was the voice of many—thousands of cadences, pitches, colors, all coalescing into something ethereal. “Do you think you’ll have Our providence, still?”

“Please, don’t leave me,” Hamburg pleaded, “Only You could save me from my demise.”

“There is no stopping Death.”

And then he was falling,

falling,

falling into the sand…

Buried by grain after grain, golden deaths choking his airways as he gasps and digs upwards and-

“Whale,” the woman laughs, “look who we have here?”

Two figures—his embalmers—came in with shovels and brushes.

“Oh, you know, ma’am,” the young man chuckled, “Some extinct species of dinosaur.”

They dug him out.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

They left him behind on a park bench.

Tock.

Tick.

His bones dried in the sun.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Birds whistled everywhere, mocking their ancestor.

The birds then whistled in his head. Strange noises they crowed, almost like a song played off-key, each voice sounding different from the other, overlapping with no rhyme or rhythm. He covered his ears again. Willing the flapping of their wings and the pecking of their sharp beaks away- stop it stop it stop it- he struggled and flapped his hand, but what good was his bones against full flesh and blood? He shifted to the right…

…and woke up on the floor.

Fuck, thought Hamburger SV, rubbing away the sands of sleep in his eyes. Thank the gods it was carpeted. 

And then he realized that his bed wasn’t nearly that narrow, so narrow he’d fallen from it just from one roll.

What was that nightmare? Where the hell am I?

In the distance was… something. He couldn’t make out what exactly it was without his glasses, but he saw a little white thing come in and out of a hole and making sounds… a cuckoo clock.

So that’s what woke me up… oh, shell.

His nightmare, whatever it was, was probably good to wake up from. But the terror it brought still gripped his heart. The claws of Fear itself, it seemed… He crawled back up to his place of resting, aching joints blinking like a warning sign, hurts, hurts, hurts… it was a couch. A couch with a red case and a black-and-white oval crest with a griffin on it.

“...SC Freiburg?”

The choir of birds continued its cacophonous concert. Oh, carp. I bought a train ticket here and got drunk for the entire six hours of the way… This noise is unbearable. She lives like this?

“Salli, Hamburg! Welcome back to the world of the living.”

That is Freiburg, alright, he thought, She sounds like she has a cold… 

The cuckoo clocks finally stopped. He also felt a suspicious amount of wind on his head… a lack of weight around his neck… Right, that too. He didn't bother to wear a hairpiece or a hat. He probably had backups in his bag, if he hadn’t lost it in his drunken haze. No necklace. No club stuff, either. A hand gave him his glasses, so he put them on. 

What he saw… was not a Freiburg he recognized. Instead of the feminine club with curly brown hair, red lipstick, and a jersey (or a fun dress), she looked like a teenage boy. No makeup, a mop of black hair, black T-shirt, gray shorts, and a five o'clock shadow. She put a tray on the center of the couch. It held two glasses of water and some cookies. Freiburg was trans? A crossdresser? Both? He didn't know. He decided to sit on one edge of the couch—Freiburg followed suit, sitting cross-legged on the other end.

“What time is it?”

“18:20.” Freiburg frowned, concern etched in the way she looked at him, the way her eyebrows knitted. “Your body seemed to need it. How long did you stay up last night?”

Try “last month”, kid.

Well, he needn’t reveal that to her just yet. “I’ve never seen you dressed like that…”

Freiburg’s frown deepened at his deflection, but she relented when he glared at her.

“I don't want to be recognized all the time,” Her voice was deeper than the one she used in public. “You seem to not want to be recognized either, huh?”

“Not here, at least,” Hamburg said, “It'd be… even more embarrassing than it already is.”

“‘Than it already is’?”

What do you mean you don't get it?! Are you playing dumb to humiliate me?

“I finished 17th,” Hamburg gritted out, massaging his temples with two fingers, lifting his glasses between rubs to shut his internal argument before it escalated, “No need to rub it in my face. I know I'm an embarrassment.”

“You’re not,” Freiburg said. She wasn't smiling—it was stated as if it was a simple (shrimple, even) fact of life. “I promise, you're not an embarrassment. Every club has ups and downs.”

Clubs like you, maybe. He clicked his tongue and looked at the distance. “Not me.”

Freiburg… gods, she was chuckling in response. Hamburg glared at her harder. How dare she? But… wasn't that why I came here in the first place?

“Whether you admit it or not, the waves are taking you to the Unterhaus,” Freiburg said, a lilt of teasing in the calmness, “Will you take the safety buoy, or will you let yourself drown?”

Hamburg's heart sank to the ocean floor as though Freiburg hung an anchor on each artery. “You really don't have to make it nautical-themed for me. How long did you practice that?”

“Clam down, it's no big seal,” Freiburg flashed him a grin. “But you like it, don't you? We'll drink to that.”

She raised the glass of water as if it was alcohol.

He looked at the other glass. Then at her. Lips pursed tightly.

He didn’t recall how long it had been since he’d drunk water. How many days, weeks, months had he persisted on autopilot and booze alone? The fans’ anger burned perpetually in his veins. His boys’ losses left him cold. He didn’t know which sensation that he shivered from. Wearing long sleeves didn’t help. The mismanagement crushed his bones and stabbed his joints. His hair, the thing he’d grown out for decades and forced to lose, was falling like there was no tomorrow—what was left on top of his head started going grey. He was isolated from the training team for the umpteenth decade-

“Don't keep me waiting,” Freiburg coaxed, voice lowering, “We need to toast for your immediate promotion.”

She didn’t know all his problems, though, did she?

Gods, was he pitiful.

Hamburg couldn't help but chuckle at that. He raised his glass in a lethargic sarcasm. “To a speedy voyage to the Oberhaus.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Don't act like Mini and Hanno now… “Oh, shush.”

Clink!

They clinked their drinkware together and took a few sips. Then, Freiburg took a cookie from the plate. It didn't have a particularly nice smell, didn't waft any heat. They must be store bought.

Why would she bake them from scratch, Hamburg? His mind flicked him in the nose. You're not her friend or partner.

“Here, have some,” Freiburg offered, “I also made some fried rice for later. Lots of leftovers at the end of the month, you know.”

“Yeah,” Hamburg agreed listlessly.

Unlike Freiburg, he had no leftovers at the end of the month. He didn’t even have food—not good ones, at least. Everything in his fridge had been rotting for a while. His stipend was enough to… to fix this. So was his salary. But he couldn’t. What was the point? He prayed and he came to the stands and he encouraged his boys, but…

…he himself was even more rotten than all the food combined.

So, these cookies… became appealing. Store-bought they might be, but his mouth watered, and his stomach made a begging sound. He curled inside himself. Heart crushed by the sea’s hydraulic force. He wouldn’t die of starvation. But he’d stopped eating in the hopes of…

“Do you want something easier on the stomach?” Freiburg asked. “I have some peanut butter, or I can slice some fruits, or…”

“No,” Hamburg forced the word out. “It’s fine.”

He took a cookie and ate it. It was… well, store bought. Crunchy, chocolate-y, sweet. Nothing less, nothing more. And yet it warmed him like the blessings of the gods that turned him away.

No crying on her lap, Zweitligist, keep your tears to yourself.

“Thanks, Freiburg. And thank you for carrying my drunk ass here. You could've just left me there. I won't die.”

And yet I still fish for pity. What is wrong with me?

“That would be unsymbadisch of me.” Freiburg grinned at her own joke. “And besides, St Pauli said you talked about clocks or something. I make them, I fix them… do you need anything repaired? Sorry in advance, though, I'm not giving you a discount just because you're a fellow personification.”

No matter how you cut it, whatever he said to his archenemy was a shipwreck in the making. And now he had to debase himself even more in front of this nobody. At least St Pauli had enough self-respect not to baby him like this. They would leave him behind to get blackout drunk to the end of the train's line.

Do you want pity or not, HSV?

“I was just… talking about the stadium clock,” he admitted, heat rising to his cheeks. He didn't look away, though. He didn't need it. He wasn’t pathetic. Well, he was. But not in that way.

Freiburg's eyes, half like blood and half like molten gold, hardened.

He froze.

He'd never seen her gaze so harsh.

“I can't fix that for you,” Freiburg replied, that harshness melting away once more. Her voice was soft, like the pillow that held his head while he was out and held his back now. “Where are they going to move it?”

“I thought we should put it in our museum,” Hamburg sighed. His hand had found itself on the cookies, crumbling the snack into tectonic plates. “Or maybe near the entrance of our fan cemetery. People could leave flowers and other offerings. A banner can be hung there for them to write well wishes or stick stuff on them for luck. They said my ideas were too bleak. But what else should we do with it? Make a countdown to a promotion date that's completely uncertain?”

“Optimism isn't always so bad,” Freiburg said, “But I like your ideas. To remember the glorious past… and to wish for a better future. It also gives fans a space to participate in mourning.”

“They don't see it that way,” Hamburg protested, crumbling another cookie inside his fist. “They think it's stupid, that relegation isn’t death… it is for me! And they think it'll disturb the dead fans. Okay, then, put it in the museum! Or the stadium!” He gasped for breath. “They don't listen to me at all, gods help me! I'm their club! I’m more HSV than any of them!”

“You are,” Freiburg said, patting him on the knee, “You deserve to have a voice, too.”

“Gods damn right I do!” Hamburg agreed, a fist slamming down the backrest of the sofa. “And I don't deserve to just be a mascot while they mismanage my club and get us relegated!”

“I don’t!” Slam. “Fucking!” Slam. “Deserve it!”

Somehow, Freiburg didn't flinch. She only took one of those broken cookies and ate it. And then another. Hamburg cooled down. Took a few pieces of his own.

‘Optimism’, she says. What is there to be optimistic about? We've defied the odds and stayed up for years by doing the bare minimum, but now? Something had to change! The boys, the management, himself, it can’t be like this!

“I'm no Pollyanna, Freiburg.” He hung his head. That silly punk with an equally silly human name. “I live in the real world. And it’s not a good world we live in, where Traditionsvereine go down like we’re nothing.”

He made a move to adjust his glasses. In truth, he… he wanted to cry. Tears were hanging from his eyes like his chain hangs from his glasses…

Ah, screw it. He took off his glasses and let his tears fall. I've already embarrassed myself 87 times over.

“Hamburg,” she called, the warmth of her hand spreading from his arm towards the rest of his cold, awful, lonely body. “Why did you come here?”

The tears continued like a tsunami. He was shaken like the earth, an epicentrum of a quake, his face buried in the rubble of his hands.

Why?

Why did this happen to me?

Why is she giving me so much compassion?

I want to.

I don't deserve it. 

I don't.

I'm just a waste of space who got relegated, I shouldn't have gone down, I should've told the coach to do something, told the players to play like they'd die tomorrow-

“I can't love you, Hamburg. I'm not your Hannover or Bielefeld… Should I give you a hug? Should I leave?”

His masts cracked from hydraulic force, his sails were torn and bloody—he was thrown overboard. There were no stars in the sky. He didn't know the way home! The currents of 2. Bundesliga pulled him apart, a vortex of the unknown, and he sank, and all he knew was-

“Dude, you look like a corpse,” Werder said, green eyes narrowing, “It’s not even an insult at this point. I’m actually worried. Are you, like, eating properly? Can I treat you to a Fischbrötchen or somefin?”

“That’s none of your business,” Hamburg snapped. His speech grated like sandpaper against his parched throat. “You’ll be properly eating your words when I win this derby-”

“I don't need your pity!”

He stood up and walked—but without his glasses, he couldn't see anything, and he crumpled like a dead man on the other side of the sofa.

“You don't need my pity, do you?” Freiburg's voice raised amidst the crashing waves in his ears. “Well, you'll have none. I think you deserve to get relegated! You and your fellow Traditionsvereine!”

Hamburg's heart sank deeper. Does she think I don't know that?!

“You, Nürnberg…”

The fans still don't deserve it.

“...Lautern, Braunschweig, Sechzig, Dresden…”

I don't deserve it.

“...Stuttgart and Hannover last season…”

But the way we play!

The way we tried to buy our way out of the trenches!

It's not the fans’ fault, not my fault-

Yes it was! I didn't do enough-

“The likes of you ‘sleeping giants’ look down on me…”

But why wouldn’t I? You have no history, not yet, too young, too late-

“...on Kiel, on Darmstadt, on Augsburg, on Bochum, on Mainz…”

Shut up! 

“But the real world doesn't care if you're a big club or not!”

Shut up!

“If you play like shit, your place in the table will be shit!”

Shut up, Freiburg!

No, you shut up, Hamburg.

Hamburg's eyes opened. His vision was blurry. He blinked the tears away, but it was a waterfall. And waterfalls do not bow to him.

“My team just finished 15th, asshole, do you think I enjoy this?!”

Freiburg's shouting trembled in the end… before fading into sobs.

The storm in Hamburg's head slowly made way for thinner clouds, the inky darkness fading into grey. She must not be used to this. Or was she? Christian Streich was a firebrand. He was famous for it. That passion must burn inside her, and she’d always put a damp towel over the flames, until he pissed her off so much that she lifted it up. Maybe that was what she needed. Which fit perfectly to his needs.

“I'm sorry, Hamburg… I'm sorry…”

He saw her blurry form sit down in front of him. Then, she handed him his glasses again, alongside some tissue paper. He wiped his eyes and his nose and put his spectacles back on.

Freiburg, too, was wiping her tears and snot. It was so undignified. A right mess. Neither of them should be doing this in front of their… colleague at best.

“I didn't mean to tear into you like that,” Freiburg mumbled, “I didn't want to.”

That's what I deserve, he thought, don't blame yourself.

“I kinda deserved it,” Hamburg verbalized, barely a whisper, “You only finished two above me. If your club is anything like mine, it must be a wreck at your management.”

He wanted to slap himself for that sentence. Of course her club is different. She hasn’t even sacked Streich yet!

“Just a bit of stress,” Freiburg breathe-laughed, “Mostly we're glad we didn't go down. No offense.”

‘No offense’, she says, so cute and coy, while her eyes lit up like fireworks.

“I'd be lying if I say I'm not offended,” Hamburg said, heart clenching, “But, if I wanted to not be offended, I would've visited my Mini and Hanno.”

“Oh, is that why you took a six-hour train ride here?” Freiburg asked with narrowed eyes. “So you get yelled at? By me, of all people?”

Hamburg raised his hands in surrender. “You're far enough away that my partners won't just come running. I don't deserve consolation.”

Freiburg’s lips contorted into something resembling a scowl. But it didn’t settle. “And you couldn't have gone to, oh, I dunno… Bremen or St Pauli to torture yourself?”

No. They’re too sympathetic.

“They already sent funeral bouquets and an urn to my house,” Hamburg shrugged, “And about 1910 memes celebrating my downfall. Hansa sent a noose but it smelled like his perfume. Kiel sent a cross… doesn’t work on me. I’m no believer of Jesus.”

“Wow,” Freiburg snorted, “Touching dedication. Dead-ication, even.”

“Don't discriminate on the elderly like this,” Hamburg laughed, “You and Stuttgart are the same, I bet.”

Freiburg looked away. “Not really. Stuggi's like you—too good for small clubs like me. He's still obsessed with Karlsruhe, even after all this time.”

A small club, a lesser derby… when I have to play against Kiel, I'll probably be thinking about Werder all the same.

“I think I understand.”

“I expect no less.”

Freiburg didn’t speak for a while. Only their breaths filled the silence between them, drowned by the over-loud ticking of her many clocks. She stared at her own legs. The plain grey shorts. Then at him, for a second, before moving between one cuckoo clock to another. Afterwards, at the distance, hands scrunched, lips parted slightly, as if asking the gods, what do I do?

But she wasn’t even religious, as far as he knew. What was she thinking, Hamburg wondered. Internally insulting his… rigid, traditional ways? Wondering what she should say to take out her woes as a small club punching above her weight on him?

To his surprise, she stood up and offered him a hand. “Anyway, want some fried rice?”

Hamburg took it.

Neither of them was smiling, but at least she didn't look like she'd drown him in the Dreisam.

He could eat something more substantial, he supposed. Bow to his human instincts. Crack a little joke to break the ice. “Crabsolutely.”

Chapter Text

Mortivacation

a Bundeslihaha: Loose Canon story

Chapter 3: You and Me and the Yellow Makes Three

Hamburg’s gut had been spinning like a whirlpool. After months of keeping his stomach empty, this average-sized plate of rice, eggs, meatball slices, and vegetables felt like a whole feast. A feast that he was just dragging around with his fork for gods knew how long. He’d only eaten three spoonfuls before he gave up.

Freiburg’s stare burned into his skull.

Okay, she wasn't even glaring, but it felt that way after what she'd said…

Shit. Fuck. He took a sip from his new glass of water… his throat tightened at his second sip. He couldn’t take more.

He spat the water back out.

Gods, I’m disgusting. Then he remembered this morning. That’s not even the most disgusting thing she’s seen me do…

Then, to add insult to injury, a low groan rumbled in his queasy body. Tentatively, he looked at Freiburg, hoping to all the gods that could hear that she wasn’t about to kick him out…

Only to find her gaze softening at him. Maybe she can already guess what’s up. Maybe she won’t yell at me anymore-

Then another cuckoo clock went off.

Hamburg jolted.

“Freiburg! What time is it?!” he cried. He looked at his phone… It was 19:19. “What the-? Why is your clock ringing?”

“Oh, you know,” Freiburg said in an airy melody. Another one, which sounds different, started screaming a noise that sounded more like an eagle than a cuckoo. “Sometimes clocks aren’t a hundred percent accurate.”

“You left your clocks nineteen minutes late?”

Freiburg’s responding grin was truly evil. “It keeps me on my toes. I made them myself, did you know?”

“All of them?” Hamburg shouted over the noise.

Yet another clock started making its desire known. To tell time. Time! Was she taunting him over his stadium clock?

“What?” Freiburg asked, cupping a hand behind her ear. “I can’t hear you!”

Hamburg raised his voice again. “How many cuckoo clocks do you have?!”

“One in every room!” Freiburg beamed. “And ten in my clockmaking workshop! Did you know I just completed my newest one yesterday?”

“WHAT?!”

Hamburg hissed a breath and closed his eyes. He put his hand over his heart, and for once, prayed to the Deity of Time. Please, o great inexorable march, the one who stopped my clock, the one who carried me from year to year. I pray to you so that you fold yourself and give me a shortcut through the space-time continuum so this horrible chorus stops tormenting me. If I have ever wronged you, if I have ever wasted your domain, I beg you for your mercy…

…after what seemed to be a hundred birds and other creatures coming in and out of their cages, it stopped.

He breathed deeply. Harshly. “Freiburg.”

“Hamburg!” She saluted. Then her left hand joined in the salute. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the traditional art of the Black Forest region!”

Gods have mercy on Freiburg too. “I am naut. Enjoying it.”

“Eh, it’s an acquired taste.”

Hamburg was now 1887% sure that she was taunting him.

“By the way,” Freiburg suddenly said in a conspiratorial tone, “We should go hiking in the Black Forest and yell our hearts out. It's really cathartic.”

“Hiking?”

“Why not?” She challenged him. “We won't be recognized. I know where the good screaming spots are.”

“But… I'm not dressed for hiking,” Hamburg said, “And I don't want to go out like this!” He clutched his head, causing the graying strands to go awry. “I look like shit!”

That's your first priority? Not your rickety old man joints?

Fine… “Also, I don't have the… physical ability… to hike like that…”

“We’re not going deep in the forest. It’ll just be in Schlossberg, there’ll be paths, lights, and stairs, and even a car if you want.” Then, Freiburg leaned forward and wagged a fork at him. “And you look fine!”

Hamburg pouted. She was smiling like that! How could he believe it? But apparently the pout was so funny on his face that Freiburg started giggling? First it was the cuckoo hell, and now this?!

“Stop laughing,” Hamburg whined, burying his face in his hands, “I know I look like I've got one foot in the grave, it's not my fault!”

It is partly my fault, but, you know.

“Sorry. Sorry for laughing.” Freiburg covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook with it, but it soon subsided. “Just… Why'd you make that face at me? You look just like Dortmund!”

Hamburg flushed. A frown of pure displeasure on his face. 

“You look like a normal guy, Hamburg, I promise,” Freiburg said reassuringly, “It might not be how you like to be seen, granted, but you don't have to be camera ready at all times.”

I beg to differ. Up north, everyone knows me.

“I look like a normal guy too.”

She does, indeed. Hamburg put a hand on his chin. “Do I call you a guy?”

“Yeah, outside of that public business, you can call me a guy,” Freiburg answered, “You don't have to, though. I'm a woman sometimes. I’ve just always presented as a man before the reveal… I already stood out enough.”

So she did. Hamburg had incarnated as a pasty white guy multiple times, but Freiburg’s current incarnation was decidedly not that. She could also tan far more in the heat of Breisgau than he could ever burn up north. Then, Hamburg realized… if she was so conspicuous, why hadn’t he ever known her? Or even seen her? Or even called? Or she would do that for him… Of course…

“Why did we never meet up?”

“You never had my number!”

They laughed at their accidental chorus.

Hamburg leaned forward. “Back in the day, we’d all arrange meetups and come out via text. Dortmund could've given me yours, we dated until the 90s, after all… we could've known each other then. You were even going to the UEFA Cup!”

Freiburg hummed.

“The bee boy and I also had a thing around the same time,” she said, “He never gave me your number, either. We were metamours and we didn't realize it…”

“Maybe he was cheating on me with you. That two-faced fuckbee…”

“He loves sharing, though,” Freiburg said, “Would he hurt you like that?”

Hamburg scoffed. “I don't like sharing without notice. So yes.”

Freiburg’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Not your fault he used you as a side-chick.”

As the conversation lulled back into silence, and they both washed their dishes, Hamburg remembered… “Didn't you two get back together a few years ago?”

He used the time between his question and her answer to take a small sip of water… so small that his throat doesn’t close up.

Good.

Now another sip…

Swell.

Another one…

Fintastic.

Now…

“We already broke up again,” Freiburg replied. “It wasn't really an official breakup. But when I got relegated, he not only poached my boys, he also ghosted me.”

Hamburg stopped drinking. The temperature froze. And then the northern club sprang to his feet, joint pain be damned.

The Baden club jumped, shoulders spiked. “Wha-”

“That no-good, ungrateful, doofish, bottom-feeding, piss-haired dickwad!” Hamburg snapped with tempestuous eyes and a mighty scowl, “He left you when you went down?!”

“He’s no Arminia or Hannover, that's for sure,” Freiburg agreed, “They wouldn't leave you.”

“Damn right, they wouldn't,” HSV nodded, “But knowing Dortmund would've left me if I stayed with him? What a bombshell to find out. And here I thought his fans were the only gloryhunters in the Ruhrpott!”

Freiburg remembered their first breakup—it stoked a fire inside her, simmering just under her skin, behind her eyes. Tears sprung up, hot like magma. She knew he was suffering much more than herself. But- her honeybee- she had to know-

“You talk about it like you're familiar with his brand of stupidity,” she said tentatively, words like puddles to his ocean, “How did you two break up?”

“He got successful,” Hamburg recounted, leaning back on his seat with arms crossed on his chest, “New fans flocked in… the Yellow Wall would chant ‘we'll buy out your players’, making him forget about the northern club who made him happy.”

“His fans did that to me too,” Freiburg recalled, “And to Bochum. His rival.”

“Wow,” Hamburg snarled, “He never changed. When I told him he hurt my feelings, he said I was just jealous of his success. Gods forbid I was jealous! Still, he shouldn't let his fans forget me. So that was that.”

Freiburg nodded. “Did it hurt you?”

“Shore, it did back then,” Hamburg replied, “But time’s healed it. And I have Bielefeld and Hannover now.”

“How long must I wait?” Freiburg wondered through the ache in her chest, “I’m sick of not being loved as much as I love them. I’m always number two… and I’m not even Vizekusen!”

“Tell him how you feel,” Hamburg ordered. It was awful for Freiburg to think of being ordered around, but the way the northern club was standing, the way he barked the words like he was her actual captain, made her think it was 1887% his intention. “Let him know how much he hurt you. Do it via video call! I'll be waiting out of frame, listening in, advising you so you don't mess up.”

Freiburg held back the wet laughter bubbling in her own chest. Who's likelier to mess up? Me, or you, a dinosaur on a mass extinction event?

But she didn’t say that. Hamburg's ego was already bruised. And if she guessed correctly, he’d been starving himself from the stress of his own decline.

Oh, how the mighty has fallen. I can’t stoop so low into torturing the elderly. I think he needs some entertainment. Something to raise his confidence back.

“Why settle on listening in?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she coaxed her guest, moving closer to his side of the table. “Don't you also want closure?”

“Closure?” Hamburg scowled. “Bah! It's been more than twenty years. And my current partners are good enough for me, thank you very much.”

Freiburg didn't want to do it alone, though. She was done having personal time with Dortmund. That bee boy had no right to it anymore. She needed another tactic. What did the esteemed Hamburger Sport-Verein value, if not his rich fan-culture, his glittering trophy case, his position in the history of German football?

“Don’t you want to yell at him for being a gloryhunter, at least? For forgetting what a Traditionsverein is supposed to be?”

His scowl loosened a little, but that wasn’t enough.

Just a bit more, Freiburg. Why not appeal to his pain? His worries?

Freiburg smiled encouragingly. “Come on. It’ll be a great way to drown your troubles for a while.”

His ego, even?

“And you know, you could put him in his place… knowing you’re a better boyfriend than he ever was…”

There was a pause, there, where she waited, anticipated, hairs standing on their ends.

Please, please, please, Freiburg begged inwardly, sending him her biggest, cutest eyes, if your gods can hear me, I want them to influence you…

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick-

“Very well,” Hamburg proclaimed, “I’ll shove a swordfish up that hipster’s blowhole.”

“Yes!” Freiburg cheered. She raised her hand high. He gave her a high five. “Let's do it.”

She turned towards her own room. “I'll get my laptop-”

“Wait!” The northern club pulled Freiburg by the edge of her sleeve. “I can't call my ex looking like this!”

Freiburg’s head whipped to give him a Look. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course I am!” Hamburg argued, “Why would you talk to your ex if you can’t show them how good you have it without them?”

Freiburg's jaw dropped. And clenched.

You cannot be serious. “How good you have it without him”? You just got relegated!

But she held her tongue. Told herself her mantra: Be kind, Freiburg. And she should not let her tactics go to waste. “First: My makeup wouldn't go well with your skin tone. Second: I don't have any clothes your size. I'm 170 cm at best. You're, what, 2 meters tall?”

“I don't need your clothes,” the freakishly-tall-for-his-results club insisted, “I just need my bag and a mirror. Unless I lost my bag…” He looked down, face turning sheepish.

“You didn't,” Freiburg said, “I'll give it to you in a second. And you can use the mirror in my bathroom, just go over there on the left.”

She pointed at the direction of said room.

“Thanks,” Hamburg replied, “I genuinely appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Freiburg moved her guest's bag and her own laptop from her bedroom to the dining table.

Hamburg quickly unzipped said bag and produced various tools. A makeup box, a transparent bag of hair, a comb, hair gel, tissue paper, a box that looked like an oyster… Freiburg watched on as he took out a sailor cap, deodorant, perfume, dry shampoo, liquid soap, hand sanitizer, a towel, rolled clothes, toothpaste, mouthwash…

That is a lot of stuff to pack for an impulsive drunken trip.

“You're not planning to stay the night, are you?”

“No,” Hamburg said defensively, “Why would I do that? I’m always prepared for sudden engagements. Good thing I can also use these for the video call.”

Freiburg had no idea what to say to that.

Do try to understand him from his point of view, Freiburg chided herself. He seems insecure about looking older than other personifications. And now that he's a second division club, he's a total wreck. He’s starved himself for an unknown period of time, and probably only drank alcohol instead of water or anything else. Would you fault him for wanting some control over things?

No. Of course not.

And I do like looking pretty, her thoughts continued. Maybe not as much as he does, but it can be nice to do my hair and dress up…

“Alright, take your time getting ready,” Freiburg said in a diplomatic tone, “I'll be waiting here.”

“Okay.”

Hamburg left her, carrying basically everything except the hat and oyster box in hand.

He decided to turn on his laptop and open the chatting app. Just a few messages from St Pauli again. They'd been communicating earlier, too.

p1rate0fstpauli: frei, is hsv doing better now?

symbadiSCh: Yeah, he's already prettying himself up for a video call ^.^

symbadiSCh: I had a bit of a spat with him earlier, though u.u;

symbadiSCh: Snapped at him, no less… I didn't mean to!!!

symbadiSCh: But it felt kinda… good? To let it out? He's just… so entitled about his place in the first league. You know. We've had this convo before.

p1rate0fstpauli: yeah

p1rate0fstpauli: what'd you say to him anyway? :O

symbadiSCh: I told him that he and other Traditionsvereine deserve to be relegated.

p1rate0fstpauli: holy shit! how did he react???

symbadiSCh: He just cried harder T_T

p1rate0fstpauli: you made him cry???????

symbadiSCh: Saying it like that makes me feel like I just did some sort of impossible thing!

symbadiSCh: IS IT??? OAO”

p1rate0fstpauli: oh no he cries pretty easily

p1rate0fstpauli: but making him cry harder is pretty hard, he likes to do a pretty cry

symbadiSCh: Pretty???

p1rate0fstpauli: he doesn’t want people to see him ugly cry you know?

symbadiSCh: How much HAVE you seen him ugly cry? q_q

p1rate0fstpauli: that’s a trade secret for hamburg clubs only ;)

p1rate0fstpauli: also the fact that you were the one to make him cry is surprising to say the least, never thought you had it in you :P 

symbadiSCh: Saaaaaankt Paaauuuuliiiiiii!!! >A<;

symbadiSCh: I’m NOT proud of it!!!!!! >o<

p1rate0fstpauli: hey, i’m grateful. i’ve been waiting for a city derby for a long while~ 

p1rate0fstpauli: it’s nice to see the blue bastard get knocked down a few pegs! >:)

symbadiSCh: Oh my god.

p1rate0fstpauli: you think so too, don’t you?

symbadiSCh: Honestly? Yeah.

symbadiSCh: It’s WAY long overdue.

symbadiSCh: When he beat Kalle in 2015 I was FUMING ╚(•⌂•)╝

p1rate0fstpauli: well thank his gods that he directly went down now! i’ll prove that hamburg is brown and white once and for all 🤎🤍🤎🤍

symbadiSCh: best of luck! (^o^)7

p1rate0fstpauli: thank you! <3

symbadiSCh: anytime! <3

Just as Freiburg put down their phone, Hamburger SV finally returned.

He was spick-and-span now, smelling like soap and perfume. His eyes looked fresh—finally free of the redness after crying the whole River Elbe. His eyebrows were filled in. He even gave himself some colour to offset his pallor. And he was wearing something different: a teal shirt, turquoise trousers, club-diamond cufflinks, and a pearl necklace.

Coolest part was, his sparse, graying hair was covered by his all-black half-wig. It blended so well with not just the rest of his hair, but also his skin, as if they were his actual roots… and it was brushed back! Freiburg didn't think their own wig looked that seamless. They had to have bangs to cover up that mess of a hairline.

Lucky guy. Funny that his luck didn't extend to football.

“I have two questions,” Freiburg began, “if I may.”

“Only if you let me ask you two questions of my own.”

“Ask away.”

“First,” Hamburg began, “Why do you have a cuckoo clock in your bathroom? It kept ticking so loudly… and then it went off!”

“Because I love my own handiwork,” Freiburg answered with a chuckle. It was fun to see Hamburg’s crabby reaction to them messing up the clocks. Now he was massaging the bridge of his nose, hissing like he was itching to make them walk the plank. Awesome.

“Second,” Hamburg continued with a much calmer tone, “I like your ‘Eintritt nur für Badner*in’ door sign. Did you make it yourself?”

Freiburg grinned. That anger didn’t last long, ha! “I did! There’s actually an official club merch that says ‘eintritt nur für Badner’, but I prefer to keep it gender neutral.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Can I ask my questions now?”

“De-fin-itely.”

“Number one, did you shower?”

“Yes. Showered, brushed my teeth, the complete package.”

What the heck?! Freiburg just now noticed the wet towel hanging on his folded arm. “Wow! That was fast, and you smell great. Also, you can dry your towel outside.”

“Why, thank you.” Hamburg preened at the praise. “It's called ‘ocean breeze’.”

Freiburg smiled. “Bet your boyfriends love it. Number two. Where and how did you get such natural-looking hair?”

His proud expression contorted, a pained hiss escaping his gnashed teeth. “Is that a serious question, or are you making fun of me?”

“I'm serious, Hamburg,” Freiburg said, giving him their biggest, pleadingest eyes, “You know by now that I also wear a wig. My current one's pretty bad. It's itchy, it looks fake, it’s already fraying, and it got worse when I cut it short.”

Hamburg sat himself on his previous seat and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Where do you store it? How did you cut it? How is it fraying? Are you cleaning it in the washing machine? Don’t do that.”

“I store it on a mannequin head. Or in a plastic case that I bought. I cut and style it following cosplay tutorials, pretty much,” Freiburg admitted, “And I usually clean it in the sink. But maybe I washed it too hard. Maybe the water was too hot, or too cold, or the shampoo sucked… I wash it two, three times a week? Sometimes more if I have a lot of business with the club. You probably also remember that Stuttgart kept dunking me in the swimming pool of that damn mansion."

“You’re putting too much strain on it. I can try to fix it, I guess. But you might need a new one.” Hamburg explained. “Remind me later and I'll text you how I chose and care for mine. I have more than one, by the way. You should consider investing in a backup so that you won’t get messed up in an emergency.”

“Thank you,” Freiburg replied, “I can't thank you enough. But I'll at least give this thing one last hurrah, how about that?”

“Do you mean you're… going to shower and change too?”

“I'll be quick,” Freiburg grinned, “He doesn't deserve to see my civilian persona anymore.”

Hamburg's look of dark vows returned. “Good.”

After Freiburg left, Hamburger SV rose from his seat. First, he hung his towel outside alongside her laundry. Next, he dried his toiletries and put them back inside his bag. Then, sitting on the dining table again, he opened his oyster-shaped jewelry box, one pearl necklace resting inside each level. He took the longer one and put it around his neck, twisting it, then, another round.

He hadn't used to wear this kind of jewelry. He of course loved blue, white, and black, leather and studs, and the rainbow, both Mini's and his, and of course Hanno’s green… but straight up wearing pearls? Real or fake alike? No, that didn't fit him. It was too on the nose. But now that the Reveals stylist made him wear them, he didn't want to stop.

And Freiburg! He knew Freiburg's reputation of being needlessly kind. A part of him wanted that kindness, of course—cowardly, maybe, but he felt like she would’ve been more honest than his partner. No, that wasn’t the right word. Hanno and Mini would’ve been honest, too, if he brought up Kühne, the mismanagement, and all the unpleasant things that had been building up since the 2000s. But they wouldn’t have torn into him for being a Traditionsverein.

And yet.

Even in that rage, not once had Freiburg called him an old man. Not once had she made fun of his boys. She carried him from the station to her house—it couldn't have been easy. She gave him food, water, let him shower... She even supported his ideas for the stadium clock. Sure, she'd said he deserved relegation and definitely made her cuckoo clocks go off in the worst time possible just for his visit, but he admitted that anyone watching die Rothosen play would say and do the same. And she didn't mock his hair loss! “You look like a normal guy”... what was that? She even asked him for tips!

How can anyone be so considerate?

SC Freiburg returned, flower-scented, in a fit that Bundeslihaus audiences would be familiar with: A knee-length red and white striped dress hugging her now-extant curves.

Hamburg didn't normally take his time looking at the female persuasion, but he was curious about the Breisgauer's transformation—was it silicone? A corset? Or just average padded undergarments? Her face, too, was made up—facial hair shaved, with eyeliner and mascara that made her eyes look bigger, that usual red lipstick, and of course topped with the chin-length, dark brown curls. Now that Hamburg was act-shoally paying attention to it, he did see that it was a wig. Not a well-cared one, at that. But that would change soon, he hoped.

“Okay, time to go sting a bee back,” Freiburg began. She opened her chatting app and clicked “video call” on Dortmund’s chat. It was answered almost immediately. So she clicked the “full screen” button. Freiburg adjusted the camera to show them both, but Hamburg pushed it back. He decided to stay out of frame until the time was right. She got the hint.

Lo and behold, there he was.

Borussia Dortmund was smiling in that pouty way of his, his bleached-blond hair falling in a wavy curtain, unstyled, but his pajamas, which had little bees on it, were definitely stylish. He wasn’t wearing his no-lens hipster glasses, damn him for not needing actual lenses.

“Hi, my little sweet black forest cake!” Dortmund greeted with a smile that could give Hamburg a sunburn. “I missed you!!!”

“Hello, Dortmund,” Freiburg’s greeting was far more stoic. Hamburg nodded in approval at her stern stare. “I’d like to talk about something important.”

“O-kaaaay,” Dortmund grinned, propping his face with intertwined hands, eyes dreamy. “What’s the occasion, my Bobbele?”

“The occasion is that we’ve broken up,” Freiburg said, “Please don’t call me any pet names anymore.”

Dortmund frowned. Then, his eyes blinked open! A bulb lit up in his empty head! “Oh, is it about the ghosting you thing? Um, sorry about that! I just… it’s hard to make time when you were in the 2. Bundesliga, Frei, you know…”

Freiburg’s stern face… melted. Her lips, pursed just one second ago, started to tremble. “Dortmund, I…”

“Hey, we’ve been in the Bundesliga together for the past two seasons, right?” the Ruhrpott club asked, trailing a finger on the screen as if he was caressing the Badener. “We can get back together if you want! I really missed hanging out with you, just the two of us.”

“You…” Freiburg spoke up, but her voice was unsteady.

Hamburg squeezed her arm. Come on, be assertive. Like you snapped at me back there.

“Yes, Liebling?”

“Dortmund, I missed that too,” Freiburg said, looking at Hamburg’s hand on her arm, “But I…”

He squeezed harder. Come on!

“You haven’t… asked about me… or checked up on me…”

Dortmund hummed, then propped his face on one hand, eyebrows knitted. “But I answer all your messages whenever you check up on me.”

“You did, but…” Freiburg started wringing her hands, crumpling the hem of her dress. “Only when I came back to the first division… and we barely talked about anything besides our matches. How hard is it to contact me across leagues when modern technology exists, Dortmund? I’ve chatted you the entire 2. Bundesliga season.”

Hamburg let go of her arm and gave her two thumbs up.

Freiburg turned to him, looking the most miserable he’d ever seen her. 

“You know…” Dortmund waved his free hand around and stared at it. “The schedules are hard to keep up…”

Coward, Hamburg thought, clenching his fists. He sent Freiburg a commanding look.

Go on, he mouthed, you can do it.

She extended a hand under her seat. Hamburg took it and held it.

“Tell that to Karlsruhe and Hertha,” she snapped.

Dortmund’s eyes flitted to wherever that wasn’t the camera, but Freiburg was undeterred. She squeezed Hamburg’s hand with a vice-like grip.

“Tell that to Hamburg and Hannover and Bielefeld! Tell that to Schalke and Nürnberg! You know Schalke well, don’t you? Tell that to Augsburg and Würzburg, Leverkusen and Offenbach, Werder and Bayern and St Pauli-”

“Okay!” Dortmund cried, eyes full of crocodile tears, his hands gripping the edges of the screen as he leaned uncomfortably close. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

“I know!” Freiburg shouted. “This is why I want to officially break up with you, Ballspielverein Borussia 09 e. V. Dortmund!”

“But I can fix this,” Dortmund pleaded, arms up… Hamburg gaped as the bee boy hugged the screen. “Freiburg, please, let me fix this. I’ll check up on you more. I miss you, Schatzi! I love you! I miss hugging and kissing you, I miss it when we call each other Bienchen and Leckerchen and when we cuddle in bed…”

“Can you?” Freiburg asked. “Or is it Köln who told you to ghost me?”

Hamburg froze. What does the goat boy-?!

Wait.

Oh, dear gods and goddesses of Love and Hate, of Jealousy and Resentment, have mercy. Of course. Freiburg presented as a woman post-Reveal, so she was able to be affectionate with Dortmund. Köln, who was clearly a man, couldn’t… and when she got relegated, it would be easy for the Rhine club to just…

He sighed.

Jealousy was a common problem in a polyamorous relationship. Especially one meddled with by the DFL for their gods-damned polypobic hell. Had those three never discussed this?

Why would they? Dortmund had never discussed Freiburg with you.

Hamburg’s mind stirred. The winds swirling around the low atmospheric pressure, forming a cyclone. He looked at Freiburg. She gripped him tighter. So tight that he thought she’d break his bones.

“Baby, Zieglein didn’t do that,” Dortmund said—lied? Hamburg wondered. “Why would he do that? He loves you so much.”

“Dortmund, stop trying to protect him,” Freiburg snapped, “don’t you remember that Karneval party? Where I told you to give him as much affection as possible to make up for all the hiding? We tried to talk to him about it. We knew he was jealous-”

Yep, that confirmed my guess.

“It was back then,” the Ruhr club whined, “he’s moved on. And he didn’t tell me to do anything!”

Freiburg seemed to be brewing a cyclone of her own.

“And I’ve moved on too, my red-white heart. I want to move forward and see you and hold you again.”

“There is no forward until we actually talk about this like adults,” she rumbled. Thunderous. “Be honest. What was Köln’s involvement.”

“Kölle and I both miss you, baby,” Dortmund said in a childish display of non-sequitur—or a manipulative one, perhaps—his frown trembling, “we miss hugging you and hanging out and sewing with you and styling clothes and-”

“That’s enough!”

Freiburg’s voice was a hot knife melting through his buttery words.

Dortmund melted on the spot.

“I have a guest here. He wants to talk to you as well.”

The bee boy sputtered, which then faded into pathetic blubbering. “A- a guest?! Why didn’t you tell me- I-” 

He looked around, helpless, clueless. Hamburg felt a wicked grin creep up his face.

Freiburg looked at Hamburg, mouthing, “Ready?”

He took his pocket mirror and checked… his necklace was fine, glasses needed a bit of shifting, his hair was good…

He nodded to her.

She turned the camera towards him.

“Hello, Borussia,” Hamburg greeted, “It’s been a while.”

Dortmund’s jaw dropped. His face paled. “Wh- Hamburg?!”

“In the flesh,” he said, leaning forward, his grin mixing with a scowl, “Funny that you forgot Freiburg as soon as she went down to the 2. Bundesliga, allegedly without anyone else telling you to. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Um…” Dortmund shifted the collar of his pajamas. His gaze jumped rapidly between them both. “Are you and Freiburg dating? Is that why you two… um…”

“No,” Hamburg cut in, “Let’s imagine that your Zieglein really wasn’t involved. Even then. I thought you were smarter than this. Breaking up with not one, but two clubs for the same reason?”

“What reason?” Dortmund gasped. “You broke up with me!”

“That’s because you grew a much bigger head than I can hold!” Hamburg snapped, leaning closer to the infuriating manchild, “You got so high on success that your new fans forgot to be ours!”

“Why are you bringing this up again?” Dortmund whined, throwing his hands up, “It was, like, 20 years ago! What does that have to do with Freiburg here?!”

“You did the same to Freiburg. Twice.” Hamburg’s voice lowered into the deepest trenches. “Once in the 90s. And now in the 2010s.”

“I don’t get it,” Dortmund mumbled, “I didn’t forget her on purpose.”

Hamburg gritted his teeth. This fucking guy. “All of these had the same root cause…”

Dortmund swiveled on his chair. Ninety degrees right. Ninety degrees left. One-eighty. Three-sixty. Several times. He bit his lip and knocked on it with his index, as if it would provide him any answers…

…and it did, apparently.

“Oh, you mean you two being jealous of my success,” Dortmund huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on his armrest, looking to the side, “You know, if you two loved me so much, you’d support me when I’m on top.”

That’s it. 

Hamburg rose to his feet. Freiburg tilted the laptop screen to show him better. And then Hamburg leaned down, slamming the table.

“No, Dortmund!” he shouted. “What is wrong with you? The root cause of these breakups, if we ignore your goat, is that you’re a fucking gloryhunter!”

Dortmund’s head snapped back towards the camera. “You can't just-”

“You thought you were too good for me and Freiburg in the 90s,” Hamburg continued, balling his fists on the table, “you thought you were too good to talk to her when she got relegated three seasons ago.”

The idiot gripped his armrests until his tan knuckles went pale.

“And, back in the 90s,” Hamburg added, pressing an index finger where his face was on the screen, “You never told Freiburg you were dating me. You never told me you were dating her, either.”

“He’s right,” Freiburg agreed. “Why?”

“I thought it was okay?” Dortmund said, panic hastening his words and the rise and fall of his chest, “He had four other partners when we first dated? He broke up with them and then added more partners so I thought I can too?”

“You thought?” Hamburg leaned closer. “You really used your brain?!”

“No- I mean yes- I- it was-”

He gripped his chair. Feet trembling, bouncing, chair spinning forty-five degrees right, left, right, left-

“1990! Germany won the World Cup!” Dortmund cried, “Before the reunification- I- they planned to do a Reveal that time so I couldn’t be open with having multiple partners- or even any male partners at all! Didn’t they tell you this, Hamburg?!”

“How is that an excuse?” Hamburg demanded. “Were you afraid I’d be jealous of Freiburg? Or vice versa?”

Dortmund opened his mouth to defend himself, but Hamburg raised a hand to stop him.

“This is why you couldn’t help Köln through his jealousy.”

With that proclamation, Hamburg sat back on his chair, clicking his tongue in disapproval, loudly enough to make the younger club cower.

“Every time I started dating someone—anyone—I always told you who my partners were. How many I had. What I wanted with each of you. And I let you all meet each other. And if anyone was jealous, we could discuss what unmet needs caused the jealousy and how we can fulfill it for them.”

“Okay true, but well, I was, um,” Dortmund stuttered, fingers hitting the armrests in a mess of taps, “I was your partner for so long, Hamburg, I thought you’d be okay with it-”

“I’m not,” Hamburg growled, “and I wouldn’t have been.”

“-and Freiburg was like, we weren’t together for long, we were both just touching international football, it was the high of Europe, you know, basically like an adrenaline-fling-”

“I was a fling?!” Freiburg cried, her face even more miserable, twisting into such a deep frown that Hamburg feared it wouldn’t be able to change. “I thought- I thought you wanted me!”

“My Freiburg-”

“I was in love, I never stopped being in love-”

“Mein Füchsle,” Dortmund pleaded, hands intertwined as if praying.

“-but to you, I was just some fling to play with when Hamburg wasn’t available?!”

Dortmund broke out into an even more heart-wrenching-for-lesser-people crying performance. “I’m sorry! I was younger and stupider and I didn’t know how good I would have it with you in the future!”

“And yet you wasted that future too,” Hamburg spat. “I know Freiburg wanted you and Köln to talk things through with her. But what did you do? Ghost her for a whole season and barely talk to her for the next two?”

Borussia’s gaze melted further, tears coating the dark eyes in a plea. “I didn’t mean to…”

“We’re done with you.” Hamburg gave him his deadliest glare. “Next time you try to date more than one person, let them know everything. Including any intentions to ghost them when they’re not in the first league.”

“He’s right,” Freiburg added with a glare of her own. “Goodbye, Dortmund. Thank you for listening.”

Dortmund jumped to hug the screen again. “Frei-”

Freiburg hung up.

She closed the browser.

And then she sagged on her seat with a sigh.

Hamburg let out a long, long breath he hadn’t taken in what felt like ages.

“That was awful,” Freiburg groaned, head thrown back, and hands following suit to cover her eyes, “I don’t know if I can talk to him again after this.”

“Oh, Freiburg, you would have to.” Hamburg had talked to so many exes. “I’ve talked to Dortmund, Stuttgart, Nürnberg, Bochum, Frankfurt, Karlsruhe—It’ll be fine. I believe in you. You’ll grow beyond this relationship.”

A small sob broke out of her. Just one. She was stopping herself… if only St Pauli were here.

“You did what you needed to do,” he said, “You told him you were hurt. It was a-boat time someone burst his bubble.”

Another sob. Two. Three. Four.

“I don’t think he understands why,” Freiburg said, her tone damp with her tears, muffled by her hands. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I could’ve held my ground without crying, or yelling, or…”

She’d seen me at one of my worst. And that was her worst? My gods, she needs help.

“I lost my temper by the second sentence, and that was after I cried the whole day and fucked up the entire season,” Hamburg chuckled, leaning closer to her shoulder, “I’m fine, you’re fine. We both have a right to be mad.”

Freiburg let go of her face and turned to him. Her eyeliner had left black streaks along her face.

“Maybe he’s right and Kölle wasn’t guilty. And Borussia himself, he, he never really did anything bad to me! He just… forgot, that’s all. He is busy, I should’ve remembered he’s a brand ambassador for… so many companies... And…” Her head tilted down as she messed up her skirt again. “He doesn’t know how relationships are supposed to work.”

“He’s a grown man,” Hamburg chided. “Stop defending him. He could’ve had some initiative.”

Freiburg’s misty-eyed stare was even more pathetic than his drunken trip and crying session after his relegation… Oh, gods, that was just this morning. He flushed. Oh, who am I kidding, I’m the most pathetic between all of us. The pirate, for all their flaws, would’ve been better at helping you through this.

“I miss him,” Freiburg sobbed, leaning her head on his shoulder, “I miss him so much.”

“I know.”

“He was so stupid… But he always meant well.”

“Don’t they all?”

“Dortmund was a good kisser,” she mumbled, “and he always bought me gifts.”

“He was, he did,” Hamburg agreed, more out of reflex than actually remembering. “But Hanno and Mini are better.”

Freiburg groaned loudly. “I don’t wanna kiss them!”

“I wouldn’t let you. But maybe you’ll find someone else—lots of fish in the sea and all that.” Hamburg awkwardly stroked her head. Good gods, her wig is rough. 

“Stop petting me. It’s weird.”

“Sorry.” He put his hand back on his lap… and found those brown curls between his fingers. He raised said hand so she could see them better. “Your hair is awful. It’s tangled, it’s falling off from being wrung out, given shampoo or conditioned to the roots… is it synthetic or human hair?”

“Synthetic, it’s cheaper.” Freiburg straightened up. “And is your hair better, then? Are they synthetic too? Or not?”

“I would say mine’s betta,” Hamburg smiled, “but the material doesn’t matter as much as how you take care of them.”

Freiburg looked thoughtful for a second.

“I know I already said it’s weird, but it’s cool how you immediately knew what’s wrong,” she said, “so… can I touch it?”

You wouldn’t know what’s wrong, Hamburg snickered inwardly. But this day had been all sorts of weird, and it was mostly my doing. You should get the chance to do the same.

“That is absolutely weird. Do it.”

And so she straightened up even more.

Her hand tentatively reached upwards… and touched.

Hamburg stiffened.

It was definitely, irrevocably weird, to have his hair touched like it was a specimen, the usual intimacy stripped away and exchanged with fascination. Her fingers ran through the strands. Back… forth… left… right… around… all smooth sailing. Just as expected—he’d done the proper handling!

“Wow,” Freiburg gasped, awe colouring even the small syllable, “That’s amazing.”

Hamburg swelled with pride. “Thank you.”

“I messed it up,” she admitted, sheepish, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, we’re not in public,” he replied. He stood up again. “Come on, I’ll show you how I brush it.”

He went back to her bathroom, brush in hand, and stood himself in front of the large mirror.

Freiburg watched from his side, her gaze intense.

“Feel free to go around to watch,” he offered. Then, he started to brush back all his hair. Even though it’d been four years since the stylists made him cut his long mullet in the reveal, he still felt strange that it was so light, and so empty on the neck and shoulders. Gods. It wasn’t the time to mourn that, though. Freiburg, for all purposes a stranger, had nothing but praise for one of his greatest insecurities. It made his heart soar.

“This thing stops about five centimeters from here.” He pointed at the end of his actual hair, right up the nape of the neck, then moved up to where his half-wig ended. “And you can see the hairline in the front…”

He held back the brushed strands and showed his forehead squarely in the mirror.

Freiburg moved forward and craned her neck and stood on her toes...

Right, she’s short. At least she’s not as tiny as the Kiez-kickin’ beach.

He lowered his head a bit. Then, he pointed at the transparent mesh of his cap where the roots were sewn in. “This is where the wig starts, the cap is transparent on the edges.”

“Whoa. I didn’t see it at all.”

“Pretty cool, right?” Hamburg grinned. “Anyway, I’ll be parting it on the side.”

Freiburg grinned back. “Nice.”

When Hamburg was done, Freiburg practically had stars in her eyes. He just had to bow after that!

That night…

symbadiSCh: can you believe it?

p1rate0fstpauli: what? :O 

symbadiSCh: hsv is staying the night. NOT in my house, ofc, but in a hotel!

p1rate0fstpauli: huh? really? what happened?

symbadiSCh: we had that video call. we basically confronted bvb for being a gloryhunter, at least that’s how hsv worded it.

p1rate0fstpauli: interesting phrasing by the blue boy…

symbadiSCh: the gist of it is

symbadiSCh: i officially broke up with dortmund

symbadiSCh: and hsv chewed him out for cheating on him with me back in the 90s

symbadiSCh: and for other stuff

symbadiSCh: the gloryhunter thing i mean

symbadiSCh: and then we talked about hair n_n

p1rate0fstpauli: hair?

symbadiSCh: wigs, i guess! 

p1rate0fstpauli: cause ya wear one?

symbadiSCh: mhm ^v^

p1rate0fstpauli: damn he never asks me to talk about them, i wear them too!

symbadiSCh: hehehe~ (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

symbadiSCh: anyway i offered him to walk on the black forest with me tomorrow. as catharsis.

p1rate0fstpauli: ay ay ay! that’s terribubbly sweet of ya! :D

symbadiSCh: he’s not so bad. sometimes. 

symbadiSCh: occasionally.

symbadiSCh: >_> i dunno <_<

symbadiSCh: if he feels better, he won’t bother me again, right? QwQ

p1rate0fstpauli: you’re askin the wrong person, matey. that man is alwaves bothering me ;p

symbadiSCh: ( >𐃷< ) 

p1rate0fstpauli: water ya feeling, btw?

symbadiSCh: hm?

p1rate0fstpauli: after the call? ya just broke up with bvb :’<

symbadiSCh: ummmm

symbadiSCh: i wish we didn't have to break up…

symbadiSCh: he looked and sounded so guilty… T~T

symbadiSCh: he didn't mean to hurt me at all, st pauli! i WANT to give him a chance… ;_;

p1rate0fstpauli: he ghosted u for 3 seasons, freiburg. ya think ya deserve that? >:’(

p1rate0fstpauli: what did hsv tell u?

symbadiSCh: he was the one who pushed me to tell him how much it hurts

symbadiSCh: and like i said, he tore dortmund a new one for ghosting me

symbadiSCh: and for “cheating” on him with me back in the 1990s

symbadiSCh: he wasn't cheating, he just didn't know how polyamory worked… hsv had more experience…

p1rate0fstpauli: okay, so hsv has more experience in relationships, right?

symbadiSCh: yes?

p1rate0fstpauli: did he say you two should get back together?

symbadiSCh: no!

symbadiSCh: but he doesn't know me!!!!!! he doesn't know dortmund!!!!!!! dortmund wouldn't hurt me on purpose!!!!! >_< 

p1rate0fstpauli: he dated dortmund for 20 years matey he knows the bee well

symbadiSCh: <(ò_ó)>

symbadiSCh: you're on HIS side?

p1rate0fstpauli: i know this sounds cray-sea, but in this case? 1910% :T

p1rate0fstpauli: sorry dear, but hsv was right, u shouldn't have to endure another year of ghostin even if bvb begged ya for forgiveness x’(

p1rate0fstpauli: what did he say anyway?

symbadiSCh: he missed me

symbadiSCh: missed hanging out

symbadiSCh: he still loves me

symbadiSCh: he… wanted to get back together… since we've been in the 1. bundesliga together again

p1rate0fstpauli: oh he's good.

symbadiSCh: -_-

symbadiSCh: even missed the stuff we did with kölle together

p1rate0fstpauli: he's good good :/

symbadiSCh: come on, st pauli… i thought…

symbadiSCh: i thought you want me to be loved romantically too

p1rate0fstpauli: not like this D:

p1rate0fstpauli: i don't wanna see u hurt further >:0

p1rate0fstpauli: you deserve love from someone who actually cares and remembers you <3

symbadiSCh: hsv is just bitter from getting relegated and pushed me to break up cause he wanted some control over his life!!!

p1rate0fstpauli: oh frei </3

p1rate0fstpauli: listen, darlin :<

p1rate0fstpauli: the lesser hamburg club has to be bitter about going down for the first time ever. BUT!!!!!

p1rate0fstpauli: i know this sounds harsh, but he doesn't care enough about ya to think that your relationship is a part of his life.

p1rate0fstpauli: if anything, he probably feels grateful to you for hauling his drunk ass to your house and nursing him… what a silly guy Xd

p1rate0fstpauli: and he owed it to you to get you out of that relationship.

symbadiSCh: he's stupid and i hate him!!!!!

p1rate0fstpauli: whoa! hate is a strong word! 

p1rate0fstpauli: ur not even from hamburg and ya hate mr. hilmar? 8O

p1rate0fstpauli: even i would think twice before saying i hate the guy.

symbadiSCh: really? <(ô_ó)>

p1rate0fstpauli: okay, not really xD

symbadiSCh: ú_ù

p1rate0fstpauli: u already know ya wanted to break up with bvb, but when he encouraged ya, u hate him for it?

p1rate0fstpauli: give urself some credit! you went like 90% of the way and all hsv did was drag ya to the finish line.

symbadiSCh: i already hate myself for breaking up with him!!!!!!!

p1rate0fstpauli: why?

symbadiSCh: sechzig sees me as, what, a fuck buddy?

symbadiSCh: you're a wonderful friend but i know i'm basically a fling

symbadiSCh: and sydney is lovely too but i don't feel romantic feelings for them

symbadiSCh: even for dortmund…

p1rate0fstpauli: do ya feel romantic feelings for me?

symbadiSCh: not really…

p1rate0fstpauli: there's nothing wrong with us being fwbs, and i do love ya, you're more than a fling to me :0

p1rate0fstpauli: you're not lesser just cause you're not anyone’s primary partner

symbadiSCh: i'm sorry, that was irrational of me… i love you too u.u;

p1rate0fstpauli: it's okay, matey, ya did have an intense convo before

p1rate0fstpauli: take ur time to move on, okay? i'm here for ya. <3

symbadiSCh: thank you <3

p1rate0fstpauli: anytime <3

p1rate0fstpauli: moin :)

hamburgaySV: What.

p1rate0fstpauli: how's my favorite lesser hamburg club? :3c

hamburgaySV: I hate it when you talk to yourshellf, Pauli.

p1rate0fstpauli: love ya too, perle~

p1rate0fstpauli: so about freiburg

hamburgaySV: Yes, Freiburg! She's been so… kind. I didn't expect that at all. 8O

p1rate0fstpauli: yeah she can be <3

p1rate0fstpauli: sadly she's a bit in denial about bvb hurting her

hamburgaySV: Oh, yeah. Big time. 8| He got her hook, line, and sinker.

hamburgaySV: Did you help her through it?

p1rate0fstpauli: i tried :< she doesn't feel good letting go of her only boyfriend (romantic).

hamburgaySV: “Boyfriend”? 

hamburgaySV: The bee boy explicitly called her a fling. F L I N G. 

p1rate0fstpauli: D: !!!!!

hamburgaySV: That was for the 1990s, but it's not like he treated her like more than a fling in the 2010s.

hamburgaySV: She was my side chick then and now she's Köln's.

hamburgaySV: And then Köln told him to ghost her, apparently 8)

hamburgaySV: With how much PDA she and Dortmund had in the early Reveal days, maybe she was actually his beard.

hamburgaySV: Did she tell you?

p1rate0fstpauli: no.

p1rate0fstpauli: dude, she didn’t say that… she only told me the nice things bvb said! “i still love u and miss u” type beat!

hamburgaySV: My beloathed lesser Hamburg club, I have an order for you.

p1rate0fstpauli: what is it, captain comedown?

p1rate0fstpauli: geddit? come down to the 2nd league?

hamburgaySV: Yes, I get it, you uncooked shrimp.

p1rate0fstpauli: uncooked shrimps are blue. thanks for the new nickname, perle!

hamburgaySV: >8O

hamburgaySV: Okay, you’re a cooked shrimp, happy?

p1rate0fstpauli: yay! xDDD

hamburgaySV: I want you to be there for her. Pick up your slack. I don't want her to have to depend on me.

p1rate0fstpauli: why not?

hamburgaySV: Because we're not friends.

hamburgaySV: …well, maybe we are now.

hamburgaySV: I don't know.

p1rate0fstpauli: huh.

hamburgaySV: I don't hate her… I don't think I ever did. I just thought she was… you know.

p1rate0fstpauli: what?

hamburgaySV: A small club. Not really worth listening to.

p1rate0fstpauli: and now?

hamburgaySV: What I feel is not apathy, that's what.

p1rate0fstpauli: well, good job, uncooked shrimp! you get a gold star! :D

hamburgaySV: I'll gut you like a fish and fillet you, Fußball-Club Stank Pauli von 1910 e.V.

p1rate0fstpauli: mmmm yum :9

hamburgaySV: Then, I'll serve your meat on the Meisterschale I'm getting next season.

p1rate0fstpauli: HA! >xD

p1rate0fstpauli: we'll sea about that, old man. ;)