#omar in cologne | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

viennakarma · 1 year ago

Text

Evergreen (he tears me to pieces)

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Your relationship is ending, despite you fighting for it for a while. Maybe it's time to let go.

Word count: 3.7k

Tags: Female reader, established relationship, heartbreak, neglected relationship, fights, cursing, miscommunication, misunderstandings, break up, sad ending (kinda), open ending, not beta read

Relationships: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Notes: this is a bit sad, not gonna lie, but the ending is kinda hopeful (i guess?)

Find me on Twitter!

You didn’t want to believe your relationship had reached a tipping point, but the details were all there. The lack of interest, distance, coldness.

You knew you and Charles were at a complicated point in your relationship. Losing the championship the year before had taken a huge toll on him, even when he tried to pretend it didn’t matter that much.

You were home in Monaco when you came back from shopping and you found Charles dressing up in the closet. You paused.

“Where are you going?” You asked, placing your shopping bag down.

“I’m going out for dinner with the boys,” he said, fixing his curls in front of the mirror.

“Charlie! We had my work dinner to go tonight! Did you forget about it?”

“Shit, baby!” He muttered, turning to you, “I’m so sorry!”

“Can you reschedule with your friends?” You asked, but he shook his head, spraying his cologne.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you soon!” He reached for his wallet and car keys, “Don’t wait up for me!”

You sat on the bed, stunned. You thought about what you would say when you showed up at your work dinner that was made for the staff to take their partners to meet their colleagues and the work environment.

Alone at the dinner while everyone introduced their partners, you stayed only enough to not be considered rude and tried to not cry the whole drive back home.

Charles had not arrived yet when you went to bed, and you allowed yourself to shed a couple of tears before forcing yourself to sleep.

That was a bad day. Charles had crashed his car during the formation lap and you watched it with a heavy heart as he was out of the race and walking completely lost on his way back to the garage.

You waited for him to finish his press duties and after the race started, you went to meet him in his driver’s room. He was sitting on the sofa, a dreadful look on his face.

“Baby, how are you?” You whispered, kneeling beside him.

“How does it look?” He said, sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid.” You frowned at your own silliness.

“Really stupid,” he mumbled. You swallowed, thinking he was just having a bad day.

“Can I do something for you?” You asked again, but he rolled his eyes.

“How about you leave me the fuck alone?!” He didn’t raise his voice too much, but the aggression was in his tone, in his coldness, like he was fed up with your existence.

You only nodded, ignoring the flaring pain in your chest as you silently left his room.

The lump in your throat didn’t bother too much as you sat down in the hospitality and watched what was left of the race. You stayed aimlessly around until way past the race ended, thinking about when it was finally time to go back to the hotel. You knew the debriefing meetings were usually longer after messed up races, so when you went back to the garage to look for Charles, you realized his bags weren’t in his room and the staff was disassembling everything and packing it up to leave.

You walked to the parking lot and noticed Charles’ car wasn’t there anymore. Back at the motorhome, you reached for your phone and tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. You were getting nervous every minute you passed alone there.

Like a forgotten clown.

“Hey! Are you ok?” You jumped hearing the voice behind you. It was Carlos, your boyfriend’s teammate and close friend.

“Yeah, um-” you stumbled on the words, because how the fuck would you tell Carlos that your boyfriend had left you behind, “I can’t reach Charles, and he left probably thinking I left earlier today.”

“Come on, I can give you a ride,” Carlos shook his keychain, pointing toward the parking lot.

“Thank you,” you managed to squeeze out.

As Carlos drove in silence, only the radio on softly, you tried not to think, because thinking would make you cry. And you didn’t want to cry in front of Carlos. As a sad song started, a single tear escaped, and you quietly wiped it, wishing Carlos was too focused on driving to notice. But as he stopped in front of the hotel, he offered you a tissue from the glovebox, which made two more tears come down before you could stop yourself.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said, and he just nodded.

“Anytime,” he said softly.

You were grateful he didn’t ask a single thing, nor tried to comfort you.

When you got into the hotel room, Charles was fast asleep, so you just got under the shower and cried with a hand on your mouth to muffle your cries.

You were finishing up your makeup when Charles got home on a random Saturday that he didn’t have work, and you two were home.

As you finished gluing eyelashes, Charles stood behind you with both hands on your hips.

“Aren’t you too formal for dinner at my mum’s?” He asked.

“I have a work gala tonight, Charles,” you said, impatiently, and moving away so his hands just slid off you.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” He pouted.

“You were,” you opened the lipgloss, applying to your lips, “you just forgot. Again.”

You didn’t look at him to see his expression drop. It was always like this, you were the last thing on his list of priorities. When he had work functions, you were always there for him, making do with your own time and commitments, squeezing him in so you’d never leave when he needed you. Unfortunately he never reciprocated you. Your friends didn’t matter, dinner with your family was optional and your work events, he didn’t even bother to go.

“You should’ve reminded me again.”

“I did. Two nights ago on the plane when we were flying back.”

“I can call my mom, reschedule our-” he started but your scoff cut him off.

“Don’t bother,” you shrugged.

“Amour-” He tried but you just shook your head.

“Just don’t, Charles,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing your clutch, “I don’t want to be late for the gala.”

Despite the sour beginning, the night was actually nice, you caught up with most of your colleagues, and sadly your boss announced she was going to retire. The night had a small award ceremony too, to celebrate the success of the year. Which ended up with you getting an award for your achievements during the year, and with a beautiful speech from your soon to be ex-boss, she announced that you were getting the promotion for the position of editor in chief, which was pretty much your dream job.

The night was one of the happiest of the year, and you only got home past two in the morning, after enjoying the company and celebrating your promotion. Charles was asleep as you placed your award, a symbolic trophy, on the living room bookshelf.

Charles never asked about the gala, and you didn’t waste any time trying to tell him, since he clearly didn’t give two fucks about your career.

When you went to the next race week hand in hand with Charles, you met Max Verstappen and Sebastian Vettel, who were chatting. You and Charles greeted the both of them. Sebastian who you knew from his time as Charles’ teammate and Max who you knew ever since you were a teen karting for fun. You knew Max just as long as you knew Charles.

“I heard about your promotion! Congratulations!” Max said with a smile. You accepted his handshake with a tender smile. But at the same time, you felt the sudden hold of Charles on your hip.

“Oh, thank you!”

“Really?! Congratulations, Y/N!” Sebastian added.

“She’s always wanted to be editor in chief!” Max pointed out, “She was always talking about it when we were like fifteen!”

You smiled softly, remembering that when you were a teen, you were obsessed with 13 going on 30, and you were very vocal about your dream of working on a fashion magazine.

“I’m glad you achieved the dream then!” Sebastian said with great kindness to you.

Charles tapped your hip twice, and you knew the signal when you had to go.

“Thank you guys, thanks! Charles and I have to go, but see you around!” You and Charles waved at them and walked off.

Charles took your hand and, in long strides, led you inside only stopping when you were in a meeting room.

“You got a promotion?! Why didn’t you tell me that?” Charles said, suddenly upset.

“I guess it just slipped my mind,” you shrugged.

“This was your greatest dream! When did it happen?” He asked, looking hurt.

“At the gala you missed,” you sounded unbothered by his sudden outburst of hurt.

“And how did they know?!” He pointed a finger outside.

“From my instagram, I guess. I made a post about it,” you dismissed Charles, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t seen your post, going to sit down and sip some coffee, “I don’t understand why you’re using that tone with me.”

“Because you should’ve told me!” He raised his voice.

“I just don’t see why, my career never really mattered to you, why would it matter now?!” You said, and the more calmly you talked, the angrier he got.

“You got to be fucking kidding me, right?” He shouted.

“Look, you need to chill. I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I’m going to take a stroll around. See you in a bit. Hopefully you will have calmed down.” You stood up, leaving his room without letting him say anything else.

Despite getting calm between you and Charles, the distance only seemed to grow, and the only thing keeping you hung onto the love you felt for him were the memories of your five year relationship. You had to do something if you wanted to save your relationship with Charles.

Your fifth year anniversary happened in a day Charles was busy, but sent you flowers, and texted you a sweet message in video. It made you invigorated, and you planned to go all out on the weekend, when Charles was going to come home.

So you planned dinner with a cake, and a romantic getaway after checking his schedule and making sure you could make a quick trip to a very romantic and secluded villa in Positano. You also dressed in very sexy lingerie, and got yourself really pretty to wait for him. So you had everything planned. Dinner at 8, maybe a little love making after, and then you’d drive to Nice to get on the plane at midnight and take off to Italy.

You had told him to come home as soon as he got to Monaco, because you had an anniversary surprise for him. You texted him twice during the day to remind him.

But when the clock hit 8 in the night, the time you had told him to come home, a dreadful feeling placed in the pit of your stomach. He wouldn’t stand you up, would he? 8:17 you texted him a couple of times, but he didn’t read the text. 8:42 you removed the lamb from the oven, setting it on the table. 9:58 Joris texted you talking about how Charles had met the boys and they went out for a drink that turned into a few drinks.

Your face was wet with tears as you packed the food and placed it in the fridge, then washed your face of the make up and changed out of the lingerie. You were unpacking the two bags you’d take on the getaway, when you stared at the silly romantic tickets you had made over the week to symbolically gift him the romantic getaway. You stopped unpacking the bags, changing into a comfortable attire then taking only your bag and driving to Nice.

You turned your phone off and went to Positano alone.

The couple of days you spent only with yourself were good, even though you were crying a lot, feeling abandoned, forgotten and lonely in your relationship. You and Charles had been in a relationship for so long during your early adulthood, and you knew each other ever since you were preteens. It was painful watching life taking you and Charles apart even being so close.

It was weird, you thought you had gotten over the toughest years of your relationship. The year you started dating you were living in another country to attend university, and that had been very difficult to your relationship, but still, you managed.

You mourned the loss of that Charles. The Charles that would align both of your schedules so he wouldn’t miss anything important for you. The Charles that would send you random texts with pictures of things that reminded him of you. The Charles that cared, that asked, that communicated. This Charles was different, you two had grown into people with different goals in life. He wasn’t the same, but you also weren’t the same. Your priorities didn’t align anymore, that was a tough pill to swallow.

But you did.

You went back home again two days later, tanned and tranquil, with your mind made up about asking Charles for a break.

But as you entered the apartment, Charles ran into your arms.

“I’m so sorry, my love! So sorry I forgot about our plans! I was so worried about you!” He kissed your cheek, and you smiled politely, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise! I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant tomorrow night!”

“Charles,” you tried to come up with words, you were so tired, “I’ve got work this week.”

“Yeah, but you leave work at five? And our reservation is only at seven!” He asked, “Please, baby? Let me make it up to you.”

You were so tired of trying to hold on to something that was slipping through your fingers for months now, you didn’t feel any spark at his promising invite. But since he wanted to put in the effort, you would try again at least this once. If you couldn’t find the spark again until the end of the night, you’d have to let go.

So that’s how you ended up changing and putting makeup on at work, in your office. You’d meet Charles straight there since you had to catch up with work.

You had a gut feeling when you got to the restaurant, asking about the reservation under Leclerc. When the hostess took you to your table and you saw that Charles wasn’t there, you hoped and prayed he was coming.

Nursing a glass of wine, you just stared at the empty seat across from you. Your heart finally, fully sinking into the dark deep sea of this relationship. You felt like you’d been swimming against the tide, trying so hard to be the old you, with the old Charles. But this mourning of your relationship was happening inside of you for months now.

You had to let go.

Charles was 47 minutes late when you paid for the wine and got up, grabbed your coat and left.

You were waiting for the valet to bring your car, when Charles finally showed up, quickly talking to the other valet. Your boyfriend was flushed in the face and had very obviously rushed there. It took him a second to notice you standing outside.

“Amour! What are you-” he paused, seeing the quietness in your face and the lit up cigarette between your fingers, “why are you smoking?”

“That’s the first thing you tell me?!” You scoffed. He finally noticed that you were waiting, dressed in your coat.

“Are you leaving?” He asked, confused.

“Yes, my boyfriend stood me up, can you believe that?!” You said, sarcastically.

“But I’m here, amour. Admittedly, a little late but-” he tried to say.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head, with a smirk, “my boyfriend was late. My ex-boyfriend is here.”

“Amour, no, please just-”

“Save it, Charles. It’s time to let go,” you said and briefly thanked the valet as he brought your car out, “I’ll go to your flat tomorrow, pick my stuff and leave the keys.”

“Please, don’t do this. Don’t do this to us,” Charles was teary eyed but you were unmoved. You quietly took a drag, then turned your face to puff the smoke to the other side.

“Us is done for a long time, and I’ve been trying to save it for a while but I’m tired now.”

“Can we talk? Tomorrow?”

“You won’t be here tomorrow, Charles. You’ll probably be doing any of the hundred things that are more important than your girlfriend,” you got into the car and drove away. Charles could see you didn’t want to talk, and maybe it was better to let you cool off for a moment.

He couldn’t believe how cold and detached you were being, the nonchalance in your tone, the finality of it all. Yes, he had messed up a few times, but not to the point of losing you. Right?

You ignored his messages and calls as you spent the next 24 hours in a hotel, only leaving to go to work and back. You had told Charles you were going to pick up your stuff, but you decided to do that two days later, when you knew he wouldn’t be there, traveling for his sponsor's commitments.

But when you got there, Charles was there, looking like he had barely slept.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy?” You asked, bringing a couple of cardboard boxes inside.

“I canceled. Was waiting for you.” He said, low.

You felt like the lump in your throat was going to suffocate you any moment, because that’s what you wanted. You wanted him to put you first once, to care for your career a little bit, to make you a priority. But you wanted that earlier.

“You didn’t need to,” you said and swallowed, starting to pick up your books from the bookshelf, placing them in the box.

“You’re what matters the most,” he said, walking up to you.

“Bit late for that, Charles,” you scoffed. You couldn’t help but feel angry and act petty when you had been begging for his attention for almost a year now.

“Please, talk to me, Amour. Tell me.” He begged, taking your hands from the books, pulling you to pay attention to him. You snapped, pulling your hands from his.

“Did you cheat on me?” You asked, suddenly, because the possibility had been roaming your mind for a while now. It would certainly explain his distance, his misplaced priorities.

“What? What kind of question is that?” He looked so offended.

“Yes or no, Charles. It’s a simple question.”

“No, I would never cheat on you!”

You sighed. Old you would’ve believed him. Present you… weren’t sure. But then, it didn’t matter if he did it or not, anyway you broke up already.

“Talk to me!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” You shouted, taking a step back.

“What is going on! What you are feeling! Why are you leaving me?!” He was just as loud.

“Our relationship has been ending for a while now, are you fucking blind?! I’m alone in this! I love you alone. I cherish you alone. I fucking try alone! You don’t have the time for us, and you don’t even try to pay attention to me! You forgot me in the paddock a month ago, and you didn’t even know because you never asked! You missed the gala where I got a promotion, my greatest accomplishment! You missed our anniversary celebration! And when you promised to make it up to me, you stood me up! I’m tired, I feel like you’re suffocating us to death with your bare hands!”

“I didn’t realize you we-”

“Of course, you didn’t! You only care about yourself, Charles.”

“I take responsibility for my actions, yes. I’m so sorry I made you go through all that! But I can fix it!” He said, pleading.

“I don’t believe you anymore,” you said, voice soft and sad, “Who says I won’t get my hopes high only to be met with disappointment again later on?”

“I’m saying!”

“You’ve said that before, I’ll make it up to you, It won’t happen again, We’ll reschedule, I’m done with your excuses, Charles.”

“You don’t love me anymore? Is that it?”

“Stop, Charles. You’re being unfair.”

“Yes or no?” He pressed further.

“I don’t know!” You shouted, exasperated, “I don’t know. My love took many hits over this year.”

“So this is it?” Charles opened his arms, flailing them around, “we’re done?”

“Yes. It’s for the best,” You finally said. Weirdly, you probably made peace with the fact your relationship was ending when you were crying alone in Positano.

It washed you with a surprising sense of relief, like a weight lifted from your shoulders. You probably had been emotionally checking out for a while. His absences and the coldness had been taking such a toll on you and your mental health, that the prospect of not having to deal with it anymore made you feel at peace.

That, or you were still numb after a rollercoaster of emotions.

“No, I don’t want it, I love you. So much.” he shook his head, tears streaming down his face.

A tiny part of you still wanted to comfort him, to hug him and say he’d be fine in the end. But nobody offered you the same kindness. Charles would have friends and family supporting him. You couldn’t do that. Not when he had caused you so much pain, constantly.

“I’ll, um-” you paused, putting the books back, “I’ll go. I can come back another time, when you’re not home. It will be better this way.”

You started walking to the door, but Charles intercepted you, blocking your path. His eyes were red, cheeks wet, and he looked absolutely hopeless.

“Please, let me try! Is there something I can do to change your mind?” He begged.

“No,” you dodged him, going to the door.

You left, without looking back. And despite the pain of ending something that at some point was so beautiful and such a source of happiness, the day was sunny and beautiful, and something in the way it warmed your face told you that you’d be alright.

NOTE: I'm considering writing part 2 with reader moving on, and as I'm feeling petty, I want her to move on to another driver, teehee. Opinions on which driver?

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #Spotify

681 notes · View notes

gul4bjamoons · 3 days ago

Text

✩ a heartfelt departure;

omar marmoush ──────

when a hidden football contract reveals an unsettling reality, it challenges your relationship like never before.

⭑ wordcount : three thousand eight hundred seventy-seven.

⭑ notes : this was supposed to go up earlier but rashford news had me distraught

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Omar Marmoush had been evading this conversation as if it were a death sentence. Every time the thought of telling you crossed his mind, he batted it away—like a ball teetering on the edge of the touchline, just before it went out of bounds. He left it there, untouched, clinging to the fragile hope that somehow it might find its way back into play.

Plus, the transfer deal was not even finalized—still suspended in the ether, his agent caught up with the final negotiations. Atleast, that was the excuse he clung to, a half-truth in an attempt to justify his silence. But the truth was, the deal wasn’t the only thing suspended in the air; so was his courage.

And yet, the truth always found a way to come to life.

It hadn’t been some dramatic unraveling of secrets. No, it was simply another ordinary day, the kind that slipped quietly into the rhythm of your life. The scent of his cologne mingled with the stale traces of coffee, clinging to the apartment. The floor was a reticent battlefield—abandoned socks, crumpled notes, and the occasional stray jersey lay scattered in a trail only he knew how to navigate. You had become used to these remnants of his world, the carefully disguised chaos that bled into yours.

You had lost count of how many times you had asked him to pick up after himself, but his promises were as fleeting as his presence, always swallowed by the game. Still, he found his own way of making amends, in the form of tender gestures: a breakfast in bed served with an apologetic smile.

In a distrait attempt to tidy up the clutter, you grab a stack of papers teetering on the edge of the table, your fingers grazing the cool metal of his open laptop. The glow of the screen bathed your skin. You hadn’t meant to look. Just to put it on charge.

But then—

Finalizing Transfer to Manchester City: Urgent Matters to Discuss.

The email screamed at you in blaring letters, though your mind refused to register them at first. A mistake—surely?

But then the room constricted, the walls pressing in, suffocating you with reality. Your breath hitched, chest tightening as if the very air had betrayed you.

Your fingers trembled as you clicked the email, eyes darting over the words, each sentence slicing deeper. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy, not at all. But somehow, before you could even think it through, your hands acted on their own, moving faster than your brain could catch up.

It wasn’t happening at the end of the season.

Not months from now.

Days.

The illusion of time shattered at your feet. You knew this was inevitable. It was Omar’s dream. But knowing it didn’t soften the blow of losing him.

Your pulse roared in your ears, the cursor blinking at you like a silent countdown. Urgent Matters to Discuss. As if love could be filed away in a folder between contracts and logistics. As if everything you were to him—everything he was to you—had been reduced to paperwork and negotiations.

Not love.

Not promises.

Not you.

You sat there, your thoughts scattered, hours slipping away unnoticed. The faint sound of keys jingling at the door snapped you out of your haze. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Omar. His presence filled the room, like it always did.

"Hey," Omar called out, his voice cheerful, ranting about his teammate. "You won’t believe what Tuta said earlier—"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes locking onto yours. You swallowed, your mouth dry. The laptop was still open, the email glaring between you like an exposed wound.

"How long were you going to wait to tell me?" Your voice came out quieter than intended, but the weight behind it was anything but small.

"Wait—" His voice faltered. "You went through my mail?"

You shot him a look, a silent challenge, like that was the least important thing in the room right now.

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed. "I was going to tell you."

A dry laugh escaped you—sharp, without humor. “Oh, yeah? When? On the way to the airport? After you signed? Or maybe just a text from Manchester?”

Omar ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, the tension in his shoulders like a knot you could feel from across the room. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Your voice rose, anger and hurt finally spilling over the edges of your restraint. “You can’t just leave me hanging, Omar.”

He exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his hand reaching out toward you like he was trying to calm a storm he’d set in motion. “I was going to tell you, I just… I needed to get everything sorted first. No point in worrying if it fell through.”

“Of course,” you snapped, the words coming fast and bitter. “You were trying to protect me. Not keep me in the dark. Not treat me like an afterthought.”

His eyes darkened, and you saw the edge of something vulnerable, something that made your heart ache despite your anger. “You are not an afterthought.”

“Then why does it feel like I am?” Your voice cracked.

A silence stretched between you, thick and overwhelming. Omar stood frozen, as if trying to gather the right words, the right explanation.

“I thought once I told you, it would make it real.” He trailed off, swallowing. “And if it was real… then I’d have to leave. And I didn’t— I don’t want to leave you. But I couldn’t…”

You shook your head, tears threatening to burn behind your eyes. “But you are leaving me, Omar. And I—” You choked on the words. “I know you want this, I’ve always supported you. I want it for you too. But you… you didn’t give me the chance to even process this. You made me think it would only happen in the summer, but suddenly it’s here, and you’re practically gone now. You’re leaving me, and I—”

You paused, taking a deep breath, like you were trying to hold yourself together. “I’m here, Omar. I have a life. You know I can’t just pick up and leave in an instance.”

He stepped closer, but you drew back. “No. I need space, Omar. You could have at least told me there was discussion going on between the clubs.”

His hands hovered in the air, unsure where to place them, like he couldn’t find a way to bridge the space between you. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I was just so scared—terrified of you not being there with me. And I’m sorry. I really never meant to hurt you.”

“I know…” you whispered, finally turning to look at him. “I just... I need some time to process it, Omar. That’s all. Please understand.”

His eyes were soft, but the pain in them was clear as he nodded.

A tear slipping down your cheek before you quickly wiped it away.

His heart clenched at the sight, aching to reach out, to kiss your worries away. But he knew he couldn’t—he can’t fix this with just one touch.

You pulled the door open and stepped out, a cold breeze captured your face. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him standing in the quiet, shattered by everything you hadn’t said and everything he hadn’t given. Omar Marmoush was lost, and this time, he wasn’t sure if there was a turning back.

It felt like a lifetime since he had spoken to you, though it hadn’t been long at all.

Omar had been stressed, a suffocating weight pressing on him. He knew you had been happy for him—of course you had. You loved him, and you wanted him to succeed. Especially now since the deal had been confirmed. But that didn’t erase the hurt. The sting of betrayal from finding out the way you had, left in the dark about something so huge, something that should have been shared with you.

After giving you some space, he had tried reaching out—calls, texts, any way to make contact. But all he got were short responses, distant replies. You weren’t shutting him out completely, but you weren’t letting him back in, either. And that hollow space between him and you was becoming more unbearable with every moment that passed.

So he showed up at your door.

You had just finished tidying up when the gentle knock on the door startled you. For a moment, you froze. You weren’t expecting anyone. But then, you opened it, and there he was—Omar.

He stood there, holding a small box in his hands. The familiar scent of chocolate wafted through the crack of the door before he even spoke.

“I brought your favorite ones,” he said, his voice strained, as if the words were weighing him down. He lifted the box, offering it to you, a small, guilty smile playing on his lips. “I know it’s not enough, but… hopefully it’s a start.”

You glanced at the chocolate and then back at him. “Omar…” you whispered, your heart aching. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the box in his hands, as if it might give him the courage to say what he needed to. When he finally spoke, his voice fragile. “I’ve been a wreck without you. I know I didn’t handle things the right way. I gave you space like you asked, but… I was hoping we could talk now. If you’re okay with that, of course.” He let out a shaky breath. You nodded as you noticed his eyes flickering with regret.

“I’m sorry for keeping the transfer from you. I should’ve told you sooner. You had every right to know and deserve so much more than that.” His eyes fell to the ground for a moment before they lifted to meet yours again. “And I want to do better for you. I can’t stand this... I’ve been going insane without you.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound filled with both sadness and a touch of relief. “You’re not the only one losing it,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve been going crazy too, Omar. Not knowing, not having you here like before. It’s been really hard.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “I hate that I hurt you. I really do. I know I messed up, but I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make it right. To prove to you that I won’t ever make that mistake again. I care about you more than anything, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath, holding his gaze as you stepped closer. “I love you,” you said quietly, your voice full of sincerity. “And... I never want you to do that again. We share everything, okay? No more secrets.”

Omar’s face lit up, his relief palpable. “Of course not.” He said, voice filled with both promise and gratitude. “I swear, I’ll never do that to you again.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance between you both. His eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Slowly, gently, he cupped your face with his hands, and you leaned into his touch.

Without saying another word, he kissed you. It was as if the weight of the past had to be washed away in that single moment. It was everything, all at once—apology, forgiveness, love.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled. “Every day until I leave,” he whispered, his voice low and tender. “I’m yours. All yours.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him, “So, you’re not mine after you leave?”

His face faltered for a second, and he quickly shook his head. “No, no... that is not what I meant” he laughed, though it was a nervous chuckle. “I’ll be yours forever.”

You grinned, still teasing. “Maybe... maybe you’ll have to get used to me being around more often. Like when my job is finished in the summer... maybe I’ll move in with you?”

He looked at you, stunned for a brief moment, before his grin widened. “Wait, what?” he exclaimed, trying to keep the surprise in check. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, your smile growing into something more intimate. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

Omar’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and cupped your face as he kissed you passionately.

The days in Germany blurred into one seamless memory, each moment shared between you and Omar wove into the fabric of a love that had only deepened with time. He was determined to show you, in every quiet, unspoken way, just how much you meant to him.

Every morning, he arrived at your door with your favorite coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as he grinned, his eyes promising more than words could express. He stayed up late, not to sleep, but to listen—to hear every detail of your day, no matter how small, and to be there for you in ways you hadn’t even realized you needed. When your exhaustion weighed on you, he would create perfect evenings, dim lights and gentle music, offering you refuge in his presence. He listened and shared everything with you—his worries, his hopes, his fears—instead of retreating. Slowly, the distance that had once grown between you faded, replaced by something stronger, something irreplaceable.

And then, before you guys knew it, the final day in Germany arrived.

The morning came quietly, a hush over the world as if it, too, understood the gravity of what was about to unfold. You woke up wrapped in Omar’s arms, the warmth of him seeping into you. You held him a little tighter, not wanting to face the inevitable goodbye that was waiting just beyond the horizon.

“Let’s make today count,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.

So, you embraced the day fully, savoring every fleeting moment.

The two of you wandered through the streets of Frankfurt, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, as if leaving a trail of memories behind with each step.The city, this city, was a part of you both—its streets lined with memories, its corners kissed by moments of joy, love, and growth.

You stopped at the little bakery where you had sat together after his first big win with Eintracht Frankfurt. The same corner table by the window, bathed in the soft morning light, was waiting for you. For a moment, you both sat in silence, enjoying your pastries. The past seemed to weave itself into the present with each quiet glance, every shared laugh. His fingers brushed against yours, and the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you—together.

Later, Omar took you to the stadium. The once-thrumming heart of his life now stood silent, a giant of steel and stone, its stands empty, its seats still. He stood at the edge of the pitch, his gaze sweeping across the field as if trying to capture every last detail, imprinting it in his memory.

"It’s strange, you know?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. “After the last game, everything felt so... surreal. The energy in the stadium, the crowd—they were alive, feeding off each other. It was the perfect ending. But now... it’s all still. Just me, this field... and the memories.”

You stood beside him, your fingers intertwined, sharing the weight of his words. “What was it like?” you questioned.

He exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. “It was... everything,” he said, his voice full of nostalgia. “I couldn’t have asked for a better game, a better farewell. But now, standing here...” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the stands, taking in the emptiness, the ghosts of the past. “It feels like I’m leaving a part of myself behind. This place, these people... it’s all been so much a part of who I am. I’ll miss it, more than I thought I would.”

You squeezed his hand, stepping a little closer, your voice faint as you spoke. “You’ll carry it with you, Omar. It’s not really a goodbye.”

He looked at you then, his eyes soft with a tenderness that spoke volumes, far louder than words ever could. As you walked hand in hand around the stadium, his thumb gently brushed over your knuckles, a quiet promise in the simple touch.

Soon, you both went to a nearby restaurant where his Eintracht Frankfurt teammates had gathered around a large table. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just one of their favorite local spots—but there was a warm familiarity to it, a sense of family that filled the room and made everything feel effortlessly right.

They joked, teasing each other about the season’s highlights, recounting moments on the field with a shared fondness, each story more exaggerated than the last. Omar sat back, a soft smile on his face as he listened to the banter. It was clear how much they meant to him, these men who had been by his side through every high and low.

The table fell silent before they raised their glasses together. You could feel the depth of the bond between them—more than just football, it was family. It was simple, but you could sense the weight of it all, knowing this chapter of Omar’s life was closing, but the memories would stay with him—and with them—all forever.

At last, the day came to a close, and with it, the harsh weight of reality settled in, a cold, suffocating presence that pressed down on your chest like a stone.

There you were, standing at the airport, the chilly terminal around you only intensifying the heat of emotions swirling within. Your world had gone quiet just for this moment—the moment when you both knew the goodbye was inevitable. The departure gate was looming ahead, its sterile emptiness serving as the grim reminder that time was slipping away, taking him further from you with each passing second.

Omar stood beside you, his suitcase heavy at his side, but it was the grip on its handle that told you everything. It was tight, unyielding, as though he were holding onto more than just a piece of luggage. He was holding onto the life you two had built, fighting against the crushing weight of this goodbye, the uncertainty of everything that lay ahead.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your voice faltering as it left your lips,. Your heart felt like it was breaking in two, and you weren’t sure you could stand it much longer. “I hate that you have to leave.”

His gaze faltered, a sharp ache flickering in his eyes, one that mirrored the storm brewing in your chest. Without a word, he reached for your face, his fingers brushing over your cheeks.

"I know," he whispered, his voice rough, yet somehow soothing, like a balm trying to heal wounds that were too deep to mend. "But we’ll make it work. Just a few more months. After you're done with your work here, you’ll be in Manchester with me. We’ll be together again."

You nodded, though it felt more like you were acknowledging the impossibility of it all. His words, meant to comfort, barely reached you as everything inside seemed to unravel.

“Promise me we’ll be okay?” you pleaded, your voice breaking with desperation. “Promise me you won’t forget about me.”

The lump in your throat tightened, each breath becoming more ragged as you refused to let any tears slip. You needed him to promise you something—that everything would fall into place, that you wouldn’t be left standing here, caught between love and the fear of losing it.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, shaky. “I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

With one chaste kiss, you pulled away. You forced a smile, as he turned to walk toward the gate. Inside, Omar fought to hold back his own tears, his thoughts spiraling. It’s just a little while. Just a few months. he kept telling himself. But no amount of logic could ease the gnawing fear of what might happen when the distance became too much.

You stood there, watching him go, your body rooted to the spot as if it couldn’t bear to move. But eventually, you turned, your eyes scanning the terminal, trying to will yourself to walk away. Yet, as you did, a sigh escaped you, heavy with sorrow. You couldn't help but glance over your shoulder one last time.

Funny enough, there he was—looking back at you, his face a mirror of your own sadness. His eyes locked with yours across the distance, both of you silently asking the same question.

How do we let go of something that feels like everything?

Without thinking, without a single ounce of rationality left in your body, you ran to him. Your heart was racing, faster than it had ever beaten before, and every part of you screamed to hold on, to not let him go.

Omar’s eyes widened in shock as you reached him, and before he could say a word, you threw your arms around him, clinging to him like your life depended on it. His bag fell to the floor with a dull thud, but his arms—his arms were there, steadying you, holding you, lifting you off the ground.

He spun you once, then twice, and for that brief moment, you felt weightless, as if the world had forgotten that you were about to say goodbye. He kissed you then, desperately, urgently, as though he, too, was afraid of losing you, afraid of what would happen when this moment was over.

“I don’t want to let go,” you choked out.

Omar’s eyes were glassy now, the pain in his gaze matching your own. “Then don’t,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the roar of the terminal.

His knuckles turned white as he clung to you. You buried yourself into his chest, memorizing the feel of him—his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. You inhaled the scent of him, hoping to carry it with you for the months to come, wishing there was a way to freeze this moment in time, to make the clock stop ticking and let you stay here, forever, in his arms.

When he finally set you down, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily, clinging to the last remnants of this fleeting moment. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked as he spoke. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. Soon,” you whispered back.

The announcement for his flight sliced through the air, cutting the moment short. You both exchanged one last glance, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips as he quickly made his way to the gate. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but even with the ache in your chest, that shared look between you offered an unspoken promise—this was not the end.

A goodbye isn’t forever when love is the one thing that never fades.

51 notes · View notes