୧ 𝓙 ＯＢＥ ＢＥＬＬＩＮＧＨＡＭ
THE WINTER AIR WAS CRISPY, frost dusting the cobblestones of Dortmund’s old town. Your breath puffed out in clouds as you pulled your scarf tighter, the streetlamps casting warm pools of light on the quiet streets.
You and your friends wandered casually. They were chatting about Jude Bellingham—mostly because he was good-looking. “He’s so hot,” one said, “but I don’t really get football.”
You smiled to yourself. You knew more. Like Jobe Bellingham, Jude’s younger brother, who was still playing for Borussia Dortmund—the same team Jude had left for Real Madrid.
Then you saw him.
Not Jude.
Jobe.
Tall, lean, breath steaming in the cold, moving past a café window with the golden light catching his hair. You didn’t hesitate.
“Jobe,” you said, heart thudding.
Your friends spun around. “Wait, that’s Jude, right?”
You shook your head. “No, that’s Jobe. His younger brother. Still at Dortmund.”
They looked confused but stayed back as you stepped closer.
Jobe looked surprised, then smiled warmly. “You know who I am?”
You smiled softly, breath swirling. “Yeah, Dortmund knows you—no hiding.”
He glanced down, sighed quietly, then looked up. “Honestly, it’s weird… everyone just sees Jude. Like I’m tagging along.”
There was something real in his voice, like he wasn’t used to saying it out loud.
Your friends caught up, whispering.
You gave his arm a light squeeze. “But you’re not just a shadow. You’re your own thing.”
He smiled shyly, maybe starting to believe it too. “Maybe I should start thinking like that.”
Snowflakes drifted down, settling gently as the city seemed to hold its breath.
@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒