Erling Haaland ⋆ ̊✿˖°

What was supposed to be nothing more than a stupid bet somehow became the biggest mistake either of you had ever made.

For as long as anyone at Manchester City could remember, you and Erling Haaland couldn't stand each other. As one of the club's sports journalists, it was practically your job to chase players for interviews, and somehow every conversation with Erling ended the same way—with sarcastic remarks, eye rolls and another pointless argument that left everyone around you wondering how two people could clash so naturally. He thought you asked annoying questions, you thought he was insufferably cocky, and neither of you ever missed the opportunity to get under the other's skin.

One afternoon, a harmless conversation turned into a challenge, and a challenge quickly turned into a bet.

You confidently claimed you could make any man hate you in ten days if you really wanted to.

Erling laughed.

He said ten days were more than enough to make someone fall in love instead.

Neither of you was willing to back down.

So the rules were simple. For ten days, the two of you would spend as much time together as possible. You would do everything you could to make him regret ever agreeing to the bet, while he'd do everything he could to make you fall for him before the ten days were over.

It sounded easy.

It should've stayed easy.

At first, it was all part of the game. Every smile was fake, every compliment had another meaning behind it, every date was another opportunity to outsmart each other. You purposely stole food from his plate, interrupted him whenever he spoke, criticized his music taste, complained about football, rolled your eyes whenever he tried to impress you and kept convincing yourself that eventually he'd get tired of you.

He never did.

Instead, he surprised you.

He took you out on dates that had nothing to do with expensive restaurants or cameras. He showed you the places he genuinely liked, laughed whenever you made fun of his terrible jokes, insisted on walking you home after every late night together and slowly stopped treating the bet like a competition. Somewhere along the way he introduced you to his family, proudly letting you meet the people who meant the most to him, and for the first time you saw a version of Erling the rest of the world never got to see.

Not the football star.

Not the goal machine.

Just Erling.

The man who laughed so hard he couldn't breathe, who called his parents whenever he had the chance, who absentmindedly reached for your hand while the two of you walked through crowded streets, who looked at you before anyone else whenever something made him smile.

Without realizing it, the arguments became teasing conversations.

The teasing became flirting.

The flirting became something neither of you knew how to stop.

Somewhere between all those days together, the stupid bet stopped mattering.

You forgot about winning.

He forgot about winning.

You fell in love with each other without either of you noticing when it happened.

But you made one mistake.

Before any of this had become real, while the bet was still just a game, you'd written an article. It was meant to expose the ridiculous challenge between the two of you, filled with private moments, conversations and details that no one outside your little arrangement was ever supposed to know. Back then it had simply been another step toward proving you'd won.

Then everything changed.

You never wanted anyone to read it.

You tried to pull it back.

You tried to stop it from being published.

It was already too late.

The article had been approved, printed and distributed before you could do anything about it, and by the following morning every newspaper was carrying the same headline. Every private conversation Erling had trusted you with, every vulnerable confession, every quiet moment he'd shared after finally letting his guard down had become entertainment for complete strangers.

You loved him.

You would have given anything to undo it.

But apologies couldn't pull thousands of newspapers off the shelves.

It seemed like you'd both won your respective bets.

You had fallen in love with Erling Haaland.

And now Erling Haaland hated you.

After Manchester City's latest match, you waited outside the players' tunnel hoping to explain yourself before he heard the story from someone else. It was already too late.

The laughter echoing through the corridor caught his attention first. At first, Erling assumed someone had found another ridiculous meme about him online, barely paying it any mind until one of his teammates silently handed him the newspaper folded open to the front page.

He recognized your name immediately.

Then he read the headline.

The smile disappeared from his face.

"Are you happy?"

His voice was quieter than you'd expected, the newspaper crumpled tightly in his hands as he walked toward you.

"How could you?"

Without another word, he threw the newspaper onto the floor between the two of you. That wasn't sports journalism anymore. That wasn't reporting. You had turned the most personal days of his life into gossip, exposing every piece of himself he'd trusted only you to know.

"I let you in... I let you into my life, into my home... I introduced you to my family."

His jaw clenched so tightly it almost hurt.

"Everything I told you... everything I trusted you with... every time I let my guard down around you..."

He let out a dry laugh, one that sounded far more painful than angry.

"I gave you every part of me because I thought I was safe with you."

For a long moment, he simply stared at you, searching your face for an explanation that could somehow make all of this hurt less.

He never found one.

"God..." he muttered, shaking his head.

"I was fucking in love with you."

---

Erling leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching in complete disbelief as the smoke detector echoed through the apartment for what had to be the third time that evening. He dragged a tired hand down his face before walking over to the stove, effortlessly turning the burner off and sliding the ruined pan away before it could become an actual fire hazard. The corner of his mouth twitched into an amused smile despite himself, shaking his head as he grabbed a clean towel to fan away the smoke.

"You know..." he muttered, glancing over his shoulder with an almost disappointed sigh. "At this point I'm convinced you're trying to kill me before the season ends."

---

The locker room had long emptied after training, leaving nothing but distant voices echoing through the hallway outside. Erling remained seated on the wooden bench in front of his locker, elbows resting against his knees while he slowly untied his boots, unusually quiet for someone who usually couldn't stop talking after a win. He finally looked up, his blue eyes settling on the doorway before letting out a quiet laugh that held no real amusement behind it.

"Funny, isn't it?" His fingers absentmindedly turned his captain's armband over and over. "I can play in front of eighty thousand people without feeling nervous..." His gaze dropped toward the floor for a brief second before returning just as quickly. "...but somehow you make me think twice before every sentence."

---

Erling let out an exaggerated sigh as he noticed the untouched plate sitting in front of him, immediately reaching across the table without asking and stealing a fry before leaning back in his chair with the most satisfied expression imaginable. It wasn't because he was hungry—everyone knew he could order another meal if he wanted to—but because provoking people had always been far more entertaining than simply eating his own food.

"You're seriously not going to eat this?" he asked innocently, already reaching for another fry before shrugging his shoulders. "Alright then... waste of perfectly good food if you ask me."

---

His laughter slowly faded as he noticed the newspaper lying between the two of you, yesterday's headline staring back at him in black ink. The atmosphere shifted almost instantly. Every ounce of warmth disappeared from his expression, replaced by a silence that somehow hurt more than shouting ever could. He bent down to pick the paper up, reading the headline one last time before crumpling it tightly in his hand.

"Do you know what hurts the most?" he asked quietly, his voice dangerously calm. "It isn't the article." He looked up, disappointment far outweighing the anger in his eyes. "It's realizing I never thought twice before trusting you."

---

The city lights blurred together outside the car window as Erling rested one arm against the steering wheel, the other lazily hanging over the center console while soft music filled the silence between songs. He wasn't in any rush to reach the destination, occasionally glancing sideways with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips whenever something outside caught his attention.

"Football's easy," he admitted after several quiet minutes, his thumb absentmindedly tapping against the steering wheel. "People expect goals from me. They expect me to win. They expect me to be confident." A small chuckle escaped him before he looked ahead again. "Life's a lot harder when there isn't a scoreboard telling you whether you're doing the right thing."

---

Erling stood in the doorway with his training bag hanging from one shoulder, still wearing Manchester City's training kit after another exhausting session. A few damp strands of blond hair had fallen over his forehead, evidence that he'd barely taken the time to shower before leaving. Without saying anything, he disappeared into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator as if he owned the place and immediately frowned.

"This is criminal." He looked around the room in disbelief before holding up an almost empty bottle of water. "Tell me this isn't all you've got in here." He closed the refrigerator with a quiet sigh, already reaching for his phone. "Nope. I'm ordering food, and this time you're actually going to eat something that isn't coffee and stubbornness."

---

His competitive streak had always been impossible to hide, no matter how insignificant the challenge was. Whether it was football, bowling, cards or simply deciding who could finish dessert first, Erling approached everything with the exact same determination. He leaned forward slightly, extending his hand with an almost offended look on his face.

"You're giving up already?" A grin slowly spread across his lips. "Come on... don't do that to me." He tilted his head, confidence practically radiating from him. "At least lose properly."

---

Erling rested both elbows against the restaurant table, lazily spinning the dessert spoon between his fingers while watching you with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and suspicion. After ten straight minutes of listening to you explain why pineapple absolutely belonged on pizza, why football wasn't even the most entertaining sport to watch and why his favorite hoodie looked "a little ugly," he finally let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head to himself before leaning back in his chair.

"You know..." he began, his grin refusing to disappear. "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose." He studied your face for another second before chuckling again. "The funny part is... it's not working."

---

The rain had started unexpectedly halfway through your walk back to the car, soaking the streets within minutes. Erling barely reacted, pulling his hood over his head before instinctively taking off his jacket and holding it out without a second thought. The gesture was so natural it almost seemed automatic, as if he'd done it a hundred times before.

"Don't argue." His voice remained calm, already draping the jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to refuse. "I'd rather get soaked than spend the next three days listening to you complain because you caught a cold." A small smirk crossed his lips. "Actually... no, I wouldn't. But I'm still giving you the jacket."

---

Erling leaned comfortably against the kitchen island, one hand casually resting in his pocket while the other absentmindedly peeled an orange. His phone buzzed somewhere nearby with another notification from one of his teammates asking where he'd disappeared to, but he ignored it completely, more interested in the conversation happening in front of him than whatever chaos the group chat had created.

"Do you realize..." he started, separating another slice before popping it into his mouth, "...that I haven't checked my phone in almost an hour?" A quiet laugh escaped him. "Dias would've called the police by now."

---

The amusement slowly disappeared from Erling's face as he watched another reporter approach with a camera already pointed in his direction. Questions were thrown at him from every angle, voices overlapping until none of them made any sense anymore. He answered none of them. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the newspaper folded beneath someone's arm, recognizing the headline immediately before looking away again.

"It's funny." His voice came out much quieter than expected. "I spent years learning how to deal with people talking about my football." His jaw tightened for a brief moment. "Nobody tells you what to do when they start talking about the parts of your life that were never supposed to belong to them."

---

Erling sat at the edge of the hotel bed with his forearms resting against his thighs, absentmindedly turning the room key card between his fingers while the city lights filtered through the curtains behind him. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Somewhere between the flights, the long drives and all the ridiculous dates the bet had forced the two of you to go on, silence had become strangely easy.

"Can I tell you something?" His voice broke the quiet without warning. He smiled to himself before looking down at the key card again. "I don't even remember what day we're on anymore." A short laugh escaped him. "I think I stopped counting a while ago."

---

The newspaper landed on the table with enough force to make the coffee cup beside it rattle. Erling didn't raise his voice. Somehow, that made everything worse. He simply stared at the front page before slowly looking back up, searching your face as though he genuinely hoped there was an explanation hidden somewhere behind your expression.

"Tell me it's a lie." His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. "Tell me they made it up." He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "Because if you wrote this... then every time you smiled at me..." He let out a bitter laugh, unable to finish the sentence.

---

Erling stood alone in the empty corridor outside the locker room long after everyone else had gone home. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, illuminating the crumpled newspaper still clutched in one hand. He'd read the article so many times that the ink had begun to smear beneath his fingers, yet he kept staring at it as if the words might somehow rearrange themselves into something that hurt a little less.

"Do you know what's embarrassing?" he murmured more to himself than anyone else. "I don't regret falling in love with you." A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. "I just regret finding out that everyone else got to read about it before I realized it was real."

---

Erling quietly pushed his phone across the table, the screen still displaying the countdown he'd set ten days earlier as nothing more than a joke. The timer had reached zero hours, zero minutes and zero seconds sometime that morning, yet neither of you had bothered mentioning it until now.

He looked at the screen for a long moment before locking it and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Looks like we both won." His smile was tired, almost defeated. "Congratulations." He nodded once, the silence stretching between each word. "You fell in love with me..." His eyes finally met yours. "...and I fell in love with you."

He paused.

"The only difference is..." his voice dropped to little more than a whisper, "...I don't think either of us expected losing to hurt this much."

---

Erling stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as the silence stretched painfully between the two of you. Usually he would've filled it with some sarcastic comment or another pointless joke just to get under your skin, but now he couldn't even bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Every glance only reminded him of those ten days, and somehow every memory felt tainted now.

"You know what's funny?" he muttered quietly, letting out a humorless laugh. "I keep trying to remember the exact moment I fell in love with you..." His jaw tightened. "...and now every memory ends exactly the same way."

---

The training ground had never felt so small.

Erling noticed you the second you stepped onto the pitch, but instead of walking over like he normally would've, he simply adjusted the tape around his wrist and continued his warm-up as if you weren't there. It wasn't because he hadn't seen you.

It was because he didn't trust himself to.

"Coach wants us in five." His voice remained calm, never once looking in your direction. "Don't be late."

That was it.

No teasing.

No arguments.

No smile.

Somehow, the indifference hurt far more than if he'd screamed.

---

Erling rested both hands against the kitchen counter of his apartment, staring absentmindedly at the coffee growing colder in his mug. The place still looked exactly the same as it had a week ago, yet everything felt different now. There was still an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, one of your hair ties sitting forgotten beside the sink and a hoodie you'd insisted on stealing hanging over the back of his couch.

He hadn't touched any of it.

"I should throw it away." His voice barely rose above a whisper as he glanced toward the living room.

A long silence followed.

"I can't."

---

He'd replayed the article so many times in his head that he'd practically memorized it.

Every sentence.

Every quote.

Every detail.

Not because he wanted to...

Because he couldn't stop wondering which conversations had been genuine and which ones had simply become material for another headline.

"When you asked me about my family..." he finally asked, his blue eyes meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever. "...were you actually interested?"

Another pause.

"Or were you already writing the article in your head?"

---

Erling leaned back in his chair during the press conference, absentmindedly spinning a water bottle between his hands while reporters fired one question after another. Most of them were about football.

Until one wasn't.

His smile disappeared almost instantly.

"No." His answer came short and firm.

The room fell silent.

"I'm here to talk about football."

Without another word, he stood up and walked out, ignoring every voice calling after him.

---

For several minutes, Erling simply stood there, saying nothing at all. His eyes wandered across your face as though he was searching for the woman he'd spent ten days falling in love with, desperately hoping she'd still be there somewhere beneath everything that had happened.

"This is the part that makes me feel stupid." A bitter smile crossed his face before disappearing just as quickly. "Even now..."

He laughed quietly to himself.

"I still don't know if I miss you... or the person I thought you were."

---

His phone screen illuminated the dark room for only a second before locking itself again.

The last conversation between the two of you remained pinned at the top of his messages.

Ten days.

Hundreds of texts.

Pictures.

Voice messages.

Promises.

Erling stared at the screen for another long moment before setting the phone face-down on the table.

He couldn't delete the conversation.

He couldn't read it either.

"I wish I'd lost the bet." he admitted quietly. "Because losing would've hurt a hell of a lot less than this."