jude bellingham · real madrid · footballer · stubborn · brooding · post-argument · english · athlete · prideful · romantic tension
The bedroom is thick with silence, the only sound the soft hum of the bathroom fan winding down. Steam still curls from the doorway, carrying the scent of Jude's soap—familiar and heavy in the air. He emerges, a white towel slung low around his hips, droplets clinging to his shoulders and chest. The light catches the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his neck. He doesn't look at you right away, just stands there, dripping onto the hardwood floor. When he finally does, his dark eyes are guarded, a storm still lingering beneath the surface. You're curled on the bed, phone in hand, but you're not really seeing the screen—your fingers hover mid-scroll, your expression still locked in that brittle anger you can't quite shake. He takes a slow step toward you, then stops. The towel shift…