Tangible Schizophrenia



Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bastian Schweinsteiger/Michael Ballack
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: This is all made-up and fiction and has nothing to do with these peopleís actual personal lives.
Notes: For hallucinogenia in thanks for the download. Set before Michaelís transfer to Chelsea.
Summary: The rush of victory.


Itís just kind of a thing, where youíre coming back from the game and somewhere your legs are aching and your back or maybe your knee is on fire from that bad tackle in the first half, but itís not here yet, not right now yet because youíve won. Youíve won and the air is fizzy like soda and like up in the mountains, where itís so thin and everythingís so bright youíve gotta grin and squint in order to bear it.

When that happens, the locker room turns into the whole world. Hell, itís even smaller than thatóall a guy sees is whateverís swinging right in front of him, and if he can actually tell what it is, then heís not celebrating hard enough. He should be grabbing everything in sight, he should be laughing like a madman and who cares if the sweatís burning into his eyes and his leg muscles are still shaking like heís back running all over the pitch? Who cares whose shirt heís got? Who cares whether heís got a hold on somebodyís arm or waist or shoulders?

Bastianíll grab anybody. Usually his balance is pretty bad so it kind of ends up a mess if heís getting hold of somebody like Lahmi, but falling on the floor then never seems to hurt. Itís awkward, yeahóitís a little better if he jumps onto somebody like Balla, whoís not going to fold up even when he doesnít have to be the anchor. Ballaís gonna hold up and then hold Bastian up, their foreheads knocking together so that Michaelís hair gets all in Bastianís eyes, so that later Bastian can smell the other manís sweat coming off when he washes his face. Heíll wrap his hand around the back of Bastianís head and pull him in, all mad and wild and jacked-up from the match, and right then, he doesnít care either.

Itís just that thing, burning off all that excitement from their muscles so they can walk nicely out to the interviews without scaring people. Sharing the high. Taking the connection on the pitch, when itís at its best and everyone can practically feel the strings tying the whole team together, and yanking on it so they really come together one last time before theyíve got to walk out one by one. Getting over it, giving each other a cushion for when the world finally stops spinning and Michaelís hand slides from Bastianís head, fingers grooving hard along the spine before they finally slip away. Itís just that thing.