You sat at home, fuming when you looked at the time on the clock. This was the third time this week that he had arrived home later than he told you, by a couple hours. Normally, this wouldn't piss you off but tonight was important. He was supposed to pick you up and take you to couples therapy. You two had hit a rough patch lately because you were both so busy and never had time for each other anymore. Combined with the fact that every time you two did talk, you argued about the smallest things, pushed you to make the appointment. This had been the last straw for you.

Twenty minutes later, you could here the sound of keys jingling before the front door to your shared home was opened. Bastian walked inside, looking nonchalant about the fact that he had caused the both of you to miss therapy. He didn't notice your presence or chose to ignore it because instead of walking over to you to apologize, he walked straight into the kitchen. Typical. You stood up and walked over to the man you thought you had loved for the past four years. But now, you weren't so sure. "Where were you?" you asked, arms crossed over your chest.

He turned around to look at you. "I had training then we all went out to dinner together," he said, missing the point as to why you were angry.

"Do you remember what today is?" you questioned.

"Uh . . . Tuesday, why?"

"You were supposed to pick me up after training and take the both of us to couples therapy," you reminded him, your anger boiling.

"I told you, (Y/N) we don't need to go talk to some therapy guy about our problems."

"Did you deliberately miss the appointment?" you seethed.

"No, but I still don't think we need to lay out our problems to this guy. He's probably a wacko," Bastian replied.

"Is this relationship a joke to you?"

"Why the hell would you ask that?" Bastian fired back. "Of course not."

"Well start acting like it!"

"You should freaking talk! All you've been is moody and grumpy theses last few months! You just complain and whine and yell at me, that's all you freaking do!" Bastian shouted.

"All you do is run around with your friends when you're not practicing doing drinking games! Don't tell me I'm not trying here! You on the other hand seem to like your beer more than me lately!"

"Well I can say that about your obsession with the freaking ice cream! I bought some two days ago and it's gone!"

"Are you calling me fat?!" The argument went on from there, getting more intense by the minute. You had finally had enough of him. "How about I just leave, huh? Would you like that?!"

"Sure, pack your stuff and leave! Don't ever come back!" he shouted back. You ran upstairs to your once shared bedroom and threw all of your belongings into two suitcases.

"Have a nice freaking life, you asshole! This relationship is over!" you screamed at him. Throwing your keys to the house at him, you slammed the door and you were officially out of Bastian Schweinsteiger's life. That had been almost three years ago. You had moved away from Bastian and had bought a small apartment in the outskirts of a city. You had gotten a job as a journalist for the German branch of FIFA Football Magazine (made up). You enjoyed your job, especially after you found out that you could work from home.

This normally wouldn't have been in your preference list until you found out that you were pregnant. It was Bastian's, there was no doubt. He was the only guy you had ever been intimate with, and therefore the only father candidate. You didn't want to tell Bastian, you didn't want to tell anyone who the father of your baby was. When people asked you, you simply told them that the father hadn't wanted a part in your life and therefore not a part in your child's life, even if you knew it was a lie.

You and Bastian loved children, and had talked about possibly having a few until you two started to drift apart. As your due date had drawn near, you were conflicted as to whether or not you should tell Bastian about the baby you two had made together. You decided against it, especially after reading an article about him. He had apparently moved on happily and was playing the best he ever had that season. It was best to leave well enough alone.

Eight months after you and Bastian had broken up, you delivered a full-term healthy baby boy. He had your (E/C) eyes but the rest of his physical features had obviously come from his father. You decided to give him his father's last name, and named him (Y/S/N) Bastian Schweinsteiger, after his father. He was now two and you usually had to bring him with you on business trips where you either watched football games and wrote articles about them or interviewed players.

Your son seemed to share both your and his father's love of football. You were currently travelling to Bayern Munich's training facility, a very familiar one, to interview Thomas Müller, one of your and Bastian's mutual friends. The security guard led you to the interview room. You set your bag down and plopped your son down in the corner. "You have to be quiet, okay," you reminded your son. He nodded and sat down, finishing a coloring book. You took your seat just as Thomas walked into the room. Confusion fell upon his face.

"(Y/N), is that you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I got a job working with FIFA Magazine, and here I am," you smiled. Thomas nodded and didn't seem to notice your quiet son in the corner. You asked him the generic questions that your boss had given you until you were interrupted by a crash from the corner your son was sitting in. You and Thomas whipped around to see what was the cause only to see your son smiling at the fact that he had knocked the small table over with a football lying around. "(Y/S/N)!" you scolded. Thomas looked at your son and realization lit up his face.

"That's your son?" he asked, looking back at you. You nodded, scared of his reaction. "Is he Bastian's?" Thomas asked again. You sighed and nodded. Before you could explain, the door to the room was opened by none other than Bastian himself.

"You done yet? The rest of us are going out for . . ." he trailed off once his eyes locked with your own. He gaped at the fact that here you were, three years later.

"Mommy!" your son squealed, breaking the tension in the air as he jogged over to you. You picked him up and sat him in your lap. Bastian's eyes flickered between you and your son. He tried to talk but the words didn't seen able to leave his mouth. Thomas, noticing the tension, grabbed your son's hand and led him out of the room, allowing you and Bastian to talk in private. When the door closed again, Bastian turned to look at you.

"H-How are you?" he stuttered, seeming to still be in shock.

"Good, and you?" you replied quietly. You could cut the tension with a knife.

"So, you're a mother?" he asked.

"Yeah . . ."

"How . . . how old is your son, if you don't mind me asking?" he questioned.

"Two, his birthday was four months ago," you sighed.

"What's his name?" Bastian gulped down the lump in his throat.

"(Y/S/N) . . . (Y/S/N) Bastian Schweinsteiger . . ." you trailed off, looking at the floor. You looked at your ex-boyfriend who ran his hands through his hair, trying to wrap his mind around the new information.

"Were . . . were you ever going to tell me?" he choked out.

"I didn't want to ruin your life. You seemed to be happy with that tennis girl and you were playing so well . . . I thought it was best if I didn't ruin that," you sighed. Bastian walked over to you, pulling you into a hug, both of you breathing shakily and on the verge of tears.

"What happened to us, (Y/N)?" Bastian sighed. Pulling away, Bastian stared down at you with a tender expression.

"I'm sorry I kept him out of your life, I didn't have the right to do that," you apologized.

"I was a dick, we were both hurt . . . maybe we should just start over, for our son's sake," Bastian stated, looking at you.

"I would like that," you replied, smiling up at the German. The door to the room reopened to display Thomas with your son on his back. "(Y/S/N), come over here, I have someone I want you to meet," you called. Thomas let the boy down before quietly slipping out. Your son walked over to you, staring up at your ex boyfriend, his father he had never met before. "This is your vater (father)." Your son turned to look up at the man in front of him.

You were worried that your son didn't like his father until he ran forward and clung to Bastian's leg. "Where were you, vater?" your son asked.

"I . . . I was away but I'm not leaving, not ever, again," Bastian smiled, picking up his son. Now that the two were next to each other, the similarities between the two came out even more than you had ever noticed before. You smiled as your son babbled to his father. Your little family was finally complete.