For THEO: Mesut Özil

You couldn't believe your eyes. Sure, the tabloids and the like had lied about millions of things in the past, but your eyes couldn't be torn away from the pictures on the paper in front of you. The headline read: "Mesut Özil photographed with new girl. Is relationship with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) over?" You choked back a sob. The girl in the photo looked young with blond hair. She held hands with Mesut as the two of them walked through the streets of a German town you didn't recognize. The front door of your and Mesut's home swung open.

"I'm home. Where are you, (Y/N)?" he called. Grabbing the paper, you stormed towards your boyfriend.

"What the hell is this?" you shouted, thrusting the paper into his hands. He raised an eyebrow at you before looking down at the paper you had been staring at for the last hour. He didn't say anything as he continued to stare at the paper. "Well, do you have anything to say for yourself? Who is she, Mesut? And where the hell are you guys anyways?" Your boyfriend lifted his head, looking at you in the eyes for the first time since you handed him the tabloid.

"(Y/N) . . ." You backed away from him, tears starting to cloud your vision. He reached out to try and grab your hand. You slapped it away.

"Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me! Don't even look at me, Mesut Özil! I can't . . . I don't . . . ugh!" You grabbed your purse and your car keys. Sidestepping Mesut, you thrusted the door open.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), please!" he pleaded, shutting the door before you could walk through it.

"Move," you growled, trying to pull open the door again.

"Just listen to me."

"Why should I?" you cried, able to push Mesut away from the door. You ran out the front door, to your car. Starting the car, you spared one last glance at the man standing, broken hearted, in the doorway of your old house. Old as in never going back. You drove off into the London streets. A week had passed since the episode.

You had holed yourself up in one of your friend's time shares in London, hiding from the world and more importantly a certain German Gunner. You got thousands of texts and phone calls from him but you ignored each and every one of them. You couldn't bear to see him again, at least not now. You had managed to watch the Arsenal game that weekend, against your better judgement. You were scared at what you saw.

Mesut was usually a controlled player, technical in his play and fast on the ball. The Mesut on the TV didn't look like he was in the game at all. He missed clear shots on goal, his passes weren't as perfect as they used to be, and he constantly cursed in Turkish (which you picked up on after his sister pointed it out to you). He was subbed out at half time and looked dejected on the bench as Flamini talked to him, his face showing his concern for his teammate.

You had turned off the TV at that point. That night, as you finished the leftovers from the night before, the doorbell rang. Curious, you walked cautiously towards the door. Peeking out of the peep hole, you sucked in a breath. Mesut stood out in the hallway, still in Arsenal attire from what you could see. He rang the doorbell again and you backed away from the door.

You turned to walk away completely when you decided to peek out the peep hole once more, only to see Mesut gone. Sighing in relief, you jumped in fright once there came a knock from the balcony glass door. Rushing over, you saw Mesut standing outside on the balcony. "How did you get there?" you shouted so that he could here you through the glass.

"Your neighbor let me in, after I signed a jersey," Mesut said. "Can I come in?" Rolling your eyes in annoyance, wishing that he would just leave you alone, you opened the door.

"There, happy?"

"No, not without you," Mesut replied.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you went and hung out with that blond bimbo," you growled, marching to the front door. "Now, if you would please leave me in peace," you pleaded.

"(Y/N), please just listen to me. Give me a minute."

"I'll give you fifteen seconds," you said coldly.

"Fine. Look I'm sorry. I was so stupid for doing that to you. I was selfish and I shouldn't have ever double crossed—"

"Your time is up. Out!" You walked behind Mesut and pushed him towards the door. "Now!" Unfortunately for you, you couldn't manage to push him out of the apartment. "Mesut please," you cried. Sighing to himself, Mesut turned around and placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

"I'll go, (Y/N), but don't think for a second that I won't fight to bring you back to my side," he stated. Kissing your cheek quickly, he was gone. You didn't believe his words until the next morning.

Ready to go out to work, you were surprised to see a pile of fresh red roses on the ground, below the mail hatch in the door. Raising an eyebrow, you picked up the roses. There were fifteen of them. A note was perched on top of the pile. ' There's one for every month I got to call you mine. I want to add more to the pile but I royally screwed that up, didn't I? -M1Ö'

You crumpled up the piece of paper and put the roses in a vase with water before heading out to work. Walking out to your car, you cursed once you saw the envelope of a parking ticket on your windshield. You had thought that you had parked in a perfect spot but the London police had something else to say about that.

Opening up the envelope to see the amount you would have to pay, you were confused when instead of a ticket, a chain of metal fell out. Picking it up, you realized it was a charm bracelet. A note also fell out. ' Each charm represents a moment in our relationship. I want to add more to the chain but I royally screwed that up, didn't I? -M1Ö'

Analyzing the charm bracelet, you fingered the dangling charms. There was a football, a red dress (you met when your red dress was the victim of him spilling his drink), a rose, and a pair of heels (because your height difference always resulted in you requiring a pair of heels to reach his lips). Looking around anxiously, you put the bracelet in your purse before hopping into your car and driving away.

Arriving at your work, you immediately got down to business and started doing your job. You got an incoming phone call on your work phone. Thinking it was someone from your work, you picked up the phone without checking the caller id. "Hello?"

"Did you get the flowers and the bracelet?" a familiar voice answered, causing you to jump.

"Mesut! What the hell?!" you whispered angrily into the phone, drawing a few curious looks from your coworkers.

"Well did you get them or not?"

"Yes I did. Why are you calling me?" you replied.

"Look up," Mesut said. You obeyed only to slam the phone down. Mesut stood in the doorway of your office, a package in his hand.

"Mesut, I can get in trouble for this," you hissed, pulling him into the office and closing the door. "What do you want?" In response, he handed you the package.

"Open it."

"What's inside it?"

"Just open it," Mesut pleaded. Rolling your eyes and mumbling things to yourself, you opened the package. Gasping, your eyes watered at the sight. It was a picture of you and Mesut on your first anniversary. He had taken you to a beach and had surprised you with a candle lit dinner. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you, and you had, surprisingly, burst into tears of happiness at that time. The frame was intricately carved with little hearts that had M+(Y/First/Initial) inside of them. You looked up from the frame to see Mesut on his knees.

"I've been a total and absolute asshole to you, (Y/N). I betrayed your trust and made a mockery of our relationship. I don't deserve your forgiveness or your presence but I'm asking for it. So would you please forgive me, otherwise I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to live with myself."

"Mes . . ." you trailed off, dropping to your own knees and pulling him into a hug. "I forgive you," you choked out, hugging him tight. "I guess we can't go long without each other, huh?" you joked.

"Well, I'm not sure if I could go the rest of my life without you," Mesut replied, pulling you into a quick kiss.