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Marcus Rashford at the age of 22 had certainly found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time in his life. Marcus had not yet decided if he enjoyed this feeling; he was still coming to a conclusion. When he was a young boy he had snuck into his living room to watch just five more minutes of television before heading into bed. He had to be sneaky or else his mother would catch him and even then young Marcus couldn’t bare to see the disappointed look his mother would give him as she explained how important getting a good night’s sleep was. Just as his favourite character lit up the screen Marcus heard his mother’s hushed tone from within the kitchen and hastily he switched the TV off, getting ready to bolt upstairs but “Do you think he’ll like it? I’ve worked extra to be able to afford something good for his birthday this year.” His mother had worked harder than she already had been? Well sure, it meant he knew he was going to get an amazing birthday present but the dark circles under his mum’s eyes suddenly became more prominent in his mind, her weak smiles and half hearted laughs. From this Marcus concludes it’s a bad feeling.
Manchester United never gave him this feeling. At United he experienced it once more. Kick off for the game was in just over five minutes when Rashford decided he really needed to use the bathroom. With a quick word to Ole and a promise to be back quick Marcus headed in the direction of the bathroom, taking a shorter route than usual. Marcus was finishing up in the stall when he heard two voices speak from outside, “Marcus Rashford sure is amazing, if i was manager I’d play him every match.” It was a fan and they spoke of him as though he was a miracle worker who had just saved their entire lineage. He makes a note to himself that sometimes it could manifest itself as a good feeling.
For every moment Marcus found himself in the wrong place he could always decide if the scenario made him feel good or not. It was the simplest of equations to him. Much less complex than every other emotion, thought and feeling he experienced. That was until Daniel James joined their team and he became aware of himself being a bystander of a myriad of peculiar moments between the Welsh forward and none other than Scott Mctominay. Marcus was perplexed by what he saw of the two and no one else noticed anything, they didn't find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time unlike him.
It was late evening when United met, all of the players prepared to board their bus for an away game at Stamford Bridge. Bus journeys could be long and uncomfortable so Marcus was particular about his seat: the right hand side with an aisle seat at the back. If the journey had been in the morning he’d have sat with Jesse wherever he wanted but while Marcus preferred to sit towards the back, Lingard always opted to go to the front during later drives. Rashford was the furthest back with a few of the boys sitting directly in front of him two or three seats away so he closed his eyes hoping to enjoy the peaceful evening. Just as he drifted between sleep and consciousness they went speeding over a pothole causing the bus to shake him fully awake. Through bleary eyes he could tell that sat on the left hand side just a seat in front of him was Scott and Dan. Before he could greet his team members Dan softly uttered “It’s fine, he’s asleep” Rashford snapped his eyes shut again as if hoping to heighten his sense of hearing. Minutes passed with no reply so he deemed it safe to flutter his eyes open and examine what Daniel had been talking about. He looked towards them to see Scott shyly offer up his hand with the smallest smile painting his face, Dan interlaced their fingers and hid their intertwined hands in between his and Scott’s thighs. Rashford pondered how odd it was for two teammates- friends even, to do that but in his sleep deprived state put it down to a strangely affectionate display between two mates. Maybe he should’ve sat with Jesse like he normally does
The second time he catches them isn’t much different but it changes his view on his teammates. They’re on the pitch this time - Marcus is glad to be playing this game after sustaining an injury last match but he’d managed to downplay it to the gaffer. The match isn’t the be all end all but nevertheless everyone took it as serious as they would a cup final. Daniel was speeding down the right eager for the ball and a chance at scoring. He shoots, sending United to a happy 2-0. Marcus runs over to him to celebrate his goal but stops in his tracks when he sees an angry opponent glaring down at Daniel, taunting him. The player brings his arm up and he watches Daniel brace for impact except it never comes. Neither Rashford nor Daniel know what has happened until a distant voice - Maguire, he thinks - calls Scott’s name. There’s blood gushing out of his nose but it looks like he’s going to get up. Why on earth would he want to get up? To everyone's surprise he does get up, blood still dripping down, grabs the opponents jersey then snarls “Don’t you fucking dare touch him.” Dan rushes to his side, pulling him off the other player and pinching the bridge of Scott’s nose. The majority of the team follow suit and go to check up on their two boys while Maguire and a few other senior members argue with the referee on his behalf.
It’s too early in the morning for Marcus to be up but he really needs a drink. His throat is as dry as the sahara desert and is practically crying for him to get up for some water. His phone almost blinds him but he needs to know the time to know how quiet to be, it reads 5:05am, so basically silent. He leaves his hotel room briskly walking to where he remembers seeing a water fountain and my god what a relief he feels when he sees the machine standing tall in all it’s glory. Still he feels exhausted and is aching to get back into bed. Huh, the door feels a lot stiffer than Rashford can recall it being, with a shrug he pushes it a little harder. Marcus thinks he is going to scream or cry or both - he does neither because he is an adult - but this is most definitely not his room, it is however Scott’s. Or Daniel’s. There’s no way he could be sure because lying there on the creamy coloured mattress is a very shirtless Mctominay with his arms wrapped around a comfortable looking Dan who has his buried in the crook of the other’s neck. Now Rashford wasn’t stupid by any means and he knows one hundred precent that what he was looking at was not a simple platonic display of affection. The two in front of him have crossed - no, obliterated that line already. Dan shifts slightly still thankfully sleeping which reminds Rashford that he is just stood there watching them sleep so he quite literally sprints back to his actual room.
Jesse Lingard
Marcus: yo jess
Jesse: yeah beans??
Marcus: have you idk noticed anything off with scott and dan
Jesse: wdym mate are they ok
Marcus audibly scoffed at his friend’s stupidity, there is no way the image from this morning could ever leave his brain; it was ingrained there forever. Jesse was now spamming him with text messages which was too much for Marcus.
Marcus: yeah theyre fine nvm bro
Marcus was sure they were fine. After he had seen them; the picture of domesticity. Marcus groaned, briefly considering throwing his phone out the window, how on earth could he face the two of them in training, in matches? He couldn’t tell anyone, definitely not, they were his friends and for whatever reason this seemed… Private.
Training had just finished for the day and thankfully the hotel cuddling situation a few months ago was the last awkward moment he had unfortunately witnessed. He had been reasoning with himself since then though, maybe they were just cold (he wouldn’t object to it with Jesse.) Marcus finished his shower quickly, noting he was the last person left in the changing room and headed out to the carpark trying to recall where he had left his car in the morning. Now the parking lot was big so nobody could blame him for walking the opposite direction to where his car was - trust him, he blamed himself enough for it. Parked at the opposite side to him where he was now walking was none other than Scott Mctominay. “What the fuck!” Marcus spat out. Daniel was pressed against the car bonnet with his arms wrapped around Scott’s neck and tongue in his mouth. Dan jumped 5 feet into the air while Scott blankly stared at Rashford. He thinks he broke Scott; he didn’t move for a solid fifteen seconds until he buried his face in his hands. “What the fuck.” he repeated, slightly louder than last time. “Marcus, Marcus oh my god.” Dan spluttered “You cannot tell anyone please” he added bright red in the face. “Yeah it was a one time thing, we didn’t even mean to, I swear.” Liars. Marcus wanted so badly to call them out right here.
“This has been going on for months, I know it has.” Marcus boldly stated “I know because ages ago when we played Chelsea I saw you hold hands, also I saw you sleeping togeth-”
“YOU WHAT?” they exclaimed in perfect synchronisation. Marcus cringed when it dawned on him the implications of what he’d said. “Poor choice of wording I swear. Please just tell me the truth, you know I’d support you guys whatever and I’ll keep anything you want a secret, just be honest.”
For the first time in his life Marcus Rashford had concluded that being in the wrong place always worked out for the best. With his mother he was able to make her more comfortable at home and support her in whatever way possible. For the fans he played every game after that with his all. And for Scott and Daniel? He got to know that two of his closest friends were happy together and finally know the truth.