Under One Roof
Pairing: Rasmus Højlund x Reader
Word Count:3435
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Rasmus Højlund Playlist
The rain had been doing that soft, stubborn Milan thing all afternoon,misty enough to blur the streetlights, steady enough to make the world feel smaller.
Your apartment felt even smaller with Rasmus in it.
Not in a bad way. In a warm way. Like the air had changed shape around him,bigger shoulders, longer legs, that quiet presence that made your little living room feel like a secret.
You were curled into the corner of the couch, fuzzy socks on, hair damp from a rushed shower, bowl of popcorn balanced on your knees. The TV glowed with some ridiculous action movie you’d sworn you didn’t care about, except you’d been the one to choose it.
Rasmus sat beside you, one arm slung along the backrest, the other hand sneaking pieces of popcorn like he wasn’t trying to look innocent.
“You’re stealing,” you accused, batting his fingers away.
He lifted his eyebrows with mock offense. “I am sharing.”
“That’s not sharing. That’s robbery.”
He leaned in, conspiratorial. “Then arrest me.”
You snorted, and he smiled,soft, real, the kind that always made you feel like you’d just won something.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m… like I’m a dessert.”
He tilted his head. “But you are.”
You huffed, turning your eyes back to the screen before your face could betray you. “You’re impossible, amore.” (my love)
He answered without missing a beat, voice lower. “And you’re my elskede.” (my beloved)
Your heart did that annoying thing where it forgot how to be normal.
On-screen, a car exploded in a way that made no sense physically. You both watched for exactly three seconds before you looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“This movie is absurd,” you said.
“It’s beautiful,” he replied seriously.
“You’re lying.”
“I like when you laugh,” he admitted, and it was so honest you almost forgot to breathe.
You nudged his shoulder. “Flirt.”
He nudged you back. “Is it working?”
“Unfortunately,” you sighed, then stole popcorn from his hand like it was payback.
Rasmus watched you chew and then murmured, “You have popcorn on your lip.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“You’re trying to trick me so you can,”
He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth anyway, quick and gentle, then sat back like nothing happened.
You stared at him, scandalized.
He looked pleased with himself. “Fixed.”
“You’re a menace.”
He shrugged. “I try.”
You shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest into his chest. His arm automatically tightened around you, like his body had been waiting for the permission.
For a minute, you let yourself pretend you were just a normal couple. Just you and your boyfriend on a rainy afternoon, watching a dumb movie, eating popcorn.
Not you and Rasmus Højlund, famous enough to make strangers stare, and you,Y/N Locatelli, famous enough in a different way because your brother was Manuel Locatelli, and he had Opinions.
Very loud opinions.
Very protective opinions.
Opinions that currently had no idea you were tucked into your couch with Rasmus’s chin resting lightly on your head.
You felt Rasmus’s fingers trace lazy circles on your sleeve. “Are you thinking again?”
You made a sound of denial that fooled no one.
He kissed your temple. “Tell me.”
You sighed. “If Manuel finds out,”
“He will,” Rasmus said calmly.
You pulled back to look at him. “That’s not comforting.”
“I didn’t say it to comfort you,” he said. “I said it because we can’t hide forever.”
You stared. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I don’t like you being scared.”
“I’m not scared,” you lied.
He tilted his head, eyes steady. “You’re brave. But you’re also… careful.”
“Because my brother is terrifying.”
Rasmus’s mouth twitched. “Your brother is intense.”
“That’s a polite way of saying terrifying.”
He laughed quietly. “He loves you.”
“I know,” you said, softer. “That’s why it’s hard.”
Rasmus’s thumb brushed your wrist. “We can go at your pace.”
Your throat tightened. “You always say the right thing.”
“I don’t,” he said. “I just… mean it.”
The movie kept going,more explosions, more dramatic music,but your attention had shifted to the quiet between you.
Rasmus leaned in again, his voice warm. “Skat.” (sweetheart)
You blinked. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say that in Danish like that.”
He smiled slowly. “Why?”
“Because it makes me melt.”
He looked extremely satisfied with that information. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, but your hand found his, fingers weaving together. “You’re so smug.”
“I’m happy,” he corrected.
The rain tapped at the windows. The movie’s soundtrack swelled. Your apartment smelled like popcorn and his cologne,clean and faintly citrus, like he’d stepped out of a world bigger than yours and decided he preferred your couch anyway.
You yawned, surprisingly deep.
Rasmus noticed immediately. “Tired?”
“A little.”
“Come here,” he said, gentle command.
You settled into him again, and he adjusted a throw blanket over your legs with the tenderness of someone who’d done it a hundred times. You watched him do it and felt your chest pinch.
“You’re sweet,” you murmured. “Like… annoyingly sweet.”
He kissed your cheek. “That’s your fault.”
“How is that my fault?”
“I didn’t plan to be like this,” he said. “Then you looked at me.”
You scoffed. “I looked at you?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s it? I just,looked at you and now you’re like… this?”
He nodded solemnly. “It ruined me.”
You burst out laughing again, head tipping back. “You’re dramatic, scemo.” (idiot)
He grinned. “Only for you.”
Your laugh faded into another yawn. The couch suddenly seemed softer, the room warmer, the rain louder. You felt your eyelids grow heavy and your body sink.
Rasmus’s hand smoothed your hair back from your face. “Nap?”
“Maybe,” you mumbled.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just a little.”
You shifted, adjusting your head on his chest. “We’ll only close our eyes for a second.”
“That’s what everyone says before disaster,” he murmured.
You huffed sleepily. “You’re overthinking.”
“No,” he said. “I’m remembering your brother has a spare key.”
You froze mid-breath.
Your eyes snapped open. “He,he wouldn’t just,”
Rasmus’s gaze flicked to the front door like it might suddenly become a problem. “Does he ever text before coming?”
You hesitated.
“That’s not a yes,” he said softly.
You sat up a fraction, the blanket sliding. “Okay, but it’s raining. He’s probably home. He wouldn’t,”
A soft click sounded from the lock.
You and Rasmus both went still.
The door opened quietly, like whoever was entering didn’t want to announce themselves.
You stared at the doorway as if your willpower could shove it shut.
Manuel Locatelli stepped in.
He had a hood pulled up, hair damp, a grocery bag in one hand and his keys in the other. He looked tired in that older-brother way,like he carried the weight of responsibility even when nobody asked him to. His eyes flicked up automatically toward the couch.
And landed on you.
Then on Rasmus.
Then back on you.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The action movie kept playing, oblivious, filling the silence with gunfire.
Manuel’s expression didn’t explode. It didn’t even change much.
It just… settled.
Like a door closing.
He quietly slid his keys into his pocket, stepped fully inside, and closed the door behind him without a sound.
Rasmus sat perfectly still, one arm still around you, like moving would make this worse. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.
You swallowed. “Manuel”
Manuel lifted one finger.
Not “wait.” Not “don’t.” Just… one finger. A pause.
Then he angled his head toward the kitchen.
And walked there like he hadn’t just stumbled into the most obvious secret of your life.
You heard the grocery bag rustle. A cupboard open. The soft clink of a pan.
You stared after him, stunned.
Rasmus whispered, barely audible, “Is he… cooking?”
You whispered back, horrified, “I think he’s,he’s cooking.”
Rasmus’s eyes widened a fraction. “That’s… worse.”
“It’s not worse,” you hissed. “It’s weirder.”
The kitchen light turned on. Water ran. A knife tapped against a cutting board.
You looked at Rasmus, panic and affection tangling in your chest. “Okay. We can explain.”
Rasmus nodded, but his voice came out very calm. “Yes.”
You knew him well enough by now to catch the edge underneath that calm. The way he got when he wanted to be respectful, but also refused to be spoken down to.
Your brother was about to meet the part of Rasmus that the cameras didn’t see.
Manuel called without looking back, voice even: “Turn the movie down.”
You scrambled for the remote like it was a bomb and lowered the volume.
Then, silence,except for the rain and Manuel’s quiet, deliberate cooking.
Minutes passed. Each one felt like a year.
Finally, Manuel appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked at both of you again.
This time, his eyes stayed on Rasmus.
“Stand up,” Manuel said.
You shot up first, as if obedience could save you. “Manu,”
Rasmus rose too, tall enough that your brother had to tip his chin slightly upward to maintain eye contact. Still, Manuel didn’t flinch. Protective big-brother energy had nothing to do with height.
Manuel’s voice remained calm, which was somehow more terrifying. “You.”
Rasmus replied, equally steady. “Me.”
You made a strangled sound. “Please don’t do that. Don’t… do the man thing.”
Manuel’s eyes flicked to you. “The man thing?”
“Yes,” you said quickly. “The staring. The… testosterone.”
Rasmus’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh and was afraid to.
Manuel exhaled through his nose,almost a sigh, almost a laugh. He pointed toward the kitchen. “Sit. Both of you.”
You and Rasmus sat. The couch felt suddenly like a court bench.
Manuel returned to the kitchen without another word.
Rasmus leaned slightly toward you, whispering, “Should we run?”
You whispered back, “He would catch us.”
Rasmus’s eyes flicked to the door. “He’s fast?”
“He’s a professional athlete,” you reminded him.
“So am I,” he whispered.
“Yes, but he has rage,” you whispered back.
Rasmus nodded like that was reasonable.
The smell of food began to drift into the living room,garlic, olive oil, something simmering with tomatoes. It was… good. Comforting. Completely inappropriate for the emotional disaster happening.
Manuel reappeared carrying two plates, set them on the coffee table, and went back for a third.
When he returned, he placed the third plate down and sat in the armchair across from you, posture straight, hands clasped.
Like an interrogation.
Except he’d fed you first.
You stared at the plates. “Is this… dinner?”
Manuel’s eyes stayed on you. “Eat.”
Your stomach, traitor that it was, growled softly.
Rasmus glanced at you as if asking permission. You gave him a tiny nod.
You both picked up forks with the carefulness of people disarming bombs.
Manuel watched.
You swallowed a bite. It was amazing. Of course it was. Your brother cooked like he needed to prove he could keep you alive without anyone else.
Rasmus took a bite too, then paused. “This is very good.”
Manuel’s gaze flicked to him. “I know.”
You winced. “Manu…”
Manuel finally leaned back slightly. “How long?”
You swallowed another bite because you needed courage. “A few months.”
Manuel blinked slowly. “A few.”
Rasmus cleared his throat. “We wanted to tell you.”
Manuel’s eyes sharpened. “When?”
“When we were sure,” you said quickly. “When it was,when it was real.”
Manuel looked at you like you’d just said the exact wrong thing. “You think I don’t notice you’re happy?”
Your throat tightened. “You… noticed?”
Manuel’s expression softened,barely. “I’m your brother. I notice everything.”
You stared down at your plate, guilt creeping in. “We didn’t want to make it a big deal.”
Manuel let out a quiet sound. “Dating a famous striker in secret isn’t a big deal?”
Rasmus didn’t bristle. He just said, “It wasn’t about fame.”
Manuel’s gaze snapped to him. “Then what was it about?”
Rasmus hesitated. You could see him choosing words carefully, like he respected your brother enough not to bullshit him.
“It was about… her,” he said. “Her comfort. Her safety.”
Manuel’s eyes narrowed. “Safety from me?”
You rushed in. “Not from you. Just… from the chaos. From the media. From people. You know how it is.”
Manuel’s jaw worked once. “I do.”
You lifted your chin. “Manu, I’m not a child.”
His eyes softened again, but his voice stayed firm. “You’ll always be my little sister.”
You gave a small, stubborn smile. “And you’ll always act like my father.”
Manuel’s lips twitched. “Better than a stranger acting like it.”
Rasmus’s fork paused midair. “I’m not a stranger.”
Manuel looked at him. “Not anymore.”
The silence stretched. The rain filled the gaps.
You forced yourself to speak. “Are you angry?”
Manuel exhaled, slow. “I’m… surprised.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Manuel looked at you like you were the only person on earth who could talk to him like that. “I’m protective.”
“I know.”
“And you,” Manuel said, eyes cutting to Rasmus, “are very big.”
Rasmus blinked. “Yes.”
Manuel nodded once, like that confirmed something. “And very public.”
Rasmus nodded too. “Yes.”
Manuel tapped his fingers on the armrest. “So explain to me how you plan to keep her life from becoming a circus.”
Rasmus took a breath, shoulders squaring. “By being careful. By listening to her. By not pushing her into anything she doesn’t want.”
Manuel’s gaze didn’t move. “And if she wants you to leave?”
Your stomach dropped.
Rasmus answered without hesitation. “I will.”
The air changed. Manuel’s eyes flicked to you, searching your face.
You felt your chest swell with something dangerously tender.
“Don’t say that like it’s easy,” you muttered at Rasmus, then,because you couldn’t help it,added, “Tesoro.” (treasure)
Rasmus’s voice softened. “Lille stjerne.” (little star)
Manuel made a pained sound, like he’d stepped on a Lego. “Okay. Enough. I don’t need… whatever that is.”
You glared. “It’s called love. Try it.”
Manuel stared. “I have love.”
“You have control issues.”
He pointed at you. “I have experience.”
You pointed back. “You have anxiety.”
Rasmus coughed once, clearly fighting a smile.
Manuel noticed. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t laugh.”
Rasmus tried to look innocent and failed. “I’m not laughing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m… enjoying dinner.”
Manuel leaned forward slightly. “Listen to me. Both of you.”
You sat up straighter despite yourself.
Manuel’s voice was quiet now. Serious in a way that made your chest hurt. “I don’t care about headlines. I care about you.”
“I know,” you whispered.
“And I care about who you choose,” Manuel continued. “Not because I get to choose for you. But because I know what people can take from you when you’re not looking.”
Rasmus’s smile faded. “I understand.”
Manuel’s gaze flicked to him again. “Do you?”
Rasmus nodded once. “Yes.”
Manuel studied him, then asked, “Why her?”
The question startled you,because it wasn’t an accusation. It sounded like… a test.
Rasmus looked at you before he answered, like you were a compass.
“Because she makes me feel… calm,” he said. “Like I’m not always running.”
You blinked hard.
Rasmus continued, voice steady. “She doesn’t want something from me. She doesn’t treat me like… a thing. She argues with me. She laughs at me. She tells me when I’m wrong.”
Manuel’s mouth twitched. “She does like arguing.”
You muttered, “I’m right most of the time.”
Rasmus smiled softly at you. “See?”
Manuel watched the way Rasmus looked at you,openly, warmly, without calculation. Something in Manuel’s posture loosened, just a fraction.
Then he said, “Are you good to her?”
Rasmus didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Manuel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a yes you can say. I want the yes she can feel.”
Rasmus’s jaw tightened,not angry, but determined. “Then watch.”
You inhaled sharply. “Manu,”
Manuel lifted a hand, cutting you off gently this time. “I’m not asking him to perform. I’m asking him to be consistent.”
Rasmus nodded. “I can do that.”
Manuel’s gaze stayed on him. “If she cries because of you, I will find you.”
Rasmus’s voice didn’t waver. “If she cries because of me, I will deserve you finding me.”
You stared at Rasmus, stunned by the simple honesty of it.
Manuel held eye contact a moment longer, then,unexpectedly,looked down and rubbed his face with one hand, like he was exhausted.
“Madonna,” he muttered. (Holy Mother)
You frowned. “Are you… okay?”
Manuel dropped his hand, expression softer now. “I’m fine. I’m just…”
He glanced at you. “You’re grown.”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”
“And I missed it,” he admitted, quiet.
Something inside you cracked open.
You stood up, moved across the small space, and sat on the arm of his chair like you used to when you were little. You bumped your shoulder gently into his.
“You didn’t miss it,” you said. “You’ve been here. You’ve always been here.”
Manuel’s eyes softened fully now, and for a second he looked less like a football star and more like the boy who used to walk you to school and glare at anyone who stared too long.
He sighed. “I hate secrets.”
“I know,” you whispered.
Rasmus spoke softly from the couch. “I’m sorry we kept it from you.”
Manuel looked at him. “You should be.”
Rasmus nodded. “I am.”
Manuel stared a beat longer, then,finally,he stood up and walked to the kitchen.
You watched, confused.
He came back holding a small paper bag and set it on the coffee table.
“What’s that?” you asked.
Manuel’s tone went gruff, like he didn’t want to admit anything sentimental. “A surprise.”
You peeked inside. Your breath caught.
Inside were two small keychains: one shaped like a tiny football boot, the other a little star charm. And beneath them, a folded piece of paper.
You opened the paper.
It was a printed reservation,your favorite tiny trattoria, the one that always gave you extra bread because the owner adored you. A table for three. Tomorrow night.
Your eyes stung. “Manu…”
Manuel shrugged like it was nothing. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it like adults. No hiding in apartments like teenagers.”
Rasmus blinked. “A dinner… with you?”
Manuel gave him a pointed look. “Yes.”
Rasmus’s mouth opened, then closed, then he nodded once. “Okay.”
You laughed, watery and relieved. “You’re insane.”
Manuel scoffed. “I’m responsible.”
You held up the star keychain. “This is for,”
“For you,” Manuel said, then jerked his chin toward the boot. “That one’s for him. So he remembers what he is.”
Rasmus picked it up carefully. “A footballer?”
Manuel’s eyes narrowed. “A guy dating my sister.”
Rasmus nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
You wiped at your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “You’re really doing this.”
Manuel’s gaze flicked to you, gentler now. “I’m not giving permission. I’m giving a chance.”
You nodded, heart pounding. “That’s… fair.”
Manuel pointed at the couch. “Also.”
You followed his gesture. He was looking at the blanket, the dimmed movie, the way you and Rasmus were still tangled like you belonged there.
Manuel’s voice softened. “If you’re going to nap, at least go to bed like normal people. My sister gets neck pain.”
You blinked. “You came in, found us, cooked dinner, interrogated my boyfriend, gave us gifts, and now you’re worried about my neck?”
Manuel said flatly, “Yes.”
Rasmus let out a small laugh,couldn’t help it this time.
Manuel shot him a look. “Don’t push it.”
Rasmus nodded, still smiling. “Sorry.”
You stood, still clutching the reservation. You leaned down and kissed Manuel’s cheek.
He stiffened like he always did when you got affectionate, then pretended he didn’t like it.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Manuel’s voice was quiet. “Be careful.”
“I will,” you promised.
You turned back to Rasmus. He was watching Manuel with a new kind of respect,like he’d just discovered the shape of the battlefield and decided it was worth fighting on.
You reached for Rasmus’s hand. “Come on.”
Rasmus stood, then looked at Manuel. “Good night.”
Manuel nodded once. “Good night.”
Rasmus hesitated, then added, “And… thank you for dinner. It was very good.”
Manuel’s mouth twitched. “I know.”
You tugged Rasmus toward your bedroom, and he followed, but not before murmuring close to your ear, “Your brother is terrifying.”
You whispered back, smiling, “Told you.”
Rasmus squeezed your hand. “But he loves you.”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah.”
As you closed the bedroom door, you heard Manuel call after you, voice louder now,back to big-brother mode.
“And no more secrets!”
You rolled your eyes, then answered anyway. “We’ll see!”
Rasmus’s quiet laugh warmed the space between you.
And for the first time in months, the secret didn’t feel like a weight.
It felt like a beginning.
