Chapter Text
Waking up and having Hany in his arms felt surreal to Shobeir. He stared at Hany who was sleeping peacefully in his arms. Last night neither of them forced anything or crossed any line that they might regret. Shobeir understands Hany, though he admired Hany too for stepping up and initiating the kiss. He barely held himself back from kissing the shit out of the older one.
Shobeir looked at the window, it's already 6 in the morning, the gentle waves that were crushing by the shore gave the vibe of a peaceful morning. They were away from the bustling city of Cairo, from the honk of cars, Shobeir let himself enjoy this peacefulness. He wasn't afraid that Hany might run away again, might hide from him again, shut him out of his life or ignore him. He trusts Hany this time. He knew Hany was strong, his mind was just overwhelming him most of the time.
“Are you thinking about leaving me now?” Hany uttered.
Shobeir looked at him instantly as if he wanted to flick Hany's forehead from what he just said but when he looked down, Hany was smiling at him.
“Good morning..” Hany planted a kiss on his cheeks. “How was your sleep?”
“Good morning, I slept good, so good” Shobeir planted a kiss on Hany's forehead.
This feeling of ease between them was new, most of the time Shobeir felt terrified especially when Hany was giving in, it felt like a double edge sword. Making him happy and then after a moment it will make him feel wounded and betrayed. Hany always felt terrible and guilty after waking up, though today he felt at ease.
“Let's pray…” Hany uttered, not out of whim but that's just how he is. Praying had always been part of him. Shobeir was well aware of it, Hany never missed his prayers. He used to pull away from everyone just to pray or read the holy book.
Shobeir nodded and slowly let him go.
They performed wudu together in silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill the quiet with words. It was different from the night before. There was no panic, no hurried explanations, no fear of what the other might say next. Just the two of them. After they prayed, Hany remained seated for a little while longer. His hands rested on his thighs as he stared down, lost in thought.
Shobeir glanced at him. “What?”
Hany looked up. “Nothing.”
“You're thinking again.”
“I always think.”
“Too much.”
Hany rolled his eyes. “And you're too annoying.”
Shobeir smiled. “Yet you kissed me.”
Hany's eyes widened. “Mostafa.”
“What?” Shobeir tried to keep a straight face. “I'm just stating facts.”
“You're insufferable.”
“But you kissed me.”
Hany grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. Shobeir caught it, laughing quietly. For a moment, Hany simply stared. That laugh. He had spent years avoiding it. Avoiding the person who caused it. Avoiding every little thing that made his heart betray him whenever Shobeir was around.
And now he was sitting there, watching Mostafa laugh because of something as stupid as a pillow. Nothing terrible happened. The world didn't collapse. Allah hadn't struck him down for allowing himself one moment of honesty.
Hany lowered his gaze. “Mostafa.”
“Hmm?”
“I'm still scared.”
The smile on Shobeir's face softened. “I know.”
“I don't know what will happen after this.”
“Neither do I.”
Hany looked at him.
Shobeir shrugged. “We're not going to figure out the rest of our lives before breakfast, Mohamed.”
A small laugh escaped Hany. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
Shobeir stood and stretched his arms before looking back at him. “Have breakfast.”
Hany blinked. “That's it?”
“For now.” Shobeir grinned. “You can overthink everything else after you eat.”
Hany shook his head, but the corner of his lips lifted. For once, he didn't feel the need to run. And perhaps that was enough for today.
Breakfast was simple. Hany had insisted on cooking, claiming that Shobeir had already done enough by driving all the way from Luxor to Aswan. Shobeir didn't argue. He knew Hany was a good cook, though he wasn't exactly helpless in the kitchen himself.
There was something strangely familiar about watching Hany move around the kitchen. The way he opened cupboards without thinking, reached for the spices, checked the food and tasted it before deciding whether it needed anything else.
It brought Shobeir back to the days when they were younger. Back when Hany had already been with the senior team while Shobeir was still making his way through the youth academy. Hany had welcomed him anyway.
There had been afternoons after training when they would spend their free time at Hany's place with Trezeguet and Ramadan. Shobeir was still the younger one then, still trying to find his place among players he had admired from afar and Hany had simply made space for him. Shobeir remembered sitting quietly at first, listening to the others talk while Hany moved around the kitchen and Ramadan annoyed everyone with his jokes.
He remembered thinking that he could get used to it. Being there. Being around Hany. What he didn't know then was that the feeling would eventually become something he couldn't run away from.
“Why are you staring?”
Shobeir blinked. Hany was looking at him from across the kitchen, wooden spoon still in his hand.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I'm watching you cook.”
“That's called staring.”
Shobeir smiled. “You haven't changed.”
Hany frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” It wasn't nothing.
Shobeir remembered how many times he'd watched other people get close to Hany back then. Ramadan was one of the worst offenders. There were interviews where Ramadan would casually lean over and kiss Hany on the cheek, as if it was the most normal thing in the world and Hany would laugh. Just laugh. While Shobeir, somewhere nearby, would stand there pretending he hadn't seen anything. He had hated how easily Ramadan could do that. How he could put an arm around Hany. How he could kiss his cheek without hesitation. How Hany never seemed bothered by it. At the time, Shobeir had convinced himself it was nothing. Just jealousy between teammates. Just him being possessive of someone he considered a close friend.
Except it wasn't just that. He remembered another moment too. A clip had appeared on his phone one day, and he'd watched it more times than he would ever admit.
Hany was riding a bicycle, sitting at the front near the handlebars while Ramadan was the one steering from behind. It was completely harmless. Probably nothing worth remembering, yet Shobeir remembered it perfectly. He remembered staring at the screen and thinking,
Why is Ramadan the one driving him around? Then, almost immediately:
Why do I even care?
He stared at the clip again and again. Then locked his phone and tossed it onto his bed as if that would somehow make the feeling disappear. It hadn't.
“Mostafa.”
Shobeir looked up.
Hany was standing directly in front of him now.
“What?”
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you disappear into your own head.”
Shobeir let out a small laugh. “Just remembering something.”
“What?”
Shobeir looked at him for a moment. Then a mischievous smile slowly appeared on his face. “Ramadan.”
Hany immediately looked suspicious. “What about him?”
“You two were close.”
“We're friends.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you're interrogating me.”
Shobeir laughed. “I remember how he used to kiss your cheek during interviews.”
Hany froze. Then his eyebrows pulled together. “...You remember that?”
“Of course I remember that.”
“Why?”
Shobeir opened his mouth, he closed it.
Hany's eyes narrowed. “Mostafa.”
“Nothing.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn't.”
Hany stared at him.
Shobeir stared back. A few seconds passed.
“Okay,” Shobeir finally admitted. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
“Fine. A lot.”
Hany's lips twitched.
Shobeir pointed at him. “Don't laugh.”
“I didn't.”
“You're about to.”
Hany turned away, shoulders shaking.
Shobeir groaned. “See? This is why I never told you.”
Hany finally looked back at him, amusement still written all over his face. “You were jealous of Ramadan?”
“And the bicycle.”
Hany's smile disappeared. “The what?”
Shobeir instantly regretted opening his mouth. “Nothing.”
“Mostafa.”
“No.”
“You remember the bicycle?”
“Mohamed, please.”
“The one where Ramadan was driving?”
Shobeir covered his face. Hany stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter.
“Don't laugh!”
“You were jealous of a bicycle?”
“I was jealous of Ramadan being on a bicycle with you!”
“That doesn't even make sense!”
“I know that now!”
Hany laughed harder, and Shobeir could only watch him. There it was again. That laugh. The same laugh that had made him jealous of everyone who could bring it out of Hany so effortlessly. The same laugh he'd spent years wanting for himself. And now Hany was laughing because of him.
Shobeir's expression softened. Maybe that younger version of himself had been foolish. Maybe he had been jealous over things that meant absolutely nothing. But perhaps that boy had known something long before he was brave enough to admit it. He had wanted Hany. He had always wanted Hany.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hany asked, his laughter slowly fading.
Shobeir smiled. “Nothing, baby.”
Hany rolled his eyes and turned back toward the stove. But Shobeir caught the small smile he tried to hide. And for once, he didn't have to stand somewhere outside the circle and watch someone else have Hany's attention. He was right there. At Hany's table. In Hany's kitchen. Being fed by Hany. And Hany was smiling at him.
They finally sat down to eat. Hany served the food onto their plates before sitting across from Shobeir. He watched quietly as Shobeir took his first bite.
“Well?”
Shobeir chewed slowly, deliberately, before looking at him. “It's good.”
“Just good?”
Shobeir raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to say it's the best breakfast I've ever had?”
“Yes.”
“Then it's the best breakfast I've ever had.”
Hany snorted. “Liar.”
“I'm serious.”
“You're just hungry.”
“I drove all the way from Luxor.”
“That doesn't make my cooking better.”
“It does when I'm hungry.”
Hany shook his head and continued eating.
Shobeir watched him for a moment. Then something else came to mind. His eyes narrowed.
Hany noticed immediately. “What now?”
“Did Trezeguet always get to taste your cooking first?”
Hany stopped chewing. Slowly, he looked up. “...What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why are you asking about Trezeguet now?”
“I'm just asking.”
“No, you're not.”
Shobeir leaned back in his chair. “I remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Those days after training. You'd cook something and Trezeguet would be the first one to taste it.”
Hany stared at him. Then he slowly put his fork down. “Mostafa.”
“What?”
“You're jealous again.”
“I'm not jealous.”
“You're literally eating breakfast and thinking about Trezeguet.”
“He was always there.”
“He was my friend.”
“I know.”
“Then what's the problem?”
Shobeir sighed. “There wasn't a problem.”
Hany's eyes narrowed. “Then why are you bringing it up?”
“Because I remember watching him take food from your plate and asking you if it needed more salt.”
Hany's lips twitched. “And?”
“And you listened to him.”
Hany stared at him for two seconds. Then he burst out laughing.
Shobeir frowned. “What's funny?”
“You're jealous because Trezeguet tasted my food?”
“He was always the first one!”
“Because he was already there!”
“Exactly!”
“That doesn't even make sense!”
“It made sense to me.”
Hany laughed harder.
Shobeir pointed his fork at him. “Don't laugh at me.”
“You're ridiculous.”
“You don't understand.”
“No, I really don't.”
Shobeir dropped his fork onto his plate and crossed his arms. “Do you know what it's like watching people get all these little pieces of you while you're nowhere near them?”
Hany's laughter slowly faded.
Shobeir's expression softened. “Ramadan kissing your cheek. Trezeguet being the first person to taste your food. Emam hanging all over you. Rabia sitting beside you. Salah gets to talk to you whenever he wants.”
Hany looked down at his plate. “You remember all of that?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why?”
Shobeir was quiet. Because he remembered everything. He remembered things Hany had probably forgotten years ago. The smallest gestures. The casual touches. The jokes. The moments when someone called Hany and Hany immediately turned toward them. He remembered standing somewhere nearby and wondering why it bothered him so much.
Back then, he didn't know what to call it. Now he did. “I wanted those things too,” Shobeir admitted.
Hany's eyes lifted.
Shobeir shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by how honest he'd become. “I wanted to be the one you looked for when you were hungry. I wanted to be the one you called after training. I wanted you to save me food before Trezeguet could get to it.”
Hany stared at him. Then, very quietly, he asked, “You wanted my food?”
Shobeir blinked. “Yes.”
Hany's mouth twitched. “That's what you're upset about?”
“No, Mohamed.”
Hany started laughing again.
Shobeir groaned and covered his face. “I'm trying to tell you something serious.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You're not.”
“I am.”
“You're laughing.”
“Because you're jealous of my cooking.”
“I'm jealous of everything.”
That silenced Hany.
Shobeir lowered his hands and looked at him. “I was jealous because I wanted to matter to you too.”
The words landed differently. Hany's smile disappeared. He stared at Shobeir, unable to find anything funny about it anymore. For years, Hany had thought Shobeir barely noticed him. That he was just another teammate. Another person who could easily live without him. He never considered that the younger man might have been sitting somewhere all those years, watching him from a distance and wanting the very same things Hany had secretly wanted from him.
Hany swallowed. “You could've just asked.”
Shobeir blinked. “What?”
“You could've just asked me to save you some.”
A pause. Then Shobeir's mouth slowly curved into a smile. “Can I have some now?”
Hany rolled his eyes. “You're already eating.”
“Not enough.”
“Mostafa.”
“Baby.”
Hany sighed, reached toward the serving plate and added another portion to Shobeir's plate. “There.”
Shobeir looked down at it. Then back at Hany. “See?”
“See what?”
“I finally got my portion.”
Hany shook his head, but he was smiling. And Shobeir smiled too. Maybe it was something as small as a plate of food. But after years of watching everyone else receive pieces of Hany without ever believing he could ask for one himself, Shobeir finally understood something. He didn't need to fight anyone for Hany's attention. He only needed to let Hany know that he wanted it.
And Hany—Hany was finally learning that he could give it without being afraid.
After breakfast, it was already eight in the morning.
Shobeir went outside to get his things from the car, leaving Hany to clean up. By the time he returned, the kitchen was already spotless. He stopped by the doorway.
Hany had showered. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a plain black shirt, his hair still slightly wet. A towel rested over his head as he rubbed it through his curls, completely unaware that Shobeir was standing there watching him. There was something about the sight that made Shobeir pause. Hany looked domestic. Comfortable. Like this was a normal morning between them. Like Shobeir had woken up beside him countless times before.
“What?” Hany asked without looking at him.
Shobeir blinked. “Nothing.”
“You're staring again.”
“I'm appreciating.”
Hany finally looked at him, unimpressed. “Go shower.”
“Bossy.”
“Mostafa.”
“Okay, okay.” Shobeir grabbed his things and headed toward the bathroom, but before he could disappear inside, Hany called him.
“Oufa.”
He turned. “Hmm?”
“Don't take too long.”
Shobeir's eyebrows rose. “Why?”
Hany pointed toward the living room. Shobeir looked over.
A picnic mat had already been spread out on the floor. Beside it were a few containers of food, bottled water and some fruits packed into a small bag.
He stared. “What is this?”
“Breakfast wasn't enough.”
“We just ate.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you preparing more food?”
Hany shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “We're going outside.”
“Outside where?”
“The beach.”
Shobeir looked at him. Then at the picnic mat. Then back at Hany. “You're taking me on a date?”
Hany's face immediately changed. “It's not a date.”
“Picnic?”
“No.”
“Beach trip?”
“Mostafa.”
“Date.”
“Go shower!”
Shobeir laughed as Hany threw the towel at him. He caught it before it hit his face. “Fine. I'm going.”
“And hurry.”
Shobeir grinned. “Yes, sir.”
Hany watched him disappear into the bathroom before shaking his head. He had no idea what had gotten into him. Yesterday, he had been terrified of being alone with Mostafa. Today, he was preparing food and dragging him outside. Maybe that was the strange thing about courage. It didn't always arrive dramatically. Sometimes it was simply deciding that you wanted to spend another hour with someone. Hany looked down at the picnic mat. Another hour. Maybe more. For once, he didn't calculate how long he was allowed to be happy before something went wrong.
He simply packed another bottle of water. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Shobeir stepped out with damp hair, wearing a clean shirt and trousers. He was still drying his hair with the towel when he walked toward Hany.
“Ready?”
Hany looked at him. Then at the towel. “Your hair is still wet.”
“So?”
“Sit.”
Shobeir stopped. “What?”
“Sit down.”
Shobeir's mouth slowly curved upward.
Hany pointed at the chair. “Don't make that face.”
“What face?”
“That stupid face.”
Shobeir sat. Hany stood behind him and took the towel from his hands, gently rubbing his hair dry. Shobeir went completely still. It was such a small thing. Nothing extraordinary. Yet his chest felt strangely warm. He had spent years wanting Hany's attention. Years watching other people receive little pieces of it. And now Hany was standing behind him, drying his hair because he didn't want him walking outside with it dripping wet.
Shobeir smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop smiling.”
“I can't.”
Hany sighed. “You're annoying.”
“And you're taking care of me.”
“Because you're incapable of drying your own hair properly.”
“Sure.”
Hany gave his hair one last gentle rub before stepping away. “There. Done.”
Shobeir turned around to look at him.
Hany had already picked up the picnic bag. “Come on.”
Shobeir stood. “Where's my kiss?”
Hany froze. “Your what?”
“My payment.”
“For what?”
“Hair service.”
Hany stared at him. Then he walked straight past him. “Absolutely not.”
Shobeir followed him, laughing. “Mohamed!”
“No.”
“Just one.”
“Carry the food.”
“That's not a no.”
“Carry. The. Food.”
“Yes, baby.”
Hany glanced over his shoulder. Shobeir was already smiling. And despite himself, Hany smiled too.
By the time they reached the beach, the sun was already high enough to warm the sand. Hany led them toward one of the small huts near the shore. Its wide roof was made of dried grass, giving them enough shade from the morning sun while still allowing the breeze from the water to pass through. They laid the picnic mat underneath it and placed their food and water beside them.
Shobeir looked around. “You planned this.”
Hany was busy fixing the corner of the mat. “No.”
“You packed food.”
“I always pack food.”
“You brought me to the beach.”
“I live here.”
“You prepared a whole picnic.”
Hany finally looked at him. “Do you want to go home?”
Shobeir immediately sat down. “No.”
Hany shook his head, trying to hide his smile.
They were both still wearing trousers. Hany had never been particularly comfortable wearing shorts outside the pitch or whenever they were playing. On the field, he didn't think about it. Neither did he when they were at the beach with the team and everyone was playing. But outside of those situations? He felt practically naked. Shobeir had learned that about him years ago.
Once everything was settled, Hany stood and looked toward the water. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Walk.”
Shobeir stood. They left the hut behind and walked toward the shoreline. The water reached their slippers every now and then as they followed the edge of the sea, the breeze carrying the sound of the waves around them. For a while, they didn't talk. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. That alone surprised Hany.
He had spent so many years believing that being alone with Shobeir would be unbearable. That every silence would give his mind enough room to invent another reason to run. Yet here he was. Walking beside him. Not running.
“What do you think Salah is doing right now?” Shobeir suddenly asked.
Hany glanced at him. “Probably wondering whether you found me or whether you killed me.”
“Why would I kill you?”
“You drove all the way from Luxor because I ran away from you.”
Shobeir clicked his tongue. “I came to retrieve my runaway goalkeeper.”
“I'm not your goalkeeper.”
“Then why did I drive all the way here?”
“That's your problem.”
Shobeir laughed. Hany smiled at the water. A few steps later, Shobeir spoke again. “Do you think Mo told everyone?”
“Told everyone what?”
“That I came here.”
Hany shrugged. “Probably.”
“Great.”
“Why?”
“Because Emam will never let me live it down.”
Hany laughed. “He'll probably say you went on a rescue mission.”
“It's not funny.”
“It is.”
“Wait until I tell him you were the one who packed the picnic.”
Hany immediately looked at him. “You wouldn't.”
“I would.”
“Mostafa.”
“Mohamed.”
“Don't.”
“Why? It's adorable.”
Hany shoved his shoulder lightly. Shobeir stumbled dramatically toward the water. “Hey!”
Hany laughed. “Don't be dramatic.”
“You almost killed me.”
“You're a goalkeeper. Save yourself.”
Shobeir stared at him. Then smiled. “That's more like you.”
Hany's smile faded slightly. “What?”
“You're teasing me.”
“So?”
“You didn't do that before.”
Hany looked ahead. The water rolled over the sand and retreated again. “I was scared before.”
Shobeir's expression softened. “I know.”
“But I'm trying.”
“I know that too.”
Hany glanced at him. There was no teasing in Shobeir's face now. No expectation. No pressure. Just understanding. So Hany looked away again. “Good.”
They continued walking. After a while, their conversation drifted to completely meaningless things. Food. Training. The ridiculous amount of time Emam could spend complaining about something that had happened five minutes earlier. The way Marmoush could somehow be on his phone even while everyone else was swimming.
Salah's habit of trying to keep everyone organized despite knowing perfectly well that half of them wouldn't listen. Trezeguet's old jokes. Ramadan. The memories came naturally. Some were so old that Hany had almost forgotten them. Shobeir hadn't. He remembered everything.
Hany noticed. “You really remember a lot.”
“About you?”
“Yeah.”
Shobeir shrugged. “Maybe.”
Hany looked at him suspiciously. “You remember things I don't even remember.”
“I pay attention.”
The words were simple. But Hany felt something tighten gently in his chest. For years, he'd thought Shobeir barely looked at him. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe the problem had never been that Mostafa didn't look. Maybe Hany had simply been too afraid to look back.
They eventually stopped walking and settled on the sand near the water. Their slippers were left on the side, forgotten for the moment. Hany pulled his trousers slightly higher as the waves reached their bare feet, the cool water washing over their ankles before retreating back into the sea.
Shobeir sat beside him, one knee pulled up while his other leg stretched toward the water. And he talked. He talked about things Hany had never heard before. About the years when he was still in the youth academy and Hany had already been part of the senior team. About how intimidated he had been at first. About how much he admired Hany even before he understood why he was always looking for him after training. About the first time he realized that seeing Hany laughing with someone else could ruin his entire mood. About Ramadan, Trezeguet, Emam, Rabia, Salah and to everyone who seemed to receive Hany's attention so effortlessly.
“I hated myself for being jealous sometimes,” Shobeir admitted, staring at the water. “They weren't doing anything wrong. You weren't doing anything wrong. They were your friends. Your teammates. You had every right to be close to them.”
Hany remained quiet.
“But I'd see someone put their arm around you and I'd think, why can't I do that?” Shobeir laughed softly at himself. “Then I'd get angry at myself for even thinking about it.”
Hany looked at him. Shobeir didn't notice. Or perhaps he did and simply continued.
“I thought maybe it would disappear if I ignored it long enough. I tried. I prayed. I told myself that you're my teammate, my brother, someone I care about. That's all.”
His voice became quieter.
“But it didn't disappear.”
The waves rolled over their feet again. Hany watched Shobeir's face. For years, he'd been afraid of looking at him for too long. Now he couldn't seem to look away. He noticed things he had deliberately ignored. The way Shobeir's eyebrows moved whenever he became passionate about something. The little crease between them when he was worried. The way his eyes softened when he talked about someone he cared about. The way he sometimes smiled before he even finished a sentence.
Hany had spent so much time noticing how beautiful Mostafa was that he had never allowed himself to appreciate everything else. His honesty, his patience, his ridiculous jealousy, his stubbornness, his ability to make everyone around him feel protected, the way he could be loud and playful one moment and painfully sincere the next, the way he had driven all the way from Luxor because Hany ran away, the way he had stayed and the way he had asked Hany to trust him even when Hany had given him every reason not to.
Hany's chest tightened. Not with fear. Not this time.
Shobeir turned his head and finally caught him staring. He stopped talking. “What?”
Hany didn't look away. “Nothing.”
Shobeir's eyes narrowed. “You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me.”
A small smile tugged at Hany's lips. “I am.”
Shobeir went quiet. Hany almost laughed at the expression on his face. After all those years of asking him to look, the man didn't seem to know what to do now that Hany actually was.
“Go on,” Hany said.
Shobeir blinked. “What?”
“You were talking.”
“Oh.” Shobeir looked back at the water. For a few seconds, he seemed to struggle with what to say next. Then he exhaled. “I was afraid too, you know.”
Hany's smile disappeared. “Of what?”
“Of you.”
Hany frowned. “Me?”
“Not you exactly.” Shobeir rubbed his thumb against his palm. “What loving you would mean. What would happen if you found out and decided you didn't feel the same. What would happen if you did feel the same.”
Hany listened.
“I was afraid that if I ever let myself want you completely, I'd never be able to pretend it wasn't there anymore.”
Hany lowered his gaze. That sounded painfully familiar.
Shobeir continued. “And then you started avoiding me. I thought maybe you'd figured it out somehow. I thought maybe you'd seen me looking at you and realized something was wrong with me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you.” Shobeir looked at him. Hany swallowed. “Nothing.”
The younger man's expression softened. Hany looked toward the horizon. “I kept thinking that if I gave you my attention, I'd only make everything worse.”
Shobeir didn't interrupt.
“I thought if I looked at you too long, I'd want more. If I talked to you too much, I'd become attached. If I allowed myself to enjoy being around you, I'd eventually want something I couldn't have.” His fingers pressed lightly into the sand.
“And if I gave you my heart, even a little, I was afraid you'd take it and eventually decide you didn't want it anymore.”
Shobeir's expression fell.
Hany turned toward him. “But yesterday…” He paused. “I realized something.”
“What?”
Hany looked directly into his eyes. “This wasn't as frightening as I thought it would be.”
Shobeir stared at him.
Hany's voice was quiet. “I was so afraid of what might happen if I gave you my attention that I never stopped to see what was already happening.”
His eyes moved across Shobeir's face. “You were here.” A breath. “You kept choosing to be here.” Another. “And I kept running.”
Shobeir's eyes softened.
Hany smiled faintly. “I thought loving you would mean losing control of everything. But maybe I was making it harder than it had to be.”
He looked down at their feet as another wave washed over them. “Maybe I don't have to know what happens after this.”
Shobeir stayed silent.
“Maybe I can just…” Hany searched for the words. “Let myself be here.”
Shobeir's voice was barely above a whisper. “With me?”
Hany looked at him again. “Yes.”
Something in Shobeir's face changed. Not triumph. Not relief alone. Something gentler. Something that made Hany's heart ache.
Hany smiled. “And besides…”
“Hmm?”
“You've been complaining for years that I never look at you.”
Shobeir's mouth slowly curved upward. “I have.”
“So look.”
Shobeir blinked.
Hany held his gaze. “I'm looking now.”
For once, Shobeir had nothing clever to say. He simply stared back. And Hany realized that this was what had frightened him for so long. Not the feeling itself. Not even the uncertainty. It was the possibility of letting someone matter so much that losing them would hurt. But perhaps loving someone had never come with a promise that nothing would hurt. Perhaps all he could do was choose what was in front of him and right now, what was in front of him was Mostafa. The man who had waited, the man who had been honest, the man who had crossed the distance between them when Hany had spent years building it. Hany didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't know how they would navigate everything waiting for them beyond this quiet shore but for the first time, he wasn't asking himself how to escape it. He was simply grateful that he had stayed long enough to see that it wasn't as terrifying as his mind had convinced him it would be.
Shobeir nudged his shoulder against Hany's. “So…”
Hany raised an eyebrow.
“Does this mean I can finally stop asking you to look at me?”
Hany smiled. “No.”
Shobeir looked offended. “Why?”
“Because I like seeing you complain.”
“Mohamed.”
Hany laughed. And this time, when Shobeir looked at him, Hany didn't turn away.
They eventually returned to the hut when the sun had climbed higher into the sky. Hany settled onto the picnic mat first, stretching his legs out in front of him while Shobeir sat beside him. The containers were opened again, and despite having eaten not too long ago, Shobeir still reached for the food.
Hany stared at him. “Didn't you just eat?”
“I walked.”
“We walked for twenty minutes.”
“Exactly. I'm hungry.”
“You're impossible.”
Shobeir took another bite.
Hany tried to look annoyed, but the smile betrayed him. They ate slowly beneath the shade of the grass-thatched hut, occasionally interrupted by the sound of the waves and the breeze moving through the dried grass above them.
Shobeir wanted to stay. He didn't say it immediately, but Hany knew. It was obvious in the way he kept looking toward the water whenever Hany mentioned that they should probably leave soon.
Eventually, Shobeir's phone rang. He looked at the screen and sighed. “Staff.”
Hany's eyebrows lifted. “What do they want?”
“To remind us that we still belong to the national team.”
Hany laughed.
Shobeir answered the call and listened for a while, occasionally responding with a few words before ending it.
“What?” Hany asked.
“We need to be back in Cairo in two days.”
Hany nodded. “That's fine.”
“That's it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don't know. I was hoping you'd say we should stay here forever.”
Hany rolled his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous.”
“Worth a try.”
Hany shook his head, but Shobeir noticed the smile he was trying to hide. They didn't rush after that, they stayed, they talked, they ate until Hany told Shobeir that if he ate any more, there would be nothing left for the journey home.
They walked along the shore again. Sometimes their hands brushed. Sometimes Shobeir would look at him for too long, and Hany would notice. This time, Hany didn't pretend he hadn't and sometimes, when the quiet became too comfortable, Hany leaned closer and pressed a brief kiss against Shobeir's cheek. The first time, Shobeir froze. The second time, he smiled. By the third, he was already turning his face toward Hany in anticipation.
“Don't get greedy,” Hany warned.
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face loves you.”
Hany stared at him. Shobeir grinned.
“See? You're looking again.” Hany shook his head and walked away but he was smiling.
They prayed too. Hany never treated prayer as something separate from the rest of his life.
Even here, away from Cairo, away from the noise and the team, away from everything that had made his mind feel like a battlefield for years, he still found his way back to it.
Shobeir gave him the space he needed. They stayed a respectful distance as they prepared themselves, washed, and stood to pray.
There was something peaceful about seeing him like this. Hany's expression changed when he prayed. The constant tension in his face softened. The same man who could overthink a single sentence for hours suddenly became quiet, grounded, and still.
Shobeir didn't interrupt him. He never would even though Shobeir already finished his prayer.
Afterward, Hany remained seated for a while. His hands rested in front of him. His head lowered and he prayed again. Not with the certainty of someone who had already found all his answers but with the humility of someone who knew he hadn't.
He asked Allah for forgiveness. For the things he had thought. For the things he had felt. For the ways fear had ruled him. For the times he had run when he should have stayed. He asked for guidance. For clarity. For strength. And then, quietly, he asked for something more. If this was not right for him, if this was something that would lead him away from the path he was meant to follow, then he asked Allah to remove it from his life. To take Mostafa away from him if that was what was necessary. Even if it hurts. Even if his heart fought against it. He would rather lose something he loved than hold onto something that was not meant for him.
But if this was something written for them—If somehow, despite all the fear and uncertainty, this was a path they were meant to walk—Then he asked Allah to strengthen them. To guide them. To keep them from hurting one another. To give them patience. And if they were truly meant to remain in each other's lives, then let them not be separated by fear anymore.
Hany stayed quiet for a long time afterward. When he finally lifted his head, he didn't feel like he had received an answer. Maybe he wasn't supposed to. Maybe guidance did not always arrive as a voice telling someone exactly what to do. Maybe sometimes it came as the strength to take the next step without knowing where the road ended.
Hany looked toward Shobeir. The younger man was waiting for him. Not demanding. Not asking. Just waiting.
Hany smiled. “Ready?”
Shobeir stood. “For Cairo?”
Hany nodded.
Shobeir looked back at the water. “Unfortunately.”
Hany laughed. They packed their things and they left.
—
They didn't travel back together after they landed in Cairo. Their homes were different, their arrangements were different, and there was no reason to force themselves into something they didn't need to force. They agreed to meet at the club. Two days. It wasn't long. At least, Hany didn't think so anymore. Two days ago, he would have counted every hour as another opportunity to panic. Now, he found himself looking forward to seeing Shobeir again. That realization alone made him smile.
The club was already noisy when Shobeir arrived. He had barely stepped inside when he saw them.
Emam and Hany. Of course.
Emam was practically glued to Hany's side, talking animatedly about something Shobeir couldn't even hear from where he stood. Hany was laughing. Emam threw an arm around his shoulders.
Shobeir stopped walking. His jaw tightened. Unbelievable. Two days. He had been away from Hany for two days and the moment he came back, Emam had already claimed his spot.
Shobeir stared.
Emam said something. Hany laughed again.
Shobeir narrowed his eyes. Fine, he could wait, he could be mature.
He could absolutely— “Mohamed.”
His voice carried across the room. Hany turned. Their eyes met and everything inside Shobeir went quiet. There it was. That look. The look he'd spent years wanting. The look he'd once believed he would never receive without having to steal a second of it from across a pitch.
Hany saw him, really saw him. Shobeir didn't even need to say anything else. He simply lifted his chin slightly, silently calling him over.
Hany looked at Emam then back at Shobeir and instead of staying where he was, instead of laughing it off or pretending he hadn't noticed, Hany gently removed Emam's arm from his shoulder.
“I'm going to Oufa.”
Emam blinked. “What?”
Hany was already walking. Shobeir's heart nearly stopped. Hany reached him and stood beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” Hany said.
Shobeir stared. “Hi?”
Hany frowned. “What?”
“You came to me.”
“You called me.”
“And you came.”
Hany's expression softened. “Didn't you want me to?”
Shobeir couldn't answer immediately because suddenly, he remembered everything. The beach, the hotel, the years before that. Every celebration where someone else had their arms around Hany, every interview where someone else could kiss his cheek, every time he had stood a little farther away and wondered why Hany never looked at him, every night he had tried to convince himself that whatever he felt would eventually disappear, every prayer, every doubt, every moment of jealousy, every time Hany ran, every time he waited and now—Hany was standing beside him, not because Shobeir had chased him into another country, not because he had begged, not because he had demanded an explanation.
Hany had simply heard his voice and he had come.
Shobeir looked at him. Hany caught him staring. Again. But this time, Hany smiled. He didn't look away and Shobeir finally understood something. Maybe the years of waiting hadn't been about getting Hany to notice him, maybe Hany had always noticed, maybe he had simply been too afraid to look back.
Shobeir smiled. His baby was looking at him now. And this time—He wasn't going anywhere.
Before he could find anything to say, someone stepped beside Hany.
“Ah.” Salah. He looked between the two of them. Then he looked at Hany. Then Shobeir. Then back at Hany. A slow, knowing grin appeared on his face.
“Well, well.”
Hany immediately narrowed his eyes. “Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Salah laughed. “I'm just happy to see that someone finally learned how to listen.”
Shobeir's eyebrows lifted. “Mo.”
“What?” Salah looked completely innocent. “I didn't mention anything.”
Hany crossed his arms. “Go away.”
“Why? I was standing beside you first.”
Shobeir looked at Salah. “Actually, Mo, can you move?”
Salah's grin widened. “Oh?”
Hany groaned. “Please don't start.”
“I'm not starting anything.” Salah took one deliberate step away from Hany. “I'm simply giving the two lovebirds some space.”
“MO!”
Salah laughed and patted Hany's shoulder before walking away. “Don't run away again, Hany.”
Hany froze.
Salah glanced over his shoulder. “I'm kidding.” He wasn't.
Hany stared at him until Salah finally disappeared into the crowd. Shobeir was still looking at him.
“What?”
“You told him you were coming to me.”
Hany's cheeks warmed. “He was standing there.”
“So?”
“So I said I'm going to Oufa.”
Shobeir's smile grew.
Hany sighed. “Don't make it a big deal.”
“I'm making it a very big deal.”
“Mostafa.”
“You came to me.”
“Yes.”
“By yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Because I called you.”
Hany looked at him. “And?”
Shobeir's expression softened. “Nothing.”
Hany caught him staring again but this time, Hany smiled and he didn't look away.