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They lost.
He pulled his weight across that field, scored a hat-trick for his team, scored that first penalty, and they still lost.
Kylian wants to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. Or all of the above. But he can't.
It's numbing, really. He hadn't realized how numbing this feeling could or would be. He really thought they could do it again. They were about to do it again. They were so close.
The locker room after the match was quiet, too quiet. The only thing that stopped it from being deathly quiet was the sound of water streaming from the showerheads. Kylian wanted to scream at his teammates; scream at them for not doing enough, for not helping him, for missing those penalties. But he can also blame himself.
It's embarrassing really, how it looked like they weren't playing at all those first 80 minutes. France, the reigning champions, just bent over and allowed themselves to be spanked and handled that way by Argentina. That first Argentina penalty dropped morale, and that second Argentina goal destroyed their mood. They needed to do something, or this would have to be the most embarrassing moment of their careers.
And he wasn't going to sit back and do nothing, so he did what he had to do. But it still wasn't enough.
The bus ride back to their hotel was just as quiet. Everyone was either too upset about the defeat to say anything or too exhausted to keep themselves awake after the emotional rollercoaster that was that game.
Kylian closes his eyes, trying to contain the tears that he's somehow miraculously contained the last few hours. He wiggles a little in his seat to try and get comfortable, his foot accidentally hitting his bag on the ground. He winces when he hit something hard and metallic. The Golden Boot.
Kylian scoffs. It's like a slap in the face. What's it good for anyway if it doesn't have the trophy along with it?
He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he doesn't have the strength to take it out and read his family's words of encouragement and you did fantastic and you're going to do it again in 4 years and you'll come back stronger.
He was going to leave it be, but then it buzzed again. He pulled it out, with the full intention of just shooting his family a quick message of, thanks guys, but I kind of want to be alone at the moment, but he froze when he saw the notification.
Achraf
Hey
Achraf
I understand you probably want to be left alone, but I just wanted to let you know you were absolutely beautiful on the field today. I was so proud of you watching you play from the stands. I AM so proud of you.
Kylian couldn't stop the tears this time. He felt the first one slide down. And then the second. And then the third.
He looked around him, making sure his teammates weren't looking, and when he realized they weren't, he quickly wiped his tears, staring back at the message.
Kylian wanted to be alone. At least he thought he did. And then fucking Achraf Hakimi, this beautiful man he gets to call his best friend, this beautiful man he quickly fell in love with, had to go and fuck it up.
Kylian
Meet me in my room in 30?
Kylian didn't even have time to close out his messages to see that delivered sign turn to read.
Achraf
Of course
He feels himself smiling while closing out his messages. If there's one thing that can change his mood, even just a little bit, it would be the Moroccan man.
That's probably why he looked a little too giddy for a man who had just lost the biggest game of his life while stepping off the bus, and when he politely declined his teammates and told them he was just going to go back to his room and order room service when they invited him to have dinner together, and why he was all but running to get back to his hotel room.
He opened the door, hearing it click shut behind him while he dropped his bag on the floor, the heavy thud of the Golden Boot making him wince for a second time.
He collapsed on his bed, trying to count the minutes until he could finally be in his best friend's arms, the only place he wants to be in right now. It has only been three days since he last held him, but it feels like an eternity. Three long days of not being able to hug his heart, touch his hair, caress his face, his ear, feel Achraf's strong arms and hands around his waist. Feel those hands when he slapped-
The sound of someone knocking on the door brought him back, and he quickly jumped out of his bed, making his way to the door. He takes a deep breath before opening the door, and he could feel his heartbeat speeding up at the mere sight of Hakimi.
The latter gives him a smile before a soft, "Hey," and Kylian melts.
He grabs the Moroccan, throwing his arms around his neck, burying his face in the man's shoulders. He thinks he heard him say, "Woah there, okay," but all but white noise was drowned out of his ears when he smelled the familiar scent of his love and felt his arms wrap around his waist.
"Okay, let's get you to the bed, baby," Achraf says, moving them both out of the way so he could close the door and bring them to his bed. Achraf sits down first, and Kylian quickly finds himself climbing onto the man's lap, wrapping his arms around him. Achraf does the same, drawing soothing circles on his back.
"You did so well, my love," Kylian heard him whisper into his shoulder. "Three goals, you're a fucking beast. You're so good."
And Kylian finally breaks down.
Once the tears started, they didn't stop. He sobs into Hakimi's neck, loud sobs being muffled. His body begins shaking, and he would feel embarrassed if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted at the moment.
"You're so okay, cariño, you're good," his lover says.
"I just, I did everything I could," he says in between sobs. "It still wasn't enough."
"Don't say that," Hakimi says.
"But it's true, and I feel like I let everyone down; my family, my friends, my country," He de-attaches himself from the man's neck, wincing when he sees the mess he made with the mixture of snot and tears, but Achraf didn't care. He was only looking up at him with so much love and admiration in his eyes and maybe it was because he was in this position himself just a few days back and he knows what it feels like to give it your all on the field but still coming up short, but fuck, how could Kylian not fall in love with him?
"You did absolutely everything you could do," starts Achraf. "You dominated the game and you nearly single-handedly took down Argentina all by yourself. You were the best player out on that field today. It was enough, and if anyone watched your performance today and didn't think that, they can fuck off."
Kylian closed the gap between them and tightened his hold on Hakimi's neck. He tasted of toothpaste, and their teeth accidentally scraped against each other, but it was perfect for him.
"I love you," he whispered to his lover in between kisses, releasing his arms from the man's neck and bringing his hands to caress his lover's face. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Achraf let out a chuckle, and Kylian wants that to be the last thing he hears before he dies. "I love you, too."
Achraf breaks the kiss, opting to pepper small kisses down Kylian's chin and throat before landing on the curve between his neck and shoulders, leaving soft kisses.
And Kylian, well. Kylian is so in love with the man and the way he could take away all of his worries simply by being with him.
"Make me forget," Kylian whispers. "Just for a little bit."
Achraf gently bites his neck before looking up at him, a look of mischief spreading across his face. "Don't worry, mi Amor, I was planning to anyway."
He removes the man from his lap and throws him on the bed, and Kylian is once again in awe of the man climbing on top of him. He's not light, not at all, but his lover had no problem manhandling him the way he did.
He lets out a soft laugh when he felt Hakimi's hands play at his sides, and he throws his arms around his neck again just so he could get a taste of his lover again.
Today may have been one of Kylian's worst days of his professional career, but with Achraf there with him, it hurts a little less.