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The night is quiet and still. Standing upon the balcony of his penthouse suite, Hakimi is alone. What noise he can hear from the celebrations on the streets below is muffled. He is glad for the moment of solitude. It goes against all the teachings he grew up with but as he looks down at the distant cacophony of people outside, he feels resentment towards them. At how they jeer and hurl insults to tear down his beloved and rejoice his loss, as if Kylian had not given them the most exhilarating final of the World Cup and outperformed everyone on the pitch. He has never hesitated to start a fight during a game for the Parisian, damn the consequences of a yellow or red card. If he could, he would do so now if only it would lift Kylian out of his upset.
A pang of guilt quickly follows the resentment. He knows that senseless fights with faceless strangers would not fix anything. It would not fix them.
“Achraf, this needs to end.”
He stares into the dark expanse of the sky instead, at how bright the moon illuminates and he is all the more reminded of his lover. His golden boy, the brightest of them all. Kylian always loved it when the moon was like this. Achiraf almost smiles.
“I have to work and do everything I can to be better. I can’t have any distractions.”
Almost.
In the end, he is deemed as just a distraction by Mbappé. A necessary loss for him to reach the top and join the likes of Ronaldo and Messi. He can almost understand. No hero has been able to have it all without some form of turmoil and sacrifice.
Instead of being upset with Kylian, he berates himself for not doing more, for not giving more. Achraf should have been so indispensable that Mbappé would feel the loss of him is the same as cutting off a limb. He considers how he had never told the younger man that he loved him. The other would say the words so easily, dripping like sweet honey from his lips. In french, english, spanish.. There was no end to the manner Kylian spoke his love for him in existence. And every time, Achraf would only be able to muster up a pained smile.
He could not bring himself to say the words though he feels the same as Kylian. It felt like the final frontier. Achraf had shared his body and feelings with him and those words are the last thing left sacred for Hiba.
Their relationship had operated like that. Mbappé would say everything he feels and Hakimi means everything he does not say. While the centre-forward had told him he understands, he should have known he would not be appeased forever. Perhaps his aversion to the words is what led Kylian into thinking what they shared could be so easily discarded.
The fool.
His phone rings and breaks his musings. He pulls it out of his pocket, answering without glancing at the screen to see who it is because he recognizes the ringtone.
“Yes?” He said in a low baritone.
“Hey babe,” Hiba’s exhausted tone comes through, “just thought I would check in before we get on the plane. How is Kylian?”
Achraf inwardly sighs. Hiba and the kids had attended the finals but she had to leave for other commitments almost as soon as the game had ended. He had hated himself for being relieved at her absence so he could console Kylian, it was unbecoming of him.
“Kylian.. Is Kylian,” He replies for there are no words to explain to his own wife how his lover is self-destructing and pushing him away.
“He is our golden boy, he will only grow from this,” Achraf just hums his agreement and tries not to frown at her use of words as she means well. ‘Our’ she had said when Kylian is just his.
“Alright, I have to go. Give him my best. I love you,” Hiba says sweetly and his mouth goes dry. He swallows and tries to get enough moisture in his mouth so he can say the words back but before he can even part his lips, there is an audible beep as Hiba ends the call. He stares at his phone for a moment longer before he pockets it.
He loves Hiba and the family they have built. They are his safe haven. But he is in love with Kylian. There are times he had thought even if he could say the words I love you to him, he would rather not. The words almost fall short. The intensity he feels for the other would surely scare him away. If he had known, he would have tried to run away sooner. For Kylian, he could do anything. Have done everything. Every time they come together, he becomes more desperate.
Achraf closes his eyes and thinks about what he can do now, how he can help restore Mbappé. From the distance, the fans chant Messi’s name like a prayer when it should be Kylian’s name on their lips. He takes a sharp breath. That was it. He takes his phone out once more, almost dropping it in his hurry and makes a call.
PSG had originally wanted to give them a week’s rest after the World Cup but rest is not what his boy needs. Time off will only give him more time to wallow. He needs to be back on the pitch and shown just how beloved he is. Achraf hates to admit it but his own love for Kylian is not enough right now and he will make sure the Parisian is showered with the adoration he deserves.
-----
Kylian returns to him that very night just as Achraf had known he would. He crawls into his bed and drapes himself over Hakimi shamelessly, presses damp kisses to every patch of his skin he could reach.
“Achraf, I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
He stays silent as warm hands run up the planes of his back.
“I was wrong, I need you.”
After that, he cannot pretend any longer and takes pity on the younger man.
“You are a fool,” he huffs even as he returns Kylian’s embrace. Like the aggressive cuddler that he is, Mbappé throws a leg over him and snuggles closer to him with a shaky sigh of relief.
“It’s you and me,” he promises, “just us against the world.” Hakimi hums his agreement.
“I love you so much.” The other pauses for his response, Kylian pulling back to stare at him, as if he was scared he had said something forbidden after everything that had happened tonight. As if Achraf would not blindly follow him into the depths of hell.
“You better,” Hakimi replies and Kylian relaxes in his arms, his lips stretching into one of his smiles. His golden boy.
----
On their first match back, the Parisian scores an injury time penalty to seal their win over Strasbourg. Kylian comes alive as the crowd goes wild for him, just as Achraf had known he would. He takes off his shirt in the midst of his celebration and Hakimi runs to pick it up after him. He joins the team in their merrymaking, holding up the centre-forward’s shirt to the fans. The cheers grow even louder and it is Kylian’s name they scream. It is the outpouring of love from their fans, their adoration and dedication that Mbappé had been needing.
Later, when their team disperses and they are within arms length, Achraf reaches out to press a quick kiss to his head. “Hear that? They love you,” he murmurs and the younger man beams.
“But not as much as I love you.”