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Kylian took up a lot of space. He was omnipresent within the team, constantly conversing and playing tricks with his teammates. It seemed that wherever Achraf looked, Kylian was there.
When they had first met over a year ago, it had felt like two long-lost friends finding each other again in a new timeline. Kylian had opened his arms and taken Achraf in without prejudice or expectations.
They grew close; Achraf found himself mostly talking to Kylian on training days, to the point he started making a list of people he should speak to each day, to ensure he wasn’t unwillingly excluding others, and himself. And while he grew to like his teammates, it was Kylian he naturally came back to, who always greeted him with a wide smile.
Achraf quickly learned that Kylian was a very tactile person. A hand on the shoulder, a high five, a slap on the back. It had made the Moroccan feel welcomed, integrated, and wanted.
The exponential growth of touch hadn’t seemed to faze the French player, but Achraf had become increasingly hyperaware of each time Kylian touched him. Kylian would pull him in for a hug on the pitch, and it would take Achraf a few seconds to recall what he was supposed to do in these situations. Put arms around person in return, right.
He had been pretty good at ignoring any warning lights until Kylian’s home range radius shrunk into a small gravitating area around Achraf. The Moroccan never found himself without Kylian too far off. As such, Achraf’s ears were constantly talked to. The older player only noticed something was amiss when it was suddenly silent around him and the usual presence of someone breathing down his neck was absent. Usually, it meant Kylian had gone to the locker room or was busy being bullied by Sergio.
“Have you seen Kylian?” Achraf asked one day, seeing that Ramos was alone.
“I figured you would know,” Sergio answered, slightly frowning. “Probably beating it in the bathroom,” he added when Achraf didn’t answer.
“I’ll go find him,” Achraf departed.
Chuckling, Sergio responded, “To jerk him off?”
Achraf found Kylian in the locker room, tying on his phone on the bench.
“You good?” The Moroccan asked as he went to grab some water.
Kylian looked up at Achraf for a long moment, his lost eyes searching to focus on his. Achraf stood there, bottle in hand, looking expectantly.
“Yep,” Kylian inhaled. “Nothing wrong.” He jumped up, shoved his phone in his pocket and half-skipped to Achraf, offering his arm. “Coming?”
Achraf hadn’t even taken a sip of his water when he was being dragged back outside.
Achraf stood up, arms in the air cheering at the top of his lungs. Kylian came running from the pitch and slammed into him, wrapping his arms around him. He was shouting some nonsense into Achraf’s ears. The adrenaline was pumping fast through the Moroccan, who could only laugh at Kylian’s antics and squeeze him back hard.
Kylian had just scored a goal winning the game for their team. Achraf hadn’t played, having been benched the entire game, but the pride he felt swelled in his chest when he looked at Kylian.
“Did you see it?” Kylian beamed holding onto Achraf.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Achraf laughed, “what sport is it that we’re playing again?”
Kylian gave him a friendly kick before being solicited by their coach.
Truth is, Achraf’s eyes hadn’t left Kylian the entire game. He had tried to follow the ball, take mental notes of passes, techniques, and strategies, analyze the playstyle of the group, and try to learn and learn like he usually does, but his mind had kept drifting back to Kylian. It was like trying to fight a magnet or break two ionic bonds, and it demanded too much work for Achraf.
“As long as you’re watching me, the sport we’re playing doesn’t matter,” Kylian shouted as he ran back onto the pitch.
You’re the only one I see.
Achraf had noticed the blatant difference in treatment Kylian reserved for people and pretended not to notice how less handsy he was with the others. He was still incredibly annoying; spawning behind someone barking whatever nonsense was going through his mind. Except that person might have Kylian’s loose arm around their shoulders instead of a firm grip on their hips. Achraf didn’t think too much of it; friendship had different ways of manifesting itself.
Achraf grew to the touch of Kylian’s hands and all that came with it, the lingering hand on the neck, the whispers in the ear, the smile on his face. It had become a welcoming habit, and Hakimi had grown comfortable within that space.
Achraf greeted all of his teammates with an easy shake of the hand and a shoulder hug. It was standard procedure. But, one morning, Kylian pulled him in and planted a wet kiss in the crook of his neck.
“Morning bro,” he said in a natural voice, letting Achraf go. He sounded blasé and slightly tired.
Achraf’s frown only briefly formed, until he had decided this was Kylian’s new thing, and to shove whatever feelings that were starting to grow into a dusty drawer and throw the whole dresser in the trash.
It had, however, left Achraf sewn shut. Kylian turned around, looking expectantly.
“Morning to you too Kylian, how are you doing Kylian? Well, I’m rather good Achraf, thanks for asking-”
Achraf shoved his hand onto Kylian’s face. “Okay, okay, shut up,” the older player laughed, “Good morning, dumbass.”
“I didn’t realize I had to beg for a good morning,” Kylian scoffed in a high-pitched voice. “I’d give the moon for you Achraf, and you won’t even bid me an enjoyable morning,” he shook his head.
Achraf snorted. “Okay, princess. I said bonjour, give me the moon now.”
He avoided looking at Kylian, who had taken his shirt off, and turned to throw on his jersey instead. Ramos laughed in the background.
“Hold on here,” Kylian started again, “how am I the princess in the story?”
“Kiks, you sweet Parisian child,” Sergio interjected, “it’s so obvious, you are blind to it.”
Kylian’s face grew into a wide O, looking offended. “Do not call me Parisian. French maybe, but Parisian never.”
Achraf laughed. And as they walked out onto the field, Kylian’s voice bounced off the walls as he continued on hammering about curtesy, Parisian’s reputation, how he had been raised right despite growing up in Paris, and how they weren’t uncivilized beings who deserved to be-
“Kiks, I shall henceforth bow to you and bring you a freshly plucked flower of your favorite color every morning and open the door to your carriage-” Achraf was cut off by a slap to the neck. Achraf and Ramos snickered, looking back at Kylian, who bore a sheepish look.
And when they won a game, Kylian would look for Achraf amid the team until he eventually did, and Achraf always felt a sense of relief when their eyes met. Like they were two entities only capable of optimum functioning as long as the other wasn’t far off.
Achraf tried not to feel possessive of Kylian’s wide smile. He could rarely tear his eyes away, wanting to drink him in as much as possible, feeling the moment fleeting already. The eventual kiss on the neck that followed was taken as salt on an icy road, delicately, ensuring its lasting effects quickly melted within him. But if Achraf felt a pang in his heart when Kylian didn’t find a reason to plaster his lips on the Moroccan, he shoved it aside as mere disorientation due to the sudden break in his routine.
He also pretended not to feel the pair of hands linger around his neck or the closeness they stood, and the meaningful encouraging words exchanged, before separating again to take back their position on the pitch.
The dresser with his feelings in its drawers was set on fire on a daily basis. Achraf made sure of that. Despite the upper-level mental gymnastics his brain underwent to suppress whatever attraction he may have for his friend, it was enough of a thing that it took Achraf double the work to form thoughts and triple the effort to look away.
It's just that Achraf wasn’t all that used to being touched so often and having a pair of hands come out of nowhere and wrap themselves around his shoulders or his ribs. Kylian’s hands at that. But he never dared to voice any objections, not simply because he did not mind it, but mostly, it seemed that was just how Kylian was. He liked to touch people. That was his thing. Achraf’s thing was to be touched by Kylian and try to make nothing of it.
They were having a slow week; half the team was granted a few days off. Naturally, the French and Moroccan player had taken home their usual work shenanigans to play FIFA.
Kylian had thrown a leg over Achraf’s lap.
Achraf was okay with Kylian’s random hip grabs, arms play, hands running down his back, prolonged hugs, and neck kisses. He was. But a leg over his lap was bound to lead to undesirable side effects. His instinct was to ditch his controller and caress the presented leg, to run up and down and feel the soft hairs and muscles. Which, in a perfect world, it could potentially lead to something a little more risqué.
Achraf mentally added lighter fluid to his feelings and threw a match in there. He silently watched it burn before turning to his friend.
“Bro,” Achraf said, motioning his leg.
“Hmm?” Kylian was focused on the game.
“Get off.”
Kylian turned to him then, taking a second to piece the words together. And for a second, Achraf, eyes still fixated on the screen, felt hurt in his friend’s stare. Kylian was rarely silent when addressed unless something was wrong. But Kylian recovered quickly and took his leg off. The sudden fresh air on his leg quickly left Achraf regretting his decision. But what was done, was done.
Except he felt the couch shift, and in the corner of his eye, Kylian moved. Not away, no. Closer. He sat closer to Achraf.
“That was rude,” Kylian said, positioned obnoxiously close to Achraf’s face, still looking straight at him. Achraf did not want to turn to him. “I have no choice but to…”
And then Achraf felt himself be moved, no, grabbed. Kylian grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down.
“What in the-” Achraf started, resisting at first, then understood. He let himself be trapped in his friend’s arms. “Kylian, Kylian, Kylian. Always demanding more,” he chuckled. The lighter fluid was not burning his feelings fast enough, damn it.
“Hmmhmmm.” Kylian shifted and propped himself against several cushions. “Achraf, Achraf, Achraf, never daring to ask for anything.” Kylian grabbed the controller he had laid on Achraf’s chest and turned back to the screen. “This is much better, I’d say.”
Achraf looked up and simply saw Kylian biting his lip, entirely focused on the game. Achraf shook his head. He’d like to be stabbed, please. Shove a knife in between his ribs, twist it, and carve a whole in his chest.
It had taken him a second to relax. He felt his entire being float in an alienating suspension of time, as if this precise moment did not actually exist within their timeline, and thus would have no consequence in their real life. Achraf allowed himself to relax. First his feet and legs; then slowly his shoulders and neck, until he let go of his entire weight on the French man. Kylian was quite wide; his torso was thick and squared, with ample cushioning. He was comfortable.
The Moroccan’s neck started to ache keeping it straight, and he wondered if the sun would still rise if he let it down into Kylian’s neck. He figured he’d take his chances. Achraf pretended not to feel the kiss planted on his cheek not a second after nestling in the crook of Kylian’s neck.
And if Achraf fell asleep mid-game, that wasn’t anyone’s business. It certainly wasn’t Kylian’s either, because he had fallen asleep too.
The Moroccan had found himself at Kylian’s the entire week. He’d only go home late in the evening, after a day of hanging out. Hanging out with Kylian meant playing a lot of video games, a lot of eating, a lot of talking. He always ensured he was within an appropriate distance to Achraf, and that some body part of his was touching him in some way, his foot at the barstools, his elbow at the table, his knee on the couch. They always ended up bundled up on the couch, more often than not with Kylian’s arms wrapped around Achraf.
The one afternoon, Kylian was spread across the couch, his face half-buried into a pillow as he watched a game playing on the wide screen. Achraf had hesitated, and reluctantly sat next to him. They had watched for a bit like this in comfortable silence. Until Kylian groaned, stretched, and looked back at him. Achraf offered him the popcorn he’d been munching on. In return, Kylian propped himself up and crawled across Achraf’s lap until he sat in the crook of his shoulder, legs over his lap. Kylian turned back to the screen and shoved his hand in the popcorn bowl, while Achraf was imagining beating himself up in some dark alley.
In turn, Achraf was drawn to Kylian as if he held the other part of him necessary to feel joy.
As such, he’s the one to grab Kylian, pull his face into his neck and kiss; they had just won a game thanks to Kylian’s score.
“You mad man! You absolute mad man!” Achraf repeated shaking his friend. He could hear Kylian’s haunting giggle in his neck before the whole team bulldozed into them. It’s onto the Moroccan player Kylian held onto, however. Achraf’s entire body pressed against his, Kylian’s breathing against his neck, his arms around his hips, the adrenaline of it all was hitting him like a truck. Achraf grabbed his face and kissed his forehead, his left cheek, and then his right. Kylian’s bright smile tugged at his heart, and before Achraf could do anything stupid, the group pulled apart.
Achraf contemplated actually chugging lighter fluid to burn his feelings away.
It was starting to gnaw at him, all of these feelings he didn’t know what to do with. Kylian’s presence overflowed Achraf, who had no choice but to succumb to his waves. It was to the point of feeling like drowning. He didn’t know how much more he could fight this storm.
During their most recent game, Kylian is tripped by an opposing player and goes rolling to the ground. Achraf had seen it all happen from across the field.
One moment Achraf was there, in his defensive position, and the next he was face-to-face with the opponent.
“Do you even know how to fucking play, you low-life hog?” Achraf scowled, his voice was calm and steady, but he could feel the rage brewing in him, ready to burst. The guy rushed up to him, shouting in defense. Achraf didn’t care what he had to say, despite knowing this was part of the sport, being thrown and tripped and injured. He did it all the time, and Kylian didn’t abstain from it either. Nor was it the first time Kylian was thrown around on the field.
Achraf just wanted someone else to feel the hurt he felt and had no way of ridding.
“Get the fuck out of my face you useless human being, fucking hell.” His teammates were separating them and pulling him back towards the field. He felt his arm being grabbed and turned to Kylian, who was breathing hard but was walking.
“You good?” Achraf asked, immediately dismissing the opponent.
Kylian gave him a quick nod. “I’m good.”
The group dispersed back onto the pitch, but before Achraf could walk away, Kylian pulled him into a hug.
“Mon prince charmant, toi.” And kissed him on the cheek before running back to his position.
Achraf hoped the cameras wouldn’t pick up the redness on his face.
They were both sitting at the way, way back of the bus. Last row. They’ve been on the road for several hours already; the sun has already set, and the group has quieted down. Achraf was dozing on and off, letting himself be swayed by the rhythmic movement of the bus and the music in his ears. The weight on him was silently sleeping. Achraf was laying across the seats with a sleep-deprived Kylian on his stomach. They shared a blanket, and both had pillows for comfort.
Achraf could hear Kylian’s heartbeat and feel him twitch in his sleep. He wanted to pull him up closer to his chest, to wrap his arms around him, and fall asleep.
Watching him sleep, an arm floating in the air, Achraf sat with his thoughts. He did not know how to fight Kylian. He was not sure there was even a way. Enforce distance between them? Create a conflict? Quit the team? Achraf did not want to break his own heart. But he couldn’t fight the wildfire in his chest.
Achraf woke up to the bus rummaging but kept his eyes closed. People were talking and joking around already; Sergio was hollering about something before being smacked by something thrown at him, laughing hysterically.
“Oh mais, regardez-moi ça," Achraf heard, "les deux amoureux tout derrière."
It took Achraf’s entire strength and any leftover free will to not smile at the comment.
“Une vraie princesse le Kiks," someone joked.
"Can’t blame him, Achraf does look comfy. I call dibs on him for the ride back.”
The whole bus laughed.
Achraf felt Kylian’s breathing change before slightly moving. He opened his eyes.
“Morning bro,” he said to Achraf, before letting his head back down.
“Bonjour, princesse.”
“Hmmmmmmmmm,” Kylian groaned into his pillow.
The bus rolled to a stop and the two boys eventually sat back up, their eyes still tired and their minds gloomy. Achraf’s arm was around Kylian’s seat, which wasn’t much compared to Kylian’s hand firmly resting on his thigh. The music was pounding in his ears, as if the louder the sound was, the easier it would be to ignore the bloom growing in his lower stomach.
The bus finally rolled to a stop. The team disembarked one by one. Achraf took the rear, still feeling fatigued from the ride.
Kylian, suddenly, quickly turned to Achraf and pressed his lips against his, just long enough to be acknowledged, before following the rest of the team out.
Achraf blacked out for a few seconds. He forced his two brain cells to reboot his software and properly process what had just happened, feeling like a thousand lights were flashing, red and orange all. He watched Kylian hop out of the bus as if nothing had just happened, as if it were a day like no other.
Achraf put a foot in front of the other, and then again and again, and somehow found the common area and started listening to the coach.
Kylian had kissed him.
Achraf played it back again and again in his mind. He sat there watching it back, feeling his lips; the ultimate touch, the one that matters most of all.
The team started to exit to head to their rooms. They had a big game tomorrow. Achraf grabbed Kylian before he could follow the rest out. There were a billion alarms ringing through him, an entire current washing down his veins with brilliant force.
They looked at each other. Kylian was about to say something when Achraf leaned and kissed him. It was tentative, almost non-committal, that said, I say yes if you say yes but here’s your emergency exit to bail.
Kylian immediately kissed him back and put a hand on his cheek, deepening the kiss.
Greenlight.
Kylian offered his tongue and Achraf did not hesitate that time.
When they pulled apart, Achraf couldn’t help but stare at him.
“Don’t be weird dude,” Kylian chuckled, “say what you have to say with your full chest.”
Achraf cracked a smile. “You shithead.”
Kylian wrapped his arm around him, a shit-eating grin on his face. “We’ve got to work on the way you flirt, Achraf.” The Moroccan was pulled by the French player towards the exit. “Come on, I’ll show you around my room.”