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Michael Kaiser is mildly aware that his behavior could be seen as too much, dipping into absurd levels of unstableness. For the most part, he hides it pretty well, a few glances wouldn’t be enough to tell what’s moving around inside his brain, even with how full of expressions he may seem.
The celebration outside was offensive to him though.
Through the glass of his floor-to-ceiling windows, Germany was a blurred palette of festive lights and mindless joy. People were screaming into the cold air, their breath blooming in white clouds, chasing a type of happiness Michael found utterly pedestrian. He leaned his head against the wall, the cool surface grounding the frantic, buzzing thoughts that usually occupied his skull.
He knew how he looked. If Ness were here, he'd be hovering, offering some sugary platitude. If the media were here, he’d be draped in luxury, a glass of vintage wine in his hand, wearing his usual smirk. But here, in the dark, Michael Kaiser was just a boy with a racing heart and a skin crawling sense of isolation.
Then the chime.
The blue light of the screen was a violent intrusion. He didn’t expect much — automated brand well-wishes, perhaps. But the name on the lock screen made his pulse skip a beat.
Sae: Merry Christmas.
Michael stared. He blinked, the reflection of his own wide, tired eyes staring back at him on the screen. It was a mistake — it had to be. Or worse, it was a generic mass text Sae sent to every contact in his professional circle.
The thought of being just another contact stung a lot more than the silence in his room. He considered tossing the phone. He should. He shouldn’t be begging for attention at midnight, but the silence in the room was getting heavier, pressing against his ribs until it hurt to breathe.
Kaiser: you’re awake?
Sae: ? no
Kaiser: fuck you too
Am I getting a present
Sae: ?
Kaiser: its my birthday, you know
Sae: ah.
The “ah” stung a little. It was quintessentially Sae, unbothered, efficient and devoid of the warmth Michael was currently starving for. He watched the bubble. Sae was typing, then he stopped. The indicator flickered, appearing and disappearing for three minutes — which felt a lot closer to three hours.
Michael’s grip tightened on the device. Was Sae crafting a masterpiece of an insult to throw at him? Or was he actually struggling to come up with a sequence of words that sounded nice?
Kaiser: ???
Sae: Did you want anything?
Michael bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the faint, metallic tang of blood. Did he want anything? The list was endless. He wanted to be untouchable. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to not be sitting in a dark room on his birthday, waiting for a text from a midfielder in Spain.
He started typing. Come to Germany. Which was immediately deleted. Talk to me. Delete again. He settled for something that could be interpreted as a joke.
Kaiser: A moment of your time
Don’t hang up
He hit send before his pride could stop him, then flipped the phone face down on the bed, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against the mattress. The phone sat silent on the mattress for what felt like an eternity. Michael stared at the dark casing, his distorted reflection looking back at him.
The sound of the phone vibrating buzzed through the room. It wasn’t a text, the screen lit up with an incoming call. He scrambled for the phone, his cool composure forgotten as he fumbled with the slider.
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Michael said, his voice coming out more jagged than intended. He immediately pitched it higher, injecting a familiar, sharp theatrically, forcing a light, melodic hum into his throat. “Missing the sound of my voice already?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end, filled only by a faint, distant hum of a different city. Then Sae’s voice drifted through the speaker. “You’re noisy,” Sae’s voice came through, cool and crisp, unaffected by the hour and the distance. “And you’re breathing like you’ve just run a marathon. Calm down, Michael. It’s pathetic.”
Michael closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard. The insult should’ve stung, but the vibration of Sae’s voice in his ear was anchoring him. “It’s my birthday,” Michael reminded him, tone dropping the bravado, settling for something quieter. “I’m allowed to be a little pathetic.”
“You’re always pathetic.” Sae responded flatly. “Are you alone?”
The question hung in the air, clinical and sharp, cutting through the carefully maintained layers that was Michael’s ego. “What kind of question is that?” He let out a sharp, jagged laugh that died quickly in an empty room. “I’m well loved, Sae. My inbox is a graveyard of sycophants and my door is practically being kicked down by—“
“You are alone.” Sae interrupted, not a question this time. “It’s really quiet.” Michael’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned ghostly white. The neurotic side of him wanted to scream at the other for pointing it out. He wanted to hang up. He wanted to chuck the phone across the room and watch it shatter against the wall.
Instead, he let out a breath he’d been holding since he first saw that Merry Christmas notification. He could lie. He could say he’d just stepped away from a party, that someone else was in the other room with a dozen guests. But something stopped him.
“I’m in bed,” Michael finally answered, the honesty feeling like he was peeling off his own skin. “The lights are off, and I’m staring at the ceiling.”
“The ceiling,” Sae repeated. The word sounded flat, but not dismissive. “Is it interesting?” The sarcasm was flat, but not lost. He answered anyway.
“Fascinating,” Michael spat, though there was little venom in it. He shifted on the mattress, eyes tracking the faint, grey shadows of the window frame cast against the plaster above him. “It’s white. It’s expensive. It’s incredibly stable. Everything a man could want in a life partner.”
He waited for Sae to call him dramatic. He waited for the click of the line cutting off, the inevitable rejection. Instead, he heard a rustle of fabric, the sound of Sae shifting around — perhaps settling into his own sheets.
“I’m looking at a wall.” Sae said, his voice was lower, more grounded. “There’s a crack in the corner that looks like a lightning bolt. It’s been there since I moved in. I haven’t bothered to have it fixed.”
“A wall,” Michael relayed. He traced the shadow on the ceiling with his eyes. “Is it a nice wall at least? Does it have more personality than you?”
“It’s beige,” Sae replied. There was a faint rhythmic sound — the steady click of a pen or the tap of a finger. “Beige.” Michael repeated. “How appropriately dull. I bet you chose it so nothing would ever distract you —“
“It came with the place.” Sae said, interrupting him. “I don’t look at it often, I don’t necessarily care about the color of the box I sleep in.”
Michael swallowed. He stared at the dark screen of his TV across the room, his own pale reflection staring right back at him. He wanted to reach for a joke, a sharp jab to keep Sae at arm’s length but his limbs felt like lead. “Have you had anything to eat?” Michael asked.
The question hung in the air for a long time. He could hear the faint rustle of fabric on Sae’s end. “A glass of water and a melon.” Sae finally answered, his words dry. “It was tasteless, a waste.” Michael could almost hear the slight, dissatisfied pull of Sae’s lips.
Michael closed his eyes, he could almost see it. Sae sat in a dimly lit kitchen in Madrid, staring at a piece of fruit with a look of profound disagreement.
“It’s loud tonight.” The midfielder started again despite their current distance, his tone noticeably lower.
“Mm.” Michael mumbled in agreement. He rolled onto his side, moving with a sluggish heavy grace. He pressed his cheek into the cold silk of his pillows, wedging the phone between his ear and the mattress so wouldn’t have to hold it anymore. “I’ve been staring at the streetlights. They’re so obnoxious to look at. Everything is so loud and bright.”
“Tired of your ceiling?”
“Shut up.”
“If it’s bright then close your curtains.” Sae replied flatly, choosing to ignore what the German had said.
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He listened to the static on the line, mentally counting the seconds. He let his fingers curl into the duvet, bunching the expensive fabric until his knuckles turned white. “I did,” Michael almost whispered. “They’re black out curtains, it’s the principle of it all.”
“Dramatic.” Sae countered, another long pause. “And if you hate the noise so much, wear ear plugs.”
“I lost one. Somewhere in the sheets.” Michael shifted, his knees hitting the mattress with a soft thud. “I’m not digging through my bed at midnight. I’d rather just be annoyed.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“It’s my birthday, you’re supposed to be nice and sympathetic.”
“I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?” Sae’s voice was dry, a verbal equivalent of a shrug. “That’s pretty nice.” The silence that followed was thick, like a wool blanket. Silence of two people who had spent their lives building pedestals just to realize how thin the air was at the very top.
“Sae,” Michael said, he didn’t mean for his voice to crack.
“What?”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You know what.” Michael gripped the edge of his duvet yet again, his pulse hammering against his chest. He waited, counting his own heart beats — ten, fifteen, twenty. He needed to hear it, not because he cared about the day, but because he needed someone to acknowledge that Michael Kaiser existed in a context other than a soccer field.
A long exhale came through the line. Michael held his breath, counting the seconds, he had expected Sae to mock him, to tell him he was being a child and then tell him to go sleep and stop wasting his minutes on this. “Happy birthday, Michael.” Sae finally said, it wasn’t warm like a hug — more like a simple statement, but it was something.
“You’re a prick,” Michael whispered, his eyes stinging. He blinked rapidly, staring at the blurred grey shadows of his room. “Didn’t even say it with feeling.”
“Do you want me to sing?” Sae’s voice had a microscopic edge of dry amusement, the closest Michael would ever get to a laugh.
“Whatever, you’ve already ruined the mood with your beige walls and lack of spirit.” Michael shifted, pulling the covers up to his chin, breathing into the small pocket of warmth he’d created for himself. “Don’t hang up yet.”
“I need to be somewhere in five hours.” Sae said, but he didn’t move. The line stayed open, thin electronic thread connecting the two.
“I don’t care. It’s my birthday. Talk to me. Anything, use your genius brain. Tell me about the crack in your wall again. How long was it?” But it was clear Michael was losing himself to the feeling of tiredness.
“Twelve centimeters, it’s crooked.”
“Like your personality.” Michael couldn’t help himself. His voice was heavy, but he wasn’t sleepy. He felt hyper aware of everything that was happening in this moment.
He waited for Sae to respond, a remark thrown his way.
Instead, there was a soft click. The line went dead. His comment seemed to have done it. He’s done it now.
Michael didn’t move the phone. He kept it pressed to his ear, listening to the hollow, empty silence that followed a disconnected call. He rolled onto his back, yet again coming back to stare at the ceiling, the neurotic buzzing in his brain returning, just a bit more quietly this time.
He wasn’t sleepy at all, he stayed awake for a long time. The phone slowly was losing its heat against his skin. He thought about a twelve centimeter crack on a beige wall. He thought about how the room felt colder since the like disconnected, despite the temperature staying the same throughout the night.
Michael let out a short, jagged breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. How pathetic…
It was his birthday. The day was officially here. But Michael just stayed there, staring at the dark. He wasn’t tired but he felt drained — emptied out by the realization that a few minutes of talking about beige walls and lost earplugs had felt more significant than most holidays he’s been through.
He let the phone slip from between his ear and shoulder, the device landing with a muffled thud. He didn’t want to check his notifications. He didn’t want to see if Ness had messaged him, or if his management had posted a scripted happy birthday message.
Technically his birthday had only just begun, barely half an hour into the 25th. But as he laid in the dark, Michael felt like it had already passed. His eyes moved around, ultimately he ended up with that familiar, stable ceiling. “Twelve centimeters.” He whispered into the empty air.
He thought about Sae in Spain, probably already closing his eyes, moving on to the next hour of his life without a second thought. It was infuriating, the urge to call back and demand more of his time, to force Sae to acknowledge him on this day again was strong. Instead, he stayed still.
Outside, the cheers among the streets of Germany were finally beginning to fade, the festive lights dimming as the world drifted towards sleep. Michael Kaiser stayed awake, his birthday had only just started but one of few gifts he’d ever wanted — no matter how much he’d deny it, had already been given and taken away in a span of one phone call.