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The dream was dead before the 90th minute. Michael felt it in his bones when he was being subbed out. The game wasn’t over yet but they’d lost. The physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the mental devastation. There had been so much hope, a clear vision, and a road they were supposed to follow straight to the final. Michael watched the rest of the game from where he sat with a listlessness he couldn’t do away with.
It felt like keeping vigil. He was looking forward to but at the same time dreading the whistle of full time. At least then, this nightmare will end. But a new one will simply begin. When it was over, Michael let out a shuddering breath, telling himself it wasn’t the end of the world, that they’ve accomplished so much during the course of the tournament and will get an opportunity to achieve so much more.
Watching the Spanish team celebrate their win made everything worse. That would have been them had they played better, had they somehow risen up to the challenge of playing a team far more solid than any of their previous adversaries. As Michael went through the process of shaking hands and hugging his teammates and everyone else trying their best to offer consolation, he could only think that when it mattered most, they’d crumbled under pressure.
It wasn’t a defeat he could draw comfort from because they hadn’t given their best. They were nowhere near their best. They should have done more. They could have done more. They should have fought tooth and nail. If they had, Michael would be able to hold his head high right now.
Michael stood in the middle of the field for a long time, taking it all in for the last time. His throat clogged up and he struggled to swallow. When they all gathered towards the fans, Michael hoped that they understood. He hoped they still believed in the team, in their ability and fire to triumph in the future. Michael did believe they were more than capable. They had some things to work on, nonetheless, the quality and potential was abundant.
It was a different kind of ache, something a lot more insidious Michael felt when he glanced Kylian’s way. He couldn’t read their captain, couldn’t really tell the extent of his heartbreak for the way Kylian held himself together. It wasn’t something new. The world has never seen him crumble, even when he scored a hat trick at a world cup final and still lost. He had so much grace, a level of restraint that Michael had never seen in anyone else.
Kylian barely looked at him when their gazes met. Michael wished Kylian had given him something to hold onto. He was slipping through the cracks and the fear he felt had layers to it. It went deeper than being eliminated from a world cup tournament. It was the fear that he was going to lose something else, something he probably never had in the beginning.
And if Michael were being honest, that was the most devastating part of it all.
***
The silence that reigned supreme in the locker room wasn’t the kind Michael ever wished for. As much as there were several times Michael thought his teammates were too loud, right now he would give anything to see them jumping and hollering in joy because they’d won.
Everywhere he looked, everyone was dejected, sitting on the floor, most likely rerunning the match in their heads, wondering how they could have played better, what more they could have done and what decisions would have seen them through to the final. It was a pathetic sight and it broke Michael’s heart.
He’d come to care for every man here. They’ve shared so many meals and so much laughter, all the fun they’ve had on the training grounds and even during games. Michael has let loose here more than anywhere else. That was because they’d made him feel comfortable and loved. More than he thought he would ever be.
The atmosphere was suffocating but oh well, misery loved company. They started this together; they might as well sit in their disappointment and find consolation in that way. Michael hasn’t bothered to seek out Kylian. It was neither the time nor the place was what he was telling himself, but it wasn’t the truth. It was easier to have a pity party over losing a football match any day over confronting Kylian over the unsaid of what they were.
***
Kylian’s words over their subpar performance were all over the internet. Michael didn’t think much about scrolling through X when he returned to his room. He was showered and as well rested as he was going to be today. It wasn’t time for team dinner. Michael’s options for company were limited. He logged on the internet prepared to see how they were being torn apart to pieces.
What he ended up getting was reading their captain’s words. Kylian minced nothing, blamed no outside party or external forces. He said it like it was. They played horribly. They didn’t have an answer for Spain’s pressing. Their touches were never good enough to convert into anything meaningful. They didn’t attack the way they should have. So, they paid the price. It wasn’t a performance worthy of a world cup semi-final, he said. They didn’t deserve to be in the final. They weren’t good enough. They simply weren’t.
Michael sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, ruminating on these words. They were harsh, directed towards the entire team, including Kylian himself, but all Michael had was that he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t put in a performance worthy of a world cup semi final. He’d failed. When it really mattered, he didn’t come through for the team. Was this how Kylian saw him?
It had to be. Kylian strived for perfection and he sought it in everyone else around him. He must have especially expected it from Michael and he’d let Kylian down. Michael knew he had. There was no running away from the simplicity of that truth. Michael threw his head back and exhaled into the silence of the room. He shouldn’t be thinking along these lines. Kylian would never blame him for the failure of a collective but he couldn’t help it. The self loathing was rampant. He was digging a dangerous pit for himself and he didn’t know who would pull him out of the rubble when he was buried deep within its confines.
***
Team dinner that night was a sombre affair. Michael had gotten used to the bickering and the laughter all around. That was exchanged for tensed silence and pretending to be completely absorbed in the food. He was sitting next to Kylian like always but they haven’t shared a single word so far. It was so far from their usual reality that it gave Michael whiplash. If it was any other day, there would have been zero space between him and Kylian. They would have been huddled together, doing more flirting than eating, being annoying to anyone sitting in their vicinity.
Right now, they barely looked each other’s way, the sting of their defeat fresh and raw. Ousmane attempted to make conversation and Kylian replied to him, even managing a laugh. It was strained. Michael didn’t bother responding, swallowing his food with much difficulty. He’s had tough losses. He remembered how gutted he’d been when they couldn’t find a way through PSG in the champions’ league. This felt worse. Every morsel of food that got passed his throat felt like a pebble.
By the end of dinner, the tension between him and Kylian made his heart palpitate. He should reach out and touch him, try to say something. Maybe he could crack a dry a joke, the kind that never failed to make Kylian threw his head back and laugh. How long was it going to take until he saw that version of Kylian? Carefree, joyful and full of light? More so, because of Michael?
Michael didn’t get the chance to decide what his next move was going to be. Kylian was already rising, holding up a glass. It was clinked a few times until he has gotten everyone’s attention. Then he began to speak, his tone levelled:
“Les gars, it’s needless to say this is not the result we wanted when we set out to play in this tournament.” Kylian’s stance was relaxed as he looked from one person to the other. “We had the goal of going all the way through and taking the trophy back to home. There had been a lot of expectations and pressure placed upon us. But I knew there had been more than that here. We’ve treated each other like brothers. We’ve cared and looked out for each other like family. We’ve had fun and gone out there and given our all during every game. Not today, though. Today, we were shit.”
Everyone laughed, including Michael. He felt the pressure ease from his chest somewhat. Kylian was being Kylian. Steady, comforting, but truthful to the very end.
“I’ve loved every moment I’ve spent with all of you,” Kylian continued, sounding a little more emotional. “This is a painful loss, certainly disappointing, but it is not the end for us. Far from it. There are better things ahead and if we stand united, ready to fight for each other and for our country, the sky isn’t the limit. It will merely be the starting point.” Kylian paused as everyone clapped. Michael could not tear his gaze from him. He would have failed if he tried. “You’ve all been amazing, truly, and I’m honoured to call you teammates. Now Michael,” Kylian swivelled to face him, his smile soft and genuine. Michael’s heart was in his throat as he wondered where this was going. “Michael, to say you’ve been phenomenal would be an understatement. You have nothing to beat yourself over. We’ve all watched how the world has fallen in love with you. And rightfully so. But that’s nothing compared to how precious you’re to us. I’ve already told you how lucky we’re to have you on the team and nothing would ever change that.”
The only thing Michael remembered was Kylian telling him how lucky he was to have him in his bed and kissing him tenderly until Michael wanted to be nowhere else. He couldn’t have cared for the bullshit Kylian was spouting if someone paid him a million bucks. He was stewing in his fury as the captain wrapped up his speech to a resounding round of applause.
When Kylian was done, he looked Michael’s way, clapped him on the shoulder and muttered, “have a good night,” before turning on his heels and walking out of the dining hall.
“What the fuck,” Michael couldn’t help saying out loud. He was so angry; he was shaking where he sat.
Ousmane looked his way, understanding everything without Michael having to explain. “Go to him.”
“And say what?” Michael asked dumbly.
“Michael, don’t pretend you don’t know what to say to him.”
Michael only waited a couple more minutes so he wouldn’t be too obvious before following Kylian. Thankfully, he was let in after knocking only three times. It was as though he was being expected.
They were alone, facing each other in the middle of the seating area. Michael looked at him, really looked at him and registered how exhausted he was, the blatant pain in his eyes, how he hasn’t reached out to Michael at no point in time since the match ended. What was wrong with Kylian? Had he not said he would let himself be comforted if it came to it? Should Michael have known better? Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. He held onto his anger with all his might because without it, he would crumble.
“What was that?” Michael bit out harshly, planting his hands on his hips. “What were you doing in the dining hall, singling me out like that in front of everyone? Addressing me like we haven’t been in each other’s beds for the past several weeks?”
Kylian sighed, mirroring Michael’s stance. “I was giving credit where credit is due.”
“It was unnecessary,” Michael hissed, accent thickening in his anger. “I did my job just like everyone else.”
“Michael, you’re special.” Kylian didn’t raise his voice but his tone wasn’t any else earnest. He looked to his side for a second, staring at the blank screen of the TV.
“Look at me,” Michael demanded, taking a step forward.
Kylian did, blinking furtively, lips pressed in a thin line.
“I am special, you say?” Michael asked. “As a teammate?”
Kylian’s eyes widened, as beaten down as he looked. God knew how badly Michael wanted to go to him and kiss him. He had a feeling he was no longer allowed, that the privilege has been revoked. Michael didn’t know what he would do if he never got to kiss Kylian again. It was enough to make him want to sink to his knees. He didn’t want to think about it.
“How else do you want me to say it?” Kylian said, voice still low, stance still rigid.
Michael opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Why was Kylian doing this? Why wasn’t he smiling at Michael in that special way he reserved for him? Why weren’t his eyes brimming with affection? Why wasn’t he pulling Michael in his arms and calling him amour?
Michael laughed but it was humourless. He looked down at the floor. “Is this what we’re doing today? Playing dumb? I said I’ll be there for you and you aren’t even giving me the chance.”
Kylian shrugged, holding his arms out. “I’m fine, Michael. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Like hell, you are!”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Kylian finally raised his voice, his gaze troubled. “What do you want, Michael?”
“I want you to...” I want you to hold me. I just need you to hold me and tell me we’re okay.
“Michael...” This time, Kylian was the one who advanced. There was still a world of distance between them. What remained unsaid was the worst.
“What happens now? Between us?” Michael braved the storm with his words. “We never had that conversation. There was never any label.”
The silence was loud after those words. Kylian was looking at him but Michael had never felt more unseen. It was a far cry from yesterday when Kylian had woke him up with soft kisses and sweet words, when Michael had giggled endlessly against his lips, thinking nothing could touch his happiness, thinking he would do anything, absolutely anything to keep this.
“It was a fling,” Kylian ended up saying, another shrug, like it was that simple, an open and shut case.
“A fling,” Michael croaked. He placed a hand against his stomach so he wouldn’t keel over. It was a struggle to breathe. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion and he was struggling to catch up. There used to be a string tying him to Kylian. He felt it when they connected on the pitch, when they stared at each other across a training ground, when Kylian was driving into him, chanting his name like a prayer, and every single fucking time, Michael was a believer in them, in what they could be when they stood against the world. How could he have been such a fool?
“What else could we have been?” Kylian whispered, crossing his arms over his chest. Again, Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that he was barely holding himself together, that Kylian was ready to drop at any moment.
“You called me yours,” Michael spoke the devastating words in the space between them. “You held me in your arms and called me yours.” Michael’s breath hitched on the last word. Everything in his head was screaming bloody murder as Kylian chipped at his heart with every word he uttered.
Michael could see it now, in Kylian’s eyes, how broken he was. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I did.”
“And now you’re gonna let me go?” He waited for the answer with bated breath.
Kylian nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them on a shuddering breath. “I am.”
Michael’s hands tightened around his sides as he held himself together. The dagger Kylian had driven in his heart was doing one hell of a job.
“Paint me a picture here,” Kylian began, logical as ever. “What would a relationship look like for us? You in Munich...me in Madrid? How would we ever work?”
Michael has done nothing but pictured exactly that since the day he hugged Kylian in this very room and confessed he didn’t want the world cup to end. He could see it so clearly. Late night face time calls when they were both exhausted from training or games. Cuddled up in their respective bedrooms and talking late into the night when they should be sleeping. Kylian’s smile would be the last thing Michael saw before he slept.
They would squeeze phone calls whenever they could. Michael would watch Kylian’s games if he couldn’t play by his side. International breaks would be sacred. Otherwise, they would visit each other. It would be difficult to find time but they would make time because that was what you did when you loved someone.
And Michael loved Kylian. He’s never loved anyone before but this was what love felt like, wanting to take away someone’s pain at whatever cost, to be willing to do the impossible to be with them. Michael felt a kind of peace he’s never known when Kylian held him.
God help him, but Michael loved Kylian. But Kylian didn’t love him back. He couldn’t even picture them together.
“Oh God,” Michael whispered to himself. “Oh fuck.”
He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t.
“Michael, I’m not trying to be cruel.” Every single word out of his mouth made everything worse. “We’re impossible.” Way to twist the dagger.
Kylian wouldn’t have said this if Michael had won him the world cup. Kylian wouldn’t have had any choice but to think he couldn’t do without Michael if he had done well today and proceeded to win him the world cup for him. That had been the plan. Make himself indispensable to Kylian. He’d failed.
“You’re right,” Michael managed to say, breathing through his nose. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Good night, Kylian.”
Michael didn’t spare him a glance as he walked out of the room. The whistle of full time was still ringing in his ears.