Chapter Text
“Knock, knock.”
The sound of knocking on the door woke Michael from his sleep. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
7 o'clock.
He scrambled out of bed, annoyed. He had only gotten back to his apartment at 2 a.m. after working the night shift, so whoever was knocking had better have a good explanation.
"Who is it?" he grunted as he opened the door.
"Hello, I just moved in next door. Here's some cookies. I hope you like—"
The man standing in front of him was quite tall, nearly 1.9 meters, with a slender figure. Because of the morning light behind him, Michael couldn't see his face clearly at first. When his eyes finally adjusted—
"Jamal?"
"Michael?"
Apparently, having someone knock on your door at seven in the morning wasn't the worst way to start the day. Because Michael was now dealing with something even worse: the man standing in front of him was his ex-boyfriend from five years ago.
After five years, if not for those signature Bambi eyes, Michael wouldn't have recognized him. Jamal had changed a lot since then. His shoulders were broader, he had filled out with more muscle, and he was noticeably taller. Five years ago, Michael had only needed to tilt his head slightly to meet Jamal's gaze. Now, he had to look up to stare into those familiar eyes. They were filled with surprise, yet beneath it lingered a deep, long-standing exhaustion.
"I—"
"I—"
"You first—"
"No, you talk—"
In the end, Michael couldn't take it anymore. He took the bag from Jamal's hand.
"Thank you for the gift. You can go back now," he said coldly.
Jamal seemed like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated before finally nodding. Just before Michael closed the door, he faintly heard Jamal's voice.
"Sorry for waking you up so early."
What's the point of saying sorry now?
Michael angrily set the bag on the table. Now he couldn't even go back to sleep. He rubbed his temples in frustration, his brows furrowed and his mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts. His colleagues would be shocked if they saw him like this. Normally, Michael was calm and composed. He never got flustered, even when a fight broke out in the bakery. That's how he earned the nickname "Mr. Nonchalant."
In truth, he wasn't nonchalant at all. Anyone who knew him well knew that Michael had a terrible temper. He was simply very introverted and never let his emotions slip in front of strangers. He doesn’t deal well wil emotions so he chose to hide them all.
The point was, his breakup with Jamal had not been an amicable one. There had been shouting and things thrown across the room, and Michael distinctly remembered hitting Jamal a couple of times with a pillow.
The following day, he moved out of their shared house and in with his friends.
"If I ever see his face again, he'll be dead," Michael had sworn to Ousmane that day.
For the entire week afterward, Michael didn't receive a single text message or phone call from Jamal. Their relationship ended just like that. Five years had passed since then. Michael had thought that so much time would have healed his wounds. But seeing Jamal again sent his emotions into a roller coaster once more.
He was determined not to run into Jamal too often.
As long as we don't see each other, I'll be fine, Michael thought.
It seemed as though God had answered his prayers, because after that first day, Michael didn't run into Jamal even once. Jamal lived a busy life, according to Michael’s neighbor, Harry Kane.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him leave the house at 6am and return at 11pm. He always looks so tired so I didn’t want to disturb him.”
Michael knew for a fact that Jamal wasn't short on money. He was the firstborn son of a wealthy family in Germany. Seeing Jamal here had surprised Michael. This wasn't the kind of place someone like him would choose to live. It was a small apartment complex with paper-thin walls. Michael could even hear when Jamal came home or left for work.
He didn't mean to be a stalker; he had simply noticed too many things.
But that's none of my business anymore. Who am I to scold him? To lecture him about the way he lives? he thought bitterly.
Michael had thought their lives would never cross again until Christmas arrived.
His parents had planned to visit his brother in Spain, so he was spending Christmas alone. The bakery was both short-staffed and overwhelmed with customers because of the holiday rush. Michael had to work extra hours, and by the time he glanced at the clock, it was already midnight on the twenty-fifth of December.
He closed the shop, waved goodbye to Alphonso, and slowly walked back to his apartment. A figure was sitting in front of his door.
He knew exactly who it was. He would recognize Jamal anywhere, even if he were reduced to ashes.
"You've got the wrong apartment," Michael said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
Jamal looked up, visibly startled. He glanced at the number on the door, then back at Michael. He tried to say something, but the words came out shaky.
Only then did Michael notice that Jamal was clutching his stomach, his face twisted in pain.
"Sorry... I—I didn't mean to disturb you."
Jamal slowly pushed himself to his feet, still trembling. He pulled his keys from the pocket of his coat, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't even fit the key into the lock. Michael had already gone inside, but his mind kept conjuring up a scenario in which he would have to live with the guilt of refusing to help someone, someone who just happened to be his ex-boyfriend and letting that person die on Christmas night.
He sighed and opened the door again.
"Jamal. Get in here."
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Jamal by the arm and led him into the apartment.
This guy is so heavy. What have you been eating to grow this much? Michael thought.
As if he had heard Michael's thoughts, Jamal tried to support himself and walk on his own. Michael guided him to the sofa and gently helped him sit down.
The apartment was clean, spotless, in fact, but decorated warmly at the same time, suggesting that its owner had put a great deal of care into making it feel like home.
"Is it gastritis again?" Michael asked as he took off his coat. Underneath, he was wearing nothing but a fitted turtleneck that accentuated his slim waist and lean muscles.
Jamal's ears noticeably turned red.
"Yeah... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. If you're uncomfortable, I can leave," he muttered.
Michael rolled his eyes. This guy hasn't changed at all.
"Yeah, and then tomorrow the police will show up and accuse me of leaving the great Jamal Musiala to die on Christmas night out of spite. What a headline that would make."
Michael went into the kitchen and quickly made enough pork porridge for two people. The comforting aroma soon filled the small apartment, making Jamal unconsciously swallow.
"Here."
Michael set a bowl in front of him before taking a seat across the table.
"Thank you."
The porridge was warm, delicious, and familiar. With every spoonful, the ache in Jamal's stomach gradually eased.
"You were drinking beer without eating anything again, weren't you?"
Jamal's gastritis was nothing new to Michael. The last time he had seen Jamal in this much pain was after he'd drunk ten glasses of beer on an empty stomach.
"It was an important contract." Jamal replied, his voice growing quieter. By the end of the sentence, his head was almost hanging over the bowl of porridge.
"Important?" Michael scoffed. "What's more important than your health? If it hadn't been me tonight, you could've died alone in your apartment."
He took a sharp breath, unable to stop himself.
"I don't get it. You have more money than you'll ever need. So what's the point of this? Even if you're trying to make more, for what? What are you going to do with all that money?"
His voice grew louder with every sentence.
"You're living in this run-down apartment in London while your family is living in luxury back in Germany. You're working yourself into the ground, skipping meals, drinking until your stomach gives out... What the hell are you trying to prove?"
His breathing became uneven.
"You were like this back then, too. You worked yourself to the point of exhaustion just to prove something to someone I didn't even know."
His voice cracked.
"Was I that incompetent that you felt like you had to provide for me? Was I just another burden you had to carry?"
Only after the words left his mouth did Michael realize he had lost control of his emotions.
Jamal looked at the man standing in front of him.
Michael's beautiful eyes were glistening, and the sight left Jamal frozen.
Michael hated crying. He hated looking vulnerable in front of anyone. In all the years they had been together, Jamal had only seen him cry once, after waking up in the hospital following Jamal's car accident. Even then, Michael had immediately turned away, stubbornly trying to hide his tears.
The stunned look on Jamal's face made Michael realize how badly he had lost his composure.
Only then did he notice the tears blurring his vision.
Cursing under his breath, he hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, refusing to let a single tear fall.
"I'm sorry. Forget everything I just said. I'm just... tired. Finish your meal and go home."
Michael stood up and turned his back to Jamal.
No matter how hard he tried, he could never keep his emotions in check around Jamal. That had always been his greatest weakness.
Behind him, Jamal quietly rose from the sofa.
After a brief hesitation, he stepped closer.
Michael felt the familiar woody scent before he felt the warmth.
Without a word, Jamal wrapped his arms around him from behind, his hands resting gently on Michael's slender waist. Their difference in height made it easy for Jamal to envelop him completely, shielding him in a quiet, lingering embrace.
Michael stiffened at first.
Neither of them spoke.
For five long minutes, they simply stood there, wrapped in silence, as though the five years that had kept them apart had disappeared, if only for a moment.
"You know, Mike... today's Christmas," Jamal said softly.
"Well, everyone knows that, Jamal." Michael rolled his eyes. His ex-boyfriend clearly hadn't gotten any better at starting conversations.
"We broke up on Christmas, too."
Michael let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"For everyone else, Christmas is a day to celebrate." He paused before adding in a low voice, "For me, it's nothing but bad luck."
"I never thought you were incompetent. Not even once."
Jamal's voice was quiet but unwavering.
"I've always known how talented you are. You could shine wherever you go."
He smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes.
"Back then, all I wanted was to make you happy. And somehow, I convinced myself that money was the best way to do that."
He lowered his head.
"So I kept working. I worked longer hours, took every opportunity I could, and told myself that if I earned enough, I could give you the life you deserved."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"But somewhere along the way... I realized money was never the answer after all."
"But by then... It was too late. There was nothing I could do anymore."
Jamal fell silent for a moment before continuing.
"Later, I found out you'd gone back to London and were working as a pastry chef."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"I came by a few times."
He looked down at his hands.
"You looked happy. Truly happy."
"So I thought... maybe that was enough."
"Maybe someone as bright as you was never meant to be tied down by someone like me."
"I tried your desserts, too. They were amazing."
"I didn't want to disturb you, so I asked a friend to buy them for me instead."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"You've always been incredible."
Jamal glanced around the apartment.
"And about this place... I honestly didn't rent the apartment next to yours on purpose."
"I was just looking for somewhere close to your bakery."
"So every now and then... I could walk past, see the lights were still on, and know you were doing okay."
He paused.
"That was enough for me."
Jamal dropped his head on Michael’s neck. Every word he said carried a heavy burden as if it was buried for too long.
"As for tonight..." Jamal took a slow breath. "That important contract was actually about your bakery."
"I've been talking to your boss for the past few months. He told me he'd always wanted to send you to international pastry competitions, but the bakery simply didn't have the financial resources."
"So... I offered to invest."
"I never intended for you to find out. I just wanted you to have the opportunity you deserved."
Jamal let out a quiet sigh.
"And because your boss is German too... we ended up drinking far more than we should have."
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I guess that's how I ended up with gastritis again."
Michael had been unusually quiet ever since Jamal began speaking.
A knot of unease formed in Jamal's chest.
"...Mike?"
Receiving no response, Jamal gently turned him around.
His heart sank.
Tears were silently streaming down Michael's face.
The moment their eyes met, Michael stepped forward without warning and buried his face against Jamal's shoulder. Then, in a fit of frustration, he bit lightly into the side of Jamal's neck.
"You idiot..." Michael's voice came out muffled.
He stubbornly wiped every tear away with the front of Jamal's shirt, uncaring that he was soaking the fabric.
Jamal didn't complain.
Instead, he simply tightened his arms around Michael and rested his cheek against the top of his head, allowing him to cry in silence.
"You idiot..." Michael muttered against Jamal's shoulder. "You're always making decisions on your own. You never asked what I wanted. You never asked if I even needed any of it."
His fingers tightened around the fabric of Jamal's shirt.
"You never stopped to ask what I actually needed."
Still clinging to him, Michael gave his shoulder another annoyed bite, as if trying to vent every ounce of anger he'd been carrying for the past five years.
By the time he finally let go, he was exhausted.
He wrapped both arms around Jamal's neck and let his full weight rest against him.
"I worked a twelve-hour shift today," he mumbled. "Then I came home and found my stupid ex-boyfriend practically dying on my doorstep. I cooked for him..."
His voice cracked.
"...and somehow he still made me cry."
Jamal couldn't help but smile.
"He sounds awful."
"He is."
Jamal almost lifted Michael off the floor as he wrapped his arms around his waist, gently patting his back.
"He never listens to me," Michael continued, his voice muffled against Jamal's shoulder. "He'd buy me ridiculously expensive anniversary gifts and take me to fancy restaurants."
A small sniffle escaped him.
"But he was always exhausted."
"Always working."
"Always chasing the next deal."
"He never realized that all I wanted... was for him to come home."
"Then we had a fight. I ran out."
Michael let out a shaky breath.
"He never called me. Never texted me. He didn't even come looking for me."
He lowered his head.
"So I thought... he hated me."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"...He's a terrible boyfriend," Jamal said quietly.
Michael let out a weak, tearful laugh.
"Yeah."
"He really is."
"But I couldn't help loving him."
Michael let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.
"When he showed up on my doorstep again... five years later..."
He closed his eyes.
"I realized I'd never forgotten him."
Jamal swallowed hard.
"...He doesn't deserve you."
"Yeah."
He rested his forehead against Jamal's shoulder.
"But love is complicated."
After saying everything he had kept buried for five years, Michael's eyelids slowly began to droop. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
Jamal gently brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead.
"I love you too," he whispered.
Michael didn't answer.
His breathing had already grown slow and steady, and before Jamal had even realized it, he had fallen asleep in his arms.
Jamal smiled faintly and tightened his embrace just a little.
"Merry Christmas, Mike."