Work Text:
A Kiss For Every Assist
There was chatter in the dressing room as the boys laughed and let off the pressure following their 4-6 defeat to none other than the English team.
They didn't mind too much– it had been a game they would all remember, not least for the friendliness and happiness they all felt towards each other. Many of them were teammates, and had enjoyed playing against their club friends, and catching up with them after.
Olise laughed and chatted along with his teammates, as much as he felt able to.
Many people on the outside assumed him to be nonchalant, quiet, shy, retiring. He was, but they didn't know the types of jokes he could pull, or the way he could tease his teammates. He could be cheeky when he wanted to be, but only very rarely did the more passionate side of his personality slip out in public.
He wanted to be happy about the result tonight, to shrug it off like some of the others could do.
But right now, his heart just wasn't in it.
Right now, all the chances he'd missed to score his own World Cup goals were running constantly through his mind.
And now he'd have to wait another 4 years for another opportunity.
He pulled off his shirt and heaved a deep sigh. The chatter faded to background noise as shot after shot replayed in his mind. 20 attempts throughout this World Cup, all failures.
The thought of it suddenly overwhelmed him, and he had to sit down. His hand rose to cover his eyes briefly as he held back emotion that threatened to break him down.
“Michael?” The familiar voice of his captain, Kylian Mbappé, drew his attention. He snapped out of his mental spiral and inhaled deeply, looking up and into the concerned eyes of his senpai.
Senpai.
A leader who understood him. Who could draw him out of himself. Who he admired and looked up to more than he cared to admit.
It physically hurt him thinking about just how much he had wanted to make Kylian proud. To score goals that would help take France to World Cup glory. To win a World Cup on his debut, just like Kylian had done… Instead, he'd fumbled every chance.
He dropped his eyes without a word, ashamed, and bit his lip. How could he express to his captain just how sorry he felt? Another deep inhale, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“Michael, what's up? Tell me what's happening in there.” The same voice, warm, and quiet, but firm. The same eyes meeting his as Mbappé dropped into a crouch and folded his arms over Olise’s legs.
“Just… thinking,” Michael replied awkwardly, trying to shrug it off. Somehow, he knew he didn't fool Kylian. His captain had a unique way of seeing through him: it was why he liked him so much. He could see Michael for who he was.
“You did amazing, Michael,” Kylian smiled at him, holding eye contact. Olise knew that he meant every word. “I'm so proud of you. I hope you can be proud of what you gave us out on the pitch too.”
This was almost too much for Michael. His mouth pressed into a hard line, quivering, and his face contorted.
“I'm not… I didn't,” he mumbled, clenching his fists and trying to control his breathing. He struggled to force the words out.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, dropping his head and hiding behind his hair.
“For what?” came the patient, calm reply. Mbappé wouldn't let Michael avoid his eyes, following each movement and twist of his head, and recapturing the young man's gaze.
Michael swiped at his eyes, now leaking against his will. “I just– I couldn't do more, you know,” he shrugged, chewing his inner lip. “I missed so many chances. My finishing was like, really poor.”
He shrugged again and blinked hard, chewing like crazy, his heart hammering in his chest.
“We should've been further. We could've been in the final. It was… my fault that we aren't.”
He broke down the moment Kylian’s arms enveloped him. Michael didn't enjoy crying, even in front of his teammates, but with Kylian it felt different. It felt OK. It felt safe. He clung to his captain, his face buried in his chest as uncontrollable emotion flooded out of him.
“You didn't need to score. You were amazing out there.” Kylian pulled back and held Olise's face in his hands, bending over him. He rested their foreheads together and held Michael's teary gaze as he spoke in a low rapid voice.
“You turned up when it mattered. You played the beautiful game. Do not ever blame yourself for things outside your control. If we were meant to be in the final, we would have been there. Never is it a reflection on you. What is a reflection on you is the amount of goals we have. 7 goals because of you, Michael. You made those goals possible. We are a team. And I am captain, every failure, I take on myself. Every win, we share together. Michael,” and here Mbappé’s face broke into a smile and he laughed, dropping and shaking his head briefly before reconnecting with Olise. “You've broken the record for most assists in a World Cup! You're better than Pele himself! On your debut!! And you want to focus on what, the negatives? No way.”
Kylian shook his head decisively and stood up while Michael sniffed and rubbed at his face. He grabbed the younger man's hands and hauled him to his feet. “Get up, get up. We're not focusing on negatives.”
He slung an arm over Michael's shirtless shoulders and turned to speak to the dressing room which was all a chatter around them.
“Everyone, attention please,” he called, raising a hand. Michael could feel his embarrassment rising as the noise died and everyone turned to face them. He squirmed uncomfortably inside, hating the feeling of being the centre of attention. He quickly dried the remainder of his tears, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“Now, we have a tradition,” Mbappé continued, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. “Michael here doesn't know about it. What kind of flowers do we give our best assist?”
Michael shifted on his feet, his arm slung around Mbappé's waist. He wondered why some of the players were laughing, but as they broke into shouts, he soon knew.
“Kiss the assist! Kiss the assist!” they chanted, grinning from ear to ear.
“Wait, what?” Olise blinked, his face heating up. Before he could understand what was happening, Mbappé had turned to him, laughing and raised his eyebrows.
“7 goals because of you! 7 kisses for 7 assists! Alright.”
Michael flushed as while the team continued chanting, Kylian took his face in his hands, planting 7 solid, warm kisses on his cheeks, forehead and even nose.
When he was done, he pulled back and beamed at Olise, his face sunny and radiant. Unconsciously, Michael had rested both hands on Kylian's waist. His embarrassment peaked and he shook his hair over his face and bowed his head as the others cheered and whooped, stamping their feet. His face was burning, but his spirits had risen. He felt undeniably happy.
“My boy,” Kylian laughed, pulling Michael's head down onto his shoulder and holding him close.
“I'm so proud of you.”
Olise allowed himself to wrap his arms around his captain and hugged him tightly. Warmth and happiness mingled with his embarrassment, but one feeling rose above all.
He was safe here.
Here he belonged.
Another 4 years would see him grow and change, become quicker, stronger, faster, more reliable than ever. But for now, this was enough.
Blinking shyly and almost twirling his hair, but catching himself in the act, his upset feelings melted away like snow in the face of Kylian's sunshine. His captain could always spin a positive out of a negative. It's why he loved him.
All the bitterness released, Michael could feel himself smiling from the heart now too.
After all, he did have so much to be proud of. He had achieved so much. And he would be back.
He smiled at Kylian as he patted his shoulder, and leaned into him again.
“Thank you. For reminding me,” he whispered.
And thank you for loving me, he added silently, hugging his captain again and closing his eyes.
