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Semifinal Match —post match
Michael never knew how losing taste like, in fact they had lost, so it was all the bitterness he had to accept and pushed down his throat by all force. He could dismiss all hard feelings if it was for himself, but for the team, importantly for his captain in command... Out there on the field he had only grazed his shoulder, not even a hug, not as a consolation —far from that even, might be just an acknowledgement.
Amidst some of the members already showed their crack, Kylian had given his obligatory speech, and it was almost like Michael imagined, diplomatic, perfunctory —useless, because it didn't quench his despair. So that was the 'supreme leader' of him, secretly Michael hoped he would not have to deal with him personally. He knew this loss had something to do with him, and Kylian himself —and only both of them knew.
As there was no celebration for today, the team could leave earlier, it meant more time. Michael had to be the last person to left, he deliberately making and waiting the moment just because he wanted to be alone. At the same time it was also making him vulnerable for any personal encounter...
Michael was so isolated with his own thoughts he didn't realize his captain was already close, too late for him to avoid, oh so he had finished the interview. He already changed his clothes —dismissing the blue color that felt incredibly burdening, with head lowered as wilted, and ready to pick up his bag and go.
"Michael?"
Michael felt his throat was strangled already.
"... What?" Not looking at the counterpart.
Suddenly he heard a laugh cracked, it sounded very dry, "what are you avoiding me for?"
Oh he already shot on target, physically Michael remained unshaken —he was trying to. Kylian, with his shirt already changed too, got closer and clung his arm to him, too close it felt he almost hug him. But it was only the prelude, before Michael was dragged to be cornered on the locker, his back flat to the cold surface.
"We agreed last night, right?"
...
It was their last night before the semifinal, when everything had looked so well and they're on cloud 9 —that included Michael felt he was somewhat the closest to Kylian, their very own captain. Oh why, it was just because all the assists, right? It was merely work arrangement. But they were moving to semifinal, so there might be some other 'arrangements' needed.
It was always after the communal events that Kylian spared his time to check on him personally —somehow Michael just attracted that kind of energy, especially to dear captain. It was at the hotel room balcony, on almost the highest floor on Dallas, when the air tasted dry and unfamiliar.
"You know, I was looking for an assist."
When Michael even still had the mark of his laugh left —in the form of the corner of his lips curled up, it immediately straightened. He did gave him assist. He turned his face a little to the man beside him. "What do you mean?"
They appeared to be relaxed, leaning on the balcony, enjoying the view, looking for a breeze.
"Do you like playing with me the most?"
Kylian 's voice was casual, like asking what Michael wants for dinner, but the younger felt a shift in the conversation.
Both of Michael's arm still lay on the fence. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Because I want to know the answer."
Suddenly the wind gusted, few of his free dreads blown, but he felt restrained, the banter between them shifted weight.
If Michael should trust his intuition to find the 'why' of the question, this was the last part of their conversation —it was what Kylian had been meaning to ask. Remembering at the duration of his usual visits, the captain had to put this close to the end as the long awaited star of the show. From the beginning this conversation had been heading to that direction, he was just being led. But had he been entertained —and charmed all along for this part. What lay at the end of the road?
"Yes..." His deep-reserved voice sounded very faint.
"If you're bound to me, but you would never score goals," , "will you take that fatal flaw?"
Michael looked away from Kylian, looking up at the polluted sky, was there a full moon, was the moon red, was there something different tonight it made his captain acted like this —asking question Michael was afraid to find the answer. But he couldn't even find one star, all was clouded.
Michael pulled himself from the balcony, but arms extended to the railing. "... I play when I play, and if I have to assist you, I will do that."
"So that's a no?" His captain had the slightest smile on him, his palm supported his face. He was still facing the counterpart.
Michael felt it was heavier now to translate his emotions to facial expressions, he didn't want to fully face his prosecutor. "I don't know, I don't believe in superstitions."
While his downcast eyes staring at the height below them, Michael knew Kylian shifted, now his hand caressing his back —oh could he know that he was tense. But he still looked away, direct contact would equivalent to jumping from this floor —perhaps.
Then his shoulder grabbed, shaken, as if he told him to shake the tension off.
"Thank you."
Michael thought for a second, after all there was no punchline that his captain was joking.
Michael looked at him, "you're welcome?" Then both giggled awkwardly.
"Good to see you smile again." Kylian patted his cheek, Michael shut his eyes reflexively.
But his hand didn't leave so fast, it lingered, its fingers traced the texture of his skin, though not leaving complete fingerprints. In a way it sent a chill through his brain, Michael felt it harder to open his eyes.
After Kylian lowered his hand, Michael tried to open his eyelids, reluctantly staring at him —few inchies away, droppy with uncertainty, puzzled, but willing to be solved. Kylian was staring at him too firm, there was a slight feeling of authority in it. He started to memorize the conjunctival nevus on Michael's eye.
And when his face got even closer, and no refusal in that, he did it. Soundless, brief, as if outer layer only, there was no depth. Testing if the water was still too cold, or his warmth matched him.
There was no ease in this at all, Michael masked his stress, he convinced himself that this was the same man whose flavor he had known, but it felt different now —was this really his captain? When he felt his waist was led, he wanted to jump.
"What are you doing?" Michael blurted, but muttered.
Kylian parted away from him and drew distance, only to slid between Michael's neck and shoulder, to whisper him. "Sorry, was that okay for you?"
But he hummed, pliant, docile. He enabled Kylian to do whatever he wanted again.
...
It was a mix of everything, there was only so much to say, but nothing to say anymore —at the same time. Michael wanted to push Kylian away the most, until the man fall on to the ground, like overthrowing him, but he didn't let himself to. He only managed to to turn his head away —in disgust that Kylian never saw, and his arm firmly on the captain's chest as a reminder that he didn't want this.
"You're mad at me because I fucked you—" Kylian was shoved, forceful on the chest, the pain pierced through his heart.
How this was the same man who shoved people away to protect him, now a double edged sword to him.
Kylian took it without defense nor complain, his gaze still unmoved from his assist. "Like you said, don't believe in superstitions." He still wanted to convince the man.
This was not the French national team's captain and ace talking to him, but the very Kylian version that was in bed with him last night. They had lost, and Kylian had losing a friend and a teammate —his Michael, in the way. They had always wanted to win, but the more they didn't get what they want, the ravenous feeling would consume them. Michael should leave immediately if he could not withstand this confrontation, but he was still there, for some reason.
Kylian understood the most details about losing, and he would allow Michael to do anything if that would make the younger feel better.
"Listen, you have every reason to hate me." , "I just want to apologize to you."
Michael would be lying to say he didn't hear it, or to claim that those words didn't crack the stonework surrounding his heart. Still, he didn't want to look at the speaker.
Suddenly, Michael could see Upamecano, Doue, and Démbélé approaching them —almost hurried. Oh would they thought they were fighting.
"I just hate everything." Michael, as leaving.
...
Third-place Playoff —half time.
The '4-0' didn't seem as a defeat, but raw disrespect. They knew the number was black ink on a white paper, but it felt more of a sleep paralysis they were unable to get out. The half time briefing, re-strategy, and all that already passed, in and out though his ears. But it was like leading a horse to a river, would it drink? Michael barely said anything, might be because no one actually asked him why.
He was just sitting on his dedicated spot, eyes pointed to his straightened-out legs, didn't even want to go back to the field and just idly away. But then he knew a presence was approaching him, in a very familiar steps, to towering him, only to look down at him.
"Still can't move your leg?"
"Fuck off." His composure immediately turned guarded.
Kylian already knew every versions of Olise, including the mad one. Though more of the mute one since the last match against Spain, they didn't talk anymore, barely interracting. But no one really bats an eye, because almost everyone turned sour because of the defeat.
In the purpose to oppose him directly, his captain in command grabbed his jaw and turned his face up, he wanted to see how ravaged Michael was.
"I was asking, genuinely." It was not the look of scorn, but Kylian with his stern face when talking something serious.
Michael pushed his captain's hand away from his face. "You barely did anything!" He yelled, his London accent was apparent.
"Oh I will!" His captain lowered himself, to be on the same level with him, but more of kneeling before him. Out of habit Michael hid his face with both of his arms, he wanted to block Kylian away.
He understood that his midfielder was frustrated —everyone was, the team's attack was toothless. As if a spoiled little child needing a special and dedicated treatment, his captain had to have a one-on-one with him and bestowed him with all the attention —with whatever kind of attention.
"This is England, you're not gonna turn it to another Spain."
There was a considerable amount of silence. But the time was ticking and both had to leave.
...
Second half
That one opportunity, when Olise initially passed to Ousmane, but the older returned it back to him, as if telling this was gonna be HIS score —first, ever, just went in vain. And it became his third miss in the game. He almost wanted to think it was because Ous was hesitant on the past 10 minutes.
Kylian in the distance just smiled, a smile that could translate a lot.
"I told you that's not how it works."
The sentence was somehow, still caught by his ears through distance, aside of all noises. Oh of course it was him he made the contract to, and he was his signatory, how could he disregard his words. Kylian was still smiling, he was seen smiling a lot in his match.
For a second the game paused, and every time Olise missed, Kylian had to take an internal note. And now after shaking his leg, he pulled a downward facing dog —everybody was going to think it was random.
If the little mermaid exchanged her voice for a pair of leg, what was Michael getting for being decapitated by his very commander?
...
Full time.
It was a 'fun game', 10 goals was record-breaking, but they lost anyway. This World Cup, France was unable to complete the ranks collection by obtaining the third place —so, not even the third place. What was this to them, really? The upper skies, closer to the light, was a revelation, that there was no team too mighty to fall, be the king of kings, and they would only last in remembrance.
But, only a second after and the players had already dispersed everywhere, meeting friends, smiling and laughing as if having a good time. Kylian was still standing alone by himself, his arm on his hip, succumbed in the moment, trying to start a mini evaluation for himself.
"I'm sorry."
It was from Michael, and when he turned his head to the source of noise, the younger was already walking to a commotion —sure the boy have friends and old friends. Yes that was his voice, though he didn't talk to him for days but he wouldn't forget his baritone, even for the smallest murmur he would still recognize him. But the captain could only looked at the number on his back, not even his face when saying the words.
Kylian was still adjusting his breath a little, and he remembered he have to greet the opposite team's captain, he walked to Rice.
Their countdown for departure had just started, the ending game was with Spain, and this one was an epilogue. Au revoir, mon adieu. What was going to be Didier's topic on today debriefing?
...
It was none other than his farewell, even might be the theme of today's dinner. Everyone stayed silent when Didier gave away his speech, moreover on the closing statement, when it felt as real as the last supper —if anyone still processing the situation. After the match Kylian was suddenly occupied with tasks that were nonexistent before, not to mention several huddles with the people.
Everyone clapped their hands and Didier retiring to his seat, the moment was then quiet and quite solemn, but now it came back as usual. As if they were still going to practice the next morning, still together, their chatter broke, filling up the room. While this was an ending, it was also the start of their holiday —for most plyers. Now in this moment, Kylian just had the time to himself —for daydreaming, while Ousmane was sitting next to him.
Ous, "so about you and Mike..."
Kylian immediately alerted, he turned his face to him. "What about it?"
"That was my question." Ous gesturing his hand, his legs spread supporting it.
"We're cool" , "I've told you that before."
The man a year older than him felt had wasted his attention, oh he'd better take the buffet now. "Just don't let me know you're strangling each other next time."
Kylian almost wanted to throw something back at him, but Didier was approaching close, Ous got up and greeted him with a hug. While Kylian was looking at them, he noticed Olise was in the background, the boy was sitting next to Désiré. His observant eyes could notice the small earring he was wearing. Kylian didn't move his gaze when Olise looking back at him.
Michael was just there, the very moment was to send him intangible message —words couldn't convey, face impassive as ever, but eyes told him of separation, of sorrow, and acceptance. It was a goodbye. They had ended with whatever note that was, and by that might be, the curse, their bond would wear and wither, as they would no longer play together, that was what matter.
Olise was a distance away from Kylian, and now Didier was hugging the captain, smiling at him, telling him things, Olise returned to his plate. He filled his mouth with food before Désiré asked him questions he didn't want to answer. Then he thought about how Kylian would felt about it personally, everyone knew he was the ace and also, the favorite, he was going to lose a figure. It was always about him.
Désiré next to him started to talk about vacation to Rayan, he couldn't not hear that because they were loud. It just made Michael remembered he once overheard Kylian mentioned about vacation he was going to go with his friends, of course he was going to be with friends, would he go with girlfriend as well, did he have? Shouldn't he have.
Suddenly the munching sound went different, and to his realization he had bitten his lower lip. Michael covered his mouth with one hand, feeling the warm red liquid began to surface out of the scar.
"What's wrong?" Saliba on his other side noticed.
The man wiped the blood with his own finger, "i bit my lip."
Saliba only scoffed then continued to eat. He couldn't know how was Michael in the head.
...
Factually, there were only few hours left before they leave the hotel in the morning, with that alone, Michael would not get as much sleep as usual —at least adequate. And now the moment to check out from the room. He wore his jacket, full to its hood, somehow it made him feel safer —if not warm. Michael envisioned of how the bus trip would be, he would pick his usual spot and wouldn't care much about whoever going to sit next to him, he would try to sleep if he could.
Suddenly the doorbell rang, Michael thought somebody must have went to him because he was late. When he saw through the peephole, of who was standing outside the threshold, the pact he had made secretly to himself felt like violated. But he pulled open the wooden plank anyway.
Kylian had to saw Michael in the eyes first, both looking at each other with surprise. The younger was wearing that piece of jewelry on his ear again —seen through the gap in his veil. Oh Kylian remembered when he nibbled it with his mouth, when it was undecorated, now he saw a piercing, would he clash his teeth against it. Would his boy squirmed and whimpered sheepishly —again. How could he forgot, not knowing, that Michael was the wearer of diamond.
The unusual redness on his lip drew Kylian's attention easily, like a red light that blinked on him, Michael twitched with the uneasiness. What was the cause of that he wondered, must be an injury —accidental, right? He once made it red, and sweet as cherry, but he didn't even dare to carve a scar on him. So who dared to hurt him?
The frail lump, was the taste still the same as before, would it still be the ecstasy to numb his pain, or doing so would olny dig the wound even deeper. Would he lunge for a kiss even if it was a kiss of judas.
"See you on the other side."
All of his thoughts had to be scattered by the same man's voice.
Michael pulled his hand for a handshake to him. His voice and face was in sync —flat. As if there was nothing more in this farewell, there was no abhorrence, nor pity, just void. But if he was true to himself, it felt like his facial muscles rejecting his command, refusing to move.
Kylian returned to reality and welcomed the offer, going for a handshake. He moved on the muscle memory.
The same lips that ever gave him the luscious sensation was the one telling him goodbye. No, far before that! There were spark, connection, the click —if not love, but that was much too short. So theirs was a shape of bell curve, you can't bend it too far, and it shall break. Sould he rely on the cherised, past moments or looking at the mere ending of their relationship.
It was tasteless, it ended in an appropriate duration. Their hands separated easily, no excess touch, he could only do that now, not going through every curve and length of his body ever again. They were dead on water.
"Everyone's already in the lobby, so.."
Michael nodded faintly, "yeah."
Kylian turned his face and walked away, he wanted to speed up a little, but his mind hindered him, his thoughts still lingered to the man he just bade a farewell to.
Would he tell a story of deception just so the younger believe to never part with him. Or perhaps, he just wanted him. The captain would always choose him even if it was not about football. And for his dear friend and assist, he might never have regretted playing with him, even for his power to be withdrawn out of him, with or without fatal flaw, with all the loss on his side, he had already submitted to him, wholly. If, if that was the case.
Michael was still on the threshold, he sighed, deep, just then he realized his hands were cold. He got back in the room to retreive his luggage and belongings. He then closed the door forever, for his chapter had ended.
"I'm sorry."
.
.
.
End—
.
.
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—Epilogue.
World cup 2030
Michael got out from the car, from the passenger seat, this was the second time for him, so he hoped he would be better. Ah that was the words, 'it'll get better, next time it will be better'. It reminded him of those promises 4 years ago, told right in front of his face when he cried.
The photographers on the left side, captured him wearing non national team clothing —for the last time for now, his luggage dragged by, while he just walked autonomously.
But the moment he reached the stone staircase he realized that thus was it, he was really doing this, the guard before the door welcomed him. And when he entered, almost all people already filled the space. Zidane was standing at the end of the room, and the palyers were sitting casually —in their own pose, if not too comical.
Michael scanned the scene too fast, and the moment Kylian met his gaze, he got up and approached him. His smile bloomed fully, it mesmerised the younger, just then he gave in to a solid, tough hug, their chest bumped. Michael cooperated faintly, while still recalling that this was a familiar feeling.
Michael didn't collect himself just yet, but when Kylian pulled away and looking at him, his hands cradling the two sides of his shoulder, he couldn't deny further that he was happy, so he smiled —it suited him.
"Welcome back, mon ami."