Work Text:
Michael Olise worked as a barista in a small café tucked away on a quiet street corner in Munich. The café itself wasn't very big. It only had a handful of tables and chairs, but it felt warm and inviting. Bookshelves lined the walls, soft yellow lights bathed the room in a cozy glow, and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread drifted through the air.
He genuinely loved his job. It was peaceful. The customers rarely paid much attention to him, and he preferred it that way. They ordered their drinks, he made them, and that was usually the end of the interaction.
His coworkers were great, too. They knew he was an introvert, so they never bothered him unless it was necessary. He worked eight-hour shifts, but there was usually plenty of downtime between customers. He often spent those quiet moments painting in his sketchbook or, sometimes, simply sitting by the window, watching people come and go.
Today was no different.
Michael unlocked the café, turned on the lights, and began preparing the ingredients for the day. After everything was ready, he glanced at the clock. The café wasn't supposed to open for another thirty minutes. He slowed down, taking his time wiping the counter.
Then the bell above the door rang. Michael looked up in surprise. A tall man stepped inside, taller than Michael, which wasn't something he saw every day. He wore a loose brown hoodie with a pair of headphones resting around his neck, but even beneath the oversized fabric, Michael could tell he had an athletic build.
The stranger walked up to the counter. Only then did Michael finally get a good look at his face. A pair of warm, doe-like eyes was looking back at him. The man didn't have the sharp bone structure or striking features people usually associated with breathtaking beauty. Instead, there was something impossibly gentle about him. His eyes curved naturally whenever he smiled, making it feel as though he had been smiling long before his lips ever did. There was a warmth to his expression that made people instinctively lower their guard.
Michael found himself staring a second too long.
"Hello," the man said softly. "Can I order?"
Michael paused. Normally, he would've refused. He hated it when customers came in before opening hours. But for some reason, he found himself nodding.
"...Sure."
The word left his mouth before he even realized it. He wasn't quite sure why. It was too late to take it back anyway. The stranger studied the menu for a moment before looking up at Michael with an embarrassed smile.
"This is my first time here, so I'm not really sure what to order. Do you have any recommendations?"
That was... a little too much conversation for Michael. He should've just pointed at the bestseller and left it at that.
But he didn't.
"Well, this is a café, so naturally our coffee is the most popular." Michael gestured toward the menu. "The latte is our bestseller, but..."
He pulled a face.
"I personally think it's overrated."
The customer laughed.
"Yeah, I'm not really a latte person either."
Okay. That earned him a point in Michael's book.
"So..." Michael continued, "I'd recommend our hot cocoa instead. It's pretty sweet, though, so only if you have a sweet tooth. If you prefer something lighter, our herbal teas are really good too."
The man seemed to give it some serious thought. Then he looked back at Michael.
"In that case..." he said with a small smile. "Can you make me your favorite drink?"
Michael blinked.
"...Are you sure? I mean, don't leave us a bad review if you don't like it. Running a café without a German-speaking barista is already hard enough."
The stranger laughed.
"I'm sure. I trust your taste."
"Then one hot cocoa."
Michael picked up a paper cup.
"And your name?"
"Jamal."
The man smiled.
"Jamal Musiala."
The name sounded strangely familiar. Michael was certain he'd heard it somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it. He simply nodded.
"It'll be about five minutes."
"You can have a seat over there while you wait."
"No, it's okay. I'd rather watch you make it."
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"Planning to steal our recipes and open a café next door?"
He turned his back and began preparing the drink, but he still heard Jamal chuckle.
"Maybe. Maybe next week you'll find another café right next to yours. Same menu. Except it'll have a German-speaking barista."
Michael let out a quiet scoff.
"Try me. I bet you can't make a single drink as well as I can."
"And how do you know that?" Jamal asked, laughing.
"Well," Michael replied without looking up, rolling his eyes. "I don't trust a man who can't even decide what to order."
"That tends to happen," Jamal said with an innocent smile, "when I meet a pretty barista like you."
"How many people have you said that to?" Michael asked, glancing at him while finishing the drink.
Jamal smiled.
"You probably won't believe me. But you're the first."
Michael didn't respond. Jamal didn't push any further. Instead, he quietly watched Michael finish preparing the hot cocoa. When Michael handed him the cup, Jamal deliberately brushed his fingers against Michael's hand.
"Can I know your name?"
"Michael. Michael Olise."
Jamal repeated it softly, as if committing it to memory.
"Michael." Then he looked up, winked, and flashed him a bright smile. "Have a good day, Michael."
Michael stood there for a long moment, still looking at the door. When it opened again, it was Upamecano, his coworker.
"Mike," Upa called as he walked in."Why is your face so red? Are you sick?"
"It's nothing," Michael replied, turning his back and continuing to wipe the counter as if nothing had happened.
It was something.
For the rest of the day, Michael couldn't concentrate on anything except Jamal's smile. It lingered in his mind no matter what he was doing. Twice, he almost made the wrong order, something that had never happened before. Luckily, he caught himself just in time. He noticed the worried looks from Upa and his other coworkers. He simply pretended to ignore them.
Still, he managed to get through the day, and that alone felt like an achievement. By the time he got home, he had convinced himself that it had only been a tiny crush. Nothing more. He changed into his pajamas, lay down on his bed, and closed his eyes.
So when Michael saw that handsome face again the very next morning, exactly thirty minutes before the café opened, he almost died. The bell above the door rang. Jamal pushed the door open and stepped inside as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The moment he spotted Michael, his eyes curved into that same warm smile from yesterday.
"Hello, Michael. It's me again."
Michael used every ounce of his self-control to keep a straight face, though he could still feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.
"The hot cocoa was amazing," he said with a grin. "My teammates loved it too. So I'd like to order three cups today."
"But..." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "I want to try something new. Do you have another recommendation?"
Michael stared at him for a second.
"...Are you going to make me choose your drink every day?"
"Well, as you've already pointed out," Jamal laughed, "I'm apparently incapable of making my own decisions. So I'll leave them to the authority."
Michael let out a quiet sigh in defeat.
"...You could try our herbal tea. It's a good way to start the day."
Jamal chuckled.
"You sound so British."
Michael looked at him with an unimpressed expression.
"Well. I am British."
Jamal blinked.
"...No way. Really?"
“Yes.”
"I grew up in Britain too," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
The two of them kept chatting while Michael prepared the drinks. Michael learned that Jamal had moved to London when he was seven years old. He grew up and went to school there before eventually moving back to Germany. To his surprise, they had quite a lot in common. They both enjoyed playing chess, loved basketball, and even shared a fondness for football.
Since then, Michael found himself looking forward to the customer who always appeared exactly thirty minutes before the café opened. Every morning, Jamal would walk in with the same smile, and the two of them would chat about almost everything while Michael prepared his drink.
The funny thing was that Jamal never rejected any of Michael's recommendations. Sometimes Michael would even make up a completely new drink that wasn't on the menu just to let Jamal try it. And every single time, Jamal liked it. That earned him a huge plus point... among the many plus points Michael had already secretly given him.
Alphonso and Upa naturally noticed the existence of the mysterious regular customer.
"So..." Alphonso leaned against the counter with a grin. "How are things with your mysterious boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend," Michael replied flatly.
"Sure, sure." Alphonso rolled his eyes. "As if you don't spend your entire pre-opening time chatting with him and making drinks just for him. The last time a random customer came in before opening, you literally glared at him and told him to leave."
"...It was one time."
"Whatever you say." Alphonso shrugged. "And hey, whatever keeps the shop in business, I guess."
One day, Jamal came a little later than usual. He smiled at Michael as soon as he walked in and placed his usual order.
"A cup of hot cocoa, please."
While waiting, his eyes wandered around the café until they landed on a small Messi figure sitting on the countertop.
He gently picked it up.
"Who's your favorite football player?" Jamal asked, turning the figure over in his hand.
"Uh..." Michael hesitated. "To be honest, I don't really know much about football. I mean, besides Ronaldo and Messi, of course. I only play with my friends."
He pointed at the figure.
"That one's actually my coworker's. He loves Messi."
"Oh..."
Jamal quietly put the figure back where it belonged.
"Okay."
For a brief moment, Michael could've sworn Jamal looked... a little disappointed.
Michael tilted his head.
"...Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, it's fine." Jamal smiled. "I just realized it's time for me to go. See you tomorrow."
Before Michael could say anything, Jamal had already slipped out of the café. A few moments later, the door opened again. This time it was Alphonso, arriving for his shift. He glanced through the window at the man walking away.
"Dude... your mysterious boyfriend who just left looked exactly like Jamal Musiala."
Michael froze.
"...What?"
"How do you know his name?"
Alphonso stopped in the middle of taking off his jacket and stared at Michael as if he'd suddenly grown a second head.
"Are you serious? Who doesn't know Jamal Musiala? His face is literally everywhere in Munich."
"...Really?"
"Michael."
"He's Bayern Munich's Golden Boy. You seriously didn't know that?"
"..."
Michael stayed silent for a long moment.
"...Wait.So that was the real Jamal Musiala?"
Alphonso blinked.
"...Hold on. You mean the mysterious boyfriend who's been coming here every morning. The one who talks to you every day was actually Jamal Musiala?"
"He's not my boyfriend!" Michael protested immediately.
"Sure, sure." Alphonso waved him off.
"So you're telling me Jamal Musiala came into our café every single morning..."
"...and you didn't ask him for an autograph? Or at least take a picture with him? Oh my God. You didn't do any of those?"
Alphonso looked genuinely heartbroken. He let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"Dude, I talked to you about Jamal Musiala for an entire week. You seriously don't remember?"
Now that Alphonso mentioned it. Michael vaguely recalled him and Upa spending the whole week talking about... someone named Jamal Musiala. But in his defense, they spent every other week talking about a different football player. How was he supposed to keep track of all of them?
Besides...
Jamal hadn't exactly introduced himself as the Jamal Musiala. How was Michael supposed to know that Jamal Musiala was apparently Jamal Musiala? The thought made him feel oddly aggrieved. That day, Michael had to listen to Alphonso whining from the moment his shift started until it ended.
"You could've asked for an autograph."
"Or at least a selfie."
"Do you know how many people would kill to meet Jamal Musiala?"
"You had him standing right in front of you!"
"I would've framed the receipt if he bought coffee from me."
Michael ignored him for hours. Eventually, he reached his limit. Without even looking up, he smacked Alphonso on the back of his head
"Ow!"
Alphonso clutched his head dramatically.
"You hit me!"
"You deserved that."
Michael had fully intended to give Jamal a piece of his mind the next morning. But he never got the chance. Because Jamal didn't come. Michael worked lifelessly for the entire day. Of course, he kept telling himself to get a grip.
Jamal was a famous football player. He was just a barista working in a tiny café. There was no reason for their paths to cross. But repeating that to himself didn't help. Not even a little. By the time his shift ended, he felt someone clap him on the back.
"Don't look like a wet cat," Alphonso teased. "Jamal was playing against Dortmund today. Of course he isn't here. It's not like he's cheating on you or something."
"I..." am not a wet cat.
"Sure you aren't." Alphonso snorted. "Come on, the guy literally scored a goal and got an assist against Dortmund today. Next time he comes in, ask him for an autograph for me."
Truthfully, Alphonso's words eased Michael's mind far more than he wanted to admit. That night, for the first time in his life, Michael opened YouTube and searched for Jamal Musiala. It didn't take long before countless highlight videos filled his screen. Just as he'd expected, Jamal had an incredibly athletic build. His dribbling looked oddly clumsy at first glance, almost like he was about to lose the ball every other second. Yet somehow no one could ever take it away from him.
Michael found himself smiling without realizing it. One highlight video turned into another. Then another. And another. Before he knew it, nearly three hours had passed. He quickly shut his laptop. Then he buried his face in both hands.
"...I'm doomed," he murmured.
The next day, Michael went to work looking like a panda from the lack of sleep. Luckily, no one commented on it except for a few knowing chuckles from Alphonso. That evening, heavy snow fell over Munich. Hardly anyone came to the café. Alphonso had already gone home after his shift, leaving Michael alone to close the shop.
With nothing else to do, he took out his sketchbook and began drawing absentmindedly. The soft scratching of his pencil was the only sound in the quiet café.
Then the bell above the door rang.
Someone stepped inside. Michael looked up. He was met with a pair of familiar doe eyes. For a second, he thought he was hallucinating. The two of them simply stared at each other in silence until Jamal finally spoke.
"Hey, Michael. Miss me?"
Michael immediately looked away.
"...No."
"Really?" Jamal tilted his head. "Then why am I there?"
He pointed toward the sketchbook on the counter. Michael's eyes followed his finger. Only then did he realize what he had been drawing. Although the sketch was still unfinished, anyone could recognize the gentle features of Bayern Munich's Golden Boy. Jamal's soft smile had already taken shape beneath Michael's pencil, and scattered around the portrait were several tiny hearts he had absentmindedly doodled without even noticing.
Michael's eyes widened. He slammed the sketchbook shut so quickly it echoed through the quiet café.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Jamal laughed.
"Sure, sure. That's definitely not me."
"But can I get a hot cocoa? I'm freezing. I came here straight after my flight landed."
Only then did Michael properly look at him.
Jamal was only wearing a thin Bayern Munich jacket. Snowflakes clung to his dark curls and shoulders, while the tip of his nose had turned slightly pink from the cold. His eyes were wide, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, making him look exactly like a soaked puppy begging to be let inside. It was... ridiculous. Michael stared at him for a long moment.
Then, unable to help himself, he let out a quiet sigh.
While Michael prepared the drink, Jamal rested his elbows on the counter.
"So..." he smiled. "How have you been these past few days? Did you miss me?"
Michael didn't even look up.
"No. I don't miss liars."
Jamal blinked.
"...A liar? When did I lie?"
Michael finally looked at him.
"You never told me you were a football player. And not just any football player. You're Bayern Munich's Golden Boy."
He pouted slightly as he measured the cocoa powder.
"I had to find out from Alphonso."
Jamal stared at him for a second before letting out a helpless laugh.
"I never lied. You never asked. I even told you my real name."
Michael fell silent again. Jamal let out a small sigh before rummaging through the pockets of his jacket.
"...Don't be mad. I brought you something."
He carefully placed two keychains on the countertop. One was a little black cat with an adorably grumpy expression. The other was a smiling deer. Michael set the cup of hot cocoa in front of him before staring blankly at the keychains.
Jamal scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking far less confident than just now.
"...I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was. I was actually going to tell you two days ago. But the schedule changed all of a sudden."
"And..." he laughed awkwardly. "I didn't have your contact. So I couldn't even text you."
He paused, glancing down at the steaming cup in his hands.
"During those two days… I realized how much I missed you. I kept wanting to hear your voice. I wanted to know what new drink you'd make for me. I wanted to come here before training like always."
He smiled sheepishly.
"And..."
"...maybe..."
"...You can come watch one of my matches too."
Michael's ears slowly turned bright red. He looked at Jamal as if his brain had completely stopped working.
"You..."
"You..."
"Are you..."
Jamal couldn't help laughing at the adorable expression on Michael's face.
"Michael. You're so cute. And yes. I'm confessing to you."
He took a small step closer to the counter, his smile softer than ever.
"So..."
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
For a few seconds, Michael simply stared at him.
His face grew redder and redder until his entire face was burning. Without saying a word, he slowly crouched down behind the counter before finally sitting on the floor, burying his face in both hands.
"...Michael?"
No response. Jamal walked around the counter and crouched beside him. A moment later, Michael felt a pair of warm arms wrap gently around him. He was still too embarrassed to look up. Jamal rested his chin lightly on top of Michael's head and chuckled.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Jamal smiled so widely his cheeks hurt.
"Then you have to come watch my match from now on. My boyfriend should be cheering for me."
Extra:
The next morning, Michael walked into the café as usual. Without saying a word, he tossed a signed photo of Jamal onto the counter in front of Alphonso. Alphonso looked down. Then his eyes slowly widened.
"...Oh."
"...My."
"...God."
"MICHAEL!"
He snatched the photo up like it was a priceless artifact.
"You're officially my best, no, best friend. If you actually become his boyfriend..."
"Please. I'm begging you. Ask him for tickets. The best seats, please."
Michael remained completely expressionless. Instead of answering, he reached into his bag and silently placed three tickets on the counter.
FC Bayern München vs. VfL Wolfsburg.
VIP Section.
Alphonso stared at the tickets.
Then at Michael.
Then at the tickets again.
Very slowly, he turned toward Upa.
"...Did you see that?"
Upa nodded blankly.
"I saw it."
Alphonso wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
"...Michael has become a WAG."
Michael immediately smacked him on the back of the head.
"Ow!"
Alphonso clutched his head dramatically and looked at him in disbelief.
"What was that for?"
"...Stop calling me that."
Michael replied flatly.
Alphonso rubbed the back of his head before grinning.
"But you are a WAG. So I'll let it slide this time."
"Otherwise..." He carefully picked up the tickets and hugged them to his chest. "...your boyfriend might take these back."
Michael stared at him for a long second. "...He's not taking them back."
"Oh?"
"So he's actually your boyfriend now?" Alphonso teased with a smug grin.
Michael shot him a warning look.
"...Keep talking and I will take those tickets back."
And he should’ve done it.
The moment they got to the stadium, Michael regretted bringing Alphonso. He screamed like a man who had completely lost his mind.
"MANUEL NEUER!"
"MY GOAT! DID YOU SEE THAT SAVE?"
"KIMMICH!"
"LOOK AT HIM!"
"SO HANDSOME. SO TOUGH."
"THAT'S MY GUY!"
A few minutes later...
"JAMAL MUSIALA!"
"LOOK AT YOUR BOYFRIEND!"
"MICHAEL, LOOK AT HIS DRIBBLING!"
"HE'S SO COOL!"
"Oh my God, he's looking this way."
"Michael."
"He's waving at you."
"...Wait."
"WAIT."
"HE'S ACTUALLY COMING HERE!"
And indeed, Jamal sprinted toward their section after celebrating. Without slowing down, he pulled off his jersey, balled it up, and threw it perfectly into Michael's lap before running back onto the pitch.
It wasn't an unusual thing for players to toss their shirts into the crowd, so none of the surrounding fans thought much of it. Michael, however, froze with the jersey resting in his arms. His cheeks slowly turned pink.
"...Idiot," Michael murmured under his breath, though the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him completely.
Beside him, Alphonso slowly turned his head to look at Upa.
"...These lovebirds are outrageous."
Upa nodded in complete agreement.