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BREAKING: Michael Olise has AGREED personal terms with Real Madrid ⚪️
The Frenchman has given the green light to the move. Negotiations between Real Madrid and Bayern Munich are expected to continue in an attempt to reach an agreement on the transfer fee.
DEAL ON! ⏳
Jamal doesn’t even flinch.
It’s a new name every summer.
Phonzy. Upa. Harry.
Jamal indulges in transfer gossip every now and then, but that is only when it involves someone outside of the club. Admittedly, he is nosy like that, but when it came to his own teammates, he would much rather wait until the first day of pre-season to see who walks through the doors. Besides, if the “news” involved someone close to him, Jamal usually knows long before the crazed journalists. That’s how it had been with Leroy, who had become something like an older brother to him at Bayern. It had hurt initially, of course, but he understood Leroy’s reasons.
So when Jamal sees Michael’s name linked to Madrid for the umpteenth time in the last two months, he doesn’t worry. In fact, he kind of understands why the journalists can’t keep Michael’s name out of their mouths.
Michael is a phenomenon.
It’s almost unfair how easy Michael makes everything look. There's a quiet assurance in how he plays, toying with the defenders like a cat, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce, before bursting through an opening and accelerating down the wing.
Jamal watches Michael every week and somehow it still doesn’t feel real.
The perfectly placed passes that create chances out of nothing. The way he cuts inside and curls long-range shots into the top corner like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Considering Michael’s performances, and combining that with his Mr. Nonchalant persona and his refusal to ever comment on his personal life, Michael is the perfect subject for endless speculation. Attaching the name of another big club to him is a no-brainer way to farm engagement.
Jamal swipes past the post without another thought.
Then his phone buzzes. A notification drops down.
Michael: can you come over when you are free? i need to talk to you about something and I don’t think I can say it properly over call.
Jamal freezes. His thumb hovers over the screen. Usually, seeing Michael’s name appear on his screen brings a dizzying little rush of happiness. The kind that makes his mouth turn upwards before he realises it.
But this? From his Michael, who usually texts like every extra character meant capital punishment?
up?
wyd?
chess?
A small knot forms in Jamal’s stomach.
But he doesn’t want to think about the possibilities.
He just knows that whatever it is that Michael needs to tell him, whatever it is that he has on his mind, Jamal wants to be there for him.
Jamal: I can come over now
The reply is almost immediate.
Michael: c u soon
~
The drive normally takes thirty minutes.
Jamal makes it in twenty.
Stepping out of his Audi, he sees Michael already waiting by the villa door, dressed in an oversized white T-shirt and loose trousers. The door is ajar, and warm light spills from inside, casting Michael’s silhouette onto the wall.
“Hey,” Michael says. “Thanks for coming over.”
Jamal gives him a small smile. “No need to thank me.”
They hug, one hand landing on the back of the other’s shoulder. Michael smells clean and crisp, with the faintest floral scent lingering on his skin. The familiarity of it all is comforting, until Jamal feels the rigidity in Michael’s shoulders beneath his hand.
They pull apart and Jamal follows Michael inside.
Two mugs of tea sit on Michael’s kitchen counter, sending delicate tendrils of steam into the air. Beside them is a tall glass filled with Jamal’s favourite pretzel sticks.
Jamal perks up despite himself.
“Bon appétit.” Michael's tone is as neutral as ever, but the corners of his mouth twitch.
Jamal happily plucks a stick and starts crunching. He plops himself down on a stool and swivels on it. He expects Michael to take the usual seat next to him soon after, but Michael doesn’t move. He just stands across the counter from Jamal, with his hands behind his back.
Jamal manages to scarf down two pretzel sticks before Michael starts talking.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” Michael says. “Real Madrid have made me an offer.”
Jamal stares at him, mid-crunch. “What?”
“They’re prepared to pay €250 million for me,” Michael says. “But they don’t want to formally approach the club unless I make it clear to the Bayern board that I’m going to leave.”
Michael pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “I’m going to speak to the board tomorrow morning.”
Something inside Jamal’s chest splinters.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I’m not.”
It’s a punch to his gut.
Jamal had not imagined a future at Bayern without Michael, not since that fateful day two years ago when Michael re-entered his life.
It was strange, really. They hadn’t even been that close at Chelsea - just two boys who happened to occasionally occupy the same spaces. They had their own friendship groups, their own people they would grab lunches with, spend lazy Sunday afternoons playing FIFA with. When Michael was released from the academy, it had been a quiet affair - no lingering goodbyes and no promises to stay in touch. Life simply moved on and carried them in different directions, and Jamal never thought much of it.
Then Michael joined Bayern - not as the boy Jamal remembered, but as someone almost unrecognisable.
Taller. Long-limbed. Broader shoulders. A deeper voice. Sharper features that looked chiselled from marble.
Michael’s football had evolved too, into something of deadly precision. He was unhesitant, unyielding and driven by success. And before Jamal could fully comprehend it, they had developed a rhythm together, with an unspoken understanding that if one made the right pass, the other would be there to finish it.
In Jamal’s mind, they would win the Champions League together. Break all kinds of club records together. Become the kind of players that people talked about for decades.
He imagined them retiring together one day, clad in red, looking back on everything and laughing about the good old times.
“This isn’t you,” Jamal finally says.
Michael’s jaw tightens. “People change.”
“No,” Jamal shakes his head, standing up from the stool. “Don’t say stuff like that to me. Is this really what you wanted me to come here for? So you can tell me that you’re going to leave everything behind for Madrid? How long have you been planning this?”
“A while.”
“How long is a while, Michael?”
“About a month.”
“And for what?” Jamal presses. “Why do you want to leave?”
Michael refuses to meet his gaze.
It’s the most oppressive kind of silence - the kind that Jamal makes it his responsibility to break before it swallows him whole.
“Well, I know it can’t be because of the money. Everyone knows the board wants to make you one of the highest earners. They see you as one of the faces of Bayern’s future.”
“And I know people say that when Madrid calls, you have to answer. But we play for Bayern.” Jamal’s voice rises at the last part. “We’re not some stepping stone club. And you’ve never cared about the fame and glory, or being the biggest star on the team. You’ve always let your football do the talking.”
Jamal remembers the way Michael would anxiously roll his lips together before every interview - before he slipped into that mask of indifference. Whenever they were paired together for media duties, Jamal made sure to reach over to squeeze Michael’s hand.
And Michael would always squeeze back.
“And you can’t be leaving because of our team,” Jamal continues, his mind churning. “You get along with everyone and you certainly don’t think our squad has suddenly turned to crap that we can no longer compete for trophies. We just won the double and made the Champions League semi-finals. And you love playing under Vinny.”
Michael drops his gaze. “What if I just want a fresh start?”
“You have three years left on your contract,” Jamal frowns. “If you had said you wanted a new challenge in three years, maybe I would have understood. But you’ve just got here, and now you want to leave?”
Jamal steps around the counter until he’s in front of Michael. He cradles Michael’s face with a somewhat trembling hand and searches urgently through the impassivity.
“Why do you want to leave?” Jamal’s voice is pleading now. He tilts Michael’s chin up until their eyes meet. “Please, Michael. Tell me why.”
The intensity in Michael’s eyes is searing.
Then Michael’s gaze drops.
To Jamal’s lips.
And with a pang in his chest, Jamal realises that he hasn’t asked the right question.
His heart starts pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his ribcage.
“Are you leaving because of…”
The words catch in his throat.
“…me?”
A sound escapes from the back of Michael’s throat.
For a moment, neither of them move.
“Don’t make me do it,” Michael whispers.
“Do what?”
Jamal’s fingertips trace a gentle line down Michael’s cheek.
Everything is surreal. Like a dream. Blurry and weightless.
Somehow their faces are so close now. Close enough that he can feel Michael’s warm, uneven breath and the flutter of his long eyelashes. It feels so intimate. So vulnerable. Jamal’s afraid to breathe, afraid that anything he does would break the spell.
Michael’s face tilts sideways.
Jamal barely has time to register the softness of Michael’s lips before it’s over.
Like a bird’s wings skimming the surface of a lake.
He blinks as the world comes back into focus. Michael has taken a step back from him, seemingly stunned. “Fuck,” Michael mutters, dragging his hand through his hair.
Jamal’s lips tingle with the ghost of a kiss. “W-when did it start for you?”
Michael inhales. “I don’t know. I think… somewhere in between everything.”
“Do you remember when I first came here? I didn’t know anyone except you,” Michael says softly. “You showed me around. Explained everything - the club, Munich, the Bundesliga. You invited me to all the post-training hangouts and Phonzy’s ridiculous parties. You even answered all the interview questions for me after Bremen because I hated it so much.”
Michael’s mouth quirks into a faint smile. “You made things easier for me, so I suppose it was only natural for me to start finding reasons to be around you.”
Jamal’s cheeks flush.
“I volunteered for those club media duties if I heard you were doing them too. I still hate them, but if it meant that I got to spend more time with you, I didn’t mind.”
Jamal opens his mouth, but Michael keeps going. “But I didn’t think I realised just how strong my feelings were until you got injured.”
Jamal winces.
“I was so scared, Jam.” Michael’s voice quivers.
And suddenly, Jamal is back there. The sickening crunch of his left leg at the Club World Cup. The uneasy silence that followed in the stadium. Josh and Harry crouched beside him as he is screaming his lungs out while the medics moved him onto a stretcher.
Everybody was looking at his leg, at the awkward angle it hung.
Jamal remembers covering his face with both hands, unable to stop his tears. At some point, Josh and Harry leave, probably called away to receive new instructions from Vinny.
But through the gaps between his fingers, he could still see Michael.
Standing there. Looking only at him. Michael had pulled his shirt collar over his mouth, his expression unreadable. He walked beside Jamal as the stretcher carried him away. Stayed with him until the very last moment when the stretcher disappeared into the tunnel.
Later, during Jamal’s rehabilitation, Michael would also stand by the pool beside him, saying nothing, just watching.
“When you came back, I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy to see someone walk onto a pitch again.” Michael says quietly. “And when you assisted my goal… I was so happy. So proud. I think it’s my favourite goal I’ve ever scored.”
Jamal’s throat constricts.
“I wish I had known earlier,” Jamal says. “But I still don’t understand. Why would liking me make you want to leave for Madrid?”
Michael looks away. “Because you’re like this with everyone, Jam.”
A hollow laugh escapes from Michael. “You smile at everyone. You check up on everyone. You make everyone feel important. I could never tell if I meant more to you than just a friend.”
Michael’s gaze stays fixed to the floor. “I couldn’t bear to just be your friend anymore. Every day that I was around you, I wanted more. But I was also too scared to do anything that would ruin what we already have.”
”So I thought that if I left, maybe I could move on. You weren’t going to feel the same way. And I didn’t want to keep pretending that I was okay with wanting something I couldn’t have.”
“No,” Jamal says, closing the distance between them. “You’re wrong, Michael. I do feel the same way.”
“I’m pathetically aware of you in every room you enter. The locker room, training, meetings, flights - it doesn't matter where we are. You're always the first person I look for.”
Michael goes entirely still.
“I never acted on anything because I was scared too.” Jamal confesses. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have either. But I was content to admire you from afar. To remember every little thing you do and replay our moments later and wonder if maybe, just maybe, they meant something to you too.”
Jamal’s thumb brushes across Michael’s knuckles. “I told myself that I would rather have a part of you than to have nothing at all.”
“But today changes things,” Jamal softens his voice. “I want you, Michael. I want all of you. Please don’t leave me. Let me show you how much you mean to me. Let me kiss you again.”
The grin overtaking Michael’s face makes Jamal’s heart swell.
~
When Michael holds his hand and takes him to the bedroom, Jamal feels hazy. Like his mind is dangerously teetering to a black hole, one that sucked away any remaining logic.
He pushes Michael onto the bed. One second later and he’s leaning over Michael, his knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Michael’s hips. Wordlessly, Michael drags Jamal’s mouth down to his. Jamal savours the weight of Michael’s lips moving against his and he’s all too eager to kiss him back. Michael grips Jamal’s legs, anchoring him closer. It feels somewhat experienced, the instinctiveness of the movement, and a wildfire blazes through Jamal at the thought of Michael having ever touched anyone else like this before.
Jamal deepens the kiss - Michael would be only his from now on.
He wraps one hand around the nape of Michael’s neck, and the other slips beneath Michael’s shirt and up his back. Michael melts into Jamal’s touch, sighing into his mouth. It’s a symphony to his ears.
With one hand, Jamal pulls off Michael’s scrunchie and lets Michael’s locs fall loose. He tosses the scrunchie to the side before threading his fingers through Michael’s locs. Jamal uses his hold on Michael’s hair to control the pace at which they were kissing; he kisses Michael more slowly and more deliberately, pressing his lips along Michael’s jaw, then the curve of his neck, the line of his collarbone. Michael releases a whimper, his arms tightening around Jamal.
Jamal pulls back just enough to look at Michael.
Michael’s eyes are dazed, his lips swollen and his hair slightly dishevelled from where Jamal’s fingers had been running through them.
But Jamal likes Michael like this. Wild and breathless, unraveled only for him.
He is so startlingly beautiful that it makes Jamal ache.
“You’re perfect.” Jamal tells him hoarsely, before claiming Michael with another kiss.
~
The curtains billow gently in the summer breeze.
Jamal turns on his side. The moonlight bathes him and Michael in a silver glow. His arm drapes over Michael’s bare back and his fingertips trace absentminded patterns on Michael’s skin. One day, he's sure he will have memorised the contours of Michael’s body. Michael’s features are soft and relaxed, and when he nuzzles himself into Jamal’s neck, it makes every single one of Jamal’s thoughts dissipate. It’s a small and innocent action, yet his heart still wants to explode.
What a privilege it is to be here. Jamal wishes he could stay like this forever.
“Call off the deal, Michael.” Jamal murmurs into Michael’s hair. “Stay here. Stay with me.”
“Okay.”