Work Text:
Kylian let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when he finally flopped onto his bed. This World Cup was… disappointing. Perhaps it was because it would be his first time not appearing in a world cup final. Perhaps it was because even though he was the captain of the French team, he could not lead them to the finals as he had always dreamed. The heartbreak was intense, the spell it had cast on them not disappearing for days.
He stared at the ceiling, a numbness flowing through his body, pulsing at the apex of his fingers. He could hear his phone ringing from his pocket, feeling it vibrating against his thigh. He didn’t move. It must’ve been Ethan, or his mother, or one of his teammates. He hoped one of them was Michael. It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t answer it anyways.
To be vulgar, Kylian felt like absolute shit. He could only think back to when he was 19, so young, so naive. He could only think about being the greatest, not about the price, the pressure that came alongside it. He missed his younger days, when he was still so stupid enough to believe that that World Cup trophy he won wouldn’t be the only one. When he was still stupid enough to believe he still had it in him. He felt he wasn’t playing well, he wasn’t doing anything well these days. Even before the defeat, the thought lingered. It’s been there since Neymar…
With new wounds slicing through thick skin, old wounds resurfaced once again. He remembered the times when he did not have a World Cup in his name, when he was just another football player in the sea of athletes. When he had just become friends with Neymar, when his budding crush was trying hard to stay hidden in sways of platonic ‘admiration’. He wished he could return to the time before it all.
Before it became more than just a game. Before the fact he won the World Cup, and the expectations that would follow, finally got to his stupid young head. Before he ever fell in love with the Brazilian striker, before he lost the World Cup final, before he moved to Madrid and faced the hate of millions of people who wanted him out of the club, before he disappointed the love of his life Michael Olise, before not qualifying for the final for the first time in his career—…
He kept thinking back to his first world cup, when he was just 19, when it was all just about football, and drifted off to sleep.
…
Kylian woke up to bright light filtering through blinds. Blinds he’d thought he’d changed 2 years ago. He slowly got up, rubbing his eyes. Instead of the usual familiarity, he was hit with a rush of panic. His room looked exactly as how he’d remembered it… in 2018. The sheets were different. He remembered throwing them out after he couldn’t wash away a terrible coffee stain. The mirror was different. It was the wall mirror he’d thrown away after he stumbled into it badly in the dark and thrown it away.
He sat upright, slowly looking around. This couldn’t really be happening. It wasn’t like he traveled back in time, right?
“Wha— who the hell are you?!”
That voice… it sent chills down Kylian’s spine. It was his own voice. But it lacked a quality that he cultivated for 8 years. Maturity? It was so young, so… inexperienced. Kylian’s head snapped around so fast he could hear it crack. And he thought he’d finally lost it. Or maybe he was just dreaming of it all.
That voice that spoke out just minutes ago… was himself. From 2018. Kylian Mbappe was looking at the younger Kylian Mbappe dead in the eyes.
“Woah… wh- why the hell do you look like me?! But… more wrinkly?”
“Hey, I’m only 27!”
“Geez, sorry I don’t know your age, random person in my bed!” Kyky — his younger self, Kylian would call himself that for now — put his hands up in defense, clearly a bit stunned. Kylian was equally stunned, too, if not a hell of a lot more. He looked down at himself. He was still him from last night, in the same clothes he fell asleep in. Kylian pushed himself out of bed, making Kyky back up in fear.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, kid,” Kylian said softly as he walked over to his younger self, and pushed him away, who only flinched back at the slight touch. Kylian walked around, and realised he really, seriously, was in the past. The kitchen, the living room, everything was as he’d remembered it. He pulled out his phone, hoping it’d work.
A few hundred messages from people he knew, and no signal. He sighed, what did he expect? He went ahead and sat down on the couch, pondering his next move.
“Uhm, excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing?”
Ah, shit, he’d forgotten. This timeline’s Kylian - Kyky - he was still here. It wasn’t like they’d completely swapped.
He really did not have the energy for this.
“Sitting on my couch.”
“No you’re not. It’s my couch,”
Now, the younger him stood in front, arms crossed indignantly. Kylian really did not want to do this. Was he always this annoying? Although, to be fair, he never found somebody on his bed in a house that was supposed to be all his.
He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to come face to face with Kyky, and walked forward. The kid had panic plastered all over his face and immediately started backing up.
“It is my couch, kid. Y’know why? It’s ’cause I am you, you from your wonderful little future,” Kylian added the last part sarcastically.
“And I’ve not got enough shit on my plate already, because as if losing the semi-finals of the most important tournament in my career wasn’t enough, I’ve somehow been magically teleported back through time to a younger, stupider, version of me. So forgive me, if I skip the semantics of introducing myself, because I’m just trying to get a damn break.”
By that point, he’d pushed Kyky into the wall, cornering him like a predator does to prey. A pang of guilt hit him, knowing that this younger man did not deserve the vile anger he just spewed out, it was all towards himself, his emotional regulation had been fucked ever since that man, but here he was, breathing heavily over the 19-year old him. And poor Kyky, his eyes were shut tight, afraid of what was next to come. Here he was, being threatened by a man who just randomly appeared in his house, like he was the one living there, and Kyky was just a guest.
“Damn, bro, I didn’t mean that… Just… who- who even are you?” Kyky looked at him with terrified eyes. The feeling that he had someone look at him that way— it shouldn’t have given him that thrill. It should’ve made him afraid, very afraid. Was this why Neymar did all that to him while they were together? Just to see his frightened expression on his face? It made him even angrier, made everything inside him bubble up in his heated rage.
Control yourself, Kylian. That’s just a kid.
He sighed, and bit the insides of his cheek for a quick second m, before pulling back and moving away. “Even if I told you, it would probably seem like a lie.”
“What is that even supposed to mean? You just casually sleep in my bed, and stroll around this house— which you keep on calling ‘your house’, like what’s up with that? — and now you’re being evasive. Just cut the bullshit, man. Who are you, seriously?” Kyky had only reached for Kylian’s wrist when the older swiftly turned and grabbed both his wrists to pin him on the wall.
“I am you, doofus. Can’t you tell? Are you really that fucking stupid?” God, Kylian sounded just like Neymar. And he hated it, he hated every single bit of it. But at least he knew why he did what he did. And to that, he couldn’t tell who he hated more. Himself, for being so meek and submissive, or Neymar, for taking advantage of his vulnerability.
“Wh- what? You’re me? Like, you’re really me? From— from the future or something?” Kyky whined at the harsh grip on his wrists. He was sweating, and Kylian could feel something hard against his thigh. Interesting, Kylian smirked to himself, before letting him go. He got flashes of his own horniness at this age.
“Yeah, that’s what I said: ‘From the future.’ I’ve been telling you that since I got here. Are you seriously that thick in the head?” He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed this. Enjoyed talking smack to his past self. Was he trying to get out all his rage towards Neymar on the version of himself that Neymar used? He knew he shouldn’t be getting off on this? But the rush of power he felt at seeing himself, his younger self, look so timid and coy, it felt absolutely unreal.
“I— I don’t… I mean…” Kyky looked hurt. Kylian knew he was wondering how his own self could treat him like that. So cruelly, like he was worthless. He could tell, from the way his face fell, that he felt exactly how he felt in 2023, when Neymar told him he was the worst. Both on and off the field.
“I don’t get it. How are you from the future?” Kyky finally spoke, his voice still a bit shaky from the fright Kylian gave him.
“Well, neither do I. It’s weird, I know,” He walked back over to the couch and flopped on wearily. “But, here I am, in your house, as you kindly mentioned multiple times.”
Kyky looked away sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, feeling shy (probably stupid too, Kylian thought) about his explosive behaviour previously. The older man only smiled fondly, and patted the empty spot next to him on the couch.
“Come, sit. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
He knew better. Of course, his younger self had no questions. He was too busy thinking about the way he was pinned on that wall, how hard he was when his older self breathed down his neck. He knew the kid like the back of his hand.
“Or do you have other plans?” Kylian joked lightly, raising his eyebrow poking, prodding any kind of answer from the younger man.
“What— oh, uhm, no, nothing,” He smiled sheepishly, hands behind his back, acting like his hard-on was completely unnoticeable.
“Really?” Kylian grinned, before getting up from the couch again and leaning towards Kyky.
“Do you take me for a fool, Kylian Mbappe Lottin?” He breathed the name near his ear, sending shivers down the younger man’s spine.
“Uhm, w— what?” Kyky gulped. He was completely rigid, sweat trickling down his forehead. The younger man was completely flushed, his dick erect and brushing against Kylian’s thigh through their clothing.
Kylian didn’t say anything. All he did in response was grasp the younger man’s chin in his direction, eliciting a wonderful whine from him. His hands instinctively reached out to Kylian’s, who quickly grabbed both of them with one hand by the wrists. Fuck, he looked so adorable. So dainty, so innocent…
Here he was, about to fuck another man, literally himself, and all he could think about was Neymar. Even after two whole fucking years of no-contact, his mind still lingered towards the Brazilian’s harsh touch on his skin; his cruel words that stabbed his heart until there was no blood left to bleed, no tears left to cry. He hated how Neymar left him, when this, the man in front of him, was how he met him.
He couldn’t do it anymore. He needed to let himself go.
Kylian pulled Kyky towards him and kissed him hard enough that their teeth clashed together. The older man’s tongue forced its way into his mouth., enticing a whimper from Kyky. The hand on his chin slid down towards his erection. Kylian could feel the younger man’s face warming up. He broke off, and looked straight into the number 7’s eyes.
“Ngh… what- what’s wrong?” Kyky wrestled against the grip he had on his wrists. Kylian could only stare into his eyes, the realisation finally registering in his head.
The boy he was kissing— the younger version of himself— was exactly that— a younger version of himself. He was inexperienced, gullible, vulnerable, innocent— the sheer thought of the word created a sour feeling in his mouth. A pit formed in his stomach. But a tent was already forming in his pants, and Kyky’s eyes stared at him almost longingly, and God knows how long he’d be stuck here— he pulled Kyky in for another kiss, much more fiercer than the last. Slowly, his hand slid up his shirt, rubbing on his nipples, eliciting a moan from Kyky in between their passionate kisses.
Kylian pushed him towards the bedroom, the younger man stumbling over his feet and muttering sorries through shaky breaths. He pushed him onto the bed which creaked under their weight, and sat on top of him.
“Take off your pants,” Kylian ordered as he took off his shirt. Kyky pushed the waistband of his pants down, wriggling and moaning and writhing under Kylian’s legs as he lay flat on his back.
“I— I haven’t really— ngh, done this… before…” Kyky moaned out, his hips thrusting in the air, his boxers still on, highlighting his erection. Kylian’s hungry eyes trailed up, from the obvious tent in his pants to the scrunched up expression on his flustered and sweaty face. Slick was already dampening the younger man’s boxers. Kylian pulled off his belt and pants ravenously, and once his boxers were off, his dick was in full view, large and fleshy. Kyky was biting his lips, trying to control his whines.
It sounded like music to his ears. Kylian turned the boy around and pulled down his boxers, exposing his fleshy, untoned ass. He kneaded it for a while, getting more whined and grunts out of the younger man. Temptation finally pulled him to its dark abyss, and he gave one loud smack on the boy’s pale ass. He cried out loud, muffling it in the sheets. It left a red handprint on his asscheek. Kylian felt like he could cum without even doing anything.
“Shh, kid, just let me do my thing…” Kylian’s hips thrust forward as he spread Kyky’s tight ass. The kid was definitely tight, and just the sight of his hole made his cock leak pre-cum.
He knew the kid didn’t have lube, but what did he care? He was too hard to think straight, and immediately Kylian shoved his index into Kyky’s hole. Almost instantly, the number 7’s back arched, pushing his ass higher into the air, moaning into the sheets.
“Ah… K- kylian… it hurts…” He whimpered as Kylian groaned at his own aching cock, waiting for release. He moved his finger around, and without warning, he shoved in another. And the yelp that Kyky let out, oh, it was like music to his ears.
Kylian could see the muscles on his back flex as he arched it and moved his hands to find any loose sheets to cling onto. He roughly removed his fingers out of his ass; two was enough for the inexperienced teenager. He firmly flipped Kyky around, the young boy merely an object in Kylian’s grasp; a loud, fleshy, whiny object. His hands gripped on Kylian’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.
This was awkward on multiple levels. For one, this was literally himself. Here he was, caressing the face of his younger version, getting ready to fuck him senseless. For another, he’d never actually topped before. He was living the fantasy he wanted with Olise, in the position he always imagined Olise in.
But there was Kyky, whining, all red in the face and sweaty, hips thrusting forward with a huge erection that was close to cumming. And suddenly, all that awkwardness and embarrassment that made him hesitate could no longer hold him back.
Without a single hesitation, without any warning, Kylian thrust his hard cock into his asshole. The moan that left his mouth, the grip on his back, it was heaven. Slowly, his pace steadied, each thrust came at a calculated rhythm, and Kyky’s grip didn’t lessen, he knew there’d be marks on his back after this. His face was nuzzled in his neck, gently biting on it, each moan reverberating through his body.
Kylian was panting, groaning, he was close to climaxing. “I… I’m gonna cum in you… okay…?” He moaned it out, his grip on Kyky’s waist got harder. He could barely hear Kyky whimper “Mhmm..” into the nape of his neck.
When he released inside Kyky, it felt paradisic. His hands held the back of the younger man’s neck, breathing heavily into it. Kylian pulled out, inciting Kyky to whimper slightly. He was sweaty and sticky, neither of them could tell when he’d came all over Kylian’s stomach.
“That— that was…” Kyky murmured, all breathless and completely naked. Kylian gently lifted him off his lap and onto the bed. Instantly, the young kid flopped down, staring at the older man with a big grin plastered all over his face. The 27-year-old couldn’t help a fond smile creep on his face as well, and he slid down onto the pillow next to him.
“Y’know, I do have a few questions,” Kyky giggled like the immature boy he was. Kylian only hummed in acknowledgement as he grazed the younger man’s face.
“Do we ever transfer to Real Madrid?”
Kylian looked anywhere near except his eyes, and back again. Those stupid brown eyes, so hopeful. He nodded. It was the truth. He didn’t ask about what it was like, or whether his teammates would like him there, or if people would hate him so much that they’d create a petition signed by millions of fans just to kick him out.
The joy in his face, merde, he could hear his heart break.
“Okay, well, what about trophies? Anything we win?”
Truth be told, there were many trophies he won. But none that could satisfy his own ambition. All his individual trophies, he would trade every single one, just to have one he could share with his teammates. But his younger self wasn’t specific enough, he wasn’t sly enough to be specific, so with all the strength in his body, Kylian smiled gently, even though his heart threatened to shatter into even smaller, irreparable pieces, and said, “Yep. Of course we do.”
He didn’t want to break his heart. The poor boy, with the elation etched clearly across his face; he couldn’t bring himself to ruin it. Kylian could feel his eyes tearing up. He hoped Kyky didn’t notice it.
“Really?! That’s… that’s wonderful,” Kyky smiled, a true smile, those toothy smiles that movies show before the character faces terrible fates; one that could make even the saddest man feel a few ounces lighter, one that could possibly make a blind man see the light. He turned away from the older man and stared at the ceiling, hands still intertwined.
His grip on Kylian’s hand tightened. The older man’s eyes closed for just a minute, thinking this was the last of his questions.
“Wh— what about Neymar? Are we… y’know… a thing?”
His eyes flashed open to see that same hopeful look on his face. But this was a question that he couldn’t avoid. A problem with no loopholes.
Neymar… he really did make up most of his world for a while in his life. There was no point denying it. It started off as a normal friendship, like all sweet love songs do. And somehow, from Kylian’s side, it turned into something more. It was a longing, a honey sweet addiction to that man, and his pastel fantasies made its way into reality for just a moment.
But things change. Once the good things are over, bad things, things worse than the deepest pits of hell, happen to you. And it happens so suddenly that you cannot process it, it makes you think that it was a one-time thing; it was a drunk accusation, a slip of the hand, a misspoken word in front of the press. But it will happen over and over again, that those things will make you believe that the pastel fantasies were just that: a fantasy.
Kylian tried to convince himself that he was better, that everything would be alright, it would just get worse before it got better. But it just kept getting worse and worse; as if rock-bottom wasn’t low enough, somehow they managed to reach sub-nautical. Yet, he was delusional enough to think, maybe, just maybe, things could get better. He stifled a laugh now that he thought about it. If it wasn’t for Hakimi and Dembelé, Kylian thought to himself.
He finally looked back at Kyky. He had a puzzled expression on his face, wondering why he took so long to answer.
“Well, kid, there isn’t any straightforward answer for that,” Kylian said with melancholy. He sighed, before carrying on, “For a while, maybe. It looks great, blissful, even; it’s like it was always meant to be. Like it’s the highest high you’ll ever reach. And slowly, the mountain, it crumbles. It gets bad. Like, really bad. He’s an experience you can never forget, and also one you wish you never had.” He stopped and looked at Kyky. He looked so dejected that Kylian thought he might’ve kicked an abandoned puppy.
“I’m sorry, kid. Some things… just don’t work out. They just don’t.” He held the younger man’s thin hands with both of his.
“Oh… that’s fine, I guess.”
Liar.
“Do we find anyone else? Anyone you like?”
His heart throbbed.
There was one man. A man in his country’s team. They called their duo “two puzzle pieces that fit each other perfectly.” Kylian’s heart raced every time he was near him.
Michael Olise.
They were polar opposites. Kylian, loud and unabashed of his loudness, a striker, a goal-scorer; Michael, quiet and ‘nonchalant’, as the media called him, the man with the most assists this world cup, who broke Pelé’s world cup record in a single tournament. Throughout the World Cup, there was something more budding between the two of them, something inexplicably sweet, yet savoury. It wasn’t something too sweet that it makes him sick, nor was it too harsh that it made him feel horrible.
It was nice. Just… nice.
So, maybe this was a question that had no loopholes that Kylian was also willing to answer. The poor boy needed some hope, after all. So, all Kylian did was sigh and look at the ceiling.
“I… I guess, yeah.”
He felt strangely relaxed. Not in a defenseless way, just… open. Like all his walls were being torn apart gently, not with force.
“Yeah, there is one guy… you don’t know him yet but he’s… he’ll be important soon enough,” Kylian sighed. He pulled the sheets up to his chest. He didn’t see Kyky look at him with unfiltered affection. The younger man placed his hand and the older’s shoulder.
“Hey, just relax. It’ll all work out.” Kylian turned around to see him smiling widely, eyes squinted and filled with adoration.
“I may not be from the future, but take my advice: if all good things come to an end, so do bad things. It will get better soon. I can assure you.”
Kylian’s heart throbbed, the light and joy of his younger self penetrated his cold heart and made him hope.
Hope. Something he’d forgotten the feeling of just in the span of one month. He thought of all the things that could come, victories, trophies, friends, lovers…
So, maybe for the first time in what felt like a long while, Kylian smiled. And his heart truly felt lighter than it ever had in a real eternity. His hand reached for the hand on his shoulder, and he rubbed it gently.
“Thanks… Kyks. I guess I needed that.”
Kyky only giggled, before quickly getting up, hand grazing the older one’s cheeks. “You need to rest. I have to go somewhere.”
Kylian looked at him as he lifted himself up from the bed, completely naked. His eyes felt heavier with each passing minute. When Kyky finally dressed himself up, and smiled and waved as he left through the bedroom door, Kylian was already fast asleep.
…
Kylian’s body felt heavy from the extra sleep he’d gotten today. Or maybe it was the clothes that reappeared on his body. His sleepy mind wasn’t able to tell.
…Wait, what?
He jolted up with a gasp. He touched his upper body and found himself grabbing at his clothes. He looked at the blinds, then the mirror, then the sheets. In his sleep, he was sent back to his current reality, And, while he could hear his mouth release a sigh of relief, he could feel disappointment creep into his heart.
His younger self’s presence was relaxing, huh? It was probably just the talk they had at the end of his time in the past. Definitely not what they did before… Kylian rubbed at his eyes. It was late afternoon, and he checked the phone that was still in his pocket. Now at 2 percent, Kylian skimmed through the mountain of messages he’d received.
Messages depicting concern and worry and panic equally from different people; teammates, family, friends, and Michael Olise.
His finger hovered over their chat box. During the World Cup, they had gotten close. So close, that people started thinking they were dating. Even teammates — and even their coach, Deschamps — thought they secretly ‘did it’ behind the scenes, when they weren’t, though a part of Kylian wished quietly. He could feel a connection budding between them, and the worst part was he couldn’t tell if Michael felt the same way.
Michael was… quiet. He was more observant than reactive. Kylian was observant as well, just not as much as him. And the fact that he could not understand Michael’s thoughts scared him. He made up ideas in his head, like the reason why he can’t understand him is because he’s not meant for him, or that the ‘connection’ he felt was simply meant for the field, and so on and so forth. Maybe his ideas were right. Maybe they weren’t. All he knew was that there was something in the pits of his stomach, pulling him towards Michael Olise.
His phone was at 1 percent. His finger hovered over the screen, and after taking a final deep breath, he pressed.
m. olise (yesterday, 11:46 PM)
hey, heard u reached home late
u haven’t been receiving anyone’s messages
u alr ?
today, 3:16 AM
kyks you okay?
ur lowkey freaking us out
6:53 AM
dude wth
r u being held hostage?
send three dots if yes
8:34 AM
ok dude now ur rlly making me nervous
wtf is happening
do u need help?
8:37 AM
do u wna talk?
i’m free whole day
if u need to that is
11:01 AM
cmon captain please
captain?
capitane?
capitaine *
capitan?
1:27 PM
kylian?
The Kylian in question felt his heart hammer in his chest. He checked the time. It was 2:30 in the afternoon. Nearly an hour since Michael’s last texts. He swiftly got up, and sprinted to the nearest charger before replying.
kylian (today, 2:38 PM)
hey mikey
sorry i didn’t reply, i was asleep and my phone was on dnd
He thought about typing about needing to talk, but he hesitated. Maybe Michael was mad and he wouldn’t even respond to his messages until next week, like how Neymar once did— Ugh, damn that Neymar. This is Michael Olise.
And just as he smacked himself on the head, the typing indicator popped up
m. olise (today, 2:41 PM)
oh my god
HES ALIVE
Kylian cracked a smile. No matter how shy Michael was in person, while texting he was a whole different person. He found it cute.
lol
u okay tho???
kylian (2:42 PM)
yep
i mean kinda
m. olise (2:42 PM)
kinda??? tf that mean
hold on i’m calling u now
Oh. Kylian didn’t expect that from Michael. His face was still etched in weariness and surprise as he picked up Michael’s phone.
“Hello?”
“Are you daft, or are you just out of it for the laughs?”
That damn English accent. Kylian huffed out a laugh.
“Thanks for asking. I was asleep for a long, long time. The bed at home just feels different, you know?”
“That—… What’s wrong, captain? I’ve been asking around, you’ve never been off the grid this long. And don’t even think about using that stupid, ‘Oh, I was asleep for so long!’ bullshit on me, because we both know that’s not true!”
Ah, damn. Michael had done his research. Although, any other excuses were not getting into his head. Kylian couldn’t just say he managed to travel back in time and had sex and a heartfelt talk with his past self and just came back…!
“I’ve just… I’ve been thinking over a lot of things,” his voice sounded tired. Weary, like all his barriers were down and he was too exhausted to pull it up again.
“Oh.” The anger in Michael’s voice had died down.
“…Do you… want to talk about it? I’m free right now.”
Kylian smiled at the phone. Anxiety fluttered through his chest. Should he listen to his old self? Should he deny himself the mere idea of confessing to Michael Olise?
No, it wouldn’t be a fantasy soon. Soon, Kylian would make it very real.
“Well, it's… it’s about you, I guess. In a way,” Kylian sheepishly claimed, his hand on his neck.
“O-Oh…! Really? Well, I… I guess you should just… talk to me about it. Instead of, y’know, assuming wrong things about me.”
Only static filled the silence that came up between them after that. Kylian bit the insides of his cheek, before taking in deep breaths, and finally saying:
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about us. About our.. uhm… chemistry, I guess you could say that, in the World Cup, and, uhm… our— well, not our, more like my feelings about this, and uhm. You’re— you’re cool to be with.”
“…Uh-huh.”
Oh, shit. Michael didn’t like him back, huh.
“Well, I don’t want things to be awkward between us, but—”
“I love you too, Kylian. You’re… heh, you’re ’cool to be with’, too.”
Oh.
It was that easy.
All this time.
Kylian felt a strange sensation of relief and stupidity take over him.
“R-really?! Wow, that’s— wow, I mean—… wow.” Kylian felt sparks travel through his body. He didn’t expect his confession of love to Michael go well, much less, on a phone call. “That’s— wonderful. Oh my God, this is wonderful!”
“Aw, Kyks. Don’t worry, I feel the same. If you were here, I’d probably kiss you.”
If Kylian wasn’t red enough, now he was sure he looked like a ripe tomato.
“You sure you okay though? If there’s anything at all…”
If he had done this earlier, he’d lie and say there was nothing else on his mind. But today, he knew he’d be completely honest.
“Uhm, nope. Not really. Nothing’s crossed my mind right now,” he giggled into the phone speaker.
“Hmm… well, alright. Call me whenever you want or can… love.”
Michael called him ‘love’.
Michael called him ‘love’.
“Y- you too… m- mon cherie,” Kylian quickly stuttered out a sweetness before the call ended.
As soon as he heard the beep, he set the phone down and started taking laps around the room, squealing with happiness. He didn’t expect this at all, no, not even in the slightest. He finally dropped onto the couch, face still red. His mind went back to the words of his younger self.
“…if all good things come to an end, so do bad things. It will get better soon. I can assure you.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe he’d just need to keep doing what he’d always done; hope.