Work Text:
Jamal stepped out of the bathroom with his hair still damp, droplets of water trailing down his neck and soaking into the collar of his t-shirt. His phone had been buzzing nonstop on the nightstand.
He dropped onto the edge of the bed and picked it up, scrolling through the flood of messages with a quiet, fond sigh.
Everyone and their mother had checked in after he'd gone down on the pitch earlier—a brief blackout brought on by the heat, nothing serious, but apparently serious enough to send half the world into a panic. Teammates, family, everyone. Even Dayot and Harry had stormed into the locker room the moment the match was over, joining the crowd already gathered around him.
Jamal's mouth curved into a small, reluctant smile as he typed out the same reassuring response for what felt like the hundredth time: I'm fine. Drank loads of water, got some electrolytes in, ate something light, going to crash early. Seriously, stop worrying.
It was ridiculous, really, the amount of fuss being made over a two-minute collapse. Still, the concern left a warm little ache in his chest.
He sent the final message, tossed his phone aside, and fell back onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Michael hadn't shown up.
Hadn't even bothered with a private text. Just that lazy I'm back losers in the group chat yesterday.
They'd been caught on opposite schedules—Jamal buried in preparations for the friendly, Michael busy with mandatory testing—but still.
Best friends, right? Surely one little you good? wouldn't have killed him.
Jamal threw an arm over his eyes, his next breath coming out uneven.
Three months.
He'd been counting them down, picturing their reunion, imagining Michael slipping right back into his orbit as naturally as he always did.
Except—the entire world had gotten a front-row seat to Michael's chemistry with the French captain unfolding in real time. It was faster, easier, more intimate than anything Jamal had ever been given.
The images wouldn't leave him alone.
Michael launching himself into Kylian Mbappé's arms after a goal, legs wrapped around his waist, pressing a kiss to the top of the older man's head.
Seventy-something goals into his career, and Jamal had never once gotten that.
It took Phonzy cornering him at Säbener Straße, voice low and far too knowing—
You really gonna keep sitting on your hands while he drifts away, or are you finally gonna do something about it?
—for Jamal to finally make up his mind.
When Michael came back, he was going to tell him.
No more half-measures. No more quietly taking whatever attention Michael happened to spare him and pretending it was enough.
Except now...
Now it felt like the window had already slammed shut.
Ping.
He grabbed for the phone without thinking, then went completely still when he read the new message.
outside your door rn
He was on his feet before the next heartbeat, pulse thundering. Slippers smacked against the hallway floor as he rushed to the front door, all sense of composure abandoned.
Michael was here. At his door. Past ten at night.
And if this wasn't some kind of second chance, Jamal didn't know what was.
He yanked the door open a little too hard—and promptly forgot whatever he'd been about to say.
Michael stood on the other side, locs loose around his face, practically swallowed by an oversized dark hoodie, sleeves pulled over his hands. The porch light softened the familiar lines of his features, catching in those dark, intense eyes.
For a second, Jamal forgot how lungs worked.
“Mike—”
The word died in his throat as Michael surged forward, lips colliding with his in a desperate, bruising kiss that sent Jamal stumbling backward through the doorway, his back meeting the wall as his hands flew up on instinct.
Fuck.
He must have blacked out again.
There was simply no other explanation for Michael—his best friend, his longtime hopeless crush, the actual love of his life—standing there and kissing him like this, fingers twisted into the front of Jamal's shirt.
Real or not, Jamal wasn't stupid enough to pull away.
He melted into it instead, hands coming up to cradle Michael's jaw, tilting his head to chase the kiss deeper. And then Michael made this tiny, broken sound against his mouth—
God.
That sound alone could have killed him.
Michael's lips were warm and insistent, fitting against his with a familiarity Jamal had dreamed about so many times that reality almost felt wrong.
Until something warm and wet slid over his knuckles.
Tears.
Jamal pulled back immediately, his grip going impossibly gentle, like the older man might shatter if he held on too tight.
“Hey—hey, it's okay, don't cry.” He brushed his thumbs beneath Michael's eyes, catching the dampness gathered there. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”
Michael shook his head, quickly wiping at his face before turning away, ears burning.
“Shut up.”
Jamal's heart squeezed.
How did the man manage to make him panic and want to coo over him in the same breath?
“Mikey, are you okay—”
The vicious side-eye stopped him cold. Jamal immediately raised both hands defensively.
“I should be the one asking you that,” Michael snapped.
The low softness of his voice completely undermined the anger.
Jamal blinked, warmth blooming slowly in his chest, sweet and almost dizzying.
He's crying because of me.
“I'm okay. Promise.” He kept his voice gentle, almost soothing. “The heat got to me for a minute. That's all. Medics checked me out. I'm fine.”
“Then maybe stop pushing yourself so fucking hard all the time!”
“I'm... sorry?” Jamal offered, head cocked to the side as he gave Michael his best wounded, wide-eyed look.
The older scowled, huffed, and pushed past him into the flat.
Jamal followed immediately, grin threatening to split his face now that Michael couldn't see it.
Michael was here. Michael was this upset over him. Michael had just kissed him breathless in the doorway.
They definitely needed to talk about that last part, but Jamal noticed the way Michael's shoulders were practically touching his ears—the unmistakable sign that he was one wrong word away from fleeing.
So, patience.
Michael stopped in the middle of the living room and finally turned around, gaze fixed on anything except Jamal's face. His fingers worried at the sleeves of oversized his hoodie, tugging them farther over his knuckles.
“I shouldn't have... that was—”
“Don't.”
The word came out sharper than intended. Michael's gaze snapped up to his, startled. Jamal exhaled slowly.
“Please don't apologize. Not for the kiss.” His voice dropped, almost pleading. “I don't want to hear that you regret it. Just... let me pretend you don't.”
He hated how vulnerable he sounded. But this was Michael. Jamal had never been good at keeping his guard up around him.
Michael's eyes widened.
His lips parted in a quiet little oh as the realization slowly sank in. His intertwined hands rose to his chest, and for several seconds he simply stood there, opening and closing his mouth as though words had completely abandoned him.
“I...”
“I thought you and Kylian were together now.”
The confession slipped out before Jamal could stop it. Something about Michael looking so soft and bewildered had apparently destroyed the last of his self-preservation.
Silence. Michael stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
“…Bro. What?”
“You know. You two are always together.” Jamal rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a little stupid. “It's obvious you trust him a lot.” His voice dropped into a mutter. “And the way you smile at him…”
“He's my captain. Of course I trust him—I'd fucking hope so.”
Michael's dry, flat tone made Jamal feel about two inches tall.
“We got closer, sure. Same way you got closer with your national-team boys.” Michael shrugged. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “And the way I smile at him? Seriously? Bambi, have you been on Twitter?”
Jamal's face went up in flames.
He turned away with a grumbled, “Fuck off,” wishing the floor would simply open up beneath him.
Why kiss me if you’re just going to act like a complete dick afterward?
A soft sigh drifted over.
Movement caught in the corner of his eye—Michael stepping closer, slowly closing the distance between them.
What now?
“Actually,” Michael murmured, “Kylian and I got so close that—”
“Okay, we get it—”
Jamal's mouth snapped shut when Michael caught his jaw, fingers curling gently but firmly enough to turn his face back.
“—that the idiot actually told me to grow some balls and confess already—”
Jamal didn't wait for the rest.
He caught Michael's wrist, pulled his hand away, and crushed their mouths together. Michael gasped in surprise; Jamal took the opening without hesitation, tongue pushing deep, tasting him properly this time—mint and something warmer, something purely Michael.
A soft, helpless sound escaped Michael's throat as his arms came up to loop around Jamal's neck, dragging him in like he couldn't get close enough. Jamal's hands dropped to his waist, gripped tight, and walked him backward until Michael's lower back hit the edge of the sofa.
They separated with a wet sound, both of them breathing hard.
“I really, really, really like you, Michael.”
Jamal's forehead dropped against his.
Michael's lips curved into that shy, eye-crinkling smile that never failed to make Jamal's heart stumble.
“I like you too.”
He tipped his head up, noses brushing, voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“Maybe not that much, though.”
Jamal let out a mock-offended growl and dove in to steal the laugh right off Michael's lips—playful and rough enough to throw Michael off balance, sending him tumbling backward onto the cushions with a startled yelp.
Jamal followed him down, laughing as he caught himself on one arm beside Michael's head, careful not to put his full weight on him.
“You were saying?” he murmured, all cocky smirk and heavy-lidded eyes, hovering over the smaller man, whose chest was still heaving from the sudden tumble.
Michael gaped at him for one beat—then dissolved into helpless laughter.
“Asshole,” he managed between laughs, giving Jamal a light shove to the chest.
The smirk on Jamal's face softened as his gaze settled on the man beneath him—cheeks flushed, locs spilling like dark ink around his head, eyes still carrying traces of the tears he'd shed only minutes ago, now sparkling with laughter.
I love you. God, I love you so much.
The words stayed locked behind his teeth. Too soon. Too heavy. He wouldn't chance scaring Michael off with the full force of them yet.
Instead, he caught Michael's hand halfway through another playful punch and pressed it against his own chest. Held it there.
Let the loud, frantic thump under Michael's palm do the talking.
Michael's laughter slowly petered out.
His gaze dropped to where their hands rested over Jamal's heart before lifting again, shyness creeping back into his expression beneath the intensity of Jamal's stare.
A wave of affection swept through Jamal, so intense it ached.
“This means we're boyfriends now, right?” he murmured, unable to hide the ridiculous excitement bubbling in his voice.
Michael's gaze skittered away, a warm flush spreading across his cheeks.
“Whatever you kids call it these days.”
A huge grin broke across Jamal's face.
He dipped his head and buried his face against Michael's neck, scattering a string of eager little kisses over skin that felt hot enough to burn.
“Look who's shy now,” he teased between kisses, voice muffled against Michael's throat. “You're the one who kissed me the second I opened the door.”
Michael's fingers slipped into the curls at the back of his head and gave a warning tug.
“Jam, shut the fuck up, I swear to god—”
The threat came out breathless, undermined completely by the way his breath caught when Jamal's lips found a particularly sensitive spot.
Jamal was more than happy to obey. He pushed up and captured Michael's mouth again, muffling the rest of the protest.
If collapsing on the pitch was what it took to finally win the love of his life, Jamal would brave that blistering heat again without a second thought.