Chapter Text
For once in his life, Jamal Musiala does not need to depend on an alarm to wake him up.
The sun blinding him is certainly annoying, but once he mushes his face into his charcoal pillow, it becomes a problem of the past. But now that his phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a solid minute, sleeping in just doesn’t feel possible anymore.
Furrowing his brows, he squints at his dirty phone screen. First and foremost, he lowers the brightness, because wow, that might be worse than the sun. Then, he forces himself to sift through the thousands of stupid messages coming from the club group chat. Unsurprisingly, half of them are just Phonzie spamming and waiting for a response.
“Fuck...” he drops his head into his pillow.
Last night did not go the way he’d expected. He kept telling himself to not call her, to prioritise sleep, but he just couldn’t hold back. It’s almost like when he stays too long in his apartment, it starts speaking to him, making him yearn for the presence of someone else. And every time he caves, he ends up like this.
If only he could sleep for one more hour.
Letting out a disgruntled noise, he squints his eyes open again. The blank ceiling looks back at him, and he has to force himself to look away.
It takes a lot of mental strength to check the group chat again. But a little part of him keeps telling him that maybe, just maybe, Phonzie has actually said something of substance.
[08:46] DAVIES:
The sun is shining and the birds are chirping ☀️
This time, he attempts to headbutt the pillow. But once more, that annoying buzz goes off.
[08:46] DAVIES:
I have some sexy news
we have acquired oseil
Olise
bro he looks good
Pauseeee I meant his dribbling 🤣
[08:47] KANE:
When does the world cup start
“Olise..?” He says, his voice gravelly and noticeably deeper.
A glimpse of crescent-shaped eyes, poorly executed outfits excused as fashion, and hours of chess.com flashes through his mind. But nothing important enough to change the fact that he really needs to get up.
Sighing, he counts down from three and jumps out of bed. If Nessa was still here that would’ve startled her, but the bed’s empty when he checks. She’s probably at work now, and he probably should’ve woken up earlier to properly see her out.
The washroom is cold when he enters. And when he splashes that first bit of cold water onto his face, there's two mirrors there to greet him. Then, as he puts away his toothbrush, the empty space in the holder stares back at him.
And the stupid faucet continues to drip as he leaves.
Trudging his way towards his closet, he smiles upon seeing his outfit freshly ironed and clean. Nessa must’ve done this before she left.
She’s genuinely such a savior.
Honestly, who knew flings could be so magical.
And as if maybe Nessa’s good deed has blessed his whole day, the drive to the training grounds is a lot less overwhelming. He already sees some familiar faces as he pulls into the underground parking lot. Even some of the guys who usually show up late are on time.
As he passes through the lot, he stops when he sees Davies struggling to park. Because of course the only spot left when the worst driver shows up is right next to a pillar. It’s a sorry sight, watching him reverse the wrong direction. The white lines of the parking spot keep disappearing every second or two, and the hefty tires of his Urus keep scraping away their colour.
“Need some help mate?” He teases.
Alphonso goes on a tangent, probably complaining about the people who built the parking lot, but his windows are fully up.
Jamal signals to him that he can’t hear.
Alphonso pauses, rolls down the window, says a quick and definite “fuck you,” and rolls it right back up.
Then he tries again, and fails.
“Don’t tell anyone about that. Please, bro.”
He looks over at Alphonso, holding in a laugh as Alphonso glares at him. Of course, Jamal didn’t actually park his car for him. No, no. Instead, he decided to make things more complicated by refusing Jamal's help and hiring him as a secondary car camera.
Jamal rubs his throat at the memory, having just screamed the same directions repeatedly before Alphonso decided to listen.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says rather unconvincingly, pausing upon seeing a familiar figure up front.
“Is that Aleks? Damn, he actually showed up,” he doesn’t break eye contact with Alphonso as he approaches.
“I’m telling him,” he whispers as Alphonso tries to grab him but fails.
He follows Jamal to the front, whispering threats to him as they weave through some of the other guys.
Aleksander hears them approach, casually slowing down his steps.
“Are my eyes playing tricks on me right now?” Jamal rubs at his eyes, grinning as Aleksander rolls his own.
“I showed up last time!”
“Yeah, maybe last season.” Alphonso jokes but nobody laughs.
“The whole joke was that it's the first- nevermind. Bro, I had to help this guy park like, literally just now.”
Aleksander's mouth drops as he glances over at the embarrassed man.
“Insane. A married man needing help with parking?”
“Right? How can we expect him to take care of the family?”
“Exactly, we can’t.” Aleksander wags his finger in agreement.
“How about we focus on important things? Dude, we just got Olise!”
“Ok? Does he want me to dance?” Aleksander scoffs.
“He’s probably better than you.” In one swift movement, Jamal creates enough distance from Aleksander to be safe.
“Almost chinned you, cheeky boy.” Aleks tries to make Jamal flinch, only to lose his own footing for a moment.
“Woah, woah, at ease, at ease…” he says whilst blocking his face.
“Who taught him to speak like that?"
Jamal shrugs, as if he and Harry aren’t the obvious culprits.
Upon entering the change room, the race to get their kits on first begins immediately. Only this time, the race is less about escaping the familiar scent of sweat and axe spray and more about getting on the field as quickly as possible.
Because the feeling of the season starting is never not exhilarating. And when that sun glare finally peaks through the tunnel, it’s almost impossible not to smile. He knows it’s corny, but the feeling makes him have to wiggle the excitement out his limbs. He’s spent a month drinking shitty and expensive tequila and sickly sweet coolers, staying up to play FIFA with the guys and going to parties he had no business attending. And after all that, he has to admit that if he doesn’t kick a ball in the next ten minutes, Aleks is going to be the first to go.
But when he takes that first step onto the wet grass, it surprisingly isn’t the neon orange cones and agility poles that catch his attention first.
It’s curly purple locs, indifferent eyes, and pursed lips.
Right, Olise. How could he forget?
He’s definitely changed. Yeah, well, no shit, he hasn't seen him since the Sidemen diss tracks dropped… but still. He's changed.
Back then, he’d run around and dribble the ball like an overexcited puppy, wearing only the ugliest and ill-fitting designer tracksuits.
But if Michael tried wearing that bullshit now, he’d actually be able to pull it off.
Without missing a beat, Michael nutmegs an assistant coach, glides all the way to the box, and lands a smooth chip shot that rattles the crossbar before the ball drops behind the net. He doesn’t react, but he does turn around, hands on his hips, and lock eyes with Jamal.
But he quickly looks away, his locs falling into his face.
It feels so weird seeing him in a different country and league. He hasn’t thought about academy days in so long, and with Michael here now, maybe he doesn’t have to.
“Ahh, that guy. Tom was telling me about him.” Aleksander recalls.
“Yeah? What’d he say?”
“Guys, English. Please.” Alphonso nudges himself between the two, forcing them to make space for him.
“You’re in Germany, mate.” He teases, pushing the Canadian into Aleksander.
“Yeah, fuck you.” Aleksander smiles when he says it.
“Bro, who is teaching him this?”
“He speaks like that in German too.”
Aleksander nods, to which Alphonso gasps.
"So then what is he always saying to me in German?"
"Oh man, where do I even start…."
"What? Is it that bad?"
Jamal turns to Aleksander, trying to ignore the persistent tapping on his bicep. To be honest, he doesn't really know what dumb shit Aleks says either. Half the time he's giggling in the corner with Bischi. Nothing that he wants to hear or know about.
What he does want to know about, though, is what this new Michael is like. Call him nosy, a snoop, whatever, but everyone's been talking about him. If Davies hasn’t shut up about him, he must be really good.
Not that he wasn’t good before, but he didn’t stick out much when it came to his football skills. The fits though… he’ll never forget those.
But yeah, he remembers Michael as a pretty chill guy. He never really got in trouble because he never got caught, and he was cool with everyone. If anything, all the guys kind of gravitated towards him. There was something about Michael that made you want to bother him, like fully opening your siblings door and walking away just to hear them scream at you. Unfortunately, as much as Jamal might've wanted to, they didn’t get to interact much outside of games and break times. If only they were in the same age group.
Jamal sniffs, intaking the crisp Munich air. The weather wasn’t much different back at the academy.
Kompany joins them shortly after, taking his place at the edge of the pitch before going over the usual drills. Jamal barely hears a word he says, more focused on how the thin fabric of his team jacket is useless against the wind.
And without even a second thought, he glances at Michael.
But Michael doesn’t notice, eyes fixated on the ground. His brandless red cleats are browned at the tips, only getting dirtier as he continues to dig them into the grass. His arms, lean and skinny enough to make him look fragile, hide behind his back as he exhales a shaky breath.
When the whistle goes off, Jamal lightly jogs to join Michael, who’s headed towards the agility poles. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to follow him, but surely it’s not too big of a deal.
To be fair, the only thing he’s concerned with at the moment is talking to him. Which isn’t unusual, by the way, he’s just a social guy. If anything, it’d be more odd of him to not make a move and talk to Olise.
Like, when Tom had joined the team, he was the first to talk to him. And he doesn’t want to take credit or anything, but he did kinda help the guy befriend Aleksander. Now they use every break time to play two touch together.
It wasn’t very hard to befriend Tom, though. He practically radiates good vibes.
But with Michael, he senses something entirely different. With him, being too direct seems like a bad idea. The last thing he wants to do is annoy him or scare him away.
But as he brainstorms the best conversation starter, occasionally wondering if Nessa’s free or if happy hour at the bar’s still happening, he can’t ignore the fact that the guy moves really slow.
Like, man, it’s almost as if he doesn’t realize that he’s at the front of the line and he’s slowing everyone down.
And he tries, he really does try to just bear with it, but when his toe kicks Michael’s heel, he caves.
"Hey, can you pick it up a little?"
The moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. That did not sound as polite as he thought it would. Actually, he doesn't know how that sentence could have ever sounded polite.
Michael whips his head back, staring at him with his cold, onyx eyes. For a moment, his eyes flicker, and he mutters a quick apology. Jamal barely hears it amongst the yelling, obnoxious laughs, and scuffing of cleats. But still, it doesn’t make him feel any less like a piece of shit.
"No, you're good. My bad, that didn't come out the way I wanted it to." He adds a quiet laugh, in hopes that maybe it'll soften the boy's edges.
Michael hums. He keeps up his pace, as if he's now become hyper-aware of the distance between their feet. His black floppy beanie, which had nearly grazed Jamal's nose earlier, now feels further away than ever.
Still determined, he moves closer once more. Only this time, he playfully nudges Michael’s shoulder before budging in front of him.
When he does this with the other guys, they usually end up swearing at him and playing along with his antics.
However, when he turns to gauge his reaction, all he sees is annoyance.
The look is strong enough for Jamal to raise his hands in the air and quickly retreat to his place in line.
Not because Michael’s particularly scary or anything. No, he's far from that. But Jamal should probably try to leave a good impression. And even if Michael’s not messing with him at the moment, he’s not going to give up yet.
But seriously, what is he doing? He had literally just agreed that being too direct, or even touchy, would not be a good idea.
Clearing his throat, he turns to look at him again before going at another sorry attempt of a conversation.
“Are you liking Munich? The grounds here are definitely better than the ones at the academy.”
Michael doesn’t reply at first, as if he wants the humiliation of being ignored to simmer before responding.
Then, finally, he mutters out an, “It’s ok.”
Jamal huffs an awkward laugh. He’s become a little less warm, it seems. But wow, is he happy that he didn’t get fully ignored.
“Where’re you staying? Are you in the main neighbourhood or somewhere else?”
“Apartment.”
“Nice, nice… We should properly catch up sometime. I've been learning how to bake recently, maybe we can make something. ”
He doesn't respond, nor does his movement falter.
Guess he doesn't like baking.
"Orrr we can do something else, I don't know. I was gonna do a Marvel marathon with Phonzie if you wanna join..?"
Michael stops moving for a second. He turns to look back at Jamal, who also slows down his steps. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's got a slight snarl going on, which would've looked endearing in any other setting but not in this moment.
“Can you please stop talking to me?”
Jamal doesn't say anything at first, eyes wide. He's still trying to figure out if Michael really just said what he thinks he did.
And before he can even think of a response, Michael continues to run, uncaring.
“What? Wait– Ah, nevermind.”
Just behind him, he hears a screeching laugh that hits a frequency only Aleks is capable of producing. Of course, as if Jamal isn’t already ticked off, Aleks also makes sure to smile back at him too. What an ugly smile.
Man, he was just about to bring up Michaels old outfits, too. But he’s not quite sure if there’s a point in worrying about that anymore.
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“I feel bad Jamal, he’s sitting by himself.”
Jamal pauses his bite, looking up at the pitiful sight of Michael playing with his food.
He looks tired, leaning his head against his palm. His curled locks are in a neat side part, shielding his dark circles. Every now and then, his eyes will shut for a second too long before he jumps awake again.
At the mention of Michael, Aleks' ears perk.
“Tell him what happened, Jam.” He grins as Alphonso looks at them both.
“Something happened? Tell me, bro.”
Jamal sighs through his nose, mouth full of chicken. He’s been ticked off about the incident since practice, having had plenty of time to loom over it in the showers. Too many times, he contemplated punching the tiled wall. Ultimately, he didn’t because it’d probably hurt.
He hadn’t done the greatest job of drying himself either, too pissed off to do anything carefully.
After landing a soft slap at Aleks’ shoulder, he tries to busy himself with the mushy consistency of his protein-infused oatmeal. Why'd he even grab it?
“Bro, tell meee…”
Aleks starts laughing again, except there’s no noise coming out of his mouth, just pure silence as a tear runs down his face. He’s gripping the shit out of the table too, and it's pissing Jamal off.
“I genuinely hate you right now.” Jamal mutters as the guy keeps laughing.
“Can someone please tell me what happened already bro.”
He grimaces at Alphonso’s eagerness, but puts an end to the wait anyway.
“Literally nothing happened. Michael just told me to buzz off when I talked to him.”
Alphonso lets out the fakest laugh ever. Like, he’s just laughing because he wants to.
“Please.. Stop. You’re actually ruining my mood right now.”
“Bro you said… 'literally nothing happened' and then said everything!” he says between laughs.
“What does that even mean, man…”
And if he’s not pissed enough, Harry walks by their table, holding a disgusting amount of food. He’s somehow managed to make high-quality, high-performance food look like piss and dirt.
“How’s it going, guys? We’re good?”
They all nod.
“Tommy? You there?” He jokes. Tom looks up from his phone for a brief moment, flashing a tight lipped smile for a response.
“Alright.. Good. I have some news for you lot.”
And then he just stands there, smiling at them. Jamal hears him let out a little sigh, as if he’s staring at something he’s really proud of. But then Harry shakes his head a few times, pulling himself out of whatever trance he was just in.
“Yeah, well, just… Kat was saying you all should come over tomorrow. Hang out, drink a little before the first game. She’s making some delicious meat.”
Like he needs more.
“Everyone better come, and that's a threat coming from her. I’m just the messenger, guys.”
“Yes, boss, we’ll be there!” Phonzie exclaims while saluting him, and Jamal's grimacing again.
Harry smiles and nods again. And then he stands there for a second too long, giving them all an equal amount of eye contact.
“Nice, cool. I’m gonna…eat.” He points to his plate as he says it, as if he’s proud of his bowl. It seriously looks like the fake food Jamal would make as a kid, which was really just sand, sticks and rocks mixed together.
Nevertheless, he nods politely. And as he and the guys watch Harry walk out of sight, they all, excluding Bischi, make the mistake of looking at each other, forcing them to cover their mouths to avoid laughing too loud.
“Man, when he stands for too long I get scared that he’s dead.” Alphonso giggles.
“You should be the last one to speak, your prime is nearly over.”
“At least I had one, unlike this guy” He nudges Tom, who doesn’t react to the insult.
He doesn’t even bother to respond, actually, prompting Jamal to clear his throat.
“Anyways… are you guys gonna go?” he asks, mostly just to Aleks and Tom, who's still staring intently at his screen.
Aleks nods.
"I'm not tryna make Mrs. Kane hate me." Alphonso answers matter of factly.
And Tom mutters out a combination of German swear words, ruffling his hair harshly.
What’s with him? Jamal mouths while pointing at Bischi.
Davies shrugs, staring back at Aleks.
“Girlfriend,” he says, not quietly at all.
Tom finally looks up just to glare at Aleks. This might be the first time he’s seen him not smiling.
“Why would you tell everyone?”
“What? It’s not a big deal—”
Tom doesn't even let him finish. He shoves his chair back with an obnoxious scrape against the floor tiles, snatches his phone, and walks out without another word.
The table falls completely silent. Jamal freezes mid-bite, spoon hovering in the air, while Alphonso’s eyes track Tom until he's too far to be seen.
Aleks sits there for a second, staring at the empty space where Tom was sitting. He lets out a long, heavy sigh, because he knows he fucked up. He tosses his fork onto the metal tray with a clatter.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Aleks mutters, running a hand over his face before standing up to follow.
That leaves just the two of them. The lively energy from earlier is completely gone, replaced by the distant sound of Harry chewing too much.
Alphonso gently pushes his tray away, his appetite clearly ruined. “Imma head out too, man. I don’t trust them together right now.”
“Good call,” Jamal says, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. “Peace.”
He shoots Jamal a thumbs up as he walks.
And once he does leave, Jamal doesn't move. Instead, he slumps back in his chair, resting his chin on his palm.
For a moment, he just sits there.
The cafeteria feels strangely empty now. A few tables have cleared out, and the noise around him has faded into the background. He picks at the food on his tray, barely paying attention to what he's eating.
Then, almost absentmindedly, his eyes wander across the room.
It's Harry. And he's standing over Michael, talking to him, smiling. He already knows what they're talking about, but it doesn't make the scene look any less jarring. He's also just struggling to figure out when the hell he finished eating and teleported into the corner.
“Michael, mate, Please come to my house, I beg,” he imagines Harry saying. He probably looks insane, staring, but there really isn't anything else to do.
“Yeah, and then watch him say some bullshit like ‘Sorry, but I despise the human race’ or something corny..” A scoff leaves his mouth, as if he’s perfectly guessed the outcome of their conversation.
But when Michael offers Harry a sweet look, eyes squinted and everything, Jamal pauses.
What the fuck? How’s that fair?
Not only has he gotten humiliated in front of Aleksander Pavlovic of all people, but now Harry gets a look from Michael that he hasn’t seen in years.
He even nods, laughs, and paws at Harry’s forearm as they continue talking.
He doesn’t even care about whatever happened between Aleks and Tom anymore, why the hell is Michael so nice to him?
Jamal can't think of a single thing he did wrong. Like yeah, he did tell him to pick up the pace, nudge his shoulder and barge in line, but he apologized. Surely it wasn't that. Right?
Even after the cafeteria empties out, Jamal stays put. He's still got his thinking cap on, processing every dumb thing that's happened within the day.
And he continues even when he gets home, back in his apartment. The fridge hasn’t stopped making noise since he got it fixed, but it isn't nearly as loud as his own thoughts.
And although he tells himself not to pick up his phone, to not talk to Nessa, it feels almost impossible not to with the amount of stupidity he had to face throughout training.
Whatever, it’s fine.
It’s been a shitty day, he needs this.
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
ME [21:27]:
Hey
U free?
NESS [21:38]:
Sorry just saw this
Cant tonight :(
ME [21:40]:
Alr
No problem
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Nevermind.