Chapter Text
“Michael grabbed his arm, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“You think I don’t care about you? I fucking do! Every time you hurt yourself, every time you’re injured, I feel like I can’t fucking breathe, so don’t you dare say I don’t care about you. Don’t you dare minimize my feelings for you! I tell you I love you, and I mean it!”
SLAM.
Jamal’s phone slipped out of his hands, falling right onto his face. The sharp pain made him groan, and he cursed himself for deciding to read the update just before bed. As he rubbed his nose, his hand was already reaching for the phone, and his eyes fell back on the screen, reading the last paragraph of the update.
“Jamal didn’t know how to respond to the sudden confession. His mind went blank as Michael was, for the first time ever, openly vulnerable in front of him. His eyes searched for something in him, an answer perhaps, but Jamal couldn’t give him one, not when someone could walk in on them at any second. So he did the only thing his instincts screamed at him to do at that moment. He reached for Michael’s hand on his arm and forced him to let go. Without a second glance, he left the first-aid room.”
He tried to scroll, refusing to accept that this was the end of the update, but he only reached the end notes.
“That’s fucking mean. I would never do that!” he grumbled to himself. “The author doesn’t get me at all!”
But of course, Jamal couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t possibly write a comment like, “Hello, I’m Jamal Musiala, the actual footballer from Bayern München. I just wanted to say that if Michael confessed to me, I would make out with him in a heartbeat. Try to be more accurate, please, but I still love your work, queen!”
Also, the author of the fanfic had him in a chokehold, so he tried to leave another kudos (the only negative aspect of the website) and a comment saying that he couldn’t wait for the next chapter and that Friday couldn’t come any sooner.
Two months. It had been two months since he’d discovered AO3 and one month since he’d officially become a member of this fantastic community. His path to AO3 felt like destiny, and he couldn’t be more grateful to the fans who had guided him there. The first time he’d heard about AO3 was through an edit of him and Michael that had appeared on his TikTok For You page. He knew people made edits of him, alone or with other people on the team, but it was his first time watching a “ship edit”. It was life-changing for him, making him feel something in his chest that he couldn’t dare acknowledge or name, but that left him hungry for more.
So he watched edits of him and Michael. A lot of them. They were the only proof that Michael liked him a little, making him forget, for a few moments, that the edits portrayed them as being closer than they actually were. With them, he could pretend that they were good pals, enjoying scoring together and laughing, but the truth was that Michael was only like that on the pitch. Off the pitch, the man treated him with polite coldness, and Jamal couldn’t get past the wall he had built against himself and the others. God knew he’d tried, but in vain.
And one night, after a particularly difficult match against a Premier League club, he fell back into watching edits, but this time, he opened the comments. He read them all, blushing hard when people said they looked like a couple and that it was clearly visible how much Michael liked hugging him. Both of those things were untrue as fuck, but still, it was nice to see his delusions being fed. And then someone said they’d read the cutest fic about them on AO3.
History was made.
For one week, Jamal spent all his evenings trying to familiarise himself with the AO3 website. He also did research on TikTok. He absorbed so much information about tags, the sorting system, and everything about fanfic etiquette (kudos, comments, bookmarks…) that he felt like he was back at school, learning the basics. Still, the learning was helpful, as he discovered the beauty of fanfics.
The fans were amazingly crazy, and he loved each one of them because they fed him what he craved: an actual relationship with Michael. In the fanfics he chose (fluff and cute stuff, smut excluded for obvious reasons), Michael was nothing but nice to him. He listened to him when he talked, asked about his day, joked with him, and did everything Jamal dreamed of experiencing in real life. Jamal knew it was wrong to read fanfics about himself and one of his teammates, but he couldn’t help himself. But because he still have a moral (barely), he only allowed himself to read fanfics once a week, every Friday night, and he’d stuck strictly to that rule for two whole months. But even with this schedule, his secret was changing his behaviour without him even realising it.
__________________________________
Phonzy was the first one to call him out after an intense training session. They were all in the locker room, ready to head home. The next day was a Sunday, but it was also a rest day, which meant Jamal could stay up and read fanfics all night. The thought of this made him happy, and he was eager to see whether the author of his new favourite fanfic had updated it with a new chapter. He couldn’t wait to see if Fanfic-Jamal had decided to grow some balls and go back to Fanfic-Michael to accept his fucking confession already!
“You seem to be in high spirits,” said Phonzy when Jamal was almost ready to leave. “Care to explain?”
He raised his head, confused, but the others' eyes were already on him. The only one who wasn’t watching him was Michael, as always, since he was busy lacing his shoes. Jamal wasn’t sure whether he was actually listening to the conversation, as his earphones were in his ears. Fuck, he hated those earphones with a vivid passion. They were the embodiment of Michael’s wall against the rest of the team. Against him.
“So?” Phonzy insisted with a sly smile.
“None of your business, man!”
“Oh, come on! You’re always happier when Friday night comes. Don’t take me for an idiot! What’s her name?”
And the trick was that Jamal couldn’t tell them the truth under any circumstances. But he also knew that, when he was taken aback, his face spoke for him, and right now, he was feeling fucking embarrassed because how the fuck was he supposed to respond when he only fantasised about one of his own teammates? He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, making the others whistle and only making him blush harder. He was so focused on not being eaten alive by his own team that he didn’t notice the way Michael’s fingers stopped for a moment on the lace of his shoe. Or the way his fingers began moving more slowly.
“Jamal, you dog!” Kimmich yelled, putting his arm around Jamal’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, kid, though. You deserve to find someone nice.”
“But don’t stay up too late,” Tom added as Pavlo nodded beside him. “Bambi needs his beauty sleep!”
“Fuck you!”
“Oh, you fuck enough for both of you, Don Juan.”
Jamal could actually die. He groaned loudly, and Jonathan, the only adult with Harry among these fucking goblins, intervened, telling the others to leave him alone. Jamal was really grateful, and he quickly grabbed his bag to leave, not bothering to meet anyone’s gaze for the rest of the evening. As he left, the door swallowed Serge’s voice.
“Hey, Mike, why are you still there?”
__________________________________
“Jamal didn’t dare to move as he watched Michael lock the locker room when Harry stepped outside of the locker room. They were alone for the first time in two weeks.”
“Damn, finally,” he said as he treated himself to some ice cream.
As he was thinking, the author had updated the fanfic at precisely the same time as last week, making the German in him deeply satisfied.
“‘You’re avoiding me,’ Michael said, and it wasn’t a question, just an established fact. ‘You were the one telling me that I didn’t give a damn about you, and when I do what you actually want, you run away. How is that fair?’”
“Yeah, Fanfic-Jamal, how dare you run away when I dream of the real Michael being half as affectionate as this one?”
“Behind Jamal’s lack of response, Michael advanced quickly, reducing the distance between them until their chests were inches apart. It was there again. The vulnerability. Jamal could feel it pouring between them, thick and suffocating, as Michael grabbed his hand and placed it against his own face. He rested his cheek on Jamal’s palm, his eyes fixed on him.
“Don’t ignore me any longer, please. Yell, shout, anything you want, but don’t give me the cold shoulder. I can’t stand it.”
And Jamal fumbled. Properly. Fuck the consequences. He grabbed the other man by the collar and crashed their lips together.”
“What the…? The author is crazy! How am I supposed to wait another week? We didn’t resolve anything with a single kiss! I would never do that, damn it!”
He wrote a comment, begging the author to update quickly, and spent the rest of the night reading one-shot fics. He really liked those. They were simple and gave him so much serotonin it was actually crazy. But his favourite fanfics were the AUs, known as Alternative Universes. He secretly liked the idea of him and Michael being soulmates in every universe possible. It was only after reading another university AU fanfic that he realised his crush on his teammate was really getting out of hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Fanfics were the only way for him to cope, to pour his feelings into something once a week and keep himself sane the rest of the time. Plus, it wasn’t like he could confuse Fanfic-Michael’s behaviour with Real-Michael, and what he did didn’t hurt anybody (except his own feelings, but there was no need to dig into that hole).
__________________________________
The final whistle echoed through the stadium, and Jamal’s knees hit the ground as he breathed heavily, trying to regain his composure. The match had been tough, but they’d eventually made it, scoring the only goal that secured their victory. He knew the stadium was on fire. He could feel it shaking with the roar of the supporters, but he could only hear his own heartbeat, beating loudly in his ears.
“You okay there?” asked a voice he recognised immediately.
He looked up, confused, because wasn’t Michael supposed to be on the other side of the pitch when the final whistle blew?
“I’m fine,” he responded. “It was a crazy game. I’m just drained, man.”
“No injury? No need to call the medical staff?”
He shook his head as his traitorous mind reminded him of all the fanfics describing Michael as his caregiver every time he was injured. He knew for a fact that if he fell now, people would write about it, and he would consume every single piece of it, chasing the ghost of what they could be if they weren’t teammates. And if Michael were gay or bi, like him. And if the football world weren’t so homophobic. And if he had a chance with the other man.
Wow, maybe he’d read too much angst. Time to change that.
“Jamal? You sure you’re okay?”
Michael leaned closer to him, visibly worried, making Jamal’s heart flutter. He hated the way the other man could bring both sunshine and rain into his life. He never knew whether Michael would be cordial to him or cold. One second, he acted like they were friends, and the next, he wouldn’t spare him a single glance for the rest of their time together. So Jamal nodded, taking Michael’s hand to pull himself up. Their chests pressed against each other for one second before Michael quickly pulled his hand away and went back to the celebration.
Yeah, the man definitely fucking hated him.
__________________________________
“I kissed him, oh my God, Jude, I kissed him!”
“And how did he react?”
“Good, I think? He kissed me back, and he escorted me to my car.”
“So why the fuck are you stressed about it? You dare to call me with your perfect love story when I have the fucking Clàsico waiting for me this weekend? I had to play against a bunch of overexcited teenagers and the original rage-baiter himself, with Vini being out!”
“Yeah, yeah, bummer, but be nice to Lamine, please. He’s a kid.”
“Well, fuck this kid.”
Jamal had to stop reading to laugh because, yeah, that was absolutely something Jude would say about Lamine Yamal. Even though Jude and him had grown apart over the years, Jamal still remembered the way the other loved to swear about everything. But that was the only thing the author had described correctly, because Jamal would never tell Jude about any of his situationships, male or female, and he would absolutely never talk to him about Michael. Really, the author didn’t get him at all!
“So, when is your first date?” Jude asked after venting his frustration about the Barcelona team.
“I don’t really know, but he invited me to his place to watch your match this Sunday night. I think he wants to watch Kylian and Jules fight against each other and laugh at the loser.”
“For my own sanity, I’m going to ignore your second sentence. Jamal, are you mental? That’s a fucking date! You won’t see me on the screen because you’ll be too busy bouncing on-”
Jamal quickly turned his phone off. He might be crazy, but even so, he still had a conscience (barely) and a moral code (again, barely) that didn’t allow him to read anything graphic or anything that made him imagine more than a few hugs and kisses. If he went beyond that, he feared he’d never be able to act normally in front of Michael. The other man already seemed to despise him so much, he didn’t want to risk their fragile balance by being a freak.
He punished himself for having impure thoughts by doing the dishes and hanging the laundry, two tasks he hated with a vivid passion but forced himself to do because his parents hadn’t raised him to just exist in his own house without actually living in it. Someone was already cooking for him every day and ironing his clothes, his mum would kill him if he didn’t do any chores at all.
By the time he finished, his phone had received a few notifications from the team chat.
By: Michael
Hey, do you guys want to watch the match at my house Sunday night?
By: Upa
Qui êtes-vous et qu’avez-vous fait de l’autre aigri qui me sert de pote?
By: Phonzy
??????
By: Luiz
OMG IT’S HAPPENING!!! HE FINALLY INVITED US!!! HE LIKES US!!!
By: Harry
That is a nice gesture, Michael. Let me talk to my wife first.
By: Pavlo
YES! FUCK YES!!
By: Tom
LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!
By: Michael
@jamal You’re also coming, right?
He was too shocked to respond. Michael never invited them over. Like, never. The team had tried a few times to get invited over for all the big matches, but Michael always told them to fuck off. Until now.
By: Phonzy
@jamal If you’re with your girl, report this shit!! This is actually history. You need to be here!
By: Jamal
Sure, I’ll be there. Thanks for inviting us, Michael.
By: Michael
No problem. See you Sunday.
He saw Michael’s icon indicating that he was now offline, making it very clear that the discussion was over for the night. Jamal tried not to freak out. He really did. But damn, he’d been reading a very similar scenario almost an hour earlier, and fuck, the fanfic was messing with his head now. Perhaps the author was some kind of fortune-teller? Fuck, should he try to write a comment begging her to make them get married at the end of the fanfic?
Too far, man, too far, he told himself as his brain kept indulging in his sweet fantasy. Fuck, this crush was really getting out of hand.
He couldn’t recall when he’d fallen in love with Michael. If someone asked him (which would never happen, since he hadn’t told anyone, not even his siblings), he would say that by the time they’d played their first Klassiker together, he’d already been pining hard for the other man. In less than five months, he’d fallen, and fallen hard.
He liked Michael’s quietness. He’d never found his silence awkward or disrespectful. Quite the contrary. He knew Michael was shy and not good with words, so Jamal also saw his silence as a form of respect for others, and he’d appreciated it almost immediately after they started playing together. He found all of Michael’s antics endearing. He loved watching him play chess on his phone, loved watching him talk with his hands when he suddenly became passionate about something, and loved hearing him speak French and English before looking all confused when people couldn’t keep up with the conversation.
Not to mention that Michael was attractive. Like, madly attractive. His body was finely sculpted by hours of practice and dedication. Jamal really liked his locks, secretly enjoying every time Michael changed their colour, but the thing he liked most about him was his smile. He knew it sounded lame, but the first time Michael smiled at him, like really smiled, he knew he was smitten. Michael’s smile was so sweet, so kind, that it actually made you want to offer him the damn world just to see it again.
Too bad Michael fucking hated him now. When they returned from the World Cup, something changed between them. Michael became distant and quiet, more than usual, and stopped meeting his eyes. At first, Jamal tried to argue and fight, but it was like hitting a concrete wall. They’d never been close, but he still thought they would have time to grow closer. Now, however, he knew they were only going to drift further apart, as Michael had apparently decided that Jamal was no longer useful to him. It was a crazy take, but it wasn’t like Jamal could do anything about it.
Which brought him back to the big question: why had Michael invited him over on Sunday?
And the even bigger question: what should he wear?
__________________________________
“Hey, look who finally showed up! The match starts in five minutes, man!”
Jamal didn’t bother responding to Luiz, giving him the middle finger as he made his way to the kitchen. He could feel Michael behind him, and he tried his best to appear relaxed as he put the drinks he’d bought in the fridge, just as the others had told him to do. When he turned around, Michael was there, leaning against the kitchen island.
Fuck, he looked really good in his grey sweatpants and black shirt, which seemed a little tight around his arms.
“You’re late,” Michael said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, sorry. Time just flew by.”
He couldn’t tell him that he’d been reading a university AU textfic about them. He’d spent thirty minutes reading it and still had ten chapters left by the time he realised he was late. It was the best fanfic he’d read so far, alongside his current favourite, and he couldn’t wait to get into bed to read the end of it.
Michael looked at him as if he were trying to guess whether he was lying or not. Jamal had no intention of letting him figure him out, so he smiled and tried to pass by him to get to the living room. But the other man grabbed his hand.
“Were you with her? The girl you’re seeing?”
Jamal turned his head, unsure he’d understood correctly. What he saw left him speechless. Michael’s eyes weren’t trying to meet his, they were focused solely on his fingers wrapped around Jamal’s wrist. It only lasted a second, but Jamal found this small contact fucking electrifying, sending a warm wave through his stomach.
“Fuck, sorry. It’s none of my business,” Michael said, letting go of his wrist as if it were burning him.
Jamal wanted to respond that it was okay because something about Michael’s face seemed off, but Phonzy interrupted them, telling them the game was starting, and they went to the living room. Jamal found himself sitting between Dayot and Michael as they watched the Clásico.
“Damn, it’s already a tough game,” said Pavlo, who was sitting next to Tom. “I hope Real Madrid win this match!”
“I’m rooting for Barça, personally,” said Ismael, and a few of the guys nodded.
“What? How could you? Tom, tell him it’s a disgrace to support Barcelona!”
“Why? The team is also crazy good.”
“It's the fucking principle! Jamal, tell them!”
Jamal, whose mind was entirely focused on Michael’s arm, which had brushed against his by mistake, looked up, confused.
“I don’t give a fuck about these teams. They’re our rivals, you know?” he finally managed to say.
“Try again, my man. We’re not in the middle of an interview. Just be honest.”
“Fine, I’ll always be a Real Madrid fan. Happy? And Jude will beat my ass if I dare to say Barça.”
“You’re still close with him? Cute!” Phonzy pointed out. “Did you tell him about your mysterious girl?”
Jamal forgot how to breathe as the eyes of all his teammates turned towards him, including Michael’s. He gulped loudly, nervous as fuck, and Phonzy, that fucker, had the audacity to laugh.
“Damn, you’re really whipped, you know that? I only mention her, and you look like I’ve asked when you’re going to marry her!”
“I fucking hate you!”
“No, but, like, I get you. On my first date with Sheyenne, I felt like I was going to throw up. If you need help, we could go on a double date!”
Jamal looked at Phonzy as if he were crazy. Then all the others, who were happily married or had girlfriends, started yelling that they wanted to do that too. Well, except Harry, who was the only wise man there, saying he needed to check with his wife first.
“You’re all freaks,” Jamal grumbled, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I’ll never let you guys get involved in my love life. Like, never.”
“Why?” Dayot asked. “I could be the best wingman for you, you know?”
Oh, he knew. He fucking knew. Dayot was Michael’s favourite person on the team. They lived pretty close to each other, ate together, spoke French all the time and, more importantly, Dayot was practically the only one on the team who shared inside jokes with the others. Jamal had seen them laughing or talking secretly more than once before sharing a knowing smile. He wasn’t jealous. Not at all. He was a successful footballer with an insane palmarès and an even more insane bank account. He didn’t get jealous.
“Oh, I didn’t notice the new lamp, Mikey. It’s the one we saw in the store last week, right?”
Fuck, he was jealous as hell. Sue him.
He turned to Michael, expecting him to nod or something, but Michael was already watching him, only raising his eyebrows slightly when he saw Jamal turn his head. The others were too busy watching the match now, as things were getting heated between the two teams, and Jamal knew he should also turn his attention back to it.
But Michael’s eyes pinned him down, making him unable to look away. He was close to the other man, so close that he could see the way his lips parted and his brows furrowed as he hesitated to say something. Finally, Michael leaned slightly towards him, his mouth close to Jamal’s ear, making him shiver.
“Are you going to introduce your girl to us someday?”
Jamal tried to act cool about it, but they were closer than they’d ever been outside the pitch, and he couldn’t concentrate at all, not when Michael looked at him with such expectation in his eyes. As if he were actually waiting for something.
Jamal could lie and tell him that he would introduce her soon, but for some reason, he felt like no answer was better than the truth in this context. So he turned his head slightly to whisper in Michael’s ear.
“Don’t tell the others, but she doesn’t exist. Serves them right for speculating about me, right?”
And something almost impossible happened. Michael’s eyes widened as a chuckle escaped his mouth. The sound was soft at first, but then he laughed. Loudly, making the others turn their heads as one, almost as shocked as Jamal. Michael didn’t calm down for another minute, his shoulders shaking as he buried his head in his hands to muffle his laughter.
“Damn, was Jamal that funny? I’m so sad I missed his joke,” Tom said. “Care to share?”
Fortunately, at that very moment, Mbappé scored a goal, and those idiots forgot about everything else. But Jamal couldn’t even cheer for Real Madrid because his crazy brain was focused on Michael’s laughter and how the other man had sounded almost relieved.
Which didn’t make any sense.
Great. Now he was delusional as fuck, too.
__________________________________
Things were getting out of hand again. Firstly, ever since their latest match, fanfics about him and Michael had been going crazy, as if all the authors in the fandom had collectively decided to create masterpiece after masterpiece, making his Friday rule impossible to maintain. Now he was reading every night, losing a lot of precious hours of sleep. He often walked to training wearing his glasses, his nose buried in his phone before entering the locker room. The others teased him more often, too (from his perspective, it was straight-up bullying, but Kompany had already dismissed him).
The only one who didn’t participate in this shit was Michael. But his behaviour had been fucking strange ever since they’d watched the game at his house. He talked to Jamal outside the pitch, initiating random conversations about the weather or their latest meeting with the staff. He took his time when they ate together, listening to Phonzy’s nonsense or Tom and Pavlo’s antics. But the biggest change was in the locker room, where Michael had finally left his earphones in his training bag.
For once, Jamal felt like the concrete wall was finally cracking a little, and his heart fluttered stupidly every time Michael put his earphones away as they walked towards the building after arriving at the same time.
“You look a little tired,” Michael said as they walked towards the pitch. “Trouble sleeping?”
More like trouble getting him out of his head. But Jamal couldn’t say, “Oh, I just love reading fanfics about us. Nothing creepy, I promise, just wholesome fluff where we’re stupidly in love and where I’m not afraid to tell you how much I love you. But yeah, no big deal.”
“I’ve been reading a lot these days. I’ve tried really hard to stick to my bedtime schedule, but I fail every time…”
“Oh? What are you reading?”
“...I don’t want to share. You’re going to mock me.”
“I would never. I’m not Phonzy, I won’t exploit your weakness. Unless you’re reading romance books. Those are worth a little teasing, even from me.”
Jamal grimaced, trying really hard not to blush, but he failed miserably as Michael stopped, whispering a “No fucking way” that made Jamal run towards the pitch to avoid meeting his gaze and answering any awkward questions.
He heard Michael laugh. Loudly.
Fuck his life.