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Madrid manages to take his mind of things again.
The season is shaping up better than Kylian thought, and the more they win the more Kylian can feel the team warm up to him.
Jude Bellingham is no Ousmane or Achraf, but he is becoming Kylian's closest friend in Madrid. He took some care to make Kylian feel welcome and they found that they had quite similar outlook on life. Jude was level headed, lived under a microscope as well, and he seemed to regard Kylian as a person, not just as a means to score goals. Having a friend makes Madrid infinitely more bearable.
Jude seems as uninterested as Kylian at going out to party at every opportunity and they sometimes stay behind for extra practice. Kylian thinks he wouldn't mind spending time with him outside of the pitch at some point. It's not like the good PSG days, but it's something.
Michael and him keep the routine. They're teammates and they're friends, but after the last training session or after the match, one shows up at the other's door.
They're good friends in front of everyone else, but they're alone there's another layer to it.
The lines are wobbly at best. One time, they're playing against each other in training, Michael looking ridiculously unhappy in his orange bib.
When they stop for a water break, Michael comes to stand next him.
"You look like a grumpy highlighter," Kylian observes. Michael does not seem to find it funny.
"Playing against you makes no sense," he huffs. It's also raining a little, which Michael also dislikes. He's a bit like a cat that way.
"Can't have one team losing all the time. Kills morale."
"God forbid," Michael says dryly, pointedly looking at where the other guys are laughing and jumping around each other. True, this team doesn't have any team morality issues right now, it's one of the most agreeable squads he can remember playing in.
"You just think you're too cool for the bib."
"I am."
"Maybe we can get an orange away kit," Kylian muses.
"England still wants me."
"You'd betray us for an orange jersey?"
"Yes," Michael says, trying to look very serious. Nothing looks serious while he's wearing that, though.
"You're really milking that nonchalant thing."
Michael groans. "I don't have a nonchalant thing. I just say nothing and apparently even that needs an agenda."
Michael's nonchalant persona in the media has blown up since he's joined Bayern Munich. It genuinely isn't a persona, Michael just truly hates cameras and interviews that much. But if you don't give the media something to talk about with your words or your actions outside of the pitch, they have no trouble inventing something.
"You know I actually came over for something, not to get bullied by you," Michael says. If Kylian needed to guess, he was pouting just the slightest bit.
"But I like bullying you."
"Because you're a child."
"I remember when my name used to invoke respect."
"Grandpa talking about the good old times again."
Kylian chuckles. "Make up your mind, am I seven or seventy."
"Both. In the worst way."
Kylian shakes his head fondly, looking at Michael.
"What did you want then?"
A whistle sounds then, signaling that it's time to continue the game.
"Were playing for opposite teams right now," Michael says, putting away his water bottle. "Not really teammates today."
"Mikey-"
"Just a thought," Michael grins and jogs away to join the rest of the orange bib team, leaving Kylian to stare after him.
It was bullshit of course, but it Kylian also couldn't shake the thought for the remainder of training. While his worry was always that Michael would distract him, that day it just made him go for it even harder, celebrating each goal he got despite Michael's attempt to take the ball from him like he'd just scored a World Cup goal.
Michael knocks on his door that evening, looking completely innocent and asking if he wants to watch something. They'd figured out early enough that they didn't get enough sleep if one snuck in after everyone fell asleep.
But no one questioned if their psychic dou wanted to watch a movie together, in their head they all thought they'd obsessively talk strategy anyway.
"One of these days, I'll actually make you watch a movie," Kylian mumbles as he lets Michael in. They usually end up Kylian's room, somehow that had established itself. "And it's going to be fully in French too."
"In that scenario, what exactly is stopping me from just leaving?" Michael asks, cocking his head.
"Your enthusiasm of French films without subtitles."
"The media would eat up. I'm missing an obscure hobby."
"You play chess."
"That's not obscure!" Michael looks genuinely affronted at the suggestion and it makes Kylian laugh.
"No, it's very cool, all the cool kids play chess on their phone," he teases, putting his arms around Michael's necks.
"I don't like this insinuation that I'm not cool."
"You're a nerd, and you know it."
Closeness always happens instinctively when the door closes behind them. Never where anyone can see, but when they're truly alone it's always there. Before sex, after, the next morning if Michael can manage to stay. Then they meet again at breakfast and the friendship falls in place like nothing ever happenend.
Sometimes, it gives Kylian a headache but Michael always seems to slip into the roles effortlessly.
"So..." Michael trails off, letting his fingers skim down Kylian's arms that are still around his neck.
"Should I put on the TV," Kylian suggests, while moving a tiny bit closer.
"I was actually wondering if you'd showered yet."
Kylian raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah. This afternoon. With you and about twenty other guys, you might know them?"
"Take the hint, Kylian," Michael says with those big dark eyes staring at him.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Kylian pretends. He enjoys riling Michael up a little.
Michael takes a step back and removes his shirt. Still gorgeous.
"Well, I just don't think I got all of it. So I'm gonna use your shower now."
"Because yours is-?"
"So, so far away. Shitty water pressure too."
They all have absolutely identical rooms.
"Mh, you would hate that."
"Right? So I'm just going to be in the shower. And well had you perhaps also needed a shower-"
Enough, Kylian thinks, and corners Michael so his back is on the bathroom door.
"Shut up and take your clothes off."
Michael grins and kicks of his pants.
"Captain's orders?"
"Damn right."
Kylian strips his clothes too and then they're kissing under the hot stream of the shower. Kylian can never get enough of the feeling of Michael's body under his fingertips, all the smooth lines muscle firm underneath him.
It's also established that sex sex only happens after games in hotel rooms. The danger of getting caught at Clairefontaine is too much of a threat in the back of their minds, and feeling the night before in your ass is absolutely unsuited for intense training weeks. It's a pity but there's enough other stuff they can do.
It's just making out for a long time, deep kisses and roaming hands without hurry. Kylian laughs when Michael gets to much water in his eyes and blinks all irritated.
Michael reaches down eventually, and they're both painfully hard in his hand.
"Oh god," Kylian groans into Michaels neck as he starts slowly stroking both of them.
"You're so pretty like this," Michael whispers, trailing his tongue and teeth down Kylian's neck, lightly, he knows he can't leave any marks. "All hot and bothered and only for me."
Michael talks like that during sex sometimes, and everytime Kylian spends at least two days after trying not to let it get to his head.
The drag of his cock against Michael's and the continuous movement of his hand is enough to make come quickly, Michael following right behind.
They stay like that for a second, catching they're breath against each other and coming together for another slow kiss, both moaning when their oversentive cocks inevitable rub against each other again.
They actually need a show after that, and Michael turns Kylian around to shampoo his hair. Kylian didn't ask for it, and somehow the press of Michael's fingers into his scalp feels more intimate than when they were around his cock five minutes ago.
Michael eyes his clothes on the floor when they get out of the bathroom, lookijg between them and Kylian.
"You know what I'll say anyway," Kylian shrugs and puts on clean shorts.
"It's an early morning."
"It doesn't start later just because you sleep down the hall."
Michael shakes his head, but he does go straight for Kylian's suitcase and pulls out some sweatpants. Thank god they all get the same generic France ones, Kylian can just pretend Michael is wearing his own.
"You know, you used to be more worried," Michael remarks when he crawls into bed next to him
"Was I though?"
"Well, for like a week."
Kylian hums in agreement, letting Michael roll onto his side, head on Kylian's arm.
"You'll have to sneak me out tomorrow," Michael yawns.
"Or you just went here to get me for breakfast."
"Am I your alarm clock now?"
Kylian chuckles, remembering those memes everyone keeps showing him. "A classic first general duty."
It makes Michael laugh as well.
"They should've stayed with Ousmane, I'm not general material."
"No?"
"Would you say I follow orders well?" Michael asks, eyes crinkling in the corner.
"Point taken. Way to bossy."
"I'm not bossy."
"Sure you're not," Kylian says, patting the top of Michael's head. "You're not cut out to be the dictator either though, you care way to little what anyone does."
"All I hear is a compliment of how easygoing I am."
Kylian laughs into Michael's hair. He smells like Kylian's shower gel, which is not a rare occurence, but he does notice it each time.
They talk a bit more, about nothing and everything, and at some point Kylian's other hand finds Michael's and their fingers are intertwined under the covers.
This is the part of those nights that Kylian has to try really hard not think about too much. Where some lines drawn might be beneficial.
The season in Madrid shapes up. It's nowhere close to the level of home Paris feels like for Kylian, where he grew up, where most of his career happened, where he has been every version of himself. But there's a bakery he likes, restaurants he's tried and returned to. He has a route for going running that has a nice sunset view.
Jude has started to come to his house occasionally on the evenings where everyone else is with their girlfriend or their wife and kids or getting drunk looking to find those. Mostly they play Fifa or watch other football games. It's supremely boring but having a person that reliably comes to spend with you outside work? Let's just say you don't know what you've got til you're alone in Madrid.
Kylian will admit that he'd thought that Jude would be arrogant before he met him. He has to concede that Jude in fact just really nice, funny, and overall a good person to spend time with.
Jude is a bit too perceptive for his own good. He's already remarked twice how much happier Kylian looks when there's an international game coming up or when he's coming back from.
One evening, Jude reads him a text from Vini, inviting them to join him and some others to a club.
Kylian pulls a face. Jude agrees.
"You know, they'd leave you alone if you told them about your girlfriend."
Okay, maybe not too perceptive then.
"My girlfriend?"
"There has to be someone back in Paris, you're always in a better mood when you get back."
Kylian snorts.
"I don't have a girlfriend."
"Aha!" Jude points at him smugly. "Didn't deny that there was someone."
Kylian swallows the lump in his throat, trying to think of excuses and coming up empty.
"So, scared to ask her or does she not want to?"
Kylian could slap himself for easy that excuse was.
"Something like that," he mumbles, hoping Jude will drop it.
For now, he does.
One time, after when it's fairly early and they both have afternoon flights back the next day, Michael tries to teach him to play chess.
Kylian knows the rules, just the basics, but Michael seems excited to beat him anyway. After a couple of quick rounds, he starts describing the moves he's making to Kylian, explaining the purpose and how putting the pawn right there will be useful five moves ahead.
He's not listening all that much, he's not interested in learning chess. But the passionate way Michael talks about it is sweet, it's rare to see him excited like that over something that isn't football.
Kylian does pretend that he's understanding and carefully moves his rook ahead, staring at Michael and watching for a change in expression that gives away if Kylian is failing.
"If you put it there, I'll win in four moves," Michael says.
Kylian slowly moves it back and moces a knight instead, hovering a white square like he's asking for permission.
"In three moves." He looks so smug.
"I give up," Kylian groans and just puts the knight down anyway.
Michael does actually win in three moves, just like he announced.
"This makes sense," Kylian observes as Michael puts the pieces away.
"Hm?"
"You play football like you play chess. You're always three moves ahead of everyone else."
Michael smiles at that, he's still not immune to compliments to his playing.
"Not of everyone else. You always know my next move."
"Only sometimes," Kylian shrugs.
Michael looks doubtful. "You're always exactly where you're supposed to be, though."
"Because I know you'll find me. Sometimes I just run as soon as you get the ball."
"You don't run where you need to be, you run where you think I'll want you to be?"
"Sometimes, yeah. Always works though."
"We're never beating the psychic connection allegations," Michael sighs, laying down on the bed. Kylian is sitting against the headboard and Michael lies with his head on Kylian's thighs.
It's nice.
Jude doesn't stop prying.
It comes up again in the new year, Jude asking whether he'd had time to visit his girl during the break.
Kylian did not, because there is no girl and because Michael is the only French person who you can not find in fucking Paris during the holidays. And it's not like there would have been an excuse to meet up anywhere anyway, that's not the type of arrangement they have.
They don't even text outside of the mandatory team group chat and a rare congratulations here and there after a game.
Maybe Kylian was sulking over that a little.
"Nope," he answers Jude, coming of harsher than he intended.
Jude eyes him for a bit.
"You want to talk about it?" He offers, looking sincere.
"I really don't."
Jude leaves it be for now, but he seems a bit weird for the next round of Fifa they play.
"You're getting sloppy," Kylian remarks after winning a game way to easily.
"Kylian, are we friends?" Jude looks quite serious as he says it, like he's been meaning to ask Kylian that.
"Yes?"
There is no denying it, even as the connection to the other player's gets better, Jude is his most solid friend on the team by a long shot. And he does actually like the idiot, quite against what he expected.
He's not a fan of all that obvious blinding charm, and it took him a bit to realize that Jude wasn't pretending to be some perfect posterboy, he just genuinely was like that.
"Then why do you never tell me anything?"
"I tell you things."
"We talk about football. Then we play football videogames. Then sometimes we watch football."
"I'm sorry did you want to go for a picinc?"
"God you're annoying. The one time I'm being sincere, too."
Kylian sighs.
"Jesus Jude, I don't know, what am I supposed to tell you. I might have some feelings, but nothing is happening. Not like that. And I don't know what's there to talk about."
"It might help to talk about it," Jude says, softer then, and Kylian sees something in his eyes that makes him realize what this is really about.
"Jude, do you have anything you want to talk about?"
Jude looks like he's about to crumble then and there, nodding.
"I'm miserable. But I'll only share if you do."
Kylian thinks of not even finding a good reason to text Michael Merry Christmas and not finding an excuse to give him a gift. How he saw a chess set in Paris that he would have loved to get him.
He gets up and brings over two glasses of Whiskey.
"Okay, share with the group," he says, handing a glass to Jude and raising his own to his lips.
"Someone I used to be in love with just had a kid." Jude takes a big gulp of the drink.
"Damn. Used to be in love with?"
Jude takes another sip and taps against the glass absentmindendly.
"I'm trying very hard to tell myself that."
Kylian nods. He knows that feeling all too well.
"Your turn."
"I'm sleeping with someone who I can't have."
"Just sleeping with them?"
"Also trying to tell myself that."
Jude smiles a sad little smile at him, and Kylian drinks to that.
"Why can't you have her?"
Kylian's glass is half empty now, he barely noticed that.
"Many reasons."
"If you stay that cryptic we're drinking more."
Kylian is in a mood, so he lets Jude bring over the bottle.
Jude tells him that he used to be in love with someone back when he was in Germany.
"They were in a relationship back then too, and I was in the wrong anyway. I know that. I never should've- well. Now they're still together and having a fucking baby and honestly- what right do I even have to be sad about that."
He's never seen Jude, shining smiley Jude, look that small.
"I don't think sadness works like that. If you feel like shit, you feel like shit."
"Strangely sound advice."
"I try."
"Well, I won't judge if yours is in a relationship," Jude says, still looking disappointed in himself for whatever he did back then. "It's a shit thing to do but..."
"Love makes you stupid."
"Very."
Kylian sighs. He's feeling his defenses slip away from the two glasses oh whiskey.
"They're not in a relationship. We're friends. And I don't want to fuck that up. I can't fuck that up."
Jude looks like he's been there before.
"I used to think if a friend slept with you for months, that had to mean something. So normally, I'd tell you that. But apparently it just means "I'm going to have a kid with my girlfriend and you'll find out from the internet"."
Kylian freezes. He doesn't think Jude realizes what he just said right there.
Jude is still frowning, looking into his glass like it might give him some answers.
Kylian is too drunk to have a good idea of how to tell a teammate that they've just sort of come out to him. Not a teammate, he corrects himself. A friend, and one he would very much like to hug right now.
He decides to say fuck it and put his glass on the table and pull Jude in for a hug. He stays longer than he should, because he doesn't know what to with Jude now.
"You okay Kylian?"
"Just- "having a kid with his girlfriend"?"
He can feel when Jude realizes, physically flinching under him.
"I don't care, I'm just sorry you told me like that," he says quickly, holding Jude for a second longer and then moving back to look at his face.
"I didn't- fuck."
"It's okay," Kylian tries to reassure him.
"Any chance you can forget that ever happened?"
Kylian tries his best to look sincere and serious, puts a hand on Jude's shoulder for good measure.
"No, because I'm your friend. And because it doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything Jude."
Jude looks doubtful. "Yeah, sure. Fuck." He covers his hands with his eyes. Stupid sport that makes something as trivial as fucking men feel like that big of a thing.
Kylian takes a deep breath and decides he might as well go all in.
"The person I'm sleeping with is a man, Jude."
Jude's eyes go wide, and Kylian hopes he won't regret this in the future.
"You're-?"
"Yup."
Jude laughs. "Fuck."
"Yeah. Hey, you gotta hug me now."
Jude does, still laughing, the relief visible in his shoulders.
The friendship is cemented after that.
Michael Olise scores his first goal for the senior team in March 2025.
It happens from a free kick, and Kylian has never seen Michael let as much emotion show through as when that ball hits the net.
It's a beautiful shot, and Kylian is more excited than he's been over any of his own goals the entire season. He takes the victory lap with Michael, watches everyone celebrate him, fans cheering. Michael deserves it, he deserves it so much.
The entire team is still celebrating him when they're back in the locker room.
"The bad new is, Mikey," Ousame laughs, "they'll definitely want you to say something about it."
Michael groans and everyone laughs loudly at the face the pulls thinking about being interviewed.
"God forbid, they might even take your picture," Dayot adds.
"Ask what it means to you," Kylian grins.
"Only assists from now, got it," he sighs, and that only makes everyone laugh harder.
Michael's antics are so purely him, they've all gotten used to it. Any time Michael has to do press is like a treat for the whole team.
Later, at the hotel, they walk down the corridor together. Their rooms are on the same floor and there's no one around, no need for pretending they're not going into Kylian's room together.
"You really had a way with words there," Kylian chuckles. "We won, so I'm happy. Really paints a picture."
"One day they'll just learn and not make me do it," Michael huffs, bumping into Kylian's shoulder lightly.
"Not when you score like that."
"Maybe I can switch to goalkeeper."
"You'd hate that. No fancy tricks."
"True. Pretend I speak even less French?"
"Your French is fine," Kylian reminds him. Michael has a slight accent and some words trip him up, but they could probably talk in French all the time. English has become their habit though, and Kylian doesn't mind.
"And your accent is cute," he adds, because he's unlocking the room door so he's now allowed to say that.
"I have an English accent?" Michael scoffs.
"No fully. Bit English bit Algerian. It's not super easy to hear, don't worry." I just focus way to hard on anything you say, he thinks.
"Huh. Guess it's from my mum." Michael seems a bit surprised.
They're both tired from the game, but after a bit of lazing around on the bed, Michael crawls into Kylian's lap to kiss him.
The first times, this would have happened as soon as they crossed the threshold, but they're less hurried each time. They have time.
The kiss grows heated fast, shirts flying off to the side and pants following right behind.
"Kylian?"
"Hm?" He groans at Michael quietly, already slipping a finger underneath the elastic of his boxers.
"I get whatever I want today right?" Michael's hands are on his hips and his eyes are glinting mischievously.
"Don't you always?"
"First goal is special," Michael mutters in between kisses to Kylian's neck.
Kylian grabs his head to kiss him properly again. It's a bit pavlovian, he's wanted to do this since the fucker scored the goal.
"What do you want?" He asks.
"You'll see. Prep me first."
They've switched around a lot, pretty much tried anything at this point. While Kylian has a bit of a preference at this point, because Michael whispering filthy things in his hear while he's inside him just does something indescribable to him, fucking Michael is a godlike experience as well, and slightly rarer.
It's always a sight because it's the most Michael ever truly loses his cool and becomes pliant under Kylian's hand.
He grabs the lube and Michael has already lost his boxers, lying down on his back with his legs spread. He looks completely at ease at being fully exposed, hard cock laying against his stomach, dreads spilling around his head on the pillow.
Kylian settles between his knees.
"I wish you could see what look like right now," Kylian mumbles, trailing a hand over Michael's torso. "So fucking gorgeous."
"And great at football, don't forget."
"Mhh," Kylian nods, hands going down Michael's thighs and slightly further south. "So humble as well."
Michael moans at the first finger and order the second one almost instantly. Kylian makes him beg a little for the third, Michael already pushing hips back trying to get Kylian deeper.
"Enough," Michael groans after a while of the third finger. "Sit against the headboard."
Kylian eyes him curiosly, remembering Michael had some sort of plan. He follows the request, settling against the pillows.
"Hands above your head," Michael orders, a twinkle in his eyes.
Kylian is even more curious now, but again he complies and puts his hands ups.
"Here's what's going to happen," Michael says with a low voice, straddling him. "I'm going to ride you, and you don't get to move or touch until I say."
Kylian feels his cock get impossibly harder.
"Nod if you understand."
He nods. "Can I talk?"
"As if anything could stop you," Michael teases, and positions himself above Kylian's dick.
He sinks down slowly, Kylian moans as he feels himself breaching the rim, tight walls and heat sorrounding him. He almost instinctively reaches out to Michael, but pulls his arm back when Michael freezes halfway down and looks at him with an unspoken order in his eyes.
Michael takes him to the hilt, moaning obscenely. He can see the muscles of his stomach and his thighs flexing, maybe this is the most beautiful sight he's seen after all.
He places his hands on Kylian's chest, not touching or caressing, simply holding on, and slowly moves up and out.
It's killing Kylian to not touch him, and he does understand that that's Michael intent, just make him go feral with the need to touch and put his lips somewhere.
"You feel so good," Michael groans, taking him to the hilt and swaying his lips slightly, making Kylian moan loadly.
Michael is so tight around him, his own dick flopping up and down as he fucks himself on Kylian who's breathing hard.
"Let me touch you," he groans, because this is heaven but it's also torture.
"Be a good boy Kylian," Michael chides, slamming down again faster.
Michael takes his own hand to his cock and Kylian whines, because that should be his hand.
"Unhappy?" Michael teases, moving slower again and stroking his cock lazily. He's basically just fucking himself on Kylian and Kylian is also there.
It's an exquisite torture, he'll give Michael that.
It goes on for a bit, Michael never moving himself close to orgasm and making sure he's not taking Kylian there either, always slowing down or downright stopping to move, looking at Kylian all disappointed.
"This is torture Mikey," Kylian gasps, after Michael changes his angle and throws his head back, moaning like a fucking pornstar.
"And I thought you liked me on your cock," Michael smiles innocently.
"Not touching you when you look like that, on my cock," he groans, "is torture."
"Think you've been a good enough boy?"
"Please Michael, I've been so good."
"Hmm." He moves his hands down Kylian's chest slowly, teasingly.
Kylian almost whines at this point, because he needs to come and he needs to fucking get his hands on Michael.
Michael bends down, coming close to Kylian's face, hovering for a second.
"Alright."
In a second Kylian's hand wrap around him he captures his lips in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth clashing against each other. Kylian bucks his hips up, finally getting enough to get him closer and wrapping one hand around Michael as well, who is so wet it makes Kylian go even more insane.
They come almost at the same time, Kylian riding out his orgasm as Michael spills on his stomach.
Michael eases off slowly, both gasping at the loss, and Michael lays right down on his chest, sticky residue between them forgotten. That's what the second round in the shower is for anyway.
At least, Kylian thinks, Michael takes just as long to recover, breathing hard against him and sometimes looking up at Kylian, eyes still twinkling.
"Fuck," Michael says eventually.
"That was-"
"Yeah."
"Do I hope you never score a goal again now? I don't think I'd survive a hat trick."
Michael chuckles against him. It's become one of Kylian's favorites sounds. He doesn't think about that too much.
"It's still a bit surreal," Michael admits, and while the sex was great he knows Michael is talking about the goal.
"You always remember the first."
"I didn't think it would ever happen, honestly."
"Idiot," Kylian says softly. "I knew it the first time I saw you play."
Michael shakes his head, leaning on his elbows so he can actually look at Kylian.
"No, really. I mean look at you, you won the World Cup at nineteen. And all the great players, it always starts so young. Every year I was playing in England I was less sure it was going to happen."
There's vulnerability in Michael's voice, something he usually tries so hard to hide.
"But you did make it. Some people peak at sixteen and some work harder and get better every year. And you're so, so good."
"It sounds so cheesy, but playing for France is really... I can't believe it's real sometimes."
Kylian nods, it never stopped feeling special for him either.
"It's still like that for me too," he admits, tucking a strand of hair behind Michael's ear.
Michael looks doubtful. "After all those years?"
"I don't know if it's like that for everyone. But for me, yeah. It's just special."
Michael goes quiet for a bit.
"You know-," he starts, and then stops himself.
"What?"
"You can't laugh," Michael narrows his eyes.
"I promise absolutely nothing," Kylian says, but he doesn't suppose he looks threatening with how soft he is looking at Michael.
"If you'd told sixteen year old me that I'd score for the national team and sleep with Kylian Mbappé afterwards, I might have died on the spot." He looks so serious when he says it, so of course Kylian bursts out laughing.
"Is this you finally admitting you had a teenage crush on me?" Kylian manages to get out between bouts of laughter. Michael hits him with a pillow.
"Rude!"
"Deserved!" Michael tries to roll off of him but Kylian just tightens his arms around him.
"You had a crush on me," he says again grins right at Michael's disgruntled face.
"I did not!"
"I feel like you just admitted that and are backtracking now." Kylian knows he looks very satisfied.
"It was not a crush! It was a being a teeanger playing football and owning a TV in 2018 thing," Michael tries, faking annoyance.
"Sounds like a crush to me."
"Very normal being aware and maybe a tiny bit in awe, which is very reasonable for a fucking kid in the academy watching the World Cup."
"I don't think you're talking yourself out of this one, Michael" Kylian chuckles, absolutely unable to do anything but grin at Michael in the most annoying way.
"Not a crush! It's not like I'm also out here trying to fuck Messi!"
That mental image, though scaring, just makes Kylian giggle harder.
"It's a hat trick if you get Cristiano too," he offers.
"Jesus, Kylian." At least that one made Michael laugh as well.
"I wasn't your gay awakening, was I?" Kylian teases again and making Michael throw his head into a pillow and groan.
"That was at fourteen at the hands of a boy at Chelsea, go fuck yourself."
"But you just did."
Michael looks faintly amused at the bad the joke, and still like he's contemplating to strangle Kylian.
"What was yours then, gay awakening?"
Kylian stops his giggling, trying to remember the first time he ever noticed anyone like that.
"A boy from school. He was a year older and smoked, somehow at fifteen that was incredibly cool."
"Classic. Anything come of it?"
Kylian shakes his head. " I wouldn't have dared to do anything like that back then. That was way later and way drunker."
Michael nods, understanding. Besides being in football, he supposes their respective neighbourhoods in Paris and in London were quite like minded about that sort of thing.
"I know Ousmane knows about you. Anyone else?"
"Achraf. My mom and my brother. Jude."
"Bellingham?"
"That also involved alcohol." He doesn't say anything more about that, and Michael doesn't seem to mind.
"Who knows about you then?"
Michael thinks for a second, fingers playing with the corner of the pillow.
"Eze and Jamal. Only told Eze though, Jamal just figured it out." He chuckles fondly at that memory. Kylian has never met Jamal, but he knows that he's Michael's rock at Bayern, and he has fond feelings of the boy for it.
"Your parents?"
Michael sighs. "If they suspect anything, they've never said it. And it's better that way."
There's a tone to Michael's voice that makes Kylian hug him tighter. He won't pry any more there.
There's a second round in the shower and mindless talking until Michael falls asleep on him in the middle of Kylian telling some story from training. Kylian doesn't mind, just strokes his fingertips over Michael's sleeping face for a bit and then turns off the lights.
He falls asleep with Michael in his arms and wishes he didn't have to let him go the next morning.
He knows there's isn't any way for him to get that. The team is too important. What they have right now is too important. He's not risking either, so this is all this is ever going to be. And so what if it isn't everything he wants?
It has to be enough, somehow.