Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Alexis Ness had always believed in magic.

It was hidden in every nook and cranny of the world: all the beautiful things, all the destructive things, all the impossible things. And when he’d watched his first ever soccer game, Alexis had immediately fallen in love with the magic weaved in that stadium.

There he was, eight years old, kicking a ball for the first time.

There he was, nine years old, winning his first ever match. 

There he was, fifteen years old, slumped on the pitch of the Bastard München training grounds, looking up into eyes as blue as the sky and a face cut from glass, so ethereal that maybe Alexis forgot to breathe for a moment. The sun cast haloed light around the stranger’s head, airbrushing a golden glow over his features, and Alexis thought, this, this is why I believe in magic.

‘Hey, shitty small-fry,’ said the boy, and his voice sent a shiver down Alexis’s spine. ‘Do you believe in the impossible?’

The rooftop was bustling with extravagantly-dressed people, fancy champagne glasses clutched in delicately manicured hands. Their distinct chatter blurred together until it all faded against the backdrop of Munich’s gleaming skyline. Everyone who was anyone in Germany’s soccer world was gathered here tonight, under a clear sky filled with glimmering, distant stars.

To a corner of the roof, the Bastard München U20s team was immersed in a poker game. Alexis stood to the side, watching on avidly, while Michael pointedly stared in any other direction.

‘There’s a minute left,’ Alexis exclaimed, gaze flitting to his watch. ‘Ooh, we should do New Year’s Resolutions! But there’s so much we could-’

‘Shut up,’ muttered Michael.

‘Alexis is right,’ Gesner piped up, overhearing them. ‘Haven’t done resolutions in ages. Also, I win. Diamond straight flush.’ He threw his cards down onto the table, and the others all uttered varying degrees of swears.

‘Lucky motherfucker,’ scowled Birkenstock. ‘Fine. Take the money, then. God knows you need it, especially after spending so much on your girlfriend’s Christmas gift.’

‘Only to get dumped right away,’ Mensah added, and they all howled in laughter, before dwindling into silence as the loud chanting of the crowd drowned them out.

‘10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!’

The sky erupted with frantic light and thunderclaps of gunpowder, fireworks blooming like flowers across the inky black. Amidst the chaotic whirlwind of cheers, Alexis caught Michael’s gaze, and offered a smile that was not reciprocated. Happy New Year, Michael.

‘I want to find a girlfriend!’ Gesner crowed. ‘Or at least get laid a few times.’

‘I would be honoured to fulfil my destined role to die,’ Grim added sullenly.

‘I’ll win the lottery!’

‘We'll win the Bundesliga again!’

‘I’ll finally clean my room!’

‘Dumbass, I’ve been cleaning our room every second week.’

‘Ah, shit, sorry man.’

‘I’ll cook a decent meal!’

Alexis glanced, yet again, at Michael. In a black suit and tie and the glow of the fireworks against his profile, the forward’s eyes were narrowed as he seemed lost in thought, arms crossed.

I hope I can spend every day of the rest of my life with you, Michael, he thought forlornly. ‘I’ll perfect my passes to you!’

‘I’ll surpass Noa,’ Michael vowed quietly.

Alexis grinned. ‘Oh, of course you will! You’re Bastard München’s center and key player, after all!’

‘Alexis, you should finally figure things out with King High-and-Mighty over there,’ Birkenstock joked, gesturing vaguely at Michael with the clumsiness only an inebriated man could have. ‘Y’know, kiss and shit.’ Champagne spilled onto his shirt as he attempted to stand up, and he uttered a curse.

Alexis felt his cheeks redden. God, he hoped Michael hadn’t heard what the defender had just said. ‘There’s nothing to figure out,’ he snapped.

‘Keep lying to yourself, then.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

It was common knowledge that the Bastard München team generally hated Michael. Sure, he played great (perfectly wasn’t even an exaggeration), and they would do all they could to assist him in scoring goals, but that was about it. He was cold, indifferent, quick to anger, quick to point out the mistakes of his teammates. They respected him, sure, but respect and genuine appreciation were two very different things.

Alexis wasn’t sure where he himself stood in the team dynamic. Michael was an asshole to everyone, and yet he was ever-so-slightly gentler with Alexis. And of course Alexis was always defending and supporting Michael, following him around like a lost puppy, and he was pretty sure this pissed off his teammates. But he was civil enough with them, and with a predisposition of ass-kissing and people-pleasing, as well as a well-crafted facade of thoughtful niceties, he certainly hoped they did not hate him, like they did Michael (which was entirely unfair, by the way, they never got to see the side to Michael that Alexis did, and so their judgements were clouded). 

Well. Michael had walls, Alexis knew, and the tendency to hurt those around him. But they were friends, or at least Alexis hoped so (perhaps they were even more, but Michael’s aloofness sometimes made him wonder. After all, they had known each other for almost five-years, right? They were close, closer than Alexis has ever been with anyone else, but were they really that close? Was Alexis wholly convinced in a friendship that didn’t exist? Really, what was their relationship defined as?).

‘You’re gonna grow white hairs, stressing like that,’ Michael muttered suddenly, smoothing his thumb over the crease of Alexis’s eyebrows, and his heart did a funny little jump. ‘Calm down.’

‘Right,’ Alexis said, exhaling. Holy bejeebers. ‘Thanks, Michael.’

A smile persisted at the corners of his lips even as he fell asleep later that night (or was it technically morning?), elation thrumming in his veins like some kind of twisted high.

Can’t winter break just be over already? Alexis wondered as he absent-mindedly kicked a ball against the wall of the Bastard München headquarters. Their teammates were all either visiting family or away on holidays, so the facility was practically empty. And as for himself…

‘Your father and I have an important conference to attend,’ his mother had said over the phone. ‘Your brother’s busy pursuing his PhD, and your sister's about to start her second year at university, Alexis, so there’s really no point in visiting.’

He still remembered the way his stomach had dropped ever-so-slightly, even though he had fully expected her words, logical tone the same as always. The way he had desperately wanted her to say something, anything, that could show him she valued his presence. That she cared for him, loved him, wanted him. He wondered how that felt, wondered if, perhaps, he could feel it one day. 

There was one upside to this winter break, and that was Michael. He never seemed to go anywhere, except for the occasional, sporadic disappearance during off-seasons, and so they would spend their breaks together: training, eating, shopping. It was comfortable like this, when it was just the two of them.

Now, a day before their teammates were scheduled to arrive back and their matches to restart, Alexis received a call from his manager.

‘Alexis, I know this is sudden, but what would you think about joining PXG’s U20s next season?’ 

A pause.

‘What? Sorry, could you repeat that?’

‘Their club manager contacted me. Said they were looking to employ you as both a player and a mentor for one of their juniors, by the name of Charles Chevalier.’

The phone almost slipped out of Alexis’s hands. Charles Chevalier - wasn’t that kid on the news? France’s rising midfield sensation, or something. And then, Michael, Michael, Michael, I can’t leave him. ‘I don’t think I want to leave Bastard München,’ he ended up saying.

‘Oh, that’s quite a shame. The pay is extremely good, of course, and you’d get to train with Julian Loki! And for a midfielder like you, isn’t the opportunity of passing to the best striker of your generation worth its weight in gold?’

Alexis frowned, fist clenching slightly. ‘Michael Kaiser is the best striker of our generation, for your information.’ 

His manager seems to sense the pissed-off tone his voice has taken, hastily backtracking. ‘Of course, then! Kaiser does play very well, indeed. Though working with a wide variety of, uh, talents could also vastly help improve your playing.’ A beat. ‘Well, the offer’s on the table right up until the start of the French Ligue 1, so if you ever change your mind, just call me.’

‘Okay.’ I won’t. ‘Thanks.’

Later, Michael found him dazedly staring at his lunch tray, lost in the tumult of his mind, and sat down next to him.

‘Hey, Michael,’ Alexis said. ‘I just got an offer from PXG. They want me to train with Chevalier, that blond kid, and the fast one - what was his name again? Oh yeah, Loki.’

Michael froze, almost imperceptibly, sandwich halfway to his mouth. ‘Don’t take it.’

Alexis let out a light-hearted laugh. ‘Taking it was never an option.’

Their gazes met, and there was something so desperately cruel burning in Michael’s eyes. ‘Good.’

They ate their meals in silence, and trained for the rest of the day. It was nice, Alexis thought, to lose himself in the feeling of the ball beneath his feet and the sound of Michael yelling his name, Michael’s piercing gaze trained solely on him, Michael, Michael, Michael. And that night, Alexis dreamed of magic, of blue rose tattoos, of an easy smirk and shots quicker than lightning, of a warmth he couldn’t exactly name.

‘There’s no way,’ said Birkenstock.

‘No fucking way,’ agreed Ali. 

‘It’s the end of the world,’ Mensah proclaimed dramatically.

‘It’s not,’ scowled Gesner. ‘Can’t you just be happy for me?’

Noticing the strange congregation of players around their usual breakfast table, Alexis piped up, ‘Hey, what’s up?’ 

‘Gesner just came out to us.’

‘I’m happy for you!’ Alexis exclaimed to Gesner, clasping his hands together. ‘So do you, like, have a boyfriend?’

‘No,’ he scowled. ‘But thanks. And these homophobic dipshits can’t seem to accept the fact that their teammate is bisexual.’

Birkenstock shrugged. ‘Dude, we’re not homophobic, we just had a running bet based on when you’d come out to us.’

‘And we all lost money, big time,’ added Ali.

‘Oh, right,’ Alexis smiled sheepishly. ‘About that…I genuinely thought you were straight. Sorry, dude.’

The others all collectively groaned. Mensah put a sympathetic hand on Alexis’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay, dude, we already know you have, like, negative gaydar.’

‘So…’ Gesner started almost tentatively, frowning slightly. ‘Who won the bet?’

Everyone fell silent and turned to Michael, who was on the verge of dropping his carton of milk into the bin, standing on the opposite side of the cafeteria. Feeling the attention suddenly on him, he twisted around and glared. ‘Don’t stare like that, fuckwads.’

‘No,’ said Gesner.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Birkenstock muttered. ‘He guessed it would be around the start of this year, near the end of the winter break.’

‘How the fuck-’

‘You all owe Michael, like thirty euros each!’ Alexis reminded them, shit-eating grin on his face. 

‘The hell’s he gonna do with all this money?’ Mensah exclaimed. 

‘Things you won’t be doing, evidently,’ Michael said loftily, walking over. ‘Pay up, assholes.’

Alexis snickered.

‘You too, puppy.'

‘Is that mischief? In the eyes of our Lord Almighty?’ Gesner interjected, brow arched. 

‘Fuck off,’ Michael and Alexis said in unison.

‘Oh, God,’ Gesner muttered, miming a gag. ‘You’re so gay it hurts.’

‘We’re just friends,’ Alexis mumbled, glancing at Michael. Or, well, I think we are?

Michael said nothing, but his posture was terse, rigid, and he looked away angrily. Alexis knew him well enough to read what that meant.

Oh.

So it’s like that, then.

He can never see me that way.

Alexis had always known, to some degree, that he was just Alexis Ness in Michael’s eyes. A stray dog. Pathetic, weak, breakable. A means to an end. To be used, maybe even loved, and then discarded, wreaked so thoroughly that salvation could only come from some kind of god, some kind of divine intervention.

But maybe he didn’t care…maybe he liked it. This masochistic urge to be needed, cared for, with the constant threat of ruination looming like a guillotine over his neck, perhaps this was what made him him. His whole life, Alexis’s magic had been rejected, frowned upon. ‘Your magic is stupid,’ his sister would say on a daily basis. ‘Are we sure he’s our son?’ his mother would add. They didn’t even mean it in a hurtful way: it was just logic to them. Numbers and formulas, they said, explained the world.

But Alexis didn’t get it, could never understand, even after the countless times his parents tried to explain it to him. Because how could things like love and happiness be quantified, be explained by science? And yet when he tried to tell them this, spoke with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve, they trampled all over him with their dismissals and cold, unbelieving words. 

So he played soccer as a quiet rebellion, cast spells on the pitch with his passes, and then he met Michael. Michael, ethereally, impossibly beautiful, like a prince or perhaps even a king, an emperor. Michael, who believed in the unexplainable, who believed in his magic. And Alexis drowned, he drowned in cerulean eyes and sharp insults and a laugh he’d memorised, despite only having truly seen it twice.

Oh shit. Maybe I AM gay.

But that didn’t really explain it, didn’t really explain the sheer happiness he felt when Michael so much as looked at him, did it? Was this something a mere crush could encompass? No, it couldn’t possibly be. This was different, different from finding girls cute in primary school or hoping to receive a Valentine’s gift from someone. But he didn’t want to put a name to this feeling, didn’t want to make anything definite. Because then that would ruin what they had now, and Alexis thought he’d much rather die.

A sharp yank on his hair pulled him back into reality.

‘You’re zoning out so often, now,’ Michael commented, a fistful of fluffy magenta curls gripped tightly in his hand. ‘Don’t you fucking do that in the middle of a match.’

Michael, I think I’m having an existential crisis. ‘I would never,’ he protested. ‘Also, please let go, that hurts.’ Please never let go.

Michael let go, a dismissive frown on his face. ‘Anyways,’ he said to the rest of the team, ‘we're playing Borus Dortmund the day after tomorrow. They’re very offense-focused, so-’

‘-remember to linger back and counter quickly, we know,’ interrupted Mensah loudly. ‘We should get to training, or Noa will be mad.’

‘Don’t interrupt him, you asshat,’ Alexis retorted frostily.

Mensah frowned. ‘And here I thought we were getting along for once, Alexis,’

‘Dude, don’t get me wrong, we like you, seriously,’ added Birkenstock. ‘But when Michael acts like he’s God and you always take his side, always jump to defend him…it’s really fucking annoying, and fucking unnecessary. You’re more than that.'

Alexis glanced at Michael, mouth open, but the striker was already walking away like the conversation was beneath him. Don’t cry, he thought to himself (his tear glands were weak as shit, and unfortunately for himself, he was one very emotional teenager). 

He knew what people said about him online. Kaiser’s dick-sucker, they called him jeeringly, twisted faces hidden behind internet personas. You gonna be rewarded tonight for that pass?

Pathetic Alexis Ness. Stupid Alexis Ness.

His entire playstyle revolves around Kaiser. He’s so unoriginal it physically pains me to watch him play.

He’s so useless, Bastard München doesn’t need him.

Kaiser obviously doesn’t care about him, so why is he trying so hard?

Michael never once defended him, never, but Alexis understood. It was a pride thing, was it not? Surely Alexis mattered to him in some way: wasn’t that why he needed him? 

Don’t you get it? Alexis wanted to scream at the masses. You don’t know Michael like I do. You don’t know what he looks like when he’s pretending to enjoy a meal, don’t know what his laughter sounds like when he’s genuinely happy, don’t know anything.

But that never stopped him from crying himself to sleep every night, isolated and so very alone in the cocoon of darkness. Because ultimately, he thrived off validation, craved it, wanted so desperately to be needed. And so a single barbed insult was enough to shatter his carefully crafted self-esteem, tear apart the soul he’d bared to the world. He took things to heart, felt things so much more intensely than everyone else, and perhaps he was a fool for doing so, but a fool he would remain. Alexis Ness was a house of cards, built by the hands of a magician, collapsing in on itself at the slightest breeze.

They flew to Dortmund the next day, falling into their usual away-game routine. Alexis and Michael roomed together, as always (two single beds and an ensuite). They fought over who’d get the first shower (‘Rock-paper-scissors!’ Alexis suggested every time. Michael won every time), who could get a higher score in Tetris, who used the bathroom first in the morning (‘Alexis, help me brush my hair’ ‘…why is my toothbrush in the toilet bowl?’ ‘I don’t know, just help me brush my hair’ ‘I need to piss, Michael’), and who could juggle a ball longer (they both stopped counting after they passed two thousand).

The match itself was uneventful: they won, of course, thanks to Michael’s hat-trick, but Dortmund managed to score twice, and Noa berated them for all their lousy plays. 

‘Your defense was sloppy,’ Michael proclaimed in the locker room. ‘Alexis, your second assist had too much spin.’

‘Okay, Michael,’ Alexis chirped, while the rest of the team glared.

Later, Ali said, ‘Oi, Alexis, we’re heading down to the local bar to celebrate our win. You coming?’

Alexis looked to Michael, who was already walking back in the direction of their room. It was always like this: they invited Alexis out of politeness, Michael didn’t go, ergo Alexis didn’t go either.

‘Thanks, but I might just stay at the hotel,’ he said. ‘Have fun, though.’

Ali gave him a pointed, exasperated look. ‘Dude, you don’t always need to stay with Michael.’

‘I want to,’ he replied simply. 

As he was heading up the stairwell, a buzz from his pocket startled him. It was a missed-call notification. From his mother.

What the hell?

She never calls.

He fumbled with his phone slightly as he called her back, fingers clumsy and shaking. She picked up on the second ring.

‘Hi, mother.’ He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

‘Alexis. Why didn’t you pick up earlier?’

‘I must’ve been in a match, Mother. Apologies. Well…you may have seen it on the news.’

‘I did not.’

A pause. God, this was awkward.

‘So, uh, how have you been?’

‘Fine.’ Her response is curt, brisk, almost cold. ‘Listen, your father and I are going to be in Munich for a conference next week.’

Alexis’s heart leapt into his throat. ‘Oh, oh that’s great! I’ll show you around, maybe we could have dinner together-’ 

‘That won’t be necessary. Come pick us up from the airport, will you? I’ll send you the flight details and the hotel address. We likely won’t see each other for the rest of the time: we’re very busy, your father and I, and I’m sure you have lots of training to do.’ 

A strange amalgamation of bile and disappointment sat heavy at the back of Alexis’s throat. He swallowed, and managed to choke out, ‘Okay. I’d be happy to. Tell Father I said hi.’

‘What would be the point in that, when you could tell him yourself? Goodbye, Alexis.’

‘Goodbye, Mother. I love you.’

A beat. ‘I…love you too.’

And then she hung up, and the silence in the echoing stairwell seemed to only amplify the rolling, cacophonous war-drum of his heartbeat. Alexis walked, or maybe glided, he felt so light he couldn’t really tell, back to their room, and unlocked the door with shaking hands.

Michael was slumped in the armchair, in nothing but sweatpants and a bathrobe slung half-heartedly over his shoulders, hair plastered to his skin and dripping. He was seemingly engrossed in one of those psychology books he loved so dearly, nodding his head as a slight acknowledgement of Alexis’s arrival - yet his eyes never left the page.

Alexis wondered briefly, volatile mood slightly dissipating, if Michael’s ‘god complex’ (as coined by their teammates) was perhaps fully warranted, because holy shit, those abs. Post-shower Michael Kaiser was hot, and poor Alexis was painfully aware of this fact (well…Michael in general was hot, but he certainly wasn’t ready for that conversation). His gaze caught on the blue rose tattoo on the other’s neck (which was, if Alexis was being completely honest, a very damn fine neck). ‘The impossible,’ he had said it symbolised. 

‘Are you just gonna stand there in the doorway, or are you coming in?’ Michael asked dryly, finally looking up from his book.

Alexis blushed. ‘Oh-oh yeah…I should probably do that, shouldn’t I?’ he stammered. Get a grip, Alexis, you fucking loser. ‘Silly me.’ He shuffled into the room, dumping his bag unceremoniously onto his bed before fleeing to the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

So I can see Mother and Father again.

It’s been six months.

They need me to be their chauffeur.

They don’t want to spend time with me.

They love me.

They don’t love me.

He stripped off his clothes, the layers feeling tight and stifling against his skin, and slipped into the shower. He turned the cold water on full blast, squeaking slightly at the iciness, before disintegrating onto the tiles. Maybe he was crying, maybe that was just water from the shower-head rolling down his face. He couldn’t really tell.

Why am I like this, he wondered, such a fucking mess, tearing up at every little thing? Michael would be disgusted. He probably already is. 

He scrubbed shampoo into his hair methodically, massaging perhaps a little too hard, before letting the water rinse it out with its gentle flow.

Alexis slipped into his bed gracelessly, only having left the shower once he felt numb to the point of unfeeling, staring at the roof blankly. His hair was still dripping, but he didn't have the energy to dry it, instead sneezing as his head hit the pillow. ‘G’night, Michael,’ he mumbled blearily.

Michael frowned. ‘It’s eight pm.’ A pause, then an uncertain, ‘You good?’

‘I’ll be fine soon.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Mmf. Go back to reading Nietzsche or whatever.’

Michael didn’t persist, turning his attention back to the book in his hands.

Sleep, Alexis thought, was an interesting thing, like you were suspended between the realms of life and death. He didn’t need to exist, didn’t need to be, simply let the current of his dreams whisk him away into worlds shaped solely by his imagination. If he could, he thought, he’d sleep forever. But more often than not, especially lately, he found himself waking up in the middle of the night in a damp sweat, heart thrumming dangerously fast from a nightmare he couldn’t exactly remember.

Tonight, however, brought with it not a nightmare but a memory.

Alexis was five, and had gotten lost on a bustling street in Munich, heading to some science fair his older brother had entered. His magic wand was clutched in his hands, his black witch hat and cloak on as per usual, the cold turning his cheeks a rosy shade of red.

‘Mama? Papa?’ he called, lip wobbling, and yet his voice was drowned out by the crowd. They probably hadn’t even realised he had disappeared.

And then he saw it: a small, conspicuous purple tent, with the sign ‘Fortune Telling! Come here to experience some magic!’ hung on the front.

Curious, he made his way inside. An unfamiliar lady was seated inside, on a pile of cushions in front of a small, round table, body illuminated by the dim glow of a low-hanging star lamp. She was wearing a veil, face partially covered, but her smile was undeniable, warm.

‘Hello, dear,’ she said warmly. ‘Who might you be?’

‘I’m Alexis!’ he replied enthusiastically. ‘I love magic! I don’t know where Mama and Papa are.’

‘You love magic?’ she repeated, delighted. ‘Welcome to my magic tent! Would you like me to tell you about your future, while you wait for your Mama and Papa?’

His eyes widened in excitement. ‘Really?’

‘Of course! Please, take a seat.’

He sat down, cross-legged and straight-backed, on one of the beanbags. The strange lady placed a crystal ball on the table between them, sending spiralling whorls and kaleidoscopes of colour dancing across walls of the tent. 

‘Place a hand here. Yes, very good, now close your eyes. What do you see?’

‘A lot of purple.’

She laughed gently. ‘Good. Well, I see a flower.’

‘Now I see a flower too!’

‘What colour is it?’

‘Blue.’

‘What type of flower is it?’

‘I don’t know. But it’s blooming outwards, like one of those cake decorations, and there are thorns on the stem.’

‘It’s a rose, Alexis dear.’ She paused, expression wistful. ‘You know the funny thing about blue roses?’

‘I don’t know much about roses, ma’am.’

‘They don’t exist in nature. So they’re a symbol of impossibility. This means you will have a very magical life, young one. Now what else do you see?’ 

‘I see…fireworks. A thunderstorm. A plane. Pieces of glass.’

‘Good, good, very good. Oh, this is splendid, Alexis! You may very well live a beautiful life, but you will certainly face hardships. Many, many hardships. So you must be strong, my dear, or else-’

Light suddenly bloomed in the tent. The curtain doors were flung open, revealing Alexis’s father. ‘Alexis! What is this tomfoolery you’re partaking in? We’ve been searching for you everywhere!’

Alexis blinked his eyes open, startled out of his reverie. ‘Hi, Papa! This nice lady was just telling me about my-’

‘Stop feeding delusions to my son,’ he hissed at her, interrupting his son. ‘Alexis, get away from the…psychic.’ He spat the last word like a curse.

‘No, Papa, she’s really nice-’

‘Let’s go, Alexis.’

As his father dragged him out of the warm comfort of the tent, the woman called out, ‘Live bravely, Alexis, but tread carefully! Someday, our paths shall cross again!’

'Please, Alexis,' Mensah said. 'It's genuinely a good place. And who knows, we may never be back at Dortmund again.'

The team was preparing to head back down to the bar they had visited last night, and Mensah was relentless this time in his insistence that Alexis showed up.

'Okay, okay, fine, I'll come,' Alexis agreed, totally not because he was a simpering people pleaser, no no.

'That's great! Uh, bring Michael, will you?'

'Of course…I'll see if I can convince him.'

In their room, Alexis hastily pulled on some jeans and a cream sweater. Too casual? he wondered vaguely, considering asking Michael for advice, and then deciding against it.

'You going out?' the striker asked, glancing up from Nietszche.

'To the local bar. The whole team's going. Please come with us.'

Michael gave him a long stare.

Alexis tried his best pleading expression.

'I don't drink alcohol,' Michael said, finally.

I know. 'I'll buy you a cola.'

He caved. 'Deal.'

Five minutes later, they were standing at the doors to the hotel - Michael in a black button down and looking unfairly fine (not that Alexis was thirsting over him, it was an objective statement).

'Hey, you actually showed up!' Ali exclaimed. 'What on earth did you do to make Michael come?'

Gesner exclaimed, 'Woah, woah, woah, mind your phrasing.'

'Fuck you, you're just dirty minded.'

I wish, Alexis thought forlornly, and then, woah, hey there, intrusive thoughts.

'Are we going or what?' Michael asked acerbically.

'Yeah, yeah, Lord Almighty, we're getting to it,' Birkenstock muttered.

They made their way down the various streets and alleyways, Michael and Alexis lingering slightly behind the others. It was late in the day, sun having set a while ago, a winter breeze biting at their faces though it was decently sheltered. There was something so simple and yet beautiful about Dortmund's streets - Alexis thought he would like to move here once he retired, in a small, quaint house filled with magic, baking cookies for the children in the village, hanging his washing up on clotheslines that stretched from window to window.

The bar was cramped and yet unassuming, dimly lit and yet as warm as a heartbeat. Lively chatter filled the place, as residents hung around on barstools and crowded around tables. The vague, sharp smell of whisky drifted through the air like a siren song.

'One cola, please, and a beer,' Alexis said to the bartender.

He wasn't usually one for alcohol, yet he felt that maybe he could lose himself in it for once, lest he start thinking about his parents and cry again, God forbid.

Their drinks were served with the flippancy only a busy man could offer, ice clinking on cold glass.

'Put on some music!' someone yelled, and an uproar of agreements rose from the crowd. A jazzy tune started playing from some unidentifiable corner, and everyone cheered.

Alexis had immediately lost their team members upon entering the bar (they were probably going around chatting up anyone and everyone they could). He stuck to Michael's side like a lost child.

Two red-faced, laughing girls sidled up to them within minutes. A brunette and a redhead, tall, beautiful, faces painted, dresses low cut.

'Heyyy,' crooned the brunette, poking Michael's chest with a carefully manicured finger. He flinched away. She pretended to not notice it, giggling slightly. 'Handsome boy, are you looking for-'

'No,' he said curtly. 'Fuck off.'

'Told you this wouldn't work,' muttered the redhead. 'The finer the man, the higher the level of assholery. At this point, just kiss me instead.'

The brunette whirled around, all traces of inebriation seemingly forgotten. 'Asha…are you being serious?'

'Well, yeah, I guess-'

'Girl. Let's go make out. Forget the hot blond man.'

'Forget the hot blond man,' agreed Asha drily.

They immediately started making out, right then and there, letting out noises that should've been illegal with how publicly indecent they were, unaware (or uncaring) that they had an audience.

'What the fuck…' Michael muttered.

They fled the scene, migrating tables like a lonely flock of birds, where they proceeded to sit idly in relative silence.

'You're not gonna…do anything?' Michael asked Alexis wryly, after half an hour had passed.

'I don't know,' Alexis said, blushing, downing the last of his second beer. Was it growing dimmer? Or was that just his mind? 'Don't really come to bars all that often. Hey, bartender, can I have another?'

'You're a lightweight, aren't you?' said Michael wearily.

Alexis didn't answer, only hummed pleasantly and sipped his third beer. 'Those girls that hit on you…did'ya think they were…they were pretty?'

'What?'

'I mean…I dunno, you always seem to be like a magnet for people. Like, uh, they're flies, and you're a rotting fruit.'

'Alexis, I have no idea what you're saying.'

'You always seem so disgusted by their advances.'

'I dislike strangers.'

Alexis murmured his agreement, taking a large swig of his beer and making a face at the taste. And then, 'I like being near you, Michael.'

'…huh?'

'It's…it makes me feel all fuzzy. Yep. Mhm.'

'Alexis, I swear to God I am not carrying you back to the hotel.'

'Mmkay. Hey, Micha?'

'Don't call me that.'

'You have really pretty eyes.' And really pretty everything else.

'You're drunk.'

'You're unfairly handsome too,' Alexis slurred blearily, eyes half-open. 'It's annoying, really.' And I perchance have a thing for your neck, but you will never know that.

'My neck?' Michael echoed vaguely, amused smirk on his face.

'Ah shit, I said that aloud, didn't I?'

'Yep.'

'I'm gonna regret this in the morning, aren't I?'

'I honestly doubt you'd remember.'

'Okay. Good. Micha?'

'I said not to call me that.'

'Why? I did when we first met.'

'We were, what, fifteen? It's childish.'

'Well, I think it suits you. Makes you seem fluffier.'

'The fuck you mean by that?'

'Anyways, can I hug you?'

'Fuck no-' Michael started, but Alexis had already swung his arms around his shoulders and buried his face into Michael's neck. 

Smells nice, Alexis thought vaguely, like home, and warm. God, they were close. He didn't think they'd been this close in ages. He pulled back, stumbled away, to study Michael's face. The striker's expression was blank, yet his pupils were slightly dilated, a slight blush staining his high cheekbones.

Alexis suddenly felt too hot. 'I'm gonna take off my sweater.'

'Okay. As long as you don't turn this into a striptease.'

Alexis blacked out as his sweater was halfway over his head, later remembering nothing from the night but the vague sensation of being carried by strong, warm arms.

The Munich airport terminal was crowded, unnaturally so for a Tuesday morning, when his parents's plane landed shortly after eight. Alexis, who had been waiting there since six am (him, desperate to please his parents? To not mess up this one task he’d been given? Pshaw, never), was halfway through a yawn when he spotted his parents among the stream of arrivals. His mother was the same as always, dark violet hair streaked grey, weariness yet a timeless elegance set in her face. His father, on the other hand, looked a bit worse for wear, glasses barely hiding the shadows beneath his eyes, face lined with wrinkles, hair and beard white as snow.

‘Mother, Father!’ he yelled, waving frantically, all traces of sleepiness gone.

He pulled his mother into a stiff embrace, before letting his father pat him awkwardly on the back.

‘Alexis, have you grown?’

‘Well…it’s been about half a year? But I think I’ve stopped growing-’

‘No, no, I’m sure there’s about a 0.4cm difference between now and last time we met, son,’ said his father resolutely.

Alexis relented. ‘Perhaps I have. Should I take your bags?’

‘There is no need,’ his mother replied. ‘The flight from Berlin to Munich is not long enough to be considered tiring. We will be fine.’

‘All right, then.’

They walked to Alexis’s car in silence. He’d only gotten his license a few months ago, and had been so proud of it, but that ecstasy had vanished when he realised he had no one to drive around. The entire ride to his parents’ hotel wasn’t much better: yet again, Alexis was reminded of the invisible, wretched rift that existed between him and his family. Of the fantasy realm, and the realm of science. It wasn’t that they disliked each other, it was just that they couldn’t really exist simultaneously. All his life, he had been told he ‘had no place in their household’, that he was a ‘good-for-nothing idiot’, that healing magic was, in fact, just sterilisation and immune responses. They were jigsaw pieces, he learnt again and again, that just wouldn’t fit together.

But then why was he so desperate to complete this puzzle anyways?

They bid their farewells, and Alexis, once again, felt a bit like he was drowning.

Solace came, as it always did, in the form of Michael Kaiser.

‘Hey, Alexis,’ he said that afternoon. ‘Help me cut my hair, will you?’ 

Alexis agreed, of course, because he could never say no to Michael, and because there was something so inherently relaxing, so intrinsically intimate about cutting Michael’s hair. And so there they were, in his bathroom, Alexis humming as he snipped away strands of gold and blue. 

‘Did you know,’ he remarked absentmindedly after minutes of comfortable silence, ‘that some penguins mate for life?’

‘Really,’ Michael said, in that tone of his that wasn’t really sarcastic, wasn’t really a question, wasn’t really genuine, but something else entirely.

‘Yeah! Depends on the species, though.’

‘And why exactly do you know this?’ 

‘Oh, I had this whole phase back in primary school.’

‘About…mating for life?’

‘No, about penguins, silly!’ Alexis paused, surveying his work. ‘I think I’m done.’

Michael ran a hand - the tattooed one - through his hair. ‘You’re getting better at this.’

Sometimes, Alexis thought later on, they’d had their moments. When Michael wasn’t in a shitty mood, or when his internal asshole lay dormant, or when Alexis didn’t feel like the whole world was caving in on himself. But in hindsight, he should’ve realised that a house built from glass was always a stone’s throw away from shattering. 

As spring neared, Noa began forcing the team into bonding exercises. ‘It’ll be good for your coordination,’ he said gruffly when they complained. ‘You all function like a dysfunctional marriage, both on and off the field, and with the end of the season drawing closer, I’d like to keep the lead we currently have.’

‘This is stupid,’ Gesner muttered upon their fifth icebreaker activity. ‘Haven’t we all, like, known each other for years?’

‘And it’s not us that’s the problem,’ added Birkenstock, sending a pointed glare at Michael.

Okay, maybe Noa was partially justified, as team relations had been frostier than ever the past few weeks (which may have been due to Michael’s three-minute shouting spree upon their first loss of the season, but Alexis wasn’t going to admit that). But how many siblings do you have? seemed to be a bit unnecessary of a question.

‘Two,’ Alexis answered upon being asked. ‘An older brother and an older sister.’ I doubt they view me as a brother, though. I’d be surprised if I fell under the ‘nuisance’ category at all.

‘Actually, Alexis,’ Ali said. ‘You wanna explain The Look?’

‘Huh?’

‘The Look. You did it just then.’

‘It’s this expression you get sometimes,’ Mensah said, gentler. ‘When you, like, look really self-pitying and downcast, and your voice gets kinda wobbly.’

‘Ah, really?’ Alexis laughed, but it felt forced. He was sure everyone could tell it was forced. Shit, am I really that expressive? ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’

Michael frowned. ‘You are disgustingly expressive.’

Gesner cooed, ‘Ooh, is little Micha comprehending emotions the first time ever?’

‘Shut the fuck up, I will gut you.’

‘I hate to break it to you, dude, but this guy reads Freud in his spare time,’ Birkenstock whispered dramatically to Gesner.

‘Who the fuck is Freud?’

‘You don’t know who Freud is?’ Michael exclaimed, looking genuinely offended.

‘Isn’t that the guy who said all young boys should be attracted to their mothers?’ Ali put in.

‘That’s…concerning.’

‘Just ignore that,’ Michael muttered, glaring at the floor. ‘He had other good ideologies.’

‘Yeah, and you’re straight,’ Ali replied loftily. Michael's gaze narrowed.

‘Hey, hey, let’s not go around assuming things about other people,’ Mensah said hurriedly, physically standing between the two as if it could prevent a full-on war. 

‘I bet you haven’t even been kissed your entire life,’ Michael jeered at Ali, completely ignoring him.

‘Well you certainly haven't, not with that personality and those looks.’

‘Oh fuck off, you know I’m hot.’

‘Why are you even arguing?’ Mensah tried to intervene, yet again, but was brushed off, yet again.

‘Most people here haven’t had their first kiss!’ Alexis added. ‘So don’t act like it’s a bad thing.’

Birkenstock shook his head gravely. ‘Speak for yourself, Alexis. I think you may be the only one.’

‘I’d volunteer to help you out, Alexis, but I don’t really want Michael to fucking murder me, so I’m afraid I’ll sit this one out,’ Gesner supplied.

‘Help me out with what?’ Alexis questioned frantically. ‘And why would Michael murder you - is this about your shit defending?’

‘No, this isn’t about soccer, god damn, and my defending isn't shit. Don’t tell me you’re a hopeless romantic who’s been saving his first kiss.’

Silence.

‘No.’

‘...yeah.’

‘Dude.’

‘I’m sorry, okay? I just…haven’t really felt like it was the right time, ever.’

‘Wait, okay, that’s understandable, but can we backtrack?’ Ali put in suddenly, apparently pissed that his shouting match with Michael had been interrupted. ‘To answer your earlier question, Mensah, I have so much beef with this dipshit - arguing with him is the least I could do to let off some steam. We could all use it. And Michael, you didn’t deny it.’

Michael scowled. ‘Deny what?’ 

‘That you’d never been kissed.’

‘Why the fuck are we having this conversation?’ 

‘You’re deflecting.’

A pause.

‘I don’t - I’ve never really liked the idea,’ Michael muttered. ‘Of…kissing, I mean - fuck, I don’t know.’

‘No way,’ Gesner stated dumbly. ‘You know the internet has labeled you as a sex god, right?’

‘I am aware,’ he replied dryly.

‘But dude…your aura…’

‘Anyways, Alexis, this means you can be each others’ first kisses! Well, Michael’s still emotionally constipated, but we could make something work,’ Ali proclaimed.

Alexis felt his cheeks redden. ‘Huh? N-no, can we not talk about this, please?’

‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged. ‘But seriously, both of you need to get it together.’

‘Ignore him, Alexis,’ Michael said sharply.

‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ Alexis breathed in agreement, shakily, and yet he had a sinking suspicion that The Look was plastered all over his face. Noa was right. We fucking need group therapy.

And then came the fall (funnily enough, as spring neared its end - Alexis’s nineteenth birthday came and went fleetingly and uneventfully, like a butterfly or perhaps a single, wispy cloud passing over a full moon).

It was pouring buckets of Mother Nature’s tears onto the pitch, and Bastard München was down 1-0 at halftime in a match that would determine their place on their leaderboard. 

In the soccer room, Noa had pulled out his whiteboard and was emotionlessly scribbling out attack patterns.

They re-entered the match, weather seeming to have worsened.

Alexis passed. Michael scored.

The stadium erupted, their team felt some renewed sense of vigour.

The opposing team intercepted a pass, something that definitely should not have happened, and scored again.

The score was 2-1, Bastard München down.

They were in overtime, the ball in Alexis’s possession.

For a moment, he thought he saw a familiar figure in the crowd: purple veil, features he definitely didn’t remember seeing and yet knew like the back of his palm, the vague memory of a crystal ball and his five year old self, even though that was stupid, the audience was metres away: it was impossible to see anyone from where they were on the pitch, especially in this rain, where he could barely see his teammates-

He passed to Michael, but he was distracted, foot hitting the ball slightly off-center.

Shit. 

The pass’s arc was beautiful, fully wrong, disjointed on the field, spinning just past Michael’s foot and out.

A whistle blew, resounding. 

The match was over.

They finished the Bundesliga second on the ladder. 

Miserable and angry, they endured yet another lecture from Noa. And alone in the locker rooms beneath the stadium, after everyone else had vacated, Michael lost it at Alexis.

‘You damn puppy,’ he hissed, stalking up to him and slamming his back against the lockers, caging him between his arms. 

‘I-I’m sorry-’

‘The fuck was that pass, Alexis?’

‘I’m sorr-’

‘Don’t apologise now,’ Michael whispered, sweet venom lacing his words. ‘It’s too late: you fucked up and we lost. You know how badly this’ll reflect on my career?’

Tears began to well in Alexis’s eyes. He felt stifled, trapped, his breaths coming in uneven, hurried pants. Their gazes met: Michael was a few centimetres taller, and so Alexis had to tilt his neck upwards, slightly. There was some kind of stormy, vicious torment burning in the striker’s eyes, malice in its purest form, danger in its rawest. Some kind of primal instinct told Alexis to run, maybe, get out of there. But he was trapped in Michael’s iron grip, between him and the wall, and perhaps he didn’t really want to leave at all. He was overly conscious of how close they were, how cruelly beautiful Michael looked, his jawline cut from porcelain, eyebrows slanted like a knife slash, as alluring as a siren’s song.

Thunder clapped outside, and the lights flickered off.

And then Michael kissed him, right there in the darkness.

It wasn’t gentle, sweet, loving. 

No, as their lips crashed sloppily together, Alexis thought he might throw up, from despair or perhaps exhilaration. It was desperate, feral, high as ecstasy. He tasted blood, maybe, metallic, mixed with the salty tang of the tears now flowing in cascades down his face. 

All he could sense, all he could feel, all he knew, was Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. Their mouths opened, tongues dancing around each other like some twisted Russian Roulette, bodies pressing so closely together it was as if they were trying to force away even an atom’s distance between them. Alexis mumbled Michael’s name, every fibre tingling, every nerve on edge, molten heat pooling in every part of his body. Michael’s grip on his waist tightened, fingers digging in hard enough for that slight twinge of pain.

Alexis wasn’t exactly proud of it, this sudden, animalistic want, this distorted, perverted enjoyance, but there he was: entirely at the mercy of a kiss that meant too much and yet nothing at all.

They broke apart, gasping for air, and the sudden absence of Michael’s closeness felt more lonely than anything he’d ever known.Don’t go, he thought wildly. Suddenly he was desperate, desperate for more, anything, but Michael was already pulling away, saying, ‘Hey, Alexis,’ distorted as if he were underwater, in a tone as cold as ice, ‘Give up on soccer.’

No. No, no, nonono-

-the lights flickered back on and Michael was gone, like he had never been there at all. Alexis sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, violently, a broken, bloodied shell of a person. He was a mess, a ruin, a broken record player. Someone save me, he thought, burying his face in his knees as he wept. Oh god, someone please save me, or kill me now.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, or perhaps aeons, his tears ran dry and he mustered enough strength to clamber onto his feet, stumbling to the bathroom and retching violently into the toilet bowl. Then, as if operating purely mechanically, he splashed his face with water and stared at his reflection, gripping the sink like a lifeline. 

He looked, well, he looked like shit. Eyes puffy and red, lips swollen, hair still damp from the rain. Why am I like this, he wondered, so fucking pathetic, so useless, so weak?

His mind spun, fragments of memories and echoes of words twining with the oozing, blooming blackness.‘You have no place in this family.’ ‘Give up on soccer, Alexis.’

And then, that wasn’t how I’d wanted my first kiss to go.

Sure, he’d daydreamed about it (it was supposed to be romantic, slow, perfect, under dreamy lights, where ‘I love you’s would be uttered), about who it would be with (Michael, always Michael, even if he hadn’t consciously realised it), about the magical feeling he’d have in his chest.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not when those had been the best fleeting few seconds of his life (and possibly also the worse), not when he was so completely addicted to a sensation he’d never experience again in his life, not when he felt so utterly overwhelmed by the burning sensation in his head and lungs and chest. God, it was like someone had stabbed him, like Michael had ripped out and eaten his heart, and now he was bleeding out onto the floor.

This wasn’t the first time Michael had lashed out, made him cry. He was used to this - this cruel, hateful paradigm of heartbreak, as sure as the cycle of the four seasons, was something Alexis willingly subjected himself to. Michael needed him, and so he would be there for Michael. Michael thought he was using Alexis, using this sorry excuse for a midfielder he saw, and so Alexis let himself be used (this much was surely obvious). But dear Lord, never before had his world been quite so rocked, tilted off its axis, destroyed so severely and thoroughly. He looked so very haunted, his reflection a pallid, helpless thing. 

I love you, Michael Kaiser, he thought, and there was a bitter sort of relief in finally, finally addressing it, how pathetic is that?

At the doors of the stadium, the veiled woman stood, waiting. By then, the sky was dark, streets empty. Alexis walked briskly, bag slung over his shoulder, but he stopped immediately when he saw her.

So I wasn’t hallucinating, earlier?

She removed the veil as he approached, revealing the face of an old woman, harrowed by time, and yet so full of life.

‘Alexis, dear,’ she said warmly. ‘How have you been?’

‘You…’ remembered me. Waited for me. ‘...saw the match?’

‘Of course. You played exceptionally. Ah, I should probably introduce myself. It’s been almost fifteen years, after all.’ She cleared her throat, eyes shining. ‘My name is Clara Lindenmeyer.’

Alexis felt the pressure in his chest lift slightly. ‘Hello, Frau Lindenmeyer.’

‘Please, just Clara is fine.’

‘So.’ He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. ‘Why, exactly, are you here?’

‘Let’s just say fate brought me to see this match,’ she said with that mysterious smile he remembered so clearly, ‘And who did I happen to see in the crowd but you, my dear!’

‘I’m so very glad for fate,’ he whispered softly, truthfully.

‘Anyways, Alexis, you poor thing,’ she said, touching a wrinkled finger to his cheek. ‘Whyever have you been crying?’

The boy I love doesn’t love me back. He kissed me just to hurt me, but I liked it, isn’t that wrong of me? I feel like I’m constantly drowning, and no one is there to lend me a hand. ‘It’s…complicated,’ he ended up saying. ‘But it’s fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle.’

‘No, no, Alexis,’ she protested. ‘I do not remember what I was going to say to you, all those years ago, but I do know that your pain is not worth burying, my love. You must shout it from the rooftops.’

Your pain is not worth burying, my love.

‘Hey, Clara,’ he said. ‘I know we’ve only really known each other for five minutes, but do you have anywhere I could stay for the night?’ I don’t want to go back to the Bastard München facilities. Not tonight, when seeing Michael is going to make me tear up immediately.

Her face softened in understanding. ‘Of course.’

A twenty-minute drive later, they were there. Clara’s apartment was small, cosy, and everything Alexis had expected: a star map on the ceiling, purple curtains, books and strange, marvellous objects lining each shelf and even scattered across the floor. A vase of roses sat on the table, and Alexis’s mind immediately, involuntarily flicked to Michael. No, no, let’s not do that. Together, they cooked a warm soup in the tiny kitchen, and ate it with some slightly-stale bread by the couch. It was the best meal he’d ever had in his life. They told stories to each other: life stories, stories they’d heard, stories they made up.

‘My husband passed away a decade ago,’ she said, tone wistful. ‘We were good friends, but I don’t think I ever really loved him, and I’m not sure he loved me either. Not in that way.’

‘That sounds…’ Alexis trailed off. 

‘Lonely? Maybe a bit, but we were happy, him and I. We never had any kids, travelled regularly for our jobs…yes, we were happy.’

‘Do you think you’ve ever loved anyone like that, then?’

She thought for a moment, lost in a whirl of memories. And then her face softened, eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘There was one girl, back in university. Obsessed with psychology - I would call it mind magic.

‘We were good for a few years, you know…but it was a secret thing, our love, especially during that time. We were going to fly somewhere it was legal to get married, and then…

‘Ah, it’s been so long. It doesn’t hurt to think about it anymore. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes. She hurt me, or maybe I hurt her, who really knows? We fought, I never got to say sorry, and she…she got away.’

Alexis’s eyes had welled up with tears. ‘Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t cry, my dear,’ she said comfortingly, a hand on his shoulder.

‘What…what was her name?’

Clara’s glance flickered to the vase on the table, and said fondly, softly, ‘Rose.’

A rose and a magician, Alexis thought, a tale doomed to end in tragedy.

They played a few games of Scrabble, before Clara explained the star map to him with the enthusiasm of a lonely soul who just wanted to share her joy. He fell asleep on her couch and, for the first time in months, didn’t dream.

‘For a fellow magic lover,’ she said obscurely, pressing an envelope into his hands as he prepared to leave the next morning. ‘Open it in exactly three months. Also, here is my phone number, if you ever need it.’

The end-of-season gala was set to be held in a week, and so the following seven days, Alexis discovered that acting like everything was normal was surprisingly easy. For one, Michael barely acknowledged the kiss, barely acknowledged him (which was good, because Alexis would’ve spontaneously combusted had he’d so much as made eye contact with the striker). For another, now that their season was over, team training had ceased, so Alexis was able to sneak back into the building without being noticed following his little overnight stay at Clara's. As per usual, he had gotten the phone call from his mother, informing him that he would not need to return home during the off-season.

He barely saw Michael at all, to be exact, the only indication of the striker’s presence being the discarded milk cartons in the bin every morning.

His manager called again, this time with a slightly more persistent edge to his voice. ‘Alexis? Are you prepared to renew your contract with Bastard München, or are you considering PXG’s offer?’

‘Um.’ No, Alexis, leaving would be a cowardly thing to do. ‘I’ll…I’ll stay. At Bastard München.’

‘You hesitated.’

‘I’m not sure I’m needed on the team.’ Give up on soccer, said the Michael in his head. If it would make Michael happier if Alexis wasn’t there, then shouldn’t he go?

But Alexis was nothing if not stubborn. He knew Michael had his own issues: a past he refused to open up about, a heart wrapped in thorns, a tendency to hurt the people around him. So if Alexis left, if their little almost-friendship was compromised, he had the sinking sensation Michael would never let anyone else in again.

‘Alexis, you are a valuable player on the field. Please do not start doubting your capabilities.’

‘Right. Okay, thank you. Uh, is that all?’

‘I believe so. Please call me if you change your mind: I won’t finalise anything yet.’

‘Yep. Thanks. See you.’

Alexis pocketed his phone, looking up to see Michael, standing there in the otherwise desolate cafeteria. He was in a simple black shirt and sweatpants, unfairly handsome as always, an indiscernible expression on his face.

‘Hey, Michael.’

Silence. Then, coldly, ‘So you’re not going to say anything?’

‘Say anything about what?’

‘Don’t play dumb.’

Alexis felt his lip quiver. God, he hated this: this unease he felt as he looked at Michael, this growing blackness at the back of his mind. ‘There’s nothing to say, I guess.’

‘No?’ Michael raised an eyebrow, almost jeeringly. ‘Little puppy’s just gonna come crawling back to me, is he?’

Alexis said nothing, staring numbly at the floor.

‘Look at me, Alexis,’ said Michael, and suddenly he was there in front of him, grabbing his chin forcefully and tilting it up. ‘Why are you so fucking pathetic?’

I know, thought Alexis. Believe me, I know, I know, I knowIknowIknowIknow. ‘I have to go,’ he muttered instead, twisting out of the striker’s grasp. ‘See you later.’

‘Don’t fucking run away!’ Michael called after him, voice tight with anger. ‘Don’t you dare.’

What do you want from me? Alexis thought despairingly as he sprinted, down the front drive, up the road, running like it was sacred, as if the only way he could worship Michael was through escape. Seriously, Michael, I don’t get you. One second we’re on good terms, the next you hate me. You know I would do anything for you, so why don’t you just tell me exactly what it is? I know tearing people down is pleasing for you, but is there really any joy in breaking me over and over again?

He ran, footsteps pitter-pattering on the pavement.

I let you do this to me, Michael. Why can’t you trust me?

He ran.

Why can’t you need me?

He ran.

Why can’t you love me?

One of the perks of being a professional athlete was the stamina you naturally accumulated over the course of many rigorous practices. That, combined with the sheer desperation fuelling every footstep, managed to keep Alexis running for hours on end, eventually stopping when he physically couldn’t go any longer. It was midday, the sun high in the sky, a stark reminder that they were but a hairs-breadth away from summer. Bones weary and muscles perhaps as aching as his heart, Alexis made his way through an unfamiliar town, shops quaint and lively, people bustling to and fro.

‘Excuse me? Are you Alexis Ness, by any chance?’

Alexis halted and turned around to see the smiling face of a purple-haired foreigner, eyes shining. He was accompanied by a lanky, white-haired beanpole of a boy, who tugged on his sleeve insistently. They looked about one or two years younger than Alexis, perhaps still high schoolers.

‘I am!’ he said, exhaling a laugh. ‘Your German is amazing, by the way!’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said the foreigner. He muttered something to his boyfriend(?) in rapid-fire Japanese, before saying to Alexis, ‘It’s so great to meet you, Mr Ness! Especially here of all places, since Bastard München’s headquarters are, what, quite a few kilometres away? Oh yeah, I’m a midfielder too! Back when I first started playing soccer, your playstyle was my main inspiration.’

Alexis blushed slightly. ‘Really? Well, I’m honoured. Oh, and just call me Alexis - we're practically the same age anyways. What are your names?’

‘I’m Reo, and this is Sei–Nagi. Yeah. Nagi.’

‘Hello,’ Nagi said blearily.

‘It’s good to meet you both,’ Alexis said warmly. ‘Would you like to head to a café, or do you two have other plans?’

Reo’s eyes lit up. ‘I’d love that,’ he said earnestly. ‘Nagi, what do you feel like eating?’

Five minutes later, they found themselves seated inside a cosy little bistro. They fell into easy conversation: apparently, Nagi and Reo were part of a Japanese soccer project called ‘Blue Lock’, and they were preparing to join the European leagues during the coming seasons. They had been at the same high school, Reo being the one who'd discovered Nagi's innate talent for trapping, and had once gone eight months without losing a match.

‘So,’ Alexis said as their food arrived. ‘Are you two, like, together?’ God, I hope that wasn’t an insensitive question.

But also look at them: Nagi clings to Reo like a koala, and the way Reo looks at Nagi is so comically sweet, I’d probably lose my mind if they weren't dating. 

‘We are, actually,’ Reo said with a laugh. ‘Took a while for him to get his head out of his ass, but here we are.’

Alexis grinned. ‘And you’re both playing for Manshine City soon?’ 

‘Yeah!’

‘Well, I gotta warn you…your coach, Chris Prince, is certainly a character.’

'Oh God, didn't he get fined a bunch for stripping on live TV?'

It was easy, easy to lose himself in conversations of soccer, maybe even rediscovering the magic buried within the sport. But, as always, the conversation steered towards Michael.

‘So you’ve played with Michael Kaiser, haven’t you?’ Nagi said suddenly, his German pronunciation sloppy yet understandable. This was the first hint of interest he’d shown throughout the entire conversation.

‘Yes, I have,’ Alexis agreed.

'He's…really good.'

'Yeah, he is.'

‘Why are you always defending him, even if he’s so obviously an asshole?’ Reo asked, frowning. ‘Well…you don’t need to answer, sorry, I just-’

‘No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,’ Alexis said gently. Honestly, Reo, I sometimes wonder the same thing myself. ‘Michael isn't all that bad, and I'm used to it - we've been friends for years, now - though we have a bit of a, uh, strange relationship. But I’m working on it.’

‘Good luck,’ Nagi said solemnly, nodding his head. ‘One day, I’m going to surpass Kaiser and become the best striker in the world.’

‘Alright,’ Alexis replied, biting back his initial sharp retort that was something along the lines of 'fuck no, you aren't'. 'Uh, well, have fun with that?' God, I can’t even speak civilly to anyone about Michael.

‘Me and Reo are going to win the World Cup together,’ Nagi stated, fire burning in his eyes. ‘And then we’ll spend the rest of our lives together, playing video games and sleeping in.’

Alexis laughed. Must be nice, he thought, almost bitterly, to be so sure of each other. 

'So Alexis,' Reo inquired, a curious look in his eyes. 'Do you have a special someone?'

Alexis's thoughts flickered, involuntarily, to Michael. 'Uh-uhm, maybe?' he stammered. 'I don't really know where we stand right now. I don't even think he sees me that way.'

'I get it, bro,' Reo said, nodding seriously. 'Nagi was the same before we started dating.'

'I had to really work for Reo's love,' Nagi added, equally as serious. God, this kid was smitten.

'Maybe I'll do that, then,' Alexis smiled. 'Thanks, guys.' Give all I have left to Michael. Work for his love. Convince him that I'm not just some pathetic puppy to be kissed and thrown around. How hard can that possibly be?

'Oh, there's also this soccer camp we're doing during the off-season, us and some other Blue Lock players,' Reo said, lighting up. 'You should totally come - I'll send you the details. Oh, but I'm sure a professional like you wouldn't need it-'

'No, no, I'd love to come,' Alexis broke in, laughing. 'I'll see if I'm free. Thanks for inviting me.'

Mother ❤️

Saturday, May 30th

8:46pm

Alexis, as you are currently in your off-season, I assume you are free?

8:46pm

We have our end-of-season gala tomorrow, but after that I'm free any time.

8:47pm

Good.

I have reconsidered what I told you earlier. Will you come home for a week? There is something we must talk about.

8:47pm

Yes, I’d love to!

Read 8:48pm

The hall was decorated with the extravagance of a palace, bustling with people clothed in luxury brands and dripping in saccharine lavishness. High ceilings hosted glistening chandeliers, white-clothed tables were laid throughout the red-carpeted floor, servers ducking through the milling crowd carrying trays piled with drinks and snacks.

Alexis felt out of place, stifled. He had stressed for hours in front of the mirror that afternoon, fiddling with his hair (to slick it back, or not to slick it back, that is the question?), undoing and redoing his tie (a beautiful, velvety burgundy colour). His black suit felt too tight, dress pants too loose, shoes (polished again and again) stiff and nothing like the soccer boots he was so comfortable in.

Once again, the important people of the soccer world were gathered in one area. Was it them he was trying to impress, to seem put-together for? Was it his team? Was it Michael?

The Bastard München team had landed in Berlin that morning, checking into a hotel they had stayed in before. Michael and Alexis were supposed to room together, but the former had disappeared as soon as they'd arrived, leaving the latter to unpack in silence and the isolation he thought he desired.

And now Alexis was here, forcing a smile onto his face, struggling through small talk with old men that were probably trying to coerce him into signing borderline illicit contracts.

And now Michael was there, standing on the opposite side of the room, wineglass in his hand (though Alexis knew the drink inside was probably just coke).

Black suit, navy tie, slacks, white dress shirt.

Blue rose pinned to his lapel.

Blue eyes narrowed, shining, bright. A face so regal, crafted by the hands of angels, belonging on billboards, not to be stared at lest you were willing to be blinded.

He looked so out of place, but not in the way Alexis felt.

No, here was an emperor, a god, standing among commoners, among mortals.

Their gazes met for the briefest of moments, something electric pulsing in the air between them, and then Gesner appeared in front of Alexis. Blocked the view.

'Damn, Alexis,' Gesner whistled. 'Lookin' good.'

'Huh? Oh, thanks…'

'And what you did with your hair…it's really different. In a nice way.'

So slicking it back was the right choice, then?

Gesner stepped closer, grabbed his wrist gently. 'Say, why don't we head upstairs-'

Alexis whipped his arm away. 'Are you drunk? Dude, it's only been, what, fifteen minutes?' And this is a single-floor hall.

'I probably am. Y'know these events…boring as hell and twice as hot. Can't survive 'em without good ol'…' He blinked, seeming to shake himself out of his stupor. 'Bro. Did I just accidentally proposition you?'

'You did,' Alexis replied gravely.

'Ah, shit. Sorry, man. Not that you're not appealing, I mean, you're pretty, and some people may find the whole insecure and despairingly devoted to someone else thing sexy-'

'Stop, stop, oh my Lord,' Alexis interrupted. 'You're making it worse.'

'Alright, alright.' Gesner shrugged. 'Please don't, under any circumstance, tell Michael I tried to hit on you.'

'Why is Michael relevant-'

'What's going on here?' drawled a mild, familiar voice.

'Welp, that's my cue to leave,' said Gesner, ducking away and vanishing as suddenly as he had appeared.

Michael and Alexis faced each other wordlessly, something fierce, molten, burning in the striker's eyes. Michael's lips parted, about to speak, and then-

'Esteemed guests, please gather around!'

Michael cursed under his breath.

'We will now commence the awards ceremony for the U20s Bundesliga.'

'Come on then, puppy,' Michael crooned softly, spitefully. 'Come and accept our second place medals. It's what you wanted, isn't it?'

Alexis felt a sob rise in his throat, shook his head violently. 'Michael, I-'

'I don't want to hear it.' Michael stepped away, turning his attention to the announcer, ever so distant, ever so cold.

'…and now I would like to introduce Ray Dark, the chairman of the International Football Association, to present the individual awards.'

There was a smattering of polite applause as the man took to the stage, straight-backed, stiff-faced.

'Good evening, ladies and gentleman,' he began, gravelly. 'I would like to begin with the PIFA award for most outstanding individual player…awarded to Michael Kaiser.'

Alexis stood up a little straighter, clapping wildly, desperately, as Michael made his way through the crowd, accepted the award, and offered a small, ingenuine smile for the press. And then his eyes flickered to Alexis, for a mere second, wetting his lower lip with his tongue almost imperceptibly, and Alexis was suddenly, painfully reminded of their kiss, how he had been reduced to nothing, how he hadn't wanted it to end, their violent, hot, lustful frenzy. Michael uttered some inane, forgettable words of thanks to the audience, which everyone gushed at, and yet Alexis barely heard a thing over the sound of his wild, erratic heartbeat.

‘Where are you going?’ Michael asked him, the morning of his flight home. The query was more out of morbid curiosity and cruel control, Alexis reflected, than genuine care.

‘Home,’ he said, suitcase clutched in his hands, ‘to visit my parents.’

‘Right.’

‘Goodbye, Michael.’

He received no response.

Three hours later, he was standing in front of the door to the house he grew up in, in a small, forgettable town in the middle of Germany. The pitch he’d played in as a child was only a few blocks away - he’d passed it by in the taxi he’d hailed, smiling as he recalled his younger self’s inane dribbling techniques. His house appeared smaller to him now than it once had: single-storied and squat, garden impeccably trimmed as always, windows cleaned spotless with some concoction his parents had probably brewed themselves. Here was the place he learned to hide his tears, here was the place he saw magic for the first time, and here lived a family he couldn’t help but run back to, over and over again.

Realising he didn’t have a key (to his own house, how sad), Alexis simply rang the doorbell and stood outside, suitcase beside him. A few moments later, his brother opened the door, brown hair slightly tousled and glasses on his face as usual.

‘Hi, Alexis,’ he said sourly. ‘You are still obsessed with magic, I presume?’

His face flushed. ‘Not as much now,’ he lied. ‘How has your university stuff been?’

He snorted. ‘Stuff. How…eloquent. Anyways, it has been alright. I am drafting my thesis currently, so you’d better not disturb me. Come inside, I guess.’

Alexis shuffled inside awkwardly, greeted with the entrance hallway and bare white walls he knew so well. Shrugging off his shoes as he entered, he immediately ducked into his childhood bedroom and closed the door behind him. It was exactly how he’d left it: but not in the way a mother deliberately preserved her child’s memory, but more in the neglected sense, like this room was a taboo in the household, to be left untouched and unseen.

His roof was painted a deep purple, posters of magicians and fantasy books tucked in every nook and cranny and lining the walls. On his desk, gel pens and Posca markers lay haphazardly like a smattering of stars, as well as a map of Middle-Earth and some maths homework he had given up on years ago. Some of his favourite items as a child sat in a box at the base of his bed: his wand, cloak and hat, his prized magic picture book, his first ever soccer boots, some tarot cards, his dragon plushie.

He smiled to himself fondly, remembering the little pieces of wonder he had found in every little thing. That was the thing about children: they saw the world a little differently, saw stars in your footprints, saw smiles on the most stoic of faces. Alexis wondered why people lost this whimsy, this inherent freedom, and realised he was mourning his own.

Dinner, the one meal they’d always shared as a family, saw them sitting around their circular dining table, bowls of pasta in front of them.

‘How are you all?’ Alexis asked eventually, breaking the awkward silence. 

‘We are well,’ said his brother. He exchanged a glance with their mother, who blinked at him calmly before turning to Alexis.

‘Alexis,’ she stated, and Alexis had a sudden feeling of unease. ‘I have called you home to talk to you about a certain issue. As you know very well, our family is relatively well known in the science world. We have always been the Nesses, with a broad range of specialisations, reliable and efficient to work with. But now, these talks of you being Ness the Magician the soccer field has been a…tarnish to our reputation. Others in our field dislike the fact that you, our son, has strayed from the world of science. We have been getting less project offers, less research opportunities, and as a result, the progress of science has been hindered.’

‘I graphed it,’ added his sister, ‘and there has been a 41.67% decrease in the categories Mother mentioned, as well as a 12.29% decrease in scientific breakthroughs and innovations, all in the past year, directly correlating to our family’s contributions.’

‘So we would like for you to quit soccer,’ concluded his father. ‘Your little side-hobby has gone on for much too long now. And now that it is damaging our work, it must come to an end.’

Alexis felt his fork slip from his hands. What?

That's…

Selfish.

Unfair.

Absurd.

‘You may find this to be a self-serving request,’ said his mother. ‘But we have the best interest of the science world, and therefore the entire world, at heart.’

‘So it helps everyone if I stop playing soccer,’ he mumbled, voice trembling slightly. How is that possible, though? Don't they think it's a little too far-fetched?

All his life, though his parents hadn’t exactly endorsed it, they had gone along with his love for soccer, partially due to the health benefits it offered him, and also because it meant he was occupied with something other than the magic they hated. Yet now… 

‘Alexis. Give up on soccer.’

‘We would like for you to quit soccer.’

The two people he cared for dearest in this world, asking him to give up on the thing he loved most.

With Michael, it was slightly okay. Okay because Michael said things he didn’t mean, okay because Michael’s habit of hurting people wasn’t something he could exactly control, okay because it was Michael, so it was justified.

But from his own family…

‘Can I…think about this?’ he said, standing up from his chair.

‘There is nothing to consider,’ replied his mother. ‘Don’t be selfish, Alexis.’

How am I the selfish one, he wondered as he fled to his room, dinner untouched, for doing something that brings joy to so many people? 

He thought of Michael, his messed up pass, Michael’s messed-up career. It was one goal. It was one placement on the ladder. We were so close, we were so close and we fucked up, I fucked up.

He thought of Reo, with his shining eyes and eager grin.You said I inspired your playing, and that made me so happy. I want to bring magic into everyone’s lives like this, so maybe the world can be just a little bit brighter.

And then a gentler voice: ‘Live bravely, Alexis. Your pain is not worth burying, my love.’

Should he stop playing, like his family wanted him to, like Michael wanted him to? Was that selfless, or just stupid? Would he be happier appeasing his family, never seeing Michael again in his life but on billboards and bright screens, entire universes separating them? Or would he be happier continuing playing, seeing Michael’s cruel, beautiful visage every day, knowing that he was dooming his family and his one chance to be appreciated, or maybe even loved by them?

God, his head hurt. 

He didn’t want to do this: didn’t want to think, didn’t want to believe, and so he tumbled into bed with the clumsiness of a newborn, falling immediately into the deep clutches of yet another memory.

This was one of the two times Alexis had heard Michael laugh, really laugh.

They were sixteen, or perhaps seventeen, Alexis didn’t exactly remember. It was a miserable day, the sky grey and cloudy and on the precipice of a storm, and yet they had just won an important match (Alexis made two assists, Michael scored thrice). 

‘You wanna steal Noa’s car and go get ice-cream?’ Michael hissed to Alexis, a wide grin on his face. They both didn’t have their licenses at the time - only their learners.

‘He’ll kill us,’ Alexis responded warily.

‘He legally can’t. The most he can do is reduce our game time, and he’d be a fool to do that.’

Alexis considered it. ‘Fine.’ He never could say no to Michael, anyways. ‘But you’re buying.’

‘Deal.’

Noa’s car was one of those old ones, where a simple key could turn the engine on. Michael picked the lock with startling efficiency - ‘Don’t ask,’ he warned Alexis, as he received an incredulous look - and they left the parking lot as swiftly as they could’ve with their (Michael’s) subpar driving skills.

‘The Rose’ was playing on the radio, with the occasional interlude of crackling static. Alexis hummed along heartily. ‘Hey Michael,’ he said breathlessly once it ended. ‘I think this might just be my favourite song.’

Michael nodded in acknowledgement, glancing over at Alexis for the slightest of moments. And then the rain came, a sudden deluge of lightning, thunder, slicking the streets a glossy black. Perhaps, Alexis thought, the sky gods are crying for us. Suddenly, they could barely see the way in front of them. Michael muttered a curse under his breath as the wheels skidded, slid with a resounding screech, and then they careened right off the road and into a nearby ditch.

They were silent for a moment, frantic breathing drowned out the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering insistently on the windows.

Alexis asked, hesitantly, ‘Michael? Are you okay?’

And then Michael started laughing, loud and bright and genuine, and the sound was perhaps the most beautiful thing Alexis had ever heard. ‘Let’s run,’ he said, in between laughs. ‘You aren’t hurt, are you?’

‘No,’ Alexis replied slowly, ‘I’m fine, but Noa’s car is done for.’ 

They struggled out of the doors of the car, surveying the wreckage briefly, and were immediately soaked through from the storm. It appeared to be worsening, darkening, thunder booming louder, lightning flashing frequently across the murky sky. There was a kind of innate beauty here, in this grey miasma, in this god of a human being next to him.

‘You still owe me ice-cream,’ Alexis said.

Michael shrugged. ‘Let’s go, then. We’re less than a kilometer away from the store, anyways.’

Michael was wrong. They walked in the rain for hours on end, clothes heavy with water, hair drenched and flat. 

‘I think we’re lost,’ Alexis said, finally. ‘My phone’s dead.’

‘Mine too.’

The situation was so absurd, so completely random, that Alexis felt the sudden urge to giggle, chest light, as if he were floating. Is this what it feels like, he wondered, to fly? 

By some stroke of luck, they found the ice-cream store a few minutes later. They stumbled inside, bringing half the storm with them, water droplets clinging to their garments and dripping onto the worn welcome map.

‘Welcome! Gosh, you’re both drenched. Whatever inspired you to come outside in this weather?’ exclaimed the girl behind the counter cheerily. 

‘The pressing urge to eat ice-cream,’ Alexis answered seriously, and she laughed (he had the fleeting thought that it wasn’t nearly as nice a laugh as Michael’s. From then on, he decided to make it his personal vendetta to witness (and perhaps be the cause of) Michael’s laughter (no, he wasn’t head over heels, no way…)). 

‘Anyways, what can I get you?’

They were so carefree back then, young and bold and happy, free to rebel, free to do the shit teenagers usually did. And yet those memories, though they lingered, had been overshadowed by the frivolous, vital narratives of their lives now. Here he stayed, bound by his useless love. Here he stayed, drowning, like always, in his own blood and tears. 

Alexis left his house the next day. This is what people mean, he decided, when they say that a house sometimes isn’t a home. He hadn't even fully unpacked his suitcase, and so disappearing like the coward he was was easy enough (he did send his mother a goodbye text, which was left on read).

Michael didn’t question why he’d arrived back so early, instead giving him a single, slight nod upon seeing him again. And so Alexis asked him, tentatively, if he wanted to train, heart soaring when the striker agreed. Surprisingly enough, their coordination hadn’t been affected by the strange air between them. On the contrary, they seemed to be working even better together on-field. 

Give up on soccer, said the Michael in his brain.

Shut the fuck up, he replied, because it was he who knew Michael best, on and off the soccer pitch, he who could work with the striker’s many idiosyncrasies, he who would do anything for this god of a human. 

Perhaps everything that had gone down between them had thawed, dissipated in the wind. It had happened before, many a time: Michael turning on him, Michael making him cry, and then Michael forgetting (or maybe, just maybe, forgiving) his grievances.

‘Hey, Alexis,’ Michael said after their practice, when they were both sweaty and exhausted from running around non-stop. ‘Cut my hair for me later, will you?’

Oh my God. ‘I would love to.’

That was how he found himself in that familiar room, that familiar scene before him in the mirror. Michael, expressionless, and regally, untouchably beautiful. Alexis, beaming, eyes bright, scissors in one hand and comb in the other.

‘You play differently, now,’ Michael said. It was more of a statement than a question, and yet it was one that asked so many things that couldn’t be expressed into words.

Alexis paused his repetitive snipping. ‘My parents want me to, uh, quit soccer.’

Michael’s face tensed. ‘And what did you say?’

‘I’d consider it.’ A brief silence. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’

Michael barked a harsh laugh. ‘Puppy, what I want is none of your concern. But you do have talent, and it would be fucking stupid to waste it.’

Well. That was the closest thing to an apology Alexis was ever going to receive, and so he tucked it in a little nook in his heart and promised he’d keep it safe.

‘My parents are scientists,’ he said suddenly, and an insurmountable pressure lifted off his shoulders. ‘They have never loved my magic, and I’m not sure they love me in the way that I want them to.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, I-’

‘Go on.’

Alexis’s heart leapt into his throat. ‘Uh. Okay. Yeah. So I was basically neglected, all my life, and my siblings thought I was the most useless brat on the planet.’ Maybe that’s why I think so too. ‘They still do. And they say these demeaning, belittling things every time they see me, or they don’t care at all, which is worse.

‘I’ve never really been needed by anyone, y’know? Well…until you…but I was lonely before, and I’m scared. I’m so fucking terrified, and I don’t even know of what.’

Michael did not respond, but he listened attentively, raptly, and Alexis wanted to weep, as joyously sorrowful as a spring morning’s rainfall.

Gently, he brushed away a few strands of hair clinging to Michael’s neck, fingers slightly skimming the blue rose tattoo.

‘One day,’ Michael uttered, ‘I’ll tell you about my past. But not now.’

You, who avoid every mention of your family or past life? You, who put up walls so high not even the tallest man could see over them? You, who kissed me violently just to break my heart, destroy my world, and then piece it back together? You know trusting me with this information may break me, right? You know I want to be broken?

'There's this summer camp,' Alexis said hesitantly. 'It's just a soccer training camp, really. Near the outskirts of Münich. Some, uh, acquaintances of mine are going.'

'How long is it for?'

'Two weeks, I think.'

Michael considered for the entirety of two seconds, in which Alexis crossed his fingers and prayed to all the higher beings that he knew of. 'Alright. I'll come with you.'

Perhaps, if there were a god somewhere out there, they were smiling down on him, bringing some divine light into this deep, deep hole he’d dug himself into.

Following a one-hour bus ride, they arrived at their lodgings sometime in the afternoon. Nestled in an unassuming little forest just beyond the Alps, and home to a sprawling soccer pitch, the campsite was the most beautiful place Alexis had ever seen. Cabins built from wooden logs, a communal firepit, glistening lake just a short walk away, it was picturesque.

'Hey, it's Alexis!' exclaimed a familiar voice as Alexis and Michael hauled their duffel bags towards where a small group of people were gathered. 'And - oh my god, Seishirou, catch me if I faint, but is that Michael Kaiser?'

'Hi, Reo!' Alexis grinned, happy to see the purple-haired boy. 'Yeah, it is.'

'Can I get an autograph?' Nagi asked Michael, serious save for the wide, starry-eyed expression he was now sporting.

'Uh, sure, of course.'

Michael ended up signing Nagi's sock, since he didn't have anything else.

Reo introduced them to the rest of the Blue Lock players there (which consisted of three people, all strikers: a pretty, pink-haired boy named Chigiri who, as Reo put it, was 'very fast'; an overly cheery dribbling expert with blunt bangs and bright yellow highlights named Bachira; and a tall, tanned, attractive (in an I-would-avoid-you-in-public kind of way) guy named Shidou, with the best eyeliner Alexis had ever seen on anyone, objectively fine collarbones, and pink-tipped blond hair. Subsequently, the first thing Shidou did was hit on both Alexis and Michael).

'I mean, if you're ever up for a threesome-'

'Shut the fuck up,' Reo groaned. 'Sorry about him…he's not usually this bad.'

'Yeah, he is,' Nagi disagreed vehemently. 

'You just have to tune him out,' said Chigiri tiredly. 'Anyways, it's nice to meet you guys.'

'Nice to meet you all too,' agreed Alexis, but it came out as more of a question.

As it turned out, the one running the training camp was Noel Noa himself, alongside a stick of a man by the name of Ego Jinpachi, who sported a bowlcut that was certainly…a choice.

'Welcome, you lumps of talent,' said Ego tiredly. 'Now that Blue Lock is, uh, temporarily over, I've decided to further my coaching career alongside this motherfucker over here.'

'Go die in a hole,' Noa said brazenly.

Alexis and Michael exchanged matching looks of disbelief.

'Anyways, we aren't summer camp directors. We're world class coaches. Be grateful for this opportunity that has been granted to you,' Ego continued. 'With that being said, however, we do have a few ground rules to enforce. One, curfew is by 10pm, or I have full liberty to hit you in the head with a frying pan.

'Two, no leaving the premises. I know some of you are technically adults, but you are still under our custody for the time being, and frankly I do not want to be doing the paperwork if any of you dipshits get hurt.

'Three, keep the place clean. Sort out your own shit, basically. Should be easy enough.'

'And finally,' said Noa, 'Soccer is strictly limited to the pitch. If a window is shattered at any point in time - though I trust your aim is better than that - then reparations will be paid by whoever caused the damage. All clear?'

There was a chorus of yes, sirs from the group of about twenty boys.

'There are two cabins, each with five bunk beds. Go sort yourselves out,' Noa continued. 'Also, Kaiser and Ness, I apologise for my crude language. Please do not inform your teammates of this.'

They nodded, bewildered, before making their way over to the rooms.

'Top or bottom?' Michael asked, suddenly.

Alexis jumped, face flushing. 'Sorry, uh, what?'

'Bunk, Alexis. Jesus, don't be so dirty minded.'

'I-I wasn't-' Alexis spluttered defensively, but Michael had already thrown his bag onto the top bunk. 'Bottom. Yeah. Was gonna say bottom anyways.'

They had the rest of the afternoon free, and Reo suggested going for a swim in the lake.

'It's on the premises, I checked,' he said excitedly.

'Wanna play video games…' mumbled Nagi blearily.

'There's no WiFi,' Reo reminded him. 'Come on, please Seishirou, it would be so fun.'

'Okay, Reo.'

'Simp,' muttered Chigiri.

'At least I'm in a healthy relationship with the man I love,' Nagi replied venomously, and Chigiri flipped him off.

A kindred spirit? Alexis thought hopefully, regarding Chigiri with newfound appreciation.

'Kunigami is…sorting his shit out, but we'll get there.'

'Michael, you coming down to the lake with us?' Alexis asked.

'I didn't pack bathers.'

'Just wear your boxers!' crowed Shidou, suddenly appearing much too invasively in their personal space. 'Or skinny dip. I'm sure your boyfriend over here would appreciate it.'

'We're not dating,' Alexis said quickly (but he did kiss me, and I may be slightly in love with him). He caught Reo's gaze, who mouthed 'Is Kaiser the guy you mentioned?', and nodded forlornly in response.

'Shame. Wasted hot couple potential,' Shidou muttered. The man had the audacity to look genuinely saddened at the prospect, and Alexis let out a sudden laugh. 'As for my boyfriend…wait. Is everyone here gay?'

'Why is that relevant?' Michael asked irritably.

'We don't want to hear about your boyfriend again,' Chigiri told him gently at the same time, with the chiding tone of a mother telling her son to stop eating bark.

'Wait…if you had a boyfriend…then why did you hit on me and Michael?' Alexis questioned.

'Woah, woah, I get you all love me and want to talk to me, but you gotta tone it down,' Shidou said, winking. 'Michael, this is relevant because it's progress! The more our army grows, the more we can eventually eclipse the straight population! Which is my dream, by the way. As for Chigiri, fuck you, and not in the way Kunigami wants to. Alexis, my sweet summer child, I fear flirting with people is just how I interact with them. It's a natural instinct. A base need. It's okay, though. You're pretty, but you're not my type. My type is my boyfriend, who-'

'Yeah, yeah, shut up,' Bachira exclaimed, slamming open their cabin door. He was shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder, bright blue bathers covered in rubber ducks slung low on his hips. 'Who's coming to the lake?'

They eventually made their way down to the waterfront, Alexis pointedly not staring at Michael's abs, no no, he was better than that. His gaze did flit to Michael's lips for a second, suddenly reliving that dark moment in the locker room, heartbeat quickening as he remembered his frantic, broken state. No depressing thoughts, he thought, we're just here to play soccer.

And so he set two rules for himself:

1. No thinking about his family, or about their request.
2. No thinking about romance of any sort.

Easy enough to follow, right?

They had lasagne for dinner, the typical camp meal stirring something inside Alexis's chest. He hadn't been this happy since…well, forever. Their shared discussions of soccer seemed to flow endlessly, beautifully, stories shared like bottles of wine. Bachira, and the monster in his playstyle. Chigiri's ACL injury, how he played every match with a guillotine above his neck, and so ran ever more desperately. Shidou, seeking something almost holy from soccer, playing for the explosions he wanted to see. Reo, with his parent's disapproval of his playing, and his ability to copy plays almost perfectly. And Nagi, the lazy genius, who had started playing only seven months ago, who had so much insane, natural, God-given potential, and was crumbling under the weight of how to use it.

Alexis spoke of his magic, how he wanted to share it with the entire world through his passes (was this still his dream? This fundamental piece of himself…hadn't he lost it, somewhere along the way?).

Michael even pitched in a quiet, 'Soccer is all I know. There's nothing truer than a kick fueled by your own life force,' to which a chorus of agreements rose around the table.

The conversation then somehow shifted to whether Ego and Noa had hooked up before (started by Shidou, who could've guessed?).

'Did you know they were rivals, back in the day, when they were just starting?' Reo put in.

'What?' said six other people, disbelievingly.

'Yeah. I think that's where the angsty, teenage-drama-gone-wrong, hate sex energy comes from.'

'But Noa's…Noa,' Alexis muttered. 'I think he's genuinely incapable of having sexual feelings.'

'His only passion is for soccer balls,' Michael agreed, small smile on his face.

'Kinky,' said Shidou, and they burst into uproarious laughter. 

I wish I could freeze this moment, thought Alexis, put it in a little jar, and keep it for the rest of eternity.

Their training started the next day: packed schedules of morning runs, drill upon drill upon drill, practice matches, and then match analyses. Their nights were spent by the fireplace, under an open roof of stars, laughing without a care in the world.

'Reo, Nagi and I are all going to Manshine next season,' Chigiri said.

'I'm headed to FC Barcha!' Bachira exclaimed.

'I'll be at PXG,' Shidou added, smirking. 'Are you Germans staying at Bastard München?'

'Yeah,' Alexis said, glancing over at Michael. 'Well, probably.'

'Nice. Maybe we'll meet for the World Cup, then. Japan versus Germany in the finals - see you there.'

'You stand no chance,' Alexis jeered playfully, 'not when we have Michael.'

'Well, we have Itoshi Sae,' Shidou shot back .

'The midfielder with long lashes?' Alexis asked, eyes widening. 'New Gen 11?'

'Yeah, isn't he pretty?'

'Well, Michael's also New Gen 11, and he's prettier, so-'

'-Alexis,' Michael interrupted. 'Don't say shit like that, it's embarrassing.'

'Okay, Michael!'

At the end of their first week, Noa and Ego gathered the players on the pitch, matching bored expressions on their faces.

'We're switching things up a bit,' Ego said curtly. 'No more soccer - your foundational skills are no longer subpar. We're learning the basis of sport as a whole.'

'And we're starting with basketball,' Noa continued. 'I think there's a fair amount you can learn from it.'

A chorus of groans rose from the players.

'Coach, don't you think this will recess our soccer playing? With the whole using-your-hands thing?' someone yelled.

'If your ability to play soccer is so easily influenced by participation in another sport, I suggest you reconsider career choices,' Ego said.

Alexis frowned. 'Michael, I don't think I've ever touched a basketball in my life.'

'Me neither.'

Basketball, as it turned out, was surprisingly fun. Michael was annoyingly good at it, as he always was with everything. Though it felt illegal, dribbling with their hands, suddenly Alexis was able to focus more on his footwork, without having to worry about kicking the ball.

It helped, in an odd way.

They cycled through an array of different sports over the next week: volleyball, tennis, rowing, and even some twisted gymnastics course where Alexis learned that he: a) couldn't hula hoop, and b) was as flexible everywhere else as he was in his ankles.

On the final night, they were split into two teams to play capture-the-flag on the entirety of the premises. Alexis and Michael ended up on opposite teams, to Alexis's dismay.

'Okay, since I have self-appointed myself as your leader, would you like to hear a motivational speech?' Shidou asked.

'No, dear God,' Chigiri muttered, massaging his temples, but Shidou was already prattling on about 'defending their honour' and 'giving their lives to save their comrades'.

'Shidou,' Alexis said gently. 'This is capture-the-flag, not Communism.'

'They're close enough.'

'Dude…'

'Okay, our plan of attack - anyone have any ideas?'

'Chigiri should lead the offense,' suggested Alexis, 'He's the fastest, after all.'

'I like the way you think, comrade.'

'Oh my Lord,' Chigiri muttered. 'Please stop with the comrade talk.'

'Never, comrade. Anyways, half of us can stay behind and defend, alright? Yes. Okay. Onwards we march!'

They took off as soon as Ego's distant starting bell rang, Alexis lingering by their home base. I have no idea how capture-the-flag works, he thought mildly. Is that a problem?

A few minutes of relative silence passed. And then the bushes rustled, rather ominously. Alexis's back stiffened.

What's the smart move in this situation? I should try to incapacitate this person, shouldn't I?

But what if it's not a human at all?

What if it's, say, a wolf?

Please don't eat me.

He walked towards the sound hesitantly. Smart decision, Alexis, he berated himself mentally, walking towards the potential danger, ah yes.

And then, of course, he tripped over a stray branch and fell facefirst into the bushes…and right into a warm body. They tumbled to the ground, nestled among twigs and undergrowth.

Alexis shrieked, and then a hand clapped over his mouth.

'Jesus, Alexis, this is how people die in horror movies.'

'M-Michael?'

He was suddenly aware, with every fibre of his being, just how close they were, that he was lying directly on top of the striker. Ha. Who's the bottom now? No, Alexis, don't think about that. Vaguely, he thought that this might be the type of scenario that happened in romance movies, where the two leads were forced, unconventionally, into close proximities such as-

'Get off me.'

'Ah, yes, sorry…' Alexis scrambled onto his feet, offering a hand to help Michael up. The striker ignored it.

They stayed standing like that, catching their breaths, staring at each other a bit too wildly.

If you kiss me again, Alexis thought, I think I would dissipate in your arms, but at least I'd be happy.

Michael's gaze flickered to his lips, as if he'd heard the thought.

They were still standing close, too close, alone in the cover of the trees-

-there was a cackle of laughter in the distance, a loud, bold declaration of victory, and then Shidou and Chigiri burst into the clearing with the opposing team's flag clutched in the redhead's hands.

'Those motherfuckers,' Michael said, scowling, twisting away, and suddenly there was too much distance between them.

No, come back, Alexis wanted to say. There's something here, right? I'm not going crazy?

Do you want this, Michael?

Or do you just want to hurt me again?

Because I would gladly break myself, just for you, I think.

The training camp ended quietly and resolutely, and Alexis and Michael bid farewells to the Blue Lock players before arriving back at the Bastard München headquarters, yet again with this strange energy whirling electric, alive, in the air between them.

It snowed one day, unexpectedly, even when they were on the precipice of summer. A miracle, the weather presenters called it. A stroke of luck, Michael dubbed it. Magic, thought Alexis.

He and Michael sat, that night, on a snow-covered bench, as gentle, icy flakes drifted down beside them. Illuminated by the hazy glow of a street-lamp, it was like they were the only people in the entire world: Michael in his blue sweater, Alexis with his scarf.

They talked about nothing, about everything.

Whether the two of them could take a lion in a fight (Michael thought yes, Alexis thought no).

Whether it was morally wrong to name your child Rudolph.

Whether photosynthesis was superior to digestion.

Which end of a pencil went first if you were to (theoretically) stick one up your ass. 

Alexis laughed and laughed, Michael cracked a few smiles, and the entire earth seemed to stand still for them. Because Michael’s attention made Alexis feel like he could do anything, like he was dancing with the stars themselves.

At some point in time, a gust of wnd blew away Alexis’s scarf. He watched, shivering, helpless, mournful, as it was carried away into the night.

‘Don’t chase it,’ Michael said. Alexis sneezed. A beat. ‘Wear my sweater.’

‘But-’

‘It’s fine. I don’t really get that cold.’

Michael shrugged off his sweater, gently fitted it over Alexis’s head, and suddenly he was engulfed in warmth, and Michael Kaiser (the smell of the Bastard München facility’s laundry detergent, as well as a hint of citrus, maybe, and pine, something so entirely Michael). 

‘You look good,’ said Michael, ‘in blue.’

Alexis melted, right then and there, wrapped in a fragile kind of hope. Please, he thought desperately, walk all over my heart, break it, burnt it, and then mend it with trembling, reverent hands. 

Michael 💙🌹

Tuesday, July 15th

7:03am

Hi, Michael :3

Do you want your sweater back?

7:03am

No, keep it.

It suits you more anyways

7:04am

Thank youu <3

I'll treasure it forever!

It was wrong of Alexis, as always, to dream.

As pre-season training started up again, a new striker joined their team (alongside top-quality translative earbuds, provided by the Mikage Corporation). His name was Isagi Yoichi, from the Blue Lock program Reo and Nagi (and the others from the training camp) had participated in. He was by no means a genius, however he played with the assured outlook and IQ of a professional far beyond him in years.

‘You are nothing but a clown,’ Michael said to Yoichi, and Alexis revelled in the fact that he was Michael’s right-hand man, his most devout follower, and also that Michael had found someone else to ruin, to warp. 

Yoichi hated Michael, of that much Alexis was certain. And this only led to his own hatred of the Japanese striker (because why would Noa recruit another main striker when their entire team’s offence was centered around Michael? And why was he so constantly goddamn rude to Michael?). And Michael hated Yoichi, Alexis was convinced, with the fiery passion of an uprooted emperor, an undefeated god.

It was alright in the beginning.

Michael bit down (metaphorically, thank God, or Alexis feared he may actually die), Yoichi bit back, Alexis supported Michael.

The little shit, however, managed to score in a practice match, and took it to mean that he had vanquished over Michael.

‘Who’s the clown now, Kaiser?’ he sneered, and Alexis lost it.

‘Fuck you,’ he screamed, ‘fuck off, fuck off, you absolute good-for-nothing-’

Michael grabbed his hair and tugged, hard. ‘Shut up Alexis.’ He surveyed Yoichi with the cold disdain he had on his face when he looked at alcohol. ‘He beat me, but only here, and now I will destroy him.’ He said those last words so lowly, dangerously, malice dripping from each syllable, a haunting promise in those cerulean blue eyes.

He changed, after that.

Well, no.

You can’t call it change if it was there all along, laying dormant and just waiting for an eventual catalyst to come and bring it to life.

And Alexis should’ve seen it coming, should’ve known how worked up Michael got over the most frivolous of things.

After all, wasn’t he the self-proclaimed Michael Kaiser expert?

Wasn’t he supposed to always be there for Michael, always be needed by Michael?

But then Isagi Yoichi became an obsession.

It was either ‘Yoichi this’ or ‘Yoichi that’, blue eyes fixed on the black-haired striker during practice and on the field, screaming the younger one’s name in unadulterated anger.

And Alexis drowned, over and over again, air squeezed tight out of his lungs, mind constantly filled with a gaze that was no longer his.

Because-

Being belittled, he could handle.

He’d handled it all his life.

Being hated, he could handle.

This was just something he could fix himself, or that would go away.

But being completely discarded, marked as unneeded?

When Alexis looked into the mirror, he saw someone he hated so much he could die. A hollow being, a vessel once filled with magic but now empty. Tired eyes, isolated heart, unhappy smile. And on that particular day, when Yoichi and Michael had tried for the first time ever to team up, he punched his reflection so hard he broke the glass. Knuckles bleeding, tears welling in his eyes due to anything but the sharp, physical pain, he wondered if this overwhelming loneliness had its limits, or if it could grow and grow and engulf everything he knew in pitch-black darkness.

He was lonely.

Oh, so lonely.

And he wondered, briefly

if anyone would care if he died

(he doubted it)

but he couldn’t do that,

not yet, anyways, because doing that would mean giving up and he’d already lost everything, so dear God

let him keep his stubbornness.

Let him keep his heart.

(even though it already belonged fully to Michael, how insanely pathetic was that?)

The nightmares came in as swiftly as a summer storm, haunting mirages of words people said but didn’t mean, said and meant, didn’t say at all. Dreams where Michael stabbed him in the chest, over and over again, with a butter knife. Dreams where he was laid on a lab table, being slowly dissected by his family. Dreams where the people around him became faceless, meaningless, where no one could hear a single word he said, where he was locked in a dark room as water rose around him.

He began avoiding sleep, staying up late overanalysing his own plays, juggling his ball mindlessly with energy he had long since exhausted. Barely functioning, really. He drank a shitload of coffee (which he hated), fuelled by the toxic fumes of caffeine and his determination alone. He rarely ate, often cut himself on the shards of glass still lying around the kitchen, watched as Michael grew ever-so-distant with shadows under his eyes.

‘Alexis,’ Mensah said, one much-too-bright afternoon. ‘We’re worried about you.’

‘Do not be sorrowful,’ Grim mumbled.

Alexis blinked out of his stupor. ‘Oh. Don’t worry about me.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m fine, really.’

‘You are a shitty liar.’

‘He’s doing The Look again, isn’t he?’

Can’t you see, Alexis wanted to yell, a drowning man cannot scream, cannot say anything, when he is submerged underwater?

His one solace was Clara. They texted almost every day, about magical things, about real things. Alexis thought that maybe he hadn’t ever had anyone like her in his life, someone so genuine, someone he was able to sit in unawkward silence with. She reminded him to eat, to sleep, to smile, and he only really did so for her. 

Noa called Alexis into his office a few days later.

‘Ness,’ he said. ‘Your manager contacted me, said that you haven’t renewed your contract yet. I also heard about the PXG offer.’

Alexis blinked. ‘Oh, sorry sir, I-’

‘Do not apologise. I am merely concerned for you. You seem to have lost weight.’

Woah. Noa, concerned for him?

‘I wanted to tell you to make a decision based on what you want. However, I hope you take into consideration that playing with Loki and Chevalier at PXG will be more likely to improve your playing, as it currently stands.'

Alexis was at a loss for words. ‘Oh. Thank you, Coach. I appreciate it.’

He didn’t mention that he may not be signing a contract at all, his mother’s disappointed face looming behind every thought.

A week before the French Ligue 1 season was set to start and PXG's offer to expire (the Spanish La Liga would come next, followed by the Bundesliga), Alexis found Michael and Yoichi kissing in the bathroom.

It was after another practice game, where Michael and Yoichi had scored once each, somehow keeping up with each other’s playstyles, somehow working together seamlessly. 

Alexis walked in, in a slightly alright mood after a phone call with Clara, saw them, and promptly walked out.

His brain hadn’t yet caught up to his body, because only a few seconds later did it wholly register to him.

What the hell.

Oh my God.

Oh my fuck.

What was that?

He braced his shaking form against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, breathes coming fast and harrowed. He felt like someone was squeezing all the air out of him, iron grip clenching his soul. All rational thought had left him: he was, once again, hollow.

Someone kill me. 

Then came the tears, the flood, the quiet sobs hiccupping at the back of his throat. He wanted to scream to the heavens, burn down the world, do something to lessen this angry, writhing beast in his heart.

Jealousy? No, that wasn’t quite it.

Self-pity? 

Or was it something in between, this all-consuming, gut-wrenching misery, this mournful anguish, this ice-cold fury, this burning envy. 

He sank to the floor in the middle of the hallway, emotions marring his face like some ugly, twisted scar. God, he thought, I’m pathetic. 

Who was he now, without Michael?

Who was he now, without the grantor of his magic?

And when he couldn’t find an answer to these questions in the disgraced depths of his mind, he screamed, voice muffled by the hands clutching desperately at his face, a sound so raw and primal and holy in its unholiness.

That night, he dreamed of water, his head below the surface, lone bubbles straying from his mouth as he struggled half-heartedly. Yet again, he was engulfed in unfamiliar depths, floating groundlessly, untethered, forgotten.

But now, the blackness was almost welcome to him. This sweet release was the only time he could allow himself to smile, this torturous loneliness unbinding the shackles on his feet, the chains fettering his heart.

After a few days of throwing up and crying uncontrollably, their final practice match before the season officially kicked off finally arrived. ‘Yoichi and I are innovating,’ said Michael, ever-so-cold. He was so cruel in his beauty, so twisted, thought Alexis. ‘We don’t need traditionalist pigs like you.’

Gentler, Isagi said, ‘Ness, you’re so very talented, but you’re wasting it.’

Shut up. Shut up, oh my Lord.

He was being left behind.

Everyone else was growing, running aeons ahead, and he was stagnant.

There were five minutes left, and Alexis wondered if Noa would bother subbing him out. If this were an official match, he would have been benched ages ago.

The score was 1-1. The opposing team took a shot at goal, which deflected off Michael’s foot

and landed

right in front of Alexis

like a God-sent gift.

He heard, distantly, Michael’s vicious curse.

You can’t ruin me further, he thought, wanting to laugh maniacally, I’m already all the way gone.

Ah, but his heart was stubborn, foolish, as traditionalist and faulty as Michael thought it was. 

Here’s a pass for you, he thought, but if I spin it more than usual, you will have to work for it. 

He kicked, believing Michael would be there.

He kicked, knowing Michael would be there.

But the striker who scored from that Hell-sent pass was no Michael Kaiser, no beautiful, rose-tattooed blond man, but Isagi Yoichi.

Alexis watched helplessly, with a dawning finality, as the ball hit the back of the net. I’m done. That’s it. 

There was silence.

And then incredulous, disbelieving, thunderous cheering. 

The match was over, and so was Alexis.

I’m going to stop playing soccer, he thought distantly. I’m actually going to stop.

He opened his eyes dully, and Michael was there in front of him, like some kind of divine apparition.

‘Maybe your mother was right,’ he said, seeming to sense exactly what he was thinking, ‘and maybe I was right, too, to say that you should just quit.’

‘I know,’ Alexis whispered softly, bitterly. ‘I will.’

I’m going to quit, I’m going to quit, I’m going to quit.

‘Good,’ Michael murmured back venomously. 

Alexis felt tears well up, yet again, and Michael grabbed his chin, gripped it tightly.

‘So fucking pathetic,’ he sneered patronisingly, hatred dripping from his words. ‘Start crying again, will you, Alexis? You’re a pretty crier anyways.’

In the locker rooms, Yoichi came up to Alexis, frowning.

‘I just wanted to say…’ he mumbled quickly. ‘Thanks for the pass, uh-’

‘Fuck off,’ Alexis spat. Fuck you, you Japanese twink, you good-for-nothing. But then again, I bet Michael’s already done that, hasn’t he? 

He didn’t want to think about, or even acknowledge, that Yoichi had been the only one in the entire stadium who had held any kind of belief in him, running for his pass with the faith of a blind man.

‘Little puppy thinks he’s grown claws now, huh?’ Michael sneered as he walked towards them, towel slung over his shoulder, the bare skin of his torso exposed, the tattoo snaking down and around his neck and arm revealed for the world to see.

Alexis hated how his heart still jumped at the sight.

‘Go away, please,’ he said quietly, with no real malice.

Michael’s eyebrow rose mockingly. ‘Oh yeah? You wanna say that again? Little puppy, where did this audacity come from? The audacity to pass to fucking Yoichi?’ Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Alexis, dear, the magic you believe in doesn’t exist.’

The magic you believe in doesn't exist.

Alexis had learned, over and over, that a pane of glass that had already been shattered into infinite pieces couldn’t be cracked again.

And so, for the first time ever, he stood his ground.

‘Fuck you, Michael.’

The entire room went silent.

Michael’s face betrayed nothing, but his body was tense, overly rigid.

‘It’s like you thrive on this sadistic pleasure,’ Alexis continued, laughing hollowly. ‘Why? Seeing me broken turns you on or something?’

‘Get his ass,’ muttered Mensah.

‘Why is it that you can only ever hurt people? That you enjoy it so much? You stand on your pedestal and think you’re so much better than everyone around you, when really your throne is buried in the dirt.

‘You think you’re a piece of shit, don’t you? I’ve heard you say it so many times.

‘But Michael, you’re a fucking coward.

‘You’re as human as the rest of us.’

Alexis was breathing hard, overcome with something that wasn’t entirely himself.

Michael’s face twisted in fury and something else, and he stormed out of the locker room, saying nothing at all.

Alexis sank to the floor, trembling, yet again.

‘Hell yeah, Alexis!’ Birkenstock yelled, jumping onto him.

‘Remind that bastard where he belongs!’

‘You absolute legend!’

Alexis could barely hear them over the tumultuous roaring in his ears.

Why are you so happy for me?

Why did I fucking do that?

I hurt Michael.

Oh God.

Was I trying to tell him he was human?

I hurt him.

I hurt him. 

I’m so pathetic, I can’t even do a single thing right.

What am I even doing in life?

His phone buzzed, shaking him out of his stupor. 

‘You take that call, dude,’ Gesner said. ‘Everyone, leave Alexis alone.’

It was his mum.

He picked up shakily, getting to his feet and walking out of the room. ‘Hi, Mother.’

‘Alexis.’

‘How…how are you?’

‘I am well. Have you made up your mind yet?’

Alexis’s pulse stuttered. ‘Mother, I-’

‘-if you do choose to continue playing, your father and I will have to disown you.’

Alexis dropped his phone, catching it just in time with his foot (it was instinctual, at this point, after years of honing his trapping skills). After scuffling a bit, he lifted it back to his ear. ‘Sorry, Mother, did I hear that right?’

But he knew he had.

And she was being completely serious, as always.

Disownment. 

Disownment, from a family that he had never belonged to in the first place.

But this was ridiculous - they were still his family! They had birthed him, raised him, fed him.

They loved him, surely.

You wouldn’t disown your own son, right?

‘I’m quitting,’ he whispered brokenly.

‘Good.’ A pause. ‘It is the right decision, Alexis.’

You hate me, don’t you? he thought in response.

It was in times like these that he remembered the promise he'd made to himself. That he'd work for this, that he would never give up on his little, lame excuse for a heart (even though it was already broken beyond repair).

It had happened for Nagi and Reo, hadn't it?

So maybe…just maybe…

But Michael had completely shut him off - he was angry, a writhing ball of hatred (and maybe, if Alexis was being entirely truthful, he hated Michael that tiny bit, too). Yoichi seemed to also be on the receiving end of the striker's wrath, and yet Alexis had long since graduated from the level of pettiness required to feel happy about that (lies, he was smiling internally every time Michael told Yoichi to fuck off).

Taking full advantage of the fact that their rooms were next to each other's, Alexis began incessantly pestering Michael.

This was all he had left.

The only thing he could do.

He dropped off gifts: a new bottle of hair dye, more psychology books.

Pretend.

Made sure Michael got up at the right time each morning, as always, because he'd always had a penchant for oversleeping.

Pretend.

Baked cookies for him in the puny kitchen of the Bastard München building (chocolate chip, who could resist chocolate chip?).

Pretend that everything is okay.

Pretend that you don't hate me, that I'm not leaving.

And sometimes, he would wonder, vaguely, why am I the one simpering, falling over my feet to make everything up to you? Aren't you the one in the wrong? Aren't you the one who left me behind, who kissed Yoichi, who watched me drown and did nothing?

But then-

No, no. I called you a coward. I yelled at you in front of the entire team. And I'm going to leave you, eventually, to quit soccer.

I just have this measly bit of time to make things right, maybe.

Because at the end of the day, Michael Kaiser was the most important thing on Earth. Michael Kaiser, no matter how broken, no matter how painful it was to touch him, because if Alexis bled for the rest of his life, then he'd be happy. I'm a masochist, he thought tiredly. May as well own it.

He was, of course, given the cold shoulder from Michael every time. But the striker never lashed out, and perhaps this was a sign. He could do this. He could mend whatever was between them, with the full scope of his abilities, pathetic as he was.

Here came the next dream, the final memory-dream he would ever have, because all that followed would be nightmares or nothing at all. Here came the next dream, granted by the shaking hands of a divine being, accepted by the shaking hands of a stumbling, blind mortal fool.

Alexis was fully aware of the fact that Michael was, obviously, not a perfect person. The man’s favourite hobby was breaking down his enemies, destroying them so thoroughly they gave up on soccer, for Christ’s sake.

But his first words to Alexis had also been, ‘Do you believe in the impossible?’ 

Alexis, ever the believer in fate, in soulmates, took that as a sign. Because what was more impossible than magic, the extraordinary?

I’ll follow you for the rest of my life, he'd vowed to himself subconsciously that day. And somewhere along the way, Michael’s dream became his dream. Somewhere along the way, Alexis lost himself.

Michael was kind sometimes. The first time they roomed together for an away game, he woke him up gently in the morning before the match, let him have the first shower afterwards.

Alexis also found an obsession with learning little things about Michael. His physiological aversion to milk (and white drinks in general). His dry, witty humour. His love of psychology, the way he studied humans like he wasn’t exactly one. 

Obsession turned to worship. Worship turned into love, or some twisted version of it.

But that wasn’t the point, not this particular memory.

This was the second and last time Alexis had heard Michael’s genuine laughter. 

They were eighteen, and were in their final match of the season.

The opposing team’s captain, the pillar of their defense, had blocked three of Michael’s shots that day. Tensions were running high (and Alexis was running out of insults to yell at him).

Michael, in the last ten minutes, said venomously, ‘With the way you play, it’s almost as if you have to control every fucking thing. Why? Is this why Mummy and Daddy left you? It’s pathetic, especially for a talentless piece of shit like you.'

‘Fuck you, Kaiser,’ he spat back. ‘You’re the piece of shit.’

And then Michel threw back his head and laughed, unadulteratedly. ‘I know! I know right, isn’t it fucking hilarious?’

Bastard München won that match, won the entire Bundesliga, and yet Michael didn’t look a fraction as happy on the awards platform as he did seeing that team’s captain ruined, hearing his own insecurities validated.

The next dawn, Alexis found Michael on the rooftop of the Bastard München facilities, doubled down on the floor, hands latched around his neck, nails digging into skin.

‘No-no, Michael, stop!’ he yelled desperately, relieved when the striker relaxed his grip.

And then Michael turned to look at him, gaze haunted.

‘Alexis,’ he said lowly, voice devoid of fight. ‘Leave me alone.'

‘I’m sorry-’

‘Don’t fucking apologise.’ Michael’s breathing was erratic, wild. He got to his feet. ‘You're always apologising. It's so fucking pathetic. And you're, what, giving up? The Bundesliga starts again soon. Noa told me you haven't renewed your contract.’

He stalked towards Alexis, shaking.

‘I don’t get it. Why the fuck would you do it, tossing away your raw talent? For your family? For people who wouldn't care whether you were dead or not? Alexis, I think you're the coward.'

Alexis didn’t answer. He was shaking now, too. Maybe about to cry again. You’re a pretty crier, his brain supplied helpfully. 'Why?' he whispered. 'Why do you do this to me? Hurt me like it's some…some kind of drug? Tell me to quit, and then tell me to continue?'

'Because I hate you.'

‘I wish I’d never met you, Michael.’

They stared at each other, both fully aware of the other’s lie, fully aware of the truth buried in the words, ringing deep.

‘What happened to us?’ Alexis whispered.

Beyond them, the sun broke across the horizon, spilling blood reds and pastel pinks over the clouds and sky, painting their bodies golden. A breeze swept through their clothes, their hair, dangerously intimate.

Michael was so beautiful it hurt.

Everything about Michael hurt.

‘We were always going to destroy each other,’ Michael said quietly. ‘It was inevitable. I don’t know how you can’t understand that.’

Maybe I did, thought Alexis, and my brain just chose to omit it, because it would’ve broken me much earlier if I had simply accepted it.

‘You know who Ray Dark is?’ Michael asked suddenly.

‘The president of PIFA?’

‘He has full custody of me, as well as control over my contracts and salary.’

Shit. ‘Why?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Michael said, in a voice that implied he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Anyways, the point is, the worse I play, the more my career is jeopardised. The more my life is jeopardised.’

‘Oh, God.’ I’m sorry, Michael, I’m so fucking sorry.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. ‘I didn’t just help you, that day we first met, because of moral obligation. I had none of that shit in the first place.’ He continued, ‘I was always using you, and the fact that you knew that was what made it so disgusting. I know you see me as some fucking God. And then you call me human? I’m going to fucking destroy you, Alexis.'

Alexis choked out a sob.

Michael strode toward him, cupped his face oh-so-gently. There was wrath, in its purest form, burning in the blue depths of his eyes. Maybe there was sadness, too. Just that little bit. And regret, and lust, and hatred, and yearning, and twisted satisfaction.

He leaned in. Their lips brushed against each other, like a ghost's touch, or an echo. 

Alexis couldn't move, couldn't breathe, was petrified, rooted to the spot he was standing in, every nerve on fire, every muscle tensed. He was vaguely aware that they were alone here, on the rooftop, for no one to see, for the world to see. It was cold, but Michael was warm.

And then they were kissing.

This was nothing like their frantic, violent, hateful locker room makeout (and yet perhaps they were the exact same).

Michael was slow, unhurried, reverent in his vitriol.

Alexis kissed back almost purely on instinct, arms looping around Michael's neck, hands tangling in blond locks of hair. He tugged, gently, and Michael hissed.

Their mouths opened, and it was the most natural thing in the world, falling yet again into Michael's spiteful embrace.

Michael Kaiser was all sharp angles and harsh edges, and yet this kiss was the softest thing Alexis had ever sensed. 

He could feel his battered heart splintering.

Michael's hands found his hips, toyed with the hem of his shirt, thumbs grazing the skin of Alexis's waist.

Alexis shuddered from the touch, buckling, pressing himself closer to Michael. More, a part of him sang. This will kill you, said the more rational side of his brain. I don't care, said his unwise heart.

They broke apart for air, breathing hard, gasping.

Michael kissed the side of his mouth, trailed his lips across Alexis's face, nipped at his lobe, kissed that spot under his ear. God. Everything was shaking, everything was broken, and yet Alexis was willing to withstand the end of the world if it meant Michael didn't stop.

'Micha-' Alexis began, but then his mouth pressed against Alexis's again, swallowing his breathy exhale of the word, suddenly more insistent, more desperate.

And then Michael pulled away, and it was suddenly cold, so fucking cold.

His gaze flickered down Alexis's face, indecipherably.

No.

Silence, as still as ice, as cruel as dawn.

No.

He walked past Alexis towards the stairwell, their shoulders brushing lightly.

No.

‘Goodbye, puppy.’

Ah, yes, and then came the tears, so inevitable, so pathetic. I lost. It's over. We're done. 

I'm going home.

It had been exactly three months since the night Alexis had stayed at Clara’s place.

He had completely forgotten about the envelope she had given him, until he’d coincidentally found it buried in his bag.

Fuck it, he thought, and ripped it open.

Inside, lonely and patient, sat an airplane ticket, a one-way flight to Paris scheduled for that very night.

He called her immediately. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he asked breathlessly.

‘Oh Alexis,’ she replied, ‘I think you already know,’ and hung up.

I’m going to quit soccer, he reminded himself, gaze flicking to the suitcase he’d packed last night (he'd shoved Michael's blue sweater inside, as more of an instinct than anything else, promising himself this one final piece of him), sitting calmly in the corner of his room. I'll say my goodbyes, leave these facilities for the last time. 

But also…

Soccer was what made him him, was it not?

He’d already lost enough of himself.

If he stopped playing soccer, what would be left?

He thought back to nine-year-old Alexis, witnessing a soccer match for the first time, vowing to bring magic to everyone’s lives through his playing.

God, he’d forgotten about his original dream.

On a sudden impulse, he grabbed his phone and dialed his mother’s number.

‘I’m not quitting,’ he said, and it felt right, sat right in his chest.

‘You know what this will mean, Alexis,’ she warned, with a coldness in his voice he'd never heard before.

‘I know. I’m sorry, Mother, but you can’t take soccer away from me.’

Disown me then. Prove you don’t love me, you don’t need me. And maybe that will make me feel a little bit better.

He could do this: continue to play with Bastard München, perfect his passes to Michael, stay with Michael, rebuild their friendship. Yes. He was stubborn. He could do it, even if it cost him some sleep, or a few tears.

But what if Michael didn’t want him here?

What if it would make Michael happier if he left?

A memory flashed before his eyes. Fireworks. A New Year’s Resolution.

He had to stay. 

But-

He also had to leave, get better before he could come back, fix up whoever he was right now, because he was by no means stable. Because he was a mess, simple as that, and no one could love a mess as wretched as he.

Clara knew best, didn’t she?

Or did Michael?

Or did Alexis?

In the cafeteria, Alexis wordlessly took Michael’s carton of milk as usual, wordlessly sat down next to him. That was my second kiss ever, yesterday, Michael. But it wasn't yours, was it?

'You always come crawling back,' the striker jeered. 'No matter how much I hurt you.'

Silence. And then, 'Michael, if I renew my contract with Bastard München, would that make you happy?'

Michael barked a harsh laugh. 'What do you think, puppy?

'You think I like seeing your despairing little face every day? That I like the passes that have jeopardised my entire career?

'You must know, to some degree, Alexis, that you disgust me.'

Alexis was silent for what felt like an eternity. I get it now, he thought, God, I’m stupid.

Michael doesn’t need me.

He needs anything but me.

My being here is going to collapse his entire career, isn’t it?

‘Micha,’ he whispered, voice cracking on the nickname he hadn’t used in what felt like a millennium. ‘If you genuinely hate me, if my presence is hurting you, I'll leave. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again, I promise.

‘But tell me to stay, Micha, make me stay, don’t fucking tell me to go, to leave you forever.

‘I think - I think that would break me.’

A pane of glass shattered into infinite pieces, Alexis thought, can be broken infinitely more.

‘Go,’ Michael said coldly, and Alexis crumbled to dust. 

I think this is worse than drowning.

Alexis Ness boarded a plane to Paris, called his manager, and arrived at PXG’s headquarters within hours. He signed a new contract before the cowardice swept in (as it always did) and brought him right back to Michael.