“I’m Sorry, I Was Born Stupid”

You hadn’t even been part of the conversation, and yet suddenly, you were the wound.

By the time the front door clicked shut behind Jude, you were already walking in. Your arms were crossed tight, your jaw set, every step sharp with purpose.

“Being single really is the easy route,” you said, your voice low but cutting. “No pressure. No expectations. No clingy gender dragging you down.”

Kylian froze halfway through tugging his jacket loose. His brows knit, lips twitching into that half-smile he wore when he was trying not to lose it.

“You know,” he muttered, tossing his jacket onto the couch, “the world would be a better place if people stopped eavesdropping. Not everything men say is that deep.”

Your eyes narrowed. “So men lie?”

He stilled, gaze sharpening. A pause stretched. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“If the shoe fits.”

His laugh came bitter, sharp. “Yeah? Then close it!!”

“You don’t decide that,” you snapped.

“Oh, I do.” His voice hardened. “And I’m cutting it now. I don’t wanna ruin our night.”

“There was never a night to begin with,” you hissed, chest heaving. “Not the second you sat there and showed your friend that your wife is just another clingy woman.”

His patience snapped. “Sometimes I wonder WHY THE FUCK you can’t let things go!”

“Because saying stuff like this is fucked up, Kylian!” you burst out, stepping toward him. “I don’t go to my friends and tell them I feel like a piece of luggage being dragged around with you, do I?”

He clenched his jaw, heat flashing in his eyes. “See? Clingy.”

Your body went rigid. Your voice broke into a furious shout. “You didn’t just say that again?!!”

“I DID BECAUSE YOU DRIVE ME INSANE! Do you get that!??? You take EVERY word, EVERY fucking joke, and you twist it into a war!!! I can’t breathe for one second without you draining the fuck out of me!”

You stumbled back a step, shock washing over you. The words hit harder than a slap. Your stomach dropped, throat closing around the burn of unshed tears. For the first time, you couldn’t speak back.

He was breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes wild like he didn’t recognize himself. His fists curled, then trembled as he forced them open.

But before either of you could unleash more, the sharp sound of the doorbell cut through the air.

The sound sliced through the air like a lifeline. Both of you froze, staring at each other, the weight of his words still suspended between you.

The bell rang again, louder, insistent.

Kylian dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath french curse words, before storming toward the door. His chest still rose and fell sharply when he pulled it open.

His mother stood there, smiling warmly, a large wrapped frame in her hands.

“Bonsoir, mes amours!!,” she said cheerfully , stepping in without hesitation. “I came to drop this off, the wedding portrait you ordered months ago. Finally arrived.”

You were still rooted to the spot, eyes burning, body stiff with the aftershocks of the fight. And Kylian,he was frozen, too, trying to steady his voice, to force calm back into his features while his mother’s embrace pulled him into the light.

Only seconds ago, he had torn your heart open. Now, you were expected to stand there and pretend nothing had shattered.

You forced a smile as she turned to you. “Bonsoir, maman,” you managed, your voice softer than usual. You tried to straighten your posture, to act like the air in the room wasn’t still suffocating with words you couldn’t take back.

She kissed both your cheeks warmly, her hands holding your arms for a beat longer than necessary. Her eyes, kind but sharp, searched your face. “Bonsoir, ma belle- …. attends<wait> you look… tired.?”

Kylian’s head snapped slightly toward her, his jaw tightening. “She’s fine,” he said too quickly, the edge still hidden under his tone.

But his mother’s gaze lingered on you, her thumb brushing your arm like she was coaxing the truth out. “Mm. I don’t thinks so”

You laughed lightly, too lightly, shaking your head. “No, really, I’m fine. Just a long day Maman”

But even as you spoke, you felt it, the way your chest was still heaving slightly, how your eyes betrayed the burn you hadn’t fully swallowed down.

And she saw it. You knew she did.

Her smile softened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Long day, hm?” she murmured, her voice gentle but loaded with meaning. “Well, I know a thing or two about long days. They show themselves on the face, no matter how hard we try to hide.”

Kylian busied himself, muttering, “Maman, stop, she said she’s fine.” His tone was tight, controlled, but you could feel it, the fight still simmering under his skin, threatening to spill if she pushed further.

His mother glanced between you both. She didn’t press, not yet. But she didn’t believe either of you, and the silence she left behind felt louder than the shouting had minutes earlier.

Then she reached to the big portrait picture. “Anyway,” she said more lightly, putting it against the wall, “I actually came to drop this off. Your wedding portrait. The one you ordered months ago? They finally called me to pick it up.”

The frame caught the light as it landed on the table. Your laughter was frozen in the photograph, Kylian’s arm around your waist, both of you looking at each other like the world had stopped.

It should’ve been beautiful. It should’ve been forever.

But as your eyes lingered on the photo, your chest tightened, tears threatening to spill. You blinked them back, hard, forcing your face to remain composed while his mother smiled warmly, oblivious to the storm raging beneath your skin.

“Keep it safe, hm?” she said, kissing both your cheeks again before kissing Kylian’s and heading for the door. “I won’t stay longer, I need to go. I just wanted you two to have this, since I was passing by. Au revoir!!!”

The front door shut softly behind her, and with it, the fragile mask you’d been holding cracked.

You stared at the portrait for a long beat, your throat aching, your fingers curling tightly into your palms. Then, with a voice so calm it almost scared you, you finally spoke.

“I think I need to stay away for some time...”

Your eyes were wet but your expression didn’t shift, no fight, no anger, just resignation.

Kylian whipped around, his face snapping toward you like he hadn’t heard right. His chest, still rising and falling with the remnants of your fight, stilled.

“Pardon?” he barked, sharp, disbelieving.

“I need to breathe Kylian,” you said quietly. “Away from you.”

His expression hardened, and his jaw tightened,but his voice came out controlled, deliberate. “No. You won’t go anywhere at this hour. I’ll go if you want to be alone. You stay here.”

Before you could react, he grabbed his phone and keys, shoved into his sneakers, and headed for the door. He didn’t look back, only muttered, low and certain:

“You barely know anything in Madrid. Stay.”

The door slammed, and the silence returned, louder than before.

Your P.O.V.

The door slammed, and silence swallowed the apartment whole.

For a moment, you just stood there, still staring at the wedding portrait on the table. The laughter in that frozen image mocked you, reminding you of a happiness that now felt like it belonged to strangers.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly, your throat tight, your palms trembling at your sides. You bit your lip until the metallic tang of blood filled your mouth, anything to stop the tears burning in your eyes. But they came anyway, hot, unstoppable, falling one after another until your vision blurred.

You pressed both hands to your face, muffling the sob that finally tore free. It was ugly, raw, the kind of crying you couldn’t hold back. You stumbled to the couch and sat down hard, curling forward, clutching a cushion as if it could anchor you. The weight of his words , You drain me , clung to you, replaying over and over until each repetition cut deeper.

And yet, worse than the shouting, worse than the venom, was the way he had left. Made you start to think in another way, are you really a burden on the only man you have ever loved?

Am I draining him?

Should I have just let go?

But I’m not clingy… am I?

I’ve always given him space,because that’s what love is, that’s what trust is… right?

God, Y/N, why couldn’t you just shut up? He was just talking, just laughing with his friend, trying to make it easy for himself.

And you,what did you do? You made a fuss. You drained him.

The thoughts didn’t stop, the heart ache didn’t stop, and obviously your brain didn’t shut down.

You cried until your chest ached, until the sound of your sobs muffled to you sleeping because there are no more tears nor energy available in your being.

Kylian P.O.V.

The night air was sharp when he stepped outside, but it did little to cool the fire in his chest. His footsteps carried him on autopilot, his phone still clutched in his hand, until he found himself pushing into the café where Jude had gone to finish the night with the rest of the guys Vinícius, Tchouaméni, and Trent.

Kylian had turned Jude down, choosing not to finish the night out with him and the guys,he’d wanted to stay with you. And yet, somehow, that choice felt ruined now, shattered the moment he saw what he’d stayed home to.

Inside, laughter spilled out of a booth near the back. The four of them were sprawled around the table, mugs and plates scattered, mid-story and loud.

“Look who decided to show,” Jude grinned, waving him over.

Trent smirked, leaning back. “What??your woman slept on you?”

The table burst into laughter.

Kylian slid into the booth, jaw tight. “Nah,” he muttered, voice clipped. “She’s not like that.”

Vini grinned, elbowing Jude. “Bro, don’t tell me you have one who actually give you space. That’s a miracle.”

“Yeah, ‘cause mine wouldn’t even let me breathe,” Jude chimed in, shaking his head. “Call after call after call. Like, calm down woman”

Another round of laughter broke out, Trent clapping the table. “They’re all the same, man. Controlling.Clingy. Drama. You know it.”

“Not mine,” Kylian mumbled flatly.

The laughter dimmed, just a beat, but he didn’t notice,because the words had left him faster than he could think, an instinctive defense that snapped out of his chest.

He stared down at the mug in front of him, fingers wrapping tight around it, knuckles white. Images of you,your wet eyes in front of his mother, your voice breaking when you shouted at him,flashed against every careless laugh.

“Jude was just saying how his ex was a nightmare,” Vini chuckled. “Always blowing up his phone, wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“Typical,” Trent laughed. “They never know that we need time off sometimes.”

“Honestly,” Tchouaméni added, “women being women, they need reassurance 24/7.”

The table erupted in chuckles , mugs clinking.

Kylian sat silent, his fingers curling tight around his cup. The words hit like echoes of his own from earlier. All women are.

But sitting here, hearing it tossed around like gospel, it tasted wrong. Bitter.

Because it wasn’t you.

You never chased him. You didn’t demand. You gave him space,sometimes too much. You only ever spoke when you were hurt, when his silence had already gone too far.

And tonight, he’d thrown clingy at you like it was the truth.

“Ten calls in one night, bro,” Jude said, laughing. “Like, relax. Let me breathe.”

The others groaned in unison, roaring louder.

Kylian’s chest tightened. You never called ten times. You barely called twice. Most nights, it was him,him blowing up your phone, him needing your voice first.

Every laugh around him sounded emptier, every careless word sharper. He stared into his coffee, the reflection fractured on the dark surface.

And all he could see was your face,eyes wide with disbelief, voice breaking as you shouted, “You did not just say that again?!”

And the way you blinked back tears in front of his mother faking a warm smile, standing by that portrait of forever.

The guilt ate him alive, heavier with every breath, every careless laugh at the table.

Kylian shifted in the booth, his body present but his mind light years away.

Jude was mid-story again, exaggerating with wild hand gestures. “And then she shows up outside my building, bro—like, at two in the morning!? Screaming my name. Full-on psycho mode.”

The table howled. Trent slapped the wood, tears in his eyes from laughing. Vini whistled through his teeth. “That’s insane.”

“Women, man,” Tchouaméni sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “You give them an inch, they take your whole damn life, and suddenly you are a slave and you can’t have your own time anymore or else you are either cheating or you don’t care anymore .”

The laughter swelled again, mugs clinking, plates rattling with the force of it.

But Kylian barely heard them. His chest was tight, his throat dry. All he could hear was the faint echo of your voice in his head, the way it had cracked when you whispered, “I think I need to stay away for some time.”

He shifted again, leaning back, pulling one hand under the table. His phone was still warm in his palm, screen lighting faintly against his thigh. He stared at it for too long, thumb hovering.

His thumb tapped open your chat. The blinking cursor mocked him.

One word. That’s all he could manage.

Awake?

He stared at it, his chest hammering, before pressing send. The bubble shot upward, blue against the screen.

But it didn’t deliver.

The single tick sat there, stubborn.

Not seen. Not delivered. Just sent.

His stomach sank like a stone.

Around him, laughter rang out again,something about Vini’s situationship, another crack about women being impossible—but it all blurred. His entire world narrowed to that one tiny mark on the screen, proof that he couldn’t reach you.

Not now. Maybe not at all tonight.

The weight of it was unbearable.

He slid the phone face-down onto his thigh, fingers gripping it so hard his knuckles ached. Under the table, hidden from his friends’ careless laughter, he clenched his jaw, his guilt multiplying with every second that single tick refused to change.

The night dragged on around him, each minute stretching like hours. The guys never ran out of stories, voices rising with every joke, every careless dismissal of women. Jude was reenacting a fight in the middle of the street, Vini was crying with laughter, Trent kept clapping the table so hard the mugs rattled.

Kylian forced smiles. A couple of hollow laughs. But his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes kept flicking down to his phone, screen lighting up every so often when he checked,hoping, praying for that second tick to appear.

It never did.

The bubble just sat there. Awake? A question swallowed by silence.

By the time the café emptied and the others were talking about heading somewhere else, Kylian couldn’t take it anymore. He muttered something about training, about being tired, and left them behind in a blur of noise and streetlights.

The way back home was a blur, too. The city lights streaked past, his hands gripping the phone tighter than he realized. With every turn the driver took, with every red light, the silence inside the van grew louder.

And when he finally pushed the key into the lock, stepped into the apartment,

The silence hit him like a wall.

No soft hum of the TV. No music from your playlist in the background. Just air, heavy and unmoving, pressing in on him.

For a second, he thought you’d left. The fear shot through his chest so fast it almost winded him.

But then he saw you.

Curled up on the couch, still in the clothes you’d worn earlier, your body folded into itself like you were trying to disappear. The blanket had slipped halfway down, your cheek pressed into the cushion.

And your face, Tear-stained.

Tracks carved into your skin, lashes clumped where tears had dried. Your lips parted slightly in the shallow rhythm of restless sleep.

Kylian froze in the doorway, the sound of his keys clattering softly onto the table the only movement he made.

His chest twisted painfully.

Because this was what he had left you with.

Not peace. Not comfort. But tears and exhaustion so heavy you’d cried yourself to sleep on the couch instead of your shared bed.

He stood there, unmoving, the guilt settling deeper than it ever had. For the first time in a long time, he was scared,not of losing a match, not of failing expectations , but of what damage he had just done to the one person he couldn’t imagine living without.

With trembling hands, he moved. He bent down, lifting the fallen blanket and pulling it back over you. Carefully, gently, he tucked it under your chin, smoothing it down as though he could undo even a fraction of your hurt with the gesture. His fingers brushed against your temple, sweeping back a loose strand of hair.

Then he lowered himself sitting on the floor beside you, the world outside ceasing to exist. He slid his hand under the blanket until it found yours.

At first, your fingers were limp in his palm. Cool. Still. But he threaded his through anyway, clutching them like they were the last lifeline he’d ever hold. His thumb traced small, slow circles against your knuckles, a silent apology.

And then he just sat, watching you.

Every detail etched itself into him,the curve of your lashes, the restless shift of your chest, the faint sound you made in sleep that broke him more than any silence ever could.

His eyes burned, but he refused to look away. You were all he wanted to see, even through the sting of guilt that gnawed at him.

He whispered into the quiet, words spilling even if you couldn’t hear them.

“Mon amour… je suis désolé. I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this. I swear.”

The room didn’t answer. Only the soft rhythm of your breathing did.

So he stayed, head resting against the side of the couch, his body curled close, his hand firmly locked with yours as though even in sleep he might lose you.

And as exhaustion dragged him under, his eyes still fixed on your face, Kylian Mbappé,champion, idol, adored by millions, drifted into restless dreams on the floor beside you, holding your hands like his life depends on it.