#neymbappe

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.