It was just an ordinary summer evening in Paris, but the streets were up. A local DJ had made up a makeshift sound system on the corner of an alley, and half the paris had spilled onto the pavement dancing under street lights, drinking cheap alcohol from straight from bottles, and blocking traffic in true Parisian fashion. You met Hugo in the middle of the crowd, both of you in your early twenties, loud, young, and entirely too unfiltered in the warm summer air.

It was supposed to be a fleeting thing, you weren't really into cliches, a shared laugh over a spilled drink, a quick exchange of numbers while heavy bass echoed off the apartment walls, the kind of night that you usually forget by morning. Your friends laughed it off the next day in uni, warning you not to get stuck to a boy whose ambition was as big as his smile. 

You genuinely didnt think it would go anywhere..no one did, but Hugo Ekitike was notorious for being stubborn. Once he set his eyes on you under those yellow streetlights, he was determined. His friends already knew it, and soon, you did too, Hugo was not a quitter. He pulled you into his world with an effortless charm, proving everybody wrong day by day, month by month.

A year later, the quiet of the morning felt like a completely different life from that chaotic night on the street.

You were knotted in the sheets of your bed, the soft light of the morning sun spilling through the blinds. It was a lazy Sunday, and your feet were tangled together…literally. Your toes were intertwined with his under the duvet, a goofy, intimate habit that had somehow become your favorite thing in the world. Despite how revolting it probably would've sounded to your past self.

🎶They say your body knows when it's really something. When we're touching toes, that's the warmth of loving. 🎶

Hugo shifted, pulling you tighter against his chest, his hot morning breath against the nape of your neck. He flowed through your thoughts constantly these days, like a river in your mind, calm and steady. Like he belonged there.

You looked over at the bedroom door, slightly open, giving you a view of the hallway. Slowly, bit by bit, he moved into your life. One drawer in your dresser became his. Then two. Unbeknownst to you he liked fashion. So part of your closet became his too.. You didnt mind it when you needed to borrow something last minute though. To be honest, you actually liked seeing his oversized shoes thrown by the front door every time you stepped into the apartment.

You had always been passionately independent, the type to handle everything on your own, “I don't need a man anyways”, but lately, having him around, having his help, having him... you couldn't help thinking, what the hell, this is actually not that bad.

...

"Mm you're thinking too loud," Hugo murmured, his voice hazy with sleep. He squeezed your foot gently with his under the covers.

"Just thinking bout how ridiculous we look," you whispered back, a smile tugging at your lips. "touching toes like this." a small giggle leaves you.

Hugo chuckled softly, a low rumble against your back. "It's not ridiculous. It keeps us connected." He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder as he argues his point. "And no one can say we didn't make it." too clingy but you don't mind.

He was right though. Nobody thought you’d fall this fast, or this deep.

The hardest part wasn't the falling though it was the distance..

You had never planned on leaving Paris. It was your home, your base. But Hugo’s career took off, taking him across borders. Suddenly, you were getting used to the dull ache in your chest every time he packed his bags for club football. Seeing him walk out that door was a slow pain you never quite got used to.

So, you adapted. You found yourself traveling across Europe just to hold his hand for a few days catching flights to Germany, later on booking trains to England, learning the rhythm of stadium tunnels and quiet hotel rooms. And Hugo, true to his stubbornness, never let the distance win. No matter how brutal his schedule was, he always made time to fly back to France, just to spend the next twenty-four hours in your arms.

And then, somewhere between a crowded airport lounge and a quiet kitchen, it hit you.

You felt loved, in a real gross type of way, and you didn't notice until now

It wasn't a grand, film worthy realization. It was just the revelation that whenever he wasn't near, you felt a little colder. You subconsciously looked for his hand, reached for his touch, longed for the simple reassurance of his fingers brushing against yours. You didn't know when it had happened, or even how, but suddenly, you did.

Back in bed after a long day, Hugo pulled you around so you were facing him. His dark eyes softened as he looked at you, reading the quiet affection written all over your face.

"Where did you go just now?" he asked softly, tracing the line of your nose with his thumb.

"Just remembered that street party," you admitted softly, resting your palm against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Everyone said we were crazy."

Hugo smirked, that same playful, cocky look returning to his eyes, though they softened by years of loving you. He kissed his teeth, "I told you back then, didn't I? I won't lose. I never do" He shrugged a little, still smug as ever.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his legs wrapping around yours under the blanket, entangling your feet once agaim.

"And i’m keeping you," Hugo whispered against your skin, "this's the best win I'll ever have."

and You didn’t quite mind being his..

okay chat, thats my first ever fic..idk if this came off foot fetish-y but its inspired by the name of the song I swear im not weird...or at least not that weird..everyone stream olivia dean she’s lovelyyy

pls reblog like and comment 🫶🏾🫶🏾

The summer of 2022 was very odd, it was too hot and a strange feeling of possibility hung around. You weren’t looking for anything serious. In your 20s, the idea of forever love felt distant, different, and entirely unnecessary. You were too “young and turnt” some would say, then you met Michael.

He was still at Crystal Palace back then, quiet in general and at the time quiet in the media as well, but somehow still having an effortless aura that demanded attention without him ever really trying. 

There wasn't really a comfortable friendship phase, no agonizingly slow talking stage where you learned each other’s favorite colors. It was a sudden, intense wreck. 

One night you were strangers, and the next, you were locked into a soul-crushing, all consuming kinda love that left both of you breathless.

Every breathing second of that summer was spent together. You became permanent figures in each other’s lives, tangled up in late-night drives through South London and whispered thoughts in the dark. It was deep and terrifyingly fast.

...

"You're here for real, yeah?" 

His large hands would slide up from your waist, fingers tracing the bare skin beneath your shirt. The South London summer heat was heavy, but you were tangled in his bedsheets, completely ignorant to the world outside.

"Always Mikey," you’d whisper, pulling him down by his dreads until there was no space left between you. As if any distance would somehow break what you currently had.

He’d let out a soft breath against your lips, slow and possessive. A year in, and he had you completely under his covers and under his spell. It was a silent language of tangled limbs, bare skin, and whispered promises in the dark. Afterward, he’d pull you flush against his chest, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d drift away if he let go in the slightest.

...

He had his own ways of showing you how much you mattered outside of physical intimacy, calling you pet names and treating you like his absolute priority. Nothing nonchalant about how he treated you whatsoever.

You lived in a beautiful, romantic bubble where the rest of the world failed to exist. Yet, despite the intensity, neither of you ever put a strict label on it. You never sat down to ask "What are we?" You were just young, caught up in the moment, and letting life flow. It felt too big for words anyway.

Then, reality caught up.

Two years passed in a blur of matches, training sessions, and your own piling university deadlines. All somewhat together…kinda. The bubble began to stretch a little. 

Suddenly, it was 2024, and the football world was shifting beneath his feet. A massive move to Bayern Munich was finalized. Germany. A whole different country. Miles out from South London.

At the same time, your university workload tripled. You were drowning in exams, essays, and the terrifying realization of adulthood. Tryning to figure out what exactly you wanna do with your life. The emotional distance became a genuine reality. And instead of fighting for it, instead of having the hard but real conversation, you both stayed silent and let it drift.

You didn't break up because you were never technically really official. You guys just... stopped. The texts got shorter, the calls less frequent, until the silence completely swallowed you both whole. You didn't realize how loud that silence was until he was entirely gone.

Now, sitting on your bed in London with Olivia Dean’s "Loud" playing softly from your speakers, you stare at your phone. You haven't spoken in months. It’s total no-contact.

🎶“Here I am, two hands at the piano ...The one I let you play…”🎶

The lyrics sting, hitting a fresh wound. You had let the connection control the beat of your entire heart. You scroll back through your old chat history, your thumb pausing on messages from a year ago.

Mikey: u still awake? come over. missin you x You: omw don't fall asleep Mikey: never do when ik its u. hurry up

Your chest aches a lot little. You switch apps and open insta and there he is on your feed. Officially wearing his new red kit from Bayern, smiling for the cameras in Germany. He looks a little older. More mature. Somewhat unreachable.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the apartment in Munich felt too big. It was minimalist, modern, and entirely bare of the chaotic warmth Michael had grown used to back in London.

Outside, the German summer air slightly warm, but inside, the quiet felt freezing? Michael sat on the edge of his oversized sofa, his phone loosely gripped in one hand, staring blankly at the dark TV screen. 

The transition to Bayern Munich had been exactly what his career needed, intense, demanding, elite. But the moment he walked through his front door and the cameras stopped flashing, the silence hit him like a bus. Maybe a train.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as a familiar melody drifted from his speakers. He’d been listening to a playlist of British artists you made lately, just to feel a little closer to home and you, and Olivia Dean’s voice began to fill his room, too.

🎶“You sure know how to play…”🎶

Michael let out a slow, heavy breath. The lyrics twisted something tight in his chest. He wasn't usually a man of a lot words. He had always been quiet, letting his football and actions do the talking. But right now, the weight of everything left unsaid between the two of you was suffocating.

He unlocked his phone and opened your chat. It was a dead town. The last message was from months ago—a dry, polite text wishing him luck with his move, and an equally short response from him. He scrolled up, his eyes catching on the older messages from 2022 and 2023. Back when his life was simpler, and every free second belonged to you.

Mikey: u still awake? come over. missin you x

He remembered that exact night. He remembered the sound of your laugh, the way you easily fit into his space, and how he used to hold you like the world would end if he let go. 

He had called you his, whispered things in the dark that he’d never even thought to  say to anyone else, but he had never actually asked you to stay. He’d never actually laid his cards on the table and he's starting to regret it.

You were both so young, convinced that what you had was so deep it didn't need labels at the moment. He thought you just understood. He thought you knew that he belonged to you, fully.

But then life moved too fast for either of you to catch on when it mattered. The pressure of the transfer, the grueling training, your intense university schedule. It all stretched the invisible thread between you until it quietly snapped. Neither of you fought it. He had been too stubborn, too overwhelmed, assuming that if you wanted him, you’d say something. And you honestly thought the exact same thing.

Michael stared at the green dot next to your name. You were online.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to type out everything. He wanted to tell you that Germany was lonely, that the red kit felt heavy, and that he still looked for your face in the crowd after every match. He wanted to tell you that he didn't realize how loud the silence would be until he couldn't hear your voice anymore.

He typed out a single word: Hey.

With a frustrated sigh, he hit backspace, deleting the letters one by one. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the cushion beside him, rubbing his hands over his face.

The silence won again.

okey guys.. this is my third fic and this song has been stuck in my head for months and im ngl it makes me sick. but yea I love olivia dean rn and I love Michael olise so why not mix the two and why not make it angst too right..right? thx for reading 🫶🏾- tou

The fall semester in the States was a brutal mix of presentations, exams, and back-to-back internship shifts. Every time you sat in the library at ungodly hours of the night, staring at a stack of research papers, your mind kept drifting back to last summer—the month you’d spent in Europe, the late-night street food, sight seeing, the hours spent talking on balcony edges until sunrise.

Oh and, of course, Hugo.

Now across the pond, he was in Liverpool, doing what he did best. Playing Premier League football, living a flashy lifestyle surrounded by nice cars, night outs, and constant noise from the media. It was a world you had zero interest in being a part of. Neither of you had been looking for a relationship—you were laser-focused on building your own career, and he was living fast in the spotlight. A real relationship between you two made no sense. It would be toxic, messy, and completely impractical…you tried

Yet, you couldn't stop thinking about him, and deep down, you knew he was doing the exact same thing. You were like magnets—constantly pulling each other back in, even with thousands of miles lying between you.

Then came the second semester. As finals week approached, bringing the usual chaotic stacks of projects and exams, Hugo got an injury. It wasn't career-ending, but it meant no international duty for him that summer, no playing for his country, just mandatory rest.

His first text arrived on a Tuesday night. It started off completely innocent, just checking in on your finals. But within days, the banter turned serious, the unspoken tension revived, and before you even had time to fully process it, he sent a screenshot.

A flight confirmation to your airport in the States..oh

It was actually happening.

Finals ended, the Premier League wrapped up, and on a warm, sunlit summer morning, you woke up in your own room and turned over to see Hugo sleeping right next to you. Shit. It was completely unreal.

What followed was the most perfect summer ever. You kept things lowkey of course, quietly bringing him into your world. You took him to backyard cookouts and pool parties where he ate cheap burgers off paper plates, hit up local beaches, and hid in quiet bars to catch World Cup matches together. You guys even took a trip to Martha’s Vineyard, spending hazy, sun-drenhed days wandering around the island together.

It was everything you needed after the school year you just had, all with Hugo, all technically as "friends". Sometimes a little more. You enjoyed each other in the present, keeping it light and meaningful, being nice to each other ,sometimes too nice, without forcing a label on something that would only break under pressure.

When summer finally came to an end, it left a sour taste in your mouth. You could tell Hugo felt it, too. Neither of you liked the reality of saying goodbye. But a real relationship? A real real relationship? You didn't want a boyfriend, and it's clear he didn't need a girlfriend right now. It was too toxic to even attempt again, but being able to just enjoy each other's company while it lasted was fulfilling enough.

Preseason training was around the corner for him, and your upcoming fall classes were calling for you.

At the airport drop-off, the silence in the car was heavy. When it was time to say goodbye, you stepped into a hug. You both held on just a little longer than necessary—fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, he held his breath for a few extra seconds before pulling away.

No dramatic promises. No labels. Nothing

basically, I had this lab job at my old uni that I got via a referral from a professor. My manager took like four months to reach back out to me after I had a meeting with him to get the job.

I’m transferring uni’s and my manager needs new ppl because my other coworkers are graduating and im leaving (there’s only like 8 people that work there total and like 6 out of 8 are leaving)

so I have a friend that’s been asking me about the job like since I got

And I’m ngl I’m using the term friend very lightly here because she said stuff and done shit to me in the past that really makes it a loose relationship and her morals are like backwards imo so we really don’t get along on a lot of things but I’m also not a spiteful person…At least I don’t think so…

But I ended up telling her like hey he’s looking for people so like I would recommend you reach out to him and maybe get a professor to give you a referral cause that’s how I got the job and that was six months ago…for the past six fucking months she’s been texting and calling me spontaneously like some customer service helpline to reach out to my manager

mind you I’m transferring universities!!! I quit this job in April. I’m still in contact with my old manager, but not so I can harass him about hiring my “friend”

and like it’s getting to the point where she’s asking me to do like basic tasks for her like go on the website copy the link and share it😐

it’s literally as if she thinks I’m some helpline and it’s really pissing me off because she only contacts me for this job and honestly I’m about to tell her I can’t help her. idk. I feel like a shitty person for doing so but it’s really getting on my nerves and like I genuinely can’t help her anymore.. like i’ve exhausted every resource i got? it’s out of my like hands completely.ughhh

lmk if im being mean cause idk