michael kaiser x reader ; wc: 1.1k ; info: erm idek what this is, a mix of fluff and angst? fem reader, ooc kaiser i'm pretty sure, TERRIBLY WRITTEN, i had no idea for the title soz ; notes: this came to me in a dream... i had no idea how to end it so that's why it's sorta shitty at the end. also, the whole shebang is poorly executed ik ✶
"Kaiser. You're going to therapy."
He thought Noa was joking. He very soon learned though, that Noel Noa does not joke. In spite of Kaiser's stuborness of not wanting to and Ness's incessant and illogical rambling on how there was absolutely nothing wrong with him, he still found himself stuck in a small room, beige and devoid of color, like all the happiness had been sucked out of it.
Glaring at the therapist sitting calmly in front of him, Michael Kaiser dug his fingernails into his palm, already knowing that it would draw blood at some point. If he choked himself, the therapist would try to prevent him from doing that; Kaiser felt shitty enough and didn't want anybody interfering with his way of coping.
"Now, I know it's difficult to reminisce on a difficult childhood, but the pent-up anger you have will be problematic in the future."
"I don't have pent-up anger, I'm fine," he snapped, fully aware about the lie he just told.
The man gave him a small smile, and Kaiser's mood worsened. He hated that face, as if the doctor knew what he gone through, as if he could understand, as if he had the solutions to his problems.
"That's what you tell yourself… ah!"
The man moved his gaze from Kaiser's face to his hands, now bleeding. His smile tightened.
"How unfortunate. Let me clean this up." He made a move to stand but Kaiser beat him to it.
"No, I'll see myself out," he sneered, ignoring the man's call about seeing him in a few days.
In a few days my ass, I'm not coming here again. Scheiße.
His souring thoughts were interrupted when he bumped into someone.
"Watch where you're going," he scoffed, not bothering to see who it was and continued his way.
"For someone so good at football, your social skills sure are lacking, Michael Kaiser."
He turned around, ready to verbally abuse whoever had the nerve to talk to him like that, but faltered upon seeing you. You were really pretty.
No, scratch that. Kaiser thought you were gorgeous. He felt his knees buckle and he internally cursed himself out.
You ruined the moment for him, fortunately.
"What's Germany's prodigy doing in a place like this, huh? You got issues?"
He breathed in deeply and muttered, "Mind your own fucking business."
He left you there, annoyed but satisfied.
The next time Kaiser had gone through his therapy session with the same difficulties as before and had left, he found you standing at the reception desk, going through some files.
"Well, well, are you allowed to be doing this?"
You jumped, clearly surprised but narrowed your eyes at finding who it was.
"What do you want, Michael Kaiser?" you spat his name as if it was an insult.
His hand clenched but he forced a smirk on his face.
"I caught you sneaking around."
"What are you talking about?"
"Why are you going through patient's files? You want to get arrested, hm?"
"You're crazy. My dad asked me to give him some patient's files."
"My father is your therapist, Kaiser."
"What?" he asked incredulously. "Your father's the shitty therapist?"
"He's not shitty, he does his job very well!"
"Very well, bullshit," he snorted. "Makes sense, you both have shitty personalities."
"You don't even know us?!"
"I don't want to know." He stormed off, leaving you alone once again.
It wouldn't be the last time you spoke with him. Every time Kaiser would finish a session with your father, he would somehow always manage to run into you. At first, he hit you with snarky remarks and you clapped back with your own comebacks, but he softened after a while. Soon, insults became teases, narrowed eyes softened, and Kaiser found himself maintaining a steady, comfortable rythm with you. You became the only reason why he even put up with this whole situation.
He was attached to you — though he refused to admit it — especially after he broke down one night and told you about his past. You two were talking and you had slipped out a comment about traumatic childhoods. You saw the tear that slipped out of his eye.
He sobbed into the crook of your neck as he confessed at how he tried to forget about it but he couldn't, at how he still felt scared when he saw his father in the street, at how he ruined relationships with those around him because he was a shitty person, and he tried but some sick part of him enjoyed breaking people. You were there for him, letting him cry, staining your shirt wet. How funny he managed to talk to you but not to your father.
Unfortunately, he made no efforts when it came to his sessions. He was still the arrogant and prideful man he liked to pretend he was.
So, your father reported back to Noa, and needless to say, he was very disappointed and decided to stop the visits.
"You're not going anymore."
Kaiser froze at those words.
"You're not going anymore. You're making no progress, this is a waste of time, you were right. Besides, we're going to Japan soon."
"What?" his voice faltered, but came back stronger. "And when are we going?"
"Why are you telling me this just now? Wasn't I supposed to continue for more time?"
"I don't get why you're upset," Noa said bluntly, turning away from him. "I thought you hated going there. So I did you a favor. Start packing."
Kaiser stood still for a moment while Noa was leaving before cursing and kicking the innocent nightstand. He doubted he even had time to visit you before he left.
Wait… why was he thinking about visiting you? You were nothing, just a shitty therapist's daughter who was destined to make his life hell.
Straightening his back, he gaslit himself into thinking he felt better about that realization, but the guilty gnawing feeling still hid somewhere in his head.
You hadn't seen Kaiser in some time. You learned that he left for Japan to play in some facility, and wasn't coming back anytime soon. You felt hurt.
He trusted you enough to pour out his entire life to you, then left without a goodbye. Maybe he only considered you to be an outlet to his problems, close enough to cry on your shoulder but far enough to consider that to be your only useful ability to him.
You weren't one to dwell on bad things and did your best to forget about him but your heart stung everytime you saw him play in Blue Lock. Your father told you to it would never work, lasting relationships with athletes were rare.
So why did you receive a drunken text from him saying how much he missed you?
dividers by cursed-carmine
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