synopsis: Your story continues. Despite fleeting joy, hidden pain, and moments of loss, you both learn one thing—love can bloom even in the darkest times.
a/n: is this even considered angst? yh, i don’t think so but ty for reading and check out part one. also, can we ignore my diagnosis bc ik ik it sucked -_-
“Where are you staying?” the striker asked casually, though the tapping of his fingers on the wheel suggested otherwise.
“A friend. Until I get my own place.”
He hummed before it slipped out. “You can live with me.”
That sentence came out too fast.
Too confident to be casual, too well-said to be a fleeting thought just now.
It almost sounded like a command disguised as an undeniable offer that he practiced in the mirror for hours.
You froze mid-bite, burger halfway to your mouth. Then you gave him the most dramatic gag imaginable.
He quickly snapped his head toward you, confused, letting out the loudest offended scoff before muttering under his breath—something about your “horrible taste” and “not knowing what’s the best for you.”
Silence stretched for a minute.
This time more persuasive.
“It’s for convenience,” he started stiffly. “You can take the first floor. And make my morning coffee while you’re there.”
You rolled your eyes in response, chewing your burger without giving it much thought. Working with Michael Kaiser everyday (based on past experiences) was already a full-time emotional burden; waking up to his annoyingly perfect face too?
“Need help?” he asked as you dragged your suitcase over the threshold, fighting back a smug grin.
“Nope…” you shot back, cheeks warming as you tried not to scratch his marble floor.
Truth was, you really didn’t want to depend on your now-boss. But, of course, as luck would have it, your friend’s boyfriend had come back earlier than planned, and you didn’t want to be a nuisance, so here you were—temporarily homeless and stuck with Germany’s biggest ego.
Kaiser hummed in triumph at your defeated state, already heading up the stairs to the second floor—where his room was.
“I left a surprise for you in the kitchen,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing.
Leaving your stuff in the living room, you wandered in, curious and in need for a glass of water when you stopped in your tracks.
A black vase sat centered on the dining table.
Glossy. Minimalistic. Probably ridiculously expensive.
A note rested against the vase. You stepped closer, picking up the card.
Your heart did something funny.
The sound of distant cars and the calm hush of the city made the night walk far more peaceful than the chaotic daytime pace you were both used to. No disguises, masks or hiding. Just the two of you, feet crunching in the snow, almost in sync, your breath visible in thin white clouds.
“What’s the schedule for tomorrow?” Kaiser asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
You stopped, staring at him with wide eyes before you burst out laughing, gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.
“Seriously?” you wheezed. “That’s all you got?”
His brow arched, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“What? Don’t tell me you don’t know it…” he leaned down, teasing as you instinctively backed away.
Scoffing into your scarf, you crouched down, gathered a handful of snow, shaped it into a slightly lopsided football, and launched it directly onto the player’s coat.
A vein visibly popped on his forehead.
Then, he bent down too—grabbing a fistful of snow, accepting your challenge without a word.
“ ‘course I know your schedule,” you huffed, lifting your fingers one by one while smoothly dodging his aimed snowball at you. “Tomorrow includes: sleeping in, eating cake, blowing out candles, and—”
“Stop that.” his voice dropped like you had just said something out of line. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”
The playful fight you were about to ignite died instantly.
Stepping closer, you tightly grabbed his scarf, and tugged him down to your eye level—the tip of his nose red from the cold, his eyes darkening with confusion and irritation.
“You ignored it last year too,” you said softly but firmly. “Birthdays are meant to be celebrated, Michael. You deserve to be happy for at least one day. You won’t die, I promise.”
Then you let him go and turned, walking ahead through the white path.
He followed eventually—tensed and silent, clearly battling whatever your words had stirred up inside him.
He never wanted his birthday.
Not the memories that came with it.
Ignoring the date entirely was easier.
So when dawn crept in, Kaiser—duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, keys between his fingers, training shoes packed—was already headed toward the door.
Until he noticed a soft glow coming from the living room.
Walking closer—thinking it was just the early sunlight creeping in—he stopped, a quiet breath escaping him.
You were curled up on the couch, fast asleep, phone still in hand—alarm unset, thumb halfway across the screen.
On the coffee table sat a tiny cake, one small lit candle and…
“…roses.” he murmured, crouching down.
Blue and booming. Perfectly arranged.
Exactly twenty-four of them.
A number he never wanted to celebrate.
A number you remembered anyway.
Kaiser dragged a hand through his hair—annoyed and touched, reaching over to adjust the blanket that had slipped from your shoulder, tugging it gently up to your chin. For a moment he hovered, then dipped down just enough to brush a quick, almost invisible kiss to your forehead.
“You’re a pain in the ass” he muttered under his breath, eyes drifting back to the card with your handwriting.
Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Micha <3
He read it over and over, then slipped the note into his pocket, almost irritated at himself for doing it.
Just as he was about to leave, Kaiser leaned down and with a soft exhale, quietly blew the candle out.
The flame died instantly.
The room darkened again, save for the soft glow of morning fighting through the curtains.
He stood, stared at your face for a moment longer than he should’ve, and walked out, leaving with a quiet sigh and a heaviness he didn’t bother to hide.
“SIR! CAN YOU CONFIRM IT?”
The wall of reporters closed in, camera flashes blinding you with each step. You pressed your clipboard up to Kaiser’s face, trying to shield him as the two of you pushed through the crowd.
“Keep moving,” you muttered, hand firm on his back.
He exhaled sharply, done and tired from all the attention he’s been getting for all the wrong reasons.
Finally reaching the car, he slid right in as you shut the door behind him before diving into the other side.
The striker loudly groaned, leaning back with a hand over his eyes.
You handed him some water. “I’ll have them release a statement—”
“Shut. the. fuck. up.” he grumbled, pushing the water away.
It’s been two years since you’ve returned and agreed to being his personal manager, and by now you’d learned that…some things don’t change.
“Look, I know this situation is taking a toll on—”
“You know nothing.” he sat up fast, blue eyes blazing with fury. “All you ever do is talk. Talk about meaningless shit. Let a wannabe influencer run his mouth and drag my name through hell while you—”
He grabbed your jaw, fingers digging in hard as he angled your face toward him.
“—are doing nothing, but being a useless and an incompetent piece of shit.”
Your breath hitched, not from fear, but from the sheer sting of his words, the pain on your face secondary to the feeling of humiliation.
The past few weeks had been hard. Rumors exploding online. Fans fighting. Articles everywhere.
All because of someone with too much time and too much spite who wanted to watch Michael Kaiser crumble.
But what they didn’t know was that devils don’t fall.
They drag everyone else down.
He gave you a deep sigh, mockingly chuckling at your promise before releasing your jaw and leaning back, ignoring you.
The car ride to his apartment was suffocatingly silent.
His chauffeur would give you sympathetic looks through the rearview mirror while you could only nod, hoping the striker’s anger to slowly fade.
Reaching his home, the chauffeur opened the door as Kaiser stepped out first, slamming the car door shut.
Then, the staff member approached you with yet another bouquet of roses hidden in the trunk.
Presumably what Kaiser ordered since they were in his signature color, tied with a gold ribbon.
But he didn’t even touch them, let alone give it to you himself. Instead, he simply stared with disdain, forgetting the purpose of getting those flowers.
“Throw them out,” he ordered before adding, “Don’t mess this task up too.”
That was the moment something in you snapped.
Before the football player could take another step, you hurled the bouquet right at him.
It hit his cheek hard, thorns scraping his delicate skin.
Kaiser frowned, small enough, just for a split second.
What came next was him slowly looking back at you with empty eyes, the disappointment and anger clearly evident. You simply stood there with clenched fists, breath shaking in the cold.
For a long moment he held your gaze, unreadable. Then, he turned around and left you without another word, walking ahead without looking back.
No words. No fury. Nothing.
He stepped on the bouquet you threw in his face, crushing the deep blue petals mixed with his own, crimson red blood under his heel.
You two decided on not riding in the same car for a while.
Keeping professionalism and personal interest far apart, you took the public transport while he drove himself.
Some days you’d exchange tired glances.
Some days you’d slide his usual coffee onto his desk without a word.
Some days you’d both pretend the other didn’t exist.
You still had to speak to him of course—being his personal manager and all that—but even then he barely acknowledged you, opting to communicate through Ness or curt texts and nods.
You tolerated it for about week.
But after apologizing to him hundreds of times, and even offering to fix things however you could, and he still acted like a fucking brick wall?
“How long are you going to keep up this childish act?” you hissed, stepping in front of him before his conference interview could start.
The blond looked back at you with that infuriatingly blank expression, shrugging one shoulder.
“Kaiser!” you grabbed his wrist, desperate for him to just react.
His reflex was still sharp, twisting your hand with a tight grip, jaw flexed.
Despite his emotionless voice, there was something hiding behind his gaze.
Something he wasn’t letting himself feel.
The staff ushered him inside the interview room, leaving you outside with your heart pounding and your hand aching.
When Kaiser finished, he headed straight toward his private changing room, ripping off the mic. His phone vibrated on the counter, flashing an unknown number.
He answered without thinking.
“Is this an acquaintance of Miss Y/N L/N?” the voice asked.
“…Yes,” Kaiser said, tone immediately dropping. “Why?”
“We’re contacting her listed emergency numbers. There’s been an accident near XX street. She has been brought to the hospital…”
The call continued, the striker’s heart sinking with every word. By the time he hit the red button, his mind was nowhere near the information he’d been given.
All he did was rush to the parking lot.
Kaiser didn’t remember the drive there. Didn’t care about the red lights he ignored or the fact he didn’t breathe until he was standing under the harsh fluorescent glow of the hospital ER.
“Are you here for Ms. L/N?” a nurse asked, recognition evident on her face as she gave him a mask. For protection. And privacy.
So he sat down and waited, hands fidgeting as sweat dripped off his face, and legs that wouldn’t stop shaking.
Your last conversation replayed in his head like a punishment, a reminder.
“How long are you going to keep up this childish act?”
He pressed his palms over his face, breath shaky, head aching.
He shouldn’t have been so harsh on you. Probably should’ve said something—anything—when you walked away looking exhausted and defeated.
He’d been stubborn, proud, ego high up in the clouds.
And thanks to that, now you were somewhere behind those closed doors with tubes and wires, covered in blood that shouldn’t ever have been yours.
A nurse passed with a plastic evidence bag. He saw your cracked phone inside. Your jacket with a smear of blood, your jewelry bent out of shape…and caught between everything else were…blue petals.
Not many. Just enough to tell a story.
A few stuck to your cracked screen, others crushed flat against the fabric of your jacket—like they’d been held close.
Like they weren’t supposed to end up here.
He didn’t need anyone to explain where you had been going or what you wanted to do with them.
His throat tightened painfully as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand covering his mouth.
“Don’t you dare…” he whispered, voice breaking for the first time in years. “Don’t you dare leave like this.”
Kaiser cut himself off, chest burning. He’d rather you yelled at him again, rather you threw another bouquet at his face, rather you hate and loathe him for eternity. Anything was better than dying in this cold, sterile place without receiving a proper apology or goodbye.
Without noticing how much time had passed, the ER doors finally opened.
A doctor stepped out, scanning the chairs.
“Ms. L/N’s relative?” he called. Kaiser shot to his feet, pulling down his mask.
The doctor nodded with a calm expression. “She’s stable.”
“…but is currently unconscious. It was a close call, and her body is extremely bruised and exhausted. We can’t say when exactly she’ll wake up, but it might take a few days, even weeks. You’ll be able to visit her once her condition improves.”
Stunned, Kaiser stood silent for a few seconds, confirming what he just heard before he exhaled sharply as relief crashed through him so violently it hurt. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
He sat back down in the stiff plastic chair, the same one he’d been glued to for hours—maybe days—hands trembling uncontrollably as he stared at your figure on the hospital bed.
The faint beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing trying to keep him sane—proof that you were still here even if you weren’t with him.
“Wake up…wake up…wake up.”
He whispered it like a mantra, forehead pressed to the edge of your mattress, fingers laced into the sheets as if he could anchor you back to him by force.
He barely slept. Barely moved. Barely breathed unless the monitor next to you did.
Every few minutes, his hand would twitch toward yours again.
And then he’d whisper it again, each time softer, more broken…
But as much as his mind was alert, his body refused to cooperate. He fought it at first, clinging to your bedside while nurses hovered, checking his vitals and insisting he needed rest. “You’ve been awake for hours. You’ll crash if you don’t lie down,” one nurse said gently, nudging him toward the couch in your room.
He dismissed it stubbornly. He couldn’t rest—not after the endless hours of waiting, the quiet ticking of the clock, the spiraling thoughts that refused to give him a moment’s peace.
How could he possibly sleep while you lay here, silently suffering, unconscious and in pain?
He would have stayed by your side indefinitely if his obligations as a football player—and the ever-watchful eyes of the media—hadn’t pulled him away as well. Grumbling, left with no other choice, he decided to call Alexis.
“Stay with her while I’m out” he instructed, voice tight with frustration. “Don’t let anyone near her room.” even as exhaustion tugged at his body, worry sharpened every word he spoke.
The next few days were a blur.
Training sessions, interviews, and public appearances—soon to be paused for a short break—did nothing to ease his mind. Every moment, his thoughts were with you, checking his phone each time, in hope for a single message, a single call that you’d woken.
Meanwhile, Alexis, ever the loyal dog to him, arrived promptly each day with a small bouquet of (according to Kaiser—unwanted) magenta flowers, to bring a bright splash of color against the pale hospital walls.
He reported every single change—your fingers twitching, a sigh in your sleep, a slight movement—and Kaiser’s chest ached with helplessness. He hated not being there with you, not being the one to watch over you.
Finally, the call came in the middle of training.
“She’s regained consciousness.”
Rushing to the hospital then to your room (which thanks to him was in the VIP section), the moment he stepped inside—relief washed over his body tangled with a sharp pang of jealousy.
Kaiser couldn’t help noticing how much time Alexis had spent with you while he’d been away—smoothing your blanket, keeping you company, and carefully tracking every little detail for him. How he sat close, kind and calm, while a nurse whispered something to a colleague in the hallway about Alexis’s attentiveness, a small approving smile on her face as he walked past them.
On the nightstand beside your bed, he noticed the small notebook where the brunette had been keeping track of your progress as well.
Someone else had been the one by your side when he’d been forced to step away.
He hated feeling like an outsider.
Still, clearing his throat, he stepped toward your bed, guilt tugging at his chest.
He should’ve been more present.
He should have been the one watching you.
Yet, at that moment, when your eyelids fluttered open, and recognition shone in your eyes, his heart began racing. “Kaiser…” you whispered, reaching for him.
“I’m here, mein Schatz…” he murmured instantly, voice low and rough, pressing his forehead against yours. For a second, he glanced at Alexis, who gave a small, apologetic smile, before his attention returned fully to you.
Everything else—the waiting, the exhaustion, the jealousy—melted away the moment you reached for him and gently wrapped your arms around his neck.
divider credit: @cursed-carmine
