michael olise x psychologist!reader
— # amongst it all masterlist
# warnings: nsfw, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers, banter, arguments, alcohol, angst
# mia’s note: i’m super proud of this chapter. it took me quite long to build because i wasn’t sure how to develop the idea i had in my mind, but i think i did it some justice. in my pinned post, you can find a way to help people in gaza and venezuela. thank you so much for all the love to this story that i continue to build with sooo much love each day. reqs are open.
s: When rising football star Michael Olise suffers a devastating knee injury just at the beginning of the season, the club makes one petition. Along with rehabilitation, Michael must work with the club's psychologist upon his return to action. The problem? They can't stand each other. As months of working pushes them together, their mutual resentment gives way to understanding, blurring the lines between professionalism and the silly thing that comes after friendship; love.
The ballroom was beautiful in the sort of way that only existed for a few hours.
Golden light spilled from crystal chandeliers suspended impossibly high above the polished floor, reflecting off champagne glasses and polished dress shoes until the entire room shimmered. A string quartet occupied one corner, their music weaving beneath conversations that rose and fell like waves.
The club’s crest stood proudly behind the stage, flanked by banners celebrating another successful season.
For everyone else, it was an evening away from football.
For Y/N, it felt like another shift.
She smiled through introductions she would forget in ten minutes, shook hands with sponsors she’d never see again, and accepted compliments about the club’s atmosphere with practiced ease.
Every smile felt borrowed. Every laugh required just a little too much effort.
She adjusted the skirt of her dress for what was probably the tenth time that evening.
She wished she’d stayed home.
Across the room, Michael stood near one of the tall windows overlooking the city.
A charcoal suit replaced his usual training gear, crisp white shirt open at the collar after he’d quietly abandoned his tie twenty minutes into the evening.
He hated events like this.
Too much talking. Too many people pretending not to notice one another while noticing everything.
He accepted another glass of sparkling water simply because saying no required more conversation than taking it.
Michael didn’t have to look. “Go away, Jamal.”
Jamal appeared beside him with the grin of someone who enjoyed being inconvenient. “You clean up nicely.”
Jamal followed Michael’s gaze across the ballroom. “There she is.”
Michael immediately looked away. “I wasn’t looking.”
“You’ve looked three times.”
“You’ve scanned one specific area of the room.”
Michael sighed. “I hate talking to you.”
Jamal took a sip of his drink. “You know she’s wearing white because Linda made her.”
Michael frowned. “How do you know that?”
Jamal glanced sideways. “You’re still going to apologize?”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
Jamal looked delighted. “That’s adorable.”
“If you call me adorable again, I’m leaving.”
“You still haven’t apologized.”
Michael didn’t answer. Because Jamal was right.
Every time he’d convinced himself to do it, something got in the way.
Or maybe, he got in the way.
Meanwhile, Linda found Y/N standing near one of the dessert tables, very clearly pretending to examine miniature pastries she’d already looked at twice.
“You’ve been staring at that lemon tart for three minutes.”
“You’ve been avoiding eye contact.”
Y/N sighed. “Am I that obvious?”
Linda considered it. “No. To me? Painfully.”
Y/N picked up a tiny chocolate pastry. “I don’t want tonight to become…” she gestured vaguely. “…another thing.”
Linda softened. “It doesn’t have to.”
“I know. But if I speak to him…” she looked across the room without meaning to. “…I’ll probably get angry.”
Michael was speaking with one of the assistant coaches.
Y/N smiled despite herself. “That’s true.”
Near the bar, Manuel had somehow convinced Raul to participate in what he called an “important scientific discussion.”
“I’m just saying…” Manuel adjusted his cufflinks dramatically. “…a suit automatically makes goalkeepers look thirty percent more intelligent.”
Raul looked at him. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I think I make excellent points.”
Jamal wandered over. “What are we discussing?”
Manuel looked offended. “They’re an underrepresented community.”
“There are eleven of you on every team.”
“That’s not underrepresented.”
“It feels underrepresented.”
Raul took a long sip of his drink. “I’ve spent years studying sports medicine. And somehow…” he looked toward Manuel. “…this is still the most exhausting part of my career.”
Linda joined them just in time to hear Manuel declare,
“I’m objectively the smartest person at this table.”
She looked around. “There are four people here.”
Jamal nearly choked on his drink.
Manuel narrowed his eyes at her. “I might not be the brightest, but I sure do know how to use a crying face emoji.”
Linda rolled her eyes. “Do you ever get tired?”
Manuel took a sip of his drink. “I’ll remember this.”
“I won’t.” he nodded thoughtfully. “What were we talking about?”
Y/N drifted away from the group.
She needed a minute. Just one. The ballroom had become warm. Too warm. Too loud.
She slipped through a side door into one of the quieter corridors connecting the reception hall to the conference rooms. The silence greeted her almost immediately.
Finally. No speeches. No music. No expectations. Just the soft glow of wall sconces stretching down an empty hallway.
She leaned lightly against the marble wall and closed her eyes. Only for a second.
She barely heard the door open behind her.
She didn’t need to turn around. She knew who it was.
Across the ballroom, Michael had been trying very hard not to watch her.
Without thinking, he’d excused himself from the conversation he’d stopped listening to five minutes earlier.
He told himself he just needed quieter air. Nothing more.
The hallway was empty. Except it wasn’t.
Y/N stood near the far wall, arms loosely folded, staring at nothing in particular.
She heard him stop several feet away.
Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched long enough that either one of them could have walked away.
Y/N slowly turned. Their eyes met.
For the first time all evening. Neither looked away.
She noticed he’d loosened his collar sometime during the event, the crisp lines of his suit somehow making him look older than he did at training.
He noticed the white dress again.
Not because of the color. Because she looked different outside the rhythm of the training ground. Less guarded. More tired.
He hated that he noticed. She hated that she wondered whether he was about to leave.
Neither of them moved. The muffled orchestra continued somewhere beyond the closed ballroom doors.
The hallway, by contrast, felt impossibly still.
Michael drew a slow breath. Y/N folded her arms a little tighter.
There was nowhere left to hide behind sarcastic comments or crowded rooms.
For the first time in days, it was just the two of them. And everything they’d been avoiding was finally standing in the hallway with them.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Y/N looked toward the wall. Michael looked toward the floor.
The silence became unbearable.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
She let out a quiet laugh. “That’s funny.”
“You think I’m avoiding you.”
She finally turned to face him. “No. I’m protecting my peace.”
His jaw tightened. “Right.”
He looked at her. “I think you’re making it very easy not to feel guilty.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“So this is about you feeling guilty?”
He laughed once. Short. Dry.
She folded her arms. “You were the one who followed me out here.”
“And yet somehow you found me.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t believe you.”
“So that’s where we are now,” she said quietly.
God, she hated talking to him. He had this unbelievable ability to make every conversation feel like a competition neither of them wanted but neither of them would stop playing.
“You know what still amazes me?” she asked.
“You actually think you were justified.”
His expression hardened. “I think I was angry.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I think…” he took a slow breath. “…you push people until they finally say something they regret.”
She stared at him. “And then?”
“And then you stand there acting surprised.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, Michael,” she took a step toward him. “You don’t get to blame me for your own mouth.”
“And you chose to shove.”
He looked away briefly. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“The famous sentence. You don’t know. You don’t understand. You weren’t there.”
She ticked them off on her fingers. “You hide behind those words every time someone gets close enough to challenge you.”
His eyes flashed. “You think that’s what you were doing?”
The question caught her off guard.
“You think asking me twenty questions a week means you know me?”
“I was trying to help you.”
“You don’t have to ask to deserve help.”
“That’s exactly what I can’t stand.”
“You decide what people need before they do.”
“I decide what my patients might benefit from.”
She looked at him evenly. “You’re a footballer who agreed to work with me.”
“I agreed because everyone kept insisting you’d be useful.”
He hesitated for the briefest second.
“I think…” his voice flattened. “…you’re very good at making people feel like they’re broken.”
The words hung between them.
Then smiled. Not because it was funny. Because she genuinely couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“Coming from the man who’s spent weeks trying to convince me I’m terrible at my job.”
Her expression changed instantly.
Something in her face hardened. “You don’t get to tell me what I ‘let’ happen.”
“You took it personally.”
“Because it was personal.”
“You looked me in the eye and questioned the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life.”
“I was talking about me.”
“Then use the word ‘me.’”
“You don’t get to bleed on people and then complain that they noticed the stain.”
“You noticed everything.”
“There,” he pointed at her. “That’s exactly it. You always say that.”
His voice remained calm. Painfully calm.
Her expression hardened. “My excuse?”
“When someone gets uncomfortable, you say you’re just doing your job. When someone gets angry… you’re just doing your job. When someone asks you to stop looking so closely, you tell yourself it’s your job.”
She stared at him. She genuinely didn’t know what to say.
He continued quietly. “Do you know what it feels like?”
“To sit across from someone who’s noticing every little thing you wish you could hide.”
The words lingered between them.
Her anger faltered. Just slightly.
“You know what I think? I think you’re terrified.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not.”
“I think you’re terrified that if somebody actually understands you…” she stepped another half-step closer. “…they’ll see there’s nothing underneath all that anger.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“No. You know what you’ve decided.”
“I know what you’ve shown me.”
“I haven’t shown you anything.”
“You’ve shown me everything.”
His laugh was sharp this time. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No. You’ve spent so long looking for reasons behind everything I say, that you’ve stopped listening to what I’m actually saying.”
“And what are you actually saying?”
“That I don’t trust you.”
“No. he looked directly into her eyes. “You don’t. If you did…” his voice lowered. “…you would’ve stopped being a pain weeks ago.”
She let out a breath through her nose.
“And if you understood me, you would’ve stopped treating me like I was your enemy.”
The words escaped before either of them could stop them.
Silence. A long, suffocating silence.
For the first time all evening, there was no sarcasm left on either side.
Just two people breathing a little too hard.
He took a step forward. “So what now?”
She didn’t move. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know how to talk to someone who twists everything I say.”
His eyes flashed again. “And I don’t know how to talk to someone who thinks she already has me figured out.”
“Maybe because every time I get close, you shove me back.”
“Maybe because every time you get close, you stop seeing me and start seeing another case to solve.”
They were standing close enough now that neither of them had to raise their voices.
The silence between each sentence felt louder than the words themselves.
Y/N searched his face. She was furious. Absolutely furious.
And somehow, she couldn’t look away.
Michael felt exactly the same. He wanted to leave. He wanted to end the conversation.
Instead, he found himself rooted to the marble floor, staring at the one person in the club capable of making him this angry.
Neither of them noticed how little space remained between them.
Neither of them noticed the ballroom doors opening somewhere behind them.
All either of them could see was the other.
And neither was willing to be the first to look away.
In a blink, Michael was much more close.
In a blink, his hands were on her waist.
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