bittersweet β # michael olise
synopsis β where y/n doesn't know how to exist around michael and his rudeness
# warnings: very faint angst. not proofread and OLD. fluff. hurt/comfort
# wc: 5k
# miaβs note: y/n is me okay. this was an experience your very own daddy mia had, and i just want to tell you guys, that when someone is rude or indifferent towards your kindness, it only speaks about them. never stop being so sweet because that's the best. with sooo much love, mia.
masterlist
there were players who hated rehab because it reminded them they were injured. there were players who hated physios because they associated them with pain. there were players who complained, bargained, exaggerated every ache in hopes of skipping another set of exercises.
michael wasnβt any of them. he just hated her.
or at least thatβs what it felt like.
y/n had spent three years working for one of the biggest clubs in europe. sheβd learned very quickly that footballers were all different. some walked into the treatment room talking before they even reached the door. others needed silence before training. some wanted to know every muscle, every tendon, every scientific explanation behind an exercise.
her job wasnβt just fixing bodies, it was learning people. sheβd become good at it. good enough that most players eventually trusted her.
michael never did. the first day sheβd introduced herself, heβd barely looked at her.
βiβm y/n.β
βmichael.β
βiβll be helping with your recovery.β
a nod. nothing more.
she hadnβt thought much of it, because some people were shy. she could work with shy.
it wasnβt until weeks later that she realized he wasnβt shy around everyone.
he spoke to the coaches, answered the analysts, laughed actual laughs with jamal once after training when heβd slipped trying to nutmeg one of the academy boys. he thanked the chefs in the cafeteria, said goodbye to security.
he just never had anything for her.
βmorning,β sheβd say with a smile, but he would not reply. so sheβd continue. βhowβs the ankle feeling today?β
βfine.β
βgood. weβll increase the load a littleββ
βwhatever.β
the word landed flat and careless. like talking to her required effort he wasnβt willing to spend.
she forced a smile anyway. βalright.β
she spent the next forty minutes counting repetitions.
he completed every single one perfectly. never complained, never asked questions, and never looked at her unless she physically repositioned his leg.
the moment she finished writing her notes and told him that he was done, he was already standing. already walking away.
βhave a good afternoon.β
the door clicked shut, he hadnβt answered.
she told herself not to take it personally. people carried things. injuries, pressure, family, expectations. she had no idea what his life looked like outside these walls.
she reminded herself of that every morning.
he isnβt being cold because of you. heβs just cold. and thereβs a difference.
she repeated it so often it became automatic.
sometimes she even believed it.
βyouβre still trying?β linda asked over lunch.
y/n looked up from peeling an orange. βtrying what?β
βto get michael to smile.β
βis it that obvious?β
linda laughed softly. βeveryoneβs noticed.β
βi just donβt think anyone deserves to feel alone.β
βand what if he wants to be?β
y/n looked toward the window. the training pitches stretched across the afternoon sunlight.
players were finishing drills and she spotted him immediately. always slightly apart.
βi donβt think anyone really wants to be.β
there were tiny moments that kept her trying. moments she probably imagined.
once heβd waited while she gathered the resistance bands sheβd dropped, and he hadnβt helped. but he hadnβt walked away either.
another time sheβd accidentally burned her tongue on coffee before morning training.
sheβd hissed quietly.
heβd looked over, just for a second. his eyebrows pinched together almost imperceptibly. concern. but gone before she could be certain sheβd seen it.
she clung to moments like that, cause they felt like cracks in concrete. proof there was someone underneath, even if she didnβt know what it was, she just knew it existed.
she started changing her approach. less talking and more observing.
if he didnβt want conversation, sheβd just exist beside him.
sheβd explain the exercise, count the reps, correct his posture, and then, finally, leave silence untouched.
sometimes twenty whole minutes would pass with only the sounds of resistance bands stretching or weights settling back onto racks.
she hated silence. always had. it made rooms feel lonely. she would then her tv on to sleep sometimes because she didnβt like the sound of nothing before going to sleep.
but if silence was the only place michael seemed comfortable, sheβd meet him there.
one afternoon he strained his shoulder during training. nothing serious, but enough to warrant treatment.
he sat on the edge of the table while she prepared ice.
βlift your arm?β he did and she gently rotated the joint. βtell me if this hurts.β
βit doesnβt.β
she moved slightly farther. βhere?β
βno.β
she pressed carefully along the muscle and he flinched slightly. βthere?β
βyeah.β
βsharp?β
βyeah.β
she nodded while making notes. βokay. nothing major,β she reached for another ice pack and, without thinking, she smiled. βgood.β
his eyes stayed fixed ahead. βdonβt.β
her hand stopped. βdonβt what?β
βlook relieved.β
she frowned. βi am relieved.β
βwhy?β
βbecause youβre okay.β
he finally looked at her. βitβs your job.β
just four words. and they shouldnβt have hurt, but they did anyway, because she hadnβt done anything but just try to be sweet.
she swallowed. βyeah.β
he stood before sheβd even secured the compression wrap. βweβre finished.β
that evening she drove home with the radio off.
itβs your job.
she understood what heβd meant. he hadnβt asked for kindness or concern or reassurance. to him sheβd crossed into something unnecessary. something professional shouldnβt be, but still she couldnβt stop thinking about it.
because he was right. it was her job. so why did she care whether he smiled? why did she replay the one time sheβd almost heard him laugh? why did she find herself watching for him on the training pitches?
she rested her forehead against the steering wheel after parking outside her apartment.
he doesnβt owe you warmth. he doesnβt owe you friendship. he certainly doesnβt owe you affection. heβs just another player. another patient. thatβs all.
she believed herself for almost twelve hours. then she saw him again and smiled anyway.
βmorning, michael.β
βmorning.β
this time it wasnβt even directed at her. the greeting had been for the assistant coach walking through the doorway behind her. she realized it a second too late because sheβd already smiled back. the coach answered him and michael walked straight past her.
she stood there feeling strangely embarrassed. sheβd interrupted a conversation she hadnβt been part of.
raul found her reorganizing medical supplies for the third time that afternoon. βthose drawers have never been so organized.β
she looked over. βpardon?β
βthatβs the third time youβve alphabetized the tape.β
she looked down at the drawer. βhas it?β
he leaned against the counter. βhe got to you today.β
she busied herself with another drawer. βi donβt know what youβre talking about.β
βyes, you do.β
she sighed. βhe doesnβt like me.β
raul was quiet. βi donβt think thatβs it.β
βthen what is it?β
βi donβt know.β
she laughed. βgreat.β
he hesitated. βsome people make sure theyβre impossible to get close to.β
βwhy?β
βbecause if nobody gets closeβ¦β he shrugged. ββ¦nobody gets the chance to leave.β
she looked down at the neatly stacked bandages. βthat sounds lonely.β
βyeah. and michael is lonely.β
it did sound lonely and michael was indeed lonely. that made her want to try even harder.
if anyone had asked y/n when sheβd started dreading michaelβs appointments, she wouldnβt have been able to answer. there hadnβt been a single moment. it had happened so quietly.
one day sheβd catch herself humming while setting up the treatment room before he came in, and a few weeks later sheβd glance at the clock every five minutes, stomach tightening as his session got closer.
she wasnβt afraid of him. michael had never raised his voice, never slammed a door, never said anything outright cruel.
sometimes she wished he would. anger had a shape. it came, exploded, and disappeared.
his indifference was softer and it was so much more impactful because it lingered. there was something uniquely painful about giving someone every opportunity to let you in only to realize they had locked the door from the inside long before you ever arrived.
she stopped asking about his day. stopped making little jokes while she wrapped tape around his wrist or counted his repetitions.
sheβd learned the pattern, every attempt at conversation died somewhere between them.
so now the sessions were painfully clinical.
βthree sets.β
he nodded.
βgood.β
another nod.
βrest.β
sometimes sheβd hear the laughter from the gym next door. jamal shouting about something ridiculous, manuel arguing with one of the strength coaches.
music drifting faintly through the walls.
their room always seemed quieter.
she hated that. she hated that she had somehow become another silent room in his day.
one afternoon she was adjusting the angle of his knee during an exercise.
βtry not to lock the joint.β
he immediately pulled away. βi know.β
βi was just reminding you.β
βi know.β
she nodded. βsorry.β
she wasnβt sure why sheβd apologized. and then, she noticed herself apologizing more often.
sorry. excuse me. my fault. sorry again.
it was ridiculous. she wasnβt doing anything wrong, yet every conversation with him left her feeling like she had.
sheβd started overthinking everything.
did she smile too much? talk too much? did he think she was unprofessional? did she ask too many questions?
maybe she hovered. maybe he just preferred someone else.
he did like people. and it was personal, because he liked jamal, he liked the goalkeeping coach, sheβd seen him smiling at one of the academy kids after training.
small smiles, but real enough to reach his eyes.
so it wasnβt that he couldnβt, it was that he wouldnβt with her.
linda noticed. they were eating lunch outside, the spring sun had finally decided to make an appearance. players wandered between buildings, balancing trays of food and protein shakes.
βyouβre quieter.β
y/n looked up. βam i?β
βmhm.β
βjust tired.β
linda smiled sympathetically. βhe still giving you a hard time?β
y/n poked at her salad. βheβs not giving me a hard time.β
βno?β
βhe justβ¦β she searched for the words. ββ¦makes me feel like iβm bothering him every time i breathe.β
linda reached across the table and squeezed her wrist. βthatβs not your fault.β
there was a small notebook y/n carried everywhere.
half treatment notes, half reminders, random grocery lists. just little things sheβd inevitably forget.
one evening, while finishing paperwork after everyone else had left, it slipped off the desk. pages scattered across the floor.
she knelt to gather them and her eyes found one loose page had folded itself open. there, squeezed between rehabilitation schedules and reminders to order new kinesiology tape, sheβd written something weeks ago.
βmichael smiled today.β
just five words. a tiny note sheβd scribbled after heβd let out the faintest laugh because jamal had somehow gotten stuck inside an ice bath after sitting on the lid.
she stared at it for a long time. it felt so embarrassing and she felt so incredibly pathetic she thought she could cry.
she crumpled the page then immediately smoothed it back out.
why had that mattered so much to her? why had she written it down?
she folded it carefully back into the notebook, because as stupid as it was, she did not want to lose it.
the next monday started badly.
rain and so much traffic. she had spilled coffee down the front of her hoodie before sheβd even reached the training ground.
one of the treatment tables had a loose bolt and the printer jammed twice. she accidentally deleted half a recovery schedule and had to rewrite it from memory.
by ten thirty sheβd laughed to herself.
βokay,β she sighed dramatically. βthatβs enough.β
raul passed by carrying a box of resistance bands. βtalking to yourself again?β
βsomeone has to.β
he chuckled. βgood luck.β
βwith?β
he looked toward the doorway. michael had just arrived.
βthat.β
βmorning,β she greeted softly.
he didnβt respond, because of course he hadnβt.
she looked up from her clipboard. heβd walked straight to the treatment table without even sparing a glance.
she inhaled quietly. βhamstring today.β
he nodded as she positioned his leg carefully.
her fingers pressed gently against the muscle. βtell me if itβs tender.β
he didnβt reply. didnβt make a sound or a gesture.
βmichael?β
βitβs fine.β
she made another note. βgood.β
she wrapped the compression sleeve. βtraining load felt okay yesterday?β
ββ¦β
she waited a bit. maybe he was thinking. maybe he couldnβt recall how training had been. but nothing came.
βmichael?β
he finally answered without looking at her. βdo we have to do this every time?β
her hands stopped. βdo what?β
βtalk.β
the room suddenly felt very still and y/n swore she felt an ugly weird pinch of pain on her chest.
she blinked. βiβm just checking how youβre feeling.β
his voice wasnβt loud. βyou can do your job without trying to make conversation.β
she swallowed. βright.β
she finished the wrap without saying another word.
the session lasted forty more minutes and neither of them spoke once.
βyouβre good to go.β
he stood, grabbed his bottle, and left. the door clicked shut behind him.
raul wandered past a minute later. βeverything okay?β
she smiled automatically. βyeah.β
βyou sure?β
βmhm.β
he looked unconvinced so she immediately bent over her paperwork before he could ask again.
that night she couldnβt sleep. his words replayed in irritatingly perfect detail.
do we have to do this every time?
sheβd spent weeks convincing herself she wasnβt taking things personally. that he was simply reserved. that she just happened to be on the receiving end of it.
but now she wondered if maybe he genuinely disliked her. and she hated how much that possibility hurt.
because it shouldnβt. sheβd known him for barely a few months. she didnβt even know him really because he didnβt even speak to her.
he was a player and she was his physiotherapist. that was all.
so why did it feel like sheβd failed an exam she hadnβt even known she was taking?
the following morning, she made herself a promise.
no more trying. if michael wanted silence, sheβd give him silence.
no jokes or gentle questions. no attempts to make rehab feel less lonely. strictly professional and nothing else. it was probably what he wanted anyway.
she repeated that to herself as she organized resistance bands before his session. she repeated it again when she heard his footsteps approaching.
it turned out that trying less hurt more. y/n had thought silence would make things easier. that if she stopped reaching, she would stop feeling the sting of having her hand left hanging.
instead, the room became unbearably empty.
she no longer asked how heβd slept. she counted, corrected his form, wrote her notes. he came and he left.
it should have been exactly what heβd wanted. but something felt different.
he lingered once after a session, standing by the doorway as she disinfected the treatment table.
she could feel him there. waiting. but she didnβt look up. and, eventually, he walked away.
days passed. then weeks.
she stopped expecting anything from him. that was easier. or at least she kept telling herself it was.
she poured the energy sheβd once spent trying to understand michael into everyone else. she laughed louder with jamal, stayed longer helping the academy boys after training, let manuel convince her to join whatever ridiculous card game the goalkeepers had invented during recovery days.
the treatment room felt alive again.
until michael walked in, of course. because then everything became quiet. she hated herself for noticing that he seemed to notice.
βyouβre awfully chatty with everyone else,β the words came so unexpectedly that she almost dropped the resistance band in her hands.
she looked up. michael sat on the treatment table, elbow resting against his knee, eyes fixed on the floor.
βsorry?β
he shrugged. βnothing.β
βno, you said something.β
βforget it.β
she stared at him for a moment. old y/n wouldβve asked, wouldβve pushed gently until he elaborated.
instead she simply nodded. βokay.β
his jaw shifted almost imperceptibly, the silence that followed felt heavier than usual.
later that afternoon, linda found her restocking ice packs.
βdid he say something?β
y/n blinked. βwhat makes you ask?β
βbecause youβve been staring at the freezer for five minutes.β
she laughed quietly. βhe said iβm chatty with everyone else.β
βwell,β linda leaned against the counter. βyou are.β
βi know. but why would he even notice that?β
linda raised an eyebrow. βgood question.β
y/n shook her head. βno.β
she refused to entertain the thought. it didnβt mean anything. people noticed things and that was all.
the following week, michael was late.
only by eight minutes, but still very unusual for him.
she was finishing paperwork when the door opened.
βyouβre late.β
βtraffic,β his voice sounded rough.
she glanced up.
βeverything okay?β she asked before she could stop herself and she instantly wished she hadnβt.
his expression closed instantly. βfine.β
of course. stupid y/n. she mentally scolded herself while adjusting the treatment table.
donβt ask. you promised yourself.
the session continued in silence. and, halfway through, she reached for the massage gun beside him.
their hands brushed but she immediately pulled hers back.
βsorry.β
she waited. but like always, he didnβt respond. so she just picked up the massage gun without another word.
she noticed he had stopped saying goodbye. he was never consistent with it, but now she noticed he didnβt say it at all. he would just stand, leave, and the door would shut. sheβd be left staring at the empty room.
it was ridiculous how something so small could make a place feel so dull.
one friday afternoon the team had finished training early. jamal was attempting to balance three footballs on his head while several academy players cheered him on.
y/n couldnβt help laughing. βyouβre going to regret this.β
βiβve never regretted anything in my life.β
the footballs immediately fell and everyone burst into laughter.
including her. real laughter too. the kind that bent her forward slightly. that made her wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.
she didnβt notice michael walking down the corridor until the laughter had already faded.
he looked at the group, at jamal, and then, finally, at her. their eyes met for barely a second. she smiled automatically, the same polite smile sheβd give anyone.
he looked away first and just walked past without a word.
the breaking point came on a tuesday.
it had been a long day. two players had picked up knocks during training, one academy kid had twisted his ankle, sheβd skipped lunch without realizing it.
by the time michael arrived for his afternoon session, her head was pounding.
she still smiled out of habit. cause that he couldnβt take from her.
βafternoon.β
she was only met with silence and she pretended not to notice.
βweβll just reassess your calf today.β
he climbed onto the table and she gently pressed along the muscle. βany discomfort here?β
βno.β
βhere?β
he didnβt respond. she looked up and he was staring at the opposite wall.
βmichael?β
he let out a tiny breath. βwhat?β
βi asked if that hurt.β
βi said no.β
βyou didnβt.β
βwell now i did.β
she nodded once. βokay.β
she sighed and continued. she couldnβt let him bother her.
βlift your foot a little?β
but he didnβt move. of course.
βplease,β she pleaded softly.
slowly, he did.
she adjusted his ankle. βgood,β she reached for her clipboard. βyou should be cleared for full training by next week if everything keeps progressing.β
βfinally.β
a small smile tugged at her lips. βi know youβve been looking forward toββ
he interrupted her. βcan you stop doing that?β
her smile faltered. βdoing what?β
βacting like weβre friends.β
the room fell completely still. why? she had no idea. he hadnβt raised his voice. he never did. he didnβt need to.
she blinked. βiβm not.β
βyou joke,β he looked at her for the first time all session. βyou keep trying to talk to me.β
she opened her mouth and then closed it again. when she finally spoke up, her voice was so soft.
βbecause i wanted rehab to feel less miserable.β
βi donβt,β his expression didnβt change. βiβm here because i have to be.β
she felt something tighten painfully in her chest. βi know.β
βthen just do your job.β
there it was again. those four words.
he was so rude. so mean and so careless about how he came across.
she stared at him for a second longer before looking down at her clipboard. her handwriting blurred. she realized, with quiet horror, that her eyes were beginning to sting.
not now. please, she thought.
she cleared her throat. βyour exercises are uploaded,β her voice came out much smaller than sheβd intended. βthatβs all.β
he slid off the table and left. when the door clicked shut, she looked around at the neatly organized resistance bands.
the treatment table sheβd straightened that morning. the clipboard trembling ever so slightly in her hands.
she laughed once.
a tiny, breathless sound.
more out of disbelief than amusement.
βright,β she whispered to the empty room. βmessage received.β
she hadnβt realized how tired sheβd become until there was nothing left demanding her attention.
for weeks sheβd been holding herself together with routines. treatment plans. neatly folded towels. freshly stocked drawers. smiles that came automatically before sheβd even decided to wear them. every clipped response from michael had become something she quietly carried home with her, only to convince herself she was imagining it by morning.
it was exhausting, trying to be sunshine for someone who seemed determined to live with the curtains closed. every session became a little negotiation with herself.
donβt take that personally.
he didnβt mean it like that.
try again tomorrow.
maybe tomorrow will be different.
and every tomorrow looked exactly the same.
somewhere along the way, sheβd stopped trying to make him smile because sheβd started wondering if there was simply something about her that made people pull away.
she hated that thought. hated that sheβd let one person make her question instincts sheβd trusted for years.
because kindness had always worked. patience had always worked. listening had always worked. all until michael.
and failing over and over again at the one thing she believed she was good at had quietly hollowed her out.
so when the building finally emptied, when there were no players asking for tape, no paperwork waiting on her desk, no one she had to smile for, there was nothing left holding the dam together.
when she started crying, the tears werenβt for what heβd said that afternoon. not really.
they were for every morning sheβd walked into the treatment room hopeful.
every joke that had dissolved into silence.
every βgood morningβ that had gone unanswered.
every apology sheβd offered for things that had never been her fault.
she hadnβt started crying because she was weak, she started crying because sheβd been strong for far too long.
βy/n?β his voice came through the other side of the door.
soft and uncertain. for maybe the first time ever.
she quickly dragged the sleeve of her hoodie across her cheeks, pressing hard beneath her eyes, willing the tears to disappear before they could betray her.
βone second,β her voice cracked so badly she barely recognized it.
she squeezed her eyes shut.
please go away.
she didnβt want him to see this. not him. not after everything.
outside, michael stood motionless. his hand hovered inches from the door, then dropped back to his side.
he should leave. every instinct heβd spent years building told him to leave.
this wasnβt his place. he wasnβt good at comforting people. he wasnβt good at talking. he wasnβt even good at apologizing.
but he knew that voice. he knew what crying sounded like when someone was trying very, very hard to keep it quiet.
his jaw tightened. βiβm not leaving.β
he heard her inhale sharply. βplease,β she pleaded barely above a whisper. ββ¦justβ¦β another shaky breath. ββ¦just go.β
the words hit him strangely.
because, normally, people gave up on him. they walked away first, and she was asking him to do exactly that.
his fingers curled against his palm. βdid iβ¦β he stopped. ββ¦did i do this?β
the silence that followed was so long he almost convinced himself sheβd ignored him.
βdoes it matter?β her voice sounded exhausted. βit wasnβt one thing,β she laughed quietly a miserable little laugh that made his stomach twist. βyouβre really talented at making someone feel invisible, though. not even invisible but just straight up worthless.β
michael closed his eyes.
every clipped response. every ignored greeting. every just do your job. they came back all at once.
heβd never thought about how they sounded from the other side.
heβd only been trying to keep distance because distance was safe. distance meant nobody expected anything from him. meant nobody stayed long enough to disappoint him.
but standing outside that office, listening to her cry because of walls heβd built, made those walls no longer feel protective. they felt cruel.
βi never hated you,β the words slipped out before he could stop them.
inside the room, y/n looked toward the door.
her eyes were swollen. βcouldβve fooled me.β
he couldnβt argue with that, because she was right. his silence had spoken louder than anything else.
βcan i come in?β
she didnβt answer right away. he waited maybe a minute for an answer. and then finally. βitβs unlocked.β
he pushed the door open slowly. the office was dim except for the small desk lamp in the corner.
she was curled into the chair, knees tucked up slightly, sleeves pulled over her hands because sheβd clearly tried to wipe away the tears.
it hadnβt worked. and she looked so incredibly small.
the moment their eyes met she looked away. embarrassed because she hated crying in front of people. hated feeling messy and weak.
βiβm sorry you had to see this,β she sniffled, immediately reaching for another tissue. βiβll be fine.β
after all, she was still apologizing for absolutely nothing.
michael stayed near the door. as though stepping farther inside required permission he hadnβt earned.
βdonβt apologize.β
she gave another small, humorless laugh. βiβve apologized to you for breathing wrong.β
his chest tightened at her words. she wasnβt trying to be cruel. he was certain of that because y/n was never cruel.
that was the worst part. she just sounded defeated.
βi kept wonderingβ¦β she whispered, staring at the crumpled tissue in her hands. ββ¦what was so wrong with me.β
his head lifted immediately. βthere isnβt anything wrong.β
βthen why?β the question came out almost instantly. carrying genuine confusion.
βi smiled,β another tear escaped despite her efforts to stop it. βi tried to make rehab suck a little less,β she laughed through the tears. βi talked too much, apparently. so then i backed off. i stopped talking. i tried everything,β she finally looked at him and her eyes were red. βi donβt know how else to exist around you.β
michael couldnβt breathe properly.
every single word was true, and none of it had ever been about her.
he looked down at the floor. his voice quieter than sheβd ever heard it. βi got good at making sure nobody got close enough to leave.β
the room was silent except for the rain.
she knew that. she knew because everybody knew why michael was that way. thatβs just how he was built.
but it didnβt justify how mean, how rude, and how cruel he had been with her, who had only tried to make his life a bit more enjoyable while making hers more and more miserable.
he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. βyou werenβt annoying,β he said it firmly. βor too much. you were just so kind. and i didnβt know what to do with that.β
fresh tears filled her eyes.
βi amβ¦β michael looked at the floor again. ββ¦so sorry.β
the apology wasnβt polished. instead, it sounded like something that had lived in his chest for years without ever been spoken aloud.
y/n stood slowly.
there was still distance between them. only a few feet, but it had never felt so enormous.
she took one careful step and michael instinctively looked away. βi donβt know how to do this,β he admitted quietly.
βi know,β her answer came almost immediately. βso let me help.β
his eyes lifted as she reached out. just her hand. tentatively.
he stared at it long enough that she almost let it fall. then, cautiously, his fingers slipped into hers.
his hand was cold. she noticed how carefully he held hers. like he was afraid that if he squeezed too tightly, sheβd disappear.
she gently brushed her thumb across his knuckles.
βi donβt hate you,β his voice was barely audible.
βi know.β
βi was horrible to you.β
βyeah,β another watery laugh escaped her. βyou really were.β
to her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched. the smallest smile sheβd ever seen, but the first ever he had directed at her. it made him look years younger.
she smiled back. βyou knowβ¦β she whispered. βiβve been trying to get you to smile for months.β
βsorry it took so long.β
βit was worth the wait.β
his eyes softened. for the first time ever, there wasnβt a wall between them. just two people standing quietly in a dim office while rain tapped against the windows.
michael hesitated. his gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes, silently asking a question he couldnβt quite put into words.
she answered by closing the last inch between them.
the kiss was impossibly gentle. as if both of them were afraid that moving too quickly would shatter the fragile honesty theyβd finally found.
his hand lifted slowly to her cheek, stopping halfway as though giving her every chance to pull away.
when she leaned into the touch instead, he exhaled against her lips, a breath he felt like heβd been holding for months.
the kiss was quiet. an apology, a thank you, and a beginning all at once.
when they finally separated, they stayed close enough that their foreheads almost touched.
michael let out the smallest, disbelieving laugh. βiβm still terrible at this.β
y/n smiled, her eyes still damp. βi know. weβll take it one session at a time.β
michael smiled without trying to hide it.
@ moulinrougemo
