It had been weeks since that night, the dinner, the kiss, the quiet drive back where everything had felt like a beginning.
And in many ways, it was.
The kind of beginning that changes how you breathe.
The kind that makes the world feel sharper, clearer because suddenly, someone’s voice becomes your favorite sound.
For nights after, they talked endlessly. About everything and nothing, the color of the sky that morning, the way she loves her coffee, how his laugh sounded softer in a voice note when he was tired.
And then there were the calls. Always after the match. He'd dial her number, the sound of the locker room chaos still lingering in the background, the hum of voices and sneakers squeaking on the hardwood.
It always made her smile how even amidst all that noise, he’d find a moment to soften when he said her name.
And she’d smile. Every single time. Until, slowly, the rhythm changed.
It started small , a missed call, a late reply, a “sorry, training ran long.”
Then the messages grew shorter, colder. “Good morning” and “good night” lost their warmth, becoming mechanical, habit more than affection.
Then it proceeded.. if she didn’t text, he wouldn’t.
And before she realized it, she was mirroring it to not be clingy and their conversations had become a shadow of what they once were.
And through it all, she kept telling herself she understood.
That she wouldn’t be that girl , the clingy one, the emotional one. But every time her phone lit up and it wasn’t him, the disappointment hit like a quiet bruise.
She missed him.
Missed the boy who used to text her mid-training just to say he thought of her.
Missed the soft voice notes that made her laugh when she was tired.
Missed feeling like she mattered to him.
Kylian ➤ Y/N
We’ll talk properly tonight, it’s been a while.
After training, I promise. ❤️
Y/N ➤ Kylian
Okay. I’ll wait :)
So she waited .
Hours passed. She made coffee just to stay awake, scrolled through old messages to fill the silence, her heart caught between hope and dread.
She kept reassuring herself with the thought that ; It was just busy days, he will call to get it together, he cares.
But……He never called?
She got a little worried and couldn’t stop herself from thinking that maybe something bad happened, so she sent :
Y/N➤ Kylian
Are you okay?
it felt like holding out a hand in the dark, praying someone would take it. But when she saw how he posted an Instagram story 2 minutes ago, him in Madrid, surrounded by laughter, the glint of city lights reflecting off wine glasses , her stomach twisted.
It wasn’t just being forgotten that hurt.
It was the realization that maybe… he didn’t think of her the way she thought of him.
She stared at her message “are you okay?” and watched herself delete it, out of pity for herself.
Then she threw her phone aside, pressing her palms to her eyes, fighting back the sting.
“Of course, you idiot,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling.
“He didn’t even ask you to be his girlfriend. Yet you’re acting like one. Obviously he is already over this.”
And that night, for the first time since him, she fell asleep with tears on her cheeks but without waiting for his name to appear on her screen.
K y l i a n’s
He didn’t notice the silence until it started to hurt.
At first, he thought it was just exhaustion — training, interviews, travel, media obligations that never seemed to end. His days were carved into minutes, and somewhere in between, she had been the calm. The peace.
Until she wasn’t.
He’d glance at his phone sometimes, see her name, and smile without even meaning to. He’d think, I’ll text her when I get home.
But then another meeting, another flight, another game , and before he knew it, a week had passed.
He’d always known this was his curse. His life was chaos , airports, flashlights, pressure that swallowed everything.
And no matter how much he wanted something real, a part of him was terrified. That’s why he always escapes committing to a relationship.
Because how do you ask someone to keep up with….that?
How do you ask someone to wait through the distance, the absences, the exhaustion that turns warmth into silence?
He’d seen what his lifestyle did , to friendships, to family, to every woman who ever tried to love him. They all got tired eventually.
And though she was different , softer, grounded, real , the fear still clung to him like a shadow.
Maybe that’s why he pulled back.
Because deep down, he was scared that if he let her in completely, he’d lose her anyway.
But when she stopped trying, when her messages turned into nothing but quiet hellos and short goodbyes, he felt it, the sting of his own doing.
He promised to call her and make things right,he couldn’t risk losing the woman who’d finally made his heart come alive.
After training , surrounded by teammates in a Madrid restaurant, laughter bouncing off the marble walls, he felt his phone buzz.
A small smile tugged at his lips when he saw it, finally — Y/N is typing…
For the first time in a week, something inside him lit up. He tilted his phone under the table, waiting. Seconds passed. Then a minute.
Finally decided to check what she sent but-
Message deleted.
His smile faltered.
The words, or lack of them, burned through him.
She’d wanted to say something. Maybe to reach out one last time. But she didn’t.
He looked up, pretending to listen as Jude cracked a joke, but the laughter around him blurred into white noise.
He forgot to call as promised .
The realization hit him like a punch to the chest, sharp, breath-stealing. For a second, he just stared at his phone, screen dim and accusing.
Fuck it Kylian, not again!
When he finally got back to his apartment , he didn’t even take off his jacket. He sat on the edge of the bed, the city humming faintly outside the window, and opened their chat.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over her name.
The little profile picture, her smile caught in soft light, made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t swallow down anymore.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe if she heard his voice, she’d know.
That he hadn’t meant to drift away. That he still thought of her in every quiet moment between the noise.
So he called.
Once. Twice.
The first ring stretched on forever before it clicked to silence.
The second went straight to voicemail.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Then, he called again and it lit up — Call declined.
The two words hit harder than any loss on the pitch.
He stared at them, frozen, his heart pounding in the stillness of the room.
She saw it. She just doesn’t want to answer.
For the first time in a long time, the silence wasn’t peaceful, it was punishment, he felt his stomach clench.
And he knew he deserved every second of it.
He let the phone fall onto the bed beside him, the sound dull against the sheets, but the silence after felt deafening.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the city lights flickering through the window. Madrid was alive outside, horns, laughter, the hum of nightlife, but inside, he felt nothing but the heavy pull of regret.
He’d spent years learning how to stay composed under pressure, how to swallow emotion and keep his face unreadable.
But right then, it all cracked.
He picked the phone back up, thumb hovering again over her name. He opened their chat, typed, erased, typed again.
“I didn’t mean to disappear.”
Backspace.
“I am sorry I forgot to call today”
Backspace.
“I miss you.”
He stared at the last words for a long time before pressing send.
Kylian ➤ Y/N
I miss you
The message sat there, with one tick, delivered but unread.
He lay back on the bed, one arm covering his eyes. Every memory played like a reel he couldn’t shut off, her sleepy voice when she called after his games, her quiet laughter, the way she always told him to breathe before interviews.
He hadn’t realized how much space she’d filled until it was empty.
Minutes bled into hours, and still nothing. No reply. No typing bubble. Just the same silence he’d caused, now turned against him.
Somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t anger. She wasn’t the type to punish. This was distance. The kind that happens when someone gave up on waiting and chose themselves.
And that hurt more than anything.
He turned his phone face down, whispering to no one —
“I’m sorry, ma belle. I should’ve called sooner.”
But the night stayed quiet.
Now, he felt hollow.
He realized what he’d done, how he’d taken her warmth for granted, her patience, her effort. She’d been constant, and he’d been careless.
He ran a hand down his face, jaw tight. You idiot, he thought. You let her think she didn’t matter, even before it started.
And that thought,that he made her feel small , twisted something sharp inside him.
He didn’t sleep that night.
He booked the first flight to Paris at dawn.
Y / N’s
The morning light crept weakly through the blinds, spilling across the room that still smelled faintly of tears and sleeplessness. Her throat ached, raw and hoarse from the hours she’d spent breaking down words that never made it past her lips.
She hadn’t gone to work. She’d texted her supervisor a shaky excuse about feeling unwell, voice almost gone, and it wasn’t even a lie. It was gone, somewhere between sobs and the silence that followed.
Her phone lay face down on the nightstand, the screen lighting up every so often with notifications she refused to check. She knew one of them had to be him, he tried to reach out yesterday.
But she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t let herself read his name and feel that familiar spark of hope. Not after everything.
She’d believed him when he said she was different. She’d believed she’d found the one — the exception to every quiet heartbreak she’d ever lived through. But belief had a way of turning cruel when it met reality.
So she stayed away. From her phone, from the world, from the version of herself that still waited.
Wrapped in an oversized hoodie, eyes puffy and heavy, she moved through the quiet apartment like a ghost, poured herself coffee she didn’t really want, just to feel the warmth against her palms.
And then the doorbell rang.
Once.
Then again.
She frowned, setting the mug down, dragging her feet to the door. Probably a delivery, she thought, something she’d forgotten she ordered.
But when she opened it, the words caught in her throat.
Kylian stood there, hoodie pulled low, breath fogging in the cold morning air. His eyes, tired, rimmed red, carried something she’d never seen before. Desperation.
“Kylian?” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “Hey.”
The world seemed to still. The distance between them felt fragile, too full of things unsaid.
“Why are you here, aren’t you supposed to be in Madrid?”
“Because I realized if I didn’t come now, I’d lose you,” he said, his voice rough.
Her throat tightened. “You kind of already….did.”
He flinched, eyes dropping. “I know,” he said quietly. “I messed up.”
“No Kylian” she cut in, shaking her head, blinking back tears.
“You didn’t mess up, you made me feel like I imagined it. Like I built something that only existed in my head.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and he felt it , that sting in his chest that only she could cause.
His gaze lifted, raw and steady. “You didn’t imagine it. You could never imagine what I feel for you.”
“Then why?”
He took a deep breath. “Because I was scared.”
That caught her off guard.
He stepped closer. “You don’t know what it’s like to live like this, everyone thinks oh he got everything he got the money, the fame, but I am always moving, always watched. I’ve seen what it does to people in my life. How it kills beautiful things before they even have a chance to grow.”
She stared at him, eyes softening despite herself.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he whispered. “But all I did was make you doubt us.”
Her walls trembled. “So why come now?”
“Because I just can’t lose you,” he said simply. “Because you’re the only thing that ever made sense with all of this .”
He took another step forward, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. “Because you are my girlfriend, Y/N. You always were , I just forgot to say it out loud.”
The tears she’d been holding back spilled over. He reached for her face, thumb brushing her cheek, tender, hesitant.
“You’re late,” she murmured, voice shaking.
He smiled faintly, leaning in, while voice breaking. “I know. But I’m here now.”
And he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, soft, trembling, full of everything they hadn’t said.
His lips moved against hers like an apology and a promise , tasting of regret and longing and relief.
Her fingers fisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer, grounding herself in the reality that he was here. He closed the door behind him pushing her inside.
His hands slid around her waist, one moving up her back, steady and certain now.
It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, trembling, full of everything they hadn’t said.
The kiss deepened, slow turning to need, careful turning to desperate. Every movement felt like a heartbeat, like breathing again after drowning.
He walked her backward until the couch hit the back of her knees. She fell softly onto it, breathless, pulling him down with her.
The motion tugged her hoodie upward, the hem sliding higher with the movement until it gathered around her waist, making her thighs exposed.
Their mouths met again, slower this time, tasting, exploring, every kiss pulling something raw from deep inside him.
He didn’t remember when the kiss changed.
When soft became hungry. When control slipped.
His hands burned hotter as they slid up her thighs, over her hips, along her ribs. He kissed her jaw, her throat, lower, until her back arched and her nails raked down his shoulders.
Her breath caught against his mouth when he pressed his body into hers, his hard cock grinding exactly where it should be , just fabrics separating them, that was all it took , every ounce of patience, every wall he’d built around himself to take it slow with her— gone.
His hands were everywhere now: at her waist, up her back, tangled in her hair. The small sounds she made only fed the fire.
When he shifted, his knee brushed the inside of her thigh, and for the first time he fully registered how exposed she was beneath him. The soft light caught the curve of her skin, and the quiet gasp she’d stifled earlier seemed to echo in his ears.
“Ky…” she whimpered against his jaw, arching into him for more contact. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered ,lips brushing hers.
God. He thought.
Then came the moment he almost broke. He felt it, the point of no return. His body moving before his mind caught up, hips instinctively closing the distance, pulling her flush against him. The contact was lightning, grinding back and forth.
His breath stuttered, his heart pounded so hard it almost hurt. Her name fell from his lips, half prayer, half warning.
She closed her eyes, lips parted in pleasure. One look, and it shattered him.He froze ,very muscle trembling, every nerve screaming at him to keep going, but he couldn’t.
Not like this. Not yet. God he loved her too much not to cherish her , he cant just treat her like every woman he had.
Because this wasn’t just want. It was love, real, fierce, terrifying love, and he wouldn’t risk ruining what he wanted to protect. Not on the first day she finally became officially his.
He let out a ragged breath, his hands still shaking as they cupped her face. “I can’t..,” he said quietly, almost broken. “If I move again, I won’t stop.”
She didn’t speak, just looked at him, breathing hard, her fingers still clutching his hoodie like he is her shield. “We promised to take this slowly, no ?” He whispered against the corner of her lips.
She nodded, still clutching his hoodie, in that instant, he softened completely. The fire inside him melted into awe and tenderness. He looked at her like she was his most precious treasure, he would shield from every hurt, every fear.
The tremble in her hands, the way her breath hitched under his, the vulnerability in her eyes, every detail made his chest ache with love.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, charged with tension. Then he whispered, “Ça va?”
Then she nodded a tiny, trembling movement, and he pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady himself.
He stayed there, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. His chest still heaved with the effort of restraint, his heartbeat wild beneath her hands.
And when he finally whispered, “ I want this Y/N , I want this to work so bad.” he let out a shaky laugh — soft, disbelieving that he is finally saying it out loud.
She pulled him down picking his lips softly, It wasn’t hunger this time. It was reverence. “We will make it work Ky”
And he smiled , leaning in, kissing her again, it was all feeling, slow, reverent, consuming.
He kissed her like he’d spent weeks starving for her for her warmth, her scent, the sound of her breath catching in his ear.
It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, trembling, full of everything they hadn’t said. His thumb brushed her jaw, her neck, every touch deliberate, every breath shared.
Because in that breathless, impossible pause, Kylian realized, love wasn’t in how far they went. It was in how hard it was to stop.
When they finally broke apart, gasping softly, their foreheads rested together.
“I hate you,” she whispered, voice trembling.
He laughed quietly, the sound low and soft against her lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”
She smiled, small, tired, but real. “Maybe.”
He brushed his nose against hers, eyes soft. “Can I stay?”
She smiled before whispering, “ofcourse.”
The city hummed faintly outside, the early light spilling through her curtains.
And for the first time in weeks, silence didn’t feel like absence, it felt like peace.
“I’ll never make you doubt us again,” he murmured, half-asleep.
And she believed him, because in that moment, his heartbeat said it first.
scopOphilic_micromessaging_1575 - scopOphilic1997 presents a new micro-messaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally. (2025)
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#lana del rey
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