୨୧ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - enemies to lovers <3
୨୧ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - soft angst?, fluff, sorta rushed, sorta emotional, regret and forgiveness, rebuilding trust, reconnecting, mention of miscommunication and misunderstanding?, unspoken feelings, lots of timeskips, and happy ending.
୨୧ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - michael kaiser x fem reader
୨୧ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 - @/sleepycatswise (i accidentally deleted your request </3)
the day he moved in next door, you already knew something about him wasn’t going to be simple, not because of anything obvious or dramatic.
but because of the way he stood there in the driveway with his shoulders tense and his jaw tight like he was bracing himself for something that hadn’t even happened yet, like even something as small as being seen felt like too much for him.
you tried not to think about it, you really did.
but your mom didn’t give you that option.
“go say hi,” she said, nudging you toward the door with that gentle but firm tone that meant you weren’t getting out of it no matter how much you tried to stall or complain or pretend you didn’t hear her.
“i don’t think he wants people talking to him,” you muttered, dragging your feet as slowly as possible, your hand resting on the doorknob like if you waited long enough she might just forget.
“that’s not the point,” she replied, crossing her arms lightly. “you’re being kind, that’s what matters.”
“then you’ll still know you did the right thing.”
you sighed, already knowing you lost. “…fine.”
when the door opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t his face, or his clothes, or anything normal like that.
but the way his eyes looked at you like you were already doing something wrong just by standing there, like your presence alone was enough to irritate him before you even said a word.
“…yeah?” he said, his voice flat and impatient, like you were interrupting something important even though it was obvious you weren’t.
you swallowed, trying to keep your tone soft and polite despite the way your chest already felt slightly tight.
“hi, um… i live next door, and my mom told me to come introduce myself since you just moved in, so— yeah, i just wanted to say hi.”
he stared at you. not in a curious, not in a welcoming way, just blank, in a way that somehow still felt sharp.
“…okay,” he said after a moment, like that was the end of it.
you blinked, caught off guard by how quickly the interaction seemed to just… stop. “okay…? that’s it?”
“you said hi,” he replied, already shifting his weight like he was about to close the door. “so you’re done.”
your hand instinctively lifted, stopping the door before it could shut completely, your brows furrowing as confusion mixed with something more uncomfortable.
“wait— that’s kind of rude, don’t you think? i’m just trying to be nice.”
his eyes flicked down to your hand for a second, and the look on his face tightened.
“then don’t,” he said bluntly.
“don’t try,” he snapped, his voice suddenly harsher, like something inside him flipped without warning. “i didn’t ask you to come here, and i don’t need you standing at my door talking to me like we’re gonna be friends or something.”
the words hit deeper than they should’ve, and you felt your throat tighten as embarrassment started creeping in, mixing with hurt in a way that made your chest feel heavier than before.
“i never said that,” you said, your voice quieter now but still holding onto some frustration. “i was just introducing myself, like a normal person would.”
“good for you,” he muttered. “now leave.”
you stared at him for a second, searching his face for even the smallest sign that he didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded, but there was nothing there except that same cold distance.
“…you don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” you said, your voice cracking just slightly despite your effort to keep it steady.
and for a split second— something in his expression shifted, more like something small, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.
“then don’t come back,” he said, his tone final.
“…wow,” you breathed out, shaking your head slightly as you stepped back. “okay. sorry for bothering you.”
you turned away quickly, not trusting your voice anymore, and walked back toward your house with your arms wrapped loosely around yourself like you could somehow hold in the way your chest ached.
and behind you— the door shut, louder than it needed to.
by the time you were both teenagers, things between you and michael hadn’t gotten better— not really, but they had shifted, in a way that was harder to explain, because the sharpness was still there, the arguments still happened.
the tension still sat heavy whenever you were too close to each other, but there were also these strange.
quiet moments now where neither of you said anything at all, and somehow those moments felt louder than any insult either of you had ever thrown.
it was late afternoon when you found yourself near the field behind the school.
you weren’t there for anything specific— just sitting on the bleachers with your headphones half on, notebook resting against your knee as you absentmindedly wrote whatever came to mind, trying to ignore the noise of everything else.
except you couldn’t, because he was there, of course he was.
michael stood on the field with the rest of the team, his movements sharp and controlled as he ran.
the ball staying close to his feet like it belonged there, like it was the only thing he trusted not to leave him or talk back or expect something from him that he didn’t know how to give.
he looked different when he played. more like intense, still serious— but not angry.
like all that frustration inside him finally had somewhere to go that didn’t involve pushing people away.
you tried not to watch, but you failed.
you told yourself it was just because he was loud, because the game was happening right in front of you, because there was nothing else to look at—
but that wasn’t true, and you knew it. and apparently so did he.
because at some point, in the middle of the game, his eyes flicked up toward the bleachers, landing on you for just a second too long before he looked away again, his jaw tightening like he wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that you were there.
you looked down quickly, pretending to focus on your notebook, your pen moving without really writing anything at all.
you didn’t know why your heart picked up. it was stupid, it was just him, just a boy named michael.
the same guy who snapped at you, who pushed you away, who made it very clear he didn’t want anything to do with you.
so why did this feel different?
practice ended not long after, the field slowly clearing out as people grabbed their bags and left in groups, laughing, talking, existing in a way that felt easy.
he didn’t, he stayed behind, of course he did.
you noticed it even though you told yourself you wouldn’t look again, the way he lingered near the nest.
kicking the ball lightly against the ground before sending it forward again, over and over like he wasn’t ready to go home yet.
like maybe he didn’t want to.
but you hesitated, you really did.
because every time you tried to talk to him, it ended the same way— sharp words, closed doors, that familiar sting in your chest that you pretended didn’t bother you anymore.
but your feet moved anyway. slowly, carefully, like you were approaching something that might bite if you got too close.
“you’re gonna wear a hole in the field if you keep doing that,” you called out, your voice casual but not too loud, stopping a few steps away from him.
the ball stilled under his foot, but he didn’t look at you right away.
“…what do you want?” he asked after a moment, his voice carrying that same rough edge, but softer than it used to be— less like a weapon, more like a habit he didn’t know how to break.
you shrugged lightly, shifting your weight as you crossed your arms. “nothing. just pointing out the obvious.”
he finally glanced at you, his expression unreadable.
“didn’t ask for your commentary.”
“yeah, i figured,” you muttered, glancing down at the ball before looking back at him. “you never really ask for anything, do you?”
his eyes narrowed slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
you hesitated, then sighed softly, deciding not to push too hard. “…nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “forget it.”
silence settled between you, not as sharp as it used to be, but still there, still noticeable.
he nudged the ball again, less forcefully this time, like he wasn’t as focused on it anymore.
“…why were you watching?” he asked suddenly, his tone quieter, almost reluctant.
you blinked, caught off guard.
“you were watching,” he repeated, his gaze flicking toward you briefly before dropping back to the ground. “why?”
you frowned slightly, your fingers tightening around your notebook. “it’s a public field, michael. i can sit on the bleachers if i want to.”
“that’s not what i asked.”
“…then what are you asking?”
he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair like he was already regretting bringing it up.
“you don’t like me,” he said bluntly. “so why are you here?”
you stared at him for a second, trying to figure out how to answer that without making things worse, without saying something that would push him right back into that defensive, closed-off place.
“…i don’t hate you,” you said finally, your voice quieter than before.
he scoffed lightly. “could’ve fooled me.”
“well, maybe if you didn’t act like you hated me first, it wouldn’t seem like that,” you shot back, but there wasn’t as much bite in it this time.
he didn’t respond immediately.
just stood there, the ball still under his foot, his shoulders tense in a way that looked more… unsure than angry.
“…i don’t hate you,” he muttered after a moment, almost like the words were unfamiliar in his mouth.
you blinked again. “you have a funny way of showing it.”
“i don’t—” he stopped himself, jaw tightening as frustration flickered across his face, but it wasn’t directed at you this time. “i don’t do that stuff.”
“…talking,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “explaining. whatever you expect.”
you softened slightly, tilting your head. “i don’t expect anything,” you said gently. “i just… don’t understand you.”
he let out a quiet, humorless laugh, looking away toward the empty field.
“yeah,” he muttered. “join the list.”
you hesitated, then stepped a little closer, your voice lowering just enough to match the shift in the moment.
“…you look different when you play,” you admitted.
that got his attention, his eyes flicked back to you, brows pulling together slightly. “what?”
“soccer,” you clarified, gesturing vaguely toward the field. “you’re… not as angry, i guess. more focused. like you’re not… fighting everything around you for once.”
he stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with that. like no one had ever said something like that to him before.
“…it’s just a game,” he said after a second, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
“doesn’t seem like ‘just a game’ to you,” you replied softly.
silence again, but this time— it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was something else.
but now, years passed in a way that didn’t feel dramatic while you were living through them.
but looking back, it almost felt unreal how two people who used to orbit each other so closely could just… stop, like someone had cut a thread neither of you realized you were still holding onto.
after that day on the field, after that small, almost-soft moment that felt like it could’ve turned into something more if either of you had just said a little more, tried a little harder, stayed a little longer.
you didn’t talk again, not because of one big fight, not because of some final argument that pushed everything over the edge.
just silence, missed timing.
and because he stopped showing up to places you used to see him.
you stopped looking, and eventually, life moved on the way it always does, dragging you forward whether you were ready or not.
but that didn’t mean he disappeared, not really.
because even when you pretended he didn’t matter anymore, even when you told yourself that whatever that was between you had never actually been anything real—
you still thought about him, more than you wanted to admit.
especially back then, when the silence was still new and everything felt unfinished, like a conversation that got cut off before it reached the part that actually mattered.
and the worst part was— you had started to like him, not in a loud, obvious way.
not in the kind of way where you told your friends or wrote his name everywhere or waited around for him to notice you.
it was quieter than that.
it showed up in the way you paid attention to the little thing.
, like how his expression softened just slightly when he wasn’t paying attention, or how his voice sounded different when he wasn’t trying to push people away, or how that one moment on the field stayed stuck in your head longer than it should’ve.
it showed up in the way you noticed his absence.
and then— he was just gone, no explanation, no goodbye. and eventually, you told yourself it didn’t matter.
because what else were you supposed to do? you didn’t think about him anymore.
at least, not often, not in ways that hurt.
just… sometimes. like when you passed an empty field. or heard the sound of a ball hitting pavement.
or saw someone with that same kind of guarded expression that made you think of him before you could stop yourself.
but that was it. just small things.
nothing important, nothing that meant anything anymore.
which is why, when your friend dragged you to a soccer game one random evening, you didn’t think twice about it.
“come on, it’ll be fun,” they insisted, practically pulling you along as the stadium lights came into view, bright and overwhelming against the darkening sky. “you never go out to stuff like this.”
“because i don’t know anything about soccer,” you pointed out, laughing lightly as you followed anyway, the energy around the stadium already buzzing in a way that felt impossible to ignore.
“you don’t have to know anything,” they said. “just enjoy it.”
and honestly— you were willing to try.
the crowd was loud, alive, filled with that kind of excitement that spread from person to person until you could feel it in your chest, and for a moment.
you let yourself get caught up in it, forgetting everything else as you moved through the sea of people toward the stands.
on the way, you passed a small merch stand, jerseys hanging up with different names and numbers, people crowding around as they picked favorites and argued over players.
“wait,” you said, reaching out to touch one of the jerseys, the fabric smooth under your fingers. “which one should i get?”
your friend grinned. “you’re actually getting one?”
“why not?” you shrugged, a small smile forming. “if i’m gonna be here, i might as well commit to it.”
they looked over the options, pointing at a few names you didn’t recognize.
but one caught your eye, you didn’t know why. maybe it was the familiarity of it, maybe it was just coincidence.
“…this one,” you said, pulling it off the rack, your fingers brushing over the name stitched across the back.
“…i feel like i’ve heard this name before,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.
your friend glanced at it, nodding. “yeah, he’s like— one of their best players, i think. people love him.”
you hummed, still staring at it for a second longer than necessary, something in your chest shifting in a way you couldn’t quite place.
“…sure,” you said finally, shaking it off. “i’ll take it.”
you didn’t think about it too much.
didn’t question it, didn’t connect the dots. because why would you?
it wasn’t like it could be him.
the game started not long after, the stadium erupting into cheers as the players ran onto the field.
the energy instantly doubling as people stood, shouted, clapped, everything blending together into something overwhelming but exciting at the same time.
you adjusted the jersey slightly, sitting forward as you tried to follow what was happening, your friend occasionally explaining things when you looked confused, laughing when you got distracted by the wrong player or missed something important.
it was fun, surprisingly fun.
until— your eyes landed on him. and everything else faded.
at first, it didn’t connect.
it was just another player on the field, moving quickly, confidently, the ball staying close to his feet in a way that felt… familiar.
your brows furrowed slightly as you leaned forward, your focus narrowing despite the noise around you.
“…wait,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the crowd. “that one— who is that?”
your friend glanced over. “which one?”
“him,” you said, pointing without looking away. “the one with—”
and then you saw it. clear as day, the name on the back of his jersey. michael.
“…no way,” you whispered, your grip tightening slightly on the fabric of your own jersey, your mind racing as you tried to process what you were seeing, what you had somehow missed, what had been right in front of you this entire time.
it couldn’t be, but it was.
because even from a distance, even after all these years, even with everything that had changed—
he way he moved, the way he carried himself, the way that same intensity sat in his expression, even now.
“…that’s michael,” your friend said, completely unaware of the storm building inside you. “he’s like— insanely good. kinda quiet though. doesn’t do a lot of interviews or anything.”
your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts tangling together as memories you thought you had buried started resurfacing all at once, louder than the crowd, louder than everything else.
“…yeah,” you said softly, almost to yourself.
because suddenly— everything made sense. why he stayed after practice. why he looked different when he played. why that moment on the field felt so important.
you swallowed hard, your eyes not leaving him as he moved across the field, faster, stronger, more confident than you had ever seen him before, but still so undeniably the same person you used to know.
the same person you never got to understand. the same person you once—
your fingers curled slightly into the jersey you were wearing, your breath catching as the realization settled fully in your chest.
and the moment michael saw you in the stands.
everything around him stopped in a way that didn’t make sense in a place that was supposed to be full of movement, noise, pressure, and focus, because he was in the middle of a match that mattered.
surrounded by shouting, running, instructions being called across the field, and yet his eyes still locked onto you like his body had decided something important without asking his mind for permission.
for a second, the stadium didn’t feel like a stadium anymore.
and suddenly he wasn’t just michael the player anymore.
he was michael the kid again, standing in a driveway with tension in his shoulders that he didn’t understand yet, looking at a girl he didn’t know how to speak to without turning everything into something sharp or defensive.
and then it shifted again, like his memory refused to stay in one place, and now he was on that field from years ago.
kicking a ball too hard because he didn’t know what to do with all the anger he never learned how to name properly.
and then you were there again in his mind, sitting on the bleachers, talking to him when no one else really did.
looking at him like he wasn’t just a problem waiting to happen, and that thought alone made something in his chest tighten because back then he didn’t know how to accept that kind of attention without pushing it away first.
he saw it all at once, layered over each other like overlapping images that refused to separate cleanly, the way he used to speak to you, the way you used to react, the way you left without a proper ending, and the way he told himself it didn’t matter when it absolutely did.
his foot almost missed the ball, but luckily someone shouted his name.
he snapped back just enough to keep moving, just enough to stay in the match, but his attention never fully returned to where it was supposed to be.
because now that he had seen you, really seen you, everything else felt slightly out of reach, like he was playing from inside a memory instead of the present.
the match ended in chaos and celebration, like it always did when victory finally settled in and the pressure released all at once, teammates shouting, grabbing each other, collapsing into laughter and relief.
the stadium roaring so loudly it felt like it could shake the air itself, and michael was there in the middle of it, breathing hard, sweat on his skin, surrounded by everything he was supposed to feel proud of.
and when he saw you still there, still sitting, still wearing his name without knowing what it meant to him.
something inside him tightened again, not painfully this time, but deeply, like a decision forming before he could stop it.
he barely even thought before he told security to bring you to him.
you didn’t understand what was happening when the guards approached you, because everything still felt like noise and aftermath and confusion from the match.
and you were still trying to process the fact that you had just watched a game where someone you used to know was now someone the entire stadium was screaming about.
“are you the one wearing the michael jersey?” one of them asked.
you nodded slowly. “yeah… why?”
“he’s asking for you,” the other said simply.
you blinked. “that doesn’t make sense.”
“he was specific,” the first added. “he wants you brought to him.”
your stomach dropped slightly, because that wasn’t something you were prepared for, not emotionally, not mentally.
not in any version of your expectations, and yet your body still stood up before your brain fully caught up, because curiosity and something deeper than curiosity pulled you forward anyway.
the hallway behind the stadium felt quieter than it should’ve, like the world had been muted on purpose, and each step felt heavier than the last as you were led through it.
your thoughts moving faster than you could control, trying to imagine what this could possibly mean, what he could possibly want, what kind of conversation waits at the end of something like this.
and then the door opened, and there he was.
still in his kit, still breathing slightly unevenly, still carrying the aftermath of the match in his posture, but the moment his eyes landed on you.
everything else in the room seemed to fall away, like even the victory outside couldn’t compete with what was happening in that single shared silence between you both.
you stopped walking immediately, not because you were told to, because your body just paused. like it didn’t know how to move forward yet.
after all these years all he says is a fucking “hey,”?
silence followed, but it wasn’t empty, it was full of everything that had never been said before, everything that had been avoided, everything that had been left behind without proper closure.
he exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he was trying to find the right way to start something that couldn’t be started cleanly.
“i saw you,” he said finally. “during the match.”
you nodded slightly. “yeah… i saw you too.”
a faint, almost nervous laugh left him at that, but it didn’t carry humor, just tension being released in small pieces.
“i didn’t think you’d be there,” he admitted.
“i didn’t think i’d be watching you play in front of a stadium either,” you replied softly.
that got another pause, longer this time, heavier.
then he looked at you properly, like really looked. “i asked for you because i needed to say something,” he said.
your chest tightened slightly. “okay…”
he hesitated again, and for someone who used to shut everything down so easily, seeing him struggle with words now felt strangely unreal.
“i’m sorry,” he said. “for everything,” he continued, voice quieter now.
“for how i treated you back then, for how i spoke to you, for how i acted like you were just… something i could push away whenever i felt like it. you didn’t deserve any of that.”
your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “michael…”
he shook his head slightly. “no, let me finish. i used to think i was just… like that, like it was normal for me to be angry all the time and take it out on people, but that was never an excuse, and i know that now.”
silence settled again, but it was different now, softer, like something heavy had finally been placed down after being carried for too long.
you looked at him for a moment, really looked at him the way he was looking at you, and something in your expression shifted.
“…i didn’t hate you,” you admitted quietly.
his eyes flickered slightly.
you hesitated, then added, a little more vulnerable than before, “i actually… i think i had a crush on you back then.”
that made him freeze completely. like the entire room stopped with him.
“…what?” he said quietly.
you gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh, looking away for a second. “yeah. it was confusing because you were kind of awful to me half the time, but then other times you weren’t, and i didn’t really understand what that meant until later.”
he didn’t speak for a moment, like he was trying to process it properly, like he was rethinking years of memories all at once with that new information sitting in the middle of them.
“i thought i ruined everything,” he said finally, quieter than before.
you looked back at him. “you didn’t ruin all of it.”
that line hung there between you both. and for the first time, it didn’t feel like distance.
he stepped slightly closer, careful, like he was afraid to break the moment.
“can we… try again?” he asked softly. “properly this time. no running, no shutting things down before they start, no pretending we don’t care.”
your breath caught slightly. then you nodded.
“yeah,” you said. “we can try.”
and something in his expression finally softened in a way you had never seen back then, not in the driveway, not on the field, not in all the years of silence in between.
what came after wasn’t instant, but it was real in a way nothing between you had ever managed to be before.
at first, it was small things, messages that didn’t feel forced, conversations that didn’t end abruptly, moments where silence didn’t feel like rejection anymore, and slowly.
the past stopped being something that stood between you and started becoming something you could talk about without it breaking everything again.
he learned how to speak without pushing people away first, you learned how to trust that he wouldn’t.
and somewhere in that slow, careful rebuilding, the distance that had defined you for so long finally started disappearing for good.
it’s replaced instead by something warmer, something steadier, something that didn’t feel like confusion anymore.
until one day, without either of you needing to label it too quickly or explain it out loud in dramatic ways, it simply became obvious that you weren’t just two people trying again.
you were two people choosing each other.
and this time, neither of you walked away.
© 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐱𝐨𝐱𝐨 | 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝
