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Alexis twitched as Michael released another heaving breath, and craned his neck up to squint at him from the other couch.
“What’s wrong?”
Michael was staring at his phone, his face bathed in fluorescent, like it had personally wronged him. At Alexis’ question, he sighed again and let his phone drop against his chest, sliding even further down from where he was sprawled languidly on the couch.
“People.”
Alexis snorted. “That’s not new. What happened?”
Michael tilted his head and cracked an eye open. “People,” he said, “On social media, thinking they have some sort of divine right to know about my love life.”
“Oh?”
At the encouragement, Michael sat up a little taller and rolled his eyes, “It’s bad enough that the paparazzi flock me like hens in public but going back through old private stuff to try and find if I have a partner?” He made a disgusted noise.
Alexis winced. “That bad, huh?”
“I got a call from my ex that someone from a tabloid got in touch with him to ask who I was dating now! I mean, who the fuck does that?” He rubbed his temples. “I just need them to fuck off.”
“Maybe they’ll go away if you actually come out with a statement?”
Michael frowned. “Look at me, Alex! I’m gorgeous! Would they really believe that I didn’t have a partner?” He tossed a handful of pale hair over his shoulder to make a point and Alexis found a smile pinching at his lips despite himself.
“They’re not gonna give up, are they?”
Michael slumped down again, “No, I guess not.” He stared hard at the ground and Alexis was about to go back to mindlessly scrolling on his phone, when Michael suddenly snapped up straight.
He snapped his fingers, “I’ve got it!”
Alexis propped himself up on his elbows. “What?” He swiped a hand over his hair.
Michael turned to him with the sort of sly, smug smile that Alexis knew never promised anything but trouble. “If they don’t believe I have a partner, why don’t I just make one for them?”
“Get someone to date you to avoid media pressure?” Alexis’s brow crinkled. “I don’t think…”
“Not to actually date me.” Michael said with a vehement shake of his head. “I get someone to pretend to be in a relationship with me, then we can have a big break up scandal and then the press will leave me alone when they realise it’s gone stale.”
“Would that work?” Alexis sat up properly and stared across at Michael, his mouth dry. “Who would agree to something like that?”
Michael’s head tilted. He looked a bit like a cat, “Ness…”
Alexis blanked. “No. No. Absolutely not.”
Michael grabbed a pillow and hugged it tight to his chest as he whined, “Don’t worry about it! I’m a good actor, we could make it work! I promise, Ness! It’ll be fine!”
Michael’s heart got lodged in his chest, and he wet his lip. It’s not like he didn’t want to help Michael— no, he’d do almost anything for him, but this? Stringing his heart along like this? He knew his heart too well, and he knew he’d let himself get attached and it would hurt even more if — when — Michael broke it off.
Alexis had no idea how he was going to tell Michael as much, as he turned to him and began thinking of the formulation, he caught sight of Michael’s startlingly blue eyes, and all objections died on his lip.
“Okay,” he relented finally. “Okay, fine.”
—-
Things remained weirdly normal after that. Most of Alexis’ time was spent playing football or training with the team, and he had his dorm inside the compound so it wasn’t like he needed to go out very often if he could help it. It was his plan to stay inside the compound as Michael announced the big news and ride out the explosion on social media from the safety of the facility.
That was not, however, Kaiser’s plan.
Alexis was only beginning to dread the day ahead when Michael crashed into his door at a horrid hour in the morning, crowing about getting Alex up and getting them spotted together in public.
He literally dragged Alexis by the leg out onto the floor and shoved a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt — one of Michael’s sweatshirts — onto his corpse-like form, splayed out on the floor. Alexis didn’t quite know why he went along with it, but there was something weirdly sweet about Michael dragging him about and practically force-feeding him granola in the morning and fiddling with Alexis’ hair before they went out into the streets of Berlin.
Michael took him to a little bakery — one of those little ‘local business’ that he was so adamant about supporting — and as they were waiting in line, Alexis felt himself zero in on the ripple of recognition that sweeps through the people inside the bakery, those in the queue with them, the patrons at the tables and the waitress who did a little stop-start at the sight of two Bastard Munchen players in this tiny little shop.
Alexis stood up on his tiptoes and rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat, and willed his face not to grow red. “Hold my hand.” He hissed into Michael’s ear. Michael jolted a little, then obediently, his hand snaked out and clasped tightly onto Alexis’ hand. His palm was warm.
When they got to the front of the queue, Michael shot one of his ten-thousand kilowatt smiles towards the waitress, “Good morning,” he practically purred, “Could we please get a round of fruit scones to share, please?”
She stared at them incredulously for a moment, and Alexis seized the opportunity to lean into Michael’s side.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” She said, typing it out onto her cashier, “What, uh, jams would you like with that?”
Michael hummed, then tilted his head slightly towards Alexis. He could feel Michael’s hot breath on his cheek and forced his body still. “Darling,” Michael cooed, and the sound of it sent a shiver down Alexis’ spine, “What jam would you like?”
Alexis squealed as he felt his cheeks turn red. “Uhm,” he cleared his throat, turning to the cashier to give her a shaky smile. He felt as though he might have been drunk on the smell of freshed-baked goods in the air or Michael’s cologne. Apricot, please.”
Michael handed across the euros needed, and she took them before handing across her change. Alexis reckons that her mouth hasn’t properly closed once during the ordeal. Michael, completely oblivious or uncaring to the attention, thanked her generously. His hand was still in Alexis’ as he dragged him towards a pair of seats by the windows, overlooking the street.
As they sat down, Michael shot him a grin, “You’re good at this, Alex.”
Alexis shook his head, “I don’t know…” he mumbled, “I just…”
“Seriously. You didn’t strike me as the affectionate type.”
“I— uh, I’m not. Not usually.”
Michael’s grin was slim and languid like a cat’s, “Oh? I’m the exception then?” Before Alexis could stutter out a reply, Michael leaned back and laughed. “You’re too nice to me, Alex. Far too nice.”
Alexis looked down at his hands and fiddled with his fingers, tangling and untangling them over and over. He blinked across at the street, somewhat nervous, waiting for something— anything to happen. Only it didn’t.
The patrons of the bakery have settled somewhat, and turned back to their own little worlds. There was no need for Michael to initiate a game of footsies beneath the table, there was no need for him to insist on spreading the jam on Alexis’ scone because he claimed he knew how Alexis liked it, there was no need for him to smile at Alexis like that.
“You don’t have to do that,” Alexis interrupted with a frown. Michael paused for where he was reaching for Alexis’ cup, ready to fill it with tea again. “I can Really, Michael. No one is watching.”
Michael’s expression crinkled slightly at that. “What if I want to anyway?” He asked, and Alexis didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all, instead sat back in his chair and watched as Michael poured him a cup with practiced flawlessness.
The rest of their time in the bakery was… sweet. Domestic, in a way Alexis wasn’t used to. Quiet. Most of his time was spent with the team, playing football, or desperately trying to outrun the press — it was fun, but flashy and so fast paced that he struggled to keep tabs on everything that happened as it spun around them. But now? He weirdly enjoyed slowing down for a moment and just sitting in this little bakery eating scones with Michael.
Alas, it came to an end when they exited the bakery. Michael held his hand tight as he drew Alexis down the street, and he was snapped from his little bubble of bliss by the frantic sound of footsteps against the street pavement and the telltale click-flash of a camera.
The press were upon them immediately, like hounds to the smell of blood. Alexis, as usual, felt himself tense up at the sight of them – the bright flashes of the cameras and the yelling to look this way made his head hurt.
“Kaiser! Ness! Over here! Look over here!”
“Kaiser! What do you think about the new arrangement to the Munchen formation – and the addition of those Blue Lock players?”
“Ness! Do you think your role on the pitch is threatened by these newcomers?”
“Is it true that Hoffenhiem is an actual threat to your 1st place in the league table this season?”
Michael shielded Alexis with an expertly placed hand. It snaked around his waist and drew him in, positioning him to the side of Michael most hidden by Michael’s build, beside the wall. Michael basked in the attention in a way that was perfectly subtle — looking avoidant, sure, and a little irate, but still friendly enough to shoot them smiles as he rattled out excuse after excuse.
Alexis felt his heart jutter in his chest. He held his breath, leaning forward into Michael’s space and he muttered into his collarbone, “Kiss me.”
Michael jolted with a perturbed, almost uncatchable look at Alexis over his shoulder.
“You wanna make this look realistic?” Alexis looked back, arching a brow, and tried to ignore the leap-jump-leap-jump of his heart as it slammed frantically against his ribs. For one horrid, agonizing second, he thought Michael was going to deny him.
Then he turned and pressed his lips fiercely against Alexis’. And Alexis melted into him, leaning back slightly as Michael’s hand around his waist caught the excess weight easily. Like he was a princess being swept off of his feet.
The paparazzi were in pieces beside them, a thousand flashes dazzled across Alexis’ closed eyes, and Michael kissed hard. When he drew back, he smiled into Alexis’ cheek as he pressed another chaste kiss there.
“How was that?” He murmured into Alexis’ flushed skin.
“You’re certainly a charmer,” Alexis breathed, then he decided, there and then, that he would kiss Michael again — press and fake relationship be damned. Because holy hell, was Michael a good kisser. “You’re lucky that’s the type of thing I like in a man.”