Love

The red carpet at the Théâtre du Châtelet was a gauntlet of flashing lights, shouting photographers, and the heavy scent of expensive cologne and rain-dampened pavement. For Kylian Mbappé, this was a natural habitat. He moved through the chaos with the grace of a man who knew exactly where the cameras were, his tailored black suit hugging his athletic frame, his smile practiced and confident.

But tonight, the confidence had a different edge to it. It was tighter, more protective. His left hand was tucked firmly into his pocket, but his right arm was occupied, his large hand almost completely enveloping the small, delicate hand of the woman walking beside him.

Mimi felt like she was drowning in a sea of sequins and tuxedos. She was barely five feet tall, a stark contrast to the towering athletes and statuesque models flanking the entrance. In her floor-length emerald silk gown and silver heels that still didn't bring her head past Kylian’s shoulder, she felt like a porcelain doll caught in a whirlwind.

As they reached the center of the press line, the noise reached a fever pitch. This was the first time they had appeared in public together. The rumors had been swirling for months—blurred paparazzi shots of Kylian leaving a cafe in the 16th arrondissement with a mysterious, petite brunette—but this was the official confirmation.

"Kylian! Kylian, over here!"

"Who is she, Kylian?"

"Look at the size of her!" one photographer yelled, his voice carrying over the din. "She’s tiny!"

Kylian didn’t flinch, but Mimi felt the muscles in his arm tighten. He leaned down, his head dipping low so his lips were just inches from her ear. The height difference was so pronounced that he had to bend his knees slightly to reach her.

"Don't look at the lights," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her chest. "Just look at me. We’re almost inside."

Mimi tilted her head back, her neck craning at a sharp angle just to meet his dark, warm eyes. "I think I’m going to go blind, Ky."

He let out a soft, huffed laugh and pulled her closer, his large palm resting flat against the small of her back. His hand seemed to cover her entire waist, his long fingers splayed across the silk of her dress. To the onlookers and the millions watching the livestream, the visual was jarring. Kylian was a powerhouse of muscle and speed, a titan of the pitch. Mimi looked as though a strong gust of wind might carry her away.

The internet, as expected, exploded within seconds.

By the time they reached their seats inside the theater, the first photos had hit social media. Mimi made the mistake of glancing at her phone while the opening montage played on the big screen.

*“Is she a hobbit? He looks like he’s taking his daughter to prom,”* one tweet read, garnering thousands of likes.

*“The size difference is insane. He could literally pick her up with one hand,”* another user commented under a high-definition shot of Kylian’s hand engulfing hers.

*“She looks so fragile next to him. Like he might accidentally break her if he hugs her too hard.”*

Mimi sighed, sliding the phone back into her clutch. A warm, heavy weight settled over her hand. Kylian had reached across the armrest, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles.

"Ignore them," he said, not taking his eyes off the stage, though his voice was meant only for her.

"It's hard not to," she murmured. "I knew I was small, but the cameras make me look like a thumbelina. I make you look like a giant."

Kylian turned his head then, a small, genuine smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I like being a giant if it means I get to keep you tucked right here." He nudged her shoulder with his. "Besides, they don't know how much fire is packed into such a small person. They just see the height."

The after-party was held at a lavish hotel overlooking the Seine. The atmosphere was slightly more relaxed, but the scrutiny hadn't faded. As they moved through the crowd, Mimi felt the eyes of the football world on them. She saw the way the wives and girlfriends of other players—mostly tall, leggy women—whispered to each other as they passed.

"She’s so... delicate," she overheard a woman say near the buffet. "I’d be terrified to stand next to him. He’s all muscle."

Mimi gripped her champagne flute, feeling a sudden surge of self-consciousness. She had always been petite, but standing in the shadow of one of the world’s greatest athletes made her feel invisible in a way she wasn't used to.

Kylian was pulled into a conversation with a group of French teammates. He kept his hand on her shoulder, a constant anchor, but Mimi could tell he was getting into the "football talk" that could last for hours.

"I'm going to find the restroom," she whispered, patting his chest.

He paused mid-sentence, his gaze dropping down to her. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Ky, I'm twenty-four, not five. I can find the bathroom," she teased, though her heart fluttered at the protective instinct.

"Fine. Five minutes, or I’m sending a search party," he joked, kissing the top of her head. To anyone watching, he looked like he was kissing a child’s forehead, but the look in his eyes was purely, intensely masculine.

On her way back from the lounge, Mimi was intercepted by a tall, blonde woman who Mimi recognized as the partner of a prominent defender. She was at least 5’10” and wore heels that made her look like a skyscraper.

"You must be Mimi," the woman said, smiling, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "We were all so surprised. Kylian usually goes for... well, a different silhouette."

Mimi straightened her spine, refusing to be intimidated by the altitude. "Is that so? I suppose I’m a bit of a change of pace."

"He’s very protective of you," the woman continued, glancing over at Kylian, who was still watching the hallway Mimi had disappeared down. "It’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll get stepped on in a crowd like this."

Mimi felt a flash of irritation. "I’ve survived twenty-four years without being stepped on. I think I’ll manage the after-party."

She brushed past the woman and headed back to Kylian. He saw her coming and immediately excused himself from the group, meeting her halfway. He didn't say anything at first; he just wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his side.

"Ready to go?" he asked, sensing the shift in her mood.

"Please," she breathed.

The ride back to Kylian’s apartment was quiet. The city lights blurred past the windows of the chauffeured car. Mimi stared out at the Eiffel Tower, feeling the weight of the evening.

When they finally stepped into the foyer of his penthouse, the silence of the apartment was a relief. Kylian tossed his jacket onto a chair and began loosening his tie. He watched Mimi as she kicked off her heels with a sigh of agony.

"My feet are killing me," she groaned, rubbing her arches.

Kylian walked over, looking down at her. Without the heels, she barely reached the middle of his chest. He looked massive in the dim light of the hallway, his shoulders broad enough to block out the view of the living room.

"Come here," he said softly.

Before she could react, he reached down and hooked his arms under her knees and behind her back. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all—which, to him, she didn't. Mimi let out a small gasp, instinctively curling her arms around his thick neck.

"Kylian! Put me down, I can walk."

"You just said your feet hurt," he countered, walking toward the bedroom. "And I’ve been wanting to do this all night."

"Do what? Carry me like a sack of potatoes?"

"No," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked down at her in his arms. "Just hold you without a thousand cameras trying to figure out why I’m with someone who fits so perfectly in my arms."

He sat down on the edge of the oversized bed, keeping her in his lap. Mimi felt tiny against him, her legs draped over his powerful thighs, her entire frame cradled by his chest.

"The internet is having a field day, you know," she said, tracing the collar of his dress shirt. "They think I’m too fragile for you. They think you’re going to crush me."

Kylian caught her hand, pressing his lips to her palm. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, his fingers long and calloused.

"Do you feel like I’m crushing you?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "I feel... safe."

"Good. Because that's the only thing that matters." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "People see the size difference and they think it’s a weakness. They think because you’re small, you’re something to be pitied. But they don’t see what I see."

"And what do you see?"

"I see the only person who isn't afraid to tell me when I’m being an idiot," he grinned. "I see the woman who handles my chaotic life with more grace than I ever could. And honestly, Mimi... I like that you’re small. I like that I can shield you from the world when it gets too loud."

Mimi smiled, leaning back to look at him. "You just like that you can reach the top shelf and I can't."

"That is a significant perk," he joked, his eyes dancing with mischief. "But seriously. Don't let them get to you. You’re not delicate, Mimi. You’re the strongest thing in this room."

He shifted, laying her back against the pillows. As he hovered over her, the physical difference was once again glaring. He eclipsed her entirely, his shadow stretching across the bed. But as he lowered his head to kiss her, his touch was incredibly light, his movements slow and deliberate.

He handled her with a reverence that bypassed the physical. It wasn't about her being "small" or "delicate" in a way that implied weakness. It was about the fact that she was precious to him.

Later that night, as Mimi drifted off to sleep tucked into the curve of his body—her back against his chest, his arm draped over her like a heavy, warm blanket—she realized that the world could talk all it wanted.

Let them wonder how a man like him fell for a woman like her. Let them analyze the photos and make their jokes about heights and sizes.

They didn't see the way he looked at her when the cameras were off. They didn't know that while he was the world's giant on the pitch, in this bed, in this life, she was the one who held his world together.

Kylian stirred in his sleep, his hand instinctively tightening its grip on hers, pulling her even closer into his warmth. Mimi smiled into the darkness.

She might be small, but she was exactly where she was meant to be. And Kylian Mbappé wasn't going to let her go anywhere.