You

The Säbener Straße training ground was humming with its usual rhythmic energy. The sound of cleats clicking against the pavement, the distant shout of Thomas Müller directing a drill, and the crisp autumn air of Munich created a symphony that Mi usually adored. As a social media intern for FC Bayern, she was supposed to be focused on the lens of her camera, capturing behind-the-scenes content that fans craved.

However, her focus was currently elsewhere. Specifically, it was on the tall, lithe figure of Jamal Musiala as he walked toward the locker rooms.

Usually, this was the highlight of her day. The moment she saw him, she would typically abandon all professional decorum for a split second, jogging over to wrap her arms around his waist. She loved the way he would laugh—that soft, airy sound—and lean his head down to tuck his face into her mass of long brown curls. She loved sitting on his lap in the player’s lounge while he played FIFA, or the way she would pepper his cheeks and neck with kisses until he turned pink under his tan.

But today, she stayed rooted to the spot, her fingers tightening around her camera strap.

"You're doing it again," a voice whispered beside her.

Mi blinked, turning to see Sarah, another intern who had been with the club for a few months longer. Sarah was looking at Jamal, then back at Mi with a look of pitying concern.

"Doing what?" Mi asked, her voice small.

"Staring like he’s the only oxygen in the room," Sarah said, leaning against the fence. "Look, Mi, I say this as a friend. You’re young, and he’s... well, he’s Jamal Musiala. But you’re being way too clingy. I see you guys in the cafeteria. You’re always touching him, always hanging off him."

Mi felt a cold prickle of embarrassment crawl up her spine. "I just... I like being near him."

Sarah sighed, shaking her head. "No man likes that much pressure, Mi. Especially not a world-class athlete who has people pulling at him from every direction all day. You’re going to suffocate him. If you keep being that needy, you’re going to tire him out. He’ll start seeing you as a chore rather than a girlfriend. Trust me, men need space to breathe."

The words hit Mi like a physical blow. She thought of the way she wrapped her arms and legs around him like a vine every night in bed. She thought of the constant hand-holding, the way she never seemed to be more than an inch away from him when they were in the same room. Was she a chore? Was he just too polite to tell her he needed air?

"I didn't realize it was that bad," Mi whispered, her heart sinking.

"Just pull back," Sarah advised, patting her shoulder. "Give him some room to miss you. Otherwise, he’s going to run."

For the rest of the afternoon, Mi was a ghost. When Jamal finished his post-training shower and came looking for her in the media suite, she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Usually, she would have dropped her mouse and ran to him for a "recharging hug."

Instead, she kept her eyes glued to her monitor.

"Hey, Bambi," Jamal said, his voice warm and casual as he leaned against the doorframe. He was wearing his team tracksuit, his hair still damp and slightly messy. He waited, expecting the usual whirlwind of brown curls to collide with his chest.

Mi didn't look up. "Hi, Jamal. I’m really busy with these edits. The press office wants them by five."

Jamal paused, his brow furrowing. He walked over to her desk, reaching out a hand to playfully ruffle her hair. "You’re always busy, but you usually have time for a hello."

Mi flinched—just a tiny bit—and moved her head away from his touch, pretending to reach for a notebook. "I just really need to focus today. I'll see you at home, okay?"

Jamal’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he slowly pulled it back, shoving it into his pocket. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Do you want me to wait? We can drive together."

"No, it’s fine," she said, her heart aching at the flat tone in her own voice. "I might be late. Take your car. I’ll take the U-Bahn."

"The U-Bahn?" Jamal echoed. "But I’m right here."

"I need the walk," she lied, finally looking at him but keeping her expression neutral. "See you later."

Jamal stood there for a moment, looking confused and slightly hurt, before nodding slowly. "Okay. See you later then."

The evening was an exercise in agony. When Mi finally got home, Jamal was on the sofa. Usually, she would kick off her shoes and dive onto the cushions, tucking herself into his side. Tonight, she gave him a brief, tight smile and went straight to the kitchen.

"I ordered Thai," Jamal said, watching her move. He got up and followed her. "Your favorite. Pad See Ew."

"Thanks," she said, taking the container and sitting at the small dining table rather than the sofa.

Jamal sat across from her, picking at his food. He kept looking at her, waiting for her to reach across the table to squeeze his hand, or for her to tell him about her day in that animated way she always did. But she remained silent, focused entirely on her noodles.

When they went for a short walk later that evening to clear their heads, Jamal reached out to grab her hand as they crossed the street. Mi felt the familiar warmth of his palm, the callouses she knew by heart, and her instinct was to interlace their fingers and lean her head against his shoulder.

Instead, she gently disentangled herself after a few seconds, pretending to adjust her scarf.

"Is it cold?" Jamal asked, his voice sounding strained. "You can have my hoodie."

"No, I'm fine," she said. "Just... my hands are a bit sweaty."

Jamal stopped walking. He looked at her under the orange glow of the streetlights. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just pressed his lips together and kept walking, his shoulders hunched.

The breaking point came at bedtime.

Bedtime was Mi’s favorite part of the day. It was their sanctuary. She was notorious for being a "human backpack," clinging to Jamal’s back if he turned away, or resting her head on his chest with her leg draped over his hips if they were facing each other. She loved the steady thrum of his heart against her ear; it was her favorite lullaby.

Tonight, she climbed into bed and immediately rolled to the very edge of her side. She pulled the duvet up to her chin, leaving a vast, cold expanse of mattress between them.

The silence in the room was deafening. She could hear Jamal’s breathing—heavy and irregular. He didn't turn off the bedside lamp.

"Mi?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah?"

"Did I do something?"

His voice was cracked, stripped of its usual confidence. Mi felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made her stomach turn. "No, Jamal. Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't touched me all day," he said. She heard him shift, the mattress creaking as he moved closer to the center. "You wouldn't even look at me at the lake. You didn't want to drive with me. And now... you’re practically falling off the bed to get away from me."

Mi kept her back to him, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I’m just tired. I wanted to give you some space."

"Space?" Jamal’s voice rose an octave. "Who said I wanted space? I don't want space from you. I never asked for that."

Mi bit her lip, a tear finally escaping and soaking into the pillow. "I just didn't want to be annoying. I know I’m... I’m a lot. I’m clingy. I’m always touching you and kissing you, and I don’t want you to get tired of me. I don't want to be a chore for you."

There was a sudden movement behind her. Before she could react, Jamal’s arms were around her, pulling her back against his chest with a strength that was both firm and desperate. He tucked his face into the nook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"Who told you that?" he muttered against her skin. "Who told you that you were a chore?"

Mi sniffled, leaning back into his warmth despite herself. "Someone at work. She said men don't like it. That I was going to suffocate you."

Jamal let out a frustrated huff, his grip tightening around her waist. He rolled her over so she was forced to face him. His dark eyes were searching hers, filled with a mixture of relief and lingering hurt.

"Mi, look at me," he commanded softly.

She opened her eyes, seeing him up close. His features were softened by the dim light, his expression incredibly earnest.

"I spend all day in a world where everyone wants something from me," Jamal said, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "The coaches want more goals. The fans want more photos. The media wants more interviews. It’s loud, and it’s exhausting."

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Then I come home to you," he whispered. "And you want me. Just me. Not the footballer, not the 'Bambi' everyone talks about. You want to hold my hand and sit on my lap and just... be near me. That’s not a chore, Mi. That’s the only thing that keeps me grounded. Your 'clinginess' is my favorite thing about my life."

Mi’s breath hitched. "Really? You don't think it’s too much?"

Jamal chuckled, a low, vibrating sound in his chest that she felt in her own bones. "The only thing that’s 'too much' is you being on the other side of the bed. I hated today. I thought you were falling out of love with me. I thought I’d bored you or something."

"Never," Mi said fiercely, finally reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. "I could never be bored of you."

"Good," Jamal said, his voice dropping to a satisfied hum. He shifted, pulling her closer until she was draped over him exactly the way she liked. He tucked the blanket around them both, sealing them in their own private world. "Because I need my human backpack back. I couldn't sleep a wink if you weren't trying to cut off the circulation in my arm."

Mi laughed, the sound bright and clear, breaking the tension of the day. She leaned up, kissing his cheek, then his nose, and finally his lips. It was a long, slow kiss that tasted like an apology and a promise.

"I’m sorry," she murmured against his lips. "I won't listen to Sarah again."

"Please don't," Jamal said, closing his eyes as she nuzzled into his neck. "Just listen to me. And right now, I’m telling you to get even closer."

Mi didn't need to be told twice. She hooked her leg over his, interlaced their fingers, and buried her face in his chest. She listened to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart—the sound that told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As Jamal’s hand stroked her hair, his touch light and adoring, Mi realized that Sarah was wrong. Some people didn't need space to breathe; some people were the air itself. And as she drifted off to sleep, held tight in Jamal’s arms, she knew she never had to worry about being "too much" for the man who always wanted more.