Love

The golden afternoon light filtered through the large windows of the Munich apartment, casting long, warm shadows across the hardwood floors. Mimi shifted on the sofa, her petite frame almost swallowed by one of Jamal’s oversized hoodies. Her curly brown hair was a wild halo around her face, slightly frizzy from a nap she hadn’t intended to take.

For two years, their relationship had been a sanctuary of soft whispers and gentle touches. Jamal, known to the world as the clinical, dazzling playmaker for Bayern Munich, was a different man behind closed doors. With Mimi, he was attentive, almost reverent. She was his "little bird," the clingy, affectionate anchor that kept him grounded amidst the roar of the Allianz Arena.

A few months ago, after their second anniversary, Mimi had made a decision. She’d started on the pill, and after the necessary waiting period, she had whispered a suggestion into his ear one rainy Tuesday night. She told him he didn’t need to use a condom anymore—that she wanted to feel him, all of him, without any barriers.

That night had changed something fundamental in Jamal. It was as if a dormant, possessive instinct had been triggered. The first time he had finished inside her, the look in his eyes wasn't just one of pleasure; it was a profound sense of claim. He had hovered over her, breathless, his dark eyes searching hers for permission, and when he found only adoration, the floodgates opened.

Now, months later, Jamal’s appetite had become voracious. It wasn't that he was being unkind—quite the opposite. He was more obsessed with her than ever. But he wanted her every night, sometimes multiple times. The intimacy had shifted from a rhythmic routine to a constant, pulsing need. Sometimes he would leave his mark on her stomach, her thighs, or her mouth, but his favorite, the one that made him groan her name like a prayer, was always the same.

The problem was that Mimi was exhausted.

"Mimi? Hey, wake up, sunshine," Jamal’s voice broke through her daze.

She felt the sofa dip as he sat beside her. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. He smelled like fresh grass and expensive cologne, having just returned from training.

"I’m awake," she murmured, though her eyes were barely half-open. She immediately crawled into his lap, her small hands clutching his shirt. She was only ever this clingy with him, a trait Jamal absolutely adored.

He wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her tight. "You’re still tired? You were sleeping when I left for the training ground, and you’re sleeping now."

"Just a bit drained," she said, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I think I just stayed up too late reading."

Jamal’s expression flickered with a mix of pride and guilt. He knew exactly why she was staying up late, and it wasn’t because of a book. He kissed the top of her head, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on her hip. "We’re supposed to go to Leroy’s place tonight. The guys are having a small get-together. Do you want to stay home?"

Mimi shook her head against his neck. "No, I want to go. I want to be with you."

"Okay," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave as his hand strayed slightly higher, grazing the skin beneath her hoodie. "But if you get tired, we leave immediately."

---

The gathering at Leroy Sané’s house was lively. Music played at a low volume, and the air was filled with the scent of grilled food and the boisterous laughter of teammates. Jamal kept Mimi tucked under his arm the entire evening, his hand rarely leaving the small of her back.

However, as the night wore on, Mimi’s fatigue became impossible to hide. She was pale, and dark circles were beginning to bloom under her eyes. She found herself leaning heavily against Jamal, her eyes fluttering shut even as Alphonso Davies told a particularly loud joke.

"Whoa, Jamal," Phonzie said, cutting his laughter short as he looked at Mimi. "Is she okay? She looks like she’s about to pass out standing up."

Leroy walked over, holding a drink, his eyes narrowing as he inspected his teammate’s girlfriend. "Seriously, Bambi. What are you doing to her? She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week."

Jamal felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. He tightened his grip on Mimi, who blinked awake and tried to offer a weak smile. "I’m fine, guys. Just a long week."

"A long week of what?" Thomas Müller chimed in, walking past with a smirk. "Usually, when a couple looks that tired and that happy at the same time, there’s only one explanation. You better be careful, Jamal. You’re going to have a little playmaker running around sooner than you think if you keep this up."

The comment was meant as a joke, but it hit Jamal like a physical blow. He looked down at Mimi, really looking at her. She did look frail. She looked spent. A sudden, cold wave of anxiety washed over him. Had he been too selfish? Had his need to be inside her, to be close to her, actually been hurting her?

By the next morning, the "joke" had taken on a life of its own. A blurry photo of them leaving Leroy’s house had made it onto a fan account, and the comments were spiraling.

“Mimi looks so pale... is she sick?” “Look at how Jamal is holding her. She’s definitely pregnant.” “Baby Musiala on the way? She has that tired ‘first trimester’ look!”

Jamal sat at the breakfast table, scrolling through the headlines with a sinking heart. Mimi was sitting across from him, picking listlessly at a bowl of fruit.

"Mimi," he said softly, putting his phone face down.

"Hmm?"

"We’re going to the doctor today."

She looked up, startled. "What? Why? Jamal, I told you, I’m just tired. It’s probably just the weather changing."

"No," Jamal said, his voice firm but laced with worry. He stood up and walked around the table, kneeling beside her chair so they were eye level. "Look at you, sweetheart. You’re exhausted. And everyone is saying... they’re saying you might be pregnant. And I... I know how I’ve been lately. I haven't been able to leave you alone. If I’ve been too rough, or if I’ve put you in this state because I couldn't control myself..."

Mimi reached out, her small fingers stroking his cheek. "Jamal, you haven't been too much. I love being close to you. I love that you want me."

"But what if you are pregnant?" he whispered, his eyes searching hers. "We’re careful with the pill, but I’ve been... I’ve been finishing inside you every single time, Mimi. For months. If I’ve changed your life before you were ready because I wanted that feeling so badly..."

"Let’s just go," Mimi said, sensing his genuine distress. "If only to stop you from worrying."

---

The waiting room at the private clinic felt colder than usual. Jamal sat with his fingers interlaced, his leg bouncing nervously. Mimi leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She felt like a battery that couldn't hold a charge.

When the doctor finally called them in, Jamal did most of the talking, explaining her fatigue and her lack of energy. The doctor, a calm woman in her fifties, listened patiently before performing a series of blood tests and a quick physical.

"Well," the doctor said, returning to the room after a short wait for the rapid panels. She looked at the couple—Jamal looking like he was awaiting a death sentence and Mimi looking like she needed a pillow.

"Is she... is it a baby?" Jamal asked, his voice cracking slightly.

The doctor smiled gently. "No, Mr. Musiala. She is not pregnant."

Jamal let out a breath so long and heavy it sounded like a deflating balloon. He slumped back in his chair, his hand finding Mimi’s and squeezing it tight. "She’s not?"

"No. However, her blood work shows a significant deficiency," the doctor explained, turning her monitor toward them. "Mimi, you are severely lacking in Vitamin D, B12, and iron. It’s quite common, especially with the lack of sun recently and perhaps a change in your activity levels."

She glanced between the two of them, a knowing glint in her eyes. "High levels of... physical exertion... can also deplete the body’s resources if you aren't supplementing them properly. You aren't sick, and you aren't pregnant. You’re simply running on empty."

Mimi felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She glanced at Jamal, who looked both immensely relieved and incredibly sheepish.

"So, she just needs vitamins?" Jamal asked.

"Vitamins, a better diet, and perhaps," the doctor paused, stifling a grin, "a few nights of very deep, uninterrupted sleep. I’ll write a prescription for the high-dose supplements, and she should start feeling like herself in about a week."

---

The drive home was quiet until they pulled into their driveway. Jamal turned off the engine but didn't get out. He turned to Mimi, his expression soft and full of apology.

"I really thought I’d broken you," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Mimi giggled, reaching over the center console to pull him closer. "You didn't break me, Jamal. I just need to eat more spinach and take my pills."

"I’m going to be better," he vowed, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. "I’m going to let you sleep. No more late nights for at least a week. I’ll just hold you. I promise."

Mimi smiled, her heart swelling. She knew he meant it, but she also knew the way he looked at her when the lights went down. "Maybe just five days of sleep?"

Jamal laughed, the sound bright and full of the tension that had finally left his body. He leaned in, kissing her deeply, but this time it was slow, sweet, and devoid of the frantic hunger of the past few weeks.

"Seven days, Mimi. The doctor ordered it."

"We'll see about that," she whispered against his lips, already feeling a little bit better just knowing he was there to take care of her.

As they walked into the apartment, Jamal immediately went to the kitchen to make her a nutrient-dense meal, acting as if he were her personal chef and bodyguard combined. Mimi watched him from the doorway, leaning against the frame.

She was still tired, yes. But as she watched the man she loved fussing over the exact iron content of a steak, she knew she wouldn't trade their intensity for anything in the world. She would just make sure to take her vitamins from now on.