Us

The fluorescent lights of the Sabener Straße media room felt particularly aggressive today. Nini adjusted the strap of her camera, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to focus the lens. Her reflection in the glass of the equipment cabinet showed a young woman with a wild halo of brown curls and eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night’s sleep in a week.

She wasn't just tired; she was mortified.

It had been ten days since Alphonso Davies’ house party. Ten days since the heady mixture of tequila and loud bass had led her into a guest bedroom with Tom Ritzy Hülsmann—everyone called him 'Bichof' for reasons she still didn't quite grasp—and Aleksandar Pavlović. The memory was a hazy, feverish blur: the weight of Tom’s muscular frame as she sat on his lap, the way his lips had tasted like lime and salt, and the intense, hungry gaze of Aleks waiting just inches away. She remembered the heat of Aleks’ hands as she moved to him, while Tom’s lips never left the sensitive skin of her nape.

It had been consensual, it had been adventurous, and as a single woman in her early twenties, it should have been a non-issue. But the Bayern Munich locker room was a sieve, and by Monday morning, the whispers had turned into a roar.

"Rough morning, Nini?"

She jumped, nearly dropping her camera. Jamal Musiala stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He looked as perfect as always in his training gear, his youthful face radiating the kind of effortless grace that made her heart ache.

"Just a lot of footage to edit," Nini stammered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "The social media team is on a deadline."

Jamal nodded slowly, stepping into the room to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. He didn't mention the party. He didn't mention the rumors. But Nini saw the way his eyes lingered on her for a second too long before he looked away. It wasn't a look of judgment, but it wasn't the look of a man who was about to ask her out, either. It was the look of someone who had heard a story and didn't know how to fit it into his version of her.

"See you at training," he said softly, his voice like velvet.

As he walked out, Nini felt a lump form in her throat. She had harbored a crush on Jamal for months—the quiet way he laughed at her jokes, the way he always made sure she had a seat at the lunch table. Now, she felt like a caricature. To him, she was probably just the girl who took on two teammates at once.

"Thinking about him again?"

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Nini didn't even flinch; she was becoming accustomed to the intrusion. Tom leaned down, his chin resting on her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear.

"Tom, not here," she sighed, though she didn't push him away.

"Why not? Everyone already knows we’re friends," he teased, his voice dropping an octave. He pressed a lingering, wet peck to the side of her neck. Nini shivered, a reflex she couldn't control, but her heart remained cold.

"We aren't 'friends' like that, Tom. It was one night. We were drunk."

"And yet, you don't tell me to leave," he murmured, his hands sliding down to rest on her hips.

He was right. Nini was lonely, and the rejection she imagined in Jamal’s eyes hurt so much that Tom’s physical presence was a numbing balm. If she couldn't have the man she wanted, why bother fighting off the one who actually wanted her?

"My birthday is Friday," Tom said, turning her around to face him. "Small gathering at my place. Just the inner circle. You’re coming."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Aleks will be there. Phonzy too. And Jamal."

Nini’s breath hitched at the mention of the last name. "Jamal is coming?"

Tom smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Of course. We’re teammates, Nini. Don't be a stranger. It’ll be fun."

---

Friday night arrived with a chill that bit through Nini’s thin leather jacket. Tom’s apartment was sleek, modern, and currently filled with the elite of German football. The air smelled of expensive cologne and high-end vodka.

Nini stayed near the kitchen island, clutching a gin and tonic like a lifeline. She wore a silk slip dress that hugged her petite frame, her curls pinned back to reveal the line of her throat. She felt exposed, especially when she saw Jamal sitting on the oversized velvet sofa, nursing a soda and talking to Leroy Sané.

"You look beautiful," a voice whispered.

It was Aleks. He leaned against the counter beside her, looking effortlessly handsome in a black turtleneck. He didn't touch her, but the way he looked at her reminded her exactly of how he had looked in that bedroom ten days ago.

"Thanks, Aleks," she said, taking a large gulp of her drink.

"Tom is looking for you," Aleks added, gesturing toward the living room where a space had been cleared on the floor. "He wants to start the game."

Nini followed him into the circle. The group was small—maybe ten people. Tom sat in the center, a bottle of expensive champagne in his hand. Jamal was seated directly across from where Nini sat down, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Alright, enough talking," Tom announced, his eyes landing on Nini with predatory heat. "We’re playing Truth or Dare. Real stakes. If you refuse, you take a double shot of the darkest thing in my cabinet."

The game started innocuously. Phonzy had to call his agent and pretend he was retiring to become a professional chess player. Thomas Müller had to reveal the most embarrassing thing in his search history. The laughter was loud, the atmosphere thinning the tension that had been building in Nini’s chest.

Then, the bottle pointed at Nini.

"Truth or dare, Nini?" Tom asked, his voice low.

Nini glanced at Jamal. He was watching her, his expression guarded. She wanted to seem brave. She wanted to seem like the girl who wasn't afraid of a little gossip.

"Dare," she said firmly.

Tom’s grin widened. "I dare you to sit in the lap of the person in this room you’d most like to spend the rest of the night with. And," he added, his eyes flickering to Aleks, "they have to be allowed to do whatever they want to you for the next three rounds."

The room went silent. It was a loaded dare, one that pointed directly at the scandal everyone had been whispering about. Nini felt the blood drain from her face. If she chose Tom or Aleks, she was confirming the rumors, leaning into the role of the team’s plaything. If she chose someone else, it would be a lie.

She looked at Jamal. He looked down at his hands, his knuckles white.

"Nini?" Tom prompted, his voice smug. He clearly expected her to crawl back into his lap.

Nini stood up, her legs feeling like lead. She walked toward the sofa. She saw Tom shifting, making space for her, a triumphant look on his face. But she didn't stop at Tom.

She kept walking until she reached Jamal.

The collective intake of breath from the room was audible. Jamal looked up, his dark eyes wide with shock. Nini didn't ask. She simply lowered herself onto his lap, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Jamal’s body was stiff, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air before he tentatively placed them on her waist. He was warm—so much warmer than Tom.

"Jamal," Tom said, his voice dropping the playful tone. "The dare says you get to do whatever you want for three rounds."

Jamal looked at Tom, then down at Nini. His gaze softened, the confusion melting into something deeper, something more protective.

"I think," Jamal said, his voice steady despite the blush creeping up his neck, "that I just want to hold her."

He pulled Nini closer, tucking her head under his chin. He didn't kiss her neck to make her flinch. He didn't touch her to mark his territory. He simply held her, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on the silk of her dress.

"Next turn," Jamal said, his eyes challenging Tom.

The game continued, but Nini barely heard a word of it. She was wrapped in the scent of Jamal’s laundry detergent and expensive soap. For the first time in two weeks, the shame didn't feel so heavy.

When the third round ended, Nini made a move to get up, but Jamal’s grip tightened just a fraction.

"You don't have to move," he whispered into her hair.

"Jamal, the rumors..." she started, her voice breaking.

"I don't care about the rumors, Nini," he said, loud enough for only her to hear. "I was just mad because I wasn't the one who was there. I thought I’d lost my chance before I even took it."

Nini pulled back just enough to look at him. "You had a chance?"

Jamal smiled—a real, shy smile that reached his eyes. "I’ve had a crush on the girl from the media team since her first day. I just didn't think she’d ever notice the quiet guy."

Across the circle, Tom watched them, his jaw tight as he realized he had played himself. He had tried to humiliate her into submission, but instead, he had given Jamal the opening he needed.

"I noticed," Nini whispered, leaning her forehead against Jamal’s. "I always noticed."

Outside, the Munich night was cold, but inside, the fire was finally starting to burn for all the right reasons.