New Romantics | Mbappé

prologue

“Everyone is cheering for the young man everywhere he goes, comparing him with Ronaldo and sometimes, his teammate Messi but ones the true Messi is out of the picture, Mbappe seems unable, in the least, to keep the fort down– what in the actual fuck- J'emmerde cet article stupide. Putain de merde.”
“Oi! Oi! Tranquilles!” Hakimi neared him, holding up his hand as a sign of good faith and took the article from his hands. He started reading it himself while Kylian paced around the room in anger.
“It’s not the first time this man has attacked me-” he started “he always has an opinion and never seems to be satisfied with anything-”
“He’s written things about me and Leo as well. I recognize the name. Don’t take it personally it’s just an angry journalist, there are a lot of those-“
“An angry journalist with views and reads. It’s like fucking gossip girl for football and why is it always about me-”
“You’ve watched gossip girl?” asked Hakimi raising his eyebrows. Kylian paused at his question, like he had confessed to a crime or something.
“My girlfriend used to- why do I have to explain this?” Hakimi shrugged, waving away his previous question. Although Kylian was certain that he would probably bring it up again at some point. “Can we please get back on the real issue?”
“Which is?”
“a fucking random guy who has probably never even touched a football in his life. Who the hell even is he-” Kylian snatched pack the article, searching for the name of the author. “J.W.” he read “is that even a real name”
“Ok!” Hakimi grabbed back the article, throwing it on the nearest table “I think you need a break.” He pulled him by the hand to drag him out on the training field.
“Im telling you it’s not a real name-”
“No, I bet it’s not. Let’s go.”

Kylian was grumpy for the rest of the training. Kicking the balls and imagining it was JW, running as fast as he could around the field to take out his anger and tackling even his teammates. When he was over, he sat on the bench in the changing rooms, a towel around his waist and nothing to cover his broad chest. He was holding the article in his hands, reading it again and again. His phone next to him was buzzing with messages and when he opened it his Twitter feed was spammed with the same article. J.W. didn’t have any of his personal information on his website or his socials. Following no one, liking nothing, there was nothing to connect him to an actual person but there were theories about him being a girl. Kylian laughed when he read one of them, it actually brightened his mood, like any girl was bold enough to write such harsh and-as much as he hated to admit it- on point reviews for football players and especially him, who was every girl’s favorite according to… well himself. No, that was just an asshole that was jealous of him. An asshole that probably couldn’t play football or get any of the girls he liked, so he had his fun ruining others. “Typical” he mumbled and shut off his phone but not before typing back a quick respond under his latest tweet “get a life”.

TAYLOR'S HOUSE / LONDON - NIGHT

“Oh no he didn’t!” Taylor’s mouth dropped when she saw his tweet. She got up from the couch, stumbling on the blankets she was covered with and falling on the ground.
“Oh my god, are you ok?” Yelled Trish while eating her popcorn on the other side of the small living room, leaning forward in her seat to look at Taylor, who was now laying with her face planted on the carpet.
“No!” she said putting strength in her hands to get up, groaning as she did that “no I’m not ok! I’m angry” she sat on her knees, staring at her phone “he’s such a cry baby!”
“Who? Oh god Tay, is it your ex again? Didn’t you block him?” she was still eating her popcorn.
“its not Alex! It’s Mbappé!”

Trish mouth remained closed. Her eyes opening wide. She left the bucket with the popcorn on the couch while getting up to get to her friend, sitting on her knees to look at the screen “the hot one?”
“Oh-” Taylor’s hands dropped and she let out a deep sigh of annoyance, looking at her friend like she was done. Trish shrugged her shoulders and got hold of the phone. She began to laugh, trying hard to keep it in so Taylor smacked her in the stomach, getting her phone back.
“What? I’m sorry! It’s funny!”
“It’s not funny!” she finally got up from the floor, untangling herself from all the blankets, throwing them right and left, one of them falling on Trish’s head. “He doesn’t even know me.” She walked over to her computer was, opening it quickly.
“I mean” Trish threw away the blanket she had thrown on her and got up as well “you don’t know him either but you’ve been writing about him every week, judging him-”
“I’m not judging him. I think he’s great! I’m judging the way he plays. Last night he missed 4 chances and ruined 1 because he didn’t want to pass the ball over to Junior-“ Trish had already lost interest but she let her go on for the shake of it “—I’m telling you There’s a difference, and also, it’s my job-”
“It’s not a job, it’s a hobby! Did you even finish that article about the sales, Miranda asked you for?” Taylor looked up from her computer screen slightly. Her eyes betraying her. Trish sighed, shaking her head “you’re unbelievable”
“There was a game last night- I had to watch and write a post. My fans are very demanding.”
“Fans aka creeps on a screen obsessed with football”
“Hey!” she pointed at Trish “I’m on of those creeps”
“Why don’t you just get a job at sports magazine?”
Taylor laughed, while moving the pad to get on her website. There were so many comments on last update about Kylian, it seemed she had really hit a chord. “When you find me one that doesn’t treat women like shit, I will. People find out you’re a woman in this world and suddenly your opinion has no place in their columns. It’s in fact, annoying.”
“So is staying without a job, which is what will happen if you don’t write about those goddamn sales in two hours.”
“It will only take 10 minutes, it’s fine!” she waved it off, hitting press on the new post tab but before her fingers met the keyboard, she got an inbox. She opened it quickly, it was a message from psg, one of their employees. “No shit” she mumbled, barely able to function.
“What now?”
“Galtier wants to speak to me.”
“Who’s that?” Trish walked over to her, a confused look in her face.
“It’s the coach of PSG.”