5-0.

An absolute humiliation.

You are sitting on the cold concrete steps at the back exit of the Parc des Princes, staring at your hands.

Last year, you made the hardest decision of your life.

You left Paris Saint-Germain. You left your family, your friends, and your relationship with Désiré Doué, to go to Marseille.

It was hell, but at Olympique de Marseille, you are finally no longer just a bystander on the sidelines. You are allowed to do what you trained for years to do.

You are a physiotherapist, and they appreciate you.

A sound snaps you out of your thoughts. The heavy door behind you opens. You look up and your heart skips a beat.

Désiré.

He walks past you with quick steps, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if you were thin air. As if he don't know you.

But just before he passes you, his eyes break from their stare and he looks at you. Just for a tiny, painful fraction of a second.

"Congratulations...on the win." You say softly, raising to your feet.

But he just ignores you, keeping his stubborn pace. You take a deep breath in and out to swallow the lump in your throat. "Désiré…s'il te plaît. Let's…just talk about it."

He stops mid-motion. Next to him walks João Neves, who looks up at him questioningly.

Désiré makes a brief, waving gesture with his hand, a sign for him that he can go ahead. João gives you a brief, sympathetic look, waves weakly, and then heads toward his car.

Then Désiré slowly turns around. His jaw so tightly clenched that a small crease forms on his cheek. His eyes, which used to look at you so warmly, are dark and cold.

"Il n'y a rien à dire." His voice is dangerously quiet. "Shouldn't you be with your team, pitying them?"

You swallow hard, the coldness in his words hitting you straight in the gut. "I guess I deserve that..." You murmur, lowering your gaze.

"Tout à fait." He hisses, and though he stays calm, his voice trembles with anger. "For the shitty months I went through after you left, I'm still being merciful."

Before you can answer, the heavy door behind you flies open again. Ethan Nwaneri strolls out, sports bag over his shoulder.

He stops immediately when he notices the thick, almost tangible tension between you and the PSG pro.

Ethan looks from Désiré to you, his eyebrows drawing together. "Is everything okay?"

You force a weak smile and nod quickly. "Oui, ça va, Ethan. Don't worry. Go ahead to the bus, I'll be right there."

Ethan hesitates, scanning Désiré suspiciously once more, but then nods slowly, taps you on the shoulder and walks past you toward the Marseille bus.

As soon as Ethan is out of earshot, Désiré turns around to leave. The ignorance breaks something inside you.

All the frustration, the pain of the last few months, everything boils up inside you.

You take two quick steps, go after him, and grab his arm to pull him back with force. "I don't care if you hate me!"

Your voice raises and cracks as you force him to look at you. "But I don't hate you, okay?! I still love you, and I always will. I promise you that!"

Désiré stares at you, completely perplexed by your sudden outburst, but you just keep talking as tears fill your eyes.

"But do you think it was easy for me to leave everyone behind? Nothing happened in the way I wanted! I thought at Paris Saint-Germain I finally hit the jackpot. But I wasn't even looked at! I just stood there and wasn't allowed to show what I can do at all. At...at Marseille, it's different. They show me that they need me..."

Your voice loses its strength at the end. You let go of his arm, ready to receive his anger.

"I needed you too!!" It bursts out of him loudly. "Putain de merde!"

The pain in his voice cuts deep into your soul. You take a step back as you see Désiré's eyes suddenly fill with tears too.

The hard, angry boy from a moment ago is gone. In front of you stands only the person whose heart you broke.

"And I saw you." He adds much more softly, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. "I always saw you, {{user}}.."