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Michael Olise is the infamous enigma of the French national team. He rarely says anything off the pitch and he keeps all his cards close to his chest.
There are a few running theories as to why. Some proposed it’s because he didn’t particularly like the rest of them, but Désiré thought it was way more simple than that.
“You know it's because his French isn’t great.” Désiré had said one time to a small group of them whilst they were playing a round of Uno.
Olise’s French still isn’t great but he’s definitely trying. Désiré knows because he caught the older man in the lobby learning the words to the national anthem on his phone. Monsieur Nonchalance. Not true.
Désiré, conversely, is the heart of this team. Even though it’s his first World Cup, he’s an optimist. He gets along with everyone and the staff. He even volunteers when they need guys to do some vlogs for the national team’s channel. It’s part of what fuels him - being personable, making people laugh. In fact he’s pretty sure he’s very close with everyone on the French squad and could walk into anyone’s hotel room unannounced.
Well of course everyone except Michael.
So Désiré has a plan to fix this.
When it's time for lunch, he goes down to the dining area of the hotel, hoping to find him. They had just won their match against Sweden yesterday and the spirits were high, jokes being cracked easily.
Sure enough, Michael is there at the buffet table, one hand holding a plate as he fills it with a portion of rice, lentils, chicken and broccoli. He’s alone, in a black vest, tracksuit bottoms and his white AirPods can just about be seen through his locs.
Désiré tries to head over to him but before he can he’s stopped by Barcola who gives him a bro handshake.
“Désiré my man.” Barcola grins, his eyes sparkling.
“Good morning Brother. How are you? “ Désiré replies easily.
Before he knew it, he was pulled into a two minute chat which involved Barcola telling him that he should come to his room to play UNO later and Désiré half agreeing distractedly, looking over at Michael Olise who had now found a seat to himself.
Finally, Barcola moves on to Aurielien.
Désiré runs a hand through his own blonde tinted Afro as if to reset himself and then walks confidently over to Michael.
The older man is engrossed in his food and only glances up when Désiré actually took the seat opposite him, the foot of his chair grazing against the floor.
“Ah, Désiré.” Michael said in his London accent, the words came out smoothly.
Désiré smiled. “Monsieur nonchalance.”
Michael’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Don’t call me that.” He said kindly in English.
It had been gold within the French camp. All season on social media , Michael had been going viral for his non reactions to seemingly everything and the French press has given him the nickname. Now it was used tongue in cheek. Mostly by Désiré who secretly enjoyed calling the older man Monsieur.
“So can I help you Désiré?” Michael continued. “Or are you just people watching?”
It was Désiré’s turn to smile. Michael was incredibly witty, and his West London accent made everything sound sharper, dryer in humour.
Désiré understood English well having studied it at school.
“Rude.” He pretended to be hurt briefly.
Michael put his fork down and raised an eyebrow like he was wondering what exactly to do with Désiré’s unfaltering energy.
“Spend the evening with me?” Désiré proposed. It came out a lot more formal than he’d intended.
“Doing what?” Michael asked. Désiré noted he had not outright said no.
“Just … hanging out. ‘‘ Désiré shrugged. ‘‘I could teach you some French.”
Michael eyed him for a second and Désiré felt like he was under inspection, his skin broke out in goosebumps under his shirt, He felt the need to add more.
“I’m trying to get closer with everyone.” Désiré said.
Which was true in theory but possibly an exaggeration. He was not trying equally with everyone.
Michael hummed, picking up his fork again and shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth.
“I’ll think about it.” He said finally.
It was probably the most he was going to get. Désiré patted his hands against the table and then stood up.
“Alright.” He said. “See you, then. Maybe.”
Désiré turned and then got his own meal from the chefs and then eventually sat with some of the other Frenchmen.
Every now and then his gaze would drift to where Michael was - still listening to his earphones and eating.
Why he felt such a need to be liked by the most reclusive Frenchman eluded him. Maybe it went back, as most things did, to his childhood. He had always been a happy boy- he made friends everywhere and still had the same best friend from when he was little. People gave him energy. And he wanted Michael’s.
++
Désiré returned to his room unsure of Michael’s status. Nevertheless, he cleaned the place up a bit, picking up his shorts from the floor.
In the evening, Désiré sat down and started playing Call of Duty- on the PlayStation. He was very settled on the arm of the couch when the knock on his door came.
Désiré paused, almost forgetting who it could be.
“Désiré” A voice drifted from outside. Michael.
Désiré paused the level and then opened the door.
Michael had arrived, a hoodie pulled over his head - locs close to his face. He had serious, deep brown eyes and a refined nose. Désiré only noticed because he had never stood so close before. He was not traditionally handsome but Désiré thought he was. It was just a thought.
“Hiding?” Désiré asked in jest , nodding to his hood.
Michael laughed. “My hair’s not looking great. And I forgot my bonnet.”
Désiré nodded, opened the door wider, and Michael stepped inside his room.
“You want a drink?” Désiré asked casually.
“Nah I’m good, thanks.” Michael said. He took a seat on the edge of the bed. He spotted the paused graphic on the television. “Oh you play?”
“Oui, sometimes,” Désiré said. “It’s keeping me sane through the tournament since I’m usually alone here.”
“Understandable.” Michael said.
“So I was thinking,” Désiré says, taking a seat in the bed. “Will we try to keep the conversation going in French?” He suggested “because I think you understand it - you just struggle speaking a bit. “
“Yeah that’s about right.” Michael said. He wrinkled his nose gently and tried a bit harder. “Oui this is correct.”
“Perfect. Tell me about yourself Olise?” Désiré asked in French, now pretending that he was a reporter. He curled his hand into a fist and held it underneath Michael’s chin.
The older man smiled a little and then his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to string some French sentences together. “ Oui, we’ll- I am 24, I'm a footballer.” Michael chewed on his bottom lip briefly. “Shit,.. my favourite colour is green.”
Désiré couldn’t stop his affectionate laugh.
“Merci beaucoup. Of course now that we know your favourite colour we know all the important things about you.” He spoke slowly in a way French people rarely did so the words did not wash over Michael.
Michael laughed a moment later, nudging him with his elbow.
“Ask something else.” Michael encouraged.
“Uhh what is your dreams?” Désiré continued in French.
“To win a lot. Next.”
“Why did you choose France and not England?”
“I feel more of a connection..” Michael replied.
Désiré nodded. His hand still acted like a microphone. “Are you in a relationship?”
Michael shook his head. “Non.” He said simply.
Désiré can't help but press on. “Why not? I’m sure ladies will be throwing themselves at you?”
Michael paused now. “I don’t know how to say it in French. “
“Say what in French?”
“That I’m unequivocally uninterested in women.” Michael said in English now.
Désiré paused. “Those are some big words.”
“Per chance.” Michael said.
“So your type is men?”
“Is this the interviewer asking or you, Désiré?” Michael asked softly.
Désiré bit the inside of his cheek. At some point during their conversation, Michael’s hoodie has fallen free from his head, his locs down to his shoulder. Is it the chandelier in the room casting across his chocolate skin or is Michael Olise giving him the most intense look he has? Like he’s been hiding it away all this time.
“No it’s ..me this time.” Désiré admits.
No walls, or banter.
“Then yes I like men.” Michael says. “I’ve known since I was a boy. “
Désiré , after this revelation, struggled to think of another question.
He changed tact. ‘’You really have that je ne sais quoi.” Désiré says.
“Je ne sais quoi?” Michael repeats in his London accent, curling off his tongue.
“It means indescribable quality.” Désiré translates. “I think, anyway. Everyone thinks it’s Mbappe for us but I think it’s you. You secretly pull all the strings.”
Michael smiles. “Thank you. I don’t really want the spotlight. “
‘’Is that why you never give interviews after matches?’’ Désiré asked.
Michael glanced up at him. ‘’Oui.’’
Désiré swallowed. ‘’And you know I’m interviewing you right now…right?’’
Michael paused, his eyes softening before he glanced away. ‘’I guess I can make some exceptions.’’
Désiré , if he wasn’t brown skinned, would be blushing right now. He sensed it in himself and wondered where this had come from. Or had he always known.
And then Michael glanced down at his watch.
“I hate to do this but I’m gonna head back to my room… Sleep is important.” He rubbed his palms over his legs before getting to his feet.
Désiré nods in agreement even though he could make a few arguments as to why sleep could be sacrificed. “For sure, for sure.”
He stands with him and walks him to the door.
‘‘Please invite me again.’’ Michael says, glancing over at him. ‘‘I’d like to learn more French.’’
Désiré smiles. ‘‘ guess I was a good teacher , oui?’’
Michael smiles back. ‘‘Oh, yes.’’
It's almost flirting.
Michael lingers at the doorway rubbing a hand over his neck for a moment and then at the last minute he leans over and kisses Désiré on the cheek, very close to his lips. It's unexpected.
He may not not say much, but his actions are so consequential.
“Night Désiré.” Michael says, pronouncing it properly and deliberately.
Désiré still has his eyes closed, heart beating. He blinks them open and sees Michael watching him carefully, brown eyes deep and intense.
“Goodnight Michael.” Désiré murmurs.
Michael nods and then pulls his hood over his head , stepping out into the corridor.
Désiré watches him go. He wants the third star and he wants a second kiss. Hopefully he gets both this tournament.