Makeout
Marked for Life
The atmosphere inside the Allianz Arena was electric, the kind of buzzing energy that usually made Nini’s skin tingle with excitement. It had been two weeks since Jamal had stood dripping wet in her hallway, finally trading his silence for a confession that had changed everything. Since then, the "hidden" part of their relationship had vanished within the four walls of her apartment, replaced by an intensity that left her breathless.
Today, she sat in the stands, her heart swelling as she watched him dance around the pitch. He was playing with a newfound freedom, a lightness in his step that she liked to think she had something to do with. She was wearing a high-collared cream sweater—a tactical choice, considering the passionate "conversation" they’d had on her sofa the night before.
Jamal had always been gentle, but lately, there was a possessiveness to him that surfaced in the quiet hours. He’d left a lingering souvenir just below her jawline, a deep plum-colored mark that she had tried her best to hide with concealer and the thick knit of her collar.
During a break in play, the stadium’s "Fan Cam" began its usual sweep of the crowd. Nini was laughing at something a fan nearby had shouted when the giant screen suddenly flickered, and there she was. Her own face, magnified a thousand times, staring back at her.
Startled, she leaned back, and for a split second, the high collar of her sweater shifted. The stadium lighting was unforgiving, and the high-definition cameras were even worse. The purple mark on the side of her neck was visible for only a heartbeat, but in the world of modern football, a heartbeat was all it took.
"Oh, look at that," the girl sitting next to her whispered, nudging her friend. "Is that a hickey on Nini’s neck?"
Nini quickly pulled her collar up, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson, but the damage was done. By the time the second half kicked off, her phone was vibrating incessantly in her pocket.
She tried to ignore it, focusing on the game, but when she finally glanced at her screen during injury time, her heart sank. Twitter—or X, as it was now called—was in a full-blown meltdown. A screenshot of her on the big screen, the mark circled in red, was already trending.
*“Who’s been marking Bayern’s favorite girl?”* one tweet read with fifty thousand likes.
*“Wait, wasn’t she seen talking to Pavlović after the last game? Look at the way he looks at her in the tunnel!”* another user speculated, attaching a blurry photo of Aleks smiling at her from a week ago.
The rumors spread like wildfire. Within an hour, the narrative had been written: Nini and Aleksandar Pavlović were the new "it" couple of Munich, and he had clearly been marking his territory.
***
"You have got to be kidding me," Jamal muttered, his voice echoing in the marble-tiled locker room after the match.
He was sitting on the bench, his phone clutched in his hand, staring at a viral TikTok edit of Nini and Aleks set to a romantic ballad. The comments were filled with heart emojis and "Ship" names.
"Hey, don't look at me, Bambi," Aleks said, raising his hands in mock defense as he walked past. He had a cheeky, slightly apologetic grin on his face. "I didn't start the rumors. But hey, if the fans think I’m the one who put that mark there, I’m not exactly complaining for my reputation."
Jamal’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "Aleks, I’m warning you."
"Relax! I’m joking," Aleks laughed, though he stepped back a bit. "But seriously, Jamal, the internet is convinced. If you don't say something, people are going to start asking me for relationship advice."
Jamal didn't respond. He grabbed his bag and headed for the exit, his jaw set in that stubborn line Nini knew all too well. He hated the limelight when it wasn't about football, and he hated even more that the world was attributing his "work" to someone else.
When he reached the parking lot, Nini was waiting by his car, her face buried in her scarf. She looked up as he approached, her eyes wide with worry.
"Jamal, I’m so sorry," she began, her voice muffled. "I thought the sweater would cover it. I didn't think the camera would catch—"
"It’s not your fault," he interrupted, opening the passenger door for her. He looked around to make sure no paparazzi were hovering nearby before sliding into the driver’s seat. "It’s just... they think it’s him, Nini. They think you’re with Aleks."
Nini sighed, leaning her head against the window. "I know. My DMs are a disaster. People are asking if we’re going to go public, and someone even made a fan page for 'PavloNini.' It’s ridiculous."
Jamal gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He hated the secrecy now. Before, it had been a safety net, a way to protect their friendship. Now, it felt like a cage. He wanted to walk into a restaurant and hold her hand. He wanted to sit in the stands and kiss her after a win without it being a national scandal.
"I’m tired of it," Jamal said quietly as they pulled out of the arena.
"Tired of what?"
"The hiding. The 'just friends' labels. Watching other guys get linked to you because I’m too scared of what a headline might say." He glanced at her, his expression softening. "I want them to know, Nini. Not because I want the attention, but because I want them to know you’re mine."
Nini reached over, placing her hand over his on the gear shift. "Are you sure? Once we do this, there’s no going back. Every time I go to a game, the cameras will be on me. Every time we argue, people will speculate."
Jamal pulled the car over to the side of a quiet street, turning the engine off. He reached out, gently pulling the collar of her sweater down to reveal the fading purple mark. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right over it.
"I’m sure," he whispered against her skin. "I’ve been sure since I was fifteen."
***
Later that night, curled up on Nini’s sofa, Jamal went through his camera roll. He didn't want a staged, professional photo. He didn't want a "PR-approved" announcement. He wanted something that showed the depth of what they were.
He scrolled past hundreds of photos—selfies from last week, photos of her sleeping, shots of them at dinner—until he reached the very top of his "Favorites" album.
It was a grainy, scanned photo from nearly a decade ago. In the picture, a young, lanky Jamal with a gap-toothed grin had his arms wrapped tightly around a petite girl with a wild explosion of brown curls. They were both wearing oversized jerseys, standing in a muddy backyard, looking like the happiest kids on earth.
Nini looked over his shoulder, a small gasp escaping her. "Oh my god, Jamal. I forgot that photo existed. My hair was so crazy back then."
"I loved your hair," he murmured, his thumb hovering over the 'Post' button. "I still do."
He didn't write a long, flowery caption. He didn't need to. He simply wrote: *Always been you.*
He hit share.
For the first thirty seconds, there was silence. Then, his phone began to vibrate so violently it nearly slid off the coffee table.
"Oh, here we go," Nini whispered, leaning in to look at the screen.
The comments section exploded. The transition from the "Pavlović Rumors" to the "Musiala Reality" was so fast it gave the internet whiplash.
*“STAY CALM EVERYONE IT’S HAPPENING!”* the top comment screamed in all caps.
*“Wait, so it wasn't Aleks? It was JAMAL??”*
*“The Starboy finally scored the biggest goal of his life,”* another fan wrote.
But as people began to connect the dots between the Instagram post and the footage from the game earlier that day, the tone shifted into something more playful and teasing.
"Look at this one," Nini laughed, pointing to a comment with ten thousand likes.
*“Jamal, you can’t post something this wholesome and cute when we all saw the mark you left on her neck today! The contrast is killing me lol.”*
Another user replied: *“He really said: ‘Here is a cute photo of us as kids, but also, just so you know, she’s taken.’ The duality of Bambi.”*
*“Bambi has fangs!”* someone else joked, attaching a screenshot of the "hickey" next to the childhood photo.
Jamal groaned, burying his face in Nini’s neck, his ears turning a bright shade of pink. "I forgot the internet has no chill."
"You’re the one who wanted to go public," Nini teased, running her fingers through his hair. "Now you have to deal with the fact that everyone knows you’re a secret romantic with a possessive streak."
Jamal looked up, his eyes bright with mischief. "Is it possessive if I’m just marking what’s mine?"
"It’s definitely a foul," she joked, leaning down to kiss him. "But I think I’ll let the referee miss this one."
Jamal pulled her closer, the weight of the secret finally lifted. Outside, the world was talking, typing, and speculating, but inside the apartment, the only thing that mattered was the girl in his arms. He didn't care about the jokes or the memes. He didn't care that his teammates would probably roast him in the group chat for the next month.
He looked at the childhood photo one last time before locking his phone. They were the same kids from that muddy backyard—just a little older, a little more in love, and finally, finally, done with hiding.
"I love you, Nini," he whispered, his voice steady and sure.
"I love you too, Jamal," she replied, smiling against his lips. "Even if you did ruin my favorite sweater."