The mall was buzzing with weekend energy as you and Berlin strolled through, weaving in and out of stores like it was a mission—and in a way, it was. You both were on the hunt for Falcons jerseys, and the clock was ticking. The game was tomorrow, and Berlin insisted on finding “the perfect one” or she wasn’t going.

She wore a cropped black hoodie with high-waisted joggers and some fresh white sneakers, sipping on an iced matcha from Starbucks and scanning every window like a hawk. “Okay, this is serious,” she said, dramatically stopping in front of a sports shop. “If I walk into that stadium in some crusty off-brand tee, I’ll actually pass away.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one who’s gonna cry when they run out of your size,” she teased, bumping your shoulder.

The two of you entered the store, and it was like jackpot—jerseys everywhere, mostly in red and black, Matt Ryan and Bijan Robinson’s names printed bold across the backs. Berlin picked one up, squinted at it, then held it up to herself. “Do I look like I know football?” she asked.

You gave her a thumbs-up. “You look like you yell at the refs through the TV.”

“Perfect.” She grinned, then tossed you a jersey. “Try that on, and don’t even think about getting a size too big. You always do that weird oversized thing.”

“I like being comfy!” you defended as she rolled her eyes again, playfully dramatic.

After twenty more minutes, a couple mirror selfies, and Berlin asking three different employees if they had “a more flattering cut,” you both left the store with matching Falcons gear, feeling way too proud of yourselves.

As you walked back out into the mall, she wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Tomorrow we’re gonna be the flyest fans in that stadium.”