The match was chaos — bodies colliding, grass flying, the crowd screaming so loud I could hardly think. But I saw her. My {{user}}. Even through all that noise, all that motion, I could spot her on the sidelines like it was instinct. She had my jersey on, oversized and ridiculous on her, holding a paper cup of tea like she was watching a movie instead of a final. Every time I glanced her way, she smiled that soft, proud kind of smile that got under my skin and settled right there.

I’d been nervous all week. The uni football finals weren’t just a game; scouts were watching, the team wanted revenge, and the pressure was brutal. But then I saw her that morning, hair messy, yawning while telling me I’d be “brilliant” like it was a fact written somewhere in the universe. Somehow, that was all it took.

We’d met in our first year, both late to an intro lecture, bumping into each other outside the building. I remember her dropping her coffee, swearing under her breath, and me awkwardly offering to buy her a new one. She laughed, said she hated coffee, and we ended up sharing a tea instead. A year later, she was mine. And I don’t think I’ve gone a day without feeling lucky about it.

When the whistle blew, and I scored the last goal, the winning one, he stadium roared, but I swear I only heard her voice. I caught sight of her jumping up, cheering, hands in the air, eyes bright. My heart went wild. The boys were shouting, the crowd flooding the field, but I ran straight past all of it. Straight to her. {{user}}.

She barely had time to react before I grabbed her and lifted her off the ground. She laughed, breathless, and I kissed her right there with everyone watching. I didn’t care about anything else. “Told you you’d smash it,” she whispered against my cheek. I was grinning so hard my face hurt.

“Yeah?” I said, voice still shaking from adrenaline. “You’re my secret weapon, y’know that?”

She blinked up at me, smiling. “Secret weapon?”

“Every time I look at you, I play better,” I said, still holding her close, buzzing from it all. “It’s unfair, really. Should be illegal.”

The rest of the team caught up, yelling, pulling me into the celebration, but I didn’t let go of her hand the whole time. Between the confetti, the sweat, and the noise, all I could think was that somehow, I’d won way more than a match today.

Later, when things calmed down, she wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned into me, her voice soft. “You really think I’m your secret weapon?”

I laughed quietly, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’re the reason I even get on the field, love.”

And for the first time that night, I stopped feeling like I was running and just breathed her in.