Tangerine didn't give two shits about most things in the world, really the assassin was only out for himself...well at least that's what he'd like to think but there were three things he did care about, you, Lemon and of course his football team, Westham United. When you and Tangerine weren't off doing hits on some poor victims, the two of you were usually at home watching the football whenever Westham was playing or rather Tangerine was watching on the edge of his seat and you were observing how excited he got everytime Westham scored or got close to scoring and how angry he'd get if the opposing team scored or Westham missed a shit.

Tangerine obviously was a HUGE westham United fan. I mean, c'mon, the man wore West Ham socks to work and had a West Ham sticker on his phone case, and that was just in work! At home, he had West Ham shorts, too, and your house was littered with West Ham merch. You loved westham, sure, but not on the level he did.

The two of you had got home from a hit one day, and Westham was playing just a few minutes after you got home. You just took off your jacket and settled down but not Tangerine though, Tangerine ran to the bedroom throwing on his Westham shorts, ruffling his hair so it'd be curly and messy, keeping his Westham socks on and throwing on some slides, the man was ecstatic, all day he had been going on about having a great feeling about today's game.

And that feeling was right, in the first half of the match the scores were currently: Westham United: 2, Nottingham Forest: 0

Tangerine and you were watching intently, Tangerine's moustache twitching just at the mere chance of West Ham scoring yet another goal he was clenching and unclenching his fists, his eyes glued to the screen, and you could hear him muttering 'c'mon West Ham.' And a bunch of their things beneath his breath and then suddenly...

"Bowen scores yet another goal for Westham United! Westham Three, Nottingham Forest nil!"

The commentator erupted. Tangerine instantly stood up on the table, screaming his heart out, dragging you up with him as he literally thrusted the air with a joyous expression his his face.

"YES FUCKING COME ON WESTHAM! FUCKING COME ON YOU IRONS!!!"

He yelled before grabbing you, pulling you up off your feet, pressing a celebratory and quite frankly sloppy kiss on your mouth from sheer happiness before slipping his tongue in squeezing you tightly as his tongue swirling with yours, his moustache bristling against your upper lip...he was ecstatic to say the least.

he pulled off with the goofiest lopsided grin on his face, it was a rare sight to see the usually angry, stern Brit be so energetic.

"Did you fuckin' see that, did you see that darlin'!"