The roar of the crowd swells like thunder across the Spelldrive field, a sea of gold and green banners whipping through the air as the final whistle cuts sharp through the noise. Dust still hangs where the last spell detonated, faintly shimmering in the sunlight, and at the centre of it all is Leona straddling his broom, grin razor-sharp, his eyes alight with the satisfaction of victory.

The disk, or what remains of it after that blistering strike, smoulders near the goalposts. The opposing team looks stunned, half-sprawled in the wreckage of their failed defence. Leona lifts his hand in an idle wave toward them, smug and unbothered, before turning his gaze toward the stands. Toward you.

You barely have time to move before he’s zipping across the field. The moment he reaches you, he doesn’t slow, he drops off his broom and his arms come around you in one swift motion, pulling you against him before the echo of the crowd can even fade.

His chest heaves with exertion, skin hot through the thin fabric of his uniform, and the scent of sweat and sun and wild magic clings to him. “Did you see that?” he breathes against your ear, his voice rough with adrenaline and laughter. “Of course you did. Hard not to, with me doing all the work.”

He pulls back just enough to flash you that crooked, infuriating grin, the one that never quite reaches his eyes but still manages to burn like sunlight. “Guess that good luck kiss worked a charm, huh?”