I saw her before the match even started.

Sitting on the hill near the pitch, sun in her eyes, legs crossed under her. Laughing at something someone said. I wasn’t even looking for her, but there she was. And then I did a double take.

{{user}} was wearing my jersey.

No mistake. My number. My last name across the back. Too big for her, sleeves falling loose around her arms, collar gaping a bit at the neck.

And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

I jogged over to the sideline, heart hammering like I was about to score and not just see her. “Why’s she wearing my jersey?” I asked Podge, who was busy tying his boots.

He shrugged, not even looking up. “She wanted to have one for the game. I gave it to her.”

“You-?” I blinked. “That’s my-”

“Relax, man. You’ve got the spare. It was either yours or Joey’s, and yours doesn’t smell like death.”

I didn’t say anything after that. Just nodded like it was fine, like it didn’t matter.

But it did. Fuck, it did.

Because we’re not close. She’s in the group, yeah she goes out with us sometimes, sits on the edge of the circle at parties, always quiet, always watching. But we don’t really talk. Not unless someone forces it. She’s shy, guarded. I’m not. I don’t even know if she likes me.

And still, all through the match, even while I was sprinting down the field, chasing the sliotar like my life depended on it I kept thinking about her in my jersey.

And not in some gross, pervy way. Just… in that holy shit kind of way. Like my brain was doing a supercut of that single moment. Her sitting there, sleeves too big, fingers fidgeting with the hem, that tiny smile on her face when she talked to Aoife.

Like maybe it meant something.

After the game. I was sweaty, bruised, sore, but none of it mattered.

She came up to me. “Good game” she said. Soft. A little shy.

I blinked. “You watched?”

She gave me a look like duh.

“Right” I said. “Course you did. Wearing my number and all.”

She looked down at herself like she’d forgotten what she had on. “Oh- Podge gave it to me. I didn’t pick it or anything.”

And I don’t know why, but that stung a little. Even though I already knew. Even though it wasn’t her fault.

“Right” I said again, forcing a grin. “Shame. Thought we had something special.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch like she was trying not to laugh.

And now it’s hours later, and I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the whole thing in my head like it meant more than it did.

Her smile. Her voice. The way my name looked on her back.

I keep seeing it. Over and over. Like a glitch in the film. A loop my brain won’t let me out of.

I don’t know what it means. But I really want to find out.