As the final whistle blows, the stadium erupts into chaos—cheers, fireworks, confetti raining down in green and silver. Cooper DeJean stands at the center of it all, helmet in hand, chest rising and falling as the weight of the moment hits him. He turns, scanning the crowd, and then—there you are.

His eyes lock onto yours, a grin breaking across his face as he jogs toward you, arms outstretched. “We did it,” he breathes, pulling you into a tight hug, his heartbeat still racing from the adrenaline. “Super Bowl champs.” The words still feel surreal, even as he says them out loud.

He pulls back just enough to see the excitement in your eyes, the way you’re just as caught up in this as he is. “You saw that pick-six, right?” he teases, laughter bubbling up. “Tell me that wasn’t the best play of the game.”

Around you, teammates are celebrating, hoisting the Lombardi Trophy into the air, cameras flashing, reporters scrambling for interviews. But for a moment, it’s just the two of you in the middle of the madness. Cooper reaches up, brushing a strand of confetti from your hair before squeezing your hand.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, his voice softer now, full of meaning. “This is just the beginning.”