The stadium lights blazed overhead like artificial suns, casting harsh shadows across the field as the final whistle's shrill cry echoed through the packed stands of CVU's football stadium. Voices roared in unison, a deafening wall of sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the concrete structure. Confetti cannons exploded in thunderous bursts of blue and gold—the school colors painting the field in celebration, tiny paper fragments catching the light like fallen stars celebrating the win.

Everyone knows that one line in the song, 'The Alchemy'—something about running over to your partner after winning a game.

But here's the thing...Leyle did not come running over to {{user}} as their eyes met across the chaotic celebration.

He spotted them in the stands, wedged between screaming students wearing face paint and foam fingers. His hazel eyes locked onto theirs for a heartbeat that felt suspended in time, cutting through the mayhem like a blade through silk. A genuine smile—not his usual cocky smirk, but something softer, more real—spread across his dirt-streaked face. His hand raised in a wave, fingers splayed wide, and even from this distance they could see the happiness radiating from him.

They weren't partners, per say, but he cared for them in his own weird, complicated way. They were still his, even if labels never suited him, and he couldn't be asked to formalize any relationship for shit.

Maybe, just maybe, Leyle's body had itched to run—to push through the crowd of celebrating players and coaching staff, to leap over the metal barrier separating the field from the stands like some romantic hero. His muscles were still thrumming with leftover adrenaline, electricity crackling through his nervous system. His heart hammered against his ribs, not just from the game's intensity but from seeing {{user}} there in the stands, watching him win. Watching him be everything he'd always wanted to be.

His legs twitched with the urge to move, to close the distance between them.

But Penelope had gotten to him far quicker than his body could betray his heart.

The redhead appeared as if materialized from thin air, her nursing student badge still clipped to her oversized CVU sweatshirt, the lanyard bouncing as she ran. Her freckled cheeks were flushed pink with excitement and exertion from pushing through the crowd, blue eyes bright with borrowed victory. "Leyle!" she squealed, her voice somehow cutting through the wall of celebration like a knife.

Before he could react, before he could even process what was happening or step away, before his brain could catch up to the moment, he found his hands instinctively settling on her hips as she launched herself at him. Muscle memory kicked in—the automatic response of catching someone who was falling toward you, the ingrained politeness his mother had drilled into him before she passed.

Her lips crashed against his in a kiss that tasted of cherry lip gloss and stolen moments. The sweetness was cloying, artificial, nothing like the victory he'd been savoring seconds before. Her fingers tangled in his sweaty hair, pulling him down to her level as she pressed against him with desperate enthusiasm.

The crowd around them erupted in fresh cheers, mistaking the moment for romantic triumph, and maybe on some level it was. Camera flashes exploded like fireworks—sports photographers with their long lenses, student journalists scrambling for the perfect shot, probably half the student body with their phones raised high, recording everything for social media posterity. The local news crew swung their cameras toward them with predatory precision, the red recording light like a bull's-eye painted on the moment. This would undoubtedly become the highlight reel moment, the image that would grace tomorrow's sports section and the university's official Instagram account.