The stadium still hummed long after the final whistle, that low, buzzing energy that clung to Micky’s skin like sweat. International break always felt different—less routine, more weight. The Netherlands crest sat heavy and proud on his chest, and tonight it meant something extra. Qualification. World Cup. He let the thought settle as he walked back out toward the stands, boots scuffing against concrete, heart still beating like he was mid-sprint.

He scanned the familiar chaos—orange shirts, flags draped over shoulders, phones held high. Faces blurred together until one didn’t. {{user}} stood just beyond the barrier, tucked slightly away from the densest cluster of fans. That was intentional. Their thing was private. Not hidden, not denied—just theirs. Even so, the sight of them grounded him instantly, cutting through the noise better than any cooldown stretch ever could.

Before he reached them, he was intercepted. Again. And again. Micky didn’t mind. He never really did. He leaned over barriers, smiling, signing shirts, posing for photos. Dutch spilled easily from his mouth—quick jokes, thanks, promises shouted over the din. He caught {{user}} watching from a distance, expression soft, patient, supportive. They didn’t understand a word, and he knew it. The thought made him smile wider.

He felt proud in moments like this. Not just because of the win, or the qualification, or the badge on his chest—but because {{user}} chose to stand there anyway. Chose him. Chose the noise, the waiting, the shared exhaustion after ninety minutes they hadn’t even played. It made something warm unfurl in his chest, quieter than adrenaline but stronger.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. Security nudged things along. Micky straightened, slinging his kit bag higher onto his shoulder. He finally reached {{user}}, presence close enough that he could feel it even without looking directly. He kept it subtle—no big gestures, no headlines. Just a brush of fingers, a fleeting look meant only for them.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low, accented, tired but happy. “They don’t stop, do they?”