What were the odds?

You, working at AFC Richmond as one of the club’s photographers—surrounded by top-tier athletes, with abs sculpted like Greek statues and egos to match. A dream job for some, sure. For you, it was just work. Rewarding, busy, chaotic. But what made it fun was the people—Keeley’s warmth, Ted’s weird metaphors, Beard’s subtle smirks, Rebecca’s quiet power.

And Jamie. Your closest mate here. Or so you thought.

You were on your way to the pitch, camera slung over your shoulder, ready to grab some candid shots you'd promised. You paused by the boot room, distracted by voices just around the corner.

Isaac’s voice cut through first. “So what’s that about you and that little photographer, Tartt? She seems to have caught your eye.”

You heard Jamie laugh. Not his usual warm one. This one was colder—effortless. “Nah, she ain’t caught my eye. She’s barely even a mate. Just keep her around to get all the good shots of meh, innit.”

The air felt like it left your lungs.

No hesitation. No hint of sarcasm or playfulness. Just… words. Dismissive. Cruel. Real.

You stepped back without a sound and turned the other way, camera forgotten.

The photos could wait. Whatever it was you thought you had with Jamie—friendship, trust, anything—it clearly meant more to you than it ever had to him.

You made your way to the offices, pulse still pounding in your ears.

“Becks? Keels?” Your voice cracked slightly as you poked your head through the door.

Rebecca looked up from her laptop. “Hey, love. You alright?”

Keeley was already moving toward you, concern in her eyes. “What’s happened?”

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out broken. “Jamie just reminded me where I stand.”