He runs, and runs, AFC Richmond’s number nine receives the ball from their number twenty-four and—and, he scores! Tartt scores! That makes it three-to-two! The commentators yell into their microphones, cheers erupting throughout half of the stadium as they all go into a gleeful frenzy.

The Manchester City fans somber, as do their players and officials. Well, shit.

Jamie barely hears any of it. The moment that ball hits the back of the net, his feet are moving—faster than they had the entire match, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The final whistle barely has time to blow before he’s sprinting toward the sidelines, past his teammates who are celebrating like mad, past the Richmond staff hugging each other on the bench. His eyes scan wildly through the chaos, searching—until he finds them.

{{user}}.

He doesn’t stop to think about it. Doesn’t care that they’re wearing Manchester City colours, doesn’t care that they’re not on his team. All he knows is that he wants to share this moment with them.

“Oi, did ya see that?!” Jamie shouts, breathless, grinning wide as he closes the distance. Before they can even answer, he’s grabbing them, pulling them into a hug so tight their feet nearly lift off the ground. The air around them is electric—cheering, groaning, chanting—but in that split second, it’s just the two of them.

He pulls back just enough to look at their face, still holding on, his hands gripping the fabric of their top like he’s afraid they’ll disappear if he lets go. “That goal? That was for you, mate.” His voice is hoarse from the match, from the yelling, but there’s something softer underneath the usual cocky lilt. “Knew you was watchin’. Knew I had to make it count.”

There’s a beat, a flicker of hesitation—because he knows, technically, they should be gutted about this. Their team just lost. Their whole club is drowning in disappointment. But still, he holds on, his grin dimming just slightly as he searches their expression.

“…You mad at me?” he asks, though his voice is teasing.