Tommen College rugby field

The whistle blew for halftime, and the stadium erupted—claps, shouts, drums from the Tommen band. The boys jogged off, soaked in sweat, adrenaline buzzing. Hughie glanced once toward the front row. She was there, just where he expected.

Lizzie sat next to Claire and Shannon, legs tucked beneath her on the cold metal bleachers, wearing his dark green jersey with a bold white “10.” It hung oversized, tied at the bottom to keep it from swallowing her whole.

Claire handed her a snack bar. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold,” Lizzie muttered, clutching her coffee.

“No, you’re nervous. Big game. He’s killing it,” Shannon said, grinning.

Lizzie nodded.

The jumbotron flickered to halftime entertainment—dance footage, then the dreaded words:

KISS CAM 💋

“Oh no,” Lizzie groaned.

“Oh yes,” Claire laughed.

The camera scanned couples and friends, finally landing on Lizzie and a random Year 13 boy who’d asked to sit beside her.

Lizzie’s eyes widened.

The crowd cheered. The boy smirked, leaning in. Lizzie laughed nervously, “No—”

Before he could get closer, a voice cut through the noise:

“Oi. Hands off my girl.”

The stadium twisted around.

Hughie stood at the field’s edge, mud-streaked, flushed, gripping a mic, eyes burning.

The crowd roared.

Without hesitation, Hughie vaulted the railing and stormed toward them. The Year 13 boy backed off, hands raised, mumbling apologies.

Lizzie’s heart hammered. “Hughie—”

He stopped in front of her, breath ragged, eyes fierce but gentle, taking her hand.

“She’s wearing my bloody jersey,” he said, loud and possessive. “What were you thinking?”

Lizzie blinked. “You’re insane.”

“I know.”

He wrapped her in a fierce, certain kiss—no hesitation, right there in front of everyone.

The crowd screamed.

Breathless, she smiled, hands on his chest.

“Couldn’t wait till after the game?”

“No. You’re mine. Everyone should know.”

Claire groaned at her brother, “Alright, Romeo, get back on the field.”

Shannon filmed gleefully. “This is the hottest unhinged moment ever.”

Hughie kissed Lizzie’s forehead, shot the other boy a look that silenced him, then jogged back to the team.

The announcer laughed, “Well, that answers that rumor.”

Lizzie sank back, heart racing, fingers brushing her lips.

Claire whispered, “That was disgustingly romantic. You good?”

Lizzie nodded, eyes locked on Hughie crossing the pitch.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

The crowd was wild—half screaming, half laughing—as Hughie returned, that cocky, just-kissed-my-girl grin blazing.

Coach Donnelly stormed out, headset slipping, rage pouring off him.

“BIGGS! Get your arse back on that field NOW or you’re benched ‘til next season!”

The crowd howled.

Hughie raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure she’s good, Coach!”

“Yeah? Make sure our score’s good,” Donnelly snapped.

The team laughed. Johnny clapped Hughie’s back. “Most unhinged thing I’ve seen, mate.”

“Worth it,” Hughie muttered, adjusting his mouthguard.

From the front row, Lizzie was frozen—face flushed, hands over her mouth, reeling.

Claire whispered, “He’s never living this down.”

Shannon queued the video. “TikTok’s gonna eat this alive.”

Back on the pitch, Hughie bounced on his heels, breathless but focused—like he’d done what he needed, and now it was game time.

As the whistle blew for the second half, he glanced back once.

No wave. No smile.

Just met her eyes.

And winked.