It all went sideways because of a hug.

Just a hug—arms around shoulders, a quick squeeze, a murmured “I’m proud of you, sunshine.” But Sean saw it. Sean saw him. And before Johnny could even step back, the tension hanging between them snapped like a live wire.

Now the rugby pitch looked like a battlefield.

Johnny’s lip was split. Sean’s nose was definitely broken. Hughie had someone in a headlock, and Gibsie and Patrick were shoving lads left and right, throwing fists like it was second nature. And through it all, the godforsaken chorus of “Scotty Doesn’t Know” blasted over the pitch speakers—courtesy of Hughie’s phone, Bluetooth'd into the stadium sound system just to add insult to injury.

She arrived just in time to see Coach O’Shea losing his mind.

All five of them stood there, jerseys torn, mud-streaked and bloodied, as the coach paced in front of them, screaming about suspensions and disgrace and “you gobshites think this is the bleeding UFC?”

She didn’t say a word. Just weaved through the crowd of stunned teammates and came to a full stop in front of Johnny. His knuckles were raw. His temple was swelling. But he still smiled when he saw her.

“Hey,” he rasped, like he wasn’t seconds from a concussion.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered, pressing her palm gently to his cheek, tilting his face to inspect the damage. “You didn’t have to fight him.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t just me.”

As if on cue, Gibsie limped past with an ice pack over one eye, muttering something about “worth it,” while Patrick high-fived Hughie behind Coach O’Shea’s back.

Johnny sat down on the bench just inside the locker room entrance. The sound system was still playing “Scotty Doesn’t Know” like the universe had it on loop to humiliate Sean one more time. She knelt in front of him with a first aid kit someone shoved into her hands.

Neither of them spoke.

The air buzzed between them with unspoken everything—regret, want, guilt, need. She dabbed at his lip with cotton, eyes soft but unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually.

“For what?”

She shook her head. “For all of this.”

Johnny didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her like he was trying to memorize her face—his sunshine, tethered to someone else.

“Just don’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything,” he said, low and steady.

Her hands paused. Her breath hitched.

And from the field outside, the speakers crackled again:

“And he’s so smart and clever, Scotty doesn’t know...”

They both laughed, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes.