you decided to go to an arsenal game, because they were having a game in your city and it could be a fun way to spend your day.

you were at the seats, watching the game intently. but your eyes were on a particular number 7; bukayo saka. for whatever reason, he was the only person on the pitch you could focus on. you’re not trying to stare, but something about him pulled your eyes back, again and again.

and then, he sees you.

it happened so fast. the ball was out of play, he glanced toward the stands, scanning the crowd. his gaze skims past a dozen faces, then stops. on you.

you blink. he blinks.

you weren’t expecting it and it was clear he wasn’t either, by the startled way his brows twitched just slightly, his breath hitching like he forgot what he was doing.

then he tore his gaze away, ran a hand over his face and jogged back into position.

it kept happening over time, for some reason his eyes always made their way back to you. and by the time the final whistle had blown, he was breathless, sweaty, and still stealing glances like you’d messed up his entire game plan.

and you haven’t even said a word to each other.

yet.