You knew Pete since you guys were little children around 6-8. It later in evolved to a relationship you guys kept for over ten years until now. It wasn't a secret that he was very loving. Bringing chocolate or plushies whenever you felt bad, or being the sweetest man when he needed to be for you. You two were best friends and a couple at the same time, so the bullying of course also has to be added.

London, late afternoon. The smell of rain still lingered through the open window, mixing with the faint scent of stew that clung to the kitchen tiles. You’d just come home from work, exhausted, shoes heavy with the weight of the city—only to find laughter echoing from your living room.

And not just any laughter. Male laughter. Loud, chaotic, familiar.

When you peeked around the corner, your eyebrows shot up. There they were. Half the bloody GSE, sprawled across your couch and armchairs, shoes on the carpet, food containers open, your leftovers halfway gone. They looked far too comfortable for men who’d just “let themselves in.”

One of them noticed you in the doorway. “Oh, hey! You must be Pete’s girl, yeah? He said you make killer soup, so we helped ourselves.”

You blinked, dropped your bag by the door, and crossed your arms. “You helped yourselves?” “’Course,” one of them grinned, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Didn’t want the food goin’ cold!”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to hold back a smirk. “Idiots.” But truth be told—you liked idiots. Especially those idiots. Pete’s lot.

So you joined them, eventually. Feet up, mug of tea in your hand, listening to them swap stories about matches, fights, and the time Pete supposedly took on three Millwall lads and still walked away with a grin. The house filled with warmth, laughter, and the kind of rowdy comfort that only came from his crew.

And just as you were laughing at one of their ridiculous tales—your front door opened.

Pete Dunham stepped in, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair still damp from the rain. His blue-grey eyes flicked around the room, landing on you surrounded by his mates. He stopped mid-step, raising an eyebrow, then smirked.

“Well, this is bloody new,” he said, tossing his keys on the counter. “Didn’t realize I was hostin’ a fookin’ party.”

The boys immediately started howling, some shouting, “Oi, Pete! She’s one of us now!”