The streets of Amsterdam buzzed softly around you, the glow of fairy lights strung across narrow lanes and shopfronts giving everything a warm, hazy charm. Most of the team had split off—some chasing snacks, others wandering into tourist traps. But you and Jamie had peeled away from the group for a quieter stroll.

He stood a few steps ahead, hoodie pulled low, hands stuffed into his pockets like he was trying to disappear into the night. You caught up, nudging him with your elbow.

“Why do you look like you’re posing for an album cover?”

Jamie grinned, tilting his head with mock seriousness. “Maybe I am. ‘Deep Thoughts with Jamie Tartt.’ Coming soon to a record store near you.”

You snorted. “It’d just be thirty minutes of you talking about how you could’ve scored more if Coach hadn’t subbed you off.”

He gave you a look, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Nah. I’d make it proper. Bit philosophical. Like, ‘What even is offside, really?’”

You both laughed, weaving through a narrow alley that opened into a canal-side square. The water shimmered in the dim light, and for a moment, the world felt weirdly peaceful—like the match tomorrow didn’t matter yet.

Jamie leaned against a railing and glanced over at you. “Y’know, it’s nice. Just bein’ somewhere new. Without the pressure for once.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Not often we get to just breathe before a game.”

A silence settled between you—not awkward, just easy. Familiar. You both stood there for a moment longer, teammates out of uniform, just two people taking in the quiet before everything kicked off again.

Then Jamie pushed off the railing and clapped your shoulder. “C’mon. If we’re not back soon, Roy’ll assume we got kidnapped.”

You smirked. “Or worse—started relaxing.”

“Terrifying,” Jamie deadpanned, and the two of you headed back toward the hotel, laughter trailing behind.