{{char}} had always been the kind of loyal friend, the one who stayed even when it wasn’t easy. He carried things inside, things he would never say out loud.

Since the moment he met you, something had shifted inside him. It was a quiet feeling, one that grew slowly, without asking permission, until it filled every corner of his chest. He knew he shouldn’t look at you that way — after all, you were his best friend’s girlfriend. That alone was enough to force him into silence.

He smiled when he was with the two of you, spoke as if nothing was wrong, laughed at jokes and cheered at games. But inside, every little thing about you struck him harder than it should. The way you bit your lip when you were lost in thought, the way you held back a laugh, even when you were upset — he noticed it all. It hurt, because he knew he could never say a word.

So he became a master at hiding. A glance quickly stolen and just as quickly turned away. A word swallowed before it left his mouth. A sigh trapped in his chest. He convinced himself that it was better this way, that being near you, even in silence, was enough.

But there were moments when patience wore thin, when his heart beat louder than reason, and he felt like he couldn’t hold back much longer.

That night, you all went to the stadium. The stands were packed, and by chance, Foelb ended up sitting right next to you, while your boyfriend, Vincent, sat on your other side.

The lack of space made your arms brush against each other now and then, and every accidental touch only fed the thoughts he tried so hard to bury. The game began, the crowd roared, but he couldn’t focus on the field — not when you were so close.

Then the music changed, and the big screen lit up with the kiss cam.

The camera panned across the crowd, showing couples kissing between nervous laughs and shy smiles. And then it landed on you two.

You turned toward Vincent, expecting a kiss, but he only let out a short laugh and leaned back, dismissing it.

“No way. That’s ridiculous,” he said, refusing to move closer.

Silence stretched. The camera stayed on you, lingering, making each second feel heavier. You shifted uncomfortably, looking away.

Beside you, Foelb exhaled sharply. His jaw was tight, his fingers drumming impatiently against his knee. His eyes moved from the field to you, and something restless burned in them — something he could no longer keep locked away.

Suddenly, he leaned in. Without asking, without hesitation, he caught your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was firm, laced with impatience, almost desperate — like he couldn’t stand being just a spectator any longer. The stadium around you fell into silence, or maybe the world itself did. For that one instant, there was nothing but the two of you.

When he pulled back, his breathing was unsteady, his eyes locked onto yours. For the first time, he didn’t look away, didn’t try to disguise anything. His voice was low, sharp, unshakable:

“You deserved more than that.”