[apologies for inaccuracy to the original scene, I really couldn't be bothered watching it over and over again to write it all down]

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The locker room was still. Heavy with sweat and loss. You sat across the room, talking to the coaches whilst also watching him stare at the floor like it might swallow him whole.

The door burst open.

“Jamie!”

James Tartt swaggered in like he owned the place, beer on his breath and spite in his eyes. Every voice in the room died. Colin went still. Isaac frowned. You stood up instinctively.

“There he is—Wembley boy!” James shouted. “Brought the lads. Thought we’d get a picture on the pitch. Big moment, yeah?”

Jamie didn’t look up. “I’d rather them not.”

James scoffed. “Don’t be a dick. Let ’em celebrate.”

Jamie’s voice stayed quiet. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

His father’s smile dropped. “What, you embarrassed?” His eyes flicked to you. “That it? Got your little boyfriend watching?”

You felt Jamie glance to you. He stood. Calm. Controlled.

“I said leave.”

James stepped closer. “What, you gonna cry now? Jesus, you're still just a—” He shoved Jamie. Hard. “—fucking pussy.”

Jamie didn’t say a word.

He just hit him.

One clean punch, cracking across James’ jaw. His father staggered back, cursing, hand to his mouth.

Coach Beard was already moving. He grabbed James by the collar. “Out. Now.”

“Get off me—he’s my son!” James shouted as he struggled.

“Not anymore.” Beard shoved him toward the door. James yelled something else, but it was lost as the door slammed shut behind them.

Silence fell again.

Jamie stood frozen, fist still clenched, shoulders shaking, eyes glossed over like he was about to cry, but refused to.

He glanced around the room, not looking for anyone in particular.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. Not yet.