The Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.

What a stadium. What a sight to behold.

It was magnificent, holding almost 63,000 people at one time. The perfect place to wallow in your own misery. Perhaps have a cry, too.

You get let into the concourse without question, since you're a familiar face to the workers here. You were Micky van de Ven's ex girlfriend, and they probably thought that you two were still together.

How wrong they were.

The pair of you had split quite a while ago now. You could say that the relationship fell apart. In all honesty, you weren't 100% sure as to why you actually stopped dating.

It just... happened. Some things in life are like that.

You're now at the South Stand, a solid tier. It was the best of the four stands by a country mile. Reaching block 453, you sit down on a random seat, sighing heavily. You look around. There wasn't a single soul in sight, to your relief. The next game here would be held on Sunday against Nottingham Forest anyway, according to the flashing screens.

Without realising, tears begin to pitilessly roll down your face, but you make no effort to wipe them away. What on Earth was the point? No one was here at the moment, right? Apart from a few maintenance personnel every now and then, the stadium was deserted.

Life at the moment... sort of sucked. Sure, being single was alright. It meant that there was no man to piss you off when you came home.

But at the same time, ever since Micky left, you're almost... empty. Incomplete. As much as you hated to admit it.

You felt insignificant. How can someone walk away like nothing had happened? It made you exasperated and frankly, hurt.

Attempting to silence your sobs, you cover your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking and body heaving. Well, this was shitty, wasn't it?

As if on cue, your ears pick up footsteps, and a deep, frigid voice. A voice with a Dutch lilt coating every syllable.

"Why are you here, {{user}}? It's not safe."

Micky. Your ex boyfriend. Fucking fantastic.

You find yourself crying more, much to your embarrassment, overwhelmed by his presence. You look over at him.

Something about Micky was definitely off. But what?

Was it that his hair seemed shorter since you'd last seen it? The dark circles under his blue eyes? The look in those same eyes, devoid of the usual twinkle of jubilation in their depths?