You were out on the pitch with the lads, running through drills under the sharp eye of Coach Beard, the ever-gruff Roy, and Ted—who, let’s be honest, was probably off to the side hyping someone up or handing out water with a “heck yeah!” smile. It was a standard training day—passes, pressure, pace—but your attention kept drifting toward Jamie and his partner.

Jamie was dialled in, all intensity and focus—until he went for a tackle that, in true Jamie Tartt fashion, had a bit too much flair. He caught the ball, sure, but his footing slipped just as he twisted to follow through. One second he was upright, and the next he was flat on his back with a thud that echoed across the pitch.

You instinctively winced, then immediately grinned as he groaned dramatically, limbs splayed out like a fallen action hero.

"You aight there, Jamie?" you called over, raising your brows and trying to keep a straight face. A grin tugged at your lips as you fought the laugh bubbling in your chest.

Jamie stayed on the ground for a beat longer than necessary before lifting his head with a groan. "M’int bones are shattered, coach," he said, half-joking, half-milking it.

You snorted quietly but kept it contained—you really weren’t trying to get an earful from Roy today. Beard was already squinting in that ominous, cryptic way of his. And Ted? Well, he just shouted, "Shake it off, Jamie! You’re tougher than a boiled peanut in July!"

You shot Jamie a look, mouthing, “Get up, drama queen,” before jogging past him to reset the drill.