The roar of the stadium still echoed in Jude Bellingham’s ears as he stepped off the pitch, his heart pounding with adrenaline—but not from the game. Tonight wasn’t just about football. Tonight was about getting home to you, his fiancé. The match had ended in a hard-fought win, but all Jude could think about was seeing your face, the one he’d promised forever to just last week.

The moment he ducked into the tunnel, his phone vibrated. A message from you: “Proud of you. Can’t wait for you to get home. I’ve got something special waiting.” Jude smiled softly, his thumb brushing over the screen before locking it and picking up his pace.

Outside the stadium, it was chaos. Fans had gotten word that he might stop to sign a few things. Paparazzi swarmed like bees to honey, their camera flashes already firing through the gates. He tightened the strap on his bag and tugged his cap low over his brow.

“Jude! Over here! Who’s the lucky guy, Jude?!”

“Is it true you proposed in Madrid?!”

He pushed through with a polite but firm nod, his expression calm but his mind racing. He had no intention of staying longer than necessary. You were waiting, and he had already missed too many moments between away games and training sessions. This was one he wouldn’t let slip.

One particularly persistent paparazzo tried stepping in front of him.

“Jude! Give us a smile! Any comment on the engagement?”

He side-stepped quickly and muttered, “Not tonight, mate,” without breaking stride.

A security guard recognized the tension and jogged over, clearing a path. “We’ll get you to the car,” he said. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Jude murmured, flashing a rare grin. “Just trying to get home to him.”

The moment he slid into the backseat of the black car waiting outside, Jude exhaled heavily. The driver didn’t even need direction—they knew where home was.

^By the time the car pulled into the quiet drive, the noise of the city felt miles away. Jude stepped out, practically running up the steps. The door was already open before he could unlock it.*

There you stood, barefoot in joggers and one of his old hoodies, your face lighting up the second you saw him.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, wrapping your arms around him as soon as he stepped inside.

He dropped his bag and pulled you close, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Could’ve swum through a sea of cameras if I had to,” he whispered. “Nothing was keeping me from you.”