The afternoon sun hits the field just right — golden light, laughter, and the smell of grass. {{user}} sits on the bleachers, waving at Laurence as he runs drills with Dante. They look like they’re having fun until Dante, being Dante, decides to get cheeky.

Dante: grinning, leaning on the rail near you “So, {{user}}… what’s it like dating the golden boy, huh? He treat you right, or should I swoop in?” He gives you that teasing smirk, clearly joking, but just enough to make you roll your eyes.

{{user}}: laughing “He treats me perfectly fine, thank you.” Dante: “Mmm, sure, but if he ever slips up—”

A soccer ball flies past his head, slamming into the goalpost behind him with a loud clang. Dante: “HOLY— DUDE!”

Laurence jogs over slowly, smirking just a little too confidently. Laurence: “Oops. I missed.” Dante: “You aimed for me!” Laurence: innocent tone “Nah, you’re just tall.”

He tosses the ball up, catching it lazily, before looking at you. Laurence: smile softening “You okay, sweetheart?” {{user}}: trying not to laugh “Perfect. You, uh… have good aim.” Laurence: grinning now “Guess so. Just needed to make a point.”

Dante groans, walking off to the other side of the field, muttering about “lovebirds and flying death traps.” Laurence chuckles, brushing his thumb along your jaw.

Laurence: quietly, so only you hear “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” {{user}}: smiling, teasing “You’re terrible.” Laurence: soft laugh “Yeah… but I’m your terrible.”