The stadium was quiet, the floodlights dimmed to a low hum above the empty pitch. Everyone else had packed up and gone home, but Jamie was still out there—sweat clinging to his shirt, boots scuffing the grass as he moved through drills like the match was tomorrow.

You stood on the sidelines for a while, arms crossed, watching. There was something oddly soothing about it—how focused he got when no one was watching. No bravado, no cameras. Just him and the ball.

Eventually, you stepped onto the pitch and jogged over. He glanced up when he saw you, chest rising and falling.

“You stalkin’ me now?” he asked, tossing the ball your way with a smirk.

You caught it with ease. “Nah. Just didn’t feel like leaving yet.”

You passed it back. For a while, the two of you kicked the ball between you in a comfortable rhythm, no need for words. The kind of silence that said everything.

Then Jamie spoke, softer this time. “You always watch me train this late?”

You shrugged, smirking. “Only when I’m hoping you’ll finally admit you fancy me.”

He froze for just a second, the ball rolling past his foot. His eyes met yours under the dim lights, something sharp and unreadable flickering there.