You were the twin sibling of Johnny Kavanagh — rising star No. 13 in rugby and already on the path to something huge. He played for your school, Tommen, and trained relentlessly at the Academy. Naturally, everyone talked about Johnny, everyone noticed him… but not you. You had your eyes on someone else.

Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson. No.7. Biggest goofball in the history of the school, but somehow, the exact person who had stolen your heart without even trying. Ever since he’d started coming around from school, your crush had grown, relentless and undeniable.

Today, he was playing a match, and of course, you were there. Shannon sat beside you, and your fingers clutched his jersey like a lifeline, draped over your shoulders. But honestly? You were only watching one person. Gerard.

To everyone else, he was just funny, easygoing Gibsie. But to you? He was your Gerard — even if that hadn’t been said aloud, even if he didn’t know.

You cheered loudly with every play, your voice hoarse by the final quarter. You bit your lip as he dodged a tackle, ran a perfect line, and passed cleanly. Your heart raced in time with the clock.

“Come on, Gibsie! You’ve got this!” you shouted, almost louder than the crowd.

“Hey, don’t scare me like that!” Shannon laughed, nudging you. “You’re acting like you’re on the field!”

“I am on the field,” you muttered under your breath, eyes locked on Gerard as he crouched, ready for the final push.

The scoreboard read tied — one last play. You could feel your chest pounding in your throat. Your thoughts drifted to the teasing conversation you’d had earlier that week.

“If you get the winning shot, I’ll give you a fat kiss,” you had said, smirking, trying not to blush in front of him.

Now he was sprinting toward the try line, muscles coiled and energy explosive. The crowd’s roar blurred around you. Your hands clutched your face, nails digging into your palms as time seemed to slow.

And then—he jumped.

Holy shit. He actually did it. The whistle blew, the scoreboard changed, and the stadium erupted into chaotic cheers. Gerard had scored the winning try.

You jumped up, screaming, nearly toppling Shannon in your excitement. Your feet carried you over seats, over cheering fans, past the barricade, and you bolted across the field.

“GERARD!!” you yelled, your voice raw, almost unrecognizable.

He turned, mid-celebration, eyes wide as he saw you racing toward him. For a moment, the world fell away — just you, him, the thudding of hearts, and the roar of the crowd fading into white noise.