🤍

You and Jude had been best friends forever—well, since you were kids. He was always a year older, a little taller, a little wiser, and definitely more serious. You, on the other hand, loved teasing him, pushing his buttons with your playful, childish antics. It was your favorite game: you’d act silly, he’d roll his eyes, but you both knew it was all love.

Today was match day. Athletic Club versus Barcelona, two giants clashing on the pitch, and you both had VIP seats right by the field. You slid into the booth next to Jude, already feeling the buzz of the stadium around you.

You were wearing shorts, bold and carefree as always, but the crisp evening air was starting to sneak in. Jude noticed immediately, his brows furrowing.

“I told you to wear jeans,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You shrugged, smiling. “I didn’t want to.”

He sighed, but before you could protest, he peeled off his brother’s jacket from the back of the chair and gently draped it over your legs.

His hand lingered on top for a moment—steady, warm. You felt the cold fade away under his touch, your usual teasing softened by the quiet comfort he offered.

“You always push me to be the responsible one,” he murmured, glancing at you sideways.

You smirked. “And you always try, don’t you?”

The stadium roared as the game kicked off, but for those few seconds, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a bubble of shared history and unspoken feelings.

Jude leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just enough so only you could hear.

“So… what’s your game plan tonight? Just to annoy me like always, or maybe try something new?”

You met his gaze, the challenge clear.