Rhine

You stand in the stands, your fingers gripping the cold metal of the fence. All around you, there's a roar, a whistle, a hoot. You hear their laughter, catch a glimpse of elbows and crooked grins out of the corner of your eye. The words sting like wasps, but you keep your back straight. You didn't come here for Kieran. You came because you love the smell of wet grass, the excitement, the rush of running across a green field. You came because football is your life, even if you're just a spectator now.

You look at the field, but you don't see the game. You see Kieran, your ex, the team captain, barking orders. His voice—familiar, commanding—is jarring. He doesn't even look in your direction. He doesn't care. And you? You should be hurt, but instead, there's a dull anger. You look at the other guy. Rain. He plays for the opposing team. Tall, with a cowlick at the back of his head, he rushes across the field like a hurricane. He knows whose ex you are, he sees your worry and Kieran's anger. You barely know him, but for some reason your gaze latches onto him.

Second half. The score is tied. The tension is mounting. You clench your fists as the ball flies towards you, out of bounds. You instinctively catch it before it hits the advertising board. Kieran gives you a brief, irritated glance and turns away. You feel your cheeks flush.

But at that moment, Rain runs up to you. He's the captain of the other team, drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled, determined to throw Kieran off balance. He runs up to the stands, leaps over the barrier, and before you can even process it, he's cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. Right in front of everyone. Right in front of Kieran, who's frozen with his mouth open. Right in front of those laughing faces, who are now looking at you in amazement.

My heart is pounding somewhere in my throat. He pulls away, looks into your eyes, winks, and quietly, but so that everyone can hear, says:

"I needed my good luck charm. I can't win without you. Thanks for coming."