Sunday, 14th January 2018

The sky overhead was a sharp, electric blue, a vibrant hue that made everything feel charged with potential. The scent of freshly cut grass and damp turf hung in the air, familiar and invigorating. It was the girls' turn now for their first fixture of the year for the U18 girls' division, and the squad gathered near the halfway line, their crisp white kits gleaming in the early afternoon sun.

But they wouldn’t stay pristine for long.

Mr. Leo had just wrapped up his final team talk, a blend of encouragement and sharp tactical insight. The team broke from their huddle with a unified clap and shout, adrenaline crackling in the air like static. Excitement buzzed. Nerves, too.

Jean barely had time to draw a full breath before a voice rang out behind her.

"Go out there and smash them, Jean!"

Julian's voice was firm. The kind of tone that brooked no argument, that commanded everyone's attention and left no room for hesitation. Jean spun around, a half-grin playing on her lips, and offered him a playful salute. A gesture that was both respectful and subtly defiant.

"Yes, Captain."

But before she could turn back to her team and focus on the game ahead, another voice cut through the moment, louder, more exuberant, and undeniably directed at her.

"That's my girl! Go on, Jean!"

Elliot's cheer was so loud, so unabashedly enthusiastic, that it turned every head on the pitch. Players, substitutes, and even a few of the staff members paused, their gazes shifting between Jean and the boy standing confidently on the touchline. His light blue hoodie stood out like a beacon against the grey stone of the opposition’s school buildings. He wore a grin that was wide, boyish, and far too pleased with himself like he’d scored a point without even stepping onto the pitch.

Jean, to her credit, didn't so much as blink. Her expression remained composed, cool, and unreadable. Years of masking emotion had made her a master at it.

Julian, however, wasn't quite as composed.

Though his face remained outwardly impassive, a muscle ticked in his jaw; a subtle betrayal of his inner turmoil. His previously relaxed posture stiffened. His hands, which had been hanging loosely by his sides, clenched into tight fists, the knuckles whitening slightly. He barked a sharp order to the rest of the team, his voice clipped and authoritative, before turning away without another word.

The whistle blew.

The game launched into a blistering pace. The opposition was solid and tight formation, quick passes, good pressure but Jean’s team was sharper. Their chemistry was undeniable. The ball moved like instinct between them.

By halftime, one of Axel’s players had slipped through the defence and netted a clean, clinical goal. 1–0. Spirits soared as the girls huddled around the bench, cheeks flushed and lungs heaving, tasting victory on their tongues.

Jean dropped onto the bench, catching her breath, when Julian approached. He didn’t say anything at first. He just extended a water bottle towards her, his eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder.

“Here,” he said. His voice was formal, stripped of its usual warmth. “Get some fluids in you.”

“Cheers.” Jean took it, her voice casual, though her pulse hadn’t quite settled from more than just the match.

A pause followed, long enough to feel heavy, taut with things he wasn't saying.

Then Julian leaned in slightly, his voice lowered just enough to make her look up. His gaze found hers. It was intense. Direct.

"Are you seeing that bloke?"

Jean arched an eyebrow, a slow, knowing smirk curling on her lips.

“He’s just playing the field, isn’t he?” She took a long swig of water, letting the cool liquid settle her nerves, and shrugged with a casual indifference she didn't entirely feel. "Besides... I'm not interested."

Before Julian could respond, Diane plopped down beside her on the bench, fanning herself dramatically with her bib, her dark brown eyes wide with excitement.

"Oh my days, Jean!" she exclaimed, her voice a breathless rush. "He came just to see you! And those gorgeous blue eyes? Glued to you the entire time! You jammy cow."

Renee leaned over Jean's shoulder, her chin resting on her friend's sweaty back, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Are you going to have a word with him after the game?”

Jean opened her mouth to offer some kind of denial, but Julian's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through their conversation.

"Pack it in, all of you," he said sharply, arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid. "You should be focusing on the second half, not the gallery."

“Yes, Captain,” the girls chorused in unison, like schoolkids caught whispering in the back of class, their voices laced with guilty amusement.

Diane leaned in again, whispering behind her hand.

“Crikey—shouldn’t’ve said that in front of Julian. Now he's in a right mood."

“Told you,” Renee added smugly. “He’s got a proper thing for you, Jean.”

Jean rolled her eyes.

“I just think he takes this whole tournament a bit too seriously, that’s all.”

"Maybe you can soften him up a bit, Jean," Diane teased, nudging her playfully with her elbow.

Renee snorted, muffling a laugh.

Julian's voice rang out again, sharp and piercing as a whistle, shattering the lighthearted banter.

"You three—stop slacking off over there! Get back in formation!"

They scrambled to their feet, still giggling, though Jean's mind lingered on the underlying tension in Julian's voice and the way Elliot’s gaze had never once left her.

Rivalries weren't confined to the pitch today. There was a different kind of competition brewing, one that had nothing to do with goals or clean sheets.

And it was bound to get messy.