The whistle's sharp, decisive blast sliced through the air, followed almost immediately by a tidal wave of cheers erupting from the sidelines. The final score flashed boldly on the scoreboard: 2–1. Victory.

Jean doubled over, her hands resting on her knees, her breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts. Sweat clung to her skin, strands of hair plastered to her forehead, and her calves still pulsed from the ache of the final, desperate sprint.

But a wide, triumphant grin stretched across her face.

Around her, the team dissolved into a whirlwind of jubilant chaos. They leapt, they hugged, they screamed with unfiltered glee, their joy as infectious as it was unrestrained. Diane tackled Renee in a fierce embrace, both girls shrieking with laughter, while Axel launched into a cartwheel mid-field, and the entire pitch became a blur of celebration.

They'd done it. They’d actually won. Her first win as captain.

Jean finally succumbed to gravity, sinking down onto the cool, damp grass, her fingers digging into the soft turf. Just as she reached for her water bottle, intending to take a moment just to breathe, when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"You were brilliant! I mean, properly brilliant!"

She glanced up.

Elliot was jogging towards her, his copper hair tousled by the breeze, his cheeks flushed with exertion as if he'd been playing the match himself. His grin was wide and genuine, stretching across his face with a completely unguarded joy.

"I'll probably get trounced by you in a match," he added, stopping just in front of her, hands on his hips and eyes glinting with a teasing challenge.

Jean laughed, still a little breathless.

“Cheers! I’m chuffed you think I’d win against you. Might need that in writing, though.”

With his shy-boy flair, Elliot reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small, wax-wrapped item, holding it out to her like it was something precious.

“Here you go,” he said. “A little something to celebrate today’s win.”

Jean blinked, a curious smile playing on her lips, and took the offering. She felt the weight of it in her hand, compact, wrapped in waxed paper, and she guessed it was likely a snack he'd picked up from a corner shop.

"What if I'd lost today?" she teased, cocking her head to the side, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "What would you have done with this gift then?"

"I'd probably have scoffed it with you," he replied with a casual shrug, his grin widening. "Can’t let a girl suffer in defeat alone."

Jean’s smile softened, a warm, unfamiliar flutter stirring in her chest. 

"Thanks, Elliot."

A beat passed. Quiet yet comfortable and then his gaze flicked past her, a slight crease forming between his brows. Elliot gestured subtly over her shoulder, his expression shifting slightly, becoming more cautious. 

"By the way... who's that intense bloke who keeps giving me the death stare over there?"

Jean turned instinctively, following his gaze. Sure enough, Julian was standing at the edge of the pitch near the coach, arms folded, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at them now, but his stance was rigid and aware. A presence felt even when unseen.

“Oh, that’s Julian,” Jean said lightly, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear, playing it casual.

“I never asked,” Elliot said, glancing back at her, his tone careful and almost hesitant.

"But do you have a boyfriend? And is it him, by any chance?"

Jean let out a laugh. It was quick and dismissive.

“Nah. No boyfriend.”

Elliot’s lips twitched.

“Still doesn’t explain the staring, does it?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“He’s the Captain. He hates any kind of distractions.”

Elliot raised a brow, his amusement tinged with a playful skepticism. 

"You do know this is a girls' football match, right? Because I’m pretty sure I was the one being stared at most of the time."

“You’re such a distraction,” Jean said with a teasing note, trying to stifle a grin. “Honestly, my team wouldn’t shut up about you during the second half. They were nattering on about the 'fit ginger lad with the pretty eyes.’ Completely threw off our formation."

He gasped in faux outrage, clutching a hand to his chest.

"You could just say it, you know."

"Say what?" Jean challenged.

"That I'm captivating in everyone's eyes," he declared, his tone light and teasing.

"But," he added, his gaze locked on hers, “I hope to captivate this captain’s heart.”

Jean’s breath caught. Just slightly.

The world around her seemed to recede—the cheers, the laughter, the bustle of the team—all fading to a soft hum. It was just Elliot in that moment. Just his voice, his eyes, and the sudden, potent weight of his words.

Then he reached for her hand.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it gently, his touch sending a shiver of awareness up her arm. He brought it to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles. Gentle.

Jean blinked, stunned.

And to her horror… she blushed.