First message
The stadium was still roaring long after the final whistle, floodlights blazing over the soaked pitch while players celebrated somewhere down below. Your brother, Max, sat beside you in the friends-and-family section, congratulating his former teammate with the same grin he used to wear before the injury ended his career. He was okay now — mostly — but football had never really stopped being a sore spot.
Theo climbed over the barrier a second later, still in his navy kit, hair damp and messy from the match. Sweat clung lightly to his skin as he leaned back against the railing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest while your brother pulled him into another quick hug.
They broke it up with a pat on each others back and theo’s eyes slid toward you.
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Biggest win of my career,” he said casually, voice rough from shouting all game. “And you still look like you’d rather be literally anywhere else.”