Julia

france had won, the whole team made their way toward the stands where their families and friends were waiting.

michael was smiling too when he saw you with his parents but you could still tell he was annoyed.

you had seen him lose his patience, grabing the paraguayan player’s shirt before the referee immediately reached for the yellow card.

he kept insisting he had barely touched him, and it was true. a complete useless yellow card.

when he finally reached you, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“congratulations.”

“thank you,” he smiled properly this time.

you kissed his cheek. “you played really well.”

“could’ve been better, this guy was getting on my nerves the whole game.”

“and you grabbed his shirt,” you smiled.

“he deserved it,” he murmured.

you laughed.

“don’t laugh!”

“i’m trying.”

“whatever.”

you looked at him for a second, his cheeks were still slightly flushed from the match. he had removed the elastic that gathered his locks.

there was still that competitive fire in his eyes that hadn’t completely disappeared since the final whistle.

you bit the inside of your cheek, looking at him.

“...what?” he frowned.

you smiled. “nothing.”

“you’re looking at me weird,” he narrowed his eyes.

“you looked really good out there. i mean...” you tried to hide your smile. “when you got angry.”

he stared at you then frowned, offended.

“i’m just saying...” you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep a straight face. “it kind of did something.”

“you’re joking.” he looked horrified.

“half, the other half is unfortunately very serious.”

he covered his face for a second, embarrassed. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m being honest.”

“you watched me getting angry and your first thought was...” he imitated your voice. “‘wow, he looks good when he’s mad.’”

you smiled shamelessly. “pretty much.”

he shook his head in disbelief.

“the way you grabbed his shirt was sexy.”

“don’t encourage bad behavior.”

“i'm not, i’m just appreciating the view.”

he smiled before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“you’re ridiculous.”

you kissed the corner of his mouth. “but am i wrong?”

“no,” he rested his forehead against yours for a brief moment.

“i’d rather impress you with goals than yellow cards, though.”

“good,” you stole one more quick kiss. “but the yellow card was still kind of attractive.”

arsenal were finally premier league champions.

after the final whistle, everything had become a blur of red shirts, confetti, cameras, staff members crying, players screaming, and thousands of supporters singing from the stands.

in the middle of all the chaos was william, completely overwhelmed but unable to stop smiling.

you spotted him near the center circle while players hugged each other and celebrated.

before you could even reach him, he saw you and immediately his face lit up.

he was walking toward you and you barely had time to open your arms before he wrapped you in a hug so tight your feet almost left the ground.

“william!”

“we did it,” his laugh vibrated through his chest.

you smiled against his shoulder.

“you did it.”

“we did.”

you knew there was no point arguing, he had always been like that, every achievement was yours too even when you insisted otherwise.

he kept one arm around your waist while looking around the stadium.

“look at this,” he said quietly.

you followed his gaze. thousands of smiling faces, grown adults crying and celebrating.

when you looked back at william, he was already looking at you and the look in his eyes immediately made your heart melt.

underneath all the excitement, there was still that same expression he always had whenever he looked at you, like you were his favorite thing in every room.

“what?” you asked.

he shook his head. “nothing.”

before you could call him out, one of the photographers waved at him.

“william! pictures!”

he groaned dramatically and you laughed.

“go.”

“come with me.”

five minutes later, you found yourself standing beside him in front of cameras, exactly where you never wanted to be.

william looked perfectly comfortable, mostly because he was holding onto your hand.

the photographer laughed. “you can let her go for one picture.”

“no.”

the photographer smiled.

eventually, after several photos, the trophy was brought over again. everyone wanted pictures, videos with it and their family.

william grabbed the trophy with one hand and immediately looked around, looking for you.

“come here.”

you already knew resistance was useless so you walked over.

he pulled you beside him wrapped an arm around your shoulders and smiled for the camera.

“this one’s going on the wall.”

“which one?”

“all of them.”

“there are hundreds!”

“and?”

later, the atmosphere became calmer.

william looked noticeably softer now, the adrenaline fading.

he carried the trophy for a while before eventually setting it down near the touchline then he sat beside it on the grass.

you joined him and neither of you spoke, you simply watched the stadium together and william’s hand found yours automatically.

“i dreamed about this.”

william turned toward you and his smile returned.

“thank you.”

you frowned. “for what?”

“everything.”

he said it so simply as though it were the most important fact in the world.

maybe to him, it was.

before you could answer, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead, unhurried completely ignoring the fact that several cameras were still pointed in your direction.

holding the premier league trophy beside him, confetti still stuck in his hair, the happiest you had ever seen him and despite winning the biggest trophy of his career, he still looked at you like he’d already won everything he needed.