Lamine dropped into one of the chairs, peeking over the edge of the glass to check how visible they were from the pitch.

"Think anyone noticed us?"

Izan was still standing, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ground. "No."

But then—

There it was.

Suddenly, their faces — clean, sharp, lit perfectly in the Emirates glow — flashed up on the big screen for everyone to see.

"IZAN & LAMINE YAMAL IN ATTENDANCE TONIGHT."

The crowd reacted immediately with some slight applause and a few excited murmurs.

The stadium didn't know what to do with that much firepower watching from above.

Lamine leaned back and muttered, "So much for sneaking in."

Izan sighed and sat beside him.

.......

Down on the pitch, as the players lined up for the anthem, the screen caught the attention of a few.

Kai Havertz was one of the first to spot it.

He glanced up at the massive board above the opposite stand and saw them clearly — Izan and Lamine, sitting cool as ice, like royalty in the private box.

He shook his head with a smirk.

"Look at this diva," Havertz mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Trossard beside him to hear.

Trossard followed his gaze and chuckled. "I mean, he could've just stayed home."

"He needed the cameras to know," Havertz replied dryly.

The iconic anthem of the Champions League soon began flowing through the stadium speakers as the players stood, soaking in the melody and atmosphere with their hands behind them.

But even as the music swelled, Kai couldn't help one last glance up at the box — at the boy who should've been starting, should've been terrorising PSV again tonight.

Instead, he was up there with the other prodigy, probably talking about boots and Ballon d'Ors and which mountain to conquer next.

Back in the box, Lamine leaned close.

"Are they really playing Jorginho and Kiwior together?"

Izan nodded, arms still folded.

"They're gonna get cooked," Lamine whispered with a smirk.

"I hope not."

"You sure you don't want to be out there?"

Izan looked down at the field. For a second, nothing in his face moved.

Then he exhaled.

"I want to be everywhere."

Lamine nodded slowly, watching him. "Me too."

They said nothing more for a while, letting the anthem wash over them.

........

A couple of hours later, the scoreboard above the pitch blinked its final verdict: Arsenal 2 – 2 PSV.

The crowd was already dispersing, the buzz of a well-rotated side escaping defeat lingering faintly in the air.

Some fans wore smirks.

Some looked like they'd waited all day for something more thrilling.

But in the Emirates VIP box, Lamine just let out a tired puff of breath.

"That had goals, sure," he muttered, dragging a cap he had found mid-way through the game off his head and tossing it onto the empty seat beside him.

"But excitement? Zero. That was football on aeroplane mode."

He leaned back and tilted his head toward Izan, expecting a laugh or a nod of agreement.

Instead, he saw him hunched slightly over his phone, locked in with surgical focus.

The glow from the screen lit up his features.

His thumb paused only briefly between messages before tapping out another.

Lamine smirked.

"Yo. Who's got you texting like you're defusing a bomb?"

But no answer came.

He leaned a little closer, peering over Izan's shoulder from behind.

"Ooooh, it's Olivia, isn't it?"

This time, Izan just raised his eyes without lifting his head.

"She's mad."

Lamine grinned.

"Let me guess… You told her you were going out for a shoot and then showed up on live TV next to me at the Emirates?"

"Pretty much."

On Izan's screen, Olivia's messages were coming in rapid bursts:

Olivia: So you're at the stadium now??

Olivia: With Lamine.

Olivia: A full bromance date.

Olivia: You couldn't even pretend to feel bad??

Olivia: Don't text me unless you're bringing food. Enjoyingthestory?DiscovermoreonM|V|LEM6PYR.

"Harsh," Lamine said, reading over his shoulder.

"She's gonna ban you from date night."

"I already sent her a GIF," Izan said calmly, thumb scrolling.

"You know the one where the guy's holding up a 'forgive me' sign while crying?"

Lamine chuckled.

"Yeah, sure, I guess that one works. Most of the time," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Izan quickly typed.

Izan: Was peer-pressured.

Izan: Also… you know Lamine has separation anxiety.

Izan: I'll bring you Wagyumafia tonight. Ok, I heard they were coming to nate so deal?

Olivia's typing bubble appeared instantly while Lamine grabbed one of the plush throw pillows from the seat and hugged it to his chest dramatically.

"Man, I need a girlfriend. Someone to fight with me over football appearances."

Izan didn't even look up.

"You had like three after the Euros."

"I did not."

"You definitely had one. Alex Padilla. You both went viral for that poolside video and a few other wrong reasons."

Lamine gasped.

"Wow. Wow. I can't believe you're the one bringing her up."

"You literally mentioned needing a girlfriend thirty seconds ago."

"But I didn't say her name," Lamine said, sitting up straighter and putting a finger to his lips.

"We don't talk about Padilla."

Izan blinked, trying not to laugh.

"You just turned that into a Disney line."

"Damn right I did. She's my Bruno."

"Alright, fair. But you were head over heels, man. That one interview where you called her 'a light in a dark world'—"

"I was jet lagged!" Lamine yelped.

"Nope. You were whipped."

"You're one to talk," Lamine retorted, pointing at the still-lit phone in Izan's hand.

"You're over here getting threatened over Wagyu beef."

"She wasn't threatening. That was hunger-fueled disappointment."

Lamine rolled his eyes, then opened his phone, typing furiously for a few seconds.

"What now?" Izan asked.

"Checking how rich you are."

"How does that have to do with this?"

Lamine turned the phone dramatically toward him.

"Annual salary: 22 million, pre-bonuses. And the new deal after those snakes tried to poach you. 437 million pounds over five years. I feel like I am underpaid."

Izan sighed. "Still fake."

"You're on Forbes and Fortune's 20 Under 20 lists. Your Google net worth is 260 million."

"Which is also fake. I don't even know how much I'm worth."

"Exactly," Lamine said smugly. "That's how you know you're rich," Lamine said. "When the money just shows up and you lose count."

"Anyway, why are you counting my money?"

"Because you should spend it on your little brother."

"I'm four months younger than you."

"You act older than me, so you should do old people stuff. Like buying me the same car you drive or something closer to that, maybe a watch to round things up."

"I'll buy you something for your birthday."

"That's like 4 months away."

"Then Christmas."

"You're literally offering me a maximum of two gifts per year?"

"I'm not buying stuff for someone who made Forbes Top 20 Under 20. Plus, what do you do with all the sponsorship money?"

Lamine laughed. "You sound like my financial advisor."

"I wouldn't want to be. Stop googling my salary and use your own."

"You know, you could theoretically drop 10 million and not even feel it. I need you to care for my heartbreak. For Padilla. For the 2–2 draw. For all the unsaid pain in my soul."

Izan laughed.

"You are not deep enough to say that with a straight face."

They both grinned and stood up, stretching.

A few more fans outside the glass noticed them again and started pointing, phones already raised.

"We're cursed," Izan replied. "And famous."

"Same thing, basically."

They left the box bickering quietly as Olivia finally sent one last message.

Olivia: You're lucky you're cute.

Olivia: Bring dessert too.

Izan smiled down at the screen as Lamine peered over.

"What did she say?"

"She forgave me."

Lamine huffed.

"You rich people always get forgiven."

As they made their way through the corridor, still casually bickering over who was more famous, Lamine suddenly pulled his phone out again, thumb scrolling while his eyes narrowed.

"By the way," he said, a little sing-song in his voice, "you know the quarter-final draw's on Friday?"

Izan didn't miss a step. "I do."

"Well, start praying."

"Why?"

"Because if we end up on the same path to the final..." Lamine paused dramatically, spinning on his heel to walk backwards and face Izan, "I'm sending you home, hermano."

Izan raised an eyebrow. "You really believe you can do that?"

"I'm manifesting."

"You mean hallucinating."

Lamine smirked.

"I mean, knocking you out before the final is good, so I don't have to watch you cry under the confetti."

Izan shoved him lightly.

"Tough words, but you have to be able to back them up. Munich is far off."

Lamine laughed.

"Alright, I'll give you that. But seriously—if we're on the same side of the bracket, I'm warning you now—I won't hold back."

Izan smirked. "When do we ever?"

A/N; Okay, it's currently 4 and I have a class at 7. Damn. I got to sleep now guys. See you with the 3 chapters later okay.