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amirawrah · 14 hours ago

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⭐︎ once in a lifetime... part four 🐻🤎🎨

staring: Wiliam 'wilo' Saliba x Ameerah Tamilore Adeyemi

summary: After attending an Arsenal match with her friends, she never expected to leave the stadium with a lingering sense of unfinished business. William Saliba saw her walk away that night, and he didn’t stop her—something he instantly regretted. When fate brings them back together at a party, their unspoken connection is impossible to ignore. As the night unfolds, stolen glances turn into quiet confessions, and what started as hesitation becomes something undeniable. But with emotions running high and unspoken feelings in the air, the real question remains—will they finally say what was left unsaid, or will history repeat itself?

amirah: hi guys, hope you enjoy this chapter. was kind of hard to write this one cause theres a mention of wilo's parents and stuff so i didn't want to be disrespectful you know. thank you for really engaging in this story 🫶, also there is subtle smut...

taglist: @snowseasonmademe @oceanfanatic06 @kj77 @muglermami @mariejuli @kbg96 @angryflowerwitch

previous chapter & next chapter...

Things between you and Wilo had grown... warmer. The kind of warmth that danced across fingertips during casual grazes. That soft, spark-filled silence after his lips brushed your knuckles or the apple of your cheek. He was sweet, always, and present—but the kiss never came. Neither did the question.

You told yourself it was fine. That this soft ambiguity, this space between something and everything, was enough. But you couldn't help wondering if he was ever going to let it be more.

He hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to. Wilo had already started imagining a life where he woke up to your sleepy face, where you stole his hoodies without asking and filled his world with your laugh. But deep inside, something tugged at him. A fear that whispered:

“If you let her all the way in, what if she leaves too?”

He never talked about it much—not even to Gabriel, not Bukayo not really anyone. But when his parents died, something in him shut down. He told himself he had to be strong. And that meant protecting his heart from things that felt too fragile. Too temporary. Too good to be true.

One Late Night you lay in bed, staring at your ceiling, your room dim with the glow of your fairy lights. The thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.

"Does he even want me? Or am I just something soft to come back to? "

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your spiral.

Wilo🐻: Can’t sleep. You up?

You stared at the message for a second before replying with a simple Yeah.

It started light—talking about random things. Music. His weird dreams. Your latest Pinterest board obsession. But your replies started feeling... distant. Faint. Almost like you weren’t fully there. And Wilo felt it too.

Wilo🐻: You good?

You didn’t even think. You just typed it.

“Do you want me?”

The silence that followed made your heart thump hard. You watched the dots dance and disappear. Then return. Then vanish again.

Finally, he replied.

Wilo🐻: “meerah, I care about you. So much.”

You cut him off.

“I don’t want to sound pushy. But we’ve been something for a while now and it doesn’t feel like you want to be real with me.”

Again, the typing dots. Again, nothing. You blinked down at your phone and scoffed softly.

“Sorry. Forget I said anything. It’s late. Goodnight.”

And with that, you turned off your phone and rolled over, trying to convince yourself that your heart wasn’t racing or hurting or both.

Meanwhile wilo stared at his phone like it betrayed him. He felt it. The shift. The quiet panic building in his chest. You were slipping. And it was his fault.

He’d been so scared to ask you to be his. So afraid that once you were, you’d realise he wasn’t enough. That you’d eventually wake up one day and decide to leave.

But the thought of losing you now?

That fear hit even harder.

And Wilo knew. He had to fix this. He had to fight for you before his silence became the answer that pushed you away for good.

The next evening you were leaning against the kitchen counter, dressed in grey sweats, a fluffy pair of socks on your feet, and a pint of cookie dough ice cream in your hand. Justine sat across from you, peeling a clementine, side-eying you with the kind of expression only a best friend can give.

"Okay. So… you just went to sleep after that?" she asked, genuinely flabbergasted.

You sighed, taking another scoop of your ice cream. “What was I supposed to do? Wait up for a response that wasn’t coming?”

Justine clicked her tongue. “No, but like… damn. He’s not giving ‘I don’t want you.’ He’s giving ‘I’m scared but still in love and trying not to drown.’”

You chuckled weakly, licking your spoon. “It just sucks. I don’t wanna push, but I don’t wanna be confused either.”

Before Justine could respond, your phone lit up on the counter— Wilo🐻.

Your heart jumped.

You answered, tone cautious. “Hey…”

“Hi,” his voice was soft but steady. “Can you come outside?”

You blinked. “Right now?”

Justine stood, already nudging you toward the door. “Go,” she mouthed.

You hesitated. “I’m in sweats. Lemme go change real quick.”

On the phone, you heard him chuckle. “No need. You'll still look beautiful,” he said. “Please. Just walk with me?”

And of course, you agreed.

You met him by his car. The evening was cool, golden light fading into that dreamy soft blue. You walked beside him in silence for a while until he finally spoke.

“My parents,” he began quietly, “they passed. Both of them. Not at once. But close enough.” He paused. “Since then, I’ve kept everything close to the chest. Especially the people I love. Because every time I give my heart to something, I lose it.”

Your breath caught at the word: love.

He didn’t look at you yet, but you could feel how raw he was. “So with you… I’ve been scared. Scared that if I pull you all the way in, one day you’ll wake up and decide I’m not enough. And I don’t want to feel that kind of loss again.”

You didn’t say anything. Just squeezed his arm a little.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of a place with soft golden lighting—an art studio. The sign above the door read “Clay & Soul.”

You blinked. “Wait—why are we here?”

He turned to you, taking both your hands in his. That same tender intensity from before. “Because you love art. And I want to be with you. And I thought maybe… this could be something we do together.”

You stared at him.

He smiled a little. “Come.”

Inside, the staff greeted him like they’d seen him before. “You’re on schedule,” one said.

You were led to a secluded, cozy space in the back—warm lighting, two wheels, and an open table with slabs of clay and tools. Wilo took an apron and tied his quickly, then reached behind you to help with yours.

“Let me,” he said.

His fingers brushed your waist as he looped the apron around, pulling the strings just tight enough to make your breath hitch. His hands were warm, steady, confident, lingering at your hips for a beat too long. You looked over your shoulder at him, and he was already watching you.

“Have you done pottery before?” you asked, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Arsenal youtube thing. I was ok". he said with a questioning tone. "but he clay didn’t respect me.”

You laughed. “I’ll guide you. I got you.”

And you did. He made a lopsided attempt at a mug. You made one too, yours slightly less chaotic, but the entire time was filled with giggles, flirty glances, and stolen touches.

When the pieces were finished, the staff took them away to fire and finish.

As you walked out, one of them handed Wilo a small red box. You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

He didn’t answer—just grabbed your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and walked you down the road to a quiet park. Only a few kids and dogs in the distance, and an old couple holding hands on a bench.

He led you to a wooden table and handed you the box.

You opened it, revealing a red velvet painting plate with gold lettering. veux-tu que je sois à moi parce que j'aimerais être à toi

Your heart fluttered. “It’s beautiful. I love it. But... I don’t speak French.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “It means—would you want me to be yours, because I would love to be yours.”

Your breath caught again.

You stared at him, then laughed softly, nervously. “That’s… that’s a lot.”

He smiled. “So?”

You took a breath. “Oui.”

He grinned—and then he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you.

Nice and slow.

Your heart bloomed in your chest. It was soft and deep, and worth every second you waited. His lips were warm, full, tasting faintly of mint. He moved against you with quiet passion, tongue slipping in just enough to make you sway into him. One hand stayed cradled to your jaw, the other around your waist, holding you like you might float away.

When he pulled back, he gave you a gentle peck before you could even process the moment. You turned your face away, overwhelmed and blushing.

But his fingers gently turned your face back. “Don’t look away, mon amour.”

Your phone rang.

Halle🍓.

You answered breathlessly. “Hello?”

“You eating dinner with us or with Wilo?” she asked.

Before you could speak, Wilo answered in a smooth tone. “She’s eating with me.”

You smiled into the phone.

Halle laughed. “Okayyy. Don’t have too much fun—”

You hung up before she could finish that thought.

Wilo raised a brow. “Too much fun?”

You smacked his chest playfully. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Wait,” he said—and before you could respond, he leaned in and stole another quick kiss.

You grinned.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you walked off toward the restaurant—finally, both of you ready to fall.

Justine and Halle were clearing the dishes, the lingering scent of curry and coconut rice still warm in the air as soft Afrobeats hummed through the speaker. They were mid-conversation, recounting Halle’s chaotic voice note exchange with her situationship when giggles echoed from the hallway.

Justine paused, her hand still holding a bowl. “I swear, if that’s—”

Halle didn’t even let her finish. She was already laughing, nearly dropping her water glass as she rushed to the front door like it owed her drama.

She pulled it open—and there you were.

Pressed close to Wilo in the soft, amber hallway light, the both of you lost in some moment that clearly only made sense to the two of you. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your hand resting on his chest, heads leaned in too close for just friends. Both of you were giggling like school kids, and you didn’t even notice the door had opened until Halle cleared her throat—loudly.

You jumped slightly, straightening up while Wilo casually kept an arm around you like nothing happened.

Justine stood behind Halle now, both of them giving you looks.

Justine smirked. “Mmhmm. Laughing outside like a rom-com blooper reel.”

Halle leaned on the doorframe, folding her arms. “So how was dinner?” she asked with an arched brow.

You tried to hold back a grin. “Delicious. The steak was perfect.”

“Right,” Justine said, glancing at Wilo, who looked suspiciously proud of himself. “You sure that’s the only thing that was... well-done?”

You gasped dramatically. “oh god”

Wilo chuckled, holding his hands up innocently. “I promise I behaved.”

Justine muttered, “Barely.”

You nudged him. “You wanna come in for a bit?”

Wilo looked between the girls and then at you. “Non, I’ll let you.. debrief with your crew,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, walking with him a few steps toward the elevator.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and whispered just for you, “Text me when you’re in bed, mon amour.”

You nodded, cheeks warm, and he pulled back, lingering like he didn’t want to leave.

Back inside, Halle had already flopped onto the couch like she was bracing herself for gossip. “Okay. Spill. Start to finish. No skipping.”

Justine was right next to her, pulling a blanket over her legs. “And don’t try and leave out the kiss part. We heard it.”

You held up your hands. “Okay okay! But y’all need to chill—”

“WE WILL NOT,” they both shouted in unison.

You grinned. This was gonna be a long night.

You plopped down on the armchair across from Halle and Justine, kicking off your shoes and curling your legs under you. You grabbed the throw blanket hanging over the side and tucked it around yourself, already bracing for the interrogation that was coming.

Halle leaned forward like a nosy aunt. “Start from the beginning.”

Justine dramatically grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “I want visuals. I want emotions. I want scent descriptions. Let’s go.”

You laughed, covering your face with both hands before peeking through your fingers. “Y’all are too much.”

They waited. Dead silent. Wide-eyed.

You exhaled. “Okay fine! So... yesterday night, he texted me—he couldn’t sleep and I was already in my head about everything so we had this talk, and I asked if he even wanted me... and it got awkward, but today... he pulled up outside the apartment and asked me to take a walk.”

Halle gasped. “Wait—unannounced??”

You nodded. “Unannounced. In my sweats. I told him I looked like a potato but he was like ‘you look beautiful’ in that accent, and—” You cut yourself off, putting your hands over your mouth again and squealing softly. “It was giving rom-com, okay?”

Halle sat up straighter. “Then what happened? Where’d y’all go?”

You looked between them. “A pottery studio.”

Justine nearly threw the pillow. “He took you to make pottery??”

“And he booked a private slot!” you added quickly. “We made mugs. He helped me with the apron... and whew—” You had to fan yourself at the memory.

“Girl.” Halle covered her mouth. “He was tying your apron like that?”

“Hands on my waist, breath on my neck,” you said dramatically, melting into the couch like butter. “He said it was his way of showing me he wanted me—like really wanted me. And then he took me to this little park and gave me a plate he had made that said veux-tu que je sois à moi parce que j’aimerais être à toi.” you tried to say in french.

Both of them blinked.

“What does that mean?” Halle asked.

“It means, ‘Do you want me to be yours? Because I’d like to be yours.’”

They screamed.

Justine jumped off the couch like someone lit it on fire. “YOU’RE LYING.”

“No. I have the plate.”

You reached for the bag and pulled out the little box, opening it so they could see. They gasped and stared at it like it was the crown jewels.

“That man is in love,” Justine whispered.

“And you said—what?” Halle asked. “Like how did you respond??”

You smiled, tucking your chin down. “I said ‘oui.’”

Both girls erupted again.

“And then we kissed,” you said through your smile. “Finally.”

Justine pointed at you. “I KNEW IT! You came back floating. Like your aura is glowing, girl.”

“And it wasn’t just a kiss,” you added, eyes wide, voice low. “It was the kiss.”

Halle blinked. “Like tongue?”

You nodded slowly.

They screamed again.

“Wilo said ‘mon amour’ and ‘don’t look away’ and I just—” You groaned, covering your face again. “I’m down bad.”

Justine sat back down with a satisfied sigh. “I’m proud of you. This is main character energy.”

Halle smirked. “So, y’all official now?”

You shrugged with a bashful grin. “Kinda... I think that plate made it clear. But we didn’t do the whole ‘will you be my girlfriend’ line. He just made it feel real.”

Justine clutched her chest. “That’s even better. That’s French. That’s cinema.”

You laughed, letting the silence settle for a second before grabbing your phone. A notification from Wilo.

Wilo🐻: Made it home safe ma belle. Can't stop thinking about that kiss.

You tried not to grin. Failed.

Justine saw it. “Is that him?”

You just smiled and nodded.

They both melted into the couch dramatically.

“God, I need a French boyfriend,” Halle mumbled.

The energy at the Emirates Stadium was electric that afternoon. You and Tolami made your way to the WAGs section, both of you decked out in chic fits that still had a touch of Arsenal spirit.

“Okay, this is going to be fun,” she said, looping her arm in yours. “I’m finally getting to show you off to the other girls.”

You smiled nervously. “Hopefully they like me.”

She gave you a look. “First of all, you're literally the easiest person to like. Secondly, you’re dating Wilo. they would love you, you'll see”

And you did.

After quick hellos and air kisses with some of the other girls, Tolami brought you over to a woman with long, honey-brown waves and a warm, knowing smile.

“Gabrielle, this is my bestie I’ve been telling you about.”

Gabrielle’s smile widened as she pulled you into a soft, welcoming hug. “Finalmente! You’re even prettier in person.”

You laughed, cheeks warm. “Thank you! You’re stunning.”

“I like your vibe already,” she said, linking arms with you as she slid over on her seat. “You sit with me.”

The rest of the match flew by. Gabrielle had the best running commentary and made you feel instantly comfortable. Sophia, Ana, and Milly all took a liking to you too. It was a group of beautiful, vibrant women hyping each other up, sharing snacks, and throwing inside jokes. Gabrielle even took a cute boomerang of you two cheering when Wilo made a crucial defensive play and posted it to her story with a cheeky: “Look who’s here 🥰”. You even managed to vlog a bit.

By halftime, you were already part of the Arsenal WAGs group chat — the name of which was hilariously titled VAR Queens Only — and they were inviting you to a casual brunch that Sunday.

Sophia: We do it every few weeks! You HAVE to come. You’re literally fam now. Ana: And I know Wilo will love seeing you get along with us 😌 Carol: You’re stuck with us now 💅

You glanced over at Tolami, who wiggled her brows and whispered, “Told you.”

You all took a group pic before the game resumed — a mix of duck lips, peace signs, and tilted heads .

You had just finished laughing at something Ana said when your phone buzzed again in your lap. You peeked down discreetly—it was a text from Wilo.

Wilo🐻: Wait for me in the box after the match❤️.

Your heart did that little fluttery thing it always did when he texted you like that—short, sure, and direct, but with that softness only you ever seemed to get. You smiled to yourself and quickly typed back.

Okay :) I’ll be here.

Tolami glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “Wilo?”

You nodded. “He said to wait for him after the match.”

Gabrielle smirked from the other side of you. “Ouuuh, he’s coming to fetch you like a proper man. We love that.”

The final whistle blew a little while later, the stadium erupting into cheers after a 2-1 Arsenal win against Wolves. You stood, clapping with the girls, the vibes absolutely perfect. The players waved at the stands, and you caught Wilo’s eye from the pitch. He tilted his head slightly and gave you that little smirk that only you knew meant see you in a second.

The rest of the WAGs began filing out, but you lingered back with Tolami. She nudged your arm. “I’m heading out with kayo, but call me later and give me the tea, okay?”

You grinned. “Obviously.”

Soon, you were alone in the luxury box, the noise of the stadium starting to thin out as fans exited. You walked over to the window, watching the field below, twirling a stray braid absentmindedly when you heard the soft click of the door behind you.

You turned around—and there he was. Still in his match kit, his curls slightly damp, cheeks glowing from the game, and a sheen of sweat still on his neck. He had a hoodie in his hand and his duffle bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little husky from yelling on the pitch.

You smiled and walked toward him. “Hey.”

He laughed softly and stepped closer, offering you his hoodie. “Put this on. It’s chilly out.”

You slipped it on without argument—it was warm and smelled like him. Like cologne, grass, and something woody. Comfort.

He looked you up and down with a soft gaze, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for winning,” you teased, and he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the door.

“You hungry?” he asked as you walked down the corridor.

“A little.”

“Good,” Wilo said with a sly grin, his hand resting warm and steady on your waist. “Because we’re going to my place.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning a little sass. “Oh? And who said I cleared my schedule for that?”

He leaned down slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. “You wearing my hoodie already, mon amour… don’t act like you’re not halfway mine.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smirk gave you away.

ameerahsnarrative

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ameerahsnarrative: love you gunners!💋

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You kicked off your shoes at the door, the scent of something warm and woody in the air—cedar, maybe, and his cologne clinging to the walls. The house was sleek but cozy. Deep grays, soft lighting, vinyls and candles, plants in the corners. It felt like him.

“I’m cooking tonight,” Wilo announced, tossing his duffel by the stairs and disappearing into the kitchen.

You followed him, sliding up onto a stool by the counter as he pulled out ingredients from the fridge. “Really?”

He glanced back at you with a smirk. “Mhmm. I’m a full man.”

You giggled as he turned on music—some mellow French R&B—and moved through the kitchen confidently. He chopped onions, rolled up his sleeves, poured olive oil like he knew what he was doing, and talked to you like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Pasta okay?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

He poured you a glass of wine, then one for himself. The mood was slow. Warm. Intimate. He stood behind you at one point to reach something, and his hand grazed your back—lingering a second too long. He smelled so good. And that damn hoodie he gave you? Swallowed you up in the best way.

As the sauce simmered, he leaned against the counter, sipping his wine and watching you watch him. “What?”

“You’re just…” You trailed off, blushing.

He walked over slowly and stood between your knees, his hands resting gently on your thighs. “Say it.”

You inhaled, eyes locking with his. “You’re doing dangerous things right now.”

He smirked, leaning closer, brushing your hair from your face. “Then let me make it worse.”

And then he kissed you.

Finally.

Soft but intentional. Slow but certain. His lips were just as soft and full as you’d imagined in your daydreams. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize it. One hand slipped to the small of your back, the other cupped your jaw, deepening it.

You melted into him. Fingers gripping his tee. A low hum escaped his throat as your tongues met in a rhythm that made your head spin.

Then the pot bubbled over behind him.

He groaned, forehead resting against yours with a soft chuckle. “Dinner’s gonna burn.”

You laughed, breathless. “Let it.”

He pressed another kiss to your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Non, I want to impress you. Sit. I’ll finish.”

You watched him work—heart thumping, lips tingling.

Something was shifting. Something real.

You sat back down, still catching your breath from that kiss—lips tingling, skin warm. Wilo was stirring the pasta like he hadn’t just set your soul on fire five seconds ago, casually humming to the music like it was a normal Tuesday.

It wasn’t. Not even close.

A few minutes later, he plated the pasta—creamy, garlicky, sprinkled with parsley and shaved parm—then set the bowls on the small dining table near the window. He poured a little more wine into your glass and looked at you with that signature Wilo grin. “Bon appétit, ma belle.”

You clinked glasses and took a bite. “Wow, Wilo…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Ridiculously good. Like, are you sure you don’t have a side hustle as a chef?”

He shrugged playfully. “Maybe I do. Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

You both laughed, and the tension softened into something easy. There were still lingering glances, subtle brushes of fingers when reaching for the wine bottle, and the occasional bite stolen off each other’s plates. The kind of quiet intimacy that builds without trying.

As the meal wound down, Wilo got up to clear the plates. You followed with the wine glasses, placing them in the sink next to him. He turned to thank you, but before he could say a word, your hands found the hem of his shirt.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, voice soft. “Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m trying not to.”

His hand slid to your hip as he let you peel his shirt off. His body was warm, toned, his skin soft under your fingertips. He watched you like you were sacred. Then he gently tugged you closer by the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie—and kissed you again.

This time, slower. Deeper.

Your hands were in his curls, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck. “Still want to impress me?” you teased, breathlessly.

He smiled against your skin. “Je n’ai même pas commencé” I haven’t even started.

You ended up in his bedroom—dim lights, record playing in the background. You stood in front of him, and he reached for your hoodie. “May I?”

You nodded.

He slowly pulled it off you, eyes roaming like he was seeing you for the first time. “Tu es magnifique…” he murmured.

You leaned in, cupping his face. “Then show me.”

And he did.

With lips, with hands, with every slow, heated movement. You didn’t just feel desired—you felt chosen. Cherished. Unrushed.

It wasn’t about the sex. It was about the connection. The way he made you feel safe while setting you on fire. The way his fingers laced with yours halfway through. The way he whispered your name like a promise.

Afterward, tangled in the sheets, his arm draped around you, Wilo kissed your temple and said softly, “I was scared before.”

You turned to him, heart thudding.

“But not tonight. Tonight I just knew.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. “Me too.”

He whispered, “Then I’m not letting you go.”

And you knew—he meant every word.

The early morning sun crept in through Wilo’s curtains, painting soft golden lines across the bed sheets. Your legs were tangled with his under the covers, your head on his chest, and his fingers gently running along your back like he couldn’t get enough of your skin. The air still smelled like him—clean, musky, warm—and the room was silent except for the soft hum of the city outside.

“Mmm,” you hummed as you shifted a little, your thigh brushing against his.

Wilo opened one eye and smirked, voice husky and deep. “You trying’ to start something already bebe?”

You giggled. “You’re the one who keeps touching me like this.”

He leaned over and kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, trailing soft, wet kisses until you turned to face him fully. His hand slid up your thigh, slow and teasing, while his lips met yours, deeper this time. You moaned into the kiss, fingers already in his curls, tugging him closer.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, slipping the strap of your tank top down your shoulder as he moved lower.

But just as he was about to disappear under the duvet—

Ping. Ping. PING.

Your phone buzzed loudly against the nightstand.

You groaned. “Seriously?”

Wilo sighed, face still buried near your ribs. “Ignore it.”

“I can’t—it might be work,” you said, reaching for it reluctantly.

But it wasn’t work.

It was chaos.

You had three missed texts from Justine, two from Halle, and the rest were from the WAGs group chat and some of your fashion girlies.

Justine🌪️ : “UHM HELLO?? WHO SAID YOU COULD BE FINE IN THAT BOX WITH WILO??” Attached: a Twitter screenshot with you and Wilo in the Emirates VIP box, leaning close, laughing.

Halle🍓 : “You really thought you could soft-launch and we wouldn’t notice??” Attached: a video someone posted from behind the glass showing Wilo pulling you into a side hug during the match. The caption: “Who is this?? Wilo finally got him a baddie fr 👀”

Then Sophia from the WAGs group chat dropped a bomb:

Sophia🫧: “You were SERVINGGGGG last night!! Also, your man looked obsessed, babe 😭😭” Attached: A HQ pap shot from outside the stadium, you and Wilo walking to his car, him opening the door for you with his hand lightly on your waist.

You blinked at the screen, jaw slightly dropped. “Oh my God…”

“What is it?” Wilo asked, pulling the covers back over both of you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You turned the screen so he could see. “We’re on Twitter.”

He squinted at it for a moment, then let out a low laugh.

You tapped through more comments under the video. Fans were already speculating—some surprised, some delighted, some trying to sleuth who you were. One tweet even said:

“Not Wilo being soft for a mysterious queen… I’m here for it 👏”

You laughed. “i just saw your comment on my post, so much for flying under the radar.”

He kissed your cheek and said, “Guess they know now.”

You turned to face him, phone still in hand. “What do we do?”

Wilo took the phone gently, placed it on the nightstand, and leaned back into you, his voice low. “We do this…”

He kissed your jaw, then your neck. “And then maybe brunch after.”

You giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

He pulled the covers over your heads like you were in a secret little world, his voice muffled against your skin. “For you anything ma belle.”

You practically had to peel Wilo’s arms off of you when it was time to leave. He trailed behind you while you got dressed, offering distractions in the form of kisses to your shoulder and light touches that made it very hard to focus.

“je te veux,” he whispered last time, standing barefoot at the door as you pulled on your hoodie—the one that definitely wasn't yours.

You smiled at him, cupping his cheek. “I don't even know what that means.”

He groaned dramatically and pulled you into one last hug, arms tight around your waist. “See you later?”

“You better,” you teased, poking his chest before turning to leave.

When you got home, it smelled like vanilla and laundry detergent. Justine and Halle were already in the living room in sweats and messy buns, going over something on Justine’s laptop.

“There she is,” Halle said, lifting her brows. “Glowing like she just came back from heaven’s gates.”

Justine snorted. “Girl, just say it—you and Wilo definitely didn’t play Scrabble last night.”

You smirked, tossing your bag on the couch. “I have course work to do.”

“That’s not a no,” Justine said, eyes wide.

“That’s not a yes either,” you sang, already backing away toward your bedroom.

“GIVE US SOMETHING,” Halle yelled, throwing a pillow your way that barely missed.

“I mean… he cooked for me. And dessert was… chef’s kiss,” you said with a wink before slipping inside your room and closing the door behind you.

You took a deep breath once you were alone, the post-Wilo haze still lingering in your chest. Everything felt soft and slow, like you were floating. You dropped your keys on your desk and kicked off your shoes, walking over to your bed and grabbing your sketchpad.

You sat cross-legged, flipping to a blank page. Then you paused, remembering the way he looked at you—how his voice lowered, how his eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing your jaw as he looked at you

You exhaled softly, heart skipping, and let your pencil glide across the paper. A quick sketch of his profile. The curve of his smile. His eyes—sharp but warm. You shaded gently, adding the folds of his hoodie. Then, in the corner of the page, you scribbled:

"How does someone make you feel like art just by looking at you?"

And under it, smaller: “He does.”

You leaned back, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard. Then you carefully closed the journal, hugged it to your chest for a second and reached for your charger, just in case he texted again.

And sure enough he did

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