England's Greatest-Chapter 135: Second Day

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(Slice of life Chapter; either skip or drop the story if you don't like it as I said in the update Chapter.)

..

Barbara lay sprawled across her hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, a smile playing on her lips.

Soon, sleep began to pull at her; there was no need to fight to stay awake any longer, so she let her body sink into the mattress, when—

BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.

Her phone rattled aggressively on the nightstand.

Barbara groaned, wrapping her pillow around her ears, hoping whoever was calling would take the hint.

Alas, she had no such luck. Once the first call ended, it was followed by another, then another, and another.

Who the hell was blowing up her phone at this hour?

She reached for it with a sigh, squinting at the screen.

[ A/N: Pretend all this is in Hungarian ]

Anita.

Her older sister's name filled the notifications, message after message flooding in—texts she hadn't seen earlier because her notifications were muted.

Oh, God.

Anita: BARBARA.

Anita: Are you kidding me???

Anita: WHAT AM I SEEING ON TWITTER RIGHT NOW???

Anita: YOU FLEW TO ENGLAND? FOR TRISTAN HALE???

Anita: EXPLAIN. NOW.

Anita: You better not be asleep because I'm calling you.

Before Barbara could even process a response—

The screen flashed with an incoming FaceTime call.

Barbara groaned, clutching Tristan's hoodie tighter.

She could ignore it.

But Anita wasn't the type to let things go.

And if Barbara didn't answer now, she'd just wake up to ten more missed calls and even more texts demanding answers.

With a deep sigh, she accepted the call, bracing herself.

With a defeated sigh, Barbara swiped to accept.

The second Anita's face appeared on screen, Barbara didn't even get a chance to say hello—

"TE MEG VAGY ŐRÜLVE?!" (Are you out of your mind?!)

Barbara flinched, pulling the phone away from her ear. "I—What?!"

Anita scoffed, shaking her head dramatically. "Ne játszd a hülyét, Babi! Láttam mindent! MINDENT!" (Don't play dumb, Babi! I saw everything! EVERYTHING!)

Barbara sighed, flopping onto her back. "Anita, it's late."

"Nem érdekel, hogy késő van! A fél világ rólad és Tristanról beszél!" (I don't care if it's late! Half the world is talking about you and Tristan!)

Barbara groaned, covering her face. "Ugh, Anita—"

"Nem 'ugh, Anita'! Kezdjük azzal, hogy MILÁNÓ ÓTA tudom, hogy valami van köztetek!" (Don't 'ugh, Anita' me! Let's start with the fact that something was going on since Milan!)

Barbara bit her lip. "Okay, but—"

"ÉS MOST?! Most itt vagyok a telefonommal, és mit látok?! KÉPEKET rólad, Tristan ölében aludva egy parkban! HÁROM ÓRÁIG!" (AND NOW?! Now I'm here with my phone, and what do I see?! Pictures of you, sleeping in Tristan's lap in a park! FOR TWO HOURS!)

Barbara blinked. "Wait—his lap?"

Anita waved her hand dismissively. "Ugyanaz! Nem mozdult, mintha egy hímes tojás lennél!" (Same thing! He didn't even move, like you were some delicate little egg!)

Barbara felt her cheeks heat up.

Anita narrowed her eyes. "Szóval? Mikor mondtad volna el nekem?" (So? When were you going to tell me?)

Barbara let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Anita..."

Anita raised an eyebrow. "Na, igen?" (Yes?)

Barbara hesitated.

Because, really—what was she supposed to say?

That she had flown across the world for a guy she had only known for a little while? In a quiet, breathy voice, she admitted, "It's serious."

Anita froze.

For a moment, she didn't say anything.

Then—

"MI VAN?" (WHAT?)

Barbara winced. "Anita, please—"

"Te, Babi... TE?! KOMOLYAN?! AZ ÉN HÚGOM, aki hónapokig nem ír vissza egy pasinak, ha unatkozik?!" (You, Babi... YOU?! MY SISTER, who doesn't even text guys back for months?!)

Barbara groaned. "I'm not that bad."

"DE IGEN, AZ VAGY!" (YES, YOU ARE!)

Barbara rolled her eyes as her sisted continued.

"Ja, és egyébként—Anya és Apa mindent látott." (Oh, and by the way—Mom and Dad saw everything.)

Barbara sat up so fast, she nearly dropped her phone. "MI?!" (WHAT?!)

Anita laughed, leaning back against her pillow. "Ó, igen. Először a milánói képeket látták, aztán a reptéri képeket. Aztán a parkosakat. És most, köszönhetően a Twitternek, szerintem Anya meg van győződve róla, hogy férjhez mész." (Oh, yeah. They saw the pictures in Milan, the airport pictures first. Then the park ones. And now, thanks to Twitter, I think Mom is convinced you're getting married.)

Barbara buried her face in her hands. "Ezt nem bírom." (I can't do this.)

Anita gasped dramatically. "Titokban fogtok összeházasodni, Babi?! Istenem, először nekem mondd el, jó?!" (Are you going to elope, Babi?! Oh my God, tell me first, okay?!)

Barbara shot her a flat look. "Fogd be." (Shut up.)

Anita cackled. "Nem, de komolyan—hallanod kellett volna Apát. Csak rázta a fejét, és motyogta, hogy 'Végre egy jó választás!' meg hogy 'Emlékszik ez a lány egyáltalán arra, hogy van családja?'" (No, but seriously—you should've heard Dad. He just kept shaking his head, muttering something about 'Finally she chooses a good one!' and 'Does she even remember she has a family?')

Barbara let out a long groan, flopping back against the bed. "Anita, kérlek—csak mondd, hogy nem haragszanak." (Anita, please—just tell me they're not mad.)

Anita smirked. "Anya odavan érte, úgyhogy ott nincs gond. Apa? Figyel." (Mom's obsessed with him, so you're fine there. Dad? He's... watching.)

Barbara sighed. "Hát persze." (Of course he is.)

Then, after a pause—

"És te mit gondolsz?" (What do you think?)

Anita blinked. "Tristanról?" (About Tristan?)

Barbara nodded.

Anita exhaled, tilting her head like she was really thinking about it. "Őszintén? Bírom. Sokkal jobban, mint az előzőeket." (Honestly? I like him. Way more than the others.)

Barbara furrowed her brows. "Az előzőeket?" (The others?)

Anita raised an eyebrow. "Babi, kérlek. Tudod, hogy van egy lista. Minden pasi, akivel jártál, a gimnáziumtól kezdve? Egyik sem ér a nyomába." (Babi, please. You know the list. Every guy you've dated, from high school until now? None of them compare.)

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Nem voltak olyan rosszak." (They weren't that bad.)

Anita scoffed. "Kristóf nem volt borzalmas. De nem működött." (Kristóf wasn't terrible. But it didn't work out.)

Barbara sighed. "Igen... fiatalok voltunk. Nem volt esélye." (Yeah... we were young. It wasn't meant to be.)

Anita nodded. "Jó. De Justin Bieber?" She made a face.

Barbara groaned, covering her face again. "Anita."

"Nem, komolyan. Mire gondoltál?" (No, I'm serious. What were you thinking?)

Barbara sighed. "Nem tudom. Fiatal voltam, ez... bonyolult volt." (I don't know. I was young, it was... complicated.)

Anita snorted. "Bonyolult? Babi, halálos fenyegetéseket kaptál a rajongóitól, és tűrted a hülyeségeit." (Complicated? Babi, you were dodging fan death threats and dealing with his bullshit.)

Barbara rubbed her temples. "Tudom, tudom." (Yeah, yeah. I know.)

"És aztán ott volt—ugh, még kimondani sincs kedvem a nevét." (And then there was—ugh, I don't even want to say his name.)

Barbara closed her eyes. "Anita—"

Anita's expression darkened. "Niall Horan. Az a szemétláda." (Niall Horan. That cheating bastard.)

Barbara winced. "Ne kezdjük ezt—" (Can we not—)

"De, kezdjük." (No, we can.) "Mert soha nem fogom megbocsátani neki, amit veled tett." (Because I will never forgive him for what he did to you.)

Barbara exhaled, rolling onto her side. "Nem akarok róluk beszélni. Egyikről sem. Csak el akarom felejteni őket." (I don't want to talk about them. Any of them. I just want to forget it.)

Anita's face softened. "Tényleg?" (Yeah?)

Barbara nodded, voice quieter now. "Most már Tristannal vagyok." (I have Tristan now.)

..

Whilst Barbara was dealing with her older sister's interrogation, Tristan finally made it home.

The entire day had been better than anything he could have planned. And now, as he pulled into his driveway, a familiar feeling settled in his chest.

Peace.

A feeling he hadn't felt for a while since he died and came back to life in the past.

That feeling lasted exactly five seconds.

Because the moment he stepped into the house, he knew.

Something was off.

The lights in the living room were still on—late. The soft clinking of teacups echoed from inside.

And worst of all?

His parents were waiting for him.

Tristan barely had time to process before his mum took a slow sip of her tea, tilting her head with far too much amusement.

"Well, well, well," Julia said, her voice dripping with mischief.

His dad was more subtle. He simply raised an eyebrow over his own teacup, silent but watching.

Tristan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, for God's sake."

His mum's lips twitched. "What? A mother can't stay up late to see her son?"

Tristan exhaled sharply, already knowing exactly where this was going.

Julia set her tea down, crossing her arms. "So... did you have a good time today?"

Tristan opened his mouth—

Then sighed. "You saw the pictures."

His dad nodded. "The entire world has seen the pictures."

Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course and they just had to see it.

His mum, however, looked absolutely delighted.

"Oh, love, the photos are everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, even the bloody BBC. You and Barbara—Leicester's new royal couple!"

Tristan let out an actual groan. "Mum."

"Oh, don't 'Mum' me." Julia picked up her phone, scrolling through article after article, flipping through picture after picture.

Tristan muttered under his breath, "I should've just stayed out."

His dad finally spoke up, calm and blunt as always. "So. Is it serious?"

Tristan blinked, caught off guard.

He glanced between them.

Then, finally—

He nodded.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It is."

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then—

Julia clapped her hands together, grinning. "I knew it!"

Tristan gave her a flat look. "Really?"

"Oh, come on, Tristan," she said, leaning forward. "She flew all the way here for you."

Tristan shrugged, not even bothering to fight it. "I know."

Ling studied him carefully. "And you're sure about this?"

Tristan met his father's gaze, serious now.

"Yeah. I am."

His mum let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose that means we'll be seeing more of her, then?"

Tristan smirked slightly. "Probably."

Julia beamed. "Good. I like her."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know her."

His mum waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. I've seen enough. She's polite, she's gorgeous, and she likes you. That's all I need."

Tristan scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

Ling took a slow sip of his tea. "She fell asleep on you in a public park."

His mum grinned, practically glowing. "I can't wait to meet her."

Tristan groaned. This was going to be a nightmare.

Eventually, Julia went to bed, still smiling like she had just won the lottery.

But his dad?

His dad was still sitting there, tea in hand, watching him carefully.

Tristan exhaled, slumping onto the couch. "Alright, just say it."

Ling raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"

Tristan gestured vaguely. "Whatever lecture you're about to give me."

Ling was silent for a moment.

Then—he surprised him.

"There's no lecture," he said simply. "You seem happy."

Tristan stilled.

His dad wasn't the type to sugarcoat things.

Tristan swallowed. "I am."

Ling nodded. "Then that's all that matters."

And just like that—

The conversation was over.

..

Tristan collapsed onto his bed, exhaling deeply.

For the first time all day, he was alone and decided to unmute his phone.

His phone vibrated that moment he did it.

Then again.

And again.

Tristan sighed, already knowing what it was before he even reached for it.

The second he unlocked his phone, the messages flooded in—his screen filled with blue bubbles of pure chaos.

—

Jamie Vardy: 🗣️ TRISTAN WAKE UP LAD, WE NEED ANSWERS.

—

Jesse Lingard: Nahhhhhh Tristan. My boy. MY BROTHER. MY FAMILY. You've been holding out on us.

—

Danny Drinkwater: No way you let a whole supermodel fall asleep on you in a public park and just SAT THERE.

—

Riyad Mahrez: Not moving for two hours is crazy work ethic, I'll give you that. 😂

——

Esteban Cambiasso: [sent an image] 📸

A full-resolution, perfectly captured image of Barbara asleep on his shoulder, his arm around her.

And—because the internet was ruthless—it was paired with an absolutely horrendous caption from Twitter.

📲 @Pluto: A love story. A man. His woman. And his dead arm. 💀💙

Vardy was already losing it.

—

Jamie Vardy: 😂😂😂 NAHHHHH LOOK AT HIS FACE. LAD LOOKS LIKE HE'S ASCENDED.

—

Jesse Lingard: Bro is HOLDING BACK A SMILE.

—

Liam Moore: Did you guys see the kisses?

—

David Nugent: [sent an image] 📸

Tristan actually winced.

A blurry but obvious shot—him pressing a soft kiss to Barbara's forehead while she had her eyes closed, her fingers curled into his hoodie.

Vardy was losing his mind.

—

Jamie Vardy: LOOOOOOOOOL HE KISSED HER LIKE HE'S BEEN WAITING HIS WHOLE LIFE FOR IT.

—

Tristan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. The messages were still kept coming as he read the previous texts.

With one last glance at the chaos in the group chat, Tristan locked his phone and tossed it onto the nightstand before heading to sleep. He had plans for tomorrow.

..

Next Day: September 27, 2014—Early Morning

The morning air was cool, carrying the last traces of summer warmth as Tristan pulled up outside The Gresham Aparthotel.

Leicester was already awake—locals grabbing coffee, workers heading to their shifts, and the occasional fan doing a double take when they spotted his car.

He glanced at the time on the dashboard. 9:17 AM.

Too late by her standards. But Barbara wasn't on her usual schedule anymore.

He got out of the car with a single rose in his hand.

A full bouquet? That wasn't him.

Too much. Too overdone. And honestly? He liked the idea of just one.

A single rose didn't overwhelm. It didn't demand attention. And Barbara wouldn't have to worry about it wilting in a few days, sitting in some vase in her hotel room, reminding her of when she'd have to leave.

Tristan stepped into the elevator, nodding at the receptionist on his way. The single rose spun lazily between his fingers as he leaned back against the wall, waiting for the familiar ding.

When he reached her door, he knocked lightly, then rocked back on his heels, already expecting her to take forever.

Sure enough—

Nothing.

Tristan knocked again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

He exhaled, amused, before pulling out his phone. One text.

Tristan: Open the door, Palvin.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Shuffling. A muffled groan. The sound of bare feet padding against the floor.

Finally—

The door cracked open just enough for him to see a very sleepy, very grumpy Barbara.

And she was wearing his hoodie.

Tristan's lips curled up at the sight. God, she was adorable.

Barbara squinted up at him, blinking sluggishly, her hair a mess, her face still warm with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine-thirty," Tristan said. "And don't worry—I already knew you wouldn't be up."

Barbara let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. "You're lucky I like you, Hale."

Tristan chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Can I come in, or are we doing this in the hallway?"

Barbara blinked like she was still processing the question. Then, without a word, she stepped aside, leaving the door open before turning around and walking straight back to bed.

Tristan bit back a laugh, shaking his head as he followed her inside, shutting the door behind him.

He had barely stepped into the room when Barbara flopped onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows. "Too early."

Tristan set the rose down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed, nudging Barbara's leg with his knee. "You know, most people consider nine-thirty a reasonable time to be awake."

A low, muffled groan was the only response he got at first. Then, Barbara peeked up at him through messy waves of hair, her voice still thick with sleep. "Most people didn't spend all of yesterday dealing with their annoying older sister."

Tristan's lips twitched. "Fair point."

His gaze flickered to the oversized hoodie draped over her frame. He reached out, giving it a gentle tug. "You stole this."

Barbara yawned, curling deeper into the fabric like she had no intention of giving it back. "I confiscated it."

Tristan arched an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," she hummed, burrowing into the sleeve. Her voice was muffled but firm. "It smells like you. So it's mine now."

A quiet laugh rumbled in Tristan's chest. "That's how it works?"

Barbara finally lifted her head, lips curving in a sleepy smile. "Yep."

[A/N: I lost around 14 hoodies this way.]

Tristan shook his head, amused, before reaching over to the nightstand and picking up the rose. He twirled it between his fingers before holding it out to her.

Barbara blinked at the unexpected gesture, pushing herself up slightly. "What's this?"

"A rose," Tristan said simply. "For you."

She took it carefully, fingertips brushing against his as she ran them along the soft petals. "Not a whole bouquet?"

Tristan leaned back on his hands. "Figured this was better."

Barbara tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Bouquets are nice, but... they don't last long. They sit there, wilt, and you end up throwing them out." He nodded toward the rose in her hands. "One is enough. You won't have to feel bad when it's gone."

Barbara stared at him for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her blue eyes. She looked up at Tristan, still tucked into his hoodie, still half-asleep, and before she could even think of a response—

He leaned in and kissed her.

Barbara barely had time to react before she pulled back slightly, pressing the sleeve of his hoodie against her mouth. "Tristan—" She wrinkled her nose. "I just woke up. I haven't even brushed my teeth."

Tristan didn't look remotely concerned. "Don't care."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "You should care."

He just rested his forehead against hers, voice low and teasing. "Nah. You're fine."

Barbara let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "You have no sense of boundaries, you know that?"

Tristan nudged her nose with his, his voice low and amused. "You kissed me back though."

Barbara narrowed her eyes but didn't pull away. "I should've left you standing outside."

"In the freezing cold?" Tristan arched a brow, unimpressed.

She chuckled at that. "Would've built some resilience."

Tristan laughed, pulling her closer against him until her head rested on his shoulder. "I think I've got plenty of that already."

Barbara hummed, absently tracing small circles on his hoodie. "That's up for debate."

Tristan caught her wandering hand, lacing their fingers together. "So, what's the verdict? You getting up, or are we staying here all day?"

Barbara pretended to think, biting her lip. "Hmm... staying here sounds tempting."

Tristan scoffed. "You don't even know where I was planning on taking you."

She tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her eyes. "Oh? And where's that?"

Tristan's lips twitched. "Crystal Palace vs. Leicester. Kickoff's at three."

Barbara blinked, still half-lost in the warmth of him. "Wait—what?"

Tristan nodded, completely unfazed. "That was the plan. Thought I'd show you a proper matchday in England."

Barbara pushed herself up onto her elbow, eyeing him skeptically. "And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me?"

Tristan shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "Now."

Barbara gaped at him. "What?"

Tristan grinned, catching her hand again before she could smack him. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to her knuckles. "So, are we going?"

Barbara exhaled heavily, like this was some massive inconvenience. "I mean... I suppose."

Tristan shook his head. "That was painful enthusiasm."

Barbara nudged his ribs with her elbow. "I'd be a lot more excited if you had told me yesterday instead of springing it on me last minute."

Tristan hummed, pulling her even closer, fingers grazing slow, absentminded circles against her hip. "I don't know... you seemed a little preoccupied yesterday."

Barbara lifted her chin, giving him an expectant look. "Oh? And whose fault is that?"

His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, a knowing expression crossing his face. "Mine. Obviously."

Barbara rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

..

By the time Barbara finished getting ready, it was 10:58 AM—a good few hours before kickoff.

Tristan got up and leaned down once Barbara was finished, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose before pulling away. "You ready?"

Barbara nodded, still feeling the ghost of his touch. "Yeah. Where are we going?"

Tristan grabbed his car keys from the nightstand and grinned. "Leicester Market."

Hour Later..

They found a quiet bench, sitting close as they ate, the early autumn sun warming the street around them. The sound of a street musician playing a soft tune in the distance mixed with the chatter of market-goers, making everything feel... easy.

At one point, Barbara casually stole a bite of Tristan's bacon sandwich.

He stopped mid-chew, staring at her like she had personally betrayed him. "Excuse me?"

"You said you don't mind sharing." Barbara said, smiling back at him with her eyes.

"I don't, but at least warn a guy." Tristan answered trying hard not to stare.

Barbara shrugged, licking a crumb off her lip. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tristan sighed, then leaned in, brushing a slow, teasing kiss against the corner of her mouth.

Barbara blinked. "What was that for?"

His fingers traced small patterns over her knee, his expression unreadable. "You had a crumb."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Smooth."

Tristan grinned, stealing one of her strawberries. "Always just for you."

Barbara huffed but didn't move away. As they stood to leave, Tristan handed another bill to one of the vendors, far more than what the food actually cost.

Barbara caught it instantly. "Tristan. That was like... twenty times more than what you just bought."

Tristan slipped his hands into his pockets. "I'm blessed more than most people. Might as well pay it back."

Barbara studied him for a moment. "You do that often?"

His lips curved slightly, as if he didn't think it was a big deal. "Planning to set up a charity later. Once I'm more established, once I have the right people around me. I want to make sure it's done right."

Of course he was like this. She hesitated before finally murmuring, "Tristan..."

He nudged her with his shoulder, breaking the moment before it got too serious. "Come on, Palvin. We've got a game to get to."

Barbara exhaled, shaking her head as she followed him.

Tristan had been holding onto something else since they left the last food stall.

Barbara, too busy popping another strawberry into her mouth, didn't notice at first. But when he reached into the small bag beside him, pulling out a folded Leicester City scarf, her curiosity piqued. "What's that?"

Tristan didn't answer right away, just unraveled the scarf with a flick of his wrist, revealing his number—22—stitched in bold white letters.

Barbara blinked.

Then, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Did you seriously buy me merch?"

Tristan leaned back against the bench, looking far too pleased with himself. "Obviously."

"This is so lame." Barbara scoffed, running her fingers over the soft fabric.

His lips twitched.

Barbara rolled her eyes at him but she didn't hand it back. Because, well... he wasn't exactly wrong.

It wasn't just a Leicester City scarf—it was his. His number.

She traced the embroidered 22, "So...is this because I'm not wearing your hat? I had to wash it you know?"

Tristan tilted his head slightly. "I mean, yeah. Thought you'd want to wear something to the game. You know—represent properly."

Barbara hummed, pretending to consider.

Tristan reached forward, looping the scarf around her neck himself, fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone as he adjusted it so the number sat perfectly over her chest.

"There," he murmured, leaning back slightly to admire his work. "Much better."

Barbara tugged at the ends, adjusting it like she was testing how it felt.

She glanced up at him, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "So, if I wear this, does that make me your biggest fan?"

Tristan grinned, eyes twinkling. "Well, I don't see anyone else crossing continents for me."

Barbara let out a breathy laugh, flipping the scarf over her shoulder. "I will let you have that one for now."

..

[A/N: I fucked up in this part, it was Crystal Palace at home, but I'm not going back and editing it out of a 18k Chapter.]

By the time Tristan and Barbara finally stepped out of the car, the game had already started in King Power.

Not just by a minute or two—kickoff had long passed, and the distant roar of the crowd rumbled through the concrete walls of the stadium.

Barbara checked her phone. Three-oh-seven.

She turned to Tristan, unimpressed. "Wow. Incredible hosting skills. Really giving me the full matchday experience."

Tristan adjusted his jacket, completely unbothered. "You don't even care about kickoff."

Barbara scoffed, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "I could've cared."

"You don't," Tristan pointed out, glancing at her.

Barbara pursed her lips, holding his stare for a few seconds before sighing. "Fine. But that's not the point."

Chuckling, Tristan slung an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the entrance. "Relax, Palvin. We'll catch up."

Barbara poked his side as they walked. "Oh yeah? And how exactly are we gonna 'catch up' on the seven minutes we already missed?"

Tristan hummed, as if thinking. "I'll just call the ref, tell him to rewind real quick."

Barbara let out a sharp laugh, shoving him lightly.

Still laughing, Tristan grabbed her hand again as they approached the players' entrance.

Barbara had expected them to at least be questioned—maybe stopped and told off for walking in late like they owned the place.

Instead—

The security barely even blinked.

One of the guards, wearing a Leicester City jacket, simply nodded in greeting. "Good to see you Tristan."

Barbara blinked. That's it?

Another guard grinned as he leaned casually against the wall. "Welcome back, Tristan."

Her head snapped between them, mildly offended. "Wait—so no lecture? No 'why are you late?' Nothing?"

The first guard chuckled, arms crossed. "You think we're gonna stop him?"

Barbara gawked at them before turning to Tristan, who just tightened his grip on her waist and kept walking, completely unfazed.

"You're actually royalty here," she muttered, shaking her head.

Tristan leaned down slightly. "Perks of the job, babe."

Scoffing, Barbara walked ahead of him into the tunnel. "Must be so nice getting special treatment."

Tristan caught up, fingers curling around her wrist to pull her back. "Don't act like you're not impressed."

Rolling her eyes, Barbara flicked his arm. "Oh yeah, I'm so in awe of your ability to waltz into stadiums late."

Tristan just grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her temple as they walked. "You should be."

The deeper they walked into the stadium, the louder the crowd became. The roar of thousands of fans vibrated through the walls, echoing through the sleek corridors.

Barbara hadn't expected to feel the energy from here.

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on freeweɓnøvel.com.

She squeezed Tristan's hand as they walked, glancing at him. "You really do own this place, don't you?"

Tristan smirked but didn't say anything—he didn't need to.

Every few steps, someone acknowledged him. A few nods from stadium staff. A quick hey, mate from a passing coach. A couple of players' families lingering in the hallway, whispering when they saw him.

Barbara exhaled, amused. "I swear, you're the mayor of Leicester."

Tristan chuckled. "More like the prince."

"Wow. Humble."

They reached a set of glass doors, and Tristan pushed them open, leading her into the private box.

And Barbara—

She stopped.

Her breath hitched.

Because the view?

It was insane.

The entire stadium stretched out in front of them, an ocean of blue and white, the fans packed into the stands, their chants ringing through the air. The field itself looked pristine under the floodlights, the players darting across the grass, every movement sharp and intense.

She could see everything.

"Okay... this is kind of amazing." Barbara said stepping toward the glass.

"Yeah?" Tristan asked watching her as she took it all in.

"Yeah." Barbara spun back toward the field, practically bouncing on her feet.

"And to think... you wanted to stay in bed." Tristan leaned in slightly, his tone teasing.

"Shut up." Barbara nudged him with her elbow, though her eyes never left the pitch.

The moment they settled into their seats, the stadium erupted.

The chants started low before rolling into one massive, unified roar:

"TRISTAN!"

"TRISTAN!"

"TRISTAN!"

Barbara blinked, barely processing the sheer volume of it. "You're joking."

Tristan simply leaned back against his seat, completely unfazed, his arm resting behind her. "Nope."

The stadium's big screen cut away from the game for a moment, flashing an image of them sitting together in the private box. And just like that, the noise somehow got even louder.

"Jesus Christ," Barbara muttered, tugging the scarf higher around her neck.

Up in the commentary booth, Martin Tyler's voice carried through the broadcast, laced with amusement. "Well, for anyone wondering where Leicester's young star was today... there he is! And I think we have our answer as to why he's not on the pitch."

Alan chuckled beside him. "Yes, Pearson made it clear before kickoff that Tristan was simply being rested today... but I'd say he's finding a very enjoyable way to spend his time off."

The camera zoomed in on the private box, capturing Trisstan as he glanced down at Barbara, clearly entertained by her growing embarrassment as she shrank into his hoodie.

"And sitting beside him?" Martin continued. "That would be Barbara Palvin. One of the biggest names in the fashion industry, a huge international star. And from what we've seen over the past week... well, I think it's safe to say these two are quite enjoying each other's company."

Alan hummed in agreement. "Hard to argue with that. We've all seen the photos from Milan, and of course, that now-iconic 'park nap' incident in Leicester—which, by the way, somehow had more social media engagement than the last England squad announcement."

Laughter filled the booth before Martin added, "That one was everywhere! And now, here they are here, looking rather comfortable up there in the stands. I have to say—Tristan looks incredibly at ease, considering the match is underway without him."

Alan smirked. "Well, when you're leading the Premier League in goals and assists at just 19—oh, and dating a supermodel—I suppose confidence just comes naturally."

Just as he finished speaking, the camera lingered on Tristan, who finally looked up and noticed himself on the massive stadium screen.

Without missing a beat, he lifted two fingers in a casual salute.

And the stadium?

It erupted.

🎶

Tristan and Barbara, they're on fire,

They'll go all night; They'll never tire!

Tristan & Barbara, what a catch,

She's his queen, and he's her match!

🎶

Barbara, however?

She let out a dramatic groan, burying her face into the sleeve of his hoodie. "This is actually mortifying."

Tristan chuckled, the vibration of his laugh against her shoulder only making her sink deeper into him. "Congratulations," he teased, resting his chin lightly on top of her head. "You're officially famous."

Barbara peeked up at him through her fingers, her expression flat. "Yeah? Well, I hate it."

"Welcome to my life," Tristan murmured, his fingers absently tracing circles against her knee.

Barbara sighed, shaking her head against his shoulder. "I cannot believe I flew across the world just to be turned into halftime entertainment."

Tristan shifted slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Want me to make it worse?" His lips barely brushed her ear, teasing. "I could kiss you right now. Really give them something to lose their minds over."

Barbara sat up so fast she nearly knocked into his chin. "Tristan, do not—"

Grinning, he raised his hands in surrender. "Relax, I'll behave."

She exhaled, shaking her head as she smoothed a hand over the scarf still looped around her neck—only to pause as she caught movement from the big screen.

Her eyes widened. "Wait—why is the camera still here?"

Tristan barely glanced at the screen before shaking his head in amusement. "Babe, they're milking this. Leicester's best player and his supermodel girlfriend show up mid-match? They're eating this up."

Barbara muttered something under her breath in Hungarian, too fast for him to catch. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't flattering.

The camera finally panned away, shifting the focus back onto the match.

Barbara let out a deep breath, sinking further into her seat. "That was horrible."

Tristan tapped his fingers lazily against her knee, entirely too pleased with himself. "That was hilarious."

She shot him a flat look. "You have a broken sense of humor."

Tristan simply shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

Barbara huffed but didn't move away.

Tristan exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Barbara's thigh. "You know," he murmured, voice low against her ear, "now that the camera's gone, I could kiss you."

Barbara turned her head slightly, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. "Tempting," she admitted, her lips curving at the corners, "but I think you've had enough attention for one day."

Tristan leaned back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the back of Barbara's chair, but his fingers remained on her shoulder, absently toying with the loose strands of her hair. His eyes were locked on the pitch below, but every so often, his hand would shift—trailing down her arm, pressing lightly into her thigh, fingertips skimming along the exposed skin just beneath the hem of her skirt.

Barbara could feel the distraction.

Tristan was restless. And judging by his growing frustration. She knew exactly why.

Leicester were losing.

And not just losing—struggling.

Crystal Palace had been in control from the first whistle, dictating the tempo, forcing Leicester to play on the back foot. Their usual sharpness was missing. The pressing? Slower. The passing? Sloppier. The attacks? Predictable.

Barbara frowned, watching as another aimless long ball sailed toward Jamie Vardy—only to be easily intercepted.

She turned to Tristan, eyeing him carefully. "This isn't great."

His thumb brushed against her wrist absentmindedly, but his focus remained on the field. "You sound stressed."

Barbara scoffed, leaning into his side. "I'm not stressed. Just... surprised."

That finally made him glance her way. "Surprised?"

Barbara gestured toward the pitch, her expression thoughtful. "I knew you were important to the team, but this?" She exhaled, shaking her head as Palace seamlessly strung together another attack. "This is different."

Tristan hummed, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of her scarf. "Yeah, well. I am kind of a big deal."

Barbara turned to him, unimpressed, before nudging his leg with her knee. "Shut up."

Tristan chuckled but didn't argue. Because, well... she wasn't wrong.

Then, in that 34th minute.

Leicester conceded.

It had been coming.

Palace had dictated possession, pinning Leicester deeper into their own half, stretching their backline, exploiting space.

And when the goal finally came?

It was simple.

A quick one-two on the edge of the box, a sharp turn from the Palace striker, a low, drilled shot skimming past the outstretched hands of the keeper—

1-0.

The away section erupted, a deafening roar of celebration shaking the stadium.

And up in the commentary booth, the voices of the broadcasters wasted no time cutting through the noise.

"And there it is!" The excitement was evident as Martin's voice rose above the crowd. "Crystal Palace take the lead—and you have to say, that was coming. Leicester just haven't looked themselves today."

Alan hummed in agreement, analytical but knowing. "They haven't. And, well, when you take Tristan out of this team, you remove their heartbeat. It's clear they're struggling to adapt without him."

Barbara didn't need to be a football analyst to see it.

Leicester wasn't just missing a player. They were missing their player.

Everything—the movement, the tempo, the sheer confidence they played with—wasn't the same without Tristan orchestrating the midfield.

And now?

They were paying the price.

Leicester's players were scattered across the pitch, frustration evident in every movement. Hands on hips, heads shaking, quick gestures exchanged as they pointed at one another, arguing over positioning, over what should've been done differently.

Barbara winced, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "Yikes."

Tristan exhaled sharply, running a hand along his jaw. "Yeah."

"This is weird. You're usually the one fixing these kinds of games." Her eyes flicked toward him, curiosity laced in her gaze.

Tristan let out a short laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yeah, well, apparently I'm not allowed to play every game."

Barbara hummed, leaning back in her seat as Leicester kicked off again, their body language still flat, still uninspired. "Do you want to be out there?"

"Not really." Then, after a beat—"But also... yeah." Tristan said staring at the field watching everything.

Barbara didn't even try to hide her amusement. "You're lying."

Tristan huffed, shaking his head. "I'm resting, Barbara. That's the whole point of today."

She arched an eyebrow, nodding toward the pitch. "You're itching to go out there."

Of course he wanted to be out there.

Barbara, watching the emotions flicker across his face, tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "You be aight."

Tristan turned to her, deadpan. "Palvin, I swear to God."

Barbara giggled, nudging his side lightly. "I'm just saying. You're used to being the hero."

Tristan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "They'll be fine."

Barbara hummed in response, unconvinced.

Down on the pitch, Leicester finally started seeing more of the ball, pushing higher up, looking for a way back into the game.

A glimmer of hope came in the 42nd minute.

Jamie Vardy ghosted into the box, latching onto a cross, but his header sailed just wide of the post.

Barbara straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of her seat. "Okay, okay. Better."

"Yeah, but look at them. They're forcing it." Tristan replied back, clapping.

Barbara followed his gaze, watching as another attack broke down—Mahrez cutting in from the right, curling a shot toward goal, only for the Palace keeper to swat it away with ease.

Something was off.

The decision-making wasn't as sharp. The final ball wasn't as precise. Every movement seemed a second slower, every transition more frantic.

Barbara's brows furrowed. "It's because they don't have you, isn't it?"

Tristan didn't gloat.

He just nodded. "Yeah."

Because this—this was exactly why he was so important.

Not just the goals. Not just the assists.

Without him, Leicester were trying to figure things out on the fly for the first time in a while.

And so far?

It wasn't working.

The referee's whistle sliced through the stadium noise, marking the end of the first half.

Crystal Palace—1.

Leicester City—0.

The home team trudged off the pitch, heads down, irritation written all over their faces.

Barbara exhaled, stretching her arms over her head. "Well... that was kind of painful."

Tristan didn't respond right away, his gaze still fixed on the pitch.

He wasn't just watching the game—he was dissecting it, running through all the ways he would've fixed it if he were out there.

Except he wasn't.

And that?

That was something Leicester had to get used to.

He was nineteen—playing full matches twice a week at the highest level. The club had decided it was too much. His body needed time to adjust, time to grow into the relentless demands of top-flight football without breaking down.

Which meant Leicester?

They had to learn how to play without him.

And so far?

It wasn't going well.

Barbara leaned her elbow against the armrest, resting her chin on her palm. "I think they do better in the second half.."

His gaze lingered on her, expression softening, something warmer flickering in his eyes.

Then, casually—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Barbara stilled, her breath catching slightly.

But before she could react, Tristan's fingers brushed against something.

He blinked, his head tilting slightly. "Wait. When did you get this?"

Barbara furrowed her brows. "Get what?"

Tristan traced the tiny number inked behind her left ear—small, subtle, easy to miss unless you were really looking.

Barbara's lips parted slightly before realization set in. "Oh." She reached up, fingertips grazing over the tattoo. "Four."

Tristan's gaze flickered between the ink and her face. "First time I'm seeing it."

Barbara lifted her hair slightly, fully revealing it to him. "It's for my family. My mom, dad, Anita, and me. Just the four of us."

Tristan studied her, a quiet understanding settling between them.

Then—before she could stop herself—she murmured, "Might need to add another number on the other side one day."

Tristan blinked. "Yeah?"

Barbara swallowed, her heart thudding slightly. "Yeah."

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then—slowly, deliberately—he traced the edge of the tattoo again, his touch light. "I like it."

Barbara exhaled, barely holding his gaze. "Good to hear."

Tristan tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was seeing her in a new light.

Then—his voice quieter, teasing, but definitely shifting the mood—he mused, "So... what happens now?"

Barbara cleared her throat, shaking off the warmth creeping up her neck. "With the game?"

Tristan hummed. "Mhm."

Barbara gestured toward the pitch. "You're not playing. You're not giving them some halftime speech. So what? You just... sit here?"

Tristan sighed, dramatic. "Sit here. Watch them struggle." He turned his head, eyes flickering to her lips. "Kiss my ridiculously attractive girlfriend."

..

When the second half kicked off, Leicester didn't look any better.

By the 60th minute, the inevitable happened—Crystal Palace doubled their lead.

2-0.

The collective groan from the Leicester fans echoed across the stadium. Some threw their hands up, others buried their faces in their scarves, heads shaking in frustration.

This wasn't the team that had ripped apart Manchester United 7-1. This wasn't the side that had been shocking the Premier League every week since August.

This was a team that suddenly looked... lost.

Because for the first time since his debut, Leicester were learning how to play without him.

The fans needed something—anything—to lift their spirits.

Which was probably why, for the fourth time that afternoon—

The stadium camera cut away from the match...

And zoomed in on them.

The reaction was instant.

A full eruption of noise—laughter, cheers, chants.

If the fans weren't getting a win today?

At least they were getting this.

Barbara groaned, immediately yanking the Leicester scarf over her face. "Why does this keep happening?"

Tristan, completely unbothered, draped an arm around her shoulders. "Because they love us."

Barbara scoffed, her voice muffled through the fabric. "Oh, please."

Tristan only grinned, leaning back in his seat like this was the most entertaining part of his day; he lifted his free hand and waved toward the camera.

The stadium roared in response.

Fans clapped, cheered, and chanted his name.

..

The final whistle had blown. The scoreboard read 2-0.

Leicester had lost.

And for the fans, it had been a frustrating ninety minutes—flat, uninspired, a reminder of how much the team relied on Tristan. The murmurs of disappointment still lingered in the air as people trickled out of the stands, but for Barbara and Tristan?

The night wasn't over yet.

Tristan had barely led Barbara toward the parking area when a familiar voice rang out..

"Look who finally decided to show up."

Tristan exhaled sharply before he even turned around. Tristan sighed, already bracing himself. "Oh, for fu—"

Vardy stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a stupid grin on his face despite the team's loss.

Barbara glanced between them.

Tristan shook his head, rubbing his temple. "Oh, here we go."

Vardy ignored him, shifting his attention to Barbara instead. "Barbara, right?" He offered his hand, still grinning. "Jamie. Welcome to Leicester. And, uh, sorry you had to sit through that."

Barbara shook his hand, amused. "Yeah, not exactly the best performance."

Vardy groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. "Tell me about it. Felt like running through wet cement out there."

Tristan gave him a look. "Felt like watching it too."

Vardy barked out a laugh, slapping Tristan's shoulder. "Don't act like you weren't entertained. You were up there playing footsie with your girl while we were getting battered."

"Footsie?" Barbara raised an eyebrow.

Tristan scoffed. "Ignore him."

Vardy smirked. "Hey, all I'm saying is, next time you take a day off, maybe don't rub it in by showing up mid-match looking like you're on a date." He nodded toward Barbara's scarf. "You even put her in club colors. Cute."

Barbara tugged at the scarf slightly, feigning innocence. "What? It's a nice scarf."

Vardy laughed. "Yeah, well, hope you weren't expecting a win to go with it."

Tristan sighed. "Alright, Vardy. You done?"

Vardy's grin lingered for a second before he exhaled, his expression shifting into a more serious one."Fair enough, but check the group chat later; that team has to have a talk; don't mute it."

"Yeah, I gotcha, you." Tristan responded before Vardy got into his car.

Barbara shifted beside him, adjusting the scarf still wrapped around her neck. "So..." she said, tilting her head. "They're waiting for you."

Tristan exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah."

Tristan unlocked the car with a quick press of his key fob, pulling the door open before turning toward Barbara. "You ready to go?"

She stretched her arms overhead before sliding into the passenger seat. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, Twitter was already in full meltdown mode.

Barbara scrolled through her phone, eyebrows raising as she read some of the tweets out loud. "Leicester loses 2-0, but the REAL victory is Tristan Hale securing Barbara Palvin. This man is living the dream." She snorted. "Oh my god."

Tristan, one hand on the wheel, shot her a quick glance. "I mean... they're not wrong."

Barbara rolled her eyes, still reading. "So, is Barbara Palvin officially a Leicester City fan now?" She hummed. "Not a bad question."

Tristan smirked, tapping his fingers against the gear shift. "You did wear my scarf."

Barbara turned her head, unimpressed. "Because you bought it for me."

Tristan shrugged. "Still counts."

Barbara huffed, scrolling further.

Barbara shook her head in disbelief. "I swear, we can't do anything without trending."

Tristan glanced at her again, lips twitching. "I mean... we do look good together."

..

7748 word count

Peace