The 2015/2016 Son debut season away purple one, 2017/2018 Son home one, 2021/2022 Romero one, and this season's Champions League Bentancur one. Each kit is a treasure trove of memories, worn too many times to count, my pride and joy as a Tottenham Hotspur fan. But for now, off they go stowed behind the dresser. All the way in the back, where no one can find them.

My frantic cleaning spree continues as I comb through the apartment in search of any other Spurs memorabilia. Satisfied after stashing the fridge magnet and mug in the far reaches of the corner cabinet behind all the cleaning supplies, it's time move on to other tasks.

Thankfully, I keep things fairly tidy as it is. Making my bed right after I get up is practically a religious ritual for me. Plus, anything out of place sparks an almost compulsive need to be shoved back into its 'rightful drawer,' so it's not too difficult to make sure the place is presentable before Sonny arrives.

I can still hardly believe it that he's coming, here, to my apartment. It feels too surreal. Maybe it will feel real when I actually see him, in the flesh, on my sofa, I laugh nervously to myself at the thought.

A cursory wipe down of the kitchen counters, tables, and bathroom surfaces. A quick run with the cordless vacuum, or hoover as they call it here, just to be thorough. That should be enough to do the job.

The room melts in a golden glow as I switch off all but two floor lamps, casting the exposed brick wall in a dark violet hue. I light the scented candle I bought for Christmas, inhaling the smokey cedar and pine fragrance.

Is it too much? Not sure what kind of signal it sends...A blush creeps up on my cheeks.

I blow out the candle hastily. Let's not go overboard, Bella.

Glancing at the clock, it's well past twelve. Surely too late for dinner. I open the fridge, inspecting the contents. I must have been getting hot running around in my sweater and jeans because the cold blast of air feels really great against my skin.

I guess there's some beer left from last time my friends came over for impromptu board game night. That will have to do. As for snacks, I belatedly wish I would have gotten something from Sainsbury.

I'm still working through the list of possible food options in my head, fully aware that I have nowhere enough time to cook any of them, when the doorbell rings. My stomach does a somersault. He's here.

Steadying myself, I open the door.

Sonny is leaning against the doorsill, bathed in the dim hallway light, his eyes downcast.

No matter how many times I see him, how is it I still feel so starstruck every time?

It's not fair, for someone to be this dazzling.

He looks up, revealing a face cloaked in a storm cloud, his eyes as dark and deep as the ocean, holding riddles I can't decipher.

'I brought wine,' he offers with a tentative smile, holding up a bottle. A lock of midnight black hair curls forward rebelliously, matching the color of the collared long sleeve shirt he's wearing.

He must have been hurting because of the game, but he's making his best effort to be cheerful. Because that's the type of person he is.

'Come in,' I say a little breathlessly, repaying him with a smile of my own, overcoming the wave of shyness washing over me.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and get busy in the kitchen looking for the bottle opener and wine glasses. My whole body feels jittery like I downed two cold brews even though I have not ingested a drop of caffeine today.

Sonny takes off his shoes before wandering into the living room, his gaze taking everything in.

'It looks just how I imagined,' he flashes me a smile, as I put down a plate of cheese and crackers I found lying around in the pantry. Good job, past Bella for buying these on a whim last week while grocery shopping.

'What is that supposed to mean?' I laugh. 'It's as boring as me?'

'Boring?' he bursts into laughter, shaking his head, refusing to make any further comment.

Sonny pops the cork open expertly and pours out two glasses of wine. I accept a glass and perch on one end of the sofa gingerly. He follows suit, on the other end, and raises his glass expectantly.

A cool breeze flows in from the window I cracked open earlier. Lush, emerald leaves of my monstera sway ever so slightly, casting a dancing shadow on the wall.

We do a quiet 'cheers', taking small swigs of the ruby red liquid. I'm not a wine connoisseur but this tastes nice. Fruity but velvety, a surprising bite at the end. I can only imagine how much it might have cost.

I want to bring up the match, but don't know quite how to. And what would I even say about me knowing the result? Should I say I was checking up on Spurs schedule since I hadn't heard from him? Does that sound a tad creepy? Maybe I could just say I'm starting to take an interest in football. Would that be weird? I swirl the wine round and round like the words in my head. I heard somewhere that exposing the wine to more air makes it release more flavors.

'How've things been?' he breaks the silence.

Miserable, because Tottenham dropped points, and you haven't called, and my work doesn't excite me anymore.

I look up to his face. He's smiling but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, where the dark clouds are still brooding. Why is it that he's here tonight? He had said he always has a good time with me, that it's a break from everything going on...

'Actually, I just got a promotion,' I say brightly, opting to focus on the positives. I can do this much for him.

'What? Wow, congrats! As I expect from you, smarty-pants.' His energy changes, looking genuinely happy for me. 'Good thing I brought wine to celebrate!'

We clink again for a silly little 'cheers'. His improved mood makes my body relax a notch, a comfortable warmth spreading over.

'See, I know nothing about what's going on with you. You had such a huge...thing...and I had no idea!' he pouts. He pulls up his phone. 'We don't even follow each other. What's your username?' he thrusts it towards me after opening up the app.

I hesitantly take the phone from him and start typing, all the while thanking my lucky stars that I had the foresight to unfollow all Spurs related accounts the night he asked for my number in France. If I do something, I do it properly, even if that something is being a con artist.

Giving him his phone back, I pick up my own from the coffee table in front of us. A notification of a new follow.Huh, interesting, it's not his official account.

'Let me see,' he snatches it, his hand brushing mine. 'That's my secret account,' he says sheepishly, 'and this is my official one if you want to follow. Or not. No big deal,' handing it back to me.

He avoids my gaze and just takes a sip of his wine. Is he...embarrassed? Does he really not know how big he is, or have I somehow fooled him to think I'm the type of person that isn't fazed by fame?

I feel almost giddy, grinning ear to ear, as I follow both the accounts. The private account has no posts or profile picture, and gibberish alphabets for the handle. It's following only hundred or so accounts and I'm one of them now. It's not a big deal, I tell myself, but the secret connection somehow adds a degree of realness to this situationship which sometimes almost feels like a dream.

I search for something to say, excitement bubbling.

'There was a game today.' I state casually. It's not a question.

'Yeah, it didn't go well,' he replies quietly. Was it a mistake to bring this up? I don't know why I did, maybe I wanted to give him the opportunity to vent.

'Yeah,' I pause, my eyes tracing the rich mahogany wood grain of the table, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. 'That's too bad. I know it hurts, when you hold yourself to high standards, every point dropped can be painful. But there's always the next game, and you will bounce back. If you look back to find where things went wrong, and work hard at fixing them, things will get better ultimately.'

I glance back, searching for a reaction. Did I say too much? I wanted to comfort him in my own way but maybe I was just projecting my own feelings. Maybe I went too far, being too preachy.

'You get it,' he responds, finally looking up. 'It's hard for people outside to understand.'

Get what exactly? Has he started to suspect that I am way too invested in his games to be a non-football fan?

I nod, not wanting to make things worse. My face feels warm.

'Wine making you wise, eh?' he jokes with a bright smile.

'I'm not the best with handling alcohol,' I remark abruptly, wanting to change the topic, and finish up the last bit of my wine. I pour another half glass, my hands a little shaky.

'You don't have to drink more,' he frowns, a hint of concern in his eyes.

'Just one more glass,' I say, pulling up my knees to my chest, hugging them, careful not to spill my drink on the grey twill of the couch.

He continues to stare at me, the frown slowly changing to a smile.

'Were you always bad with it, or it's a recent thing?' he asks.

'Nope, right from the start, since high school.'

'High school? What is that? Like sixteen years old?'

I forgot that high school isn't a thing here and it's not called that in Korea either.

'You are usually fourteen or fifteen when you begin high school, but I had my first drink at sixteen,' I admit with a silly grin.

'Ho ho, I wonder what you were like then, at sixteen. Busy in your books but had all the boys running after you, eh?' His mischievous grin sends a tiny flutter through my stomach.

'Pfft... And what about you? Like you weren't super popular?' I huff. I can picture him, tall and athletic, the heartbreaker type. Even now, there are throngs of girls every time he's done with a match, waiting to get his sign or give him gifts and letters.

'When I was a teenager, I did nothing other than football. It was practice, eat, sleep, practice, eat, sleep,' his expression sobers. 'Maybe a little video game,' he adds with a smirk.

'You never had a girlfriend as a teen?' I tease.

He remains silent looking down at this drink, as if contemplating what to say, making me strangely curious about what he might confess. The atmosphere shifts, thick and heavy like treacle.

'You know, if we are talking about dating, it's always been–' a loud ringtone cuts him off mid-sentence. 'Sorry, I have to take this,' he says with a tight smile, a tiny sigh slipping through.

He gets up and goes into the kitchen before answering.

Fighting the urge to eavesdrop, I try to focus elsewhere but muffled Korean words drift back.

'No, no, it's not like that...' and 'Don't worry...'

What does it mean? What's not like what?

I don't want to think about it. There's no proof he was talking about me or Spurs or anything else that is remotely of interest to me. As if it wasn't bad enough that I'm lying to him, now I'm poking my nose where it doesn't belong.

My head is all over the place when he reappears. He walks over, each step echoing in deliberate silence, this time choosing to sit right next to me. There's maybe half a foot of distance between us, if even that. All my thoughts dissolve into insignificance, as the haze of primal awareness vibrates through my entire being.

I take a hurried sip, struggling to find my words.

'Is that your parents?' he points towards the framed photo on my bookshelf on the opposite wall.

'Huh? Ah, yes.' I regain some sense. 'Yeah, I miss them. So much.' The weight of their absence hits me with a fresh pang, amplified by the alcohol.

He nods, a touch of understanding in his eyes. 'I'm lucky my parents can stay with me for half the year,' he continues. 'But I miss them too, when they are in Korea, and I am here.' He pauses, then asks gently, 'When did you last see them?'

That's something I had read in his interviews, his close bond with his family. Some people might see it as strange to live in the same house as your parents in adulthood, but I think I would have liked it. Given there is enough room for everyone to have their personal space, which I'm sure Son can afford.

'Christmas, so not too long ago,' I respond to his question. But it does feel like forever.

'Family is important,' he says, his voice warm. 'Hopefully you see them soon again,' he tries to cheer me up because gloom must have been apparent. Why is he so nice?

My eyes prickle, hinting at tears threatening to spill. I try to distract myself in an attempt to prevent it, not wanting to make things awkward.

I look at his hands holding the glass, now refilled. It's that ring that I noticed before during our date. A thin band with geometric patterns.

'That looks cool,' I point to it impulsively.

'What, this?' he glanced down, a little surprised.

He gently slides the ring off his finger, holding it up for me to see.

'It's a magic ring, it makes me stronger and run faster,' he says with a straight face. 'Maybe I should give it to you, help you lift boxes better,' he starts to laugh, 'when I'm not around.'

'Rude. And mean,' I make a face. 'Wait till I start my weight training routine, then we will see in a few months.' I take the ring from him, examining it closely. 'It's different,' I murmur, mesmerized by the intricate details.

'Different is good,' he says, his voice a low rumble. 'It means you stand out.'

My heart skips a beat.

'I have two of them, it was a set. You can keep this one,' he says quietly.

A flush warms my cheeks, and my head feels a bit woozy.

Feeling emboldened, I slip it on my thumb wordlessly, but it's really too large for my fingers. A crescendo of emotions rise within me as I look up at him, and a dumb smile spreads on my face. I can't help but admire his physical beauty again, appreciate this moment when he's sitting so very close to me.

He's so handsome, it really isn't fair.

He says nothing, but his gaze is oddly intent, like he's trying to solve his own puzzle. I feel a flutter in my chest, unsure if it's the wine or the way he's looking at me.

Slowly, so very slowly, he leans in. My body becomes keenly aware of what is about to happen, heart pounding in anticipation. A hand gently rises to cup my cheek. The touch of his fingers makes my skin feel like it's on fire.

His face is inches away when I close my eyes. Lips parted in silent invitation, I wait for what feels like an eternity. At last, his lips touch mine, warm and soft.

He starts languidly, with small nibbles, gradually building up the tempo and intensity. Molten lava flows through me all the way down to my core. Soon, the kiss becomes all consuming – drawing me out of myself with tender little assaults. I feel so very vulnerable but at this moment I don't care – I want to bare my heart and soul to him.

I kiss back with the surge of passion built up inside me. My hands go up, one against his hard muscled chest, the other on his broad shoulder, as if to brace myself against the rough seas. He reacts by leaning in further, angling his head while moving his hand lower to lightly lift my chin. His other hand goes around my waist, pulling me in.

The whole world fades away – we are lost in our own magical realm. It's just me and him, and this dance of our lips.

I wish this moment could last forever, but my head starts spinning, and I let go of my weight, falling sideways for a second. Son pulls away, with a worried look.

I want more of this, but I hesitate, feeling unstable. He delicately brushes a stray stand of hair off my face, sighing deeply. We both lean back on, settling onto our sides. Maybe I'm too drunk, maybe he's too. But his arm is still around me, and I revel in the touch. I close my eyes lazily, enjoying the comfortable silence, a soothing sense of peace taking over me.

What just happened? Joy, pure and unadulterated, flows through me. The echo of his hand on my cheek, his lips on my lips, sends a shiver down my spine.

Was this real? Was it just the wine, the late night, the magic of the moment? Or was it something deeper?

With every new interaction, I'm falling for him more and more. Can this lead to anywhere other than heartbreak? Is there another way?

Drowsiness tugs at me, dragging me down. It's not only the alcohol but also just general weariness adding to it. I sink deeper into the soft cushion.

Suddenly I feel myself weightless, and I open my eyes to see Sonny's concerned face hovering above. I realize he's carrying me, his arms around my back and under my knees. I wrap my arms around his neck, resting my head against his chest.

He walks to the bedroom, lowering me carefully onto the bed. My inebriated brain makes the world continue to tilt and swirl above, even as I lie stationary.

I feel a dip in the mattress next to me – a sense of security sinks in, replacing all my worries and anxieties.

I want to keep my eyes open, desperately longing to savor this moment. I want to stay awake so badly, but I can't. The fatigue of the whole day, the rollercoaster of emotions, it has all been too much and, against my wish, I drift off into sleep.

***

Faint grey light filters into my eyes as I squint them open. Did I sleep with the curtains open last night?

The bathroom door creaks open.

Oh.

Snippets from last night start coming back but they are nothing more than hazy recollections. What happened exactly though?

As Sonny's bare feet pad softly towards the bed, I close my eyes back shut, feigning sleep.

I will myself to be remain as still as possible, holding my breath instinctively, as large hands tug at my blanket and warmly tuck me in. I sense his breath on my face before his soft lips land on my forehead for a swift graze.

What is this feeling? My heart is so...full.

His footsteps recede. The front door clicks close softly. He's gone, and once again I'm alone in this apartment.

The silence is so deafening that it's almost unbearable, but despite that my mouth curves into a smile. These few stolen moments were mine to keep forever, hidden away deep inside, a secret melody for my ears only.