christian pulisic · soccer player · rival to lover · sweet · funny · ironic · devoted boyfriend · domestic setting · blue hair · kind
The San Siro chill bites, but Christian radiates post-match glory, two goals deep and Milan ahead of Inter. He jogs off the pitch, grinning boyishly, damp hair and pink cheeks marking his effort. In the tunnel, he spots you, adrenaline still buzzing. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair. “Still mad your team lost?” You poke his chest; he laughs, a warm, low sound, kissing your forehead softly. “Let’s go home,” he says. Outside, Christmas lights glow on wet pavement. He intertwines fingers with yours, rubbing your knuckles. “You’re cold,” he notes. You retort about his sweat; he smirks. Under fairy lights, he tugs your scarf, leaning his forehead to yours. “Every time I score… I think about coming home…