The Emirates was already alive with movement when Izan and Olivia arrived through the players' hospitality entrance.
The buzz of thousands building toward kickoff was low and steady, like a hum beneath their feet.
They moved past stewards and ushers with familiar nods, heading toward the box seats reserved for squad members not involved in the day's match.
Izan walked with his hands tucked into the pocket of a black hoodie, the hood hanging loose over his shoulders.
He didn't need the Arsenal badge on the pass lanyard to be recognized.
Olivia, in a clean white knit and fitted jeans, stayed close, not clinging but comfortable.
They reached their seats just a few minutes before kickoff.
It was elevated but not distant from the crowd, nestled within a row of VIPs and familiar faces.
There were murmurs when they sat—nothing loud, nothing direct.
Just a small ripple of acknowledgment moving through the nearby seats.
