Matchday wasn't glamorous.
It never really was, despite what people liked to believe. No glowing montages. No perfectly-timed motivational speeches set to orchestral music. Just alarms blaring before the sun had even dared to show its face, the smell of liniment, and the shuffling of half-asleep young men stuffing boots and tape into oversized kit bags.
The hotel room buzzed with low murmurs. Someone was brushing their teeth in the bathroom, and someone else had their speaker on too loud, cycling through playlists like any song might magically dissolve the tension that hung in the air like mist.
"Big day, boys," Carter said, grinning way too much for six in the morning. His hair was still sticking up in awkward angles from sleep, but he looked like he'd been waiting for this since he opened his eyes.
