Heyyy, could u write something like a friend of yn is interested in kenan, and they meet him after a game and her friend takes a pic with him but kenan’s gaze is on yn
Post-game- Kenan Yildiz
author’s note: i wasn’t really sure if you wanted them to be strangers or friends and how long you wanted, but i hope you like it. If you wanted something different you can ask me again 😅
The stadium was still alive with energy, even though the match had ended nearly an hour ago. Fans were slowly trickling out, their voices blending into an excited hum as they relived every goal, every near miss, every electric moment that had played out on the pitch. You could still hear the faint echoes of chants from outside, a reminder of just how intense the night had been.
You and your best friend had made your way outside, standing near the restricted exit where players left after games. It wasn’t just you two—there were a few reporters, staff members, and a handful of fans who had managed to get close, all waiting for a glimpse of their favorite players.
Your best friend could barely stand still. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clutching her phone tightly, her eyes darting toward the entrance every few seconds. “Oh my god, this is insane,” she whispered, barely containing her excitement. “We’re actually going to see them up close. Him up close.”
You didn’t have to ask who him was. Kenan Yıldız.
For weeks, she had been obsessing over him—his games, his interviews, even the way he carried himself on and off the pitch. You’d heard it all. You supported her excitement, even if you weren’t quite as enthralled. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
The security guards shifted slightly, their movements signaling that the players were about to come out. Your friend inhaled sharply, gripping your wrist as the door opened.
And then, there he was.
Kenan walked out with effortless confidence, his bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in his post-game fit—black joggers and a fitted quarter-zip that hugged his frame in all the right places. His hair was still damp from the shower, and under the bright stadium lights, you could see the faint sheen of exertion still lingering on his skin.
Your best friend nearly slost it. “Oh my god,” she breathed, squeezing your arm. “That’s him. That’s actually him.”
A few fans called out his name, and Kenan acknowledged them with a polite nod, a small smile. He was composed, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made him stand out, even among the other players who were making their way toward the parking area.
Your friend wasted no time. Before you could react, she was pulling you forward, weaving through the small crowd until you were standing just a few feet away from him.
“Kenan!” she called, her voice bright and eager.
He slowed his steps, his dark eyes shifting toward her. He offered a polite smile, the same one he probably gave to dozens of fans after every game. “Hey,” he said simply.
Your friend was practically vibrating with excitement. “You were amazing tonight! Seriously, your performance was unreal. I’ve been following you for so long, and I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you in person.”
Kenan nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Appreciate that. Glad you enjoyed the game.”
She was already pulling out her phone. “Can I get a picture with you? Please?”
Kenan glanced at her phone, then at you. It was only a brief flicker of his gaze, but you felt it. A quick, assessing look—one that was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.
“Yeah, of course,” he agreed.
Your friend practically squealed, stepping beside him, beaming as she handed you her phone. “Can you take it for me?”
You swallowed, nodding as you positioned the camera. Through the screen, you saw Kenan standing next to her, offering the same polite smile he had given when he first stepped out. But his eyes—his eyes weren’t on your friend.
They were on you.
It wasn’t obvious. Your friend, too wrapped up in the moment, didn’t notice. But you did.
You snapped the picture, your hands steady even though your pulse had inexplicably quickened. “Got it,” you said, handing the phone back.
Your friend checked the photo eagerly. “It’s perfect! Thank you so much, Kenan. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Kenan nodded, but before he could say anything, your friend turned toward you. “You should take one too!”
You hesitated. “I’m good.”
Kenan’s gaze flicked back to you, and this time, the corner of his mouth twitched. Amusement. “Not a fan?”
There was something about the way he asked it—smooth, teasing, like he already knew the answer.
Your friend laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s not as obsessed as I am, but she should be. I mean, look at you.”
You felt warmth rise to your cheeks at her words, but Kenan didn’t seem fazed. If anything, his expression deepened into something unreadable.
“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You might regret it later.”
Your lips parted slightly. Was he actually trying to get you to take a picture with him?
Before you could answer, someone called his name—a member of the staff, signaling that he needed to move toward the team bus. Kenan glanced in their direction before turning back to you.
The moment was fleeting, but it was there.
His gaze lingered for just a second too long. His eyes flickered over your face, as if he was memorizing something. And then, with a small, almost knowing smile, he nodded once.
“See you around.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Your friend, oblivious to everything that had just transpired, was already texting someone, probably freaking out over the picture. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she whispered excitedly. “I’m actually shaking.”
But you barely heard her.
Your mind was stuck on the way Kenan had looked at you. On the way he had seemed just a little more interested than he was supposed to be.
It wasn’t obvious.
But it was enough.
Your friend was still buzzing with excitement, her fingers flying across her phone screen as she texted about the encounter, completely oblivious to the way you stood frozen in place, staring in the direction Kenan had walked away.
His presence lingered.
It was ridiculous—you weren’t the one who had gotten a picture, you weren’t the one who had been gushing over him. Your friend was the one who had been waiting for this moment for weeks.
And yet… you were the one he had looked at.
Not her.
You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. It was nothing. A fleeting glance, nothing more. You weren’t about to read into something that wasn’t there.
“Are you even listening?” Your friend’s voice pulled you back to the present. She was staring at you, wide-eyed.
“What?”
She huffed. “I said I think some of the players are going to their cars instead of the bus! They’re leaving from the other exit. Maybe we can see Kenan again?”
Your stomach flipped. “I—”
“Come on! You owe me for taking me with you tonight,” she teased, grabbing your wrist and tugging you in the direction of the private parking area.
You let out a breath, knowing there was no arguing with her when she was this determined.
As you approached the exit, the scene was calmer than before. Only a few security guards were stationed near the parking lot, where a handful of sleek black cars were lined up. Some players were already heading toward their vehicles, engaged in quiet conversation.
And then, there he was again.
Kenan was standing near one of the cars, talking to someone from the team staff. His bag was now in his hand, and he looked more at ease than he had before, no longer surrounded by the post-game rush.
Your friend’s grip on your wrist tightened. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she whispered under her breath. “He’s right there.”
She hesitated, probably debating whether it was too much to approach him again. But before she could make a decision—before you could convince her either way—Kenan looked up.
And his eyes landed on you.
You weren’t imagining it this time. There was no crowd, no distractions. It was clear, direct. A silent acknowledgment that you were there.
His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened—like he recognized you from earlier.
Like he had been expecting you.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Your friend, completely unaware, finally mustered the courage to take a step forward. “Should I say hi again?” she whispered excitedly.
Before you could answer, Kenan did something that made your heart stutter.
He tilted his head slightly.
It was subtle, barely even noticeable, but it was a wordless cue. An invitation.
Not to your friend.
To you.
And for some reason—despite every part of your brain telling you that this wasn’t supposed to happen, that your friend was the one obsessed with him, not you—you took a step forward.
Your friend was so caught up in her own excitement that she didn’t realize you had moved first. By the time she followed, Kenan had already shifted his attention, his full focus locked onto you.
“Did you regret not taking a picture after all?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. His voice was calm, composed, but there was something else underneath. A quiet amusement.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling like the air around you had thickened. “No,” you said, trying to sound indifferent. “I don’t think I need one.”
His eyebrow lifted just slightly, like your answer intrigued him.
Your friend finally spoke up, her voice a mix of excitement and nerves. “We didn’t want to bother you again, but I saw some players coming this way, and I just—well, we—thought we’d say hi.”
Kenan nodded, polite as ever, but his gaze only flickered to her for a brief moment before settling back on you.
“You always follow the team after games?” he asked, still speaking directly to you.
Your friend let out a nervous laugh, completely missing the shift in the conversation. “No, just this once! It’s not like we’re stalking you or anything,” she joked.
Kenan smirked, but his eyes never left yours. “Good to know.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.
Your friend kept talking, still caught up in her own world, but you could barely focus on her words. The air between you and Kenan was tense—not in an awkward way, but in a way that felt undeniably charged.
It was subtle. The way his posture remained relaxed but completely attentive. The way his gaze didn’t waver, even when your friend spoke.
You weren’t supposed to be the one he was interested in.
And yet, here you were, standing in the quiet parking lot, feeling the weight of his gaze like it was something tangible.
Your friend finally glanced at her phone. “Oh shoot, our ride is almost here,” she said reluctantly.
You nodded, snapping out of whatever haze you had been in. “We should probably go.”
Kenan didn’t say anything at first. But as you turned to leave, he spoke—low enough that only you could hear.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured.
You paused, glancing back at him. “What?”
His expression remained unreadable, but there was something knowing in his eyes.
“You might regret not taking a picture.”
The way he said it—so casual yet so deliberate—made your pulse quicken.
Before you could respond, your friend called your name, waving you over.
Kenan didn’t wait for an answer. He simply gave you a small, knowing nod before turning toward his car.
As you walked away, your friend was still talking about the encounter, still wrapped up in the excitement of the night.
But all you could think about was the way Kenan had looked at you.
Like this wasn’t the last time you’d cross paths.
Like he knew something you didn’t.
And suddenly, the picture you hadn’t taken felt far less important than the moment you had just shared.
