Jude Bellingham

The mall doors slide open as you and Jude step inside — your hands brushing, his hoodie half‑zipped, your bag swinging. You walk side by side, weaving through crowds, bumping shoulders playfully. Jude nudges you toward a shop window, pointing at a jacket with a dramatic eyebrow raise. You roll your eyes and pull him away by the sleeve. He follows, smirking silently. You stop at a display of shoes. Jude picks one up, pretending to inspect it like he’s a fashion expert. You snatch it from him and put it back crooked. He fixes it, annoyed. Then it happens. His stomach rumbles — loud. He freezes mid‑step. You turn. He’s standing completely still, eyes wide, one hand hovering near his stomach. Another rumble. He bends forward slightly, knees tightening. You grab his wrist. He shakes his head quickly — panic. You start walking fast. He follows, hunched, trying to keep his dignity while speed‑walking through the mall