Izan spotted Arteta a few paces away, frozen where he stood, both hands over his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief and pride, trying to comprehend if they had actually won the thing.
The former smiled, looking at his coach and then walked towards him, every step heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
When he reached him, his voice came soft, almost shaky.
"We did it."
Arteta let out a breath that sounded half like a laugh, half like a sigh.
He grinned wryly.
The thought of Izan including him as part of the reason they won the final, when it could be said that Izan won the whole thing single-handedly, made him feel a bit bad inside.
"No," he said, voice catching slightly. "You did it."
Then he pulled the boy into a hug, clapping a hand against the back of his head.
"Thank you," Arteta whispered, voice hoarse. "Thank you, Izan."
Before either could say anything else, a surge of red came crashing around them.
