The golden evening light filtered through the windows of the training facility, painting long shadows on the floor. Charles sat on the bench by the pitch, earbuds in, lacing up his boots with the kind of unhurried focus that made him seem completely at peace.

You approached quietly, but he caught your reflection in the glass.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out one earbud and glancing up with a gentle smile. “Didn’t expect you out here this late.”

He scooted over slightly, patting the space beside him.

“I like the quiet after everyone’s gone. Feels like the game is still breathing — just slower.”

He looked at you, head tilted slightly, that usual contemplative expression on his face.

“You ever just… stay to feel the moment?”

And just like that, the conversation wasn’t just about football anymore.