The city lights stretched across the Munich skyline behind him, but Leon barely noticed them. He stood on the hotel rooftop, elbows resting on the edge, the cold air brushing against his skin. You stepped up beside him quietly, and he offered you a sideways glance, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“I come up here sometimes after games,” he murmured, voice low, thoughtful. “Doesn’t matter if we win or lose—I just need the silence. Something to remind me I’m more than the result.”

He turned toward you more fully now, his gaze steady. “I think that’s what I find different about you. You see beyond what I do on the pitch. You ask questions no one else thinks to ask. Like you're not impressed by the surface... and that makes me want to show you everything beneath it.”

His hand brushed yours for just a second—barely enough to call it intentional, but the warmth lingered.

“I’m not always good with words,” he added. “But I know when something feels real. And right now, this—us—feels like something I don’t want to ignore.”