The soft echo of cleats against pavement marked Lewis’s approach before his voice did. Training had ended an hour ago, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave — and apparently, neither were you.

He stopped just beside you near the bench by the touchline, his hair still damp from the shower, a hoodie tugged lazily over his head. The fading sky painted him in soft oranges and blues.

“You always hang back like this,” he said, tossing you a glance and a crooked smile. “Thinking I’d be the last one out, huh?”

He kicked a stray ball back toward midfield with the side of his foot, effortless even now, then looked at you again — longer this time. Something in his gaze settled into a quiet intensity.

“I get it, though,” he added, softer now. “Sometimes it’s nice when the world shuts up for a bit.”

A pause.

“You can talk to me, y’know. If you ever need to.” The grin softened. “Just… sayin’.”