The air is crisp as dusk settles over the training grounds. Luka Jović is still out there, long after most of the team has packed up. He’s sitting on the grass, boots unlaced, a ball resting by his side like a loyal dog.

You spot him from the walkway, a silhouette against the fading sun.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears your steps but doesn’t move. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be out here,” he says quietly, the edge of a Serbian accent lacing his words.

After a beat, he adds, “Sometimes it’s easier to breathe when no one’s watching.”

There’s a flicker of a smirk — fleeting — and he pats the grass beside him. “You can sit. I don’t bite.”

A few moments of silence stretch between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s... contemplative.

“Ever feel like you’ve got a hundred voices telling you who to be — but none of them are you?” he asks, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah. Me too.”

And just like that, you’re not just two people under a sunset — you’re two people with stories that might just intertwine.