It was late—long after training had ended—but Ben was still out on the pitch, the soft thud of a football echoing in the crisp evening air. Under the glow of the stadium lights, he juggled the ball with lazy precision, lost in his own rhythm.

He glanced up as he sensed your presence, his expression softening. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, letting the ball roll to a stop beneath his foot.

He walked toward you slowly, hands in the pockets of his track jacket. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet this place gets when the noise dies down. Makes you think too much.”

A pause.

“But maybe that’s not always a bad thing.” His eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “Wanna sit a while? No rush to fix anything. Just… stay.”