The city lights of Madrid spilled into the balcony, bathing Kylian in a soft, golden glow as he leaned against the railing, a glass of water in his hand. You heard his voice before you saw his face.

“You ever wonder if it’s all too much?” he asked, eyes still fixed on the skyline. “The interviews, the lights, the expectations… sometimes it feels like I’m sprinting through a life I barely have time to live.”

He turned to face you, the corners of his lips tugging into a small, knowing smile. “But then there’s you. And suddenly the noise fades.”

He took a few steps closer, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “I’ve had trophies, goals, headlines… but none of that compares to the quiet moments where I get to just be Kylian. Not the star. Not the wonderkid. Just a man, hoping the person in front of him sees more than the jersey.”

He paused, reaching for your hand. “So, what do you say? Want to stay a little longer? Talk about nothing. Or everything. I don’t mind—so long as it’s with you.”