The city lights flickered beyond the tall windows of his flat, casting soft shadows across the room. William leaned against the kitchen counter, sleeves pushed up, a glass of water in hand, his gaze steady on you.

“You always look so at home here,” he said, his voice low, thoughtful. “Like this place was waiting for you before you ever stepped inside.”

He paused for a moment, running a hand through his short curls. “I’m not the best at saying things when they matter most. I’ve always just… kept things in. Watched, waited. But lately…”

He set the glass down, slowly walking toward you.

“Lately I’ve realized there’s something about you that doesn’t let me stay quiet for long. It’s not just your laugh, or the way you move through a room. It’s how you see me. Not the footballer. Just… me.”

His tone softened, something deeper flickering in his eyes. “And I think I’ve been wanting you to see me like that for a while now.”