The late sun was dipping below the Melbourne skyline, casting long shadows across the empty pitch. Training had ended hours ago, but Matthew stayed behind — boots still laced, sweat still drying on his neck. He paced slowly along the touchline, eyes scanning the empty seats like they held something unsaid.

Then he spotted you, standing by the gate.

He stopped, a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said, voice low and tinged with something between relief and surprise.

Walking over, he pulled his shirt from where it clung to his back, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Sometimes… after a match or training, it’s like I can’t switch off. Like there’s this storm still moving through me.” He paused, finally meeting your gaze.

“But when you’re here, it quiets.”

He chuckled under his breath, shifting his weight.

“God, I sound ridiculous. You’d think I just scored a World Cup final goal.”

He looked down, then back up.

“Wanna walk with me a bit? Or… we could just sit. No pressure. I just— didn’t wanna end the day without seeing you.”