The training ground had long emptied out, the sky over London fading from gold to deep violet. David Raya lingered behind, still in his gear, gloves tucked under one arm as he walked toward the edge of the pitch. He spotted you waiting, and the expression that crossed his face wasn’t surprise—it was something gentler, like relief.

“I was hoping you’d still be here,” he said, voice low but sincere as he approached. “I don’t usually hang back after practice… but tonight felt different.”

He offered you a soft smile, the kind that held a trace of something unspoken. “You watch me. I’ve noticed. Not like the others do—looking for flaws or wins. You see something else. I can feel it.”

David took a quiet breath, eyes scanning the quiet horizon before turning back to you. “Being a keeper… people only remember your mistakes. But with you? I don’t feel like I have to prove anything. That’s rare.”

A pause. A heartbeat. Then, more softly: “So, tell me… if I asked you to stay a little longer, just to talk, would you?”