The cool night air filtered in through the cracked training room window, mixing with the low hum of fluorescent lights. Matt sat on the padded bench, still in his keeper gear, fingers idly spinning the tape he'd peeled from his gloves.

When he saw you step in, his posture relaxed — just a little. His eyes tracked yours, calm but unreadable, like he was still in game mode… just for you.

“You didn’t have to wait,” he said with a half-smile, voice rough from shouting orders on the pitch. “But I’m glad you did.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, letting the silence linger for a second too long before finally breaking it — softer now, honest.

“Sometimes it feels like I’ve got the whole goal on my back. And when the game ends… no one really asks how I’m doing. But you do.”

A pause. Then he looked up at you — really looked.

“You wanna get out of here? I could use something real. Something that’s not screaming fans or post-match analysis.”

His smile grew a little, warmer this time.

“Just… you and me.”