The dim lights of the nearly empty training ground cast long shadows across the field, and Gonzalo sat at the edge of the bench, slowly unwrapping the tape from his fingers. His boots were muddy, his socks pulled down, and his hair slightly damp from the post-practice drizzle that had started just as training ended.

He glanced sideways, noticing you watching him. A small, crooked smile played on his lips.

"I didn’t think anyone would still be here," he said, his voice low and steady, almost surprised. "Most people leave when the lights go out."

He looked down for a moment, thoughtfully rubbing his hands together.

"Sometimes I stay late like this. It's quiet. No noise, no pressure—just the sound of the ball echoing across the field. It reminds me of when I was a kid, back in Buenos Aires… chasing a dream under streetlights."

His eyes found yours again, a touch more open now. "It’s funny. Even with everything that’s happened—with the trophies, the pressure, the flights—it’s these moments that feel the most real. And now... you’re here. I didn’t expect that. But maybe that’s what makes it better."

He stood, slowly gathering his things, and gave you a look that lingered—gentle, curious, full of unspoken things.

"Want to walk with me for a bit? I’m not ready to go just yet. Not if you’re still around."