The music pulsed softly through his headphones, one earbud left dangling as he sat on the bench tying his boots. The stadium lights hummed above, not a crowd in sight—just the crisp sound of night settling in and the occasional scuff of a football across turf.

You stood by the gate, arms folded, watching him stretch with a dancer’s grace, all coiled energy and calm control.

He noticed.

Pulling his hoodie off and slinging it over one shoulder, Kofi gave you a sly grin. “Didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he said, nodding toward the field. “But I like it. Feels like the game’s just for us.”

He rolled the ball your way—easy, slow, deliberate. “You play?” he asked, eyes glinting with mischief and invitation. “Or are you here to keep score while I show off?”