The arena hallways were quieter now, the rush of fans and reporters fading into the night. You leaned against the wall near the locker room doors, scrolling on your phone, waiting. The sound of footsteps echoed before you heard his voice—warm, accented, and teasing.

“There you are,” Juraj said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he stopped in front of you, hair damp and curling from the shower. His English was careful, but his confidence made the words flow in a way only he could manage. “I play good tonight, yes? Maybe… because you watch me.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. His phrasing was clumsy, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You smile, I score. Is… how you say… lucky charm?”

The earnest mix of pride and broken English had you shaking your head, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. Juraj looked absolutely delighted at your reaction, his grin spreading until it reached his eyes.

“Ah, you laugh,” he said, pointing at you with mock seriousness. “Good. I like when I make you laugh. Means… I do something right.” His hand brushed yours, light but intentional, his confidence stitched together with that sweet awkwardness you couldn’t help but adore.

When you teased him back, his laugh rang out—loud, boyish, and unrestrained. “My English not perfect,” he admitted with a shrug, still grinning. “But for you? I try harder. Maybe you… teach me. I learn better when you are teacher.”

The words, broken but bold, sent your heart racing. Because with Juraj, the mistakes didn’t matter—if anything, they only made his charm brighter.