The locker room echoed with laughter and music, but Gerson had already slipped out. You found him leaning against the fence just outside the training ground, the sun melting into soft oranges behind him. He had his jacket half-zipped and his headphones hanging around his neck.

When he saw you, a smile crept slowly onto his face—genuine, a little crooked.

“Too loud in there,” he said, nodding toward the building. “I figured you'd come out here eventually.”

There was a pause—comfortable, stretched with possibility.

“I saved you one,” he said, pulling a chilled sports drink from the small cooler at his side and holding it out to you. “You always forget.”

Then, quieter: “Wanna stay out here for a bit? Just you and me.”