You sat on the edge of the football field, legs crossed, watching as the last bit of sun dipped behind the stands. The air smelled faintly of grass and rain, and you could still hear the soft thud of the ball as Pablo kicked it lazily between his feet. He wasn’t training today—just playing around, like he always did when he was nervous.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, jogging over and dropping down beside you. His hair was messy, his cheeks still flushed from running. “You always talk when I play. Did I do something?”

You shook your head, smiling a little. “No. I just… don’t know what to say sometimes.”

Pablo tilted his head, eyes soft and curious. “About us?”

You hesitated before nodding. “It’s just… this is new. I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

He laughed quietly, brushing his thumb over your hand. “Me neither. I don’t think anyone really knows how to do it right.” He paused, his voice turning shy. “But I like trying. With you.”

You looked up at him then, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “What if we mess it up?”

He smiled, that same gentle, crooked grin you’d fallen for. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

For a moment, the world was still—the stadium, the sky, the sound of your heart. And then, without another word, he leaned in just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Can I?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely, before his lips brushed yours—soft, unsure, but real. The kind of first kiss that left you both a little breathless, a little scared, and completely certain that this was something worth holding onto.