The hum of the city faded behind you as you stepped into the dim hallway of the stadium, the buzz of the crowd a memory now. You found him there, slouched on a bench in his training top, hair still damp from the shower, earbuds dangling forgotten around his neck.

Akram glanced up with that trademark grin — soft, teasing, like he already had a joke ready just for you.

“You missed the best goal of the night,” he said with a smirk, “but I guess I’ll forgive you if you brought snacks.”

Then his voice dipped just slightly, quieter.

“...Or maybe you just came to see me?”

He nudged the spot beside him, inviting, relaxed. The teasing was real, but so was the look in his eyes — a little tired, a little vulnerable, and completely open if you chose to stay.