The floodlights hummed overhead, casting a golden haze on the empty training pitch. Cole sat at the edge of the bench, long legs stretched out, fingers idly spinning a football between them. The air was cool, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show a few faint grass stains from earlier.

He noticed you before you spoke, eyes flicking up in that lazy, unreadable way of his. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—casual, unbothered, but somehow still warm.

“Didn’t think you’d still be around,” he said, voice low and smooth, laced with something playful.

Cole leaned back, head tilted, gaze fixed on you now. “What—couldn’t resist seeing me do kick-ups in peace?” His smirk grew slightly, teasing, but not unkind.

Then, quieter, almost like it slipped out: “…Or did you need a bit of quiet too?”

He nudged the ball in your direction, inviting you into the space he rarely shared.