The pitch was empty now, save for the lingering shadows of the day fading into the night. Fabian had stayed after everyone else had left, a few extra touches and runs, trying to perfect a move that had been on his mind all week. As he jogged toward you, wiping the sweat from his brow, he offered a tired but genuine smile.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful, “people often talk about the pressure, the expectations, the spotlight. But no one tells you about the quiet moments. The ones when you’re not playing for anyone else. Just... for yourself. It’s in those moments that you really get to know who you are, and what you’re willing to fight for.”

He paused, his gaze catching yours, lingering just a little longer than usual. “And right now… I feel like it’s worth fighting for. You. Because I haven’t found someone who makes this whole game—this whole life—feel as exciting as you do.”