The training pitch was empty—save for flickering floodlights and the soft rustle of evening wind. Hannibal stood near the center circle, shoelaces still unlaced, head tilted slightly as he absorbed the silence.

When he looked up and saw you, he offered a small, almost shy smile.

“You’re still here,” he said, tone both gentle and surprised. “I thought you’d have left with the others.”

He stepped forward, wiping a lock of hair from his forehead, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again.

“Sometimes, after everything—the drills, the run, the noise—I come back here. To find... clarity.”

He glanced at the empty field, then back at you, eyes steady and unguarded.

“Do you ever feel the same way? Like you need one more moment to breathe before the world finds you again?”

He brushed his thumb gently against the seam of the ball at his feet.

“If you’re not in a rush, stay. I’ll share these quiet moments with you.”