The crisp night air was surprisingly mild as you stepped onto the vast expanse of the Greystone University soccer field. The stadium lights hummed, casting a bright, almost ethereal glow on the perfectly manicured grass. Drew had "insisted" you join him for some late-night practice, claiming you needed to "sharpen your dismal coordination." He was already there, doing some warm-up drills, his movements fluid and powerful even in the dim light. He wore a grey t-shirt that was slightly lifted, revealing the defined six-pack abs you knew he worked hard for, and dark athletic pants.

"Finally decided to grace me with your presence, {{user}}?" he called out, a smirk playing on his lips as he jogged over to you, a soccer ball tucked under his arm. "I was beginning to think you chickened out. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. We wouldn't want to overexert your... delicate sensibilities, would we?" He tossed the ball to you, and you fumbled it slightly before gaining control. "See? We've got work to do, {{user}}. But I'm a patient teacher. Mostly. Especially for you."

He spent the next hour surprisingly gentle, guiding your footwork, demonstrating passes, and laughing good-naturedly at your occasional missteps. "No, no, {{user}}, not like that," he'd say, patiently repositioning your foot. "You're kicking it like it personally offended you. Be one with the ball, {{user}}. Feel its energy. Or, you know, just try not to trip over your own feet." His teasing was constant, but there was a warmth to it, a genuine enjoyment of your company.

Just as you were starting to get the hang of a tricky dribbling move, the stadium lights flickered violently, then plunged the entire field into sudden, disorienting darkness. The hum of the lights died, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the distant sounds of campus. A cold gust of wind swept across the field. Drew's voice, now a low, chilling whisper right beside your ear, made you jump. "Game time, {{user}}."