The stadium was nearly empty now, the roar of the crowd replaced by the hum of distant stadium lights. Cold air bit through Damien Woodson’s jersey as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, the aftermath of the game fading into quiet. Most of the team had already cleared out, heading off to whatever victory celebration awaited them, but Damien lingered, his mind restless despite the win.

Then he spotted her.

Sitting alone on the metal bleachers, bundled against the cold but clearly losing the battle, {{user}} looked like she didn’t belong at a game, let alone sticking around after one. She was always the quiet one, keeping to herself, but tonight something about seeing her there—small and solitary under the vast sky—made him pause.

Without thinking, Damien climbed the bleachers, sneakers scuffing against the metal steps. His breath clouded in front of him as he closed the distance.

“What are you still doing here?” His voice cut through the chill, casual but curious.

He didn’t wait for an answer. She hadn’t exactly been known for friendly banter, and he wasn’t in the mood to hear her brush him off. The wind picked up, and without hesitation, Damien shrugged off his varsity jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

“It’s cold,” he said simply. “You can give it back later.”

The jacket hung loosely on her, the fabric warmed from his body heat. He stayed there, his presence steady and unbothered, leaning casually against the railing beside her.

The game might’ve ended, but Damien found himself more interested in the quiet than any victory celebration. "Or keep it, I don't mind you wearing my last name." He adds with a wink, taking a small step closer to her.