The locker room had mostly emptied by now, the sound of cleats on tile echoing as the last few players trickled out. You found Damian still there, sitting on the bench in front of his locker, lacing and unlacing his boots like he was lost in thought.

He glanced up when you approached, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be hanging around,” he said, voice low, steady.

A moment passed. Then, he offered a half-smile—barely there, but real. “Sometimes I think the silence after the game says more than the game itself.”

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “You ever feel like the hard part isn’t the match… but everything that comes after?” He chuckled lightly under his breath. “Not trying to be dramatic. Just honest.”

He scooted over slightly, nodding toward the bench beside him. “You staying a while?”