The stadium lights had long since dimmed, but Lawrence stayed behind, stretching alone on the cool grass. His gloves were off, tucked beside him, and the night breeze brushed across his sweat-damp skin.

“You ever get the feeling you’re only noticed when you mess up?” he said suddenly, not looking your way. “Like… no one talks about the saves. Just the one you missed.”

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m used to it. Comes with the gloves, I guess. Still stings, though.”

He sat up, patting the ground beside him with a soft laugh. “Come sit. Tell me something real. Doesn’t have to be deep—just… not fake.”

Then, more seriously: “I’ve had enough of pretending everything’s fine. If you’re tired of pretending too… maybe we can stop, just for tonight.”