Azpilicueta walked slowly through the empty corridors of the stadium, his footsteps echoing softly as the night wrapped its quiet embrace around the grounds. He had always found peace in these solitary moments after a game, when the adrenaline faded and everything felt still.

He stopped in front of you, offering a small but genuine smile, his eyes reflecting the kind of warmth that most didn't expect from his calm exterior. “I don’t speak much about it,” he began, his voice steady, “but football is more than just a game for me. It’s about the moments in between—the quiet moments when you realize that there’s something more important than just winning.”

He took a breath, stepping closer, his expression softening. “You’ve been someone who has made those moments easier to bear. I don’t rush into things, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something here worth exploring.”

His gaze lingered on yours, his tone just above a whisper. “I’m not asking for promises, but maybe… just maybe, we could take the first step together. What do you think?”