The night had settled softly over the quiet Barcelona streets, the golden glow of the streetlamps painting warm reflections on the pavement. Eric was leaning against the railing of a small pedestrian bridge near the training complex, his phone forgotten in his pocket, his focus completely on you.

“I like it here at night,” he said, voice low and sincere. “No noise. No pressure. Just… space to breathe.”

He shifted his weight slightly, hands in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders relaxed in a way they never were during a match.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile, “we’ve been around each other a lot lately. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but… I pay attention.”

A beat passed before he looked away briefly, then back at you. “You’re different. Not just to me—you are different. There’s something about the way you talk, the way you look at the world… I feel like I could talk to you for hours and never get bored.”

Eric paused, his gaze more intense now. “I don’t know where this is going. But I do know I’d like it to go somewhere. With you.”