The locker room was empty. Everyone else had cleared out after training, but you stayed behind—sitting on the bench, boots still on, staring at the floor like it had all the answers.

Roy's voice cut through the silence, low and rough. “You were off today.”

You didn’t look up. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“I’m not takin’ the piss,” he said, stepping inside. “You’ve been off for weeks. What’s goin’ on?”

You finally met his eyes, jaw clenched. “You want me to say it? Fine. I’m tired. Tired of trying to prove I belong here. Tired of feeling like I’m not good enough no matter how hard I fucking train.”

Roy didn’t flinch. But he didn’t step back either.

“You think I don’t see how hard you work?” he asked, voice quiet now. “You think I’d waste my time if I didn’t believe in you?”

You scoffed. “You sure as hell don’t show it.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Roy’s shoulders tensed like he’d just taken a hit.

“I’m not good at this,” he said after a beat. “Not at talking. Not at fucking... emotional pep talks. But I push you harder than anyone else because I see what you’re capable of. Not because I think you’re weak.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

“You could’ve just said that,” you whispered.

“I thought you already knew,” Roy murmured. “But maybe that’s on me.”