The stadium lights had long since dimmed, but Filip remained on the sidelines, sitting on the bench with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the empty pitch. The distant hum of cleaning crews echoed through the stands, but he didn’t seem to hear them.

“You ever think about how fast it all moves?” he asked without turning. His voice was lower than usual—gravelly, a little tired.

“I blinked, and suddenly... I was here. No time to catch my breath.”

He finally looked up at you, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his dark eyes before the usual guarded mask slipped back into place.

“Don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. But sometimes…” He let the sentence hang in the air like a ball suspended mid-pass.

“…it’s nice to be around someone who sees me—not just the player, but the person.”

He leaned back, gave a dry chuckle, and tossed a water bottle your way.

“So? You sticking around? Or just passing through like everyone else?”