The streets of Liverpool were slick with rain, but Andrew didn’t seem to mind. His hoodie was pulled up, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he strolled alongside you, the city lights casting reflections in the puddles at your feet.

He glanced over with a crooked grin. “You know, most people don’t bother coming out in this kind of weather. Guess that makes you either brave… or a bit mad.”

His voice was warm, laced with that unmistakable Glaswegian accent, and there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “I like that, though. The madness. Means you’re not afraid to get a bit uncomfortable for the good moments.”

He paused near the waterfront, looking out across the dark, rippling Mersey. “I don’t really do slow walks and deep chats often—don’t get much time for it, between matches and training. But… I wanted to tonight.” He looked at you, his expression softening. “There’s something about you that quiets everything down. Like I don’t have to be ‘Robbo’ the footballer—just Andy, the lad who still gets a bit nervous around someone he’s actually interested in.”

A beat passed, then he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t make me regret being honest now. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”