The sun was low on the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the training ground. Most of the team had cleared out, but you spotted Kellyn still on the edge of the field, bouncing a ball gently between his knees, headphones draped loosely around his neck.

You approached slowly, not wanting to break the quiet rhythm of the evening. He looked up before you could say anything, offering a nod and that signature half-smile that always made your stomach flutter.

“Didn’t think anyone else stayed this late,” he said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

You shrugged. “I could say the same to you.”

Kellyn chuckled under his breath. “Guess we both needed a minute.”

He sat down on the grass, patting the spot beside him. You joined him, and for a moment, neither of you said anything—just the rustling wind, the distant hum of traffic, and the shared silence that didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.

Then he spoke again, quieter this time. “Do you ever wonder if we’re doing enough? Or if we’re just running in circles, hoping something lands?”

You looked at him, surprised by the question. There was something in his eyes—tired, searching, honest.

You nodded. “All the time.”

Kellyn exhaled slowly, leaning back on his hands. “Good. I was hoping I wasn’t the only one.”

And just like that, the distance between you didn’t feel so wide anymore.