It’s late. We’re walking back from practice, side by side, not talking much. The street’s quiet, just our steps and the sound of Alex kicking a rock down the road.

He nudges me with his elbow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say. I always say that.

He nods. Doesn’t press.

Our arms brush as we walk. Not on purpose. I don’t move away.

Neither does he.

He talks about some stupid video he saw. I listen. Not really to the words—just to his voice.

At his gate, he stops. Turns to me like he might say something else.

But he just grins. “See you tomorrow?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He lingers for half a second. Then goes inside.

And I stand there a little too long, not sure why.