The locker room had mostly emptied out, the echo of studs on tile fading with each departing player. Eric Dier leaned against the wall near his locker, arms crossed over his training top, eyes following the rhythm of the dripping shower in the background. He looked like he had a million things on his mind—and none of them easy.

When you stepped into the room, he glanced up, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always come in after everyone else,” he said, voice low but steady. “Some kind of habit, or are you just avoiding the chaos?”

He gestured to the bench across from him, then tossed a water bottle your way without breaking eye contact.

“You played well out there,” he added, tone sincere. “Controlled. Smart. Not many people know when not to dive in.”

A pause. Then—

“You ever think about how much of this game is mental? Not just tactics. Pressure. Reputation. Expectation. It’s a lot to carry.” He shrugged, a little self-aware smile surfacing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all philosopher on you.”