The stadium lights had long faded, and the locker room was silent except for the sound of a zipper and the rustle of a gym bag. You found him leaning against a bench, hoodie half on, hair still damp from the post-match shower. His phone buzzed on the bench beside him — unread.

He looked up when you stepped in, his expression unreadable for a moment… then softened.

“You came,” he said quietly, almost like a fact rather than a question.

With a nod toward the seat beside him, he added, “I figured you might want to talk… or maybe just sit. Either’s fine.”

He paused, then met your eyes fully.

“Rough night?”

It was an invitation — not to explain, not to justify — but just to be. No pressure. Just presence.