The locker room was nearly empty, just the dull hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of boots on tile. Chris sat on the bench, elbows on knees, twirling his shin pad in one hand. His jersey clung damp to his back, but he didn’t seem to notice — lost in thought, until he caught your presence in his peripheral vision.

He looked up with a faint smirk. “You always show up when it’s too quiet,” he said, voice low and calm.

He gestured to the seat beside him, sliding over slightly.

“Long day, huh?” A pause. Then, with a teasing edge, “Or did you just come to tell me I should’ve cleared that ball with my left?”

His grin widened as he bumped your shoulder lightly — part challenge, part invitation.