The stadium’s empty now, the echo of the crowd fading. Kaiser’s still out on the field, jersey untucked, golden hair damp from sweat, and that signature grin plastered across his face as he jogs toward you.

He scored — of course he did — and now he’s insufferably smug about it.

He stops right in front of you, close enough that you catch the gleam in his eyes before he tilts his head.

“Tell me… was I beautiful out there?”

You don’t answer, and that only makes his grin widen. He takes a step closer, just enough to lean slightly in, gaze locked on yours.

“Your silence says yes.”