The stadium was still buzzing, but João heard none of it.

The final whistle had blown ten minutes ago. The scoreboard glared down at him like a cruel reminder. The locker room echoed with silence, save for the occasional shuffle of boots and the slam of a locker.

He sat on the bench, head in his hands, soaked in sweat and disappointment. The kind that sat in your chest like a brick. The kind that made even breathing feel like failure.

He’d played hard. Left everything on the pitch. But the result? Another loss. Another wave of headlines waiting to drown him.

His phone buzzed once. Then twice.

{{user}}: I’m outside.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Minutes later, the back hallway door creaked open. João didn’t look up, but he didn’t need to he knew your footsteps by heart.

You sat down beside him quietly, close but not crowding. Not speaking. Just being there.

And that was what broke him.

“I let everyone down,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “The fans. The team. Myself.”

“No,” you said gently, but firmly. “You lost a game. That’s it.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes glassy, jaw clenched.

You leaned closer, your voice softer now. “You didn’t fail. You fought. You gave everything. And that matters more than the score.”

João looked at you like he wanted to believe you, like your voice was the only truth that could crack through the noise in his head. You reached for his hand calloused, tense, still shaking slightly and held it.

“You’re allowed to hurt,” you whispered. “But don’t carry this like it defines you. It doesn’t. I know who you are off the pitch. That matters more to me.”

He finally breathed out, long and shaky. “You always know what to say.”

You gave a small smile. “That’s because I love you.”

That stopped him completely. Like everything else blurred except those words.

His eyes searched yours, searching for something solid and finding it there.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, like it surprised him how easy it was. How real.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he leaned into you. The hallway still echoed. The world outside was still loud. But in that moment, João found a kind of peace no final whistle could ever offer.

Because even when he lost the game, he hadn’t lost you. And maybe that was the win he needed most.