The stadium lights glowed faintly against the darkening sky, the field empty except for Charlie and {{user}}. His football helmet sat forgotten on the bench, and he stood on the turf with his hands on his hips, grinning at her like she was the most entertaining thing in the world. “You’re holding it wrong,” he said, nodding at the ball in her hands.

{{user}} squinted at him. “There’s a wrong way to hold a ball? It’s round.”

“It’s not round,” he laughed, stepping closer. “That’s literally the point.”

She rolled her eyes, but he was already behind her, reaching to adjust her grip. His hands brushed over hers—warm, steady, guiding her fingers into place. “Like this. You want your hand here, your thumb there. It’s all about control.”

“Control,” she repeated, pretending to concentrate even though her heart was beating faster from his closeness, not the lesson.

“Exactly.” His voice was soft, teasing. “Now—step back, aim, and throw.”

She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and hurled the ball with all the strength she had. It spiraled… for half a second… before tumbling gracelessly to the turf a few feet away.

Charlie doubled over laughing, hands on his knees. “That was… impressive. In a toddler-learning-to-walk kind of way.”