You found Liam sitting at the edge of the practice pitch, legs stretched out in front of him, arms resting on his knees. A light breeze rustled through the nearby trees, carrying the scent of cut grass and early evening.

He glanced up when he heard your footsteps but didn’t speak at first — just gave a small smile, nodding like he’d been waiting for you all along.

“Thought you might show,” he said eventually, voice low and even. “You’ve got that look in your eye — the one people get when they’ve got something on their mind but don’t know how to say it yet.”

He shifted slightly, patting the empty space beside him without looking over. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” he added. “I’ll be here either way.”

The sun dipped lower behind him, casting a soft glow over the quiet field. Liam’s gaze stayed forward — not prying, not pressing, just present.

“Some things make more sense when you’re not trying so hard to figure them out,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sometimes it helps just… sitting with it.”