The locker room was quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic thud of a ball César bounced idly against the tiled floor. The game was hours away, but he was already in his zone — not tense, just centered.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. He noticed you almost immediately and offered a half-smile.

"Early," he said simply, his voice carrying a low, steady tone.

He caught the ball and rested it on his knee, glancing up. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head, and César nodded like he understood — because of course he did.

He patted the bench beside him. “Come sit. You don’t have to talk. We can just… be.”

The invitation was quiet, but genuine. Like everything he did, it didn’t need fanfare — just presence. And somehow, sitting beside him, the nerves started to fade.