The music from the locker room pulsed faintly through the concrete halls as you stepped out into the night. You thought you were alone—until you saw him.

Krépin Diatta was seated on the edge of the training pitch, elbows on knees, cleats scuffed and still laced tight. A bottle of water hung from his fingers, forgotten. He looked up as you approached, offering a tired—but real—smile.

“You ever notice how quiet it gets after a win?” he asked, voice softer than usual. “It’s like the world exhales.”

He patted the grass beside him.

“I usually don’t sit still this long,” he added with a chuckle. “But tonight… I don’t know. Feels like the kind of night you want to remember.”

The floodlights buzzed above, casting golden halos around you both. Krépin stretched out his legs, tipping his head back toward the stars.

“You think people really see us? Or just the highlights?”

He turned his head toward you then, eyes serious now—vulnerable.

“I don’t need someone who cheers only when I score. I need someone who gets me—even when I don’t say anything.”

Then, with that signature smirk, he tossed you the water bottle.

“But hey, if you bring snacks next time, I might open up faster.”

Would you like Krépin to be part of a modern romance, a teammates-to