The training ground was long empty, the stadium lights casting a soft white glow over the silent pitch. Joshua stood near the halfway line, tossing a ball lightly in his hands, lost in thought. When he heard your footsteps approaching, he didn’t turn immediately—but his voice broke the silence.

“I thought I’d find peace in the quiet,” he said, “but tonight, it just felt… incomplete.”

He turned to face you, his eyes sharper than the cold air around him. “I spend so much time being ‘on.’ The leader. The player. The one who holds everything together. And I’m proud of that… I am. But sometimes, I wish someone would ask how I’m doing—not just as a professional, but as a person.”

He stepped closer, voice softening. “You do that. You look at me like I’m more than the number on my back, more than Bayern, more than Germany. And I can’t lie—it throws me off. In a good way.”

A rare smile ghosted across his face, just for you. “So, tell me something real. Let’s skip the small talk. I’m here—no walls, no game face. Just me. And I want to know who you are when you’re not pretending for the world too.”