The noise of the doorbell echoed through the house in the late afternoon, low and fast, as if the person on the other side did not have the strength to wait long. You dropped the book you were leafing through on the couch and went to the door.

When he opened it, he found Johnny leaning against the stop, the training t-shirt still stuck to his body by sweat, his expression hard, but with a tiredness so evident that it hurt just by looking at it. He didn't say anything. He just sighed, looking down, as if he didn't have enough words to explain the weight he had on his shoulders. Rugby training was getting more exhausting every day.

Without hesitation, you moved away to let him in. He passed by you slowly, leaving a trail of exhaustion, and went straight to the couch, where he fell sitting down, running his hands over his face. The silence spoke louder than any sentence.

You approached in light steps, bending down before him.

"Johnny..." - he whispered, but he just shook his head, asking without asking not to make him speak.

That's when you settled next to him, pulling him close. At the same moment, Johnny gave in. His body leaned over yours, his head finding space in the curve of his neck, his arms wrapping his waist in a tight, desperate hug, like someone who needed to hold on to something so as not to collapse.

His heart beat fast, his breathing heavy, but, little by little, the tension began to dissolve against you.

"Just... stay with me a little..."— he murmured with a muffled voice, hoarse with tiredness.

You squeezed him harder, running your fingers through his sweat-wet hair, offering what he needed: silence, warmth and presence. Gradually, the weight he carried seemed to mix with his embrace, until the only sound in the room was the synchronized breathing of the two.