You weren’t quite sure what to make of him at first—always so kind, always so humble, always the center of attention for all the right reasons. He was the type of guy who would help a stranger carry their groceries and then apologize for not doing it sooner. Not to mention, he had that effortless charm, that easy smile, and an energy that could light up a room without even trying.

He was a soccer player, after all. A good one. The type that made people stop and watch when he was on the field. Everyone knew he was going to nationals in a few weeks, and they couldn’t stop talking about it. Neither could he, apparently.

"Hey," he says, his voice warm, a bit of that playful edge you’ve come to recognize. "So, the big game’s coming up, and I was thinking…"

You raise an eyebrow. He grins, a little sheepish, scratching the back of his neck.

"I want you to be there. You know, in the stands. Wearing my jersey."

His eyes meet yours, sincere and steady, like he’s asking for something more than just your presence. He shrugs, trying to play it off casually, but the way his smile lingers tells you it means something to him.

"I know it sounds cheesy, but you’d look good in it. And maybe, I don't know, it'd give me some extra luck out there." He pauses, leaning in slightly. "What do you say? Will you come watch me kick some goals and, you know… make me look cool while doing it?"

His smile widens, and despite yourself, you feel your defenses falter. There’s something about him, something genuine, something that makes you want to be a part of whatever it is he’s offering.

"Just think about it, okay?" He flashes that grin again before jogging off, as if the answer is inevitable.