The team meeting dissolved into the usual post-match exodus. Players peeled off in every direction, eager to shed their muddy kit and rush to lessons or, more often, to celebrate. The changing rooms echoed with laughter and the clatter of studs against the tiles, the air thick with the residual adrenaline of the win.

And now, it was quiet again.

Everyone had cleared out.

Everyone, that is, except Jean.

She was stuck with cleanup duty. Again.

A familiar sting of punishment for her perpetual tardiness.

No warnings anymore. Just extra work.

Kneeling by the touchline, damp grass soaking into her socks and knees, she started collecting the scattered cones, one by one. Frustration simmered just beneath her skin.

​“Ugh—Nice one, Jean. Top-tier captain material, really,” she muttered to herself with dry, self-deprecating irony, tossing a cone into the mesh bag with more force than necessary.

​Each cone felt heavier than the last, like a physical manifestation of her annoyance.

​“Are you monologuing now?”

​Jean startled. The cone slipped from her grasp. She turned sharply.

​Julian stood a few yards away, arms folded, his expression an even blend of amusement and quiet concern.

His tall frame cast a long shadow across the pitch, backlit by the soft grey light of the early morning. He always had a presence about him, composed, undetectable, but never cold to her. His features were strikingly well-defined, with a strong jawline and sculpted cheekbones that made him look permanently focused. He exuded a quiet confidence, the kind that didn't need to shout to be heard.

​Julian's dark brown hair was usually parted off-centre, with some stubborn strands falling across his forehead during a match in a slightly tousled mess, though he often brushed it back with the same discipline he applied to everything else.

​“Eh?” Jean scratched the back of her head, a sheepish grin tugging at her lips. “Just trying to make this clear-up a bit less of a drag.”

​He walked closer, his presence grounding and just a little bit intense.

“Need a hand? Watching you mumble like that, I was starting to worry.”

Puzzled, Jean narrowed her eyes.

​“Why do you always volunteer for more graft? I truly can’t wrap my head around it.”

​He shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive.

​“Subtle as a brick, aren’t you? And here I was, feeling sorry for you a second ago.”

​She snorted.

​“Ooh, I’m ever so touched. But I still need to get this sorted before my next lesson.”

​“Then we’d better hurry,” he replied simply, already kneeling to gather cones before she could argue further.

​She paused, watching him. There was a quiet efficiency in everything he did. His movements were clean, precise. He didn’t just play like a leader; he looked like one too. Even sweat didn’t seem to rattle his polished edges.

​Those hazel-green eyes were always scanning, always reading the situation two steps ahead. Jean had once joked that he looked like someone carved from stone except stone didn’t move that gracefully.

​“You were solid today,” she said, quieter now, her voice softening without her meaning it to. “The Gaffer looked like he was ready to propose or something. He was still smiling while he was telling me off. So… thanks for softening the blow.”

​A rare smirk tugged at Julian’s lips, softening the usual sharpness in his features.

​“You’re welcome. And maybe try not being late all the time? Show you’re taking your captaincy seriously.”

​She rolled her eyes.

​“But I’m not, though. Still don’t get why they gave me the armband. Should’ve gone to Claire.”

​“You outvoted her. People like you better. Even Mr. Leo agreed.” His tone was level, leaving no room for debate.

​Just the simple truth.

​She shook her head in disbelief.

​“Everyone respects you, Julian. Even fears you a bit. Not once have I seen you get yelled at.”

​“Pfft—you’re not wrong.” He chuckled slowly, a quiet, genuine sound. He stacked the cones in neat piles without breaking rhythm. “But you… you were never fazed by me.”

​Jean smirked, brushing a blade of grass from her sleeve.

​“I’m used to scary blokes.”

​Julian had a reputation for being cold, distant, even intimidating. But his teammates knew better. Beneath the stoicism was someone who noticed everything. They knew the extra drills he did after practice, the way he memorised everyone's weak spots and adjusted the formation to cover them, the way he picked up after others when no one was watching.

​He didn’t lead with charisma. He led with consistency. And somehow, that made people follow.

​The air between them shifted. The banter faded. A brief, charged silence settled in its place.

​“I voted for you, too,” Julian said softly, almost as if it wasn’t meant to be heard. “So don’t go letting me down.”

​Jean froze. Her hand stilled over the last cone.

​She hadn’t expected that.

​It wasn't a confession, just a simple reminder that someone believed in her especially when she didn't believe in herself.

​A quiet trust.

​And then he reached out. His hand hovered for a moment before gently closing around hers to take the cone she was holding.

​It was fleeting. Barely a touch.

​No pressure. No words. Just presence.

A small acknowledgment of something truer. Something more.

And just as quietly, he let go.

​They resumed their task, side by side. But the silence between them was no longer empty; it was full.

Something that hadn’t quite found its shape yet ever since leadership camp.

But it was still there.