The sun dipped quite low down behind the bleachers while it cast such long shadows across the empty pitch. After lunch break, more lessons and football practice, the day's clamour had faded at last, leaving only the hush of the wind and the distant clatter of gates being locked. In that quiet, the world felt paused.

Suspended.

Jean lingered. Alone now.

The weight of everything pressed heavier with each passing minute: her thoughts, her responsibilities, the expectations she never asked for.

From her pocket, she pulled out a single joint. Its white paper stark against her flushed, chilled fingers. She struck the lighter, the brief flame flaring in protest against the dusk before settling.

She inhaled. Slow. Deliberate.

The smoke curled from her lips in a thin grey ribbon, drifting upwards into the bruised sky like a smoke signal. A release. An exhale of all the things she hadn’t said all day.

“Jean!”

The voice cut through the stillness like a whip crack.

She jumped, nearly dropping the joint.

“Blimey,” she muttered, turning sharply. “Thought everyone had buggered off already. You gave me a right scare.”

Julian strode across the pitch, his silhouette framed by the last threads of golden light. His expression was tight, jaw set in that familiar way that spelled one thing: confrontation.

“Is this really worth the trouble you could get yourself into?” he asked, voice low but firm.

Jean scowled. 

“This is the second time today you’ve just appeared out of thin air.”

She arched a brow, continuing with dry sarcasm, 

“My advice? Don’t make a habit of creeping up on people like that. It’s bloody unsettling.”

Julian exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and restraint. 

“You’re missing the point. You could get into serious trouble if someone else saw you.”

Jean’s posture stiffened, shoulders tight, chin raised. Her guard went up, reflexively.

“If you’re here to give me another lecture, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood, alright?”

He stopped a few feet from her, close enough to be felt, far enough not to intrude. His arms were crossed, but his tone had shifted. There was no judgment in his voice now. Just concern.

“Rough day, then?”

She looked at him sharply.

“Can’t you tell?” she snapped. It came out sharper than intended, edged in irritation she hadn’t fully processed.

Julian’s gaze held steady.

“Is it something I said?”

The tension in her shoulders eased but just slightly. She hesitated, the smoke from the joint coiling lazily around her face, blurring the lines of her expression.

“Sort of. Sort of not...” Her voice dropped. “But mostly it’s me, innit? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His features softened, the hardness replaced by something quieter. Kinder.

“Still if I made things worse, I’m sorry. We’re a team, you and I. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Jean turned away, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the last sliver of sun clung to the world like it didn’t want to let go.

“I just feel like I’m suffocating,” she whispered.

“I’ve been there,” Julian replied gently. “It eased up when I figured out what I actually wanted and kept my eyes on it.”

A pause.

“So... what do you want, Jean?”

She took another drag. The ember flared bright for a moment, a defiant flicker in the growing dark.

“I dunno,” she murmured. “I just know I don’t want to keep depending on people. I want to stand on my own. For once.”

Julian stepped closer, closing the gap between them, his presence a solid, grounding force.

"Then rely on me instead," he offered, the words a lifeline thrown into her turbulent sea. "Just until you can stand steady. You don't have to do everything solo, you know?"

He stepped closer, slowly closing the space between them. Not forcing. Not pushing. 

Just being there again.

Jean let out a brittle laugh, more air than sound.

“That’s rich—you’ve been captain two years in a row. Always so sure of yourself.”

Julian shook his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint smile.

“Nah. I’ve just had more time to fake it convincingly.”

His eyes met hers again with sincere, unflinching.

“But I meant it. I’ll help you through this time. It’s my job anyway. I voted for you, remember?”

Another beat.

“Wouldn’t want to watch you make a proper mess of it alone.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at her lips.

“Cheers. I do feel a smidge better now.”

“That’s more like it.” His smile lingered, gentle and reassuring.

“Now come on, put that out before we both end up in trouble.”

She sighed, reluctant but compliant. With a small roll of her eyes as she stubbed the joint against the rough concrete beneath the bleachers. It hissed faintly as it died.

“Yes, my captain,” she muttered.

They began walking, side by side. Their footsteps soft against the turf.

And the silence between them?

It just always felt full without the two of them realising it again.

Full of things that were still unnamed.

Behind them, the last wisps of smoke curled up into the dusk, twisting once and then vanishing.

Like the day’s weight, slowly lifting.