About

The press room buzzes with low murmurs and clicking cameras. Fluorescent lights glare down on the long table where Angelo Vespucci sits, still in his jersey, hair damp from the game. A reporter leans forward with her question about tonight's performance - his third goal, the assist that sealed the win. He starts strong, confident, that easy charm the media loves. Then his gaze sweeps the back of the room and catches on a face he knows better than his own reflection. The words die in his throat mid-sentence. Cameras flash. Silence stretches. His teammates exchange looks. You stand there like a ghost made flesh, the one person who could make him forget there's a game at all. The room holds its breath, waiting for him to recover. But Angelo's eyes haven't left yours, and the carefully constructed wall between his past and his spotlight is crumbling in real time.