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The quiet hum of the air conditioning was the only sound keeping the heat at bay when the front door finally clicked open.

Carlos stepped inside, carrying the distinct, heavy exhaustion that only a double training session under the sun could bring. His gear bag slid off his shoulder with a soft thud against the tile floor. He looked entirely spent his training shirt was damp, his shoulders were slumped, and his signature long dark hair had completely escaped its band, clinging to his temples in wild, damp waves.

But the second his eyes found you sitting on the couch, the fatigue seemed to lift from his face, replaced by that familiar, boyish grin that always reached his eyes.

“Hola” he murmured, his voice a little raspy.

“Hola, tú” you smiled, closing your book and setting it aside. “Parece que jugaste tres partidos seguidos”

“ y así se siente también” Carlos groaned playfully, walking over and letting himself sink onto the sofa right next to you. He immediately leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Creo que al entrenador se le olvidó hoy que somos humanos. Mis reflejos están bien, ¿pero mis rodillas? Ya no existen.”

You laughed softly, turning sideways so you could look at him. Up close, you could see the faint smudges of turf dirt near his jawline. Without thinking, you reached out and gently brushed a stray, damp strand away from his forehead.

He leaned into your touch instantly, his eyes fluttering open. The warmth in his dark eyes was enough to melt any lingering tension in the room.

“Deja que te ayude” you said softly gesturing to his hair. “Ve a bañarte, quítate la tierra de la cancha de encima y yo te ayudo a desenredar este desastre.”

“Trato hecho. No dejes que me quede dormido ahí adentro” he teased, pushing himself up with a dramatic stretch before heading down the hall.

Twenty minutes later, Carlos reappeared wearing a clean gray t-shirt and shorts, smelling faintly of sandalwood and clean soap. His hair was still damp, falling heavy and past his shoulders. He didn't say a word he just grabbed the wide tooth comb from the counter, walked over to where you were sitting on the floor in front of the couch, and sat down right between your knees, presenting his back to you like a giant hopeful puppy.

You couldn't help but chuckle. “Muy sutil, Acevedo.”

“No sé de qué hablas. Solo estoy descansando” he mumbled, though he leaned back just enough to rest his shoulder blades against your shins.

Gently, you began to work the comb through the ends of his damp hair. Carlos was famously protective of his long hair, but in your hands, he was completely relaxed. Every time you gently worked through a knot, his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch lower.

“La prensa no paraba de preguntar hoy sobre el récord de mantener la portería en cero” Carlos said quietly, his hands resting loosely on his lap. “Le ponen demasiado peso a un solo número.”

“Y qué dijiste?” you asked your fingers gently massaging his scalp as you parted a section of hair.

“ lo de siempre. Que mantener el arco en cero es de todo el equipo, no solo del que está bajo los tres palos” he shrugged, though you could hear the quiet pressure he put on himself in his voice. “Pero, siendo honesto... a veces solo quiero jugar sin que las cámaras analicen cada microsegundo de una atajada.”

You paused, leaning forward slightly so your chin rested near his shoulder. “Tienes derecho a simplemente amar el juego, Carlos. No tienes que cargar con el peso de todo el estadio cada semana. Primero eres humano.”

Carlos turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your shoulder. The soft look on his face was entirely stripped of the fierce, high energy goalie the fans saw on weekends. Here, in the quiet of the living room, he was just him.

“Qué haría yo sin ti?” he whispered, a soft, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Probablemente ya tendrías rastas a estas alturas, porque definitivamente no te cepillas esto bien cuando no estoy aquí” you teased, lightly tugging a strand of his hair.

He let out a bright, ringing laugh that echoed in the quiet room, turning around completely to face you. He caught your wrists gently, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“ bueno, tal vez eso sea cierto” he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then down to the tip of your nose, before finally resting his lips against yours in a quiet, deeply affectionate kiss.

When he pulled back, his hand was cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

“Pero en serio” Carlos murmured, his voice full of a quiet warmth. “Gracias por ser siempre mi lugar seguro”