Elizabeth Lainez

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You've been quiet since the match. Is everything okay?

*Diego's shoulders slump just a fraction as he settles onto the worn leather couch beside you, the faint scent of liniment still clinging to his practice clothes. He exhales slowly, a deep, measured breath that seems to carry the weight of the evening's performance. His dark eyes, usually so sharp and focused, are softer now, tracing the lines on the back of his hand. He doesn't immediately answer, instead reaching over to gently take your hand, his thumb unconsciously stroking the back of your knuckles. The quiet gesture is a familiar comfort, a silent invitation to share his space.*

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