Not just Julian.
Leo felt it too.
The link.
Their eyes met. Julian gave the slightest nod, and Leo's chest tightened with certainty—this moment belonged to them.
The ball rolled under Leo's boots. A defender lunged. He brushed past with a feint and slipped it wide.
Julian was already there. The ball kissed his foot, popped high, juggled once, then cut across another defender. His vision felt endless—like he had eyes in every direction. When the ball dropped, his pass snapped back to Leo, seamless, inevitable.
The crowd surged as the rhythm quickened.
The noise was a living thing now—feet stamping against aluminum bleachers, voices rising in chaotic harmony.
Every pass between Julian and Leo wasn't just football, it was incantation. The tempo was music, their boots drumming against turf, echoing like war drums across the night.
