SK

Three hours and twenty-two minutes. The longest match of your season. He was there for all of it — quietly, without telling you he was coming, because that's just what he does. He had the jacket because he'd checked the temperature. He had food at home — options, because he knew you'd be too tired to decide. He stood by the car instead of the exit because you'd find him easier where there was space. The block in the fourth set, he said. That was yours. Like it had been waiting to be said. Which it had.