1:23 PM

Museum of Islamic Art

The museum was modern and geometric with sharp angles and clean lines, and inside the air conditioning was aggressive enough that Sophia pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

They moved through the galleries slowly without any particular agenda, and Demien read plaques when they interested him and skipped them when they didn't, and Sophia took photos of architectural details and ceramic pieces that caught her eye.

In one gallery displaying ancient manuscripts and calligraphy, they sat on a bench facing a large illuminated Quran behind glass, and neither spoke for several minutes while other visitors moved past them.

"Do you think about what happens if your leg doesn't heal properly?" Sophia asked quietly, and the question came without preamble.

"Sometimes," Demien admitted, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, "usually at night when I can't sleep."

"What do you think about?" she pressed.

"Whether I'll be as fast as I was before," he said, and his voice was level, "whether my first touch will feel natural or if I'll have to relearn everything, whether I'll hesitate before sprinting because I'm scared it'll go again."

Sophia reached over and took his hand, and her thumb traced circles on his palm without conscious thought.

"That's normal," she said, "being scared means you still care about it."

"Does it?" Demien asked, and he turned to look at her.

"Yeah," Sophia said with certainty, "if you weren't scared it would mean you'd already given up."

He processed that for a moment before nodding slowly, and the admission had come easier than he expected because Sophia didn't offer empty reassurances or tell him everything would be fine—she just accepted the fear as valid.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?" she asked.

"For not telling me I'll definitely be fine," Demien replied, "because you don't know that and neither do I."

"I don't deal in bullshit," Sophia said with a slight smile, "you know that by now."

They stood and continued through the museum, and in another gallery Sophia stopped in front of a geometric tile pattern and studied it for longer than necessary.

"What are you thinking?" Demien asked while standing beside her.

"That I'm glad you came to Qatar," she said without looking away from the tiles, "even though you didn't want to at first."

"Me too," he admitted.

She turned to face him and her expression was softer than usual, and when she leaned up to kiss him he met her halfway and the moment was simple and unhurried.

When they separated she smiled and took his hand again, and they walked toward the museum exit while afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows.

**3:47 PM

Hotel Room**

They returned to the hotel with enough time to shower and pack before meeting Luca and Elena in the lobby, and Demien moved through the routine mechanically while his mind stayed quiet.

Sophia emerged from the bathroom wearing fresh clothes with her hair pulled back, and she found him standing near the window looking out at the city.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Not really," Demien admitted, and he turned to face her, "this week was good—I didn't expect that."

"Good how?" Sophia moved to stand in front of him.

"It gave me space," he said, and he tried to articulate something he hadn't fully processed yet, "not physical space but mental space—time where I wasn't counting days until I could train again or worrying about whether my leg would hold up."

"Perspective," Sophia offered.

"Yeah," Demien agreed, and he reached for her hand, "perspective."

She stepped closer and kissed him again, and this time the moment stretched longer before she pulled back with a smile.

"We should go," she said, "Luca will be annoying if we're late."

**6:34 PM

Evening Before Departure**

They met for dinner at a restaurant near the hotel—nothing fancy, just a place with good food and low lighting that made conversation easy.

Luca dominated the early part of the meal with stories about the market he and Elena had visited, and his descriptions were animated and included complaints about haggling with vendors who wanted triple the reasonable price for scarves.

"You overpaid anyway," Elena said with amusement, "I saw the final transaction."

"It's called supporting local business," Luca replied with dignity, "you wouldn't understand."

Sophia laughed and Demien smiled while the conversation continued around him, and the ease of sitting with people who didn't require him to perform or explain himself felt valuable.

Later, when the food had been cleared and they were finishing drinks, Luca leaned back in his chair and looked at Demien.

"You seem better," he said, and the observation was direct, "not physically better but less… tense."

"Maybe," Demien replied, and he considered whether that was accurate, "this week helped."

"Good," Luca said simply, "because you were miserable in Bergamo before we left."

"I wasn't miserable," Demien protested.

"You absolutely were," Sophia interjected, and she looked at him with raised eyebrows, "you were doing physio and sitting in your apartment and watching matches on television and looking like someone had stolen your birthday."

"That's dramatic," Demien said, but he couldn't argue convincingly because the description wasn't entirely wrong.

"We saved you from yourself," Luca declared, and he raised his glass, "you're welcome."

Elena laughed and Sophia shook her head with amusement, and Demien raised his own glass in acknowledgment even though the gesture felt silly.

**9:52 PM

Walking Back to Hotel**

They walked back together through streets that were still decorated with World Cup banners and flags, and the tournament's remnants were everywhere even though the energy had dissipated.

Luca and Elena walked ahead while talking about their flight tomorrow, and Demien and Sophia followed at a slower pace with her hand in his.

"I meant what I said earlier," Sophia said after they'd walked in silence for several minutes, "about being glad you came."

"I know," Demien replied.

"Do you?" she pressed, and she stopped walking to face him, "because sometimes I think you forget that people care about more than just your football career."

"I don't forget," he said, and he met her eyes, "but football is what I'm good at—it's what I know how to do."

"You're good at other things too," Sophia said, and her tone was firm, "you're good at being honest when most people aren't, you're good at actually listening instead of just waiting to talk, and you're good at being present even when you're worried about the future."

"That last one feels generous," Demien said with a slight smile.

"Take the compliment," she replied, and she kissed him briefly before starting to walk again.

They caught up to Luca and Elena near the hotel entrance, and the four of them rode the elevator together while Luca made plans for everyone to meet for breakfast before checkout.

**11:34 PM

Hotel Room**

The room was quiet when they returned and Demien moved to the window while Sophia checked her phone on the bed, and the city stretched out below them with lights reflecting off glass and water.

He stretched carefully—testing his hamstring's range of motion and finding it responsive without sharp pain—and the routine had become automatic over the past month.

The system didn't activate, and the absence felt intentional rather than concerning because this moment belonged to him without progress bars or stat updates or mission objectives.

Sophia looked up from her phone and watched him stretch, and when he finished she patted the bed beside her.

"Come here," she said.

Demien moved to sit beside her and she shifted closer until her head rested on his shoulder, and they sat without speaking while the city hummed quietly outside.

"February's not that far away," she said eventually, and her voice was soft, "five weeks."

"I know," Demien replied.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"No," he admitted, and the honesty came easily, "but I will be."

She lifted her head to look at him and her expression was serious, and when she kissed him this time there was no urgency or performance—just genuine connection between two people who understood each other.

When they separated she smiled and settled back against his shoulder, and they stayed that way while the night stretched toward morning and the tournament's echoes faded into memory.

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