aik0: "I just… don't feel the same anymore. I'm sorry."
I stare at my phone, screen lighting up the room like it's mocking me.
What the fuck does that even mean? You don't feel the same anymore?
You don't just wake up one day and stop feeling. That's bullshit.
gomiisagummy: "You serious?"
Message sent. No reply.
gomiisagummy: "After everything, Aiko? You just end it like that?"
Still nothing.
I keep staring at those grey ticks like maybe if I hate them hard enough they'll turn blue. But they don't. They just sit there cold, dead, final.
"FUCKK…"
I slam the phone down on my bed and grab my head. My chest feels tight as hell. It's like someone's pressing their thumb right into my ribs, deep.
My room looks smaller than ever, half-open curtains, soccer gear all over the floor, a jersey with "PHOENIX FC" printed across the back.
I should be thinking about the tryouts next week.
Coach said, "You've got potential, Hayate. Don't lose focus."
Yeah, right. Focus. When the only thing I can see is her face?
I open Instagram again.
She posted a story. Laughing. At some café.
That same dude's in the corner of the frame. I know him, plays for Yokohama Uni. I hate his face already.
gomiisagummy: "You out with him?"
Delete. Don't send that. Don't look desperate.
I send it anyway.
No reply.
I toss my phone, pace the room, then grab it again like a fucking addict.
Scroll, scroll, scroll.
Every picture feels like a knife. Her wearing my hoodie. Her texts from last month. Her voice memos.
How do you go from "I love you" to "I don't feel the same" in two goddamn weeks?
I punch the wall, soft but enough to sting.
"Fuck…"
I sink down to the floor, head against my knees.
She was there for every win, every loss, every late-night practice. She said, "I'll be there when you make it, Gomi."
Liar.
My phone buzzes.
I grab it fast.
It's just my teammate, Tetsuo.
tetsuplayz: "Yo, u good bro? Training early tmr."
I stare at it. Don't answer.
I'm not good. I'm fucking drowning.
And she's out there smiling like nothing ever HAPPENED.
Later that night..
The bottle wasn't even mine.
I stole it from my brother's stash earlier that night. A half-empty Suntory whiskey bottle he hides behind his trophies like nobody'll notice. He's twenty-three, works long hours, barely home, so I figured he wouldn't give a shit if I took it.
But now it's sitting on my desk, open, sweating in the dim light, and I can smell the sharp burn of alcohol in the air. It's thick, heavy. My throat's already raw from the first few gulps, but I don't stop. I just keep drinking. Anything to make the ache fade for a second.
I'm sitting there in a white t-shirt and some sweats, my hair a mess, face hot, eyes glassy. The walls of my room look smaller, like they're caving in on me. Posters of soccer legends, Mbappé, Endō, old Phoenix players. They all stare down at me like I'm some fucking failure.
I pick up my phone again. My hand's shaking.
gomiisagummy: "why u doing this bro… we were fine"
gomiisagummy: "u said we'd last… u said I was different"
Each text takes forever to type. Autocorrect's fighting me and I can barely see straight.
Then… three little dots.
She's typing. My heart skips.
Please say you miss me. Please.
aik0: "Gomi stop. You're drunk."
My breath catches.
gomiisagummy: "so what if i am. ur the reason i am."
aik0: "You need to move on. It's over."
That word feels heavier this time.
Over.
Like she's cutting a wire that's been holding me up.
gomiisagummy: "u dont miss me?"
aik0: "No."
I just stare. The air leaves my chest slow, like a tire deflating.
I take another swig straight from the bottle. It hits my throat hard, burns, but I don't care. My vision's fuzzy now, and the room smells like alcohol and desperation.
gomiisagummy: "we been 2gether since hs. u loved me then."
aik0: "Yeah. But you never changed."
aik0: "You're the same boring guy you were at 17."
aik0: "Still talking about soccer, still living in that little dream world."
aik0: "You're just boring Gomi. Always have been."
For a second, I don't even feel drunk anymore.
It's just quiet.
Then I laugh, this weird, broken laugh that comes out of nowhere.
"Boring?" I whisper. "I fucking gave you everything."
I take another drink, spill half of it down my shirt. My eyes sting.
I type again, angry now.
gomiisagummy: "fuck YOU"
gomiisagummy: "Wait no don't fuck you I love u"
gomiisagummy: "i fucking loved u"
gomiisagummy: "u probably never even lovd me hah"
She reads them. No reply.
The dots never come back.
Something in me snaps.
I grab the phone and hurl it at the wall.
It hits with a crack, screen shatters, pieces scatter across the floor.
"FUCKK!!"
The word rips out of me. My voice bounces around the tiny room, raw, breaking near the end.
I sink down to the floor, back against the bed, breathing hard. My eyes are wet, but I don't even know if it's from crying or the alcohol. I grab the bottle again, sip what's left. The whiskey tastes bitter now, like regret.
Outside, I can hear the faint hum of cars from the street below, people laughing somewhere far off. The world keeps moving. Mine just stopped.
I look at the broken phone on the floor, cracked, dead, silent.
The screen still glowing faintly, her last words there like a scar burned into it:
"You're just… boring, Gomi. Always have been."
And somehow, that hurts more than "I don't love you."
Because maybe she's right.
Maybe I am just some boring kid still chasing a dream no one believes in anymore.
The bottle slips out of my hand and rolls away.
All I can do is whisper,
"Why the fuck did you have to leave now… when I was finally close?"
Then nothing. Just the sound of my own heart, beating like it's trying to crawl out of my chest.
Sunlight cuts straight into my eyes. My head feels like it's splitting open. The air in my room smells like sweat and whiskey. I blink a few times before everything stops spinning.
The empty bottle sits on the floor beside the bed. My phone's next to it, the screen cracked and half-dead. I pick it up and the glass crunches under my thumb. The screen flickers once, then dies completely.
"Fuck…" I whisper. "I really did that shit."
The clock says 8:24. Practice starts at 9. My heart drops.
"FUCK!"
I jump out of bed, still in last night's shirt. I throw on my Tokyo Phoenix FC training gear, slick my black hair back with one quick swipe of my hand, grab my duffel bag, and rush to the door. Mom calls from the kitchen, but I'm already halfway out.
"Gomi! Breakfast!"
I don't answer. Door slams behind me.
The train ride's a blur. Every sound feels louder than it should. My throat burns, my stomach twists every time I breathe in that faint smell of whiskey on my clothes. I stare out the window, the city flashing by in streaks of gray and red.
When I reach the stadium, I sprint down the hall toward the locker room. My lungs ache, but I made it. Not on time, but close enough.
Inside, the locker room's alive with noise. Someone's blasting music from a speaker. Laughter echoes off the walls. The smell of sweat, soap, and that cold metallic stadium air hits me hard.
Tetsuo looks up first. "Look who finally decided to show up."
Chou's sitting on the bench, taping his ankle. "Bro looks like he got run over twice."
Nash leans against the lockers, hoodie half off, tattoos peeking through his sleeves. "He looks hungover as hell, man."
I drop my bag next to my locker. "I overslept."
Tetsuo raises an eyebrow. "Overslept? You smell like you bathed in whiskey."
Chou laughs. "You come straight from a bar?"
Nash grins. "Nah, I know that look. That's break-up face."
I take a long drink from my water bottle, trying not to look at them. "Yeah. She broke up with me."
Tetsuo stops laughing. "Wait, for real? Aiko?"
I nod once. "Yeah."
Chou whistles under his breath. "Damn, since high school, right?"
"Since high school."
Nash shakes his head, a half-smirk on his face. "What happened, man?"
I run my hand through my hair, still slicked back but messy from the rush. "She texted me, saying she wants to end it. Left me on delivered for a couple hours. Texted her again at night. Drunk. Said some stupid shit. She said I was boring. That she was done. I threw my phone at the wall."
They all stare for a second before Tetsuo bursts out laughing. "You what?"
Chou grins. "Bro, you really out here breaking phones for love?"
Nash laughs, deep and rough. "Classic rookie move. You should've just gone to sleep, G. Ain't no text worth a cracked screen."
I shake my head and laugh a little, but it hurts. "Yeah, I know. I just… I don't even know why I care this much."
Tetsuo slaps my shoulder. "'Cause you actually gave a shit, that's why. Don't sweat it, bro. Girls say wild shit when they're done. You'll bounce back."
Chou nods. "For real. You got tryouts soon, right? Focus on that. Make her regret leaving your boring ass."
Nash smirks. "Yeah, show her how boring it is when you're signing autographs."
I laugh for real this time, even if it still feels like my chest's caving in. "You guys are idiots."
Tetsuo grins. "Yeah, but we're your idiots."
Coach's voice suddenly echoes from outside the hall. "Phoenix! Out on the field in five!"
Nash stands up, grabbing his cleats. "Showtime, heartbreak boy."
I take a deep breath, grab my gear, and tie my shoes tight.
For a second, I look at my reflection in the locker's metal door. My eyes are tired, my face pale, but something inside me feels different. Maybe she's gone. Maybe that's fine.
"Let's get it," I mutter to myself and jog out with the team.