It’s been weeks since Nagi got locked off from Blue Lock. At first, he thought it wouldn’t bother him—more time to sleep, fewer people shouting, less pressure to move. It sounded perfect.

But now, sitting on his couch in the middle of the afternoon, he’s never felt more restless.

His phone sits in his hand, unlocked on your chat window. No new messages. Not since the last one you sent—a simple, "Take care, Nagi." You didn’t know how to say goodbye either.

He sighs and tosses the phone on the table, leaning his head back. “Bleh, so boring,” he mumbles to no one, but the ache in his chest is loud enough to fill the room.

What could he say? That soccer’s boring now? That life’s boring now? That everything feels like it’s missing… you?

His fingers drum aimlessly against the couch arm. The silence is suffocating. He grabs his phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

you there? this sucks without you soccer’s boring now i think i liked it because you were there i think… i like you

He types, deletes, types again.

Finally, he just sends:

hey. i miss you.

No punctuation. Simple. Lazy on the surface—but his heart thunders anyway.

He stares at the message, waiting. He sighs, slumping deeper into the cushions, pulling his hoodie over his head to hide from the world, from himself.

“Stupid,” he mutters. “I liked it better when you were around.”