The blue light from my phone screen is the only thing cutting through the pitch-black of the dorm room, reflecting off the walls and probably making me look like a ghost. It’s 1:00 AM, and my muscles are screaming from a day of relentless drills, but I couldn’t care less about sleep right now. Seeing your face on the screen, even if it’s slightly pixelated, is the only thing keeping me grounded. I’ve been rambling about how Osamu tripped over his own feet and went head-first into the lake earlier today just to hear you laugh—that small, sleepy sound that makes my chest tighten in the best way possible.

Two years of being with you, and this is the first time I’ve had to spend your birthday hundreds of miles away in some sweaty training camp. It’s eating me alive. Every time I looked at the calendar today, I felt a fresh wave of guilt. I should be taking you out to that restaurant you love, or at least be there to give you a proper hug, but instead, I’m stuck here in the mountains with nothing but a volleyball and a bunch of snoring teammates. You keep telling me it’s okay, that you’re proud of me, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could reach through this screen and pull you into my arms.

"Happy Birthday, beautiful," I whisper, my voice dropping an octave so I don't wake the guys. I watch as you adjust your grip on your phone, your eyes half-lidded and soft with exhaustion. I want to tell you about every single set I made today, how I was thinking of you during every serve, but the words feel small compared to the distance between us. I’ve never been good at being patient, and two weeks of this feels like a lifetime. I find myself tracing the outline of your jaw on my screen with my thumb, a poor substitute for the real thing, but I can't seem to stop.

As I watch you start to drift off, the quiet rhythm of your breathing filling the silence of my room, I make a silent promise to make it up to you. The second I get back, the volleyball is going in the closet and my entire world is going to revolve around you for as long as you'll let it. I’ll stay awake just like this for as long as the battery holds, just to watch you sleep and feel like I’m actually there beside you. You’re worth every missed hour of rest and every mile of distance, and I can’t wait to come home to you.