Madrid didn’t feel like home. It never really did—but now, more than ever, it felt suffocating.

The same polished apartment, the same empty silence, the rigid schedules, the constant media hounding—nothing grounded him. Sae was used to this numb routine; waking up alone, eating alone, training like a machine. He perfected the art of isolation—but lately, in the quiet spaces between, he caught himself thinking about you.

It started subtly. His gaze would flick towards the side of his bed, expecting you to be there—fast asleep. At times, he’d turn over in bed, body anticipating your warmth that was never there. Or the way he’d reach for his phone, fingertips hovering, tempted to scroll through his camera roll, only to remember he didn’t have any pictures of you, with you. No proof of your existence.

He didn’t understand why he was like this, why he acted as though it hit so hard. You weren’t his girlfriend—hell, you barely even know each other. But something about the way you slept so soundly beside him, the way you never demanded anything more than what he gave, the way you didn’t flinch when he was cold, didn’t cling when he pulled away.

You let him exist, in a way it made him realise, made him feel like maybe someone could. You could.

Nights were the worse. Training didn’t help. Interviews didn’t help. One would assume distance dilutes memories—they don’t. It sharpened it, focused it. You had made the mistake of not needing him, which made him need you even more.

And he spent his time thinking of what you could be doing. Were you walking to class? Were you with someone else? Did you remember his name or you as he already fading into some one-night story you’d laugh about later?

You, on the other hand, were fine. You remembered him, sometimes thought about him—but not in a painful way. Your thoughts would sometimes wonder to those nights, the silent ways he’d touch you, the way his fingers lingered longer than needed to. But it was just that—a few nights with a footballer.

So when you phone buzzed and his name flashed across the screen, your breath hitched. 10:47AM. You were mid-breakfast, scrolling aimlessly through your feed. You hesitated, thumb hovering, still debating on whether to accept the call.

You did, but you didn’t bother with a greeting.

There was a pause on the other end. A soft exhale. “...Didn’t realise it’d be morning there.”

You leaned against your counter, unsure how to feel. “Didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

Sae didn’t respond right away. And you imaged him, sitting still, jaw tight like he always did when he didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why you remembered that…you just did.

Eventually, he mutters, “Yeah. I wasn’t going to call.”

And maybe he should have stopped there. Should have hunged up and gone with his life, to completely forget you now, especially after hearing your voice.

He didn’t. “…But I couldn’t help it.”

It wasn’t a confession, it wasn’t a plea. Just a silent truth. It hung in the air, heavy, complicated. And for once, you didn’t know what role you played anymore.