Months.

That’s how long it had been since you walked away. The last time he stared at your empty eyes, disappointed expression and your back fading into the rain.

No umbrella. No goodbye.

Sae had always been there for you, ever so attentive and loving—no matter how busy he was. He was always on time. Always choosing you over “useless” meetings, press conferences and even rest to spent time with you—take you out on walks or on rare occasions on quiet dates.

He always deemed spending time with you was more important than anything else—though obviously not above his matches and football (which might be half true).

And you always had told him that you didn’t mind, if he ever needed to put work before you. But he insisted, as always—that he’d never do it. Not until that day.

The first time. The only time.

He had promised—sworn to you—that he wouldn’t forget. That you’d always be his priority. But a press conference ran too long, calls stacked up. And for the first time in years, he was late.

And sure—it definitely was a mistake, to turn such minor slip that he’d only done once into something out of proportion.

But it hurt, hearing his promises, reassuring words and soft kisses—whispering…haunting your kind that he’d be there. And sure, it was your fault—that you got your hopes up, thinking he will live up to the expectations he engraved in your heart. Sweet and loving, in his words.

But could you really blame yourself? For having someone who raise all your standards to the point that this one tiny mistake felt like the whole had shattered and bled? You probably could.

You waited, messaged him, called. Left voicemails he never listen to, even to this day, and the weight of it hit him—when he finally rushed over to you, heart pounding with guilt.

You were gone. Not dead, but something close.

Having to wait for him for more than 2 hours should have been your sign to forget it, and just get where you needed to be. But a part of you knew he’d eventually show up…even if it meant 5 hours later…right?

Months had passed, yet Sae never deleted photos of you, messages and gotten rid of gifts. He didn’t touch them either—letting them idly sit in quiet echoes of what he lost, like a decaying museum.

Though tonight, for some reason, he dials your number with no expectation. Just to hear the line ring, sit there in silence and apologise to no one. He assumed you’d forgot him by now, blocked and deleted his number.

He doesn’t expect it to connect, he doesn’t expect you.

Your voice—just as soft, just as warm—answers.

And just like that, the silence he buried himself in begins to crack.