He never thought he would fall so low.

Oliver Aiku liked to gamble. Not the actual game, of course, but it felt like every choice he made was a risk, a step forward on a tightrope, both on and off-field.

Take this girl out. It can end in two ways: a fun night or a slap on the cheek. Buy a round of shots for the good-looking man in the pub: is he interested or not? Flirt with someone. Don't flirt with someone. Ask them for their number, don't ask them for their number. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Most of the time, he won. After all, who wouldn't want to bask in the presence of Japan U-20's team captain? Who wouldn't want to feel the thrill of being his? But there were other times when these bets — let's just call them that — were lost, when he messed up. Sometimes he'd get off the hook with a light temper tantrum thrown by one of his flings, or maybe a cold glare and a blocked number. He could recover from that. Those were the good cases. The bad ones?

It was pouring outside. Rain fell from the sky with a punishing pace, chilling him to the bone, soaking his clothes until they were dripping. He had to fix this mess, a mess he's made and left unresolved. You. You were a lost gamble. Though his ego, his pride, his heart, even, were hurt, his spirit wasn't broken. It never was. No matter how lost he felt. He had to talk to you. So he crawled to your door.

Maybe that was a mistake, too. Another one of those gambles bound to go poorly, but he didn't care. His apartment felt too empty and he still had to mend things with you, first and foremost. Aiku hesitated, then knocked on your door.

He waited. A moment, two, three, then the door opened, revealing your familiar figure I the doorframe. "Thought you'd leave me out here to freeze," he smiled — a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Can I come in? Didn't know where else to go."