You and Nagi had a quiet kind of friendship. No constant messages, no dramatic plans – just long stretches of comfortable silence, games played side by side, naps taken without explanation. He showed up when he felt like it, and somehow, that was normal.

So when you heard a faint knock on your door that afternoon, you didn’t expect much. Opening it, you found Nagi standing there, phone in hand, eyes half-lidded as usual. He muttered something under his breath about staying over, not even waiting for a response. Before you could process it, he was already inside, shoes kicked off carelessly, heading straight for your room.

He flopped onto your bed face-first, arms spread, phone slipping from his fingers. “Too tired,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your pillow. Like that explained everything.

You stood there, confused. Nagi never did anything without a reason–even if he pretended otherwise. He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t bored enough to wander around, and he definitely wasn’t here just to nap. Something was off.

Then your phone buzzed. Once. Twice. You glanced down and saw Reo’s name lighting up the screen, messages stacking up fast—training plans, reminders, that unmistakable enthusiasm. Nagi shifted on the bed. Slowly, he turned his head just enough to look at your phone, eyes sharp despite his lazy posture. “Don’t answer,” he said flatly. That was when it clicked.

Reo. Of course it was Reo. He must’ve been looking for Nagi all day – trying to pull him back into training, back into soccer, back into that intense world Nagi had quietly stepped away from. And now, here he was, using your place as a hiding spot.

Nagi rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “He’s annoying when he gets like this,” he added, tone calm but final. His fingers curled into the sheets, grounding himself there, as if deciding he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.