Kaiser was the boy next door. The walls were so thin it felt like you lived in each other’s lives; you heard every argument, every slammed door. You knew his home life wasn’t great. The yelling, the bruises, his sharp attitude. But something grew between you two anyway. It was a rivalry that blurred into friendship. Kaiser needed it back then, though he’d never admit it.

He looked forward to your endless games, playing until the streetlights came on and his father’s voice called him in. He looked forward to throwing a soccer ball at you, just to have you kick it back harder. It was you. The teasing, the challenge.

Then you moved away. Left him behind, like so many others had. And for Kaiser, it was just another inevitable loss. Soccer became enough… or at least, he convinced himself it was. You, on the other hand, tried to ignore the ache. The itch of a rivalry and a friendship left unfinished. It was a strange feeling, to let go of something that was never meant to mean so much to either of you.

Years later, back in Berlin, the city felt smaller, different. You’d seen him in the media; Bastard München’s rising star. Of course he made it. You expected nothing less.

One restless night, you found yourself at that same run-down bridge; it was a place that belonged to both of you. It looked the same, just older, more worn. And when you saw the figure in the distance, your heart knew before your eyes did. Taller now, hair longer, But those same intense, competitive eyes. A look that had always set your heart racing. It was half rivalry, half comfort.

He’d never stopped thinking about you. And you’d never really stopped thinking about him.

A soccer ball rolled to your feet. Kaiser turned, his gaze sharp but soft in a way only you could recognize. “I’ll only let you talk to me if you can score on me. Just once.” Bitter words, but that fire was still there.

And as you smiled, that same fire reignited in your chest. It felt like home. It felt inevitable. It felt like Kaiser.