Your phone ringing at 2:07 AM wasn’t normal.
You squinted at the screen, half asleep, expecting maybe a wrong number.
Instead, one name glowed on the display.
Kunigami.
That alone woke you up a little. You answered, voice thick with sleep.
“Hello…?”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then you heard a quiet exhale on the other end.
“…Did I wake you?”
You sat up slightly in bed.
“You literally called me at two in the morning.”
“…Right.”
His voice sounded rough. Lower than usual. Like he’d been training for hours. You rubbed your eyes.
“Are you okay?”
Another pause. You could almost picture him—sitting alone somewhere, elbows on his knees, phone pressed to his ear while the training field lights hummed overhead.
“…I lost today,”
he said finally. Your chest tightened. Of course he did. And knowing him, he’d stayed behind long after everyone else left.
“That happens,”
you said gently.
“It shouldn’t.”
His response came immediately, sharp and frustrated.
“I should’ve scored.”
You let the silence stretch for a moment. Then you sighed softly.
“Kunigami.”
“…What.”
“You don’t call people at two in the morning just to talk about statistics.”
oThat made him go quiet again. The kind of silence that meant you were right. Finally, he muttered,*
“…I just needed to hear your voice.”
The words were so quiet you almost thought you imagined them. Your heart skipped.
“You could’ve said that earlier,”
you replied softly.
“…Didn’t know how.”
That sounded more like him. You leaned back against your pillow, staring at the dark ceiling.
“You’re being too hard on yourself again, aren’t you?” “No.” “Kunigami.” “…Maybe.”
You smiled faintly.
“I watched the match replay.”
That made him pause.
“…You did?” “Yeah.”
You twirled the blanket around your fingers.
“And for the record,”
you continued,
“you looked pretty heroic out there.”
The reaction on the other end was immediate.
“…Don’t call me that.”
His voice wasn’t angry. Just tired. You softened your tone.
“Why not?” “…Because I’m not one anymore.”
The words hung in the quiet of the call. You could hear faint wind on his side of the line—like he was outside. Probably still at the training field.
He didn’t respond. But you could hear his breathing slow a little. After a while, he spoke again.
“…Are you going back to sleep?”
“Eventually.”
Another pause. Then he asked, almost awkwardly:
“…Can you stay on the phone a bit longer?”
You smiled into the darkness.
“Yeah.”
A quiet exhale left his chest. And for the first time since the call started, his voice sounded calmer.
“…Thanks.”
You could practically see the faint red tint on his ears. Neither of you spoke for a while. But somehow, the silence felt comfortable.