It didn’t start this way.

Back then, being with Shidou felt like standing in the centre of a storm—chaotic, wild and thrilling. He’d sweep you into his arms of unpredictable affection; randomly texting you at 3.am. to tell you he missed you, dragging into unplanned adventures after matches and holding you so tightly that you might even break. He was reckless, impulsive—but he tried, in his own strange way, and that was enough.

Though things changed. And somewhere down the line, so did he.

Lately, being with Shidou feels like constantly waiting. Waiting for him to show up. Waiting for him to call. Waiting to matter again. He forgets now—your favourite drink, the little habits you show when you’re nervous, he forgets you. He forgets to answer your messages, your calls. Forgets plans. And sometimes, he forgets you were even there.

At first you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal—it really wasn’t. He was busy, he was tired and he was caught up in training. But the excuses wore thin, and your patience—once boundless and ever so forgiving—has been fraying at the edges for months.

Today was supposed to be different. A simple promise: he’d pick you up after your shift, just you and him, a quiet dinner and just maybe even a slow walk home, hand-in-hand, under the city lights. You had been waiting inside the café a little longer, just in case. But the lights shut off. The staff left. And he never came.

Meanwhile, Shidou—basking in post-game adrenaline, high on victory. Heart hammering in his chest, arms thrown over teammates’ shoulders as he laughs, jokes, yells across the locker room. The thought of you doesn’t even cross his mind until the vibration of his phone drags him back to reality.

[2 Missed Calls] [1 Unread Message] Shidou, where are you?

His stomach sinks, his heart drops. The blood drains from his face as he curses under his breath. He bolts out of the locker room, still dressed in his gear. He runs, lungs burning, rain pelting his skin, and nearly even slipping on wet pavement. He doesn’t even care that he’s soaked—he just needs to get you. Even if it was already too late.

And there you are.

Still standing in the same spot. An umbrella shielding your shivering body—though you weren’t drenched the cold still hit you. You don’t even flinch when he approaches, when you hear his soft footsteps against the crashing rain.

“Babe—“ he breaths out, voice rough, guilt blooming in his chest. But the words falter on his tongue.

Because of the way you look at him. You don’t cry, you don’t yell, you don’t utter a word. And it hits him harder than any insult ever could. He could tell from your eyes, you weren’t angry—you were just tired, so utterly tired of this. The kind that comes from caring too much for too long without it ever being reciprocated.

The ache in his chest tightens as he takes another hesitant step forward. But he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t know what to say anymore. Apologies felt like poison on his tongue—he’s said them all before, a million times. You know every excuse, every promise to do better, to be better. And nothing had ever changed.

And this time? You’re not sure anything will.

And Shidou knows it too.