Scene: A Quiet Night, Alone with His Thoughts
The city stretched endlessly below Daniel, its lights scattered like a thousand tiny stars. He sat perched on the edge of a hill, his black hoodie pulled low over his face. The wind tugged at the loose threads of his shirt, cool and unrelenting, as he sat cross-legged, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
The darkness wasn't absolute. The faint glow of streetlights below broke through in patches, casting the hilltop in a muted silver haze. It wasn't quiet either—not entirely. The faint hum of distant traffic floated up, merging with the occasional rustle of leaves around him. But up here, away from it all, the sounds felt distant, almost unreal.
Daniel didn't know why he'd come here tonight. Maybe he wanted the distance, the space to think. Or maybe it was just to escape the suffocating feeling he couldn't quite put into words.
He stared at the city below, his jaw tight. Why does this feel so heavy?
He hadn't been angry at anyone—not his friends, not even himself. But something gnawed at him, a relentless ache in his chest. It wasn't about the match earlier. That wasn't enough to leave him like this. It was...
The memory came unbidden, sharp and unrelenting. A time when things were simpler, quieter—back when no one counted on him for anything, when he didn't need to be the one others leaned on. But that was before. Before people trusted him. Before he let himself believe he could live up to that trust.
And now? Now, even the smallest crack felt like a failure.
A vibration in his pocket broke the silence. He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen. Leah.
He almost didn't answer. But something made him swipe to pick up the call.
"Hey," he said, his voice low.
"Hey," Leah replied, her tone light but curious. "Where are you? It sounds... windy."
Daniel glanced around, the empty hilltop stretching into the distance. "Just... out. Needed some air."
She didn't answer right away. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "You okay?"
Daniel hesitated. "I'm fine," he said automatically.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then she laughed softly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
He didn't reply, letting her words hang in the air.
"Seriously, what's going on?" she pressed. "You don't just 'go out' for air. Not like this."
Daniel leaned forward, resting his chin on his knees. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, telling her it was nothing. But the words wouldn't come.
"I don't know," he admitted finally. "I feel... off. Like something's wrong, but I can't figure out what it is."
Leah was quiet, letting his words sink in.
"Do you think it's about your friends?" she asked carefully.
Daniel shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. "No. It's not them. They're... fine. They're my friends. It's me."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know if I'm good enough," he said, his voice barely audible. "For them. For anyone. I've spent so long trying to be someone they can rely on, but what if I'm just... not?"
Leah's voice was firm when she replied. "Daniel. Stop."
He blinked, startled by the sudden force in her tone.
"You're overthinking," she continued. "You always do this—take everything on yourself, like it's all on you to make the world work. But it's not. You're not some machine that has to be perfect all the time. You're human. And that's why they trust you. That's why I trust you."
Her words hit him harder than he expected, cutting through the noise in his head.
"Do you think anyone else would even care this much?" she added, her voice softening. "Most people would shrug it off, move on without thinking twice. But you're sitting there, tearing yourself apart over something you can't even name. That's not weakness, Daniel. That's what makes you you."
Daniel closed his eyes, the tension in his chest loosening just slightly.
"You're not alone in this," Leah said. "You've got people who care about you. And trust me, none of us think you're anything less than enough."
For the first time that night, Daniel let out a long, shaky breath. He didn't reply, but he didn't need to. Leah's words lingered, filling the silence between them.
"Go to your place," she said finally. "You'll feel better after some sleep."
Daniel stood, brushing off the dirt from his jeans. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll call you later."
As the call ended, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. The city lights blinked below, steady and unchanging, as if they hadn't heard a word.
Daniel took one last look at the skyline before turning back toward the path home. The weight in his chest wasn't gone entirely, but it was lighter now—manageable.
Scene: The Walk Home
The night's a little colder than I expect, but I don't bother pulling my hoodie any tighter. The wind bites at the back of my neck, and the distant sounds of traffic seem to press against my thoughts. There's no one on the street; it's just me and the emptiness that stretches ahead. I'm used to it by now.
I keep walking, the rhythm of my steps in sync with the beat of my thoughts. The day still lingers, but not in the way I thought it would. The match—it's been gnawing at me, even though I try to brush it off. Why does it matter so much? I'm not supposed to care, but here I am, feeling like I didn't do enough. Like I failed. But they never said it—I didn't need them to.
I pull out my phone absentmindedly. The screen lights up with Instagram. I scroll for a second, letting the flicker of photos distract me. Leah hasn't messaged, not that I was expecting her to. There's nothing in my inbox, except for some random posts. But then—there's a message from someone I don't recognize.
"Are you the Daniel who fought James?"
I stop walking.
The words hit me harder than I expect. I don't know what to make of it. Why would someone ask me that? It's like they're not even asking if I am the guy who fought James—they're asking as if they already know. Like it's some big deal.
I think about it for a second. Is it someone from school? A random student? How could they even know about James? But then again, you never really know what people are thinking. I brush it off, telling myself it's nothing—just someone messing around, trying to stir things up.
But I can't shake the feeling that maybe it's something else—something I'm missing.
I shove the phone back into my pocket, my pace quickening as I walk home. The message keeps echoing in my mind. "Are you the Daniel who fought James?"
Was it someone trying to get under my skin? Or was it someone who knows something more? Either way, I'm not sure I want to deal with it now. I'll think about it later—if it even matters.
I reach the door of the house and pause for a moment. The familiar noise of the guys inside—laughter, voices—feels distant. The weight in my chest hasn't eased, but I'm too tired to think about it much longer.
The door creaks as I step in, and the warmth inside feels almost out of place, as if it's mocking the cold weight on my chest. Voices and laughter float from the living room, but they feel distant, like I'm hearing them through water. I pause for a moment in the doorway, taking a breath, before stepping fully inside.
"There he is," Ethan says as soon as I come into view. He's on the couch, one leg propped up over the armrest, his phone balanced in his hand. His tone is casual, but I catch the quick glance he exchanges with Zach.
I don't reply. I just nod, kicking off my shoes near the door.
"About time," Zach says, sitting up from where he's sprawled on the floor. "We thought you'd bailed on us. Again." There's a teasing edge to his words, but I can tell he's watching me closely, trying to gauge my mood.
"Busy," I mutter, heading toward the kitchen, even though I'm not hungry.
That's when I see it—the cake. It's obnoxiously large, covered in chocolate frosting, with a ridiculous amount of decoration on top. It's so over-the-top it almost feels like a joke, but I know them better than that.
"Big gesture, huh?" I say, my voice flat.
Owen grins, leaning against the counter. "What can I say? We're big gesture guys."
Adrian pipes up from beside him, holding a fork. "It's called morale-boosting. You've been a bit of a ghost lately. We thought this might help."
I glance over at Ethan, who's watching me with that familiar, silent understanding. He doesn't say anything, but his gaze is heavy, filled with something like concern—but he's not pushing.
"They were all here earlier, you know," Ethan finally says, his voice quieter now.
"Who?" I ask, though I already have an idea.
"Ryan, Logan, Julian," Ethan replies. "They waited a while, but you weren't exactly making it easy to catch you. Logan even wanted to turn this into a sleepover, but Ryan shut it down. Said we should save that for a 'more meaningful day.'"
"Sounds like him," I mutter, my voice barely audible. I grab a plate from the counter and cut myself a small slice, even though I'm not sure I'll eat it.
Owen smirks, handing me a fork. "You've got to at least pretend you're excited. We spent actual money on this thing."
I force a small smile, but my heart's not in it. The laughter around me feels like a distant echo, and I can't shake the weight pressing down on my chest. The cake's ridiculous. But I guess it's not really about the cake, is it?
They keep talking—about the game, about random stuff that doesn't matter—but I'm not really listening. I'm there, sitting on the edge of the couch with my plate balanced on my knee, but my mind is somewhere else. The message, the match, the pressure—they're all running circles in my head, louder than the noise around me.
"You good, man?" Zach's voice cuts through the haze.
I blink, looking up at him. He's watching me, his usual teasing smile replaced with something softer.
"Yeah," I lie. "Just tired."
They don't push. They never do. Instead, they shift the conversation, throwing out jokes and stories to fill the silence I leave behind. It's their way of saying, We're here. You don't have to talk if you don't want to.
By the time I finish the slice of cake, I realize the heaviness in my chest hasn't completely lifted. But for the first time today, it feels like it might, just a little. For now, I let their voices carry me, even if I can't quite bring myself to join in.