Thursday, May 9 – Evening / Midtown
The Days Between
The first week of summer vacation didn't feel like a week.
It felt like air.
Time stretched and folded like soft dough, days blending into each other without sharp edges. Jay didn't mind. If anything, he welcomed it.
Most mornings, he woke up whenever sunlight got too annoying to ignore. He cooked when he was bored. Watched nothing in particular. Cleaned his apartment twice. Sat on the balcony once just to see how quiet the world could get.
Once or twice, he walked the full stretch of Midtown, just following wherever the sidewalk wanted to go.
Other days, he wandered into Amaya's bakery without a text or reason.
Sometimes he helped.
Sometimes he just sat in the corner seat near the window, sipping something cold while she worked behind the counter like she always had — calm, focused, gentle.
She didn't ask why he came.
He didn't explain.
Thursday Starts With a Kick
It was Thursday evening when Jay's peaceful rhythm got shattered by a knock that felt like it came from someone kicking the door with their foot.
Which… it probably was.
Jay opened it to find Tyler, already wearing his soccer cleats and holding a giant sports bag that looked like it could eat a human.
"Get dressed. We're playing."
Jay blinked. "You knocked like a SWAT team."
"That's because I'm recruiting you."
"For what?"
Tyler grinned. "Summer scrimmage. Friendly match. Low stakes. Maximum chaos."
Jay leaned on the doorframe. "I haven't touched a ball in weeks."
"You don't have to. Just show up and exist. We need your intimidation aura."
Jay raised an eyebrow.
"Also, I bribed Noah with Takoyaki, Miles owes me a favor, and I might've guilt-tripped Sofia into being our manager for the day."
Jay stared.
Tyler dropped the bag on Jay's feet. "Get moving."
The Field
The field wasn't official. It was one of those half-forgotten public grounds tucked behind the community center — where grass grew in patches, the fence leaned at dangerous angles, and the goalposts were probably installed during a different century.
Jay arrived twenty minutes later, sleeves rolled, water bottle in hand, mildly regretting everything.
Noah was already there, lying dramatically on the grass.
"I'm here against my will," he said, one arm flung over his face.
"You got free food," Jay replied, stepping over him.
"That was the payment. My soul is unpaid."
Miles sat at the edge of the field, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite the sun setting.
"You're all morons," he said flatly.
"And yet here you are," Jay muttered, stretching lazily.
Tyler jogged up with a whistle in his mouth and way too much energy in his stride.
"Okay, people! Let's do this!"
Warmups, Chaos, and Accidents
The match started uneven.
No one stretched properly.
Noah tripped on his own shoelace in the first five minutes.
Jay scored twice without realizing it.
Miles refused to pass the ball and only defended with verbal insults.
Tyler, naturally, played like it was the championship finals.
Sofia showed up halfway through, wearing sunglasses, holding a clipboard, and shouting like a drill sergeant.
"You call that midfield coverage? My grandma has more footwork!"
Jay looked at her mid-game. "Since when do you care about sports?"
She flipped a page on her clipboard. "I don't. I just like yelling at people."
Cooling Off and Cooling Down
An hour later, the sun was setting and half of them were lying flat on the grass, wheezing.
Jay sat with his back to the fence, sipping water, shirt damp with sweat.
Tyler dropped beside him, legs stretched out, arms behind his head.
"That felt good."
Jay nodded. "Your definition of fun still terrifies me."
"Yeah, but you smiled. Like, three times. Almost laughed."
Jay tilted his head. "You counted?"
"Always do."
Across the field, Noah was arguing with Miles about whether passing was a moral concept. Sofia was now scribbling imaginary scores in her notepad. A couple of local kids were trying to kick leftover balls toward the fence.
It wasn't quiet.
But it felt good.
The Setup
As the group started picking up their stuff and heading toward the exit, Tyler lingered behind.
"Hey," he said, nudging Jay. "My real tournament's next month. Regional stuff."
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Mid-June. It's not school sponsored — just me and my academy friends. We're doing it for fun and win of course, but… it'd mean something if you came."
Jay paused.
He looked at Tyler — no jokes, no flashy smile.
Just a serious request.
"I'll be there."
Tyler grinned again. "Bring snacks. And water. And maybe Sofia. She yells better than my coach."
Jay chuckled. "Noted."
They walked toward the gate, the sky behind them turning violet-blue.
End of Day
Jay got home late. The kind of late where the air was still warm but the streets had gone quiet.
He stepped into the apartment, peeled off his sweat-damp shirt, and flopped onto the couch.
He didn't turn on the TV.
Didn't check his phone.
He just stared at the ceiling fan, slowly spinning, the day's echo still ringing faintly in his bones.
And for the first time all week…
He didn't feel like he was wasting time.
He felt like he was living it.
Mid-May – Jay's Apartment, Midtown
It was one of those mornings that didn't care whether you got out of bed or not.
The sun was high, soft light spilling across the windows and cutting gentle stripes into the hardwood. A breeze passed through the half-open window, carrying the distant sounds of a bus stopping, someone yelling down the block, and a dog barking like it had a grudge against the wind.
Jay didn't move for a long time.
He lay sprawled across his bed, one hand behind his head, the other loosely holding his phone, screen dark.
He wasn't tired.
He wasn't sad.
He wasn't anything.
Just… there.
And that was enough.
By noon, he'd moved.
First the bathroom. Then coffee. Then laundry.
Then, somewhere around 12:47 PM, he stood in the middle of his living room with one sock on and a vacuum cleaner roaring in his hand like he was avenging a fallen comrade.
The apartment wasn't even dirty.
He just needed something to do.
He vacuumed under the couch.
Reorganized his bookshelf — fiction on the left, non-fiction on the right, manga dead center.
Dusted the top of the fridge (why was there so much dust??).
Changed his bedsheets. Twice.
Tried to fold his t-shirts like the minimalism videos said. Failed. Gave up.
By the time the sun was angling toward the west, Jay stood at the window, arms crossed, and looked out at the street like it owed him answers.
It was under his bed. He hadn't looked at it in months.
A small cardboard box with nothing written on it. Inside were just… things. Stuff he didn't throw away.
A photo of Class 1-A on the first day.
A crumpled bakery napkin Amaya had written "Don't be late again :)" on.
A page of Tyler's soccer plays scribbles — 80% arrows, 20% chaos.
A pink sticky notes from Sofia that said "Owe you 1 lemonade. Don't collect it all at once."
A sketch Luna had accidentally left behind that he never returned.
An old fortune cookie strip that read: "You are not who they think you are. And that's okay."
Jay stared at it for a long time.
Then slowly, gently, closed the box again.
The Afternoon Breath
He stood on the balcony with a glass of cold water, watching the people move below.
Someone biked past with their kid in a tiny seat on the back.
An old couple walked a dog that looked older than both of them.
A car alarm went off. No one cared.
Jay leaned against the railing and let his eyes unfocused.
This was nothing.
No plans. No goals. No messages from the estate.
No exams. No missions. No throne.
Just a Sixteen-year-old boy in a quiet apartment with clean sheets and a vacuumed rug.
And it felt…
Safe.
His phone buzzed around sunset.
A group message — not from his main circle, just a general chat some classmates made to throw around random summer ideas.
Sofia: "Movie night next weekend?"
Noah: "Only if I get to pick the film. You've all been warned."
Emma: "You're banned after last time."
Tyler: "Beach trip in June. We doing it or nah?"
Jay stared at the screen for a while.
Then typed, without thinking:
"I'm around. If anyone plans something, let me know."
A beat passed. Then messages rolled in:
Tyler: "My guy."
Sofia: "He LIVES."
Emma: "I'll keep that in mind."
Noah: "A mysterious text from a mysterious man. Classic."
Jay smiled.
Just a little.
Later that night, after cleaning out the last kitchen cabinet for no reason, Jay collapsed onto the couch with the lights off.
The room hummed with the sound of the fan, the refrigerator, and the low murmur of the city that never fully slept.
He stared at the ceiling and whispered:
"This is nice."