Chapter 1 — Thomas

Thomas woke with a violent gasp.

For a second, he thought he was back on the pitch.

The stadium lights burned into his eyes. Thousands of voices crashed over each other in a wave of hatred.

Cheat.

Fraud.

Get out of our club.

His chest tightened as the boos echoed through his head.

Then silence.

Darkness.

The cracked ceiling of his apartment slowly came into focus.

Thomas stared at it, breathing heavily, cold sweat clinging to his skin. The old couch creaked beneath him as he sat up and rubbed his face with trembling hands.

Another nightmare.

He looked toward the trophy cabinet across the room.

Empty.

Dust outlines were all that remained where silver cups and medals once stood. Five years ago, that cabinet had been filled with awards, photographs, and headlines calling him the greatest rookie of his generation.

Now it looked like a grave.

Thomas forced himself to stand.

Pizza boxes covered the floor beside piles of dirty clothes. Empty soda cans leaned against the coffee table. The apartment smelled stale, like a room abandoned long ago.

“I’ll clean later,” he muttered.

He said that every day.

Dragging himself toward the bathroom, he flicked on the light and froze in front of the mirror.

Messy hair.

Unshaven face.

Heavy eyes.

He barely recognized the man staring back at him.

Behind him, reflected through the bathroom doorway, hung an old football poster on the lounge wall.

THE GREATEST ROOKIE BORN.

The picture showed a younger Thomas sliding across the pitch in celebration after scoring his first professional goal. The smile on his face looked unreal now.

Thomas looked away first.

A vibration buzzed from the counter.

His phone.

Without thinking, he opened his contacts and pressed the same number he always did.

“Forno & Fire Pizza, what can we get started for you today?”

“Large pepperoni,” Thomas said quietly. “Same address.”

The worker didn’t even ask for his name anymore.

Twenty minutes later, a knock came at the door.

Thomas opened it halfway, already reaching for the pizza box.

“Delivery for—”

The girl holding the box suddenly froze.

Her eyes widened.

“…Thomas?”

He stiffened immediately.

She looked around his age, wearing a delivery jacket and holding the pizza awkwardly against her chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered quickly. “You’re Thomas Osborne, right?”

Thomas grabbed the box.

“Wrong person.”

Before he could shut the door, she blurted out:

“Wait!”

He paused.

“I used to watch all your matches,” she said. “I’m a really big fan.”

Thomas felt irritation rise in his chest instantly.

Fan.

Right.

He’d heard enough from football fans to last a lifetime.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

She blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his voice.

“I just…” She hesitated. “I wanted to ask what you’re doing now.”

The question hit harder than she probably intended.

What was he doing now?

Sleeping on couches.

Selling trophies.

Ordering pizza every night.

Existing.

Thomas tightened his grip on the box.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Then he shut the door.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then her voice came faintly through the other side.

“…I still think you can do it.”

Thomas froze.

His breathing became uneven again.

Suddenly the apartment disappeared.

The roaring stadium returned.

BOOOOOOO!

Drug cheat!

Disgrace!

His back hit the door as he slowly slid down onto the floor, clutching the pizza box tightly while thousands of phantom voices screamed inside his head

Chapter 2

The commentator’s voice echoed through Ariana’s headphones.

“Eighteen years old! Thomas Osborne announces himself to the entire league!”

A roar from the crowd followed as the screen showed Thomas sprinting across the pitch, arms spread wide after scoring on his debut.

Ariana replayed the clip again.

And again.

The quality was grainy now, uploaded years ago by some fan account, but she still remembered watching it live as a kid.

The movement before the goal fascinated her most.

Not the finish.

The space he created.

The way he dragged two defenders wide before cutting inside.

Most people watched football for goals.

Ariana watched for patterns.

The bell above the convenience store door chimed as another customer left.

Ariana sighed and pulled one earbud out while stacking drinks onto the shelf.

The small TV near the counter played sports highlights with the sound muted.

Football again.

Always football.

“You’re watching those old clips again, aren’t you?”

A coworker walked in through the back door holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Ariana jumped slightly.

“I’m studying,” she defended immediately.

Her coworker laughed. “Normal people don’t study football at midnight.”

Ariana muttered quietly:

“That’s why most teams are terrible.”

After her shift ended, Ariana stopped at the ATM beside the station.

She checked her balance.

$235.67

The number made her shoulders sink slightly.

Rent.

Scooter payments.

Food.

Electricity.

Debt.

She opened her calculator app and stared at the numbers for a while before sighing quietly.

“If I skip lunch twice a week…”

She typed again.

“…maybe.”

Not enough.

Never enough.

Still, she transferred part of her paycheck toward the debt anyway.

$30

Even a small amount felt better than ignoring it.

The smell hit her the second she entered Forno & Fire.

Cheese.

Dough.

Smoke.

Her manager waved at her from behind the counter.

“You’re late.”

“By forty seconds.”

“Still late.”

Ariana tied her apron quickly while the kitchen buzzed around her.

Orders printed nonstop from the machine.

Most nights blurred together: cook, pack, deliver, repeat.

Then another receipt printed.

A different driver's delivery order.

He manager gives her the order.

"Do this one today"

Large pepperoni.

One of the regulars.

Ariana grabbed the insulated bag and headed outside toward her scooter.

This scene gives atmosphere.

Cold wind brushed against Ariana’s face as she drove through the city streets.

The roads were quieter now.

Streetlights reflected against wet pavement while football commentary still played softly through one earbud.

Ariana barely noticed she was talking back to it.

“No, that formation doesn’t work if the midfield can’t rotate properly…”

A red light stopped her.

She glanced down at the delivery receipt again.

Apartment 214.

She didn’t recognize the address.

She climbed the apartment stairs slowly, balancing the pizza bag against her hip.

The hallway was quiet.

Ariana knocked once.

Footsteps approached from inside.

The door opened halfway.

Ariana froze.

For a moment, her brain refused to process what she was seeing.

Messy hair.

Exhausted eyes.

Oversized hoodie.

But she recognized him instantly.

“…Thomas?”

Rain tapped softly against the windows of Forno & Fire while Ariana tied her apron behind the counter.

The dinner rush had already started. Phones rang nonstop while receipts spat endlessly from the printer beside the kitchen.

Before another driver could grab the next order, Ariana quickly snatched the slip first.

Apartment 214.

Her manager narrowed his eyes immediately.

“You always take that delivery.”

Ariana avoided looking at him while packing the pizza into the insulated bag.

“It’s nearby.”

“That place is twenty minutes away.”

“…Nearby enough.”

“You got a secret boyfriend or something?”

Ariana nearly dropped the pizza.

“No!”

Her manager laughed loudly while the cooks snickered in the background.

“Then why are you so desperate to take that order?”

Ariana grabbed the bag quickly and headed for the door.

“Because the other drivers are slow.”

“Get back in thirty minutes!”

The cold evening air hit her face as she climbed onto her scooter.

For some reason, her chest felt nervous again.

It was ridiculous.

She’d spent years watching Thomas Osborne through screens, highlights, interviews, and old match recordings.

Now she was delivering him pizza twice in one week.

Even thinking about it still felt unreal.

Thomas opened the door more slowly this time.

His hair was still messy, but he looked less exhausted than before.

Ariana awkwardly held out the pizza.

“Uh… sorry about last time.”

Thomas frowned slightly. “…What?”

“I got excited,” she admitted quickly. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

Thomas stayed silent.

Ariana rubbed the back of her neck nervously.

“I just never thought someone like you would be living this close to me.”

Someone like you.

Years ago, hearing words like that made him feel invincible.

Fans used to scream his name from stadium seats.

Kids wore his jersey.

Commentators called him football’s future.

Now hearing it only made his chest ache.

Thomas took the pizza quietly.

“…It’s fine.”

Ariana blinked.

That was probably the nicest response he’d given her so far.

“You really were my favorite player when you played,” she said.

Thomas almost shut the door again out of instinct.

Instead, he hesitated.

“…Why?”

Ariana looked genuinely confused by the question.

“Because you were amazing.”

The answer came so naturally that Thomas didn’t know how to respond.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ariana panicked slightly at the silence.

“ANYWAY— enjoy your pizza!”

She turned quickly and nearly tripped over herself rushing back down the hallway.

Thomas stared after her for a few seconds before quietly shutting the door.

For some reason, the apartment felt less empty tonight.

The deliveries continued after that.

At first, the conversations only lasted a minute or two.

Mostly Ariana talking.

Thomas listening.

But slowly, things changed.

“You know the league leaders are overperforming badly?” Ariana said one evening while handing him a pizza box. “Their defensive structure is awful.”

Thomas scoffed quietly. “You figured that out from highlights?”

“I watched six full matches.”

“…Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Research.”

“That sounds like torture.”

Ariana gasped dramatically. “Football analysis is art.”

Thomas shook his head, but before he realized it—

he laughed.

It was small.

Rusty.

But real.

Ariana froze mid-sentence.

“You can actually smile?”

Thomas immediately looked annoyed again.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Over the next few weeks, the conversations became normal.

Comfortable.

Ariana talked about football constantly: formations, transfers, coaches, players.

Thomas found himself responding more and more.

Correcting her tactical opinions.

Arguing with her over pressing systems.

Explaining movement patterns.

For the first time in years, football conversations didn’t fill him with anger.

One night, while leaning against the hallway wall outside his apartment, Ariana casually said:

“You know your ban ended months ago, right?”

Thomas stiffened immediately.

“…I know.”

“So why not come back?”

Thomas looked away.

“It’s not that simple.”

“You’re only twenty-one.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely matters,” Ariana argued. “Some players don’t even debut until twenty-one.”

Thomas said nothing.

Ariana crossed her arms.

“You can still do it.”

He hated how much he wanted to believe her.

Then suddenly—

the deliveries stopped.

The first night, Ariana barely noticed.

The second night, she checked the clock twice.

By the fourth night, the silence during her other deliveries felt strange again.

Too quiet.

Too boring.

She found herself looking towards the kitchen counter whenever orders came in.

None for apartment 214 .

Nothing.

Ariana told herself it didn’t matter.

But when another night passed in silence, she realized something uncomfortable.

What if he hated her and moved away?

Rain drizzled lightly outside as Ariana climbed the apartment stairs after finishing her shift.

She stood outside Apartment 214 for several seconds before finally knocking.

No answer.

Her stomach tightened slightly.

Maybe she’d annoyed him too much.

Maybe he got tired of her constantly bothering him.

Maybe—

Locks clicked from inside.

The door slowly opened.

Thomas blinked in surprise.

“…Ariana?”

She awkwardly looked away.

“You stopped ordering pizza.”

For a second, Thomas simply stared at her.

Then unexpectedly—

he laughed quietly.

A real laugh this time.

And for the first time since the scandal destroyed his life, the sound didn’t feel unfamiliar.