A thin trail of smoke curled into the crisp afternoon air, vanishing into the grey sky above. Elias Adams took a slow drag of his cigarette, his back resting against the cold brick wall of the university's engineering building. The distant hum of students chatting, rushing to class, or loitering between lectures filled the courtyard, but none of it concerned him.
He exhaled, staring blankly ahead. The break between lectures was short, but he didn't care. This was routine—lecture, cigarette, repeat. He wasn't particularly fond of the habit, but at this point, it didn't matter.
Elias barely noticed the fast-approaching figure until it was too late.
"Dude! There you are!"
A pair of hands clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever greeting its owner. Elias nearly dropped his cigarette, his body stiffening at the unexpected physical contact. His first instinct was irritation, but then he recognized the intruder—Michael, from his group project.
"Jesus," Elias muttered, stepping back as he pried Michael's hands off him. "What the hell are you doing?"
Michael grinned, completely unfazed by Elias's annoyed glare. His brown hair was a windswept mess, and his jacket was slightly unzipped, as if he had sprinted all the way here. His eyes practically gleamed with excitement.
"Perfect timing, man. We need you," Michael declared, hands on his hips.
Elias raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "For what?"
Before Michael could answer, another voice cut in.
"We're short a player."
A guy Elias vaguely recognized—some finance major, Nick or Nate or whatever his name was—walked up, rubbing the back of his neck. Unlike Michael, he looked exasperated rather than excited.
"Our goalkeeper bailed at the last minute," the guy continued. "We've got a match in two hours, and if we don't find someone, we'll have to forfeit."
Elias took another slow drag of his cigarette. "And that's my problem how?"
Michael practically threw an arm around Elias's shoulder.
"You're from Africa, right?"
Elias narrowed his eyes slightly. "…Yeah. From Tunisia."
Michael snapped his fingers like he just solved a puzzle. "You play football there?"
Elias hesitated before answering. "…Yeah. But that was years ago."
Michael grinned like a salesman sealing a deal. "But that means you did play."
Elias flicked the cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his shoe. "Doesn't mean I want to."
"Come on, Adams." Michael clasped his hands together like he was praying to god. "Just one game. One. You don't even have to run. Just stand in front of the goal and look menacing."
Elias looked between Michael's pleading expression and the finance guy's tired impatience. He had no reason to agree. It wasn't his problem. He didn't care.
And yet…
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "If I say no, you're not gonna let this go, are you?"
Michael grinned. "Not a chance."
Elias rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Okay, fine…"
Before he could finish the sentence, Michael erupted with joy.
"YES! I knew I could count on you, man!" He actually punched Elias's arm in excitement, causing Elias to flinch.
Nick-or-Nate sighed in relief. "Finally. Game's at six. Don't be late."
Michael clapped Elias on the back. "You won't regret this, Adams! It's gonna be fun. Trust me!"
Elias exhaled sharply, turning away. "We'll see about that."
He walked off, leaving Michael practically bouncing with excitement.
He had no idea why he agreed. Maybe it was just to shut them up. Maybe it was nostalgia, buried under years of disinterest.
Or maybe… it was something else entirely.
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The door clicked shut behind him as Elias Adams stepped into his apartment, the warmth of the indoors replacing the crisp autumn air outside. Without bothering to turn on the main light, he toed off his shoes, letting them land haphazardly by the door, and made his way toward the kitchen.
The place was small, clean, and mostly empty.
White walls, barely any decorations, and furniture arranged with functionality in mind rather than comfort. There were no posters, no personal touches—just a space to eat, sleep, and exist.
Elias pulled open the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, and took a few slow sips.
He had no intention of showing up to that football game.
The only reason he agreed was to shut Michael up. The guy would've pestered him for hours otherwise, and Elias wasn't in the mood for a drawn-out debate over something he didn't care about.
He placed the bottle down, rolling his shoulders before stepping into the living room. His eyes swept over the apartment—everything was in its place, but it still felt off.
With a quiet sigh, Elias did what he always did when he didn't want to think.
He cleaned.
It wasn't even messy, but he still ran through the routine like clockwork. He gathered the barely-there dust from the shelves, wiped down the counters, straightened the books on the small desk in the corner, and made sure nothing felt out of order.
At some point, he found himself in his bedroom, sorting through the closet.
The scent of old fabric and faint detergent lingered in the air as he shifted through shirts, jackets, and a few hoodies that he barely wore. He was just about to close the door when his fingers brushed against something soft, tucked away in the back.
He pulled it out, the fabric unfolding in his hands.
A Barcelona jersey.
The material was slightly wrinkled from being buried under everything else, but the colors still stood out—the deep blue and red of FC Barcelona. Elias turned it around, and his gaze landed on the name printed in bold white letters.
"Elias Adams."
He stared at it for a long moment.
He remembered buying it. Years ago.
Back when he first arrived in Canada, when he still cared about football. When he still thought he could balance his studies and his passion.
When he still thought it was his dream.
Elias ran his fingers over the letters, feeling the slight texture against his skin.
Then, instinctively, his eyes flicked to the clock on his bedside table.
6:42 PM.
18 minutes until the match started.
Elias exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.
A memory stirred. A younger version of himself, full of hope and excitement, standing in front of the mirror wearing this very shirt, imagining a future that never happened.
His grip tightened slightly before he shook his head, stuffing the jersey back into the closet.
It didn't matter. Not anymore.
He reached for the closet door and shut it firmly.
The room fell silent again.
Elias let out a quiet sigh.