Ayako-san, you may not know my name but that's okay.

I'm not here today to introduce myself, nor do I want to be some loser admirer.

But I hope that somewhere in your heart you have some idea as to who I might be. And I hope that the person in your mind right now really is me.

But I won't complain if it's not. I won't throw a fit either. Because I have said it, didn't I?

I won't take the role of some loser admirer.

So I won't get upset. Whoever you may be thinking I might be.

I know that someone like me probably would not be noticed by you.

And I think you would have not noticed me either, if I haven't decided to stick close to you.

But I'm not angry about that. Not at all.

I have accept it. Completely.

And that's why I'm writing this to you.

Because I finally decided to stop loving you.

"There," Ryōta said, licking the envelope close and threw the paper into her shoe locker, peeking from side to side into the empty corridor before turning around and walking out into the darkness ahead, torch light on as he walked his way out of the school, across the yard into the basketball team's changing room, uneasiness dwelling in the back of his head as he thought back to the letter but he shook his head and kept his gaze ahead, forced his legs to move forward, telling himself that it is better this way- that it couldn't have been any other way.

This might not be affecting you much- even might be rolling your eyes at the letter right now—but I really mean. So don't crumble the letter up, don't throw it away either. Not now. Not until I finish.

I know that between the two of us—between this friendship— there was never any space for love. And I have been a fool to believe in it. To relish in it. To dream about it. To dream about you.

The ball bounced hard on the floor, echoing just like the silence in his heart, the rough texture of the ball hitting against his hand and a familiar feeling settled over Ryōta as he dribbled across the court, pouring himself into his rhythm, into the familiar steps and turns, moving through the stillness in the court with practice steps and twist, dribbling high, dribbling low.

His legs glided across the floor, into the key, charging in, circling around, his quick feet working about, hands reaching for the ball, keeping it still, keeping close, walking one, two, three, raising it and letting go.

It went in, swishing through the hoop, bouncing once, twice and he grabbed it.

That's why, even if I might not know how long I can keep it in, hold it in and suppress it, but one day I'll definitely turn it to dust, to ashes.

He charged, circling around the key, the ball firm in his grip as he let go, blurring himself into his feelings, dipped himself deeper into his misery, dipped himself further into the cries of his heart.

He dipped himself deeper, deeper, deeper.

No matter how much I would spell it out for you, at the end you would still not understand it.

And I don't think I'd be able to make you either. I think when it comes down to it, you would just laugh at me.

Because someone like you would definitely not understand the painful pangs of a heart that simply feels too much.

You always seemed to be in control. Never gave too much of yourself away. Always so in check that I thought I could loose you up a bit. Shake you up enough to notice me.

But at the end it was only me that got out of bounds. Me, that lost my cool. Me, that was totally humiliated. To think that someone like you- someone like Ayako could ever love me. . . .

Ryōta was inside his own world. Inside his own game. Inside a realm where no-one could disturb him.

Even when the bell rung. Even during break when Akagi waltzed inside the room and dragged him out.

Together with the ball Ryōta played on. Evaded teachers shouting and pointing at him for playing on site. For jumping the steps in two whilst the ball still bounced in between.

He was relishing it, enjoying it. Together with the ball. Together with his long-time friend. His only passion. His only possession.

The only thing he had left.

It wouldn't be too harsh to say that I'd never got a chance in the first place.

It was a fact that I ignored. A fact, that I didn't want to believe in. Just like you didn't believe in me on that day.

But that's okay. Because I am not upset. I won't be some loser admire.

I'll be just myself—that idiotic fool that never realised he was too foolish to believe in love.

Ryōta danced his way to the roof, ball his bouncing besides him, bypassing the many people streaming in his direction with skill alone, vaguely wondering whether it was lunch already, whether it was time to go home already, but he moved on. On and on and on. Breathing insides his own realm. Own world. And ignored those voices that called for him, told him to stop, to come back and apologise.

Man, those teachers, he thought, hoping all might that it won't be her voice to call him out next.

But she wouldn't.

She wasn't here. Shouldn't be here. And even if she was—someone like Aya-chan definitely wouldn't cry out to him. Even if she saw him. Even if she knew him. Someone like her would definitely not get in touch with someone like him just for good sakes' alone.

The fool who believed that you could love me. Believed that we have had a chance.

But that's okay. I'm not mad. I'm not upset. I wasn't good enough. You didn't like me enough.

I have always believed that this day would come.

This day, when you would tell me you would love someone else.

Someone better than myself.

The ball fell out of his hands and he went for it, reeled the ball back in and hoped the sensation on his fingertips wouldn't leave him so that the bulging size of his emotions kept growing, kept distracting him. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about it at all. With closed eyes, with that familiar beating in his chest, Ryōta played on, still in rhythm, still in his mind, still on the roof, still in his bounds, blocking the world out.

But it's okay. I'm not sad. I have always known that someone like you could never potentially love me.

That's why I decided to stop loving you.

There's no point to hold onto those clingy feelings.

But I hope you're able to see the future you're looking for in someone's arms.

I wish the best for you. I really do.

So let's put an end to this.

"Ryōta. . ."

The ball fell out of his hands, hitting the ground and shaking the railing into a song of shrilly mental cries. He turned slowly, gazing at her straight into the eye and ignored the letter clutched inside her hand, ignored her wide eyes, her open mouth that was too speechless to allow words to escape now. He sighed, drove a hand through his hair and tried to smile with a careless shrug. "Yeah?"

"This letter from you. . . ," she said at last, hesitating, wetting her lips and clearing her thoughts before she raised her voice again, clutching the letter tighter. "Is it true?"

Ryōta stared at her. Stared at her hard. Could see the confusion in her eyes, in her soul, and he tried to speak as calm as possible—as nonchalant as possible.

"Do you. . .want it to be a lie?"

His words hit her like a bucket of water suddenly poured over her and she shivered. Ryōta grabbed his ball and walked inside the building. Ayako followed him, opened the door wide after he closed it. "So it is true..."

"Did. . . .you want me to lie about it?" Ryōta's voice quivered but he steeled it quickly and turned away from the stairs he was about to go down. "I can do that for you too. Here, give me the letter and I'll tear it up for you. We can just forget about it if it troubles you that much. It didn't matter in the first place, did it?"

It's time we end this.

Ayako glanced at his outstretched hand and shook her head, waving the letter about. "I can't just forget about this! Before I could just ignore it—brush it off as though it was nothing- that it didn't matter. But now. . ." she shook her head, beautiful locks whirling about and Ryōta was transfixed, had to pinch himself to keep himself under control, to not get reeled in by her beauty. No, no more. He can't do that anymore. "How can you just expect me to forget about it?"

"Then just ignore it. It's not like the matter changed. It's not like your affection for me increased. You still like me the same. Nothing changed." Ryōta rose a brow and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, kind of gazing away when he mumbled. "So what's wrong with me telling you?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Ayako brushed the strands of her hair away from her face. "Honestly, Ryōta I'm glad you like me but..."

"But what?" Ryōta challenged, his brows furrowed, throwing her challenging look, "that you don't like me back? I know that already. I'm okay with that already. I've said it, didn't I? I won't be some loser admirer. I'm getting over it so don't keep pulling me back."

After all, friends is all we're going to be right?

Let's keep it like that.

Now and forever.

"That wasn't what I meant to say! Ryōta, if you'd just listen for a second then we could have talked about this—"

"What's there to talk about?" his eyes fasted on her face unbelievably and she stared back, just as determined. "If you're worried about my performance then don't worry. My plays won't be affected by this—not by something like this."

"But Ryōta—"

"Miyagi," he corrected and hated the way his heart still flipped by the sound of her voice.

But his heart had ached long enough now. It was long since used to this pain—to this feeling. His hands fisted inside his pockets until he heard it crack. "It's Miyagi to you. And you can stop rubbing the whole thing under my nose. What were you even trying to achieve by coming here?" Sizzle hope inside my chest?

Ryōta looked away and felt the acid dripping from his lips. "Seriously, a simple 'No' is enough. I understand that sort of language, Ayako—"

"Aya-chan," Ayako corrected him suddenly, "You might have told me to call you Miyagi but I never given you the permission to call me Ayako. So don't call me that."

"That's hardly the point."

"Doesn't matter, Ryōta. I have told you this before and I will say it over and over again. Until you'll understand me." Ayako focused on him with such intensity, he couldn't help but wonder whether he'd walked into the den of open fire.

He shook his head and turned away, but she only held onto his arm and held him in place. She jabbed a finger at his chest with a hand placed on her hips. "I don't want you to mock me with letters like this—"

"I wasn't mocking you. I was plainly stating my feelings—"

Ryōta stopped, listening to the acidic laughter spilling from Ayako's lips.

It was her turn to shook her head unbelievably. Ryōta watched her stare deeply into his eyes and tried to pick up the emotions reflected within her eyes only to realise that he recognised none. She held up the letter with such directness and poised, he knew she was barely containing her own anger. "This is not a confession, Ryōta."

Ryōta laughed quietly beneath his breath and raised a brow. "Oh really? And why is that?

She looked away and a heavy silence took over them. Ryōta rubbed his neck, shuffled his feet a little before canting his head back at her. She was looking at him with such a troubled expression that he couldn't help but shrug off, the curves of his lips slid downward but he tried to keep it up anyway, tried to sound calm enough to dismiss it all, but Ayako beat him to it.

She sighed and canted her head to look at him. "Please Ryōta, don't send me this kind of stuff. I'm not as strong as you. I cannot endure as much as you do. Not being able to reciprocate hurts me too. I too do have a hear that simply feels too much." she tired to smile but the tips of her lips sagged to much.

Ryōta tried to laugh, tried to mirror her attempts to lift the suffocating air thickening between them. He waited for her to turn, to leave, and listened to her fading steps before he allowed himself to sigh. He leaned on the wall, heart hammering inside his chest, squeezing tightly, brewing up inexplicable pain that wouldn't leave regardless the amount of breaths he took. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the welling hotness spreading inside his eyes and trailing down his check.

Even though I thought I accepted it. . .