Chapter Text
People say seven years is the limit of a relationship.
Now, that moment has arrived.
---
Winter in Spain is usually not harsh. No pristine white snow covering the ancient red-tiled roofs, no howling wind through the narrow winding streets. Only cold waves that creep through layers of clothing, making people instinctively pull their scarves higher and quicken their pace to find warmth.
Hana walked briskly across the cobblestone street, her brown leather boots creating rhythmic sounds on the ancient stone surface. Though her steps were hurried, her eyes occasionally glanced toward the glass windows reflecting the warm yellow light from inside the shops. In her hand was a small notebook wrapped in dark blue leather, the spine worn from time, filled with neat handwritten notes—detailed menus for each day, each meal carefully calculated for nutrition.
This habit of writing meal plans had existed for seven years, since she began learning to research necessary nutritional components, then studying how to balance nutritious dishes for a sixteen-year-old boy dreaming of professional football. Even when separated by thousands of kilometers, she still cared about his every meal, worrying whether he ate enough nutrients, whether he remembered to drink milk, whether he avoided fried foods harmful to his health.
The small café door opened with a gentle silver chime, warm air rushing in along with the rich aroma of roasted coffee blended with sweet vanilla. Hana chose the wooden table by the window, where she could see the ancient square with its central fountain, and where the pale winter sunlight fell like a thin blanket, creating the cozy atmosphere she needed.
She pulled out a black fountain pen from her sweater pocket, opened the notebook to a blank page, and began finishing the incomplete meal plan for next month. Still the old habit deeply ingrained in her subconscious: a bit of grilled salmon rich in omega-3, boiled green vegetables to preserve vitamins, moderate carbohydrates to ensure energy, interspersed with some traditional Japanese dishes to soothe his homesickness during intense training.
Ten minutes later, the wooden door opened again with the familiar chime. Ashito walked in, his tall, lean frame characteristic of a football player, wearing an oversized gray hoodie that covered his slightly curly brown hair, white sneakers stained with mud from practice. The light scent of his sweat mixed with herbal fragrance from shampoo created a familiar aroma that Hana recognized even without looking up from her notebook.
"Sorry, today's practice ran later than expected," he said as he sat in the chair across from her, his voice slightly hoarse from fatigue.
"It's okay, I just arrived too," Hana replied, placing her pen aside and naturally closing the notebook.
There was something in the afternoon air, a strange silence—not the comfortable silence they had grown accustomed to over seven years. It was the silence of unspoken words, of thoughts needing clarification, of an ending that had drawn near and both could sense but neither dared acknowledge.
---
They came together on a not-too-cold winter day in Ehime, a confession under gentle winter sunlight beside the familiar sound of waves to Ashito. That year, Hana was sixteen, preparing to study abroad in Spain to pursue medicine, dreaming of becoming a skilled doctor. Ashito was also sixteen, having already made strong impressions in Esperion's youth team, laying a solid foundation to walk the path of professional football he had always yearned for.
So shortly after becoming lovers, they had to part ways. No, perhaps it was because she knew she was about to leave that Hana found the courage to confess.
Those feelings had silently bloomed in her heart from watching Ashito play, from conversations after school, from the way he was always sincere and passionate about everything in life.
Back then, they made no grand promises. No iron vows about a perfect future, no fanciful dreams about a reunion of unknown timing. Just a simple sentence from Hana on the night before her departure, in the backyard of Esperion's dormitory, under the dim light of the moon.
"I'm leaving now. Come to my side soon, okay?"
Ashito smiled, his eyes lighting up with characteristic determination: "Yeah, I'll come to you soon. Wait for me."
Those words weren't grand promises, but they contained a simple and warm faith, like a small flame lit in the darkness to warm each other. Then they began a long-distance relationship, spanning different time zones, through stressful exam periods, intensive training schedules, and distances unmeasurable by any map.
The first six years of their relationship were a magical period that, when remembered later, both felt like a beautiful dream woven from small but meaningful moments. They never once doubted each other. No mysteriously interrupted messages that made hearts panic, no blurry photos on social media causing misunderstandings, no rumors from friends that shook their trust. Both knew their relationship was built on absolute trust.
Ashito had a habit of calling Hana after every match, win or lose, no matter when the game ended. When they won, he excitedly recounted every brilliant play, the overwhelming joy when scoring or making a beautiful assist, the fans' cheers and his pride when he performed well. When they lost, he sadly shared mistakes from the match, the pressure opposing players brought, his self-blame when unable to deliver expected results.
Hana always listened patiently, occasionally offering gentle advice or simply staying silent to let him pour out everything in his heart. She understood that sometimes Ashito didn't need advice or specific solutions; he just needed someone to listen, understand, and empathize with what he was experiencing. And she was always ready to be that person.
At seventeen, Ashito was officially called up to the first team as a promising substitute player. This good news came at three in the morning Spanish time, just as Hana woke up to study for midterm exams. She answered on the first ring, her voice still slightly hoarse from sleep but full of excitement upon hearing the news.
"You know, when I heard this news, the first person I thought of was you," Ashito said during that night call, his voice calm, different from the excitement when telling her about joining the first team.
"I'm so happy," Hana whispered, "to be such an important person to you."
Hana had a habit of sending Ashito handwritten letters in an age of digital technology. She wrote with black ink on white paper, with her characteristic elegant handwriting, telling about her medical student life with intense study sessions, about fascinating things she learned about the human body, about challenges of studying in an entirely Spanish-speaking environment, and sometimes small reflections on life abroad.
She did this not just because she liked writing letters, but mainly because she knew Ashito liked the feeling of holding real paper, liked the scent of ink and the warmth from handwritten letters that no electronic message could replace.
"It feels very warm reading your letters," Ashito once said over the phone, "like you're sitting beside me."
The photos Ashito sent back were usually ordinary but meaningful moments: a small corner of the training room with footballs and cleats scattered about, a self-cooked dinner that clearly followed the meal plan she sent, or sometimes just a photo of his neatly made bed with the caption "Ate well and ready to sleep early as you instructed."
Those six years, they didn't just love each other in the ordinary sense, but became an indispensable peace in each other's lives. When the outside world was too noisy with pressure from studies and careers, when other peers had to face fierce competition, they knew they just had to open their phones to hear the other's voice on the other end, and everything would become as peaceful as if nothing had ever troubled them.
They had small private rituals, habits only they understood: calling to say goodnight every evening despite calculating different time zones, sending breakfast photos so the other would know what they were eating and whether they were healthy, sharing newly discovered music playlists hoping the other would like them too. Every month, they watched a movie together via video call, commenting and laughing as if sitting on the same cozy living room sofa.
Those moments created a solid and lasting love, making geographical distance no longer very important. They lived in each other's lives despite being thousands of kilometers apart, creating a private space that only they understood and cherished.
The seventh year, when they thought they could finally be completely happy together, the close presence after six years of separation made them realize something completely unexpected—sometimes physical distance can hide psychological changes that only become apparent when together.
Ashito signed a contract to play for a Spanish second division club, just two subway stops from Hana's medical school, about thirty minutes travel time. For the first time in six years, they no longer had to calculate time zones for video calls, didn't need to write international addresses when sending letters, didn't have to worry about expensive phone bills or unstable internet connection quality.
This news made both of them incredibly happy. Hana jumped up and down in her small dormitory room, startling her roommate, then called Ashito with a voice trembling with happiness:
"Really? So you're preparing to go abroad?"
"Yeah," Ashito laughed loudly over the phone, his laughter echoing in the small living room of his new apartment, "sorry for making you wait so long."
They began planning their first real dates with all the excitement of newly in love people: going to movies in theaters instead of watching on computer screens with poor image quality, cooking together in a real kitchen instead of just sending food photos via messages, walking in parks under sunset instead of just telling each other about beautiful scenery over the phone.
Hana thought this would make everything infinitely better, make their love deeper and more authentic. She had even mentally prepared for romantic moments they had missed over six years.
But reality was completely different.
There are things only discovered when close to each other, things that distance and time had subtly hidden. That the excitement and rapid heartbeat when seeing each other in their teenage years was no longer there, replaced only by normal joy like meeting a close friend. That each glance they exchanged contained only sincerity and affection, no longer the romantic feelings they once thought would exist forever. That the peace and happiness when seeing each other, when talking, all stemmed from the purest and most beautiful emotions—the emotions of friendship, not love.
Between Ashito's intensive training to adapt to his new team, different playing styles and new teammates, and Hana's long hospital shifts during her internship with the pressure of complex cases, they met less than they had imagined in their excitement. But even so, both still talked to each other daily, still felt peaceful and comfortable together, still always smiled sincerely at each other's stories and experiences.
It was still the same, but something was different. And both Hana and Ashito realized this, though neither wanted to admit it first.
---
In the final weeks before the fateful conversation at the café, both became more quiet, immersed in their own thoughts. They began asking themselves difficult questions: Had they changed? Were they terrible people for no longer feeling the same as before? Where would this relationship go if it continued like this? Would the other person be hurt by their changes? And what would become of them both in the future?
Hana stayed up more nights, not because of studies but because of wandering thoughts about her feelings for Ashito. She realized she still loved him very much, but it was no longer romantic love. It was the affection of a sister, a close friend who wanted to see him happy and successful.
Ashito was the same, often sitting alone in his small apartment after intense training sessions, looking out the window and wondering if he had done something wrong. He still found Hana important, still wanted to share everything with her, still felt warm when hearing her voice. But he couldn't deceive himself that it was still love like before.
Those weeks, both were exhausted physically and mentally. Daily life became heavier because they had to force themselves to hide these thoughts, fearing they would hurt the other person, not knowing how to resolve the situation in the best way.
---
That day, when Hana texted asking if they could meet at their usual café, Ashito immediately knew something important was about to happen. It wasn't an ordinary message with cheerful emojis or questions about whether he was free. It was a concise, polite message containing the seriousness Hana rarely used when talking with him.
"Ashito, can we meet at Café Amigos today? I have something important to tell you."
He arrived ten minutes late because practice ran long, the coach wanting to drill some new tactical situations. When he entered the café, he saw Hana sitting at their usual table by the window, the dark blue notebook placed in front of her. She was writing something slowly, carefully, as if the words needed to be carefully considered before being written down.
"Sorry, today's practice ran later than expected," Ashito said as he sat down, trying to keep his tone normal as always.
"It's okay, I just arrived too," Hana said, but the notebook had been filled with a page and a half, proving she had been sitting there for a while.
They ordered drinks as always—Hana still cappuccino with little sugar, Ashito still americano without milk—but the atmosphere this time was different. There was an underlying tension between them both, like the weight pressing on chests before a heavy rain, like the strange silence before thunder strikes.
"Ashito," Hana spoke up after the server left, her voice gentle but with a slight tremor.
"Hm?" He looked up, his serious eyes looking straight at her.
"Let's... break up."
Being the one to start, Hana thought she should also be the one to end it. Ashito was a good boy; she didn't want to make it difficult for him, and didn't want to prolong a relationship when both knew it was no longer like before.
Those words fell into the café space like a pebble dropping into still water, creating ripples spreading slowly. The gentle jazz music still drifted from the speakers, the murmur of other customers' conversations continued, but for them, the whole world seemed to stop in that moment.
Ashito froze, not from surprise, but because finally what they both vaguely sensed had been spoken aloud. In recent weeks, he had often wondered if he was being selfish continuing this relationship when his emotions were no longer as before.
His eyes showed no anger, no pain as she expected, just slight surprise, then afterward an unusual stillness in those usually lively eyes. As if he had accepted it.
Hana thought quietly, just like when she confessed seven years ago since the high school . Ashito was only slightly surprised, then afterward calmly accepted her feelings, accepted the emotions in his heart that he hadn't clearly understood before.
"Alright," Ashito said after a moment of silence, his tone strangely calm. "I understand."
Perhaps because he truly understood. Hana no longer loved him in the way lovers should love each other, and... perhaps he was the same. Both had sensed this change for months, they just needed time to think and reflect on their emotions.
Now, when the time for reflection had passed, the verdict was also given.
"I don't love you anymore," Hana said straightforwardly, not to hurt but to clarify everything. "At least not the love like before. And you're the same, aren't you?"
Both were at important stages in their careers and lives. Hana was a fourth-year student going through important hospital internships, Ashito was gradually establishing his position in the main lineup. Better to resolve it thoroughly once than to drag it out affecting each other and both their futures.
Ashito nodded slowly, feeling a strange relief in his heart: "Mm. I still care about you very much, but it's not love like before anymore. Perhaps... we've both grown up and changed."
---
They didn't hug each other one last time like in romantic movies, didn't say regretful "what if" phrases, didn't look for reasons to hold onto a meaningless relationship. Both understood that sometimes maturity is shown through knowing when to let go at the right time.
"We're still friends, right?" Ashito asked, his voice somewhat worried. He didn't want to completely lose the friend who had been by his side since high school.
Hana laughed softly, the first time that afternoon she laughed genuinely: "I can't believe you just broke up with me and immediately asked that question... but okay, we're still friends. I don't want to lose a good friend like you."
There was something relieving in her answer, as if an invisible burden had been lifted from her shoulders. They both understood this wasn't the end of a friendship, but just a transition from one form of affection to another.
They sat for fifteen more minutes, talking about trivial matters surprisingly naturally: Spanish weather transitioning from winter to spring with sudden rain showers, about a new Japanese restaurant near Hana's university with good takoyaki that she planned to try with classmates, about how Ashito still wasn't completely used to the distinctive Andalusian accent of some southern teammates and sometimes still had to ask them to speak slower.
Strangely, the conversation was extremely comfortable despite having broken up just minutes before. No awkwardness or deliberate avoidance, but instead the naturalness of longtime friends. Both felt relieved realizing that even without a romantic relationship, they could still be beside each other as sincere friends.
---
Leaving the café, Hana wrapped the cream-colored wool scarf tightly around her neck—the scarf Ashito had given her for her birthday last year. Ashito put both hands in his gray hoodie pockets—the shirt Hana had personally chosen for him when she returned to Japan two years ago. They walked together to the familiar intersection like many times before, where one needed to turn left toward the medical dormitory area, the other turn right toward the apartment provided by the football club.
"Well then... see you again," Hana said, her voice gentle but not sad.
"See you again," Ashito replied, smiling with sincere eyes.
Neither looked back when walking away. Not from coldness or cruelty, but because both knew this chapter had closed completely. No need to look back with regret, because they knew what had passed would forever remain beautiful memories, and what was coming would be new beginnings for both.
---
Returning to her dormitory room, Hana opened the meal plan notebook. Next month's page was still incomplete, with carefully written lines about grilled salmon rich in omega-3, miso soup supplementing electrolytes, and mixed vegetable salad providing vitamins. She sat looking at it for a while, feeling a strange but not painful emptiness. The habit of writing meal plans for Ashito had become a natural part of her life for seven years, not a single month had she forgotten to renew his meal plan.
Hana gently closed the notebook, putting it in her desk drawer. Not from overwhelming pain or wanting to erase memories, but simply because she wanted some time before deciding whether to continue or not.
After thinking for a while, she took out the notebook, opened to the incomplete page and continued writing. Unless Ashito told her to stop, Hana would continue writing meal plans for him. After all, she still wanted him healthy and achieving the best results possible.
Who said Ichijou Hana wasn't Aoi Ashito's first and biggest fan since he was just a B-team player in the youth squad?
Ashito returned to the club-provided apartment, hanging the gray hoodie on the coat hook. In the pocket, he found a carefully folded paper—last week's meal plan Hana wrote in neat handwriting, with small blue pen notes about necessary protein after training and the best times to supplement carbohydrates. He held it for a while, rereading the detailed notes, then gently placed it on the bookshelf beside his bed, next to other meal plans she had written for him.
Ashito always appreciated the meal plans Hana made for him. Whatever they were now, that gratitude remained, and though it might sound selfish and demanding, he hoped he could still receive help from her in the future.
Aoi Ashito would always treasure and appreciate all help and support from future doctor Ichijou Hana.
---
The first days after the breakup passed surprisingly peacefully. Both prepared mentally for incoming pain, difficult moments when thinking of the other person, but that didn't happen. Instead was a feeling of relief, as if an invisible burden had been lifted from their shoulders.
Hana no longer had to worry about whether she was wasting Ashito's time when her feelings had changed. She could focus completely on studying without feeling guilty toward him.
Ashito no longer had to worry about whether he was being selfish by not being able to spend more time with Hana. He could invest himself completely in his career without feeling like he was neglecting anyone.
Neither proactively announced their breakup to friends or family, just like how they never publicly declared their feelings loudly when they first fell in love seven years ago. They let things happen naturally, trusting that time would help everyone understand without needing lengthy explanations.
However, if asked directly, both said they had broken up straightforwardly. Normal tone, no bitterness or sadness. This surprised those around them, but they also understood this was a mature decision by two adults who had thought carefully.
---
After breaking up, both seemed to live as before, but there were small moments that made them realize the change. Not sure whether to say they loved each other too quietly to be different from ordinary friends, or both were too good-natured and mature to create unnecessary drama.
But each time they saw traces of each other in their personal living spaces, they paused for a moment, feeling complex emotions difficult to define.
Hana discovered a navy blue men's sweater in her wardrobe—Ashito had worn it when first visiting her at the dormitory, on a rainy November afternoon last year. She picked it up, smelling Ashito's familiar scent still faintly lingering mixed with her fabric softener. For a second, Hana felt her heart constrict, memories flooding back, but then became calm again. She folded the sweater carefully and put it in a bag to return to him next time they met.
Ashito found a Spanish medical book that Hana used to read to him, sharing interesting passages about muscle function mechanisms in sports. The book had many Japanese notes in the margins, small neat handwriting she wrote to translate for him to understand, along with simple illustrative drawings. He flipped through a few pages, smiling remembering those afternoons she patiently explained to him about human body structure, about preventing injuries and effective recovery.
Seven years of feelings couldn't be abandoned overnight, both understood this clearly. But they also knew that their feelings no longer contained romance, the characteristic flutter of love. Instead were pure, warm emotions like between close friends who had understood each other for long.
Hana would still come cheer for Ashito in important matches, still write detailed meal plans based on his training schedule and health condition, still frequently remind him not to overtrain, and if he noticed anything unusual, he must go for checkups immediately. Because for her, his health was always more important than any achievement.
Ashito still always felt warm and motivated when seeing Hana in the stands, still strictly followed the meal plans she wrote because he understood the effort and care she put into each dish, still always shared with her the joys in his career and sorrows when facing difficulties.
They remained the same, seemingly nothing had changed at all. Still those same actions, those warm actions continuing from high school years until now, and would continue far into the future. Only now they did these things as friends, with comfort and without burden.
---
They understood each other in a profound way few could have.
Understanding that both their emotions were no longer as before though neither had a third person. Not because someone else appeared and destroyed everything, but simply because people always change over time, and love too. Sometimes it transforms into other forms of equally precious feelings.
Understanding that if they continued trying to maintain an unsuitable relationship, someday both would be hurt. Instead of waiting until feelings became resentment or exhaustion, they chose to end when everything was still beautiful, when they could still smile when seeing each other.
Understanding that this relationship, though ended, remained an important and irreplaceable part of their lives. Seven years wasn't a short time, and the beautiful memories, precious lessons from each other would forever be treasured and help them become better people.
Understanding that sometimes letting go is also a way of loving. Loving by respecting each other's emotions, by giving each other freedom to seek true happiness, by not binding each other in a relationship that no longer brought joy to either.
And though they let go of each other in love, they still always cherished the other like a soulmate, a friend who understood them most in life. There are feelings that don't need titles to exist, don't need vows to maintain, only need sincerity and kindness to last forever.
And that was the most beautiful thing Ashito and Hana could give each other.