...
Minghao and Junhui met when they were thirteen, two boys hunched over a cracked gaming console in the back of the school library. Minghao was shy, reserved, the type to lose himself in books and quiet spaces, while Junhui was the complete opposite — all loud laughter and easy grins, eyes bright with an endless hunger for excitement. But when they sat together, thumbs working furiously over worn-out buttons, none of that seemed to matter. They fit, somehow, in a way that didn't need words.
For years, they played side by side, inseparable in both life and game. "GAM3 BO1," they called themselves, sharing the identity like a badge of honor. They knew each other's moves, each other's thoughts, without needing to speak them aloud. Together, they could take on any boss, any enemy, even the harder levels of life that slowly crept in as they got older.
But as high school bled into their final year, the invisible threads that had tied them together began to unravel.
It started with Minghao pulling away, little by little. He'd sit at their usual spot in the library but his gaze would wander, lost in thoughts he never shared. Junhui noticed, of course, but he never asked, always figuring that Minghao would talk when he was ready. But Minghao never did.
"Hey, you coming over later? We can try that new game I bought," Junhui said one afternoon, flashing his usual grin. But it faltered when he saw the way Minghao's expression barely shifted, his focus elsewhere.
"I can't today," Minghao muttered, glancing down at his phone. "Got something I need to do."
"Right," Junhui said, trying to hide the disappointment. It wasn't the first time he'd been turned down recently. "Maybe tomorrow, then?"
Minghao didn’t answer right away, instead fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “Maybe,” he whispered, but his voice was distant, as if he wasn’t fully there.
Junhui forced a smile, but there was a gnawing ache in his chest that hadn't been there before. He’d noticed the change months ago — the late replies to texts, the excuses for avoiding hangouts, the half-hearted smiles. Minghao was slipping away, and no matter how hard Junhui tried to hold on, his grip kept failing.
It wasn’t until a rainy evening, in the dim light of Junhui’s room, that everything came to a head. Minghao showed up unannounced, soaked from the rain, his expression unreadable.
“What happened?” Junhui asked, stepping forward to offer him a towel. “You’re drenched.”
Minghao didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Junhui, really looked at him for the first time in what felt like months. His eyes were red, like he hadn’t slept, and there was something raw beneath the surface, like he was on the verge of breaking.
“I’m leaving,” Minghao said, voice barely above a whisper.
Junhui froze, towel still in hand. “Leaving? Where?”
“I don’t know yet,” Minghao muttered, looking away. “But I have to go.”
“What are you talking about?” Junhui’s voice cracked with confusion. “You can’t just leave. What about… us? What about everything?”
Minghao’s silence was deafening. He stood there, his wet clothes clinging to his frame, his eyes avoiding Junhui’s desperate gaze. Finally, he spoke, but the words came out broken.
“I can’t… I can’t keep doing this,” he said, hands trembling. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m stuck, Junhui. We’re stuck.”
Junhui shook his head, his heart hammering in his chest. “But we’re GAM3 BO1. We’re always together. We can figure it out. Just… just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t think I can be that anymore,” Minghao whispered, his voice cracking like fragile glass. “I don’t think I can be the person you need.”
Junhui felt like the ground was being pulled from under him, like everything he had known for years was crumbling. He took a step forward, reaching for Minghao’s arm, but Minghao flinched away, as if Junhui’s touch burned.
“I tried,” Minghao said, his voice strained. “I tried to be what you wanted, but I don’t know if I can… pretend anymore.”
“Pretend?” Junhui echoed, his throat tightening. “You’re not pretending. You’re—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. Suddenly, all the late nights spent gaming, all the moments they shared, felt fragile. Breakable.
Minghao wiped the rain from his face, but Junhui wasn’t sure if the wetness on his cheeks was from the rain or tears.
“I don’t know who I am when I’m not with you,” Minghao confessed, his voice small, broken. “And it scares me. I can’t keep hiding behind the game. I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay when I’m not.”
Junhui’s chest tightened painfully. He wanted to scream, to tell Minghao that they could fix this, that things could go back to how they were. But the truth clung to his throat, heavy and undeniable. He couldn’t fix it, not this time.
“Please don’t leave,” Junhui begged, his voice barely a whisper.
Minghao met his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, Junhui thought he saw hesitation. But then Minghao looked away, pulling the door open.
“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispered, stepping into the rain. “Goodbye, Jun.”
The door closed softly behind him, the sound reverberating through the empty room. Junhui stood frozen, staring at the spot where Minghao had been, the ache in his chest spreading like wildfire. The rain outside pounded against the window, but it couldn’t drown out the deafening silence that now filled his world.
GAM3 BO1 was over.
And all Junhui had left was the ghost of what they used to be.
