The Next Big Thing
Chapter 106: New Apartment

Chapter 106: New Apartment

"Ha Ha Ha HA HA!" A feminine laughter echoed in the ears of a boy sitting alone in a spacious living room. Despite the sound of amusement filling his headphones, his expression was far from amused. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tightened his grip on the controller in his hands.

The boy, who looked to be about sixteen, was slouched on a bean bag, a gaming headset perched over his messy hair. The laughter continued, its teasing tone vibrating in his ears.

"I can’t believe you said everyone!" the voice said between bursts of laughter, seemingly unable to hold back. "Oh my gosh, you’re killing me here!"

He rolled his eyes, his thumbs moving furiously across the controller’s buttons. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Zoey," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm and tinged with a hint of irritation. "And what’s wrong with my answer? He said I was correct... kinda," he added, trying to defend himself.

The voice on the other end burst into another fit of laughter. "Ooooh, this is rich! Weren’t you the one always running your mouth about being the best player on the pitch and all? Now it’s suddenly everyone?" Zoey teased, her laugh growing louder.

David, the boy on the bean bag, was none other than the young star still trending online for his reactions during the Manchester United vs. Manchester City game the previous night. Gritting his teeth as his fingers tapped away on the controller, he fired back defensively, "What? He asked me a question, and I answered! It’s not like I was really wrong—the whole team did play well!"

Zoey’s voice carried a mischievous tone as she retorted, "I’m sure if you were playing, your answer would’ve been very different."

David’s eyes narrowed at the screen, his focus unbroken as his hands worked the controls. "Well, yeah," he said matter-of-factly, "’cause if I was playing, the question would’ve been easy. Obviously, I’d be the best player."

Zoey chuckled. "And there it is—the usual arrogant David makes his comeback," she said with a teasing lilt.

David grinned, finally letting himself relax a bit. "It’s not arrogance if it’s true," he replied, a cocky smile spreading across his face. "It’s simply called confi—"

Before he could finish, his triumphant mood was shattered as he suddenly screamed, "HOW?!"

At the same moment, Zoey shouted, "GOAAALLL!"

David’s jaw dropped as he stared at the screen as he screamed "No way! That was pure luck!"

Zoey’s voice came through the headset in a playful sing-song tone, "Give me fire, give me freedom, give me trivella or I retire!" she crooned, breaking into a fit of laughter immediately after.

David groaned, throwing his head back for a second before snapping his focus back to the screen. "OMG, you are so lucky! How could that goal even go in?!" he exclaimed, frustration clear in his voice as he watched the replay unfold.

On the screen, her player—Lewandowski from Bayern Munich—had taken a ridiculous shot from way outside the box. David could only stare as the ball soared beautifully into the net, leaving the keeper helpless.

"Oh, come on!" David shouted in disbelief. "How could that go in?!"

Zoey, however, didn’t respond with words. She didn’t need to. Her laughter rang out loud and clear, a joyful, almost mischievous melody that only fueled David’s irritation.

"Seriously?! Are you even gonna explain that?!" David yelled, his voice half-frustrated and half-amused.

Still, Zoey said nothing—just more laughter, her delight at his agony echoing through the headset like a victory chant.

David shook his head, his fingers gripping the controller tighter as the game restarted. "Alright, laugh all you want, Zoey. This isn’t over," he muttered under his breath, his tone shifting to one of determination.

Zoey, still giggling, responded with mock seriousness, "Oh, I’m trembling, David. What are you gonna do? Score a consolation goal?"

David smirked. "Nah, I’m not just scoring. I’m winning. You just woke up the beast."

Zoey gasped dramatically. "Oh no, the beast! I’m so scared!" she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The game resumed, and David’s team, Manchester United, began moving the ball quickly across the field. His fingers moved with precision, navigating past Zoey’s defenders like they weren’t even there.

"Here we go..." David muttered, his eyes narrowing in focus.

"Nice dribble," Zoey commented mockingly. "But what’s the point if you can’t finish?"

David ignored her, his Marcus Rashford avatar cutting inside the box. He tapped a quick pass to Bruno Fernandes, who returned it with a perfectly weighted through ball. David pressed the shoot button just as Rashford broke free.

"GOA—"

"Offside!" Zoey shouted gleefully before David could even finish celebrating.

"What?! No way!" David yelled, pausing the game to check the replay.

Zoey was already laughing. "Yep, see? Told you. That beast of yours really needs to work on his timing."

David groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment. "This game is rigged. I swear, the refs hate me."

"Don’t blame the refs, David," Zoey said between laughs. "Blame that overconfident beast you keep talking about."

"Alright, alright," David muttered, restarting the match. "I’m done playing nice. No more Mr. Friendly Beast."

"Oh, is this your villain arc?" Zoey teased.

"You’re about to find out," David replied with a grin, his focus sharpening.

The game went on, with both players exchanging jabs and laughter. David’s determination only grew, but Zoey’s relentless teasing made it hard for him to focus.

David was just about to make his comeback in the game when a loud knock came from the door. He froze, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. "Shit," he muttered, throwing the controller onto the bean bag. "It should be the furniture people."

Zoey’s laugh rang in his headphones again. "Oh, perfect timing! Guess the universe thought you needed a break from all that beating I just gave you."

David grumbled, pushing himself up from the bean bag, wobbling slightly as he adjusted his broken leg in the cast. "Yeah, yeah. You’ve had your fun."

"Wait," David said as he made his way to the door. "Didn’t you say you were in Manchester? Where exactly are you?"

Zoey’s voice cracked slightly as she fumbled her words. "Uh, no... I mean, uh, not Manchester... when me? No."

David narrowed his eyes, stopping mid-step. "Yes, you. So, where are you?"

Zoey hesitated for a second too long before blurting out, "London. I live in London."

"London?!" David exclaimed.

"Yep, gotta go! Bye!" Zoey said quickly, cutting the call before he could ask more questions.

David stood there, blinking at the now-silent line. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, staring at his headphones. Before he could think too much, the doorbell rang again.

"Coming!" he called, wobbling toward the door, carefully navigating around the unpacked boxes.

Opening the door, he was greeted by a delivery man standing beside a small mountain of packages and furniture parts. The man held out a clipboard for David to sign.

"Here’s your delivery, sir. Have a nice day," the man said, stepping back as David glanced at the pile of his newly bought furniture.

"Yeah, thanks," David muttered, scribbling his name and shutting the door. He stared at the heap of items now cluttering his doorway and sighed.

It took him the better part of an hour to move the smaller pieces into the apartment, wobbling and wincing with every step as he pushed past his physical limits. The larger items would have to wait, but for now, he managed to arrange some of the essentials—the small table, a lamp, and a few shelves.

The apartment was beautiful, a two-bedroom flat just fifteen minutes from Manchester United’s stadium. The walls were pristine, and the floor-to-ceiling windows let in plenty of natural light, but the space felt barren. Empty.

David limped into his bedroom and began arranging the lighter pieces there. His new bedframe, nightstand, and some basic bedding were all set up. Finally, he collapsed onto the mattress, his head sinking into the freshly purchased pillow.

Staring up at the ceiling, he felt the silence creeping in. The excitement of moving into his new place was quickly replaced by a pang of loneliness. The room felt too quiet, too still.

Reaching for his phone, he called his mom.

She picked up after the first ring. "David! Hey, baby. How are you? How’s everything?"

David’s face lit up. "Mom, you have to see my new apartment! It’s really nice. I just finished setting up some stuff. Let me show—"

"That’s great, baby, really great," she said, cutting him off in a hushed tone. "But I can’t talk right now. Your father is coming. I have to go. Love you, sweetie."

"Wait, Mom, I lo—" The line went dead, the sound of the call disconnecting echoing in the silence.

David sat frozen, the phone still in his hand, staring at the blank screen. The words he didn’t get to say hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He tightened his grip on the phone as if holding onto it could bring her voice back. But it didn’t.

A hollow ache settled in his chest as he leaned back onto the bed. The soft pillow cradled his head, but it did little to comfort him. His gaze shifted to the bare walls of his bedroom, their emptiness mirroring the weight he felt inside. The faint hum of the city outside only emphasized the stillness of the room, amplifying the silence that surrounded him.

He closed his eyes, the sting of loneliness seeping deeper. His fingers clutched the pillow as if it could somehow fill the void. The apartment was everything he had imagined—spacious, modern, and luxurious. But now, lying there alone, it felt cold and unwelcoming, like a stranger’s house.

A whisper escaped his lips, trembling with emotion. "I love you too," he muttered, the words breaking under the weight of what they meant, of what they couldn’t reach. His voice cracked, the sound barely audible, lost in the vast emptiness of the room.

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