Chapter Text
Wally hadn’t meant to come here.
Not really.
The stadium sat silent under the low hum of the night lights, rows of bleachers dissolving into shadow. The air had that crisp, empty bite that reminded him of after-practice evenings—when his muscles ached, the grass still smelled like sweat and dirt, and his future felt endless.
The ball from earlier was still in his hands, the leather warm where his fingers clutched it.
He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Not Rhonda. Not Charlie.
Definitely not Maddie.
Maddie…
She’d smiled at him when she left. That same crooked, perfect smile that said she was sorry and grateful all at once. And he’d smiled back—because that’s what you do when your friend gets the one thing they deserve most in the world: a life.
But behind that smile, something in him had cracked.
He stepped onto the field.
The scoreboard flickered to life, bathing the turf in strange, wavering light. His breath caught. Every other time he’d stood here—every time he’d faced this scar—it had glowed a deep, suffocating red. The color of endings.
Now… it was blue. Not cold, not empty—just still. Soft. Like the glow of a swimming pool at night.
Cautious, he walked forward, the ball pressed tight against his ribs. No shouts. No rush of images clawing at his head. Just the quiet thud of his cleats against the turf.
Then—movement at the edge of his vision.
He turned, and froze.
At the five-yard line—where it had all ended—stood a pair of double doors. They looked like they belonged in a school gym, complete with a glowing EXIT sign overhead. But instead of a hallway behind them, there was only light. Blinding, white light, spilling across the grass in long, shimmering streaks.
His throat went dry.
Maddie had told him about this. About Dawn’s door. About what it meant.
The choice.
He’d told Charlie he didn’t want to go without saying goodbye. And he didn’t. Not really. But the thought of staying here—watching everyone move on without her, watching Maddie live the life she’d been robbed of—hurt in a way that made it hard to breathe.
And what if this was it? What if the doors never opened for him again?
The ball felt heavier now, like it was anchoring him to this moment.
He took a deep breath, tucking it tight against his chest, and stepped toward the light.
The instant his foot crossed the threshold, the field tore away. Wind roared in his ears, rushing forward like the world itself had exhaled. Blue bled into white—brighter and brighter—until there was nothing.
No field.
No air.
No weight in his hands.
Only light, swallowing him whole.