Built For Almost

27. Where Is He?

...

Neil didn't say anything as the door clicked shut behind Coach Langley. His throat felt tight, his hands trembling faintly in his lap. The white sheets of the nurse bed were stiff beneath him, clinical, like they didn't want to offer comfort.

Zay stayed by his side, his arms crossed - not in anger, but like he was holding himself together too.

...

When the nurse finally returned and went through her checks, neither of them spoke. She wrapped Neil's knee again, noted his vitals, muttered something about letting him rest for the evening. Neil nodded along blankly, though her voice felt like it was coming from somewhere far away.

Eventually, she handed them both a small note with instructions. "Back to your room. No training tomorrow morning. Langley already cleared it."

Zay gave a quiet "thank you," and helped Neil to his feet. Neil's body still felt like it was made of damp paper - heavy and fragile and worn through. Every step back to their shared camp room was slower than usual, but Zay didn't rush him once.

When they finally stepped inside, Neil stood for a moment in the center of the room, eyes scanning the soft blue cast of the walls in the camp's low evening light. Their bunk bed sat exactly as they'd left it that morning - Zay's bed below, unmade but warm, Neil's above, a little neater, colder somehow.

Zay closed the door gently behind them. "You good to climb?"

Neil shook his head once. "Don't wanna go up."

Zay hesitated for a second, then simply walked to his bed, sat down, and patted the mattress beside him.

Neil's movements were slow. He didn't say anything - just lowered himself beside Zay, pressing his back into the wall, stretching his legs out stiffly. He stared at the far side of the room, at nothing.

Zay didn't push.

The silence between them was long but not empty. There was something in it. A closeness that hadn't existed before. Not like this.

After what felt like an eternity, Neil finally murmured, "I hate this."

Zay turned his head. "Hate what?"

"Feeling like this. Weak. Messy. Like I can't even hold it together in front of anyone anymore."

Zay's voice was low, steady. "You held it together for too long."

Neil scoffed. "Doesn't make this any easier."

"No. But at least you're not pretending anymore." Zay shifted, one leg bent up on the mattress now, facing Neil more directly. "That's something."

Neil didn't answer. He just let his head tip back against the wall, the ache in his muscles finally starting to settle now that he was out of that sterile room. Out of the track. Just here. With Zay.

His eyes flicked down to Zay's lip - the cut was still angry red, now cleaned and edged with a healing crust.

"You should've iced that," Neil said softly.

Zay blinked. "You passing judgment from your broken knee throne?"

But it wasn't sarcastic - it was soft. Playful. Neil huffed the faintest laugh, and before he could overthink it, he reached out.

His thumb hovered for a second.

Then, gently, he brushed it along the edge of the split on Zay's lip.

Zay stilled completely.

Neil's hand lingered - he could feel the shallow rise of Zay's breathing, the way the other boy's jaw tensed slightly, not from pain but from something else entirely.

And when their eyes met-

Neil saw it.

The vulnerability Zay never let anyone else see. The kind that wasn't loud or obvious, but quiet and raw. It sat behind his dark eyes like a storm waiting for someone to notice.

Zay didn't look away.

And Neil... didn't move his hand.

For a moment, there was only that space between them, dense and heavy and charged, and Zay's lips parting just barely - not to speak, but to feel.

Neil's heart thundered against his ribs.

Something about that moment cracked open, delicate and terrifying and magnetic all at once.