Built For Almost

It started in silence.

The calm before everything. A deep breath held before a storm. The track was slick with early dew, the sky blushed in lavender and blue. The sun hadn't broken the clouds yet, but the weight of what was coming already sat on Neil's shoulders like gravity had doubled overnight.

He stood at the starting line, fingers flexing at his sides.

Across the field, the rest of the team jogged through their warm-ups-stretches, dynamic drills, sharp laughter that echoed through the air and quickly faded again. It was routine. Muscle memory. Their bodies knew what to do by now, even if their minds buzzed with nerves.

Neil's eyes flicked to the bleachers.

Zay was there.

It wasn't unusual. He always waited for Neil when he finished his physio warmups. But something in the way he stood-shoulders straight, arms crossed over his hoodie, watching-was different. Not just supportive. Protective. Like he could sense that today Neil was close to unraveling and was already preparing to hold the pieces together when it happened.

Neil walked over.

No words exchanged.

Zay just passed him the water bottle he always brought and watched him drink like it was a test-watching the tension in Neil's shoulders, the shakiness in his grip.

"You didn't sleep much," Zay said.

Neil didn't deny it. "No."

"You know you need sleep, right? A rested body means better workouts."

Neil huffed. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Zay said simply, "Just don't break before the race."

Neil looked away, out at the team.

"Coach hasn't said anything. No backup plan. If I mess this up-"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

Zay stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was just for Neil. "You think I haven't seen how hard you've been pushing? You think Langley hasn't? You're not the weak link, Neil."

And then, softer: "You're not broken anymore."

Neil almost laughed, breath catching. "I don't know what I am anymore."

"You're mine," Zay said, too easily, too low. "That's something."

Neil blinked, stunned for a second-more by how gently Zay had said it than the words themselves.

But before he could answer, Langley's whistle cut through the air. The moment dissolved like sugar in water.

...

They trained until their lungs burned.

Langley ran them through drills designed to obliterate the difference between fear and focus. There were no shortcuts. No grace periods. Every move was timed, recorded, picked apart.

And Neil-he ran like he had something to prove.

Because he did.

Callum made a pointed comment during baton drills, something about how "some people get spots handed to them," and Zay had to be physically restrained by Liam before he could respond.