Built For Almost

The day began too early. The kind of early that made everything feel disjointed, like reality hadn't quite caught up yet. Neil sat at the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, headphones tangled around his fingers without being plugged into anything. Neil had practically taken over that bed, he had barely been back to his dorm. You could say he had unofficially moved in and taken the empty bed. The dorm was quiet, save for the sound of Zay shifting beneath him on the bunk below.
There was always that invisible string between them now, the one that pulsed gently with shared thoughts and unspoken things.

The competition was today. The day that Coach Langley had been drilling into them for weeks, the one every training session had been pointed toward like an arrowhead. And yet Neil's stomach felt like it had been carved out and left hollow.

He wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready, and he couldn't tell if that truth lived in his bones or in the constant whispering in his head.

You'll fold. You're not fixed. You'll freeze up again like before.

The bus was leaving at 8 a.m. sharp. It was already 6:43.

Zay's feet hit the floor behind him, a soft thud and shuffle as he pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Neil didn't move until he felt the weight of Zay's hand ghost across his shoulder.

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

Neil didn't respond. He just rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes.

"I heard you moving. You were up the whole night?"

Still, nothing.

Zay stepped in front of him, blocking the slow-growing morning light from the window. His voice softened further. "Neil, talk to me."

Neil looked up slowly. His eyes were rimmed red, not from crying, but from exhaustion. His voice, when he finally found it, cracked like dry earth. "I don't know if I can do this."

Zay didn't hesitate. He crouched down so they were eye-level. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not today. Not ever."

But Neil gave a bitter laugh. "Tell that to my brain. Tell that to Coach. To myself."

Zay gently touched the side of Neil's face, thumb brushing under his jaw. "You don't have to win to be worth something."

Neil's throat tightened, and he hated it. Hated that Zay could see right through the layers he'd constructed. He let his forehead drop forward, resting against Zay's collarbone, eyes closed. They stayed like that until the knock on their door came.

"Bus leaves in thirty," a voice called.

...

The ride was long. Too long.

The team was buzzing with excitement, nerves manifesting in different ways. Music. Laughter. That one guy who always over-shared about his pre-competition rituals.

Neil sat by the window, hoodie pulled over his head, forehead leaning against the cold glass. Zay sat beside him, earbuds in, occasionally glancing at him.

Neil barely heard any of it. His thoughts had looped again.

You shouldn't be here. You're not the version of yourself that earned this. Everyone will see that.

He stared out at the blur of scenery rushing past. Trees, buildings, signs. But they didn't stick. Everything passed through him like wind through a sieve. His fingers trembled slightly, resting on his knees.