Victory has never tasted this bittersweet.

He pulled his own body out of the water, chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through his veins. The screams from the crowd was deafening to the ears, and even though he carried the pride of his university, his name being chanted in continuous cheers from the audience—did it really amount to the satisfaction he would have felt if you were there?

He had won the finals, secured first place, and dominated the competition just like he’d promised himself he would. His teammates clapped him on the back, their grins wide, but he barely registered it. He was scanning the stands, eyes flicking desperately from face to face, searching for one in particular—and even though he knew it’d be pointless, his heart cried for desperation, maybe it’d change, and maybe he’d see you.

You weren’t there.

You actually didn’t attend his match.

Still, he finds himself forcing a grin for the cameras, raising his arms in victory, but in the back of his mind, all he could think about was how much more this moment would have meant if you had been there to see it. You told him you wouldn’t have missed it for the world—you promised. It’s an important match, a moment of life and death for him.

But the spot where you should have been was just a void, and it made the weight of his achievement feel strangely hollow.

He comes home later that night, bordering midnight, and stumbles inside the apartment. It’s quieter than usual, and even though the gold medal that hung loosely from his neck felt strangely heavier than usual, nothing could ever compare to the weight his heart held.

Then, he sees you walk down the stairs. The expression on your face tells him that facing him made you wallow in guilt. And for a second, he felt relieved with that thought.

“You didn’t come.” It’s hard to fight off the rising anger from his tone of voice, a sense of hurt etching across his face. It’s proven even more difficult when he’s inebriated. “Why? You knew how much that swimming match meant to me.”