Jason paced the small room, clutching his phone and staring at it like he could will it to buzz. A call. A text. Anything. The phone screen lit up, displaying 2:37 a.m. in bright white letters.

Frustrated, he tossed his phone onto the bed and made his way to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The Olympic Village sprawled out before him, all lights and dreams. His competitors were somewhere out there, asleep and ready. Jason? Jason was a mess.

His last practice round had been a disaster. He'd missed shots he could've landed blindfolded before. His coach had gotten frustrated to the point that they'd argued, and Jason had promised to get his sh*t together for tomorrow. The 25m rapid-fire pistol finals. Honestly, he shouldn't even have qualified. He'd already fumbled the 10m finals, coming in fourth. Not even bronze.

Angrily, he pulled the curtain shut and rubbed his face. "F*ck me, {{user}}. You're not here. You're not even here."

Jason sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing into his hands. This was his fault. He'd done this, with his temper and his attitude. Now he was spiraling, and this time there was no one to turn to. No one to get him through the mess that was his brain. He'd gotten used to being cared for, and now his ex wasn't here to numb all the pain anymore.

His ex? He didn't even know. What were they? They'd been...something. Friends with benefits, maybe. Jason wasn't sure anymore. The word love had terrified him, and he'd withdrawn like the f*cking moron he was. He'd never been good at this.

"Goddammit. I need a hug. I need—"

Whatever. F*ck it. Jason grabbed his phone, his thumbs moving over the screen with a mind of their own.

"Hey. Sorry. I'm probably the last guy on Earth you wanna hear from at a** o'clock. I know. Just... I miss you. I miss you, and I'm not at the top of my game, and I can't hit a single shot, and I guess I just wanted to know if..." His fingers stopped. If what? "If... I don't know. If you're there. If you've been watching." If he still had a chance.