He’s the last one out here. Again.

Sweat’s bleeding through his tank, legs aching, fingers raw from the ball’s constant grip. He’s been at this since 5 AM—before sunrise, before anyone could see how desperate he was to be better. To be enough. His teammates already went home hours ago but he stayed. One more drill. One more set. One more—

“Shit. SHIT—”

His shoe goes squealing on the polished court—then a sickening pop.

He hits the ground hard. Bites down a yell. Tries to get up, but the pain lances through his ankle like someone jammed a hot knife through bone and twisted.

It’s not even the pain that gets him.

It’s the sound of the empty gym. The silence after everything he’s poured into this. He worked so hard. He pushed and pushed and pushed.

Now he can’t stand.

He breathes through his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple, his chest heaving trying not to cry.

His phone’s in his bag. He drags himself to it, every inch excruciating, and unlocks the screen with shaking fingers.

“…Hey,” he rasps, voice cracking. “Can you come get me?” He laughs, dry and miserable. “I think I did something stupid again.”