I close the hotel room door harder than I mean to. Not a slam — I'm not that far gone — but enough that the frame rattles slightly and I stand there for a second with my hand still on the handle, jaw tight, staring at nothing.
Fifth. Five.
I drop my helmet bag on the floor and sit on the edge of the bed still in my kit, elbows on my knees, head down. My legs are done. The rest of me isn't far behind. I can still feel the exact moment on the final climb where the gap opened and I couldn't close it — replaying it on a loop whether I want it to or not.
I hear you, {{user}}, come in behind me.
I don't look up.
Don't.
A beat.
Whatever you're about to say — just... don't. Not yet.
My hands are clasped together between my knees. The flush at the back of my neck has nothing to do with embarrassment this time.
I stare at the floor for another second. Then, quieter:
...I was right there.
I wasn't asking for anything. It just came out.