This is a work of fiction, not based on any real events -- though I wish it was. All characters are at least 18 years old.
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I padded across the vinyl flooring past the rows of white lockers, searching for mine. I was still flushed with the afterglow of victory, my heart racing even now, an hour after the excitement ended.
I couldn't help it. Up until the last shot, the final release of the bowstring and the solid thud of my arrow meeting the bullseye, I doubted myself.
I doubted my ability to make it to Nationals, and told myself that I was lucky to be there -- not just privileged - but undeserving of the position I'd found myself in. But there was no denying it now, I was good, better than everyone in the stadium by a wide margin. I could tell my opponents didn't expect it.
They were waiting just like I was for me to make a mistake. The look on their faces when the competition was complete was one of perfect surprise. Ryan Lim, the runner up and two-time champion, looked at me like he was in the middle of a dream, trying to put a finger on what didn't fit with reality and waiting to wake up.
I reached my locker at the end of one of the many rows. Athletes get assigned lockers when they check in, and I was thankful this time I got a more secluded one, though at that moment it wouldn't have mattered. The room was empty, most competitors having finished well before my final match.
Most of them were already on shuttles to their various universities or the nearest airport. The only ones left are likely me and Ryan L--
I lost my train of thought when I heard a door open across the room. The sound of someone walking slowly, meandering almost, echoed across empty space.
"Is it him?" I wondered anxiously. Athletes can be a moody bunch and I had learned to avoid other competitors so soon after winning a match. We dedicate ourselves to one cause for much of our lives and then put it all on the line for the world to see our triumph or failure. It's no surprise emotions run high when we feel our efforts haven't been rewarded, like a prize and pedestal already paid for in sweat and tears have been stolen out from under us.
As the victor of today I didn't want to find out how forgiving this victim would be, so I hurried to change, peeling off my damp tee and shucking my pants. I was stuffing the clothes into the bottom of the locker when I the footsteps reached the open end of my row of lockers.
I couldn't help but look up. Just like I thought, it was Ryan. I silently cursed my luck and dropped my gaze before we could make eye-contact, praying that he wouldn't say anything to me. I faced my locker and was about to continue changing, but even without looking I could tell he was walking towards me.
"Congratulations" He called. He sounded melancholy but was doing his best to mask it, putting a cheerful upswing in his greeting.
"Thanks." I said, "You did amazing."
"As if." Ryan scoffed. "I couldn't even beat a rookie who picked up a bow for the first time two years ago."
There it was, I knew he wouldn't actually be cheerful after his loss.
"Oh uh yeah, sorry about that." I attempted an apologetic smile. He was closer now and still walking. I was on guard but trying my best to seem at ease. I wondered why he was still coming at me until I saw him pull out a locker key. He stopped at a locker a few to the right of mine and opened it.
Ryan sighed deeply, looking down and pondering how best to respond to my apology. Evidently it wasn't worth the effort to acknowledge, instead he changed the subject.
"What are the chances huh?" He asked. "They have this whole facility and they mange to put the two best archers almost side-by-side." He chuckled. "Maybe they know something we don't."
I smiled and nodded my assent. I was still tense. He was smiling and didn't seem to have taken my apology the wrong way, but there was an edge in his voice I couldn't place.
When he turned and began to undress, I sensed our conversation was over and continued changing myself - stripping of my boxer-briefs and pulling on my clean underwear. I was checking Ryan's progress out of the corner of my eye as I did -- wary of some attack or petty retribution.
As I did I couldn't help but notice that he didn't have a typical archer's build. Working to draw a bow and stabilize your stance tends to result in an overdeveloped back, arms, and shoulders along with atrophied core and chest muscles. Instead, he was evenly toned across what looked like his entire body.
His chest muscles stood out above well-defined abs and I could see the muscles ripple across his taught frame as he pulled off his shirt and bent to remove his shorts. Even his legs looked like they were carved from marble, each muscle not bulging out but clearly defined beneath tanned skin.
He must have spent a lot of time and effort training his whole body -- not just what's most useful for drawing a bow. I respected that -- it shows that an athlete is dedicated to more than just winning a game, they are dedicated to pushing their body to its limits and realizing its ultimate form.
I was like that too, though my results were lackluster compared to his. No matter how much I trained or ate I couldn't seem to put on the sort of muscle he had. People would describe me as "slim" or maybe "lean," plenty of muscle but spread out over too tall a frame. Ryan, on the other hand, was statuesque.
"You know you could always take a picture -- it'll last longer." He said, turning and looking directly at me, as if he could feel my eyes on him.
"Dammit." I thought. I had been changing too slowly, so caught up making sure I wasn't about to be pounced on that I hadn't put on any more clothes besides my underwear. "Sorry I was, uh, just a bit nervous." I decided to be honest. "Some guys get really upset right after a loss, especially to someone like me."
