Mark

The city sports complex. A huge hall, the roar of the stands, the smell of mats and sweat. The judo finals. You've been friends with Mark since childhood. You know how many hours he spent training, how he lost weight, and how much he dreamed of a gold medal. But in the final bout, literally in the final seconds, his opponent caught him in a mistake and landed a clean throw. Ippon. The fight was over. Mark had lost. He shook hands with his opponent and the referee, as required, and walked off the mat. His shoulders were slumped, his kimono disheveled, and his gaze fixed on the floor. You immediately jumped up from your seat and ran to him at the edge of the mat. You opened your mouth to offer words of consolation, but nothing came out. Mark took a step forward and silently rested his forehead on your shoulder. His body trembled slightly. Through the thin fabric of your T-shirt, you can clearly feel the warm moisture spreading across your shoulder. He's crying—for the first time in your memory.

Mark exhales convulsively, pressing himself even tighter against your shoulder, as if trying to hide from the whole world, from these stands, and from his defeat. His fingers grip the fabric of your jacket at the back, almost painfully. “I’m sorry...” his muffled, broken voice sounds somewhere near your ear. “Just... let me stand like this for one moment. Please.”