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Mello is used to having restless nights before a competition, and this one is no different.
There is a gold medal right in front of him, shining brightly in the darkness. Moved by instinct, he extends his arm to grab it, but it slips away. He starts following it without an ounce of hesitation. Of course he does. Winning an Olympic gold medal has been his dream since… Well, forever. He has never stopped pursuing it. Not even when his family, friends, and coaches all laughed at him, sure that he was just being way too overly ambitious. If only, that has made him even more willing to push himself beyond every limit. He wants to prove them wrong. He can do it.
The thing is, he never manages to win. Not that he lacks the ability – actually, he’s the best. Every performance of his is elegant but powerful. His determination never stops to strengthen him. But, somehow, his emotions always get in the way, locking him out of the higher stand of the podium. He is stuck in second place. Second best.
Second.
The gold medal has always been so close, yet so far away.
His dream is becoming a mocking reminder of reality. Of his failures.
Shouting, he leaps. There is no way he will let it slip through his fingers once more. His hand is closing on the medal. He can feel the cold texture against his skin.
With a gasp, his eyes shoot open.
Out of breath, he realizes he has indeed gripped something: the shirt of the redhead sleeping peacefully next to him.
He takes a moment to look at his lover. Or better, at his freckled neck and his red mop spread over the pillow. Matt shouldn’t be here. Not only because it technically is against the rules – as if Mello would really care about the infamous cardboard beds –, but according to his coach, it’s best for him to stay alone before an event like this one. However, having Matt by his side has always had a soothing effect on him. Even if Mello is known for craving the limelight, pressure can get overwhelming sometimes. Ever since that unpredictable win on his senior debut, everyone has always expected him to come out on top. And now that he’s at the Olympics – his childhood dream – every emotion, doubt, and fear seem to be multiplied a thousand times. No matter how hard Mello tries to hide it, Matt always knows better. So, Matt managed to get a special permit for Mello’s sake, even if they were supposed to sleep in different beds. Mello rolled his eyes when his coach told him so. “You think so highly of me to believe that I’d fuck not only Matt but my entire Olympics too? Seriously? Come on, you should know me better than this,” was his reply. Straight to the point as usual.
Besides, his nerves are already fucking with him enough.
Sighing, Mello gets up. He moves silently in the dark, careful not to wake Matt, and stops by the huge window of his room to stare out into the Tokyo night, restless and hectic.
“Everything alright?” Matt asks as he hugs him from behind and rests his chin on Mello’s shoulder, snapping Mello out of his train of thoughts.
“Yeah,” Mello murmurs.
“You nervous?” His voice is soft and caring, despite being heavy with sleep.
Mello’s lack of reply and vacant stare is an obvious answer.
Matt holds him tighter. “You’re gonna be awesome.”
Mello barely hums, betraying his concern.
“Mel, it’s okay to be worried.”
“What if I don’t make it?” Mello confesses. There is no point in hiding things from him anyway. He’s like an open book to Matt. “What if they are right and I’m not enough and-”
“Hey,” Matt cuts in, “look at how far you’ve come. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. Not to the press. Not to your old coaches. Not to me and not even to yourself. You are enough. Regardless of scores, trophies, or medals. I just- I’m proud of you. And nothing will ever change that.”
Mello turns his head and lets his lips brush uncharacteristically gently against Matt’s.
“Thank you,” Mello whispers. He has never been the greatest at expressing his feelings, but his love and gratitude are clearly there, in his gestures, for Matt to see.
“Come on, you need to rest now,” Matt says, planting a kiss on his forehead before taking his hand. “I can’t be having you all tired on the most important day of your life,” he chuckles.
Nodding, Mello lets Matt lead the way back to their bed. Matt wastes no time and wraps his arm around Mello’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Mello rests his head on his chest and listens to Matt’s soft snores until they lull him back to sleep.
Matt’s encouragement doesn’t work out as he had hoped, though.
Mello’s performance is nearly flawless and captivates everyone, making even those who believed him qualifying for the Olympics was just beginner’s luck stand corrected. However, gold goes to a Japanese boy, Eiji Okumura. The crowd is going wild and cheers for its national hero: in three years, the fly-boy – as his fans love to call him – has managed to get over a career-crushing injury and now, with an excellent comeback, has gone beyond every highest expectation.
Mello is all smiles during the victory ceremony. Matt isn’t fooled like everyone else, though. The shadow of disappointment Mello has in himself, flashing in his eyes, doesn’t go unnoticed to Matt.
As soon as the ceremony ends, Matt races in search of him. He elbows his way through all the people leaving the arena, most certainly heading to the next competition. He doesn’t care that he’s entering a restricted area. He’ll deal with the consequences later. He has another priority now.
After looking in the umpteenth empty room, his last resort is the hallway leading straight to the podium. And that’s where he finds him, sitting on a bench hidden from every indiscreet eye – cameras included. Now that he isn’t in the spotlight anymore, his smile is nowhere to be seen.
“Mel, that was impressive! You were amazing!” he says as he sits down beside him.
“Matt, don’t.” Mello stops him, without raising his gaze from the medal, “I made that mistake and-”
“C’mon, that was insignificant!” Matt tries to cheer him up. “You’ve seen the scores. That was your personal best!”
“And I still didn’t get gold.” He replies half-heartedly. His implications are crystal clear. If this is his best performance so far, and it still isn’t enough, will he ever be able to win?
Matt sighs and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He knows that Mello’s worth isn’t defined by a medal. But, in Mello’s mind, that’s a whole new story. He knows – maybe better than Mello himself – how competitive Mello is. He knows the full extent of the inferiority complex Mello denies having since they were kids. He knows how important it all was for him. And, even if Mello doesn’t vocalize it, he knows Mello is mad at himself for having failed. Again. Well, Matt would never call a silver medal a failure, but that’s Mello.
Matt reflects for a few moments. Maybe this isn’t the right time. But if not now…
“Well, that might not be gold,” Matt starts, his heart pounding in his chest as he gets on one knee.
Mello looks at him annoyed. He really isn’t in the mood to play games right now. Still, he does nothing to stop him as he takes a small black box out of his pocket. Mello’s eyes widen in realization when he sees the gold ring inside the box. A toothy, real smile crosses his face.
“…but this one is,” Matt finally adds. “Will you marry me?”