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featuring: james, chris, will, arthurtv, arthur hill and george
taglist: @ghostwrittenbygrace, @themdera, @smzyyx comment if you want to be added!
description: angst (kinda), hurt and comfort, i didn't know how to title this lol, but basically reader has interests that their friends don't agree with, this is how your ukyt bf of choice would comfort you! timestamps aren't important, contains swearing and mentions of bullying/reader getting made fun of (by their "friends") let me know if i missed anything!
Author's note: the first competitor for "Going for Gold" is here! Yes, some technical terms are incorrect. But at least I wrote this and not AI!
Warnings: Mentions of a toxic past relationship, Reader sucks at communication, some swearing
Word Count: 2.9k
You two had only been dancing together for a couple years, but it feels like a lifetime. After your last partner ditched you for the new hotshot skater just before the Beijing Olympics, you were sure your Olympic dreams were over. You had to watch your partner win gold with a routine you two had worked so hard
Luckily, your coach was able to source out some new blood in the form of George Clarke. The first thing you noticed about him was just how handsome he was. Quickly snapping out of it to remain professional, if you were to get to Milan/Cortina, you needed to focus on the programmes, what the judges were looking for, getting the costumes and music rightÂ
Not, how George always knew what to say to make you smile, how he gave you space when you were getting in your head, you both work so well together, collaborating on ideas, changing choreo, this is a team effort, that feels like a team.Â
His hand, oh god his hands, how he squeezes yours just before you enter the rink, he looks down at you with his gorgeous blue eyes, âWeâve got this,â he states, firm, determined, and you believe himÂ
As the skating season begins, you two gain more recognition, even gaining some fans (you two giggle over the fan edits that are all over your TikToks). You begin seeing George in a different light, how humble he is when praised, cracking a joke and downplaying his efforts, always bringing up how amazing and talented you are. The press love you two together, you both are more passionate about how incredible the other person is than the actual skating!
Yes, there are rumours of whether you two are an actual couple or not. Who could blame them! The chemistry is undeniable, the journalists know it, the fans know it, your coaches know it, hell, you know it too. But itâs that fine line youâve always skated on to remain professional. Considering your last relationship was with your dance partner, and they left you for someone new, you were determined to not let it happen again
But you couldnât help it, the stolen glances, his arm around your shoulder while youâre both listening to feedback from the judges, the playful winks, how he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You reciprocate, absentmindedly playing with his curls, checking him out when you think heâs not looking, maybe youâve stolen one or two hoodies of his? âTheyâre warmer than yours!â âThis one goes with my outfit better!â Are some familiar excuses
You canât help notice how his skin tight skating costume leaves no room for imagination. Shamelessly feeling up his arms, but saying youâre just âfeeling the sequinsâ on his shirt. Itâs your own dirty little secret that you had dreams about him, waking up gasping for breath, suddenly alert, then hit with the realisation, it was just a dream
Can partners get jealous of each other? Because you do, secretly. If you see George talking to another skater, you see them batting their eyelashes, maybe he types his number into their phone and vice versa, and youâll see him check back over his shoulder as heâs walking back to you. Youâd never admit it, insecure about beingâŠinsecure. But those were the signs youâd blindly missed with your ex, next thing you knew, dumped. Humiliated. On the worldâs stage no less! You had every faith in George that he was a good guy, there was no shady business, but every so often, those doubts and memories would flood back and you felt like you were drowning. Luckily, George was always there to pick you up (literally he had to pick you up and throw you about in your program), sometimes heâd show up, unannounced, at your door with a takeaway and sweet treats so you could vent about whatever was on your minds
As time goes on, you two get closer, like physically youâre inseparable. Youâre taking naps together (you get the privilege to fall asleep on his chest), if you go on a night out, heâs basically your personal bodyguard, his hand rarely leaving your waist.Â
Of course you two dance together on the ice, but in this packed club, lights flashing, music so loud you canât hear yourself think, you two blur those professional lines
Youâve got one arm around his neck, slowly trailing your other hand across his chest, feeling the silk of his shirt cold against your fingertips. Heâs got his leg between yours, steadying you but tempting you just to fully grind down on his thigh in this club full of people. His hands on your waist, moving to the music with you, itâs like no one else is in the room. Everything moves in slow motion. The music distorts so you can only feel the bass vibrating around you
The tension builds, heâs looking down at you and youâre looking up at him. You see his eyes dart to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You nod, while pulling on the chain around his neck to bring his face down to yours. You both lean in at the same timeÂ
Unfortunately, someone bumps into your side, hard, nearly sending you flying if George hadnât been holding you so tight
That snaps you out of it âWhat am I doing? What were we doing?â you think before taking one last look at George, whoâs asking if youâre okay, before you press him away and start pushing your way through the club
The plane ride to Milan is silent. An uncomfortable silence. But only you and George notice. Your coaches assume youâre just focused on the competition. But thatâs far from the truth
George notices the way you tighten up around him, you canât look him in the eye when heâs speaking, the same jokes youâd share donât land the same. Heâs at a loss. When you leave the team meeting without waiting for George, one of the coaches does press more on the matter âHas uh, something happened between you two?â They ask, treading very carefully, âBecause, the pair's event is in a few days, I mean youâve got to -â âWeâll fix it, promise.â George cuts them off, nods to both of them, assertive. Itâs convincing enough to them that they donât ask any more
He keeps trying to get you to open up, but itâs like you two have fallen out of sync. George rakes his brain from something he couldâve done, but comes up short. His memory of the club is a little hazy, but you said nothing had happened that night and that you were just tired? You two still practice as normal, you can look at him then, when the musicâs on, you can express your emotions better, this dance tells a love story, so, you tell yourself youâre just playing the part. But once youâve taken your bows and the cameras are off, you reset into isolation mode
âReader, please, Iâm begging, whatâs wrong?â You thought the coast was clear and you could slip out of the changing room unnoticed, but no, George was waiting for you. Still a bit sweaty from your practice runthrough, but somehow also his cheeks are red from the cold inside the arena
Not expecting an ambush you stutter out a, âItâs nothing George, just nervous for tomorrow, thatâs all,â you try your best to sound convincing, eyes trained on the ground as you turn to leave, but George knows you too well. âThatâs such a load of shit, and you know it,â he catches your upper arm in a firm but not tight grip, you stop, âwhy donât we talk anymore?â He asks, sounding dejectedÂ
Before you can come up with an answer, a familiar voice cuts into the conversation, âWell well well, if it isnât the happy couple?â Youâd already stopped, but now felt absolutely frozen, itâs him. Surprisingly, you hadnât had any interactions with the pair since you got to Milan. You found out that your ex had changed teams, so was no longer competing for Britain, which explains not seeing him in your countryâs lodgings
Two sets of footsteps come to stand in front of you and George, âAw donât tell me youâre leaving so soon Reader, we were so looking forward to watching you in your first Olympics, werenât we?â He puts his arm around his partnerâs waist. She looks very uncomfortable, you hear her whisper âPlease, letâs go,â as she tries to get out of his grip to leave this situation
Finally gathering the strength to face him for the first time in years, you straighten up, hoping you look intimidating rather than terrified, âDo you not have another team to annoy?â You ask and cock your head to one side, staring him down, "Because weâre here, having a conversation that youâve decided to interrupt, to what, to psyche us out? What are you, 15? Youâre pathetic.âÂ
âWow, someoneâs finally got a voice!â He mocks, holding his hands up in defence, âmaybe I wouldâve stayed around if you werenât such a pushover, but some of us had gold medals to win.â Heâs smiling now, he was probably waiting for this opportunity for the last 4 years. Itching to rub it in your face he won and you didnât
âWoah, thatâs enough,â George now steps slightly in front of you, âThereâs no need for that, weâre all here for the same reason, you donât have to be horrible to her just because youâre feeling threatened.â Â
Your ex scoffs, âOh, we were not -â, George cuts him off, âYouâre just embarrassing yourself at this point. You must be shitting yourselves if youâve got to stoop to low blows?âÂ
From your side-on view, you see George making a point of looking your ex up and down, he smirks
Your ex looks rattled, you swear you see his knees start to buckle when George steps closer to him, luckily for him, his partner speaks up, âWow! Well this was eye opening, both your programs are amazing, good luck to you tomorrow,â She says, sounding genuine, trying to diffuse the tension, âCâmon, weâre leaving,â she removes his hand from her waist and walks off, not bothering to wait for him to join her. He does a couple seconds later, not apologising or looking at either of you before jogging to catch up with her
Neither of you know how or what to say after that. Standing in a somewhat stunned silence. Georgeâs posture relaxes, âAre you okay?â He turns to face you fully, eyes widening for a split second because youâre finally looking at him, not just because youâre dancing, âReader, are you okay?â He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs stroking up and down to comfort you. Thereâs too much happening in your head to answer, but you do come out with, âCan we talk somewhere,â you gesture vaguely to your surroundings, âmore private?â George nods and holds the door for you to the changing room you just came out of
You each take a seat on benches facing each other, the room smells like your favourite body spray and vaguely like hairspray. George runs a hand through his hair, âIâll let you start then.â Itâs firm, not giving you an âoutâ, but considering the biggest moment of your careers so far is tomorrow, itâs allowed
You exhale a breath you didnât know youâd been holding, âThe thing is, I donât want to scare you off.â You canât look at him, so you play with the hole in your joggers to ground yourself. âReader, youâve seen me in some states. Weâre in this together, we always have been.â George explains, keeping his voice steady
âI know, I think, but Iâm just used to people leaving, I mean you saw him out there, I thought I was over it, it was four years ago, but that was someone I loved once and now I freeze up when theyâre in the same room as me. I never got an explanation, I just woke up and Iâd been replaced. Iâm scared that one day youâre going to see something in me you donât like, and just like that youâre going to leave.â Youâre rambling, but you canât stop now
âI compare myself to others constantly, every time I see you talking with another skater, I try to see what they have that I donât. I pick myself apart so much so I wonât be mad at you if you leave, because itâs easier to blame myself. I try to do what they do, how they look at you, how they flirt with you but Iâm not sure it works the same. Theyâre shiny and new, and you know me, youâve seen me at my worst.â You take a couple breaths to stop yourself shaking, George is silent, thereâs occasional noise from people walking past the room, the overhead lights feel too bright, too blue, too harsh, spotlighting you
You continue, in too deep to stop now, âI knew from the moment Coach introduced us, that I was attracted to you, but I buried it down because I wanted to win more. But sometimes, when weâre dancing itâs like weâre already in love. Then the music stops and weâre just in this weird in between. I feel kind of selfish admitting that I want to be more, when youâve already done so much for me. That night at the club, I wanted to kiss you so bad, but I got scared. If I let myself fall for you, Iâm also letting myself get hurt by you.â You finish, glad you got it all out before the tears started
You brace yourself as you look at George, heâs looking back at you, you canât read his expression, a mix of awestruck and dumbstruck? If you had to take a guess
âIâm sorry I made it worse holy shit forget all that,â You begin as you stand up to leave, praying this was all a bad dreamÂ
âPlease donât leave,â George blurts out, you stop and sit back down, âThank you for telling me all that. I wasnât quite sure what the matter was, and maybe I was reading too much of the fan theories and tabloids because I had a sneaking suspicion you liked me too.â Thereâs a small smile playing on his lips
âLook, if you donât feel the same, that's cool. Letâs just get through tomorrow.â You start, not registering what heâs admitted, but George interrupts, âIf youâd just give me a chance to explain my side. Iâve been losing my mind trying to figure out what happened to us. On the ice itâs fine, itâs amazing actually,â George smiles to himself, as if remembering all your moments in the rink together. âBut, itâs like a switch is flipped when weâre not dancing together.âÂ
âIâm sorry I just, I didnât know how to deal with those feelings, especially if being honest would mean losing you instead.â You begin, âYou mean more to me than the gold, than the podium, maybe the whole Olympics? Well, maybe you mean the same amount as that, letâs be real.â You try to joke to ease the tension. Luckily, George breathes out a laugh, looking comfortable again. âItâs getting late now, we should go and rest, I definitely owe you unlimited hot chocolates for the rest of the season,â You stand up and gather your things, George does the same but stops you before you reach the door
âI never got to fully explain myself,â George says, âI mean I did say I liked you too but you fully ignored that part,â he jokes, and your eyes widen in realisation. âOh fuck, George,â you bury your head in your hands as George puts his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He strokes your hair, âThere there poppet, I know how you can make it up to me though,â he loosens his grip so you can look up at him. âCan I please kiss you now, been waiting forever,â George confesses, already leaning in. Even though you know youâre blushing like crazy, you lean in to meet his lips, finally
Itâs the day of the figure skating pairs competition and the energy of the nationâs âwill they, wonât theyâ couple isâŠweird. Because it seems like they will. Or at least they do? Did they? Some commentators put it down to nerves as youâll be competing with the best in the world, this both your first Olympics
But the drama doesnât stop there, while waiting in the stands, you get to watch your ex completely and utterly stack it on the ice. You have to hold your hands over your face, hoping to look shocked, concealing your laughter. George has his arm around your waist, pulling you in close, feeling the vibrations of your subdued laughter in his side, everything feels back to normal
As you two are announced to skate next, you get some last minute feedback from your coaches, before you head to the edge of the rink, adrenaline rushing through your body. This is it. You wave to your fellow skater friends, who cheer you on. Even as the crowd roars, George is holding your hand, firm and determined, you look up at him as youâve always done, âWeâve got this,â and you believe him, as youâve always done.
(And you win your first (of many) gold medals, something youâve not always done, but will continue to do so, with your partner, on and off the ice until your last dance.)
Author's note: a short series because all I do now is watch the Olympics and I wanted to get this out before they're over. This is just for fun and not too deep in regards to the sports and their terminology, so I will be getting some things incorrect and I apologise in advance.
Featuring:
George Clarke as an Ice Dancer:
After your current partner abandons you days before the Beijing 2022 Winter Olympics, you thought your dreams of skating for Team GB were over. Thankfully, your coach had your new partner lined up, George Clarke. Immediately thrown off by how handsome he was and yet how charming and funny he could be, you two began your partnership. Launching yourselves into a new program, new costumes, new music in preparation for the skating seasons ahead. But, most importantly, the Milan/Cortina Olympics in 2026. What starts off as a professional partnership has the potential to develop into something more, if youâre ready for that.Â
ChrisMD as a Snowboarder:
Chris Dixon, the âPocket Rocketâ of Team GB. Always the bridesmaid but never the bride, Heâs consistently placed 4th the last 3 Winter Olympics heâs competed in. Going back to the drawing board for what could potentially be his last chance at gold, he brings you along for the ride. His close friend, someone he confides in, someone he trusts, someone he wants to be with so badly, but heâs so scared of losing you, he buries it underneath cheeky grins and pretending that heâs thinking of the gold, and not you. Whatâs more important at the end of the day to him? Finally getting that top spot at the podium? Or getting a chance with you?
Harry Lewis as an Ice Hockey Player:
Harry Lewis, notorious short tempered king. When heâs in the zone, the other team better watch out. But since you joined the team as assistant manager, heâs no longer âHot Shot Harry,â heâs a pain in the ass. Straightaway he tries to impress you with trick shots, every time he scores heâs checking to make sure you were watching. You are, but youâre not impressed. You donât give him the attention he craves and it drives him mad. Harryâs always been a selfish prick, itâs your job to change that.
Becky James as...herself:
Becky James isnât really sure how she ended up at the Olympics. Not that sheâs competing, god no, just here to make some content for a brand. Everythingâs chill until she bumps into you, Team GBâs curling superstar. Tasked with filming content before your games, there's no harm in helping a cute girl with her technique, is there?
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james marriott x reader, a short drabble/thought. alternatively titled: "lost the plot". pussy drunk james my beloved. think i over used the word "pussy", wrote this instead of finishing ice hockey player harry, fuck it, we bawl, thank you to @ghostwrittenbygrace for proof reading!!
minors do not interact
also idk how to write smut, so apologies if this is actual horse shit.
but imagine you're reading in bed, james is feeling particularly needy. so, he starts kissing your neck, painfully slowly, knowing the spots that'll make your breath hitch. you're trying not to give in, really wanting to finish this book, but you can feel him hard against you. "surely that book isn't that good," james mumbles in between kisses, moving down your neck to gently suck on the sensitive skin there. "james, please," you whimper out, the book suddenly feeling very heavy, your eyes fluttering closed, squeezing your thighs together under the covers. "please what? i thought you were wanting to read your book?" he teases, "i've got an idea that'll give us both what we want," you look at him curiously, "read out loud, i want to hear what's happening," you're confused. "james, i'm like nearly done, you can read it after," you offer, but he shakes his head. "i don't think you're getting it," he tuts, "i want to hear you," he flips over the covers so they're off your legs, "what are you doing? it's so cold!" you pull your legs in close, savouring some warmth. "it's fine, just get comfortable, and i will as well," so, you resume your position, only this time, james uses his hands to spread your legs open, oh so that's where this is going, you think.
he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, closing your legs, "let me take these off you," he offers, you lift your hips so he can take your pyjama bottoms off. now fully exposed to him, "don't mind me, keep reading, out loud," "james-" "you want to read your book and i want to make you cum, it's a win win situation!" you roll your eyes, ridiculous, you think. so, you restart where you were before you were "interrupted", reading aloud. james smirks to himself, before licking a strip all up your wetness. you gasp out, "james!" you put the book down to see your boyfriend placing a kiss right on your clit, "i didn't say stop, did i?" "you're cruel," you counter, bringing the book back to continue reading. what should've been a quick chapter, felt like hours. every time you stuttered, gasped, moaned or whined, james made you read from the top of the page all over again. by the time you'd gotten to the final page of your book, your whole body was shaking, you were sweating, james had been edging you for what felt like days, he knew your body so well, he knew you were so close. he had the audacity to hum while sucking on your clit, adding extra vibrations that ripped through you, ultimately leading you to miss a line and james stopping to tell you to start again. "you're such a dick," you whimpered out, hoping it was quiet enough for him to not hear you over the noises of him making out with your pussy. (it wasn't, he made you start again, nearly making you burst into tears).
using his hands to push your legs further apart, gripping your thighs, as if trying to get closer dripping core. you'd never been more turned on in your life. his glasses were steaming up, but he didn't care. all he wanted to do was savour your taste."the end," you breathed out, "okay please, please, james, i'm so close," dropping the book off the the side of the bed (you normally care for your books, and hate the thought of throwing them about, but these were different circumstances). you sit up on your elbows, getting a better view of your boyfriend, face buried in your pussy. "you've done so well you me sweetheart," james mumbles and looks up at you, he swears you've never looked more beautiful. "come on, come for me," he begs, using his thumb to stroke your clit, before sucking on it again, moaning into your pussy, leading to your thighs trembling as you come. a white heat washes over your body, lighting every cell ablaze. as you catch your breath, james comes back to lie beside you, kissing your temple and stroking your hair, "you did so good for me," he murmurs, "so fucking good."
you turn your head to face him, "guess i should return the favour then?" you go to reach for his cock but james grabs your hands, "you- um, you don't have to," he looks away, sheepishly. "oh, sorry, totally, i just thought-" you begin, but james interrupts. "no, it's not that, i just lost it when you came. you sounded so sexy reading and even sexier when you come, i couldn't help it." he admits, now looking at you to gauge your reaction. you swear youâd never been more in love. âawww baby boy couldnât control himself,â you mock, pouting for added effect, lightly scratching the underside of his chin (you knew he had a thing for being degraded). âiâm going to ignore that, come on,â he shuffles out of bed, walks over to your side and holds his arms out, âlets get you cleaned up.â begrudgingly, you get up, after you got cleaned up, both with clean pyjamas on, you were waiting for the kettle to boil in the kitchen when james asked, ânow can you explain what the book was about, because iâll be honest, i couldnât concentrate.â
Authors note: Yeah idk shit about hockey, but this is fanfiction so you get what you get.
Warnings: anxiety and depression, big mentions of insecurity (never being good enough), swearing, mentions of sex, Harryâs such a toxic cunt, hurt with comfort, lovers to enemies to ??, I know thereâs meant to be like 20 people on an ice hockey team, but I genuinely couldnât be bothered writing all that, here is me acknowledging it before someone corrects me, Idk if ice hockey is big or not in the UK, for the sake of the fic, itâs not. Me projecting my anxiety for 1,000 words straight x let me know if I missed anything !!
Taglist: @ghostwrittenbygrace you already know who the fuck it is, hello @teleskinnd welcome to the taglist
Word Count: 5.4k
Harry Lewis had a temper as short as Chris Dixon (yes, it was that short). After countless attempts to be scouted for Team GBâs ice hockey team since he started playing the sport as a young teen, heâd felt like heâd lost it. Harry longed to make the Olympic team, representing his country, filling his soul with pride. So what if no one cared when he explained the intricacies of defensive versus offensive plays and how being the centre was basically being a âtriple threat.â He wanted to show off his skills to a global audience. Maybe even get out of the UK and play for the NHL
Some of his best mates got to play for the Olympic team, heâd supported them endlessly, but was also persistent in his questions, âHow did it feel when you first stepped on the ice?â âIs it special ice or normal?â âWho was shagging in the Olympic village?â The usual
Harryâs able to answer those questions himself when he gets called into a meeting with Team GB coach, Vik Barn. âLook Harry, we know youâve got a bright future ahead of you, youâd make an excellent addition to the team,â Harry feels his heart leap out of his chest, âBut, this is the Olympics, itâs still the same sport, however, youâve got to learn to control your temper, itâs a concern. Thereâll be all eyes on you, the nationâs on your back, do you think you can handle it?âÂ
Itâs a no brainer, Harry often acts first, thinks later, âYes, Iâll do anything, please? Thank you?â A mix of desperation and passion, Vik assumes, and a contract is drafted. Vik takes him to meet the rest of the team. Harry, already cocky (although heâd argue heâs just confident), texts the group chat of his closest friends that heâs got the âbiggest announcementâ, he canât wait to see his friends' faces when he sees them. This is his time, and no oneâs going to change or stop that
Harryâs momentum is killed when he gets to the rink and the familiar laughter of JJ Olatunji practically shakes the ground. As the two descend the stairs, Vik claps his hands once, loudly enough so thereâs silence in the arena. âBog! You decided to show up!â Ethan Payne exclaims. Harry would usually come back to something much worse, but he can see Vik looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Harry swallows the insults, âBez! Whatâs going on?â He keeps his voice steady. Once Vik and Harry reach the edge of the rink, Harryâs practically dying to put on his skates and join the group on the ice. JJ and Ethan are here, wait, is that Tobi Brown and Josh Bradley skating towards him? âBabe, Iâve got to go, heâs here now, love you, bye,â Simon Minter comes into view, putting his sports bag on the ground and pulling Harry into a hug, âThe gangâs all here,â he announces, still with an arm around Harry
âWait, this is it? Youâre all on the team too?â Harry asks, bewildered, the stars have aligned. âMate, are you mad? Whyâd you think weâre all here?â Josh laughs, the group joins in, Harryâs brain is still processing everything to even think about being embarrassed. Vik, sensing the boy is spiralling, ushers him to one of the locker rooms so Harry can get fit for the teamâs uniform and some new skates. Like a kid in a candy shop, Harryâs unable to contain his excitement, the second heâs alone heâs able to let out a âWhat the actual fuck,â just to himself. Heâs mid text to the family group chat when thereâs a knock at the door, Tobi comes in, beaming, âSo, weâve got âHot Shot Harryâ on the team now?â He uses air quotes around the nickname that Harry gave himself and is trying to make âa thingâ, âHowâre you feeling?â Tobi sits next to Harry on the bench, putting a hand on his friendâs shoulder to shake it in a supportive gesture. Yes, Harry can annoy the ever-loving shit out of his friends, but they couldnât be prouder of him, they just show it by taking the piss
Harryâs brain, finally, kicks into gear, âWhatâs the training schedule? Is there a gym? Do I need to start working out more? Does Vik like me? He thinks Iâm weird? Am I weird? What if I mess up? Should I have gone into golf instead?â Harry rambles on, Tobi just stares, amused. âOkay you need to chill, weâve got this, not to brag, but weâve done this before, we got you okay?â Tobi continues, âJust pretend itâs a normal game, weâve got loads of time to practice, weâve got advantages on the other team anyways because weâre all actually mates.â Harry nods, but doesnât understand, how can he say to chill? They donât have as much time as they think they do. Thereâs qualifiers, theyâve got to build a strategy, thereâs no time for dicking about, is he even going to be good enough? That last thought skates round Harryâs mind. Tobi, sensing his friend is on the verge of a breakdown suggests, âIâll give you some space for a bit, think about it, but not too deep, yeah?â As he gets up to leave, thereâs another knock on the door. âAre you decent in there?â Asks Vik, âWeâve got a guest,â the door opens a little. âAll good in here,â Tobi answers, nudging Harry to snap out of it
The last person Harry wants to see when he looks up, is you. For fuck sake. Great, as if he wasnât already overwhelmed with trying to be chill, but also be excited for this opportunity, but also to remain professional and contain himself and the things that make himâŠhim. But also, thereâs you. With your clipboard, Team GB sports jacket, you fit in so well already. Wait, why are you even here?Â
âReader, this is Tobi, our winger,â Vik gestures to Tobi, you two shake hands and exchange small âhellosâ. âNo doubt youâll recognise this face,â Vik smiles and gestures to Harry, heâs unsure what Harryâs face is trying to express, or hide? Tobi nudges Harry more forcefully this time and Harry stands up to face you, âNice to meet you, you must be Harry?â You extend your hand out for a handshake. Harry, taken aback, is able to muster up a, âReader, was it?â while holding your gaze and shaking your hand, trying desperately not to bolt out of the room right this second. âOh wow, do you two actually know each other?â Vik asks, sensing some tension in the room, he looks at Tobi for some confirmation, but receives a blank stare. âOf course, Iâm familiar with all the playerâs work in their respective teams!â You reply, a little too quick, turning to face Vik with a bright smile. âWell that makes things easier, boys, meet your co manager, Reader!âÂ
âOh no,â Harry says out loud, obviously wanting to keep that part in his head. âBro,â Tobi whispers, shooting him a fierce look of disapproval. âIs there something wrong Harry?â Vik asks, this introduction hadnât gone as planned. âI mean, âOh noâ, itâs all real now!â Harry tries to play it off as a joke, hoping he doesnât die of cringe. Thereâs silence for a beat, until Tobi chimes in, âYeah itâs all real now!â The awkwardness eases, âHave you taken Reader to meet the other boys?â Tobi asks Vik. âWeâre going to head there now. I expect you two will be joining us once youâve finished in here?â Vik asks, but itâs not a question, and he leads you out the door
âYouâre a fucking idiot,â Tobi bursts out laughing, but stops when he sees Harry looking bothered. âDo you actually know them?â He asks cautiously, Harry sighs and runs his hands through his hair as he sits back down, feeling exhausted. âThatâs my ex.â Ex. It sounded cold. Harsh. Unforgiving. To be fair though, thatâs you. âShit man, thatâs them? Wait, I thought you were just sleeping together?â Tobi questions, sitting back down. âThatâs how it started, yeah, that was the plan, but things gotâŠcomplicated.âÂ
Youâve always been involved in sports. It started off with playing football when you were young. Dissatisfied with your teamâs losing streak, you took matters into your own hands. Naturally shy and reserved, not speaking unless spoken to, sports brought out this side of you never thought possible at that time. Writing a letter to the coach, giving them pointers and advice, they quit, and you insisted you took over. Teaching your teammates about strategies, formations and positions. One thing led to another, next thing you know youâre 10 years old, yelling expletives at the opposition and starting (and winning) arguments with the referee. Your parents couldnâtâve been prouder!Â
You knew you liked control. Not in a psycho way. Maybe it was your constant overthinking, overplaying and overanalysing that gave you solace, youâd thought of everything. Or had you? Was there something you missed? Something you forgot? Oh no. This was all your fault. You did everything you could, playing out scenarios in your mind, how to achieve this outcome, how to avoid that, what if they do this instead? As you got older, on game days, or even going to the shops, you could be paralysed with fear. After a lot of time and effort (with love and support from those around you), you began to feel comfortable again, more carefree, less analytical, âit is what it isâ as the saying goes
Looking to make your next career move, having masterfully assisted a number of sports teams to league victories, medals, trophies, you name it. Even at your age, you had an impressive resume, giving you a leg up on the competition with every opportunity that came your way
So when an email from [email protected] came into your inbox, you initially thought it was a scam. Team GB menâs ice hockey? Was this a joke? Who cares? You hadnât had any interaction with the sport, even at a non Olympic level
WellâŠthere was that time where you and Harry Lewis wereâŠyou knowâŠdating. You shudder at the thought, closing your emails and trying to brush those memories away. But it didnât work, Vik wouldnât stop emailing. So, you did a quick internet sweep. Turns out âHot Shotâ Harry had left his team in the British Ice Hockey League and turned his talents to golf. You wondered if he was maybe setting his sights on the summer Olympics instead?
How did you and Harry meet? Youâd heard stories and watched clips online of this guy, Harry?, doing the absolute most in ice hockey. You were familiar with the sport, but not him. Youâd never admit it, you did spend a night deep diving to find one clip of Harry with his helmet off. When you finally found one, maybe it was the lack of sleep catching up with you, but you felt your soul leave your body. You had to see him play. This feeling was unfamiliar, call it longing? A fascination? Just pure vibes?Â
After sitting through one of Harryâs games (he literally had one of the opposition player against the glass, kinda hot ngl). Your body moves before your brain can catch up, next thing you know, youâre waiting by the locker rooms, telling the team manager that youâre a local journalist wanting to interview Harry. With the rest of the team gone, youâre able to go into the changing room without further distractions, Harryâs sitting on the bench, hair still damp from the shower, he looks tired initially, but perks up when he sees you. God, heâs even more handsome up close. He stands up and introduces himself, âHello, Iâm Harry, you wanted to interview me?â He looks at you expectedly. Lying was never your strong suit, so you opt for the truth, âListen, Iâll cut to the chase here, Iâm not a journalist, but I am interested in you,â You admit, hoping to ease the blow a little bit. âOh,â heâs disappointed, you can see that much, âSo weâre not here to talk about me?â He asks, youâre a bit taken aback, how big was his ego? âYou lied to come back here,â His voice lowers and looks at you more intensely, a small smile forming
âYou know what, this was a bad idea, Iâm just going to go,â You quickly say before rushing out the door. Harry does call after you, but your face is hot, you canât get outside quick enough. You recount the story to your best friends after too many drinks, theyâre convinced youâre in love and obsessed, or at least infatuated. You rarely do anything without a plan, so why barge into the changing room? What were you expecting to happen? Itâs one of those memories that sticks with you when youâre trying to go to sleep
Fortunately, or unfortunately, youâre out with your friends again, just a general catch up. Itâs later in the night when a group of guys waltz in, loud, over powering energy, so, it shouldnât come as a shock when Harryâs part of that group. You see him when youâre waiting at the bar with your friend, nearly ducking behind them, âReader, what are you doing?â They whisper yell at you, youâre now crouching beside them, pretending to tie your laces, you look up and make pointing gestures to the general direction of Harryâs group, âthatâs him,â you mouth. Luckily, youâre served quickly without any further disruptions. That all changes however when youâre by yourself this time, your round, when the bartender informs you âThat gentleman over there paid for your drinks already,â pointing out Harry, leaning against the bar, watching you. After delivering the drinks to your friends, you tell them youâll âbe back in a minuteâÂ
âYouâre not going to run away this time, yeah?â Is the first thing he says, itâs rhetorical, he knows youâre hooked. He knows heâs hot. How could someone pull off glasses, messy hair, black hoodie combo so well? Itâs effortless, kinda infuriating. âNever got your name,â he states as you sit on the barstool next to him, knees touching. âItâs Reader,â you believe if you donât give him much to work with, heâll lose interest, meaning youâll have to get over yourâŠinfatuation
But that doesnât work. When your friends come over to say theyâre wanting to leave, Harry reassures them heâll take good care of you. Youâre not entirely sure what that means, you were genuinely just enjoying chatting with him, getting to know the man underneath the helmet. So even when his friends want to leave, you two stay. You part ways after he spends the night at yours where you did a bit more than âget to knowâ each other. You exchanged numbers and it went from there. What would start out as hang outs, youâd end up in bed together. You picked him up from practice. You went to nice restaurants together. You watched his games. Stayed behind until the changing rooms were empty, so you two could hook up in the shower, just for the thrill. You both loved talking strategy, heâd be so interested in your work. Youâd spend weekends away together in the off season. Youâd met each other's friends. You consoled him when he didnât make the Beijing team, looking at teams in Canada and the US that could take him. Heâd have your tea waiting for you in the morning, knowing how to make it the way you like. It wasnât forced. It was real. But it wasnât official. It went on for a year. Youâd confided in your friends, who promptly told you, âgirl, stand up.â So you did, one night, after youâd been at meetings all day, heâd been at practice, you two were in his flat, making dinner, the television playing in the background, just for noiseÂ
You cringe thinking back on it now. How you did the classic, âwhat are we?â bit. How stunned heâd seemed. Youâd literally met his family for fuck sake and he thought you were being âtoo clingyâ, he laughed it off, âgirlfriendâ he scoffed at the thought. Heâd basically lectured you that his career was more important, he didnât have time for commitment. Even after that you stayed the night, but you couldnât sleep. Not in the same bed as someone who didnât respect you, who didnât see you the same. So, you left, quietly in the night. He was a deep sleeper. You took the little possessions youâd left at his, ordered an Uber and went back to yours. It was 2am. You had tunnel vision, not the type to do anything by halves, taking his jumpers, body wash, whatever was his, was now in the bin
Harry called and called, texted you endlessly, even showed up at your door, but you didnât answer. Eventually he stopped. Your friends were concerned. You didnât want to go out anymore, too scared to take the bins out in case you bumped into him. You slept a lot more. Doomscrolled more. Too tired to even get up to pee. Your family insisted you moved back home, so you did, they needed to keep an eye on you. âIs this because of that boy?â Your Mum asked one day, youâd felt well enough to sit with her to watch tv. That opened the floodgates. She was supportive and listened well. There was now an unofficial âno ice hockey in the houseâ rule, unserious, but most appreciated
Flash forward to the present, youâd recovered, so when you met Harry again, it was a legitimate shock. Yes, he was a good player, and constantly brought up the Olympics (a shared passion of yours), his lack of self control on the ice was a concern, yes, it was entertaining, but could easily cause Harry to lose focus of the actual game. You were as shocked as him when Vik introduced you two. Youâre just better at controlling your emotions, how other people see you. You were in factory default polite mode, not giving anything away, although you knew Harry would tell Tobi, who you were certain youâd met before, he seemed trustworthy. And you knew Vik would question the interaction. You were now his second in command, even if it was only going to be a couple months, the experience would be invaluableÂ
âSo whatâs all this, youâve come back, right at the biggest moment of my career, no, biggest moment of my life for what? Just to throw me off?â Harry confronts you as you were leaving for the day in the car park. You continue walking to your car, and he continues talking, âCome on Reader, please donât do this to me, you know how much this means to me,â he pleads. Just as you get to your car, heâs still blabbering on, so, you snap, "Genuinely how is this my fault? I got offered a job, I wasnât even thinking about you when I took it!â That was a lie, but he didnât need to know that. âNot everything is about you,â youâre facing him now, pointing your finger at him, accusingly. Harry huffs angrily, running a hand through his now mullet-ed hair. âRight, so how do we do this?â He asks after taking a deep breath, adjusting his sports bag on his shoulder. âDo what? Weâre not in this together, not anymore, you made that clear years ago when I told you I loved you.â Harry opens his mouth to reply, âSave it, Iâm co coaching this team, like Vik asked me to. If you want a gold medal, youâre going to have to think about the team first, then yourself. Because Iâm not here for you, thereâs other people now looking to me for guidance, you are going to have to deal with that.â Harryâs too speechless to respond, so you get in your car, and drive home. Fuck my stupid fucking life, you think to yourself, mentally crafting the text to the group chat of your friends
Training goes as well as you could imagine. Itâs shit. Itâs awful. Any suggestion you have, even if the other boys agree, Harry ignores. Heâs just being a selfish prick. Pissing you off for the sake of it. It leads to some uncomfortable moments. It goes on for about a month before Vik pulls you both into his office and gets you both in shit. âClearly something is going on here. So just come out with it.â Neither of you speak, itâs like being told off by a teacher. The meeting goes nowhere, even though Harry apologised, itâs only because Vik threatened to replace him. The truth never actually comes out about your past relationship, everyone just skates around it. Itâs so blindingly obvious. Harry gets jealous when he sees you one-on-one with the other boys, youâre just talking strategy and training, but it irritates him. He doesnât want you, he shouldnât, you just up and left one night and then ignored him!
One night, after a particularly gruelling practice, the boys go out. One drink leads to another, and suddenly Harryâs telling the group everything that happened between you two. âIt was just going to be sex I swear,â He explains like heâs being tried in court. âOkay, but you fell in love with them anyways, didnât you?â Ethan presses for an answer, Harry sighs and nods, âThen why are you being even more of a prick?â Ethan leans back, not understanding his friend's actions. âIâm not being a prick, theyâre being a prick by being there!â Harry defends himself, but no oneâs buying it, all encouraging him to âget a gripâ
By the time Milan comes around, Harry has levelled out. The team is working in sync, you and Vik start to believe that this could work. You had forgotten this side of Harry, the passionate side, how heâs genuinely enjoying playing the game. He listens to you more (which surprises everyone, yourself included), backs you up in meetings, walks you to your car at night. Itâs the bare minimum, but itâs better than before. You two get comfortable around each other again. So much so that you talk on the phone most nights. It starts out with Harry telling you an idea for a formation they should try, but it turned into a catch up session. It was a way to get things off your chests that maybe you didnât want to tell the other team members. It feels familiar, which makes you nervous, but you didnât want to accidentally push him away. After the opening ceremony, the boys are locked in. Thereâs a couple qualification games before they play for medals. Harryâs beside himself with excitement, this is actually happening, weâre here, he thinks. In the down time between games, you and Harry explore the Olympic village. Bumping into familiar faces from Team GB, like George Clarke and his skating partner and Chris Dixon. You go to watch some events together, but Harry canât concentrate fully. Even though with so many different countries competing over a couple weeks, Team GBâs ice hockey team is creating a lot of buzz. No one expected them to get this far, to the final match for a gold medal no less!Â
In the final practice session, Harry flips out at Josh for missing a penalty that âhe could score in his sleep.â During the break, Vik needs to make a phone call, so you try to talk some sense into Harry. Calling him over to the stands, he takes off his helmet and leans his stick against the side, he has this hopeful look in his eyes, which changes when he sees you are Not Happy. âThere was no need for that, being horrible to Josh.â You explain, âI donât care if itâs just banter, itâs not helpful.â Harry rolls his eyes, âHeâs shit, canât you see that?â He gestures over to where Josh and Tobi are passing the puck to one another while JJ and Simon try to intervene. âHowâs he going to cope when all eyes are on us tomorrow to bring a gold medal home?â Harry wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. âHeâll be fine, it was one shot and this isnât a real game? I think, no, I know youâre just worried about you,â Harry begins shaking his head in disagreement, but you keep going, (Vik is going to kill me, you think). âI know this is a big moment for you Harry, itâs big for everyone, so nowâs not the time to switch back into âHot Shot Harryâ mode, because thatâs going to cause problems for us all. Weâre a team, this isnât some league game where you can show off without consequences, this is the worldâs stage, so get a grip, apologise to Josh, and whatever youâre feeling just now, hold it and control it. Itâs what the rest of us do.â Your heartâs pounding, as you finish, the stress was getting the better of you. Expecting Harry to put up a fight, youâre amazed that he nods, looking a bit timid now, he goes to speak, but Vik comes back and youâre all pulled into a team huddle
Later that night, as youâre cleaning up before bed, thereâs a knock at the door. You assume itâs Vik stressing, but no, that would make sense, because itâs Harry, in his pyjamas and slippers. âHarry? Whatâs wrong, you should be asleep by now,â you open the door wider to let him in. He sits on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of his t-shirt, you cautiously sit near him on the bed, still putting a respectable amount of distance between you two. âHarry, you can tell me anything, yeah?â Youâre not exactly sure how to comfort him, if he even needs it. âYou can say no, and Iâd understand, and this is definitely me pushing it, but can I stay here tonight? With you?â He looks at you hopefully. âWhat? Why? Iâm your coach, would you ask Vik to do this?â You ask, half amused. âHe didnât answer the door,â Harry jokes, âbut seriously, I need some comfort tonight. Weâre not having sex, we donât even have to kiss or touch or anything. Youâre the one person who calls me out on my shit, and itâs annoying because I know youâre right. Iâve done everything I can to get us this far, what if I fall at the last hurdle? And then itâs all for nothing.âÂ
Harry stands up and starts pacing around the room, âIâve been trying so hard to prove Iâm not just a selfish prick, that I can actually work as part of a team and not make it a one man show. We can achieve something thatâs not been done, as long as I keep my cool. Itâs too much pressure!â Harry raises his voice, throwing his hands up in the air. He looks to you next, âAnd then thereâs you. I never forgot about you Reader. Even after you left, I still looked for you in the crowd, I still looked at our pictures, I even found the same washing powder and perfume you wear so my bedsheets would smell like you!â You think youâve forgotten how to breathe. âI didnât realise at the time how good I had it with you.â Harry comes to kneel in front of you, he takes your hands which were resting in your lap, âI shouldâve never blamed you for how you felt, youâve helped guide this team into something amazing, Iâm sorry I ever doubted you.â You hold that position, itâs like a weightâs been lifted, âYou donât have to forgive me, I really messed up the first time, Iâm sorry.â You donât even know how to begin to formulate a reply, actions speak louder than words, so you pat the space next to you in bed, âCome on, itâs late.â You say, getting under the covers yourself
Harryâs not in bed when you wake up, but there is a text saying he was going for a pre game ritual with the boys. You pray silently that they make good decisions because against Team Canada, youâre going to need all the luck in the world. When it comes down to the game, itâs fierce, you donât know how many times JJâs been slammed against the plexi glass. You think youâve got whiplash from trying to keep an eye on the puck flying around the rink. Everyoneâs on their A game. You spot Harry square up to his opponent, but Simon puts a hand on his back, and Harry backs off. You and Vik hold your breaths when it goes to penalties, of course it had to go to penalties. Best of three, Canada scores first, but Josh gets one for Britain. Both Tobi and the Canadian player are able to get two more goals, which means it comes down to Harry. You swear you develop grey hairs as another Canadian scores for his country. The arena holds its breath as Harry skates up to the mark. Harry finds you in the crowd, youâre able to muster up an encouraging thumbs up and a smile, you nod, he nods back, once the ref blows his whistle, Harry takes the shot
You find Harry after the ceremony, head in his hands sitting on a bench just outside the changing room where his teammates and their families are all celebrating a silver medal win for Team GB. âOh my god, where have you been? You left so quickly after the medals,â you say as you jog over, âOh Harry,â your heart breaks at the sight, then you hear the sniffles. You immediately sit beside him and try to put an arm around him. Heâs still in his hockey uniform, so itâs a little difficult
âHarry, itâs okay, please donât be so hard on yourself, I understand-â you begin but he cuts you off, âYou donât understand, Iâve missed funerals, birthdays, weddings for this and Iâve fucked it,â Harry breaks down in tears. âYes, I do understand, because Iâve done the exact fucking same. So has literally everyone on this team. Itâs still a silver medal, youâll still be on the podium, with the boys, isnât that enough? This team has never gotten to play for a medal, you helped make this happen, why canât you see that?â You find a tissue in your bag and gently nudge him to take it, âI donât know, I just canât, Iâve let everyone down, the boys hate me, Vik hates me, you hate me more, Iâve fucked it.â Harry wipes his eyes, sounding defeated. You chuckle, âHarry, I guarantee you, youâre going to go in that locker door, yeah thereâll be tears, but no one will think that. Weâll go over strategy like weâve always done. Vik might say something vaguely inspiring, JJ will make a joke no one will laugh at, youâll all rip the shit out each other, because thatâs what teams do.â And you mean every word
âWhat about you?â Harry looks at you, brows furrowed in confusion. âWhat do you mean?â You ask, now equally confused. âArenât you coming back in with me?â He asks, gingerly, âLike, will you come back home and weâll still be able to see each other?â You roll your eyes and respond matter-of-factly, âYes Harry of course I am, Iâm not abandoning the team now. Weâve got the Alps in 2030 to work towards!â you try to banter, but Harry doesnât seem satisfied with your answer. âWhat Iâm trying to ask is, do you still hate me?â You pause to think, you reflect on your time together, how brutal that first meeting was and how you never wanted to see him again after you left for good. It took you a long time to realise you couldnât control âHot Shot Harryâ, that was just something youâd have to accept if you wanted to move forwards, together. âNot as much as I used to.â You answer, you look into his eyes, then briefly at his lips. He smirks, catching you, before leaning in he tells you, âThatâs worth more than gold.âÂ
Author's Note: âŠso Iâm back on this bullshit. This is just a long drabble. I have a half written bullet point headcannon thing that I lost the plot with, just wanted to finish this series lol. Idk jack shit about half pipe, despite me watching endless videos of it. Written while I was commuting to work, proofread about five minutes ago, take it or leave it.
I could've done a lot differently, I might go back to the original story I was planning, but this is it for now. Fuck it lol x
Content Warnings: swearing, one makeout sesh, like one sentence where an argument takes place, lmk if I missed anything!
Word Count: 1.9k
Chris Dixon, Team GBâs âPocket Rocket.â Heâs been plotting the murder of commentating duo (cough Will and James) for coining that nickname, which now follows him like the plague. After a fall on the final run in Sochi, a fall on the first run in PyeongChang and being just edged out of bronze medal position in Beijing, Chris is ready to throw in the towel. Luckily, Chris has got you, a friend, best friend in fact. A shoulder to cry on. Someone he can go to who will give him no bullshit advice and opinions. He trusts you with his life. Bit awkward heâs in love with you.
You met Chris while you were a ski instructor for kids. He was training at the same snow center. The kids all loved him and knew him from the TV. What started off as polite greetings, blossomed into late night conversations, inside jokes, thereâs teasing over whose sport is better and your hopes and dreams. The usual friendship things. Except the falling in love part. That was Chrisâs fault. What? He couldnât hide the cheesy grin that spread across his face whenever a text from you came through. Every time he made a mistake in practice, heâd hear your voice in his head, encouraging him not to give up. Heâd see how well you worked with the kids you taught, you were always able to make them smile if they were feeling upset, squashed any arguments, the parents all loved you as well. Once heâs back from Beijing and the Olympic/Paralympic buzz is over, youâre able to convince Chris for âone last shot.â âMaybe Milan will be different?â You offer, and Chris prays youâre right. But, youâre both older now, and havenât had any time for fun since you were working full time, and he was always training. So, a month away on a ski trip wouldnât hurt, right? Youâre with your group of friends. To be honest, you and Chris barely have any time together because itâs always so busy, you each keep being dragged from bar to bar, from mountain to mountain, itâs all a whirlwind.Â
WellâŠthere was this one time, you decided to have a night in. Youâve got the chalet to yourself while everyone goes out. Using this as an opportunity to have a nice relaxing dip in the outdoor hot tub. Itâs just you, in the lovely warm and bubbling water, and the snowy mountains surrounding you. Youâre not sure how long youâre out there, maybe youâre reading a book, maybe thereâs a podcast on, maybe youâre just enjoying the calm. Until Chris comes home early. He swears his heart skips a beat when he sees you, all nice and serene. âAre you going to keep perving on me or are you going to jump in?â You tease, not thinking anything of the comment, youâd seen each other in next to nothing before (swimwear, Iâm talking about swimwear), why was he being awkward now? After apologising profusely, and changing into his swimming trunks, Chris joins you, with a bottle of prosecco and immediately regrets it. But, youâre not sensing any weird vibes. So, you two catch up for the first time on the trip. Youâre both giggling from the drink (his dumbass forgot to get glasses and heâs been thinking about how sharing a bottle is you indirectly kissing, heâs a loser wbk). Somewhere in between the conversation, you notice him looking at your lips, he sits closer to you (claiming he canât hear you over the bubbles). You knew Chris was cute, but never realised how handsome he was closer up. Chris isnât sure who made the first move. He does know he never wants to stop kissing you. Who needs oxygen? Heâs got his hands on your waist and your fingers are running through his hair. An almighty clatter comes from inside, your friends are back, the spell breaks. Chris is in too much of a love struck daze to stop you leaving (quickly wrapping a towel around yourself and slipping back inside, hiding away in your bedroom). Everyone can feel thereâs been a shift in vibes between Chris. But neither of you address it. You carry on as normal. You assumed it was a tipsy mistake. He didnât actually like you like that. Youâre best friends!Â
Meanwhile Chris couldn't be more in love with you. Once youâre back home, the regular every day routine takes over, Chris goes back to training, you go back to teaching. You still hang out, text, call, all the time. But thereâs something there. Maybe a spark of what couldâve been? Flash forward a couple years and Milan is right around the corner. Chris is fed up with the narrative the press have put him in already. The nicknames, people saying this is his âlast chance.â Seeing clips from Olympics past (although heâs never forgotten) nearly has him pulling out of the team at the last minute. Luckily, youâre able to get some time off work to travel with him, although youâll be staying in separate lodgings.Â
Once the snowboarding event gets underway, youâre standing with his family and friends, a news crew comes over to get some insight on Chrisâs mental state coming into whatâs rumored to be his last games, youâre quick to shut those statements down, leaving the interviewer to awkwardly wrap things up. During qualifications, Chris keeps crashing out (literally), scraping by to get through to competing for a medal. Heâs so busy practicing and training that you two arenât even able to get time together. So one night, after a particularly grueling session in the snow, and more interviewers trying to give him a complex, you and Chris have your first fight. Youâve had disagreements before, but those had more open communication, you heard each other out, and apologised. There was no time for that here. You try your best to reassure him, pleading with him to take care of himself, but he doesnât want to hear it. Everything comes spilling out in a âyou have no idea what kind of pressure Iâm underâ type of rant, he doesnât let you get a word in. Before you can try and talk some sense into him, he hangs up and doesnât respond to any of your texts. (He goes on a walk around the Olympic Village and bumps into Ice Hockey Player!Harry Lewis, who heâs known for ages. By some miracle, Harryâs able to talk Chris off the ledge). Chris phones you back first thing on the morning of the event. You hear each other out. Youâre just trying to protect him. Heâs trying to prove everyone wrong. Chris begins the event at the bottom of the pile. Thankfully, two huge runs on the half pipe, heâs in the silver medal position. The energy in Livingo is electric. You get to chatting with the other competitors families, hearing their stories, how they started, what this means to them and their country. âHow long have you and Chris been together?â one asks. âOh! Weâre not-â An announcement over the loudspeakers silences you all, time for the current snowboarders in podium position to do their final run. Third place puts down a solid run, a missed trick puts them down a couple crucial points. âRepresenting Great Britain, Chris Dixon!â the crowd goes wild. Youâre not even sure if you cheered, too stressed out to make a sound. You just know the commentators are spewing some bullshit, âThere was the fall in Sochi, the injury in PyeongChang and the disappointment in Beijing, will Milan finally be the one for Chris Dixon?â âCome on Chrisâ, you think, âshow them all. Prove them wrong.â You know his routine off by heart (when youâd Facetime each other, heâd fall asleep first, mumbling his jumps and rotations). Chris drops in. Switchbackside 1440. Backside double cork 1260. Frontside 1260. Back to back 1440âs. He sticks the landing! Not over or under rotated. Plenty of airtime. Youâre still running logistics in your head when Chris appears in front of you. Snowboard and helmet are nowhere to be found. âChris you did it, your best run, you didnât miss a trick,â youâre rambling, mouth moving faster than your mind. âReader,â he puts his hands on your shoulders, âit doesnât matter.â Heâs smiling, but youâre not sure why. âWhat do you mean? No oneâs beating that run!â You reason. Overhead, the last snowboarder drops in, but you canât tear your eyes from Chris to watch. âI donât care about winning anymore, I just want you.â Youâre stunned silent. But the roar of the crowd allows you to take a glance at the big screen, projecting the athletes' results. âI shouldâve been honest when I first started feeling feelings for you, Reader-â âChris, please-â âNo, Reader, hear me out, even if you never want to talk to me again, I need to tell you-â âChris, I swear to fucking God.â You have to physically turn him around to look at the screen. It takes a second for the gravity of the situation to set in.Â
His friends and family are screaming, most are crying, many are jumping around. Chris Dixon, Great Britain, Gold Medal. Oh. Oh. Itâs like Chrisâs life flashes before his eyes. His first snowboarding lesson. First wipeout. Teaching you how to snowboard. Getting his first board for Christmas. First meeting you. X Games. The first time you stayed over at his. Beijing. Your first kiss. You were intertwined with him. He had just won his first gold medal, and youâre all he can think about? Chris blinks back into reality, he turns around to immediately be pulled into a hug from his family. Even some of his competitors run over to congratulate him on his well overdue gold. You canât hold back the tears anymore by the time Chris is back in front of you. You pull him into a tight hug. The crowd is deafening, but youâre still able to hear Chris say, âItâs not the adrenaline talking Reader, I really do like you. You mean more to me than any medal, you always have.â If you werenât crying before, you definitely were now. You feel Chris shift and you two loosen your hold on one another, itâs an official motioning him to follow. 2nd and 3rd place athletes are standing behind them, so you assume itâs to go to the podium. You pull Chris in again, just quickly so you can give him a kiss on the cheek. As you both pull back to face each other, heâs looking even more dazed. âGo get your medal, youâve earned it. Weâll talk later,â you look him in the eyes, âPromise,â you add. Chris follows the official, reluctantly. Looking back at you every few steps. Smiling bigger than youâd ever seen.Â
âAnd there you have it, Chris Dixon of Great Britain is the new Olympic Gold Medalist in Half Pipe Snowboarding! Congrats Chris, we always believed in you!âÂ
âWill, you never believed in him. Thereâs compilations of it on YouTube. You started calling him a Pocket Rocket for Christ sake.âÂ
âShut up James. It doesnât matter now, heâs got the gold and it looks like heâs got someone even more valuable. See you in four years everyone!â