#meadows fics

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 right 

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. 

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, “We’ve got this,” he states, firm, determined, and you believe him 

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 it’s that fine line you’ve 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 couldn’t help it, the stolen glances, his arm around your shoulder while you’re 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 he’s not looking, maybe you’ve stolen one or two hoodies of his? “They’re warmer than yours!” “This one goes with my outfit better!” Are some familiar excuses

You can’t help notice how his skin tight skating costume leaves no room for imagination. Shamelessly feeling up his arms, but saying you’re just “feeling the sequins” on his shirt. It’s 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 you’ll see him check back over his shoulder as he’s walking back to you. You’d never admit it, insecure about being…insecure. But those were the signs you’d blindly missed with your ex, next thing you knew, dumped. Humiliated. On the world’s 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 he’d 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 you’re inseparable. You’re taking naps together (you get the privilege to fall asleep on his chest), if you go on a night out, he’s basically your personal bodyguard, his hand rarely leaving your waist. 

Of course you two dance together on the ice, but in this packed club, lights flashing, music so loud you can’t hear yourself think, you two blur those professional lines

You’ve got one arm around his neck, slowly trailing your other hand across his chest, feeling the silk of his shirt cold against your fingertips. He’s 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, it’s 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, he’s looking down at you and you’re 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 time 

Unfortunately, someone bumps into your side, hard, nearly sending you flying if George hadn’t been holding you so tight

That snaps you out of it “What am I doing? What were we doing?” you think before taking one last look at George, who’s asking if you’re 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 you’re just focused on the competition. But that’s far from the truth

George notices the way you tighten up around him, you can’t look him in the eye when he’s speaking, the same jokes you’d share don’t land the same. He’s at a loss. When you leave the team meeting without waiting for George, one of the coaches does press more on the matter “Has uh, something happened between you two?” They ask, treading very carefully, “Because, the pair's event is in a few days, I mean you’ve got to -” “We’ll fix it, promise.” George cuts them off, nods to both of them, assertive. It’s convincing enough to them that they don’t ask any more

He keeps trying to get you to open up, but it’s like you two have fallen out of sync. George rakes his brain from something he could’ve 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 music’s on, you can express your emotions better, this dance tells a love story, so, you tell yourself you’re just playing the part. But once you’ve taken your bows and the cameras are off, you reset into isolation mode

“Reader, please, I’m begging, what’s wrong?” 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, “It’s nothing George, just nervous for tomorrow, that’s all,” you try your best to sound convincing, eyes trained on the ground as you turn to leave, but George knows you too well. “That’s such a load of shit, and you know it,” he catches your upper arm in a firm but not tight grip, you stop, “why don’t we talk anymore?” He asks, sounding dejected 

Before you can come up with an answer, a familiar voice cuts into the conversation, “Well well well, if it isn’t the happy couple?” You’d already stopped, but now felt absolutely frozen, it’s him. Surprisingly, you hadn’t 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 country’s lodgings

Two sets of footsteps come to stand in front of you and George, “Aw don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon Reader, we were so looking forward to watching you in your first Olympics, weren’t we?” He puts his arm around his partner’s waist. She looks very uncomfortable, you hear her whisper “Please, let’s go,” 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, “Do you not have another team to annoy?” You ask and cock your head to one side, staring him down, "Because we’re here, having a conversation that you’ve decided to interrupt, to what, to psyche us out? What are you, 15? You’re pathetic.” 

“Wow, someone’s finally got a voice!” He mocks, holding his hands up in defence, “maybe I would’ve stayed around if you weren’t such a pushover, but some of us had gold medals to win.” He’s 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 didn’t

“Woah, that’s enough,” George now steps slightly in front of you, “There’s no need for that, we’re all here for the same reason, you don’t have to be horrible to her just because you’re feeling threatened.”  

Your ex scoffs, “Oh, we were not -”,  George cuts him off, “You’re just embarrassing yourself at this point. You must be shitting yourselves if you’ve got to stoop to low blows?” 

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, “Wow! Well this was eye opening, both your programs are amazing, good luck to you tomorrow,” She says, sounding genuine, trying to diffuse the tension, “C’mon, we’re leaving,” 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. George’s posture relaxes, “Are you okay?” He turns to face you fully, eyes widening for a split second because you’re finally looking at him, not just because you’re dancing, “Reader, are you okay?” He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs stroking up and down to comfort you. There’s too much happening in your head to answer, but you do come out with, “Can we talk somewhere,” you gesture vaguely to your surroundings, “more private?” 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, “I’ll let you start then.” It’s firm, not giving you an ‘out’, but considering the biggest moment of your careers so far is tomorrow, it’s allowed

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, “The thing is, I don’t want to scare you off.” You can’t look at him, so you play with the hole in your joggers to ground yourself. “Reader, you’ve seen me in some states. We’re in this together, we always have been.” George explains, keeping his voice steady

“I know, I think, but I’m 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 they’re in the same room as me. I never got an explanation, I just woke up and I’d been replaced. I’m scared that one day you’re going to see something in me you don’t like, and just like that you’re going to leave.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop now

“I compare myself to others constantly, every time I see you talking with another skater, I try to see what they have that I don’t. I pick myself apart so much so I won’t be mad at you if you leave, because it’s easier to blame myself. I try to do what they do, how they look at you, how they flirt with you but I’m not sure it works the same. They’re shiny and new, and you know me, you’ve seen me at my worst.” You take a couple breaths to stop yourself shaking, George is silent, there’s 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, “I 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 we’re dancing it’s like we’re already in love. Then the music stops and we’re just in this weird in between. I feel kind of selfish admitting that I want to be more, when you’ve 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, I’m also letting myself get hurt by you.” You finish, glad you got it all out before the tears started

You brace yourself as you look at George, he’s looking back at you, you can’t read his expression, a mix of awestruck and dumbstruck? If you had to take a guess

“I’m sorry I made it worse holy shit forget all that,” You begin as you stand up to leave, praying this was all a bad dream 

“Please don’t leave,” George blurts out, you stop and sit back down, “Thank you for telling me all that. I wasn’t 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.” There’s a small smile playing on his lips

“Look, if you don’t feel the same, that's cool. Let’s just get through tomorrow.” You start, not registering what he’s admitted, but George interrupts, “If you’d just give me a chance to explain my side. I’ve been losing my mind trying to figure out what happened to us. On the ice it’s fine, it’s amazing actually,” George smiles to himself, as if remembering all your moments in the rink together. “But, it’s like a switch is flipped when we’re not dancing together.” 

“I’m sorry I just, I didn’t know how to deal with those feelings, especially if being honest would mean losing you instead.” You begin, “You mean more to me than the gold, than the podium, maybe the whole Olympics? Well, maybe you mean the same amount as that, let’s be real.” You try to joke to ease the tension. Luckily, George breathes out a laugh, looking comfortable again. “It’s getting late now, we should go and rest, I definitely owe you unlimited hot chocolates for the rest of the season,” You stand up and gather your things, George does the same but stops you before you reach the door

“I never got to fully explain myself,” George says, “I mean I did say I liked you too but you fully ignored that part,” he jokes, and your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh fuck, George,” you bury your head in your hands as George puts his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He strokes your hair, “There there poppet, I know how you can make it up to me though,” he loosens his grip so you can look up at him. “Can I please kiss you now, been waiting forever,” George confesses, already leaning in. Even though you know you’re blushing like crazy, you lean in to meet his lips, finally

It’s the day of the figure skating pairs competition and the energy of the nation’s “will they, won’t they” couple is…weird. Because it seems like they will. Or at least they do? Did they? Some commentators put it down to nerves as you’ll be competing with the best in the world, this both your first Olympics

But the drama doesn’t 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 you’ve always done, “We’ve got this,” and you believe him, as you’ve always done.

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 you’re ready for that. 

ChrisMD as a Snowboarder:

Chris Dixon, the “Pocket Rocket” of Team GB. Always the bridesmaid but never the bride, He’s consistently placed 4th the last 3 Winter Olympics he’s 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 he’s so scared of losing you, he buries it underneath cheeky grins and pretending that he’s thinking of the gold, and not you. What’s 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 he’s in the zone, the other team better watch out. But since you joined the team as assistant manager, he’s no longer “Hot Shot Harry,” he’s a pain in the ass. Straightaway he tries to impress you with trick shots, every time he scores he’s checking to make sure you were watching. You are, but you’re not impressed. You don’t give him the attention he craves and it drives him mad. Harry’s always been a selfish prick, it’s your job to change that.

Becky James as...herself:

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."

Harry Lewis had a temper as short as Chris Dixon (yes, it was that short). After countless attempts to be scouted for Team GB’s ice hockey team since he started playing the sport as a young teen, he’d felt like he’d 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 “triple threat.” 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, he’d supported them endlessly, but was also persistent in his questions, “How did it feel when you first stepped on the ice?” “Is it special ice or normal?” “Who was shagging in the Olympic village?” The usual

Harry’s able to answer those questions himself when he gets called into a meeting with Team GB coach, Vik Barn. “Look Harry, we know you’ve got a bright future ahead of you, you’d make an excellent addition to the team,” Harry feels his heart leap out of his chest, “But, this is the Olympics, it’s still the same sport, however, you’ve got to learn to control your temper, it’s a concern. There’ll be all eyes on you, the nation’s on your back, do you think you can handle it?” 

It’s a no brainer, Harry often acts first, thinks later, “Yes, I’ll do anything, please? Thank you?” 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 he’d argue he’s just confident), texts the group chat of his closest friends that he’s got the “biggest announcement”, he can’t wait to see his friends' faces when he sees them. This is his time, and no one’s going to change or stop that

Harry’s 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 there’s silence in the arena. “Bog! You decided to show up!” 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, “Bez! What’s going on?” He keeps his voice steady. Once Vik and Harry reach the edge of the rink, Harry’s 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? “Babe, I’ve got to go, he’s here now, love you, bye,” Simon Minter comes into view, putting his sports bag on the ground and pulling Harry into a hug, “The gang’s all here,” he announces, still with an arm around Harry

“Wait, this is it? You’re all on the team too?” Harry asks, bewildered, the stars have aligned. “Mate, are you mad? Why’d you think we’re all here?” Josh laughs, the group joins in, Harry’s 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 team’s uniform and some new skates. Like a kid in a candy shop, Harry’s unable to contain his excitement, the second he’s alone he’s able to let out a “What the actual fuck,” just to himself. He’s mid text to the family group chat when there’s a knock at the door, Tobi comes in, beaming, “So, we’ve got “Hot Shot Harry” on the team now?” He uses air quotes around the nickname that Harry gave himself and is trying to make ‘a thing’, “How’re you feeling?” Tobi sits next to Harry on the bench, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder to shake it in a supportive gesture. Yes, Harry can annoy the ever-loving shit out of his friends, but they couldn’t be prouder of him, they just show it by taking the piss

Harry’s brain, finally, kicks into gear, “What’s the training schedule? Is there a gym? Do I need to start working out more? Does Vik like me? He thinks I’m weird? Am I weird? What if I mess up? Should I have gone into golf instead?” Harry rambles on, Tobi just stares, amused. “Okay you need to chill, we’ve got this, not to brag, but we’ve done this before, we got you okay?” Tobi continues, “Just pretend it’s a normal game, we’ve got loads of time to practice, we’ve got advantages on the other team anyways because we’re all actually mates.” Harry nods, but doesn’t understand, how can he say to chill? They don’t have as much time as they think they do. There’s qualifiers, they’ve got to build a strategy, there’s no time for dicking about, is he even going to be good enough? That last thought skates round Harry’s mind. Tobi, sensing his friend is on the verge of a breakdown suggests, “I’ll give you some space for a bit, think about it, but not too deep, yeah?” As he gets up to leave, there’s another knock on the door. “Are you decent in there?” Asks Vik, “We’ve got a guest,” the door opens a little. “All good in here,” 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 wasn’t 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 him…him. But also, there’s you. With your clipboard, Team GB sports jacket, you fit in so well already. Wait, why are you even here? 

“Reader, this is Tobi, our winger,” Vik gestures to Tobi, you two shake hands and exchange small ‘hellos’. “No doubt you’ll recognise this face,” Vik smiles and gestures to Harry, he’s unsure what Harry’s face is trying to express, or hide? Tobi nudges Harry more forcefully this time and Harry stands up to face you, “Nice to meet you, you must be Harry?” You extend your hand out for a handshake. Harry, taken aback, is able to muster up a, “Reader, was it?” while holding your gaze and shaking your hand, trying desperately not to bolt out of the room right this second. “Oh wow, do you two actually know each other?” Vik asks, sensing some tension in the room, he looks at Tobi for some confirmation, but receives a blank stare. “Of course, I’m familiar with all the player’s work in their respective teams!” You reply, a little too quick, turning to face Vik with a bright smile. “Well that makes things easier, boys, meet your co manager, Reader!” 

“Oh no,” Harry says out loud, obviously wanting to keep that part in his head. “Bro,” Tobi whispers, shooting him a fierce look of disapproval. “Is there something wrong Harry?” Vik asks, this introduction hadn’t gone as planned. “I mean, “Oh no”, it’s all real now!” Harry tries to play it off as a joke, hoping he doesn’t die of cringe. There’s silence for a beat, until Tobi chimes in, “Yeah it’s all real now!” The awkwardness eases, “Have you taken Reader to meet the other boys?” Tobi asks Vik. “We’re going to head there now. I expect you two will be joining us once you’ve finished in here?” Vik asks, but it’s not a question, and he leads you out the door

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Tobi bursts out laughing, but stops when he sees Harry looking bothered. “Do you actually know them?” He asks cautiously, Harry sighs and runs his hands through his hair as he sits back down, feeling exhausted. “That’s my ex.” Ex. It sounded cold. Harsh. Unforgiving. To be fair though, that’s you. “Shit man, that’s them? Wait, I thought you were just sleeping together?” Tobi questions, sitting back down. “That’s how it started, yeah, that was the plan, but things got…complicated.” 

You’ve always been involved in sports. It started off with playing football when you were young. Dissatisfied with your team’s 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 you’re 10 years old, yelling expletives at the opposition and starting (and winning) arguments with the referee. Your parents couldn’t’ve been prouder! 

You knew you liked control. Not in a psycho way. Maybe it was your constant overthinking, overplaying and overanalysing that gave you solace, you’d 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, “it is what it is” 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 men’s ice hockey? Was this a joke? Who cares? You hadn’t had any interaction with the sport, even at a non Olympic level

Well…there was that time where you and Harry Lewis were…you know…dating. You shudder at the thought, closing your emails and trying to brush those memories away. But it didn’t work, Vik wouldn’t stop emailing. So, you did a quick internet sweep. Turns out “Hot Shot” 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? You’d 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. You’d 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? 

After sitting through one of Harry’s 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, you’re waiting by the locker rooms, telling the team manager that you’re a local journalist wanting to interview Harry. With the rest of the team gone, you’re able to go into the changing room without further distractions, Harry’s sitting on the bench, hair still damp from the shower, he looks tired initially, but perks up when he sees you. God, he’s even more handsome up close. He stands up and introduces himself, “Hello, I’m Harry, you wanted to interview me?” He looks at you expectedly. Lying was never your strong suit, so you opt for the truth, “Listen, I’ll cut to the chase here, I’m not a journalist, but I am interested in you,” You admit, hoping to ease the blow a little bit. “Oh,” he’s disappointed, you can see that much, “So we’re not here to talk about me?” He asks, you’re a bit taken aback, how big was his ego? “You lied to come back here,” His voice lowers and looks at you more intensely, a small smile forming

“You know what, this was a bad idea, I’m just going to go,” You quickly say before rushing out the door. Harry does call after you, but your face is hot, you can’t get outside quick enough. You recount the story to your best friends after too many drinks, they’re convinced you’re 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? It’s one of those memories that sticks with you when you’re trying to go to sleep

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re out with your friends again, just a general catch up. It’s later in the night when a group of guys waltz in, loud, over powering energy, so, it shouldn’t come as a shock when Harry’s part of that group. You see him when you’re waiting at the bar with your friend, nearly ducking behind them, “Reader, what are you doing?” They whisper yell at you, you’re now crouching beside them, pretending to tie your laces, you look up and make pointing gestures to the general direction of Harry’s group, “that’s him,” you mouth. Luckily, you’re served quickly without any further disruptions. That all changes however when you’re by yourself this time, your round, when the bartender informs you “That gentleman over there paid for your drinks already,” pointing out Harry, leaning against the bar, watching you. After delivering the drinks to your friends, you tell them you’ll “be back in a minute” 

“You’re not going to run away this time, yeah?” Is the first thing he says, it’s rhetorical, he knows you’re hooked. He knows he’s hot. How could someone pull off glasses, messy hair, black hoodie combo so well? It’s effortless, kinda infuriating. “Never got your name,” he states as you sit on the barstool next to him, knees touching. “It’s Reader,” you believe if you don’t give him much to work with, he’ll lose interest, meaning you’ll have to get over your…infatuation

But that doesn’t work. When your friends come over to say they’re wanting to leave, Harry reassures them he’ll take good care of you. You’re 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 “get to know” each other. You exchanged numbers and it went from there. What would start out as hang outs, you’d 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, he’d be so interested in your work. You’d spend weekends away together in the off season. You’d met each other's friends. You consoled him when he didn’t make the Beijing team, looking at teams in Canada and the US that could take him. He’d have your tea waiting for you in the morning, knowing how to make it the way you like. It wasn’t forced. It was real. But it wasn’t official. It went on for a year. You’d confided in your friends, who promptly told you, “girl, stand up.” So you did, one night, after you’d been at meetings all day, he’d been at practice, you two were in his flat, making dinner, the television playing in the background, just for noise 

You cringe thinking back on it now. How you did the classic, “what are we?” bit. How stunned he’d seemed. You’d literally met his family for fuck sake and he thought you were being “too clingy”, he laughed it off, “girlfriend” he scoffed at the thought. He’d basically lectured you that his career was more important, he didn’t have time for commitment. Even after that you stayed the night, but you couldn’t sleep. Not in the same bed as someone who didn’t respect you, who didn’t see you the same. So, you left, quietly in the night. He was a deep sleeper. You took the little possessions you’d 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 didn’t answer. Eventually he stopped. Your friends were concerned. You didn’t 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. “Is this because of that boy?” Your Mum asked one day, you’d 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 “no ice hockey in the house” rule, unserious, but most appreciated

Flash forward to the present, you’d 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. You’re 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 you’d 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 invaluable 

“So what’s all this, you’ve come back, right at the biggest moment of my career, no, biggest moment of my life for what? Just to throw me off?” Harry confronts you as you were leaving for the day in the car park. You continue walking to your car, and he continues talking, “Come on Reader, please don’t do this to me, you know how much this means to me,” he pleads. Just as you get to your car, he’s still blabbering on, so, you snap, "Genuinely how is this my fault? I got offered a job, I wasn’t even thinking about you when I took it!” That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “Not everything is about you,” you’re facing him now, pointing your finger at him, accusingly. Harry huffs angrily, running a hand through his now mullet-ed hair. “Right, so how do we do this?” He asks after taking a deep breath, adjusting his sports bag on his shoulder. “Do what? We’re not in this together, not anymore, you made that clear years ago when I told you I loved you.” Harry opens his mouth to reply, “Save it, I’m co coaching this team, like Vik asked me to. If you want a gold medal, you’re going to have to think about the team first, then yourself. Because I’m not here for you, there’s other people now looking to me for guidance, you are going to have to deal with that.” Harry’s 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. It’s shit. It’s awful. Any suggestion you have, even if the other boys agree, Harry ignores. He’s 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. “Clearly something is going on here. So just come out with it.” Neither of you speak,  it’s like being told off by a teacher. The meeting goes nowhere, even though Harry apologised, it’s only because Vik threatened to replace him. The truth never actually comes out about your past relationship, everyone just skates around it. It’s so blindingly obvious. Harry gets jealous when he sees you one-on-one with the other boys, you’re just talking strategy and training, but it irritates him. He doesn’t want you, he shouldn’t, 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 Harry’s telling the group everything that happened between you two. “It was just going to be sex I swear,” He explains like he’s being tried in court. “Okay, but you fell in love with them anyways, didn’t you?” Ethan presses for an answer, Harry sighs and nods, “Then why are you being even more of a prick?” Ethan leans back, not understanding his friend's actions. “I’m not being a prick, they’re being a prick by being there!” Harry defends himself, but no one’s buying it, all encouraging him to “get a grip”

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 he’s 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. It’s the bare minimum, but it’s 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 didn’t want to tell the other team members. It feels familiar, which makes you nervous, but you didn’t want to accidentally push him away. After the opening ceremony, the boys are locked in. There’s a couple qualification games before they play for medals. Harry’s beside himself with excitement, this is actually happening, we’re 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 can’t concentrate fully. Even though with so many different countries competing over a couple weeks, Team GB’s 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! 

In the final practice session, Harry flips out at Josh for missing a penalty that “he could score in his sleep.” 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. “There was no need for that, being horrible to Josh.” You explain, “I don’t care if it’s just banter, it’s not helpful.” Harry rolls his eyes, “He’s shit, can’t you see that?” He gestures over to where Josh and Tobi are passing the puck to one another while JJ and Simon try to intervene. “How’s he going to cope when all eyes are on us tomorrow to bring a gold medal home?” Harry wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “He’ll be fine, it was one shot and this isn’t a real game? I think, no, I know you’re just worried about you,” Harry begins shaking his head in disagreement, but you keep going, (Vik is going to kill me, you think). “I know this is a big moment for you Harry, it’s big for everyone, so now’s not the time to switch back into “Hot Shot Harry” mode, because that’s going to cause problems for us all. We’re a team, this isn’t some league game where you can show off without consequences, this is the world’s stage, so get a grip, apologise to Josh, and whatever you’re feeling just now, hold it and control it. It’s what the rest of us do.” Your heart’s pounding, as you finish, the stress was getting the better of you. Expecting Harry to put up a fight, you’re amazed that he nods, looking a bit timid now, he goes to speak, but Vik comes back and you’re all pulled into a team huddle

Later that night, as you’re cleaning up before bed, there’s a knock at the door. You assume it’s Vik stressing, but no, that would make sense, because it’s Harry, in his pyjamas and slippers. “Harry? What’s wrong, you should be asleep by now,” 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. “Harry, you can tell me anything, yeah?” You’re not exactly sure how to comfort him, if he even needs it. “You can say no, and I’d understand, and this is definitely me pushing it, but can I stay here tonight? With you?” He looks at you hopefully. “What? Why? I’m your coach, would you ask Vik to do this?” You ask, half amused. “He didn’t answer the door,” Harry jokes, “but seriously, I need some comfort tonight. We’re not having sex, we don’t even have to kiss or touch or anything. You’re the one person who calls me out on my shit, and it’s annoying because I know you’re right. I’ve done everything I can to get us this far, what if I fall at the last hurdle? And then it’s all for nothing.” 

Harry stands up and starts pacing around the room, “I’ve been trying so hard to prove I’m 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 that’s not been done, as long as I keep my cool. It’s too much pressure!” Harry raises his voice, throwing his hands up in the air. He looks to you next, “And then there’s 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!” You think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. “I didn’t realise at the time how good I had it with you.” Harry comes to kneel in front of you, he takes your hands which were resting in your lap, “I should’ve never blamed you for how you felt, you’ve helped guide this team into something amazing, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” You hold that position, it’s like a weight’s been lifted, “You don’t have to forgive me, I really messed up the first time, I’m sorry.” You don’t even know how to begin to formulate a reply, actions speak louder than words, so you pat the space next to you in bed, “Come on, it’s late.” You say, getting under the covers yourself

Harry’s 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, you’re going to need all the luck in the world. When it comes down to the game, it’s fierce, you don’t know how many times JJ’s been slammed against the plexi glass. You think you’ve got whiplash from trying to keep an eye on the puck flying around the rink. Everyone’s 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, you’re 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. “Oh my god, where have you been? You left so quickly after the medals,” you say as you jog over, “Oh Harry,” your heart breaks at the sight, then you hear the sniffles. You immediately sit beside him and try to put an arm around him. He’s still in his hockey uniform, so it’s a little difficult

“Harry, it’s okay, please don’t be so hard on yourself, I understand-” you begin but he cuts you off,  “You don’t understand, I’ve missed funerals, birthdays, weddings for this and I’ve fucked it,” Harry breaks down in tears. “Yes, I do understand, because I’ve done the exact fucking same. So has literally everyone on this team. It’s still a silver medal, you’ll still be on the podium, with the boys, isn’t that enough? This team has never gotten to play for a medal, you helped make this happen, why can’t you see that?” You find a tissue in your bag and gently nudge him to take it, “I don’t know, I just can’t, I’ve let everyone down, the boys hate me, Vik hates me, you hate me more, I’ve fucked it.” Harry wipes his eyes, sounding defeated. You chuckle, “Harry, I guarantee you, you’re going to go in that locker door, yeah there’ll be tears, but no one will think that. We’ll go over strategy like we’ve always done. Vik might say something vaguely inspiring, JJ will make a joke no one will laugh at, you’ll all rip the shit out each other, because that’s what teams do.” And you mean every word

Chris Dixon, Team GB’s “Pocket Rocket.” He’s 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 he’s 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, there’s teasing over whose sport is better and your hopes and dreams. The usual friendship things. Except the falling in love part. That was Chris’s fault. What? He couldn’t hide the cheesy grin that spread across his face whenever a text from you came through. Every time he made a mistake in practice, he’d hear your voice in his head, encouraging him not to give up. He’d 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 he’s back from Beijing and the Olympic/Paralympic buzz is over, you’re able to convince Chris for “one last shot.” “Maybe Milan will be different?” You offer, and Chris prays you’re right. But, you’re both older now, and haven’t had any time for fun since you were working full time, and he was always training. So, a month away on a ski trip wouldn’t hurt, right? You’re with your group of friends. To be honest, you and Chris barely have any time together because it’s always so busy, you each keep being dragged from bar to bar, from mountain to mountain, it’s all a whirlwind. 

Well…there was this one time, you decided to have a night in. You’ve 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. It’s just you, in the lovely warm and bubbling water, and the snowy mountains surrounding you. You’re not sure how long you’re out there, maybe you’re reading a book, maybe there’s a podcast on, maybe you’re just enjoying the calm. Until Chris comes home early. He swears his heart skips a beat when he sees you, all nice and serene. “Are you going to keep perving on me or are you going to jump in?” You tease, not thinking anything of the comment, you’d seen each other in next to nothing before (swimwear, I’m 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, you’re not sensing any weird vibes. So, you two catch up for the first time on the trip. You’re both giggling from the drink (his dumbass forgot to get glasses and he’s been thinking about how sharing a bottle is you indirectly kissing, he’s a loser wbk). Somewhere in between the conversation, you notice him looking at your lips, he sits closer to you (claiming he can’t hear you over the bubbles). You knew Chris was cute, but never realised how handsome he was closer up. Chris isn’t sure who made the first move. He does know he never wants to stop kissing you. Who needs oxygen? He’s 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 there’s 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 didn’t actually like you like that. You’re best friends! 

Meanwhile Chris couldn't be more in love with you. Once you’re 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 there’s something there. Maybe a spark of what could’ve 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 “last chance.” Seeing clips from Olympics past (although he’s never forgotten) nearly has him pulling out of the team at the last minute. Luckily, you’re able to get some time off work to travel with him, although you’ll be staying in separate lodgings. 

Once the snowboarding event gets underway, you’re standing with his family and friends, a news crew comes over to get some insight on Chris’s mental state coming into what’s rumored to be his last games, you’re 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. He’s so busy practicing and training that you two aren’t 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. You’ve 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 doesn’t want to hear it. Everything comes spilling out in a “you have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under” type of rant, he doesn’t let you get a word in. Before you can try and talk some sense into him, he hangs up and doesn’t respond to any of your texts. (He goes on a walk around the Olympic Village and bumps into Ice Hockey Player!Harry Lewis, who he’s known for ages. By some miracle, Harry’s able to talk Chris off the ledge). Chris phones you back first thing on the morning of the event. You hear each other out. You’re just trying to protect him. He’s trying to prove everyone wrong. Chris begins the event at the bottom of the pile. Thankfully, two huge runs on the half pipe, he’s 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. “How long have you and Chris been together?” one asks. “Oh! We’re not-” 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. “Representing Great Britain, Chris Dixon!” the crowd goes wild. You’re not even sure if you cheered, too stressed out to make a sound. You just know the commentators are spewing some bullshit, “There was the fall in Sochi, the injury in PyeongChang and the disappointment in Beijing, will Milan finally be the one for Chris Dixon?” “Come on Chris”, you think, “show them all. Prove them wrong.” You know his routine off by heart (when you’d Facetime each other, he’d fall asleep first, mumbling his jumps and rotations). Chris drops in. Switchbackside 1440. Backside double cork 1260. Frontside 1260. Back to back 1440’s. He sticks the landing! Not over or under rotated. Plenty of airtime. You’re still running logistics in your head when Chris appears in front of you. Snowboard and helmet are nowhere to be found. “Chris you did it, your best run, you didn’t miss a trick,” you’re rambling, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Reader,” he puts his hands on your shoulders, “it doesn’t matter.” He’s smiling, but you’re not sure why. “What do you mean? No one’s beating that run!” You reason. Overhead, the last snowboarder drops in, but you can’t tear your eyes from Chris to watch. “I don’t care about winning anymore, I just want you.” You’re stunned silent. But the roar of the crowd allows you to take a glance at the big screen, projecting the athletes' results. “I should’ve been honest when I first started feeling feelings for you, Reader-” “Chris, please-” “No, Reader, hear me out, even if you never want to talk to me again, I need to tell you-” “Chris, I swear to fucking God.” 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. 

His friends and family are screaming, most are crying, many are jumping around. Chris Dixon, Great Britain, Gold Medal. Oh. Oh. It’s like Chris’s 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 you’re 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 can’t 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 you’re still able to hear Chris say, “It’s not the adrenaline talking Reader, I really do like you. You mean more to me than any medal, you always have.” If you weren’t crying before, you definitely were now. You feel Chris shift and you two loosen your hold on one another, it’s an official motioning him to follow. 2nd and 3rd place athletes are standing behind them, so you assume it’s 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, he’s looking even more dazed. “Go get your medal, you’ve earned it. We’ll talk later,” you look him in the eyes, “Promise,” you add. Chris follows the official, reluctantly. Looking back at you every few steps. Smiling bigger than you’d ever seen. 

“And 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!” 

“Will, you never believed in him. There’s compilations of it on YouTube. You started calling him a Pocket Rocket for Christ sake.”