1D: It’s a Sports Analogy for Something
Fandom: One Direction
Pairing: Zayn/Harry, Harry/3/5th of the 2012 GB women’s gymnastics team with background Louis/Niall
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,543
Spoilers: n/a
Warnings: Near drowning, broken bones
Author's Note: Olympic AU for this prompt. This does not coincide with the 2012 Olympics. For hc_bingo for my “loss of limb function” square. Beta by saekokato.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to themselves
Summary: In which they are all Olympics athletes. Except Zayn. He’s just an art student going to university in London.
It’s a Sports Analogy for Something (I'm Just Not Sure What)
Harry had been around pools his entire life. All of it, not just once a summer during his hols in France. No. He had practiced almost every day since his 11th birthday. For hours at a time. Before his 11th birthday, he would spend every day he could in the water. He would occasionally joke to the press about the possibility of surgery for webbed feet and talk about what a disservice it was to hide his hair from the world and indulge questions about how much drag his extra nipples cause. The press in return said he might just have a chance at defeating Phelps’s record… in a few years. How thoughtful of them.
The point was that he’d been around pools all his life. Unfortunately, Harry’d also been around drama his entire life. Pools and drama don’t mix, except when Harry will eventually beat Phelps’s record… in a few years. (He didn’t quite have the shoulders yet, but he would.) Pools and drama were like feeding gremlins after midnight. But some twat had decided that the new goggles belonged in a heap directly in front of Harry’s podium. A heap that Harry did not see.
Harry tripped over the goggles, ended up entangled, and couldn’t quite right himself.
All he really remembered was hearing a crunch. He had thought that it was when he hit the water, but the crunch came before he tumbled into the pool. His teammates, who dragged him out of the water moments later, said the crunch was when Harry tried to right himself on the podium or the lip of the pool. (The story changed based on who he asked.)
The pain came as he was lifted out of the pool. There was a lot of pain. What Harry registered through the pain was that he was fucked. There was barely a week until the 200m freestyle and the relay. Fucked.
*
The team trainer took Harry to a proper doctor, who did all manner of tests from x-rays to poking Harry’s upper arm with his finger. Harry did not approve of that one. The break in his humerus was clean, though, which meant a faster healing period and no surgery. Not that six to eight weeks was a fast healing time, especially when the Olympics were over in three weeks. Then there was physical therapy to attend, and that would be another six weeks, and maybe - just maybe - Harry might be able to swim again, but he’d be nowhere near as amazing as he was before the break. (Harry might have paraphrased here.) At least it wasn’t his shoulder.
Harry barely noticed it when the doctor set his arm. He barely noticed the gooey gunk used create the cast.
The doctor gave him pain medication, and after that, everything was a blur.
*
By the time Harry left the doctor’s, the news was all over Twitter. There was a lot of misinformation, but Harry was too stoned to worry about it at the time. However, his coach had already scheduled a press conference for that evening and directed Harry not to use any improper language. (Harry had been moaning “bugger all” every other breath when they had spoken over the phone.)
The worst part of it is that it’s Harry’s dominant arm that was all cast up and in a sling. Harry felt he was entitled to a little drama. He couldn’t even take a wee without there being some sort of resentment. He didn’t even know if he could wank. Okay, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he couldn’t compete. This was his first games. He wanted to hit something. He had never wanted to hit anything before. Except Louis’s face, that one time. He needed to just take a deep breath. There wasn’t anything he could do about his situation, and he was furious at himself for not paying attention to what he had been doing.
*
Harry made sure that he took a pain pill several hours before the press conference so that he wouldn’t be too mental. He knew that the reporters would ask ludicrous questions like “What does this mean for your career?” It meant he’s fucked.
Thankfully his coach explained the situation, and Harry mostly just had to sit there looking pretty.
He needed to give a nice sound bite, though, so when someone asked, “What is your next move?”
Harry responded with, “I need to find the Doctor so I can go back and warn myself.”
There were a few blank looks, but then one reporter followed up with, “Which incarnation?”
“Matt Smith is a looker, so let’s go with 11.” He gave them a cheeky smile. Hopefully Twitter would let that comment go viral instead of how he fucked up his entire swimming career, went all the way to the Olympics, and couldn’t bloody compete.
*
Sleeping didn’t exactly work, so when he showed up at practice the next morning, he was extra cranky. He technically shouldn’t have been in the pool area because of the humidity, but he hadn’t missed a practice in five years, and he wasn’t about to miss one now. Besides, sitting on the bench was a lot better than sitting in his room doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity.
“Oh!”
Harry looked up to see the water boy, who looked surprised to see Harry. He also looked very pretty, and his hair defied physics. Harry wondered if he could convince the water boy to bring him a banned Mars bar. Maybe this was Harry’s silver lining.
“Sorry,” the water boy said. “I hadn’t expected anyone on the bench, and I thought you’d…” He didn’t finish his thought. Harry’s a bit glad he didn’t.
“I haven’t missed a practice in five years,” Harry stated. “I’m Harry, by the way.” He extended a hand. The only hand he could extend.
“Zayn,” the water boy said. Harry’s grateful Zayn had introduced himself instead of saying “I know.” Zayn did eye Harry’s cast, like he wasn’t sure if he should mention it or not.
“Would you like to be the first person to sign my cast?” Harry asked.
“Uh,” Zayn said. “Sure?”
Louis was going to be upset that he wasn’t first, but Louis wasn’t there. Not that Harry could hold that against him. Louis had his own practices for his own events. Harry also kinda wished his mother were there, too.
Harry grinned at Zayn and gave him a Sharpie.
Zayn signed his first name and drew a simple smiley face.
“Thanks,” Zayn said, handing back the marker. He then turned to leave.
“Where’re you going?” Harry asked, sounding a bit desperate. He wanted that company, even if it was a complete stranger: Zayn Last Name Unknown. Actually, stranger company was better.
“I have a job to do,” he said, pointing to crate of water bottles. “They don’t magically appear by the podiums.”
Zayn distributed the water bottles, grabbed a crate of PowerAde, and returned to the bench.
“Do you have a method?” Harry asked.
“You’ve never noticed before?” Zayn asked. Harry wasn’t sure if he was feigning hurt or not.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry said. “Been busy.”
Zayn laughed softly. It echoed strangely in the pool area, but Harry decided it was a sound he wanted to hear more of. It was a friendly laugh, made Harry want to curl up and go to sleep in it. That could also be the pain pills talking.
“I’m not so busy anymore,” Harry continued. “Explain it to me.”
“You sure?” Zayn asked. “It’s rather boring.”
“My life just became really dull,” Harry said.
“No,” Zayn argued. “Not dull. Just different.” He gave Harry a lopsided smile. “Plus, you have me to keep you entertained with water bottle distribution schematics.”
“Is there an actual method?” Harry asked. “Or is it just bollocks?”
Zayn gave him a shy smile. “Not really a method, no. Mostly it’s stay as far away from the pool as possible.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Harry asked. “Is it prune fingers? Because there’re ways around those. Or maybe it’s because all we men shave our legs.”
“Nah,” Zayn said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about it,” Harry moaned. “What if the Americans sabotaged the pool so that GB would be eaten by piranhas. I’d never know if you don’t say!”
“I think you’d be able to spot the piranhas before you’re in the water,” Zayn said.
“Seriously, though,” Harry pried. “What’s wrong with a bit of water?”
“If I tell you, please don’t post it to Twitter,” Zayn said, darting his eyes to the pool, as if it would eat him from there.
“Twitter’s too busy trying to hook me up with Matt Smith,” Harry said breezily. “No worries.”
“Matt - What are you talking about?” Zayn asked. His brow frowned along with his mouth.
“Doctor Who,” Harry said with a sage nod. “You don’t follow the press much.”
Zayn shrugged. “I hear most of what’s going on just by people gossiping. I do eat in the dining hall.”
“You didn’t even know about…” Harry pointed to his cast arm.
“Sorry,” Zayn said. He did look genuinely sorry, too.
“Tell me what’s wrong with the pool and I won’t be put out,” Harry said. He smiled to let Zayn know that he wasn’t a complete tosser.
“I can’t swim,” Zayn said, and Harry almost couldn’t hear it above the splashing coming from the pool. Harry didn’t understand why anyone would never want to swim so badly that they wouldn’t even learn how.
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive,” Harry said slowly, “but why are you here, then?”
“This is where the Powers That Be assigned me,” Zayn said.
“Then tell them you can’t swim. They’d reassign you. No one’s that much a dickhead here.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful for this job,” Zayn admitted. “And I kinda like to watch you lads swim.”
“It’s the shaved legs, isn’t it?”
Zayn laughed softly. “You caught me.”
The soft, empty clink of water bottles being thrown against tiles roused Zayn from the bench - from Harry. Zayn had a job to do.
Harry watched as Zayn gathered up the empty bottles, carefully skirting around the edge of the pool, avoiding splashes and puddles. Harry then watched as Zayn tossed all the bottles into a recycling bin, and then Harry watched Zayn place a bottle of PowerAde at the base of each podium. Huh. So that was how it worked. Harry truly had never bothered to figure out how drinks appeared. It hadn’t mattered; all that mattered was that they did appear and that Harry worked his arse off for his metals… that he now wasn’t going to earn. Ever. It had been his entire life.
He needed some air.
Harry didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Zayn as he snuck out of the pool area.
*
Harry had been given permission from his doctor to run on a treadmill, and he spent a good deal of his afternoon running. That’s where Liam found him. They ran together for a while before Liam stepped off his treadmill.
“Don’t overdo it, Hazza,” Liam said, eyeing Harry. He must have looked rakishly disheveled; also, his pain pills were wearing out, and his arm was really sweaty and itchy under the cast. “Let’s get you some food.”
Harry didn’t argue. He did make all sorts of protests when Liam asked him to explain why Louis hadn’t been the first to sign Harry’s cast.
“I have to live with both of you,” Liam said. “Do you know how much he’s going to moan about not being your first?”
Harry nodded. “There will be sexual innuendos.”
“Yes,” Liam agreed. “Who’s Zayn anyway?”
Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “Did you know swimmers have a water boy?”
“All teams have a water boy, except those who have a water girl,” Liam explained practically. “Water bottles don’t magically show up.”
Harry tipped his head back and laughed for the first time in what felt like years.
*
They met up with Louis back at their apartment in the Village, and Louis was definitely cross with Harry. “I wanted to pop your cast signage cherry.”
“Sign it now,” Harry offered. “You were busy.”
Louis scowled at him. “What if this Zayn character gave you cast-herpes? I don’t want cast-herpes.”
Harry gave Liam a look that clearly said, “Told you so.” Liam shrugged it off.
“I haven’t asked Liam yet,” Harry said slowly, goading Louis. “I bet Liam wouldn’t mind my cast-herpes.”
Harry made to give Liam the marker. Louis stole it.
“I’ll brave cast-herpes,” Louis said gallantly. “I’m just that great of a bloke.”
Harry smirked as Louis wrote his name and then wrote a very rude statement about swimmers. Harry hadn’t expected anything less.
Louis then handed the marker to Liam, who signed his name and also wrote that Harry should get better soon.
“Who took your cast signage virginity?” Louis asked. He sounded casual, but he was very eager to hear the answer.
“He’s the water boy for our team,” Harry said. “He’s prettier than you; you’d hate him.”
“Lies!” Louis exclaimed. “No one is prettier than me!”
“Liam’s prettier than you,” Harry pointed out.
Liam blushed.
“Not exactly,” Louis conceded. He then kissed Liam on the cheek. “He’s a stunning male specimen with the most amazing biceps of anyone on the track team.”
“You’re only saying that so you can fuck him,” Harry said as Liam sputtered and blushed.
Louis smiled and didn’t deny it. He did, however, tease Harry about Zayn.
*
The next morning, Zayn greeted Harry with a “Vas happenin’?”
Harry smiled and waved.
“You left early yesterday,” Zayn said. “Everything okay?”
He sounded so earnest that Harry almost considered an earnest answer. “Just had a lunch date,” he said with a slight smirk. It wasn’t a complete lie.
“And you had to leave three hours before lunch to make sure your hair’s perfect,” Zayn said with a sage nod and a knowing smirk.
“Oy!” Harry protested. He was supposed to be the only one to have people on like that.
Zayn blushed a bit.
“And how long does your hair take, mister?” Harry demanded.
Zayn laughed. He placed a hand on Harry’s knee and said, “How about we work on you saying goodbye first? Then I’ll tell you about all the secrets my hair holds.”
Harry found himself laughing along.
*
Harry had promised he’d watch Louis fence. Louis was sure that this was the year he was going to take Horan down. Louis had informed Harry - but mostly Liam - that it was metaphorically, not sexually. It was the preliminary round, but Louis was a ball of nervous energy, ready to go.
Harry met him down by the athlete waiting area. “I see you’ve got your protection on, and you’re ready to wave your sword about.”
Louis smirked as Rosowsky shouted from the arena, “It’s a foil, you twat!”
“He’s just tetchy, because he’s going first against Tunisia,” Louis said with a shrug. “Also, he doesn’t understand the poetry what a pain in the arse you are.”
“Hey,” Harry said, pointing up at the growing crowd. “Is that Horan?”
Louis snorted. “Just sorting out the competition.” He caught Horan’s eyes and blew him a kiss. Horan blinked at him, frowning a bit. Then he blew back a kiss.
“I think you’ve met your match,” Harry said, poking Louis in the side. Louis probably didn’t even feel anything through the padding.
“In more ways than one,” Louis said, feigning sadness.
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “I’m sure he’ll let you poke him with your sword as long as you’re wearing your protection.” He then laughed at his own wittiness. Maybe he should cut back on doling out his pain pills, because Louis didn’t laugh. Oh, he smiled, but he didn’t laugh.
“Just win, yeah?” Harry added. “I’ll be right here, ready to run into your arms ecstatically.”
Louis made it to the next round, and Harry had a feeling it was because Horan was there, and that made Louis more determined.
*
“Vas happenin’?” Zayn asked when Harry showed up at practice. Zayn must have been showing up earlier, because Harry was sure that he was punctual at all times.
“You know,” Harry said. “The usual.”
“And what’s the usual?” Zayn asked, sitting next to Harry.
“Wishing I had made better life choices,” Harry offered, looking out at his teammates fly through the water.
“What’s a better life choice than going to the Olympics when they’re in your own country?” Zayn asked.
“Being able to compete,” Harry shot back. There was a bit of resentment in his voice. Zayn must have caught it, because he recoiled slightly.
“I think I made the right decision by coming to the Olympics,” Zayn said. He gave Harry a shy smile.
Harry, grateful for a change of direction, said, “And what do you do when you’re actively avoiding pools?”
“I’m an art student,” Zayn said. “At Slade.”
“Yeah? What type of art?” Harry asked.
“Painting and such,” Zayn answered, sounding a bit uncomfortable.
“Excellent,” Harry said, beaming. “We’ll both be unemployed in a couple years.”
Zayn laughed along.
*
Harry had also promised that he’d watch the girls’ gymnastic team. He’d mostly agreed because Louis had been right next to him at the time, and the girls refused to invite Louis as well. The girls did well, but they were then crushed by the Chinese. Harry was invited back to their apartment, where they all signed his cast with hearts and smiley faces.
One of the girls - Harry thought it might have been Imogen - produced a bottle of whiskey, which Harry knew he couldn’t have. It wasn’t that they couldn’t drink in the Village - okay, there was that, too - it was that he shouldn’t combine his drugs with alcohol. He did want to get pissed, but he didn’t want to do something stupid while pissed that would further hurt his swimming career. Harry was very good at doing stupid things while pissed. Especially when he was with Louis.
But it was easy to be around the girls, so Harry forwent the alcohol. It was strange to be the sober one, but it was great, because he was going to remember what these girls weren’t. The youngest girl, who probably shouldn’t have been drinking anyway, went to sleep quickly. Beth had gone out in search of something: she hadn’t said what.
“No tolerance,” Hannah said sadly.
“She’s just a kid, love,” Imogen said, cuddling closer to Harry on the couch.
“Can you even pee properly?” Jennifer asked suddenly.
“Not really,” Harry said.
“What about wanking?” Imogen asked.
“Same,” Harry said.
“That’s horrible!” Jennifer said, scandalized. “We should help him, ladies.”
Hannah nodded wisely as she sunk down to her knees in front of Harry. “Yes, we should.”
*
The next morning at practice, Zayn was there before Harry again. Harry wasn’t sure if he was becoming lazy, because he didn’t need to actually practice. He didn’t want to slack off. Slacking off now meant he was mentally ready to be done. He wasn’t going to be done until he had stolen Phelps’s time record.
The skin under the cast itched.
“Hello,” Harry said.
Zayn jumped a little in surprise as he picked up water bottles. One bottle slipped out of his grasp, and it bounced off the tiles. Harry reached down to pick it up with his good hand, and something bent a way it wasn’t supposed to bend. He hissed lowly between his teeth and sank down to the tiles.
Zayn dropped all of the bottles back to their crate and reached to Harry. Zayn placed a hand on Harry’s good shoulder and must have said something, but Harry couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Harry could feel the energy roll off Zayn. He knew Zayn was shouting, but there was no sound. By the time the black sparks started in front of Harry’s eyes, he knew it wouldn’t end well.
*
Harry was in the medic tent. It wasn’t exactly a tent, but that’s what the athletes called it. It was more like mini-hospital. Zayn was still with him.
“Nghn?” Harry asked. He had hoped to come off as more eloquent. He assumed that he was on the good drugs. “What happened?”
Zayn frowned at him. “Don’t push yourself. You did something to the muscles in your arm and shoulder.”
“Pft,” Harry spat. He tried to sit up and found he couldn’t even do that properly.
“Don’t push yourself,” Zayn repeated. “Your mum should be here shortly.”
Great! Harry had been waiting for his mother to come in and make everything okay again.
Harry glanced to the clock. “Louis’s going to be angry with me for not watching him go against Italy.”
“Louis Tomlinson?” Zayn asked. “He’s on his way.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Did he lose?”
“I don’t think so,” Zayn said.
Louis barged into the room a moment later. “You absolute tosser!”
Harry smiled brightly, but Zayn looked affronted on Harry’s behalf.
“I just crushed Italy! It was devastating, and you weren’t there to help me make Twitter explode,” Louis admonished. He looked to Zayn. “Who’re you?’
“Cast-herpes,” Harry supplied. Zayn gave Harry a strange, slightly disgusted look.
“Oh,” Louis said, scrutinizing Zayn. “I guess you are rather pretty then.”
Zayn blushed and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off. “Zayn saved me.”
“Thanks, mate,” Louis said.
Zayn blushed some more and looked away.
“Tomorrow I’m going up against Korea,” Louis said. “You’d better be there.”
Zayn slowly edged toward the door, and he successfully escaped as Harry’s mother came racing into the room.
*
Zayn didn’t say anything the next morning about Harry’s red, puffy eyes, and Harry adored him for it. Harry enjoyed watching Zayn carefully place a bottle at the base of each podium while skirting around any puddles. It was endearing. Harry was pretty sure he had a goofy smile on his face.
Zayn looked up to see Harry and smiled back.
Zayn kept working, looking up to smile at Harry every now and then.
The rest of the team was at the other end of the pool, carefully listening to the coach on the benches. Harry was thankful they couldn’t see his goofy smiles.
Then Zayn slipped in a puddle and went crashing down into the water. He didn’t bounce back up.
Harry didn’t even think, he jumped in, clothing and all. He had difficulty swimming, and his trainers and cast kept dragging him down, but he reached Zayn. Zayn was at the bottom, and Harry had no difficulty diving down. Dragging Zayn back up was another matter, and it took a lot of effort just to bring him to the surface.
By the time Harry reached the surface with Zayn, his teammates were able to haul both of them out of the pool.
Harry gasped and sputtered, but Zayn was distressingly still. Harry knelt by Zayn’s side as he lay on the pool tiles. He turned Zayn’s head to the side and pressed down on his chest twice. It probably wasn’t as effective as it should have been, because Harry could only use one hand. Then he blew air into Zayn’s lungs.
Harry smacked the side of Zayn’s lax face. “C’mon, breathe.”
Harry pressed down on Zayn’s chest again, harder, more desperate, and Zayn spat up pool water and coughed.
“Oh, thank God,” Harry muttered.
Zayn tried to sit up, but several of Harry’s teammates objected, telling him to lie back down until all the water was out. Harry would have said the same thing, but he was choking too, and it was not what he wanted. He hadn’t even realized that his teammates were hovering in a circle around them.
There was water on Harry’s face that had not come from the pool, but his teammates didn’t say anything. Zayn noticed, but he didn’t say anything, either.
*
Due to the amount of water that went into his cast when he entered the pool, he either needed to be recast or become all moldy and possibly lose his arm. He chose to be recast.
*
Harry and Liam went to watch Louis compete. Liam had come fresh from the hurdles. He had finished fourth, but that was still pretty good, not that Liam would brag about it. Harry would have bragged. Louis definitely would have bragged. Liam still had his triathlon to run, so he was staying optimistic.
Horan was competing in this round, too. Harry could see him sitting on the side, watching Louis with interest.
Liam was crashing from the adrenaline, and Louis was a bundle of energy next to Harry. It took them a moment to realize that Harry had a new cast.
“Why a new cast?” Louis asked.
“I wanted to give you another chance to take my cast signage virginity,” Harry said.
His voice must have sounded a bit too distant, because when Louis signed, he didn’t write a single rude thing about swimmers.
“What happened, Harry?” Liam asked. There was something disturbingly close to pity in Liam’s voice, but Harry ignored it.
“I jumped in the pool,” Harry said. He avoided eye contact but found himself looking at Horan. Horan gave him an odd look in return, like he was trying to figure out what was so shameful about Harry’s cast.
“Why on earth would you do something so stupid?” Louis demanded.
Liam only inhaled a quick breath.
“Zayn fell in,” Harry said quietly.
Liam wound an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him close.
“Why didn’t you just let him swim out?” Louis said.
“He can’t swim,” Harry said, looking to the ground, because goddamned Horan was looking at him with pity now. Even if he had no clue what was going on. Harry hated him and wanted Louis to beat him with his goddamned sword.
“Oh,” Louis said. Then, “Oh.” He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist.
“Is he doing okay?” Liam asked gently.
Harry nodded.
“Louis!” the coach called. “You’re up next.”
Louis planted a kiss on the top of Harry’s head before heading out to gear up.
*
Louis slaughtered Korea. The next day he would go against Ireland. Harry promised to be there to witness Louis wipe the floor with Horan.
*
Zayn wasn’t there when Harry arrived at practice. Harry waited half an hour, and a new kid showed up.
Of course Zayn wasn’t there. He had probably called in sick or dead or something, and Harry had no idea how to contact him. Harry had never really needed to contact Zayn, Zayn was just always there. Harry didn’t even know Zayn’s last name.
The new kid was distributing the water all wrong.
Harry stomped out in disgust.
*
Harry sulked in the dining hall, picking at a fruit salad. That was where Horan found him. He sat down right next to Harry without asking permission or anything. Harry might have sneered a bit, but Horan was tiny and had a permanent smile.
“You still look upset,” Horan said. “I’m Niall, by the way. But you probably know that.”
“Harry,” Harry grunted out.
“I’d ask you what’s wrong,” Horan started, “but it’s all over Google and Twitter.”
Harry grunted again, hating social media. No wonder Zayn avoided it.
“That was a brave thing you did, Harry,” Horan said.
Harry took a good look at Horan’s face. Maybe Harry should start calling him Niall? Would Louis be cross with that? Harry hadn’t known how… unadulteratedly happy this kid could be.
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“Plus, you need to be happy so that Louis can be happy,” Niall - yeah, that sounded okay - said. “That way when I go against him later, he’ll be at his best. Otherwise it would just be sad how quickly I’d beat him into submission.” He gave Harry a cheeky smile.
Harry thought about objecting, to give Louis some solidarity, but he looked - finally looked - at Niall, not just his expression. Zayn was standing behind him, looking guilty, shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands.
“I brought you a present,” Niall said. He braced himself against the table as he stood up. “See you at the match, Harry!” He stole one of Harry’s grapes before running off.
“Hi,” Zayn said shyly.
“Hi,” Harry echoed.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Thank you,” Zayn said finally.
“You’re welcome,” Harry said after a beat.
“I’m sorry your arm needed to be recast because of me,” Zayn said, shifting again.
“I’m not,” Harry said fiercely. “I’d do it again.”
“That’s - that’s not what I meant,” Zayn said. “It was stupid of me to - ”
“No,” Harry interrupted.
“What?” Zayn said.
“Stop it,” Harry demanded. “I’ve made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes. My latest mistake was not even asking your last name so that way I’d have a way to contact you after all this, and then when you didn’t show up today…”
“Oh,” Zayn said simply. “Give me your mobile.”
Harry dug out his phone and handed it over to Zayn, who punched in a bunch of numbers.
“My last name’s Malik,” Zayn said, handing Harry back his phone.
Harry looked to his contacts and found Zayn at the top of the list under “Awesome boyfriend.” Harry burst out laughing.
Zayn blushed and looked away as several people looked to them curiously. “You can, you know, change it if you’d, um, like.”
“Nah,” Harry said. “I like it the way it is.”
Zayn must have been feeling emboldened, because he told Harry, “You know, when I came up from the pool, and you gave me CPR… I kinda didn’t have a chance to, uh, react properly to your lips on mine.”
“I could fix that,” Harry offered.
“I would like that very much,” Zayn said, looking at Harry coyly through his eyelashes.
*
Harry didn’t think Louis would mind Zayn watching the match, and he didn’t. What Louis did mind was that Harry had had a civil conversation with Niall. “You’re calling him Niall, now?!”
“He’s really a good kid,” Harry said, giving Zayn’s hand a slight squeeze.
“He’s older than you are!” Louis protested.
“Oh, so you know how old he is…” Harry smiled widely at Louis.
“It helps to know one’s competition,” Louis said primly.
Harry noticed that even Liam had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
“Of course,” Harry said, patting Louis on the knee consolingly.
Niall stretched off to the side, his coach giving him some sort of amusing pep talk. Niall smiled a lot. And he was really bendy. Harry accidentally said that last part aloud.
Louis scowled at him.
Niall caught them looking at him and winked.
Louis scowled some more and began his own stretches.
Harry had never looked more forward to one of Louis’s matches. Harry knew very little about fencing. It was all too posh for him. All he really knew what that one fencer hit another one with a sword. Fine: a foil, sometimes a sabre. Swimming he could understand: be faster than everyone else.
He watched Louis put on all his gear and wished him luck.
“It’s not a medal round,” Harry told Zayn. “But this rivalry has been going on for ages. It’d be better than gold if Louis were to win.”
Liam agreed.
“So they’re not sleeping together?” Zayn asked, drawing his eyebrows together. “Weird.”
Harry laughed. “You need to follow any sort of media. Their rivalry is the stuff of legends.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” Liam muttered. “If only it kept him from grabbing my bum.”
Harry laughed again. He watched Louis and Niall face each other, foils drawn.
“Bring Danielle around,” Harry said. “It may temper him.”
“I tried that,” Liam said. “She only encouraged it.”
“Sorry, mate,” Harry said, then they fell silent as they watched the match unfold. The announcer kept making comments about conversations and engagement and loads of French words. However, he could see the lights going under the piste, and the numbers on the scoreboard were even. There was a lot of movement: fancy foot work and lunging.
Three minutes were over quickly, and the score was tied 5-5. Louis talked to his coach, and Niall talked to his.
“This was really intense,” Zayn remarked.
“And there are still two more rounds,” Liam said.
Niall and Louis turned back to each other, foils arching, and then they were off again.
Louis came out on top this round, 9-11, but it was still too close. Instead of being ecstatic, Louis was stoic.
“Shit,” Harry breathed out.
Zayn and Liam looked to him, but Harry didn’t explain. He didn’t think he could explain. He’d known Louis too long. Louis wasn’t winded or anything like that, but he was acting defeated. There was definitely something hinky.
Harry shook his head, eyes still on Louis, who was lining up with Niall again for the last round.
Harry was a swimmer, used to holding his breath for extended periods of time. When Niall had caught up to Louis’s score, Harry held his breath without realizing what he was doing. While Harry held his breath, they went back and forth. Point to Niall, point to Louis. Until Niall hit 15 first.
Niall yanked off his mask and threw his hands up in the air, foil and all.
Louis slowly pulled off his mask, foil hanging loosely by his side. Harry could see the deep breath Louis took, and Harry took a deep breath, too.
Niall turned to Louis, who had a hand out, ready to shake. Niall’s smile turned, and Harry frowned.
Harry was half standing before he realized what he was doing.
“Harry?” Zayn asked. He squeezed Harry’s hand, and Harry had almost forgotten they were still holding hands.
Niall pulled Louis to him instead of shaking, and right there on an international stage and televisions worldwide, Niall planted a kiss on Louis’s lips.
The crowd fell silent and then roared again with applauds and catcalls.
“Oh,” Liam said and clapped loudly.
“Zayn, clap for me,” Harry said. “I’m crippled here.”
“I’m confused,” Zayn said, but he clapped for Harry. Well for Louis, but at Harry’s command. “I thought he wanted to defeat Niall really badly.”
“Louis won,” Harry explained. “Just not the match.”
“The rivalry, then?” Zayn asked.
Harry shrugged. “They’ll be fencing against each other again.”
Zayn sniggered. Harry gave him a short look, because he totally didn’t mean it like that. However, it didn’t take long for Harry to snigger with Zayn.
When Louis finally made it over to the GB bench, after the media had stopped hounding him, Harry enveloped him in tight, one-armed hug.
“Niall talks when he parries, doesn’t he?” Harry whispered into Louis’s ear.
Louis gave a small, affirmative tip to his head.
Harry bit Louis’s neck and released him. “We’ll talk later.”
*
Harry skipped practice the next morning. Zayn wasn’t going to be there anyway. The people in charge had assigned him to something less appealing than swimming. Harry thought it might be dressage, which was a ridiculous name for a ridiculous sport, but Zayn liked horses more than he liked pools, so good for him.
Besides, Liam had a triathlon to win. It had the added bonus of being in Hyde Park, which was far away from where Harry had spent his last two weeks.
Louis had shown up, too, Niall by his side.
“Does this mean you’ll be leaving poor Liam alone?” Harry asked.
Louis laughed. “Not a chance, my dear Harold.”
“Do I need to give Niall the “If you hurt him” speech?” Harry asked.
“We’re big boys, we can handle ourselves,” Louis said.
The gun went off, and the athletes took off for the water. Harry envied Liam to a point. Here Liam was, swimming away, and all Harry could do was watch. A kilometer and a half was a long time to watch.
Louis and Niall were becoming very chummy, and Harry felt slightly guilty that he didn’t want to see it. Despite the fact that Harry saw it coming from light years away. He mostly just missed Zayn.
Liam emerged from the water in ninth place, and he sprinted for his bicycle.
Harry texted Zayn about Liam’s position and how watching someone swim wasn’t as fun as swimming and how much Harry missed him. Which was lame but true.
Zayn responded with a picture of horse shit. Like, from an actual horse. “This could be your life” was the caption.
Harry burst out laughing and showed Louis, who promptly stole Harry’s mobile and texted something.
Niall then stole Harry’s mobile from Louis and responded to whatever response Zayn had. Harry knew better than the chase after the phone. He’d never get it back. It’d end up in a puddle after a scuffle. Or down Louis’s pants. He trusted that Louis was being horrifically inappropriate and that was that.
By the time Harry had his phone back in his hand, Liam had finished seventh in cycling and was finding his pace for the 10k.
Harry scrolled through the messages. Zayn had taken all of two responses to know that he wasn’t talking to Harry, which was good. The blatant smut that Louis and Niall had written was not so good. Harry couldn’t make good on any of those promises until his arm had healed.
“You’re both sodding disgusting,” Harry told them. “I love it.”
Louis cackled. Niall turned pink.
“But I’m going to have to break it to Zayn that I can’t fulfill any of these promises until after the cast comes off,” Harry moaned, which made Louis cackle harder. “And really, Niall, you and Louis are going to have an interesting time.”
“A sexy time,” Niall corrected.
“He says the filthiest things,” Louis said, pinching Niall’s cheek. “And looks like a cherubim while doing it.”
Harry texted Zayn back: cant do any of that until my cast comes off
Zayn didn’t text back immediately. Harry wasn’t too worried. Zayn was probably cleaning up horse pooh. Harry tucked his phone away and watched Liam run.
Things became really interesting as the last lap rolled around. Liam had been a close fourth throughout the second half of the race, but the Kenyan in first put on a burst of speed that left everyone else in the dust. The Dominican in second couldn’t sprint the last bit. The Russian in third passed the Dominican. Then Liam passed the Dominican, putting on speed that Harry had only heard about in legends.
Harry found himself shouting alongside the rest of the stadium. Louis was particularly vicious in his critique of the other runners. Niall just shouted encouragement like a normal person.
Liam came in bronze.
Harry’s first thought was to text Zayn. liam bronzed!!!!!!11
Harry then noticed that Zayn had texted him before: but i can do them2 u :) Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.
good for liam! Zayn sent back.
gunnna be a party tonite Harry sent. join us and we can start in on lous and nialls list
Zayn responded with :) x
Harry considered himself extremely lucky.
*
End!
(In the unwritten epilogue, Harry teaches Zayn how to swim. It is cute and fluffy and followed by really hot pool!sex. I’m not going to write it, but I wouldn’t mind if someone else did. :D?)
Pairing: Zayn/Harry, Harry/3/5th of the 2012 GB women’s gymnastics team with background Louis/Niall
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,543
Spoilers: n/a
Warnings: Near drowning, broken bones
Author's Note: Olympic AU for this prompt. This does not coincide with the 2012 Olympics. For hc_bingo for my “loss of limb function” square. Beta by saekokato.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to themselves
Summary: In which they are all Olympics athletes. Except Zayn. He’s just an art student going to university in London.
It’s a Sports Analogy for Something (I'm Just Not Sure What)
Harry had been around pools his entire life. All of it, not just once a summer during his hols in France. No. He had practiced almost every day since his 11th birthday. For hours at a time. Before his 11th birthday, he would spend every day he could in the water. He would occasionally joke to the press about the possibility of surgery for webbed feet and talk about what a disservice it was to hide his hair from the world and indulge questions about how much drag his extra nipples cause. The press in return said he might just have a chance at defeating Phelps’s record… in a few years. How thoughtful of them.
The point was that he’d been around pools all his life. Unfortunately, Harry’d also been around drama his entire life. Pools and drama don’t mix, except when Harry will eventually beat Phelps’s record… in a few years. (He didn’t quite have the shoulders yet, but he would.) Pools and drama were like feeding gremlins after midnight. But some twat had decided that the new goggles belonged in a heap directly in front of Harry’s podium. A heap that Harry did not see.
Harry tripped over the goggles, ended up entangled, and couldn’t quite right himself.
All he really remembered was hearing a crunch. He had thought that it was when he hit the water, but the crunch came before he tumbled into the pool. His teammates, who dragged him out of the water moments later, said the crunch was when Harry tried to right himself on the podium or the lip of the pool. (The story changed based on who he asked.)
The pain came as he was lifted out of the pool. There was a lot of pain. What Harry registered through the pain was that he was fucked. There was barely a week until the 200m freestyle and the relay. Fucked.
*
The team trainer took Harry to a proper doctor, who did all manner of tests from x-rays to poking Harry’s upper arm with his finger. Harry did not approve of that one. The break in his humerus was clean, though, which meant a faster healing period and no surgery. Not that six to eight weeks was a fast healing time, especially when the Olympics were over in three weeks. Then there was physical therapy to attend, and that would be another six weeks, and maybe - just maybe - Harry might be able to swim again, but he’d be nowhere near as amazing as he was before the break. (Harry might have paraphrased here.) At least it wasn’t his shoulder.
Harry barely noticed it when the doctor set his arm. He barely noticed the gooey gunk used create the cast.
The doctor gave him pain medication, and after that, everything was a blur.
*
By the time Harry left the doctor’s, the news was all over Twitter. There was a lot of misinformation, but Harry was too stoned to worry about it at the time. However, his coach had already scheduled a press conference for that evening and directed Harry not to use any improper language. (Harry had been moaning “bugger all” every other breath when they had spoken over the phone.)
The worst part of it is that it’s Harry’s dominant arm that was all cast up and in a sling. Harry felt he was entitled to a little drama. He couldn’t even take a wee without there being some sort of resentment. He didn’t even know if he could wank. Okay, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he couldn’t compete. This was his first games. He wanted to hit something. He had never wanted to hit anything before. Except Louis’s face, that one time. He needed to just take a deep breath. There wasn’t anything he could do about his situation, and he was furious at himself for not paying attention to what he had been doing.
*
Harry made sure that he took a pain pill several hours before the press conference so that he wouldn’t be too mental. He knew that the reporters would ask ludicrous questions like “What does this mean for your career?” It meant he’s fucked.
Thankfully his coach explained the situation, and Harry mostly just had to sit there looking pretty.
He needed to give a nice sound bite, though, so when someone asked, “What is your next move?”
Harry responded with, “I need to find the Doctor so I can go back and warn myself.”
There were a few blank looks, but then one reporter followed up with, “Which incarnation?”
“Matt Smith is a looker, so let’s go with 11.” He gave them a cheeky smile. Hopefully Twitter would let that comment go viral instead of how he fucked up his entire swimming career, went all the way to the Olympics, and couldn’t bloody compete.
*
Sleeping didn’t exactly work, so when he showed up at practice the next morning, he was extra cranky. He technically shouldn’t have been in the pool area because of the humidity, but he hadn’t missed a practice in five years, and he wasn’t about to miss one now. Besides, sitting on the bench was a lot better than sitting in his room doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity.
“Oh!”
Harry looked up to see the water boy, who looked surprised to see Harry. He also looked very pretty, and his hair defied physics. Harry wondered if he could convince the water boy to bring him a banned Mars bar. Maybe this was Harry’s silver lining.
“Sorry,” the water boy said. “I hadn’t expected anyone on the bench, and I thought you’d…” He didn’t finish his thought. Harry’s a bit glad he didn’t.
“I haven’t missed a practice in five years,” Harry stated. “I’m Harry, by the way.” He extended a hand. The only hand he could extend.
“Zayn,” the water boy said. Harry’s grateful Zayn had introduced himself instead of saying “I know.” Zayn did eye Harry’s cast, like he wasn’t sure if he should mention it or not.
“Would you like to be the first person to sign my cast?” Harry asked.
“Uh,” Zayn said. “Sure?”
Louis was going to be upset that he wasn’t first, but Louis wasn’t there. Not that Harry could hold that against him. Louis had his own practices for his own events. Harry also kinda wished his mother were there, too.
Harry grinned at Zayn and gave him a Sharpie.
Zayn signed his first name and drew a simple smiley face.
“Thanks,” Zayn said, handing back the marker. He then turned to leave.
“Where’re you going?” Harry asked, sounding a bit desperate. He wanted that company, even if it was a complete stranger: Zayn Last Name Unknown. Actually, stranger company was better.
“I have a job to do,” he said, pointing to crate of water bottles. “They don’t magically appear by the podiums.”
Zayn distributed the water bottles, grabbed a crate of PowerAde, and returned to the bench.
“Do you have a method?” Harry asked.
“You’ve never noticed before?” Zayn asked. Harry wasn’t sure if he was feigning hurt or not.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry said. “Been busy.”
Zayn laughed softly. It echoed strangely in the pool area, but Harry decided it was a sound he wanted to hear more of. It was a friendly laugh, made Harry want to curl up and go to sleep in it. That could also be the pain pills talking.
“I’m not so busy anymore,” Harry continued. “Explain it to me.”
“You sure?” Zayn asked. “It’s rather boring.”
“My life just became really dull,” Harry said.
“No,” Zayn argued. “Not dull. Just different.” He gave Harry a lopsided smile. “Plus, you have me to keep you entertained with water bottle distribution schematics.”
“Is there an actual method?” Harry asked. “Or is it just bollocks?”
Zayn gave him a shy smile. “Not really a method, no. Mostly it’s stay as far away from the pool as possible.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Harry asked. “Is it prune fingers? Because there’re ways around those. Or maybe it’s because all we men shave our legs.”
“Nah,” Zayn said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about it,” Harry moaned. “What if the Americans sabotaged the pool so that GB would be eaten by piranhas. I’d never know if you don’t say!”
“I think you’d be able to spot the piranhas before you’re in the water,” Zayn said.
“Seriously, though,” Harry pried. “What’s wrong with a bit of water?”
“If I tell you, please don’t post it to Twitter,” Zayn said, darting his eyes to the pool, as if it would eat him from there.
“Twitter’s too busy trying to hook me up with Matt Smith,” Harry said breezily. “No worries.”
“Matt - What are you talking about?” Zayn asked. His brow frowned along with his mouth.
“Doctor Who,” Harry said with a sage nod. “You don’t follow the press much.”
Zayn shrugged. “I hear most of what’s going on just by people gossiping. I do eat in the dining hall.”
“You didn’t even know about…” Harry pointed to his cast arm.
“Sorry,” Zayn said. He did look genuinely sorry, too.
“Tell me what’s wrong with the pool and I won’t be put out,” Harry said. He smiled to let Zayn know that he wasn’t a complete tosser.
“I can’t swim,” Zayn said, and Harry almost couldn’t hear it above the splashing coming from the pool. Harry didn’t understand why anyone would never want to swim so badly that they wouldn’t even learn how.
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive,” Harry said slowly, “but why are you here, then?”
“This is where the Powers That Be assigned me,” Zayn said.
“Then tell them you can’t swim. They’d reassign you. No one’s that much a dickhead here.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful for this job,” Zayn admitted. “And I kinda like to watch you lads swim.”
“It’s the shaved legs, isn’t it?”
Zayn laughed softly. “You caught me.”
The soft, empty clink of water bottles being thrown against tiles roused Zayn from the bench - from Harry. Zayn had a job to do.
Harry watched as Zayn gathered up the empty bottles, carefully skirting around the edge of the pool, avoiding splashes and puddles. Harry then watched as Zayn tossed all the bottles into a recycling bin, and then Harry watched Zayn place a bottle of PowerAde at the base of each podium. Huh. So that was how it worked. Harry truly had never bothered to figure out how drinks appeared. It hadn’t mattered; all that mattered was that they did appear and that Harry worked his arse off for his metals… that he now wasn’t going to earn. Ever. It had been his entire life.
He needed some air.
Harry didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Zayn as he snuck out of the pool area.
*
Harry had been given permission from his doctor to run on a treadmill, and he spent a good deal of his afternoon running. That’s where Liam found him. They ran together for a while before Liam stepped off his treadmill.
“Don’t overdo it, Hazza,” Liam said, eyeing Harry. He must have looked rakishly disheveled; also, his pain pills were wearing out, and his arm was really sweaty and itchy under the cast. “Let’s get you some food.”
Harry didn’t argue. He did make all sorts of protests when Liam asked him to explain why Louis hadn’t been the first to sign Harry’s cast.
“I have to live with both of you,” Liam said. “Do you know how much he’s going to moan about not being your first?”
Harry nodded. “There will be sexual innuendos.”
“Yes,” Liam agreed. “Who’s Zayn anyway?”
Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “Did you know swimmers have a water boy?”
“All teams have a water boy, except those who have a water girl,” Liam explained practically. “Water bottles don’t magically show up.”
Harry tipped his head back and laughed for the first time in what felt like years.
*
They met up with Louis back at their apartment in the Village, and Louis was definitely cross with Harry. “I wanted to pop your cast signage cherry.”
“Sign it now,” Harry offered. “You were busy.”
Louis scowled at him. “What if this Zayn character gave you cast-herpes? I don’t want cast-herpes.”
Harry gave Liam a look that clearly said, “Told you so.” Liam shrugged it off.
“I haven’t asked Liam yet,” Harry said slowly, goading Louis. “I bet Liam wouldn’t mind my cast-herpes.”
Harry made to give Liam the marker. Louis stole it.
“I’ll brave cast-herpes,” Louis said gallantly. “I’m just that great of a bloke.”
Harry smirked as Louis wrote his name and then wrote a very rude statement about swimmers. Harry hadn’t expected anything less.
Louis then handed the marker to Liam, who signed his name and also wrote that Harry should get better soon.
“Who took your cast signage virginity?” Louis asked. He sounded casual, but he was very eager to hear the answer.
“He’s the water boy for our team,” Harry said. “He’s prettier than you; you’d hate him.”
“Lies!” Louis exclaimed. “No one is prettier than me!”
“Liam’s prettier than you,” Harry pointed out.
Liam blushed.
“Not exactly,” Louis conceded. He then kissed Liam on the cheek. “He’s a stunning male specimen with the most amazing biceps of anyone on the track team.”
“You’re only saying that so you can fuck him,” Harry said as Liam sputtered and blushed.
Louis smiled and didn’t deny it. He did, however, tease Harry about Zayn.
*
The next morning, Zayn greeted Harry with a “Vas happenin’?”
Harry smiled and waved.
“You left early yesterday,” Zayn said. “Everything okay?”
He sounded so earnest that Harry almost considered an earnest answer. “Just had a lunch date,” he said with a slight smirk. It wasn’t a complete lie.
“And you had to leave three hours before lunch to make sure your hair’s perfect,” Zayn said with a sage nod and a knowing smirk.
“Oy!” Harry protested. He was supposed to be the only one to have people on like that.
Zayn blushed a bit.
“And how long does your hair take, mister?” Harry demanded.
Zayn laughed. He placed a hand on Harry’s knee and said, “How about we work on you saying goodbye first? Then I’ll tell you about all the secrets my hair holds.”
Harry found himself laughing along.
*
Harry had promised he’d watch Louis fence. Louis was sure that this was the year he was going to take Horan down. Louis had informed Harry - but mostly Liam - that it was metaphorically, not sexually. It was the preliminary round, but Louis was a ball of nervous energy, ready to go.
Harry met him down by the athlete waiting area. “I see you’ve got your protection on, and you’re ready to wave your sword about.”
Louis smirked as Rosowsky shouted from the arena, “It’s a foil, you twat!”
“He’s just tetchy, because he’s going first against Tunisia,” Louis said with a shrug. “Also, he doesn’t understand the poetry what a pain in the arse you are.”
“Hey,” Harry said, pointing up at the growing crowd. “Is that Horan?”
Louis snorted. “Just sorting out the competition.” He caught Horan’s eyes and blew him a kiss. Horan blinked at him, frowning a bit. Then he blew back a kiss.
“I think you’ve met your match,” Harry said, poking Louis in the side. Louis probably didn’t even feel anything through the padding.
“In more ways than one,” Louis said, feigning sadness.
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “I’m sure he’ll let you poke him with your sword as long as you’re wearing your protection.” He then laughed at his own wittiness. Maybe he should cut back on doling out his pain pills, because Louis didn’t laugh. Oh, he smiled, but he didn’t laugh.
“Just win, yeah?” Harry added. “I’ll be right here, ready to run into your arms ecstatically.”
Louis made it to the next round, and Harry had a feeling it was because Horan was there, and that made Louis more determined.
*
“Vas happenin’?” Zayn asked when Harry showed up at practice. Zayn must have been showing up earlier, because Harry was sure that he was punctual at all times.
“You know,” Harry said. “The usual.”
“And what’s the usual?” Zayn asked, sitting next to Harry.
“Wishing I had made better life choices,” Harry offered, looking out at his teammates fly through the water.
“What’s a better life choice than going to the Olympics when they’re in your own country?” Zayn asked.
“Being able to compete,” Harry shot back. There was a bit of resentment in his voice. Zayn must have caught it, because he recoiled slightly.
“I think I made the right decision by coming to the Olympics,” Zayn said. He gave Harry a shy smile.
Harry, grateful for a change of direction, said, “And what do you do when you’re actively avoiding pools?”
“I’m an art student,” Zayn said. “At Slade.”
“Yeah? What type of art?” Harry asked.
“Painting and such,” Zayn answered, sounding a bit uncomfortable.
“Excellent,” Harry said, beaming. “We’ll both be unemployed in a couple years.”
Zayn laughed along.
*
Harry had also promised that he’d watch the girls’ gymnastic team. He’d mostly agreed because Louis had been right next to him at the time, and the girls refused to invite Louis as well. The girls did well, but they were then crushed by the Chinese. Harry was invited back to their apartment, where they all signed his cast with hearts and smiley faces.
One of the girls - Harry thought it might have been Imogen - produced a bottle of whiskey, which Harry knew he couldn’t have. It wasn’t that they couldn’t drink in the Village - okay, there was that, too - it was that he shouldn’t combine his drugs with alcohol. He did want to get pissed, but he didn’t want to do something stupid while pissed that would further hurt his swimming career. Harry was very good at doing stupid things while pissed. Especially when he was with Louis.
But it was easy to be around the girls, so Harry forwent the alcohol. It was strange to be the sober one, but it was great, because he was going to remember what these girls weren’t. The youngest girl, who probably shouldn’t have been drinking anyway, went to sleep quickly. Beth had gone out in search of something: she hadn’t said what.
“No tolerance,” Hannah said sadly.
“She’s just a kid, love,” Imogen said, cuddling closer to Harry on the couch.
“Can you even pee properly?” Jennifer asked suddenly.
“Not really,” Harry said.
“What about wanking?” Imogen asked.
“Same,” Harry said.
“That’s horrible!” Jennifer said, scandalized. “We should help him, ladies.”
Hannah nodded wisely as she sunk down to her knees in front of Harry. “Yes, we should.”
*
The next morning at practice, Zayn was there before Harry again. Harry wasn’t sure if he was becoming lazy, because he didn’t need to actually practice. He didn’t want to slack off. Slacking off now meant he was mentally ready to be done. He wasn’t going to be done until he had stolen Phelps’s time record.
The skin under the cast itched.
“Hello,” Harry said.
Zayn jumped a little in surprise as he picked up water bottles. One bottle slipped out of his grasp, and it bounced off the tiles. Harry reached down to pick it up with his good hand, and something bent a way it wasn’t supposed to bend. He hissed lowly between his teeth and sank down to the tiles.
Zayn dropped all of the bottles back to their crate and reached to Harry. Zayn placed a hand on Harry’s good shoulder and must have said something, but Harry couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Harry could feel the energy roll off Zayn. He knew Zayn was shouting, but there was no sound. By the time the black sparks started in front of Harry’s eyes, he knew it wouldn’t end well.
*
Harry was in the medic tent. It wasn’t exactly a tent, but that’s what the athletes called it. It was more like mini-hospital. Zayn was still with him.
“Nghn?” Harry asked. He had hoped to come off as more eloquent. He assumed that he was on the good drugs. “What happened?”
Zayn frowned at him. “Don’t push yourself. You did something to the muscles in your arm and shoulder.”
“Pft,” Harry spat. He tried to sit up and found he couldn’t even do that properly.
“Don’t push yourself,” Zayn repeated. “Your mum should be here shortly.”
Great! Harry had been waiting for his mother to come in and make everything okay again.
Harry glanced to the clock. “Louis’s going to be angry with me for not watching him go against Italy.”
“Louis Tomlinson?” Zayn asked. “He’s on his way.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Did he lose?”
“I don’t think so,” Zayn said.
Louis barged into the room a moment later. “You absolute tosser!”
Harry smiled brightly, but Zayn looked affronted on Harry’s behalf.
“I just crushed Italy! It was devastating, and you weren’t there to help me make Twitter explode,” Louis admonished. He looked to Zayn. “Who’re you?’
“Cast-herpes,” Harry supplied. Zayn gave Harry a strange, slightly disgusted look.
“Oh,” Louis said, scrutinizing Zayn. “I guess you are rather pretty then.”
Zayn blushed and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off. “Zayn saved me.”
“Thanks, mate,” Louis said.
Zayn blushed some more and looked away.
“Tomorrow I’m going up against Korea,” Louis said. “You’d better be there.”
Zayn slowly edged toward the door, and he successfully escaped as Harry’s mother came racing into the room.
*
Zayn didn’t say anything the next morning about Harry’s red, puffy eyes, and Harry adored him for it. Harry enjoyed watching Zayn carefully place a bottle at the base of each podium while skirting around any puddles. It was endearing. Harry was pretty sure he had a goofy smile on his face.
Zayn looked up to see Harry and smiled back.
Zayn kept working, looking up to smile at Harry every now and then.
The rest of the team was at the other end of the pool, carefully listening to the coach on the benches. Harry was thankful they couldn’t see his goofy smiles.
Then Zayn slipped in a puddle and went crashing down into the water. He didn’t bounce back up.
Harry didn’t even think, he jumped in, clothing and all. He had difficulty swimming, and his trainers and cast kept dragging him down, but he reached Zayn. Zayn was at the bottom, and Harry had no difficulty diving down. Dragging Zayn back up was another matter, and it took a lot of effort just to bring him to the surface.
By the time Harry reached the surface with Zayn, his teammates were able to haul both of them out of the pool.
Harry gasped and sputtered, but Zayn was distressingly still. Harry knelt by Zayn’s side as he lay on the pool tiles. He turned Zayn’s head to the side and pressed down on his chest twice. It probably wasn’t as effective as it should have been, because Harry could only use one hand. Then he blew air into Zayn’s lungs.
Harry smacked the side of Zayn’s lax face. “C’mon, breathe.”
Harry pressed down on Zayn’s chest again, harder, more desperate, and Zayn spat up pool water and coughed.
“Oh, thank God,” Harry muttered.
Zayn tried to sit up, but several of Harry’s teammates objected, telling him to lie back down until all the water was out. Harry would have said the same thing, but he was choking too, and it was not what he wanted. He hadn’t even realized that his teammates were hovering in a circle around them.
There was water on Harry’s face that had not come from the pool, but his teammates didn’t say anything. Zayn noticed, but he didn’t say anything, either.
*
Due to the amount of water that went into his cast when he entered the pool, he either needed to be recast or become all moldy and possibly lose his arm. He chose to be recast.
*
Harry and Liam went to watch Louis compete. Liam had come fresh from the hurdles. He had finished fourth, but that was still pretty good, not that Liam would brag about it. Harry would have bragged. Louis definitely would have bragged. Liam still had his triathlon to run, so he was staying optimistic.
Horan was competing in this round, too. Harry could see him sitting on the side, watching Louis with interest.
Liam was crashing from the adrenaline, and Louis was a bundle of energy next to Harry. It took them a moment to realize that Harry had a new cast.
“Why a new cast?” Louis asked.
“I wanted to give you another chance to take my cast signage virginity,” Harry said.
His voice must have sounded a bit too distant, because when Louis signed, he didn’t write a single rude thing about swimmers.
“What happened, Harry?” Liam asked. There was something disturbingly close to pity in Liam’s voice, but Harry ignored it.
“I jumped in the pool,” Harry said. He avoided eye contact but found himself looking at Horan. Horan gave him an odd look in return, like he was trying to figure out what was so shameful about Harry’s cast.
“Why on earth would you do something so stupid?” Louis demanded.
Liam only inhaled a quick breath.
“Zayn fell in,” Harry said quietly.
Liam wound an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him close.
“Why didn’t you just let him swim out?” Louis said.
“He can’t swim,” Harry said, looking to the ground, because goddamned Horan was looking at him with pity now. Even if he had no clue what was going on. Harry hated him and wanted Louis to beat him with his goddamned sword.
“Oh,” Louis said. Then, “Oh.” He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist.
“Is he doing okay?” Liam asked gently.
Harry nodded.
“Louis!” the coach called. “You’re up next.”
Louis planted a kiss on the top of Harry’s head before heading out to gear up.
*
Louis slaughtered Korea. The next day he would go against Ireland. Harry promised to be there to witness Louis wipe the floor with Horan.
*
Zayn wasn’t there when Harry arrived at practice. Harry waited half an hour, and a new kid showed up.
Of course Zayn wasn’t there. He had probably called in sick or dead or something, and Harry had no idea how to contact him. Harry had never really needed to contact Zayn, Zayn was just always there. Harry didn’t even know Zayn’s last name.
The new kid was distributing the water all wrong.
Harry stomped out in disgust.
*
Harry sulked in the dining hall, picking at a fruit salad. That was where Horan found him. He sat down right next to Harry without asking permission or anything. Harry might have sneered a bit, but Horan was tiny and had a permanent smile.
“You still look upset,” Horan said. “I’m Niall, by the way. But you probably know that.”
“Harry,” Harry grunted out.
“I’d ask you what’s wrong,” Horan started, “but it’s all over Google and Twitter.”
Harry grunted again, hating social media. No wonder Zayn avoided it.
“That was a brave thing you did, Harry,” Horan said.
Harry took a good look at Horan’s face. Maybe Harry should start calling him Niall? Would Louis be cross with that? Harry hadn’t known how… unadulteratedly happy this kid could be.
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“Plus, you need to be happy so that Louis can be happy,” Niall - yeah, that sounded okay - said. “That way when I go against him later, he’ll be at his best. Otherwise it would just be sad how quickly I’d beat him into submission.” He gave Harry a cheeky smile.
Harry thought about objecting, to give Louis some solidarity, but he looked - finally looked - at Niall, not just his expression. Zayn was standing behind him, looking guilty, shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands.
“I brought you a present,” Niall said. He braced himself against the table as he stood up. “See you at the match, Harry!” He stole one of Harry’s grapes before running off.
“Hi,” Zayn said shyly.
“Hi,” Harry echoed.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Thank you,” Zayn said finally.
“You’re welcome,” Harry said after a beat.
“I’m sorry your arm needed to be recast because of me,” Zayn said, shifting again.
“I’m not,” Harry said fiercely. “I’d do it again.”
“That’s - that’s not what I meant,” Zayn said. “It was stupid of me to - ”
“No,” Harry interrupted.
“What?” Zayn said.
“Stop it,” Harry demanded. “I’ve made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes. My latest mistake was not even asking your last name so that way I’d have a way to contact you after all this, and then when you didn’t show up today…”
“Oh,” Zayn said simply. “Give me your mobile.”
Harry dug out his phone and handed it over to Zayn, who punched in a bunch of numbers.
“My last name’s Malik,” Zayn said, handing Harry back his phone.
Harry looked to his contacts and found Zayn at the top of the list under “Awesome boyfriend.” Harry burst out laughing.
Zayn blushed and looked away as several people looked to them curiously. “You can, you know, change it if you’d, um, like.”
“Nah,” Harry said. “I like it the way it is.”
Zayn must have been feeling emboldened, because he told Harry, “You know, when I came up from the pool, and you gave me CPR… I kinda didn’t have a chance to, uh, react properly to your lips on mine.”
“I could fix that,” Harry offered.
“I would like that very much,” Zayn said, looking at Harry coyly through his eyelashes.
*
Harry didn’t think Louis would mind Zayn watching the match, and he didn’t. What Louis did mind was that Harry had had a civil conversation with Niall. “You’re calling him Niall, now?!”
“He’s really a good kid,” Harry said, giving Zayn’s hand a slight squeeze.
“He’s older than you are!” Louis protested.
“Oh, so you know how old he is…” Harry smiled widely at Louis.
“It helps to know one’s competition,” Louis said primly.
Harry noticed that even Liam had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
“Of course,” Harry said, patting Louis on the knee consolingly.
Niall stretched off to the side, his coach giving him some sort of amusing pep talk. Niall smiled a lot. And he was really bendy. Harry accidentally said that last part aloud.
Louis scowled at him.
Niall caught them looking at him and winked.
Louis scowled some more and began his own stretches.
Harry had never looked more forward to one of Louis’s matches. Harry knew very little about fencing. It was all too posh for him. All he really knew what that one fencer hit another one with a sword. Fine: a foil, sometimes a sabre. Swimming he could understand: be faster than everyone else.
He watched Louis put on all his gear and wished him luck.
“It’s not a medal round,” Harry told Zayn. “But this rivalry has been going on for ages. It’d be better than gold if Louis were to win.”
Liam agreed.
“So they’re not sleeping together?” Zayn asked, drawing his eyebrows together. “Weird.”
Harry laughed. “You need to follow any sort of media. Their rivalry is the stuff of legends.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” Liam muttered. “If only it kept him from grabbing my bum.”
Harry laughed again. He watched Louis and Niall face each other, foils drawn.
“Bring Danielle around,” Harry said. “It may temper him.”
“I tried that,” Liam said. “She only encouraged it.”
“Sorry, mate,” Harry said, then they fell silent as they watched the match unfold. The announcer kept making comments about conversations and engagement and loads of French words. However, he could see the lights going under the piste, and the numbers on the scoreboard were even. There was a lot of movement: fancy foot work and lunging.
Three minutes were over quickly, and the score was tied 5-5. Louis talked to his coach, and Niall talked to his.
“This was really intense,” Zayn remarked.
“And there are still two more rounds,” Liam said.
Niall and Louis turned back to each other, foils arching, and then they were off again.
Louis came out on top this round, 9-11, but it was still too close. Instead of being ecstatic, Louis was stoic.
“Shit,” Harry breathed out.
Zayn and Liam looked to him, but Harry didn’t explain. He didn’t think he could explain. He’d known Louis too long. Louis wasn’t winded or anything like that, but he was acting defeated. There was definitely something hinky.
Harry shook his head, eyes still on Louis, who was lining up with Niall again for the last round.
Harry was a swimmer, used to holding his breath for extended periods of time. When Niall had caught up to Louis’s score, Harry held his breath without realizing what he was doing. While Harry held his breath, they went back and forth. Point to Niall, point to Louis. Until Niall hit 15 first.
Niall yanked off his mask and threw his hands up in the air, foil and all.
Louis slowly pulled off his mask, foil hanging loosely by his side. Harry could see the deep breath Louis took, and Harry took a deep breath, too.
Niall turned to Louis, who had a hand out, ready to shake. Niall’s smile turned, and Harry frowned.
Harry was half standing before he realized what he was doing.
“Harry?” Zayn asked. He squeezed Harry’s hand, and Harry had almost forgotten they were still holding hands.
Niall pulled Louis to him instead of shaking, and right there on an international stage and televisions worldwide, Niall planted a kiss on Louis’s lips.
The crowd fell silent and then roared again with applauds and catcalls.
“Oh,” Liam said and clapped loudly.
“Zayn, clap for me,” Harry said. “I’m crippled here.”
“I’m confused,” Zayn said, but he clapped for Harry. Well for Louis, but at Harry’s command. “I thought he wanted to defeat Niall really badly.”
“Louis won,” Harry explained. “Just not the match.”
“The rivalry, then?” Zayn asked.
Harry shrugged. “They’ll be fencing against each other again.”
Zayn sniggered. Harry gave him a short look, because he totally didn’t mean it like that. However, it didn’t take long for Harry to snigger with Zayn.
When Louis finally made it over to the GB bench, after the media had stopped hounding him, Harry enveloped him in tight, one-armed hug.
“Niall talks when he parries, doesn’t he?” Harry whispered into Louis’s ear.
Louis gave a small, affirmative tip to his head.
Harry bit Louis’s neck and released him. “We’ll talk later.”
*
Harry skipped practice the next morning. Zayn wasn’t going to be there anyway. The people in charge had assigned him to something less appealing than swimming. Harry thought it might be dressage, which was a ridiculous name for a ridiculous sport, but Zayn liked horses more than he liked pools, so good for him.
Besides, Liam had a triathlon to win. It had the added bonus of being in Hyde Park, which was far away from where Harry had spent his last two weeks.
Louis had shown up, too, Niall by his side.
“Does this mean you’ll be leaving poor Liam alone?” Harry asked.
Louis laughed. “Not a chance, my dear Harold.”
“Do I need to give Niall the “If you hurt him” speech?” Harry asked.
“We’re big boys, we can handle ourselves,” Louis said.
The gun went off, and the athletes took off for the water. Harry envied Liam to a point. Here Liam was, swimming away, and all Harry could do was watch. A kilometer and a half was a long time to watch.
Louis and Niall were becoming very chummy, and Harry felt slightly guilty that he didn’t want to see it. Despite the fact that Harry saw it coming from light years away. He mostly just missed Zayn.
Liam emerged from the water in ninth place, and he sprinted for his bicycle.
Harry texted Zayn about Liam’s position and how watching someone swim wasn’t as fun as swimming and how much Harry missed him. Which was lame but true.
Zayn responded with a picture of horse shit. Like, from an actual horse. “This could be your life” was the caption.
Harry burst out laughing and showed Louis, who promptly stole Harry’s mobile and texted something.
Niall then stole Harry’s mobile from Louis and responded to whatever response Zayn had. Harry knew better than the chase after the phone. He’d never get it back. It’d end up in a puddle after a scuffle. Or down Louis’s pants. He trusted that Louis was being horrifically inappropriate and that was that.
By the time Harry had his phone back in his hand, Liam had finished seventh in cycling and was finding his pace for the 10k.
Harry scrolled through the messages. Zayn had taken all of two responses to know that he wasn’t talking to Harry, which was good. The blatant smut that Louis and Niall had written was not so good. Harry couldn’t make good on any of those promises until his arm had healed.
“You’re both sodding disgusting,” Harry told them. “I love it.”
Louis cackled. Niall turned pink.
“But I’m going to have to break it to Zayn that I can’t fulfill any of these promises until after the cast comes off,” Harry moaned, which made Louis cackle harder. “And really, Niall, you and Louis are going to have an interesting time.”
“A sexy time,” Niall corrected.
“He says the filthiest things,” Louis said, pinching Niall’s cheek. “And looks like a cherubim while doing it.”
Harry texted Zayn back: cant do any of that until my cast comes off
Zayn didn’t text back immediately. Harry wasn’t too worried. Zayn was probably cleaning up horse pooh. Harry tucked his phone away and watched Liam run.
Things became really interesting as the last lap rolled around. Liam had been a close fourth throughout the second half of the race, but the Kenyan in first put on a burst of speed that left everyone else in the dust. The Dominican in second couldn’t sprint the last bit. The Russian in third passed the Dominican. Then Liam passed the Dominican, putting on speed that Harry had only heard about in legends.
Harry found himself shouting alongside the rest of the stadium. Louis was particularly vicious in his critique of the other runners. Niall just shouted encouragement like a normal person.
Liam came in bronze.
Harry’s first thought was to text Zayn. liam bronzed!!!!!!11
Harry then noticed that Zayn had texted him before: but i can do them2 u :) Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.
good for liam! Zayn sent back.
gunnna be a party tonite Harry sent. join us and we can start in on lous and nialls list
Zayn responded with :) x
Harry considered himself extremely lucky.
*
End!
(In the unwritten epilogue, Harry teaches Zayn how to swim. It is cute and fluffy and followed by really hot pool!sex. I’m not going to write it, but I wouldn’t mind if someone else did. :D?)