Convalescence

II.

Niall's POV

"Alright, Niall, I'm going to need you to push this last set as hard as you can," Evan said encouragingly, kneeling down beside the leather weight bench so he was now at Niall's eye level.

He cleared his throat and sharply jutted his chin out towards the bench, as if to tell Niall to lay down and get prepared.

Niall was working out in the weight room at the LACC with his longtime trainer, Evan Walsh, who had reserved the room for them ahead of time for some privacy. The silence was quite eerie.

Niall usually preferred working out in a more public setting, especially during the off season, so he'd gotten quite used to the sounds of a busy gym.

From the music blaring through someone's cheap headphones, to the friends laughing together after they'd exhausted themselves with a long workout, Niall loved it all.

Hearing other people push themselves just as hard as he did actually gave him motivation to work that much harder. It created a sense of competition, which always made him better. 

But now that he was here at the club, amping up his training for the next tournament, he knew he had to be alone to focus and keep a clear head. The only way to get better was to block out all the noise - literally and figuratively.

But he really hated the silence.

Every breath or grunt Niall released echoed in the silence, dying away almost as quickly as it had been borne.

The loudest sound in the room was the blood rushing in his ears with every movement, and the noise drove him mad.

Niall sighed and sat down on the edge of the bench, knees bent and feet flat against the floor.

Large beads of sweat rolled down the side of his red face and dripped onto the white fabric of his tank top, leaving tiny wet patches behind as the drops dissolved into the fibers.

In either hand, Niall held a 20 pound dumbbell, and was in the process of doing arm curls to strengthen his biceps.

9 sets of 10 reps each had gone by and he was drenched with sweat; it had been such a long weight session - his gas tank was reaching dangerously close to empty.

"This better be the last fucking one," he warned through clenched teeth.

Evan nodded at him and used the towel draped over his shoulder to wipe the sweat from Niall's brow.

"Come on, Horan. Don't tell me you've lost all your strength already? You've been off for less than 6 months!" Evan exclaimed, a sarcastic look on his face. Niall rolled his eyes.

"Not a chance." He took a sharp breath and began the set, exhausted biceps bulging and contracting with each rep. The stretch felt both good and unnecessary. 

Once he reached the 10th round, Niall dropped the weights onto the floor with a loud thud, and the sound boomed menacingly across the empty room like an explosion.

He slowly leaned back until he felt his spine hit the leather and stared up at the ceiling, heart hammering in his chest. A kaleidoscope of shapes danced in front of his eyes and across the ceiling.

He took slow, even breaths until his heart rate returned to a somewhat normal pace and the blood wasn't rushing as loudly in his ears. He turned his head to the side to look at Evan, panting, and couldn't help the smile that split his face.

"You're going to kill me one day, you know that, right?" he asked, partially afraid of the answer. The question was only, like, 90% satire. Evan chuckled.