You're His Rival

Two

His mind raced as he neared you, all thoughts of the race and victory forgotten.

The only thing that mattered now was getting you out of the water. He slid into the puddle, the icy water sloshing up around his thighs. His hands wrapped around your waist, flipping you upright again.

Your arms wrapped around his neck to keep yourself upright and out of the water. His heart pounded in his chest. He had seen you take falls before, but never like this.

You coughed, spitting up the water that had filled your mouth in your panic. Your muscles were wracked with shivers as you held onto him. Your chest heaved with the effort of taking in oxygen.

"Shit, y/n!" he growled, his hands moving to your ankle, working to untangle the rope. His fingers were slick with mud and rain, but he didn't let that stop him. He could still see the fear in your eyes, mirrored in his own.

He ignored the cold chill of the rain against his skin, focusing only on freeing you. You shivered against him, you body pressed against his chest as he held onto you with one arm wrapped around you.

With a final tug, the rope came free, your leg dropping heavily down into the water. He didn't waste a second, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hand moved to her head, fingers pushing the soaked strands of hair away from your face.

"You okay?" he grunted, his voice sounding harsher than he intended. He cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your damp flesh.

Your skin was ice cold under his touch, your body shaking against his. He pulled you closer, trying to share his warmth.

"You scared the living shit out of me," he muttered, his tone softer now. He glanced back up at your eyes. He was used to dealing with life or death situations, but not like this, not with you.

Your teeth chattered as you looked up at him, "Fuck. Thank you." You breathed, keeping your hold on him. You winced when you flexed your ankle, feeling the pain of the sprain or possible dislocation like a bolt of lightning running up your leg.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding rain. "Let's get you up."

His mind raced. He needed to get you out of the cold rain quickly; hypothermia was a serious risk with the temperature dropping and your injury, he was more worried than ever.

"Here we go," he muttered, his arms tightening around you as he hoisted you up, his muscles flexing from the effort. He grunted as he took a step forward, the water sloshing around his legs weighing him down.

The way back to the base felt like it took an eternity. His breath fogging in the cold air as he carried you, his strong arms holding you as tightly as he could against his heat.

Once you were finally in the warm, dry safety of the base, he set you down gently on the nearest chair. Crouching down in front of you, he examined your damaged ankle.

"Let's get this off and see the damage," he said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, the sight of you in pain doing things to him he wished it didn't.

His heart raced as he tugged the boot off, setting it aside. His touch was feather-light as he peeled away your sock, revealing the swollen, bruised flesh.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice filled with frustration. "You really did a number on your ankle." His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, his face pale under the harsh artificial light. "We need to get you to Doc. He'll know what to do."

You whimpered when he prodded your sore ankle, seeing the rope shaped bruise blooming already. "I don't think it's broken. Maybe just a sprain. Hopefully."