ice (a fake dnf story)

Shaky Skating

God today was not George's day. After being late to practice, the night before had left George incredibly sore. He could barely stay upright.

"You haven't been performing well recently, should you pull out of the competition next Saturday?" George's personal trainer spoke up after he bobbed a turn.

"What? No! I'm just- I'm," George didn't have a good answer.

"I think it might be best if you skip the competition."

"No, I'll be ready. I'm just not feeling well today."

"Then maybe we should call it quits for this practice."

"Let me run through my program one time just to show you that I'm fine."

"If you insist," the trainer sighed.

So George took his place on the ice and waited for the music to start.

He knew he needed to put in a hundred and ten percent to insure that he would go to the competition.

Once the music started playing, all of George's worries were gone. His body became one with the rhythm. He moved smoothly and with grace. His arms flowed freely and his legs carried him all around the rink. George became languid and it was truly mesmerizing to watch, there was no way he wasn't going to the competition. Now all he had to do was so a simple triple axel and it was smooth sailing.

He gained momentum and pushed up, turning his body.

One turn.

Two turns.

Ground.

Blood.

His legs hurt so bad. Was that where the blood was coming from? But why was his forehead so hot? Was he sick?

"George! Oh my god!"

His trainer was at his side instantly, rolling him onto his back. He was pressing a towel onto his head and talking to him. No, he was asking him something. But what?

"Could you repeat that?"

"I asked if anything else hurts."

"My ego," George muttered.

"I'm being serious."

"Just my head."

"Really? Your arm took a lot of the fall but so did your head. I should test you for a concussion."

A concussion! He couldn't have a concussion. That would mean he couldn't compete.

"I don't think I have a concussion, maybe I should just head home."

"You are not going home without being tested," his trainer said sternly.

And to George's dismay, his trainer started testing him.

It took a little while and before they could finish, the hockey team was walking in.

"Ignore them, focus on the test," the trainer ushered."

But how could he? People were piling onto the ice and pointing.

"Is he okay?"

"Look, there's blood!"

"Is this going to cut into our practice time?"

"Maybe we'll have to stay later."

"Hey, pay attention to the test, I'm going to see if they will clear out alright?"

George just nodded and reluctantly attempted to complete the test. That was until he heard another voice, a more familiar voice.

"George! Holy shit, George!"

Clay pushed through the clump of his teammates and raced over towards George. He stopped abruptly, accidentally spraying George with ice shavings.

"I'm sorry! Are you okay? No, obviously not, I just meant, like, are you okay? No you're fucking bleeding. God! Umm, can I do anything?"

"I don't think there's anything for you to do unless you want to carry me into the stands," George huffed out a laugh.

But Clay scooped him up and sailed towards the exit and marched up the stands. It was a nice ride if he must admit albeit a little shocking to be carried so easily.

George had briefly figure skated with an ex boyfriend but had never been lifted with such ease. It caused butterfly's to erupt in his stomach.

When Clay sat him in the bleachers, George gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Have a good practice and try not to add any more blood to the rink."

Clay blushed a little and nodded. "Anything for you."

It was George's turn to blush.

Clay stood there for a moment before he turned around and started back for the rink.

-

George's trainer had cleaned up the blood and brought the computer up to the stands where he finished the rest of his test, only a little distracted by Clay's impressive hockey skills.

"I finished," George said at last.

And so had the hockey practice. Clay made eye contact with George and motioned for him to stay seated.

Clay quickly got changed and made his way up the bleachers.

"Hi, I'm Clay," he instructed himself to the trainer. "I helped George get up here and I'm going to get him home safely."

The trainer and Clay shook hands and spoke briefly before the trainer turned back to George.

"Alright, it will take a little while for your test results to come in but I'll lets you know as soon as I get them. In the meantime I request you stay lying down but off of electronics."

"Great, shall I sit and stare at the ceiling or the wall."

"Oh please, you can talk to someone in person or on the phone, just not facetime, you can..." the trainer trailed off. There really was nothing he could do. "Just try not to use exert yourself mentally. Have a nice rest of your day and stay safe."

Clay gathered all of their stuff and walk to George's car. He got into the drivers seat as he carpooled with a teammate making the situation just a little better.

He drove them back to George's home with some guidance and they settled onto the couch.

"Wait, aren't you going to leave?" George questioned.

"Of course not."