Sidemen Shots

Soccer Aid ~ Minishaw

Just a warning that I didn't properly watch Soccer Aid this year. All I know is that Simon was brought on towards the end (last 15/20 mins?) and was barely passed to. There were some ex pros who mainly had possession of the ball, I think? I tried to keep subtle because of this.

This is for @Gallaghersfanpage.

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It's stressful, there is no denying that fact. Harry hasn't seen Simon since half nine this morning, when he saw him off for the English team's last half (just over) day of training camp. He has gone days, before, sometimes a week or two, never once seeing his boyfriend in person, and yet this day of mere glimpses has been a much harder pill to swallow.

It's the tension, Harry thinks, the cracks in Simon's confident façade that betray his anxiety. He can tell, every time they make eye contact briefly from where he watches off to the side of the pitch, that Simon is excited. Harry knows from the conversations leading up to today, as well as the ones following the second Simon's invitation was received, that this is a big thing for the older man. He's been enthusiastic about it for months, though there is a nervousness there that betrays Simon's fear of disappointing his fans, as well as messing up for the rest of the team of celebrities.

Harry is left feeling slightly exhausted by the time the team prepares to get on the coach to Stamford Bridge. His day has been cool, getting to watch Simon in his element, getting to observe the other have fun amidst working hard. And yet his presence has been reduced to encouraging smiles and promising thumbs up, not all of which land the way he hopes for them to, he can tell.

Now, apparently, friends and family of the celebrities aren't usually allowed on the team coach, generally trusted (forced) to make their own way to the stadium. The odd few receive passes to come and witness the training camp, just like Harry did, but the organised travel is for the players only. Though during Harry's attempt to say goodbye to Simon, some staff member with a lanyard comes over and tells him he's welcome on the coach if he so wishes. (Supposedly he's an exception as a part of the Sidemen himself, arguably an extension of Simon.)

Harry takes the offer, agreeing immediately that he'd be happy to if it's allowed, not even sparing so much as a glance Simon's way as he does so. He knows that this is something the both of them will need, an effort to at least try and calm some of their rapidly heightening nerves. He takes Simon's hand as he bids goodbye to the staff member, thanking them profusely, before turning the two of them in the direction of the coach. When he starts forward, he's welcomed with a small cheer from Tom Grennan, despite only ever meeting the man in person once for one of Chris' videos. He grins faintly in response.

Up on the coach, a couple celebrities greet him as they walk by their chairs, though Harry doesn't know most of them personally, nor ever heard of a couple of them either. He can do nothing more than offer out polite smiles and act as if he does know these people. He returns Sir Mo Farah's handshake enthusiastically enough, genuinely pleased to see the legend.

They continue further back, the two Sidemen members finally settling just past the middle of the coach. Harry had led the way for some reason, but he's glad for it when it gives him the chance to pick the window seat. He comes to rest with his head against the window after buckling his seatbelt, smiling when he feels the fingers of Simon's other hand interlock with his own after they let go of each other's hand to get comfortable in the coach seats.

-

"Why the fuck is he not playing yet?" Harry mutters to himself, eyes wide with the focus of an eagle as he stares down at Soccer Aid pitch. It's the 60th minute, and Harry is still yet to see his boyfriend make his official debut for the UNICEF charity match. "Come on, man."

Eventually, Simon gets subbed in a few minutes later. The man looks a wretched combination of anxious, excited, and confident. Harry can see from his seat the way his hands tremble, jittering with worry and upset disappointment. He seems to take a breath, a deep inhale followed by a forcefully exhale, as he runs out onto the pitch. The switch is instantaneous, the way the older man suddenly glows with assurance and strive, eager to prove himself and make the most of his time for the fans who have made an effort to come and see him, to watch him and donate to this worthwhile cause.

Harry's skin feels like it's buzzing for the last ten odd minutes of the match. His head is thumping with rage on Simon's behalf, knowing the other will try not to put too much thought into his own mistreatment. He'll be disheartened, of course, and whilst he would be right about him not being the ultimate focus of the game, Harry still feels irritated by his boyfriend's lack of appearance. Harry's watched more minutes of soap operas than he has of Simon playing in Soccer Aid, unfortunately.

Knowing he'll end up blowing up at someone completely undeserving of his outrage, Harry clutches his bottle of water like a lifeline, taking small sips of it whenever he senses someone try to approach him. (He's brushed off JJ's caring hands one too many times in the last ten minutes to warrant any other shows of affection from his friend for the next week or two. He'll be doomed to a fortnight of strained acceptance if he has an actual outburst at the older man.)

Harry sticks to the routine of comforting sips of water as he approaches Simon half an hour later outside the team's changing rooms. Simon's spent most of the evening talking with fans, signing multiple items, and has already bid farewell to his team and coaches. Harry can tell by the clench of his jaw behind his gracious smile that the other is ready to go home now, despite their departure being premature. He has evidently had enough of this event, as much as he may have enjoyed certain parts of it.

He takes Simon's hand when the other offers him it, glad for the contact but frustrated by his inability to zero his focus onto his water bottle.

The two of them leave through the players' exit, Simon's small duffle bag of kit and other items thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Harry can see him shoot a quick text to JJ as they walk, but gives the other the privacy of not turning to nose at what the text says. Instead, he pulls his phone out to order an Uber, only for Simon to stop him with a gentle grasp around his wrist.

"I've already booked one. Should be here in a couple minutes."

Sure enough, three minutes later, an Uber meets them at the pick up point Simon chose that's a little walk away from the stadium. It's a bit too close to the crowd of fans gathered outside for Harry's liking, but it's also the nearest spot the driver can access. They slide into the back of the car without a word, small talk with the driver the only sounds they make during the twenty-five minute drive to their shared flat. They thank the woman as they exit, the night feeling uncomfortably flat as the two men make their way up their building.

(England had won the match, millions of pounds were raised for the UNICEF charity, and yet it feels like something is missing from the day.)

The fact that Simon makes a beeline for the kettle betrays his displeasure with the day's turn of events, though the other acts as if Harry can't tell. "It was a great experience," Simon murmurs quietly as he stirs his tea mindlessly, speaking almost to himself with the way Harry can barely hear him from across the kitchen. "It would have been nice to play longer or get the ball a bit more, but the event isn't about me. It's about UNICEF and raising donations that can actually make a difference."

"Yeah," Harry agrees as he approaches his partner, wrapping his arms around the other's waist from behind and placing a delicate kiss to the back of his neck, just above the main ridges of his spine. "But you're allowed to be disappointed with the way things went. They milked you for promotion then barely let you play. You have a right to be angry, whether or not you acknowledge that the day wasn't about you. You were part of the team of people who made it what it was, so arguably it was about you in some respect."

"Yeah, I guess so." Simon nods in reluctant agreement, removing the spoon from his mug before sighing. His body is pliant as he allows Harry to spin him until they're facing each other, two pair of vulnerable blue eyes meeting. Fireworks gimmer across their views as they gaze at one another, Harry the one to lean in for a kiss as Simon closes his eyes, still pondering over his immense disappoint as he battles with the guilt of feeling that way.