One Direction Preferences

39. You Get Hurt Playing Sport

Tennis – Harry:

It was thought that it couldn’t be done, what with the ball being fluorescent yellow and all…
You were at one of your tennis games, and Harry had begged to come along and watch you play. You had agreed, not thinking.
He wasn’t really doing anything, and yet he was distracting you. He just sat there with his curly hair and cute dimples, his eyes bright as he watched you play.
Maybe that was the problem.
Either way, he was distracting you from the game, whether he knew it or not.
Your opponent threw the brightly coloured ball up into the air, watching it as it fell back down to Earth, coming closer and closer to the tennis court.
Whack.
She smashed it over the court with excessive speed and force as her racquet came in contact with the object, the small tennis ball lobbed over the net, sending it onto your side of the court.
And in that moment, it seemed as if time itself froze as you watched the ball sail over the net, bouncing on the clay court, before rebounding into your shocked face.
Despite the bright colours, you had managed to not even see it coming until it was too late, already too close to your face to be able to do anything besides cringe and wait for the pain.
They said it couldn’t be done.
And all this lead to your current position, - on the bleachers beside your boyfriend, whom was holding an icepack to your rapidly-swelling eye as he held your sobbing figure.
Needless to say, you lost that game.

Track – Liam:

You’d made it onto the track team this year, and were super-hyped. You had practiced for months for the upcoming race against a group of other runners, waking up early to go out and run and spending hours at the gym.
After three months, it was finally the big day.
Liam had accompanied you to the race to cheer you on. You stretched for a few moments before jogging onto the track, ready for the race.
“On your marks! Get set!”” the loud voice rang out through the stadiums.
You put one foot out in front of the other, assuming the starting stance you had practiced for weeks.
“Go!” he screamed, firing the flare into the sky with a loud bang.
And just like the other runners, you took off.
You were doing pretty well, sticking to your lane and placing one foot in front of the other in a monotonous pattern as you made your way around the track. You were second, but the girl in front of you was fast. You knew there was no hope in beating her, she was just too quick.
But, being the optimistic person you are, you tried.
You picked up your pace, ignoring the light-headed feeling you were getting as you ran, ignoring the burning sensation in your lungs as you gasped for breath. You listened to the sound of your feet moving across the ground as you fought as hard as you could to catch up to the runner in front of you.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was all going well, that was, before your vision started fading, along with your hearing. Everything sounded muffled, and spots were dancing in your vision as you blinked rapidly, fighting to keep them away.
You wanted to keep going, you had to keep going. You’d spent months practicing; you couldn’t give up like this.
But your body refused, and soon, you fell.
And just before the darkness took you away, you saw Liam standing from the bleachers, a look of concern on his face as he called your name, though you couldn’t hear any of it. 
“Y/N!!”
And then, everything faded away.

Badminton – Zayn:

You were good at badminton, but you weren’t much of a team-player.
And it was that Wednesday morning, as your team sat on the bleachers before your coach, that he had what he thought was an amazing idea.
Doubles.
When you heard this news leave his mouth, you were scared. You didn’t like depending on people, nor did you like others depending on you. It made you nervous, and you were horrible at focusing when you were nervous.
So you spent that cold winter morning just like any other, on the asphalt courts of your school, racquet in hand as you practiced.
Except, today, there was another person on your team.
You had tried everything to get the two of you to work well together – dividing the court, creating strategies and tactics, plan after plan.
All of them failed.
And this dawned on you as you served the shuttlecock, watching it sail high into the air, the opposing team hitting it back. You raised your racquet, preparing to hit it back over the net, when a stinging pain greeted you, making you freeze up. The shuttlecock fell to the floor, causing your team to lose the point.
Your partner had hit you in the face with her racquet.
And the red, mesh pattern stayed there for four hours; forcing you to walk around school looking like you had walked into a fence, resulting in snickering teens in hallways and not-so-subtle glances in classes.

Basketball – Louis:

Your referee was a total moron.
As you stood on the court, listening to the sound of feet shuffling across the polished floors, you came to realize this.
You wondered how much the other team was paying him to rig the game. Not much, he probably couldn’t count past ten, anyway.
You were good at basketball and you usually enjoyed playing it, but sometimes the games got a little rough.
You ran down the court, dribbling the ball, before coming to a sudden stop before one of the opposing team members.
She was a foot or so taller than you, with braces and bright red hair that was obviously dyed. She smiled a smile, a smile that could only be described as sinister, before punching you in the stomach and taking the ball.
The referee didn’t even give her a warning…
“What the hell was that?!” Louis yelled from the stands, watching you fall to your knees in pain.
You shook your head at him, hoping he wouldn’t start anything, before standing back up, ignoring the pain and inability to breathe properly, and getting back into the game.
After a few moments, the game was tied, and you had the ball back in your hands – which you had gained without cheating or beating anyone.
You started running again, much like the previous time, and made your way down to the hoop. Bounce-passing the ball to another player, you dodged the red-haired girl as she made an attempt to scratch your arm with her red talons, and continued to run down the court.
The girl passed the ball back to you, and you shot the ball, aiming for the hoop above you. The ball passed straight through the hoop, winning the game.
The buzzer sounded, and your team cheered in victory.
That was, of course, before the red-haired girl approached you again, slapping you.

Ice Skating – Niall:

Your coach stood before the small group of you, gripping her bright blue clipboard with her pink talons. Her face was wrinkled and weathered, due to the intense heat of fifty-something summers. She scrunched her nose up in disdain, pacing before you and the other two girls. 
“The competition is coming up.” she hissed, the tone of her voice dangerously low as she looked between the three of you.
You and the other two girls nodded, understanding what she was saying. 
“And if we want to win, you’re all going to need to practice!” she yelled, throwing the clipboard onto the floor before you, before storming off in a fit of rage.
None of you were really worried; your coach was just very competitive and loved winning these ice skating competitions.
The three of you glanced at each other, shrugged, and pulled your shoes on. The other two girls glided onto the ice first, practicing their individual routines in the large and otherwise-deserted rink.
Tying up the shoelaces of your white skates, you stepped onto the ice. You knew something was wrong the minute your feet came into contact with the layers of cold beneath you, but you ignored it.
You glided across the ice, twirling and spinning, leaping and jumping. You were quite graceful on the ice, despite what happened to you off of it.
And then it happened.
As you moved forwards, about to leap into the air, you heard it – the loud cracking sound echoed throughout the empty building, the blade of your right shoe breaking off.
It was too late to stop, and you leaped through the air, twirling. It was impossible to land properly with only one blade, and you were falling forwards.
Landing on your arm with a bone-cracking snap, you fell onto the cold ice of the rink, skidding a few centimetres before coming to a stop.
“Y/N?! Are you okay? What happened?” the other girls yelled, panicking as they approached you.
“My arm!” you screamed in agony, clutching at your right forearm and whimpering. 
“Call an ambulance!” one of the two girls screamed; her blue eyes wide with shock as she looked around for a phone.
It was broken, and you knew it.
Turns out you weren’t going to be able to enter the competition after all, leaving your coach distraught.