Victorious || Ethan Dolan

Round 12

Your POV

Yesterday seemed to be a step in the right direction. You had time to cool down and you had a talk with your Dad.

He didn't mean it in a hateful way towards you. He just explained that he wanted Ethan to focus on the fight instead of what Simmons was saying. Either way, it was still hurtful and he apologized for it.

You also cuddled with Ethan until late at night, because your Dad had texted you to say he was coming home.

You two scrambled out of bed and headed to the front door where you shared a chaste kiss before he left. Your lips tingled for hours after that. They always did.

You're currently at the gym staring at your self in the mirror as you run on the treadmill. The sweat beaded on your forehead and rolled down, soaking your black t-shirt.

You glanced a little to the left, watching Ethan punch the living hell out of the bag. It was hot.

He was shirtless and glistening with sweat. His muscles tensed each time he threw a punch. His back was to you, showing off the chiseled valleys under the skin. It made you shiver.

Pushing the down button, you slowed the treadmill to a walk. The two and a half miles that flashed on the screen were taking a toll on you. You coughed a little while trying to catch your breath, but instead you caught Ethan's attention.

Your eyes met in the mirror and his infamous smirk surfaced on those darling pink lips. You loved the way the bottom lip curved against the top one when he closed his mouth. He was a damn piece of art.

"Would you mind holding this bag for me" he asks you with a yell.

You stop the treadmill and step down, walking to Ethan. "Why? Can't handle a hundred pounds swinging back at ya?" Your joke made him fake a smile at you, his laugh dripping with sarcasm.

"Just hold the damn bag" he snarls playfully.

You laugh and do as he says, holding the bag in place as he punches it. The force from his hands jolt your body each time.

You watch each hit, seeing his brows furrow as he focuses on his area of target. The clench of his jaw each hit made your heart jump. It was mesmerizing. Just the chiseled curve of each muscle on his body made your mind wander into dangerously sinful places.

Your body leaned against the bag as you daydreamed, allow it to move. "Hey, you okay" Ethan stops to ask you. The lights on the ceiling made you light-headed when you glanced up.

You squeezed your eyes shut and lost your balance suddenly, falling sideways. It wasn't long until Ethan grabbed you and walked you to the bench, sitting you down on it. "Stay here" he says before running to the locker room, throwing the gloves off his hands.

You felt the sweat from earlier become cold in the hot gym, making you wonder what the hell was happening. The light-headed feeling promptly turned to a headache when Ethan emerged from the locker room with two water bottles. "Here" he offers, screwing the lid off of one for you. "Drink this, you're probably dehydrated."

You knew that was probably right. You were too focused on your run that you forgot to take breaks and drink water. You nod while sipping it, knowing chugging wouldn't help. He placed the other bottle on the bench next to you for later. While he gathered his breath he set his hands on his hips, eyeing you cautiously. You started to feel nervous under his gaze as you glared at the floor.

"Feeling better" he asks you.

You glance up for a split second, "yeah" and then look back down.

He sits down beside you, looking at you again, "Y/n, what's wrong" his voice came out in a melodic tone laced with concern.

You just shake your head and smile, not really knowing what was actually wrong opposed from what you were just thinking that was wrong.

Deadly silence filled the air.

There wasn't anyone else in the gym. Especially not at five in the morning.

"Is it me" Ethan asks.

You scrunch your brows in defense, "no. No, it's not you, Eth. I'm just thinking a lot i guess."

It was half-true. Ethan was actually part of it. Your mind had been nagging at the possibility of you and Ethan even being together. Was it possible? Or was it imagination?

"About what" he presses, asking you what you wanted to ask him. What he was thinking about it.

You take a deep breath and look into his eyes, thos gorgeous hazel eyes that you love to see everyday. He takes your hand in his, the warm skin making contact with your cold skin. "Us" you say truthfully.

You could hear his breath hitch in his throat, which made you not want to say anything anymore. What if you hurt his feelings? Hurt him? "What about us" he says, unsure of if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

"Could we even happen" you ask. Ethan tilts his head, like he had no clue what you meant. "My Dad would kill us if he knew, Ethan" you whisper to him.

He looks down at his fingers, now intertwined in your own. He slowly releases the grip and sighs, "so you're breaking it off before it even started" he says.

You feel an ache in your chest, unrelated to your dizziness and cold sweats. "No, that's not what i'm saying." You try hard to salvage the hope of you and him being together. The hope that was quickly slipping away into oblivion.

"But it's what you implied" he says, that words sounding like venom from a snake's mouth. He was angered. "Nothing i said yesterday meant anything to you, did it?"

"Of course it did, Ethan!"

He scoffed at you and looked up at the ceiling, as if it had all the answers in the world. He wanted to look anywhere but at you. You could tell by the clenched jaw of his and tense air surrounding you two.

You look down at the bottle of water in your hands, closing the cap on it. "I'm sorr-" he cuts you off quickly.

"I don't want your apology, Y/n." His voice was soft, yet broken. "I don't need this" the whispered voice comes from him as he stands up and walks to the locker room.

That was it.

The end of the beginning.

You flinch when the booming sound of a punched locker echoes throughout the building. A slight hissing sound comes from him, followed by a yelling sound.

You knew it wasn't in anger when he cursed the pain. "Ow, fuck" he screamed. "Y/n" he yells.

You stand quickly and run to the locker room, seeing him cradle his hand.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you realized what this could mean. "Is it broken" you ask him.

"Fuck, i don't know" he says. He sniffled back a tear, and even in this situation you couldn't help but wonder whether it was for you or his hand. "I-i can't move it" he says before looking up at you.

You frantically grab his t-shirt from his bag and help him put it on, your fingers gently brushing his abs on accident. Sparks flew through your fingertips as soon as it happened, but you paid no mind to it.

"We need to get you to the hospital" you say in a rushed voice.

He sighs and stands up, closer to your body than expected. "Let's go" he says before walking out to your car, obviously not in a state to drive himself.

"Okay" you whisper alone, following him.

You prayed to God that his hand was alright. Because a broken hand means a cast. A cast means no fighting. No fighting means no future.

Word Count: 1341