George shivers, frozen hands already buries into the pockets of his jacket. "Callahan, it's freezing."
"You complain too much," Callahan frowns. "Just enjoy the game."
The game, right. The thing he should be playing in right now. And if it wasn't for his ankle injury, he would be receiving a million touchdowns from Techno right now and upping his statistics for the post-season.
Instead, he's being mocked as Tommy drops practically every pass, being the sole reason they're losing the game right now. The kicker? They're against their rival; the Orlando Gators.
The Gators have been a thorn in the Miami Hogs' side ever since they edged them at state four years back, under the wing of their new star quarterback, Clay.
Clay was fresh out of high school at the time, the top prospect quarterback for colleges everywhere, which did wonders for his ego. Winning the state championship as a freshman only inflated it more.
George initally met Clay at a party after their freshman season, when they got into a heated screaming match over something George was too drunk to remember.
What he does remember, however, was having the most mindblowing angry sex with Clay in the bathroom thirty minutes later. That one night stand has turned into a three year long relationship.
Correction: A three year long secret relationship.
There's no way in hell anyone would take kindly to the Gators' star quarterback dating the Hogs' star receiver, not after the four year long school rivalry.
"Fucking kill him!" Someone from the bleachers screams before cursing as Clay effortlessly toss the ball before a defenseman tackles him down.
Yeah, nobody would like George if he admitted the truth. It's been a long three years, pretending to hate Clay, trash talking him in the lockerroom, fake laughing at his mistakes on field.
A gust of wind bites at George's nose, causing him to grumble. "I wish I was playing."
Callahan smirks. "You want my pads?"
"Get those smelly things away from me."
"I'd rather you be wearing them than Tommy," The younger scowls. "He's terrible."
"Thank god we have a good defense," George shrugs, watching his boyfriend weave past said defense, connecting a pass to a tight end. "Or not."
"I fucking hate that smug asshole," Callahan mutters as he watches Clay cheer. "I hope he gets the shit knocked out of him."
"Yeah," George laughs, teeth chewing the inside of his cheek. "Same."
"How's your ankle healing? Do you think we'll have you back next week if we win?"
George looks at his ankle, the purple bruising fading slightly. It was worse two weeks ago, when he originally got the injury. He remembers feeling the pain flood up his leg when he landed, screaming out as he landed on the turf in a heap. Sure, he caught the ball, but it was at the expense of his ankle and three weeks of games.
On the plus side, it gave him more time to secretly spend with Clay in Orlando, having hours to waste in his boyfriend's bed with his leg propped up on pillows. Without practice swallowing ever minute of his life, he caught up on much needed sleep and sex.
"I hope so," George shrugs. "I just gotta wait for the stupid doctor to clear me."
"I'll get a medical degree and clear you myself," Callahan mumbles, eyes narrowing as he watches the hike of the ball. "Get him."
Clay's offensive line, usually one of the best in the state, falls apart as the left guard misses his block, allowing for the Hogs' defensive back to sneak right in. For a moment, time slows as George witnesses the quarterback being absolutely steamed by the larger defenseman.
The crowd behind him roars as a pile of men jump onto Clay, rushing to grab the ball that his weak fingers couldn't hold onto. Callahan starts jumping up and down, cheering with the other men on the sideline next to George. On the opposite end of the field, sheer silence as they watch referees pull players off their motionless quarterback.
George's stomach twists in his gut, standing in horror, as his teammates on the field laugh at the unconscious man beneath them. People celebrate around him, even shaking George's shoulders to hype him up. But he can't move, he can't breathe, he can't fucking think straight.
When the officials call for the medical team, George loses all inhibition. He sprints off his sideline, losing speed until he's limping toward Clay with tears in his eyes. He falls to his knees, hands gripping onto the obnoxious green jersey.
"Clay!?" George asks, gently shaking the younger.
"Don't move him!" The medic says, shooing George away with a hand. "If it's a spinal injury, you'll make it worse."
George's lip quivers as hot tears finally crest over his eyes and onto his frozen cheeks. He scoots back, holding his ankle as he watches the team assess the quarterback.
If he cared to listen to anything aside from the group caring for Clay, he's sure he would hear plenty of terrible things being said about him from his own sideline, but none of that matters. Not when Clay's health is at stake.
"Is he okay?" George asks. "What's wrong with him?"
"You should get back to your sideline, son," The Gators' coach marches up, suspicious eyes pinned onto George.
George blinks back a new wave a tears, turning his head toward the sideline behind him, his teammates making obscene gestures as they yell.
The brunette shakes his head. "They don't want me back."
"I don't think you understood me," The coach frowns. "Get back to your sideline."
"They'll break my other ankle if I go back over there," George growls, wiping his cheeks. "I'm staying with Clay until he wakes up."
"Son--"
"I said I'm staying!"
The medical technicians bring out a stretcher, and the entire building goes silent, the reality of a potential career ending injury weighing on their minds. The Gators kneel, and the Hogs stand still for the first time since the inital hit.
"Everybody clear out," The paramedics call, causing the crowd around Clay to thin out.
George doesn't move from the cold turf. He watches as Clay's head is surrounded, padding keeping his neck straight. He stands as the pick Clay up from the grass, three men carrying his body in air. He limps as Clay is carried off the field, leaving his team with confusion and betrayl.
It's too late to go back now, there's no way they'd accept him back. His football career didn't end with his ankle injury, it ended with Clay.
~~~
Callahan: What the hell was that George?
Callahan: Dude seriously
Callahan: George answer your phone bro
Callahan: I'm sorry
Callahan: I'm not mad
Callahan: I just want to know
Callahan: George please answer my call
George can't stand to look at his phone anymore. He jams it in his pocket and bounces his leg, nervously waiting for clearance to enter Clay's room.
They separated the two when the ambulance parked, with them rushing Clay back for an x-ray and CT scan, leaving George to nurse his ankle as he makes it inside.
Since then, Clay's family has shown up, and they were immediately sent back. "Family only" the lady told him, standing her ground even when George was crying over the desk, begging to see his boyfriend.
But there was no fighting back against the rules, so he just sits in the waiting room and counts the amount of times his ankle throbs in a minute.
"George?"
He perks up, turning to where Clay's family stands in the doorway. They offer a small smile.
"We're taking his sister home," His mom rests a hand on their daughter. "If you wanted to visit him."
"Family only," George shakes his head. "Nurse's orders."
"Who said you aren't family?"
George feels the corners of his lips twitch upward. He slowly stands, placing more of his weight onto his good ankle as he walks over to Clay's family.
His mother wraps an arm around George briefly, leaning into his ear to whisper, "He's been asking for you."
The mere thought of Clay whispering out his name sends a pang through his heart. George can't hurry down the hall faster, ignoring the stabs of pain in his hurting ankle.
"Clay?" He swings into the doorway, fingers gripping the off white painted frame.
From the bed, the dirty blonde smiles, his helmet hair messy on the soft pillow beneath him. "I was wondering when you'd get here."
"I've been here," George shakes his head. "I've been with you since the hit."
Clay's smile fades. "What do you mean?"
George's eyes prickle with tears as shame washes over him. "They know," He whispers. "They all know."
It dawns on him there, standing before Clay, that he didn't just ruin his own football career but his boyfriend's as well.
"I'm sorry," George's shoulders shake. "You weren't moving and I got scared a-and--"
"George," Clay sits up, wincing slightly. "Come here."
George sulks over, sinking onto the edge of the bed and allowing Clay to wrap arms around him. "I don't care that everyone knows," George uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes. "I'm just so glad you're okay."
"Just a concussion and some bruised ribs. I'll be fine," He promises, leaning against George. "I don't care that they know either."
"Our teammates are going to hate us," George laughs, causing Clay to crack a smile.
"Fuck them," Clay whispers. "I'd rather you over them."
George turns his head, catching Clay's cheek with his lips. "I love you and your bruised ribs."
Clay hums. "Not more than I love you and your busted ankle." He says, leaning back against his pillows, wrinkling his nose in pain. "Come on," He shimmies over slightly. "Lay with me."
George eases down, being overly cautious of Clay's torso. Clay tips his head onto George's shoulder, closing his eyes and deepening his breath, the pain medicine making him weary.
"Can you stay the night?" He mumbles after a couple minutes, causing the older to smile.
"Good of you to say that," George gently kisses Clay's forehead. "'Cause I planned to anyways."
HOW THE FUCK DO I END THIS SHIT