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junetuesday · 4 years

Text

sweetener - [seventeen]

The Match

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 8905ish

Warnings: a sprinkling of smut and a healthy helping of whump (hospital setting, description of injuries)

A/N: for the anon who asked if they were going to leave the bedroom, this one’s for you (im jk this was planned from the start lmao) pls dont hurt me love you all!!! [not properly proofread bc im tired whoops]

Updates: ??????

As soon as you pressed the home button on your phone you immediately regretted it, fumbling to turn your phone over to stop the light of the screen burning your retinas off. One eye screwed shut, you carefully tilted the device so you could peep at the time without blinding yourself and lighting up the entire room.

3:47

Ahhh, lovely.

Despite the fact that you’d gone to sleep relatively early, just getting up after Tom’s nap and making dinner before getting ready for bed again, you still weren’t ready to wake up just yet, so it was a great relief to see that you still had hours left to sleep before you had to get up for Tom’s rugby match that afternoon. You could tell it was still early anyway, judging by the light coming in around the curtains; still an artificial yellow from the streetlamp outside Tom’s bedroom window.

You sighed as you snuggled back under the covers, turning over onto your right side to face Tom. You could just about see him in the half-light, the outline of his left shoulder and the back of his hair all messed up as he lay with his back to you, still asleep. You couldn’t quite make out the writing on the back of his t-shirt but you knew what it said anyway, because you had the same one at home. It was from Carnage last year - a bar crawl where the t shirt served as your entry to several bars and clubs (most of which you wouldn’t end up actually going to because you had to be in the last club by 1 and you always seemed to get distracted in the first few places). The date and theme was printed on the back of the t shirt, along with a list of bars and innuendo-laden “tasks” to be ticked off throughout the night. You’d seen last night when he got changed for bed that Tom’s didn’t have anything ticked off, but it did have several penises in various colours and sizes drawn on it in permanent marker. It wasn’t particularly tasteful, but some of them were remarkably detailed, so you had to give the artist(s) some credit. You’d wondered aloud whether you’d ever been in the same bar at the same time without knowing it, and Tom had pointed out that you must have been in the union at the same time loads of times before you met. That was probably true, and you said that it was highly likely you had bumped into each other, or been in the queue for food at the same time or something like that without actually speaking, to which Tom said no, because he’d have remembered you if he saw you. You didn’t think that was strictly true, but it was sweet all the same.

Right now though, you had forgotten all about the annotations on his t shirt, so you wiggled closer to his sleeping form, the warmth of his body drawing you in. Not wanting to wake him, you carefully scooted in behind him, draping your arm around his middle and curling your other arm up between your chest and his back, warming it up nicely after its excursion over the edge of the bed to check your phone. Tom didn’t move at first, but after a moment you felt him shifting, his hand coming to rest on your forearm across his waist. He just hummed sleepily, not really awake, relaxing back into your embrace. You hummed back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and letting your eyes drift shut again.

You weren’t sure if you properly went back to sleep or if you were just kind of floating in the space in between asleep and awake - either way you were warm and safe and snuggled, and you didn’t have to get up for hours yet, so who cared if you didn’t go right back to sleep straight away - but after a while you felt Tom moving again, turning over to face you. Keeping your arm around his waist, you shuffled back to give him space to roll over, tucking yourself back into his chest as soon as you could. His arms wrapped around your body, holding you close with your face pressed to his chest. You breathed in deeply, taking in the warm, sleepy smell emanating from him.

“Hello,” he mumbled, his voice deep and raspy with sleep.

You just hummed back, sighing contentedly as you felt him kiss the top of your head. You would have happily stayed like that, cocooned under the duvet and Tom’s arms, just on the verge of sleep - only it was kind of hard to breathe with your face smushed against his chest. You tried to turn your face to the side, but with Tom’s arm on one side and the bed on the other there wasn’t really space.

“....I can’t breathe.”

Tom chuckled sleepily, his arms loosening their grip on you so you could move back enough to give you space to breathe. He yawned as you lay your head on the pillow beside his - which made you yawn too, which made you both smile tiredly. Even in the low light, even at gone four in the morning, he looked extremely cute, with tired eyes and messy hair and the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. Your face so close to his, you barely had to tilt your head to kiss him, your lips capturing his in a soft kiss.

One kiss turned to two, to three, each as soft and gentle as the last, as though if you didn’t put too much into it then maybe you could still stay half asleep - and to be fair, it kind of worked. Your arm snaked around his neck as he shifted on top of you, your other hand lazily squeezing his bum through his pyjama bottoms. Neither of you spoke, just fumbling hands and languid kisses as only the parts of you that were absolutely necessary slowly stirred to life.

Before long both of your pyjama bottoms were lost in the sheets, your bodies slotting together effortlessly as Tom pushed into you. Your moans were low, raspy; your voice not ready to be used at this early hour as he thrust in and out of you, slowly and deeply. You wrapped your arms around him, hands splayed across his shoulder blades, as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck. You still weren’t really awake, all you were aware of was him, on you, around you, in you. It wasn’t even about getting off, it was just about being close to him, in the silence of the early morning, as if there was no one else in the world except you and him. Only soft moans and heavy breaths passed between you, his mouth hot on your neck and your legs wrapped around him, your heels pushing him to go deeper inside you.

You felt him grunt against your neck before he moved to kiss your lips, his warm breath tingling across your skin before your lips connected. His back and shoulders began to tense under your palms, and you felt his body stiffen on top of yours as his thrusts started to quicken. He pulled back from the kiss then, resting his forehead against yours so when you looked up at him all you could see make out was his eyes tight shut and his nose pinching, his face twitching slightly as he took those last few steps over the edge. You felt his laboured breath fan across your face as he released inside you, a groan that was as heavy with tiredness as it was pleasure. Slowly grinding deep inside you with small, idle movements, Tom buried his face in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. You rubbed his back gently in a similar rhythm, the fingers of your right hand weaving through the curls at the back of his neck.

You weren’t too fussed about your own release, you could honestly have gone back to sleep then and there - plus you were pretty confident that Tom would even the stakes at some point in the day, whether that was before or after the match, or later than night when you got home after the post-match night out. You only wished you’d had the foresight to use a condom, so that way you could just pop it in the bin and save the clean up for later - but alas, you did not.

“I really don’t wanna get up,” you whispered against Tom’s shoulder.

“Don’t then,” he murmured back, voice muffled by your skin.

“I kinda need to…”

There was a pause, and then Tom simply said:

“No.”

“Um… what?”

With a tired groan, Tom rolled off you and sat up, taking off his t shirt and holding it out for you to take.

“Just use that and sort it out later.”

Hm. Did you want to use his penis-decorated bar crawl t shirt to clean his come off your inner thighs? No. But did you want to get up and go upstairs to the bathroom right this second? Also no.

“... yeah, okay, fine.”

T shirt tossed in the general direction of Tom’s laundry basket, the two of you were soon sound asleep once again. When you awoke several hours later, you were not much more inclined to get up than you had been at four, especially once you heard the wind and rain lashing against the windows. But, Tom’s stomach was rumbling, and you needed to pee, so you forced yourselves to push back the covers and find some clothes to throw on so you could properly start your day.

You joined Tom in the kitchen once you’d freshened up, pleasantly surprised to find him making coffee for you, himself, and Harrison, who was currently rummaging through a cupboard.

“I’m assuming you don’t want chocolate protein porridge?” Tom said as he handed you your mug.

“What even is that?”

“Porridge with chocolate protein powder in,” Harrison answered for him, having seemingly found what he was looking for in the cupboard - which, funnily enough, was chocolate protein powder.

“Oh, um, nah I think I’m good with toast.”

“Toast it is.”

While Tom set about making you toast and Harrison started making porridge for him and Tom, you tried to find a spot to stand in the kitchen where you wouldn’t be in the way of the two boys but that was also far enough away from the back door that you weren’t going to freeze from the wind whistling around its edges. Eventually you settled on hovering in the door to the hallway, leaning against the doorframe and taking a sip of your coffee. It was just a touch too hot to drink yet, but even with your now burnt tongue you could taste something different about it.

“...is there vanilla in this?”

“Hm, what?” Tom glanced over at you from where he was getting out a plate for you. “Oh yeah, I got a thing of syrup from work.”

You followed his vague gesture over to the corner where the kettle sat on the counter, surrounded by pots filled with tea, coffee and sugar, a plate with old tea bags and spoons on that you wondered if they ever actually cleaned or if they just threw the tea bags in the bin every now and then, and the newest addition: a large pump bottle of vanilla syrup.

“Oh sweet, thanks.”

Tom just smiled at you in reply, leaning against the counter while he waited for the toaster to pop, talking to Harrison about the match that afternoon and sipping on his own coffee. They talked about tactics and other members of the team that you knew nothing about, so you just stood and listened as they chatted. Harrison was remarkably animated for someone who’d just woken up - though you supposed maybe he hadn’t just gotten up, but you had and he was being very loud and it was a bit much for you.

Perhaps, though, it was less about the fact that he was very chatty - he was always very chatty, after all - and more about the fact that you were still annoyed with him about the situation with Liv, so everything he did got on your nerves. Not loads, you still considered him a friend, and sometimes you would forget about it altogether, but then you’d remember ‘oh right, I’m angry at you’ and he’d start to bother you again. It was more out of principle than anything - Liv was your best friend, so Girl Code stated that you had to hate whoever she hated, especially exes (were they even exes? Ex-ish-es??? You weren’t sure, but the point still stood). Still, he was also your boyfriend’s best friend and housemate, so you had to be civil if nothing else.

“So are you nervous to play?” you asked them both as you moved into the living room to eat, you and Tom on one sofa and Harrison on the other.

“Nah,” Tom shrugged as Harrison shook his head, his mouth too full to speak. “More excited, like it’s been ages since we played properly.”

“Yeah, should be fun,” Harrison said thickly in between spoonfuls.

“That’s good. Does it make a difference that it’s raining?”

All three of you glanced over at the living room window, watching the rain pelting against the glass.

“Kinda,” Tom said, “makes everything more slippery I guess like it’s harder to keep your grip on the ball and stuff but obviously it affects the other team too so it kinda balances out.”

“Makes sense,” you nodded, thinking about how you weren’t looking forward to going out in the rain at all, never mind running around in it for eighty minutes. “Is it covered? Like where I’ll be standing?”

“Nope,” Harrison shook his head, popping the p sound.

“Sorry. Bring an umbrella.”

You scowled at Tom jokingly, taking an overly aggressive bite of your toast. “Fine - I’ll ask Madison to bring one with her.”

Madison had graciously agreed to come watch the match with you, so you wouldn’t be stood there by yourself. Of course, she’d said yes before this torrential downpour began, but a promise was a promise so there was no going back now.

“Oh, is she coming too?” Harrison asked.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded.

“Cool - what about Liv?”

???

“Erm, no, I don’t think so…”

“Oh, okay.” He paused, taking a gulp of his coffee. “She alright? Haven’t heard from her in a while.”

??????

You chewed on your toast slowly, considering how to respond to that.

“What do you mean?”

“I text her like a week ago and she hasn’t replied?”

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh yes, and???

“Do you really have no idea why she might not have text you back?”

You could almost see the cogs turning in Harrison’s brain as he thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No?” He looked at Tom, who promptly became very interested in his breakfast and wouldn’t make eye contact with either of you.

“Right.” You set your empty plate down on the coffee table, holding your mug in both hands as you sat cross-legged on the sofa. “Friday before last, what happened?”

Harrison looked at Tom again, but he was still hyperfocused on his porridge, so he just shrugged. “I dunno?”

“Refreshers week.”

…

“The night you all came to pres at mine and we played Jenga.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, that night. What about it?”

Was he just playing dumb? Was he just dumb, like as a person??

“You didn’t, I don’t know, get with anyone?”

“Uhh…. yes? Did I?” He looked off into space as he thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah, no, I did.”

You just looked at him, waiting for him to connect the dots.

“...so?”

“What do you mean, ‘so?’?!” You felt a bit bad about how harsh that came out, because he did seem genuinely confused, but still - ‘so?’? Come on, man.

“What’s that got to do with Liv not texting me back? Wait, how do you know -- oh, did she see?”

“...yes,” you sighed, exasperated but pleased you seemed to be finally getting somewhere.

“Oh. That’s awkward.”

“Yeah.” No shit.

“But we’re not like, together or “exclusive” or anything?” he frowned, doing air quotes with one hand when he said exclusive.

Ah, so Mads was right. As usual.

“...I don’t think Liv knew that.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said plainly, not sure what to say next. It was your turn to look at Tom for assistance this time, but he was still resolutely Eating Breakfast and Not Looking. At least he’s consistent, you supposed.

“Should I like- should I call her?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck,” Harrison groaned, and you almost felt sorry for him in a weird way. “I didn’t think- I didn’t know she thought-”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “I thought that might be the case.”

“Can you like, apologise to her for me then? If you don’t think I should speak to her?”

“Yeah, sure.” You’d have to think long and hard about how to approach that particular conversation, but it was only fair.

“Thanks.”

The atmosphere in the living room was a little tense for the rest of the time it took for the boys to finish eating, and you kind of wanted to make an excuse to leave and start getting ready, but fortunately Harrison inhaled the rest of his breakfast and went off upstairs to shower, leaving you alone with Tom - who quickly regained his ability to look people in the eye once he’d left.

Once you and Tom were finished eating, you tidied up the kitchen a little - it only seemed fair for you to do the dishes seeing as Tom had made you breakfast - while you waited for the bathroom to be free. By the time you had showered (together, and you were right, Tom did repay you for earlier - several times over, infact) it was time for the three of you to go on campus for the match. You parted ways once you arrived, the two boys going to warm up and you going to meet Madison for a coffee to pass the time before kick-off.

By the time you’d finished filling her in on what Harrison had said about Liv, it was time to make your way over to the playing fields, hot chocolates in hand to keep you warm. There were quite a few people there to watch, more than you expected, huddled under umbrellas around the perimeter of the pitch. It was still pouring rain, pelting down in icy sheets, making you extremely glad you were wrapped up in a jumper, coat, and oversized scarf, rather than in black shorts and a tight red t shirt like Tom and the rest of his teammates were.

You saw him looking around as he walked out onto the pitch, raising a hand to wave at you once he spotted you in the crowd. You couldn’t really wave back with your drink in one hand and umbrella in the other, but you lifted your cup and smiled widely instead which was close enough.

The game soon got under way, and as predicted you didn’t really know what was going on most of the time, but that was okay. The atmosphere was fun despite the horrid weather, and you were mostly just watching Tom anyway. He was in his element out there; him, Harrison and another guy you guessed was the captain directing the rest of the team a lot of the time. You were pleased to see that, as promised, he didn’t really get in the middle of the scrums, and he didn’t seem to get tackled that much either. A few times you thought he was about to get bowled over by someone, but then one of his own team managed to head them off just in time - which was all good, really, considering he was quite a bit smaller than most of the other players. Not that he wasn’t well built - he was, and as expected you did enjoy watching him running about in his little shorts - but some of the other players were huge, almost as broad as they were tall, so you didn’t like to think what would happen if one of them were to barrel into him.

Luckily, the upside of being smaller was that Tom was considerably faster, which meant he could dodge any tackles that his teammates failed to protect him from. That seemed to be the set up, as far as you could work out - the bigger players protected the smaller ones so that they could nip in and get the ball where it needed to be.

By the time the first half was coming to a close the scoreline was even at 15 all, and every single player on the pitch was caked in mud. Only small sections of the grass remained green, the majority of the field turned to a sludgy brown mess.

From your spot near the goal line, you couldn’t really see what was going on as the players set up for a scrum at the opposite side and end of the pitch. A scrum, as far as you remembered from what Tom had told you, was used to restart the game after a stoppage, like if someone had broken a rule or the ball had become “unplayable” (whatever that meant). You just recognised it as the thing that Ross got stuck in upside down in that one episode of Friends, that looked like a pretty good way to get your neck broken. Thankfully, Tom didn’t actually engage in the scrum, he just hovered at the back and when the ball emerged from underneath the mass of bodies he’d grab it, pass it to Harrison, and then he would kick it off somewhere else (well, either them or their opposing counterparts, but ideally it would be them).

You craned your neck as the ball was thrown into the middle of the two teams, shouts erupting from the players as they slammed into each other in an attempt to gain possession of the ball. After a moment you saw someone in red peel off from the back of the group, ball in hand.

“Is that Tom?” you said to Madison, standing on your tiptoes to try and see better.

“I think so…” She trailed off as you watched him look around for someone to pass to, finding no one nearby.

“Oh!” You gasped as one of the opposition, an absolute unit in a blue jersey, appeared as if from nowhere, barrelling full speed towards Tom, who seemed to be slowing down. You held your breath as he got closer and closer, Tom nonthewiser as he continued to look around for a teammate in the right position. You couldn’t make out the words over the sounds of the crowd and the rain, but you heard a shout echo across the pitch, making Tom turn his head and look over his shoulder. Darting right, he changed course at the last second, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he cleared the reach of the opposing player, their hand just missing the back of his shirt as they reached out to tackle him. Tom sped up once more, putting distance between him and his assailant -- and then you couldn’t see him anymore. Maybe his foot slipped in the mud, maybe the other guy was closer than you realised, but all of a sudden he was on the ground, the other player tumbling on top of him. Players from both teams converged in on them, a boy in blue grabbing the ball and streaking back up towards your end of the pitch.

“Can you see him?” your voice was panicked, but Madison didn’t seem to even hear you. She, and most everyone else, was watching as the boy with the ball ran almost the full length of the pitch, dodging this way and that before throwing himself at the goal line and scoring a try.

As celebratory cheers and shouts of disappointment erupted on and off the pitch, you peered across at the few people still gathered around the spot where you last saw Tom. Harrison was there now, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and whistling to get the referee’s attention. You huffed, frustrated that you couldn’t see or hear what was going on. Was Tom hurt? Or were they contesting the tackle? Or the try? It would be easier if you understood the rules, sure, but more than anything you just wanted to be able to see.

The players dispersed as the referee jogged over, and at last you caught a glimpse of Tom. You watched as Harrison held out a hand to help him up, only for Tom to pull his hand back sharply as soon as he lifted his arm to take it. That doesn’t look good. Harrison swapped hands and pulled Tom to his feet by the other arm, the two of them and the referee moving off to the side of the pitch.

“Should I go over?” you turned to Madison, chewing nervously on your bottom lip.

You didn’t want to overreact - tackling made up a large portion of the game, so of course players were often knocked down. Sometimes they needed a moment, and then they’d get back into it without the game even stopping. But they’d called the referee over, which made you think it was more than that - and then you saw Harrison jog back onto the pitch, followed by another player off the bench, and your heart sank.

“Yeah,” Mads nodded, holding out her hand to take your empty cup. “Go.”

She followed behind as you turned and weaved your way through the crowd, away from the pitch so you could get around to the other side. Frankly it was extremely inconvenient that they were carrying on playing, because it would have been far quicker to dart across the field, but alas that was not possible. By the time you got all the way around, Tom was walking into the small building at the side of the pitch that housed the changing rooms, followed closely by a first aider.

“Tom!” you called out as you and Madison followed them inside, making to follow them into the changing room - only it wasn’t Tom who answered you, it was the first aider.

“Sorry, you can’t come in here.”

“Oh, but-” you began, before you were cut off by Tom’s voice from behind the first aider.

“It’s okay, she’s my girlfriend.”

In a different situation, you might have gone all smiley and silly because Tom just referred to you as his girlfriend - like, obviously you knew you were, but hearing him say it to someone else was different, and especially when it was in a “so therefore she can do whatever she wants” kinda way. However, given the circumstances and the fact that you just wanted to know what the hell was going on, you just did a small, polite smile as if to say ‘please let me in, I'll be very well behaved’.

“Fine, whatever”, the first aider shrugged, turning around and following Tom into the changing room.

“I’ll wait here,” Mads called as you went in after them, stepping back to wait in the corridor.

Tom sat down gingerly on one of the benches in the middle of the room, holding his left elbow as if he was supporting the weight of his arm. He was soaking wet and covered in mud, his face flushed and brow furrowed, his jaw tense. He was breathing heavily, and you didn’t know if that was because he’d been running around for half an hour or because he was in pain - you suspected it might be a bit of both.

You stood off to the side, not wanting to be in the way as the first aider crouched down in front of Tom, setting his bag down between his feet .

“Is it your arm or your shoulder that hurts?” he asked as he searched through the bag.

“Shoulder,” Tom grunted.

The first aider took out an instant ice pack from his bag, bending and shaking it to activate the chemicals inside to make it cold as he got to his feet.

“Okay - stand up and put your arms down at your sides for me.”

Tom looked at him for a second with an expression that clearly said ‘absolutely not, please fuck off’, but he did as he was asked, letting out a slow, jagged breath as he lowered his arms to his sides. Even you could see from where you were standing that his left shoulder was sitting lower than his right, as though the weight of his arm was pulling it down.

“Can you raise your arms towards me?”

He lifted his arms slightly, his face scrunching up in pain almost immediately.

“Hurts,” he murmured through gritted teeth.

“And if you lift them out to the sides, does that hurt?”

Tom tried to lift his arms again, but again he groaned and clenched his jaw after just a few inches.

“Yup,” he nodded, lowering his arms. “Can confirm that hurts.”

“Okay, you can sit down,” the first aider gestured to the bench, handing Tom the ice pack once he sat down. “I’m just gonna have a feel of your shoulder, alright?”

You felt so useless just standing there, watching, and you really wanted to shout out stop, stop! because it was clearly painful to touch. Tom’s face was scrunched up again, his nostrils flaring as he took deep breaths in and out, but after a moment he opened one eye and looked over at you, chuckling weakly. You tried to smile back, but it felt all tight and forced, so instead you nibbled on your bottom lip anxiously.

“Okay,” the first aider stepped back after what felt like forever, taking the ice pack and putting it across Tom’s shoulder. “Can you hold that?”

“Erm,” Tom glanced at his shoulder, then down at his elbow, as if he didn’t want to stop supporting his arm to take the ice pack.

“I got it.”

You dropped your umbrella on the ground, moving over and sitting on the bench next to him. Tom gave you a small but grateful smile as you held the ice pack against his shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“So you’re gonna have to go for an x-ray I’m afraid. Could be a broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, separated shoulder - hard to say which but there’s a fair bit of swelling already.”

“Fuuuck,” Tom groaned, his head dropping for a moment before he looked back up at the first aider again. “Right, okay.”

“Keep the ice on it until you get seen but take a break every twenty minutes, half an hour.”

You both nodded - icing was your responsibility now, you’d decided.

“Do you have someone to take you to the hospital?”

“Oh, uh-”

“I can drive you!” said a voice from outside the door, and you remembered that Madison was still waiting in the corridor.

You both laughed at her disembodied, albeit helpful, voice, though your smile quickly faded when Tom winced in pain with the movement.

“Cheers,” he sniffed, nodding to the first aider.

“No worries. Right, you guys better get going.”

That was a very good point, you realised, because the first half would surely have finished by now, which meant the rest of the team would soon descend on the changing room.

Taking the ice pack from you and holding it in his left hand, Tom showed you which of the lockers lining the walls was his so you could grab his bag for him before you made your way out into the corridor where Madison was waiting. The building was essentially just a corridor with a door onto the pitch on one end and a door to the carpark at the other, a changing room for the home team and one for the away team on either side.

“I’ll go get my car,” Mads said. “Meet you outside?”

“Cool, thanks.”

You and Tom moved away from the door to the pitch as players started streaming in, the thump of their boots on the concrete floor and the chatter of their voices quickly filling the small space.

“You okay?” you murmured, loud enough for Tom to hear over the noise of the two teams.

“Mmhm, yeah.”

He nodded, but everything about him was tense, his arm folded across his ribs as he held on tightly to his elbow to stop the weight of his arm pulling on his shoulder. You desperately wanted to give him a massive hug, but a) that would probably just hurt him and b) his team mates were right there.

In groups of twos and threes they stopped on their way into the changing room to ask what happened, to see if he was okay.

“Yeah, m’fine, fucked up my shoulder so m’gonna go get it checked out. My foot slipped in the mud, I guess.”

He had to repeat himself a few times until he’d spoken to all his teammates and his coach, but most of their responses were the same, variations on ‘ah shit’, ‘good luck’ and ‘let us know how you get on’, and eventually they’d all gone in, leaving the two of you alone in the corridor again. You moved closer to the door to the car park so you could see when Madison pulled up, setting Tom’s bag down next to the chair by the door. You still wanted to hug him, and though his teammates weren’t there anymore there was still the issue of hurting him if you tried, so you decided against it.

“So is that what happened?” you asked. “You just slipped?”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed as he slumped down into the chair. “He didn’t even touch me, I just, pfftt, decked it.”

“Oh but he landed on you, right?”

“Yeah he like, fell over me.”

“Oh.” you nodded, not sure what to say. “Want some water?”

Tom sighed again, then nodded. “Yeah, please - there should be a bottle in my bag.”

Propping his elbow up on the arm of the seat, Tom took the bottle from you with his other hand, pulling the stopper up with his teeth and taking a long drink. You watched as he downed the majority of the bottle in one go, slightly startled until you remembered that he’d played half a game of rugby, so yeah you’d probably be pretty thirsty too.

“Thanks,” he held the bottle out to you once he’d gulped down the last few drops.

“Do you want some more?” you asked as you took it from him, looking around for a water fountain or something to refill the bottle.

“Nah I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay,” you nodded, putting the bottle back in his bag. “Is it really sore?”

That was kind of a stupid question, but you didn’t really know what else to say.

“Yeah, it like, aches all the time and then when I move my arm I get a sort of shooting pain across here,” he explained, gesturing to his collarbone.

“Oh. Shit.”

Fantastic input, very helpful. Tom just sighed, nodding. You felt like you should say something else, something more comforting, but you didn’t really know what to say, so instead you just looked out of the glass section of the door to see if Madison was there yet - and thankfully, she was just pulling in.

You helped Tom into the car, which took longer than expected because at first he got into the passenger seat but then you realised the seatbelt would have to go across his left shoulder so he had to get out, go around the other side and get in the back, and then you had to help him put his seatbelt on, but you got there in the end, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before you climbed out of the backseat and into the front so you could give Madison directions to the hospital. Neither of you knew where you were going, but you looked it up on your phone and thankfully it wasn’t too far away. The short journey was quiet; none of you really spoke, and every now and then you looked back at Tom, but each time he was just looking out of the window, holding his arm and looking tired.

“Thanks,” he said to Madison as he got out of the car once you arrived at the hospital. “Sorry if I got mud all over your car.”

“No worries - text me if you need me to pick you guys up later or anything.”

You nodded and thanked her too, taking Tom’s bag out of the backseat before she drove away - you’d decided it was easier if she just dropped you off, seeing as you thought you might be waiting a while.

It wasn’t too busy in the waiting room, but the receptionist who signed Tom in said it might take an hour or more before he got assessed, so the two of you settled in to wait - well, as settled as you could be on plastic hospital waiting room seats.

“Want me to get you anything?” You asked, looking around for signs of a cafe or somewhere to get food. “I think I saw a vending machine on the way in…”

“Nah,” Tom shook his head. “Just- no, thanks.”

“Okay,” you shrugged. “...are you warm enough?”

You felt like his mother asking him that, but frankly it was February and he was soaked through, wearing only shorts and a short sleeved top, and the ice pack wouldn’t have helped, and the waiting room wasn’t exactly toasty (though it was considerably warmer than it was outside).

“Erm… not really,” he admitted.

“You can use my scarf as a blanket if you want?”

Tom chuckled as you started to unwrap the large scarf around your neck, but shook his head. “I’ve got trackies in my bag, I think.”

Oh yeah, the clothes he wore to drive on campus. Duh.

“...okay yeah, that makes more sense.”

You found a toilet for him to change in, and were about to hand him his bag and go wait outside when he stopped you.

“I uh, I think you might have to help me.”

“Oh right, yeah, because you can’t use your arms.” Dummy.

The toilet was one big accessible stall, so at least you knew no one was going to come in, and technically it was gender neutral so you were allowed to be in there, but you still hoped no one saw you go in there with him. Not that you were doing anything wrong, in fact you were dressing him as opposed to undressing him (which admittedly felt a little strange to do), but still. Helping him change out of shorts and into sweatpants was easy enough, you just had to co-ordinate your movements so he didn’t fall over when you tried to get his foot through the cuffed bottoms, and thankfully his hoodie had a zip so all you had to do was support his left arm while he put the right sleeve on, and then you just left it open, the left side draped loosely over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he muttered as you sat back down in the waiting room, carefully placing the ice pack back on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrugged, smiling to show you really didn’t mind. Was it a little awkward being eye level with his knob in a hospital bathroom? Yes, but sometimes these things happen.

“So, what’d you think of the match - before this, obviously.”

You laughed, shaking your head - the match seemed like hours ago now. “Yeah, it was good. Not a fan of this bit though.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he chuckled. “I’m not too big on it myself. Don’t think I’ll do this next time.”

“Does it still hurt as much?”

You surveyed him as he thought for a moment. His breathing was more normal now, and he wasn’t as red in the face, but his body was still tense, and every now and then his face would contort in pain, especially when he moved a certain way.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Kinda more now, actually?”

“Makes sense, I guess, like adrenaline’s wearing off?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell over the pair of you once more, and yet again you found yourself feeling like a bit of a spare part. You wanted to help him, to make him feel better, you just didn’t know how, and you didn’t like it.

“You sure you don’t want me to get you a drink, or some crisps or something?”

“No I’m fine,” Tom shook his head, turning to look at you. “Just- just stay here?”

His hair was starting to dry now, all curly and a little frizzy from the rain, he had dried mud on his cheek, and you were pretty sure he was pouting - all in all, it was a little inappropriate for him to be being cute at a time like this - but then again, when wasn’t he being cute? You didn’t have much choice, then, but to nod.

“Yeah. ‘course.”

You put your arm around the back of his chair, leaning back into your own to try and get comfortable. Tentatively at first, wary of hurting him, you began to fiddle with his hair, damp strands curling around your fingers. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye to make sure you weren’t accidentally leaning on his shoulder or anything, or if he looked uncomfortable with you playing with his hair in public, but all you saw was him closing his eyes and leaning his head into your hand, so you figured it was okay.

It was over an hour later when a nurse in green scrubs emerged from a side corridor, Tom’s file in hand, and called him in to be assessed. You hesitated, unsure of the protocol here - could you go in with him? Tom didn’t even pause, just got up and started walking towards the nurse, so you looked at them for clarification.

“Can I-”

“Yeah sure,” he nodded, “I don’t mind if you don’t?”

He looked at Tom, who didn’t seem to have even considered the possibility that you wouldn’t be coming in with him.

“What? Oh, yeah, she can come.”

“Okay, cool.”

You picked up your stuff and followed the two of them through the door, down a corridor with a series of examination bays separated by blue curtains. The studs on Tom’s boots clacked loudly against the floor as he walked, leaving a trail of mud and grass behind him.

“So,” the nurse said as he closed the curtain separating Tom’s bay from the rest of the ward. “My name’s Mike, I’m going to have a look at your shoulder and see what’s going on. Have a seat on the bed for me.”

‘Bed’ was a bit of a stretch, it was more like a padded table, but either way Tom climbed onto it while you stood aside out of the way.

“So, rugby tackle, right?”

“Yeah,” Tom started to nod, then stopped himself. “Well...yeah.”

Technically he had fallen over and the other guy fell on top of him but yeah, it amounted to the same thing. Mike asked him a lot of questions about how he fell and how he landed, where it hurt most, if he’d ever had an injury like this before, etcetera etcetera, while you stood and watched. It was only when the nurse asked if he could take his shirt off so he could examine him properly that Tom looked over at you.

“Can you give me a hand?”

“Mmhmm, sure.”

You nodded, going over to help. The hoodie was easy enough to take off, but his shirt posed more of an issue, especially because it was so bloody tight. It was tight anyway, but with the swelling of his shoulder it was even tighter now. You hesitated, unsure how best to proceed.

“Good arm out first,” Mike prompted, evidently seeing you struggling.

“Right...”

Between you and Tom you managed to get his right arm free, and then it was just a matter of getting it over his head before you could just slip it off his left arm. It was a struggle, but you managed it, muttering ‘sorry sorry sorry’ when he took a deep breath in, a strained ‘ouch’ coming from between his gritted teeth.

Shirt successfully removed, you stepped back to let Mike examine him. His shoulder was even more swollen now, and without his shirt on you could see a lump protruding from the point of his shoulder - overall his left side was just rather misshapen compared to the right. You thought at first that he had bruises dotted across the right side of his collar bone, but then you realised that no, those were not rugby injuries, those were put there by you, and at that point you kind of wanted to go out and see if you could get yourself hit by an ambulance. Thankfully, Mike seemed to catch on quicker than you did, so he didn’t bring them up, but he must have seen them, so you were still mildly mortified.

You watched as he had Tom move his arm in various directions to see what he could and couldn’t do, what hurt and what didn’t, and then have a good feel of the joint. Just like before with the first aider, you found it pretty unpleasant to watch, because it was clear that it all hurt, but thankfully it was over pretty quickly. The nurse reiterated what the first aider had said; that he’d need an x-ray to confirm whether there were any broken bones, and then they’d go from there.

Pulling the curtain shut behind him, Mike left you and Tom to wait some more, but at least this time you were alone and it was a bit warmer than in the waiting room. Plus Tom looked more comfortable on his “bed”, and there was a somewhat comfortable chair for you to sit in, so that was nice.

You helped him back into his hoodie so he wasn’t just sitting there topless, and you noticed then that there was more of your handiwork littering his abdomen, and you could only hope and pray that Mike hadn’t noticed them, because if he had then you definitely were going to have to go and see about that ambulance.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you draped Tom’s hoodie over his shoulder. “That’s embarrassing.”

“What?”

You gestured to his stomach, and then his neck.

“Those. And those.”

“Oh.”

He obviously couldn’t see the ones on his neck, but he could see the others, his face turning slightly pink as he repositioned his hoodie over his torso.

“Never mind.”

The second round of waiting wasn’t nearly as long, thankfully, and before long a porter came to take Tom for an x-ray on his shoulder. You didn’t go with him this time - they said you couldn’t go into the room anyway so there was no point - so you got out your phone instead. You had a few texts from Madison and Harrison asking for updates, so you replied to Mads first - you thought you should let Tom decide what he wanted to tell Haz. The rest of the time was spent trying not to google ‘broken shoulder’ and ‘broken collarbone’, and you were just about to crack when the curtain was pulled back sharply.

“...once the doctor’s had a look at your results they’ll be round to see you, alright?” the porter was saying as he opened the curtain.

“Okay, cheers.”

“Hey,” you got to your feet, standing beside the bed as Tom sat down on the edge of it once the curtain was pulled shut again. “How you feeling?”

“Yeah, m’okay.” He was still holding his elbow tightly though, and when he looked up at you you could see in his eyes that he just wanted to go home and get into bed and sleep for a week (though you would suggest he showered first because he was still very muddy). “Thank you.”

“For what?” you frowned, pushing a stray curl away from his face.

“Y’know-” he started to shrug but immediately flinched in pain, his face scrunching up in frustration. “Fuck’s sake-”

You chuckled sympathetically, pressing a gentle kiss to his crumpled forehead. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“Nah - actually, could you pass me my phone?”

You rummaged through his bag again until you found the little inside pocket, pulling out his phone and passing it to him. He held it gingerly in his left hand, flicking through his notifications tiredly.

“Ah shit, I should speak to my mum, she’s text me asking how the match went.”

“Yeah you should probably tell her you’re in hospital, might be an idea.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “I’ll just wait until I know if it’s broken or whatever.”

Broken or whatever. Like breaking your actual bones in your actual shoulder is no big deal. It was surprising how calm he was being about the whole thing - you thought that if it were you you’d definitely have cried at least twice by now. Maybe that was why you kept asking him if he was okay, or if he wanted anything, because you knew you would definitely not be okay. He insisted he was fine though, so all you could do was wait for the results of his x-ray to come back (you did kinda wish he would say he wanted a snack because you could do with one yourself, but you weren’t going to say that, so you kept quiet).

Eventually a doctor did come around, accompanied by Mike, the nurse who assessed Tom earlier, who was carrying a tray with various rolls of tape and bandages on .

“Good news,” the doctor began once she’d introduced herself. “There’s no break.”

Oh thank God.

“...you’ve got what’s known as an AC joint separation, or a separated shoulder.”

“Right. So is it like, dislocated?” Tom asked, looking between the doctor and Mike, who was setting the tray down on the side and putting on a pair of gloves.

“Not quite - so with a dislocation the bone pops out of the socket, whereas what you’ve done is you’ve basically damaged the ligaments that hold up the socket - the ones connecting your collarbone to your shoulder blade. Does that make sense?”

“Mmhmm,” Tom nodded, “I think so.”

“So,” the doctor continued, “because the bits holding your collarbone to your shoulder were essentially torn by the force of your fall, your collarbone can move up on its own - that’s what this bump here is.” She pointed to the lump on the point of Tom’s shoulder with her pen. “And obviously that means it’s not doing its job of supporting your arm, which is why you’re having to hold it like that.”

You just stood there, listening as she explained to Tom what the problem was and how they were going to fix it. She was doing a good job of explaining everything, which was nice - sometimes after seeing a doctor you left feeling more confused about what was wrong with you than when you went in. She explained how Mike was going to tape up Tom’s shoulder to support the joint, and that he’d have to wear a sling to support the weight of his arm, and that they would refer him for physio and give him painkillers and so on and so forth, but it wasn’t so severe that he’d need surgery, and he should heal up fine.

“...okay, thanks. How long- how long will it take - to heal?” he asked as the doctor went to leave.

“Depends, four to six weeks maybe?”

Ah.

Tom just nodded and thanked her again, and after that he said little else. He did what Mike told him to so that he could get him strapped up, but you could tell that he really just wanted to go home now. You were relieved to hear he had no broken bones, and that he wasn’t going to need surgery or anything, but hearing that it was going to take over a month to heal was evidently not what he wanted to hear.

The nurse gave him some more advice as he taped up his shoulder - that he’d need to go to see his GP and get it retaped in a few days, keep icing it etcetera etcetera - but you were the one who responded. By the time he left, saying someone would be back with a prescription for painkillers and then Tom could go home - you were running out of ways to say ‘okay, thanks, will do’.

“At least you can use your right hand now?” you said hopefully once Mike had left.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tom sighed, looking down at his sling-bound arm. It didn’t seem to bring him much comfort.

“...you gonna call your mum?”

He sighed again, then picked up his phone from the bed beside him. “Yeah.”

You gave him a sympathetic smile as he lifted the phone to his ear, clicking his tongue impatiently as he waited for his mum to answer.

“Hi mum. Yeah, I’m okay - how was the match? Um, well-”

⋘ SIXTEEN | EIGHTEEN ⋙

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