Work Text:
Nathan excelled in everything.
In school, with his 4.0 and near-perfect PSAT score.
In extracurriculars, as a proud member of the Varsity Chess Team with a 1624 rating.
And in fencing. Which, he would admit, he was no Seiji Katayama— the arrogant ass—but Nathan had been fencing for the better part of eight years and had won several local competitions. Maybe not on the national level, but he did well. He could hold his own.
He would have had it made if it weren’t for Zayn. Fucking. Hameed.
Zayn Hameed, with his lusciously thick, black hair.
Perfectly straight, bleach-white teeth.
Athletically humble, six-foot-three, with a body as powerful and muscular as Zeus.
He always, always, always caught Nathan at his worst moments.
Interrupted him when he had the right answer in class just to prove that he could. Gave him a knowing smirk afterwards, like he knew this was one more step to besting Nathan for Valedictorian.
Zayn was his only real rival in chess. They were both competing to become team captain next year. His rating: 1627. Only three points higher than Nathan’s. How did that even happen?
Not to mention, his near -perfect PSAT would have been perfect if Zayn hadn’t been sitting diagonal from him during testing. Zayn had dropped his pencil—exposing the base of his spine—and then his hands—wide, strong, with just the barest tufts of black hair on the knuckles—had come back around to pull his shirt down.
Nathan had gotten completely distracted and failed to finish the math portion in time. Those two questions had cost him everything.
He sighed as he ran a hand back through his curls. They tangled a bit at the end, and a strand of brown hair came loose when he tugged. He really needed a haircut, but that was the least of his concerns right now. He had bigger problems to worry about.
It was the first day of fencing tryouts, and he was already having a rather shit time.
Nathan had been up late worrying over the subsequent morning. His thoughts had been haunted by Zayn, with his perfect balance and somehow muscular hands, and how he wielded the blade with such precision.
And.
Well.
He’d overslept, misplaced his bag and had to double back, missed breakfast completely, walked in on Coach Williams’s lecture at the last minute, and had only caught the tail end telling him that he was—surprise, surprise—paired up with Zayn for his first match, and now he felt shaky on his feet as he watched Zayn and his friends laugh together in the corner of the salle.
With a groan, Nathan began rifling through his bag. He needed something to help him hold his own. Since he’d missed breakfast, he was feeling weak and uneasy. If he couldn’t pull it together now, there wouldn’t be another chance.
He pushed aside spare gear and papers in his duffel. Nathan usually kept a granola bar or something in there, or maybe just a spare water bottle—
“Whatcha looking for?” Bobby asked. He sat down on the floor beside Nathan’s bag with a level of unattainable grace and smiled at him. They hadn’t talked much over the summer, but seeing Bobby was always like a ray of light, even on this horrible morning.
“Missed breakfast,” Nathan said simply. “Was just seeing if I had something extra.”
“Oh! Here, try this.” Bobby swung his backpack around and dug around inside. He pulled out a protein bar in an orange wrapper and held it out.
“Are you sure?”
“Totally. I just keep it on hand for emergencies. Skipping breakfast on the morning of fencing tryouts? Seems like an emergency to me.”
With a wide grin, Nathan accepted. “Thanks.”
“Are you ready for today?”
“As ready as I will ever be.” He tried not to think of his shit morning as he unwrapped the bar and shoved it into his mouth. It was chewy and powdery, the way the worst protein bars tended to be. But his mouth salivated at first contact, despite the texture, and he readily gulped it down.
Nathan wasn’t in the first set of matches. Since there were more people trying out than there were pistes, they were split into groups. It provided Nathan with enough time to let the protein bar settle. With each passing minute, the shakiness slowly subsided.
He went to stretch with Bobby in the corner of the room. It was a secluded location far from the crowds, but still close enough that they could keep an eye on the current matches. In the middle of their arm stretches, Bobby asked, “Excited to be facing Zayn again?”
“‘Excited’ isn’t a word I’d use.”
“What would you use instead? Worried?”
“Irritated,” Nathan scowled, shaking his wrists out and itching his arms. “What about you? Who’s your first match against?”
“Eugene.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s fine.” Bobby grabbed his ankles and stretched them behind his back. “We all have to face everyone eventually, right?”
“Right,” Nathan agreed, but it surely didn’t help that he was facing his rival first.
He could almost feel Zayn’s arrogant smirk.
The first round of matches concluded. With a final stretch of his shoulders, Nathan headed to face Zayn. Piste four. Okay. Alright.
He grabbed his epee and strided over, itching his wrists absently as he walked. Why were they suddenly so itchy?
Oh, and his neck—
His hand slapped against the side of his shoulder to help temporarily numb it.
Itching wouldn’t help. Whatever the problem, he had to ignore it and hope it went away once he started fencing.
Shit, there it was on his back.
Nathan grabbed his epee and walked over. When slipping his right glove on, he caught a glimpse of his hand.
Why was it so red?
Wait, were those bumps?
Nathan did a double take.
Oh.
Shit.
What was in that protein bar?
He hadn’t checked for peanuts. He’d been too distracted by how horrible his day had been going and his upcoming match. He should have checked. He always checked.
The skin around his nose was beginning to feel numb. It was like laughing gas, or hitting a funny bone, or—
Nathan walked up to the piste. Zayn Fucking Hameed was staring back at him. Eyes narrowed, that small smirk on his lips. Effortlessly handsome. His bouncy waves fell beneath the shape of his helmet as he slipped it on, and Nathan—
Nathan’s chest suddenly felt very tight.
Which was a normal feeling when he was around Zayn.
But—
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Hell…
The numbness was creeping across the bridge of his cheeks. He tried to open his mouth and couldn’t.
Fuck!
Zayn cocked his head to the side. “Nathan?”
His expression was lost beneath the mask. Not that it mattered, not that Nathan should pay attention to what Zayn was doing, or that he even could right now.
More insistent this time, “Nathan!”
He began to feel dizzy.
Nathan dropped his epee and stumbled over to his bag. The walk seemed a lot further than he remembered. How far away was it? The piste seemed to stretch forever.
He fell over the top and began searching furiously. Where was it? It had to be in here. If it wasn’t here—
His hand closed around something round.
Someone was calling his name. A hand on his shoulder. He yanked the Epipen out and popped the cap off.
Hesitated.
He’d never used one before, but his throat felt completely closed.
His face numb.
He had to do it.
He was surprised there was even enough blood circulating through his body to provide the conscious thought that forced him to hesitate.
Nathan tried to open his mouth and found that it felt swollen. Was his whole face swollen? How could he even feel it, when his cheeks had long since gone numb?
Tears began to prick at his eyes as the Epipen hovered right over his thigh. Dammit. Why couldn’t he just do it?
Someone tore the Epipen from his hand and stabbed him in the leg.
A single prink, and the relief was immediately evident. A shot of adrenaline coursed through him. Every nerve in his body ignited. His chest stopped contracting as he gasped in a giant gulp of air. Then another. The third was clearly easier, but not as easy as it should have been.
He jumped to his feet, swayed, and then began to stumble as it immediately wore off.
“Alright.” Strong arms wrapped around him—stiffened by fencing whites—and he was lifted off the ground into a bridal-style carry. Zayn’s low voice rumbled in his ear, “Let’s go to the nurse.”
Nathan’s legs twitched with the combined adrenaline from the Epipen and from Zayn carrying him, oh my god, what the hell? What was he doing? But his hands were still numb and his lips were probably still swollen and, even though he would have leapt out and ran away in any other situation, he didn’t trust himself to do it here.
He moaned and readjusted himself as prickles of feeling returned to his face. He hadn’t registered the feeling of his chest opening back up, but he could breathe again. It was a slow process. Fuck, he’d probably need another shot, but…
This was fine for now. He would be fine.
Nathan protested weakly, “Put me down.”
Zayn just laughed at him. His chest shook with it and Nathan felt every rumble against his miraculously not-numbed forehead. “Not a chance.”
Of course he would do this. Always had to play the noble hero. Always had to be so perfect all the time.
Nathan looked up. He had a full view of the underside of his chin, stubble and all. “Fucking hell, Zayn—“
With the curse, Zayn finally glanced down at him. He looked downright amused. “I’m surprised you can talk when your mouth is like that.”
Shit. Nathan’s fingertips lifted to his mouth, but he still couldn’t feel much from them. He could only imagine how absolutely atrocious he must have looked.
And of course Zayn would be the one to see him like this, when his jaw was nothing but chiseled and his cheekbones only defined.
He knew it, too.
Zayn knew he looked good.
Nathan tried to scoff, but his throat remained tight and he ended up coughing instead. Spluttered into his shoulder as best he could. He felt a curly hair falling down his forehead catch on his swollen lips.
Zayn had the absolute audacity to laugh at him. “I can’t believe I’m risking my spot on the fencing team for this.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Nathan managed to say, although what he actually wanted to say was: it isn’t fucking fair that I almost died, and now you are probably going to go and take my spot on the team while I am trapped at the nurse, probably being dosed with more drugs.
“Do you remember last year?” Zayn asked. “We fenced each other first. Can’t believe it happened again.”
Why are you bringing it up? Another thing Nathan simply could not ask. But he remembered clearly, “I lost.” That final point felt like falling off the side of a mountain.
“Fifteen-fourteen.”
It had been a narrow loss. The first of many to come at the hands of Zayn. Needless to say, their year-long fight had begun there.
This time around, they must not have been paired up by mere chance. There was no way it could happen twice. Coach Williams must have noted their rivalry last year and put them together.
It had only grown since then. Doubled and compounded into, somehow… this.
Zayn shook him. When had his eyes closed? “We’re here.”
Nathan’s chest still felt tight and he was extremely weak. If left to walk, he wasn’t sure he would be able to make it to the bed. But he needn’t have worried because fucking perfect Zayn was taking the initiative to lay him down gently on one of the paper beds like he was a Disney Princess or something.
He felt pathetic.
Extra pathetic, because he kind of wanted to be held by Zayn again.
Extra extra pathetic, because he wished Zayn would come back with his undoubtedly soft lips those perfectly strong, rough hands, and—
Don’t finish that thought.
Nathan tried to sit up, but was instead struck by a wheeze and sudden loss of breath. He took several sharp inhales. The last of the adrenaline from the Epipen must have worn off.
The nurse rolled a chair over while Zayn narrated her through what had happened. She looked in Nathan’s mouth—tongue still swollen—and listened to his chest—breathing still tight. And then she pulled out a shot from a nearby drawer and stuck his thigh with it.
More adrenaline. A burst of alertness. He felt his chest loosen and slowly regained some feeling back into his face. Although he knew the swelling wouldn’t go down immediately, the rush of relief that flowed through his veins was overwhelming.
All the while, Zayn leaned coolly against the wall and watched him. Arms relaxed at his sides, signature smirk in place.
He was cocky, and he was evaluating Nathan.
Nathan would never, ever be able to live this down.
“Why are you staring at me?” Nathan accused.
Zayn strode over to the bed and stood back beside the nurse. “Has anyone ever said that you frown a lot?”
Nathan consciously frowned deeper. “So what? Should I smile more or something?”
Zayn barked a laugh. “Absolutely not. Frowning makes your cheekbones look better.”
He frowned deeper again, although for different reasons. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. It was an acute observation. He couldn’t leave it unnoted. “What do you mean?”
Like Zayn could even speak on such matters. Like his cheekbones weren’t perfectly enunciated beneath soft, unblemished skin.
Was it soft? Nathan didn’t know.
He wanted to find out.
With a final pat on the shoulder, Zayn headed for the door. “Think about it, but I’ve gotta go. Some of us have tryouts to finish.”
Nathan crossed his arms and pouted. He wanted to say something witty and cool, but his brain was still foggy and his throat still hurt. He settled on, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“No way,” Zayn protested. “Get some rest.”
Why did he care?
“I’ll beat you,” Nathan continued.
Zayn chuckled and shook his head. It made his wonderful dark waves shift just slightly from their perfect set. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
And he wanted to argue, but the nurse was still evaluating him and he was so, so tired. His limbs felt weary and his eyes heavy.
With one last look back at Nathan, Zayn smirked and said, “There’s always next year.”
That was true.
Next year, Nathan was going to finally win.