.qtalfie:
Alfie had only recently managed to carry his clothes basket down to the laundry room without wishing his arms would fall off and save him a trip, so how he was meant to do push-ups of all the sweaty and gory things was beyond him. Coach Macaulay seemed adamant that all the team were to go through the same rigmaroll of pressing their torsos against the wet grass then pushing themselves up and back down again, even the skinny players like Alfie who had no upper arm strength and were only here because they’d been forced into an athletic scholarship. He’d wanted to argue that his build was made for plies and pirouettes, but Coach Macaulay wasn’t having any of it.
Reaching fifty of the exercises had seemed like an impressive feat, and he let out a delighted cheer which wasn’t echoed by a single member of his team. Alfie wrinkled his nose and wished that Scotty or Louis were here, because he was sure that they would appreciate his efforts. Instead, all he got was a hushed threat from Grant Morley who threatened to break both his legs.
“Oh, would you?” Alfie asked eagerly, batting his eyelids at the other boy who turned away from him in disgust. Two broken legs sounded far more appealing than one more push-up.
With trembling arms, he tried for another one but could barely get himself halfway off the ground before his elbows buckled and he landed on the ground with a soft thud. Feeling slightly winded, Alfie lay down and tried to suck in a large breath, his chest aching with the effort as his arms felt jellied and all too much like water. Blades of grass tickled his nose but he found himself getting comfortable anyway as the rest of the team began picking themselves up around him. Convinced he was about to get away with just passing out right then and there, Alfie was ready to close his eyes and try and take a blissfully peaceful nap when the harsh and biting sound of Coach’s voice reached his ears.
His eyes snapped open at once and a pout appeared on his face. Standing up onto shaky legs, Alfie’s bottom lip began to wobble as much as his knees were when Coach sentenced him to his punishment.
“Twenty laps?” he squeaked in alarm. He wasn’t sure he could even do half of one in his current sorry state and immediately began blinking back tears.
“Get it done, Osborn,” the man warned him, slapping the back of his hand off his clipboard and probably wishing it was Alfie’s face in the process.
With a heavy and dramatic sigh, Alfie pointedly ignored the sneering glances of his teammates and trudged towards where he figured his starting point was. Making it around the field twenty times was an impossibility, that much was certain, but perhaps Coach would be slightly less grumpy if he got the satisfaction of Alfie collapsing and dying before his very eyes. Just as he was about to make a half-hearted attempt at jogging off, he caught onto another voice speaking and looked over his shoulder.
Brushing his hair from his sweaty forehead, Alfie spotted Steven and heard the captain’s words. A grateful, if tired, smile appeared on Alfie’s face and he watched as Coach begrudgingly nodded before sending Steven over to run with Alfie. When the other boy approached him, Alfie tilted his head up to the taller boy.
“You don’t have to do this, Steven,” he pointed out before gesturing lamely to the huge expanse of green in front of them. “I plan to die tragically before the first lap is over anyway!”
Jogging over to join Alfie, Steven couldn't miss the pained expression on his face, nor the sweat that was seeping through his training top. Naturally, they were all sweating from their workout, but it seemed to be hitting Alfie a whole lot harder than everyone else.
In all honesty, Steven wasn't even entirely sure why Alfie was on the team. It wasn't so much that he was small, because if you had enough skill and enough drive he knew that anyone could do whatever they want – be it football, ballet, scuba diving, or whatever – but it was more so the fact that Alfie clearly didn't enjoy being on the team. Anybody could see that he hated it, and anybody could see that he wasn't exactly good at it, so Steven couldn't really understand why he stuck it out. He couldn't help but admire him, though, and the way that he shamelessly talked back to the likes of Grant and his cronies. While it was definitely reckless, and always a little risky, to give cheek to the kind of people who were likely to break your legs if you looked at them the wrong way, Steven was always silently impressed by the way that Alfie handled them.
“Nah, you're good. I don't mind, it'll be good to stretch my legs a little,” he joked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
If he hadn't known Alfie all too well before, and wasn't already aware of his flare for the dramatics, then his past comment might have startled him. That being said, though, he simply rolled his eyes before shaking his head at the boy, while stifling a laugh before coach caught on. It wouldn't do any good for him to think that the two of them were actually enjoying themselves.
“I dunno, dude. I'll be that when you do go out, you'll wanna go with a bang, no?” he commented, raising an eyebrow at the boy, almost challenging him. “I'm just saying... Death by Coach Macaulay's football practice is a crummy way to go. And from my experience of talking to you, Alf, you'll really wanna make sure you go out in style. I'm just saying.”
With that, he clapped Alfie on the shoulder a little too hard, instantly realising his error when it occurred to him just how exhausted the other boy was. Wincing, he let his hand rest on Alfie's shoulder for a moment, keeping his grip tight while still trying to portray some sort of casual air about the gesture. He didn't want Alfie thinking he couldn't hold his own, but he also didn't want to pull away in case the boy really did just tank under the weight of it.
“Alright, Alf. Twenty laps, what could be so bad, hm?” he questioned, pulling away and setting off.
Staring with a jog, his knees rising and falling at a gentle pace, Steven found himself having travelled about 400 yards when he eventually turned to the side, only to realise that he was alone. Coming to a halt, he jerked his head around to find the boy, noticing him a good 200 yards – at least – behind, and gently rubbed at the back of his neck as he observed him. Alfie really did look as though he were going to collapse any minute now, and with a sigh Steven carefully jogged back to meet him.
“Okay, so at this rate you'll be lucky to make it four laps before practice is out,” he commented, offering the other boy a weak smile.
His own words catching up to him, he realised they could have either a positive effect, or a rather daunting one, and his wry smile widened into a grin.
“Y'know, maybe that's not such a terrible thing....” he started, eyeing Alfie curiously. “Coach can't complain if he sees that you're still going after practice, but once it's all over and everyone's gone...”
He let the end of his sentence trail off, hoping that Alfie might catch his intent. Hopping up and down on the spot so as to keep his muscles moving, Steven laughed as he observed the other boy. Then, in a move that he hoped was encouraging and not entirely intimidating, he leaned down so as to get himself on Alfie's eye-level, a much more careful hand on his shoulder this time, before prodding a finger towards the boy.
“You get four, maybe five laps done by the time everyone hits the showers, then I can just tell coach tomorrow that I made sure you stayed for all twenty.”
