Chris never slacks during Rugby practice, especially not during senior year. If he wants to get that Scholarship, he’s gotta deal with Carlos hulking form tackling him to the ground for the forth time in a row in the middle of a heatwave. He grunts as he’s knocked to the ground again, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he lies winded on the floor. Damn sun’s affecting his game.

You’re at his side as soon as the coach calls for a break. He can’t really recall your name, but he thinks you’re kind cute when you look over him all concerned. He remembers coach saying one of the other Senior students would be helping out the team with first aid and stuff to get some extra credit or whatever. He zoned out half way through the speech. He kind of just gathered you were a nerd - he’s sure he’s seen you sign up for every club at some point, all to make yourself look all good.

“Babe, honestly. It was just a little tackle. I’m fine. Thirsty, though.” He huffs, shooting you an amused smirk as you kneel at his side, shifting his arms behind his head to use them as a cushion. “Be a doll and grab me some water. I’m sweatin’ in places no man wants to be sweatin’.”