Tronnor One-Shots

Lifeguard Duties

A/N: So UkrainianChick texted me with this Lifeguard AU prompt a while back and I've been dying to do it, so hey, here ya go!

I hate my job. I hate my job. I hate my job.

Ironically, everybody else loves seems to love it. The people who aren't actually doing the job, that is. They think it fits my personality, which is untrue. They think it sounds fun, which is exponentially more untrue. All my parents' friends gush over me, like "Oh, Connor has a job now? He always seemed like the lifeguard type!" or "You're a swimmer, right? You must adore this job then!"

No. Nuh-uh. Not even close. I mean, I liked it at first. Getting my lifeguard qualifications, sitting in the chair for the first time, I was ecstatic. I felt so grown up and authoritative, a savoir for all newbie-swimmers and little kids before I realized; watching over the same scene every day was intensely and inexplicably boring. I do nothing but sit here, waiting for one of those screaming brats to fall into the deep end so I can at least get in the water. I'm not a sadist or anything, if that's what you're thinking, but sometimes I wish something would just happen.

It's really cold today, and I have no clue why anyone would want to be at an outdoor pool. Regardless of that, my boss still opened the place up, and I had to come to work, to my chagrin. I'm bundled up in my Saint John's University sweater, the fleecy one I got from summer orientation, wishing I could cover up my legs with something longer than my swim trunks. There are a few little children splashing in the shallow end, five or six of them in number, probably around five or six years in age. They throw tidal waves over each other, earning some frustrated looks from a young couple trying to keep their floaty-clad infant from getting water in the eyes. I watch them closely, sighing because the view is equivalent to listening to Russell Crowe sing in Les Miserables. Same tune, different words; same thing, different minute. On and on and on.

However, the next minute is slightly different from the last. Now, when I say that, I don't mean it's necessarily better than the last though. Chuckling obnoxiously, a group of boys about my age push each other from the change rooms like reckless idiots. There are three of them; a tall, tall blonde with killer abs, an equally tall, equally toned brunette with a shaggy beard, and an opposite. By opposite I mean a short guy of skin and bones, with curly hair, pouty lips and giant eyes that I can see from all the way up here. I'd say he's cute, but I'm in the slow process of convincing myself I'm straight, and what he's doing is annoying me too much to even consider him. (But y'know, for the record, he's pretty damn cute.)

Aaaaanyway, they yell and shove, acting like actual seven-year-olds. I roll my eyes, about to scream at them for running on the pool deck and, as an undertone, for being immature 'cooler than rules' dumbasses, until they stop all at once. With screeches of joy, Blondie and The Other Tall Kid tackle Skinny Mini and shove him into the water. He makes a big splash for such a little guy, and his friends stand there, their laughs like hyenas gurgling water. Fuckboys; they think they're so funny.

Shaking my head, I go back to watching the little children (who are exponentially more mature, and less of a bother.) All is quiet, until I hear a tentative, British voice calling out from the deep end.

"Excuse me, lifeguard?"

I look over to see Blondie talking to me. "Yeah? What's up?"

"Is it normal for someone to be underwater this long?"

I blink at him, then at the spot in which the cute one had fallen into the pool. The surface of the deep end is unbroken, empty of people, and my body switches into high gear. No matter what idiot is drowning for what reason, this is the top thing I'm trained for, so I grab my whistle and blow it with all my might. I rip off my hoodie and, after a nanosecond of positioning, I dive into the pool. My body swerves effortlessly underwater, and I see him instantly, close to the bottom and struggling to make it back to the top. He claws and wriggles and flails his legs, and I nearly leave him behind to go punch his friends, because I realize something real quick: this guy can't even swim.