Disclaimer: I don't own ATWT characters.

Notes: Fill for the prompt a flourish of hate from seajellybaby at the what_did_ you_do LJ.

God Hates Fags

The message wasn't new to Luke Snyder. He'd seen that kind of venom play out on television, in news reports of protests for and against equal rights. Still, the hateful rhetoric had never been directed towards him.

Until now.

It had been 48 hours. Two days since Luke arrived at NBC's makeshift Olympic headquarters in London. He'd been prepared for a standard profile interview of X athlete (himself) to highlight a sport most Americans only paid attention to once every four years (diving).

As the third and lowest ranking diver on Team USA's 10-meter platform team, Luke was neither surprised nor disappointed by the general lack of interest in his Olympic chances. He knew the only reason he was being profiled at all was because the team's star, Noah Mayer, had refused to be interviewed unless his teammates were given equal treatment. For his part, Luke didn't mind being overlooked; relative anonymity kept him free of other's expectations. He liked that the only person he had to satisfy with his performance was himself.

Still, the fact that an indisputable superstar like Noah – the team's best hope for gold – would even think of his teammates impressed Luke. He hadn't known the guy very long. This was Luke's first season cracking the top 3 stateside, so his first experience even qualifying for Team USA.

But in the interactions they'd had, Noah had been surprisingly down-to-earth. He didn't seem to differentiate between himself and other, less renowned athletes. Any time the media or even USOC officials tried to single him out for special treatment, Noah either politely declined, or expressed gratitude on behalf of "the team" – a clear signal that the offer must be extended to all, or none.

That humility was inexplicably packaged in the form of a 6' 2", blue-eyed, dark-haired Adonis. Added to his talent and medal chances, Noah's star rose all the more. Men wanted to be him; women (and okay, more than a few men) wanted to be with him.

There was no denying; Luke Snyder fell squarely into the latter category.

Luke had known he was gay since adolescence, though it took him years of struggle before coming out to his family as a teen. His dad was immediately supportive, and while his mom wrestled with the news, she eventually accepted Luke, too. He knew how lucky he was.

Still, being out among family and friends, and being out to the free world were two different things. It wasn't that he was ashamed of who he was. On the contrary, he was proud that he could be himself with those who were important to him.

But sharing his sexuality with the general public wasn't something Luke had chosen – not yet. Having only just qualified to compete internationally, he wanted to build a reputation as an athlete, first. Ideally, he would soon earn a medal on a major stage, establishing himself in the sport for his talent and nothing else.

Like so many of life's best-laid plans, this one wasn't to be.

The interview had initially unfolded as Luke had expected. He easily answered questions about growing up on a farm, being one of six siblings, and participating in his first Olympics at the age of 21. Luke did his best to give the reporter his attention, though his mind was already running through his dives for the next day's preliminary competition.

As the sit-down neared its conclusion, the female reporter offered one last question. "Finally, there's been a lot of coverage in the news concerning the recent controversy with the fast food chain Chick-fil-A." Immediately, all images of diving fled from Luke's mind, the single thought remaining being why is she asking me about that?

"As you may know," the reporter continued, "we've asked fans to submit questions for each of the athletes we profile. One respondent submitted a screenshot instead. I was wondering if you'd care to respond to this?"

The woman's hand seemed to move in slow motion as she handed Luke a paper copy of the screen cap in question. Luke accepted the sheet, and looked down through his longish blond bangs to find a comment he'd posted in a Facebook discussion on the issue. The LGBT community isn't trying to censor anyone. I defend Chick-fil-A's right to speak how they want. I'm sorry that in return, they oppose my right to marry who I want.

The comment was taken from a debate on a friend's page, but Luke knew there was no way Casey Hughes had shared the information. No doubt one of Casey's Facebook friends who vehemently didn't share Luke's POV had leaked the comment. Raising his head to meet the reporter's eyes, Luke's answer was simple and straightforward.

"It looks like I already did."

Expecting a denial, the interviewer was briefly flustered by Luke's no-nonsense reply. She quickly recovered, however, to ask a follow-up question. "There are only a handful of openly gay athletes competing in these Games. Are you confirming that you are, in fact, a gay man?"

At the phrasing of the question, Luke had the ridiculous thought he'd fell into a time warp depositing him in the 1950's during the Red Scare. With the accusatory tone in her voice, Luke believed the woman would have excelled during the McCarthy Era. "Are you confirming that you are, in fact, a Communist?"

Somehow, he pushed his annoyance at the intrusive questioning aside. So it hadn't happened on his schedule, or in the way he'd envisioned, but the last thing Luke wanted to portray was that he was in any way ashamed. Instead, he found his brightest smile, and his eyes flashed impishly.

"Well, I'm certainly not a gay woman," he quipped, giving a playful wink to conclude his answer.

Despite the woman's aggressive nature, she couldn't help but smile in return. Luke's charm had melted her dog-with-a-bone attack mode – and besides, she had her story, now. Luke realized he'd never heard of the woman before, and surmised that she was probably trying to change that with this "scoop."

"How do your teammates feel about your sexual orientation?" the woman continued, still pursuing the line of questioning.

"I don't know," Luke replied gamely. "How do your co-workers feel about your sexual orientation?"

"They don't… I'm not…," the woman stuttered, thrown by the question. "I'm straight," she finally settled on. "Why would anyone care about that?"

"Exactly," Luke said, deciding that would be his final point. "Thanks for the chat. I've gotta get to practice," he added cheerfully, extending his arm for a handshake. He rose and walked off the set, leaving a slightly stunned interviewer in his wake.

He knew word had already spread by the time he'd arrived at the pool. No one said anything, but everyone looked at him. Many with a simple, that's cool nod of indifference. A few of the athletes, coaches, and officials even awarded him generous, encouraging smiles.

And then there were the others. The handful of assorted yahoos who seemed to think it was their solemn duty to dispense condemning glares, and whisper pointedly to colleagues in front of Luke, making sure he understood it was him they were gossiping about. No matter.

It was done, and in Luke's opinion, there didn't seem to be much backlash in his immediate vicinity. That was what mattered – keeping his current environment relatively controlled, so he could concentrate on the task at hand. Whatever reaction took place outside his competitive bubble, he would deal with later – when he'd completed his event, hopefully successfully trumping his personal best.

Now, two days later, Luke was met head-on with the ugly truth: there was no environment where blatant hate couldn't sneak in. He stared at the homemade banner featuring the hateful message in large, block letters. The offenders were three young men in the stands who'd draped their sign over the front row, strategically placed in the sightline of the numerous television cameras.

When the banner appeared on the big screen as the cameras panned the crowd, the audience caught sight of the message, and a stunned hush fell over the building. In a matter of seconds, the scene transformed from a flurry of activity to an eerie, tense standstill. Luke didn't need to look to feel that every pair of eyes in the arena was squarely on him.

With a deep breath, Luke began the ascent for his final dive. As he climbed, he looked at the scoreboard, wanting to settle himself back into the heat of competition. 3. Reg Addington, CAN 2. Kevin Davis, UK 1. Noah Mayer, USA

After the previous round, Luke sat in a surprising fifth position. Crazier still, while he'd need a personal best to eclipse Addington, third place wasn't entirely out of reach. As thrown as he was by the eight-foot-long message of hate in the stands, he didn't come here to go home without giving this his all.

Arriving atop the platform, Luke took a moment to compose himself, trying to regain the zen-like concentration he strived for before performing any dive. It was more difficult than usual. Encountering the first tangible symbol of what he supposed may be a lifetime of discrimination aimed in his direction had rattled him. Add to that the fact his parents were in the stands to witness it, and it was harder still to retain his focus.

Uncharacteristically, his gaze travelled to the audience. Luke couldn't really make out faces from this distance, but endeavored to read the collective body language of the crowd. He realized he should only be thinking about the reverse 3 1/2 somersault he was about to perform.

But Luke couldn't help himself. He needed to know. Did the rest of the people watching feel the same way as those three in the front row?

While he couldn't read expressions, the crowd seemed to be leaning forward. Luke decided to take that as a good omen – a sign that people wanted him to do well. Somewhat reassured, he prepared to look away, when his eye caught sight of a single figure standing nearer; just outside the waiting area.

The man's hands were held to his lips, and folded in an almost prayerful stance. With the closer proximity than that of the crowd, Luke could see the other gaze trained on him. It seemed to Luke that the figure was holding his own breath, willing the dive to be successful. With the bold red Team USA Speedo easily discernible, there was no mistaking the man's identity.

Noah Mayer.

Noah, who'd already completed the event, fulfilling his destiny in taking the gold. Noah, who'd joked and laughed and made Luke feel just as important to the team as he was. Noah, who'd featured in many of Luke's nightly dreams, and all of his waking ones.

Somewhere in Luke's brain, a switch flipped. Later, he wouldn't remember walking to the edge of the platform. He wouldn't recall leaping into the air and hurtling himself through a series of turns and contortions. He'd never recollect the way his body straightened perfectly, and sliced through the water with flawlessly pointed toes and minimal splash.

What Luke would remember was the absolute roar of sound as he emerged from the water. The elation bubbling within him as he swam to the pool's edge and lifted himself to the deck. The euphoria of the first face he saw being Noah's joyous one, as he was abruptly lifted into a crushing hug of congratulations by the other man.

"You did it!" Noah exulted as Luke was pulled away, into the arms of his coach, his other teammate, and countless competitors from the event.

When the scoreboard flashed the final results, it almost didn't matter.

1. Noah Mayer USA
2. Luke Snyder USA
3. Kevin Davis UK

Except, the result so surpassed his expectations, even Luke's mantra of personal excellence over placement was briefly shaken by the thought Holy Shit – SILVER? He hadn't even thought it a mathematical possibility, but a few 10's in his final scores had thrust him past not one, but two medal contenders. Spotting his mom and dad in the stands, he ran across the wet tiles and threw himself into their waiting arms.

"I'm proud of you, son," his father, Holden, said with emotion. "Not just for the diving."

"Thanks, Dad," Luke replied gratefully within the embrace. He instinctively understood the unspoken part of the message. For your courage, too.

Ten minutes later, the three members of Team USA were lined up in front of an NBC camera for the post-event wrap-up. Will Munson expressed his excitement at his teammates' medals, and his satisfaction in his own unexpected top-ten finish. As the second-highest finisher for the team, Luke was next.

He related his happiness at his success as well as that of his team. He was relieved to not be asked about the banner controversy. Luke's final question requested his opinion on why the entire U.S. squad performed so well.

"Honestly, I think when you see how this team exceeded expectations, you can look to the team leader," Luke answered earnestly. "Noah's been our best hope for a gold medal, and had all this pressure and crazy media attention. But, he never put himself above the rest of us. He always made sure we knew we're just as important to the team as he is. When you have leadership like that, you really can't go wrong."

"Well, that's high praise," said the interviewer, clearly impressed. "So Noah. You've come into the Games, like Luke said, with all these expectations. By all appearances, you've handled the pressure beautifully, and now you're going home with an Olympic gold medal. What's your secret?"

"Honestly," Noah mimicked Luke's earlier response. "I think when you see how I managed, you can look to my team. Luke and Will have been with me every step of the way since we arrived, pushing me with their excellence, and keeping me grounded outside the pool. We relied on each other as teammates and friends, and I'm just psyched we got to share this incredible experience together."

"Such humility," the reporter said approvingly. "Now, a more serious question. Just after the event, three individuals were escorted from the arena by security for displaying a banner featuring an offensive message. Considering that the sign targeted one of your teammates, what are your thoughts on that incident?"

"It wasn't an offensive message," Noah replied immediately, his previously relaxed features snapping into a tense expression. For his part, Luke stared in shock, unwillingly to believe those words had come from Noah's mouth. How could the other man believe that?

"'Offensive' implies strongly distasteful," Noah continued. "Yeah, I guess it was offensive, but that's not a strong enough word. It was hate. That's all there is to it."

Taken aback by the vehemence of Noah's upset, the man took a moment to resume the interview. "So what you're saying is, you support your teammate Luke Snyder's position?"

"I support everyone's right to be who they are, and to have the same freedom that others do."

Inside Luke, he felt a sudden tug-of-war. His heart wanted to soar at the unapologetic and passionate support Noah had shown so publicly. But, his heart also threatened to plummet, realizing that what he'd classified as a (tremendously strong) crush on the man was something much more.

Luke was completely, irrevocably in love with the biggest Olympic superstar of the Games – who was straight.

He was fucked. All of the jubilation he'd felt only moments before seemed to implode from within, with the realization his first order of business upon returning home wouldn't be dealing with controversy or resuming his training schedule. Or even celebrating his surprise medal.

It would be struggling to find some way, somehow, to get the hell over Noah Mayer.

He was so fucked. Against his will, tears threatened to form in Luke's eyes. Inconveniently, the reporter chose that moment to direct the conversation back to him.

"So Luke, hearing that kind of support, will you be asking Noah to march alongside you in a pride parade?"

The interviewer had been going for levity. Unfortunately, he'd gone about it in such a clunky fashion, in Luke's distress he could do nothing but stare blankly. Sensing something was wrong, Noah quickly redirected the discussion back to himself.

"Uh…," he began, not really sure what he was saying, but knowing exactly what he meant to do. "I did win the gold. Shouldn't I be offering to let him march with me?"

The reporter laughed in a discomfited way that showed he didn't really get the joke. "That's true, but then you might give false hope to some young men," the man chuckled awkwardly.

"Oh, sorry. I don't want to do that," Noah explained. "I'm not technically off the market, but I have my eye on someone."

For once, the reporter and Luke were on the same page. They wondered why Noah hadn't corrected the man that it would be girls who should or shouldn't entertain hopes about Noah. Both men caught the plot, though, when Noah openly stared at Luke, a shy smile emerging on his face.

"I have no idea if he likes me, though," Noah finished, providing the certainty that he was absolutely saying what it seemed.

Noah was gay. Noah's gay! Luke's mind screamed. And he likes-

"He does," Luke stammered, responding to Noah. "He definitely does. Kind of a lot. No, not kind of. Just a lot. Not just. A lot, period. Tons, really."

Luke groaned internally at his verbal spazz. That should take care of Noah liking me, he thought wryly. But before his eyes, Noah's small smile expanded, until it covered his entire face. Luke's own goofy grin erupted in return, while a bemused Will looked on in approval.

"Gentleman," the reporter addressed Noah and Luke. "I believe it's time to go get your medals."

"Thanks," Noah answered, his eyes still on Luke.

It was dorky and old-fashioned, for sure. Later, when they'd persuaded Will to switch rooms with Noah so he and Luke could be alone, Noah would gently tease him about it. But in this moment, it felt absolutely right when Luke extended his bent arm, offering it for Noah to take.

"Shall we?"