Adam Parrish canonically gets dry and cracked skin on his hands, probably enough for it to bleed. He would have heard a hundred times about how it looks like he's been in a fight, a joke that never gets funnier every time he hears it. Adam "Do you think it makes me look tougher?" Parrish. Adam, who goes to punch the wall and just presses his hand against it. Who is terrified of becoming his father.
And, despite all that, still has cracked and bleeding knuckles, without needing to hit a thing. As though, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, the capacity to hurt was written into his skin- inherited.
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Do Me A Favor
A drabble based on this ask for Neighbor!Simon, as promised. Mentions of injury, but other than that, just fluff. This is after y'all are an established couple. Hope you enjoy!
It’s mid-afternoon when Simon’s phone pings and your contact appears on his screen.
Hey, uh… can you do me a favor?
He puts down the book he’d been reading - a new historical fiction novel he’d grabbed the week prior - and looks out his window towards your house.
Odd. Your car isn’t in your drive, and from what he can see, there are no packages on your doorstep. But, just like always, he is helpless to resist your call to him.
whats up
The three dots appear for a bit in response, then disappear, then reappear.
Can you come pick me up?
Already, Simon is out of his chair and looping a face mask around his ears as he sends you a quick reply.
where are you
His first instinct is that you’ve had car trouble, so he double-checks the bed of his pickup to make sure his small toolkit is still there before he climbs into the cab.
Another ping from his phone.
So… funny story about that.
His heart rate ticks up.
what
The three dots in the corner of the screen seem to mock him as he waits.
First off, I’m fine. I swear. But here’s the thing.
A photo flashes across his screen, and his heart drops.
Your leg is in a brace, one extending from almost ankle-height up to your thigh.
I’m at the hospital.
He doesn’t even think to reply before he’s peeling out of the driveway and down the street. He breaks several traffic laws on the way to you, though he couldn’t care less at the moment. His brain won’t even let him register anything other than what happened to you.
You said you were fine. But nearly your entire leg is in a brace. So clearly, something happened. Clearly you’ve been hurt somehow.
He’s too distracted to notice his phone continuing to receive notifications.
He makes it to the hospital in record time, barging into the emergency department and marching up to the main desk. Simon quickly tells them your name, then takes a breath before telling the staff you requested he come by to pick you up.
You’re not dead. You’re coherent enough to text. And right now, that’s what he’s clinging to as the medical personnel lead him back to you.
You’re wearing a sheepish look as he walks up.
“Hey, I’ve uh… I’ve been texting you.”
“Been drivin’.”
“Yeah, I figured as much,” you say. “So how many laws did you break to get here that fast?”
He shrugs.
“‘Least three. Give or take.”
He then nods towards your leg.
“What happened?”
“I slipped and fell down a set of stairs at work,” you say with a sigh. “No permanent damage, just messed up my knee so I have to wear this for a while.”
Now that he can see you in the flesh, can see that you’re not critically injured or dying, Simon allows himself to relax. He helps you into a wheelchair, gets you to his truck, and all but hefts you up into the passenger seat himself.
The drive back to your place is quiet. Simon’s got one hand on the steering wheel, and the other hand rests on the center console holding yours. Every so often, he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
“Scared the hell outta me, love,” he murmurs while stopped at a red light.
“I know,” you say softly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t know how else to tell you what was going on.”
When he pulls back onto your street, he notices you look over at him as he pulls into his own driveway instead of yours.
“Figured y’can make it up to me by hangin’ around here for a bit,” he says as an answer to your unasked question. “Let me make you some dinner. Take care of ya for the evenin’, yeah?”
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