Work Text:
New York City. Winter. And he was running late to his job at Straw+Berry. Fuck. He needed this job. And while he was normally punctual- he’d recently had a string of days where he’d been late. Oversleeping. The subway being so crowded he couldn’t get on the train in time. And today- today- this fucking sleety rain bull shit.
He ran as quickly as he dared down the sidewalk- it was slippery- but not so much that it was like an ice rink. That was the last thought he had as he slammed into something solid. His feet shot out from under him and he knew he was going to hit the concrete- hard.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t, don’t move. You took a pretty nasty fall. How many fingers am I holding up?”
Kip blinked his eyes open and he just stared. This had to be one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. And he was clad in a nearly transparent Under Armor shirt. And he was leaning over him concerned. What…what had he asked?
“You’re pretty.”
“Thank you. How many fingers am I holding up?”
Ah. Yes. That. That was the question.
“Three.”
“That’s a good start. Nope, nope, nope. You’re not sitting up yet. Does anything hurt? Especially your head or neck?”
Blue eyes. Some of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and he just stared into them. He was supposed to be doing something. What had the man asked him? Yes- did his head or neck hurt.
“No. I think my ass took most of the force.”
He placed hand over his mouth. God- he needed to shut up. The man that hovered over him held him still as he gently checked for any obvious injuries. When he passed whatever test the man had, he gently pulled him to a seated position. And he felt like the whole world spun around him. Those arms wrapped around him and kept him upright.
“I got you. Sorry that I stopped so suddenly- it’s been a fucking season and I was about three seconds from throwing my phone into the pavement. That fucking podcast. How many fingers again?”
“Two.”
Fingers went into his hair- as he realized he was being cradled against this man’s chest. This man who was obviously some sort of athlete now that he studied him a bit more. He looked- why did he look familiar? He winced. Apparently he had hit his head when he slammed into what had to be the hottest man alive. His mind, at least, refused to ignore that part about this man.
“You’ve got a hell of a goose egg. You probably should go to the hospital- just to be safe.”
“No. I…I’m fine. I need to get to work. Thank you….ummm…Mr. Nice Man. I’ll be good.”
He extracted himself from the other man’s arms and went to stand up. He barely got himself upright before he felt the world shift again- he was pulled into a strong chest. Why did he have to hurt himself when he met this man? When he couldn’t even fucking tell if he was into him or just being nice?
“We’re half a block from my apartment. I’ve had to keep an eye on plenty of teammates who might have a concussion- I know we just met…but I don’t know…I don’t feel right sending you to wherever you work. I can call out for you- explain what happened. Explain this was my fault.”
“Same distance to work. It’s a slow job- just have to sit and make shakes.”
“That’s where I know you from- Straw+Berry. I’ve walked by it a few dozen times- just never had time to run in. How many fingers am I holding up?”
He squinted. Oh shit. That was not good. That absolutely was not good. He couldn’t really tell the number right now. He knew it had to be less than the 6 he thought he saw.
“Umm…I…”
“That would be more than five. I’ll give you two choices- ER or hang out with me and I keep an eye on you. If it gets worse though- I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”
“I just met you- Mr. Nice Man.”
“Scott. You can call me Scott- although Mr. Nice Man is cute.”
“Not accurate though. You’re Mr. Fucking Hot Man first and foremost.”
He was with it enough to see the blush creep up the man’s neck and onto his cheeks. He thought how precious he looked- before he leaned away from him and threw up. His head pounded. Not good. Very not good.
“Yup- that’s it. We’re headed to the hospital.”
“Your place sounds niiiiiice.”
“Maybe you’ll get to see it some day. You just failed one of the biggest concussion indicators that we look out for. I’ll stay with you until…until some family can get there…ummm–”
“Kip. My name is Kip. Short for Christopher. I hate that it’s short for Christopher- I wish they’d just named me Kip and left it at that.”
“Kip. A car is on the way- it’ll get us to the nearest ER.”
“Why does this happen to me? Why do I meet the man of my dreams and it’s because I literally crash into him?”
A chuckle, a hand that rubbed gentle circles on his back. He closed his eyes. It felt good- he felt good. A harsh shake and he saw the panic on the man’s face as he cupped his cheeks- looking for something. All he could focus on was lips that he definitely wanted to kiss. He felt that they were moving- they must have gotten in the car he was talking about.
“Kip- how many fingers am I holding up?”
There was a softness in the question and something else. What else was it? It hit him in the gut- fear. This man who seemed to know a lot about what he was doing was afraid. Was it really that bad? He’d just lost his footing…he’d lost his footing…how had he lost his footing?
“Seben.”
That. That sounded wrong. Why did his voice sound wrong? He searched for those eyes and he looked at his mouth. A forced smile- a hand that carefully stroked his face. He realized the man’s eyes were focused on his and he looked back up into them.
“We’re almost there, Kip. Almost there. Just keep your eyes on me.”
“Easy- you’re pwetty.”
“Fuck.”
Scott Hunter paced around the surgical waiting room. He should leave. He knew he should leave and just come back later- but he’d said he’d stay until Kip’s family showed up. Which the ER doctors had called as soon as he was evaluated and sent up for an operation. A fucking operation because Kip had slammed into him while trying to get to work on time and somehow hit his head hard enough that he now needed surgery.
A man walked in and he saw the stress, saw the pain and he heard him ask about Kip Grady. He didn’t hear what the nurse said- only caught that they motioned his father towards him. Fuck. This was awkward.
“Mister…you…you’re, you’re Scott Hunter.”
“Yeah. Kip- I stopped on my run- it was sleeting he ran into me and just…I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident, right? The docs in the ER said he has a better chance because you got him here quickly. How…how do you know his name is Kip?”
“I kept him talking once I realized what it might be- got his name. He’s…I’m…look now that you’re here I should probably be on my way. Umm- can I leave you with my number or get yours? I have to get to a game and…I…I just want to know he’s okay.”
“Yeah- here- let me.”
And, somehow, Kip’s father’s hands were steadier than his own as he took his cell phone and entered his information and then texted him from Scott’s phone. He wasn’t sure why he felt this way- he just knew what he’d seen from time to time as he passed the smoothie shop. And the way Kip had looked at him- the way he had looked at him before the concussion symptoms took hold of him.
“If it’s okay- I’d like to swing by after the game tonight- just to…”
“Sure. I’ll text once we know something. Thank you for taking care of my boy.”
******************
He sat in his stall, checked his phone again. Why, the fuck, did his heart hurt so badly? This was ridiculous- it was almost like…nope, no, absolutely not- he was not going down that road again. He’d been hurt too many times thinking he’d finally found his soulmate. He checked his phone again and closed his eyes. Focus. He needed to fucking focus or he’d be the next one in the hospital. Which would do him no good.
“Scott man- what’s going on? I’ve never seen you check your phone this much.” Carter Vaughn. Thank fuck it was Carter that found him like this as opposed to some of their other teammates. Carter knew what he’d been through- had watched far too many rejections and seen what it had done to him.
“Weird day. Met someone. More like someone ran into me on those fucking slippery sidewalks and I took him to the ER- he’s having brain surgery right now and…fuck…my chest just hasn’t loosened since it happened. He should have been out by now- his dad said he’d send me an update.”
“Do you think…”
“I don’t fucking know. It wouldn’t be the first time my hyper sensitive ass has–” His cell phone pinged and he snatched it up. He scanned the words once, twice, a third time just to be sure and he felt some of the stress melt out of him. In recovery. Had asked where Mr. Fucking Hot was. He shot back a note that he’d come by as soon as his game was over–this was stupid.
Except- he’d walked by that smoothie shop every day for months- trying to convince himself to walk in and say hello. Except that he’d felt something snap in him the moment that he pulled Kip into his arms to keep him steady. Except that the knot in his chest was still there- even though he felt some relief at the news that he was at least awake enough to ask for him. Fuck.
“You sure you should play tonight? You wouldn’t be the first guy in the league who has met their soulmate and had to abandon a game or two.”
“I’ll be fine. After all these years- if he’s really it- a few more hours won’t make a difference.”
He blinked his eyes open- his hand felt warm- warmer than any other part of him. He was so cold. He hated being cold. His chest ached and he tried to reach up to loosen the ache. Had he somehow been hit in his chest too?
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
The voice came out strained and his eyes jerked over to the sound of it- the sound of him. Those eyes. Those crystal blue eyes- it was something his brain had clung to- something he remembered about earlier. It was one of the few things he remembered about how he’d gotten hurt. That and his voice.
“Three.”
“That’s much better, Kip.”
“Did I really call your Mr. Fucking Hot Man or am I imagining that?”
“You did call me that.”
He let out a groan and the man holding his hand let out a laugh. This man that he barely knew was sitting with him, holding his hand- what the actual fuck? But he didn’t want to pull his hand away- he wanted to get closer. Oh. Oh shit.
“Scott Hunter- not sure if my real name stuck.”
“Are you…am I…do you feel…”
“I don’t know. Maybe? The ache is starting to ease up a bit.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah- I never thought I’d meet my soulmate and ask ‘how many fingers am I holding up’ over and over to him. But I guess there are worse opening lines.”