ficlet #2 :: Adam, Stella, coping mechanisms (pg)
This is called the "I need to write something" game. I'm using goddess-loki's prompt generator and running with what pings me. And I'm going to keep doing this until I fall asleep. Or something.
prompt: coping mechanisms
with: Adam, Stella
rated: PG
Adam doesn’t fuck up. Not really. Not seriously. Not in a long time.
He strips off his glove and shoves his hand beneath the tap. A few angry red blotches are burning his skin. His eyes are hot and prickly because it’s a chemical burn. He spilled-he was careless-he’s never careless. Not anymore. His hand stings. And he was stupid, careless, stupid.
“Adam.” Stella is at his side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Adam takes a sharp breath and brushes her off. He walks quickly to the men’s room, head down, and shoves his hand under the tap again. The cold water helps, and the bathroom is mercifully empty.
“Please, please, stay that way,” Adam says under his breath, and his vision blurs. He takes another sharp breath and blinks back the tears. Stupid. He shuts his eyes tight because he’s starting to cry anyway. Stupid. Stupid. With his good hand he pinches the skin of his forearm. It’s distracting but still stupid.
“It was an accident, Adam.” Stella’s voice is soft, but Adam still jumps a mile. “It happens to the best of us.” She has a half-smile on her face.
“What? Yeah.” Adam blinks.
Stella followed him into the men’s room. Shit. And he’d been calling himself stupid. Out loud. Double shit.
“Can I see?” she asks, moving closer.
“Um.” Adam looks down at his hand, and his chest constricts. He knows he’s going to have a panic attack a heartbeat before it hits full force, and he squeezes his eyes shut, standing perfectly still so he won’t sob. Stella’s hand is warm, and some small corner of his brain has to admit that the way it rubs across his back is soothing.
“It’s okay,” Stella says, and her other hand slides gently down to his wrist.
After a couple minutes, Adam gets his breathing under control again. He opens his eyes and looks at Stella’s reflection rather than his own. There’s no judgment on her face.
“It’s not that bad,” he says. It’s not, really. It hurts like a motherfucker, but that’s not why he got upset.
Stella just smiles that half-smile again. It’s kind and sad and a million other things. “Do you want me to bandage it?” she asks. “Or do you want me to find Hawkes?”
“Thanks,” he says.
prompt: coping mechanisms
with: Adam, Stella
rated: PG
Adam doesn’t fuck up. Not really. Not seriously. Not in a long time.
He strips off his glove and shoves his hand beneath the tap. A few angry red blotches are burning his skin. His eyes are hot and prickly because it’s a chemical burn. He spilled-he was careless-he’s never careless. Not anymore. His hand stings. And he was stupid, careless, stupid.
“Adam.” Stella is at his side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Adam takes a sharp breath and brushes her off. He walks quickly to the men’s room, head down, and shoves his hand under the tap again. The cold water helps, and the bathroom is mercifully empty.
“Please, please, stay that way,” Adam says under his breath, and his vision blurs. He takes another sharp breath and blinks back the tears. Stupid. He shuts his eyes tight because he’s starting to cry anyway. Stupid. Stupid. With his good hand he pinches the skin of his forearm. It’s distracting but still stupid.
“It was an accident, Adam.” Stella’s voice is soft, but Adam still jumps a mile. “It happens to the best of us.” She has a half-smile on her face.
“What? Yeah.” Adam blinks.
Stella followed him into the men’s room. Shit. And he’d been calling himself stupid. Out loud. Double shit.
“Can I see?” she asks, moving closer.
“Um.” Adam looks down at his hand, and his chest constricts. He knows he’s going to have a panic attack a heartbeat before it hits full force, and he squeezes his eyes shut, standing perfectly still so he won’t sob. Stella’s hand is warm, and some small corner of his brain has to admit that the way it rubs across his back is soothing.
“It’s okay,” Stella says, and her other hand slides gently down to his wrist.
After a couple minutes, Adam gets his breathing under control again. He opens his eyes and looks at Stella’s reflection rather than his own. There’s no judgment on her face.
“It’s not that bad,” he says. It’s not, really. It hurts like a motherfucker, but that’s not why he got upset.
Stella just smiles that half-smile again. It’s kind and sad and a million other things. “Do you want me to bandage it?” she asks. “Or do you want me to find Hawkes?”
“Thanks,” he says.