Work Text:
Never in his short nineteen years of life would Kimi ever think of being in this position.
You know the feeling when you finally move out of your parents' house to live on your own? The sudden, crushing realization that you have to buy your own groceries, figure out what a 'utility bill' is, and actually go to the doctor yourself when something goes wrong? Kimi is nineteen years old, deep into his second year of university, and he is still absolute, unmitigated shit at it.
And yet, here he is. He is sitting in the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the university hospital’s Accident & Emergency at exactly 2:17 in the morning.
The air smells aggressively of hospital, like rubbing alcohol and white. Yes it smells white. Like the actual color. Like fluorescent white light, like- despair. People got to the hospital at this hour on a Friday night either because of a preceding health condition or dumb decisions.
They're here because of a dumb decision. Or a misfortune. Kimi can't tell which one.
There’s a guy three seats down holding a bloody towel to his forehead, and a girl in a cheerleading uniform fast asleep across two plastic chairs.
Those are example of possible dumb decisions.
And then there is also them. One Kimi Antonelli and one Oliver Bearman.
They both look like terrified Victorian orphan children (him specifically).
He stares at his own knees, clad in sweatpants he had pulled on inside-out in his panic, and listens to the rhythmic, mocking tick-tick-tick of the wall clock. He is at the A&E because...
Because...
He sighs again. It is a pathetic, watery sound. He feels so embarrassing. He wants to cry. He feels so incredibly bad.
"Kimi, it's okay," a gentle voice murmurs beside him.
Kimi doesn't look up. He just shakes his head, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor as if it might magically open up and swallow him whole. "It's not."
A large, warm hand, specifically a left hand, because the right one is currently out of order, reaches over and gently rests on Kimi’s knee.
"They're all taped up, see? Doc said it'll be good in two weeks."
"I'm sorry," Kimi whispers, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
"It's okay," Ollie says, his tone laced with that easy patience that usually makes Kimi melt, though right now it just makes him feel guiltier. "It was just the awkward angle and the weight."
Kimi lets out a choked sob, a whimper, even, muttering a sad, "So I'm fat."
Ollie blinks, his expression freezing in a pure disbelief. "Kimi."
"You literally just said it was my weight!" Kimi hisses, slapping his hands over his face, hiding behind his fingers. "Oh my god. I broke my boyfriend's hand because I'm too heavy. I should just drop out of university and go live in the woods."
"I didn't say you were fat, you idiot," Ollie chuckles, leaning closer so his shoulder bumps against Kimi’s. "I said it was the angle and the weight. Gravity exists, love. It happens to everyone."
"It does not just happen to everyone!" Kimi groans, dropping his hands to glare at Ollie's right hand.
It is a tragedy. The index and middle fingers of Ollie's right hand are buddy-taped together, looking stiff and absurd. A bright blue elastic bandage wraps around his wrist for extra support. It is a minor injury, completely manageable, but the absolute humiliation of how it was acquired is going to haunt Kimi until the day he dies.
Because Ollie didn't strain a tendon playing basketball. He didn't sprain it hauling heavy textbooks for his finals. He didn't even hurt it falling off a scooter while drunk like a normal college student.
No. Ollie is currently in a finger splint because he strained a tendon while fingering Kimi.
[Three hours earlier]
The evening had started out so perfectly. Almost suspiciously perfect, in hindsight.
It was a Friday night. Midterms were finally over. Kimi had spent the last two weeks existing entirely on instant ramen, black coffee, and sheer incontrollable anxiety while trying to pass his Advanced Mass Media Communications Theory class. Ollie, who seemed to breeze through his sports science major with infuriating ease, had been a saint. He had brought Kimi food, rubbed his tense shoulders, and forced him to sleep when he started hallucinating MLA citations.
Tonight was supposed to be their celebration. Their small, cozy, perpetually messy one-bedroom that smelled of Ollie's cedarwood body wash and Kimi's jasmine incense finally free of textbooks.
They had ordered a fancy takeout (as fancy as two broke university kids could get) and curled up on their terribly uncomfortable thrift-store couch, watching a movie neither of them was actually paying attention to. The tension of the past weeks was melting away, replaced by a warm, comfortable affection.
It had been far too long since they had any real time for each other. The shift from the couch to the bedroom was inevitable and eagerly, entirely, mutual.
Kimi remembers the feeling of the soft duvet against his back, the cool night air filtering through the cracked window, and the absolute, consuming heat of Ollie hovering over him.
Ollie was always so attentive, so deliberate. His hands, strong and capable, were tracing a slow path down Kimi’s sides. The kisses were deep and languid, tasting of red wine and mint toothpaste. Kimi was practically melting into the mattress, all his midterm stress evaporating into a hazy cloud of pure bliss.
They shifted positions. Kimi had arched his back, gasping softly into Ollie's mouth as Ollie's hand moved south. It was perfect. The angle, the friction, the heavy, comforting weight of Ollie's body pressing against his. Kimi had reached up to tangle his hands in Ollie's messy curls, pulling him closer, chasing the friction.
"You feel so good," Ollie had murmured against his jaw, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers straight down Kimi's spine.
Kimi shifted his hips, eagerly leaning into the touch. He rolled slightly to the side to give Ollie better access, pressing his weight down into the mattress, catching Ollie's hand beneath him.
And then, it happened.
There wasn't a noise, no visual or audio cue that signified something had happened, except that Ollie stopped moving. His whole body tensing.
Kimi, still completely lost in the haze of pleasure, whined in protest. "Ollie? Don't stop..."
"Uh," Ollie said. It wasn't his usual aroused breathless voice. It was a very tight, very high-pitched sound. "Hold on. Give me a sec."
Kimi opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling before focusing on his boyfriend. Ollie was no longer hovering over him with dark eyes. He was sitting back on his heels, his face entirely drained of color, staring at his own right hand as if it had suddenly transformed into an alien lifeform.
"What's wrong?" Kimi asked, the fog of arousal clearing instantly, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. He sat up, pulling the duvet over his chest, suddenly feeling very cold.
"Nothing, nothing," Ollie lied, his voice strained. He tried to flex his fingers. A sharp hiss escaped his teeth, and his hand instinctively curled into a protective claw against his chest. "Just... a cramp. I think."
"A cramp?" Kimi repeated, scooting closer. He reached out to touch Ollie's arm, but Ollie flinched back slightly. "Ollie, you're pale. Let me see."
"It's fine, Kimi, seriously, I just-" Ollie took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. He slowly uncurled his arm, revealing his hand.
The index and middle fingers were- okay slick, with lube. They had been inside Kimi seconds ago!
But the long digits were already beginning to swell, taking on a shiny, angry red hue around the knuckles. They looked stiff, slightly bent at an unnatural angle.
Kimi stared at Ollie's fingers, then his own lap, then back at the hand. The realization hit.
"Oh my god," Kimi whispered, his hands flying to his mouth. "Oh my god. I broke your fingers with my ass."
"You didn't break them," Ollie grunted, though a thin sheen of sweat was breaking out on his forehead. "I think the tendon just... hyperextended. Or something. When you shifted your weight, my hand was planted against the mattress, and the angle was just... wrong."
"I broke your fingers," Kimi repeated, his voice rising in pitch. Absolute, blinding panic set in. "I crushed your hand. We need to amputate."
"Nobody is amputating anything!" Ollie laughed, though it sounded slightly hysterical. He cradled his hand, rocking slightly on the bed. "Just... maybe get me some ice? And my phone?"
What followed was a frantic, uncoordinated chaos. Kimi practically flew out of bed, nearly tripping over his own discarded sweatpants, sprinting to the tiny kitchen completely naked to ransack the freezer.
He found a bag of frozen peas, because goddammit Ollie and his inability to refill their ice trays, and sprinted back.
He threw the peas at Ollie, then scrambled to find his phone. "I'm Googling it."
"We should probably go to the hospital," Ollie admitted quietly, staring at the swelling, which was now noticeably purplish.
Kimi froze. "The hospital. Right now?"
"Can you... can you help me get my sweatpants on?"
----
Getting dressed had been an ordeal. Ordering the Uber had been worse. The ride to the campus hospital was excruciating.
The driver, a cheerful older man named Gary, seemed completely oblivious to the palpable tension in the back seat. "Rough night, boys?"
Gary had asked, looking at Ollie's tightly cradled hand in the rearview mirror. "Bar fight? Slammed it in a car door?"
"Something like that," Ollie had ground out, his jaw tight.
Kimi had spent the entire ten-minute drive staring out the window, his face burning so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. Bar fight. If only. A bar fight was cool. A bar fight was masculine. A bar fight did not involve explaining to a medical professional that you injured yourself while exploring the depths of your boyfriend's anatomy.
By the time they reached the brightly lit A&E entrance, Kimi was vibrating with anxiety. He practically hauled Ollie out of the car, thanking Gary hastily before dragging his boyfriend through the sliding glass doors.
The triage nurse was a terrifyingly competent-looking woman in her fifties. Her nametag read 'Brenda', and she had the dead eyes of someone who had worked the Friday night college shift for twenty years.
"Name?" Brenda asked, not looking up from her computer.
"Oliver Bearman," Ollie said.
"Date of birth?"
"May 8th, 2005."
"Complaint?" Brenda finally looked up, her gaze landing on the bag of thawing peas Ollie was still clutching.
"Hand injury," Ollie said, trying to sound professional. "Right hand. Index and middle fingers."
Brenda raised an eyebrow. "Mechanism of injury? How did it happen, darling?"
Kimi stopped breathing. He stared at a poster on the wall detailing the signs of a stroke, desperately wishing he was having one.
Ollie cleared his throat. "I, uh. I experienced a blunt force trauma and... hyperextension of the joints."
Brenda stared at him. She was unimpressed by the vague description. "Did you fall on it? Punch a wall? Catch a football wrong?"
"It was..." Ollie swallowed hard, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He glanced at Kimi, who looked ready to bolt out the door and start a new life under an assumed name in Mexico. "It was a bedroom accident."
Brenda paused. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She looked at Ollie. Then she looked at Kimi, who was currently the color of a ripe tomato, sweating profusely in his inside-out sweatpants.
Understanding dawned on Brenda’s face. It was not shock or disgust, instead it was a bone-deep weariness of a senior nurse having lived many lifetimes.
"You sprained your fingers inside your boyfriend," Brenda said flatly, her voice carrying entirely too well across the relatively quiet waiting room.
The guy with the bloody towel stopped holding it to his head to look over.
"Yes," Ollie squeaked.
"Alright," Brenda sighed, typing rapidly. "Strain of the flexor tendons due to rigorous manual activity. Bed 4. The doctor will be with you shortly. Keep the peas on it."
Kimi didn't walk to Bed 4. He was actually astral-projecting, detached from his physical body, powered solely by the magnitude of his own mortification.
The doctor, a young resident who looked like he hadn't slept since 2022, had been remarkably professional. He had examined the hand, confirmed it was a severe strain and not a fracture (saving them a trip to X-ray), and expertly splinted and taped the fingers together.
"Keep it elevated," the doctor had advised, writing up the discharge papers. "Ice it for the next 48 hours. Take ibuprofen for the pain. And, uh..." The doctor paused, fighting a losing battle against a smile. "...maybe take a two-week hiatus from any strenuous activities."
"Thank you, doctor," Ollie had said, perfectly polite, though his ears were bright red.
Kimi had simply nodded, staring vacantly at the floor, accepting his new reality that his ass had destroyed his boyfriend (unsexy).
-----
Which brought them back to the waiting room, at 2:17 AM, waiting for the final discharge paperwork to clear through the system.
"You should break up with me." Kimi mutters, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. "You'll regret being with me in 10 years when I break your dick in a freak accident or something."
Ollie laughs, a genuine, bright sound that makes Kimi's chest squeeze. "Kimi, look at me."
Kimi stubbornly shakes his head.
Ollie sighs, leaning over and using his good hand to gently cup Kimi's chin, forcing him to turn his head. Ollie's thumb strokes a soothing rhythm against Kimi's jawline. His eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners with affection.
"It's really not a big deal," Ollie says softly, dropping the teasing tone. "It hurts a bit, yeah. But it's just a sprain. The doctor said two weeks. I'm not mad. I'm not grossed out. I'm definitely not thinking you're fat, and we are not breaking up, you absolute lunatic."
Kimi bites his lower lip, his eyes welling up despite his best efforts to keep it together. The adrenaline crash is hitting him hard, leaving him exhausted and emotional. "But I ruined our night. You were so sweet, and I was so stressed, and you were just trying to make me feel good, and I broke you."
"Hey. You didn't break me." Ollie leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Kimi's forehead. "You didn't ruin the night, either. I mean, the ending was a bit meh, but the first half was fantastic."
Kimi lets out a wet, reluctant snort.
Ollie grins, holding up his taped fingers like a trophy. "In ten years, when we're old and boring, we're gonna look back at this and laugh so hard."
"I am never laughing at this," Kimi insists, though the tight, suffocating knot in his chest is finally beginning to loosen. "I will be on my deathbed, and my final thought will be Brenda announcing to the entire A&E that you injured yourself in my fucking ass."
"Mr. Bearman?" a nurse calls out from the main desk, holding a clipboard. "Discharge papers are ready."
Ollie pats Kimi's knee and stands up, wincing slightly as he accidentally jostles his hand. Kimi is on his feet in a second, hovering nervously, entirely ready to act as Ollie’s personal bodyguard against any stray chairs or doorways that might threaten his injured hand.
They walk up to the desk. The nurse hands Ollie a stack of papers and a prescription for high-strength ibuprofen. "All set. Remember to follow up with the campus clinic in a week if the swelling doesn't go down."
"Will do. Thanks," Ollie says.
They make their way out of the sliding glass doors, stepping out into the cool, quiet November night. The air is crisp, smelling of fallen leaves and dew, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment. The campus is deserted, the streetlights casting long, pooling shadows across the concrete paths.
Kimi walks close to Ollie's left side, instinctively shielding his injured right side from the non-existent crowd.
They walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath their sneakers. The sheer absurdity of the situation is finally settling in, replacing the panic with a quiet exhaustion.
"So," Ollie breaks the silence, his voice casual, but Kimi can hear the smile in it. "Two weeks."
Kimi groans, "Please don't remind me."
"Two whole weeks of strict medical instructions to avoid rigorous manual activity," Ollie continues, sounding far too cheerful for a man in a splint. "However will we cope?"
"We'll cope by you focusing on your studies and me continuing my remorse," Kimi deadpans.
Ollie chuckles, throwing his good, left arm over Kimi's shoulders, pulling him flush against his side. He presses a kiss to the side of Kimi's head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. "I don't know. I was thinking... this just means you're going to have to do all the heavy lifting for a while."
Kimi stops walking. He looks up at Ollie, his eyes narrowing, even as a fresh blush begins to creep up his neck. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"
"I'm just saying," Ollie says innocently, though his eyes are dancing with mischief. "The doctor said I can't do any strenuous activities with my hand. He didn't say anything about you. I think it's only fair. As payment for my critical injuries."
Kimi stares at him for a long moment, a mix of disbelief, fond exasperation.
Kimi reaches up, grabbing the collar of Ollie's jacket, and pulls him down into a searing, bruising kiss. Ollie hums in surprise, his good arm tightening around Kimi's waist, kissing back with immediate, enthusiastic heat.
When Kimi finally pulls away, they are both slightly breathless, the cool night air feeling wonderful against their flushed faces.
"Fine," Kimi whispers, a small, genuine smile finally breaking across his face. "Payment. But we are going home, and you are going to sleep, and we are not attempting anything until that swelling goes down."
"Deal," Ollie grins, leaning his forehead against Kimi's. "I love you, you know. Even when you're a walking hazard."
"I love you too," Kimi sighs, leaning into the embrace. "Even when you have the structural integrity of a wet noodle. Like you have the build of a Neanderthal, how is my ass breaking you?"
"Hey!"
They resume walking back toward their apartment, the terrifying ordeal of the emergency room fading into the background. Kimi still has his inside-out sweatpants on, Ollie is clutching a bag of thawed, mushy peas, and they are both exhausted.
But as Ollie’s good hand finds Kimi’s, lacing their fingers together, Kimi thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can handle this whole adulting thing after all.
As long as he has Ollie, he figures they can survive anything. Even an emergency trip to the A&E from dumb accident involving his ass.