office AU! Ivory brainrot where you try to impress your colleagues by wearing these super fashionable heels, but they hurt like hell. The pain is worth it though; your colleagues praise your fashion sense and shower you in attention. Yet Ivory's eyes fall to the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. How your teeth clench through your words and how your brows furrow when you think no one's looking. He dismisses his concern, however. It's not like he has any say over what you choose to wear or not.
That is, until the end of your work party (yes, Ivory gets invited to these events. Does anyone talk to him though? Nope, just you). Your co-workers get super drunk and stumble off on their merry way, leaving you and Ivory alone. It's only then when he makes the first move. He asks if anything's bothering you. How you weren't your usual cheerful self, chatting an ear off to anybody who had half the decency to listen, (Ivory did. He always did).
Perhaps you're a little more stand-offish as usual. Insisting nothing's wrong. Maybe your embarrassed over the situation you put yourself into. Maybe you didn't want him to see you as anything less then the mature coworker you wanted to come across from. Eventually, Ivory gets fed up and brings you over to a bench. He kneels down in front of you and orders you to press your shoe against his thigh. You refuse, naturally. But when he says it's an order as your senior, you have no choice but to comply.
Surprisingly, he's gentle as he undoes the buckle for your heels. He's slow as he pulls back the strap, likely not wanting to damage the shoes or hurt you in any way. As he pulls off the heel, your swollen skin peaks from the leather. You'd prepare yourself for his chidings. Perhaps even his laughter. But he inspects the blisters forming on your skin with utmost seriousness. Almost like a doctor.
While his gaze remains fixated on your wounds, your eyes melt upon his form. You notice his hands reaching into his pockets as he fishes out a plain pair of band aids. The same band aids wrapped snug around his fingers. You tease him for his habit, and he merely rolls his eyes.
The cotton pad barely grazes against the skin at first, yet you feel as though it's material has set alight a blazing fire across your skin. It stings. All Ivory can do if offer a sheepish apology as he presses the material to your wounds.
He stands before you can thank him and tells you to stay put. Ivory's cheeks burn a light color as you shoot him a questioning gaze, and he grumbles that you need first aid ointment. So stay put so he can go buy some. And maybe if you want… he'll… apply it for you…
The last thing you see is his pale locks bounce atop his head as he hurries off down the street. His ears flushed a faint pink hue, likely towards his own words. And as you watch him go, you can only be grateful that someone as nice and experienced as him is your senior.
