simon “ghost” riley x barista reader (gn), divider by @uzmacchiato, @whumperless-whump-event day 17: injury while cooking
Every morning, Simon goes to the same coffeeshop. It’s cozy. Definitely a place he would avoid usually, but he lives right next door. Also, before 7am they have a general discount, so he started getting a coffee every morning after his run.
The shop only has a handful if employees; one of them being you. You always open the shop and when he happens to be home for the day, he sometimes spots you leaving around noon.
You’re… good. A steady presence. Not overly cheerful, not nearly as grumpy as he is. Just… a nice person who never asks dumb questions about the scars on his face.
Of course, there’s a reason nice people are rare. Because apparently the world does all it can to try and force them to become as bitter as everyone else. It isonly a matter of time, really.
The wind has been freezing all morning, as heavy clouds have promised rain for later in the day. Simon is ready for his daily tradition of warming up with a cup of coffee and watching you work. He goes to open the door to the coffeeshop but finds it closed. He pauses and checks his watch: 6.54am. Usually the shop is open at 6 on the dot.
Before he can spend too much time wondering, a wheezing, “Sorry!” reaches him. You sweep past him and unlock the door quickly.
You’re a mess of being half dressed and already pulling your jacket off, tossing it aside as switches are flicked and the shop slowly comes to life. Only now he sees your face. You’re flushed and your eyes are faintly red. Did you oversleep? He has to swallow a smirk. That’s almost cute.
“Sorry, Simon!” you repeat as the coffee machine turns on. “Just give me a moment, I just…”
Simon sits at the bar and gives a tiny nod. “Try not to get a heartattack,” he comments. “I got time.”
He watches you try to prepare all stations at the same time. Your coworkers won’t be in until 7.30am for the morning rush, so you’re on your own for now.
When you finally turn, placing his coffee order before him, he already knows what is about to happen but can’t stop it, as you come in with way too much speed. Scalding coffee spills onto your hand.
In a heartbeat you’re several steps away, clutching your hand, eyes wide before squeezing shut, biting your lip to swallow either a scream or a string of curses. Simon stands and rounds the counter quickly.
“Let me see.” You don’t move and he carefully grabs your wrist. It’s bad, though not as bad as it could have been. It all went on the back of your hand. Still bad, but not as nasty as the palm.
He makes quick work of the rings on your fingers before your hand can swell as he guides you to the sink. “That’s gonna hurt,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
The water is cool, slightly below room temperature. When he holds your hand under it, your legs nearly give out. His grip on your wrist tightens and he moves behind you, gently pinning you to the counter with his own body so you’ll stop pulling and aggravating your hand.
“Ssh…”
Tears drop from your eyes and like a dam that broke, you lean forward, bury your face in the crook of your elbow and cry. Such a shitty day.
Simon stays behind you. When other customers try to enter, he glares until they leave, guving you the privacy you need to break down. He keeps your hand under the water for 20 minutes, longer than you needed to calm yourself. About 15 minutes in, your coworkers had come and ushered you and Simon to the breakroom, promising to handle things alone today.
Now, Simon is examining your hand, which is slightly numb but still at the same time hurting like hell. He is telling you how to take care of the burn, but your eyes are far away, until Simon says your name, snapping you out of it.
“What?”
Simon stares, then slowly lays your hand on the table. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Just a shitty continuation to an already shitty morning.”
“Mhm. I can imagine.” He watches you for a moment longer. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Your eyes widen dramatically and you straighten up. Gaze flickering over his form, you nod slowly before shaking out of it. “Iced?”
