summary: tyler comes home with a wound from a match
a/n: i wrote this before he was released no I will not be changing his name
Tyler laid with his head across your lap. His eyes were focused on the television but you could tell he was barely clinging to consciousness. His golden hair was sprawled out behind him, creating delicate waves against your body. As you ran your fingers through the tawny locks he leaned into your touch like a contented cat.
There was a deep, burgundy and violet wound just below his eye, running down the length of his cheekbone. Black stitches were roughly sewn along the injury. You hadn’t expected him to come home like that.
You understood his job and the career path he had chosen. You understood it meant sometimes he got injured and sometimes he would bleed. He had come home with broken legs and ankles. Not very often but often enough that it wasn’t really anything more than a nuisance for you. But occasionally it would take you by surprise. He always tried to call you after the matches, to let you know how it went, to let you know if something had happened but sometimes he forgot. Sometimes he’d come home with a black eye or a laceration or a brace attached to a joint and it would catch you off guard.
That’s what happened yesterday.
The evening had crept along as you waited for him to return home. You tried to forget the nightmare of a day you had endured by losing yourself in the pasta sauce bubbling on the stove. You knew Tyler would be home soon and the tension would truly melt away the moment he had his arms wrapped around you.
The door opened and closed. A bag hit the floor.
“Hey, darling. I’m home.” He called out into the house.
“I’m in the kitchen.”
You could hear his footfalls approaching, his arms wrapping around your waist. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and took a deep breath before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You smiled. He was home. Home and safe. Sharing the same space, breathing the same air as you.
“I’m gonna need you to sew my trunks. They got a little torn on the side last night.”
You nodded. You hadn’t gotten to see the match but mending his gear was commonplace for you. You could feel him relax against you and it gave you a sense of peace. Gently, you brought a hand behind you and ruffled his hair. You ran that hand down his cheek and felt him wince. The rough texture was strange and not at all what you had expected to encounter.
This caused you to turn. And there it was. The stitches. The bruising.
“What happened?” You had asked, a hand falling to your hip.
“Nothing. Just took a kick wrong.”
It wasn’t nothing. It was a massive wound that had clearly required the help of doctors to ensure its proper healing. A massive wound that had probably bled a lot. A massive wound that you weren’t there to worry about in the moment. And there was something about that that hurt you.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was late. I didn’t want to wake you up when I figured I could tell you about it now.” His voice was gentle but it still upset you. He took your hand in his and he held it with the utmost care. “It’s fine though. Just a little cut, that’s all.”
It sat with you though. It was difficult to spend so much time apart and it was even more difficult to know there might be times where he got hurt and you wouldn’t know.
You weren’t able to enjoy dinner with the stitches staring back at you and you felt horrible that you couldn’t look past them to enjoy the night. You became withdrawn and decided against laying on the couch with him, opting to go to bed early instead. He found you curled up on your side, your eyes open and scrolling through social media. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. You were acting like a child but he still had a patient smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“Not gonna talk to me?” He asked.
“I’m just tired.” It was a lie and you knew it was and he knew it was but he tolerated it.
“I guess I’m tired too, then.” He shrugged, crawling in beside you.
You didn’t make a move, disinterested in breaking down the frustrated and begrudging wall you had built. But it meant nothing to him, his arms reaching around your side, pulling you closer. He peppered your shoulder with kisses, running them up your neck, to your cheek and back down again. You had to force yourself not to smile.
“Why’re you upset with me?” His voice was calm and kind.
“Why didn’t you tell me you got hit like that?”
“I told you. I figured I’d tell you when I got back here. No reason to make you worry when it was just a silly bump.”
“The guy could’ve taken your eye out.” You muttered into the pillow, your phone now down by your side.
Tyler brought the arm that originally lay against your waist, up and across your chest, as if it were a seatbelt holding you safely for the ride.
“But he didn’t.”
You didn’t say anything. He was also silent, the only sound between the two of you being rhythmic breathing. Finally, he let out a small sigh and relented in a way that was almost unnoticeable. You couldn’t feel it in his body or his arms but in his presence itself.
“Listen.” He turned you towards him and you unhappily felt your body roll accordingly to face the man you loved. “Sometimes this stuff happens. But it's okay. I’m safe. Nothing bad will happen to me.”
“It might one day.” You blurted out, your true feelings suddenly on display.
“It won’t.” His voice was firm and resolute. “As long as I’ve got you waiting for me at home I’ll always be coming back to you in one piece.”
He found your hands mixed in with the sheets and the duvet and laced his fingers through yours. He didn’t look you in the eyes right away, more focused on this moment of touch than anything else. When he did bring his gaze to meet yours it was clear, in spite of the darkness. His eyes were a gentle plea with you, asking you to understand he meant everything he said.
“I won’t let anything hurt me.” He murmured. “Only I can control that and I will for you.”
You waited a moment before allowing a small nod. A small acceptance of him, stitches and all.
So, there you sat. An evening removed from his return to the home you shared, his head on your lap, your hand in his hair. Occasionally, you took breaks from combing your hand through his locks to focus on finishing sewing the tear in his trunks.
With each movement of your needle, you brought them back together, into one whole piece. Back into one contiguous cloth, one unbroken garment.
Tyler looked up at you and sleepily smiled. You smiled back.
god damn Jake Atlas looked totally concussed by the end of that there, couldn’t even kickout properly, they had to rush into a submission finish there.
Poor dude can’t catch a break, concussion in his first match back in ROH.
