In hindsight, agreeing to film a recap at an ice rink may, now that you thought about it, have not been the best idea. Sure, you had a vague idea how to ice skate, but you weren’t necessarily the best at it. When you informed Blaine about this, he brushed it off, saying something about it being funny for the audience.
When the day rolled around, your nerves started to get the better of you but, of course, the show had to go on. You managed to get yourself doing a couple laps, reciting your lines with Blaine and Brandon who were doing it with you. Finally, you were confident enough to do your bit. The camera started to roll and you skated for whilst Chris skated backwards, handling the machine like the pro he was.
“Hey guys, welcome the RT Recap where this week, we’re at an ice rink! Before you continue we recommend you check out episode–” You never finished that sentence. Apparently, there could be little kinks in the ice. And those little kinks could be the demise of some people. Prime example: you.
The next thing you remembered was waking up to a very cold back and a very painful leg. You let out a low whine of pain, trying to move it and resulting in further agony.
“Aw f-fuck…” you stuttered out, eyes flickering open to see a very concerned Brandon above you.
“Hey, (Y/N), can you hear me?”
“Of course I can fucking hear you. What happened?” you said, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks as you adjusted to the pain shooting up from your ankle to your knee.
“You slipped on the ice, we’re just gonna get you into my car then we’ll take you to the hospital.” Brandon’s low tone didn’t comfort you at all, if anything it stressed you out, making you want to punch him.
“Ugh, fine whatever, just be careful please.” By now you had tears streaming down your cheeks and you were choking back whines.
Turns out, being careful with someone with an injured leg wasn’t that easy. Blaine and Aaron managed to carefully get you to Brandon’s car without much incident, although sliding you off the rink without pushing you into a wall seemed to be a challenge for them.
Once you were safely tucked into the back of Brandon’s mom’s van, another vehicle had pulled up next to you. At that point you weren’t worried about other patrons of the ice rink and more worried about getting your aching leg fixed up. Someone had handed you a hot chocolate and you focused on the soothing aroma rather to the searing discomfort in your leg.
“(Y/N)!” A familiar faded Jersey accent pulled you from your thoughts, causing you to jump and promptly wince at the movement of your ankle. “Shit, sorry.” You looked up at a nervous looking Michael, sticking his head into the open driver’s door.
“I-it’s okay.” How were you going to scold the guy you had a crush on? Especially when he was standing there with his fucking frazzled hair and his fucking flushed face and his dumb over-sized sweatshirt.
“I came as soon as I heard you got hurt, are you okay? Sorry, stupid question. How’re you feeling?” You shrugged, trying not to shake him and scream that you were in pure agony.
“Okay, I guess. It hurts like a bitch, but I think I’ll live.”
Because you were spread out along the backseat, Michael had to retreat to his own car as Brandon and Blaine drove you to the hospital at long last.
~~~~~~~
Three days of bedrest. What were you going to do with three days of bedrest? You couldn’t walk without crutches and you could barely walk with them which ruled out the idea of popping out to the shops. You were literally stuck in your apartment for three days.
Somehow you fell asleep on the first night, despite the dull throbbing in your leg. The next morning, there was a loud knock at your door, jolting you from your rest. Taking your time, you stood and carefully headed to the front door on your crutches. Warily, you unlocked the door and said something about it being open. Moments later, your favorite New Jerseyian was standing in front of you, shopping bags in either hand.
“(Y/N)! I was starting to get fuckin’ worried, you took your sweet time.” You snorted, rolling your eyes and sliding onto a barstool.
“Well, in case you didn’t know, my leg is broken, asshole. And you woke me up.” His eyes genuinely filled with concern at the last statement.
“Shit, really? Sorry, I, uh, assumed you’d be awake.” You shook your head with a smirk.
“Not good enough, Jones.” He grinned and placed on of the bags on the countertop, spilling the contents across the bar. They contained about fifteen different painkillers, twelve different flavors of soup and a teddy bear. You gasped quietly and picked it up, examining the soft toy. You looked up to see Michael making himself busy with the other bag, which seemed to be full of generic groceries.
“Michael…” you murmured, eyeing the blushing boy.
“Yeah, yeah, shuddup,” he said, turning to face but not making eye contact. “I know it’s cheesy, but I thought it would be nice for you to, ya know, have a friend in this trying time.”
“That’s...really sweet. Thank you Mikey.” You said his nickname quietly and caught his eye.
“Dun call me that,” he responded, but not in his normal loud brash voice. This one was a quiet almost lispy whisper.
“Come here.” You beckoned him over to you. Once he was standing before you, you grabbed his collar and pulled him down to you in a messy kiss. His large hands caressed your cheeks once they caught up with the program. The kiss itself was magical, his lips molding into yours, your noses just bumping against each other. Unfortunately, you needed to breathe so, reluctantly, you pulled away. Up close you could examine Michael’s many freckles, the dimples that showed when he was smiling and his squinted eyes that glinted.
“You’re gorgeous,” you whispered, hooking your arm around his neck.
“Ohmygodstopit!” he said in a faux high pitch voice. You laughed and connected your lips once more, so thankful he had decided to drop by today.
