ᢉ𐭩 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵

The park was mostly quiet — just the sound of wheels scraping pavement, wind rustling trees, and the occasional thunk of a missed trick. You were sitting on the curb, knees pulled to your chest, sipping from your water bottle and watching him.

Silas, in his usual quiet way, was focused. Not show-offy. Just locked in, hoodie pulled over his head, baggy jeans skimming the tops of his beat-up sneakers as he rolled back and forth, lining up a trick.

He glanced over at you once — barely a smirk, but you caught it.

Then he bent his knees, gave a little push, and popped the board up — mid-kickflip — and slipped.

Hard.

He hit the pavement shoulder-first, the impact sharp enough to echo.

“Silas!” You were already on your feet before he even rolled.

He was still for a second — not knocked out or anything, just quiet, eyes closed like he was processing the pain.

You rushed over and knelt beside him, heart racing. “You okay? What hurts?”

He winced, then opened one eye. “I’m fine.”

“You’re very obviously not fine.”

“I just—yeah. That one was bad.”

You helped him sit up slowly, your hands hovering awkwardly near his arm and back like you didn’t want to touch the wrong spot. There was already a patch of scraped skin showing through a tear in his hoodie, and his palm was a mess of dirt and raw redness.

You looked at him. “You shouldn’t do tricks that high without wrist guards. Or pads. Or—I don’t know—a full suit of armor.”

He gave a half-laugh, then hissed through his teeth. “Okay. Yeah. That stings.”

You pulled your sleeve over your hand and gently dabbed at the scrape on his palm. “You need to rinse this. We have band-aids at my place.”

“I’m okay,” he repeated quietly, but he leaned into you a little.

You sighed and threaded your arm under his to help him stand. “You’re my skater boy. I’d like you in one piece, please.”

He smiled at that, even though his mouth twitched from pain. “Okay.”

Once you were both walking back toward your house, his limp subtle and stubborn, he looked over at you.

“You got all worried.”

You gave him a sharp look. “You ate it in front of me. What did you expect? A slow clap?”

“No. Just… you’re cute when you panic a little.”

You smacked his shoulder gently (the good one). “Shut up.”

He smiled. “Yes, nurse.”