what my hands and my body done // adam page x reader

what my hands and my body done

Wednesday nights at the bar were always slow. Few people went out to drink in the middle of the week, and most of the ones who did were familiar faces, long time patrons who either drank too much or lived under weird schedules. Not that you were one to judge, you'd had your own ups and downs in life, so you didn't care much. Besides, your job was to serve drinks, not ask questions. Not unless people wanted you to, some always did, but most just wanted to be left alone. And so you did, happy to serve orders that you knew like the back of your hand and be surrounded by faces you'd seen a dozen times before. So, it was a wonder when you spotted somebody new.

It was way past the middle of your shift when he came in, movement in the bar slowing down as the clock already marked eleven in the night. Music played softly in the background as you cleaned the stone counter, the bar mostly empty. Just a few people hang around, the odd couple here and there, the low noise of their conversations filling the space in between. You'd been sitting in a chair and just looking through your phone when he came up to the counter, blue eyes looking around before he spotted you. To see a new face on a Wednesday night was a surprise already. For that new face to be a big guy with a black eye was something else.

Your first worry at the sight was that he'd be some sort of troublemaker. A big, strong looking dude walks into your bar with a busted eye, there is no way you wouldn't worry. Today was one of the few days you didn't get to stay until closing, the last thing you needed was a problem patron right at the end of your shift. You looked him up and down, looking for any suspicious sign, any small thing that could count as a warning. But contrary to your fears, the man just politely asked for an old fashioned in a voice so quiet you almost couldn't hear it. His demeanor seemed so different from the rough look in his face that you almost couldn't believe it.

As you started preparing the cocktail he struck up conversation - another surprise to you, usually the types to show up looking like trouble were the ones who liked to drink in silence. A heavy southern accent spilled through his words as he made small talk, he was charismatic and good at conversation and despite his looks, he sounded nice enough. You quickly learned his name was Adam and that he wasn't from this city, just passing by for work. He never specified what he worked at, and you didn't press either, you had more interesting questions in your mind. Questions that could help you decide whether this guy fine or if you should be pulling the crowbar from under the counter.

"So," you started, going back to cleaning your shaker as you tried to pretend you weren't quite so curious, "looking like you had a rough day there, buddy."

"Ah," Adam stuttered in his words, one hand coming to touch the skin under his swollen eye, an awkward smile playing on his lips, "yeah, not my best, but at least I'm alive."

You smiled back at him, trying to set him a bit more at ease. His answer made it seem like whatever happened to him hadn't been by his own choice, but you still felt curiosity getting the better of you. You'd try one more time, if he didn't want to answer, you'd let it drop.

"Mind if I ask what happened?" You leaned into the counter, pulling your chair closer to him as you sat down.

"Well," Adam looked around, taking a deep breath before his gorgeous eyes fell back to you, soft gaze wavering just slightly. "Guess I caught the attention of the wrong person."

You looked back at him, a grimace coming to your face for just a second as his blue eyes looked into his cup, a large hand twirling the dark liquid around. The guy clearly didn't want to discuss what happened, so you wouldn't ask anymore. Besides, if what he said was true, it seemed he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd. You'd seen that story play a dozen times, it never really ended well.