•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: American Actress Julia Roberts Musician: American Singer, Songwriter and Musician, Bruce Springsteen Time: Late 70's
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[Request]
Charlotte let out a labored sigh as she nudged her glasses up her nose with a gloved thumb. "Well, it's definitely sprained."
The messy haired man lying on the stretcher relaxed with an exhale through his nose. "So, not broken. That's different than broken, right?" His head turned towards the gal with a slight worry knitted in his brow, his fingers restless as they searched for comfort against the bite of the bright blue ice pack.
"Yes, they're different." She laughed, more out of pity than in earnest. "A sprain is damage to the ligaments. As for a fracture, aka a 'broken bone', that's damage to the... well, bone. And seeing as you were able to limp yourself into the ambulance, I take it you don't have any broken bones."
"Ah, smarty pants." The brunet laughed, sitting up with assistance from his forearms. "You sure do know a lot. I'll let you in on another thing... my name." He quipped. "It's Bruce."
"Charlotte." The girl obliged, extending a latex-covered hand which he shook. "So, Bruce, how'd you manage to sprain your ankle? Let me guess — hopping around on like an absolute nut?"
"So you do know me?" His once tired features curled into a cheeky smile, followed by an inquiry. "You see me on stage?"
The paramedics had been called after a series of horrified concert-goers rung from phone booths in and near the concert venue. A small fleet of ambulances were dispatched along with four patrol cars, but the damage ended up being far less severe than the calls had implied. A broken nose, about a dozen bruised ribs and lots of busted lips; but nothing that required fast tracked trip to the ER. The callers were mostly panicked teenaged girlfriends worried about their knuckle-headed beaus or tween kids shaken after their first real rock show.
"We arrived after receiving multiple calls of people injured in the crowd. I have no clue who you are, I assumed you'd gotten stepped on during the show. You rockers like to do the pogo, after all."
"Gee, Charlotte you sound like my old man! Ya know, this uptight gig is really aging you." He joked, turning his attention back to her with a subtly glint in his eyes. "Say, how old are you, anyway?"
The girl scoffed. "Old enough that your cheesy lines don't work on me. Maybe try my kid sister."
"Maybe I will." He nearly interrupted, smirking as the curly headed brunette rolled her eyes. She swiftly got up from her seat next to the stretcher on which Bruce was now sitting, peeling off her gloves and tossing them into the lidded trash bin.
"So, Char — wanna get outta here? Since there's no more trouble, and all?" His head was titled like a curious puppy, his tone similarly playful.
"Wow, with the nicknames, already, mister Bruce?" The brunette mused, turning on the tap to the ambulance's tiny sink. "First of all, I'm not done with you just yet. And second, I do regret to inform you that I'm at work, sir. I can't just leave whenever I please." She continued, briefly rinsing her hands.
