Summary - Reader falls on her way to brunch and bruises her knees. Luckily a stranger named Ruben comes to her rescue.

Enjoy!

Clumsy wasn't enough to describe you. You were clumsy, embarrassing and utterly childish for not learning how to walk in heels until the age of 24.

"Are you okay?"

A stranger came to your rescue. Hopefully he missed the part where you faceplanted to the ground. I mean who trips on their way to brunch? On your way from brunch would have made way more sense.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You said, collecting your purse and accepting the hand he held out to you. You were brought to your feet with one swift motion. He was strong, a thousand times stronger than you.

"But you're bleeding."

"Yeah, I can see that."

It was your knees, bruised by the sidewalk. You were going to have a serious word with whoever one of your friends that suggested everyone wear pencilskirts to brunch.

"I've got some bandaids at home. I live right there." He pointed to the tall building across the street.

"Fine."

The place where you were having brunch was only around the corner anyway. And what was worse, showing up late for brunch or showing up with blood running down your ankles?

"I'm Ruben by the way." Said the strange man escorting you, arm and arm, across the street.

He lived in a remarkably fancy apartment. "I'm Y/N." You said, your eyes in awe of the decor you were met with. It's not that you thought that the guy was broke, but he did dress like he was about to rob a convenient store.

"Sit."

He ordered you to take a seat on his couch. You did as you were told in wait for him to return with the necessities to clean your wound.

"Does it hurt?"

He focused on clearing the blood and dirt first, a bit primitive in the way he went about it. His hand gripped your thigh, holding you still in a way you would never allow a man to do even on the second date.

"Y/N, does it hurt?"

You forced him to repeat the questions since you had been too concerned with his hand on your thigh.

"No, it's fine."

"Did you hit anything else, like your head?"

"No."

You thanked the gods that he hadn't witnessed your takle of the ground. He must have just come around the corner when it happened. Perhaps he had been out for a jog? At least he dressed like he had been.

"I think this should do it."

Once the blood was gone and his hand was off your thigh, you could think straight again.

"I'm never wearing heels again, that's forsure."

You took them off and stretched your legs out on the couch. Ruben grabbed the wool he had used to clean your wound and threw them in the bin. He returned with two bandaids to cover the bruises  with.

"They don't match my skintone." You said, not to be picky or anything.

"I didn't know they were supposed to do that." Ruben looked to the package, scratching his head.

"Well they are. It's so no one knows that you've hurt yourself and I'm quite desperate for the world not to know that I can't walk in heels."

Ruben chuckled, but did make his way to the door. "I'll be right back."

You thought it was sweet, he was sweet and handsome.

"There." He said, satisfied with finding a bandaid that matched your skin. He returned from the store with three different selections of bandaids for you to choose from.

"Thank you Ruben. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you?" By the looks and view from his apartment, he seemed to be getting payed enough.

"How about dinner? You look like you can cook."

"Come again?" You frowned. "You want me to cook you dinner?"

"As payment for helping you out, yes."

"B...but..." You were about to deliver the greatest speech on how chivalry was dead and how men killed it, when Ruben's lips widen into a devious grin.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"About the cooking thing, yes, but not the part about wanting to have dinner with you. Unless..." His cheeks blossomed. "Unless you're not up for it, of course."

He was charming, kind and handsome. A deadly combination.

"I'd love to have dinner with you."

It was a deadly combination indeed, but a perfect excuse for being late for brunch.

This way when your friends asked you about the reason for your delay, you didn't have to tell them about the bruises on your knees from the faceplant. You could just tell them that you bumped into a handsome stranger who is now taking you for dinner.

"Great. I'll give you my number on our way down." He said, escorting you out of his apartment.