Rebel Red Carnation {Kiribaku}

VII

I sit with my eyes closed, panting, my shoulder leaned up against the wall. I'm... not going to make it. The train station is still miles away. It's already late afternoon. The more I move, the more I bleed and I can feel a certain kind of weakness settling in from the loss of blood. Must be more than I thought. Besides, the pain is too much to bear.

Figures, that a homeless fuck like me would bleed to death in a back alley full of trash all because of one stupid ass decision he made. Seems fitting, I guess. At least my mom will have one less mouth to feed...

The sound of shuffling catches my attention, and it's odd enough for me to crack my eyes open. Off to the left, towards the mouth of the alley, there's a figure—a human figure. I open my eyes more.

"You come to mug me?" I call. "Too bad I don't have jack shit."

They stride forward, and a familiar laugh meets my ears. "Good thing I do, then," says the prince.

I sit up, not bothering to hide my surprise as he comes into view. In his fist is a sack—a pillowcase filled with shit, to be precise.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask, sounding grossly hopeful.

He kneels down in front of me. "I snuck out and came to find you," he says, but he's frowning, looking me over. "Dude... they really tore you up," he murmurs.

As he's looking me over, the weirdest sense of relief has overshadowed even the pain. Seeing him feels like a fucking miracle, and I hate that. But even I'm looking him over, drinking in his presence before I really even know what I'm doing.

His hair is down, cascading around his face in a few wispy layers. His eyes are bright, wide. He wears the most common clothes I've ever seen him in—jeans and a hoodie, his feet tucked into simple black tennis shoes. He still wears his earrings and a necklace chain, and despite his commoner's clothes he's still way too pretty to be out wandering the streets.

And shit, I must really be out of sorts if this is what I'm thinking.

"No shit?" I sputter in reply, averting my eyes and feeling stiff under his red gaze. "You know better than anyone how they feel about me. Why wouldn't they try to make hamburger meat out of me? How'd you find me, anyway?"

Pain flashes across his face but is quickly replaced by a slight simper. "I overheard where they said they were taking you and then followed the trail of blood." He nods toward the blood pooling on the ground behind me. "Mind if I have a look? I brought some stuff to clean you up and stop the bleeding."

I eye the sack still in his hand. "...whatever," I mutter, relaxing against the rough bricks again. He maneuvers around me, and despite my shitty hearing loss I don't miss the light gasp that draws in through his lips the second he lays eyes on my torn up back. "Pretty, ain't it?" I mutter.

He doesn't respond to that. Instead, he says, "I think it's probably best you took off your shirt. It's all torn up and soaked in blood."

"'S all I got to wear, dumbass," I say.

"Aw c'mon, you think I came to your rescue and didn't bring a change of clothes?" he asks almost teasingly, though there's an edge to his voice that's unlike him. Guess the guy who has to wear a disguise every time he leaves his damn house probably hasn't seen much blood before...

"Don't say shit like I'm some fucking damsel in distress," I quip.

"Are you gonna take off your shirt or not?"

"Fuck off," I hiss. I sit up anyway; it's fucking agonizing, trying to take the damned thing off. Every little movement of my arms sends a wave of pain shooting through the skin of my back. I must me making more noise through my gritted teeth than I thought, though, because he stops me, his warm fingers placed on my arm.