New York City-The Chainsmoker
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"I didn't know where else to go." I looked at the wrecked man in the black suit, bloody and wet, on my fire escape at 2 am.
I was confused and concerned. It hurt me to look at him like this, ruined. His clothes were hanging off of him by threads, drenched in blood and rain. I let him in, groaning as he made it to the couch.
In this moment, I couldn't think about the un removable stain his blood would make on my couch. All I needed to do was help him.
It would be too painful for him to remove his shirt in his state. His breaths were heavy. Quickly, I grabbed the kitchen scissors, cutting open his shirt.
I gasped quietly as I got to really look at his chest, the entirety of his torso. Slashed, cut, bruised. I couldn't bear looking at him like this. I fought the tears that threatened to fall down my cheeks as I inspected the many wounds on his torso. He hissed in pain with every touch I made. I made sure to be gentle.
"Jesus Matt," I mumbled. "How the hell did you get like this?"
"Uh, it's a long story."
He could barely keep this eyes open. I knew he was losing too much blood. My heart began to race as he could barely answer me. I rushed to grab the first aid kit. I kept a towel on the wounds, he groaned as I applied to the pressure.
"Here, hold this." He held the towel at the wound as I prepared the needle and thread. "The wounds are deep. "You're going to need to be stitched up."
"Mmm, I figured," he grunted.
I removed the once white towel—now crimson—from his side, I took one more look at the wound, before starting to sew him up.
His face twisted as I looped the needle through his sweaty skin. I told him to use a towel to but into but he refused. It was hard to ignore his quiet whimpers, his groans and panting.
I concentrated on the wound and needle, trying to make the stitch as clean as possible. It wasn't until I felt a tight grip on my thigh that I looked away. His palm gripped my thigh, his eyes closed shut as he bit his lip, stifling his noises.
"It'll be over soon," I said, reverting my focus back to his wound.
I must've been there, hunched over him, sewing him back up for 20 minutes. Even after all that, he still held my thigh in support. But his grip now a but softer.
After cutting the remaining thread off him, i grabbed a new towel, wiping the blood off my hands.
I placed a palm on his cheek, his face somewhat calmer. I could tell he wasn't sleeping, but just resting his eyes.
"The pain reliever should kick in soon." I had gave him some pain killer earlier, hoping it would help him a bit. Even though I doubt it would help a stab wound.
His eyes slowly opened again, his face softened again. "Thank you y/n."
His face was flush, lips pink. I couldn't resist it.
I put both of my hands on his cheeks, slowly grazing my lips against his before kissing him. Nothing passionate or heavy. Just a kiss of gratitude, grateful that he's safe.