Killian's POV
Was is this street? I thought to myself. Or maybe this one? I glanced up at a street sign that read Fremont.

I was officially lost.

I slowed down as closed my eyes, thinking back to where James had lead me last week. Why'd I have to get so drunk, I sighed.

There was a 7/11 coming up on my right, and I recognized it as the one we had passed by that night. "Oh thank god." I whispered quietly to myself. The air was getting colder around me now. I should've worn something warmer, and James's jacket was too hard to get on over my Nike pullover.

James's apartment should be coming up on the right any moment now, I recalled. And just like clockwork, I noticed the steps going up to his place. My body grew warm in embarrassment as I passed by the bushes I had thrown up in. It looked like someone had taken care of it, thank god. I still couldn't believe I had exceeded my limits so heavily that night.

There was a series of numbers on this panel by the locked inner door. I pressed the buzzer for number 16 which read James Conway right besides it.

Nothing happened the first few minutes, so I hit the buzzer again.

After another minute, the second inner door was unlocked for me. I had forgot to text James to let him know I was on my way, but Sarah had told me he had headed home after an eventful night.

She didn't tell me what eventful entailed, but she sounded alright over the phone. I walked down the long corridor until I made it to his apartment door. Before I could knock, it was swung open...

And I stood there completely frozen.

James's right arm was held against him as blood started to soak through his white shirt. His other arm and face were entirely bruised up. It looked like he had had a run in with a semi.

My arms trembled slightly at my side as suppressed memories came back in waves.

"Hey." He smiled, wincing as another shallow cut opened up on his cheek.

I couldn't find the words to say, so instead, I pushed past him and set his jacket on the kitchen table.

I could feel my lip draw blood from how hard I had bitten it in though. "Take a seat." I finally spoke after some time.

"What?" He asked me. I just motioned for him to sit as I started rummaging through his kitchen drawers and cabinets until I found a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey and a first aid kit.

I placed the bottle on the kitchen counter in front of him with a shot glass.

He still looked confused, but he gratefully downed the shot I poured. "What the fuck happened to you." I asked him, now opening up alcohol packages and gauge strips.

"Work." He replied simply.

I grabbed his hands and placed them on my thighs as I opened up the first alcohol swap to clean his bloody knuckles. His hands were large and warm. I could feel the heat through the joggers I was wearing.

He winced at the sharp pain, but never pulled his eyes away from mine as I continued to dab at the soft tissue. "You really don't have to-" he started, but I cut him off by pushing another poured shot his way.

He smiled weakly to me before letting the strong liquor ease his pain.

-

I worked in silence, unable to forgot how used to this I was. Bandaging wounds up, that was. I had had James carefully removing his shirt so that I could tend to the wound on his shoulder. It looked like a bullet had grazed the area. "Fuck." I whispered quietly to myself.

I wasn't sure if it was from the injury, or from the wandering my eyes did as I noticed the bruises... then the perfectly sculpted body James had. I heard James clear his throat, and I looked away embarrassed.

I had definitely been staring.

"Where did you learn to do all this?" He asked finally as I moved my chair closer to better wrap his shoulder wound.

"My father- my biological father. He participated in underground fighting." I explained. My hands had started to shake slightly as all the repressed memories came flooding back.

My father stumbling home from the ring a bloody mess.

"My mother worked 3 jobs, and was never really home. While my father had a construction job by day, he made extra cash at night by fighting. It was how he was planning on putting me through college." I explained. It was silly wasn't it.

My father had my future in mind when I was only 6 years old. He was always telling me I was special. That I was going to get the best education, even if it broke him.

I could feel that dull pain tug at me as I remembered my father.

It wasn't something I did. It wasn't something I could handle. He was a part of me I buried so deep inside of me, I had lost the location to those memories.

James's eyes were soft now, but I didn't dare look up at them. I wouldn't be able to continue if I did.

"It was like clockwork really. He'd come home, and I'd patch him up for work the next day. He was already at his prime age when my mother gave birth to me, but when he started participating in fights, his body wasn't where it was years before." My hands were trembling terribly now. I could barely hold the bandages steady.

James reached out and slowly wrapped his fingers around mine, before bringing them down to his lap. I hadn't even noticed my whole body was shaking now.

"You don't have to continue." He whispered quietly.

But I wanted to.

I needed to.

It had been so long since I'd told anyone about my father. It had been so long since I had even thought of him.

"It's not really something Sarah would tell you, anyways." I chuckled a little harshly. It sounded strained from the lump I had in my throat.

"It was September 23rd. The pool was in for the largest amount anyone had seen that year. My father was told to hold out until the last round, then purposefully take a hit that would knock him down for the rest of the game. They needed him to lose and lose hard, so they could collect on the bets that had been placed against him.

"He was going up against another fighter known as The Giant. My father held out best he could, but when that final blow was delivered, he never got back up from it.... They say he died of a brain aneurysm." I whispered that last part.

A fucking brain aneurysm, I thought to myself. I could feel myself starting to lose it.

I was taken back by James's hand is it left mine to lightly cup the side of my face.

I flinched from his touch, but didn't shy away.

"I don't think there's word to explain how I feel in this moment right now." He whispered. As my eyes met his, I wasn't even sure how to respond.

For the first time, I saw eyes that didn't pity me.

They didn't judge me.

They didn't look at me as if I was something so damaged beyond belief.

All I felt was warmth when I looked back at him.

Warmth I didn't think I could ever experience after my parents left me.

Warmth I didn't think I would ever see again after the accident.

Warmth I didn't think I'd ever come to know after leaving that foster home.

And I wasn't sure what it was about those damn eyes, but in this moment, I had never felt more safe.

He looked at me as if there was still something worth saving.... and so I did the only sensible thing I could think of.

I closed the distance between us.