[Content Warning: Non graphic depiction of vomiting.]

Deck stumbled and tripped over his own feet, his vision was more than double. He could feel sickness rising from his stomach, his shoulder hit a wall as he tried to keep it down. Just a moment later, the ground below, along with his boots, were painted with the contents of his stomach. He swore and stumbled away from the mess, well, it was more like he tripped over nothing. He fell onto his hands and knees, which broke the half filled bottle of vodka he'd stolen from the bar he was just thrown out of. When the bottle shattered, several shards, large and small, cut into and embedded into the skin of his hand.

He fell heavily onto his rear, with a sort of thud, and he began to pull some of the larger shards out of his hand. Tears formed quickly in his bloodshot grey eyes, streaking his pale cheeks with the faintest glint in the flaxen light of the alley. He gently sobbed, legs sprawled out in front of him, angrily tossing larger shards as he pulled them from his hand.

The light sound of scuffing could be heard at the entrance of the alley, behind Deck, the scuffing of lazy feet. Someone too lazy to pick up their feet while walking, or maybe it was deliberate? Deck knew he didn't care, he just wanted to get home to free his mind of the complicated memories that somehow seeped through his drunken state.

"Oi, buddy. Y'alright?" Someone behind Deck called out.

Deck didn't even acknowledge them, he only winced in turn with the scraping of his nails across sharp glass in his skin. He couldn't breathe through his nose now, and his sniffles echoed just slightly against the walls that surrounded him. His sobs did too, short, soft, and half choked, trying to quiet himself.

"Ay, I'm talkin' to you." The voice called again, the scuffing stopped and he heard footsteps approaching him. The scuffing was deliberate.

"J-Just fuck off, wouldja?" Deck exclaimed in a shaky tone, tossing another shard he freed from his hand a few feet in front of him.

Deck mumbled something incoherent and the person behind him was unsure if he was talking to him or to himself. Regardless, he knelt down and gently placed a hand on Deck's left shoulder, which was as quickly swiped off as Deck had slid 3 feet away from him.

The man was alarmed, he raised his hands out in front of him, palms facing Deck to show that he meant no harm.

"Easy, there. I'm not tryin' to hurt ya." The stranger said.

Deck's eyes were wide with what seemed like confusion, especially telling by his furrowed brow. His eyes quickly turned away from the stranger as he stood up quickly, oh fuck, too fast. He lost his balance, stumbled to the side, his head felt like it was floating and his eyes closed. He briefly opened them again to see the stranger lunging toward him and the world was spinning, the ground was--rising? And then-

The whir of an oscillating fan could be heard, and Deck didn't need to open his eyes to know the room he was in was bright, too bright. It was plain to anyone's mind that he was really hungover, his head fucking hurt and his thoughts were only on the pain. He rolled over, shit, too quick, and he was on the floor. A carpeted floor, his were all hardwood. He half opened one eye, taking in the piercing bright view of an unfamiliar room. He shut his eyes tight and a groan made itself known deep in his throat as he pressed hard into his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Wh-Where the fffuck," he began, and felt a harsh rush from his stomach, somehow holding in the sick that almost erupted from him.

"Good morning, gorgeous!" The same voice from earlier? Last night?

Deck was startled, he jumped up from his stomach quickly on his knees and shuffled backward. He was too sober for this, too fucking sober, and his head was throbbing. Instinctively, both hands rose to his eyes, which he now noticed were quite puffy, and covered them to shield the light. At this point, he didn't care if he'd been kidnapped, he just wanted that fucking light off right now.

"Do what you want, dickhead. J-Just turn off the fucking light." Deck said, an obvious demand.

"Buddy boy, you're in my house," The man's voice said, it sounded louder than it should have. "And, well… Can't turn out the sun, in case ya didn't know."

Deck was relieved when the light got dimmer, the sound of metal scraping metal accompanied the sudden lessening of light.

"The hell am I at your house for? You kidnap me?" Deck was defensive, and more than a little bit scared, which could be heard by the trembling tone of his voice.

"'Cause you passed out in an alley and I wasn't gonna leave you there for the pigs to grab." The man said with a short laugh.

"Why do you c-care? You don't knooow me." Deck said, he'd gagged while speaking and held a hand to his mouth to keep it down.

"Darlin', I'm not fond of the way those fuckwads handle drunken messes like you. The junkies wouldn't be too kind with you either." The stranger said, his tone was so serious yet he sounded like he was joking.

He must be joking, no one gives a shit about a junkie.

"Name's Lars, by the way." He said when Deck didn't say anything to him.

Deck's mind was so jumbled, his thoughts were like the shards of glass that were still in his hand. He winced when he realized his hand was also throbbing, but noticed the feeling of gauze wrapped around his hand. His shoulders slumped and he heaved a heavy sigh. He felt so defeated, like such a disappointment, he just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Ah, right. Your hand is pretty sliced up, isn't it? Didn't wanna mess with it while you were unconscious, but I made sure it wouldn't get infected." Lars said before he stepped out of the room.

Deck simply let himself fall over onto the floor and closed his eyes, he rolled himself on his side and hoped he'd fall asleep before Lars reentered the room. Within minutes, and to his dismay, he heard footsteps approaching from the direction Lars had left the room. He heaved a gentle sigh and felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, he didn't want to cry in front of someone who barely knew him so he fought the tears away.

Deck was lying on the floor right in front of the couch, very much blocking the way, especially with the coffee table close by as well. Lars didn't seem to mind this, he found his way around Deck and sat himself upon the couch. Deck heard the clank of glass on wood and some wrappers rustling as Lars emptied his hands of what he was carrying.

"Come on, boy. Get up and sit on the couch." Lars said, it almost sounded like a demand, but there was a sort of caring tone to it?

This was foreign to Deck, it was so off from his usual life that he thought he was having a very weird dream. He muttered some words to himself, too incoherent for Lars to pick it up. He very reluctantly pushed himself up, losing a little balance on one side and wincing because of the glass in his hand. His throat was getting tight from the heavy emotion building in his chest and his eyes got misty. He wanted to scream and punch any nearby solid objects with all the force that his skinny arms could muster, but he held back. He was slow, finally sitting back on his heels, where he lingered for a moment. He fully expected Lars to bark Hurry the fuck up! at him, but Lars was quiet, patient. Deck slowly stood up, the light that remained in the room stung his eyes and he had to shut them again, carefully using the back of his legs to find the couch before slumping down next to Lars.

"There ya go, good job." Lars said with a faint smile that he knew Deck wasn't going to see.

Wake up, Deck. Come on. There's no way this is real.

Lars leaned forward to grab something off the table before leaning back and turning himself a bit toward Deck, where their knees bumped together. Deck's eyes shot open and he jerked away a bit on instinct, letting out a shaky breath before letting himself relax a little when he realized it was, what's the word… an accident? This has to be a dream.

Lars raised his hands defensively, holding metal tweezers between his thumb and forefinger, showing he wasn't doing anything to cause him harm.

"You're fine, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you." Lars said softly. His voice was rough and deep, but there was this tone to it that was so unfamiliar to Deck.

When Deck's stiff shoulders slacked the slightest bit, almost unnoticeable to the human eye, Lars slowly lowered his hands. He raised his left slowly toward Deck, splaying his fingers out to show he had nothing hidden.

"Can I have your hand? Gotta get those shards out." Lars said softly, not moving his hand even an inch so Deck wouldn't get spooked.

Deck was very hesitant, taking his time to contemplate his movements before making any decisions. After a few minutes and some incredible patience on Lars' end, he very slowly raised his left hand and gently rested it in Lars'.

"Okay, this will hurt, but I promise you it will help." Lars said before gently unwrapping the gauze from Deck's hand. It had several splotches of crimson where his hand had bled, but that was to be expected.

Lars took the tweezers he had in his hand and, as gently as he could, pinched a larger shard between the prongs to slowly pull it out. Deck visibly winced and yanked his hand away, which he immediately regretted because this reflex caused the shard to tear his skin a bit more upon its exit.

"S-Sorry!" Deck exclaimed in obvious fear, recoiling and slamming his eyes shut.

He opened his eyes a moment later when he felt no painful contact from the man next to him. And when he did, he saw what must have been concern in Lars' amber eyes. And there were tears sitting upon his lower lids, like the sight of Deck's fear tugged at his heart in a painful way.

"Hey, you're okay. Nothing's gonna happen to ya. You're safe here. All I'm doing is gettin' this glass out so you can heal." Lars spoke gentle and slow, giving a soft smile so Deck knew he meant well.

Deck gave two quick nods, then hesitantly returned his hand to Lars'. He tried his best to sit still, but winced with every shard that was pulled from his palm and fingers. He also jerked away multiple times, but Lars only slacked the grip he had on his hand and let him pull away, waiting patiently for his hand to return. Deck was so stunned by the fact that the guy didn't get anywhere near upset. He was patient and obviously cared quite a bit, even though Deck was just an addict he picked up from an alley.

Once all, or most, of the shards had been freed from his hand, Lars gave a small warning before soaking a piece of gauze with rubbing alcohol, and gently dabbing the open wounds, which Deck winced and almost jerked his hand away, but held mostly still for. After this, Lars wrapped his hand with a roll of gauze he had on the coffee table.

"I gotta wash my hands and throw this away. Just sit tight. I'll make ya some food when you're feelin’ better. Just let me know when." And with that, Lars stood up, grabbed the materials he had with him, and left the room.

Deck stared at his gauze wrapped hand, thinking deeply about the whole 30 minutes he just experienced. He was so confused, so conflicted, this could not be real. This could only be an incredibly realistic dream. His breathing started to pick up and tears, too heavy and intense to blink away, prickled from his tear ducts before beginning their trail down his pale cheeks.