I catch Cay as he staggers and begins to fall, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to get him out of the streets and into a bed - either mine or his. Either will do.
His happens to be closest.
Grunting with the effort, I hold him up, half dragging, half carrying him back to his apartment, glad for the first time in a while I still remember all the Scouts stuff and the first aid course I did back in England years ago.
Somehow, I manage to get him into his bed - he might be a stick insect, but he's still heavy when he's passed out like this - and grab a bag of frozen peas from his freezer. Wrapping them in a shirt, I sit beside him and hold them to his forehead, waiting patiently for him to wake up.
Eventually, his eyes half open and I smile. It's only as he wakes up that I realize I've been gently stroking his hair absently, staring at the wall opposite me, wondering about this whole "can I trust myself" thing he was going on about earlier. I take my hand back, moving it to my lap instead.
"Why does my head hurt so bad?" he croaks slightly, wincing. I open my mouth to answer but he remembers before I can get the words out, "oh yeah. Sidewalk." He pushes himself up, ignoring me telling him to stay where he is. He dumps the thawed peas on the bed next to me, and disappears off to the bathroom.
There's a long pause and a loud "oh my god!" I get up and follow him into the bathroom, to see him stood looking in the mirror in horror at the large purpley bruise on, and around, his temple.
"You might want some more ice on that," I mutter, leaning on the doorframe, "or I can go to the drugstore and get you some of that bruise cream."
"I'll take the ice, I don't want to be on my own right now. But I think the hospital might be smart at some point," he says, poking the bruise gently and wincing again.
"I had ice on it the whole time you were out, but it doesn't seem to have done much," I tell him as I get him some more ice anyways.
"Ugh, remind me to never drink again," he groans, taking the ice from me and pressing it to the side of his head and making his way back to the bedroom. I follow, laughing slightly.
"Sure, mister ‘look, I'm not drunk'."
"I was not drunk, I was concussed. That's my diagnosis so suck it," he smiles, sitting down. I return the smile, bending to kiss him before sitting with him.
"Don't worry. It's my diagnosis, too. You're lucky I did a first aid course," I giggle slightly, flopping back so I'm lying across the bed.
"It's all fine and dandy giggling like that, I'm in pain here. Come kiss it better?" he turns to pout at me and I grin, sitting back up so I can wrap my arms around him and hold him close, planting a soft kiss on his forehead, just next to the bruise. He hums a little, relaxing into my hug. "Feels better already. I'm still thinking I'd like a hospital trip at some point, though," he says with a slight laugh and I nod, prodding him in the ribs.
"C'mon then. To the hospital with you," I pull him up to his feet, one arm still around him as I steer him towards the door.