It was starting to rain out. The sky darkened and the temperature dropped severely with the growling of thunder. Within minutes, water began to drop and everyone who wasn't in shelter ran to find cover. Inside their little apartment, Prem ignored brewing storm outside because all he could hear was the sound of his fellow flat mate gagging and throwing up his previous meal into the toilet bowl. Perth had always been the easily queasy type; the reason why he couldn't stand medical school. A dead body prepared for him to dissect with his group mates and the boy would be the first one to faint.
So it was no wonder when the boy he had picked up - rescued, more precisely from the street had expelled blood - and thick blood clots, it was Prem who had to clean up after because as soon as Perth handed the limp boy to Prem, he headed straight for the toilet bowl. Considered himself lucky Perth didn't pass out on him or Prem would have to deal with two unconscious people.
Now, Prem wasn't too keen in the idea of cleaning up something of that sort but what else could they do? Call the cleaning lady with a big mole on her face? No way. A nosy woman she is, plus she couldn't shut her trap if: meant saving the world. Prem was sure the whole block would hear a story of the two young lads down stairs who had period blood in their tub - if it was period blood but that's ridiculous because Son was a boy. There was no way he had fucking menstrual cramps and fainted and left all his blood in the tub, right?
The boy with thick lashes and big brown eyes thought very little of it, of the possibility that Son could be a transverstite - he set his mind on cleaning Son and cleaning the blood up. And after he did, he clothed Son in Perth's shirt and boxers (which were too big for him and it made him look like a child) (no, Prem didn't find him cute - no - okay maybe a little bit adorable but whatever). He then laid the boy in bed and pulled the covers over him, not once the boy woke, just heavy-sounded breathing as he slept.
The door of the bathroom creaked open and out came Perth with face pale as a ghost, hair unruly, sticking out everywhere and he just looked overall sick as hell. He staggered over to where Prem was, sitting on the bedside that wasn't occupied by Son and sat gently down as to not make any movements that could wake the boy up.
"Perth" Prem spoke, catching Perth's attention. All the while he had been staring at the sleeping boy admiring everything that was small and pretty about him, Prem had to call him twice "Perth, we need the police."
Perth widened his eyes like Prem had given him the most ridiculous suggestion ever "What-no-"
"He's got a barcode tattoo on the back of his neck, Perth, what child has that? Unless he's part of a sex trade or some shit and he was bleeding because of the abuse! The police can help him!"
"A sex trade?" Perth quirked a brow, "A sex trade with a hospital gown and a tag too?"
"I don't know maybe the clients are into some kinky shit with those things the hell would I know! Okay, let's say your theory was that he was from some hospital, and why can't we tell the police even if that's the reason? They can still help!"
"Prem, you honestly think that Son is a normal human being?"
Prem shook his head and looked at Perth in disbelief "Wait- Son?"
"His name on the tag-"
Before Perth could continue, Prem held both of his shoulders and gave him a stern look "Perth. You don't learn their names! When you do, You'll get... attached. The sooner we get him to the police, the less chances you might develope feelings for him."
"I'm not handing him over to the police" Perth pressed "Son isn't like you and me, you saw his eyes, you saw his tears - and you saw- you saw what came out of him- they might hand him over to the government and you know what they'll do! He'll become some sort of a national experiment or something."
