nights [bungou stray dogs]

|steinbeck|

Leaning your head against the chipped wall you observe your surroundings, a bored look painting your face. You were bored and you were looking for some entertainment, a sort of medication for your everlasting feeling of boredom you could say.

Hearing noise from an alleway just around the corner, peaked your interest. Somebody getting murdered? A heinous criminal mugging an older lady? No, no, that sounds like the plot of cartoon from the 50s. A cat then, huh?

Sneaking up to the secluded area, you peer into the dark intrigued. Eyes widening for a fraction you rush towards a bleeding figure clutching their stomach to stop the blood from spilling out too much. Uhhh, there is a person dying right before my eyes. What do I do? What do I-
right- call the ambulance!

With a shaky hand, you start dialing the numbers still not recovered from the shock.
"Umm, it'll be okay, sir. I'm just going to call for help and-" The person beneth you looked up in what seemed like desperation as they waved their arms around frantically removing the pressure from the gash.

"N-no! Don't! Please." Staring at him in confusion you concluded that he probably got those injuries from a not so legal activity, you sigh reaching into your backpack.
"Bullet wound or stab wound?" You deadpan hoping it was the latter.
"B-bullet-gah!" Shit.
"Well, I don't exactly have the instruments for such delicate matters, but I'll try to improvise." You look down at your backpack doubtfully.

Pulling out a pair of tweezers and a bright red scarf, you scoff in disbelief.
"Where the hell are my gloves- you know what nevermind this is in now way sanitary or safe, but it is our only option." Eyes twitching at the mere thought of a possible infection you start the process of removal.

"Oh! This isn't so bad!" Grinning in achivement you gently pull the unwelcome object out of his torso.
"At least you'll match the scarf now" refering to the blood that matched the scarf's color. Grabbing the article of clothing you wrap it around the affected area, helping the injured stand up.
"Now, you just have to have it cleaned!" The nearly passed out man nodded as he let his head lean on your shoulder.

After a few torturous minutes you reach your apartment, grabbing a first aid kit you lead him to your couch.
"Thank you." Looking down at him smiling you wave it off.
"No, really. You did so much for me." The blonde looked up, a look of admiration lingering in his eyes.
Yoh brush his words off as you place bandages on his now clean wound.

"So how'd it happen?"
"A smaller disagreement."
"So someone shot you?"
"Yes."
"A-ahh, alright."
"It's okay, it's not the first time." He smiles in reasurrement, leaving you to wonder who the hell was in your living room right now.

Pressing your lips together you manage to force a composed smile as your insides scramble around trying to grasp the fact that a possible criminal was in your house.
"I go by y/n, by the way."
"I'm John." He answers, his eyes darting from a framed picture to finally your eyes.

Sitting next to him you both unintentionally submerge into an interesting conversation, realizing you both have plenty in common. While you were slightly sceptical, one thing's for sure.

You found your cure to boredom.