he wakes abruptly for no reason, and looks around room forty as if to reassure himself he’s still there; he rises slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting there blinking and yawning for what could be minutes -- it’s the most he’s slept in days, and it’s quiet outside, and against his better judgement he stands and pulls on his hoodie and throws open the door to the landing. he thought to go find the vending machine, but instead is faced with the sound of shuffling feet and labored breathing. he goes high alert in a split second, stepping lightly onto the landing and peeking outside. there’s a fucking medium ten doors away so he half-expects to be face to face with something ghostly pale and rotting, but instead as he peeks over the railing he sees only a limping man. it’s the glinting in the moonlight and the smell that clues him in, tangy and almost electric, and he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie and turns back into his room, washing his hands, grabbing the box of gloves and the ( rather large ) first aid kit he has by his door and going at a steep jog down the creaky stairs.
“what’s going on?” he asks, as he approaches, guarded and tired-looking but no less alert. something’s clicking into place for him, blood and the latex smell of medical gloves clears his head and has him calmed. “where are you bleeding?” { @jesse-c-cage }