Shota sat silently on the stoop that lead to his apartment building, staring down at his phone hopelessly. How did he let this happen? How did everything get so out of control? He was a hero, it was his job to stop these things from happening to help get victims out of these situations, not become a victim himself. A shaking hand raised to touch the growing bruise on the side of his face and he was suddenly aware of the blood and skin under his nails. Was it his blood? Or that prick's?
He couldn't go to a hotel, he didn't need to end up in the papers, and he wasnt going back inside until he'd sobered up. Shota's eyes burned, who could he call? Fuck...
He dialed a number and took a shaky breath, trying to sound more normal than he felt.
"Hey... I know this is weird and short notice -" He cleared his throat as the waver of emotions creeped back in. "But is your couch free? I just, uh, I just need a place to sleep tonight and I can't drive."