He was bleeding. He could feel the blood seeping down his legs and onto the floor of the elevator, which was moving far too fast. The cold metal seemed warm to his freezing body. Buttons. He wavered and pressed three wrong numbers before he pressed his own. I've got to get to the room, he thought. There were bandages there. He needed to stop the bleeding.

Every time Tanner Kirk wanted him, he came away with enough battle wounds for two. His stomach, wrists, arms, legs, and head were all bleeding. One eye was almost swollen completely shut, and the other was working overtime to keep up with the world. Finally the elevator reached the sixth floor and he stumbled out and down the hallway, making his way to his room. His legs felt like jell-o underneath his upper body, making grabbing onto the doorknob almost impossible. When finally he grabbed hold of it and twisted, the makeshift support the door had provided disappeared. His sense of gravity shifted and he stumbled inside. He slammed the door shut and wobbled. There were bandages in the bathroom. Taking one step toward his destination, he felt himself fall onto the linoleum, pain barely registering in his head anymore. Let's go, he thought, up. Get up.

His body refused to respond to the command, sending a wave of panic through his body. Trying again, the unresponsive body scared him. His breathing was labored and he felt unbelievably cold. His eyes closed and he slowly felt himself start to drift.

Chris Christenson circled back to the prostitution center as soon as the first glimmer of sunlight poked its way over the horizon. He knew he would be cutting it close; Tanner Kirk never left Justin in a good condition and he would be lucky if he could sneak to the sixth floor without being caught. Now that someone knew that he was in town, he'd really have to lay low. He cursed under his breath. Usually he wasn't careless enough to let something like that happen, but the man that had been chasing him didn't seem like the ordinary, off-the-street guy. He growled and made his way to the alley, stopping only to locate the fire escape. Luckily for him, a dumpster sat open underneath the ladder, leaving an easy path to his makeshift stairway. He slammed the lid shut and climbed on top of it, grabbing onto the first rung of the ladder and pulling himself up. Please be okay, the brunette prayed as he climbed up the steel escape, you can't die before I do. A quick glance at the horizon told him that dawn was coming soon, which would mean the city would soon be awakening. More eyes meant more chances of being seen by the general public. He propelled himself faster, adding more push to his legs and pulling harder on the rails.

He barely noticed the window opening and a string of curses falling out of the visitor's mouth. By now all he was trying to do was stay awake. The hands under his shoulders pulling him farther into the bathroom started pulling his conscious out of the gutter. Forcing his eyelids open, he made out a head of familiar chocolate-colored hair. Cabinets opening and shutting, followed by the rustling of items being taken out registered in the back of his mind. He felt his shirt being pulled up, the magic hands helping him freezing at the sight of his wounds. More pressure assailed him and he groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and losing consciousness.

"Dammit Justin, not now," Chris hissed, ripping enough bandage to wrap around the thin body three times and ripped it off. After applying more pressure with gauze, he continued with the rest of the bleeding body.

He'd never been so scared in his life.