The last thing you wanted on your day off from work was to have a man outside your apartment in the dead of the night screaming ‘I’ve been decapitated!’
But days off never go as planned. Especially when you wanted to keep it lowkey eating pizza and watching Netflix all night. Yet there was a nature in you to respond to a call for help-that's what led you to becoming a nurse-so naturally you dropped your pizza (however good it might have been) and ran over to the door. It was probably just some guy on some bad batch of drugs, but it couldn’t hurt to look through the peephole nonetheless.
Shutting one eye, you leaned in with the other and peered out. No, it wasn’t an addict. It was Steven, your neighbor. However, he wasn’t decapitated, either. But from what you could see from where he was clutching his neck, he was bleeding a lot. Not to mention his face, bruised and dirtied. What had happened to the delicate and quiet cashier? You undid the locks and swung your door open.
“Steven?! Get inside, get inside!” You coaxed wearily, guiding him in before looking either way down the hall to ensure your safety.
“I’m s-so sorry! You’re..th-the only one I knew-or-thought to, come t..to…cause…y-you’re, a nurse, and-and-” He stammered, out of breath from screaming and running from god knows where. You shut the door securely and swung around to where he had collapsed against the wall, heaving as if begging for air.
“What happened?!” You demanded, helping him back up to his feet and over to the bathroom. There you kept your medical supplies, and you also just didn’t want a guy's blood all over your carpets.
“I-I dunno! I just…woke up and-blood!” He whimpered, wincing as you sat him down on the edge of the tiled wall of the bathroom, slowly and almost amiably if it weren’t for your nerves.
“I’m gonna need more than an excuse, Steven. I’m gonna help you here, so you help me first.” You said with gentle authority, rummaging on the shelves for your first aid kit.
“I’m being honest! I swear!” Steven promised, and as you grabbed your kit and looked over, you noticed he was crying. Your stern exterior fell as you collapsed by him on your knees, cracking open the case of the kit and donning some gloves that were a bit too tight, but right now wasn’t the time to worry.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” You asked, sticking up four of your fingers. Steven sniffled away his tears.
“F-Four…” He mumbled shyly. You leaned over and drew away his hands, examining the location, grabbing a cloth to move away enough blood to get a quick look before more came gushing out.
“Hold this to your neck, okay?” You instructed, pressing the cloth against the wound, and he did as you said, moving his hands over yours before you pulled yours away.
“Alright, a few things,” you began as you pulled out some supplies. “You are not decapitated, obviously. But whoever you’re too ashamed to tell me probably mugged you on the street does not know anatomy that well, for better or for worse, and did not get either of your carotid arteries. You’ll be fine, just a vein or two nicked. Until you tell me what they sliced you with, though, I’m going to assume the assailant was not using sterile medical equipment and go with a safe bet of disinfecting your wound.”
“I swear I don’t know who did this! A-And is it good it was just my veins? Not arteries? Arteries are the big veins, right?” Steven rambled.
“Not exactly. Arteries move away from the heart, carrying blood to organs, tissue, whatever. Veins bring the blood, now used-rather, deoxygenated, into the right atrium. During systole the papillary muscles will open up the tricuspid valve, allowing the blood to enter the right ventricle, and eventually into the pulmonary artery. From there, stuff happens in the lungs-I’m skipping a bit, but essentially it comes back through the pulmonary veins to the left atrium which expands during diastole, and-” You looked up while arranging some dressings, only to see Steven looking at you like you had two heads. Which wouldn’t be anatomically correct.
“Sorry, lots of words. No, you’re fine. If an artery was cut, I’d be worried for your brain, but it's a vein, so we’ll likely be fine.”
“Yeah…okay…” Steven muttered in bewilderment. A moment passed as you brought out a plastic bottle of some liquid he couldn’t identify.
“So, what, is it like a racetrack of blood? The veins? Just a loop? L-Like…” Steven mimicked vrooming sounds and gestured with his unused bloodied hand as if he was turning a car wheel, his honey eyes keen on yours, seeking some sort of approval. With a genuine smile of amusement you swatted his hands down.
“Keep still, Steven,” you advised softly, and he obliged, bringing his other hand up to the cloth to keep it still as well. “It’s not exactly like a loop-no. Think of it as a highway, with exits, and the heart is a pitstop.” You explained, frankly, a bit poorly.
“I’m not sure I understand.” Steven admitted.
“I’m a nurse, Stevie, not a teacher.” You teased, dipping sterile cotton in the antiseptic.
Steven felt his heart flutter, and he didn’t need a lesson to tell him that wasn’t because of his bleeding. Stevie? Only his mother ever called him that. Great, now he was feeling nauseous alongside the pain. At least it was good nausea, the kind with the sickeningly sweet butterflies that made him avert his gaze and swallow thickly. His worry only spiked when you reached out to hold his chin. Your eyes met his and it felt as if his world was spinning. No, this wasn’t the blood loss speaking. He felt you get closer. He had wanted to kiss you since you first moved in, and here you were.
“Steven,” you muttered tenderly. “Move your head to the side. I’m gonna disinfect the wound.”
Your hand on his jaw tilted it over, subsequently turning him away from you.
Just when he thought he had you.
“This is gonna sting, but trust me, an infection would hurt way more.” You warned, before sliding away the cloth and replacing it by dabbing the antiseptic across the gash, cleanest to dirtiest. He groaned in pain during it, his face falling against your shoulder instinctively. Once you were done, you drew away, making him realize the placement of his body against yours.
“Oh, sorry! I-I didn’t,” Steven exclaimed as you continued about your work, putting the cloth back up on his neck, fetching an extra large bandage from the kit, and ripping off the packaging with your teeth. As you did so you looked over at him with raised eyebrows.
You opened the bandage and replaced the cloth with it, adjusting the placement before pressing it down firmly where it would stick.
“Alright. While it was just a vein, a decent amount of blood was lost, so I need you to rest.” You advised, hooking your arms under his and helping him up. He placed an arm around your shoulder as you led him to your bed, laying him down. He shuffled to where he was comfortable, letting out a deep breath.
“I swear, if this is all an elaborate scheme to get in my bed, I gotta hand it to you, it's a bit impressive.” You joked, doffing your gloves into the trash before going back into the bathroom to pour him some water into a plastic cup.
“Granted, I would rather slit my throat than ever get the braves to ask a pretty neighbor out.” Steven responded, the tone of his words hitting him when you walked over to him with a grin. He blushed profusely, but you took it more as a good sign he hadn’t lost too much blood.
“Drink up, you thirsty idiot.” You laughed, handing him the cup. He sat up and did as you said, shakily drinking from the tap water.
“I’m sorry for being such a bother.” Steven apologized. “Thank you so much for saving me.”
To that you laughed again. “You’re not a bother, Steven. For the record, I didn’t save you. It could’ve been ‘saved’ with a kiss on the ouchie from mom.”
“Does that even work?” Steven asked, taking another sip.
“Kissing a wound? No, if anything it makes things worse by skipping, like, three steps of the chain of infection.”
“Oh.” He sounded a bit disappointed.
“What, did you want me to kiss it?”
“Huh? N-No, I-I if only-uh-you want to.” He looked up at you with his wide, pretty eyes. Expectantly. He was beautiful, and in that moment you were glad that he wasn’t an actual patient, or else you’d be fired for what you planned to do.
“I can try kissing you on the lips, though. See if that makes you feel any better…” you whispered faintly, your eyelids dropping to focus on him. He set the water down, and with a frenzied and needy motion, pulled you in by the back of your head and kissed you. It was quick, a little clumsy, but Steven did it like second nature. His lips were a little bloodied and bruised, and he whimpered softly at the touch of your lips against his raw ones. You eventually broke away.
“Wow.” You gasped.
“I feel better.” Steven said with a big grin.
“No you don’t, I diagnose you with needing more.” You joked, grabbing the collar of his shirt and bringing him back in.