Excerpt: Maladroit Emotion

Zephaniah grumbled as he went through the motions of finishing his shift. He hated his job, really, who the hell still worked night shift at a convenience store at his age? That was for spotty kids, and yet, here he was, at an ungodly early hour, picking out today's dinner before heading back home.

Well, it wasn't really that he minded the hours, he was more of a night owl, anyway, and preferred them to a lot of others, but...

It was just the image, or whatever. It rankled. His pride didn't like it. That was all.

Grunting a goodbye to the annoyingly cheery girl that had taken over, he left the store, heading home. He needed food and sleep. Preferably in that order, but he wasn't picky. Shivering at a sudden chill wind, he pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, cursing himself for not bringing a jacket. He should've known it be cold in the damn morning hours. It was that time of year, after all.

The one where people started sprouting poetic bullshit about red-and-golden leaves and yaddah yaddah. It was fall. Everything was dying. Not very poetic in his book.

As if to prove him right, he suddenly became aware of the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh. He sighed. Not again.

He didn't live in the most savoury of areas, and some of the stuff he saw or heard on his way to or from work...

Not the best of stuff. Rivalling gangs beating each other up, pimps punishing their whores, you name it. Not that he even wanted to know; he tended to walk by, perhaps making an anonymous call the the right people if he felt really guilty about ignoring it.

Mostly, that was just the echo of his mother's nagging voice, though. The unshakeable feeling that she'd be disappointed in him, even if the damn woman was dead and buried for years. But he rather liked living, too, so he walked the line between continued survival and "the right thing".

He stumbled to a stop as he turned a corner, and cursed inwardly. Damn it, why couldn't the fuckers do their thing hidden-like, in the alleys and stuff? What kind of idiot beat up people on an open street? Sure, it was just before dawn, but even in this part of town someone was bound to be awake, weren't they?

Their victim dropped to the ground, and Zephaniah couldn't stop a wince as one of the thugs kicked him viciously.

He didn't have a choice, did he?

"Hey!" he yelled, walking closer. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Loud curses was his anwer. "None of your fucking business, fucker," one of the thugs added with a snarl that was probably supposed to scare him off.

It only made him snort in contempt. "It became my business the moment you morons decided to use my route home as the place for your damn punching bag practice. I damn well can't pass, now can I?" He moved closer, not really caring as they tensed.

"Then get a move on with it and leave us the fuck alone," another thug mentioned, violently jerking his thumb over his shoulder in a move that said "get the hell outta here" more clearly than words could.

Sighing, he yet again moved closer, without warning flinging out a punch that sent the nearest guy straight to a quick and unpleasant meeting with the ground. "Sadly," Zephaniah remarked in the stunned silence that followed. "Unlike you guys, I was actually raised to be a human being, so I can't just let shit like this slide." He threw another punch before they got over their shock.

The second guy went down like a rock as well. He laughed harshly. These guys were pathetic. They should go back to their mommies instead of beating up people, if this was all it took.

Then they got over themselves, and all hell broke lose. Well, it had been too good to last, anyway. but Zephaniah had an edge. He was fighting with the rage of several weeks of pent up frustration.

And he knew what he was doing. Most of their punches were fairly easy to block, but after dodging a potentially nasty one, he stumbled over the stupid victim, who hadn't had the sense to get out of the damn way yet. Swearing colourfully, he grimaced as one punch connected with his rib and another with his face.

Man, his boss was gonna kill him, for showing up with a bruised face. Said it scared the customers away. Zephaniah wondered if the boss had ever seen what sort of people came by at night. Most of them looked like they needed that much to make them think twice about robbing the damn place.

Pissed just at the thought, he roared, and went off at the rest of the guys without even noticing the blows they got in. They were just fucking chickens, anyway, it wasn't as if their punches were gonna hurt much.

It didn't take long before they decided that he simply wasn't worth it. He snorted in contempt as they ran off. He'd been right, chickens, the whole damn lot of them.

Bending down to the cowering thing on the ground, he gently touched its shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

It flinched, as if trying to get away from his touch.

Zephaniah growled in frustration. "Look, those morons are gone," he reasoned. "I'm not gonna hurt you, for fucks sake!"

Their victim looked up at him, and he was surprised to find that it was a guy - a rather pretty one, as well. Personally, he wouldn't mind doing that. And he didn't mean in the "beat up" way.

Well, he corrected. The guy would've been pretty, if not for the cut lip and the already bruising skin at his cheek and around his already swelling right eye. Man, they'd done him in thoroughly. Had he known it was this bad, he would've returned the favour more vigorously. Oh well, they were gone now, and unlikely to return.

"Can you stand?" he sighed, and offered a hand. The stranger looked at it suspiciously, before accepting the help as Zephaniah dragged him up.

The guy stumbled slightly before steadying himself. "Thanks," he rasped in a hoarse voice.

He ignored it. "You should head home. Where is it, far off?"

He just laughed bitterly in reply. "Oh yeah. No buses this early." His voice still sounded a bit messed up, although for all Zephaniah knew, it could be that was just the way the guy talked. He doubted it, though.

But that shit didn't matter. The echo of his mother's voice was still running through his head, telling him the damn Right Thing to do. He hesitated. There wasn't really a hospital close by. Hell, what kind of hospital would want to be in this neighbourhood? And the guy really should get those wounds looked at.

"Fine, let's get those things treated, then," he said, nodding his head to indicate the bruises and scrapes. "It's too dark for me here to tell how bad they are."

The guy hesitated, before nodding. "Thanks," he said again. "You're hurt too, though. Let me help with yours. The least I can do to repay you."

Zephaniah crassly thought of another way the guy could repay him, but shoved the thoughts off. He wasn't that bad at keeping his dick in his own damn pants, he had self-control. The guy was in pain, after all, and if he had a concussion, that was the last thing he needed.

"Don't worry about it," he said, dismissing it. "You have a name?" He headed off in the direction of his apartment, not even bothering to check whether the guy was following him or not. It wasn't his problem if he was stupid enough not to.

"Oh, sorry. Kiaran," he offered as he caught up, and fell into the same pace. "You?"

"Call me Nigh," he replied gruffly, yet slowing down slightly when he noticed Kiaran's limp. Man, he hoped nothing was broken. He didn't feel like taking a trip to the hospital this late - or early, depending on your point of view. He caught Kiaran staring, and raised a questioning eyebrow, but the guy just smiled.

"Nigh, huh?"

"Got a problem with it?" Zephaniah growled, and was met with a slight laugh.

"No, no. Just wondering what kind of name gives the nickname 'Nigh', that's all," he clarified, before adding hastily. "I think it's cool."

"None of your goddamn business," he grumbled in reply. It wasn't as if he hated his name, but he did hate people prying. He veered off into a smaller street and quickly climbed the small flight of stairs up to the door of his building while getting out his keys. He sighed happily as he got the door open, and ever so slightly warmer air hit him.

Eyeing Kiaran's leg as the guy limped in, he inwardly sighed in defeat. He was simply gonna have to deal with the goddamn elevator. He hated that thing, it never worked right, but he didn't have a choice. He didn't think Kiaran's leg would appreciate three flights of stairs.

Grumbling under his breath, he went over to it, violently mashing the "up" button. If the damn thing didn't work properly, he was gonna kill someone this time. He was sick and tired of that fucking piece of machinery.

Well, he was sick and tired of this whole run-down building. And this entire part of town, for that matter. He wanted out so bad it hurt.

Well, would've hurt, if he was the kind to feel pain. Apart from physical pain, of course, and even that was rare. He simply didn't care enough for stuff to hurt. It made things so much easier.

For once, it seemed the elevator was co-operating, and it pinged it's part pathetic, part annoying sound, and the doors slid open. Heading in first, he waited until Kiaran had joined him, slumped against a wall, before mashing the button for his floor, watching the doors close again.

He wasn't gonna think that he hoped the damn faulty thing didn't stop between to floors again, as it was prone to sometimes. He was fairly sure reverse psychology worked on elevators, at least this one.

It obviously worked, cause they arrived at the correct floor without trouble - although he doubted he could fool the damn thing twice - and made their way to his door.

"Come on in," he said gruffly, after unlocking and opening the door. Slightly nervously, Kiaran complied, and gently shut the door before toeing off his shoes. Twirling his keys around his finger, he finally threw them on the living room table from half across the room before going for the emergency box. "Make yourself at home, or whatever," he yelled from the bathroom, vaguely aware of shuffling feet as Kiaran obeyed.

When he came back with the box, the guy was sitting on his couch, fidgeting nervously, while staring around the room, taking in everything he could.

"You don't have to be that tense, it's not as if I'm gonna do anything," he shrugged. He knew most people found him scary, and it didn't really bother him anymore, but still.

Kiaran smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm not very good at places I don't know. Makes me nervous."

"Right, whatever," he mumbled in disinterested agreement as he sat down next to his guest, placing the kit on the table. "Let's get a look at you."

He started with cleaning away the blood and dirt, relieved that it didn't look that bad. Head injuries always turned messy. "Stop being a brat," he growled, when Kiaran flinched for the umpteenth time.

"It hurts!" Kiaran protested sulkily, flinching again as Nigh dabbed at a particularly nasty-looking scratch.

"Yeah, well, deal with it," he replied as he grabbed Kiaran's face, tilting it this way and that while studying it critically. Yeah, this would do. He got out some bandaids, slapping them gently on the worst-looking wounds. "You feel dizzy or nauseous or anything?"

His "patient" shook his head, grimacing slightly as he did. Nigh snorted, pretty certain that he knew the reason. Only an idiot shook his head after taking several punches to it. "Well, I'm sure your head's fine, then, although you should go easy on the sleep for the next few hours. Any other aches?"

Kiaran hesitated, before rubbing his side gently. "My ribs...?"

"Off with the shirt, then, I'll have a look," he sighed. What the hell had the moron been doing in this part of town, anyway, if he didn't live here and couldn't fight? That had to be pretty high on the list of stupid things to do. At least the locals who weren't that strong knew who and what to avoid.

The guy wasn't moving, but instead just kept staring at him.

"What?" he snapped. Kiaran looked down, blushing. Ah. Damn conceited kid, even if he was pretty. "Oh, give me a break, it's not like I'm gonna jump you, or anything. I'm not that desperate for a fuck."

Reddening further, Kiaran nodded slightly before taking off his shirt and settling it in his lap, all bunched up. He kept playing nervously with the fabric as Nigh examined him. Back looked okay, the only real worry was the big bruise on one side. He gently pushed at it, ignoring Kiaran's flinch and sharp intake of breath. "You're fine, nothing broken, I think. Just gonna be sore for a while."

"...thanks."

Zephaniah grimaced. He hated that word. "Don't say that, I didn't do anything anyone with a proper conscience wouldn't do."

Kiaran stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You do know that most people wouldn't jump into a fight to help some poor idiot, right?"

"Damn straight on the idiot, although I'm not quite sure about the poor," he shot back, before smirking coolly. "And what if I happen to like fights?"

The stare turned wide-eyed, and Kiaran stuttered. "Um... right... Okay... Sorry."

"Whatever," Nigh said, shrugging it off. "You think you can stay awake on your own, or do I have to babysit you as well?" At the other's incomprehensive look, he added. "I've been at work all night, I need the damn sleep."

"Um... you're just gonna go sleep with a random stranger in your place?"

Nigh gave him a critical look over, one eyebrow raised. "I can't see how you can possibly hurt me, and it's not like I have anything worth stealing." His look turned unfriendly. "But if you do, I swear I'm gonna bust you up so fucking bad you'll wish you never were born. You won't get more warning than that."

Kiaran fidgeted under his look. "Right!" he squawked nervously. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do," he nodded. "So? You need a babysitter?"

"I-...I'm fine," he stammered. "Can I please borrow your TV?" He nodded towards it.

"Sure," Nigh replied, shrugging. "But keep the volume down."

A familar shriek came from the other side of the wall, and he sighed. Damn neighbours were at it again. "Although you can keep it loud enough to drown out that," he added dryly, nodding his head towards the wall.

"Right," he repeated with a nervous laugh. "G'night."

Zephaniah grunted in reply before heading off for bed, stripping down to his boxers before diving in, not caring if Kiaran saw.