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“Are you sure?”

I wanted nothing more than to make Sawyer’s face the new addition to the parking lot, but movement on the ground arrested my attention.

“If you don’t want to be scraping him off the asphalt, I suggest you take him home.”

She pushed Sawyer toward her car, keeping a concerned eye on me as long as she could. “What the hell is the matter with you? You can’t walk around doing that shit! Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Charlie’s voice trailed off as she got further and further away, shoving Sawyer a little harder with each step.

In the time we’d known each other, Charlie had never seen me lose my temper. I’d probably scared the life out of her. Deciding to address that later, I waited until Sawyer was a safe distance away before I turned my attention to the guy on the ground.

He was sitting up now, smearing blood around his face in an attempt to wipe it away. Sticky red liquid oozed from his nose and a gash on his head. He was… smiling? I could make out the whites of his teeth shining through the rivers of red streaming. He was laughing.

The streetlight, though dim, gave me enough light to see. Without thinking, I snatched my flannel shirt from my back pocket and knelt in front of him.

“Are you okay?” I placed the collar of the shirt over his nose, using the sleeve to try and clear the cut. I wondered how he’d gotten it, and the shattered glass at my feet gave me my answer.

“I’m fine.” He hissed as I put pressure on the laceration. He opened his mouth, only to choke up a bubble of blood that coated my hand. “I am so sorry! I couldn’t stop that, I⁠—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

I tested his nose by peeling away the shirt and thankfully, no more blood spurted through. I refocused my attention on the small cut.

“Is it broken? I haven’t had that much to drink. I could take you to the hospital.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t need pity from anyone.”

“It’s not pity. It’s the right thing to do.”

He had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place where from.

“I’m Jason—Jay,” I offered.

“Ryan. I’d shake your hand but um…” He trailed off, holding up his blood-stained hands.

“You’re good. So, what exactly happened?”

“Uh, bigotry at its finest.” Ryan sniffled in an attempt to clear the blood from his nose. “I was actually staring at the girls. Billy Badass over there thought I was looking at him, called me a not-so-savory name, then next thing I knew I was on the ground. I think I bit my tongue or something.”

“You’re…”

“I’m gay. So I understand if you want to keep your dis⁠—”

“Shut up,” I laughed. “Maybe I was just raised better, but whoever’s in your bed is none of my business. Sawyer had no right to call you that.”

Ryan shrugged. “He wasn’t exactly wrong. I am a huge, flaming, f⁠—”

“Okay, let’s get you home!” I stood, wiping the dust off my jeans—and smearing blood across the denim in the process. Still, I turned and offered one of my crimson-stained hands to help Ryan to his feet.

He hesitated, as if he thought I was going to add to his list of injuries. I can’t say that I blamed him. Though I did underestimate my own strength, causing Ryan to dig his heels into the ground as I hauled him to his feet. He felt like he hardly weighed anything. He was a head shorter than me, and both my hands could almost encircle his waist.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

He nodded, swaying on his feet. Had he been drinking? “I’ll be fine getting myself home.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a quizzical look. “Are you sober?”

Ryan snickered. “I’m… moderately functional.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” I spun him around in the direction of my truck. “I’ll drive you home.”