Elevators, Zitao thought, had to be right up there with the best inventions of all time.

It had taken some determination, but he’d managed to carry the stranger out of the car, across the car park, and set him down gently in the elevator, and it was there Zitao waited to reach the floor of his apartment.

A soft ping told him he'd reached the right floor, and he crouched to pick the stranger up again. Examining him briefly, Zitao noticed how pale his skin looked – it had an almost a greyish pallor to it and he was trembling, still damp and very cold despite Zitao’s attempt to dry him off and keep him warm. 

Carefully, Zitao rolled the man forwards over his shoulder, and took shaky steps down the hall to the door of his apartment. Digging in his pocket for his keys, he unlocked the door and nudged it open with his knee. 

Zitao stumbled across the room to the couch, letting the stranger roll gently onto it. Flicking on the lights, Zitao stretched and shook his arms, exhausted from carrying a man bigger than he was. He took a glance around his apartment, noting with satisfaction all was as it should be. The main living room had a couch facing a television, a small coffee table separating the two. The kitchen was in the same room, on the wall closest to the door. A small hallway led to two rooms; a bedroom and a bathroom. It was fairly small, but it was home, and he liked it.

Turning his attention back to the unconscious stranger on the couch, Zitao pondered the best course of action. Vanishing down the hallway he returned again in a matter of seconds with a towel, and set to gently toweling off the man's thick dark hair. Once his hair was fluffy and drying, Zitao got up to flick on the heater and fetch clothes and a few more towels.

Pulling a loose white pyjama shirt over his head, he left the jacket on the floor and returned to the stranger. Reaching forwards, he precariously peeled off the man's saturated hoodie then his shirt, trying not to aggravate his shoulder wound. He spread out one towel and piled the ruined clothing on top of it. Zitao lifted the front half of the man's body gently and spread a towel beneath him, replacing the makeshift dressing on his shoulder wound.

Zitao ruffled his hair thoughtfully as he wondered what to do next. Feeling a little embarrassed he shuffled sideways and pulled off the man's soaked sweatpants, blushing as he averted his gaze from the stranger's boxers. 

"Ah, Zitao," he scolded himself, "You don't have to be shy. You're only trying to help him." 

Being shy in nature he still felt uncomfortable despite his words and quickly replaced the man's leg dressing, spreading another towel beneath him. Zitao covered the man's body with towels and rocked back on his heels, unsure of what to do next.

He was broken out of his thoughts when his stomach growled loudly. Sighing, Zitao got up and fetched the leftovers from last night's dinner (it was pork noodle soup.) After he heated it he spooned it into three bowls - one for himself, one for Yixing, and one for the stranger if he woke. He had just finished this and carried the bowls back to the couch when there was a knock on the door. Zitao hurriedly made his way over and pulled the door open, revealing Yixing.

"Hey, Tao." Yixing greeted him, calm as ever, and made his way to the couch. He set down his duffel bag with a frown. "Far out, what the hell happened to this guy?"

Zitao made his way to crouch besides him and frowned. "I think he was attacked, he had a knife on his body when I found him."

Yixing hummed worriedly and took away the towels, inspecting the wounds, and then pulled on a pair of rubber gloves from his bag. "Yep, looks like he was attacked. All right, first things first. Can you go get me a cloth, or a sponge? Soak it in warm water, please."

Zitao nodded and did as he asked, handing him the cloth. Yixing soaked up the excess blood carefully as he cleaned the wounds, his eyes narrowed in concentration. 

"This one," he pointed to the wound on the man's shoulder, "is a knife wound. But this one," he said and pointed to the man's leg wound, "is a bullet wound." 

"Can you treat it?" Zitao pressed, starting to feel agitated as he realised he would have a body on his hands if something went wrong.

Yixing frowned. "I can't be too sure, but by the looks of it he hasn't damaged any main veins or arteries, so I probably could." 

Zitao nodded, then got up and paced a few steps back into the hall. "I don't... I don't really want to watch, so tell me if you need anything, okay?" 

Yixing nodded calmly, and lifted the man's leg, setting it up against the armrest. Digging around in his bag, he pulled out a small package that read Clotfix. Gingerly, he checked the wound. The stranger had been very lucky indeed, Yixing noted, not to be injured worse. It was almost suspicious.

He glanced up at Zitao, who stared back anxiously, and shook his head to clear his mind. You're being ridiculous, he was just lucky. Yixing reassured himself, then returned to his work. Tearing open the packet he let the fine powder fall into the wound, closing it and putting on pressure when the packet was emptied. 

"What's that?" Despite his uneasiness, Zitao had returned to the couch, drawn in by his curiosity. 

Yixing didn't look up. "It's a chemical formula designed to stop bleeding in traumatic wounds." he replied. "It won't entirely heal him, but it's a good start." 

Zitao was impressed. "I thought things like that only existed in movies."

Yixing laughed and shook his head. "It's real all right, but it isn't cheap."

They waited for a while longer and Yixing let go of the wound. Zitao was impressed and a little awed to see it had already stopped bleeding. 

Yixing moved up to the shoulder wound and dug in his bag, bringing out a package of antiseptic wipes. He carefully used the cloth to wipe away the blood and then dabbed at the wound with the antiseptic.

The stranger groaned and turned his head, startling Zitao. "Is he okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah. This kind of stuff really stings, though." Yixing replied calmly, continuing his work. 

After a few more moments he spoke again. "It's a shallow cut, so I think I can stitch it." 

Zitao jumped away. "I really don't want to see that," he squeaked, hating himself for being squeamish.

Yixing went on with his work anyway, carefully holding both sides of the wound with one hand and stitching them together with the other. Once he had finished he carefully cleaned the man's skin around both wounds and applied dressings, wrapping them neatly in bandages.

"Tao, it's done." Yixing called, standing back and pulling off his gloves. Zitao strode across the room to stand besides him, impressed by Yixing's handiwork. 

"So he's going to be alright?" Zitao asked, concerned.

Yixing hesitated slightly before replying. "He's got a long way to go, but he won't die."

Zitao smiled widely, immensely relieved. "Thanks so much, Yixing. I'll do whatever you want to pay you back."

Yixing shrugged. "It's really nothing. I'm glad to help. You wouldn't have any food, would you?"

Zitao laughed and gestured to the bowls of noodles, "I do, actually, just wash your hands first." he followed Yixing to the island bench, eating quickly. When they were finished Yixing stood, stretched, and went to fetch his bag. 

"Can we meet up tomorrow to discuss how to care for his injuries and stuff? He'll be fine for tonight, just give him some strong painkillers if he wakes up." Yixing instructed calmly, then grinned. "Seeya later, Tao."

"Seeya, Yixing." Zitao replied, suddenly overcome by a wave of fatigue. It had been a long day.

He closed the door behind his friend and turned to get ready for bed, picking up towels and dirty clothes. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the stranger on his couch beginning to stir, nor did he notice the groggy yet intense brown glare fixed on his back.