“I’m sorry.” The small shaped metal finally came free, Marcus set it on the counter and immediately pressed the washcloth to the bleeding wound, putting pressure to help stem the flow of blood.
“It’s out now, breath for me, okay? It didn’t do too much damage but I’m going to stitch it up anyways.”
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Cyrus huffed, trying to bite back further cries of pain. Yet when the bullet came free, he let out a screech, practically blinded by what he was feeling.
"O-okay," he managed once Marcus stopped for a moment, "I can do that…"
He sucked in a breath through pursed lips and exhaled. It was a bit shaky, but he was able to get in something of a rhythm of deep breathing.
"Good job, you're doing really good baby." He praised, pressing soft kisses to his cheek while he waited for the other to recover from the pain. After a few moments he gave Cyrus's hand one last squeeze before he took it back.
"I need two hands for this, but you can hold onto me if you need to, alright? Breath with me while I patch this up." Marcus picked up his own rhythm of breathing, loud so that Cyrus could join him. The breaths stopped after he had cleaned the wound and started to stitch the wound up. But he didn't let it remain silent, humming one of the melodies he had written for his violin. Maybe that would ease Cyrus?
"Tell me how that feels," Marcus murmured once he had finished, wrapping the wound carefully. "If it feels good then its all set. Try not to move too much on that side." Now for the tough part, the knife.
Marcus wasn't even sure how long it was or if it had hit any important or vital parts. He didn't want Cyrus to have any permanent damage but he would gladly take it if Cyrus remained alive for him.
"For a little bit you and me will limp the same way." He mused, trying to make a joke for the other. "I haven't really mentioned it because people tend to not see it unless I point it out but my leg grew weird. A birth defect. I limp if I use it too much. You and I can be matching." He offered a weak smile but his face looked like he aged twenty years. He was starting to come back, his brain rebooting now.
Cyrus managed to keep his breathing fairly steady as he listened to Marcus. By the time he had finished stitches, however, Cyrus found himself bent over with horrible discomfort. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Marcus, I feel like I'm gonna be sick," he warned.
A wave of heat passed over his body along with the nausea, and he found himself sweating heavily.
Cyrus' face was starting to pale, and while he wished he could tell Marcus that he loved him, that he was doing a good job, he really couldn't.
Marcus’s face paled. “Ah! Here… uh… ah toilet!” He helped Cyrus to the ground in front of the toilet, rubbing his back soothingly. “I think you’re partially in shock. I’m not surprised you feel sick now, you might be coming out of it. I’ve got you though, it’s going to be okay,”
Marcus ran his fingers through Cyrus’s hair, one hand on his back to keep him steady.
“Please tell me once you feel better, okay? We need to get that knife out.”
Cyrus stumbled to the toilet, placing his hands over the rim and leaving bloody handprints. He leaned over the bowl, and although the nausea was overwhelming, he never actually threw up. He just held still until it had mostly passed, and then he laid his head down on the side of the toilet, panting heavily.
"The nausea's gone," he whispered, "but honestly, I'm probably going to keep feeling bad…"
He shuddered a bit.
"I'm really dizzy. Dear god…"
He kept his head down so he could ride it out.
"Stay with me, okay Cy?" Marcus gently took one of Cyrus's hands and wiped the blood from it, repeating the action with the other. "Don't pass out, you have to stay awake for me."
The knife would be an issue. Especially with how nauseated and dizzy Cyrus was already. But Marcus moved to it anyways; gauze, stitches, bandages, and cleaning supplies in hand. He gripped the handle of the knife, biting his lip.
"Are you ready? I'm going to count down."
"I don't think I'll ever be ready, but… go ahead…" Cyrus said, his voice shaky.
He bit down on his lip.
"L-lemme brace myself first."
"Go ahead."
He waited as patiently as he could, biting his lip as he watched Cyrus brace and adjust himself.
"I'll give you a count of three, I'll pull it out as quickly as I can without causing more damage." Marcus was nervous about this part. He knew pulling out something like this could cause intense amounts of blood loss and he was scared Cyrus wouldn't be able to handle that much.
"Are you too dizzy for me to do this? I-I'm worried about going to a hospital for this…"
"I-I don't know," Cyrus admitted, "I'm a big guy so I can lose more blood than the average person, but…"
He glanced at the knife. It was already bleeding a lot. He was anxious to see what would happen if it came out.
"I'm still plenty alert, and it's far away from any major arteries," Cyrus observed, "I- just… just do it, unless you think it's a bad idea."
He grabbed one of the few clean rags on the floor and placed it between his teeth so he wouldn't hurt himself biting down.
"Alright… it's probably better to do it now…" He murmured, gripping the knife handle tightly. He stared at it for a little bit before taking in a deep breath and glancing back up to Cyrus.
"Here we go… 1… 2…" before he got fully to three he pulled up on the knife, watching it slide out smoothly. Almost immediately Marcus had gauze and rags pressed firmly down on the wound to help stop the bleeding.
His eyes were now on Cyrus's face. "Take deep breaths for me, it's out now. It's going to be okay…"
Cyrus clenched his jaw down, letting out a pained cry that was muffled by the cloth in his mouth. He gasped for breath as the pain pushed on, but Marcus seemed to have everything under control.
Yet, he couldn't quite assure himself things were okay. He was starting to tremble badly, and he reached out to Marcus' shoulder to steady himself. He lowered his head, trying to keep his breathing steady, but he found that was harder to do than he anticipated. He wasn't sure whether his heart pounding so fast was from the injury itself or the intense anxiety that was starting to settle into his body.
He pulled the rag out of his mouth.
"Marcus?!" he cried out, clearly distressed, yet he didn't know what he wanted the other to do.
Marcus reacted instantly, keeping the pressure on the wound but gently guiding Cyrus's head to his shoulder. "Shh, Shhh, breath for me baby. I'm right here, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay? I'm here, I'm here." He soothingly ran his fingers through Cyrus's hair, shushing him quietly and softly.
"Can you focus on me for a moment? Just listen to me talk for a little bit, okay? Can you tell me about something you like? A favorite food or show?"
Cyrus exhaled into Marcus' shoulder, and he paused, thinking on what the other said.
"I-I don't know…"
There was a bit of panic in his voice, contrasting how strangely calm he'd been before.
"I'm not sure I can do this…" he whispered, "My head's all cloudy. I'm freaking the fuck out. I-"
He shuddered a bit.
“Hey, Cyrus.” Marcus’s voice rang out, it wasn’t aggressive nor was it rude, just strong.
“You can do this. Focus on me not on your head or your feelings. Breath in and out with me,” Marcus demonstrated the breathing, slowing it down and making it louder for Cy.
“Just look at my face and memorize it for right now.”
Cyrus was panting heavily with pain. He slowed it to match Marcus' pace, but the breaths were still harsh.
He put his gaze on Marcus, trying to shift his focus, but it was difficult.
"Marcus…" he murmured, pressing his hand into the other's shoulder.
He licked his lips nervously.
“I’m right here, Cyrus.” Marcus smiled softly, stroking the others hair. “It’s going to be okay, love. I’m right here,” his hand lowered to gently take Cyrus’s, placing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, I promise it’s going to be okay.”
Cyrus gave a feeble nod and clutched Marcus' hand.
He reached for the bandages to take care of the lesser wound on his arm, then he set them back down on a clean spot on the floor.
God, he was lucky. He was lucky his dad had been too intoxicated to aim for anywhere deadly on purpose. The bleeding was easing off some- at least as much as it could at the moment.
Cyrus' mouth went dry.
"H-hey, Marcus… could you get me something to drink? I'm really thirsty," he murmured, "There should be some juice on the fridge."
“Of course I can. Can you keep some pressure on this?” He nodded towards the knife wound before he slowly released the pressure and moved to stand.
“I’ll be right back, don’t try and move.”
"Y-yeah… thanks, love," Cyrus replied, pressing down where Marcus previously held his hands.
He leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh. He was getting so tired.
With a curt nod Marcus was gone from the bathroom, entering the kitchen and holding his breath.
He didn’t bother to pour a cup of the juice in the kitchen, instead searching for a cup and nearly booking it back out, his nausea rising.
Cyrus had to have really hated that man. The gore was almost too much for his stomach, and yet he didn’t blame Cyrus at all for the brutality.
Marcus would have probably done the same to his own father…
He shook the thoughts away, hesitating before he slipped into the bathroom.
“I’m back…”
"Thanks," Cyrus said.
He still had his hands pressed over the wound.
"I'm so sorry I dragged you into all this. I didn't mean for all of this to happen…" he murmured, "How are you doing? I know it's probably stressful."
As the other spoke, Marcus poured a drink for him. “You’re okay, Cyrus. I’m here for you, to help you.” He offered the drink to Cyrus, his eyes widening at the question.
“Me? Well…” Marcus shifted slightly, taking back over the wound and studying it for a moment.
“I’m scared for you. You’re hurt and it scares me, stresses me. And I’m a little out of it. My brain keeps trying to push my emotions away but I don’t want it to. I want to be emotionally available for you right now.”
"Makes sense," Cyrus said, wincing slightly as Marcus touched his leg again.
He put the cup up to his lips and took a few slow sips. It was impressive how much relief that gave him- at least for now.
"Luckily, my emotions aren't doing much of anything complex right now," Cyrus laughed softly, "And honestly, your soothing words and presence are doing a lot for me. I'm just so glad it's you…"
Marcus beamed, happy to hear Cyrus's laugh. "I'm glad I'm helping. I love you, Cyrus." He hoped he wasn't over using the 'L' word too much; he just liked to voice his affections, a lot at that. "I'm happy you trust me with this."
Marcus apologized under his breath when he cut a small portion of Cyrus's pants open around the wound, needing to get more access to it. His hands worked the knife would smoothly, stitching it in layers as it was rather deep. Once that was done he bandaged it and looked up at Cyrus, smiling brightly.
"There you go, patched up the worse ones. How are they feeling?"
"It still hurts, of course, but I'll pull through," Cyrus replied, "I'm just really tired at this point… I need to rest."
He leaned on Marcus' shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief.
"This did not go like I meant it."
"You can't always have it go good, Cy, it's okay though, you still accomplished your task." He murmured, running his fingers through the other's hair once again. He liked doing it, and even though Cyrus was still pretty bloody, his hair remained just as soft as it was before. Marcus picked up a clean rag and began wiping off as much blood as he could.
"I'll call Xio and have her take us home, is that okay? I'll grab a few towels so we dont get blood everywhere. When we get home you need to change and clean up before you can rest. I'll help you through it all."
"Yes, thank you. You can grab some blankets and stuff from my room if you need. It's the one at the end of the hall, towards the back of the house," Cyrus said softly.
His voice sounded weaker than before.
"I'll grab some for you, wait here. I know you're tired but can you try and stay awake for me?" He asked gently, giving Cyrus's cheek a quick peck as he moved to stand.
"I'll be back." He promised, pulling his phone from his pocket. He waited until he had left the bathroom to call his friend. She picked up immediately.
"Is everything alright?" She asked wearily, not even giving him a chance to say hello. Marcus groaned softly, shaking his head though he knew she couldn't see him.
"My boyfriend got hurt in a gang thing… Could you come pick us up? I'm sorry to bother you like this after three years of not talking but I really need help…" He was cut off by the sound of her scoffing and keys jingling.
"Send your location, you don't have to appologize. How long have I been helping you with this kinda thing, Light?" Her end of the line went quiet for a bit before he heard a car start. "I'm going to hang up now. Send me the location and I'll be right there."
"Okay… see you in a little bit. Thank you…" Marcus could hear her smile when she muttered 'your welcome' in return. The line went dead and Marcus put his phone away.
Right outside of Cyrus's door he paused, hand on the knob. He would get to see what Cyrus's room was like, if it was nice and had a bed or if it was like his and was just a dirty mattress on the floor. Maybe Cyrus would have things hung and framed, decorations of sorts? Or maybe it'd be blank like a hotel room?
The thoughts were pushed out of his head with the opening of the door. He walked in, going straight to the bed to collect the blankets there.
Cyrus' bedroom was more focused on comfort than anything else. It was plain, for the most part, but he had books and such strewn about the room, and the comforter and blankets were the softest he could find. A weighted blanket was draped over the foot of the bed, and a gray body pillow leaned up against the wall where the bed touched it.
There was also an oil diffuser set on the dresser, but not much else to speak of. Most personal items like pictures were hidden away in drawers or boxes, for fear that someone might want to destroy them.
Cyrus waited patiently for Marcus to come back, drinking a bit more juice in the meantime. He really hoped that Marcus' friend was truly trustworthy and wouldn't tell anyone. But with things the way they were, he didn't have time to worry about that.