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Jonathan stumbled, his foot catching on something long and hard and he flung his arms out, his palms slamming into the concrete with enough force to cause a whimper to escape the confines of his mouth. He winced as he felt the stinging pain pulse through his palm and up to his elbow from the impact. Tiny pebbles were embedded into the base of his hand, and a small flow of blood dribbled out and he had to close his eyes and breathe. He hated the smell of blood. Especially his own. It reminded him of death, something that he wanted to hated thinking about, and a reminder of death made him sick to his stomach.
Why was he always the one to end up in these type of situations?
He was walking back from a dinner out with some of the guys, and had refused a ride from Brock, insisting that he would be perfectly fine walking and that yes, he could handle himself perfectly well at night. He didn't expect to get fucking jumped by a group of men. He had given them his wallet, his hands above his head in surrender, saying he didn't want to cause any trouble, because he didn’t, but they didn't care.
So he was left to try and hopelessly fend of four big men, with one of them carrying a knife. He knew he was fucked, because how could someone like him possibly defend against people like them? Jonathan didn't go out with a fight, able to get in a few good kicks and punches to throw a few of them off, but in the end, he was left with a bloody (and broken) nose which hurt like hell, and a deep gash that trailed from the side of his ear to his chin. Blood coated it like a young child's finger painting, but there was nothing charming about it. He had cuts and bruises lining his body, so many goddamn bruises lined his neck, face and arms. He looked like a walking punching bag, and he felt exactly like one.
With a wheeze, he pushed himself up, grabbing onto the rough wall and leaned against it for support. Slowly, he dragged himself out of the small alleyway, his feet shuffling against the ground and it echoed in the narrow space and back to him. His mind wandered to Evan, and he sorely wished he was here right now. Right there, holding onto him, whispering that he was okay, that he was going to be fine. He wanted him to take his hands in his. He just wanted him to find him at this very moment and make everything vanish away.
The sounds of cars zooming past and their honks grew louder, and he tried to move faster, as fast as his body could allow him. But it wasn't an easy task. Every breath he took was slowly turning into a dull sting that trickled its way through his chest, and had him clutching at it desperately as the pain would slowly become unbearable.
His eyes caught sight of several women sitting across the street, adminantly talking away, and his hopes soared like a balloon. If he could get their attention.
He gasped in a few air of breathes, and opened his mouth to scream out to them, but instead a violent cough worked its way out of him, and he doubled over, falling to his knees.
Goddamn it!
The force of the cough stirred red hot pain to stir in his chest. Warm red liquid gathered at the back of his throat, and soon he was coughing up blood.
Shit, shit, shit, shit!
Jonathan knew he needed medical attention now, but there was no way in hell he was going to make it there by himself unless he got the attention of those women.
The sudden realization that he had his phone on him hit him like a brick. Praying that the men didn't strip him of his phone, he let out a pained sigh of relief when he felt it in his back pocket. He whipped it out, and without thinking, his thumb was pressing numbers and pressed the call button. The cool metal was soothing against his skin. If only they were Evan's hands.
"Jonathan?"
"Evan!" He closed his eyes in relief.
"Jonathan, what's wrong? Are you alright? What's wrong?" Evan's voice was frantic and laced with worry, but all Jonathan could do was smile. He didn't realize how much he needed to hear Evan's voice right then and there.
He breathed, before pushing himself upright against the wall. "No, no I'm not alright Evan." He went silent, closing his eyes as he listened to Evan steady breathing on the other end.
"What the hell happened?! Jonathan, are you hurt?" He could hear Evan knock over his chair, and the sound was loud through the phone, vibrating it. Remaing silent, he leaned his head back against the wall, looking out towards the busy street, wishing that one of those cars were Evans to come get him.
"Goddamn it, answer me!" Evan's voice boomed.
"Yes, I'm hurt. I'm in so much fucking pain that I coughed up fucking blood man. It hurts to even breath, ok? It hurts, man."
Evan's heart dropped at how pained he sounded, as if saying one word took the life out of him. This alone was putting him into a panic, and he couldn't have started his car fast enough. He needed to get to Jonathan, he needed help, Jonathan needed him. "Jonathan? Stay put man. I'm coming to get you okay? Just, just stay on the fucking phone." He felt his chest constrict, and he thought he was going to die on the spot at the thought of Jonathan in trouble.
Jonathan nodded, realizing that Evan couldn't see him. He focused on breathing, keeping the phone to his ear. He just grasped onto the fact that Evan was coming, that he was going to see him, able to feel him, and that's all he wanted at that moment. No band-aids, stitches, or medical attention. Just Evan.
Gripping the steering wheel with crushing force, Evan sped through traffic, ignoring the clamors of shouts and honks. His mind was wrapped around one thing and one thing only. The image of Jonathan bloody and bruised kept repeating itself in his head, torturing him slowly, and he swore that once he took care of Jonathan, he was going to cause unimaginable pain to whoever had hurt him.
He began to search for signs of Jonathan after he passed the restaurant that Brock said they all went to. All he saw were people that weren't him and he became increasingly frustrated. Eyes scanning left to right, looking for a sign of him, but all he received was the faces of people that weren't him.
"Fuck!" He shouted, running his hand around through his hair quickly. Parking the car in a nearby lot across from the restaurant, he rushed out, whipping his phone out and relieved to see that Jonathan hadn't hung up.
"Jonathan, you there?"
"Evan?"
"Where are you? I'm near the restaurant where you and Brock was at." Evan whipped his head left and right, keeping an eye out for him. His hands were itching to gather him up in his arms and hold him, to feel his body pressed against his. To just, just protect him goddamn it.
A smile fell onto Jonathan's lips at Evan words, and he forced himself to stand upright, using the wall as support. He groaned, and he heard Evan frantically asking him was he alright on the other end, so he reassured him that he was, telling him where he was and to hurry up and get to him.
He was still inching his way out of the alleyway, wiping at the side of his face every few seconds where the blood flowed, when he heard a low whisper.
"Jonathan." His head whipped up, meeting the gaze of Evan and he wanted to rush into his arms and sigh in relief that he was here. That Evan was fucking here. But he was into much pain, and his reply was another violent cough.
Evan's emotions were in a frenzy. His blood was boiling red-hot at the sight of Jonathan's bruises and cuts and the sight of his blood cascading down his face, and he wanted to pound the hell out of whoever did this to him, but then he wanted to wrap Jonathan up in his most tightest embrace possible and never let him go. So that’s what he did.
He stretched his arms out, moving towards him, and Jonathan leaned into him when he was close enough. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes, feeling Evan's warmth spread to him as he became enveloped in everything that was him. Evan rested his chin gently on top of Jonathan's head, as he wrapped his arms tightly around him, cautious of his injuries. He pressed his lips gently to his forehead, before trailing them towards his cheek, down to his lips before gently kissing the side of his mouth. One hand rubbed soothing circles in his back, reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.
Because it was.
Jonathan felt the events of that night swell painfully in his chest. It thumped against his chest, and he swallowed a growing lump in his throat. He wanted to stay strong, and crying was not the way to do that. But his body betrayed him, and soon he was sobbing, gasping for air as his cries racked through his chest, crushing him. And he was so fucking grateful that Evan was here, and that's all he really needed. He clutched Evan tighter, not wanting to let go.
Evan kept planting kisses on his face. He would wipe the tears with the pad of his thumb as they fell, before kissing the trail the tears left behind. He kissed his bruises and cuts, his ear, his lips, his eyelids, everywhere. He held him, letting him cry, gently hushing him.
They stayed like that, their bodies pressed together, breathing in each other's presence as if they would die without it, and they probably would. Jonathan cries had quieted into hushed sobs, and he finally looked up at Evan, his baby blue eyes shining from the tears. Somehow, he could breathe a little better now, the pain just a dull throb now, and the stings of his cuts were as noticeable as before, and all because of Evan.
"Thank you." he whispered,kissing Evan's shoulder gently before laying his head onto it. He was grateful he had him, that they had each other, their love, everything. He was eternally grateful for it, and so was Evan.