Riders of B E R K

Part 2: What the hell happened to this guy?

I stared at the unconscious shape at my feet and sighed. I had a mysterious stranger passed out on my floor. He could well be a junkie or an alcoholic and he certainly wasn't well. He had given me a preposterous name and little else.

He was lying sprawled uncomfortably on my floor, his flushed face relaxed. He was breathing harshly, he had been inexplicably scared stiff about being taken to a hospital and had a horrible limp on his prosthetic leg.

And he was kind of cute.

I blinked and mentally kicked myself. Bad girl, Astrid! The last observation was true but currently moot: he was unconscious and needed help. So I dropped my backpack by the door and turned back, kneeling by him and gently putting him in the recovery position. He remained limp and unconscious and I sighed. I couldn't leave him here on the floor.

I glanced up. My apartment was created from the converted warehouses by the old docks into a 'stylish loft style dwelling'. Which translates as large open plan living space with sitting room, living room, dining room, study and kitchen all mixed into one and two separate bedrooms and a bathroom. It had been undecorated when I bought it and I had gone through it in pale blues, white and a hint of gold and it was furnished functionally. It was completely paid for by the money from my Gran's house when she died. And I lived here alone.

I opened the spare bedroom. Both bedrooms had doubles in and I kept the spare room ever ready in defiance that someday, my friends would want to come to stay. They had, earlier this year, after they graduated and I entered final year but over the months we kind of drifted apart. I had too much on-training, shifts, lectures, projects while they had real lives out there. I sighed. At least someone would benefit from the room. It was functional as well-plain blue duvet and sheets, white and gold lamp, canvas wardrobe and white painted chest of drawers. I turned back to my guest.

Hiccup showed no sign of waking, breathing heavily. I leaned down, grabbed him under the arms and dragged him towards the spare room. He still weighed surprisingly little despite being a dead weight and I winced at the scrape of the metal foot over my polished floor. I stopped as we entered the room and made sure he was comfortable on the seagrass matting before I straightened up and pulled the covers back. And then I stared at my guest. He was flushed with a high temperature: the last thing he needed was going to bed fully clothed. I huffed: I would have to undress him.

I'm not a prude: far from it. I can honestly say I have seen every part of the human body-male and female-and none of them actually bother me. But this felt different because this was a stranger in my own apartment. I leaned down and began to pull off his battered leather jacket. He was lanky and awkward to manoeuvre and I wished I had someone to help me. Eventually, I managed to drag the jacket off and tossed it onto the small chair in the corner. He was wearing a green check shirt underneath and that was easier to remove. Then a stained whitish T-shirt which also came off, revealing his lean torso. I could see all his ribs and a nasty purple-green bruise over the right side of his chest. That looked sore.

I was tempted to stop at this point but I'm nothing if not a perfectionist and I don't quit halfway through a job. So I dropped to my knees and unlaced his boot. It was battered and had definitely seen better days. I levered it off and dropped it to one side, then the sock as well. Then I crawled to his waist. Taking a strange guy's pants off was something I have to admit was a new experience for me but I knew he needed to cool down. I rolled my eyes and unbuckled the belt and then unfastened his jeans. Fortunately, he had underwear on. I grabbed the denim and hauled the jeans down over his narrow hips, down his legs and then stopped at the prosthesis.