"Here..." Something is thrust into my hand: half a bottle of vodka... I check the label; 4 per cent ABV.
"Thanks." Upending the bottle over a fresh tissue, I work at the cut... With a better view of the damage, it's more of a gash. "I'll dress it for now, but it might need stitches."
"Maybe." His tone is non-committal. "But it'll wait for now." He's side-on to me as I work into the wound. The bleeding is slowing but it's a messy business.
Eyes sliding my way, "I have a confession. It was your drink. The barman set me right. Properly right, I might add. He gave me the sharp side of his tongue. I tried to find you, but you'd vanished."
"I went outside," I whisper.
"Just as well that you did. If you hadn't a lot of people could have been hurt. As it is, almost no-one was."
"Just you."
