NIghtwolf woke up on the floor, the cool glass bottle in his hand. The world alternated between clarity and a blur as he blinked. Fuzzy thoughts ran through his confused and aching mind. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened last night. Holes eating away at his memory, growing ever more frequent.

Was I here…. last night?

Nightwolf couldn't remember if he had been home when he started. It was a long, thirsty walk from the bottle shop to his apartment. The lancing pain in his head was growing worse as the time rolled on. He took a small sip of the calming liquor, and sigh as it soothed his brain and calmed his burning stomach. He took another, longer, deeper sip of the alcohol.

There we go.

The world began to grow pleasantly fuzzy. The peace was ruined, however, when thoughts leapt unbidden to his mind. His mind saw the pride in the tribe elders' face when he had returned from the tournament, and he warmth in the woman he had been too busy to seek after's smile. Pain shot his heart as the images flashed. He fervently took a deeper sip of the alcohol, hating himself and the bottle and himself for becoming this… drunk. Pathetic drunk. But the drink was working its magic again, making him smile slightly and forget what had been troubling him… whatever it was.

Nightwolf took a long look around his small dark apartment, his thoughts coming slower and slower. He knew the blackness was coming, the wonderful time where he would not have to think or feel anything but contentment. It was coming soon.

Suddenly, standing in it's way, came that awful tide of self-loathing. It nearly blinded him for a second, making the bottle in his hand shatter against the far wall. The sight of the glass fragmenting, the poison it contained flowing down the wall, pleased him, but only for a moment. Only until he realized his ache for the fire liquid. He nearly cried.

A knocking at the door startled him. He dragged himself up and stumbled toward the door, trying his best to collect himself. He had become rather adept at hiding the slur and stumble, so he believed. He took a deep breath before he opened the door and assumed his calm.

Johnny cage is at my door.

"Hey," Johnny said. The actor still looked the same as he had at the tournament, though Nightwolf hadn't really expected a major difference. It had, after all, only been about four years. He looked oddly out of place in the dingy hallway. Same cocky stance. Same glasses. Though at least now he wore a shirt. Nightwolf was aware the actor had been living in the same city as he, but the two never met. If truth be told, Nightwolf didn't want to face the actor, as little as the cocky man meant to him. Whenever possible, Nightwolf attempted to have as little contact as possible with anyone from before. However, it's kind of hard to avoid someone standing at your door.

"Hey," Nightwolf answered. He was in a bit of shock at this turn of events.

What could Johnny Cage possibly want with me?

He was about to find out.

"This is really awkward, but I need to ask you a favor," Johnny started in. Nightwolf nodded mutely.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Things haven't been going so well at my old place…" Johnny trailed off. It took Nightwolf a minute to process this.

Johnny… wants to stay… with me…

Nightwolf looked back at his small apartment, the bottles lying on the floor. All the bottles, lying on the floor, like bodies. The smell of the alcohol suddenly became terribly apparent, threatening to make him sick. Panic mode kicked in.

"No, no, you can't. You can't stay here."

Johnny peered at Nightwolf. He hated it. It was as if he was some strange insect Johnny was inspecting. He couldn't help squirming.

"Is everything okay?"

Don't let him know. Don't let him know.

"Fine, everything's fine." Nightwolf said, and then cursed himself silently.

Too fast.

"Whatever it is, I'll help." Johnny said. Nightwolf started. The complete honesty in Johnny's voice threw him. He couldn't believe anyone could be that, that open. That caring. He couldn't even remember knowing the man that well during the tournament, or the following invasion. Although they had been on the same side, they had rarely interacted, each preoccupied with his own set of worries. Well, Nightwolf had worries.

Here he is, willing to help me… with anything.

Nightwolf looked back at the bottles littering the floor.

He would later say it was because he was buzzed, gut he knew he desperately needed help. Help out of this horrible condition. Something about the way the actor stared at him made his soul cry out, made him trust this man. He made a decision.

"Come in."