Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Twenty Three: Full Circle

A/N: yes, those are twilight references. yes, they are ironic.

The crime scene clean up team had, spookily, done an impeccable job. Your apartment was free of blood, living room and bedroom looking normal as ever. The only things amiss were, of course, the missing door and smashed window - you'd have to pay for those repairs yourself, you supposed. With what money? Well, you'd get to that later.

It was unnerving, how clean everything was. In your mind's eye, you could still see the wood splinters everywhere from when E.J. had hurtled through your bedroom door, and the blood smears on the wall from where you'd dragged your heavily bleeding self along. But the door had vanished, shards and all, and the walls had all been returned to a pristine white.

You hadn't checked Harry's room yet. There was no way you were going in there, and thankfully his door had been shut when you'd walked in. The memories were far too... fresh.

click click

A hand was brought in front of your face, fingers snapping twice. You blinked, suddenly aware that you'd been staring into space for God knows how long, eyes unfocused as you stood in the middle of the hallway.

"Hmm?" You glanced dumbly up at Hoodie, his apathetic face. Can't a girl have a moment alone to zone the fuck out?

Now having your attention, Hoodie moved around you towards the bathroom door, swinging it open while facing you and flicking on the light without even looking. Another testament to the fact that he'd stalked you for months on end; he knew where every little thing was in this apartment.

"Stab wound." He glanced expectantly at your shoulder, still holding the door open.

Odd choice of wording. Blunt as always. You huffed, regarding him with dull eyes for a moment. You'd only just got back, you'd really have preferred to crawl into bed and sleep for forty eight hours straight. You had a feeling that he wouldn't let you sleep until you changed the dressings on your shoulder, though.

He had a point, but you were still going to be petty about it. You all but stomped over to him, and into the warm light of the bathroom.

You stared blankly at yourself in the mirror. You looked the same, but different. Eyes of a murderer, if you were being poetic. More so, it was how normal you looked that unnerved you the most. Same (s/c) skin, familiar shirt you'd had since the tenth grade, same bone structure. You didn't look like someone who'd committed fratricide a mere day or so ago. You just looked pathetic and tired, hair unbrushed and bedraggled, one arm in a cast and the other in a sling.

You were conscious of Hoodie lurking in the doorway, practically breathing down your neck as he watched you stare yourself down, perhaps waiting for you to have another meltdown. You were all cried out, though. After a moment, you looked at his reflection in the mirror awkwardly. You didn't exactly know what you were doing, or how to do it. Especially not with your hands being entirely fucking useless.

Hoodie sighed, taking a step towards you into the cramped bathroom. You half expected him to make some insulting comment about you being pathetic and needy, or something along those lines, but he only reached for the bathroom cabinet above your head. He'd been uncharacteristically civil to you all day today. Sympathetic, even. You supposed that you appreciated it. You didn't want to be talked down to in your current mental state, that was for sure.

He pulled out a roll of bandages, cotton swabs, and a pack of disposable gloves. You didn't remember keeping any of those items in the apartment, but okay. He set them down on the bathroom countertop, hands then coming up to the back of your neck. You looked down from where his face was reflected in the mirror as he brushed your hair off your neck, quickly undoing the cloth sling from where it had been tied, getting it out of the way. You tried your best not to move your now-freed left arm as the support was alleviated, knowing it would hurt like hell if you did.