PUBERTY TWO [ FIVE HARGREEVES X READER ] ♡

୨୧┊SIXTY FIVE:

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PICTURES, NEWSARTICLES & POSTERS.

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I lightly knocked on the glass window of the door, waiting patiently for a response.

MORTIMER GUSSMAN D.D.S

Those were the words inscribed upon it, I stared a moment more before the second door across from the one I stood my opened, seeing the man I had came to visit.

"You, Y/N! Per had told me you were on your way . . . come in." Elliott spoke in slight paranoia, I ignored it as I gratefully stepped inside of his home, looking around.

It was fairly average, comfortable enough.

"Follow . . . me." he hesitantly spoke, I obligated, setting the box of jams on his kitchen's counter as I followed his route towards an empty bedroom.

"It's small, but you're just gonna sleep here so it's not a problem, right?" I nodded, throwing my packed bag on my bed, still in my ballet uniform.

"Elliott, may you excuse me? I'd like to get dressed but I'll come talk after." I softly said, unzipping my bag, I heard him stumble slightly behind me. I assumed he was walking backwards or something,

"Right, right, right . . . " then the door closed, I sighed heavily while I began to pull out some clothing to wear.

--

"Those pictures, care to share them with me?" Elliott scrambled away in surprise from the stove he stood in front of, my sudden appearance startling him a slight.

What's he making . . . is that jello?

His eyes flickered to me and the stove, setting the stove on a lower heat as he paced towards a cupboard in his living room, pulling out a drawer,

"I have . . . I have a collection, newspaper articles . . . pictures . . . posters even . . . " he explained, flashing a wanted poster of Diego briefly, I gasped, taking the poster from his hands.

He's here too.

"Diego . . . " I breathed, my voice a bit shaky as my lips were parted, brows furrowed.

"You know him? He's been in some news articles, see?" Elliott chimed in, showing me a torn out piece of newspaper. I gently took it from his hands, holding it to my level of vision,

"These are . . . mugshots. What did he do?" I softly asked, glancing his way, he shrugged.

"Apparently he was marked a danger in Dallas, him carrying around a heinous amount of knives."

I nodded with a frown, eyes tracing the letters on the odd textured paper.

Mental asylum?

"How do you know him?" Elliott questioned, sifting through his pictures as he put the most clear ones together, I sighed.

"My friend's brother. As well as . . . the rest of those people you got there." I said, eyes drifting to his hands that held the pictures, seeing a doze of Allison and Luther and a bit of Klaus.