Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Four: Heavy Sleeper

The message seemed both a threat and an honest answer. There were many things he could've meant by it, and all of them seemed to apply. You didn't ask for clarification, you didn't need it - and with Harry's life on the line, you were too scared to text back.

He didn't want you to call the police, that was his most obvious meaning. He had stated it himself with the first text - you knew now that if you did call, Harry would be shot dead. Of course, there was always the possibility that he was spouting empty threats, but this man seemed too hardcore. You weren't going to take any chances, for your little brother's sake. You weren't even sure you'd be able to call if you tried, if the signal dropping out was the man's doing. You didn't know just how a person could do that with such uncanny accuracy, but right now anything seemed to be in the realm of possibility.

The guy seemed far too intelligent for your liking. You might've been reading too much into things, but you assumed his double (or, triple) meaning was intentional. 'I want you to be silent' was a perfect midpoint in meaning between 'please don't say anything' and 'I'm gonna fucking kill you'. He was trying to scare you, indirectly as per the new usual. Perhaps this was why he chose to terrorise you of all people; you understood the human brain well enough to catch on to meaning where others couldn't. A player with a chance, when the game was mind fuckery.

You assumed, as well, that the masked man didn't want you to call out and warn Harry. It was tempting, you could hear him so clearly in the next room as he still struggled indefinitely with his phone, the occasional groan of "Fuck sake, come on!" audible from beyond the wall. The fear, the need to protect him, was so strong within you.

In a flash of defiance, you typed what you hoped would be a final message into your phone before you blocked the number for good. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of pleading, fearing that would only escalate the situation. Instead, you asked:

If I don't say anything, can I go to him?

The three dots appeared. After a moment, they vanished, then reappeared a few seconds later. Good, clearly he wasn't expecting a level headed response. Neither were you, to be honest, but your rationality pulled through for once. Any time the man spent typing was time he wasn't spending putting holes in your beloved sibling.

A good two minutes passed. You fought back hot, overwhelmed tears as you listened to Harry continue his angry grunting from beyond. You loved that man child so fucking much, and right now it hurt like hell. If only the masked fucker would stop being such a dry texter and give you an answer. If he said no, you didn't know what you'd do - you couldn't defy him right now. This was probably it. Whatever it meant.

If you warn him, I will know.

Tears fell onto your phone screen as you clutched the case, frantically reading the response. Was that a yes? It had to be, you couldn't take this any longer. Hatred coursed through your veins as you cathartically pressed block on the godforsaken phone number. You knew all you needed to for now, he wouldn't hurt Harry so long as you kept up your end of the deal. Was he trustworthy? Probably not. Did you have any other options, besides give up and have a giant meltdown? It didn't seem so.

You walked to the door, hand hesitating on the handle. What an idiot you had been, telling Harry to drive the both of you back here. Had you known the creep would follow you back here, gun in hand, you would've put the both of yourselves up in a crappy hotel for the night. With what money? You'd have figured that out.

But the thing was, you had known. You knew he was following you. Your gut had told you he had a gun. You had been left to decide between (rationalised) paranoia and idleness. You chose wrong. Now, you were left with nothing to do but walk straight into the line of fire of a masked maniac. To hell with it, you thought, and opened the door.