Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Twenty Two: Cute Together

You wouldn't have picked a cheesy '50s style diner as Hoodie's restaurant of choice, yet here you both were. You'd only received a handful of odd looks from the other customers - a person with two useless arms was less strange compared to some of the idiots commonly seen in cheap food places.

Hoodie had left you sitting in the booth furthest from the counter, while he went to the bathroom. You still weren't especially hungry, but you couldn't exactly recall how long it had been since you had eaten something - Sunday night , but how many days had it been since then? One? Three? After that one class on Monday morning, time was just a congealed mass in your mind.

Hoodie sure was taking his time going for a piss. Or maybe he was just sick of your sorry company by now, you weren't sure. You'd already told the waitress to come back later twice, and you were in desperate need of a distraction before horrible memories started to creep their way back into your tired mind. Your eyes drifted around the diner idly. Checkered floor, red counter tops, those dodgy-ass bar stools that looked like they'd topple over any second. Even cartoonish portraits of Marilyn Monroe and the likes covering the wall space. The place was only a quarter full, it being a (probably) weeknight.

You looked up to the door as it opened, a man wandering in from the dark parking lot. You didn't take much notice as his eyes awkwardly met yours, you had been staring first, after all. You looked away, opting instead to people-watch a random family of four sitting nearby. The man sat down a few booths along the row, facing you. You thought you saw him glance up at you a few times, from the corner of your eye. You avoided looking at him again though, you weren't in the mood to have some random guy thinking you were playing flirty eye-tag.

You were relieved when Hoodie finally returned after a few minutes, sliding silently into the seat across from you and thankfully blocking your view of the random dude. He picked up one of the laminated menus a waitress had dropped off while he was gone, reading down the list.

"What do you want?" He sounded dead as usual, not looking up at you. That tense conversation from earlier was the most expressive you'd ever heard the guy, him softly telling you that none of this was your doing. You begged to differ.

"Nothing." You shrugged. You'd probably just throw whatever you ate the fuck back up, no matter how hungry you felt. The grotesque memory of being soaked in blood was all too fresh.

He didn't say anything more, flicking his wrist at a young looking waitress as she was walking by.

"Yes, what can I get for you two?" She came over with a polite smile, taking the menu from him as he handed it to her.

"Black coffee." Hoodie leaned back in his seat, you catching a brief glimpse of the random dude behind him.

Eye-contact dude seemed very interested in his menu, holding it over his face. He'd put his hood up over his dark hair now, for some reason. Edgy.

The waitress began to scribble the order on her notepad as Hoodie continued, "Large fries, and a (f/f) milkshake."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Dude, I said I don't fucking want anything." Somehow, you doubted the milkshake was for him.

Hoodie tilted his head at you, still sounding bored. "You need calories. You're gonna fucking pass out."

You shot him a glare, him mimicking your swearing for shits and giggles once again. "I won't drink it, but okay."

To your annoyance, the waitress giggled slightly at you. She was probably just trying to be polite, but Hoodie seemed to find your annoyance funny as well.

He cracked a toothy grin, "Well, I wouldn't either. (F/f) is a terrible choice."

You choked on air. He'd fucking ordered for you, creepily knowing your favourite. He could so easily have just picked a different milkshake flavour if it bothered him that much. Or, you know, just not got anything at all, like you'd said.