Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

One: The Cursed Trio

As Tuesday turned into Wednesday, and the week dragged on to Friday, more and more strange occurrences fucked with your mind. The shirt was first, something you initially put down to sleep deprivation. You vowed to yourself that morning that you wouldn't spend too much time analysing the garment's sudden appearance - it wouldn't do you any good to dwell, and God knows you couldn't afford a psychologist for your sudden memory loss. A glitch in the matrix was all it had been.

A glitch in the matrix... but it became increasingly difficult to ignore the strange things that followed. After the shirt incident, you had rushed down to your car to find the doors were unlocked. You never left your car open, and couldn't even think of a time you had forgotten to lock the vehicle. As shitty as the thing was, you didn't have the money to replace it if it got stolen, and public transport in your part of town was dodgy on a good day.

The most fucked up thing that had happened on Tuesday was definitely when Harry called you, to thank you for vacuuming the living room. You knew that there was goldfish crumbs still in the grey carpet from your Star Wars marathon the weekend before. You had told him to go and get his eyes checked.

On Thursday morning, when you got out of the shower, there was a cup of coffee already waiting for you. As tired as you were, you couldn't remember making it for yourself. You must have, though, because it was perfectly made to your taste. That ruled Harry out, he never put enough milk in - the boy had been trying to convert you to black coffee for years, but you always told him you'd rather trip over a chainsaw to wake yourself up.

Friday evening, and you had had the last straw. As much as you didn't want these strange happenings to get to you, paranoia was setting in. It didn't help that you were painfully self-aware of your heightened anxiety; being a psychology major was not without its little 'perks'.

You strode into your apartment, flicking on the lights. That afternoon, you had realised too late that you didn't grab a pen that morning after your last one had run out. You had opened your backpack just in case to find not one, but four pens in dark (f/c) ink. You didn't recognise the brand, and of course you had no memory of them ever being in that bag before. You were convinced there was a gas leak in your apartment or something.

You flung your bag onto the couch with a frustrated, frightened growl. You willed yourself not to break down as tears pricked at your eyes. You really, really needed a hug right now. Unfortunately, Harry was at football training and would probably go for drinks at a friends place after. That left you home alone for the first time since Wednesday, left to marinate in your paranoia until he came home.

Earlier that day, some of your friends had invited you out to a club. You weren't much of a partier these days, having had your more than your fair share of vodka during your freshman year. You had refused, knowing you probably wouldn't have enjoyed yourself. Now, however, you were regretting that. At least being out with friends would rescue you from being jumpscared by the noises of your apartment all evening. Unfortunately for you, you hadn't been thinking of that at the time.

Taking a deep, calming breath, you tried to clear your thoughts. What you needed now was comfort, and your usual three-step plan was an excellent solution. First, change into comfy clothes. For you, that meant a large, chunky sweater and leggings. Second, a cup of tea with a little too much sugar. Then, a childhood favourite movie. The simple, tried and true routine had seen you last through many a stressful night in high school and college.

You headed to your bedroom to change, finding yourself analysing every detail of your apartment as you passed through it. Everything seemed to be in order. No need to be irrational, (y/n). You flipped the hallway light on. There were no serial killers lurking in the gloom, nor any clowns, vampires, werewolves - you mentally poked fun at yourself. You clomped into your bedroom, refusing to let paranoia have you tiptoeing in your own abode. Feeding fear a suck-it sandwich, you flung your bedroom door open and flicked the light on.