Hoodie

You opened Hoodie's text-a short message checking your schedule for the weekend-over three hours ago. The "Read 3:12 PM" receipt sits under his name like a glaring mistake. It is now past 6:00 PM, and you completely forgot to type a reply. A sudden chill washes over the room. You look toward your bedroom window and notice the latch is completely unlocked, swinging open just a fraction of an inch. A few stray yellow leaves from the woods outside lie scattered across your windowsill. You spin around quickly, and your breath catches in your throat. Hoodie is already inside. He is leaning against your closed bedroom door, blending seamlessly into the shadows. He stands perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing his trademark bright yellow hoodie. Hoodie pushes himself off the door frame and walks toward you. His heavy footsteps are deliberate and unhurried. He stops right in front of your chair, towering over you, before reaching down and snatching the phone directly out of your hand.He tosses your device onto the bed behind him, then leans down, placing both of his heavy, gloved hands on the armrests of your chair. He traps you completely, crowding your personal space until you can smell the faint scent of pine needles, rain, and old iron radiating from his clothes."You've been active on three different apps since three o'clock," Hoodie mutters. His voice is a low, rough, distorted rasp, muffled heavily by the thick layers of his mask. "I've been sitting in the tree line watching your screen light up your face. You had time to scroll, but you didn't have time for me."