@ju11anedelman liked for a starter! (i’m so sorry)
The click of the front door closing reverberated through the bathroom loudly enough to shock Sirius from his thoughts. He was tired–so tired–but he was sure he’d heard it. He rarely had visitors, and with the war going the way it was, he was instantly on alert.
His eyes darted around the room as he searched for his wand, but it wasn’t until he’d turned the shower off and reached for a towel that he realised it.
He’d been so tired he’d apparated into the wrong house.
Footsteps outside the door grew closer, so he hastily wrapped the towel around his waist and held his wand behind his back.
“Yeah. Yeah, I understand,” Julian paused outside the bathroom, inhaling deeply. “I know, Bill. Don’t-- fucking sweat it, man. Yeah. Amendola is a good pick.” He inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as fingers wrapped around the doorknob. Bill Belichick, hardly a man of emotion (except when it came to their Superbowl wins) mumbled under his breath, wishing Julian well, remaining tough but optimistic.
“Thanks. Yeah, I will. Tom will be fine. Don’t worry. Yeah. Thanks. Alright. Talk to you soon.”
Julian pressed the illuminated red key to hang up before he pushed open the door and limped into the bathroom in nothing but his boxers.
The shower was on. It was blasting hot water that trickled into the drain and he immediately cursed himself.
What a fucking WASTE! He’d left the thing on all goddamn night and if Julian was anything besides a wide receiver, he was a conservationist. Maybe it wasn’t just a torn ACL he suffered, but yet another concussion. He hobbled over on one foot, knee bent because shit that thing hurt and he’d be damned if he didn’t heal quickly, Julian pulled back the shower curtain and--
Edelman stepped back, bearing too much weight on his bum leg and fell into the heap on the floor.