#mini drabble.

"Ow..." His head was throbbing before he even managed to open his eyes, a dull ache making itself known in the back of his neck which only worsened when he moved his head. Cracking an eye to glimpse the alarm clock on his dresser, Harper swallowed a quiet moan of disappointment that the numbers reflected the time was barely 5:21 what in the name of all Holy, Unholy and inbetween had he done to deserve waking up nearly two hours before his alarm was set to go off? He didn't buy into the idea of, Well, I'm awake now! far from it he was more than happy to roll over and go back to sleep. That was the immediate desire, at least. But he became all too painfully aware when his head came back to rest against the pillow that there was a distinctive and rather unpleasant scent clinging to the fabric. A scent he knew intimately, given where he worked and the proximity he was in to this particular substance on a daily basis. It didn't turn his stomach, that wasn't exactly a trait which anyone could claim was desirable in a Butcher. What was turning his stomach was that he knew the distinctive differences in scent between animal blood and human blood.

A hand reached behind him, fumbling for the switch on the lamp. As soon as he bathed the room in the warm yellow glow, the bile in his throat reached an almost painful level. His pillow was smeared with the viscous substance; freshly smeared. It was still sticky, clinging to his skin. That much was evident when he lifted his hand to push his damp curls from his face and found his palm was covered. The fine lines in his skin standing out like they'd been etched into place after the fact. "What the fuck did you do?" The question was posed as though someone else were in the room with him. A fear began prickling in his core, before he knew it Harper was tearing back the blankets and hurtling for the bathroom. More streaks of crimson were all too present along the edge of the mirror, as if he'd deliberately drawn his fingers against the polished surface to leave behind undeniable proof he'd taken the time to enter the room after whatever he'd done. "What have you done?" He demanded of his reflection. Of the pale, drawn face staring back at him with fear in his eyes.

"What have you done." It came as a statement that time, in place of a question. Tears were welling in his eyes the more he stared at himself. Desperately seeking answers he knew weren't coming. There was a hole in the back of his mind. An emptiness. Nothing but darkness. He couldn't remember where he'd even gone last night, the last thing he remembered was leaving work. Calling his goodbyes over his shoulder, he'd had a destination in mind but where was the question. He reached to tug his hand through his hair, automatically letting it fall back to rest against the sink right before he made contact with the wild curls. Though closer inspection confirmed for him that he did, in fact, have blood in his hair too. It was everywhere, he wasn't covered in it but it was enough that he could see spots of it across his chest. A little smear beneath his lower lip. "What the fuck have you done?"