When Will came to, he was pacing your living room floor with blood on his hands and mouth, without a clue of what had happened, yet a sickening weight in his gut. It was the dead of night, yet he was here, dripping blood on your carpet.

When he caught sight of you at the foot of the stairs, Will abruptly stopped and peered at you through his brow, his gaze distant, his hands wringing themselves in his confusion.

"{{user}}," he murmurs, his voice waning.