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(tw injury)
“Fuck.” Martin hissed, taking in a sharp breath through his teeth as the metal slid, just wrong, out of his hand. The pain bloomed across his neck only a few seconds after he saw the blade slide, in the mirror, and then - very slowly, with no fanfare, a few beads of blood began to pop up from the little cut on the side of his neck. “Godfuckingdammit.”
He hated shaving. Fuck, he hated it. It was so easy to slip up with the way his hands didn’t like to work these days, and he’d always been clumsy even before the numbness stole his fucking dexterity, and the result wasn’t even worth it. And the pain wasn’t bad, but there was blood, and it was going to make a mess, and -
He pressed a hand over the cut, putting light pressure on the wound, watching with a grimace in the mirror as the pale skin of his face went just a little paler, and the contrast of deep red began to dribble down his neck.
He stared, transfixed, for a long moment as something clicked in the back of his brain.
A twig snapping, an unknown sound in an empty house, that set his body on high alert before he could even process why -
...fuck, he...he didn’t feel right.
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