[ There are times, like now, where being a werewolf is more of a hindrance than a help. He wouldn't need to have the nose of a dog to smell the blood in the air - he doesn't know what Reggie's done to his hand, whether he's just scrapped his knuckles or given himself a slightly more grievous injury, but the towel around his hand is the first thing that catches Derek's attention, the source of the iron smell in the air coming from there.
Derek quietly shuts the door behind him, taking a few cautious steps towards Reggie, less like he doesn't know what to say and more like he's afraid of startling a wild animal. He doesn't answer Reggie's question; as he walks closer, his eyes drift to the kitchen, where he sees a shard of porcelain still discarded on the tiles, and they drift to the mirror askew and shattered on the wall, glass fractured and spiderwebbing from the center. Derek wets his lips, getting in arm's distance from Reggie, walking slowly around a toppled chair to get there.
Jesus, he's not taking this well. Derek's voice actually does sound kind of sympathetic this time, once he finds it again. ]
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Derek quietly shuts the door behind him, taking a few cautious steps towards Reggie, less like he doesn't know what to say and more like he's afraid of startling a wild animal. He doesn't answer Reggie's question; as he walks closer, his eyes drift to the kitchen, where he sees a shard of porcelain still discarded on the tiles, and they drift to the mirror askew and shattered on the wall, glass fractured and spiderwebbing from the center. Derek wets his lips, getting in arm's distance from Reggie, walking slowly around a toppled chair to get there.
Jesus, he's not taking this well. Derek's voice actually does sound kind of sympathetic this time, once he finds it again. ]
Does that hurt?
[ His hand, he means. ]