Damon stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The light flickered once before settling. He walked up to the mirror and got a clear look at the drawing.
It wasn't just any sketch. It had shading. Detail. Whoever did this had way too much time and confidence.
He stared at his reflection. "Nah... this shit's too accurate."
He turned the tap and splashed cold water onto his face. Then he grabbed the bar of soap, rubbed it hard in his palms, and scrubbed at his cheek.
The ink didn't move. He switched to hand soap, squeezing out a thick glob and working it in circles, gritting his teeth as he applied pressure.
Still nothing.
"Come on," he muttered.
He opened the cabinet, found a random facewash someone had probably left behind, and tried again. Then switched to a rough towel, scrubbing until his cheek stung red.
It faded slightly, but the outline remained. Bold. Obnoxious. Ridiculous.
