swine | ☆

● chapter 4. ○

is it easy to tell which characters i hate and which characters i love because i think i made it a little TOO obvious last chapter...

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Y/n felt utterly drained. His body was undoubtedly asleep, but his awareness refused to fade. At least, not completely. It came in tiny blips between unconsciousness and the opposite, and it was hard to tell when he blinked and when he slept.

There was a pit of hunger in his stomach that chewed at his insides uncomfortably, but he'd bare it. There was that feeling of something not being right, but he'd bare it. There was the chill of the fan being left on in his open window, the blanket a useless weight on top of him, but he'd bare it.

These small annoyances felt selfish to Y/n, a reoccurring, guilty sensation, when he thought of how many people suffered now. The families that suffered from the death of loved ones, the families that suffered from knowing but not knowing at the same time if their loved one would be next.

The ones that were yet to be found.

The ones that had been found, bloodied and destroyed to the point of only faint recognition.

Nobody deserved that. Nobody deserved to be killed at all, but to be brutalized for seemingly no reason at all? That was cruel- no, not cruel, there was no word to describe it. No word that felt appropriate, that felt respectful to those who not only lost their life, but had it ripped to shreds.

Y/n couldn't shake those thoughts, the ones that ate away at him, the ones that couldn't even allow him to thank a higher being, if one at all, for being alive still, because there was so much guilt.

No, Y/n couldn't shake those thoughts. Couldn't go to sleep and forget, couldn't wake up and remember because they never left.

It was nonsensical to feel this way, because it wasn't Y/n's fault. He knew that. He knew that.

So why..?

Y/n curled up a little tighter, wrapping his own body heat around himself and trying to fall asleep again, and this time, against all odds, he did.

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It was the dead of night when Y/n rose from a temporary death again, and this time, that feeling, the one that warned him that something was wrong, was stronger. The same one that Y/n ignored, brushed off as paranoia.

It made his previously relaxed heart pound. There was no half-decent explanation for this sudden outbreak of, what, fear? Fear of what?

No, right, there's no good reason. Go back to sleep, just go back to sleep.

But there was a weight. A dip. In what, you might ask? He couldn't tell, not with his eyes squeezed shut, as if childishly scared he might not like what he saw if he opened them.

Something wasn't right, that was for sure, but Y/n hid behind the logic that it was just paranoia. That nothing was right, and this clawing feeling in his chest was just the reminder of that.

But, when he coaxed his eyelids open, there was a figure, crouched down at the end of the bed.

Y/n felt ice run down the entirety of his body, frozen still for just a split second. For a moment, there was a fit of denial. He was seeing things.

The (h/c) male jolted up, his vision going staticky from the sudden movement and his mind spinning. Maybe he was hallucinating, but then the figure moved forward, and, lightning quick, grabbed both of his wrists in one gloved hand and slammed them against the headboard.