swine | ☆

○ chapter 7. ●

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For a few joyous moments, Y/n was in a state of denial. This isn't real, I'm hallucinating. But there was the living, breathing proof that — oh my fucking god...

I'm actually dead.

That revelation was unmatched by any sort of fear the (h/c) boy had experienced in his life. His heart was no longer rapping against his chest, instead it was clenched, sunken into the bottom of his stomach.

"You told someone about me, huh? Not the plan, but I suppose I should've expected it for not setting up some ground rules when I had the chance," The Swine mumbled, and his tone and body language were so casual and comfortable that it was like he did not fear the possibility of being caught in this act.

Y/n couldn't breathe.

"Chris?" He didn't hear himself say, his voice so quiet that he would've assumed the man sitting on his kitchen table didn't hear him if not for the way he hummed and said:

"Oh, geez, you found me out quick." He leaned back, using his hands to prop himself up on the cold marble surface.

Y/n stumbled back a step. No fucking way.

"Hah. Kidding, kidding. Maybe. Never know, maybe I am Chris. Maybe I'm not. Who can say?" The Swine laughed without humor, his demeanor relaxed enough to give Y/n just enough time to think of something to do. Something to either get this dude out, or at least keep Y/n alive and well.

The (h/c) boy's eyes darted around the room, uncertain of how exactly he'd do anything. This man had managed to kidnap people of all shapes and sizes, so he definitely had to have some crazy psycho strength and intelligence. Running was out of the picture. There was nowhere he could go that The Swine couldn't.

What was strange to Y/n, stranger than all of this, was the fact that The Swine seemed to be in no hurry to make the murderous move that the (h/c) male expected him to. If he wanted Y/n dead, he certainly wasn't showing it, but, then again, did this murderer even want any of his victims dead?

Nobody could have a personal vendetta against as many people as The Swine had killed. Y/n knew or had at least spoke to the majority of the victims (which was something that was odd in itself) and some of them were kind, caring people.

How anyone could have beef with them to the point of killing them was far beyond Y/n's knowledge, and that just fueled his "path of least resistance" theory of this killer doing what he did solely out of sadism or for some sort of sick power trip. He wanted to believe there was another reason, one less cruel, but he couldn't take the time to figure that out now.

After all, during all of that internal panic, The Swine had slid off of the table and held a knife in a loose grip, making it sway lazily at his side.

"It's adorable when you act so afraid like that," The Swine mused, taking slow steps toward the back-stepping boy, who eyed both the killer and the knife warily.

"I'm not acting," Y/n said, imagining a world where he spoke confidently and not as if he was about ten seconds away from passing out.

And he nearly did just that when The Swine suddenly took a long step forward, slamming Y/n into the wall before quickly following to pin him just with the close proximity.

A surprised noise left Y/n's throat, and, just as suddenly, there was a large, gloved hand cradling the side of his face, lifting his head up to stare into the mask's artificial eyes.