swine | ☆

○ chapter 25. ●

CWs: Chris, mentions of questionable age gap and pedophilia-ish

(h/c): your hair color, which you know by now, but when not followed by "boy" and such, read it as brunet, ravenet, blond, etc.

after too long, a mask will crack, and only then will you be forced to face what lies beneath.

○●☆●○

The Moth watched with some sort of mock-sympathy as the pig-masked male paced endlessly around the room, pulling at his hair and mumbling angrily to himself. His anger might've been intimidating to those who weren't used to it; sporadic, violent actions, random raises in volume vocally... The Moth had seen this before, and wasn't worried. Well, for herself, that was.

"After all I do," The Swine murmured, the hand that wasn't entangled in his own hair growing restless, moving from his mouth to his side to his pocket, "to keep him happy. The shit I've let people get away with so he doesn't have to suffer. And she wants me to go out and kill his friend?"

The Moth tapped her fingers against the table she was sat on, crossing her legs and humming in indifferent agreement. She had never felt that before; when The Saint told her to do something, there was never any hesitation. Never anything in the way of fulfilling that duty.

"It's not like you to obsess over somebody else's feelings." She frowned, leaning against the wall. "Or your own, for that matter."

The Swine looked at her for a long time. Perhaps, it was only a few seconds, but it was longer than necessary.

"He's different," He murmured, the longing she usually saw from him when he spoke about Y/n returning to his eyes. "This whole thing is... different. I don't want to see him hurt."

"Yes, you do." The Moth's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk bullshit, when you know damn well-"

"Not like that," The Swine interrupted, a ballsy move that would've gotten him in trouble if The Moth didn't clearly see what state of mind he was in. "Never- I don't want to see him like that ever again."

The masked woman leaned back against the wall, exhaling. The Swine had always been too aware of Y/n L/n's emotional well-being. If he just took what he wanted from Y/n, he wouldn't be so torn up about doing something as simple as killing his friend.

"You just have to kidnap the target. It's Alli who's going to be doing all the hard shit," The Moth mentioned, and it was then that The Swine realized she didn't truly know what he was worried about whatsoever.

"I could handle the torture shit on my own, I don't care about that," The Swine said, very little (if any at all) regard to how he was discussing the upcoming murder of an individual so casually.

"So, what? It's not like your little slut is going to do anything about it," The Moth shrugged, easing off of the wall and moving to stand closer to The Swine.

The pig-masked man almost flinched at the name. He couldn't get his ass beat again, which meant he'd just have to let The Moth call Y/n whatever she chose.

But, he'll be sad... That was the thought that The Swine didn't verbalize. He knew what The Moth would think about such an, in her mind, unimportant concern, so he frowned and stayed silent. There was no use complaining to a brick wall who took The Saint's philosophy as fact.

The door clicked open before their conversation could continue, and in stepped Hellhound, who looked at the two of them briefly before approaching The Moth. The Swine didn't want to eavesdrop, but he did.

"Uhm, where's The Saint?" Hellhound asked, his voice quiet and timid by nature, as it always was during the few times he had to talk.

The Moth barely looked at him, a good half of her attention still on The Swine, as if she thought he'd do something he'd regret if she let him out of her sight. When all he did was adjust his mask to rest over more of his face, she turned to look at Hellhound properly.