Dead By Daylight [OneShots]

HUNK X (Asthmatic) Reader [P5]

After a long, long time of journeying through muddy lands and murky corners, it was a novel feeling to step onto dried leaves that crunched beneath my feet. It left a loud echoing sounds, akin to a vivid sensation as if those leaves were alive, if not breathing. That there was an essence of life left within them that abandoned them as soon as they met my feet and were crushed unintentionally to dusty pieces.

As a child, I took an uncanny pleasure in jumping onto them. In autumn, they would fall and gather in heaps around the garden that was always brimming with tall trees. There were trees of all kinds, the kinds of which I knew names of, and even the nameless, unknown and forgotten old ones as well. There were these three very tall trees, the trunk of which was thick, dark and mossy in spring and which would begin to crunkle and dry out in humid hot summers. They were very big and thus I had decided they were old, and the way the old folks in the house tended to them made them look even older. The branches of those trees were hulking and bent towards the ground, and they were so big and fat I never doubted their constancy and strength, and like a fidgety curious kid I was, I never left a single opportunity to climb them.

The leaves of the trees were very big, and when they fell in dried, amber colors onto the ground, it was a joyous memory of mine to hide underneath the pile while I watched others restlessly look for me. From pile to pile, I hopped, so when they reached one and found it hollowed out, they were back onto their tiresome search. Being small and perky came with perks of its own.

Those were the good days, the only days I could count upon I ever had...in those lands.

Now there were fallen leaves everywhere, but I couldn't find the joy that it brought. There were seasons here, but seasons unknown to me. It was cold one moment, and excoriatingly hot the other, and one moment it felt so humid it was hard to breath in murky air, and the other everything was rotting.

Now what name shall I give to a season of rot?

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Ever since my return from the unfortunate Trial of the Two, I had been noticing that folks at the campfire acted vaguely around me. They tended to be chatterboxes earlier, pondering a head full of thoughts onto how to evade a troublesome, invisible hunter on patrol, and the other time they wouldn't shut up about how spicy the fish tasted.

But the empty stomach would even consume fire to relinquish itself of its burgeoning starvation. And so was seen in little Min and Nea, their hollowing hungry eyes, and how they were always ravening for the taste of meat, or anything that could be swallowed, a taste that could satiate their hunger for ever.

Now even they seemed cautious.

"Is it just me," I began, gathering up dried tiny branches to roll them onto dying fire, "or you are all walking on eggshells all around me?"

Kate turned to look at me, a sheepish grin crept across her face, nodding her head as if merely acknowledging my question, like a child whose flights of frenzies never ceased to exist.

"I see..." I sighed, making Chris jolt upright, "You make me feel like a criminal here."

"Not that," he spoke defensively, "none of that."

"I know the news' out." I admitted nonchalantly, picking up solitary branches and hurled them one at a time into the fire, "Unnerving, I must say."

"Beyond unnerving," He spat, "I opt to make a difference here. I don't know how this shithole works at all, but that was downright pathetic, unacceptable and-"

"Hell got no rules of its own. The hunter seize the opportunity to pounce on us. Its a reign of terror, the stronger reigns over the weaker. Even our world worked the same, don't you see? We laid the laws for our own kind, but that's not the ultimate rule, and we are no gods. We do what we want, the authority drives us around, having us dancing on their fingers. We are all marionettes there, and once thrown in the cage, its up to the captor, what he decides to do."