Husk

by LilyLunaetic

Summary:

Reviving minions was never a problem for 1x1x1x1 until a certain survivor made it a problem now

Notes:

Lowkey I didn't know there's another word we can use other than corpse or dead. Thank you teacher for helping 😚

Chapter 1

Reviving the dead had always been second nature to 1x in those matches. The minions were nothing more than hollow echoes of the survivors—same face, same empty voice, same shuffling obedience.

 

Except for one.

 

The ex-hacker, 007n7

 

C00lkidd would’ve given anything to see his father again if 1x could make these revenants permanent. But that was impossible. They only lived as long as the match allowed.

 

Two survivors remained—Two Time and Noob. Both irritating, both persistent.

 

Shedletsky had already fallen. Out of spite, 1x struck him down a second time, tearing the husk apart until nothing recognizable remained. The splatter of code and fragments of body dissolved into the void, and yet 1x felt… nothing. Hatred never satisfied him—it only demanded more.

 

But when he turned back, 007n7 was still there, silent, obedient, yet somehow different. The other minions shuffled like broken puppets, but this one lingered at his side as though waiting. Watching.

 

1x reached out, his hand brushing against the faint glitch of 007n7’s cheek. A strange ripple shot through his core—an ache he didn’t recognize. He had never known hesitation, but now his grip faltered.

 

“What are you looking at?” he whispered, though he knew the husk could not answer.

 

The minion only tilted its head. Something in its empty stare reflected him, as if mocking the void inside his own being. Hatred surged, demanding he crush it, tear it apart as he had done with Shedletsky. His hand trembled, caught between violence and something else he couldn’t name.

 

 

For the first time, 1x wondered if he hated the survivors… or himself.

 

 

The silence between them deepened, thick and suffocating. The other minions shuffled mindlessly at the edges of the void, but 007n7 stood still, its empty eyes locked on him.

 

1x lifted a hand again, slower this time, brushing away a strand of glitching static that clung to 007n7’s face. His touch lingered longer than it should have, tracing the faint outline of a mouth that would never speak again. The act felt wrong, almost fragile—an insult to what he was made to be.

 

And yet…

 

For the smallest fraction of time, the hatred inside him wavered. He almost leaned closer, as though the husk might whisper something back if he only waited long enough.

 

But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

The silence mocked him.

 

With a sudden urge, 1x’s fingers closed around 007n7’s throat. He slammed the husk back against the void’s wall, the impact scattering particles of broken code into the air. Hatred roared through him, drowning out that fleeting tenderness. His grip tightened, and still the minion didn’t resist—it only stared at him, as if daring him to choose what it would become.

 

1x’s chest heaved. He could tear it apart, shred it like the others. And yet, his hand refused to finish the motion. The tremor remained—half violence, half something he didn’t understand.

 

“Why you?” His voice cracked with distortion, low and venomous, but there was something fragile hiding beneath it.

 

 

Still, no answer. Only the hollow gaze of 007n7, reflecting his confusion back at him.

 

 

The void seemed to pulse around them, a low hum gnawing at the edges of 1x’s mind. His nails dug deeper into 007n7’s neck, though he didn’t flinch. Its stillness burned him more than resistance ever could.

 

He hated this.

 

He hated the way his grip trembled. Hated the ache in his chest, the weakness crawling through his veins. And most of all—he hated that it hurts, this echo of 007n7, that stirred it.

 

Because behind those dead, unblinking eyes, 1x saw the faint reflection of someone else. Someone small. Someone he had sworn wasn’t his responsibility.

 

The boy, the son 007n7 left behind...

 

The same boy 1x kept alive in the shadows, feeding when no one watched, shielding without ever admitting it. Not out of love, he told himself—never love. Only necessity. Only… weakness.

 

But every time he looked at the sweet smile, the truth clawed closer.

 

 

“You shouldn’t matter,” 1x hissed, voice splintering, raw with loathing. “You’re nothing like your son... You're an echo. A shell.”

 

 

And yet, his grip loosened. Instead of crushing the husk, his hand slid down, fingers brushing across its shoulder in something disturbingly close to tenderness. For a moment, he allowed it—this fragile, damning lie that he could keep something, someone, close without destroying them.

 

The silence pressed harder. He could almost hear his own thoughts screaming back at him. You don’t care. You can’t care... You’re hate itself...-

 

The weakness curdled inside him until he couldn’t bear it. With a snarl, he shoved 007n7 away, the husk collapsing to the ground in a scatter of static.

 

“Don’t—” His voice cracked, distorted, breaking apart like broken glass. “Don’t make me like this.”

 

The minion only stared up at him, silent, waiting, as if it already knew the truth he refused to say aloud.

 

1x turned away, but the weight of his own self-loathing clung tighter than chains.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

"Yay you're back!" c00lkidd cheers, "Did you meet my dad again?"

"... Yeah. I did." 1x muttered, patting the kid's head. "You didn't bother anyone, right?"

 

"Nope! I stay in my room because Uncle John still scares me..." C00lkidd whispered, glancing around as he does not want John Doe to listen. c00lkidd smiles out of relief that John Doe isn't listening, "Did you have fun playing? Did my dad said anything?"

 

"Not much but it was a good game." 1x clench his hand, the hand he killed 007n7. "... Hey, mind telling me stories about your dad again...? I need to cool off."

c00lkidd eyes lit up in excitement, oh how he loves praising 007n7. "Yes! Yes!!! Definitely!"

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

... A new match started. Survivors scattered, looping through their endless cycle of hiding and fleeing. The hunt began again.

 

For 1x, it was routine—he tore through them with practiced cruelty, hatred guiding every strike. Noob screamed. Two Time ran with Elliot. Shedletsky rage baiting 1x again-... And in turn, each fell. Again, again, again.

 

But when 007n7 crossed his path, 1x didn’t hesitate. The ex hacker’s collapsed under his claws, another sacrifice to the loop. Yet this time, when he revived the dead, his commands were different.

 

 

“Follow.”

 

 

The minion obeyed without question, trailing him as he veered away from the usual hunting grounds. Instead of chasing the survivors, he slipped into the abandoned corners of the map—the places coded with dead geometry, where no one dared linger. Glitches bled across the walls like fractures in reality.

 

Here, no one could see him.

 

1x turned, studying the husk that had once been 007n7. Silent. Waiting. Patient, as always. The faint static that clung to its form buzzed like a whisper just out of reach.

 

He hated the quiet. He needed the screams, the struggle—the things that proved he was hate incarnate. But now… now he needed something else.

 

The dead tilted its head, as if sensing his hesitation.

 

1x stepped closer. His claws hovered at its chest, over the faint flicker of code that mimicked a heartbeat. He could end it in an instant, scatter it into nothing like he always did. Instead, he let his hand rest there, motionless.

 

“I don’t know what kind of spell you casted on me,” he muttered, distortion warping his voice into something low and unsteady. “But I don't want it to… stop.”

 

 

The words tasted like poison. Pride hissed at him to silence himself, to rip the husk apart before the weakness grew. Yet he stayed, claws trembling, the ache of self-loathing tightening around him.

 

For the first time in countless loops, 1x was no longer certain whether he wanted to destroy this minion—or keep it.

The husk waited in silence, its static-laced body twitching faintly as though the loop itself disapproved of 1x’s hesitation. He loomed over it, claws flexing, chest heaving with a rage he couldn’t direct anywhere but inward.

 

Why was this one different? Why did this husk unnerve him when all the others were disposable? He could crush it now, shatter it, and the next match would give him another. It should have meant nothing.

 

 

And yet—

 

 

His hand lifted, brushing the glitch along 007n7’s cheek. A line of static rippled beneath his touch, fragile, almost warm in its false imitation of life. The gesture was absurd. Tender. Wrong.

 

1x leaned closer before he realized what he was doing.

 

The husk didn’t move, didn’t resist. Its blank eyes only reflected him—his hatred, his weakness, his own loathing. And in that reflection, he pressed his jagged mouth against the husk’s, a kiss that carried no love, only confusion. Static bled between them, sparking across his form like punishment.

 

The moment lasted only a second before 1x tore himself away, breathing hard, claws shaking.

 

“Disgusting…” His voice cracked, trembling with fury at himself. “I am… disgusting.”

 

He shoved the husk back, almost violently, though not enough to break it apart. His pride roared to destroy it, erase the evidence of his weakness. But his hands refused.

 

Instead, he turned from it, the taste of static still burning against him, self-loathing gnawing deeper than any hatred ever could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

Each loop bled into the next. Survivors screamed, ran, died, revived. The cycle never ended. But for 1x, something new had rooted in the endless repetition.

Whenever 007n7 fell, whenever his husk returned under 1x’s control, the killer would draw it away. Into the forgotten places of the map. Into silence.

 

And then, shamefully, inevitably, he repeated the act.

 

His hand would linger against the husk’s cheek. His distorted breath would catch. And once more, he would press that wrong, static-scorched kiss against empty lips. Every time, he recoiled in disgust, spitting curses at himself. Every time, he swore he would stop.

 

But he never did.

 

Hatred demanded destruction, yet obsession whispered otherwise. And 1x— an embodiment of hatred itself... ... Could not understand why he needed this. Why he kept chasing the sensation. Why it hollowed him out worse than any rage could.

 

 

Loop after loop. Kiss after kiss. Always hidden. Always denied.

Until one match, his desperation betrayed him.

 

Survivors scattered as usual. The hunt was chaos. But when he cornered 007n7 this time, alive, breathing, struggling—something inside him broke. He didn’t wait to kill. Didn’t wait to revive. Didn’t even think.

 

Before the hacker could escape, 1x closed the distance, claws pinning him against the fractured geometry of the map. And for the first time, without realizing, he pressed his jagged lips against the living, warm 007n7.

 

No static. No husk. No excuse.

 

And in that horrifying moment, 1x realized— oh no. he could no longer pretend it was only the loop’s hollow trick.

The moment his jagged lips pressed against the hacker’s, 1x knew.

 

This wasn’t a husk. There was no static bleeding between them. No hollow echo to excuse the act. This was warmth—real, living warmth— and it burned him far worse than fire. It was so soft, much better than dead.

He pulled back just enough to see 007n7’s face, wide-eyed, breath caught. Confusion tangled in the ex hacker voice when he tried to speak.

 

 

“Wha–… what are you— I…??? you—"

 

 

The stammer pierced him deeper than any blade.

1x wanted to tear himself away, to end the match, to rip 007n7 apart and erase the shame boiling in his core. He was hatred. He was destruction. He was not meant to falter.

 

And yet his hands only trembled where they pinned 007n7 against the fractured wall. His body leaned forward again, like some cruel instinct driving him past his own revulsion.

Another kiss. Desperate. Wrong. Softer than the violence he was built from, but fueled by the same consuming hunger. He hated himself with every second of it. Hated the weakness, the need.

 

007n7 made a muffled noise, caught between protest and dumbfounded. “Y-you’re not— this… this—”

 

1x silenced them with another press of his jagged mouth, his chest twisting tighter each time. Shame roared in his skull, drowning every thought but one, he couldn’t stop.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t recognize the sound tearing from his throat. A laugh? A sob? A snarl? He didn’t know. He only knew the look in 007n7’s eyes— confusion, yes... but not fear and it made the shame unbearable.

 

“You make me…” His voice fractured, glitching into distortion. “Weak.”

 

Hatred demanded he end it. To kill 007n7 right there, rip him apart, reset the cycle.

 

But his swords refused to move.

The match should have ended here.

 

One strike. One kill. One more body added to the round. That was what he was made for. That was all he had ever been.

 

But 1x couldn’t lift his swords. Couldn’t finish it. His hands shook where they held 007n7 in place, his breath jagged with static. Hatred screamed in his veins, demanding blood. Yet something deeper, something darker, kept him frozen.

 

“Why aren’t you... ” 007n7’s voice cracked, still stumbling, still searching for sense in the madness. “you always killed me... so why not now?”

 

1x’s throat burned. There was no answer. Only silence, thick with everything he couldn’t admit.

 

His hands finally fell away, scraping against the broken wall instead of tearing into flesh. He staggered back, steps uneven, as though the void itself was dragging him down.

The survivors were still out there. The Spectre demanded the hunt continue. But he turned his back on it all—on them, on 007n7, on himself—and fled.

 

 

For the first time, he spared a life. For the first time, his hatred was not enough to carry him through.

And as the timer bled down to the match’s end, 1x tasted the static still clinging to his lips and despised himself more than ever.

 

 

 

Hideous. Weak.

 

But he couldn’t stop remembering it.

 

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

Something's new

Notes:

Part 2 because some anons begged and someone found my discord and tryna pay me to write uh. That part... That's a lot of money bro, my currency :'3. Thanks for the 10 dollars, now I can eat porridge for a month. Thank you so much 😭😭😭😭 like legit I only get to eat crackers for breakfast and lunch at university... So you saved me for a month ;3

The loop reset. Survivors reappeared in their cabin, the familiar hollow of safety before the next hunt began. The grandfather clock ticked faintly in the corner, its pendulum swaying like a heartbeat. A useless relic, most called it. A coward’s refuge.

 

But that round, when 1x emerged as the killer, something changed.

 

The survivors scattered as always—Chance gambling, Builderman shouting plans— but 007n7 lingered. He glanced once at the others, then at the looming pendulum. His jaw tightened.

And then, without a word, he stepped into the clock’s embrace.

 

The world swallowed him whole.

Gone. Absent from the hunt. Safe from the killer. Safe from him.

 

When 1x tore through the map in search of prey, he felt it— an absence heavier than any presence. His claws ripped apart everything in his path, survivors shrieking as they fell, but none of it mattered. The husk he expected to claim never came. No static-laced figure trailed at his side.

 

Only emptiness.

 

The realization burned worse than shame. 007n7 hadn’t just escaped. He had chosen to disappear rather than face him.

The thought clawed through 1x’s chest until his hatred felt hollow. For the first time in countless loops, the act of killing left him unsatisfied. The screams weren’t enough. The blood wasn’t enough.

 

Not without that husk. Not without him.

 

And when the match ended, when the survivors reappeared in the cabin once more, 1x lingered in the shadows of the void— waiting, loathing the ache that refused to fade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next match began.

The survivors flickered back into their cabin, the clock’s pendulum already swaying like it knew. The faint tick echoed in 1x’s head, grating, unbearable.

 

When his name burned across the void as the chosen killer, he expected resistance. Panic. A chase. That was the rhythm of the game, the cycle he’d ruled for so long.

But instead, 007n7’s gaze lingered on the clock. No hesitation. No words. Just a quiet step forward into the pendulum’s shadow—gone before 1x even set foot into the hunt.

 

The match unraveled without him. Survivors screamed, scattered, fell. But their deaths rang hollow, as if muted beneath the echo of that ticking. Each minion he raised felt weightless, useless, a poor replacement.

When he summoned 007n7’s husk to his side, it obeyed as always, but it wasn’t the same. The silence between them carried no weight anymore, only absence. He tried to repeat the ritual— the touch, the static-kiss— but it burned with emptiness. He crushed the husk in rage, but the feeling lingered.

 

Because the truth was clear.

The real one had chosen to vanish. To escape him.

 

1x’s claws dug deep into his own arm, scraping until sparks burst across his form. He hated the weakness, hated the ache, hated that one survivor could undo him this way. He should have torn the cabin apart, ripped the clock from reality itself.

 

But he didn’t.

 

He only stared from the void, watching the pendulum swing. Each tick mocked him, each swing whispering that he wasn’t enough—not hate enough, not strong enough, not himself anymore.

The next loop would come. The clock would wait. And he knew— if 007n7 stepped into it again— he would follow, no matter the cost.

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

The cabin reset with the usual hollow light, survivors flickering into place one by one. Elliot stretched with a groan. Shedletsky cracked a joke. Builderman once again was already pacing, muttering strategy under his breath.

And 007n7… kept his eyes on the clock.

 

It had always been there—silent, ignored, useless to most of them. The tick was faint, easy to forget. But now, every swing of the pendulum gnawed at him.

Because it was an escape.

 

And he had started to use it.

Not to rest. Not to recover. But to hide—when he was chosen as the killer.

 

1x1x1x1 

 

Even thinking the name made his stomach twist. Not just because 1x was brutal, merciless, inevitable. That was expected. That was the game.

It was because of what had happened last match.

 

The memory still clung to him—hot breath, lips pressed against his own, a grip that should have killed him but didn’t. He had been ready to scream, to fight, to die. But instead… instead came a kiss.

 

Wrong.

Terrifying.

Intimate.

Confusing.

 

He hadn’t told the others. How could he? What would he even say—that the embodiment of hatred had cornered him, not to kill, but to… to do that? They wouldn’t believe him. Or worse, they would.

So he kept it to himself.

 

But every loop since, whenever 1x appeared as the killer, his legs carried him straight to the clock before he even thought. Into its hollow refuge. Away from the hunt. Away from him.

 

And yet, the hiding didn’t feel like safety. Not really. It felt like shame. Like he was running from something he should be facing but couldn’t put into words.

Each time the pendulum swallowed him, he wondered... what would happen if he didn’t run? If he stayed out there when 1x came for him again?

 

The thought unsettled him more than the kiss itself.

 

“Are you okay, Seven? You have been avoiding rounds with 1x1x1x1.” Guest 1337, at least someone noticed. 

“Just fatigue... A coincidence but I'm not avoiding him.” the ex hacker immediately gave excuse, “Thought it might go away...”

 

The soldier gave a very skeptical expression before nodding. “I'll ask anyone if they know what to do if feeling sick. When I'm sick, my wife would make a very delicious soup. Would you like if I attempt to recreate that recipe?”

007n7 smile weakly, decided to say yes despite wanted to be left alone with his own thoughts. “Sure. I would appreciate that.”

 

 

The others joked about the game, something they do to keep the last of sanity intact. Noob is having addiction to cola, Taph trying to convince Chance he should switch to bomb, Dusekkar is speaking in rhyme again. Survivors had to stick together. That was the rule.

 

But 007n7 always felt like the outlier.

 

Maybe it was because he was a bad person. Maybe it was because he carried more mistakes— lines of code he wished he hadn’t touched, a son who had become something he couldn’t fix. Or maybe it was just that loneliness had dug itself too deep, leaving him hollow even when surrounded by others.

He had always told himself he didn’t deserve affection. Not after everything. Not as a father who had failed, not as a hacker who had broken things better left untouched. He was meant to survive, not to be cared for.

 

So when he did it—when 1x, embodiment of hatred itself, didn’t kill him but pressed that lips against his— 007n7 hadn’t known what to feel. Terror, yes. Shame, of course. But also something worse.

 

A flicker of curiosity.

 

Was this… affection? In some twisted, toxic way, was this what he was meant to receive? Was this all he deserved— love wrapped in violence, intimacy born from loathing?

The thought made his skin crawl. But the more he tried to bury it, the more it rose.

And every time the clock’s pendulum swung, every time he slipped into its refuge to avoid another encounter with 1x, the question clawed at him.

 

‘If I stayed… what would he do? And what would I do in return?’

 

His son’s laugh sometimes echoed in his head—bright, innocent, unaware of the blood on his small hands. C00lkidd would never understand this. He could never tell him.

But alone, in the silence of the clock, 007n7 sat with the thought, with the memory of that wrong kiss, and wondered if maybe… just maybe… it was the closest thing to affection he’d ever be given.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The round started.

The pendulum swung, steady as always. Tick. Tock. The sound that had become his escape, his excuse.

 

Elliot cracked another joke about dying first, an attempt to calm Noob down. Guest and Builderman barked orders like always, survivors stick together. Dusekkar sighed, resigned to another doomed match.

And 007n7 stared at the clock.

 

His legs twitched with the urge to run into it, to vanish before the hunt began. That was safer. That was smarter. That was what he should do.

 

But he didn’t move.

 

Instead, he tightened his grip on his arms and looked away. The others didn’t notice— why would they? Survivors didn’t question each other’s silences. They were too busy keeping themselves alive.

The world flickered. The match began. And the killer’s name scrawled across the void.

 

1x1x1x1

 

The air seemed to split in half. A chill sank deep into his chest. His heart should have pounded with fear, but instead it tangled with something worse. Anticipation.

This time, he hadn’t run. This time, he would face it.

The hunt unfolded. Screams echoed, footsteps thundered through the map. 007n7 ducked and wove, but never toward the clock. He told himself it was because the others needed him. Because they needed every survivor they had to last longer.

 

But deep down, he knew.

It wasn’t about them.

It was about him.

 

Because when the heavy static announced 1x’s approach, when the shadows bent and split to reveal those claws and that jagged frame, 007n7 froze—not from terror, but from the crushing, shameful question burning in his mind.

 

‘Will he do it again?’ And worse— ‘Will I let him?’

 

 

 

 

The screams came as they always did—Noob wailing somewhere in the distance, Shedletsky swearing before he fell. Of course 1x got him first. The loop carried on with its familiar rhythm.

 

But then the noise changed.

 

It stopped.

 

No more footsteps of survivors being chased. No more chaos. Just a suffocating silence that pressed against 007n7’s ears.

And then the static rolled in. Heavy. Crushing. Crawling over his skin like a storm of needles.

 

He knew that feeling. That weight. That presence.

1x had found him.

 

Not by chance. Not by the usual rhythm of hunting. This was deliberate. Focused. He hadn’t even bothered to finish the others off. He had come straight for him.

 

007n7’s breath hitched. His body screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something. But his legs wouldn’t obey. Some part of him— deep, broken, lonely— was rooted in place, waiting.

The shadows tore, and there he was. The jagged frame, claws glinting in fractured light, eyes burning with that hateful static.

 

Except it wasn’t hatred he saw in them now. It was something worse.

1x didn’t lunge. Didn’t swing. Didn’t kill.

 

He just… stepped closer. Each movement deliberate, predatory, heavy with intent.

And 007n7’s chest tightened with that awful, complicated tangle. fear, shame, anticipation.

 

He had stayed out of the clock. He had chosen this.

And now, faced with the embodiment of hatred itself moving straight toward him— ignoring every other survivor— he realized what that choice truly meant.

 

 

1x stopped just in front of him. Close enough that the static crawling from his body blurred 007n7’s vision, close enough that every instinct screamed at him to move.

But he didn’t.

 

His back brushed against the wall, leaving nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

The claws didn’t rise. They hovered, trembling inches from his skin, as if fighting some invisible restraint. 007n7 braced for the slash, the end, the loop to spit him back into the cabin.

 

But instead—

One clawed hand lowered. Rested against his shoulder. Heavy. Careful. Wrong.

 

007n7’s breath stuttered, caught between a gasp and a word he couldn’t force out.

The killer leaned in, static whispering between them, close enough that the air burned with his presence. That mask of jagged edges tilted—hesitant, almost searching—before pressing against him.

 

Another kiss.

Colder than the last. Rougher. Desperate.

 

007n7 froze, heart hammering so violently he thought it might shatter. Fear tangled with a shameful warmth that crawled under his skin, an ache he couldn’t name.

When 1x pulled back, still clinging to him, those hollow eyes lingered far too long. Watching. Waiting.

 

And 007n7, despite the terror twisting his chest, whispered the only thing he could manage—his voice cracking, stuttering, shameful.

 

“W…why me?”

 

The silence after his question was heavier than any scream.

1x didn’t answer. He never could.

 

But his hand lingered a moment longer, trembling against 007n7’s shoulder, before curling into a fist and slamming the wall beside him.

 Survivors fought, died, respawned. None of them knew what was happening here.

And 007n7 wished he didn’t, either.

 

 

 

 

The blow against the wall should have been the end of it. Last time, it had been. 1x had pulled away, retreating into the shadows, leaving 007n7 shaking and confused.

But this time… he didn’t move.

The claw stayed planted in the wall beside 007n7’s head, trapping him there. The other hand pressed harder into his shoulder, pinning him in place with weight that wasn’t quite violence but was nowhere near gentle.

 

Static bled into his skin, buzzing through his veins.

007n7’s mouth opened, a stammer on his tongue, but the words refused to come out.

 

1x leaned in again—closer this time, close enough that their foreheads brushed. He lingered there, unmoving, as though studying him, as though trying to pull something out of his silence.

 

When the killer finally moved, it wasn’t claws. It wasn’t death.

It was lips again—rough, desperate, lingering far too long, stealing the breath from his chest.

 

The fear flared sharp, but tangled with it came that shameful ache, that heat he hated himself for feeling. The kind of warmth he thought he no longer deserved.

And when the kiss broke, when the static hissed between them like a warning, 1x still didn’t leave.

He stayed close, breathing harsh, eyes burning holes into him. As though he wanted to carve the moment into memory.

 

“…I…” 007n7’s voice cracked, the words useless on his tongue. “I… don’t… understand.”

 

The hand at his shoulder twitched. Almost tender. Almost violent.

1x didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But his silence was worse than words, because it made the intent all the clearer. He wasn’t going to flee this time. He was going to stay—stay until 007n7 broke first.

 

And 007n7, trembling under the weight of it all, realized he didn’t know if he wanted him to stop.

 

 

The static hummed louder, filling the space between them until it felt like it was inside 007n7’s chest. Every breath burned. Every second dragged on, unbearable, suffocating.

 

1x’s claw shifted from his shoulder, sliding up to curl around his jaw— not gentle, not cruel, but firm enough that 007n7 couldn’t look away.

The killer hovered inches from his face, the hiss of static brushing his ear like a whisper. 007n7’s body screamed at him to shove it away, to run, to do something. But he didn’t.

 

Because some part of him was still waiting. Still curious. Still lonely.

When 1x spoke, the voice was broken static, hollow and jagged, but it spoke.

 

“I don’t know…” The words cracked, sharp and raw. “…but everything about you makes me sick.”

 

The grip at his jaw tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to hold him there.

 

“I hate you,” the killer rasped, breath sparking against his skin. “And I hate myself… for wanting more.”

 

The confession hit harder than claws ever could. 007n7’s chest tightened, his breath catching. He wanted to deny it, to shove the words away. But the truth in them rooted him still.

1x leaned closer again, so close their lips nearly brushed, his static searing the air.

 

And 007n7— shaking, ashamed, unbearably alive— couldn’t tell if he wanted to recoil… or close the last inch of distance himself.

The words echoed in his skull, pathetic and raw. It should have broken him. Should have driven him to push away, to spit venom back, to remind himself that this was a killer, that nothing about this was right.

 

But instead—

 

His voice came out low. Shaky, but not stumbling. “…Maybe I deserve that.” The silence that followed was heavier than the static.

 

1x’s grip faltered for the first time, claws trembling against his jaw as though he didn’t know whether to crush or to cradle. The glow in his eyes flickered, unstable, like the thought itself had thrown him off balance.

007n7’s chest burned. He hated himself for saying it. Hated the shame curling through his ribs. But the words were out now, hanging between them, impossible to take back.

 

And 1x— embodiment of hatred, of ruin— stayed close, silent, suffocating, as if that single admission had bound him tighter than any loop ever could.

 

 

The air between them vibrated with static, heavy and suffocating. 007n7’s weak admission still lingered— and he saw the way it rattled the killer.

1x’s claws twitched, dragging lightly along his jaw before slipping lower, brushing the line of his throat. Not sharp enough to pierce. Not yet. But threatening, like the promise of pain was part of the touch itself.

 

007n7’s breath hitched. He told himself not to move, not to encourage it— but his body betrayed him, leaning back into the wall, leaving his neck exposed.

 

And 1x noticed.

 

The static deepened into a growl. He leaned in again, mouth dragging past 007n7’s cheek, down toward the side of his throat. The heat of his breath made his skin prickle.

 

Then—teeth.

 

Too sharp, sinking just enough to sting. Not a killing blow, not even a real wound, but a mark. A claim.

A broken sound slipped from 007n7’s lips, half gasp, half protest. Shame flooded him, but it tangled with something else, something worse—a shiver of unwanted heat curling in his chest.

 

1x lingered there, teeth pressing harder for a moment before pulling back, static crackling like a hiss of satisfaction.

 

When his mask tilted back toward him, those hollow eyes burned hotter, brighter, as if the act itself had lit something inside.

 

 

“You’re mine in this hell,” the killer rasped, voice heavy with venom and want all at once. “Even if we both hate it.”

 

 

007n7’s hands trembled at his sides, his mind a mess of fear, revulsion, and a sickening ache for more.

And he hated himself—because part of him wanted to believe it.

 

The ex hacker chest burned, his breath uneven. He wanted to deny it, to spit the words back in the killer’s face— but the ache in his body betrayed him. His pulse still raced where those sharp teeth had touched, a mark that would vanish when the match over, but for now it was real.

1x’s hand still held him against the wall, claws trembling like he couldn’t decide whether to crush him or never let him go. The glow in those eyes seared into him, hungry, suffocating, unrelenting.

 

And then—

The world snapped.

 

A sharp chime rang out, hollow and merciless. The timer. The match ending.

Shadows split across the map, swallowing the scenery. The walls peeled away into static. Survivors’ screams blurred into nothing as the cabin pulled them back.

 

1x didn’t move. Not at first. His claws dug harder into the wall, as if he could hold the match together with rage alone, as if refusing to let go could make it last. His mask pressed closer, one last desperate breath of static against 007n7’s skin.

 

 

And then he was gone.

 

 

The cabin snapped back into place. The grandfather clock ticked on, steady, merciless, as though nothing had happened at all.

 

All the survivors seems to be at relieve that 1x didn't kill them in that round. All of them were questioning the killer's whereabouts. Shedletsky muttered about the odds, he didn't use the spectator because he was sulking.

But 007n7 sat apart, hand unconsciously brushing the side of his neck where phantom teeth still lingered. His chest was tight, his thoughts poisoned with the echo of that cold voice.

 

‘You’re mine in this hell…’

 

 “...” Maybe life in here wasn't so bad. He guess he could help the survivors by distracting. Getting killed or tortured doesn't sounds so bad now, he deserves it. 

 

... Yet he wants to feel that poisonous warmth again. He didn't say yes to that confession, didn't he..? He'll make sure he will next time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

The cabin should have felt the same as always. Dark corners, familiar silence, the pull of the next hunt waiting to drag him back into the cycle.

 

But it didn’t.

Because 1x could still feel him.

 

The phantom weight of 007n7’s body pinned beneath his claws, the heat of his skin where teeth had grazed his throat. He could still hear the hitch in his breath, the way he hadn’t shoved him away, hadn’t fought, hadn’t stopped him.

 

And for the first time in too long, the static inside 1x’s chest didn’t feel like just hate.

It was something sharper. Something worse. Something better.

 

He hated himself for it. Hated the way his claws trembled at the memory, hated the crackling warmth burning through him. But still—when he replayed it, the loop, the kiss— there was a flicker of… happiness.

 

Pathetic. Weak. Wrong.

But real.

 

‘He didn’t say yes,’ 1x reminded himself, static grinding low in his throat. ‘He didn’t say anything.’

Yet actions were louder. The silence had been permission enough. The trembling, the leaning back instead of running, the way his lips didn’t resist— it was more than words could ever give.

 

It was enough to cling to.

And that was the cruelest part.

 

Because 1x knew he would chase it again. No matter how much it made him sick, no matter how much he loathed himself for wanting it— he would seek it, over and over, until either the loop broke… or he did.

And in the static haze curling through his chest, the faintest, fractured truth clawed its way free.

 

For the first time in his cursed existence, hatred wasn’t enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rounds always reset. The blood, the screams, the static—none of it mattered in the end. Everything was torn away, swallowed, remade.

 

But not him.

Not 007n7.

 

He lingered in the static, carved into 1x’s thoughts. Each round became less about the hunt, less about rage, and more about finding him. Again. Again. Again.

 

And when he did… something strange happened.

They talked.

 

Clumsy things, broken things. 1x didn’t know what normalcy was, didn’t care for it. But when he told 007n7 that c00lkidd was safe on the killer’s side, that the boy was clumsy but harmless under his watch, he saw the tension in those tired eyes soften. Just a little.

 

And in return, 007n7 spoke—about the past, about small things that should have been meaningless. Stories of mistakes, of loneliness, of a life he doubted he deserved.

They were scraps of humanity tossed into the static void. And yet, they were more real than the endless hunts, more precious than any victory.

 

1x hated it. Hated how much he clung to those scraps.

But he couldn’t stop.

 

Because in those moments— odd and wrong, stolen in the middle of ruin— they weren’t killer and survivor. They weren’t hatred and prey.

They were just two broken things, finding solace in each other’s cracks.

 

 

 

And for the first time, the loop didn’t feel endless.

 

 

 

 

 

It felt bearable.

 

 

 

 

Because it meant he’d see him again.

 

 

Notes:

I hope you like it <3 I really love writing healing than smut ngl so even if you give me money I won't take it.

I'm glad some of you like when I write smut but eh that not really my stuff but I prefer writing after care though....

 

AHEM ANYWAY ENJOY GNG

Notes:

Hehe finally finished this. Time to upload this on Tumblr

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 22 of ✧ To be Forsake