Just A Little Bit Shy

Mouthwatering - 3

"He's such a freak."

Y/n walked to class, his head down and balled fists stuffed in his pockets. The girl's words were in his ears — in his head. He tried to place a name to her face, to keep the knowledge of her identity somewhere in the back burner of his mind. Alongside it would be the formation of violent plans similar to what Yua's yesterday evening had consisted of.

That was something that soothed Y/n's raw nerves. Simply the thought of being back in the slaughterhouse with Yua — her neck slashed open and her mouth finally silent — and all he could hear was the trickle of her blood hitting the metal grates below. If you had never heard it; never smelt the copper or the enticing aroma of fresh meat, then you could not — could never understand.

All throughout the skinning process, Y/n was surrounded by it; consumed by it. That fresh, mouthwatering scent of fine cuts of meat hanging there, awaiting to be carved by his blade and released from chalk-white, wet bone. A disturbing amount of saliva had gathered in his mouth during the process, but the (h/c) boy could not help it.

It had smelled so good; so tantalizing hanging in front of him on a metal hook.

And this reverie was certainly better than facing his current reality, weaving through crowds in the corridors to attend his morning class. People made faces at him, threw demeaning names in his direction, and the girls especially made it a point to avoid him.

But their features, their words, their voices were all blurred. The (h/c) boy could barely muster up enough focus to give them any attention at all.

Because they don't matter. They never have.

Back in the present moment, Y/n felt frustrated thoroughly with his own failure. He had been so close to actually saying something back to Ahane. Even a simple "good morning" — even a small wave —

Y/n never knew it would be this hard, but he had to start somewhere. Yua was right. He had to make this easier for himself or people other than Y/n would keep doing that.

Hanging around Ahane. Laughing with him; talking with him; getting crushes on him — Y/n's fingernails sunk straight into the palm of his hand. He didn't notice how blood welled up underneath his harsh treatment. He felt as numb to his own self-inflicted pain as he was to Yua's screams when he killed her.

And the girl. The girl who hung herself all over Ahane now, who called him a freak, Y/n would learn her name...

Then —

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow.

He'd try again tomorrow morning. He would say something back to Ahane. He would.

Y/n stepped into class, shoulders still hunched and head down, shuffling awkwardly into his assigned seat at the front.

_____

As soon as school finished, Y/n walked quickly out the front gates and crossed a myriad of streets. His destination took him to the decrepit outskirts of the area. The nice homes and suburbs with their well-lit stores turned into homes with shattered windows and establishments with bars over every possible entrance. Shady characters mulled about, but they didn't pay any attention to the (h/c) schoolboy, still in uniform, as he walked rapidly past them.

Similarly, Y/n didn't even glance their way. He walked directly to a certain store front. It was made from bricks, the paint long since faded. There was a simple block text above the door, reading "BUTCHER SHOP." There were no bars over the doors or windows here — likely because this kind of establishment worried less about criminal violence.

When Y/n entered, a rusted bell by the top of the door clunked as the clapper hit the bell's mouth dully. It was too old to produce its normal, lively chime. Either way, the only other occupant of the shop was alerted to the (h/c) boy's presence.

Kisho was the local butcher. He painted an unfriendly picture of a grizzled old man with graying hair and unsettling, deep-set eyes. He wore a permanent sneer and a fraying apron spotted with questionable stains.

"Did you finish cooling and carving the meat last night from Akela's farm livestock?"

"Yes, Kisho," Y/n answered, monotone, as he went through the motions of removing his school blazer and replacing it with his work apron.

Kisho's face turned a tad uglier, "I thought she only dropped off five pigs, but I saw six carcasses in there."

Y/n was turned away from the man — a good thing too, for a truly frightening smile settled on the (h/c) boy's lips.

"She had an extra," he informed his boss, his voice not reflecting the delight distorting his face. "I decided to name the lucky number six, Yua."

Y/n could see it now. What was left of Yua being packaged and sold off to an unsuspecting customer. Her last purpose would be participating in a long anticipated pork chop dinner. If Y/n had been a tad crueler, he could've boiled Yua alive and prepared her stomach for breakfast bacon.

But Y/n had not been a tad crueler. He had instead been focused on disguising Yua's carcass, torn apart and mismatched, to mimic the other carcasses. He had made sure her meat appeared as good as the others. Humans and pigs really were similar in that way...

And, at the end of all, Y/n's bad deed would go unnoticed; unpunished.

For his boss, Kisho, merely huffed, "You have got to stop naming the pigs before you kill them. It's strange."

Yes, Y/n L/n was plenty strange.