𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 || 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎 ♡

Chapter 02.

  Late afternoon light poked at Will's closed eyes, waking him up from his deep slumber.
    Birds chirped and leaves rusted as Will brought his body upward, sitting up in the middle of a moss patch.

His peaceful waking up was interrupted by sharp, throbbing pain in the left side of his head as his blood pressure changed with the movement.
  Will's brow furrowed, his vision blurred and began to spin. With a groan he lifted a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose.

As his face shifted into a frown, Will felt a tug on his soft skin by the left temple.
  He brought the hand upward to examine it with the tips of his fingers, scratching at dry and flakey substance that stuck to his dark curls and forehead.

Gazing back at this fingers, Will found dried blood on them.
  He brought it closer to his face to examine it.

Where did he get–
  Oh. Oh.

Memories of the camp—and the concerningly attractive blond guy inhabiting it—came back to Will like a wave of tsunami:

His hard expression softened, eyes wide and mouth agape.
  “I...” Will started, staring at his body and checking his pulse to be sure,

“I'm alive.”
Will muttered at last.

“Holy shit, I'm alive!” he chuckled in disbelief.
With fingers still at his bandaged wrist, Will felt his heart rate increase.

It felt unreal. Waking up after thinking it will all be over.
  He was ready for it—ready for what would come next, would his heart stop and brain cease firing signals.
  To a point he was at peace with that fate, only for it to be crushed and twisted into something else.
  Again.

Will finaly stood up, desperately trying to ignore his raging headache and the fact his body felt like jelly.
 

With mind still foggy and puzzled, Will couldn't stop thinking about him—the stranger;
  Why didn't he just kill him? Would be easier for the both of them—Will pondered.

While most of his encounter with him Will didn't observe—merely because of the fact he was fighting for his life—, but he couldn't stop thinking about the last minute before getting knocked out;

The emotion that flickered over the guy's features. Not only did the person hesitate. It was as if he saw himself in Will.
  That confused him the most.

Will always knew he was good at empathizing with others, but him?
—with the person that tried, and almost succeeded, to kill him?

Until then the person seemed cold and collected—as much a person could be regarding their situation.
  What changed?

While Will's brain was still trying to comprehend what was happening, he paced around, searching for the backpack he initially brought with him.

At least the view was nice—Will observed as he put one foot after the other.
  The green scenery was something his bright eyes couldn't get enough of.

Minutes passed until Will finally found his stuff not too far away, just enough for him to go looking for it.
  The thick, black fabric—decorated with a few colorful pins, contrasted against the mix of emerald and brown that covered the damp soil like a blanket.

Fortunately, nothing got lost in the process of being moved from the camp and Will could get on to search for his base.

While he did so, the inevitable question of just how did he get in the middle of the forest tugged at his conscience.

If he were to be honest, he had no idea. Or rather didn't want to think about it too much;
  it seemed odd that the same person that tried to kill him would carry him across yards of the neverending forest.
  But at the same time, he also didn't expect to make it out alive.

Another moment went by before Will found himself at his base.
  A few trees connected together by some branches and poorly made roof out of the same material were his new "home".

First thing he did was that he unpacked some of the essentials and got a small fire going in a hole in the ground that he made to reduce smoke.

After Will was sure the fire wouldn't die out the second he stepped away from it, he took out a diary he carried with him and wrote down the encounter with as much detail as he could remember.
  After all, the guy may come for him any minute and officially claim him as his victim;

Day 7... More like entry 7, not sure what day it is.

Hey there, it's me again.
I'm not sure if it even happened today, but something certainly happened. Still not sure if I'm totally safe or not, but at least I'm back at my base.
Mostly writing this if he actually manages to kill me and someone finds this... Idk. Weeks, maybe months later.

So, basically. ...

Pen scribbling on a paper and light crackling of the fire made a great ambiance as the sun set and wildlife went to sleep.
  It was calm, mostly quiet, yet Will always felt like there was something lurking amongst the trees.

  He felt watched.

While mostly irrational, the fear was genuine, only driving Will to write even faster.
  He saw a shadow move from one tree to the other in inhumane speed. It was too far away from him to distinguish any features.

Will noticed some mistakes in spelling as the pen flew around the page, but he couldn't care less.

The shadow got closer and moved slower. This time Will was able to see it was a stag... But it didn't seem right. Something about it felt off.
  It had feathers,

  covered in blood.

As the creature closed in on Will, he felt the pain in his head steadily increasing. Blood echoed in his ears all too loudly, while the vivid memory was tattooed on paper.
  Will was afraid.

The stag moved even closer. About thirty feet away from Will.

It seemed to be crushing him in it's grip as it circled around Will—the prey.
  It got harder and harder to breathe.
He felt like crying, overstimulated.

When Will expected the creature to appear again—this time right by his side—he exaggerated the last dot by violently stabbing the soft surface and let out a yell.

  Nothing.

Not a thing happened. Suddenly it was quiet again. The stag nowhere to be seen, his headache decreased and heart rate slowed down, only to be replaced by soft ringing in his ears.

Will thew away the pen, the book followed shortly after. He stood up, still overwhelmed and claustrophobic.
 

What the fuck was that?

Still shaken up by the incident, Will took out some of the food he brought the day he escaped and, while not necessarily hungry, had it for dinner.

For the rest of the evening Will remained alert, on look out for the stag—or any other strange creatures.
  He felt crazy. Completely nuts.

It was late in the night when Will finally gave in and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.
  Although he couldn't help it and fell asleep with a swiss knife clutched in his hand for self-defence.

  Just incase.

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