hobo heart x reader. Perhaps we value each other?

Chapter 3

I wake up to a violent, rhythmically crushing pound behind my eyelids. Slowly forcing my eyes open, my vision adjusts to the suffocating gloom of a dimly lit room that smells heavily of iron, decay, and stagnant rot. I instinctively try to throw my weight upward, but thick leather constraints bite deeply into my skin; I am strapped flat to a heavy metal table.

Discovering that the constraints hold my hands, arms, torso, and legs firmly in place, I scan the shadows of the room. The air is thick with a heavy, metallic scent that makes my stomach churn, hinting at the grim history of this place.

The realization hits my pounding brain like a physical shock. I know exactly where I am. This isn't just any basement; I am trapped inside the domain of Hobo Heart.

Panic overrides my logic. I have to get out of here. I begin to thrash, struggling with everything I have left against the leather. The table rattles beneath me, the metal legs scraping against the floorboards with a series of loud echoes. The frantic noise alerts him. From down the dark hallway, a heavy, deliberate tread begins to vibrate through the room. I twist and pull at the buckles, my chest heaving, but the straps hold perfectly.

The footsteps stop right at the threshold, and I freeze as a rough, raspy voice cuts through the quiet."It's no use."

He lets out a low, dark chuckle that sends a chill down my spine. My heart pounds so violently against my ribs that it feels like it might burst. I force my neck to tilt to the side, my eyes locking with his piercing gaze.

"Are you going to kill me?" I blur out, the question escaping before I can stop it.

Hobo Heart laughs coldly, a sound devoid of mercy. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have already," he mocks, his voice carrying a bitter weight. "Instead, we are going to have a conversation."

A dark expression crosses his face as he closes the distance, his shadow enveloping the table. He stands directly over me, his freezing palm settling over my throat. The sudden drop in temperature causes a layer of goosebumps to ripple down my arms. "You're scared~"

"A-am not!" I snap back. But the trembling of my body under his hand betrays the lie.

His grip tightens momentarily, the pressure sharp and demanding. "Liar," he growls, leaning down until his breath hits my ear. "I can feel the rhythm of your fear right through your pulse."

He steps back into the center of the room, sitting on a heavy wooden stump while his blue eyes remain fixed on my face. "I know you know who I am," he states calmly. "But I want you to tell me. I want to see exactly how much you understand about my purpose."

I stare back, my mind racing. I squirm against the leather one more time, but the table remains steady. He notices the movement and heads toward a cabinet. The metallic clinking of instruments echoing through the room tells me everything I need to know about what happens if I refuse to cooperate. When he returns to the side of the table, his presence is overwhelming.

Determined to find a way out, I decide that talking is my best defense. "WAIT! I'll tell you," I say, the terror coloring my voice. "Just... stay back."

He waits in a heavy, dominant silence. I take a deep, trembling breath, staring into those crystal-blue eyes.

"Your name is Hobo Heart," I begin, the stories I've heard coming back to me in a rush.

I spend the next hour recounting what I know of his past—the tragic history of the Gemberlings, the tree he was bound to, and the devastating betrayal by C.C. that left his original purpose in ruins.

Once I finish, the room falls silent. Hobo Heart steps closer, leaning over me until his hand comes down, pressing firmly over the center of my chest. He can feel the frantic, rapid hammer of my pulse right beneath his palm as he tilts his head and whispers his rhetorical, deadly signature question:

"Do you value your heart?~"