WHISPERS OF A BUTTERFLY • Kamisato Ayato

eighteen. 十八

Breakfast was a peaceful ordeal. Ayaka was polite as ever, her pale face finally showing some color after knowing that both you and her brother were unharmed. When Ayato arrived in his black work suit, a silent agreement encouraged you both to not mention earlier. Every time you made eye contact, it felt like sharing a sinful secret. Poor Ayaka was completely thrown out of the loop.

Around you, servants waited for your move. It was rather odd how everyone in the Yashiro Commission could so easily stick to their routine despite the chaos last night.

You ate in silence. Your metal chopsticks clinking against the plate was the only sound.

Ayato approached you after breakfast.

"Your parents want to see you in an hour," he said shortly. "In my office."

"They've come to collect me," you said.

"What?"

"To go home, I mean. Thanks for letting me stay and spend the night."

"Oh, right," said Ayato, face strangely blank. "I forgot you don't reside here."

"Well, I was supposed to, so... just a habit."

"Right," Ayato repeated himself.

There was a pause of silence where you realized you wouldn't see him as often now that you were parting ways. You wondered if there would be any merit in telling him that you would miss him. Given your complicated history, it seemed absurd.

His eyes remained calm, but widened just a little. "My lady."

"So..."

"So."

"That was..." God no, you didn't want to talk about this. You didn't like to be bashful either. "Um, that was..."

Ayato nodded. "I'm assuming that was your first time."

You paused, letting your cheeks bloom, and then lowered your eyes as you played with your fingers. "I'm guessing it wasn't your first time," you said, unable to help yourself.

Light shifted in the window. The underside of Ayato's face was illuminated well in the reflection. He looked away awkwardly before sighing.

"No," he admitted honestly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to dishonor you."

You looked away. It hadn't been that he had dishonored you, but the thought of Ayato treating anyone else the same — with his hands and his divine hips all over them to show love instead of you — made you feel sick and discolored. You wanted to throw up in the nearest trash bin.

You bit down on your inner lip. You had never felt so jealous. It was childish to assume otherwise, you thought. Of course Ayato had experience; he was a son expected to sow his oats while you were tasked to remain untouched.

"If it helps," Ayato said slowly, almost afraid to upset you, "the ones before didn't mean anything to me. They were just passing by. They weren't... well, they weren't you."

Before you could say more, Ayato's advisers came in, promptly ignoring you as they lined up to ask for his opinion, his signature, and his final say in project decisions. Ayato handled it with scary ease as though he hadn't been in critical condition just the night before.

"I wish you wouldn't overwork yourself," you said as soon as the last person slid the door shut.

You felt like you owed it to him to be caring since he cared for you, but it didn't feel like a payment. It felt natural, like you were playing a song on an instrument that you thought you'd forgotten how to play. You thumbed through some papers he didn't use, just to have something to do. You felt like a preschooler waiting to be picked up by her parents.