𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

── .✦ 16

(A/n: Haruto ^)

Ayato leaned against the doorway of his father's study, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid swirling in the glass as Ryoba Aishi poured himself a measure of whiskey. The soft clink of ice against the crystal glass punctuated the silence. Ryoba's back was turned, his posture as sharp and composed as ever, leaving Ayato unable to read his expression.

"Father," Ayato began, his tone measured but laced with uncertainty. "Did you ever feel something for someone other than Mom?"

Ryoba stilled, the whiskey bottle in his hand hovering for a moment before he placed it back on the table. The silence stretched, and Ayato held his breath as his father finally spoke.

"Yes," Ryoba said evenly. Ayato straightened slightly, a flicker of hope igniting within him—until the older man continued.

"But it wasn't pleasant. Anyone else I felt for was an impulse to kill or, at best, tolerate." His tone was calm, but the words were delivered with a chilling finality that made Ayato's hope wither.

"I see," Ayato muttered, his voice quieter now, tinged with disappointment.

Ryoba lifted his glass and took a slow sip, the familiar bittersweet burn of the whiskey spreading across his tongue and down his throat. He savored it, allowing himself a moment to relax before addressing the question that hung heavily in the room.

"Why are you asking me this?" he asked, his voice as composed as ever. But Ayato knew his father too well. Beneath the calm exterior was a razor-sharp mind, already piecing together the answer.

Ryoba's thoughts drifted to the name he'd come up with. 'Y/n, wasn't it?' 

The girl Ayato had been...preoccupied with.

Ayato hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I... I felt panic. A sense of urgency." He paused, wanting to add more but holding back. Admitting to the warmth that accompanied those feelings seemed too much, even to himself.

Ryoba's hand paused mid-sip, his gaze drifting to the moonlit window. The stars glittered faintly, distant and cold. Feelings—true feelings—for someone other than their significant other? It was an alien concept in their family's long and peculiar lineage.

Silence.

Then after that long pause, Ryoba spoke, his tone blunt. "I can't help you."

Ayato had expected as much, but the confirmation still stung.

Then there was silence again.

"However," Ryoba added, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "you cannot have both."

Ayato's eyes lifted to his father, his breath catching. He waited, hanging onto every word.

"It's a matter not to be entertained or discussed," Ryoba concluded, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking another deliberate sip.

The room seemed colder somehow. The marble floor beneath Ayato's feet reflected the faint gleam of the overhead light, its sterile shine mirroring his growing unease.

"Thank you, Father," Ayato murmured, bowing his head slightly before retreating from the study.

As he stepped into the hall, the soft rustle of fabric behind him caught his attention. "Sweetie," came a warm, familiar voice. Ayato turned to find his mother, Rika Aishi, smiling at him with the same tender expression that had always softened the edges of his world.

"Oh, Mom," he greeted, straightening up.

Rika clasped her hands together as she approached, her eyes bright with anticipation. "Honey, your aunt has asked me to do her a favor. She needs someone to look after her little boy tomorrow—just for the day. Your father and I will be out of town for a meeting, so I was wondering if you could stay home and take care of him?" Her voice was sweet, almost pleading.