Blue Butterfly | Amajiki Tamaki

| 22 |

2nd POV

[Memory]

"For heaven's sake, [d/n], have you been lying to me all this time?"

Your father, his face disheveled and his half-lidded eyes cracking with a twinge of redness, shuffled in his seat and ran a frustrated hand through his short, [h/c] locks. A chaste sigh escaped his lips, staring at your fuming mother. "What are you talking about?"

She tossed a ripped letter to the dining table. "This."

He eyed the piece of paper for a brief moment, stealing a quick sip from his freshly brewed cappuccino and screwed his eyes in scrutiny. He could discern the bold, inky encryption smudged on the front, the sweaty fingerprints from his wife's fingers smearing the side; the room grew thick with tension, an eerie silence drifting across the two adults.

You were propped up on a mat played before the television, adoring the brilliant beam adorning All Might's face as the cameramen captured a rescue scene from a recent villain activity.

"What's this?" [d/n] quirked a brow.

"Don't act innocent. You know what it is," your mother uttered, seething with anger. "I thought you already left that part of you in the past when we had [Name]!"

"It has nothing to do with you," he retorted. "Stay out of my business."

"What do you mean it's none of my business? I'm your wife! You promised me that you won't do this again and yet you've been going behind my back anyway? I can't believe you, what will our child think of you in the future?"

[d/n] grunted, clutching the letter in his free hand. "Don't worry, she'll follow my footsteps."

"Unless I take her away," [m/n] stated firmly, crossing her arms across her chest. Her hair was swept in a small ponytail, two tiny wrinkles crumpling under her lower eyelid as she narrowed her glower. "I should have known you were a lying bastard from the very start, I shouldn't even have married you. If you decide to walk down that dirty road again then I swear I'm filing a divorce and bringing my child with me."

You were about five—naive, clueless and honestly happy-going, teetering a fraction of your head to the side in curiosity.

With her gentle [e/c] eyes and soft, benevolent expression, your mother never raised her voice in her household; her tone always as hushed and dulcet as she weaved her fingers through your wisps on frigid, wintry days and on warm spring days, she would calm your frantic tantrums. But her cheeks were now flaming red, her pair of antennae bouncing on her head—a feature you inherited in your Quirk—her nostrils were flaring, directing her loud tone at none other than your father who simply shrugged.

"Do what you want, I'll come for her eventually," he uttered with a wave of dismissal. "Though, as she grows older, her appearance will always be a grim reminder of me. She has most of my looks after all." He winked at you, causing you to jostle and whirl round to face the blaring screen. "She definitely got her timidness from you."

"Why you son of—"

"No swearing, dear." [d/n] cackled. "Not in front of [Name]."

'What were they talking about at that time?'  You mused, your body suspended in a swirling mass of darkness as glimpses of memories unravelled themselves. 'Why was mum so worked up? What did she mean by this dirty road? Take me away?'

'From what?'

A sharp probbing thumped at the back of your head and a force akin to gravity sent you plummeting into infinite darkness, succumbing yourself to deep slumber.