Blue Butterfly | Amajiki Tamaki

| 33 |

2nd POV

Staring at the ceiling was—by all means—not entertaining.

You'd woken up a couple of hours ago in a breathless pant, lungs burning and dull aches wracking through your sore muscles. Though the pain somewhat felt numb, it was still indescribable and agonising with every twist and turn, crinkling the pristine sheets with your constant, clumsy shifts in bed; tossing them to the floor altogether.

The air wafted with pharmaceuticals, a scent that was all too familiar by now.

Cold air from the AC circulated gently in the hospital room, cooling the heat whisking under your cheeks and licking your head; at least it was helping your fever to go down, but you could still feel patches of your skin sting from the scorches of electric blue flames that night. The sickening sensation singed the memory at the back of your head. It was hazy, fresh, except everything down the memory lane was pitch black after you had collapsed.

Sighing, you let your [e/c] eyes roam around to the flitting blinds and to the IV station positioned by your bed, along with two chairs. One was vacant at the moment—Pamela had dropped by when the doctor completed the checkups after you regained consciousness, sparing a few words and promising to visit later again. The other chair—

"[Name]-san..." You heard someone grumble in their sleep, mustering enough strength in your fingers to weave through familiar, disheveled navy-coloured hair. A tiny smile crept onto your lips. "... I'm sorry."

"Tamaki," you hollered quietly.

Despite your efforts, he lay unresponsive with disgruntled groan, further curling on your lap to the warmth you exuded. You chewed on the inside of your mouth, biting back the huge grin that threatened to unfurl.

Tamaki stirred to the feathery caresses in his hair, lightly purring in content until you tweaked a lock around your finger and tugged at it, harshly. His eyes, musty from sleep, shot wide open at the twinge of pain with a surprised eek, leaning backwards upright against the chair he was propped on. His sweater was rumpled and hair tousled with bedhead, his blurred vision adapting to the dim lighting.

At first, he blinked once.

Then twice, staring at you with a face as pale as ash, as if he had just seen a ghost.

In concern, you inched your face closer to his by a fraction, perking up at a few differences: his eyes looked glossy and puffy, and his cheeks glistened with a hint of dampness—he had been crying, you noticed that much, heeding a tiny sob flutter like an airy note past his lips. His glum expression was a mix of melancholy and worry, no signs of sweltering anger or irritation ready to explode.

'I really hate seeing him like this... ' The pain pricking your heart suddenly hurt more than the injuries you endured.

"[Name]-san! I-I..." Words failed him on the spot, another dam of tears swelling in his eyes. "I-I..." His hands latched at your own, giving them a gentle squeeze. "I'M SORRY!"

You froze, blinking.

"... You're sorry?"

Your throat was parched, your voice coming out as a dying croak.

"I'M SORRY!" He repeated, refusing to meet your eyes. "I-I shouldn't have let you go on your own.... I should have kept an eye on you; I should've been the hero I told you I was going to be! B-But they took y-you away and oh god, it's all my fault! It's my fault you were hurt like this—"

You hushed him, your hand finding purchase atop his head again. "Tamaki... It's not your fault. I'm the one who told you to trust me. This only happened because I was reckless again."