Blue Butterfly | Amajiki Tamaki

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2nd POV

It sure as hell wasn't a bloody miracle you were still in one piece.

It wasn't by sheer luck either or by blatant coincidence—as sweet as honey as that would have sounded to your ears, unfortunately. It was the stark lack of murderous intent trained at you from your father despite his slit, carnivorous eyes and dexterous hands that were modified to hunt and kill within a heartbeat. It was the heartfelt sympathy you could feel exuding off him in tiny surges when his fingertips skimmed across your forehead in light, feathery touches; a tenderness that was unfathomable.

'Don't... Don't touch me.'

A low growl bubbled at the back of your throat.

You wanted to spit in his face, disgust slowly sculpturing the permanent scowl crumpling your expression. He didn't bother to make eye-contact, knowing full well of the flaming hatred flashing in the pool of [e/c]s.

In the corner of your eyes, Sol looked like he was on the verge of cracking due to King's commands to "protect you". You could understand why he was boiling with anger and annoyance. After all, he was a villain rotten to the core, trained to murder in cold blood like his leader and milk the vulnerable when the opportunity arose, and the last time you checked; he wanted to do anything but protect you. You were genuinely surprised when King issued the order when clearly, several nights ago, he wanted to blast your head off on the spot. So what gives?

It left you puzzled.

Incredibly so.

You were just as confused as Sol was, watching him confront King head-on with a storm of questions that began spiking your curiosity as well when your hearing returned. The agonising words were no longer mere whispers; it was desperation.

A plethora of your own questions soon budded.

Why couldn't King just get this done over with? What's this talk about successors? Why was he keeping you alive? Didn't he realise you could slip out of his grasp again? Didn't he know that sooner or later the Pro Heroes would be hot on their heels and preparing their arrest? Nothing made sense, not even his previous haughty declarations and actions at the festival. One day he's pointing a pistol at your face and the next he's staring at you ruefully like you were an endangered species dragged from your habitat and tossed into a cage without a fight—a tremendous pity that made you sick to the stomach.

It was so... out of character.

Foreign.

From all your encounters you had known King to be cold, ruthless and sinister; not a murderer who still had a sense of human still locked from within. It played with both your emotions and reasoning, trying to gain some sort of understanding as you heeded Sol's demands. You couldn't even peel out your father's real character from the thick layers of skin that had grown from years and years of deception and pure malice.

Unlike his thin body, he bore a soul that was impossible to bend and break.

Then it occurred faster than your thoughts, King's pocketknife greeting Sol's neck and the raspy warning rolling off your father's tongue. "You ask too many questions, Sol."

It made you wince unexpectedly, noticing the anxious bob of Sol's throat when King had dangerously angled his assassin's blade closer to his skin. One swift movement and there would be bloodshed, painting the mundane floor with a canvas of scarlet. A shudder instantly overwhelmed your body in one fell swoop at the lone thought, a shaky breath expelling out of your nostrils.

"For Pete's sake, I leave you for ten minutes and you're already at someone's neck."

A gust of harsh wind had lashed out abruptly, buffeting clothes and whipping your hair backwards, as if a whirlwind had suddenly made its presence within the room. Apart from the sharp shriek of the slicing air, a dulcet, honeyed voice reverberated, a faint chuckle attached to the sour tone.