Entwined by Restraint

Ecstatic light purple eyes confronted the emotionless steel-blue. The latter somehow gazed in displeasure after what it captured; a new bruise on the forearm of the unconscious body lying on the patient bed.

"Don't get mad," Doctor Plainn soothed, his light purple eyes flickering gently toward Marvel's steel-blue. "I had to do it for some reason."

The bruise resembled a grip of a hand, and Marvel understood what was happening before he arrived. He didn't ask for the explanation regarding the excuse fed to him, but it didn't mean he gladly swallowed it.

"He's been suffering from severe anemia, so don't be too rough at him," the doctor continued, his finger pointing at that unconscious body in his private clinic. "Did you hear me, Young Master?"

Plainn confirmed and turned at Marvel with a sneer, simply finding it amusing to tease him. The younger didn't react, or rather, not seeming to care.

Even when the doctor had started the medication, Marvel still didn't say a word. He was just standing there, watching as if analyzing throughout the process, so quiet and undisturbed of his surroundings. Once or twice Plainn would take a glimpse, but Marvel was as unmoved as he was before, despite knowing being glanced at, not even once reciprocating, his eyes were kept straight to a certain person in the room.

"So, who exactly is this boy, who, by a twist of fate, appeared and attracted you that even no one is allowed to touch him but you?"

Plainn expressed, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer. He was dumbfounded by how Marvel could stare at someone so intensely, without any change in facial expression, without letting anyone know what he was thinking about.

"Making this boy come to me instead of any normal medical practitioners or hospital, you're so close to locking him up from the world. Did you know?"

As far as Plainn knew, Marvel had never brought injured or ill people to his private clinic, unless it was Marvel not wanting them to run away from him, knowing nobody could escape that hidden basement once he wished to.

One more time, Plainn looked at the boy Marvel was endlessly watching ever since he came, though, calling him a "boy" was merely Plainn's point of view.

Indeed, he agreed that the boy had a cute face and was probably older than his appearance mostly suggested, but trying to look mature; it could be seen by how he dressed and styled his hair. Even so, compared to Marvel who could instantly draw attention and admiration just by standing still, there's really nothing special about the boy, even so close to being average, if anything.

Unless, Marvel has found something extraordinary about the boy no one has ever known before.

"Do you like him?"

Plainn managed to pull an absurd idea into question with a serious note, testing Marvel, hoping to see even the slightest difference in Marvel's demeanor but again, getting no result. He rendered a sigh, giving in already, then continued in a conclusion.

"Well, you tend to be bored, you always do. So, whoever this boy is, it doesn't matter because in the end, you'll eventually get tired of him and he'll end up the same way just as miserable as those-"

"He's my secret," Marvel cut in, his voice firm before softened again. "Although he's probably not thinking the same."

Plainn finally heard Marvel's answer, but he didn't get it.

There has always been a time when people just can't understand Marvel, and Plainn is one of them. Sadly enough, it happens in spite of the fact that he's known Marvel since the day Marvel was born.

The way Marvel pushes people away from the circle he originally draws and places them into some specific categories always puts Plainn in ache because he's been around since Yerevan's leader was Marvel's father, yet somehow a stranger at the same time.

"The way you look at him is different than any of your people, so I'm not surprised when you treat him differently as well."

Behind those words, Plainn reminded Marvel a bit about the consequences of being unfair to his underlings, and how envy and jealousy could kill a man, in case he forgot.

But, Marvel being Marvel, rather than forgetful, he would likely be indifferent.

"But, if he's that important to you, you shouldn't trust me this much, should you? After all, you know what I'm like," Plainn kindly warned, not denying his nature.

Everybody has their own quirk. At the end of the day, caveat emptor applies to all buyers, without exception, so the one who takes the risk of using the service is Marvel.

"It has nothing to do with trust," Marvel denied, unaffected by the caution. "Indeed, I know what you're like as both person and doctor. But, you also know what I'm like, and surely you don't want to do something that will make me angry. Right, Doctor?"

When Marvel slightly, just slightly, smiled in his last sentence, it sent a chill down Plainn's spine.

Certainly, no one would want to mess with the Mafia, even though they're living around it. There are so many methods of killing without putting one's life to an end; called fear and despair, and the Mafia is known to be the best in all of them.

Plainn was watching Marvel silently carry the unconscious body in his arms, taking all the troubles to bring that person back to his possession. The doctor, the driver, the bodyguard; nobody, literally nobody, wasn't allowed to be involved in his business. Not without his permission.

Everybody has a quirk, and so they're all the same. The only difference is the severity.

Plainn locked his gaze to the back of a young figure walking toward the exit of his private clinic carrying someone in their arms until they disappeared by the automatically closing metal door. He sighed under his mournful chuckle.

"You really like to make people miserable, don't you?"

***

"Angelo."

I gasped, awakened by the voice of Charles. I opened my eyes and it was a vast, blue sky with curling clouds as if a pattern. I frowned, my vision trying to adjust with the dazzling light.

Alone, I was lying down in a meadow. It meandered in all ways that were soft to the breeze, the lush greenery flowing in healthy waves. I got up and sat, feeling the smooth grassland underneath my palms and there was an oak tree nearby.

"Lieutenant?" I called back in response, hoping to meet the man I looked for; Charles Verde, my father.

His name "verde" means green. Just like that, his favorite color is green. He has emerald shades on both of his eyes too. Beautiful ones.

"You used to call me 'father' when you were little, following me around with your small feet wherever I go."

In realization of where the voice came from, I ran toward that oak tree to reach the voice I heard, and just behind it, I saw a man's backside as he was standing there. Overwhelmed by the emotions, my steps halted and I clenched my hands in anticipation.

Only a couple meters away from me, Charles was unrealistically standing there in all his characteristics; a knee-length coat, a wooden cane, an all-black outfit. The silver crown on his head gave me the feeling of nostalgia, consistently keeping it undyed as he aged. I still remembered the sensation of that curly, silver hair in every gap of my fingers.

I slowly stretched my trembling hand and Charles turned around, smiling at me as he met my eyes. My chest felt unbearably full and I sniffled back some tears, unable to contain the joy.

Even knowing all was just a dream, it was still a miracle to meet Charles here. For every touch of his warm hands that patted my head, that held me gently, that taught me everything to survive in life, I would never forget the sensation of it, even in my unconsciousness. Like now.

In this moment, a flash of anger protected me from the pain of my regrets. I tried to summon more strength, but failed myself, and then some lukewarm, briny water escaped my eyes.

"Oh my... Let me see my son's handsome face after a long time," Charles caressed my wet cheek as he lifted my head.

We were engaged in a longing gaze for a while, calling back meaningful memories we had as if paying the times we had missed at once.

I know I can't return to those days again, even if I want to. But, if I could really go back to the time where Charles and I were together, I would have never left his side.

"I know this is just a dream, but I'm thankful," I admitted, my face leaning on his hand palm to feel his warmth. I shut my eyes.

For a brief moment, I wanted time to stop and everything to stay this way. Even though it was a dream I would never wake up from, if it meant I could be with Charles, I didn't mind to remain here in this delusive present.

Do I fear the future and regret the past? For neither of them exist in any place, but my imagination.

"If this is just a dream, then what's your reality, Angelo?" Charles softly asked and my chest suddenly felt tight again, my closing eyes turning painful.

I suffered by how I missed the house with my family inside, the joy and the pain we shared, each second was a blessing.

Every time I think about that, I know I've been blessed since the day Charles brought me home.

"I'm sorry for sending you to the mission alone," Charles expressed in a regretful voice. "You can punish me when you come back."

"Father, we've made a promise to not regret it, right?" I reminded, not letting him endure the sorrow by himself. "I'll do anything to make you proud. I'm your son, right?"

"You'll do anything? Really?"

The sudden change of atmosphere gradually becoming cold made me flinch. When I opened my eyes to look at Charles again, it wasn't Charles. The view, the voice, both belonged to Marvel, as if he had been replacing Charles' existence.

"W-what..."

I couldn't put my lips to speak any further, my eyes wavering in tension. I saw Marvel in black of his typical outfits, his soft-looking hair was perfectly groomed, the details almost belied my perception.

He held me and smiled with the display he often showed, caressing my cheek with his cold hand and I felt frozen, unable to move my body. My skin where he touched turned colder, as if absorbing his low temperature. I wanted to revoke my vision from sighting him, but the current me restricted from any motion, I couldn't escape even if I tried.

"Of course, you'll do anything. You're mine, after all, and so you'll do anything I say," Marvel firmly stated, his gesture convincing and demanding. "Or else, to witness this precious, little family of yours, vanish, will be the least of your nightmares. Do you understand, Asta?"

In a subconscious gesture of vigilance, I forced a step backward with the intention to run away, but my foot stepped into the air instead of an area, and it was when I knew I was falling into a deep, dark hole.

I wanted to scream, but my voice didn't come out as I opened my mouth. I stretched my hands, grasping onto something when Marvel called my name.

"Asta!"