Filippo sat on the metal chair beside Akira's hospital bed, his body slightly hunched, his hands tightly clasped together. He had been staring at the floor for long time. The sound of the breathing machine was steady. That calm was what disturbed him. He couldn't stand the silence, yet he couldn't break it.
'Here I am… sitting like an idiot, watching a child slowly die… my child… pretending I'm thinking rationally.'
He clenched his jaw. His muscles tensed without him noticing.
'When did I become like this?'
At last, he raised his eyes. He looked at the bandages, the tubes, the small body that barely moved. Something in his chest tightened. A sharp, unfamiliar feeling, like a slow sting.
'I became him, didn't I?'
A bitter smile formed on his lips without him realizing it.
'The man I hated… the one I swore I would never become.'
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them sharply.
'I hit him… humiliated him… ignored him. I let him sleep hungry, scared, alone. The same thing. The same filth. The same excuses.'
His fist trembled.
'I kept telling myself: he's not human. He's different. Dangerous. He won't understand. He won't be hurt like humans are.'
He lowered his head further.
'A comfortable lie… the truth? I never trusted anyone. Not him… not anyone.'
A quick image flashed in his mind. Mira. Her first smile. Her voice when she told him she was pregnant. Then the moment of truth in the hospital.
'Even her… even the only one I let get close… she lied… and she didn't deserve trust any more than my parents did.'
He grabbed his hair hard, his teeth grinding together.
'So why would I trust you?'
This time, he looked at Akira's pale face.
'You're a werewolf. Half wolf, half human. Not human. That's what I always said.'
'And me?'
He swallowed.
'I stole my father's money and ran away. I left him without a word. I wasn't a good son, just like he wasn't a good father. I wasn't brave… I was just scared. So why did I demand that you would be better than me?'
Silence.
'Why did I burden you with the blame for something I was never ready to take responsibility for myself?'
He slowly lifted his head and stared at Akira's face.
'I don't hate you… I was afraid of you. Afraid that if I saw you weak, I'd have to protect you. Afraid that if I saw you hurt, I'd feel something. Afraid that if I loved you… I'd lose you.'
He took a deep breath.
'I thought cruelty would protect us. That if you hated me, you wouldn't need me. And if I didn't get close to you, you wouldn't betray me.'
A bitter laugh echoed inside him.
'You idiot, Filippo.'
He leaned forward slightly, rested his elbows on his knees, and pressed his forehead into his hands.
'I became a cheap copy of my father… the same silence, the same coldness, the same violence wrapped in empty words.'
He lifted his head suddenly, as if the thought had struck him.
'The only difference? I knew exactly what I was doing… and I still did it.'
He shut his eyes tightly.
'I'm worse.'
He stayed silent for a long time. Finally, he reached his hand toward Akira, then stopped before touching him. His trembling hand hung in the air. He lowered it, then said in a barely audible voice:
"You idiot… you miserable idiot."
He slowly extended his hand again, the tremor obvious despite his attempt to control it. His fingers paused above Akira's head, as if something inside him was stopping him, then finally touched the black hair Akira had inherited from him. It was softer than he expected, despite the mess left by neglect. He gently ran his fingers through the strands, then pulled his hand away, as if afraid of being caught doing something he had no right to do.
After that, his hand slid lower and grasped Akira's small hand. It was colder than it should have been. He could no longer escape the thought that this child who was abandoned, beaten, and taught how to fight before he learned how to write, was his son.
A burning heat rose behind his eyes. He tried to blink it away, but the tears came before his will could stop them. They fell silently, one after another, onto Akira's hand.
His voice came out broken and weak:
"I'm… sorry, Akira."
Three days later, Akira's body finally moved. His eyebrows twitched slightly, then his eyelids slowly opened.
His voice came out faint and hoarse:
"Where am I…?"
He tried to lift his hand, but his body didn't respond. It took long seconds before the memories came rushing back all at once: the prison, the running, the bullets, the pain, the blood… then collapsing at the doorway of the house. He suddenly tried to sit up.
"Ah…!"
Pain exploded through his body without mercy. He gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth clenching as he groaned. At that moment, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He opened his eyes slightly and saw Filippo standing beside him. He wasn't standing with his usual cold posture. His features were tense and exhausted, and his eyes carried something Akira wasn't used to seeing: silent worry, tension, and something else he couldn't name.
Filippo said in a low, steady voice:
"You're finally awake."
Akira stared at him without answering, but he noticed one thing clearly: his father looked like he hadn't slept in days. He finally moved his lips, his voice is tired and mocking:
"Oh… so I didn't die? What a shame."
Filippo frowned slightly, then sat on the chair beside the bed, his eyes never left Akira.
He said with heavy calm:
"Why did you take the bullet out yourself?"
Akira froze for a moment. That wasn't the question he expected. Then a faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Because I didn't want to die there… not in that damn place."
A short silence followed. Then Akira asked in a low voice:
"Why… did you save me?"
Filippo slowly exhaled and looked away from the bed.
"I don't know…"
That single word was enough to confuse Akira. For the first time, Filippo had no answer. No cruelty. No sarcasm. No justification.
Akira smiled weakly and said:
"Hah… looks like I caused you trouble, didn't I? You had to choose… either to let me die, or to save me."
Filippo lowered his head slightly and looked at the floor.
Akira continued:
"But why are you worried? Isn't that what you always wanted? For me to disappear… to stop existing…"
Filippo suddenly raised his eyes, as if the words had struck something sensitive inside him. He said in a different, unfamiliar calm tone:
"You really don't understand anything, do you?"
Akira blinked in surprise.
"What? What do you mean?"
Filippo took a deep breath before speaking:
"When I saw you enter the house… soaked in blood, barely standing… I realized I could actually lose you. And when you collapsed in front of me… when you said I'd be relieved if you died… I couldn't feel that."
Akira looked at him with wide eyes. He wasn't used to hearing his father speak like this. He wasn't used to being… important.
Filippo continued in a low voice:
"In the end… you're my son."
Akira stayed silent for a few seconds. He looked at the ceiling first, then slowly lowered his gaze. He exhaled quietly and said in a calm voice, but with a deep, harsh tone:
"Even if you saved me this time, it won't change anything… because I will never forgive you. Everything I went through, everything that happened to me… every part of me that broke… it was because of you. You're the one who left me to live like this. You're the one who made me believe I was worth nothing. You're the one who pushed me to the edge more than anyone else."
Filippo didn't answer. He kept looking at him in silence, his face steady, but his hand was trembling, as if he were holding something back, or stopping himself from saying words he had no right to say.
Akira continued:
"So even if you saved me now, even if you feel something like worry for me… I will never forgive you."
His words came out steady. There was no anger, no hatred, not even blame. They were closer to a dry truth that needed no explanation. Filippo slowly looked away, as if the confrontation had drained what little strength he had left.
He said in a quiet voice, without defense or denial:
"I expected that…"