• • • 一𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 . . . クン アア•

『 津• T W O 』

“F.. Father!” Aguero called out, his eyes burning as his neck itched as the hint of tears left his face damp. Through contemplating voices and ideas, Aguero let out a soft inhale as his blue eyes darted from his side to his lover in his hands, place lips curling into a hurt twist.

“Sweet, naive, Aguero, my child,” Eduan faked a smile, tatting as he scruntized at the poor composure of his son. “She is a regular, and this is what it means to be a regular.”

Aguero faltered as he gawked, onto zealous thirst that famished onto the delectable pain he terrifyingly thrilled. “Will she really break? Or are you afraid?”

For a man who had been adepted onto his egoistical thoughts and surmised agitating and smoldering bellows of his past lurching sorrow, Agueroʼs eyes were remarkably soft that brimmed with astounding care. “I know, for myself that I can not beat you, but you know very well that I will fight.”

“Because maybe... If you had helped her live,” Aguero reiterated, stilled onto the hold of your dead corpse that left him with smell of the stagnant and the sharp smell of blood. His tone turning voracious as greed got through him crazing over the death of his elation. “She would have left a legacy instead of a corpse...”