Chapter 230 Scene : Reunion (1/2)

✿✿ Movie Scene ✿✿

Zenith was finding difficulty in walking now.

Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all. His body wasn't fully healed yet and whacking his head wasn't exactly a brilliant move. Still, it was the only move he could think of to escape with the least amount of risk.

And he had to do it while their guard was down and for them to be under the impression that he was still not recovered.

Well, yeah. He really wasn't fully recovered but that's beside the point.

Right now, he was breathing hard and the rain was pouring down. He didn't manage to find shelter before the sudden downpour.

Now, the wet clothes stuck to his body like a second skin, outlining his toned physique: his muscular arms, firm pecs, six-pack abs and long legs.

He was starting to get cold and that was surely not a good thing.

Zenith managed to create the necessary distance and evade the High Table's goons but if this went on, it wouldn't be long before they caught up with him.

He had changed clothes often, but the body count would probably lead them to him sooner or later.

The network was extensive after all.

Was this a stupid move? Probably.

Would he do it again? Most likely.

Did he regret it?

As his body fell to the ground and he vaguely had a sense of someone turning him around and then carrying him ... he thought ...

Maybe.

✿✿ ✿✿

Zenith opened his eyes with difficulty, wondering where he was.

The last thing he remembered was falling down and someone picking him up.

A friend? An enemy?

Zenith laughed at himself. Of course, it would be an enemy. He didn't have friends.

As his eyes focused, he saw a familiar figure in front of him, staring at him intently.

He was just sitting there like some king, all regal like in his stupid suit, his hands on the armrest and his legs just languidly on the chair. He didn't say a word, but just his presence was enough to fill up the entire room.

Zenith blinked, closed his eyes tightly for a second then opened them again.

The figure was still there.

John Wick.

Father.

Damn it.

Zenith sighed, rubbing his eyes and looked around him. It was a normal room. Not like a hospital ward nor like a prison cell.

There was the bed that he was lying down on, a desk and chair, a one-seater sofa that John was sitting on and heck. A closet and a bookshelf were on the walls opposite him. There were even paintings on the wall, for fuck's sake. The painting was actually painted onto the wall itself - including the frame.

What was this?

His eyes could not detect a single thing that he could use as a weapon right now. There were no escape routes either. If he wanted to get out, he'd have to get through John, who was basically sitting at the only exit route there.

Zenith flung the blanket off him and tried to get off the bed. He swung his legs to the side, only to find himself wobble a bit. He gripped the edge of the bed, partly to steady himself, partly anger at showing weakness.

”Why'd you save me?” Zenith muttered, glancing up and staring at John, ”I don't need your help.”

John didn't answer but instead, leaned forward, clasping his hands together and leaned on his knees. His eyes never left Zenith's figure, noting how the boy had quickly examined the room for weapons and a way out.

He also noted how the boy realised there was only one exit route and despite the obvious desire to go out, he didn't make a move.

Was it because he wasn't going to push it as he knew he would not make it, or was it because he was willing to stay and listen?

”You really do have her eyes,” John said, tilting his head as he stared at his son.

In response, Zenith just glared at him, quiet now.

”Now that I can really look at you, it's not just her eyes,” John continued, ”You also have her high cheekbones and hair texture.”

John's eyes flickered, sadness showing within then he blinked, the emotion gone, ”She would have loved you. If she had known about you.”

John's heart couldn't help but feel pain at the thought.

The boy was already 14 years old. During the time when they were facing the illness together, thinking of the lost opportunity of having kids together. He never blamed her but she never stopped talking about her wish for one. How she desired for one.

”She wanted children so much,” John whispered, his voice wavering a bit, ”But she was just too ill to have any children. We couldn't have any children.”

Zenith looked at him in shock.

No. Wait. What is he saying? It didn't make any sense.

Jack had told him that his mother loved him very much but his father didn't want him. Didn't want to share his dying wife with another. So he was dumped at the organisation.