Chapter Text
So this is it, that's how it ends
I guess there's nothing more romantic than dying with your friends
And I'm not sorry for myself
I wouldn't wanna spend a minute loving anybody else
Till Forever Falls Apart// Ashe, FINNEAS
EXHAUSTION HAD A CURIOUS WAY OF MANIFESTING.
For example, exhaustion had Kyoya starting to resent the view outside his window. It was an objectively pretty view, framed by a tall window from ceiling to floor, showing off the city below, with twinkling buildings and a soft murky night, not pitch black in the fact that there was smoke that added dimensions. There was even a time where the view had lit a small spark of triumph in his chest. Now, though, Kyoya found the view uninspiring and it was likely a consequence of his mood.
Exhaustion had also begun to impede on his competence. His typing had begun to stutter, he'd type a phrase before remembering that the word didn't have that many characters and that he had grossly misused his punctuation multiple times. Worse, the content of his report had steadily acquired more mistakes, some that would surely earn him a scolding where he an intern and not the man in the special office.
In a less subtle way, exhaustion had also made itself known with the insistent dull ache under his eyes, only an hour away from being a near-violent throb. Exhaustion, could also to be to blame, for how even though, aside from the janitorial staff, he is likely the last person in the building and he had achieved no real progress. The notion of time wasted brought an ugly bitterness to his mouth. He wasn't necessarily in a position where he had to catch up on anything, he was still decently ahead of his workload. Kyoya knew the real reason he was dragging his feet, keeping himself glued to his work in an awkward excuse to not have to face the life he had outside of work.
Kyoya would be more than happy to blame exhaustion for the way that he can't bring himself to look forward to having dinner with Kaoru.
So, his exhaustion was to blame for much, he knew. Still, he was taken aback by the complete agitation that consumed him when he realized that because he got here at an odd hour, he had parked in a spot that wasn't even connected to the building and required an extra five minutes of walk. In the morning, wired with coffee, he hadn't even blinked. He had dismissed it for a good opportunity to exercize.
Biting back any sign of discontent, he packed his stuff up brusquely and slipped his coat and scarf on. His office door banged shut behind him, locking automatically. The sheer childishness of the action-- slamming his door, that is-- had some of the tension festering within him release. Somewhat soothed, his hurry towards the elevator was less angry, less composed too. His pristine shoes slapped against polished floors sloppily, reassured that he would not have to make nice at this hour.
To his surprise, and dismay, he wasn't alone.
He had been situated within the elevator, ready to call it a night, when a hand had shot out between the closing elevator doors, and a man had slipped right in next to him. Kyoya wasn't an authority on workplace behaviors, but it went unsaid that you don't just jam yourself into the elevator with the CEO's son. And even so, there was plenty of space, there was no need for him to stand directly besides Kyoya. Still, Kyoya didn't comment, and the man offered no excuse.
The strange man was part of the night staff, dressed in the custodial uniform. His face was somewhat weathered and portly, critical and friendly. Kyoya hoped that he had sensibility to not attempt conversation and to ensure that, he opened up his phone to scroll through emails. (Kaoru would often then remind him of the importance of separating work and personal, which Kyoya thought was weird. Between the two of them, Kaoru was more of a workaholic. Constantly networking and spotting trends, even when they were supposed to be unwinding.)
He had barely opened the app when the custodian spoke up, "Working late, hmm?"
A violent sort of irritation swallowed him up, and he closed his eyes as he tightened his grip on his mobile, grateful for his glasses, when he said, with a terse sort of calm, "Yes."
"They say that men who spend their lives working never had the time to live, to love."
Kyoya exhales softly, regaining some sort of composure. This was just an old man, self-indulgent, ridiculous in their eagerness to sound wise. Kyoya didn't bother telling him he was right or wrong. It's best not to entertain men like that. He refocused his attention on the emails, all of them seeming so inconsequential and uninteresting.
The man's voice pitched with indignence. "Life will pass you bye, boy!"
Kyoya could continue to ignore him. He was tired and irritated, but the manners bred into him did not allow for it. So he said, with poorly veiled impatience, "Life can wait."
"But it won't, son."
Kyoya didn't understand why the man sounded so mournful. It was disconcerting. Kyoya tried to keep his tone brisk and not betray the slight anxiety this odd man was inspiring.
"Well, then I'll just have to miss out, hmm? Worse things have happened."
"Have you already missed your chances?"
Where was this conversation even going? Kyoya pointedly did not think of any genuine answers and instead said, just in time for when he reached his floor,
"Does it matter? I can't go back anyways."
He leaves, purposefully a pleasurable stroll so to not seem as if he was running, and he misses what the old fool says next. More nonsense, no doubt.
But it's fine. It was all fine. Kyoya could deal with it all-- exhaustion, agitation, odd old fools-- because he had a routine to fulfill, something and someone to look forward to.
Except he can't even be sure if he can look forward to seeing Kaoru because of how awkwardly Kyoya let things settle two nights ago.
"Want to eat out next time?" Kaoru had asked casually.
Kyoya looked at him sharply before almost aggressively saying, "As friends."
Kaoru's lazy smile soured somewhat before he forced out a laugh and raised his glass to his smiling mouth, "Obviously."
Kyoya may have been a bit…brash. Unnecessarily so, they had agreed to each other, that they would not try to find anything lasting in each other's arms. They didn't agree on a lot of what mattered. While Kyoya had no intention to ever have a formal confrontation on the matter of his sexuality, he knew that Kaoru had no interest in hiding anything. He had gone out with men, touched them and acted sweetly with them, with little care to how it would play out for him. Kyoya might call him brave, except for the fact that Kaoru was prominent in the fashion industry, and no one seriously expected him to be straight. No matter, he shouldn't have talked to Kaoru that way. He shouldn't have shut down and left either. Kaoru didn't deserve that.
He sighed, stepping out into the night, phone still in hand. He consider sending a message to Kaoru, to check if he was still waiting for Kyoya, when he receives a text from the man himself. A selfie of Kaoru dressed casually and holding up a vegetable. His message read: i'm starting now and if i end up doing everything the dishs r urs
A pang of affection shot through him, he types a quick affirmative, and moves to pocket his phone before something very… different happens.
His phone lit up with a phone call.
Not from Kaoru, who preferred texting. Not from Fuyumi, who preferred seeking him out in person. Not from his Father, who corresponded with him primarily through email or assistant.
No. None of the usual suspects. (And yes, that was as far as his social circle extends.)
It was Suoh Tamaki.
His best friend with whom he hasn't spoken for over half a decade. Tamaki, whom Kyoya had unceremoniously, more or less, ghosted after he had performed his duties as the best man at Tamaki and Haruhi's wedding.
Tamaki. Suoh Tamaki. The very same best friend that he had once loved more than life. With a love so all-consuming and immature it nearly suffocated him. That very same best friend was calling him. At this hour, no less. Which was not all that late, but it was inappropriate from someone who he could not claim a closeness to, not anymore.
Kyoya ought to let it go to voicemail, call back later, so that the power could fall back into his hands. He should pocket his phone and hurry on over to Kaoru and ask for forgiveness without asking. Kyoya should not pick up.
Kyoya picks up. Stopping to lean against the building as he takes the call;
"Hello?"
"Kyoya," Tamaki says, voice sounding distant and tinny through the phone. His inflection somewhat stunned, somewhat elated. "You picked up."
"I just got out of work," Kyoya says in lieu of explanation. "What is it?"
There was a brief silence and then, "Are you busy right now?"
"I'm about to drive home," Kyoya says, and he belatedly realizes that he didn't give an actual answer again. Something like nostalgia, like withered love, like fondness for an old friend, brings him to say the next words, voice somewhat softer, "I'm still walking to the car right now, though."
"I'm actually close to where you live ," Tamaki offers without explicitly suggesting, something he had always done skillfully, and there's a gut reaction that has Kyoya saying no before he means to. He hates the way he said it, way too sharply, way too fast. There's another loud silence, and Kyoya nearly hears their young voices layered over it like a bad movie. A clip of them being young and preoccupied with their small, daily dramas. Tamaki's voice, the one of then, sounds over, friendly with a hint of unhappiness. "I see. That's fine ."
"I'm not going to my apartment right away," Kyoya says, as a justification for keeping Tamaki firmly out of his life. "I have dinner plans."
Which is true enough. He always has dinner with Kaoru. Dinner, and then, sometimes he spends the night. Sometimes because he has a late morning the next day, or not as often anymore, because they hadn’t been as motivated enough to warm a bed together.
"With Kaoru, right?" Tamaki says, as if reading his mind, his voice intentionally light and lacking of any awkwardness, almost unnaturally so.
There's no point in denying anything. Not that there was anything to deny. Not that there was any point in denying it.
"Yes."
"Right," and there's definitely an odd note in Tamaki's voice then. One he didn't succeed in hiding.
Kyoya can imagine why. He knows why. It would be the same for him, if he had been the one to call. It's odd for them to speak now, and as they do, it's as strangers, bound by laws of civility. It's utterly unfamiliar. Everything they knew about each other was assumed or heard, and nothing was told or shared. Even in the beginning, Tamaki had firmly bulldozed past the tentative stranger stage and acted with infuriating familiarity. At the time, Kyoya had assumed it was a culture difference but he now knows better. That was uniquely, maddeningly, Tamaki's.
"So," he says, blunt in the familiar way he was before, "you called because you want to tell me something, right?"
"Can't I just call because I feel like it?"
It might be plausible. Tamaki, as smart as he was, did let life happen on a whim at times.
Kyoya tilts his chin into the high neck of his coat, the bite of night air getting to him. "Sure. Now tell me what it is that happened."
Tamaki laughs in the bright way he always did back in Ouran, then, unprompted further, he says, “Haruhi is pregnant .”
Kyoya doesn't expect desolation or grief or anything melodramatic like that; it's been far too long. He wasn't the same lovestruck schoolboy who helped Tamaki out on the first date. Supportive outwardly and somewhat bitter inwardly. He doesn't feel anything distinctly negative, but he doesn't really much of anything. He had outgrown his romantic love for Tamaki but he still had a great fondness for him as a once best friend, so he was still disappointed by the lack of excitement he felt when he heard the news. He almost feels awkward, and saddened by his feeling that way. He should be more enthusiastic about this.
He tries to inject as much warmth into his voice as he can when he says, "That's amazing, Tamaki. I know you wanted a family for a very long time."
Some excitement bleeds into Tamaki's tone, words tripping over themselves. "It's very early in the process, of course, but Kyoya, I'm so excited."
"I'm happy for you," Kyoya says, and he doesn't not mean it. "This is amazing."
"I'm hoping it can be amazing for you too," Tamaki says softly, shyly, and Kyoya stops breathing.
"What?" He sounds blank, bleak. He didn't mean to, but he somehow came across unimpressed. Kyoya was starting to understand why Tamaki wanted to have this conversation in person.
"I just, I mean, well, when I got the news we're expecting, you were the first one I wanted to tell. I-I know we haven't kept in contact as well as we should have, and I think we are both to blame. But I think, now, with the baby on the way, it's a new era. I want you to be in the baby's life, and in mine." Kyoya stared at the blur of passing people, wondering if they were moving faster or if there was another reason they were so blurry. He raises his free hand under his glasses to check his eyes and realizes he's been crying, tears slipping out of his eyes unnoticed. Kyoya can't remember the last time he had cried about anything. His gaze catches on the pedestrian sign, signaling for him to cross. Kyoya hasn't moved yet, frozen in place, in time. The silence stretches again, but this time, it's isn't oppressive. Kyoya can breathe. This time, it's nice until Tamaki adds, in a sheepish voice, "And Haruhi's, obviously. Ha, silly me. She misses you too. So what do you say? Want to have dinner and catch up sometime this week ?"
Kyoya snorted, breathing somewhat shaky, "What is there even to catch up on?"
Tamaki makes a familiar, indignant sound, and Kyoya's heart swells. "A lot! Like the baby names I'm thinking of, and uhm, your relationship with Kaoru, maybe?"
"Alright," Kyoya allows, smiling slightly and pushing off the building and towards the crosswalk, eyes trained down so that no one sees the glimmer of tears. It's unseemly. "Yes, of course. So, tell me, what names were you thinking of?"
He glances briefly at the road, checking for any obstacle, and then dips his head back to his phone, his breath warming the screen. He begins the cross, focusing on the sound of Tamaki.
As he listens, he thinks, I have missed this.
"I like Yumi if the baby is a girl–."
There was a blink of excruciating pain, a last punched-out release of breath, and then, like someone had pressed a light switch– it was all gone.
A lot of things should have happened. Kyoya should have looked up and checked both sides properly before crossing. The bus driver should not have been moving so fast, especially near a crosswalk, and perhaps he should have never picked up on Tamaki.
If he hadn't, then he would be well on his way to Kaoru, who is no doubt scouring the internet for a new recipe they can try, unaware that— well, that Kyoya had just died .
He knew he just died because when Kyoya looked down, he had risen off the pavement and was able to look down, he saw a cluster of people gathering around his body, his corpse. His phone had skidded a short distance away, still on call.
When he saw the phone, though, he couldn't bring himself to regret picking up Tamaki's call. Because now he knows that Tamaki has a baby on the way, a family that is to begin, and isn't that wonderful? Wasn't Tamaki's happiness what he wanted most once? This feeling of joy arises far too late, but it's felt. Typical of him to feel it all once everything is gone
He nears the phone, hoping Tamaki had assumed he had hung up. That would be far more—
"Kyoya? What was that? Are you alright? What happened? Kyoya? Kyoya, can you hear me?"
Kyoya cringed.
A lady, maybe a decade years older than Kyoya, with a serious face and severe hair, stepped towards the phone. She looked like she belonged in the military. Judging by the gait of her walk, it's likely that she does. She picks up his phone, miraculously uninjured. Very unlike his body. "Are you the man's friend?"
"The man? Which man?"
Kyoya didn't want to hear such an exchange, the anxiety and dread in Tamaki's voice pitching up with every word. But he couldn't move away. It's like he was tied to the phone. In that conversation. To Tamaki. His first friend and love.
Maybe this was his closure? It seemed a little cruel. Unlike his private fantasies, where everyone missed him terribly, Kyoya got not joy from hearing the devastation and dread bubble up in Tamaki's every word.
"The man with dark hair and glasses," she describes flatly. "Businessman, it seems. Handsome, clean shaven. Late twenties, twenty-seven, no eight, possibly younger."
"Twenty-nine," Tamaki corrects automatically, as if lording the little he knew, "He's twenty-nine. What about him? Is he alright?"
"What is his name? It's important to know this before the police—"
Tamaki's voice came through louder on the phone, his voice cracking on 'police.' Kyoya hates that there is no way for him to look away. It's not like he had eyelids to close his eyes with. "What police? Is he alright?"
"His name, first."
Kyoya suddenly detested her for the brisk manner in which she spoke to a distraught Tamaki. He's grateful suddenly, selfishly, for their distance. Kyoya was too much of a stranger for Tamaki to grieve fully. He's also even more selfishly thankful that he knows Tamaki's life is headed soon toward ensured happiness, a proper family like he dreamed. Watching him struggle with Haruhi, the two of them navigating their tumultuous relationship with no expertise on either side, was hard for Kyoya. It was as frustrating and heart-wrenching, as if he had felt every emotion Tamaki did himself in addition to resentment at the situation itself. It's good that everything is settling where it belongs.
"His name is Ootori Kyoya." Kyoya has never heard him so desperate, his breathing, his diction, all of it wrong. "What is going on?"
"I regret to inform you that your friend was just a victim in an automobile accident, as a pedestrian. I'm sorry, but it appears that he passed on impact–"
The most terrible strangled-sounding cry rings through the air, and even the military woman cringes. Kyoya apologizes silently, and is unheard.
I'm sorry, Tamaki. I'm sorry, Fuyumi. I'm sorry, Kaoru and Hikaru. I’m sorry Haruhi and Hani and Mori. I'm sorry. Father, Akito, Yuuichi... Fuck, I'm so sorry.
"I'm sorry," the lady says as if echoing his thoughts or, more likely, giving the expected consolation.
"No, he can't be, I would feel it if he–"
And before Kyoya could witness anything else, he was pulled forward and seemingly into his phone. Then, there was darkness.
Stranger, who knows all my secrets
Can pull me apart and break my heart
A soulmate who wasn't meant to be
A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant To Be// Jess Benko
*
Tamaki hadn't played the piano in a while, so, he felt like a stranger rather than a man as he sat himself down. He flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders back, taking satisfaction in the crack that he makes. He then plays, alone in a big room of their big home.
He plays an original song. He had been working on it for a while. It was fast and masterful, like a race, and it led up to this great crescendo-- but before it can have any sort of great conclusion, the music always cuts off. Tamaki isn't sure why he does this. He doesn't understand why he rips his hands from the keys, like he's been burned, right before the song can find it's own satisfactory end.
Tamaki stares at the piano accusingly, tucking his trembling hands under his thighs.
"Tamaki?"
Tamaki stiffens, turns to the side, sees dark hair and glasses--- and he immediately thinks of Kyoya.
Which was ridiculous because they had very little in common. Haruhi's frame was slight and relaxed, Kyoya's had been athletic and composed. Haruhi wore her glasses and her hair was short, but it fluttered. And her hair was a lovely brown that mingled with the slightest tint of red, while Kyoya's was dark like ink. Kyoya had rid himself of his bad eyesight and kept his hair short and conservative, face uncaringly handsome. But there was something about hope, the cruelest brand of denial, that put the idea in his head. That Kyoya could and would walk into his room, clap his hands slowly, pretending he wasn't impressed.
"Haruhi." Tamaki smiles. "How are you, my love?"
Haruhi sighs, "I should be asking you. How are you, Tamaki?"
"I'm fine." That was a lie so he adds, casually. "He was my best friend, you know."
"Yes," Haruhi agrees. "You were." But she says it as if she's indulging him, and that irritates him.
"He was," Tamaki insists, voice taunt with tension.
"I know."
"We were on the phone when it happened. I was basically there."
"I know, Tamaki."
"He was really excited for us, about the baby. We were discussing baby names--."
Haruhi's smile is wry, "Should you not discuss that with me instead?"
"I loved him," Tamaki says, and even though it was true he also knows that's the wrong thing to say. He doesn't stop, though. "He knew me better than anyone. He was the beginning of my Japan, and in a way, I was kind of the end of his--."
"Don't," Haruhi says tightly, crossing the room and grabbing his shoulders roughly. "Stop talking like that. Stop saying those things. They're upsetting. And, and you act like you're alone. Like, no one else is hurting. I'm hurting. I loved him too! Don't... don't act like you are the only one..."
Tamaki stays silent.
"Remember Kaoru? Think of him. He's hurting too, maybe even in a more--"
"No one," Tamaki says ferociously. "No one is hurting more than me."
Haruhi's voice is cool when she speaks, finally at her limit with him. "I was going to say in a more 'nuanced' way. You know they had a very intimate relationship, no one knows how--."
"I'd hardly classify what they had as a relationship," Tamaki scoffs. A tiny voice in his head was screaming that this wasn't him. That he was going to regret this. That this was all wrong. That he shouldn't be pushing Haruhi away when he likely needed her the most right now. "Don't be absurd. What they had was--."
"--More than what you had with him," Haruhi interrupts, voice still in the way it got when she was really mad.
Tamaki froze, his face burning like he had been slapped, but Haruhi hadn't even moved. In fact, she had dropped her grip on his shoulders and was crossing her arms now, tight over her chest.
"What did you just say?" Tamaki rasps.
"Kaoru had dinner with Kyoya most nights and talked to him on a daily basis. You hadn't seen the man in person for months, or was it years?"
"We don't need to see each other often to upkeep our connection!" Tamaki had stood up, but he had put more distance between him and Haruhi. Scared of what he might see in her face now. She was so wrong. How could she not see? Kyoya had stitched up all his wandering pieces and pushed him into the real world, without him, without his brilliant beautiful mind, Tamaki would unravel. He needed him. They needed each other. They were best friends, companions for life. They were more than--. "We don't need to have dinner every night or--"
"--I want you to think about what you are saying to me right now," Haruhi says lowly. "And what you actually mean."
It's always in the back of my mind
Maybe my mistakes are the reason
That I made it back to you in time
If I could rewind
Would there be some butterfly effect?
What if we never met?
What if the stars never aligned?
hate to be lame// Lizzy McAlpine
Kaoru has slumped into his favorite armchair when his phone rings. He considers letting it ring, just for fucks sake, but decides against it. The last time he pulled something like that, his brother had stormed into his apartment and thrown a goddamn fit. He checks the caller, snorts, lights a cigarette, and picks up before it goes to voicemail.
"Tamaki," he greets with faux cheer. "Nice of you to call. Don't worry. I'm not about to cross the street, so you can feel free to talk my ear off all you like."
"Kaoru. Hello." There was a long pause. When he speaks again, there is a careful fragility in his voice. " Are you saying it's my fault he died?"
Kaoru took another drag of his cigarette. "No." He let the smoke leave his mouth in a lazy trail. "Sorry. I'm in a mood. Death of a lover can really do that to a man, you know. What do I owe this honor, boss?"
"I... I was missing him, and Haruhi suggested I reach out to someone else who was... close to him."
"Well, you reached out. What now?"
"I don't know. Fuck, Kaoru. Do you think this is easy for me?"
"I don't know, boss." Another long drag. Kaoru throws his feet onto the table. "I mean, technically, you haven't seen him in ages. Shouldn't you be over missing him by now?"
" But now, there is no distant future where we reunite and fix this up. Now, he's gone for good, " Tamaki says quietly. Kaoru wondered if Tamaki was self-aware enough to be ashamed of such a childish explanation. Tamaki doesn't show any signs of shame when he asks, almost hungrily. " What was he like? The Kyoya you knew?"
"My Kyoya?"
A pause, uncomfortably long. " Yeah, that Kyoya."
Kaoru closes his eyes, throwing his head back. Fuck. Kyoya? He was so fucking much and not nearly enough.
" Yeah ?" There was an almost jaundice element to his sigh. "So, he was passionate, huh? I've hardly seen him like that."
"Sorry," Kaoru apologizes. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. But yeah. Kyoya, he was goddamn passionate and also, also.."
"Also, what?"
"Also way reserved." Kaoru swung a leg lazily. "He'd take care of me, then get all cagey when I tried to return the favor. I had to sneak affection to him like you would hide medication in your dog's food. Goddamn exhausting."
"But worth it, " Tamaki says confidently.
"I mean, I stayed."
"And so did he."
"I think we needed each other more than we even initially wanted each other. Our keen need opened up the possibility for desire. Do you get it?"
" Maybe ." There was a rustling noise, almost like a hiccup. " Maybe I do ."
"I mean, like, he was hot when I first saw him, you know. I mean, I saw him after all of us had gone our own paths. But we were both a little lost, and it was nice to belong to something again. If he hadn't been so lonely and I hadn't been so lost, then... I don't think we would have ever become so important to each other."
"Would you choose him then? Over being happy? I mean, if you could redo the past and make it so that everyone is happy, would you do that? Even if it means you won't get to be with Kyoya?"
Kaoru didn't even have to think about it. "Yeah. Of course. I love the moron. If he could be happy? Fuck, if he can be alive? And if we could all be happy. God, what a world that would be." Kaoru put out his cigarette, something suffocating, choking him up again. "Fuck. I'd do just anything to make him happy."
"You made him happy."
"Fuck. I don't know that. And don't lie, neither do you. We all fucked up somewhere, I think. That's got to be the reason. We messed up somewhere."
Tamaki's voice is trembling when he says, " Kaoru, I think we messed this one up badly. It's all I think about anymore. Where can I go back to fix it? At what point did I lose him? It's, it's driving me crazy."
Kaoru closes his eyes and is haunted by Kyoya's lazy half-smile. He is suddenly terrified that one day he won't be. He is terrified that he will one day forget its angles and how it easily slipped off his face, almost as quickly as it slid on. He wonders if Tamaki has already forgotten, and then he pities him.
"Me too, boss. Me too."
.
.
.
How much sorrow can I take?
Blackbird on my shoulder
And what difference does it make
When this love is over?
Mystery Of Love// Sufjan Stevens
And then Kyoya was walking down the halls of the Ootori Estate, and it was odd because it looked hauntingly familiar. Everyone wore the same somberness, and Kyoya was struck with the realization that they were mourning . He took it in, watching the staff exchange harried looks as they scuttled.
Kyoya wills himself to look away and stares at a stunningly fresh bouquet of chrysanthemums by a window instead. They are so full of life that, for a second, Kyoya is even envious.
He looks past it and finds himself walking into his father's study. His father is seated behind his desk, and Kyoya thinks he never saw his father sitting anywhere else in his office. He never used the sofa or graced the rocking chair by the books. He was always by his desk when Kyoya saw him.
Wasn't that just lovely? What an observation. Kyoya couldn't believe he had not thought so sooner; it was so endearing.
Kyoya is startled as his father makes a sudden movement. A jerky, spasmodic whole body shudder before he pushes himself back from his desk and stands up clumsily. Yoshio's shoulders are heaving, and his eyes are clouded. Kyoya finally notices the opened bottle on his desk and understands.
He watches in muted horror as his father takes the bottle and launches it across the room. Yoshio's drunken aim is pathetic, and instead of smashing the wall, it smashes spectacularly on the floor.
He and his father stare at the mess.
Then, the office door swings open, and Akito is there. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the suit he wore hangs on his starved figure. He looks furious.
"Get sober," he barks with a cruel viciousness as if taking revenge. "There is a ceremony we have to orchestrate."
Yoshio stares at him. Akito gazes back, lifeless and unmoved.
"Where is Fuyumi?" Yoshio finally asks, and then a flicker of something uneasy passes through Akito's features.
"She won't pick up the phone. Her husband isn't responding either."
Kyoya wills himself away and is glad he is no longer in that suffocating room. He is in the Ootori Estate garden and walking them. It's gorgeous here. The path is cobbled and dark with recent rain. Raindrops bead the leaves and run down stems and bushes. The air must smell so clean here.
Each bloom was bright and perfectly shaped. Kyoya likely only visited this place when Tamaki had dragged him within a few times. It seemed useless to frequent a place with little to offer.
But now, it's clear that this place was loaded with life and beauty. It was a place with the sole purpose of making life worth living.
Was that the true purpose of the host club? It sounded familiar, but Kyoya couldn't remember it explicitly.
It was about making ladies happy, wasn't it?
Why did Kyoya feel like he was missing something? Not that it mattered. After all, Kyoya was dead now. It's odd. He didn't think much of an afterlife. He thought it useless, but now that he was faced with it, he didn't mind it all that much. He would gladly linger and watch from the side as the people he cared for lived on. Kyoya had always been rather good at watching from a distance.
Kyoya returns his admiration for the flowers and resents his new desire to touch the petals, to feel if they felt as thin and fragile as they look, as velvety as he imagines.
Funny how he wants to do what he never considered before. Kyoya moves on from the gardens after a long while. He leaves the estate and is drifting in and out of alertness. He comes to enough to appreciate the traffic-- it used to be so annoying, but now? Now, it was just incredible. Look at all those people with all these places to be.
He watches families hurry down the street before slipping into various shops. He sees a lot of useless junk and realizes that he hasn't indulged in any of it. He doesn't know how to work that toy or how that brand of chips tastes, and Kyoya feels somewhat robbed.
Though, no one had ever kept him from any of it.
Did the kitchen change?
What about your name?
You used to be my heart
And now you're just a face
Mr. Forgettable// David Kushner
He keeps moving, and there are blips of darkness and clarity. Eventually, he finds himself in front of Haruhi. He has brought himself to a luxurious apartment he doesn't recognize. But there she is, beautiful. Existing as Tamaki's wife and future mother of his children. She was standing in front of the stove as her kettle garnered heat. She is beautiful; her slight frame is wavering like a willow and weighed down by the heft concentrated at her center. She was showing now, wearing a sheer dress that drew the gaze to the round belly she sported. She huddles a bit, shivering. Her arms are bare, and Kyoya is struck by his desire to get her a jacket and care for her. She is obviously cold. Why was she wearing something so thin when she was obviously so cold? Why was her apartment so cold in the first place.
His attention is diverted when she cups her belly and lifts a bit as if trying to alleviate the weight. Kyoya wants to lift the weight for her. He wants to grab Tamaki by the shoulders and demands that he do it himself. Kyoya wants to put his palm flat over the bump and feel for a kick. He wants to get on his knees, press his ear to the bump, and wait for it. He wants to jump to his feet and insist he felt something, even if he's not sure he has. He wants to be there and happy for her like Tamaki had wanted him to be. He wants to hug Haruhi and congratulate her a million times. Kyoya wasn't in love with her, but his love for her was still overwhelming. She could be a stranger now, someone new, but she was his friend once, and he loved her so much.
The kettle whistles, and he waits for her to take it off the heat and pour herself a cup. But she doesn't. She just watches and lets it whistle. It whistles and whistles; it's the soundtrack to her stillness. He searches her face, plain of makeup and all the lovelier for it. She looks young, but not in a good way. She seems listless and lost in the way common in the young. Kyoya feels fear for her.
And then he is gone.
He is moving past Hani, who is having lunch with his wife. His face is still youthful and handsome, but it's also weary and grave as he discusses something. Kyoya can't see what face his wife is making, but he sees her slim hand, manicured with dark, glossy nail polish, bejeweled with dark, glittering rings, slip into his and squeeze.
Hani brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it, and Kyoya moves on, hopeful.
Hani was being taken care of. That was what mattered,
Kyoya kept moving, and eventually, he ran by Hikaru, who was seated at the head of the table. There was an empty chair beside him, which had his jacket draped over it. Kyoya was then reminded that Hikaru's hair color had changed to an ashier shade of brown. His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks at the people presenting with apparent exasperation.
Someone says something, and Kyoya can't hear any of it, but there is a dangerous change in Hikaru's face. Something raw and dangerous surfaces, and Kyoya feels devastation pull at him.
Hikaru was talking now, on his feet and looming over his colleagues. His voice was fast, low, and furious, though Kyoya couldn't hear anything anymore. It was just something that could be seen.
Kyoya leaves quickly, moving and wandering the streets.
He gets to see the sunset, and it's rather stunning, but its beauty does not make up for the dread that was wearing Kyoya down. He wills himself to go to the beaches, the mountains, a place where the cherry blossoms might bloom, but he goes to Mori.
Mori was surprisingly not in the military; instead, he was in front of a mirror. His hair was slicked back, some stubbornly breaking free from the gel and standing up in endearing spikes. Kyoya realizes he wants to be there to smooth it down, like some sort of mother. Kyoya knows all he can do is watch, like some sort of voyeur.
Mori was dressed head to toe in a sharp, plain black suit. His eyes were heavy and dark. He looked unbearably old and wisened.
The apartment he stood in was bare and had only the essentials. Kyoya wanted to take all the beautiful, ridiculous trinkets he saw in the streets and sprinkle them throughout the apartment. Kyoya watched Mori mechanically tie a bow around his collar and stared at his reflection.
Kyoya watches Mori throws his shoulders back and raises his chin, looking more soldier than man.
Where was he headed to looking so somber? He follows and watches Mori grab a bouquet of chrysanthemums and a card with Kyoya's reluctantly smiling face in the center.
Oh.
No.
He follows desperately, so fast that he moves past Mori and leaves him behind.
He then finds himself on the beach he originally wanted. He drifts by, wanting to kick the sand in agitation but unable to do so. Instead, he watches. He watches a boy, maybe eight, take an exceptionally smooth rock, rinse it in the shallow water, then run back to a woman, young but old enough to be his mother, who smiles and takes it happily, slipping it into a heavy pocket.
He then witnesses a proposal and is shocked by how much tenderness he feels. How there is no envy, only resigned emptiness. The woman being proposed to cries, and the man, on one knee, looks up at her and is grinning so widely that it's nearly unattractive. The woman doesn't seem to care since she launches herself into his arms. Kyoya is at least amused when they knock the ring into the sand and spend a few minutes frantically looking for it as they giggle and exchange joyous looks.
Then he overlooks two friends, no younger than fifteen but no older than eighteen either, as they link elbows and walk down the length of the beach. They are beautiful, there, walking down the shore in the morning sunrise. They are laughing and jostling each other, and occasionally, one, the one with short hair, will hip-check the other, who will shoot her a wide dimpled smile.
Kyoya is shocked when the girl with short hair and dangling earrings presses her smiling mouth to the other girl. He then feels silly. Of course, they were lovers. What kind of friends just wander the beach early in the morning like that?
He is happy then, or the closest variation of that which he can feel, so much so that time and space morph around him, and he finds himself within a familiar apartment. He knows who he's about to witness before he sees him.
He revels in Kaoru's living space's bright walls, stylish furnishings, and careless tidiness. He is admiring the artful way that his dark and modern jacket looks against the soft blue couch when Kaoru walks in.
He looks handsome in the effortless, appealing way he always did. Life didn't trouble him—like nothing ever has.
He was dressed in a plain pink shirt and sleep flannel. For a split second, Kyoya was surprised because Kaoru had once told him that pink wasn't his color and that he would rather die than wear it willingly. Kaoru was carrying two plates of food and setting them down on the table in front of the TV, as he had for Kyoya when he came over late after work. Kyoya relaxed. Kaoru had moved on. He had a new companion.
Kyoya looks around, waiting for another man to walk in and slide into the empty side of the couch. He hopes he is kind and self-fulfilled in a way that Kyoya never mastered. But no matter how long Kyoya waits, no one moves into the room, and when Kyoya turns to look at Kaoru again, he has already turned on the TV and begun eating, leaving the plate of food he brought in untouched. Not expecting anyone else to join him. And the plate--
Something suffocating takes over, and Kyoya surges towards Kaoru, afraid that the other man will cry, but he doesn't. Instead, he sinks further into the couch, eats, and laughs at Kyoya's favorite show.
No. No--
The door slams open, and relief slams through Kyoya, but it's Hikaru again. He looks furious, pointing at the plate and Kaoru's shirt, and Kaoru looks at him blankly. His poker face is nearly a mask, and it is unflinching.
Hikaru tries to take the plate away, and that's when Kaoru snaps to attention, his face going ugly with rage. He's talking now, probably loudly, with his face blotchy. Kyoya is close to him, wishing not for the first time, that he can touch, fix, and be there to do something.
Hikaru sinks to his knees and grabs Kaoru's navy pink shirt, and he's crying. Kyoya doesn't want to be here anymore, and for the first time, he leaves at will.
He wanders for a countless amount of time. He falls in love a few times with moments. He witnesses several proposals, a few heartbreaks, and many unexpected family moments that make him feel jealous and content at the same time.
We go through life, we play pretend
Act like it doesn't have to end
It's all alright until your friend runs a red light
You watch his car burst into flames
Love is...
Pain
Love Is Pain// FINNEAS
He is wandering a meadow, a tourist spot, no doubt ripe with bright life and flowers. There is so much life; now he wants to inhale the scents to see if the smell is as lovely as the colors. He wants to get his easel, colors, and canvas and try his best to memorialize it. Has he ever wanted to do such a thing?
He's so caught up in thinking of how he would paint a magnolia tree that he fails to notice the man, just as beautiful, sitting under it.
He looks almost peaceful, sitting with his eyes closed and face relaxed though unsmiling. But then his eyes snap open, and he seems so expressionless that Kyoya feels a stab of apprehension. How much time has passed? Why was Tamaki sad now? Didn't he have a baby, a child? What could have him here alone?
Why was he alone?
The world swirls in a blur of fantastic color, and the sky has dimmed, the sun much lower than it was before. Tamaki's arms are looped loosely around his knees, a magnolia in hand. He admires that specific flower even as he is surrounded by them, all fallen and wilted. He brings the flower to his nose and inhales peacefully, and Kyoya relaxes. He could live vicariously through Tamaki. He's had practice. Tamaki lives with enough joy and bravery for Kyoya to be content looking on.
He could spend his afterlife like this. Watching and--
But then Tamaki rips it all away. He drops the magnolia onto his palm and closes a fist around it. Tamaki's knuckles are a bright, violent, white.
Tamaki opens his palm and seems unsatisfied by how the flower is simply crumpled. He proceeds to tear each petal off and then tear it further, his face contorted with something desperate. His mouth moves over a noise, but Kyoya can't hear and is grateful.
Kyoya turns away, unable to watch, and he is flying, swimming, falling, or running. He is not sure. It's not like he has a body to do this with.
He just is.
And he needs to be away, away from the pain, somewhere where the love is sweet, innocent, and straightforward.
Could I get a rewind?
Get another chance, take it back in time
'Cause I don't know what to do
With everything I'm going through
Little League// Conan Gray
A man in his older years walks in a beach of magnolia blooms, smiling softly. He sees a woman, with streaks of beautiful grey in her hair, and smiles widely. He drops to one knee, takes her weathered hand into his hold and pressed a chaste, loving kiss, on her knuckles.
They don't speak and they don't have to. With the kiss and kneel alone he had asked for his favor.
She smiles gently, lovingly.
That is her answer.