The phone rings. Once, twice, a third time. Ordinarily it would be that loud, brash, annoying song His Majesty has set as his ringtone on everyone's phone, but things have changed recently. Lots of things.
He lets it go to voicemail, and slowly gets up from the sofa where he had been reclined in a position which, were it just about anyone else, it would have looked like a man at ease. On him, however, with his normally birch-straight posture, even in private, it was a sign of internal turmoil.
Things hadn't been right for a few weeks now, to the point where even Mori-sempai had noticed, and was beginning to give him concerned looks when he thought Kyoya wasn't looking. Part of Kyoya wished he could just admit that the situation was beyond his control, that he could stop with all the questions rolling around inside him, and just behave like a normal person going through a break-up. But that wasn't his way. No, he and his cursed rigidity had spent the last few weeks staying awake long after he had gone to bed at whatever godforsaken hour of the early morning running algorithms and asking those "what-if" questions he so hated for their impracticality. He hated himself for thinking about them, because he knew they were a waste of time. He hated himself for being so angry all the time. He hated himself for not being able to let go. He hated himself for not being enough.
It's funny, when you think about it, how rarely things turn out as you might expect. For all the planning in the world, sometimes you can't fix what's broken, and that planning turns out to be the thing that sends everything to hell, try as you might to avoid it. Or at least, that's how Kyoya views his role in the situation. He spent so much of his time trying to be what Tamaki needed, trying to make improvements to himself to be a better person for him. He tried so hard to keep from being that same cold, calculating person he had been for so long before he met Tamaki.
Kyoya, I don't know that I can keep doing this. I feel like you're not being yourself with me, like being with me is making you so…tense. I need you to be who you really are for me, can you do that?
No, Tamaki. This is who I am. Am I not enough for you? Is this not good enough?
Things had gotten ugly very quickly after that. Kyoya hadn't been to the Host Club in three weeks, two days, and seventeen hours. He couldn't look Tamaki in the eye. He had been completing his duties as Vice President from afar, keeping track of the records from a distance with a little help from Haruhi, who seemed to pity him. Although he didn't want her pity, it was easier to face that than to deal with what might happen if he saw Tamaki again in such close quarters. In class of course he was nothing but civil, because it would do his image no favors if everyone were to become aware of what was going on. But he had a neat cover for why he was never around Music Room #3 anymore, saying that he was tutoring the son of one of his father's close friends. It wasn't totally a lie. After all this time, Tamaki's last words still ring just as clear and sting just as much as they did that afternoon.
Well, Kyoya, if you can't be honest with me, I guess we have to break up. I don't want to have to do this, but I need more from a relationship than this. You know where to find me if you change your mind.
But he couldn't do it. And now that idiot was calling him. Again. For the third time that day, the forty-eighth time since the day he decided to end things. Why did he keep calling so much? Did he really just want to rub it in that badly, how much happier he was alone? Or did he have some other ulterior motive?
Kyoya walks back over to the table by the sofa where he had put his phone earlier. The ringtone these days is that cold, mechanical default ringtone. But he still knows who it is. He's been calling three times a day, at the same times every day for a two weeks and two days. At first Kyoya thought about picking up the phone, listening to whatever moronic thing Tamaki would have to say to make him feel better. He even thought about telling him that he would change, that he could change, stop being so uptight. But that would only end in more hurt for the both of them. He puts the phone back on the table for now. It will stop ringing eventually, and Kyoya will be left in peace. Alone.
Isn't that what you always wanted? a voice asks.
Maybe before. But now, I just miss having someone there to let me not have to be the one in control of me for a little while.