Okay, this has got to be the longest one-shot I have ever written. No joke... *sigh* So, I've been watching Ouran High School Host Club lately, and this little plot bunny kind of hit me. It's rather lame, honestly. *pokes it* Ah well... I thought it would be interesting to throw Kyoya Otari and Ami Mizuno together, because they're so alike.
So, here it is. :)
It was customary for the Otari family to take frequent tours through all of their company buildings. Since Mr. Otari was an extremely busy man (not to mention his health was beginning to fail, but it wasn't spoken of in public), he oftentimes sent his three sons and his daughter to regularly check on the statuses of the hospitals and other healing facilities spread all over Japan.
And so it was that the youngest of the Otari children found him-self entering the newest edition to his father's business empire. He wasn't entirely troubled to remember the name of the facility, but he did recall it had taken quite a few million yen to pay for all the construction fees, and they currently had six hundred professionally trained doctors and nurses on staff.
"You honor us with your presence today, Mr. Otari," the pleasant faced superintendent said in greeting with a slight bow. "Won't you please come with me? I will direct you around our facility; nothing is held back from you."
"Yes, thank you." He paused to push his glasses further up on his nose and then followed the woman.
The walls were a crisp white, matching the unstained professional level of all the Otari facilities. If he were not focused on inspecting every inch of this particular hospital, perhaps he would have smiled a little.
The grand opening of this particular facility had occurred a week prior, and though none of the Otari's had been present, it was still a grand occasion. He saw quite a few patients already, each one under the meticulous care of the staff. He made a note on his clipboard to review each file personally and provide a raise to those exceeding their expectations.
"This here is our private ER," the superintendent said, her voice still a bit too pleased. He frowned a little, sensing her nervousness. It wasn't every day the son of the one of the wealthiest men in Japan visited. "As you can see, our top-class surgeons are hard at work."
He clicked the pen and scribbled another note on the clipboard, barely glancing at the team of surgeons in the next room, separated by glass, who appeared to be in the middle of an organ transplant. He glanced at the superintendent and she flashed an over-eager smile in his direction.
"Carry on," was all he said, and she nodded just as enthusiastically.
The superintendent babbled on about the new hospital for the remainder of the tour, and even though he kept up his detached façade, he was impressed. His father had really outdone himself; no other hospital in all of Japan could rival one under the name of Otari.
Just as they were reaching the realm of private offices, a door leading to one of the corridors specifically for patients burst open, and a young doctor hurried out.
She had a clipboard clutched to her chest, and her white lab coat hung down at her knees. It was not buttoned, and she was wearing a grey skirt and a cream colored blouse underneath. Her icy blue hair (he idly wondered if she'd had it dyed?) shaped her heart-shaped face in a simple bob-cut, and her bangs were kept back with a simple black hair barrette. Her heels clicked on the tile floor with her fast movements, and she didn't appear to be in any frame of mind to notice anyone.
"Who is that woman?" he asked the superintendent, when the doctor had passed.
"Oh, that is Dr. Mizuno; she is one of our most valued staff here. She is an eight year university student, one of the finest I have ever seen. Would you like an introduction, Mr. Otari?"
"No, that won't be necessary." He clicked the pen again, pocketing it in the front of his jacket. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Suziko; I believe that will be all. You may expect me periodically throughout the week."
The superintendent bowed, a pleased smile still stretched across her face. "Oh, thank you Mr. Otari; we look forward to seeing you again."
He nodded once, tucking the clipboard under his arm, and walked purposefully after the young woman known as Dr. Minuzo. She was different somehow, a blessed change than the empty-headed superintendent appointed over this facility. Perhaps if he got to know her better, he could appoint her superintendent instead. He wasn't entirely certain of the feeling she'd given him, but it was very similar to how he'd felt upon meeting Fujioka Haruhi so many years prior.
Dr. Minuzo turned down another corridor, her pace just as hurried as before. He kept his own pace even; he would catch up with her soon enough, he was sure. The hallway she'd turned into was just as empty as the rest of the hospital; it seemed the staff and the patients preferred to stay in their designated stations and rooms instead of wandering the halls. Just as well, he supposed. There was no one around to get in his way.
She paused in front of an office door and drew out a key from her coat pocket. Curious; he didn't recall the superintendent mentioning the staff (besides the janitors) having any keys. Dr. Minuzo inserted the key into the lock in the handle and turned it, pushing the door open. She seemed to relax then; letting out a slow breath and her shoulders dropping just slightly.
"Dr. Minuzo," he called, and she tensed immediately. Her ice blue hair fell into her eyes as she turned, and her mouth dropped open. "Hold for a moment, if you don't mind. I was just touring the facility, and I couldn't help but notice your harried state. Is something the matter?"
"Kyoya Otari," she breathed, bowing swiftly. Her hair fell forward to hide her face from view.
His brow rose in surprise. So, the staff did recognize him; at least this Dr. Minuzo did. Oddly, it was pleasing. He normally enjoyed having an air of obscurity when visiting his father's facilities; usually only the superintendents recognized him until he chose to reveal himself as an Otari.
"I thank you for your concern, senpai, but nothing is the matter." She lifted her gaze to him, and for a moment his attention was arrested by the brilliant blue of her eyes. He'd heard many young women define a person's eyes of having an effect on them similar to their souls being laid bare, but he knew better than to believe such nonsense. Eyes were simply eyes; they had no special qualities except on a medical scale. However, this woman's eyes…
He quickly cleared his throat, pushing his glasses back up to reach his eyes. "Then please enlighten me to the cause of your rush just a moment ago. I feel as your employer, I should be one of the first to know if something were to go wrong."
"It isn't like that, Mr. Otari, I assure you." She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Are you certain?" He tilted his head to study her, and she remained absolutely still under his gaze. After a moment, he shrugged, and then looked at the door. "And what is this room exactly?"
"This…my office, Mr. Otari." She pushed the door open wider, and he peered inside.
The room was like any other typical hospital office he had seen before. The computer was a newer model capable of keeping track of hundreds of patients' files, and the shelves were lined with paper copies in the instance of an electrical blackout. There was an odd photo here and there on the board behind the computer, most of them depicting the same group of five young women, one of them being Dr. Minuzo herself.
Satisfied, he turned back to her only to have her eyes once again fixed on him. He shifted, adjusting the tightness of his tie, and then held out his hand.
"Your clipboard, Dr. Minuzo."
She handed it over to him without a word, though a brief look of fear flashed across her face. He inwardly smiled; she had something to hide, naughty woman. He flipped through the various pages pinned to the clipboard, most of them being charts of one thing or another, but the last paper in the stack caught his attention.
It was of a different make than the others in the stack, and rows of neat handwriting covered the surface; her handwriting, no doubt. Slowly, he looked back at her, noting how she seemed to swallow only slightly.
"Dr. Minuzo, am I to believe you have been conducting secret analysis studies on this hospitals property, without the permission of myself or the superintendent?"
Her mouth opened slightly, and she nodded as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. "Please Mr. Otari- it was for the benefit of the hospital!"
I shook my head, handing the clipboard back out to her. Her fingers curled around the object, even though her gaze never left mine.
"Perhaps I will speak to the superintendent about this. But, I happen to be feeling in a generous mood today, Dr. Minuzo; but you should know these moods never last long. If I were you, I would finish up whatever research you happen to be conducting and then act like it never happened. Am I clear?"
She nodded, gratitude evident in every part of her he could see. "Thank you, Mr. Otari- you are most kind." She bowed again, and though she had been quick, he still saw her cheerful smile.
Her name was Ami Mizuno, a six year university student with an IQ of around 300. To say he'd been impressed would have been an understatement, but he rarely showed anyone that emotion. Her mother had been a doctor as well, and her father was nonexistent in her life. Just as well, he supposed. It gave good little Ami a fine taste of the harsh realities of an occupation.
She was the quiet sort, more interested in delving into books and personal studies than socializing; though, she had managed to attract the attention of a rather odd group of friends. The five other women in the photograph were quite easy to find, since he knew all the right places. Usagi Tsukino was a housewife, happily married to one Mamoru Chiba, and they were expecting their first daughter. Minako Aino was currently enrolled in a beauty school in France, though her credit card account let him know she was now currently in Japan. Rei Hino was a Shinto priestess, and she was presiding over a small village temple in the mountains. Lastly, Makoto Kino had taken up a position for a cooking magazine in between running her own gourmet food delivery business.
Overall, it was impressive how Dr. Minuzo had made friends with all of these young women. They were so different, but something was holding them together. His curiosity grew until he knew what had to be done. Of course, he would make it seem deliberate; no one would ever be able to accuse him of getting soft, or doing things just out of curiosity.
Prior to his next trip to the hospital, he stopped at a quaint little coffee shop and bought a latte.
"What name do you want on it, sir?" the young man behind the counter asked in a somewhat bored tone. A college student, no doubt attempting to pay his way through his classes.
He smiled. "Careful," he said, all the while ignoring the strange look the man gave him.
Oh yes, revenge was sweet.
The latte was, in one word, frothy. Extra whipped cream with a dusting of cinnamon; not something he would have pinned to Dr. Minuzo. But, people were full of surprises.
He left it on her desk, having obtained an extra key from the superintendent, and made certain the name on the Styrofoam cup was facing perfectly so she would see it.
Back in high school, he'd been known as the Shadow King; cold and ruthless, he was a master manipulator. She would know who had sent the coffee, and perhaps she would fear him like everyone else did. Although, something told the youngest Otari this would not be the case; Dr. Minuzo was not like other people, of that he was certain.
He'd left her office behind, intent on going over the hospital budget with the superintendent, and other important matters. When the day had passed, he bid Ms. Suziko a farewell and walked back the way he came. His route took him straight past Dr. Minuzo's office, but he'd planned that, of course.
Her door was closed and looked, but he noticed a pale piece of paper she'd no doubt left for him. In her neat handwriting and underlined several times was a simple phrase, but it was enough to let him know he was not dealing with an average woman.
I know.
The second time he saw her, she was standing on a busy corner on the street, her knee length coat flapping around her knees. She was holding tight to a scarf around her neck in attempts to keep it from blowing away; the weather had been strangely windy as of late. Her blue hair was in a mess, although he couldn't help but smile just a little.
"Driver, pull over there please," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the young doctor.
The limousine pulled to a stop just next to the confused doctor, and he rolled the window down.
"Mr. Otari, I would say it is a pleasure to see you, but I believe that would be speaking falsely." She bowed slightly toward him, her scarf fluttering in the wind while she held it in place.
His brow rose in surprise; it was not very often his staff was openly hostile to him, and to have such a remark thrown in his face…. On the other hand, it was a refreshing change to the blind compliance he usually received.
"Dr. Minuzo, may I have the pleasure of knowing where you are headed today?" he asked civilly, pushing his glasses back up onto his face.
She blinked at him, no doubt surprised he had chosen to ignore her snide remark. "I was just headed to the other side of town to meet some old friends of mine."
"Then would you allow me the pleasure of driving you there?"
"Oh no, I couldn't-"
He held up a hand. "I insist."
As his tone left no room for argument, she slid into the seat opposite him and told the driver the address of the café she was headed to. For several long minutes, they sat in silence while he kept his gaze fixed on her. She fidgeted with her purse, avoiding looking at him, and then it seemed she could take it no longer.
"Why did you offer to take me?"
"I see no reason why I shouldn't; you are a civil young woman, and as such, you are entitled to every courtesy I can possibly bestow upon you."
She shook her head slightly, and her hair bounced with the movement. "We both know that isn't true, Mr. Otari. You aren't the sort to go out of your way for people, not unless you can gain something by it. So, why did you choose to drive me today? It takes you out of your way, and I cannot possibly divulge anything about myself you didn't already know."
So, she knew his game. He smiled a little. "I must say, you intrigue me, Dr. Minuzo. I wasn't terribly prepared to deal with you, but yet here we are. Now, I must ask you question: what is it you so painfully hide at the hospital? Research of some sort, but what are the specifics?"
She took a quick breath, folding her hands on her lap, and stared straight at him. It was like a shutter closed over her eyes, and he knew she was beyond the average person.
"My mother has been suffering from cancer for quite some time, Mr. Otari, so I conduct my own private research in attempts to ease her pain." She lowered her gaze, and he almost thought he saw her lip tremble.
"Perhaps it is not as serious as I thought, since you happen to be doing something productive in the medical field." He absent-mindedly glanced out the window, and then looked back at her. "I will keep your secret, Dr. Minuzo, as you well know, but it is not without its own price."
"And in what manner would you have me pay?" she asked, tilting her chin upward in an almost defiant manner.
He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open, answering with a customary greeting.
"Are you certain?" he asked after a moment, his blood running cold. Dr. Minuzo frowned a little, her concern evident. He swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat and nodded. "Did he...say anything?"
He listened for another moment, accepting the response in silence, and then he lowered the phone and flipped it shut.
"Driver, please pull over here and allow Dr. Minuzo to get out," he ordered, avoiding looking at her. He pushed his glasses further up onto his nose.
The limousine pulled to a stop and the tuxedo-clad chauffer opened the door.
"Thank you for the conversation, Dr. Minuzo," he said. "I look forward to speaking with you again in the future. You may take your leave now."
He ignored her evident confusion as she stepped out of the vehicle. The driver nodded to her with a small smile, closing the door. Even through the tinted windows, he could still see her; sorrow was in her eyes, and it disgusted him.
"I need to go to my father's house, quickly."
It was midmorning, and only a few more blessed hours before the whole ordeal ended. He turned to view his back in the mirror, frowning just a little. Black really wasn't his color; he'd always preferred the softer tones of blue and gray, but the color was appropriate.
He could hear the guests milling around downstairs. His mother had insisted on a small ceremony, though he couldn't fathom her reason for it. His father had been a respected man in the medical industry; he should have been given a larger funeral. And by larger, he only meant more expensive with more publicity.
His brothers had been disgusted.
They couldn't afford to argue in front of their guests, but he was certain they would have more than one thing to say about the whole affair later when the last friend of his father had departed.
He turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Downstairs, his mother cast him a glance that would have been unreadable to those around them, but he knew it all too well.
I am disappointed in you.
He did not spare her another look, engaging in polite conversation with the guests around him until the ceremony was to begin.
To say he had loved his father would have been false. True, Kyoya Otari respected the man who had helped give him life, and he envied the way his father was able to bring about so much wealth for their family. His father had not spared any expense in giving his three sons the best education they could possibly receive, and he included them in every part of his business ventures. He had learned quickly that there was no way he could love the man he called father; for Kyoya Otari, it just wasn't possible.
As the third son in his family, he was the least likeliest to inherit anything in the company. But his father had presented him a challenge to work hard, and perhaps he would get something out of it.
And so he did.
His father had inspired him, frightened him, and taught him much, but he'd never been able to invoke the emotion of love in his son's heart. To Kyoya, his father was only an important figure from which something could be gained. And he planned to do whatever it took to get it.
The guests had come and gone, each one offering the same monotonous condolences in their own fashion. The butler had closed the door after the last retreating guest, and the Otari family had retreated to the private study.
Only the lawyer had remained to pour over the contents of the late Mr. Otari's will. It was a tedious process, but in the end it was decided.
The company had been divided between the three sons, and a good portion of the late man's wealth had been given to his daughter. The eldest Otari held the most profitable factions of the company, while his younger brother received much the same.
Kyoya Otari was left with the poorly managed components of the company with barely enough revenue to support himself amongst his high society peers.
His father had been kind enough to leave each member of his family with a private letter, and no one bothered to pass them around. His mother started crying immediately in a horrible show of emotion, and his older brothers looked serious. His sister sniffled once but she was putting on a brave face. Bravo for her.
He pocketed his letter after reading it; it was only a small scrap of paper, but it brought a smile to his face. A cold smile, perhaps, but it was a smile nonetheless.
Make it count.
And he intended to do it; for a moment, he had felt the sharp pang of disappointment when he learned his brothers were to inherit the most profitable points of the company, but this was far greater. His father knew him well, and he'd spent his last few hours gracing his youngest son with the greatest inheritance possible. He would rise above his brothers; it was well known amongst the family that his brothers were not as business-savvy as their father, which explained why they received the best of the company. It was a well-oiled machine, and they would have no problems running it.
But Kyoya Otari was a different story altogether, and he would make it count.
It was a shame he hadn't been there to say goodbye, but it didn't really matter. His brothers and sister were the sentimental type, not he. Emotions only made your heart rate increase and your face turn an ugly shade of red.
He threw himself into his work after that; his mother often chastised him for skipping the family meals or important social functions, but her words fell on deaf ears.
He didn't visit the hospital again.
He was surprised when his cell phone rang with an unidentified number. He had most of his father's personal business friends programmed into the device, and his immediate family was always on speed dial.
He flipped it open with a standard greeting, adding a barely-remembered, "Kyoya Otari speaking," to the end.
"Mr. Otari, I was hoping to reach you." The voice on the other end was feminine, pleasant. It stirred a memory from years prior, but he couldn't quite place it.
He pushed away the prints of the daily stocks, looking out the window at the spacious garden at the Otari mansion.
"May I inquire who is calling, and how you received my private number?"
"My name is Ami Mizuno, and I believe I owe you a favor." She paused, and the memory of the pleasant-faced doctor came rushing back to him. "I would like to ask you to meet me at a small sandwich shop tomorrow at one thirty; and that would mean I would owe you two favors." She rattled off an address, which he recalled to be near a small park, and then she bid him goodbye.
She didn't even know if he would come.
His mother seemed surprised when he announced he was going out for the afternoon. He was dressed casually; as casual as a multi-billionaire could dress, that is. He decided on khakis and a dress shirt with a brown leather jacket. He opted out the tie with the idea it would be too flashy, although he had no way of really knowing what Dr. Minuzo was expecting.
He took his motorcycle instead of the limousine; it was more personal, and he had an odd feeling she would like it. He wore his full-faced helmet with the tinted visor, and it took him no time at all to reach the shop she had suggested over the phone.
He parked the bike to the side of the shop and left the helmet there. He combed his fingers through his hair and replaced his glasses on his face, and then went inside.
She was already there, sitting at a table by the window with a mug of tea in front of her. She had her chin propped up on one hand and she was staring out absent-mindedly. Her blue hair was still styled in the same bob-cut, and she had a jeweled barrette keeping her bangs to the side. She was wearing a simple flowered dress and black Oxford shoes, and she had a white sweater draped over the back of the chair.
He stopped at her table and cleared his throat gently. She looked up at him, her blue eyes startled but she quickly smiled.
"I didn't think you'd come," she said, motioning toward the chair opposite her.
He pulled it out and sat down, keeping his gaze fixed on her. "I couldn't likely ignore the chance at a second favor from you," he answered. "Now, tell me why you asked me to come here today."
"First, let's order lunch." She slid the laminated menu toward him, and it reminded him of one of those cheap restaurants Tamaki had dragged him to while he was dating Haruhi. "I already decided on the turkey cheddar; which do you favor?"
He glanced over it quickly and ordered salami on rye and a glass of white milk. She looked surprised at the choice but said nothing.
When the waitress had come and gone with their meal, Dr. Minuzo looked him in the eye and spoke one of the most profound statements he had ever heard.
"I believe I have you figured out, Mr. Otari."
He raised a brow, setting the glass of milk back on the table. "Oh?"
She nodded. "Yes; you see, I've been following news of you, and I heard about your father. I wanted to offer my condolences first, before anything else. The hospital organized an hour of silence for his passing, and I happened to be working during that hour."
"I see…" He looked down at the sandwich still sitting untouched before him. "Thank you."
The silence between them stretched, and he caught his attention once again focused on her. She was already studying him in a manner which reminded him of a microscope, and it was the first time he had ever felt uncomfortable under someone else's gaze.
"As I said, Mr. Otari, I believe I have you figured out, and I wanted to face you to see if my assumptions were correct."
He waved a hand toward her for her to continue, and a ghost of a smile lit up her face.
"You are a lonely man, Mr. Otari; I've seen your type before many times over. Your parents lavished every kind of love upon you, upon your brothers, and upon your sister, but they didn't know how to love you. So, you couldn't love them in return. Instead, you wrapped yourself in the one thing that could absolutely bring you happiness: money."
She paused, taking a sip of the tea before her. He tore his gaze from her to the scenery outside; it was pure chance this place wasn't busy. Only a few other customers appeared to be interested in the small joint, so their conversation was going unnoticed.
"People call you a machine, incapable of actual feelings," she continued, staring at him, and it was like she was ripping open his soul with her piercing blue eyes. "But I know better, Mr. Otari; you are as capable of feeling as I am. Your passion drives you daily, and while you may look at people around you and they see a man devoid of anything but logic, you really are more than all of that. You're lonely, but no one sees that, so you throw yourself into your work, because that's the only thing that has been able to love you back."
"Stop." He held up a hand, only to realize he was trembling. "How dare you speak of things of which you know nothing?"
"But I do know," she said with even clarity, and he felt his blood go cold. "Your parents were always taking business trips, and your siblings were too busy with their school work to befriend you. As the third son, you felt the need to be acknowledged by someone, so you turned to your own studies. When your family realized how distant you were becoming, they tried to reach out to you but you pushed them away. Your work and money were the only things to bring you comfort; the rush of a business deal, the thrill of a deal gone right- those are the things that bring you the most pleasure."
He stared at her, too shocked to say anything. The casual gleam in her eyes had faded away to be replaced with a cold edge, and he recognized it all too well.
He pushed the chair back, causing it to scrape loudly against the floor. He tossed some money on the table, enough to cover both their meals, and stalked out to his waiting motorcycle.
She didn't follow.
It was the first time Kyoya Otari had ever been drunk.
He drank on occasion, during those silly charity balls his mother hosted or during meetings with his father's business associates. But he'd never been able to feel the full effects of the wine before.
Until now.
He didn't understand how she'd seen through him; she knew him better than he knew himself, though as he sifted through his memories and the layers of character he'd added to himself over the years, it was all true. Somehow, she had pinpointed everything about him, and they had only ever met on three occasions.
His mother and siblings were concerned; they hovered by the door but never entered. They'd never seen him like this, and it frightened them.
To admit he was just as frightened was impossible, but it was true. He'd never seen anyone pick him apart so easily; not even his own parents had known what to make of their strangely distant son.
He remembered cursing at her, slandering her name with all the foul things of the world. But in the end it didn't matter.
He woke up on the couch of the study with a half empty wine glass on the table and a terrible headache.
It was her number he dialed.
They agreed to meet at an old wine shop. He showed up an hour early, still suffering from a hangover. His mother had tried to talk him out of going, but he didn't listen. It was nothing new to her.
It was quiet, a blessed change from the strange silence in the Otari mansion. The air was warm, and the clerk behind the counter greeted him with a warm smile. It was like he was just another customer perusing through the selections of wine available- even if he was a little bit drunk still.
She arrived on time, and he had the chance to watch her before she noticed him. She was wearing gray slacks and a silk white blouse with a navy blue sweater. A silver bangle gleamed on her wrist, and she had a silver barrette pinning her bangs back.
"Dr. Minuzo, thank you for agreeing to see me today." He stepped out from behind the rack of wine, leaning gently against it and folding his arms.
She smiled when she saw him, the light of the expression meeting her eyes. "Mr. Otari, it was my pleasure. How can I be of assistance to you today?"
"Today, there is nothing either of us can assist the other with. Today, we are simply here for wine."
They walked through the wine shop, picking out a bottle of a French Chardonnay, and then spent the next three hours walking through the park across the street. Words were scarce, and he wasn't entirely certain of what they were doing, but she had managed to shake him to his core.
She was dangerous, so he planned to keep her close. What woman couldn't resist his charm, cold as it was? He would mold her until she was so dependent on him, she wouldn't be able to see how deeply she'd been played.
It was too bad Mizuno Ami saw right through his game.
He tried wooing her, twisting her to fit him, but she still remained the quiet, intelligent doctor he'd met at the hospital. He wasn't one to spend money on useless flowers, but he sent them to her anyway. She never mentioned them when they met, because they only spoke on trivial matters.
He took to drinking more often, much to his mother's concern. She knew better not to say anything to him, lest she provoke him to violence. He was unstable, feeling cold and then burning in the next moment. No matter what he did, Mizuno Ami could not be controlled.
He hated the sense of loss he felt daily; for once, all of his scheming and manipulation wasn't working, and it frightened him. He was so used to being in control, and the one person who could possibly bring him down would not be swayed.
As he sat nursing another glass of wine, his cell phone rang. He recognized her number, but he didn't answer it. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had broken him. Humiliation was not an option.
She trailed him to Souh Tamaki's house one day. She had a sleek silver car, though he didn't recognize the model. But he recognized her, and he determined she would not know his destination. He requested the driver turn down a side street, and he would walk the rest of the way.
She parked as well and got out, tucking her hands in the pockets of her beige coat. Her heeled boots clicked on the pavement, and he could hear it above the daily nose of the street. She kept her pace even, obviously in no hurry to catch him.
He paused in front of a jeweler's store, hunching over as if to study the display. She stopped a few steps away, her blue eyes fixed on him. He could see her in the window's reflection; she stood there so calm, so in control.
"Mr. Otari," she said at last, and he forced his gaze on her. She looked so petite, standing there in her beige coat and her knee-high boots. She had a gray knit hat on the back of her hair, and a silver butterfly clip keeping her bangs away from her eyes.
"Dr. Minuzo," he greeted, nodding stiffly in her direction, and it was not lost upon him how her eyes saddened for the briefest of moments.
"I still owe you two favors; more, if the flowers are anything to judge by."
"Is that all you came out here to discuss? I happen to be a very busy man, Dr. Minuzo, and I happen to not need those two favors. In fact, I don't think I will ever need a favor from you again."
She nodded slightly and turned to go, only to stop a moment later. "Mr. Otari, it has been a pleasure getting to know you," she said softly.
And she walked away.
He stared after her, shocked at the quiet manner of her goodbye. It was so like Minuzo Ami, and when she disappeared around the corner, a great ache settled across him.
Time was no comfort to him. He would wake in the middle of the night with dreams of her consuming his mind. His work was not important, and even though he forced himself to sign business deals and pay attention to the stocks, he would often think of the certain blue-haired doctor who had managed to unsettle him so greatly.
He would pull out his cell phone and stare at her number (he had programmed it since he'd been so intent on wooing her), but he couldn't bring himself to call her.
If his family noticed a change, they didn't say anything. It was just as well they didn't. He didn't know what he would have said if the approached him about his problem.
During the day, he would wonder what she was doing. He already knew the answer; she would have thrown herself into her work at the hospital. He could picture her bent over her desk, gaze fixed on the computer screen, while a half-empty latte sat untouched beside her. He wondered if she still pinned her bangs back with those silly little barrettes, or if she was wearing the lemon verbena perfume he'd bought her.
But, overall, he just wondered how she was doing.
When his mood changed, he cursed her for wreaking such havoc on his life. He couldn't focus, couldn't sleep; and his attempts at civility with his family had never been worse. She was a vixen, a siren- anything he could think of that could explain why he was falling apart. He couldn't keep her out of his mind, and he feared he was going insane.
"We think you're in love," the twins said during one visit to his mansion. They grinned at him with their insufferable grins on their insufferable little faces, and he had half a mind to strangle both of them.
Tamaki was not helping matters, spouting some ridiculous monologue on the privileges of love. If Kyoya had been of a better mind, he would have tolerated his friend's speech.
"We think you're in love," the twins said during one visit to his mansion. They grinned at him with their insufferable grins on their insufferable little faces, and he had half a mind to strangle both of them.
Tamaki was not helping matters, spouting some ridiculous monologue on the privileges of love. If Kyoya had been of a better mind, he would have tolerated his friend's speech.
"Shut up, please," he said, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh.
Before the overdramatic man could so much as blink, Haruhi stepped in.
"Listen senpai, just because some girl has you all strung up doesn't mean you have to go around making everyone feel terrible about themselves. Just call her and tell her how you feel." She shoved a phone in his direction, and then turned to the others. "Give him some privacy, guys."
They stalked out, but Tamaki put a hand on his shoulder in silent support before leaving as well.
Calling her was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Just to get in the right mood, he changed into one of his finer suits- a gray one with a silk lining. He polished off his glasses and brushed his fingers through his hair, clicking the number labeled with her name.
It rang for what seemed an eternity and then switched to her voice mail. It was surprising; he'd never encountered it on her phone before. She must have been working.
He intended to call her later, focusing instead on reading up on the daily business news. He waited until it was after the general work period and called her again. She still didn't answer, so he left her a brief message.
She didn't call back, which only served to infuriate him further. He determined to reach her in any way possible. He called her multiple times a day, each time reaching the same unwelcome voice mail. He started pleading with her on each message, anything to get her to answer.
Tamaki and Haruhi were his strongest supporters; they asked questions about the mysterious woman he'd come to know and why she was affecting him so strongly.
He didn't think he loved her, but he needed to talk to her. Whatever she had done to him, he needed to know he was still in her good graces.
It was the first time a woman had affected him like that. Haruhi had come close, but he'd known from the start she was meant for Tamaki. And, Haruhi hadn't been able to read him that well.
Nothing like Mizuno Ami had done.
The memory of Mizuno Ami had faded until he could only remember a head of blue hair and a charming smile. He'd forced himself to forget her; what good was remembering a woman who had refused to call him for the past year?
His part of the company had never been more successful. If he continued on his streak of growth, he assumed he would be able to pass his brothers by the time he was in his mid-forties. It was a formidable goal, but he'd thrived on challenges since he was young.
Tamaki and Haruhi had announced the date of their wedding to be in the spring, and even though it was unexpected, the two were marrying in Boston. Takashi was already living there, and he had arranged almost everything for the couple's happy day. The Hitachiin's arranged for Haruhi to have a discounted bridal gown- something their mother had personally designed.
Everything was in place, except for a few phone calls to delegate the company responsibilities to his team, and ordering a first class airline ticket.
It started raining on the way to the airport, and it seemed he would be delayed getting there. Traffic had backed up the streets of Tokyo, and his plane was due to leave in four hours.
He sighed heavily, glancing down at his phone. It hadn't rung once since he left, and he knew he was leaving everything in good hands.
"Is there any chance of a detour?" he asked the driver, but the reply was negative.
So much for making it to Boston in time. He flipped open the phone and dialed Tamaki's number, hoping his best friend would answer.
"Kyoya, thank heaven you called! We've been worried- Hikaru has been trying to call you for an hour. Where are you?"
"Believe it or not, I'm stuck in traffic in Tokyo. My flight doesn't leave for four hours, but I don't think I'll be making it to the rehearsal on time." He glanced out the rain-splattered window, noting the various people rushing around under their umbrellas. "I'm sorry, Tamaki."
"Don't worry about it; as long as you're okay. The rehearsal isn't a big deal; I think we'll have time to squeeze a quick run-through the morning of. I wouldn't want my best man to be out of the loop." He laughed a little, though Kyoya detected a hint of nervousness to his friend's tone.
"Relax Tamaki; the rehearsal will go smoothly. I'll be there when I can."
After a few more shared words, the two men disconnected.
The traffic didn't ease up any faster. Kyoya rapped on the window separating the limo cabin from the driver's seat. "Pop the trunk; it'll be faster if I walk."
He stepped out into the rain, opening up the umbrella overhead. He took his suitcase from the driver, thanking the man, and then stepped onto the sidewalk.
What had started as a drizzle turned into a full-fledged rainstorm. In moments, he was soaked through and decided against the umbrella. It was too cumbersome to carry with the suitcase and while dodging around other people unfortunate enough to be out in the rain.
He paused on a street corner next to a young woman under an umbrella. She had a beige coat wrapped around herself and the umbrella perched on her shoulder, obstructing Kyoya's view of the street. After a moment she stepped off the sidewalk onto the street.
She didn't see the taxi.
He grabbed her elbow, pulling her back onto the sidewalk as the car passed, spraying them with water. He turned her, receiving most of the water (he was thankful he'd chosen not to wear a suit today) on his back, but it barely registered.
Her.
They sit in a little café across the street and just talk. He's glad to hear her voice again, and even though he was busy cutting business deals and flying over Asia, Europe, and the rest of the world, he realizes just how much he missed her.
She smiles at him above her latte; it's the same flavor she's always loved with the same sprinkling of cinnamon over top. He ordered plain black coffee; his father had told him once a true business man doesn't try to sweeten life. He needed it strong or not at all.
She smiles at him, and he notices it's hesitant. He thinks back to all the times he called her, all the times he sent her flowers, and all the times they met to talk.
And he realizes just how fake he was.
They talk about the wedding, and she asks him to pass on her congratulations. He tells her isn't sure if he'll make it now, and he oddly doesn't care.
He asks her where she's headed, and if she's still working at the hospital. She tells him she was off to meet some friends, and she relocated to a pregnancy health center downtown. Somehow, that fits her so much better.
When they get up to leave, he helps her with her coat and she smiles up at him as if everything he'd done in the past never existed. Her eyes are so innocent, and it hurts. Just before they step outside into the rain again, he tells her how sorry he is for everything.
She doesn't say anything, only smiles up at him like he's the best thing that's ever happened to her, and lays a hand over his heart.
The next time he calls, she answers.