My Dear Twin Brother

by Literate

And now that they were together again, one whole, two halves, they didn’t want to let go. An AU Twin Tale.

I'm not going to say how long I've had this done and finished and sitting on my hard drive just waiting to be posted. Maybe three months, maybe more. This is just an idea I had that I could expand on, if they were ever separated. There might be a second part, might not, depends on the inspiration I get. :D

Warning: Some violence, some profanity, lots of angst, fluff, and rated T. ... Ever notice how most of my stories end like this? AU, of course, because it could never have happened in Ouran. And before anyone asks... yes, they were adopted. Just to clear some confusion early on.

Disclaimer: ... I own an artistic liscense to do whatever I want to said characters. I just need the actual permission from the brilliant mangaka who was not me and then maybe I own the characters. xD

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Had I not my twin brother-

-my dear twin brother

-would I have lived?

-8-

My amber eyes were slits as I stared at my messy bed head in the mirror. Sighing, I took my toothpaste and dabbled some onto my toothpaste and brushed my perfect teeth (literally!) quickly.

I hated school. Luckily, I would be graduating from middle school in a year.

In a year.

I heard high school was hell, but that doesn't matter.

If it was hell, then it was hell. Just five more years until I become an adult.

Which was why I loved high school, even if I've never gone through it yet.

Middle school sucks and college just scares me.

I spat out the toothpaste and rinsed off my mouth quickly. Grabbing a nearby comb, I brushed it through my shoulder length hair quickly. Some of my classmates thought it was so soft and just the right shade of brown, but I know they were just saying that so they could braid it up and whatnot.

Some times, girls annoyed me. They're so loud, annoying, chit-chatty, and all they cared about was going out with guys. When they're thirteen!

Other times, I wondered what was wrong with me.

"Ito Kaoru, you done yet? We're leaving in five minutes!" my mother's shrill called up to the floor above. She was so loud, I swear, I could hear her from a mile away.

"Alright, alright!" I called back to her, walking casually out of my personal bathroom. My eyes ran over my bedroom; it was clean, neat, everything was in it's place if my annoying little brother didn't come and mess everything up again. My bed was neatly made, and the desk was cleared off. I opened up my closet and nonchalantly took out my school uniform: a "cute" brown blouse with a white-striped tie and a long black skirt.

That's right. I was a girl. Or did I sound so ambiguous that I sounded like I was a guy?

I shrugged my pajama shirt (a horrid light green cotton that was too hot to sleep in) and placed my blouse over my top, which, still, was underdeveloped. I pulled on my skirt; everyday I tested whether to slip it over my neck before pushing it down or pulling it up my legs.

As long as the damn thing was on me, it didn't matter.

And off to hell I went.

-8-

I never fitted in.

It was that I was either a weak shrimp that half the bigger and meaner classmates could pick on or I was a elusive troublemaker that everyone hated for bringing trouble onto them.

But I never fitted in.

I wasn't one of those geeks who constantly wandered the halls talking about some supernatural force. I wasn't one of those jocks who could pin a guy down in an instant. Hell, I wasn't even an average person at all.

I was a freak.

I got straight As.

I got into trouble.

Teachers caught me, parents talked, and I was generally a nuisance at home and at school.

I averted my golden eyes away from the teacher, placing one leg over the other, the pant material sliding against the other. They were talking about that again: about transferring out of my school, about possibly getting home schooled, since obviously someone didn't know how to make trouble and get away with it unscathed.

My classmates caught me, my teachers caught me, my parents caught me.

Yep, I was definitely a troublemaker of a lifetime.

"Hotaru Hikaru."

I turned my icy glare away from the shriveled up plant and placed it onto my student counselor. He was this old thing, very short, with beady black eyes, graying and balding, what a wonderful combination.

"Hikaru, next time if any of the students provoke you in anyway, tell it to me."

Hell no, I wouldn't. That would make me even more of an outcast.

I simply snorted in response and stared out the window, "What if it isn't any of my fault?"

"It has to be."

There. It's always my fault; always my fault that I provoked them, that I got beat up, that I was generally alive.

I folded my arms; the air was getting chilly, the air conditioner must've been broken. The old man sighed and, seeing nothing else that could be done, turned away from me. I, taking that as a sign that I was dismissed, stood from my seat, and walked easily over to the door. The blank-tinted glass showed me my own reflection, and it was the first time that I've seen myself in a long time.

My mouth was bleeding, scratches were on my cheek. There were countless bruises on the rest of my body, but with my school uniform on, you couldn't have told any difference.

I lowered my eyes and pushed the door open.

My bones were aching, every step I took was bones against bones, sliding against each other. I was frail, that was sure of it, I wasn't meant to be hit hard, especially not after being ganged up by a dozen guys from the soccer team. I examined a dark bruise around my wrist, pushing my jacket sleeve up.

It hurt.

Bruised bones, deep cuts, they all hurt as much as the words that sliced through me whenever they administered pain.

It hurt.

All the times no one listened to my cries of pain, hurt, all the times where everyone turned their backs on me.

I was used to it, but it still hurt.

Hurt to have no one to care.

School was hell. But if I died in it, would I go to paradise?

-8-

Locker room seemed to be the time where the world decides to smash my face into reality and rub it into cold, hard, black sand.

"Ohayoo, Kaoru-chan," one of my classmates called to me, smiling one of her toothed smiles at me.

I blinked, before replying with an emotionless, "Ohayoo," and tottered off with no care at all. My voice; it was a difference. Since I was little, I had always been on the same tone as all the other high-pitched girls; but where they've taken on a lighter chirpy tone, my voice stayed at a monotone level, just a little lower than when I was seven.

I placed my relatively light bag onto the bench, and attempted to open my locker. Combinations were easy, but keys? I lost them all the time. After what seemed like forever, I slammed the locker open and fumbled for my change of clothes. I sighed in annoyance before peeling off my blouse.

"Eh? Kaoru-chan, you're still flat?" an annoying girl pestered me, and I fought an irritated glance and continued to take it off. "I thought you would've gotten it long time ago, your height and age considered."

I pulled on my T-shirt with nonchalance. I knew what she had said was true; I was one of the tallest in my class, and I was fourteen. Most of my girl classmates have already experienced puberty already. But, since I was ten, I knew it would only been a matter of time. Probably ten years since those who were really late got it when they turned sixteen.

It wasn't that I was overweight; in fact I had a perfect structure, perfect in every place it didn't matter. Apparently, some of my shorter classmates were often going out already, while I strictly avoided boys. It was unnerving to have them constantly ask why I haven't "filled out yet." I still never understood that term. My annoyed amber eyes searched my gray locker for anything else I had to bring.

It was probably because I was boring; I never did anything that was always on the spotlight, or news. Nothing, I was popular, yes, among most of the girls and some guys, but I wasn't known. I was an enigma; no one knew who I was. No one knew where I went after school; no one knew my favorite subjects; no one knew me, they didn't know my likes, dislikes, only preferences. They didn't know anything.

And I liked it that way.

No one deserved to.

Every last of one them; they're just people. They're not like me; they're just there to exist.

My mother, who blindly complimented me; my father, who hardly even looked at me; my grandmother, who spoiled me from I was little. My classmates, who only cared about my appearance.

No one cared for me, while I cared for them. Wasn't I the one who they turned to for help? Advice? Assistance?

Caring was a trait that I'd never outgrow.

But affection and adoration was something I would never give away.

-8-

They said I had to stop it.

Stop what? I asked innocently.

Stop acting like you own the world.

And with rainfalls of punches and tornadoes of kicks for a full twenty minutes, I was left all alone again.

Everyone hated me. Really, they knew my weaknesses, they knew me, but they didn't know, they didn't understand.

I hated them too. See, reciprocation. I hated their false lying words, I hated the lack of truth, I hated that while they could create trouble and get away with it, they could decide their own punishment for me, just because I broke the rules.

I scoffed. As if they didn't.

I slowly picked myself up from the floor, wincing at every movement I made. There was not a bit of compassion, no one to help me, no one to care. The guys here were jerks, the girls were self-centered.

No one helped me, no one could help me. They pretended to. But in the end, they were all liars.

Trust was something that I had for much too long.

I cautiously wiped at my new bruises; how would I explain to my parents now? They even got blood on my white shirt, and my entire left sleeved was ripped off. My parents, of course, cared more about their money than me. In fact, they neglected me for most of my life.

Were they there when I said my first word? Were they there when I became sick for the first time? Where they there when I brought home my very first report card? Did they ever care about me? In all my fourteen years of living, did they even care about my well-being?

And about how I'm slowly being torn to shreds?

No, they didn't even look at me. They were too ashamed of their only son's condition that they didn't even come home to see me; they even acted like I didn't exist.

I laugh hollowly to myself, as I limped slowly, blinding to the infirmary. I must've gone there so many times, to patch up my wounds, to have the nurse call the principal, to get a pass for the next day to rest, so many times that I subconsciously knew the way around any part of the campus to that one place where I could safety rest, while the nurse made sure none of my wounds would be infectious.

Maybe that's why I smiled slightly at her in thanks. But it looked more like a wince. Which was good.

Because I never smiled at all.

Not to my parents, not to my peers, not to anyone.

After all, what point did it make? That I was happy? -while I'm not.

-8-

My smile was always hollow. Empty. Devoid of all emotion. The girls affectionately called me "the rock." The guys called me stoned. I shrugged, didn't think there was any difference, and threw a book at the guys.

My eyes were always blank. Shallow. Hard to read. Girls commented heartily that my eyes always scared the guys away. The boys just stared; then told me my eyes were nice. I rolled these "nice" eyes and walked off.

I was empty. I questioned my own physical identity whether there was any chance I was a transsexual or a guy, and I thought about unnecessary things, such as where I was born, why my younger brother bore no resemblance to me, and if by any chance I had an older brother, to perhaps make my boring life much more exciting, much more easier, and less tedious to even live it.

But, after fourteen years of my life, I got used to it.

I was entirely emotionless, I lived life just because I had to live it. I had no purpose in life at all, so I aimed to make most of this purposeless life.

That's why I was still single, not that I didn't like being single.

I was independent. It was my charm, my mother said. That I would take most things and do them myself, that I stubbornly refused help on anything.

And that's why she said it was easy to take care of me, as compared to my younger brother, Ichiro. That I was mellow, kept to myself, and never took "drastic" measures to get something. No, I knew, I was in the middle. If something went my way, I didn't care. If something didn't go my way, I didn't care. If nothing went my way, I didn't give a damn.

I never asked for anything that was impossible.

And that's why, I proclaimed, I was applying to Ouran Private Academy.

Because it wasn't impossible.

My family was rich, towards the middle class, but rich enough to pay my venture into this prodigious Academy. But that was all I'd let my parents do: pay for my tuition.

Everything else, I stubbornly did it myself. No matter how much my mother prevented me from handling all the official documents. Well, maybe she was successful in that.

"Please, okaasan! I need it to apply for Ouran, I'm not going to be hassle any longer," I practically begged her on hands and knees.

"Kao-chan, you don't have to worry about it; I'm going to do it, alright?" she cooed, but I didn't like it at all.

"Okaasan, I want to do it myself!" I demanded, "You don't have to trouble yourself through it! Plus I'm bored! I have to know what I'm doing with my application, alright?"

My mother looked uneasily at me.

"Hitomi, just give it to the poor girl," a sharp tone fell from the stairs. My mother looked surprised at the presence of the elderly woman on the second step.

"Mother," she cried, "You shouldn't be walking down so many stairs."

"Well, I want to, and you can't stop me," she retorted, "Give Kaoru whatever she needs. I thought you always complained that she was trouble taking care of."

My mother nodded quietly, seeing the frown on the elder woman's face. My smile was in a straight line, but I couldn't help thanking the heavens that I finally succeeded in persuaded my mother to relent. She only had been stubborn about my applying for Ouran, but since shooting for skipping grades was impossible, I decided to simply apply for another high school.

I thought it was simply maternal rage that she wanted to dot upon me my entire life, but then I realized that she had always left me to my own devices.

I thought it was strange that she would suddenly care.

My expert fingers flipped open the envelope and out slid all the certificates and all the other paper work in there. My room had a personal copy machine so I could simply scan them over without having to go out to a copy store to get copies like all the rest of the commoners.

My hands stopped in mid-processing and I scanned it over.

I fingered the professional looking paper, and ran my eyes quickly over it, before looking to the title.

Adoption Certificate? I was… adopted?

At first, it clicked; after all, I wasn't very social, and didn't know most of my relatives that well. And they never liked me anyway. It also made sense that Ichiro didn't look like me because he probably was a biological child. With nonchalance, I placed it back into the envelope (Ouran didn't have to know that I was adopted), and pulled out my birth certificate.

Well, so much for something relevant-

My amber eyes widened. I stared in complete shock; it caught me entirely off guard.

Name: Hitachiin Kaoru

Birthday: June 9.

Born to: Hitachiin Yuzuha and Katsuya

Sex: M

I just stared blankly at the last line for a while.

And stared, and stared, and stared.

Did they get my gender wrong? Was I really that hard to tell whether I was male or female? What about my blood? Wasn't I XX? My mind reeled frantically at the massive thoughts and questions that bombarded my mind.

Or maybe this was another Kaoru's birth certificate; yes, this might be it.

But I still wasn't convinced.

After all…

I even had proof.

I remained extremely flat-chested, in fact, I believed somehow they just never developed. I was as tall as most of the guys in my grade, and just like them. My strength was abnormal for a girl, even though I might be considered a weakling with guys. Also, while I did lack a vital male reproductive organ, I did seem to not like guys, unlike the rest of the girls who ogled at them whenever they passed. Even my voice could've been convincingly a male's. In fact, some of my "friends" said that if they squinted one eye a fourth closed and cocked her head twenty-five degrees to the left, she sometimes thought I could be a guy.

I didn't know it, but this time, I wanted to demand an answer out of my mother.

She was nervous. I was angry.

Who hid these kinds of things from their "daughter" anyway? Of all the things, she had to hide the fact that I might've been male with dresses, skirts, and girl things. I had always refused them, asking her why in the world would I wear that when I had comfortable wear?

It seemed that she finally answered.

When I was two, without regarding my age or thoughts, she turned me into a girl.

-8-

I laughed insanely when they finally found out. I knew it all along. They were mortified, their jaws dropped to the ground in sheer shock. I could almost imagine it. Mother's normally wavy brown hair grew frizzled like someone electrified it; Father's eyes widened so much that I subconsciously wondered if he was related to a bug. Then they turned towards me and asked me how this all happened.

Why I let it happen.

It was after another day passed (I didn't care for the date or day; as long I kept going to school, I kept living kept with the torture), and I was just going home. That day, my body received constant torture; the "punishers" had kicked it up a notch, and it hurt so much that I couldn't even walk for twenty minutes straight. I just took shelter within one of the unused rooms of the school, just doing the school work that I was possibly missing. Luckily, that was in the morning; by lunch, I had returned to my maximum functional self, or at least, the most functional after all the beatings that I had taken.

By lunch, they came and amended the laws of nature. Just because I gave them a stink eye and attempted to run away. They completely broke me this time, so much it was emotionally, not to mention physically, scarring. I wasn't screaming though, I had long given up hope that anyone would help me.

But the entire thing was my fault.

I had egoistic pride, they said.

So it was my fault.

I was supposed to be responsible, they said.

So it was all my fault.

And no one paid attention to those who had done it to me in the first place. No one cared for the ones who had mentally and physically tortured me. No one thought they broke the school regulations; in fact, I didn't care about them anymore. All they cared was that I invoked these beatings and that it was right that I got them.

Everyone agreed on that. Yes, nods, hands raised.

Even I thought it was stupid, to get bullied for that.

Yes, all minds agreed. All alike, all saying it was the right judgment-

My body didn't.

It couldn't handle the kicks, the punches, the abuse that it stood up for more than four years. As the days went by, I had to force it to cooperate with me, to force it to school, to force it to stop provoking them.

But teasing was second nature. I couldn't get rid of it. No matter how stubborn I was for saying that I was fine.

They went away, saying how they "taught" me again, leaving me a bloody mess on the ground.

And after the second time within four hours, my body broke.

Shattered, destroyed, my head pounded, my brain fought for oxygen, and my heart almost failed to beat, and for the first time in my life, I was unconscious.

"Hikaru's body is going to collapse at this rate."

Many of the doctors said I had a lot of endurance to make it this far into life and not die. In fact, it was a surprise, to them at least, that I was still alive. I needed to put that on my accomplishments in life: staying alive.

They didn't quite appreciate my joke, so I shut up and leaned back onto the hospital pillows, ignoring the pain in my ribs. I was practically immobile, what fun. My legs were bandaged; they weren't broken, just bruised or cracked. I had no feeling at all in my arms; some doctors even said I probably wouldn't be able to write after I recovered, if I recover. And my eyes; they practically blinded me. So, I couldn't see, and whenever I moved my eyes, it hurt. My head still pounded hard, as if forcing my body to recover. That's the one thing that I would never allow to die, my mind.

Then, it came to me… Why was I was insistent on living?

I wasn't strong when I was born, but I was still living.

I was subjected to daily abuse, but I was still living.

Everything closed around me darkly, but I was still living.

Maybe I've always wanted to say "Hah! I lived, so in your face!" to the sadist that placed me in this hopeless situation.

Maybe, it was my arrogant pride; it was saving me from what it brought to me in the first place.

I was hanging onto the thin threads of life, and the other side was guiding me, subconsciously.

Like some omnipotent, omniscient power.

It made me feel safe.

And it was this that convinced me to live.

-8-

I was a male, XY, and had been physically altered into a girl.

A blood test even proved it; papers for alterations were found.

I was a boy, and it finally occurred to me that the "interested" looks I gave to them were actually looks of jealousy. It wasn't fair that decisions were made without my consent. It wasn't fair that I had to dress like a girl, act like a girl, and do stupid girl things that I wasn't made to do.

Because even if I was "turned" into a girl, they didn't do it completely. They only did the obvious.

And if anything was worse than getting turned into a gender you loathe without consent, without knowledge, it was getting turned into a girl while still retaining some mental, psychological traits of guys.

I couldn't even begin to explain my irritation.

But, I could.

I told the woman who claimed to be my mother that I wanted to be completely XY again.

And she shakily agreed.

If there was one thing that I was ever good at, it was hating.

I hated my family, I hated my classmates, I hated everyone and anyone who were imbeciles and fools. I hated my school, I hated my home, I hated everything that had any remnants of my being who I wasn't ever.

I didn't hate myself, because I wasn't the one to blame. I hated the world. And I hated my life.

So I destroyed all elements of an "Ito Kaoru" ever existing.

Only two hours had passed. They, the doctors, decided to give me a blindfold; something about psychology, whatnot, and getting myself confused, etc., etc. I shrugged and just went along with it. Instead, I felt myself; I ran my hands along my skin, and I found out nothing much really changed about it until I hit there. I promptly stopped and flopped back onto my bed, and tried not to hurt myself from shock.

It was easy to get used to it, especially with the blindfold on. After all, seeing and feeling were two completely different things.

-4-

"Can you stop making all those annoying noises? You're making my ears hurt," someone on the other side of the curtain sneered.

"Well, excuse me," Kaoru rolled his eyes under the blindfold, in partial irritation, "For making your ears hurt. Are they sensitive, or something?" he drawled, annoyed.

"Wow, I didn't know you knew me so well," he could hear the obvious sarcasm in it.

The fourteen year-old sat back into the hospital bed. They had told him that he should stay for at least a week to get adjusted to his situation, and partially to submit the change of name, from Ito Kaoru to Hitachiin Kaoru. Kaoru thought Hitachiin was better anyway, and since he was completely male now, he could use this name.

His stomach growled in hunger. How long had he eaten- oh, that's right. They prohibited him from ingesting anything before he recovered from the exhaustion of surgery. Or something like that.

"Do you know when is lunch time?" he asked curious.

There was a long silence, "How am I supposed to know? I can't exactly stand up and walk to the cafeteria. I long gave up eating anyway."

Kaoru rolled his eyes; boy was this person snappy, "I wasn't asking you for your diet," then a question bugged at his mind, "You can't walk?"

"Apparently. They told me I couldn't." Kaoru could almost imagine a shrug, one that didn't care about what he was saying.

Kaoru sat up and faced where the voice was at. He couldn't see it, the black handkerchief was in the way and actually taped around his head so he couldn't remove it without getting hurt.

"That sucks. How long have you been here?" Kaoru commented, for the sake of conversation.

"Don't know, don't care. Probably around two days, but no one tells me anything."

Kaoru raised a brow, "Can't you tell? The rising and setting of the sun?"

He could hear a snort, "Tell me you're kidding. You can't see it in here no matter how hard you try."

"Oh…" Truth be told, Kaoru himself didn't know what time it was.

"What about you? Why are you here?"

"Hmm? Oh, some surgery stuff… Said I had to stay for two days, to get better."

"Same thing they said to me, stay for one month to recover."

Kaoru's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he was tempted to slide off the bed and try to find the source of the voice, "One month?! What happened to you?"

"…Why in the world do you even care?" he heard curiosity in his voice.

"Um.. Well, I-" Kaoru searched for an excuse.

"I got beat up, okay? Pretty badly, if I heard them right."

"How? Are you in sports?"

"Are you stupid- me, in sports? I pissed some idiots off and they decided to have payback. These idiots were the school jocks."

"What?!" Kaoru almost jumped out of his bed, "Can't your family sue them?" he asked, almost furious. Then he remembered that not everyone can hire lawyers to sue…

"They don't want to. They think this is good experience for me; a near-death experience. Loving parents, aren't they?" he drawled, indifference in his tone. "It was all my fault anyway."

"Yeah, you chose the wrong people to mess with, alright. Very smart."

"I want to see you do better."

Kaoru scoffed, "And what if I can?"

The challenge was unmet.

"You don't know me," there was an accusing defensive tone in it.

Kaoru blinked, was that a reply?

"You don't know how long I had to live with it. Everyday, I'd just say one little thing; in two minutes it spreads to the entire school and ultimately them. No one wanted to be friends with me; the one who thought he 'owned' the world. Truthfully… I didn't even know long I would last in that uncaring environment. I was breaking every day…" his voice broke of there. "Why am I even telling you this?"

"I don't know…" Kaoru replied quietly, "Because you wanted to tell someone…?"

"Everyone knows, you know that. They know, but they don't do a thing about it. I hate that about people."

"I do too. My so-called mother kept many secrets from me, that I was adopted, that I…" he took a deep breath, "I found out though."

"Must be tough."

"I never really fit into "society." I was in the middle, I was neither a girl, nor a boy. It sucked; I got so confused I didn't even know who I was anymore… And I guess I stopped caring about it."

"So you're like a human ice-block. No wonder."

"That's-" Kaoru was about to snap at him, trying to get off the bed while doing so. Completely falling off the bed, he picked himself up painfully, trying to shake it out of him. He tightly closed his eyes, as he forced himself to stand.

"Hey… you alright?" he heard his voice again, this time with a light bit of concern. And then he added the next sentence fearfully, "I didn't mean it you know."

"Well," Kaoru tried to find his way through the blackness that was his blindfold, "That's okay…"

"Oh… Well, then, I'm sorry."

His hand met the cloth that was the curtains. "You know, you'll never get any friends if you constantly apologize," he said with a smirk.

All of a sudden, he felt something warm under his hands.

"… What are you doing?" he heard him ask in curiosity.

He fingered the bandaged hand in his, "You feel it, right?"

Kaoru could almost imagine a nod.

He bit his lip as he felt the frail hand in his, the contours of the thin scars all over his skin, "What happened to you?"

"Well… That's a very long story."

-4-

As promised, two days later, I was dispatched from the hospital. I told him, the person whom I met in the hospital that I would try and visit again, or call at least. After I get used to leading a man's life.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and smiled to myself. Brushing a hair through my short brown hair, I admired the haircut that I had recently gotten. It was good on me; I liked it too. I waltzed into my room, frowning as I found it a mess again under my seven-year-old brother. I picked out my new school uniform: a brown blazer, with a white tie, and a pair of black pants. It's the same as the girl's uniform, I dully noted.

My "mother" said that I should've gone to school much earlier, but I told her I wanted to transfer into Ouran already, instead of waiting for the days to end. Instead, we compromised: I had to go to my regular old school until Ouran accepted my application.

But of course, I had wiped out the existence of Ito Kaoru, and lived my student life as Hitachiin Kaoru.

Then again, it was practice of getting used to my changed body.

I constantly caught myself walking towards the girl's bathroom and locker room. Sometimes I wished the idiots of boys would help in pointing me to the right direction, but they gave me a broad girth, and kept to themselves. After all, strange transfers who looked strangely like one of the most intimidating girls in the class was generally stayed away from. That was what I heard from one of the more loud-mouth guys.

After three days of even more torturous hell of finding where my new classes were, coupled with strange looks in the halls, and constant screaming on the girls' part when I accidentally followed her into the bathroom. After those three days, I realized I needed help.

Guy help.

And I found out, there was only one person that I knew who was male, who I could trust. I bit my lip, trust? I had only known him for several days and I was trusting him? That was… idiotic- I thought, placing the phone back down on the receiver.

Then I remembered what he told me- who told strangers that they were practically disabled? Who told strangers their likes, dislikes, their entire life from birth to present? Who confided their deepest secrets with a stranger?

Who trusted in someone enough to tell them-

"I had always wanted someone to care."

Tears threatened to well up in my eyes; his life story was depressing- he had it harder than I did.

And it was then when I felt guilty for not calling.

-4-

"He's gone…"

"Yes, dispatched about a couple of days ago," the nurse said matter-of-factly as she unwound the bandage that was around my leg.

My voice didn't change, "He's gone."

"He told you he was going to visit, right?" she asked, washing the wound with disinfectant. I could only nod, ignoring the stinging sensation of the alcohol.

It was a nice two days. I got to speak to him; he got to speak to me. As much as I could've gathered, he was adopted and had surgery for something, I really had no idea what. But he was nice. And I felt bad now that's he's gone. I didn't even get his name.

"Who was he?" I whispered, fingering my shattered hand with my good hand.

"Oh, you were good friends with him?" she asked, dismissively, wrapping a roll of tape around the scratch.

I didn't know how to answer; one side of me wanted to say yes, the other side wanted to shake my head.

"Oh, by the way, your parents want to see you," she said, finally taking her hands off my hurt leg.

At that exact moment, the door opened.

I didn't know whether it was fate or destiny, as long as it was a stupid force of nature that I couldn't change.

"Hikaru," I heard my mother's soft voice trying to sway me. "Tell us what happened to you."

Her voice was mellow, but I only shook my head. I couldn't glare at her; it would only put unnecessary stress on my eyes.

"Please, Hika-chan, tell me what's wrong," she cooed, and I heard some shuffling near my right.

"No," and I turned my head away from her.

"Hikaru, do you want to go back to school?" she asked, quiet. I knew she had been intending to ask me this question the entire time. "I looked into the incident further… You did provoke them, a little. But, those people still hurt you. Tell me what happened, Hikaru."

I shook my head stubbornly.

"Hikaru," my father's stern voice called; he was a good deal away, not as close as my mother, "We're trying to help you."

"After I almost died," I whispered, under my breath.

"Say that again?" he commanded, and I felt myself stiffen at his annoyed tone.

"Why are you only helping me now?! Just when the doctors said I would die?! Do you really want me to live that badly?!" I yelled, stretching my body to the limit. My eyes stung, and my chest heaved, "Do you still want me to get hurt?! Do you want me to love you just because of this one thing?!"

I took deep heaving breathes; there, I said it, I said it to them. They pretended to care; they pretended to love me; they're taking advantage of my trust.

Everyone pretended to me. They faked concerned emotion and tried to get me to talk.

But, that's not going to work.

I heard a resounding smack, and my cheek tingled in pain. I kept my face straight, in nonchalance. I expected it from them; they couldn't understand me, so therefore they couldn't love me.

"Hikaru, you ungrateful…" It didn't matter which parent said it; I couldn't tell with my mind in shock. I closed my eyes, but it didn't matter. I couldn't see them anyway.

I didn't want to see them, ever again.

"We raise you and this is what you've become?" my mother's seething tone snapped me out of my thoughts.

"No, mother," I replied meekly, "You didn't raise me."

No, they didn't raise me, they didn't even care for me. They were only pretending.

They were only masquerading as my parents.

A week later, I got worse. I knew I was going to die.

-4-

"Kaoru-neechan?"

"Ara? What do you want Ichiro?" I replied, sighing fumbling with my shirt buttons. "And I'm your older brother, not sister."

"…Then," he blinked, confused, "Kao-niisan, what happened to Kaoru-neechan?"

I smiled slightly, and slipped my tie off with a snap, "Kaoru-neechan is dead."

I enjoyed his horrified look for a second, before patting him on the head and began to slide my shirt off. He ran away before I could scare him anymore. I pulled on a regular orange T-shirt; being rich had it's benefits, because my "mother" already changed my wardrobe.

Then again…

Ichiro wasn't my brother. So I wasn't obligated to be nice to him.

My 'mother' wasn't my mother. So I wasn't obligated to listen to her.

My 'father' wasn't my father. So I wasn't obligated to pay respects.

My 'grandmother' wasn't my grandmother. So I flat out ignored her.

See how familial roles made me obedient?

I flopped onto my bed, and grabbed for the phone on the bedside. Looking at the sheet of paper that I had written down the phone number for the hospital I was in. I couldn't forget that person in the hospital; he was the first person who ever listened to me, paid attention, and relate to me.

No matter how much he said it was his fault, I still thought he was nice.

"Hello, this is the Medical Center-" an attendant spoke, but I cut her off quickly-

"May I speak to the patient in room 507?"

"Oh… 507? Do you have any names?" I could hear some papers flipping, in the background.

I blinked, "No, not a name…" I've never asked him what his name was; I let out a string of colorful curses, thankfully away from the phone receiver.

"The patient is under intensive treatment and can't take phone calls right now."

My mind boggled. Intensive treatment? That didn't sound good.

"Right, Dr. Minamoto wants to talk to you."

Doctor? Oh, the one that had oversaw my surgery. I nodded, replying, "Yes?"

"Is this Hitachiin Kaoru?" Do you need anything?" the man asked.

"Well, I needed some help adapting… so I thought maybe that person could help me. But if he's in intensive treatment…"

"Ah… I think I can set up something for you… Which high school are you planning to transfer into?"

"Ouran. What's it for?"

"We can put you two together in high school. I'm going to suggest to his parents to transfer him into Ouran; they've been wanting to for a while now. If and when he recovers."

His parents… I kept silent; but, how would that work? He's in 'intensive treatment' yet they were thinking of transferring him out already? Was he that bad that he already was in intensive treatment when I met him? My mind buzzed with more questions.

"He's in the same year you're in. So I don't think it'll be a problem-"

I hardly heard that as- would he think I was using him? Would he think that I was an annoying brat who couldn't take care of himself?

"… Kaoru-san?"

I snapped into reality as I answered, "Ah, thank you, bye."

I clicked the phone off, and dazedly flopped into my bed. His parents, he had said, always liked to pretend to care. In comparison, my family only lied to me.

But. I wondered if he really was going to recover…

-2-

If there was someone to understand me…

I didn't want anyone to.

If there was someone to like me…

I didn't want anyone to.

If there was someone to care for me…

That's what I really wanted. Someone to care. Genuine care that wasn't fake…

Just a day ago, the nurse took away my bandages, my eyes were almost healing. They had done something to restore my blurry sight, but it still hurt to look at bright things, so they kept my room's light at low. Most of my bruises had healed, and it was only a matter of time until my bones repaired themselves, and a matter of time that I would be thrust back into hell.

It was a grace period; as the fates would have it, I was stuck here for about a month to recover, to grow strong again. Only to return to the hell of my school and break myself again. Sometimes the fates had very funny ideas; they wanted to put me through torture again.

Especially after I got sick.

My throat was stuffed, I had an even harder time breathing, and nurses constantly plagued my room doing something that I didn't know.

I was worse than before, I knew it, and I was going to die.

I couldn't imagine what would've happened if I had to return to school and face everyone again. All the wounds that had healed with be ripped open again, and all hell will break loose.

And after he so calmly patched me up together again, I was going to be torn into shreds.

But this time, I cared that I might die.

I didn't want to go back to hell.

I didn't want to stay in grace.

I wanted to be free. I wanted to show him the joys of insulting people, messing around, making trouble, and he could tell me how to not get caught.

For once in my life, I wanted to do something.

But the world tore up that dream and burned it in the fires of injustice as my conscience finally floated away from me.

Gomene, I couldn't stay alive for you…

-2-

Every day I asked to go and see him, every day I was denied entrance.

He was in a "fragile" state I believed. I didn't know everything, I knew nothing, and I was just a stranger who made friends with him. That was all that I was.

Why did I believe that he was more to me than a friend?

The time soon came for me to enter Ouran Private Academy. They accepted my grades, naturally; but on the inside, I was frightened, afraid that I would embarrass myself, not fit in, and got so nervous that I almost hyperventilated the week before.

Not only was I entering the school as a completely new person, I was entering alone. Nothing scared me more than being alone.

I adjusted my jacket again, and again, fumbling with my tie. The car was outside, waiting for me so that it could drive me to school.

I rushed down the stairs, wondering what would happen, what I would do.

If that person would come too…

I didn't talk to him after I was released: there was something wrong. I knew it: there was something off.

And now, I was determined to know. After all, no one was telling me to go to Ouran, specifically…

"Driver," I commanded, sliding into the passenger seat and looking at the mirror to catch his eye. "Take me to the Medical Center."

"Y-young master!" he stuttered under my glare, his eyes checking the mirrors, avoiding my gaze, "I was told to bring you to Ouran."

"Now, I mean it," I said, with a poisonous edge, and he pressed the accelerator quickly, "I can easily catch up with school…" I trailed.

With him…

Visiting hours were only from ten to three, especially for "critical" patients like him.

So I had to wait, a while.

But my mind was probably collapsing in with the amount of questions that racked my brain.

Why was he in critical condition? Did his wounds somehow open up? Or maybe water went into his lungs… What about his injuries? Did he even recover yet? Or was there some strain and he couldn't really recover?

Ten o'clock came and I instantly rushed towards the desk.

"Yes, may I-" the woman dropped her pen with a clack and stared at me.

"Hey, may I see the patient in room 507. It's visiting hours, right?"

She only stared weirdly at me. My eye twitched.

"Kaoru-kun?" I turned my head towards the voice. It was that doctor again: the one who supervised me while I was here.

"Ah, Dr. Minamoto; I want to visit the person who I shared a room with a week ago. I never heard from him since," I said, a smile spreading on my lips. Maybe he could get me in if the attendant was a dense employee.

"Well, this particular patient is in critical condition; even his parents are being kept out," he said matter-of-factly.

My smile dropped, "What's wrong with him? Did he get hurt again? I thought he was on the road to recovery! Didn't he get better?"

He shook his head, "No, it may have been the temperature, but he had a cold and that put a strain on his already weak body. He's already lost consciousness. It's no use. He'll be gone by next week. His parents don't know what to do with him. Whether to just let him die or keep him alive artificially."

My amber eyes widened, "But that's ridiculous! Dying from a cold? It isn't possible!"

"Well, there had been some cases before this…"

"Let me see him, I'm not going to believe you," I shouted, my eyes flared. They didn't understand him! How would he get better if he was constantly- constantly- My face heated up as I attempted to brush pass the doctor.

"But I'm under orders not to let you in," he sighed, a stern face on.

I steamed quietly, my voice full of malice, "Why not-?"

"Hikaru?"

I blinked, all emotions forgotten; that name, I looked to the source of the voice. It was a middle-aged woman, with thick brown curls, a solemn man behind her. The wrinkles on her face was evident to her age; but I didn't notice that, I just noticed her open mouth and her wide eyes, as if she just saw something horrendous.

And… who was this Hikaru?

I blinked, as she ran towards me, out of breath. And she looked like she was out of her mind.

"Hikaru? Is that you?" she asked again, her thin hands wrapping around mine. I looked at her in irritation and confusion.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Hotaru-san, but this is Kaoru-kun," the doctor introduced, waving at me nonchalantly.

I just made a face and looked quizzically back at her. "Who's this Hikaru?"

"Oh," she composed herself rather quickly, letting my hands go, and coughed once, "Pleased to meet you, Kaoru-kun."

I didn't get it. Ignoring proper etiquette, I pressed again, "Who's Hikaru?"

"It's none of your business," she sniffled, drawing out a handkerchief, blowing her nose on it. I thought she was being dramatic.

There was a long silence between the two adults; neither giving out the information that I wanted. I frowned, "Fine, no one wants to answer my questions at all," I crossed my arms, and begun my way across the halls, stomping heatedly, "That's all right. I'll see him myself."

Somehow, I knew that just meeting him would solve everything.

The first sight that I saw was the heart monitor, it was beeping at a very slow pace. My heart dropped: then the doctor was telling the truth. My eyes moved from the mechanisms to the bedside, to the person in the bed. I closed the door slowly behind me, hoping that those annoying adults didn't follow me. Very small chance they didn't though.

I sat onto the visitor's seat next to the bed, and placed a hand on his bandaged one. Yes, it did feel like what I felt before, only a little warmer. I closed my eyes and hummed softly, wondering if he would wake up suddenly.

That would be impossible: there's no way that he would notice me just because he was unconscious.

My lips twisted into a wry smile.

What was I to him? I always thought highly of him, my mind constantly strayed to his lonely bed, wondering.

But what did he think of me? Just someone? I didn't know; I was dispatched from the hospital while he was asleep.

But his story…

My smile turned into a frown.

What was this feeling? Pity for his problems? Sympathy for his situation? What was it?

I leaned against the rails of the bed (I thought those were ridiculous since patients who couldn't move couldn't roll off the bed anyway), sighing to myself, fingering the tubes in his skin.

What was it? I thought whimsically, my eyes straying to his face. In the partial darkness, I could make out his pale face, peacefully sleeping, an oxygen mask pumping much needed oxygen into him. I brushed at his hair slightly, and I thought I saw him shake slightly. I shrugged it off: figment of my imagination.

Hours passed: it might've passed three but I didn't care. Just watching him was fun enough.

Somehow the adults didn't disturb me, nor him. He…

"Come to think of it," I thought out loud, half-wondering if he could hear me, the other half thinking I was insane for talking to myself, "I never knew his name…"

I just smirked to myself; there was no response.

"I know all about his life, but I don't know his name. What a funny situation," I chuckled regretfully to myself.

My eyes strayed to his calmly closed ones; I just wanted to see what was behind them. I wanted them to open, to answer all my question, to sort out my confused self.

"You know, you could've been fun to play with," I whispered quietly, "I led a serious life. I never joked a lot before… Think you can teach me?"

Okay, maybe I've gone officially insane.

Very insane.

I was talking to a half-dead person for one. For two, I didn't even know what I was saying.

"Too bad you weren't ever my brother… We could've been partners in crime," I commented airily, my fingers stroking his dry skin.

My reply was only silence.

Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. My heart was being stupidly heavy.

"Too bad I never knew you," I choked out, my eyes beginning to moisten, "Too bad everything had to happen this way…"

Still, silence.

Drops of salty water dripped off my chin.

Why was I regretting something that I didn't control? That wasn't like me.

Why was I wanting my way and my way only? That wasn't like me.

"I want you to help me, see those idiotic words with your expression, experience insulting people to the fullest, learn the execution of pranks and jokes the right way. And maybe I'll show you how to avoid trouble…" I wiped at my eyes, choking slightly, "I want you to set me free… I want to set you free. I want you in my life…

"And I want to be in yours…"

I needed damn tissue, this instant. Within my blurry sight I spotted the tissue box, and was about to take one when his hand moved slightly.

Just slightly; a little, maybe it was just a shake, but it moved. He was conscious.

"Eh?" I placed his hand in mine, and for sure, I felt something. My eyes darted to his still closed eyes: he didn't open them. His chest was rising and falling quite obviously, steadier now. I didn't notice until now.

My heart rose happily, "You're alright."

A slight shake of his head confirmed it.

My lips widened into a smile, "That's good. I want you to help me. I have a problem, that you can help me fix."

-1-

"And then the girl almost screeched when I followed her into the girl's bathroom, it was hilarious in a way, but it was awk-"

I stopped in a mid-laugh, and stared at him.

His loose lips had curved upwards, in slight amusement.

I felt the need to hyper clap my hands in delight but habits told me otherwise.

He was paying attention to me.

That felt good.

"Eh, eh, I don't know your name yet. Kind of stupid, right?" I laughed to myself; the sound echoing in the deserted room. There was the silence that I barely hated, and I just wished that he would talk to me-

And then I heard it, it was faint-

"Hikaru…" Instantly I snapped my head to him again. He smiled, and identical golden eyes looked at me sleepily, "And yours?"

"Kaoru," I found myself smiling widely.

"That's a girl's name," he said weakly, a joking tone in his words.

"Ambiguous," I corrected, and then he coughed harshly. My smile turned into a frown, "Hey, you alright?"

He shook his head, "I don't think so… Just something stuck… I guess… But that's it."

I promptly stood up, and shook my head. I stared at his weak form, in concern, "I should get the doctor. What were they thinking- leaving me here to watch you."

Just as I was turning away, I felt a slight pull on my sleeve. I blinked, and glanced at him.

"No, I… I'll get better…" he forced out weakly, looking at me desperately, "Just stay… and talk… please… Kaoru?"

"But you'll get worse from talking…" I trailed, averting my eyes. I didn't want to kill him, by being insistent.

"Please? It makes me feel better…" he smiled slightly.

I was caught between wanting him to receive doctor's attention and keeping him for myself. I frowned as I took a seat next to him again, hesitantly.

"You are going to get better, right?" I asked, quiet. I didn't want to not have faith in him: I mean, he lived his life stubbornly, so he has to be alright.

He nodded, "I am, sort of. If you're here, it'll be okay."

I felt slightly awkward, then stuttered out, "Do you really think I'll help you get better?"

He smiled a small smile, "You care. I like that about you."

"But you're trusting an absolute stranger?" I protested, grasping his hand tighter.

"I've trusted for the longest time ever…" he cocked his head slightly, looking up into my eyes. And for the first time, his golden eyes pierced me straight through. His voice was quiet, "You're trustworthy."

My tears almost fell again, "You're asking for too little. You trust those who care… But what if those who care aren't to be trusted?"

Hikaru averted his eyes from mine, planting his gaze onto the white walls of the hospital room, "Anyone can be trusted… But it's pointless to trust, many just don't want it."

I pulled his bandaged hand close to my face, tears splashing onto it. He looked at me, confused.

"Hikaru, I do. I've… always wanted to be trusted."

-1-

"They're together?!" a middle-aged woman shrieked.

"Yes, Kaoru went in a long time ago!" another woman was stomping around the outside of the hospital tearing her brown hair out.

"Why didn't you stop him, Hotaru?!" she was almost hyperventilating to the point that even passer-bys stared at them in confusion.

"Ryou told me not to interfere! Plus, the stupid doctor wouldn't let anyone in! They're idiots!"

The first woman widened her eyes, "No, Hikaru's going to weaken soon, then we won't have to be so scared about it. Calm down, Hitomi, calm down. It's not like she'd find out-" Sighing, she tried to inhale and exhale, trying to ignore her harsh breaths.

"Ito, I thought you had it covered on your end?" the other spat out.

"Hotaru, I didn't expect Kaoru-kun to find out!" she retorted. "You know how stubborn he is! Just look at Hikaru!"

There was silence as the two tried to catch their breath.

"But, how did they end up in the same room?" Hitomi questioned, twisting the strands of her black hair anxiously.

"I don't know… I thought for sure they'd be at least separated…" she wrung her cold hands, unsure of what to do.

"And now they're together, how are the two ever going to be separated?"

They brainstormed quietly, opting to finally sit on the stone bench outside the hospital. Several steps were heard going in and out of the hospital and they were sure they felt eyes on them. About an hour passed when they heard a familiar limousine pull up in the front. Before the occupant came out, they already knew, with a sinking feeling, who it was.

Their mother.

"Good evening, ladies," they both heard. It was a fiery tone, not unlike the ones that their charges often used. The amber eyes met one pair at a time, "Hotaru Nanami, Ito Hitomi."

"Ah, Hitachiin-san," Hitomi exhaled, then felt anxiety build up in the pit of her stomach. What was she doing here?

"What did you do?" the Hitachiin asked, crossing her arms, signaling to the driver to pull away. Her voice was poisonous, scathing, "I haven't heard from you for almost a decade. You even took the liberty to move out of your residence while I was away…"

"Hitachiin, it's not like that," Nanami retorted, fire in her eyes, "And why are you here? You can't just take back your maternal duties after that legal contract."

"My contacts were on the lookout for you two for a long time," she fell silent, then marched towards the doors defiantly, as if wanting them to stop her, "Well, what did you do?"

"No, you can't, Yuzuha-san!" the Ito scrambled from her seat and tried to block her way, "We're saving you the trouble."

"What trouble?" she echoed angrily, her eyes full of rage, "You're the ones who took away the twins from me!"

"No, that wasn't our intention," Nanami said quietly, "You're our cousin, we had to do something about them."

"Well, kidnapping them wasn't…" she broke off then, averting her eyes, "I'll see to their care myself. My lawyer will be requesting the twins' custody within two days. I should've never left you two to watch them that time."

And the door slammed.

-zero hour-

"Hikaru?" she called into the dim room; the lights were practically off, only a small light filtered in through the curtains. And the sun was almost setting, she noticed, peering slightly out the window. She spoke again, returning her gaze to the bed, "Kaoru?"

There was little stirring on the bed, but there was another figure against it. She walked closer, her soft amber eyes looking over her sight. There, two peaceful pairs of eyes were closed, their hands entwined together. She smiled at this endearing image. They were exactly identical, the fact that one had bandages deterred from the symmetrical sight, and their light brown hair were parted opposite against each other.

Just like how she remembered. It had been so long since she's seen them.

She didn't want to disturb the sight, so she backed slowly away, until one of them lifted their head off the covers.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, sleepily. He blinked open his amber eyes.

She couldn't help but look directly into them; they were her twins. Those eyes had a light shade of golden over hazel; she couldn't forget that.

She breathed, bliss in her voice, "My baby, dear baby." Within seconds she had encircled her arms around the fully awake twin, placing a delicate kiss on his head. "Kaoru, dear…"

"Who-Who are you?" he pulled away quickly, his hand scrambling for a firmer hold on the other's hand. He froze under her worried gaze.

"I'm your mother," she said softly, "And don't worry, the Ito aren't going to take you back again. Mommy's here."

"… Mommy?" he questioned, frightened, and then squeezed the grip on the other's hand. He looked at her, eyes widening, "You're my… biological mother?"

She nodded slowly, hurt that even he forgot her, "Kaoru, I can't believe I've finally found you. I spent years just trying to see where they've taken you… I'm going to be your mother again, okay?" She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, as his frightened eyes lowered into the simple blank pair that she was so accustomed to seeing.

"Then… I'll have to leave? Leave Hikaru?" he echoed, empty-toned. He stared disbelievingly at her, the woman blinking, in confusion. How on earth did he ever come to that conclusion? She wouldn't ever separate them.

"Kaoru can't leave…" she heard a soft, weak voice calling out, and she looked at the slight shifting of the covers. The young fourteen year old looked at her, his amber eyes just barely opened, a shallow, glassy look (quite different from Kaoru's, she noted), his voice slightly raspy, "He's not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere."

"Hikaru…" she whispered, and glanced back at Kaoru, who gave her a firm look. And then, it clicked-

Oh. They somehow knew, knew that they had been separated. And now that they were together again, one whole, two halves, they didn't want to let go. But, still, she had to make them understand.

Then, she smiled, "You won't have to be separated, dears. I want both of you together. I'm your mother. You are both mine."

There was a very awkward silence in which Yuzuha waited, Kaoru stared, and Hikaru was trying not to fall back asleep because obviously this was important.

Kaoru went slightly slack-jawed, "Wait- wait- we can't be related!"

"Related?" Hikaru commented airily, his eyes opened, just slightly, meeting Kaoru's baffled look with a questioning one, "I thought we were born the same year."

"Yeah!" Kaoru spluttered, his hands clenching, obviously grasping for a simple excuse for everything to stay simply as it is. Just Hikaru and Kaoru, no confusing brother stuff.

"How'd you explain that your identical, then?" she winked, holding up an index in amusement.

"Wait a sec!" the younger twin almost panicked. He looked frantically at his newly found twin, "We're identical?!"

Yep, Kaoru only noticedthings that was important (like the time when they stole cookies from the cupboard, because he was hungry.)

The other looked up at him, cocking his head to the side, "I didn't notice that we looked alike. Hell, I didn't even know what I looked like."

Yep, and Hikaru only noticed things that he wanted (like the time when they were hungry, and there was cookies in the cupboard, and they needed it.)

She giggled slightly, in amazement. Yes- the two cheeky ones that she had remembered. The little babies who would more likely drill a hole into their crib's headboard than sleep. She had reclaimed them again. After nearly a decade, they were finally hers.

"Of course, you're twins," she laughed, patting Kaoru on his back, "You're my twins. The infamous Hitachiin twins."