A/N & Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters! Anyway, this was a oneshot idea that popped into my head at random. Do enjoy!
A soft summer breeze ruffled the pages of Kyouya Ootori's book as he sat along the banks of la Seine - a favorite pastime of his when his academic schedule allowed him a weekend trip to Paris. The 27-year-old doctoral candidate in Management Science had slipped away from his cushy life in Japan a few years back; when it was clear he was the next in line for the Ootori throne, he took it upon himself to collect a few degrees to add to his name.
Cambridge and Oxford had clamored for his attention, but with disinterest in learning how to drive, Kyouya had settled for the excitement and intensity of city life in London instead. God forbid he was left in the idyllic British countryside with boarding school brats - nevermind that he, too, had pedigree and had gone to an abnormally wealthy private school.
No; after the hubbub of life and Tokyo and a whirlwind friendship with a certain ex-Parisien, Kyouya couldn't settle for quiet solitude outside of the confines of his apartment. Peace at home would be his safe haven, but he much preferred havinvg the ability to go out into the chaos of the world and attempt to make sense of it.
And so the dark-haired, bespectacled boy became a bespectacled man, dressed in a crisp gingham shirt and pressed slacks. The London School of Economics and its dynamic student body served his interests well, and close access to the rest our Europe suited the man's inherent nature to explore and internalize historical refinement. The splendor of the old plus the grit of the new - did that not pose such a delicious intellectual challenge? But his diversions from non-academic management were not without purpose. Being overseas would also help Ootori Group discover new methods of healing and private primary care - and sampling the purest of local cuisines didn't hurt either. Proper nutrition to elevate the mood was something his clients would never stop demanding.
Kyouya's book hit a chapter end, and he found it a considerably ideal time to take a quick break. Setting down a dog-eared copy of Voltaire's Candide, Kyouya lifted a small plastic container of boeuf bourgignon, purchased just up the bend at la Marché de la Bastille. France, Kyouya decided, was economic conundrum where fine-quality nourishment was deceptively cheap.
Such a system would prove wildly beneficial to increasing the profit margins of his hospitals - but unfortunately, price was reflected by location and culture. With a slight shrug, Kyouya ignored his thoughts and basked in the flavorful refinement that met his tongue with every new bite. He knew he was lucky that his personal chefs back home were to-par, but still - nothing beat something freshly and locally ma-
"Papa! Maman! Je voudrais une glace!"
Kyouya barely had a chance to register the petit blur of brown hair that whizzed by him before another blur (with darker hair) accidentally smacked him upside the head in her own scurry to follow the first.
"Maman, maman! Moi aussi, s'il t'plaît!"
It took another bit of time before an uncomfortably warm, wet feeling began to make itself known to Kyouya. He needed only glance at the now-empty plastic container in his hand to know where the rest of his food had been displaced.
"Chèrie, it's vous, not tu, you must be polite! Now come back, you've made this poor man spill his food! Charlotte, Charlotte - come apologize!"
That voice.
Kyouya would know it anywhere. And now that he was putting the pieces together, his entire situation suddenly made sense. As he sensed the man - presumably the father of the two children - approach, Kyouya stood up and stuck a long arm out to halt the other man's progress.
"Excuse-moi?!" The Frenchman exclaimed in surprise, not expecting to have a hand smashed into his face. "Pardon, monsieur, qu'est-ce que-"
"Kyouya-senpai?" A small brunette woman walked around the blond man, a smile growing on her face. "What are you doing here?"
Kyouya released his grip from Tamaki's face to immediately strip himself of his outershirt. It was his luck that he always wore a thin, black undershirt with his clothing. He chuckled mildly, aggressively throwing the dirtied, beef-smelling shirt into his best friend's face. "Haruhi. I take it those two brats are yours?"
Of course. Kyouya had gotten the letters and photographs, of course, but when Antoine and little Charlotte had whizzed by, they had been no more than indecipherable blurs. It would be in Kyouya's fate to have his own godchildren ruin his morning.
A little tug on his slacks indicated that Charlotte had returned to apologize to the monsieur, but when she looked up and saw his face, her own broke into a wide grin. "Oncle Kyouya!" He immediately raised her arms imploringly. He obliged, picking up the little girl into his arms. "Charlotte, you must strive to be less clumsy than your father," Kyouya pretended to chide her sternly. "Your father cost your oncle many a shirt and several grey hairs when he was younger."
She merely giggled, tightly wrapping her arms around her uncle's neck.
At last, Kyouya turned a fake scowl towards Tamaki, who he realized had been standing there with his mouth still agape. "Do close your mouth, Tamaki, you look ever the fool I know you to be." The blond's mouth immediately shut up as he began to stammer in his awe.
"Kyouya! Mon ami, I thought you were still studying in London! I haven't seen you in years; how are you?!"
"Better, thanks," Kyouya grinned. "I could be more properly dressed, and yet - I am not." This comment caused Tamaki to go slightly pink, much to Kyouya's amusement. "Still, I'll answer your question. I am, if it hasn't been made apparent to you, on vacation. I was at peace until you showed up."
Haruhi rolled her eyes, peeling the dirty shirt off of Tamaki and folding it. "We'll get you another one, Kyouya. We're just glad to see you; it's been a few years since we've been able to take a family vacation - and of course you know that means Paris."
Kyouya nodded, completely understanding Tamaki's need to show his children his heritage. He hoisted little Charlotte higher, eliciting a delighted yelp from the small girl.
"My visits to Paris always seem to end the same way," Kyouya chuckled. "In this very same spot, I had - what was it; a rapidly-melting ice cream? Anyway, the same thing happened and it seems I should find another spot to indulge in nutrition."
Haruhi gave him a confused look, and tilted her head in question. It wasn't often that Kyouya divulged his past - likely because most of it was spent in intense study or rigid politeness.
In a rare moment away from his studies, 10-year-old Kyouya was perched on a bench by the Seine (bodyguards within sight, of course), eating a small treat. Such indulgences were not to be afforded, but while his father was out with clients and his brothers coldly distant from him, it was an opportunity for a small boy to escape the hardening family life around him.
He hadn't known that for the next 6 years he would be in a perpetual cycle of performance and criticism, and so the chaotic memory of an ice cream fiasco would ever be one of the most comforting thoughts in the midst of stiff rules.
A freshly printed copy of Voltaire's Candide sat next to him - a birthday present from his eldest brother, and decidely unsuitable reading for the average 10-year-old. Perhaps that had been an indication that Kyouya's life was never meant to me average. He wondered why he hadn't been given an abridged copy, but nevermind that. He'd learned early on not to question or criticize anything his father or brothers said.
A loud woof startled Kyouya out of his ice-cream reverie, and a Golden Retriever hurtled past his seat. With a look of wonder, Kyouya turned to see the back of the dog before trying to look for its owner. He needn't have looked far - as Kyouya got up to survey the area, a small blond boy knocked him (and his ice cream) back into his seat. "Marcel! Come back, come back, Maman will kill me if I lose that!"
The blond boy ran a few more steps before coming to a halt. He rested his hands on his knees, panting to catch his breath. Then - the boy froze, standing stock-still. He straightened. And then he slowly turned around to face Kyouya, who was sporting a rather impressive stain on his shirt.
"Er…." The blond boy held an obvious cringe on his face. "I'm sorry?" He offered meekly, before hurriedly running over, taking his own shirt off (much to Kyouya's surprise), and proferring the garment to the bespectacled boy.
A terse, scathing reply was on Kyouya's tongue, but he hadn't the heart after the other boy became shirtless. "Um… Thanks." Kyouya took the shirt, glanced briefly at his bodyguards (who politely turned away), and replaced the dirty shirt with the new one. It was stripey and colorful and much against Kyouya's taste, but its whimsy was somehow fitting for the blond's personality and this situation.
The blond boy grinned, and a little golden dog appeared at his side. "Oh! Marcel!" The boy bent down to ruffle the dog's hair. "This is my new friend!" The boy encouraged Kyouya to pet it. With a wavering hand, Kyouya stroked the soft fur and received a loud happy bark in return.
A look of remembrance suddenly came over the blond's face, and out of the small backpack on his back he procured a single-serving of ice cream. "Let's share?" He suggested, peeling back the aluminum lid and unwrapping the small wooden spoon.
Wordlessyly, the two boys sat on the bench, passing the ice cream between them with Marcel looking ever so forlorn between them.
Kyouya smiled at the fond memory, chuckling slightly as Charlotte gave him an even bigger hug in thanks for his beautiful storytelling. That memory was a wild outlier to the others he had collected in his strict childhood, and it was a surprise to him that he hadn't thought about it for a while.
"I was grateful to that boy for providing me a few minutes of relief from the pressure of my family. Of course, returning to Tokyo threw me back into the same calculated hamster wheel as always, but that kid taught me to appreciate wild moments when they arose, no matter how fleeting."
A loud sob left Tamaki's lips and he took his daughter from his best friends arm's before placing her in her mother's - then he threw his arms around Kyouya. "It was you! It was you along, mon ami, I gave you my shirt!"
Only one grumpy thought was in Kyouya's mind as he attempted to extricate himself from the long limbs of his best friend.
Of course that clumsy child was you.