Who doesn't like Yoshio? Okay. Wait. Don't answer that. …I feel (know) that the number will be LARGE. I've seen those fics out there with Yoshio beating Kyouya up, drinking and becoming an alcoholic… Don't remind me. He's just being stoic. …Somewhat like… erm… Kyouya? xD;; …Oh. Wait. Kyouya's like him, not the other way around. o.o;

JOIN SHINE.
(-I swear, that place is love. The link is in my profile. :D)

…Please? :D

Anyway… Enough with my ranting. On with the story!

My onee-chan gave me critical plot ideas. Yes? Yes.

(Can you believe that I wrote most of this during a family trip? :D)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot (and his past). Obviously I don't own Yoshio, but it's not like he appears in every chapter. .-.
UNFAIRNESS! I CALL UNFAIRNESS! xD;;

Ohtori Yoshio is not as cruel as they say behind his back.

He is realistic, and he is only acting as such, being as everybody else would be (only a bit more strict).

He knows—experienced—that the world won't be as gentle and caressing as a mother's arms, but hurting and painful and so much pain.

(He hopes he's being a good father.)

But a person cannot do everything perfectly.

"Yoshio, you can't be perfect. You should know that by now, after all the things we tried and failed to do," Yuzuru said to him with his trademark-grin plastered on his face. He chuckled as he remembered the times they had enjoyed. They were sitting on opposite sofas, drinking (high-quality) coffee as they stared out the window, into the center of Ouran Academy. "Look at me. I'm a horrible father to Tamaki. I'm never there!"

"Don't even try to compare me with you," he said matter-of-factly with his characteristically stoic air, "you're too happy all the time, and you only have one son. I have three!" Yoshio counted for him to emphasize his point. "And Tamaki-kun is a carbon copy of you, but he's worse! And he's blonde!" He stared at Yuzuru, who stared back at him with skeptical, albeit pissed, eyes.

"Leave his hair color out of this, Yoshio." Yuzuru glared at him a bit, and then lost because Yoshio never lost in anything, especially things that had to do with pride. "Kyouya-kun's exactly like you when we were younger." He mused at the irony of their sons, being exactly like their old selves and being best friends, like them. "And both of them are good friends like us, aren't they?"

"True to a certain degree, but I must say that my son is being… ruthlessly used by your son."

"W-w-w-what?!" sputtered Yuzuru as his face burned with embarrassment, the coffee he had been drinking splashing onto the white carpet, staining a part of it brown-ish black. "Err… I'll buy you a new one?" he suggested, scratching the back of his head and laughing sheepishly.

He could only laugh silently in reply.

The sun was burning-hot, with its blinding rays of light. It shone brightly—pompously, he thought—in the afternoon, like it was the winner of a fake-contest.

It was so deadly boring, he thought to himself as he ran out of his house to find some solace outside. He went to the park, where there was a wooden bench that he occupied, whenever he went to that park. It was a dark, almost-black brown, which stood under the shadows of the cherry tree, pink petals floating down onto the seat. The pink and black mixed to create a mysterious aura…and…it…looked pretty?

It was occupied.

He gave up and decided to come the next day.

It was occupied again.

He peered closely to the woman that was occupying his seat, drinking a can of soda and reading a book, which seemed to be a light novel. A crudely drawn picture of a girl staring out of the window near her school-desk was shown, her expression seeming bored and her eyes staring at the ever-blue sky as if begging to be saved from the gates of hell. The reading woman giggled quietly and resumed reading.

He was very, very pissed.

There the woman sat (at his bench), her eyes at the book.

On.

His.

Bench.

Hell no.

First sitting on his bench, and then enjoying it?

This meant war.

Thoroughly pissed, he ran over to the woman.

Once he was facing her, he declared: "Woman, you do not know what you have signed yourself up for." However, the reaction wasn't really what he was expecting; confusion, yes, but an evil smirk? That was not what he had expected.

"Boy, you have no idea what you just signed yourself up for." she said, her eyes glinting with mischief and a bit of excitement.

Fuming, he ran towards his house, stomping every possible step that wouldn't make him seem like a madman…err…madchild.

"I'm home," he mumbled to himself as he glared at every inanimate object he spotted. He blatantly ignored his mother's "Welcome back, Yoshio" as he stomped up to his room, up the stairs and straight down the corridor.

He had to concoct a plan. Somehow.

So…he thought. And he thought. …But really, a seven-year-old brain couldn't do much to give him solace. He sighed in defeat as he stretched his legs on his bed, grabbing the sheets beneath him and pulled it over himself as his mother stomped into his room and started talking about rudeness, a spatula well-found in her hand. She soon left after he muttered out an apology and she muttered about the new generation's immaturity and impoliteness.

…He could apologize later, no?

"So there you were, pouting so adorably and saying 'You don't know what you signed yourself up for!' and it was so cute!" she squealed, grabbing Yoshio and squeezing him tightly. "And since you looked so cute, I just had to reply!" Hana told him, squeezing the already-squeezed-Yoshio and huggling him tighter than before.

He groaned. "…So?" he asked dubiously. "Can you let go of me now? It's really painful…" Yoshio grunted in pain as he suffered from lack of oxygen. "Damn woman," he grumbled quietly, "being so annoying…" He jolted from her grip as soon as it loosened a bit, then sprang up and shook his head furiously in denial of his mumbling as he felt a furious glare radiating from the woman beside him.

During the few days after the alone-war, they had made a truce and had compromised to sit together since both of them loved the spot and couldn't give it up. They had found each other's presence quite comfortable, as both of them relaxed in that particular spot. It wasn't really a normal scene between two strangers, but to others, they looked like an aunt and nephew that were particularly close to each other.

Maybe it was also the fact that both of them were so different from their ages. Yoshio was too adult-like for his age, while Hana (the aunt-reminiscent college student that found solace in Yoshio's presence) was childish, eager to know anything and everything.

But to Yoshio's surprise (and occasional dismay), she also proved to be quite intellectual. She was able to catch the hidden thorns in the words he spoke—which was normally quite hard to point out for others—and was able to give a proper, thorn-filled (painful) rebuttal right back at him, ones that normally adults would try not to say to their children (in fear of them pointing that back out to them someday).

…But she also proved to be quite stubborn. And troublesome, he added mentally, bonking his head a little as if to say 'how could you forget that?!'

"So tell me, Yoshio-kun, what are you doing, sitting with me—a college student—when you—a seven year old kid—could be prancing around with kids your age? I mean, you're a kid. Act like one, for god's sake! You're making me wonder if you have to go the asylum or something to get your mental age checked up!" Hana said to him as he snorted in reply. She glared at him, huffing: "It's your loss, anyway. You're losing your childhood too early! You're supposed to enjoy it!"

Yoshio snorted (again). "The kids my age are too stupid. They only like running around and punching themselves or pushing each other into the mud," he huffed. "And I'm too smart to go down to their level. It's too dirtying and annoying. I can just sit down and relax, whereas they're just sweating and laughing."

Hana stared at him dubiously. "…That's the whole point, Yoshio-kun," she told him as he stared at her strangely. "What?" she demanded as she felt the stare that he was giving her.

"Did you play like that when you were younger?" he asked, his eyes boring into her almost. "I mean… is it really fun to play like that?"

Hana stared at him. "Of course it is! Playing like that- it makes you know that there's nothing to be scared about, that there's nothing you can't do. It recharges you—even if it looks like it's taking the energy out of you—and it helps you be happy. You are happy. When you do that, running around and laughing." Hana added, "You know you're missing out on a lot of things, right?"

"…I know," he sulked. "My mom keeps on telling me that." he added after a moment's thought. "But she's only trying to make me move around so I'd look healthy."

It was true. While other boys his age were tanned and looked healthy, he was sheet-pale and was almost reminiscent of a walking stick…err…a stick that'd been rolled by white paper. His mother had tried to persuade him to go out in the sun to play countless times, but he had continued to refuse and had gone out to the particular bench which he was currently occupying, enjoying the shade and watching others play in disgust until she had arrived and had stolen his bench.

"Listen to her then, dummy." she said to him as she nudged him playfully on his head. "Or at least eat properly," she continued as she grabbed a can of soda and gave it to him. "Here. Savor it and try to enjoy eating a bit." she told him as she saw to him popping the can open and going into his mouth. "It tastes good, doesn't it? But don't enjoy it too much! You're going to get fat!" she said to him playfully, smiling widely as he looked down and mumbled "It tastes okay…" to the ground.

"Whatever," he had mumbled to try to keep from letting her see his flustered side, but was failing miserably (but it wasn't like he could hide it forever).

Maybe she wasn't so bad after all, he thought to himself as he went back home, sipping the can of coke that he had been given after he had drank all of his other can.

"…But this soda is addicting." he mumbled to himself as he sipped it.

He was really, really screwed.

DONE. Yes, done. Yes!

It's the first story (chapter) I've written that's been this long.
Ever.

And I'm dang proud of it too, since it's 4:30 am in the morning. xD;;

But really…I'd love some reviews. So. Please? –does puppy eyes-

Review. Please? –gets shot-