Okay, so I forgot to put the author's note on the first two chapters, so here it is. I'll put the disclaimer up on my profile later.

So. I've decided to write an adopt-Kyoya fic. Not too sure how original it is, although I see that it's not exactly a very common plot. It's an idea that hit me while I was trying to crack my head against the wall over Little Doctor. I've since then set it aside in order to satisfy the insatiable muse that has decided to stay in my brain for the moment. And yes, I realized that it's insatiable.

For some of the things I had mentioned in the previous chapters, here's a short explanation on some of the Japanese terms used as well as the practices. I've probably fudged most of them because I couldn't be arsed to explain everything, but I followed most of them.

1) Mofuku. That's the Japanese mourning attire worn only by close relatives. In real life it's not exactly just one piece. You can wear parts of the mofuku attire on your attire to show how close you were to the deceased. The more mofuku, the closer you are. Kyoya was angry because Izumi wore mofuku even though she had never known his grandmother. Remember, it's not just blood that's taken into account.

2)Koden. That's consolation money or something like that. You put it into these black and white envelopes and give it to the relative who arranged the funeral. It's to contribute to the cost. Amounts can range from ¥3000 to ¥30,000. Izumi probably gave closer to the higher end.

Another thing I'd like to mention is my 'description' of foster care. Don't take my word for it because I'm just fudging stuff up. I have no idea what foster care is really like, or if it even fits the context of what I described.


Kyoya always had the habit of waking up early—it had been drilled into him by his parents, and he had carried on after their deaths. So it was only a little after dawn when he opened his eyes and looked up into Izumi's tired face. He didn't twitch as her fingers ran gently through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep in someone's lap. He blinked.

"You're awake," her voice was soft and a little hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again, "You hungry?"

He'd been eating takeout since Grandmother died, but it had only been when he remembered to, or when the growling of his stomach became too loud to ignore. He sat up stiffly and shrugged, remembering himself.

"Okay," she pinched herself and shook her head, "Lead the way to the kitchen." She stood and stretched, bones cracking audibly. With a lopsided smile, she laid an arm around his shoulder—she was prone to doing that, he noticed—and ruffled his hair.

"Why didn't you wake me?" He scowled, even as he obliged her overly familiar actions. He supposed he owed her for what she had done for Grandmother.

She rubbed her eyes, "You're a good boy, Kyoya-kun. And you're a lot smarter than most. But your body needs rest and you shouldn't force it if it's not necessary." At his protest, she added, "I know you were her only real family, but you don't have to go to extremes to prove it. I'm sure she already knows." She tapped his forehead, "Keep yourself sharp and alert for the important parts—the casket bearing, the cremating and the bone-picking. You'll have to be the one to bear her urn back to the family altar, and you can't risk tripping over your feet from exhaustion."

Apparently lack of sleep made her a lot more informal than usual, but Kyoya couldn't deny the logic in her words. He nodded and didn't grumble—there was no point doing so and she was right.

He allowed her to keep her arm around his shoulder as he steered her towards the kitchen.

xXXx

My cooking wasn't fantastic, but it was edible. I never managed to learn my mother's recipes before she passed and I hadn't exactly been interested then. In the year I spent living alone (both before and after their death) I'd searched for simple recipes online—things that were easy to make and didn't take a lot of time.

The fridge was still stocked—thank god—and I felt a little uncomfortable thinking about how Auntie must have been the one to do it. It was just a little revelation, how a person could be merrily bustling about doing chores and caring for her grandson, and then gone in the blink of an eye. I swallowed and turned back to the staring boy.

"What do you usually eat for breakfast?" I had noticed a bottle of milk, but there hadn't been any cereal.

"Toast," he replied unblinkingly. I searched around a little and found the loaf behind a head of cabbage, and another look discovered some jam and butter.

Inwardly thanking that breakfast was turning out to be a rather simple affair, I fiddled with the toaster for a short moment—it was pretty easy to use, thank god again—and popped two slices in. The little light on the toaster lit up, and I left it to do its work as I searched for the cups and plates. It was pretty awkward with Kyoya just standing there watching as I poked around in his kitchen.

I found a glass and poured milk (still fresh) into it and handed it to him. He settled into a chair and sipped it carefully, but continued to stare. Meh.

"Jam or butter?" I asked evenly as I looked for coffee. Most of the cabinets had preserves and other dried foods—a good thing, I wouldn't need to worry too much about food—and there was one stocked full with tea, but I still hadn't found a tin of coffee. Ugh.

"Butter."

I searched a little more before giving up, "Do you know if you have any coffee here?"

When I received a shrug, I resisted the urge to groan. His grandmother probably preferred tea, and a kid like him wouldn't drink coffee. Argh. I debated between tea and milk, and decided on milk. Tea would've been too troublesome to make anyway.

As we sat opposite each other, each sipping a glass of milk, waiting for the toast to toast, I decided to bring up another issue I had thought of. "Kyoya-kun, is there an unused bedroom I could use?" I'd established I would be staying here, but I didn't want to take over his parents' or Auntie's room, so I hoped there was an alternative.

He narrowed his eyes and didn't reply, but he didn't yell either, which was an improvement.

The toaster dinged merrily and I stood. We still had some time before he needed to decide, and I guessed I could give him some space. I popped another two slices into the toaster and picked up the buttering knife. I spread the butter slowly, but eventually picked the plate up and placed it in front of him with a soft clink.

He ate willingly enough. I sipped my milk as I waited for my toast.

It was awkward and uncomfortable and too quiet. I stood again a little too eagerly when the toaster chimed.

"My parents' room."

I froze.

"My parents' room has been cleared so you can use it. There's a spare futon in the storeroom."

I didn't wince, but it was a near thing. Picking up my plate and returning to the table, I looked at him. As expected, he was scowling. "We're going to have to clear her room too," I furrowed my brow, "You're going to have to decide what things to keep out and what to store in the back." When his scowl deepened, I added, "You can do it during the 35 days. So take your time."

He eyed me a little suspiciously, but nodded.

Again, I resisted the urge to sigh.

Instead, I picked up his empty plate, "Want some more?"

xXXx

She held his hand when the priest came to say the last of the sutras. She'd pressed the envelope of money for the priest in his hands. She'd told him when to bow, when to kneel and when it was time to take one last peep before the men came to bear the coffin away. She'd passed him the framed photograph gravely and solemnly and laid her hand on his shoulder again as they followed the procession.

He supposed he had to thank her for arranging everything.

When the casket was lifted into the flames, she'd hugged him loosely from behind, pressing the him close the whole time it took for it to burn. He hadn't looked away from the flames, and she, chin pressed lightly on his head, probably hadn't either. Even when the flames revealed gleaming white bones, she hadn't made him turn away.

He supposed she could use his parents' room. It was mostly bare anyways and it had been empty for many years.

When the ashes were collected and spread carefully, and they were given chopsticks to pick the chips into the urn, he remembered the short lesson she had given him on what to do. He picked up each piece carefully, sometimes moving the large ones with her, knowing that alone, he probably couldn't have lifted them. Had she needed to pick them alone?

She'd been silent, moving efficiently and gracefully. Despite that, he felt her presence keenly. However, instead of the burning resentment that had churned in his chest the past few days, he felt his breathing ease.

He supposed he was glad that she was here. Strange, they'd only met just yesterday.

And when the urn was sealed and they made their way home with it, she'd tucked him against her side tightly, one arm curled over it. They got out of the car and she didn't remove it until they stood in front of the altar, carefully decorated with the flowers she had bought and restocked with incense and matches and candles. And she put her arms around his waist again to lift him up so that he could place the urn.

Well, he supposed he could allow a hug or two.

And if he squeezed back a little, it was just him being obliging.


Thanks for the support. This chapter's a little short, but I couldn't find anywhere to continue after the last sentence, so I guess that's it for Chapter 3. Don't worry too much about updates for the next 3 or so chapters because they've already been written. Some feedback might be good though, since I'd like to know if there's any area for improvement or if some parts are awkward or whatever.

I'll be uploading chapter 4 right after editing, which might be tomorrow. The first few chapters are going to happen within the first week, and so time might pass slowly, but things will speed up pretty soon. Not sure whether I should enter the KHR plotline, since I only planned this as a 'Kyoya backstory' of my own fancy. Prepare for some adowable Kyoya with a 'w', because a 10 year old kid is just too cute not to mess with. Especially if he tries to act like a miniature adult!

That said, see you again sometime tomorrow. Please R&R so that I can get an idea of what else to do.