Disclaimer: I do not own OHSHC.
AN: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! It always makes my day to know people actually enjoy reading what my mind comes up with. ^_^ Also, this is probably the second-to-last chapter (well, originally the fic was supposed to be five chapters only. It did grow from there ^^;). That said, please enjoy!
Miscalculation – Part VI
Large hands are holding him down. His struggles are futile - already somebody is touching him all over his body. He can't even scream - his lips are glued shut.
His clothes are gone in an instant - and Shirokawa's face floats right above his own, whispering: "Now you're going to be mine."
Then Kyouya sits up in bed, sweat-soaked and his heart is racing. Outside it's dark and silent, and the clock next to his bed reads 4:15. At least he can sleep in tomorrow - but even that does little to calm the shaking of his limbs.
The scars on his wrists itch - he faintly sees their outline in the dark. He did remove the bandages only earlier this afternoon; the abrasions are taking their fair time healing (or perhaps were more serious than he has realized). For a split second he sets the manicured nails of his left hand against his right wrist - something deep inside him wants to see blood, wants to set free what is caged in him - then rationality kicks in.
Kyouya draws a faint, if shaky breath, returning both his hands on top of his bedcovers. He can't allow his subconscious to wander.
Yet, when he lies back down, and closes his eyes, Shirokawa is back, smiling at him. And he can't help wonder what would have happened, had he not woken up to find the Host Club next to him - what if he had woken to the monster, once again?
... His nightmares tell him, and when the sun rises at six in the next morning, Kyouya contemplates forgoing sleep all together, and just getting to work. He ends up collapsing from exhaustion, then, and sleeping past noon.
Yoshio Ootori makes a rare appearance at home for lunch. However, as neither of his children are present (Akito is out with friends, and Kyouya still asleep), he works instead. It is rare that he uses this office for actual work – the location is quite nice, he realizes at this point.
But like so many things, he never has enough time to really appreciate what is close to him.
And while he has the art of distracting oneself by work down to pat, at late afternoon he tells one of the maids to have Kyouya come up and meet him once he is up. He does hope nobody is going to wake Kyouya on his accord - while sleeping late into the afternoon is certainly not proof of a healthy sleep pattern, there is nothing wrong with relaxing.
Kyouya shows up not too much later - and just by looking at him, Yoshio can't tell if he is suffering from insomnia or nightmares.
"How are you?" he asks, as Kyouya sits down, and leans his crutch against his chair.
"Improving," replies Kyouya.
"Everything healing as it should? Is your ankle giving you any troubles?" This is easy. This is the sort of conversation Yoshio has practices over decades of a career dealing with patients.
"Just fine," says Kyouya, "The stitches were taken out on Wednesday, and I expect to be rid of the crutch by next weekend."
"Very well," says Yoshio, and there is that heavy moment of silence between them, before he swallows and switches to the next topic. "Our lawyers have been in contact with the Shirokawa family. The case will only be presented pro forma - they are not disputing our charges."
Kyouya nods, and Yoshio wonders how to proceed. "Shirokawa-kun is going to therapy - he will not approach you again. However, a witness statement from you will be needed."
It may be his imagination, but Kyouya appears to pale.
"When?" asks his son, and holds Yoshio's gaze. Kyouya's composure is too perfect to be true, Yoshio can tell – as good an actor Kyouya may be, this is not the moment to be unfazed. That Kyouya pretends to be tells Yoshio more than words could (but what it says only seems to spell his own failure ever louder).
"Whenever you want," he says.
Kyouya glances contemplatively at his wristwatch, and Yoshio wonders once again if this child would ever open up to him. His relationship with his other children is not perfect – but he is certain that Yuuichi, Akito and Fuyumi would come to him if they were in serious trouble.
(And in fact, they have: He remembers petting Fuyumi's hair when she was nine and crying about how her best friend had become an enemy over night; taking care of bleeding knees while his wife told a sobbing Yuuichi to be strong, while a few meters to the side the wheel of his first bicycle was still spinning, or telling Akito not to be too upset when he broke an antique figurine of their mother.)
"Tamaki will be over in an hour," says Kyouya, "So perhaps we could schedule this for tomorrow afternoon?"
"Very well. I will tell Hirikawa-sensei to come by at four, then," Yoshio makes a remark – he will forward this to his secretary later so she can work out the details.
Kyouya nods, and then sits still, waiting for his father to continue. Yoshio can't help but frown – this is the one child that has never come to him with a scraped elbow or troubles at school. And while he had believed Kyouya had just never run into trouble, now he can't be certain.
If not for Kyouya's friends he may have never found out what almost happened. And he can't help wonder what else already happened without his knowledge. But neither can he expect Kyouya to open up to him – those mistakes have been committed a long, long time ago.
(For a moment he remembers the funeral of his wife. Yuuichi and Akito were standing next to each other – both desperately clinging onto their composure. Fuyumi was openly crying, clutching her youngest sibling close to her chest. And when silent tears began to roll down Akito's cheeks, Yuuichi had drawn him into a hug.
Yoshio had stood apart the entire time, and could only look at the casket, still unwilling believe the fates could be cruel enough to tear his wife from him.)
He had seen Kyouya cry back then, Yoshio recalled. It had happened on accident – he had searched to withdraw from the crowd and escaped upstairs – where he had found his youngest child, a photograph of his mother held in hand and tears streaming down his face.
But already then communication failed. While Yoshio had wondered what to do, Kyouya had turned and ran to his own rooms (and he had been relieved. With the funeral and grieve tearing at his own reserves, consoling a child would have been taxing).
Now Yoshio can only blame himself for not having made the effort then. The result sits in the other chair, a pleasant expression on his face, pretending nothing can faze him.
Yoshio sighs. "Kyouya, don't misunderstand me, but in light of what occurred, I believe you ought to speak with a therapist."
Kyouya's lips twitch, but he reigns in any impulsive form of protest. "I understand," he says, "However I think that will hardly be necessary."
"It is standard procedure in these situations," replies Yoshio evenly.
"I am familiar with those procedures, though I believe they apply to situations where something actually happened," Kyouya swallows, "In this case, nothing did – and since I do feel fine, I think therapy will not be required."
Yoshio presses his lips together. Psychology may not be his specialty, but he has a basic education – and Kyouya's insistence on being fine sets of a number of alarms. He also knows he has to be careful now, lest he damages this already tattered relationship even further.
"Arguably so," he says – he can't bring himself to call the attempted rape at its name (maybe because he, like Kyouya, subconsciously prefers the "nothing happened in the end" variation) – "However I would be personally feel much better if you met a therapist at least once."
He can see the wheels turning in Kyouya's head.
"In that case, it won't be a problem, father," replies Kyouya, "Though I believe it would be unfortunate should the press or anybody in general find out. As such, I wonder if the risk is not too high?"
A clever move – and yet utterly wrong.
Yoshio smiles sadly and leans forward (he wants to reach out, hug his son and tell him to stop with those stupid ideas), "Kyouya, if therapy is necessary, I could care less about the press or anybody finding out. I want you to be healthy and happy – and nothing else. Do you understand?"
When Kyouya just looks at him like a deer caught in the headlights, Yoshio continues: "I know I don't usually say so, but that is the basic truth: in comparison to health and happiness everything pales. Wealth, success – they mean little in the end."
And this is true – back when Yoshio was watching his wife die a little more each day, he would have gladly burned all his possessions if only he could restore her health. The same is now true for his children: as long as he can see them laughing and enjoying life he would gladly lose everything.
When Tamaki arrives, Kyouya is in Zombie-mode and he guesses he just woke up.
"Five o'clock. You do sleep later every time. One day you won't get up at all," he says.
Kyouya directs his best glare in Tamaki's direction. "Actually I…"
Then a golden-haired blur bounces with a happy bark past Tamaki and greets Kyouya enthusiastically. For a moment he is about to fall, then Tamaki catches his arm.
"And by the way, I brought Antoinette along," says the other blonde, "I hope you don't mind. But I rarely get to spend time with her, and she was getting lonely, and I remembered she likes you, and I thought…"
Kyouya disentangles himself and gestures for Tamaki to hold his ramblings. "It's okay," he replies (and hopes it actually is. But if luck is with him no other family member will actually encounter Antoinette), "Now, I believe there was homework?"
Tamaki pouts. "Do we have to? Why don't we take Antoinette for a walk instead?"
"We can do that later," says Kyouya.
Later turns into shortly before dinner, which is unusually chaotic.
Antoinette charms the staff as her owner does, and ends up with more food than either Kyouya and Tamaki. So it is one very happy dog and two more-or-less content high-school students that settle for bed hours later.
Tamaki naturally insisted on doing the sleepover commoner-style; sharing the bedroom. There are ten unused guest rooms with connected bathrooms in the Ootori mansion, but Tamaki insists. Kyouya threatens murder, bankruptcy and the end of the world should Tamaki wake him too early – Tamaki swears he won't on his immortal soul, all gods he can name (and a few he made up on the spot) and Mozart - and eventually Kyouya accepts.
It is already past Tamaki's usual bed time when they sit down in front of the fish tank. Kyouya wonders if he should get out his laptop, since Tamaki for once is silent.
In that moment, however, the blonde speaks. "I didn't ask earlier; how are you?"
"Fine, just fine," says Kyouya. If he sounds slightly annoyed, he can't help it.
Tamaki purses his lips. "Really?"
"Yes, really," is Kyouya's response, and because this is Tamaki who already saw him at his worst, he carries on, "Though apparently I shouldn't be. I'm not certain what people expect me to answer – why shouldn't I be fine?"
Tamaki makes to reply, but Kyouya raises a hand. "Yes, I realize something happened. But it was an attempt – it did not get very far, and I hardly remember anything of it."
(The nightmare just the night before, however, is calling him a liar. But that is not new to Kyouya.)
"I got away with a scare and some bruises," Kyouya shrugs, "In the end, it was really just nothing that happened."
"Kyouya," says Tamaki, and something in his voice makes Kyouya stop dead, "I don't think I'm speaking only for myself here, but also for the rest of the Host Club and your sibling as well."
The blonde is silent for a heartbeat, and his eyes don't leave Kyouya's.
"What happened is not nothing. Don't ever call it that."
Tamaki continues, "If anybody ever tries something like this again, even if they merely annoy you – tell me, tell your brothers, tell Mori, Haruhi, anybody. We don't ever want to see something like this happening ever again."
Because they may not be in time then.
"This is far more important than public image, bad press or all the money in the world. I don't care if I look stupid, I don't care what anybody thinks – no one of us does – but we can't do anything as long as we have no clue about what is going on," says Tamaki.
And he doesn't ever want to see Kyouya passed out with blood running down his forehead again. The memories alone send a shudder down his spine.
"I didn't know either," Kyouya mutters, but the protest is half-hearted.
"If ever, now, later or later, somebody tries to do something to you that you don't want – for whatever reason, blackmail, a business deal, whatever – promise me you won't even think about it," Tamaki's voice manages to be hard and pleading at the same time, "Nor think about repercussion when it comes to us – we're friends. I don't care about money or image when it comes to helping a friend, and I don't think any of the others do, either. Maybe I'm being idealistic, putting friendship over fortune, but that's what it is."
Kyouya is silent. However, for once his eyes – wide-open in surprise – are not hooded, and Tamaki can see his words sink in. While he knows Kyouya doesn't like looking anything but professional, he can't help thinking this expression – making Kyouya look younger and more open – suits his friend.
(Because the other one is only a façade, and Tamaki never wants to see the moment when this smooth, callous façade replaces the person Kyouya really is).
When Kyouya still fails to respond, Tamaki instinctively throws his arms around him and draws him in for a hug. It's like hugging a statue, but Tamaki is not deterred.
"Sorry, but I needed to say that," he mutters past Kyouya's ear, and buries a hand in silky black hair, "I mean, you're probably already dealing really well with everything, but you know me… and well, maybe I'm being silly, but I was … still am worried. I know you don't like discussing stuff like this, but well…"
At that point Kyouya finally relaxes. "Listening to your monologue is preferably to a discussion, really," he mutters.
Tamaki can't help chuckling with relief. "Yeah, but you understood what I wanted to say?"
"Your ramblings were surprisingly to the point this time," replies Kyouya. Curiously enough, he makes no move to disentangle himself. (A double victory, because until now he has been unconsciously flinching whenever people touched him without warning. Or maybe he just doesn't react because it's Tamaki, and even his subconscious is used to the blonde's need for close contact).
"That's good," says Tamaki.
Because maybe this time Kyouya will understand his words not only by their logic – but also by their meaning.
tbc
One more chapter to go. ^^ Hope you enjoyed reading; and if you feel like it, maybe you can give me an idea what you liked and what not-so-much?