a/n: Oh, the angst! (Please, don't come after me with pitchforks or other sharp objects!). This was not a happy chapter to write, and it was a rather difficult one as well. It just wouldn't get the way I wanted, so I had to keep re-writing bits. So, chapter eight isn't finished yet either (I kept a steady lineup of chapters until now, for the most part). I've no idea when that'll come out, but it shouldn't be too long.

This doesn't focus on Kyouya and Haruhi, but its rather revealing about them all the same. As always, reviews are appreciated. :3

I do not own Ouran. :)


For all of Sunday, Kyouya holed himself up in his room.

Only now did he realize the repercussions his actions would have – he had just taken a huge step back from his goal – his goal to inherit his father's legacy. But that wasn't all that plagued him.

He knew Fuyumi came by a few times. He could picture her, hesitating outside the door, her eyes concerned, but quietly deciding to leave him alone.

He knew his mother came by once – she knocked, but when Kyouya didn't answer, she left.

His father didn't care.


For all of Monday, it rained.

A light rain fell gently from the sky; black clouds obscured the blue sky and sunshine. The trees were turning a vivid green now – Kyouya glanced at them from the windows all day – but his world couldn't have been grayer.

He couldn't get his father off his mind. He couldn't understand why… Why his father would play with Haruhi like this. It was his position to be the chess piece – at least, until he succeeded his father as the chess player – but it was not Haruhi's.

She looked at him inquiringly throughout the day, wondering when he would deliver the dreaded news, but he only acted like he didn't see her.

He didn't want her to know what a bastard his father was.


When he got home, only the clouds and the puddles in the street remained from the rain.

He took his shoes off slowly. The house felt silent, dead.

"Hello?" he shouted. His voice echoed in the grand entrance hall. No one answered.

Fuyumi was gone.


Kyouya gave a nasty look to the man who'd just nudged into him, but the man didn't even notice. Stupid commoner, probably didn't know who he was…

He realized it had been a bad idea to take the train. He'd never rode it before in his entire life (having relied on his chauffeur) but had always heard how crowded and common it was. The rumors were true.

Kyouya gripped his ring tighter. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, he noted blandly to himself.

His father knew what his chauffeurs knew. If he was driven to Fuyumi's house, his father would know. And needless to say, his father did not approve of his grown daughter interacting with her her brothers, father, or mother on occasions other than New Years and the like.

From the subway station, he took a short, unpleasant walk through the damp streets. His thoughts strayed, and he nearly bumped into a woman and her child in the street.

Finally, just as the rain started up again, he reached her home. He raced up the drive, avoiding the bleak rain that was beginning to fall, and was admitted in.

He wandered about for a time, not letting his presence be known. As he walked through the main entrance, he noticed the sounds of a grandfather clock. It seemed to be much louder than it should've.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic... Tic...

He noticed, right away, how the atmosphere mirrored his own home's. Cold. Quiet. But there was something more. A kind of hollowness that even the Ootori house didn't have... the feeling of something having been gutted.

It made sense, then, what he saw next.

It made sense that it nearly broke his heart.

At first he didn't even realize she was in the room. It was dark outside, but she used no light – relied only on the weak, gray-filtered sunshine. There was the rain, which all but drowned out the slight creak of her rocking chair.

Her eyes were on a book, though she didn't turn the page – didn't read the words. She just sat looking blankly at the same page. Nine Months – How to Take Care of Yourself and Your Child.

A tear fell and marred the paper.

She looked up, finally noticing his entrance. Something lit in her dull eyes. "Kyouya! I'm sorry I-"

Before she could even finish, he put his arms around her and held tight.


She set the warm tea out before him. She was practically beaming now, and he could tell how much his visit pleased her. He felt strangely uncomfortable, knowing how unhappy she was. Why…?

She sat down on the other side of him and stirred her tea idly. "I'm so glad you came to visit. It really does get boring here, with no one around."

He sipped his tea. "Is your husband coming back today?"

She tried to stay bright. "Yes, he is. Are you sure you don't want any sugar or anything?"

"Don't try to change the subject."

She fell silent. He softened his tone for her benefit.

"You never said anything to indicate you were..."

He never was a sensitive person. He couldn't bring himself to complete the statement...

Lonely.

"It's not so bad when Osamu is here."

He wondered how that man could be any company, but he realized that even Osamu was better than the tick of the grandfather clock, or the drum of the rain.

"Let's play a game, Fuyumi."

She turned up to look at him, without a hint of the smile she normally wore. She just looked tired. And older.

"What kind of game?"

"Truth."

"No dare?"

"I don't know why I'd want something that foolish. The truth is much more precious."

"I thought you were always more of a chess player," she commented with an unusually wry smile.

He didn't acknowledge her statement, instead diving right into his new game. "Are you happy?"

She looked him in the eye and answered easily, simply. "No."

He looked at her for a moment more – he didn't expect to get an answer so soon. She looked into her cup.

"Now," she said softly, smiling once again, "I have a question for you, Kyouya. Do you love Fujioka Haruhi?"

He hesitated for only a moment, only a moment, but decides that an honest answer deserved an honest answer. "Yes."

She smiled wider, a look of relief flooding her face.

The realization dawned on him slowly, nothing like a similar one on Saturday night. This one is more a heartache than a fury.

She was just trying to help.

But it'd gone terribly wrong.

"Fuyumi, it doesn't work like that."

He took a deep breath. His sister, he realized, was fragile. So fragile.

"You can't just have me married because I – I love her. She doesn't love me. She won't be happy."

They're quiet for a while more. He can't see her eyes - so like his, but so different in how easily they betray. They're lowered. But soon enough, a single tear slides down her cheek.

"Kyouya." She covered her face. Her voice was muffled. "I just wanted to see someone happy."

"Haruhi would be unhappy. Very much so." His voice was a whisper, and neither looked at the other anymore.

"You care about her. How can you not-"

There was the faintest sound of a door shutting. Fuyumi's words abruptly halted, and she stood, regaining her poise considerably. But Kyouya noticed the way she supported herself on the table as she rose.

Kyouya rose as well. "Take care of yourself," he reminded her, "and the little one."

She smiled a bit more warmly, more like the Fuyumi he knew. The Fuyumi who rooted through his clothing drawers and spoke of romance and friendship with an awed tone; Fuyumi the girl instead of Fuyumi the wife and mother-to-be.

"Fuyumi?" It was Osamu. His eyes flecked to Kyouya, and he gave a slight bow. "Good afternoon. You were visiting with your sister?"

"I was just leaving," Kyouya said with a (fake) smile. He nodded at Fuyumi and left her little dining room, but waited outside, near the doorway.

He had to know how Osamu would take this. Or if Fuyumi would even tell him.

He had to.

The couple didn't speak for a while. Then:

"You seem nervous. What's wrong?"

His tone was more slight curiosity than care.

Fuyumi didn't respond.

"Did you just hear me?"

She still didn't respond.

"Fine, then. Did you make this tea yourself?"

"Yes, I did."

"No wonder it's so bitter. You should tell the cook to do it – it's what she's paid for."

Kyouya couldn't see the scene, but he could imagine: Osamu, boredly flipping through a stack of papers. Fuyumi scurrying about, putting a cup of tea before him, averting his eyes. Doing anything not to tell him the truth.

The most precious thing: Truth. And trust. Were these the reasons Haruhi was so important to him?

"Osamu... I-I have something to tell you."

He heard the light scratch of a chair being pulled back as Fuyumi joined her husband at the table.

"What is it?"

"I'm pregnant."

The shuffling of the papers stopped. Now Kyouya knew she had his full attention.

"You're sure?"

"Very."

Osamu immersed himself in thought. Kyouya sensed that Fuyumi was holding her breath.

"This child has bad timing. I won't be home much for the next nine months to make sure you're taken care of."

Fuyumi just sat. Probably twiddling her thumbs – the thing that Ootoris never did, but did anyway.

"You're going to take responsibility, aren't you? This is the future heir of the Hamata Corporation; he... or she, I suppose, needs to be kept in good health."

She knows him all too well.

"Fuyumi, are you listening to me?"

Her voice is small. "Yes."

"I'll have a new diet planned out for you. And I'll have an appointment scheduled tomorrow for a very accomplished doctor."

"Okay."

"I'll be gone again by then. I trust you to make good decisions for the child while I'm not present. In fact, I'll have a nurse installed in the house to help you."

Kyouya knew well what she was feeling. Complete numbness.

She wasn't angry, but he was angry on her behalf. She was pregnant, and there wasn't a single "congratulations". And a nurse? It was almost as if Fuyumi was a child, and not the mother. He was cold, and it was all business.

Kyouya knew this type of man well. He was the same as Kyouya's father.

And he was a lot like Kyouya.

Fuyumi just sat. Kyouya heard a restrained sob.

Because after so long, being numb starts to hurt.

"Are you crying? I know that pregnant women are supposedly very hormonal, but-"

The choking sound grew louder.

"Fuyumi?" He was restraining his impatience, but his voice grew the tiniest bit louder. "What is it?"

Her answer came in the form of sobbing. They were not pretty; they were not elegant. They were like gasps of air, and if one was immune to the sheer sadness behind them one would think they were laughter.

Kyouya bit his lip hard, slipped away. He couldn't handle it anymore.

He didn't like seeing his sister crying like that.

And he never wanted to see Haruhi broken down to what Fuyumi was.