Yoshio hesitated outside his wife's bedroom. He and Yuka had separate rooms; they always had. In the earlier days of their marriage, they would sleep together periodically, but the frequency of their intimate relationship had dwindled over the years until it only happened once a month. After Kyoya's birth, Yuka had refused to sleep with him altogether, saying that she didn't want any more children. He had respected her space.

Their marriage had been arranged: a manner of business. There had never been any real warmth between them. Except once, after Fuyumi was born. For the longest time after that, Yuka had been tender and caring towards her husband and her three children. But when Kyoya was born, something had changed. Yoshio didn't know it, but a part of his subconscious he blamed his youngest child for the rift between him and his wife.

Finally, Yoshio gathered enough resolve to knock on the door before opening it and letting himself in. "Yuka, I need to talk to you."

She was by the window. A book was open in her hand, but Yuka was staring at the scenery out the window rather than the manuscript she held. She let out a long, slow exhale through her nose. For a moment, it was as though she refused to acknowledge her husband, but in the end she turned her head toward him. Her eyes were dark, like his, and they held the same calculating glow that Kyoya's did when he met a stranger. Her long black hair was pulled up into a loose bun with some stray hairs falling in front of her face. She wore a casual nightgown with a light robe pulled over it.

Today was her "Me Day", as she had dubbed it: the one day a week in which she had no responsibilities. Why was her husband possibly choosing to interrupt her now? "About what?"

Yoshio sat down in the seat opposite his wife. He took a deep breath in and then let it out. "It's about our youngest son," he replied. "It's about Kyoya." Yoshio was still reeling from the incident in the hospital the other night. He hadn't gone back to see Kyoya since then, and he was certain that his son was glad for that distance. "The results of his medical tests came in last night." Yuka had already gone to bed by the time the businessman had come home the night before, and he hadn't seen it fit to wake her with such news. He didn't even want to tell her now. "Our son has a congenital heart disease. The doctors say that there is nothing we can do." He took another deep breath. "Kyoya will be dead in two weeks." The sentence was blunt and unequivocal.

Yuka turned, eyes wide at her husband's statement. Was he being serious? Their youngest son—the boy who had spent the first week of his life struggling to survive and hooked up to countless machines, but who ultimately overcame such dwindling chances of survival—was dying? The boy who had remained in top condition growing up, eating healthily, and exercising in moderation only had two more weeks to live before his heart stopped beating? Their son whom she'd silently watched growing up, too afraid of becoming attached to him for fear that he would rebel against his destiny just as her youngest brother had done to her parents, will be lowered into the ground in two weeks' time? Too young to have rebelled at all?

"Kyoya is…dying?" she murmured, her voice softer than it had been in the last decade. She stared down at her husband with strangely defenseless eyes, as though silently begging him to tell her that it wasn't true and that she wasn't about to lose a son after barely being involved in his life.

Yuka's vulnerable expression caused a crack in Yoshio's armor. There was a hitching sound in his chest as he took a shaky breath. Kyoya may have made him very angry in the last week or so, but the boy was still his son. He was still Yuka's son: their youngest child, the baby of the family.

The businessman's hand twitched where it was resting before it tentatively reached out to touch that of his wife. The touch was feather light, but it still sent a tremor through Yoshio's body. The reality of the situation, and its gravity, began to overwhelm him. Yoshio had of course seen family members die before, but they had all been old. They had lived long, successful lives and died in relative peace and comfort. But Kyoya…was still a child. He wouldn't become an adult for several more years. But he would never live to become a grown-up. It didn't seem just.

All Yoshio could do was nod in response to his wife's question.

Yuka withdrew a trembling breath before letting out a short sob. She lowered her head and covered her face with her hand, trying to will herself not to cry but the tears came anyway. For her son's entire life, she had remained two steps away from him, not wanting to interfere with his growth. That first week after his birth had been the most terrifying time of her life and she didn't want to experience any heartbreak in case something did end up happening to her son. And yet, he had always been on her mind as the years went by and now she couldn't help the crushing sentiment in her chest at the thought of her son going into a premature grave.

"But he had fought so hard," she whispered feebly, her usual powerful voice deflated. Memories of Kyoya struggling for life after birth and how despite all odds he had grown to be such a strong young boy were washing over her.

"I know…" Yoshio said, his voice strained by emotion. He couldn't remember the last time that he had seen Yuka cry and the scene shook the hardened businessman to his very core. He took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and put it on his wife's lap, allowing her the decision of whether or not to take it.

Where Yuka had been distant in Kyoya's life, Yoshio had been ever present. Perhaps he had been too controlling over his son. He only wanted Kyoya to be successful. He had known since his youngest child was born that there would be less motivation for the boy to work hard. He wanted to give Kyoya the motivation that his place in the family would not afford him, so that he could make a decent life for himself. He had expected a lot of his son, and perhaps his demands had been too high. But it was too late to fix that now.

"How did the doctors not find something like this sooner? How could they be so careless about our son's health as to miss something life threatening?!" Her voice had begun to rise and she swallowed, trying to compose herself before she lost all control.

"I don't know how they could be so incompetent," Yoshio snapped with anger, not at Yuka, but at his staff and at himself. His wife's grip on his hand calmed him down a bit and he took several deep breaths, trying to recompose himself. "They say that the hole in his heart must have started out small, invisible to anyone who wasn't looking for it, and that it grew as he got older. We haven't had Kyoya's heart examined for several years, so I suppose it just eluded them when he was younger because it was so miniscule." He found it bitterly inconceivable that something that tiny could be threatening his son's life. Perhaps he would understand if it was a tumor…but this was a hole smaller than an American dime.

Yuka murmured, "I can't believe this…"

There was silence before Yoshio finally broke it. "What…do you want to do, Yuka?" He wasn't really sure what he was asking.

"I don't know," Yuka admitted as she picked up the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. She gripped Yoshio's hand tighter. "I can't handle making funeral arrangements…I simply can't. But we can't hold off on it for…too long." She nearly choked on her words and she inhaled deeply, trying to reign in her emotions.

Yoshio's hand in Yuka's trembled at the very thought of 'funeral arrangements'. It was more than he could possibly bear to think of: putting his son's cold body into a box and burying it in the ground. A sobbing sound tore from the stoic man's throat against his will.

Yuka stared down at the handkerchief she had crumpled in one hand. Before she could even think about what she was saying, she whispered, "He's the reason I didn't want to have any more children. I…I couldn't stand the thought of creating another child who was so frail. I didn't think I could go through it again…" She sniffed and tried to take even breaths before she began crying again. "That's why I pulled away from you, Yoshio. I didn't want to risk loving you enough to want a fifth child so I abandoned you…I abandoned my whole family because I was selfishly afraid."

Yoshio blinked in surprise and he studied Yuka intently, as though he had never seen the woman before. 'Love'. Had Yuka been in love with him then? The thought had never occurred to him. The marriage was one of convenience, as every marriage of the Ootori family had been, going back several generations. He married Yuka out of a duty to continue the Ootori line. It had never crossed his mind that his wife might actually have feelings for him.

Love…Perhaps…it wasn't a fantasy after all?

"Yuka…" he said with a shaky breath. "I think I've made a terrible mistake. I've made Kyoya hate me, and I don't know how to fix it."

Yuka looked up, meeting her husband's eyes for the first time since he delivered the news. Her eyebrows were scrunched up, slightly confused. Why would Kyoya hate his father? Sure, their son may resent Yoshio for pushing him too hard when growing up, as even she was aware of the pressure that he put on the boy, but to go so far as to hate him...

"What did you do?"

Yoshio sighed in deep regret. "I'm sure that you heard about Kyoya calling off his engagement to Keiko Tadeshi at the National Meeting. Ever since then, he's been…" The businessman reached for the right term for his son's activities. "…'Courting' the heiress of the French Grand Tonnerre company. She's the one he pushed out of the way during the bus accident. I…" Yoshio lowered his head, ashamed for the first time of his actions, which sounded so absurd now that he had to give words to them. "I thought that she was only interested in Kyoya for the wealth and standing she may gain from associating with him and influencing him to break the engagement. I struck her in a lobby full of people, insulted her in every way that I could, and told her that Kyoya would be better off if she hadn't been born." He'd wanted to scare her away, to keep his youngest, naïve son safe from being manipulated and hurt. "But I think that Kyoya is serious about his feelings for her. And…she might be serious as well." It was painful to admit, but Éclair Tonnerre had subverted every one of his expectations. She hadn't turned and run when she learned that Kyoya was dying. She was still with him, despite it all.

Yuka stared at her husband, utterly appalled. She had not heard a word of his recent actions. Yes, she'd known that Kyoya had pushed someone out of the way of the bus that had resulted in his accident, and she had silently commended her son for his selflessness. Now knowing that he had done it for a woman he was in love with and that her husband had suspected treachery was almost too much for her to comprehend. She internally cringed as he listed off what he'd done to her as well: held a hand to her, insulted her, told her that she should never have been born? Just how cruel was the man she married?

She withdrew her hand and turned her gaze out the window, biting her lip and trying to find something to say. Finally she settled with, "You never did believe in love."

"How can you learn what's never been shown?" Yoshio demanded. His parents had been every bit as strict and domineering and emotionally distant to him as he had been to his four children. And Yuka…until this moment he had no idea that she may have had actual feelings towards him. Either he had been completely blind all these years or she had hidden it too well, keeping herself apart from him. Love wasn't like other feelings such as sorrow or anger or sorrow or frustration or pride. It wasn't easily identifiable. There were no physical signs: no thoughts or actions which were constant for each person like other emotions. He had no idea what love actually was or what it felt like. Perhaps he himself had experienced 'love' and had called it something different, like pride or concern. "I don't want it to be too late, Yuka. I don't want Kyoya to die hating me and thinking that I hate him."

"Then apologize to the girl and to him and tell him that you love him." Yuka looked back over at him, her expression a strange mix of steely, defensive features and weak eyes. "You do love him, don't you?" At this point, she couldn't even be sure. He'd never shown much, if any, affection towards her children, and certainly not towards her. The most 'love' he'd ever shown her was a gentle smile rather than one through tight lips. She wouldn't be surprised if their children didn't believe that Yoshio actually loved them.

And as strange as it was, Yoshio himself didn't even know if he believed it. Did Yoshio love his son? Was that why his heart felt sick at the thought of Kyoya dying? Was that why he had pushed his son to excel? Was that why he had been disappointed by what he perceived as a lack of judgment and duty on Kyoya's part? Was that why he had been so hell-bent on shielding his youngest child from poisonous influences? Was that love?

"I do," he told Yuka. "I love Kyoya. I can't bear…" He choked. "I can't bear the thought of losing him. He's my youngest son. He is beyond dear to me. I don't know why…" Why I didn't catch on sooner.

For as long as Yuka had had known Yoshio, he had never been one to get choked up or emotional about anything. Hearing her husband struggle for words through a cracked voice sent pains through her heart. For once not thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward and hugged her husband close to her.

"We either learn or rebel against the previous generation," she explained quietly. "It seems that we learned from them…and that was a mistake." She should have been like her brother, who fought against his destiny of not achieving anything just because he was the youngest. She should have rebelled against the strict, emotionless upbringing that she had been taught and instead show her own children kindness and care. It seemed too late for that now.

Yoshio put his hand on Yuka's shoulders, surprised to find that she was stronger than he remembered. Was it possible that he had been leaning on his family for support all along, instead of the other way around? "Maybe it isn't too late," he said softly. "For us…" His eyes darted to the side, uncertain and a little embarrassed by what he was saying. "And for our relationship with Kyoya. Yuka…" Yoshio brought his eyes up to meet hers, a small crack in his walls showing vulnerability through his dark eyes. "Will you come with me to the hospital to see our son?"