Anon asked: A sad memory they would rather forget, for Kyoya
Kyoya stood, staring at the wooden door with wide eyes. He didn't know if he should go in, even though he wanted to. His mother was sick and needed rest, she'd lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing. Her brunette hair was messy and greasy, and dark bags lay beneath the eyes that were so much like his.
They were always compared, looks-wise. He was a tiny version of his mother, one of the reasons why she let him keep his hair at shoulder length. He was as pretty as a little girl, as pretty as her, and it made the two of them feel... closer. Even if he went weeks without seeing her, he could just look in the mirror and see the parts of her he was given.
She always seemed to need her rest, but he had to see her now. He came so close to... She almost died, and he wouldn't have said goodbye. He wouldn't be able to hug her, kiss her cheek, and listen to her sing. It felt almost selfish to think of it in those terms, but he loved her so much and he couldn't bear to think of the hole she'd leave in his heart.
Taking hold of his resolve, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the clinical, sterile room. He knew hospital rooms had to be clean, but the smell of antiseptic and iodine was pungent, and paired with something disgustingly stale. It didn't suit her. She loved flowers, and the best perfumes, and silk sheets and... and...
"Baby boy."
Her face and voice were both warm and cotton soft when he finally let his gaze lay on her, sitting up in that awfully uncomfortable bed, but he wasn't fooled into thinking she was alright. Bandages lay thickly around her forearms, and she definitely had stitches. Her eyes were puffy, raw and red, bloodshot from the tears she must have cried when she awoke. His father had explained to him, after all, in more detail than an eight-year-old should know.
She wanted to die and was disappointed she was saved. It hurt. A searing pain wrapped around his heart when he thought about it, that none of them could convince her to stay.
Fighting his own tears, he rushed forward and climbed onto the bed, trying to be careful of the various IVs and wires attached to her slim frame. She didn't push him away, didn't tell him that he shouldn't, simply cradled the back of his head and wove her fingers between the soft, black strands, kisses carefully pressed into his hair.
"It's okay, baby boy," She cooed, so sure that she could convince him of that. But she couldn't, because he knew. He knew since he first saw her bleeding out on the bathroom floor.
She wasn't okay.