A/N: Watched Ouran High School Host Club thirteen years ago. Woke up this morning and decided to write a KyoyaOC fic. Am I late to the party or what? lmao Is anybody still here?
When Pigs Fly
by Reveri
1
Ootori Ancestral Residence, Tokyo, Japan…
Ootori Kyoya had just turned four when he first put a name to the ruinous feeling in his chest.
For the first couple years of its affliction, he'd wailed and insisted to his nannies – and later, his league of world-class pediatricians – that the sensation inside him was a symptom. An ailment. He was sick, surely. But the machines found nothing, and despite the absence of a clear diagnosis, he was kept home all the time under the command of his father. Night and day his stomach churned, frequently turned over on itself and somersaulted inside him. Made him unbearably nauseated around everyone he knew.
"Yoshio! How dare you!"
Playing hide-and-seek behind one of the massive house curtains, Kyoya watched his mother scream at the top of her lungs, shrill as she ran down the grand staircase, almond eyes rimmed black with blotchy, ruined mascara.
Kyoya frowned to himself. Why couldn't his nanny find his hiding spot yet? Did she really think he would hide in the fourth house library, again?
Frantic in her tone, Ootori Haruka shrieked, "Shinohara Irie? Shinohara Irie? The first time you had the decency to be discrete, but now, Shinohara goddamn Irie! In a casino! My mother saw you two liplocked in Hong Kong, you cruel, spineless cheat!"
Gray eyes widening, Kyoya looked on as his mother reached for the heeled sandals on her feet and angrily launched them into the air, chucking them to the direction of his father with swift, frightening precision.
At that instance, Ootori Yoshio had barely stepped into the manor's marble foyer. Thin lips curled into a vicious snarl as Yoshio ducked and avoided one projectile after another, his fists clenched in repulsion as he later whirled around to deem his wife with darkened eyes.
"How very pretentious of you, Haruka-san."
The sinking, churning feeling crept into Kyoya's stomach.
"Discretion is meant for business endeavors, much like how you are with your little off-shore accounts. Funneling a couple hundred grand a week from the main household funds…" Yoshio let out an indignant huff. "Or is that your conjugal parasitizing fee?"
Haruka reddened as Yoshio handed his coat to an apathetic butler and loosened the tie around his collar.
"Cheat I might be, but what you are isn't much better." Yoshio said.
Hands shaking at her sides, Kyoya's mother barely managed to sputter out, "I am your wife! You married me!"
"That's right. When I thought the Daidouji still had pedigree." Yoshio sniped. "You used to be such good publicity, Haruka-san. Now, not even a vault full of money can shut you up…"
Kyoya's tiny fingers unclasped from the curtains and latched onto his aching belly. Knees buckling, he slouched against the window panel until he found himself listless, sitting on carpeted floor. "…help…" he uttered weakly.
Deafening noise overtook the foyer's open space, and Kyoya vaguely noticed that there was a growing numbness consuming his frail body. Crawling all over as he pressed his palms over his ears and shut his eyes closed.
.
When Kyoya returns to consciousness, its much later that day. In fact, it was nighttime, and he found himself tucked under familiar purple sheets, back in the safety of his own bedroom. By the foot end of his four-poster bed, a new face guarded on standby.
"Who are you?" he manages to rasp.
The dark-haired woman bowed. "Good evening, Ootori-sama. My name is Shizue and I will serve you in place of—"
"Where is Hana?" Kyoya interjected, his brows pulling together. "You're not my nanny."
Shizue took a deep breath before answering stoically, "Hana-san is no longer fit to serve the young master. Please allow me to be of service to Ootori-sama from now on."
It takes a minute for Kyoya to understand the buried implication. Eventually, he frowns, throws his head to the side, and lets out a small, resigned sigh. With his bare, muddled eyesight, his gaze goes over his room, until it settles at the ornate dais of his bedside table.
Because his father usually placed souvenirs from his work trips abroad on it, Kyoya often woke up to interesting knickknacks and postcards.
This time, on Kyoya's nightstand laid a shiny heap of golden poker tokens. Hong Kong Lucky Dragon Palace, it read around the edges. A whole moment of complete clarity and his mind—clicked. His breathing labored. Once again, his insides were set aflame and he moaned about the acidic aftertaste pooling in his mouth.
His new nanny calls for aid.
No matter how many times the doctors prodded at him, flying him out to treatment centers, using his family's state-of-the-art medical equipment, Kyoya's illness remained a mystery. In retrospect, Kyoya was never able to remember how long those episodes lasted anyway, and all he could tell them was that his insides hurt. And hurt. And hurt.
Most times his fingers would tingle until they felt numb, sometimes he'd lose the capability to breathe for minutes. Hours.
Although none of that mattered now. It turned out to be an age thing. Like most childhood sicknesses, Kyoya was strong. He eventually grew out of it.
Ootori Kyoya grew into his roots and burrowed his heart so, very deep that even he could no longer find it. Every late night, instead of watching, listening, or sneaking around, he kept his gaze to the ceiling. Awake, his attention never wavered from numbers and his academic pursuits, and, just like Fuyumi-nee had asked of him, Kyoya never stayed in the same room as his parents for long.
Only when he's needed. Only when he's spoken to. Only to show face.
When the day is done, and there was nothing else to hide from or yield to, Kyoya dived under the weighted tide of his sheets, and quietly passed the remainder of the evening staring into the dark.
Ikebukuro Residential District, Tokyo, Japan…
Three-year-old Senri stared at the wall clock, and then at the door. Under her intense mahogany gaze, the silver knob stubbornly refused to turn.
"Look, Sen. I'm gonna bet you my lunch money that they won't come home tonight, either," Koushigo Inoue said as she saw her younger sister huddled next to the front door hallway. "Gramps said mom and dad had to put in extra hours at the office, remember?"
Senri's mouth tightened into a pout. "…but… they promised…"
Inoue rolled her eyes and marched off. "Suit yourself."
The rest of the night passed in silence and Senri's eyelids began to droop. Before the toddler could help it, she yawned.
Inoue passed by the entrance hall and huffed irritably. She crouched down to her sister's level, poked her in the middle of her forehead to lift her gaze as she casually offered, "Go to bed. Nee-san will wake you up when they get here."
Bleary brown eyes peered up at her. Another soft, mangled yawn. "…promise?"
"Yes, yes. Promise." Inoue replied. She quickly ushered her sister to the direction of their shared bedroom and guided Senri into the bed spread.
In a tiny voice, Senri asked Inoue, "Nee-chan, if dad figures out the code, he'll come home immediately, right? What's the chance of that happening tonight?"
Inoue calculated it in her head and winced. Truthfully, she answered, "One in a million."
"But I even used my wish…"
"Senri." Inoue steeled her voice. "Go. To. Sleep."
With a sad sniff, the brunette turned over to her side. In less than five minutes, the toddler finally succumbed to sleep, and Inoue tucked the blanket around her to secure her from the cold.
Inoue headed for the living room and knelt next to the kotatsu. She plucked a burnt, pink candle off the celebratory cake atop the low table and returned it into its box. She kept it in the kitchen fridge and returned to the living room to drag one of the tatami mats onto the hallway.
With a bitter frown, Inoue plopped onto the floor as she sat and turned sideways. She rested her head on the wall, black eyes pinned straight ahead.
"My turn to wait now, I guess," she grumbled under her breath, dull-toned.
Stupid birthday wishes. Stupid imouto. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid, toopid grampa.
Inoue glared at the door. "A million to one chance." she muttered. "Absolutely imposs—"
Keys jingled and the doorknob turned. Crisp air wafted into the house as the front door swung open.
"Girls? Are you still awake?" Koushigo Hitoshi's ecstatic voice resounded as he stepped in. Followed by his wife Chiharu, they shuffled into the genkan and removed their fur-lined, winter boots. "We have good, good news!"
"Ara? Inoue-chan? Why are you sleeping there...?" Inoue's mother inquired in concern as she noted the state of her eldest daughter along the corridor.
"Tou-san," Inoue blinked multiple times at the sight of her parents, incredulous. "Kaa-san." She swallowed thickly. "You…" She looked at the wall clock—11:37 PM. "You're… home?" She sounded unsure. "You made it." She swallowed again. "Senri was… She was waiting all night. Didn't want to blow her cake. I… already put it away."
Chiharu smiled softly at her daughter and walked into the house. "Let's take it out then. Anata, why don't you wake up the birthday girl?"
"Of course. We have to tell her the good news, too," Hitoshi grinned and winked knowingly, messing up Inoue's hair as he passed.
"What, did dad figure out the code?" she asked.
"Even better," Chiharu replied as she helped Inoue up from the floor and moved to the kitchen. "Your dad's program got all the computer systems running again. So many investors showed up last minute! Even ji-chan didn't know what to say to them. So many people in limousines, Inoue, you wouldn't believe it…"
Inoue stood where she stood and just… stood. Gobsmacked. In the rush of information, she could barely hear Senri's drowsy voice call out to her as she and their father stepped into the kitchen space.
"Nee-san! Nee-san!" High-pitched giggles filled the room. Inoue pinched herself in the arm. "You owe me your lunch money!"
Presently…
A loud crash, and Fujioka Haruhi's face contorted in horror.
"Eek! The flower pot!" she shrieked.
"Haruhi." Senri pinched the bridge of her nose. "For the sweet love of debtlessness, please do not tell me you just knocked over the Pinner Qing Dynasty vase. Please."
"The what? I…" Haruhi's voice shook. "I didn't m-mean to…!"
Senri winced as the notorious boys of the high school host club swarmed around Haruhi like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves.
"Look at that… We were supposed to auction this, you know…" Suoh Tamaki began morosely.
"…for eighty-thousand dollars…" Hitachiin Hikaru continued.
Haninozuka Mitsukuni piped up from Mori Takashi's shoulders, "Or more!"
"…at the monthly club fundraiser." Hitachiin Kaoru finished. "What ever shall this commoner do in repayment…?"
As Ootori Kyoya stepped forward and began enumerating the foundations of her friend's absolute demise, Senri only blanched further.
"The Hatsumode fortune paper was right," she uttered under her breath. "…I should have tied it to a pine tree…"
It was going to be a really unlucky year.
Chapter end. Version 16 Aug 2021.