"So you're heading out already, Kyoya."

It wasn't a question.

Kyoya, in the middle of slipping on his shoes, straightened up and eyed his father curiously. The floor sucked all the heat from his one socked foot, yet he squared his chin and acted as though he wasn't slowly but surely dying inside. Kyoya imagined this was what it felt like to stare down a feral bear. The fear of making one wrong move, of showing even the slightest weakness, because his opponent wouldn't hesitate to strike him down where he stood. A very dangerous game indeed, he thought, more than a little wary.

"I suppose you'll be at the Fujioka residence once again?"

"That's right." Kyoya confirmed. He tugged his shoe on in a single motion, maintaining both his balance and eye contact through sheer stubbornness. "Ranka-san finally has a day off, so naturally Haruhi would rather have our usual study session at her house, where she can spend more time with him." He paused, slyly. "I trust that isn't a problem?"

His father acknowledged the challenge with a tilt of his head. "I don't believe so, no."

Kyoya returned to his bag, meticulously running through the contained items.

Textbook, textbook, notebook, phone, keys—

"Make sure you remain polite and courteous, as is expected of you." —Another textbook, chapstick, wallet, spare paper, pencil case— "And do remember to thank Ranka-san for allowing your intrusion so frequently. You seem to spend more time there than at home these days."

Pepper spray.

His hands stilled.

For a long moment, no words were exchanged.

And then Yoshio addressed the elephant in the room. "I gather you're still not at liberty to explain the situation to me."

"I'm afraid not." Kyoya answered delicately, zipping the bag closed and shouldering it. "I believe it isn't really my place to divulge such matters without Haruhi's permission. If she would prefer for it to remain a secret, then I will do my best to oblige her wishes." His voice lowered to a distracted mumble. "I'd rather not upset her again."

(Aside from the fact that an angry Haruhi was quite a sight to behold, if any of the other hosts had caught onto her foul mood, Kyoya was sure there would have been five shovels at the ready to bury his body.

Five, because when it came to Haruhi, best friend solidarity meant absolute shit.

In fact, Tamaki would probably be the first one to arm himself. Somehow, Kyoya felt as though he should be insulted.

He wasn't).

"I see."

These pauses were becoming far too awkward for Kyoya's liking. He was just short of shooting a text at Tachibana to put him out of his misery, bulldozer the front doors down, and drive the car over him, when his father spoke again. "Assuming that you're courting her would be too much to ask, no?"

Miraculously, Kyoya didn't choke on air.

"Courting her?" He echoed, with a voice that was confused and amused rolled into one. Kyoya, being an observant little shit, as Haruhi liked to put it, (or a creepy telepathic demon, as Tamaki would jokingly claim), certainly noticed the implication that his father wouldn't necessarily object to said relationship. "No. No, we're just friends. Haruhi is a very dear friend to me; I merely wish to protect her, that's all."

The elder accepted this with a short nod, which Kyoya bitterly thought couldn't even begin to compensate for the near heart-attack that last question had induced.

"Under the circumstances, I will ignore your mobilization of those select few Black Onion Squad members, but in the future I'd much rather you inform me first before using them again." His gaze turned severe. "Word does reach me eventually, you should have known that little taskforce of yours would be uncovered sooner or later."

Of course it would.

It wasn't like Kyoya hadn't bothered to hide it too well in the first place, lest his family become even more concerned with his actions. The last thing Kyoya wanted or needed right now was a well-intentioned moron poking their nose into his business.

"I never intended for them to be functional for so long." He replied, diplomatically. "However, unforeseen circumstances have complicated matters somewhat. With the limited timeframe in which they can operate, work has proven to be rather slow."

Evidently, his deterrents proved ineffective.

For instead of backing down, the Ootori patriarch was now observing his son with something akin to concern. When he spoke, it was low, smooth, careful in the way it always was when Yoshio was edging on a topic on which he didn't know where he stood.

"Kyoya, should I be made aware of this situation? If it threatens your safety, or that of the Fujioka girl you're so fond of, acting rashly could prove to be a very unwise decision."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was already well aware of that fact, thank you very much. His utter failure at defusing the situation was still fresh in his mind, ready to pistol whip him across the face with the reminder when he least expected it.

Still, he forced his expression into one of collected calm, and quietly shook his head. Aside from the fact that he'd rather eat his own foot than ask his father for help, Kyoya also possessed a rather unhealthy dose of stubbornness that could sometimes impact his ability to act rationally.

Like right now, for example.

"Not for now." Kyoya assured, trying to keep the bite out of his tone. Or ever, more like. "I have it under control. In any case, I'll discuss the matter with Haruhi once more."

The answer did not seem to please his father at all.

Which left him in a rather tricky situation, one which Kyoya certainly wasn't going to make any easier for him. Obstinate, defiant and defensive, Yoshio never had any luck reasoning with, bargaining with, bribing, persuading, threatening, coaxing or forcing Kyoya into a more reasonable frame of mind. If anything, attempts to do so had only escalated the situation.

Unless Kyoya came clean on his own, any attempt to uncover the truth prematurely would only lead to him further isolating himself, and contribute to the ever growing distrust and dersion that Kyoya viewed his father with.

"I hope for your sake, this won't continue for much longer. Your absence from events will soon ignite rumours, families are already talking."

Kyoya's jaw clenched.

Unflattering gossip. That's what he was really worried about.

"While it won't especially affect The Ootori Group as a whole, your club, on the other hand, will likely suffer. I advise you to keep that in mind."

"I will."

Kyoya's phone buzzed.

It was likely Tachibana, questioning the young man's whereabouts.

"I let you be on your way, then." He said, gesturing towards the door. Kyoya gave a short nod in lieu of a reply, and headed out. Of course, he was naive to assume the lecture had ended, his father's voice making him slow to a halt. "Oh, and Kyoya? Call your siblings once in a while. Yuuichi has been rather vocal about his concern for you."

("Concerned" was the understatement of the century. According to Tachibana, Yuuichi had phoned every day for the past week, absolutely frantic about being updated on his little brother's wealthfare. Of course, the sensible thing would be to Call Kyoya Himself Like A Mature And Responsible Adult, but like all Ootoris, pettiness was his life force.)

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Kyoya sighed heavily. "If I recall correctly, he was the one who refused to speak to me until I stopped being such a quote stubborn brat unquote. It's hardly my fault if he won't return my calls."

Behind shielded frames, steel eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a request."

"Yes, sir." The boy unconsciously straightened up, cursing himself for the conditioned response. "I'll be sure to do so."

With that, he escaped into his awaiting car. The door loudly slammed closed behind him.

"I take it you were lectured by Ootori-sama?"

Kyoya rolled his eyes and clipped his seatbelt in with more force than necessary. "First Yuuichi, now father? It's beginning to get tiresome. Do strike me down if Fuyumi ever feels the need to exercise her sisterly duties."

"They're just worried about you." Tachibana remarked, with a smile.

"Yes, well. I'm not a child, they should know I'm capable of taking care of myself."

"Those words sound familiar." Grey eyes snapped over to his bodyguard/chauffeur/substitute father.

He did not.

Oh, he did. The knowing twinkle in his eyes made it perfectly clear that yes Tachibana was indeed reminding him of his mistake so he could become a better person blah blah blah…. but it was mostly just for the shits and giggles. Seeing as though the man had been present in Kyoya's life since before his birth, he naturally earned a free pass on literally everything.

Up to and including taking the absolute piss out of his young charge.

Sometimes Kyoya regretted formally introducing the man to Haruhi. They got along like a house on fire, and found no greater pleasure in life than teasing the boy.

This was fine.

He could handle the complete and utter betrayal of the only reliable father figure Kyoya had in his life so far.

"Oh, be quiet." Kyoya huffed, choosing to stare out of the window, and no he most certainly the fuck was not sulking.

Tachibana merely chuckled, and the rest of the journey passed in companionable silence. Once they arrived, he bide the man goodbye at the threshold of the Fujioka apartment, and let himself inside without delay. Ranka called a distant greeting, poking his head out of the kitchen door to smile welcomingly.

"Morning, Ranka-san." Kyoya returned, stifling a yawn. "Where's Haruhi?"

"She went out for a walk."

Kyoya missed the chair he'd been attempting to sit on. He was sure the ass-to-floor impact caused his soul to ascend to the astral realm.

And. Okay, yeah, that was not Kyoya's proudest moment. At all.

With a tinkling laugh, Ranka swooped down to check on him. "No need to fret. One of those nice men from the overnight watch is accompanying her." A perfectly manicured finger tapped thoughtfully against his lips. "Aijima-san? I think that was his name."

The story checked out. Aijima had indeed been stationed outside last night, so Kyoya relaxed. The dark void in his chest began beating normally again. With a sigh, he ran a lazy hand through his hair. "Of course. She should be fine, then."

Ranka was completely oblivious to his musings.

With a loud tut, the man seized a nearby comb and planted himself behind the boy, carefully running it through the boy's barely tamed bed-hair.

"Look at all these tangles." Ranka clicked his tongue disapprovingly, attacking his hair with new vigor. Kyoya was briefly reminded of grizzly bears grooming their cubs. "Kyoya-kun, you have to take better care of yourself."

Stiff with confusion, Kyoya's head was straightened each time he attempted to glance back. "I didn't have time."

"That's no excuse." And here he was, getting scolded again. At least this time it was manageable. "You have such lovely hair, it's a shame to let it get so messy."

Resigned to his fate, Kyoya closed his eyes and allowed the action. Ranka was incredibly gentle, slowly working out each knot as painlessly as possible.

"I feel like a child."

"You are a child." Ranka replied, not unkindly. It was not belittlement in any sense, merely a reminder that in the grand scheme of things, a total of sixteen years was still quite young. While mature and wise beyond his years, the fact remained that Kyoya was still a minor. "Why are you kids always in such a hurry to grow up? Really, I think being a kid is far more fun."

Sometimes, it was hard to remember that.

And sometimes it was even harder to accept it.

"My mother used to do this," Kyoya murmured, eyes half lidded, remembering the soft melodies that clung to him like golden strips of light. "There was an alcove where she would sit, and we'd all wait our turn. Father was never the affectionate type, so when mother..." He paused shortly, before releasing the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. "Nobody has really done this in a long time."

The man hummed an acknowledgement.

"Haruhi is the same. She stopped letting me brush hers when she was still just a little kid. Argued that I had more important things to spend my time on."

Either he hadn't noticed Kyoya's internal dilemma, or he was deliberately steering the conversation away from what was an extremely touchy subject.

Kyoya appreciated it nonetheless.

"How very Haruhi-like. She always puts others before herself."

Ranka, Kyoya found, was remarkably open.

He managed to strike that delicate balance between being welcoming without being overbearing, and seemed nothing but eager to become a trusted parental figure in Kyoya's life. And the boy would also be lying if he claimed he didn't appreciate it. Ranka provided a feeling of safety and comfort that Kyoya needed, but couldn't always necessarily receive from his own family.

He would be forever grateful for it.

"You know, you're becoming more open, Kyoya-kun."

Grey orbs blinked. He thought for a moment, before frowning. "I don't think I've changed at all."

"Not changed," Ranka corrected, lightly. "You haven't necessarily become a different person, you just seem more willing to share things than before. And you smile a lot more, it's nice. You seem to finally be comfortable with yourself."

And here was Kyoya, missing the entire point of the conversation, because ew, feelings and wholesomeness and he would not be forced to acknowledge that he had a heart, goddamn it. "I used to smile."

That earned him a laugh. "I work at a bar, Kyoya-kun, I know a customer smile when I see one."

Diversion attempt: FAIL.

There was a silence for several minutes. Ranka was focused on the bespectacled boy's hair, Kyoya on his quiet contemplations. "I suppose I see your point." He relented, eventually.

"And you're okay with it?"

He was.

"Are we watching a movie?" Kyoya asked drowsily, a damp towel draped across his hair as he re-entered the room. The bath had been warm, refreshing, and left him vaguely tired.

Somehow, he had managed to end up the victim of the Fujioka Household Flour Battle, coated head to toe in fluffy white powder.

The fight had ended as abruptly as it had begun when the kitchen had been all but destroyed, and a laughing Kyoya had almost inhaled a mouthful of the airbourne flour.

Ranka and Haruhi, almost untouched by the mess in what was clearly a display of witchcraft, had cleaned the kitchen, while Kyoya tried to uncover his actual skin beneath the layer of flour caking his body.

"You can stay the night, Kyoya-kun." Ranka offered, hopefully, trying not to jostle his daughter too much as he wiggled into a more comfortable position. Haruhi was satisfied with lounging against the man, quietly setting up a film. "I haven't had much of a chance to chat with you."

(Haruhi had barreled through the door with a pink nose and beaming smile in no time at all, saving Kyoya from having to mercy kill himself, lest he was forced through another personal crisis).

The bespectacled boy blinked, and quietly took out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. Kyoya missed Tachibana's name a grand total of three times, before finally selecting the correct contact.

Kyoya: You don't need to pick me up tonight.

(A couple of weeks ago, Tamaki had changed his contact names.

Kyoya, not being a moron like a certain blond-haired best friend of his, did the simple thing of actually reading through his goddamn messages to figure out who was who, which took him all of five minutes, much to Tamaki's disappointment.

Some he changed back.

Kyoya, funnily enough, rather much enjoyed living with all his limbs attached. Switching his father's contact from "Satan" was of the utmost importance if he wanted to keep it that way.

The twins, however, had been labelled Devil Spawns #1 and #2.

That he could live with).

Dad #2: I'll inform your father. Expect Hotta and I to be there at 11 sharp tomorrow to collect you. Have fun :)

Kyoya would never understand Tachibana's obsession with emojis. The man swore on everything holy, all the gods he could name (and a few he made up on the spot) that his niece was entirely to blame for it.

Which was of course utter bullshit, and they all knew it.

Dad #2: Aijima wants you to thank Haruhi for some cookies for him? ? His wife loved them, apparently.

Dutifully, Kyoya relayed this message to the girl, and then rolled his eyes as she commandeered his phone to reply.

("You have his number, why don't you text him yourself?"

"Your phone is closer."

…

He couldn't really argue with that logic).

Kyoya: It was no trouble at all, I'm glad she liked them! Expect some more next weekend, this time there should be more than enough for you and Hotta-san as well —Haruhi

Phone stashed safely in his pocket, he was very quickly accosted and brought into the big cuddle pile by the excitable redhead. Haruhi, from where she was lying back into her father, grinned and wriggled her fingers in his direction. "Run while you can."

"I believe all my internal organs are crushed. I'm in no state to go anywhere."

She shot him a devilish smirk, and played the movie. "Suffer."

Kyoya dozed off somewhere during the middle of the film, leaning heavily into Ranka's side. She must've drifted off at some point as well, for the next morning, Haruhi woke to warm sunshine and low voices in the next room.

The sweet scent of pancakes enticed her out of bed, where she cracked the sliding door open and peeked out. Kyoya was already awake and miraculously not acting like the spawn of Satan. He'd claimed the fluffiest blanket at the Fujioka residence to swaddle himself up in, and looked positively soft with his sweater paws and sleepy yawns.

It seemed almost impossible for strong, collected, indifferent Kyoya Ootori to look so open, so unguarded, glasses pushed up into his hair, balled up hand absently rubbing over his eyes. A bad sleep again, she guessed, sympathy rising. But there he was, framed with pale morning light, in all his messy-hair-and-comfy-sweater-aesthetic glory.

And there, tucked up on the other side on the coffee table was her father, who had dug out her baby pictures, and was pouring over them with vigor.

The bespectacled boy merely listened, chin propped up on his hand, smiling and humming, and asking questions in all the right places. Every now and again he picked at his plate, syrup dripping from the perfect squares of pancake he'd cut.

She crossed the room in two seconds flat, well and truly scaring the life out of one Ranka Fujioka, while Kyoya watched on, suitably amused.

"Dad!" Haruhi complained, flipping the book closed. "What have I told you about traumatising the guests?"

"But Haruhi—" Her father whined, petering off when she glared at him.

"Sorry, Kyoya-senpai. I hope he didn't bore you to death."

"I don't mind," Kyoya's smile took on a teasing tilt. "In fact, I thought you made quite the cute little— mph!" Haruhi took advantage of his food-laden fork, easily silencing the boy with a mouthful of warm, sugary goodness.

With that done, she rounded on her father. "Just how much did you show him?"

Kyoya answered for him, having swallowed the pancake with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "Oh, not much." He assured, slyly. "Just up until your middle school years."

Haruhi was hit with the sudden, striking realisation that she was never living this down. Kyoya was smirking at her like a cat who'd got the cream, only in this case, the cream was blackmail material that he would hold against her for all eternity.

So, she did the only logical thing, and snapped a picture of him, all cosy and endearing— the perfect leverage.

Yes, Kyoya did try and wrestle the phone back to delete the picture, and yes, he failed miserably.

Karma sure was a bitch.

A/N: Yes, there used to be a second part of this chapter. For pacing reasons, I've split them in half.

I'd like to thank everyone who supported the last chapter, every review/ favourite/ follow really brightened my day. Have finally finished and sent off my application to Uni, so treated myself by finishing up this chapter, and writing unholy amounts of fluff

(Kyoya literally has like five dads what is this)

I regret nothing