T/W: Physical violence towards a minor, gaslighting, instances of victim-blaming thoughts from Kyoya himself.


As life-changing events go, Hanako fully moving into the Ootori household is fairly gradual. So gradual that Kyoya can't really pinpoint a beginning, a specific moment in time that he can confidently say; yes, right here, this is it.

One day it's just him and his father, and things are great.

The next Hanako is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a rumpled pyjama top that Kyoya knows is his dad's, nursing a rather large bowl of Kyoya's own personal cereal. He takes a shower one evening and there's a veritable army of skincare products colonising the vanity. Shoes start appearing on their shoe rack. Kyoya comes home from school to find his coats have been moved to make room for Hanako's.

And it's not really about the cereal (even if he hoards his lucky charms with ferocious intensity), or the shoes, or the way his succulents keep shifting positions (despite Kyoya's continued insistence that they remain on the kitchen windowsill; his plants are as dramatic as the boy who gifted them to him, wilting with the slightest of provocation).

It's mostly about the change.

And even though it doesn't hit him like a slap to the face, it still stings in a way he can't ignore.

Their Friday tradition expands to include Hanako.

When his father brings up the idea, Kyoya's stunned into silence. It works in his favour because at first he's so vehemently against it that he'd have probably said something he'd regret. Movie nights were their thing. It was something for them and them alone. It's not like he wants to exclude her in any way, but Kyoya has the instant, overwhelming urge to protect one of the only real father-son times he has solely for himself.

Kyoya loves his siblings dearly, loves them with all his heart. But there's a twelve year age gap between him and Yuuichi, and sometimes Kyoya feels impossibly small and childish when compared to his adult siblings, who have their own careers and livelihoods; things that are far more impressive than Kyoya and the perfect score on his science test.

Sometimes he's just a shitty teenager who wants his father's attention for himself, no matter how selfish that makes him feel.

After going through all the five stages of grief, Kyoya cuts his dad some slack. It's not a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. So Hanako joins in, and for all his complaints, it's not really that much different with her there. She provides them with even more snacks, and Kyoya deftly ignores the way she starts subtly influencing their movie choices.

Friday drags into Saturday, then into Sunday. A week crawls by and Hanako just… doesn't leave.

It's not entirely true, of course she goes to work, leaves the house for errands. But she just… comes back. And keeps coming back.

Dread pools in Kyoya's stomach. He knows what's coming, and when he comes home from school to find his father waiting for him and Hanako nowhere in sight, it all but confirms his suspicions.

His father clearly has a whole speech already prepared, but Kyoya doesn't wait for him to speak. Doesn't really need to. He just drops his bag and musters up a smile. "She's moving in, isn't she?" He tries to sound casual, but his voice is flatter than he'd been aiming for.

"Not if you feel uncomfortable." Yoshio says gently. "If you need more time, we're happy to wait. You're part of this family, too."

Kyoya shrugs.

Part of him feels like it's happening too fast, but then he remembers they were dating way before Kyoya had met Hanako for the first time. After only four months sounds sketchy as hell, but eight? That's probably a reasonable time to consider moving in.

Probably.

Regardless of his musings, he doesn't really have anything to say.

(It's not entirely true. Kyoya has a lot to say, but none of it is helpful, so he keeps his stupid mouth shut).

Maybe if it happens quickly, Kyoya will adapt to it better. Dragging their feet over the inevitable only makes him more unsettled. "I don't care." Kyoya says, and then hurriedly backtracks when he spots his father's face. "I don't mind. She's nice, I want her to move in."

Yoshio gives him a long, hard look.

"She basically lives here anyway," Kyoya adds, because clearly he doesn't know when to shut the fuck up.

For all his big talk, it doesn't happen all at once.

The move happens over the course of a week, and in a show of good faith, Kyoya even pitches in to help. All too soon, Hanako's belongings have slotted in with theirs, so easily that one would be mistaken for thinking they were there all along.


"You shouldn't have lied," Is Haruhi's blunt assessment, delivered in that ridiculously straightforward way of hers. Evidently after days of extensive, endless complaints, Haruhi's patience has started to run thin. He can't really say he blames her. "You're obviously not happy."

She's sitting cross legged on the grass, face tilted up towards the sky. This winter has been ridiculously mild, and today even more so, boasting an impressive amount of sunshine for a February afternoon. Her eyes are closed, an artful imitation of serenity, though it's likely so she can continue ignoring Kyoya and the pout that has become a permanent fixture on his face.

Kyoya sighs.

Clearly she's a lost cause.

Directing his gaze instead to Tamaki, Kyoya searches for some level of bro-to-bro understanding. Like an absolute fucking traitor, Tamaki deliberately swerves past the attempt at eye-contact. "She's right, you know. You should have just told him the truth. Your dad's super chill, it's not like he'd be angry or anything." Tamaki follows his (piss-poor, and completely unhelpful) advice with a pleased hum, and plucks a flower from the ground.

In a process that has taken a good half an hour (and most of the time Kyoya has been talking) Tamaki has meticulously tied, pinned, and tucked Haruhi's long hair up into a braid running down her back.

It's pretty impressive, actually.

Tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, Tamaki threads another wildflower into Haruhi's brown locks. It's far too early in the year for daisies to even consider blooming, yet here they are regardless, proudly tipping up to the sun. If Yuuichi were here he'd be misty eyed at the sight, flouting some ridiculous metaphor about how life will always find a way to flourish.

Kyoya glares at the stupid flowers and their stupid stubbornness to exist in a world so ill-suited for them. He refuses to find meaning in a bunch of plants.

"Look, why don't you just talk to him?" Haruhi suggests.

It's said like she knows Kyoya's going to ignore her, but is throwing the idea out into the void regardless. Just like the first time, and the time after that, and however many times have yet to come, it's a perfectly reasonable suggestion. Kyoya, however, has chosen this particular hill to die on. And nothing short of a natural disaster can shake him free of his newest round of solidly not great life choices.

Bending down, Kyoya scoops up the ball Antoinette has dropped at his feet. At this point it's almost entirely covered in dog slobber. He'd much rather just leave it be, but Tamaki's apparently too busy to entertain his own damn dog, and has made it clear that if his work is ruined he will throw the biggest bitchfit of the century.

Worse than the one Kyoya's been in the midst of throwing for a week now.

Since it's Tamaki, Kyoya doesn't really doubt that.

Nose wrinkling, Kyoya winds back his arm and lobs the ball as far as he can, putting all his teenage angst into the action. The ball whizzes across the field, and Antoinette takes off like a golden shot after it.

"You don't get it." Kyoya says, even though he's not quite sure what's there to get, anymore. "It's not as simple as that."

Haruhi, as the only other member of their friendship group with both a dead mother and a father who would willingly move heaven and earth for the sake of their child, is probably the only other person Kyoya knows who would get it.

She doesn't call him out on it.

Instead, as if indulging a five year old, Haruhi asks. "And why's that?"

It's a fair question, but Kyoya doesn't really have an answer, not a suitable one, anyway. He could um and ah for days, talking circles around the problem but in reality, it all boils down to Kyoya and his utter inability to use his words in a single meaningful way.

It comes to this; Kyoya's fourteen, and terrified of disappointing his father.

He can't say he doesn't want Hanako to move in, because his dad loves her, and wants Kyoya to at least tolerate her in return. He can't say he's not comfortable, because his dad will worry, and then he'll do what he always does and put his own life on hold just to make Kyoya's that little bit easier.

It's not fair.

It's not fair on his dad, who's finally found some well-deserved happiness.

It's not fair on Hanako, who clearly likes his dad and is trying so hard to bond with him. It's not like he's been making it easy, either.

Antoinette drops the tennis ball on his shoe. Her tail thumps manically as Kyoya prepares the next throw. He lets the ball go, and with it, his anger.

He's not selfish. And ruining the first good thing his father's made for himself— that would be the epitome of the bratty, spoiled youngest child that Kyoya refuses to be. No, his father deserves the world and if Hanako can give it to him, who is Kyoya to stand in his way?

"You just don't." Is what Kyoya finally says, a truly underwhelming response after all that build up.

Haruhi heaves a sigh of her own, but she doesn't look at all surprised by his answer. Her brows are tented; concerned, maybe a little resigned, but not especially irritated. Kyoya traces the path of the flowers through her hair, the way a few loose, wispy strands frame her face, the pollen dusting her shoulder.

Then Haruhi's brown eyes dart to meet his, and her lips quirk up in a little half-smile. "What?" She asks softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the breeze.

"Ah," Feeling heat prickling at his cheeks, Kyoya looks away. "It's… It's nothing."

Over her shoulder, Tamaki stares into his soul.


Having Hanako around feels strange, but also strangely right, in a way that makes his head spin the more he thinks about it. For as long as Kyoya can remember, there's been this empty space in their lives, like an empty frame hanging in a hallway. One that you're so used to passing that you don't even notice the absence anymore.

Hanako doesn't so much fill that space as she does reside in it.

Part of him is still so used to the emptiness that anything else feels like an intrusion. So while it's not a perfect fit by any means, it's a fit all the same. In the end, they make do with what they have, and Kyoya likes to think that they're all the more better for it.

Kyoya's concept of home has been ever changing since he was a kid. He's not even sure if he understands quite what home means anymore. If it's a place, or a person, or a concept he's chasing after. Still, slowly but surely the word tentatively expands to include Hanako.

Home.

He doesn't remember what the house looked like when his mother was still alive.

Sure, there's still their family pictures, lining the walls. There's her shrine, stacked with mementos, and a bowl with incense to burn. There are still little hints of her existence dotted around the place, signs that she was here, that she lived and loved and survived in this place, together, with them.

It's not the same, though.

There are enough boxes piled high in the attic that prove it.

Still… having another presence makes him feel almost nostalgic.

And if he doesn't look too hard, he can almost kid himself into believing that nothing's changed. That he'll round the corner and his mother will be there, with a gentle smile and her arms outstretched.

Kyoya tries not to dwell on it too much… He's not sure how well he succeeds. Part of him knows it's childish, maybe even harmful to indulge in those types of daydreams— denying the truth won't do a single damn thing to fix his hollow, aching heart.

This?

This might be a start, though.


"You're happy, aren't you?" Yoshio asks, as they're standing shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen.

There's a bowl full of warm, soapy water in the sink. Kyoya is elbows deep in it, scrubbing the life out of the dish he's holding. A patch of grime holds steady around the rim.

"Kyoya?"

Yoshio's forehead creases. Worry lines carve deep into the space around his eyes.

Well. That won't do.

Kyoya rolls his eyes, flicking water at his dad's face. "What kind of question is that?"

His dad whips the tea towel at him, just revenge for Kyoya's heinous crime. The end catches him in the ribs, and Kyoya feels a brief sting before he's laughing into his hand. "The honest kind. You teenagers, with your angst and your attitudes. Will it kill you to have an open conversation with your dear old father?"

Kyoya laughs, says pretty much, and ducks underneath the arm Yoshio tries to get around his neck. They jostle harmlessly until his dad gets a big, strong arm around his chest and starts grinding his knuckles over Kyoya's head. Doubled over, Kyoya gasps out pleas for mercy between bouts of laughter.

And it's easy.

It's easier than talking about his feelings.

Easier than trying to compact his thoughts into something coherent.

Kyoya throws a handful of water. His father throws one back.

Outside, the streetlamps blink to life.


Good things never really last.

Not for long.

Not for Kyoya.

It happens the same way it always does and the peace he's built crumbles at his feet.

Hanako shoves him into the counter.

He's not expecting it, but he's not exactly surprised, either. And while Kyoya isn't particularly optimistic on his outlook on other people, he's never been unfair. Subconsciously or not, the slap has done wonders on how he perceives her, and not in a good way.

It's a disturbing realisation, one that he won't allow himself to dwell on.

Still, Hanako shoves him. And Kyoya's hip hits the counter, hard enough that it'll surely leave a bruise the next day. His hand just barely misses a brush with the stove, the very hot stove, on which his Omurice is thankfully undisturbed… Though it's almost certainly ruined after this brief disruption.

There goes the breakfast for his father.

Kyoya had been hoping to nail the dish; his small, clumsy attempt to bring a smile to his father's face after what would have been a very long, very stressful shift. Yoshio's imminent arrival, however, does little to deter Hanako's very physical demonstration of her annoyance.

She's annoyed about the door. Or, more accurately, Kyoya's non-existent attempt to answer it.

He'd heard the knock, and her following command; "Get the door, Kyoya!" and ignored both.

"Kyoya!" The shout rings out in time with the next set of knocking.

"I'm cooking!" Kyoya hollers back, brows furrowed as he scrapes the Omurice together. It's a delicate dish, one that doesn't take well to interruptions. Kind of like Kyoya himself. Now how did Haruhi do it yesterday..? "You get it!" She's only doing her makeup, after all.

There's a loud clattering from the direction of the downstairs bathroom, and then stomping feet head for the door. Distantly, Kyoya tracks the faint conversation— deceptively calm, painfully brief— before footsteps storm towards the kitchen and Kyoya's entire body rushes with cold dread.

Oh no.

Hanako clatters through the door and she's madmadmad.

Hence the shove, and the way she's glaring down at him as he bites back a cry of pain.

She's only got one set of eyelashes on. It doesn't make her any less threatening as she towers over him. Kyoya waits for another blow. A slap, a punch. Another shove. She's drawn herself up to full height, face simmering, chest heaving with every breath.

"Here," She sneers, painted lips curling with distaste. "I wanted it to be a surprise— but I guess you've ruined that now." An unassuming package hits him square in the chest. Kyoya fumbles, heart leaping to his throat, and almost drops it.

Somehow, he can tell that wouldn't have gone very well.

His head is spinning.

Dazed, Kyoya's eyes dart from his hands back to Hanako.

"Go on. Open it." She's goading him. Clearly she's goading him, but why? He doesn't like not knowing where he stands, and right now, Kyoya might as well be standing on thin air. It's so not how he expected this interaction to go, he's adrift, unmoored in the harbours of confusion.

Feeling disoriented and awfully like his head has been shoved into a pool drain, Kyoya peels open one end.

Out slides a stack of new polaroid film.

His camera had run empty a week ago, after the last selfie-spree from the twins. He'd told his father as much during dinner. Complained, more like. Heavily. Childishly. A dinner in which Hanako had been present, and naturally listening in.

Kyoya's heart drops.

Sinks straight to his stomach.

He looks from the film, perfect little squares nestled in his hands, then back up to Hanako, stunned. "This is— I don't—"

"Save it." She snaps, though Kyoya's not quite sure what he'd been planning to say, anyway. Words are a concept he's very much familiar with, and yet in his hour of need they've decided to abandon him completely. "I hope you like it." And with that, she sweeps from the room.

Leaving him standing there like a fool, package in hand, with a bitter taste in his mouth.


He shouldn't keep it quiet.

Kyoya's fourteen, but he's not an idiot. He knows it's not right. The way she's putting her hands on him; the slap, the shove. It's not much, not yet, but it's not right. It's not. Kids… Kids shouldn't get hit. Period. Loathe he admit it, but he is still a kid, and Hanako shouldn't be hurting him. And he can repeat those affirmations to himself as much as he likes, but still—

Still there's that small, absolutely traitorous whisper in his mind.

Did he deserve it?

Was it his fault?

Hanako had only slapped him after he mouthed off to her. He'd deliberately tested her patience. As Hikaru would say; he'd fucked around and found out. Did he really have any right to be upset about the results? And the shove… Well, the shove only happened because he wouldn't open the door. God, she'd been trying to surprise him, trying to do something nice for him. And Kyoya? Kyoya had spat on that attempt by being his childish, bratty self.

His dad loves her, and Kyoya can't even give her a goddamn chance.

What a great son he's turning out to be.


Kyoya's hip bruises.

Bruises deep, and dark, and painful.

He's lucky his clothes cover it, really, and then he feels sick to his stomach for feeling relieved about that. Clothes, however, do rather little when your entire friendship group lacks the concept of personal space.

Namely in the form of a pair of feral twins who ping Kyoya between them like he's a table-tennis ball in the middle of a rally. They're all headed for the vending machine and there's more than enough drinks for them all that it shouldn't really matter the order they go in, but Hikaru and Kaoru have never seen logic in their mortal lives.

Kyoya gets hip-checked by one twin (probably Hikaru), bounces off the other (likely Kaoru), and then gets shoved right back out of the way once again (definitely Hikaru).

It's probably the most harmless tussle he's been in, and yet everyone gets a front row view of Kyoya sucking the air through his teeth, desperately trying not to curse as Almost-Certainly-Hikaru bumps him right over his bruise, not once but twice in as many seconds.

"Are you okay?" Kaoru asks, brows furrowed with concern.

Shitshitshit—

Hikaru slings an arm round his twin's shoulders, and pokes his tongue out at Kyoya. "What, old age catching up to you?"

It's the perfect distraction. Kyoya flips him the finger, and the three of them proceed to bicker over the machine for long enough that Haruhi, Tamaki, Honey, and Mori all manage to get their own drinks before Kyoya finally, finally emerges as the victor from their scuffle.

The first sip of orange juice comes with the sweet, sweet taste of victory.