Chapter 16
Mari started running during her undergrad years – a habit that formed when her now ex-boyfriend had convinced her to train for a marathon because he was doing it too. It helped during those stressful days, weeks, and months to shut her brain off to only feel the beating of her heart, the air that escaped her lungs every second, and the soreness of her legs. It made her feel human during the days where she wanted to feel nothing.
Today was one of those days. Getting up at the brink of dawn on a weekday with no job. Her applications to other academic institutions provided no response. Resumes to jobs in the industry were of no use, either an automated rejection email or radio silence.
Mari could already hear her mother snarling at the fact that a doctorate did not get her anywhere. At this point, her mother was right. But what other option was there to begin with? If she had been a world class pianist, she would have retired by now anyway. Mari was nearing the age of 30.
An entire decade was spent in academia. Mari sighed at the thought. It was odd. Her own younger sister had made an empire before the age of 25. Her brother was an heir to their own family's empire. The expectation for Mari was that she'd become… something. But not this.
It was unsettling when she thought about it. A part of her did not want to care – reminding herself that expectations in their society were silly. She was insignificant because no one knew that she existed. Whatever she chose to be – she could be it.
But she was an unemployed trust fund kid running through a local park at sunrise. It angered her that she had fell into the one thing she did not want to become. Useless to the world, living off of her parents' wealth.
Was she just not enough?
The vibration of her phone cut off the music that blasted in her ears. Who would be calling this early?
"Hello?" Mari answered the phone breathlessly.
"Mari-chan! It's me, Tamaki."
Mari looked at her phone. The number was not hidden but it was certainly unknown to her.
"How did you get my number?" Mari could not help but to ask. She had changed her number recently after finally upgrading out of her grandfathered phone plan after these years. But even then, it had been a few years since she had changed her only people she had as a contact on her phone were Kanda, Emi, Yuki, and of course, Kyouya.
"Uh," Tamaki sheepishly skittered around the answer to the question. "I convinced Kyouya to do it by telling him I would not bother him for a month."
"Oh, okay – is there anything I can help you with?" Mari held the phone farther from her face so she could take a couple of deep breaths.
"I have a favour to ask of you!" Tamaki had so much joy for someone that had just gotten up at dawn. Mari walked over to a park bench to take a seat, testing her patience at this acquaintance of hers. She wondered what she could have possibly offered with her skillset as a scientist to Tamaki.
"Haruhi and I are getting married in June – it'll be a beautiful late spring wedding. Our reception will be at Ouran – given that was where we met and began our wonderful journey. I've written a piece for our first dance and I cannot be the one to play it as I must dance!" Tamaki's tone was chipper. Mari wanted to sigh. She already knew what was coming. "It must be you, Mari. You are the absolute perfect person for this!"
Mari wanted to stop Tamaki right there but the man kept rambling. She suddenly understood why the Ootori would give his friend her number for a month worth of peace.
"No one I know can interpret the score to the tee like you did! Well, I mean, I also am not friends with many professional musicians either but I figured you would be the best option in my case. The piece is based off of my relationship with Haruhi – from the beginnings to the tumultuous times to the beautiful marriage we are going to h—"
"I'm not the right person," Mari cut in. There was no other time to do it. Tamaki could go on for hours if she didn't stop him.
"Oh Mari, it's fine! It's like riding a bike, no? The keys will feel just like home after you practice! We are two months away from the wedding. This should be plenty of time for you."
"No, Tamaki. I um, I don't have a piano," Mari made a lame excuse. To be honest, Mari didn't have a lot of furniture either at her apartment. Perhaps she would go to the department store to finally make her condo look like a home for the first time since she moved in. She had hundreds of books to organize, anyway.
"Not a problem, mademoiselle! I shall buy you the finest Steinway imm—'
"Oh goodness, Tamaki! No, no, please. I don't need a grand piano… I just…" Mari fumbled at her words. The rich truly had no problems in buying a top-of-the-line grand piano at a whim. She nearly forgot the kind of people she was dealing with.
"Please, Mari? You would be the cherry on top to our wedding. A grand performance! A live piano performance for our first dance – it would be an absolute treasure to have as a memory."
Mari pinched the bridge of her nose. Goodness, the man wouldn't stop.
"You are free to use our Ouran music rooms for practice if you do not wish to have your own piano," Tamaki offered. "I'll even pay you!"
Mari blinked. "I… um, goodness that's too much Tamaki. I couldn't accept your money for this."
"But you will do it? You will do it, right? Oh Mari, you are a gem! An absolute talent in the world! I am so excited. Please swing by the academy when you get a chance. I have the score! It is handwritten and it still needs to be transcribed but—"
"—Wait Tamaki, I didn't agree to this." Tamaki clearly did not hear the woman as he continued on with his spiel.
"I would love to hear your opinion on the piece. There are some places where I don't know if I have written them with the right umph, you know? I need a second opinion! I need you, the musician!"
"I'm sure your piece is—"
"Come by at noon! We shall have tea. I will clear my schedule! See you soon, my dear!"
Mari sat on the park bench and stared off into the distance. What did she just agree to?
She checked her nails. Clipped right to the edge her fingertip. Beautifully manicured. No jewelry. No bracelets. Nothing hanging off her hands or her wrists. She stretched her fingers, spanning them as wide as she could. At her most flexible, Mari comfortably reached just beyond an octave. She wondered if she was able to play the same way that she could at her peak, now over a decade ago. But nonetheless, the former pianist was adamant on not taking this offer.
She looked at the Victorian glass windows of the performance arts wing of the academy. Nothing had changed here. The academy looked as annoyingly flamboyant as it did before. Mari could see the students bustling about between classes in the blue and yellow uniforms. It invoked a bit of nostalgia in her before turning the corner to the Headmaster's office.
It was exactly noon when Mari knocked on the door. Mari had never needed to come this far during her years in Ouran. She never got in trouble and was never entirely recognized for her musical achievements either to require any kind of meeting with the administration. A formal letter would be sent on her behalf by any musical institute if she had won any competitions to vouch for her scholarship.
The blond man opened the door with a smile on his face, welcoming her into the vast headmaster's office. A table was set for high tea by the window that overlooked the courtyard of the academy.
"You look dashing, mademoiselle!" Tamaki never stopped being the half-French man that he was. He took her hand and kissed it in greeting. Mari politely nodded to acknowledge the gesture. He led her to the table where he pulled out the chair for her to be seated.
"Thank you so much for agreeing to this! I was pulling out my hair in trying to write the music before I realized I could not perform this for my dear Haruhi!"
Mari opened her mouth to inform the man that she was still unable to perform only be cut off by his offer of tea. She sipped on the beverage, imported directly from the UK with the French sweets that were delivered and made fresh the morning of.
Tamaki continued to ramble before shuffling over to his desk to find his composition. Mari gingerly took it from the man's hands, reluctant to look at any piece of music since she had last taken any performance seriously since her teenage years.
"The piece begins slow," Tamaki took out his pen and pointed towards the measures. "Slow and sweet. The beginnings of a friendship that flourished. The liveliness begins in the second phrase which continues onto the next page."
Mari nodded, already envisioning the piece in her head. "The latter years turn into a lull of a darker time. Uncertainty. Fear. But hopeful, you see?"
"I… hear it," Mari murmured. "Interesting transition. Still a waltz, no?"
"Ah yes, yes, the key change… what do you think of it? Is it too sudden?" Tamaki pondered.
"Have you played this yourself?" Mari asked.
"I have spent hours by the piano trying to perfect this piece! But of course I am no professional," Tamaki grimaced in embarrassment. "I've taken one class in composition as an elective!"
"Please continue," the pianist flipped the page. "Why is this here?" She pointed to this large empty set of bars.
Tamaki shrugged. "I like to improvise. Like the great romantics! Debussy. Lizst. Chopin."
Mari blinked. Tamaki played in the exact opposite she was taught to play. With vigorous emotion, deep feeling to however you wished on the day of. He was the nightmare of a pianist that her mentor would have chipped away to the bone. But nonetheless, he was interesting. She was intrigued though unamused by the blank space.
Mari sight read the piece on the same piano she used to practice on over a decade ago. Still tuned to perfection, as she remembered. The ebony of the piano still shined under the sunlight on a bright afternoon day. It was blinding if you looked straight into it. The keys felt so familiar with the sound brightening the room. The deep register that made her bones feel hollow. Everything felt the same and yet, life had changed so drastically for her in the past decade. It felt so odd to come full circle.
"Lightly, Mari," Tamaki used his hands to conduct the pianist. "The slightest touch during this phrasing would better suit the tone."
"Sorry," the pianist apologized. Mari forgot that this piano was different. "I practiced on heavier, more resistant keys."
"Ah, of course! For stamina! As a professional would!"
Mari played the phrase again, as instructed by the composer. It was odd to be doing this, she thought to herself. Even odder was that she came back to do it again, day after day to the point of perfection at Tamaki's standards. It took a month to master the groom's masterpiece for his wife. Much less time than she usually took to master concertos as a teenager. She was unemployed, after all.
Mari only noticed the painting as she left the music room with the blonde whom she learned to tolerate after spending so much time together. The man grew on you, with his persistent good nature that was difficult to dismiss. Tamaki's love for life was something Mari had come to admire. He was a sunshine in a person.
Mari stopped in her tracks, looking at the painting. It was hung between the first and second music room.
"Ah yes, our dear Kyouya painted this. He reminded me that you were back in Japan, actually. We spoke of whether you had ever found happiness that day," the host explained.
"Did he? Hm."
"He said something along the lines of you being a realist," Tamaki vaguely remembered. "I should give him a call, yeah? It's been over a month since I've seen my best friend! When was the last time you saw him?"
Mari thought about it. "Probably around the same amount of time," she admitted. "Fuyumi has called me a distraction."
"A what?" Tamaki was flabbergasted.
"Oh," the pianist waved her hands in dismissal. She meant it as a passing statement, almost jokingly. This was not as something that she had wanted to talk about in depth. "It's nothing."
"Kyouya needs distractions, don't you think? He works like a mule! He needs his friends to show him that there is more to life! He needs us!"
Mari smiled at Tamaki. This was where the friends diverged. Tamaki, who valued relationships and sentiment more than profits and financial success. Tamaki never quite understood why the Ootori worked the way he did.
"I think Kyouya is happy," Mari shrugged. They stood in the hall, still admiring the painting. It was stunning, really. It must have taken a day to paint, Mari thought to herself.
"Happy? In all of that boring stuff he does?" Tamaki shook his head and laughed.
"I think… he's passionate, you know?" the pianist softly explained. "I'm passionate about my research like he's passionate about running a company. It's the same thing. We love the work we do – the entirety of it. The difficult parts, the discouraging moments, the hardships… they all work in the end to something fruitful."
"I see." The man nodded, letting the softness of Mari's words sink into his brain. "But… you are confusing that with being content."
"I am?" Mari looked at the man in confusion.
"I love my job, Mari. I really do. I love the purpose of being able to educate these young individuals and to provide these students a future, a place in the world! But I love going home, too. I love seeing my lovely Antoinette. My beautiful fiancée. If I only had Ouran – sure, I would be content. But with my friends, the love of my life, my family… it's inexplicable."
"Ah," Mari understood. "But not everyone needs a partner to have a fulfilling life," she pointed out.
"Oh no no, mademoiselle," Tamaki shook his head. "That is not what I meant. Your life is what you make of it. But the relationships you have with people – that is what makes everything worthwhile. Numbers and data… seem so cold, no? Especially if that is all that you have. But to have a purpose with those profits, the motive… the humanity is what drives us."
The pianist stared at the painting. "This painting seemed so… warm." She couldn't quite pin the right adjective for it. The reminder that discrete data was considered so cold... "I didn't think it would ever come from Kyouya's mind."
"He's a good man," Tamaki smiled. "I think this painting is of you, Mari."
"Me?" The woman laughed. "I'm not in it."
"You are," the man pointed to the windows of the painting. The high ceilings with the sunset peeking through the glass. The ebony of the piano that shined with the warmth of the light. "You bring the warmth to this piano. You are the one who played on it for so much of your time in Ouran. You gave pieces the life that they deserved, including mine."
Mari shook her head. "I was coached to do that as a teenager by someone who charged a very expensive rate. And I have you, of course. You guide me to play the piece exactly how you envisioned it."
He patted her on the shoulder and chuckled. "You're talented, Mari. Everyone knows it. Kyouya, especially."
The pianist rolled her eyes. "Kyouya only sees me as an old classmate."
"That's more than most people, no?"
The sound of laughter resonated in the hallway of Ouran, giving life to the empty halls that students roamed during the day.
He was the best man. Kyouya booked off the whole weekend for this. The Ootori quietly adjusted the groom's tie, listening him switch from being the happiest man in the world to being the most anxious person alive. Tamaki bounced off the walls after their morning coffee, wondering if he should have paid the deposit for live animals at the wedding. The Ootori assured him that live animals would have been a disaster. Antoinette, the dog, was already enough of a commotion during all of this, coupled with the Twins that kept feeding him ideas of having live swans around the ceremony.
The groom was now calmer without the presence of the Twins. They were now off to bother the bride. Takashi and Honey were taking a break at a local café, promising to bring more patisseries for Tamaki to try. Kyouya had to remind Takashi not to bring too many or the Suoh would have a sugar rush.
"You'll be fine," the Ootori gritted through his teeth. It was hardly past noon and his patience was waning incredibly thin.
"I know but – will I be the best husband? Will she love me even if I am old and sick?"
"Yes," Kyouya sighed. "In sickness and in health, she will love you."
"Right. Did you read my vows? I could use a second pair of eyes," his best friend patted his chest pocket for the papers. "Oh no! Kyouya! They're gone! They're—"
"—They're on the desk in your office. You made changes to them last night," he reminded.
"Oh, oh yes! Yes, that's correct! I shall fetch them. Stay here, mon ami!" The groom wandered off for a few seconds, reciting them for the 10th time of the day.
The Ootori looked out the window into the gardens. Ouran was nostalgic to everyone. The fact that they had all gathered in the 3rd Music Room to get ready was another layer of nostalgia. He sat in the chair in the corner that he would do the club's expenses. He wandered into the 2nd Music Room, remembering the child that used to play on those keys. She was so young, now that he thought about it. They were all so incredibly young and naïve.
The door creaked open to reveal the woman that the young child had grown into. She wore a navy chiffon gown, as if she were to perform later in the day. Her hair was swept up in a loose updo, her shoulders exposed. Speak of the devil, he thought to himself. Goodness, she was so beautiful – even more beautiful than he remembered her to be when they were teenagers. Was it the dress? The elegance? He couldn't pinpoint why he couldn't look away or move his feet to help her as she dropped her phone.
Mari clutched onto the score in her arms, dropping her phone at the sight of the figure. She cursed under her breath as she crouched down to grab her now, ancient phone. The screen was cracked and the dents on the edges was of no help to the poor thing.
She wondered why the Ootori was here of all places – the ceremony was an hour and a half away. He should have been preparing with the rest of the Host Club.
"This is my practice room," she mocked the tone she would have used at him when she was a teenager. The Ootori caught onto it immediately and smirked.
"Your name isn't on it," the Ootori answered back without missing a beat.
"As if you can play the piano," Mari rolled her eyes. "What use do you have being in this room?"
"I would ask the same to you," Kyouya perched his glasses up his nose bridge. "You're performing?"
"At the expense of your one month of peace – Tamaki contracted me to perform at his grandiose wedding for the first dance of husband and wife," Mari explained.
The Ootori sighed. "I thought you would say no to the job given your history with it all."
Mari shrugged. "He didn't really give me a chance to say no, to be honest."
"I said you would've said no," Kyouya explained. "He insisted on having your number and I gave it, believing you would have refused the opportunity at all costs."
The pianist smirked. "And of course, you wouldn't exchange information without a price. I know you," Mari shook her head.
"It was worthwhile. The beginning of the quarter was extremely busy," Kyouya explained. It was now early June. "Are you doing alright?"
Mari shrugged and placed her score at the edge of the grand piano. Her phone laid on top of it, reflecting the sunlight. The piece was memorized – every single note, dynamic, phrase… her fingers moved like water over the keys. The black ebony had absorbed the heat of the sunshine when she leaned on it. "You make it sound like playing the piano would kill every part of me," she said.
"I know your history with it," the Ootori mumbled.
"I'm old, Kyouya," Mari chuckled to herself. "And unemployed," she added sarcastically. "So, you know. I've made peace with it. Apparently my piano playing was more employable instead of my research skills."
Mari laughed at herself quietly. Kyouya frowned at the joke. "I can help," he grumbled. He rolled his eyes at her pride.
"I know," the pianist waved off. "But for now, let me do the job I was given," Mari diverted the attention back to the piano. "The reception won't be for another few hours but I want to have one more run through of the piece, okay?"
The Ootori sighed and nodded.
"That means you have to leave," Mari explained. "Unless Tamaki is coming in once again."
Kyouya narrowed his eyes. "Why does he get to stay and I have to leave? He's much more of a distraction than I would be."
"He composed the piece, dummy," Mari rolled her eyes at the Ootori. Only this woman could get away with calling the man a dummy so casually. "And he's technically my employer."
"I could pay you more," the Ootori grumbled. "You could be working in R&D."
"I'm not here to negotiate a contract with you," the pianist grumbled. Mari pointed towards the door. "Go," she ordered. "Go help Tamaki and don't be late for the ceremony."
"Will you be there?" he asked before he shut the door.
Mari nodded to him with a small smile to encourage him to go. He took another glimpse of the woman at the grand piano before prying his eyes away.
Tamaki made his way down the grand hall to find Kyouya coming out of the 2nd Music Room. Mari had begun playing the piece already, with the notes reverbing through the door.
"Ah, Mari's here already?" Tamaki looked at the time. "We should bring her before we head over to the gardens for the ceremony." The blonde nearly opened the door to the 2nd Music Room before the Ootori stopped him in his tracks. She wanted to practice, after all. Kyouya was going to let her do it without any distractions. The two stood still in the hall, only letting the music flow around the entire corridor.
"She's so good, isn't she?" the groom whispered excitedly. "An absolute talent."
The Ootori nodded.
"Why did she stop?" Tamaki was so curious. His eyes said it all.
Kyouya shrugged. The blonde groaned. "Come on, Kyouya. You had to have known. You two are so close!"
His best friend carried him away from the entrance to the music room and led him into their old Host Club premises. Tamaki's big mouth would get them both whisked away sooner or later. Mari's piano playing was muffled now that they stood at the back corner of the 3rd Music Room.
"It's not my place to say," the Ootori explained. "You should respect her privacy."
The groom sighed. "Alright. As a gentleman should."
"Did you get the vows?" Kyouya changed the topic.
Tamaki patted the pocket on his chest and nodded excitedly. "Did you know I wrote the piece that she's playing? Mari was such a treasure. I offered to pay her, but she wouldn't even take it. I was going to buy her a Steinway as a gift instead, what do you think?"
The Ootori blinked. "You would have to ask if she would like that."
"Oh come on," Tamaki wailed, shaking the shoulders of his best friend. "It's supposed to be a surprise! Though I suppose it would be best to have her choose the piano, no? She's a professional pianist, she must be picky about the kind of piano she would like to play on."
"She doesn't really play anymore," Kyouya persisted. "And we'll be running late if we don't get you to the Gardens in 10 minutes," the best man reminded.
"How can I show her my appreciation for her, Kyouya?" Tamaki dramatically flailed his arms around. "She has been nothing but patient with me! Listening to my woes about the piece! I gave her a whole history of Haruhi and I so she could have inspiration! That took a whole week."
Kyouya rolled his eyes. The blonde was slumped on a Victorian chair, going off about his time with Mari. Kyouya looked at his watch – they were going to be late at this rate.
"Oi," Tamaki tapped Kyouya's shoulder. "Do you hear that?"
"What?" the Ootori snapped.
"That's not my piece," the Suoh smiled. "She's been playing other things over the past few weeks. It's wonderful, really. I love having live music to work to. This is Grieg's Concerto in A Minor. Last week, she was playing Mendelssohn and Beethoven. She certainly still plays, Kyouya."
The Suoh got up. "Shame we'll have to cut her practice short. She'll have half an hour more before we begin."
Tamaki was the first to get up to knock on the door on the 2nd Music Room. Kyouya listened to the blonde's call for the pianist to hurry along before the ceremony began in half an hour. He could practically hear her smile as she thanked the Suoh for the reminder as he kept the door open for her.
The two made their way down to the gardens with Mari filling in the halls with sound of music.
He spotted her at the very back, he could tell by the way she tiptoed into her seat to make sure she was hidden as possible. She sat at the aisle seat and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the Ootori who stood at the altar with his best friend. He stole another glance at her when she took a peek at her phone.
I really like Mari. Tamaki spoke highly of the woman as they made their way down to the Gardens. I see why you two became friends. She is humble but outspoken. Privileged but grounded. Wise and fair in her judgements. She's really something, Kyouya.
What are you trying to say, Tamaki?
You don't see it?
See what? Kyouya huffed.
That someone else is going to marry that woman if you don't, you dummy.
She doesn't believe in marriage.
Then at least make sure she knows that she's as wonderful as she is.
Why me?
Because… Tamaki paused. I think she'd rather hear it from you, than anyone else in the world.
The truth was that Kyouya had come to these conclusions many years ago. Mari had fulfilled all these aspects and grew into someone even more elegant as the years passed. Mari saw herself as some trust fund kid – everything she had hated in their social class. A failure of sorts. A woman who had nothing to give. Someone who was undeserving of all that was good – in part of her own privilege that she was born with.
But here she was, sitting at the very end of the rows, her legs crossed and her eyes glued on the union of his two best friends. The genuine smile she had for the couple made him want to sigh at how beautiful she looked. He exhaled and clapped for the newlyweds while watching Mari stand. The crowd followed the couple out for photos as the woman in his eye slipped away into the hedges.
She disappeared into the maze deliberately missing out on the bouquet toss. Kyouya followed her quickly, trailing behind her before losing her in the maze. He exited the tall hedges and spotted the woman walking towards the gazebo, her navy gown just barely grazing the ground. Mari took a seat and checked her phone.
Thank you for your application, we are not looking for any candidates at this time.
Thank you for your submission, this position has now been filled.
Thank you for y—
Mari sighed and tossed her phone to the side before exhaling. The Ootori stood at the entrance, almost as if he were waiting for her to notice him.
"Why didn't you just say hi?" Mari frowned. "If I didn't know you, I'd probably be running for the hills right now," the woman grunted.
"Why are you upset?" the Ootori knew at least that much. "Do you hate marriage that much?" he half-joked.
"I'm happy for your friends," Mari crossed her arms. "They're very lovely."
"Then what's wrong?" the Ootori took a seat beside his friend.
"Nothing," she mumbled.
"What's on your phone?" Kyouya took a look at the relic. "God, Mari – just get a new phone. This model is 4 years old and the screen is cracked!" The Ootori never settled for anything but the newest phone on the market.
Mari snatched the device back. "I'm unemployed, okay? It was a new batch of rejection emails," she huffed.
The Ootori put a hand on her knee in an attempt to console her. "My offer still stands, Mari. You could start as a scientist in our R&D division, effective immediately. You're qualified."
She shook her head. "Think about how it looks, Kyouya."
"I started with the Ootori Corporation while my father was still CEO," the heir pointed out. "Everyone knew who I was but at least no one will know that you know me."
"They will find out anyway," Mari mumbled. "People talk."
The Ootori shrugged. "Mari, you're a good scientist. Your skills will speak for themselves."
"And how will I explain how I got the job so abruptly?"
Kyouya brushed off her concern easily. "We can slip you into the regular hiring cycle to avoid suspicion. We can even put up an opening for you to apply to, and you can even go through the entire interview process with your fellow scientists."
"Wouldn't they find it weird?" the scientist narrowed her eyes. "They would question the sudden need for another scientist."
"I'm sure we can make something work, Mari," the CEO chuckled. "I am the boss. Why won't you just let me help you? All you need is an in. I won't be hiring you directly – I'll let you meet with the department head, alright?"
He watched as she leaned back against the wooden pane of the structure. She looked a way, biting her lip and reeling at the options.
"You are not allowed to have any say in whether I am hired," Mari settled.
The Ootori chuckled. "Alright. But you do realize I'll be recommending you as a candidate, right?"
Mari shook her head. "Let me… let me earn it. Please."
Kyouya shook his head. "Fine." The woman was stubborn.
"I'll still be applying to other jobs," Mari reminded.
"Do what you will, Mari," the Ootori smirked. He raised his hands to surrender to the woman.
"Don't do that!" the woman snapped. She pointed to him which only raised confusion in his eyes.
"Do what?"
"Smirk like I owe you something. It makes this entire exchange feel… underhanded. Ugh," Mari shook her head and stood from the bench.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" he stood and followed Mari back into the gardens. He trailed beside her and made sure she wasn't going to trip. The woman had a habit of being clumsy. "I'm just… I'm being nice, alright?" he tried to defend himself.
"Be nice…?" Mari shuddered. "Is this what it's like to do business with business people? Geez, I already feel greasy."
"Hey!" the Ootori narrowed his eyes. "All my businesses are legal. You went ahead and made it seem weird."
"Nepotism is weird, alright?" Mari frowned. "It doesn't sit well in my chest," she softly added before stopping in her tracks. Kyouya nearly bumped into her before coming face to face with her. He could see her beautifully long lashes beneath her pristinely drawn eyeliner. She looked up to him. He could've sworn he stopped breathing for a second.
"I know," he reminded. "I know you," Kyouya reassured. "Not a dummy, alright?" he quoted her from earlier in the afternoon to incite a chuckle from her. Goodness, how he missed that smile of hers. "I will uphold my end of the bargain."
"Is it really a bargain if I'm not offering you anything in return?" Mari wondered.
Kyouya chuckled. "I'll own the science you do, Mari."
"Oh yeah," the scientist rolled her eyes. "How could I forget… one of the reasons why I didn't like going into industry. Imagine all the patents I'll file for you, Kyouya. You'll be rolling in millions, thanks to me."
"Pretty good bargain, no?" the Ootori pointed out with his signature smirk. Mari punched his shoulder.
"Ugh, you're such a capitalist," the woman smiled before she continued on ahead into the reception. Kyouya quickly followed behind her, nearly reaching for her hand before he decided against it.
No, he thought to himself. This was wonderful as is. He missed this. Her banter, her wit, her laugh. That was all he could possibly want from her.
He just wanted to see her happy.
She performed like she hadn't missed a whole decade of practice – at least, to the common man. Mari knew how out of practice she had been: the dexterity of her fingers that she had lost over the years, the lack of stamina she had nowadays to practice for hours on end. Her ear needed to be trained once again to hear the little intonations that she used to pick up within seconds. But alas, she no longer played professionally and the pressure to perform was nothing like the kind she experienced when she was younger.
There was no International Title to be won, not even a National one. The goal was to make the bride and groom happy – a special night for the two of them. The attention wasn't on Mari, it was on the couple. It brought her a lot of relief.
The idea that she was no longer someone that people cared for brought her peace at the back of her mind. She no longer performed to uphold a title. Mari was not a rising star of young classical musicians – she had missed that boat far too long ago. It was nice to play for enjoyment, not for a competition.
The ease of finding her way back to music was oddly therapeutic. The keys fell smoothly beneath her fingertips. Like riding a bike, Mari's fingers began remembering the concertos she had practiced for hours, in addition to the piece that Tamaki had asked her to play. His piece was not difficult by any means – not in comparison to her former pieces. But the expression, the emotion – Mari required Tamaki's help.
At the end of the 7 minutes of her performance, Mari bowed shyly before finding herself back in the shadows. She picked up the glass of wine in her hand, a deep red that matched her lipstick, as her other hand took apart the updo she had her hair in. She laid the pins on the edge of the stone ridge of the balcony, watching Tamaki and Haruhi make their rounds to each table. Mari sat beside Haruhi's former law school classmates from Boston – the commonality being that she was able to speak English with all of them. All of them reminisced their time at Harvard – surface level conversation that Mari got tired of after dinner had been served.
Mari closed the door to the balcony, needing some fresh air while the sun began to set. Her quota for socialization had been reached for the night. Mari wondered if she should've gotten more than a glass. Oh well, she thought. She'd just have to sneak back in for another glass – or maybe just go home. The academy was no trouble for her to navigate, after all. She left this place broken as a child.
And she came back perhaps not fixed, but grown – with all the flaws she had grown to embrace. Mari had so much anger for all of this – the rich and the elite. The flamboyance and the exquisite taste. She was mad at who she was. Where she came from. The complexities of her class. She fought back against it, only to have accepted defeat in the lifestyle that she eventually regressed back into.
A trust fund kid with no job.
Well, not yet – she whispered to herself. But even then, the Ootori still lent a hand to all of this. She took another gulp of the wine. It was full-bodied, smooth down the throat with a sweet and peppery aftertaste. Not bad – but it was the kind of wine that was at least a hundred dollars a bottle, of course. The door to the balcony opened.
Mari turned around to get kicked out for not being allowed on the premises. But of course, the Ootori slipped through the shadows along with her. And to her surprise, he brought a whole bottle with him, in addition to an empty glass.
"Do you want company with your misery?" he called out from the other side.
Mari rolled her eyes. "Who said I was miserable?"
Kyouya closed the door behind him and walked up towards the edge of the balcony. "You're moping over classism, as usual. Oh, and probably nepotism too. You're always thinking about your privilege, Mari. We get it. You're educated," Kyouya popped open the cork and poured himself a fair share of the wine. He was the only person who knew what she was thinking.
The pianist nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, I feel an immense amount of guilt with who we are as the rich and elite," she scoffed.
"Can you stop being guilty?" the Ootori gulped down the alcohol. "Listen, Mari – you can't stop how the world works. But you can start doing something about it. Take the job. Stop being an idiot trust fund kid that keeps thinking about why the world is broken."
Mari took another sip of the wine. "I can't do something about how the world is broken if you keep perpetuating the cycle of nepotism."
Kyouya rolled his eyes. "Everyone has to start somewhere, Mari."
"I know," she sighed. "You're right. I'm just… I'm regressing into everything I didn't want to be."
"You're not," the Ootori pointed out. "You would be a lot worse off if you did not realize the position you are in. So stop it, alright? Let me help you. Don't feel guilty about it."
Mari looked at the man before her. He looked into the sunset and sipped his wine. The gardens still had the birds chirping. He loosened his tie after the long day, leaning against the balcony. His hair was gelled with height that did not waver with the slight breeze. His laid his blazer on the railing and folded up his shirt to reveal his toned forearms. "You've changed," she softly noted. "You're… warmer."
"Don't use such adjectives, I preferred being called a capitalist," Kyouya grumbled before sneaking a look at Mari, who had now let her hair down. The curls from her hair up in a bun fell down her shoulders. The lipstick had worn off onto the wine glass, but the red had stained her lips pink. Maybe he was drunk – but the sunlight made her more stunning than he thought she already was.
"Maybe you're just… grown up too," Mari mumbled to herself. "Grown up to be a better man – one with principles," she added. "Not the boy I remembered you were – the one that only wanted to get ahead, the one who strove for perfection without seeing the beauty of imperfection."
"You helped."
"Hm?"
"You were imperfect," he explained.
"Oh," Mari rolled her eyes. "Wow, thanks." The sarcasm dripped in her voice.
"You always showed up in a baggie hoodie and a messy bun, everything you turned in on paper had some kind of crease in it," he remembered, now it was a fond memory. "It was not attractive actually."
"That wasn't the intent," she gritted through her teeth. Mari took another sip of the wine before she got too worked up about the man saying dumb things. The kind that would irritate anyone, to be honest.
"But you grew too," Kyouya reminded. "You were such an idealist, remember? And in some ways, maybe you still are. But now… you understand. The complexities. The difficulties of the system. The harrowing realities of the world. You grew smarter and if you wanted to – you could play the games we play as the upper class: the backhanded compliments, the wealth we use to showcase our power, the social chess game we are all forced to partake in. But you don't."
"I can't," Mari reminded. "I'm no one."
"Mari Takuya," Kyouya recited her full name. "You hold so much power."
"Don't be silly," the former professional pianist finished the glass. "I know what I am," she brushed off. She watched as Kyouya poured more wine into his glass and hers as well. He clinked her glass – a celebration of some sort of how they both came full circle to where it all began.
"You don't," he insisted before taking another sip. She followed in suit. "You don't even realize how powerful you are."
Mari laughed. "I'm the middle child of a real estate conglomerate, with no empire of my own. I'm pretty much 30 – what these people consider an old spinster now. No one even knows who I am anymore. I think my mother has called me unworthy of even being married off to at some point."
"That's not what I meant," Kyouya lowly. His tone changed. He drew himself closer to her. She welcomed his presence, letting him lean closer to her. The alcohol was ridding them both from the haze of anxiety.
"Not married, no job, no prospects…" Mari continued on, half-jokingly. She took a sip of her wine and giggled. Maybe the alcohol was getting to her. "I'm every rich mother's disappointment."
"You," Kyouya cut her off. "You hold so much power," he repeated. Mari looked up at him, squinting out of confusion. Was he drunk? He leaned closer to her ear, tucking away a loose strand of hair. She smelled like peonies, with a hint of magnolia and rose. God, he could get drunk off of just that.
"You hold so much power over me," he finished.
