Kyoya had stopped crying by the time Tachibana pulled into the Ootori estate's driveway, eyes sore and his breathing still a little shaky, but a weight was taken off his shoulders. Tachibana knew, and he cared. He cried alongside him, tried to reassure him, and it was… a little more comforting. He felt guilty for making the man cry, but it felt like a safety net; Tachibana would never let him leave.

Still, it wasn't enough to fix him. He knew that, really, but he seemed to put his hope in stupid, nonsensical things when things got bad; and this was the worst they'd ever been. Still, some odd sense of melancholy calm was over him; an overture for the colour, perhaps? A step towards wellness, where the grey would be ignored once more, and he'd be happy.

It was a complete denial of responsibility, putting himself in the older man's capable hands, but perhaps he could do what everyone kept saying… Going to a doctor. Still, he didn't want pills, and he knew he wouldn't take them. Side effects, some of the stories he'd heard, his own mother… That, and it was something that would either confirm or deny his mental illness; both were horrifying. Confirmation was scary, because it made this thing all too real, but being told that he wasn't depressed… It'd be the revelation that he'd been self-sabotaging this whole time, that he'd just peaked, and this was how he really was.

There was no point launching himself into that now, only just getting his feet back on the ground once more. He couldn't do it, not again; he'd be sick if he panicked anymore, nose bleeding from the pressure in his head, his eyes pouring from their sockets as he cried them out. He knew that last one was impossible, of course, but the image didn't leave him alone. All he could do was curl up into a ball, feet on the luxury upholstery like he'd been told off for a million times, hands pulling at his hair in some attempt to ground himself.

A gentle stop, door open and closed, gravel under fairly expensive shoes, his door opening. All those sounds were real, it was all real. He should stay in the here and now, with Tachibana worriedly saying his name and gently easing the clutch he had on his hair. Looking up at him was slow, painfully slow, but aided by the gentle stroked Tachibana's large, calloused hand made through the black, greasy strands.

"If you're up to it, you should have a shower when you get in," He suggested, an option rather than a commandment, and Kyoya had to stop himself from crying again. It was all too emotional, too soft, too perfect, "It's alright if you… don't want to be alone. I'm here Kyoya, we're all here; Hotta, Aijima and I, your brothers and sister, your father… We all love you, and we don't want you to hurt yourself, alright? We want you here."

Tachibana helped him out of the car, his knees feeling a little too weak to work properly in that moment, just in time to see something that sunk like a stone in his gut.

"Come on, are you kicking me out so soon, Yoyo-chan? So mean," His mother whined as his father tried to get her out of the door, her hair mussed and clothes rumpled. Unfortunately, over the years they'd been divorced, this was something of a common phenomenon. His mother would travel for months at a time, come back, and if her toyboy of the moment didn't give her enough attention, it was a quick trip back to the Ootori estate for an equally quick fuck. He was basically desensitised to this shit, in the sense that his parents having sex didn't disgust him as much as the average child.

It just made him upset and angry.

"Come on, Kyoka; Kyoya will be home any minute, and he's –"

"Right in front of you," Kyoya interrupted his father, his expression grave as the two adults turned to him slowly. His mother's pink lipstick was clearly smudged around his father's face and neck – she always did wear too much of the stuff – and his own appearance was just as dishevelled. If he was planning to hide it, he wasn't very convincing.

"Kyoya, baby boy," His mother cooed, shoving Yoshio away and almost making him fall on the floor. She moved just as gracefully as ever, swanning to him and cupping his cheeks, "Oh my, Kyoya; I think you're getting your father's cheekbones, you're becoming a man. I always thought your squishy cheeks were adorable, though – you suit something softer."

Yet, she failed to notice how ill-fitting his clothes were, how he'd lost weight. How he looked sick and barely able to stand. He was just too tired and upset to deal with her, though; it wouldn't do to take everything she said to heart, but he would, because it wasn't something that was really his choice anymore.

His hands balled into fists at his sides, clenching his teeth so hard that he feared his teeth would shatter. He just couldn't swallowed his anger down, like he always did. He just couldn't keep doing it, he was too exposed and raw and real. It was too crushing, like when Yuuichi had to explain that, just because he walked in on his parents having sex, didn't mean they were getting back together. He'd yelled, called him a liar, and stormed off only for his brother to be proved correct.

He was done, and he was upset. Of all the times his mother came around for a little attention, it had to be today.

"Get off," He nearly growled, voice low, and she let go of him in shock. His mother was used to her baby boy, the one who'd follow her around like a puppy and ask about her latest trip, acting more like a bestie than her son as she gossiped about the men – and women – who were so generous. Generously endowed, too; she never had a filter when it came to that. It was like she didn't even know how to act around a child, and she probably didn't with how little time she'd spent around him.

He was sick of it. He was really, really sick of this entire situation.

"Kyoya," His father began, hand reaching out to him as he tried to stride passed, but he just side stepped the small act of affection and worry. He was obviously worried, Kyoya wasn't acting like himself, and he knew it, "Kyoya, come here. It's not my fault –"

"Did she rape you, then?" He asked, interrupting and jarringly blunt. He couldn't stand it when that line always seemed to come up. He didn't care about seeming like his polished perfect self, that illusion was long gone, rusting in dusty darkness, "If she held you down, father, then we should go to the police."

"N-no, of course not!" Yoshio bristled, shock written across every line of his face.

"Then it's your fault too, don't pretend otherwise," He snapped, turning to look at his mother. That strapless, all too tight dress was something that would have every man at the event cast their eyes over her curves, admit to themselves that while she was tall and loud, and all those things Japan found unattractive, they wanted her. Hemlines at midthigh, like a teenager, necklines low and revealing, face full of Botox and the latest makeup trends.

It was like a pretence had been stripped away, like he really was seeing her for the first time, and he just let himself speak, "Just because mother dresses like a whore doesn't mean you have to fuck her like one."

"Kyoya!" Tachibana scolded, looking scandalised and just a bit angry despite how red his eyes still were from crying, "How dare you speak like that! It's not -"

"Not like me? How the actual fuck would any of you know that?!" He yelled, snarling, but his eyes were still burning though there were no more tears left to cry, "I don't care! I hate you! I always have to be perfect, do you know how stressful that is?! Yet she gets a free pass! Why?! If she gets one because she's sick, then I should too! But no, I still have to act like I'm okay!"

"Baby boy… What's wrong? What happened?" His mother asked, voice as faint as it was on the days where she wouldn't leave her room, shaking herself from her dumbfounded state for a moment.

"Your baby boy is dead and rotting," He spat, looking at her with seventeen years' worth of buried contempt, "So just go. Unless you're trying to get him to give you another round; in which case, just try and be fucking quiet for once."

Kyoya made his way upstairs, his mother, his father and Tachibana staring at him in utter shock for a long moment. He was almost away when Tachibana ran after him, taking the stairs two at a time, snatching his wrist as soon as he was close enough.

"Get off me!" He seethed, head whipping around to glare at his bodyguard, "You're always… there, and I've had enough! I'm not a child! Just leave me alone!"

"But Kyoya, I can't –"

"Please," He whisper was broken, his voice shaking and thick, "Please, I just… I can't… I need to be alone…"

He was let go. He walked to his room, locked the door behind him, and sank to the floor.

He broke down.