Kyouya stood before his father's desk, his father sitting in the leather chair behind the wall of mahogany wood
Kyouya stood before his father's desk, his father sitting in a leather chair behind the wall of mahogany wood. "Good evening," Kyouya said in a clear even tone, neither of disrespect, not a real, true respect. After all, how can you respect the one that hurts you?
"Good evening, son," said Ootori-san. "Why were you late home from school this time?"
"There's a Math Club competition coming up at the end of the week, so the president was having us to extra math problems," said Kyouya, still somewhat in pain. It was more of annoying throb. He also wasn't wholly in the situation. Part of him was back in his own room, plotting out tomorrow's winter scene for the real club he was apart of. After the public slapping incident, Kyouya had decided it best to pretend to switch clubs. After the fact, Kyouya realized how stupid of him this actually was, since his father could easily find out the truth. But once apart of a lie, you can't go back unless you are dying to be caught in it.
"There are two problems with this statement," Mr. Ootori said as he leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. "First, there was a competition last week. Second, you're the president of the club."
Kyouya mentally kicked himself as he readied himself to parry words with his shrewd business man of a father. "What I meant was, I told the club there was a competition since they are so terrible at writing proofs so I was having them do extra problems," Kyouya responded thinking quickly, but carefully, like a cat, who both stalks and is stalked.
Yoshio gave an aggravated sigh. "And what is causing you to be so distracted as to make such a terrible mistake in your speech?" When Yoshio and Kyouya word parried, they tended to make their sentences formal, confusing even, trying to trick the other. Like real business men.
"I have a good bit of homework from various teachers at school," said Kyouya, a simple, legitimate excuse for any high school student. He was tired from last nights lack of asleep, in some pain and still having so many plans swirling around in his head. He would have taken a few deep breathes, if they would have gone by unnoticed. He knew they would not.
"During some of my free time today, I cold your school and found some interesting things out," said Yoshio, for the most part calmly, a hint of annoyance.
Kyouya said nothing, did nothing and seemingly made no notice of the comment, except that he was staring his father in the eyes. His stomach did flips.
"Aren't you curious as to what I found?" Anger and annoyance started to blossom in the head of the Ootori household's voice, his voice rising a few pitches in volumes, trying to contain himself.
"Yes. Yes, father, I am curious," said Kyouya, knowing he had been caught in his lie. He knew there was no possible way to lie his way out of those.
"I have discovered that you aren't the president of the Math Club, or even a president at or, nor are you in the Math Club. According to your school, you are only the vice-president of the Host Club," said Yoshio, rising from a half-yell to a full yell that was bleeding with anger. Mr. Ootori stood, slamming his hands on the desk, accentuating the last few words. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Maybe the school hasn't updated their records," said Kyouya, calming, staring his father in the eyes at first, then dropping them towards the ground.
"They have," said Ootori-san. They had a finality behind them. Kyouya didn't respond.
"Do NOT ignore me!" Ootori-san said, loosing it. His company wasn't doing as well as he liked. Wrongly, he found all the faults in his youngest son that he could and then exploited them to the fullest. Easily reaching over the few feet of the desk, and slapped Kyouya full on the face.
His glasses flew as his head turned to the side. A red mark was left behind on his cheek. Kyouya stood there. Ootori-san took a couple of deep breathes as he walked around his desk. He shoved his son by the shoulders to the floor. The push shouldn't of made Kyouya end up on the floor. But Kyouya wasn't even trying to deflect the blows.
Yoshio kicked Kyouya in the right side, and then stepped over his crumpled son to kick the bruised side. Kyouya coiled into a ball slightly and barely gritted back a wince, a choked sound escaping his throat. Yoshio threw in a few more kicks, on the ribs, chest, front on the stomach, legs, back, wherever he could get. Yoshio bent over and pulled Kyouya up by the collar of his school uniform.
Kyouya placed his feet on the floor and continued gritting his teeth as his father slapped him on the other side of the face, switched sides, switched again and then shoved Kyouya to the floor again, turning him around, so that (unintentionally) Kyouya's back hits the corner of the desk. It wouldn't bleed, just bruise. Terribly.
Yoshio kicked again, making sure to hit places he had hit before that were now starting to bruise. Finally, Yoshio abandoned his son that was curled into a ball and walked around to the other side of the desk and sat, interlocking his fingers, placing his elbows on the desk and leaning his chin onto them. "Stand," he commanded.
Kyouya stood, walked over to wear his glasses lay, amazingly not broken or destroyed. He slipped them onto his face after discreetly wiping his face and turned to face his father. "Yes, father?" he questioned politely with a nearly invisible choke in his voice.
"Stop wasting your time in that Host Club. Better yourself. Become president of a respectable club and you might be forgiven," said Mr. Ootori. "Until then, I don't want to see you. Servants will be ordered to abandon you rooms. Do what you like. I do not care any longer, since you refuse to listen to your betters."
Kyouya stood there. "I understand, father," he responded.
"And just as I was about to see if you could control part of the company," said Yoshio, spinning his chair to the face the window behind him. Kyouya turned to leave. His soft footsteps must have been noticed by his father, because the next thing Kyouya knew, he had been struck on the back with a paperweight. "Did I say you could leave?"
"No, father," said Kyouya through a wince as he turned to face his father again.
Yoshio stood at his younger son for a few moments. "You may leave," he said.
Kyouya turned and exited the office, shutting the door as quietly as possible. He hurt from head to toe. It was going to be a long night.
A/N: Well, another chapter for my beautiful/handsome reviewers and even for those new to the story as well and for those who read, but don't review. coughEternityofShadowsKinzTheDreamWhisperercough Also, fiftysix-luver for having the most reviews. I like how some of this chapter turned out but Yoshio (Kyouya's dad) was REALLY hard to write. I wanted a guy who could be angered to yell so the rest of the house knew what was going on, but to be calm enough to appear evil when he hit Kyouya. Yes, I'm twisted. I'm sorry.
I'm also thinking about combining another Ouran story with this. It stars Hikaru, Kaoru and some Haruhi. It'd be interesting and plausible to add since Haruhi never truly admitted to liking the Host Club because Éclair never showed up meaning the festival went by as normal… Also, interesting think I noticed while writing this; my nail clippers were made in Korea. Not China! So yeah, until next time!
P.S: The title means 'The Abandonment of Kyouya Ootori.' It's modled have 'Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu.'