CHAPTER ONE
.
When I saw your strand of hair, I knew that grief is love turned into an eternal missing. It can't be contained in hours or days or minutes. Remember those 1930s coffee spoons, each one like a melted sweet? That's how I'd be living my life, in tiny measured doses. But your death was a vast sea, and I was sinking. Did you know that an ocean can be seven miles deep? No sun can penetrate that far down. In the total darkness, only misshapen, unrecognizable creatures survive, mutant emotions that I never knew existed until you died.
Rosamund Lupton
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Month 1: September
(Tuesday 26 September 2023, 30 years old, Tokyo)
Raw grief is indescribable.
The only thing that can be said of it is the actions of the afflicted: huddled in blankets, isolated in a room, cooped up in the house, not eating, not sleeping, not accepting calls or callers save family and close friends.
The body has been released to them, the process expedited due to various factors: powerful families, societal scandal, the fact of a corpse.
Today is the start of the memorial services. Days of ritual, nights of vigil, first the wake at the shrine, then the funeral, then the interment.
Kaoru can barely exit the car.
He's trembling, he knows it.
Honey, Mori and Hikaru turn to him, expressing their love and compassion even as they too are subdued and sorrowful. None of them seem able to leave the limousine. Tamaki and Haruhi are arriving separately. Kaoru hears that Tamaki had been the one to sort it all out and accompany his best friend back to their homeland.
Upon landing, the Ootoris had taken over, much to everyone's surprise.
Why hadn't Kaoru had the strength to bring Kyouya home himself? Why does he feel like he will never be able to do anything ever again?
He can't think, he can't breathe – everything is too much, feels too much. He is boneless with anguish, his lungs crushed from an intolerable pressure.
Hikaru helps him out and adheres himself to his side, supporting him like a crutch. They've just crossed the threshold of the shrine, and Hikaru freezes in place when they stumble across the Ootoris. Everyone knows – despite the utter, smothering lack of publicity – that Kyouya had been effectively disowned and that Kaoru is persona non grata to this family.
Ootori Yoshio approaches them with the composure of a predator, his face a blank mask.
Hikaru tenses up noticeably; Kaoru grips his brother's arm and tries not to shake too violently.
"Hitachiin-kun," Ootori Yoshio addresses him flatly, after all these years still nothing more than Hitachiin-kun to him, "I trust you will honour our agreement."
Kaoru gives a tight nod.
"Wha – Kaoru, what have you – " Hikaru demands, voice climbing in pitch from distress until Mori clasps his shoulder firmly to cut him off.
Not here, Mori warns.
Ootori Yoshio waits for a beat before he leaves their vicinity, unimpressed as ever.
Kaoru finds himself manoeuvred to a quiet corner by Mori and Honey.
Honey doesn't ask anything of him, just stares unwaveringly at him with a hint of reproach; his senior has always been stern to him whenever the situation calls for it.
"I – " Kaoru croaks, swallowing to moisten his parched throat, "I bartered with – I agreed to give up any claims on Kyouya's body in exchange for Yoshio-sama arranging the sōgi and allowing Kyouya to be buried in their family plot."
The years have passed and the changes have been plenty, but some things are unchanged. Kaoru can see in both seniors' eyes that they have immediately grasped the ramifications of this decision, while Hikaru hasn't quite realised what it means.
"Doesn't matter," Kaoru whispers in response to Hikaru's impotent frustration. "It's not as though our marriage is legally recognised here. I can't stake a valid claim anyway, Hikaru."
His twin's expression melts involuntarily into something sad and pitying before he comes to his senses and wipes it clean off in order not to contribute anymore to Kaoru's suffering.
"Kaoru," someone says, voice cracking horribly, and Kaoru is engulfed in a fierce bear hug. He buries his face in Tamaki's neck and struggles not to cry, because if he does he will bawl and he will not stop.
He can feel Tamaki's heaving sobs against his chest, and he is grateful – so grateful – that Tamaki is here; this is the one other person who loves Kyouya as much as he does, the person who'd introduced him to Kyouya, the person who'd reached out to a pair of lonely twins, the person at the core of everything magical and blessed in Kaoru's life.
Haruhi ducks under Tamaki's arm to join in the hug, and Kaoru clutches and clutches at them as retching hiccups force their way out of him.
"T – Tono," Hikaru stutters helplessly, "You – you're squashing him – let – let him – "
Tamaki peels away anxiously to inspect Kaoru through watery eyes; and oh god Kaoru wishes he hadn't, because now Kaoru can see that Haruhi's cheeks are wet too, and tears are pooled in Mori's eyes; he can see that Honey's face is scrunched up, droplets rolling out of squeezed-shut eyelids, and Hikaru is chewing viciously on his bottom lip in that way that he does when he really doesn't want to cry, but knows he's going to.
Of Kyouya's treasured ex-host club, only Kaoru's eyes are still dry; they burn unbearably, yet the sensation is a mere echo of the blistering wound in his heart.
An incoherent sound is wrung from him and he pulls Tamaki back to himself. His legs refuse to hold him up any longer; Tamaki doesn't let him fall.
.
.
(Thursday 28 September 2023, 30 years old, Tokyo)
When Hikaru sees the stone monument of the haka, he understands the price that Kaoru has paid.
Kyouya's name is etched into the grey slab, kanji and rōmaji scribed in elegant calligraphy, but the name is solitary and companionless, and it is completely, sickeningly wrong.
"How dare you pretend Kaoru doesn't exist!"Hikaru thunders at Ootori Yoshio in a magnificent display of bravery and devotion. "AND HIS NAME IS HITACHIIN-OOTORI KYOUYA!"
Kaoru had known that his own name wasn't going to be in its rightful place beside Kyouya's; he hadn't expected the sight of it to feel like a punch to the gut.
He isn't going to be buried with Kyouya when he dies.
He isn't going to be buried with Kyouya when he dies.
He isn't going to – his final resting site will not be beside the love of his life, this is the last that he will ever see of Kyouya –
His father comes up from behind and cradles him before he slides into hysteria, and his mother moves to where Hikaru is and restrains him with a gentle touch, her eyes flashing dangerously at Ootori Yoshio.
"Your son agreed to it," Ootori Yoshio tells them reasonably. Behind him, Fuyumi is weeping silently in Yuuichi's embrace, half-destroyed with regret.
Kaoru walks shakily to the grave and lowers himself to his knees. The silver chain around his neck clinks a soft metallic sound; he clenches Kyouya's ring into his fist, carving deep grooves into his palm. He'd debated endlessly with himself about whether to keep it or to have Kyouya wear it for the rest of eternity, and at last he'd decided that if they cannot be buried together, he must at least retain something of Kyouya to put in his own grave – the ring, and the iconic pair of glasses.
The other ex-host club members gather around him, each of them laying down their bouquet of flowers and assorted gifts. Earlier, Honey had placed a bag of the finest confectionery known to humankind in the casket along with the traditional extra set of white kimono, sandals and six coins.
Kaoru's bouquet is personally made, the culmination of his skills in ikebana. It is the pinnacle of his artistic vision, it is the image of his soul, it is his tribute, his declaration. It is him, the way that he will stay here, the way he will wilt.
A hand slips into his comfortingly and brings him out of his woozy, heartsick daze. He is physically and mentally exhausted. Haruhi's large brown eyes reflect nothing but concern, for an instant she is so reminiscent of Ranka that it sparks a wave of churning dismay that the Ootoris had not deigned to extend an invitation to Ranka, who's adored Kyouya for as long as they've known each other, who'd encouraged Kaoru to explore his bisexuality, and who'd been an ardent fan of their relationship.
Ootori Yoshio makes to leave, issuing instructions to his assistants to tie up the loose ends. Kaoru doesn't want to go yet, though he knows that he will not be permitted to stay long without Yoshio's presence. He looks up, vulnerable and pleading, and the lines on that elderly face teach him a lesson akin to a sudden epiphany – Yoshio is tired, Yoshio is old, Yoshio is a parent who has just buried his child, Yoshio's anger is proportionate to his love.
"I need hardly remind you that you are unwelcome on my family's property, Hitachiin-kun," Yoshio states succinctly.
Kaoru had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. He'd been well aware of the possibility that interring Kyouya in the Ootori family plot would result in him being permanently banned from visiting Kyouya.
"You go too far, Yoshio-san," Yuzuha snaps, sharp as a whip.
"Nonetheless, it is my property," Yoshio replies. "Good day, Yuzuha-san."
"Yoshio-sama," Kaoru calls abruptly, halting him in his tracks.
He stands and runs the short distance to his father-in-law. Facing him squarely, Kaoru lowers his voice so as not to be overheard, "Thank you."
And as he says it, he himself is shocked by how genuine the sentiment is. He hadn't said it to make Yoshio look bad or to induce more favours from the man.
Yoshio's eyebrows raise a fraction. At the lack of forthcoming explanations, he strides away with his three remaining children in tow.
Kaoru grabs Fuyumi's hand impulsively when she walks by him. She isn't at a stage whereby she can smile at Kaoru or at all. He knows this, remembers that Kyouya had loved his sister, and gives her a hug that she returns sincerely. Akito guides her away, shooting Kaoru confused, unfathomable looks.
"You needn't have gotten my father involved," Yuuichi remarks seemingly casually, one hand tucked suavely in his front trouser pocket. "If you'd buried Kyouya anywhere else, you would have been able to visit him as and when you like."
Kaoru is not capable of smiling either; if he could, however, he should have liked to do so now.
The thing is: Kaoru has always wanted Kyouya to want him, but he's never wanted Kyouya to lose his family. Once an Ootori, forever an Ootori. They'd fought so hard in the course of this relationship for Kyouya to keep his ties to them; they are a part of him – he came from them, and he should return to them.
Noble self-sacrifice aside, it does not lessen the agony of being unable to visit him. In his head Kaoru can hear Kyouya chiding him for being a heroic fool. Usually this would be equal parts exasperation and fondness; a frown, a pout, and maybe a kiss or two, or twenty, or thousand.
Kaoru experiences another amnesiac episode here.
He knows himself well enough to surmise that he must have broken and crumbled into delirium, or perhaps he'd gone berserk from the intimate memories. Whatever had happened, it still makes Hikaru blanch and the others flinch at the mention of it, so Kaoru doesn't ask.
.
.
(Friday 29 September 2023, 30 years old, Hitachiin Estate)
He is back to languishing in his bed.
The clean sheets smell of detergent, because the servants wash them compulsively.
But the room, the room –
They'd occupied this room together, and Kyouya's cologne still permeates the air.
Little trinkets are dotted here and there. The souvenirs from past travels cause his eyes to sting; he displays them all prominently like a masochist, and allows (wants, needs) Hikaru to sleep beside him on the condition that he only occupies what used to be Kaoru's side of the bed.
Kaoru can't bear for anyone else to sleep where Kyouya used to.
He's forbidden the servants to enter the room, and he freaks out over the smallest things. In his life he has never behaved so heinously towards Hikaru; now, everything is Hikaru's fault and Hikaru has to solve absolutely everything.
Hikaru has been waiting on him hand and foot, letting his twin lash out unreasonably and take it out on him, and hasn't returned to his girlfriend/boyfriend – whoever he's dating at the moment, he runs through them so fast – since the fashion show. Kaoru's being selfish and he doesn't give a damn about it, but if Hikaru abandons him to his own defences then Kaoru really thinks he might hate him for it.
No, well, actually…
Kaoru is still Kaoru and can't bring himself to be that selfish. So, at half past two in the afternoon, he gives Célia a call. Bold, cunning, unapologetic, an enthusiast of modernismo (which is all you need to know about her tastes – exquisite, that is) and quite frankly smoking hot, the Spanish youngest-ever director of the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao accepts Kaoru's suggestion to vacation in Japan for a week.
After Kaoru hangs up, he realises that he's just engineered Hikaru away from him and bursts into tears.
Hikaru holds him while he blubbers uncontrollably, then tells him off for doing stupid, unnecessary things.
The ex-club members converge on the Hitachiin estate at five.
They talk and cry, and drink Haruhi's homemade soup. These days it is a privilege to be able to eat anything made by Suou Haruhi-sama.
They make it a point not to reminisce though the mood is nostalgic.
Kaoru lays his head in Tamaki's lap and his feet in Hikaru's, worn out from his tears. They seem to instinctively understand that he doesn't want to talk – that he and Tamaki can't – and they fill in the empty spaces with snippets of their lives, for they are living and will live, and Kaoru doesn't begrudge them this because their lives are precious to him.
Tamaki's fingers comb through his hair every minute or so. Kaoru's eyes are closed; the image of Tamaki's face is already imprinted indelibly in his mind. The one other time that Tamaki had looked anywhere remotely close to how he does now had been at his grandmother's sōgi. The world is dimmer when Tamaki doesn't smile; Kaoru turns his head slightly and drops a kiss onto Tamaki's thigh to elicit one.
Tamaki tries hard. It's clear that he's not a proper frame of mind too, but he makes up for it by pressing his crooked smile directly into Kaoru's temple.
This is a summary of the past decade:
Kaoru shares Kyouya with Tamaki.
Tamaki shares Haruhi with Hikaru.
Hikaru shares Kaoru with Kyouya.
Among the five of them, they share Honey and Mori.
Years later, Kaoru isn't sure when he ends and where they begin.
That is why:
When Tachibana arrives at a quarter to ten, every single one of them has the rug pulled out from beneath them.
Tachibana is greying and wracked with guilt. The shame is a byproduct of his old habits dying hard since he hasn't been one of Kyouya's field bodyguards for ages. Kaoru knows that Tachibana would have died for Kyouya, and that is enough for him.
"Kaoru-sama," Tachibana says quietly with his head bowed, powerless to look Kaoru straight on. "I was instructed to hand this to you."
An innocuous white envelope is respectfully held out. From this distance, Kaoru can make out his name written in an all too familiar handwriting.
The air is cloyingly thick with anticipation, with held breaths.
Someone gasps, the sound a rattling, wretched thing.
In the next instant Kaoru discovers that each of his friends have seized him with a hand or even two, keeping him upright under their combined steam. He starts to thrash, to fight them off frantically, rabidly, in order to lunge forward for the letter.
"Kaoru!"
"Give it to me!" he screams.
"Tachibana, leave it and go!" Tamaki orders. Tachibana makes to comply immediately.
"NO! NOOO! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! EXPLAIN THIS!"
"GO NOW!" Hikaru yells, catching his brother's flailing arms. Despite being Kaoru's servant, Tachibana obviously deems it fit to heed their orders over his.
"LET ME GO! Let me go! What's wrong with all of you!" Kaoru shrieks, choking on fresh tears. "I want – I just want – "
Mori unfortunately chooses that moment to move the letter out of harm's way from their jostling on the large bed.
"DON'T TOUCH IT! IT'S MINE, IT'S MINE!" he roars possessively. "LET ME HAVE IT!"
They refuse to unhand him.
"Breathe, Kao-chan. Breathe. I know it's annoying to hear it, but try," Honey advises soothingly. "If you read Kyou-chan's letter in this state, you'll overreact to everything in it."
"Yes, Kaoru, please try," Haruhi implores as he descends into high-pitched keening noises like a caged, injured animal. "You've already overtaxed yourself so much – "
"IT'S MINE. Let. Me. Go!" he grits out. "Let me go let me go let me go let me go let me go let me go – "
Hikaru gives an extra hard tug and Kaoru lurches into his arms.
Stop, please, Hikaru begs.
Kaoru has made his twin cry again.
"Please, Hikaru," he convulses, "Please, I'll calm down when I read the letter, please, please, I just want to read it, it's for me, please, I can't – I have to – it's from – I – "
Tamaki has also begun to cry. He covers Kaoru's hand with both of his and gazes at him with understanding. Kaoru's vise grip on Hikaru's shirt is gently pried loose, the letter is placed on his palm and his fingers are bent closed over it.
"Yes, it's yours," Tamaki rasps, "We're sorry. Don't shout anymore; your voice is hoarse. Drink some water."
Mori conjures a glass and passes it to Kaoru. His large hand settles on Kaoru's back and rubs softly to help his panic to subside. "I apologise. For touching it."
Kaoru feels crazy. He is stuffed full and empty all at once, and he wants to keep screaming and screaming until it tears him into little tiny pieces.
Kyouya… His Kyouya has made preparations even for this. It is so like him and it makes Kaoru die a little to think of him dwelling in places so dark and bleak.
"Get out," he sobs. "All of you, get out."
No one budges.
"I said get out!"
Haruhi gathers him to herself and says, "I think Kyouya-san intended for you to receive the letter only when we're here for you, Kaoru."
Kaoru pushes her away a tad roughly. He is sorry for it and he wishes someone, anyone, would rebuke him for being a brat so that he can feel something other than blinding pain.
Tamaki touches his fingertips to Kaoru's jaw. "We're not leaving you to read this alone."
Kaoru pushes a hand through his hair agitatedly and crumples into a curled ball. All of them can be so stubborn sometimes. Part of him wants them to stay, and part of him is filled with dread at having to share Kyouya any more than he already has. Finally, in concession to them, he scrambles to the far side of the bed and pulls the envelope open with butterflies roiling in his stomach.
He can barely read; tears keep flowing like blood from a wound.
My dearest Kaoru,
I'm sorry for leaving you. Please don't hurry to wherever I am, for all of time is mine to have and I will wait for you faithfully.
I will not say: 'do not weep'; for not all tears are an evil. Were I in your position, I should not find within myself more strength than you possess. But part of the reason that you've always been irresistible to me is that you somehow continually manage to defy expectations, and if your strength should fail, I will be your pillar still, as once I was, so I am and always will be.
For each year that we have been together, that is also the number of months that you can expect to receive more letters from me. Henceforth, deficient as my atonement may be, let me hold your hand on the 12th of every month, my Kaoru.
If I know you well – and I fancy I do – are you back in Japan? You have been skipping meals, haven't you? Tachibana will have brought food for you, please eat some. For me.
He will also have brought a cooling gel eye mask. I know that your eyes are dry and sore; I wish I could kiss it better, but we'll have to make do for now.
You love it when we play this game, so:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Yours, Kyouya
His world narrows down to the poem, head spinning from the emotional toll. The answer hits him like electricity.
He flies off the bed and takes off out of the room like a bullet, sprinting for the second-floor study that belongs to him and Kyouya. Behind him, he can hear the others in hot pursuit.
They sound quite pissed off and very worried.
Screeching to a halt and flinging the door open with so much force that it slams into the wall, Kaoru throws himself at the bookshelves and starts tossing some of them out erratically in his single-minded search for the compendium of poetry that Kyouya had given him for their second anniversary.
"Kaoru, what the hell?" Hikaru barks at him while trying to catch his breath.
Kaoru speeds up, even faster, faster if it is at all possible – he has less than a minute of ignoring them before Mori will predictably arrest his mania. His fingers grope and his eyes flash unseeing, he will know the book by touch because he loves it so much; he seizes it.
They used to read this book together, reciting lines and annotating themselves into the spaces between the words. Kaoru is sun-gold ink, Kyouya is silver-sharp inscriptions. He gentles his movements to protect the paper pages, finds the poem and examines it carefully.
Striking as precision geometry, unexplained steel-coloured circles are looped around the word 'world' both times it appears, and the page number – 147 – is double ringed.
"Circle? What's world… two? Twice…? Double?" Kaoru mutters, insensate to all else. "147… round?"
Tamaki interrupts his racing thoughts by clamping down on his shoulders. "Kaoru, talk to us."
He smacks the hands off unceremoniously and begins to pace restlessly.
"World… two worlds – two worlds!" he exclaims feverishly, almost hopping with glee. "World maps! Two world maps!"
They've wised up to his ways, and Honey blocks the exit before Kaoru can bolt.
Kaoru whirls, drowning in claustrophobia and inaction. The looks directed at him are scared and brimming with ill-concealed horror.
"Kyouya's office!" he demands of Tamaki. "Bring me to Kyouya's office!"
"At Midtown?" Haruhi's rational voice starts up, "That's – "
"No, Minami-Aoyama! He knows I'm here! Let me go there now!" He is seconds away from striding towards Honey recklessly, suicidally, to push him out of the way or perish in the attempt.
They cave, but tag along doggedly. No one makes any mention of the fact that it is nearly midnight.
Vibrating with barely suppressed energy through the journey, Kaoru explodes out of the limousine and floods into the spacious, luxurious office. On the south-facing wall, there are two sizeable world maps placed side-by-side, one of which is liberally studded with round magnets marking the countries in which Kyouya's company has a foothold, the other is covered with post-it notes of foreign developments that they should be tracking.
He rolls up his sleeves and starts scrabbling at the boards, plucking at their corners to find a latch, if any. Hikaru springs to help him, apparently having decided that surrender is the only solution.
"Kaoru, you are too pale," Mori intones gravely, obviously displeased.
"M – Mori-senpai," he babbles, lighting upon the tall figure, "Mori-senpai, please help me to remove the notice boards! Please take them down!"
"Sit down."
Kaoru looks wildly at him for his unwanted remark; Mori is immovable as a rock, and Kaoru turns to Hikaru, pleading.
"Takashi-senpai, please," Hikaru requests softly, completely defeated.
"Sit down," Mori repeats to Kaoru.
He is dangerously close to whining. Why wouldn't any of them help him?
"Mitsukuni-senpai, make Mori-senpai – "
"Sit down, Kao-chan," Honey says shortly, not unkindly but very, very firmly.
"Tamaki!" he bellows, absolutely stricken. "Kyouya made you promise that you'd take care of me, didn't he?! Did you say yes?! Did you?! Why are you breaking your promise?! Why – why won't – "
He sways on the spot, and decides to give up living there and then.
.
.
(Saturday 30 September 2023, 30 years old, Kyouya's office)
He floats to consciousness amidst the cadences of a French lullaby, sung by a voice thick with unshed tears.
There is an incredibly familiar vanilla-and-strawberry smell filling his nostrils – yes, a lumpy, furry thing is resting on his chest. Quiet murmurings buzz through the air; he can barely make them out through the haze of fatigue.
"Honey-senpai," says a feminine voice, "Do you want to nap for a little while? The doctor said the sedation should keep Kaoru asleep for at least a few more hours."
"It's all right, Haru-chan."
"Are you sure?" Haruhi asks. "Tamaki could make space for you on the sofa."
Giggle. "If I know Kao-chan, he'll fight his way awake sooner rather than later."
Haruhi sighs heavily.
"Tono," Hikaru whispers, "Here, hand Kaoru to me. Takashi-senpai's brought back some breakfast."
Slight rustling, like someone shaking his head.
"Tono, it's not your fault."
Silence.
"If anything, I'm to blame. I'm the only one that Kaoru has been willing to see for the past weeks. I haven't been caring for him properly."
"Don't be stupid, Hikaru."
"You're the stupid one," Hikaru retorts. "Haruhi! Tono's trying to starve himself!"
"Both of you are being stupid," Haruhi deadpans. "Go and eat. Tamaki, I'll look after Kaoru. Hikaru, you go too, or I'll tell Mori-senpai."
"Whaa – "
"Go."
Kaoru can feel his head being lifted carefully and transferred to another person's lap. He tries unsuccessfully to move his lips or open his eyes. The sensation is that of being pressed down by multiple blankets, lead weight unforgiving and suffocating.
A catchy tune rends the air, followed by light swearing from Hikaru.
In Spanish, he says, "Célia? Yeah, I'm with Kaoru. You remember which is my room? Okay – yeah. Yeah. Thanks, see you later, okay? Bye."
"Heeheehee," giggles a teasing voice.
"What?" Hikaru says gruffly, a touch defensive.
The others chime in with muffled chuckles in a temporary triumph of happiness over sadness.
"Hey, stop it! Our focus has to be on Kaoru!"
The absence of sound stretches on uncomfortably.
"Hnn," – extremely disapproving – , "Eat."
Kaoru is swimming his way up, trying to break through the surface. Vaguely he remembers that there is something he must do. Probably concerning Kyouya or Hikaru – he only ever feels this way about either of them…
"Tamaki! I think he's waking – !"
Flurry of activity.
"Hnnghh …"
"Shhh, shhh," Tamaki soothes. "Don't sit up too quickly."
Kaoru sits up quickly.
He would have vomited if there had been anything to bring up. As it is he retches sickly, dryly, all while trying to get a grip on his disobedient body long enough to wail-ask what they've done with his letter and book.
"They're here, they're right here," Haruhi assures. "We didn't read them. We've taken the boards down like you wanted. Stop resisting us, Kaoru."
He snaps his gaze to the wall; it's a small, discreet safe.
"One-four-seven," he grinds out, too weak to walk. "The password, it's – "
"Okay, okay. Stay there," Hikaru stresses, moving hastily to obey. "Ah, Kaoru, it's asking for six digits."
"Um, ummm…" He tries to moisten his throat and coughs terribly. Honey forces him to drink.
Two circles – "One-four-seven-one-four-seven!"
The keypad beeps faintly.
"No good," Hikaru reports.
Lightning-fast, Mori pins Kaoru down into the sofa.
"Kao-chan, if you stand up, you'll black out again."
"That has to be the password! It has to be! Why doesn't it open! Are you sure you entered it right?"
Hikaru enters it in once more to humour him.
"Kyouya circled the page number twice! Two times of 147, that's right, isn't it? Haruhi," he turns to her, "Haruhi, help!"
She looks deep in thought. Kaoru knows that Kyouya trusts her intelligence and puzzle-solving skills.
"Two times 147 is 294," Honey pipes up, always the consummate mathematician. "One-four-seven-two-nine-four?"
"… Nope, doesn't work."
Tamaki doesn't make any suggestions. All his attention is – has been – on Kaoru, sporadically brushing his cheekbone with a thumb or tucking his bangs behind his ear like nothing else matters.
"The maps!" Haruhi says suddenly. "Palindromes, Kaoru! The first map has the Americas on the left, but the second map shows the Americas on the right!"
Their eyes meet excitedly. "One-four-seven-seven-four-one!" they announce simultaneously.
Hikaru's fingers blaze furiously. There is a chain of clicking noises as the safe comes unlocked.
"Oh, I have to – !"
Everyone glares at him. "Sit. There. Don't. Move."
Hikaru gasps.
"Hikaru what's in there what's in there?"
"It's The Book. The Book," he says, rather awed. "Should I – ?"
"Give it here!" Kaoru commands. "Is there anything else? Just this?"
"Yeah, nothing except that," Hikaru replies, peering into the safe and patting around its interior to make sure. He picks up the black leather-bound book somewhat reverently and deposits it in Kaoru's anxious hands.
"Tamaki," he calls, haphazardly reaching his hand out for him. Tamaki meets him halfway. "Tamaki, did he ever tell you what's in them?"
He blinks, startled. "Kaoru, you didn't ask?"
"Accounts, he said that they're accounts. He showed me, it was all just numbers and tax and business." Kaoru's breath hitches. "This – this isn't it – there are – there're words, oh god – this has drawings, and – and photographs – "
– of them. The photographs are all of the seven of them and their families in various combinations and permutations.
He flips through the pages jerkily. There is a lot of him – so much, too much – scattered throughout, lovingly collected and preserved.
There, taped to the page: a smoothed-out sketch of a dress that he'd binned in a fit of pique after an argument with Hikaru. And here: a feature article in Vogue about the Hitachiin legacy and its impact on the Japanese fashion scene. Three pages down: a detailed reminder to make preparations for their anniversary; another two pages down: a passage from Kafka on the Shore that Kaoru adores, and at the bottom of the passage: a photocopy of a 5-panel comic strip (art by him, story by Kyouya), part of a series intended for and mailed to Tamaki semi-regularly in situations where it is necessary to wholesomely illustrate and spell out his idiocy.
Tamaki chokes out a laugh at the sight of it and tightens his arms around Kaoru.
Yes, this professionally sleek book is an account – of the life that they've built together, saturated with love and loyalty and dazzling in its fulfilling perfection.
Overwhelmed by the sheer devotion on display, Kaoru lets his head loll against Tamaki's chest uselessly.
"Wow," Haruhi breathes. "May I, Kaoru?"
Reluctance bites at his insides, but her photograph in the book reminds him that everyone here deserves to see it. He indicates his assent with a feeble hum.
She lifts the book away from him; as a trade-off, he folds himself fully into her husband.
Curious, Hikaru leans against her to catch a better view. She points at something and they snicker at the photo of Kaoru decked out in a grass skirt and coconut half-shell bra during his March vacation-retreat to Hawaii with Kyouya.
Honey jams Haruhi in from the other side, reading aloud a haiku that Kaoru'd written for Kyouya when he'd been stuck at the atelier for nights in a row during the lead-up to S/S:
Lingering along
with you, I long the longer
to belong with you.
"Oh, don't," he groans, whether from embarrassment or the invasion into their private lives, he doesn't know.
"I like it!" Tamaki protests, unaware that his approval in romantic matters is generally treated with suspicion. "It's beautiful!"
"Ugh," Hikaru says, "On second thoughts, is it really safe for us to read this? Will I come across things that will scar me for life?"
Kaoru snorts, the closest he's come to a smile for weeks.
"It stopped," Mori observes.
True enough, the pages have faded to blank three-quarters into the book, leaving a considerable chunk left unfilled. Kaoru cannot speak for the plummeting of his heart.
"Loads more have happened that are worth documenting," Hikaru muses.
"It doesn't make sense," Haruhi agrees.
"That's… these things all happened this year!" Hikaru yelps, figuring it out. He slides his arms under Haruhi's, backtracking to the early pages. "See! This stuff happened in January!"
Honey takes over, flipping to the foremost page. It is clean and unmarked, save for the numbers '2023' embossed elegantly at its centre.
"He made one for every year?" Haruhi expresses the conjecture that is in everyone's minds.
"Damn, that's just - that means..." Hikaru trails off uncertainly.
Kaoru is frozen with shock, too. He knows exactly who he'd married, yet he keeps relearning it in new and staggering ways.
"Bring me home, please," he asks evenly. He is going to scrupulously, meticulously read through this in a manner befitting the painstaking work that has gone into it.
.
.
Notes
(a) The opening quote is from the book Sister, by Rosamund Lupton.
(b) Japanese memorial services are split into several segments that vary according to custom. That is why I have chosen to use the word sōgi (葬儀) or alternatively, sōshiki (葬式) to refer to the process as a whole.
(c) The family grave, haka (墓), allows all the members of a family to be buried together. As such, when a married person dies before his or her spouse, the name of the spouse may also be engraved on the headstone. The letters of the spouse's name will be painted red to signify that she/he is still alive. Upon death and burial, the same haka is used and the red ink removed. It can be a sign of the surviving spouse waiting to follow into the grave – a little morbid but kind of romantic.
(d) Asian countries are typically (much, much) slower to give recognition to same-sex relationships and partnerships.
(e) The twins are big fans of modernismo catalán, from special chapter released in January 2011.
(f) The quote about not all tears being an evil is from Gandalf, in the Lord of the Rings.
(g) The poem in Kyouya's letter is from e.e. cummings.
(h) The haiku that Kaoru wrote for Kyouya is 'Linger', by Andreas Wittenstein.
24/8/2011