"Mrs. Ootori, are you listening to me?"
Chikako let out a slow, annoyed sigh and moved her glare from the snow globe on her desk to the businessmen in front of her. They had spent the last two hours trying to persuade her to accept their business proposal. They were entrepreneurs who used to sell products for the Ootori Medical Supply Company and now they wanted contracts with the Ootori-Akiyoshi Corporation. It had been a month since Kyoya had left for America and Chikako was more insomniatic than ever, despite the dozens of therapy sessions she was attending and medicines she was on. Needless to say, she was getting fed up it all.
Sitting up straighter, Chikako clasped her hands to control her frustration. "I will only say this once more, gentlemen. My name is Mrs. Ootori-Akiyoshi. How in world do you think you will be successful at this corporation, the Ootori-Akiyoshi Corporation, when you cannot even give the Partner of the affiliation, me, the proper respect?" There was a long, nervous silence among the three men. She sighed again and didn't bother to fake a smile. She was easily bored, these days. "Now, cut to the chase. What do you wish to bring to the table and how much do you wish to be compensated for your, shall we say, 'talents'?"
One man cleared his throat and spoke up first. "We will be providing the same services we provided for your husband's family business."
"You want to sell our products."
"Precisely."
Chikako smiled, raising her eyebrows, and let out a loud laugh, shocking the men in front of her. She sat back in her seat, laughing again. "What, exactly, do you think we sell?"
They were speechless and looked at each other, desperately for answers.
Chikako put up her hand and leaned forward once more. "You don't exactly know what we do here, I take it?"
"W-W-We know-!" another man retorted, not very confidently.
Chikako's smile was gone as she nodded, slowly assessing these fools. "Here is my advice to you. Go home and do you homework, gentlemen. Only then will I consider scheduling another meeting with you—hopefully the next time we see each other, I won't feel so insulted by your presence. Oh, and you will hopefully be offering me a service we can actually make use of."
All three stood in defiance. "MRS. AKIYOSHI!" they yelled in unison, offended.
She rose to her feet, as well, slowly with control. She pat down her black pencil skirt as she spoke. "We went over this gentlemen." She then met their eyes with stern command. "My name is Mrs. Ootori-Akiyoshi." There was a short pause as she reached for a button under her desk—security. "Now, please, leave."
The double doors swung open and two large guards roughly escorted the men out. With much protest, they were dragged into the hallway and the doors were closed again, leaving Chikako alone in the office. She flattened her palms against the surface of her desk, leaned over, and closed her eyes. Her hair hung limply on either side of her head, veiling her from her surroundings. Her knuckles curled and she sucked in air through her nostrils, trying to calm herself down. When her heart was quiet, she opened her eyes, stood up straight, and fixed her hair.
The corded-phone beeped and the intercom switched on. "Mrs. Ootori-Akiyoshi?"
Chikako groaned as she sat down, very prepared for the day to be over. "What is it, Miss Yi?"
"There's a woman here to see you."
Chikako rubbed her temples. "What woman, Miss Yi? Ambiguity is not becoming," she crooned, sarcastically.
A new voice came on the intercom, a highly familiar one, snapping, "Your mother, Chi-chan, who else?"
Chikako jerked upright. "Send her in, Miss Yi."
"Yes ma'am."
There was a short moment before Chikako saw her mother, tall and elegant stride through the doorway, confident and formidable. Chikako pursed her lips and leaned into her high-back leather chair. "Mother."
Mrs. Akiyoshi smirked and sat down across from her. "Daughter," she replied, snidely.
"Here to tell me how to live my life again or how to run my business, are we?"
Mrs. Akiyoshi daintily crossed her ankles and laid her hands in her lap. "Believe it or not, my lovely Chi-chan, I'm here to ask how you're day is going."
"I've hired sixty-three new employees, laid off twelve old ones, and had three scheming middle-aged men thrown out on their asses because they had no idea what this company does, what it stands for, and who exactly runs it. The answer to the last query is me, by the way. I run this company."
Her mother nodded. "Alongside your husband, yes I know, I was one of the people who helped set this arrangement up."
Chikako scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "My husband," she spat, "Is away in America without me on so-called 'business,' having all sorts of fun and shenanigans with his buddies and my back-stabbing, head-over-heels-in-love best friend." She rolled her eyes. "He is hardly helpful right now."
Mrs. Akiyoshi scolded her daughter, shaking her head. "He is very efficient and intelligent, love. You must learn to accept that a business is bigger than two people and sometimes requires them to split up briefly so it can run smoothly."
"This is the best pep talk I've ever heard, Mother," Chikako deadpanned. "Please, tell me more."
"Do not sass me," her mother barked. "I am just trying to help your situation."
"If you want to help, do not treat me like a child."
With a heavy sigh, her mother responded, "You ask that of a lot of people. 'Do not treat me like a child,' you say. Then do not act like one, like the world is against you and solely you." She leaned forward, eyes strong. "You are the only one who is against you. You are the only one who creates these situations and you are the only one who can change them. You're upset?" she leaned back again and waved her hand around. "Then do something about it. Until you stop complaining and start acting, I will continue to treat you like you are a toddler."
Chikako blinked, shocked. She then realized her mouth was ajar. Closing it, quickly, she sputtered, "S-So, are you saying that I just drop everything and go to America as a last 'screw you' to Kyoya?"
Her mother chuckled. "I'm proud to say you got that spunk from me. And no, I am not insinuating that. I'm simply suggesting …" she sighed. "Darling, if you love this young man, then go after him. I have never ever approved of the boys you date and it was simply because they silly, stupid, little boys." She smiled. "Kyoya is the one man whom I support you go—no, whom I urge you to go after."
There was a long pause as the words hovered between them. Chikako took a few deep breaths, looking down at her nameplate, the characters converging and morphing into different words. "M-Mum," she whispered in shock.
Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"
Chikako smiled. "Are you honestly telling me to leave my company here in Japan to join my husband?"
Her mother chuckled.
Chikako raked her fingers across her skirt. "I'm asking as an adult, mother."
"And I'm answering as an adult, Chikako. You have plenty of eager people to take over the business until you return. You've been kidnapped twice, married for only a couple of months, and you are not even eighteen, yet."
She pressed her lips together. "I can handle this organization," she growled.
"But can you handle your heart?"
Chikako scoffed and looked around the office, frantically. "You really want this to work out the way your overly romantic mind played it out, don't you?"
Her mother rose to her feet. "You and I are very alike, darling. We are both hopeless romantics. I am just saying that should you find yourself too lonely or too scared to sleep alone—I know you've been having troubles sleeping, that makeup hides nothing—just know you have my blessing to run away to America with him."
Chikako looked up at her mother, expectantly. "And why is that?"
Mrs. Akiyoshi smirked and raised one eyebrow, challengingly. "Because we Akiyoshi women are not known for letting men tell us where we can or cannot go." She turned to leave, waving goodbye without looking back. "Have a nice evening darling."
The doors closed, the sound echoing around the room, and Chikako felt her heart beat faster and faster. She heaved in gulps of the dense air around her. The thought of going to America terrified her and yet seemed so exhilarating. She licked her dry lips, needing time to think. The she jammed her finger onto the "Call Reception" button on her phone. "Yes, Ms. Ootori-Akiyoshi?"
"Cancel the rest of my appointments and meetings today, Miss. Yi."
"Why?"
"Do it or I'll fire you."
Miss. Yi sighed, used to Chikako's flippant remarks. "Yes, Mrs. Ootori-Akiyoshi. I will cancel them posthaste."
Her boss rolled her eyes and turned the intercom off. "Right, right, 'posthaste,'" Chikako murmured to herself, wryly. "Posthaste…"
This was Tamaki's and Haruhi's third fight of the single month they had been there and Kyoya was so close to killing them that he had invested in several stress balls. He adjusted his tie in the mirror as Tamaki splayed himself on the couch, dramatically retelling his argument about the color of their apartment's walls with Haruhi. Kyoya tried not to think about Chikako when she used to help him with his tie every morning. He had it all under control; he didn't her help. At least, this was what he kept trying to tell himself.
"We are practically separated every moment of every day due to that stupid sliding door she put in to split out rooms, but whenever I tell her that I'm going to alter my side of the apartment, she gets all insulted because it's our apartment, but if that were so, why is she always on the other side–?"
Not being able to straighten out his tie, Kyoya let out a loud groan. He spun around to face his best friend and glared. "Tamaki," he snapped, desperately trying to regain control over his emotions. "Please stop talking. I'm trying to get ready for a meeting and I have a million other things to do for school, so why don't you go and spill your grievances to your girlfriend? Communication, I 've heard, is helpful."
Tamaki sat up. "Then why haven't you been able to reach Chikako for a week?"
"She's facetious and ill-tempered. I suspected this would happen. She's still a child, after all," he grumbled, half-heartedly. Truth was, he missed her, but he would never admit to it. Tamaki could still infer this emotion from the look in his friend's eyes. He didn't look like he had been sleeping all too well and he was crankier than ever before. "Honestly, though, Tamaki? Talk to Haruhi. I'm very sure that you will need to be the one to apologize first since all women seem to be insane, but she'll be happier or at least less mad."
Tamaki paused. "You think so?"
Kyoya sighed. "Yes," he groaned. "Now get out!"
His friend jumped to his feet, light-hearted and eager. "You're right, Mommy! I will go talk to her as soon as I can, but first I have to go pick up my kotatsu table at the Post Office."
"You ordered one for here, too?"
"Of course."
Kyoya sighed. "Did you ask if Haruhi wanted one as well?"
Tamaki laughed. "Well, of course she would, who wouldn't? It's so wonderfully Japanese!"
Kyoya rolled his eyes. "While a little racist, that comment may be the root of your problem with your lover."
"What, that I'm a racist?" Tamaki gasped, appalled by the idea.
Kyoya frowned. "No, that you're self-centered."
Tamaki sighed with great relief. "Oh, good, I can handle that problem."
His friend rolled his eyes. "You ready to leave me alone?"
Tamaki waved his hands around and grabbed his things. "Okay, okay, I'm going, Grouchy-pants." He paused in the doorway of the apartment. "Um, would like me to send over one of the twins? They're very skilled with ties."
Kyoya spun around with an intense, sleep-deprived glare. "GO."
His friend shrugged and fled the scene.
Slowly turning back to the mirror, Kyoya let out a sad sigh and gave up with his attire. He had a clip-on somewhere around that apartment. He started rooting through his drawers, the badly knotted tie hanging from his neck as the phone rang. He reached for it, idly, and cradled it between his shoulder and ear. "This is Kyoya."
"Hello Mr. Ootori! It's Jeffrey Donovan," a voice exclaimed, professionally. It was one of the businessmen he was supposed to meet with before his classes started.
With a sigh, he politely corrected the man in the best English he could muster, "Ootori-Akiyoshi, actually, but yes, hello Mr. Donovan. How may I help you? I was just on my way to your office."
There was a hearty laugh. "I sure hope that was just business-speak and you aren't in your car or anything, yet."
"Why do you say that, sir?"
"I need to take a rain check on this meeting—"
"A…rain check, sir?"
"Oh, sorry, brother," the man chuckled. "I need to reschedule. I'm swamped today and I'm terribly sorry, but I couldn't fit you in."
"Oh," Kyoya looked down, holding the clip-on in his hand. He nodded, smiled over the phone, and answered, "Of course, just send me an e-mail and we can work something out."
"Excellent! Have a great weekend, Mr. Ootori-Akiyoshi."
Click.
Kyoya threw the phone and the clip-on tie onto his couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. Alone in his apartment, he crouched down to the floor and hung his head over the wood floors. The language and cultural barriers were harder than he had anticipated, but he hated to admit how he was losing the ability to function independently. He closed his eyes and slowly stood up again. Alright, he told himself. Just go grab a meal and head to campus. The exchange program would have been a lot more fun if he wasn't trying to run a corporation alone overseas.
Suddenly, there was a banging on his front door. "Tamaki," he growled, loudly, heading to the door. "I told you, I'm heading to a meeting. I can't listen to you go on and on about Haruhi or your problems with your relationship." He started to unlock the door, muttering, "It's growing tedious."
The moment the lock clicked, the front door swung open, so fast that Kyoya had to jump back to keep from getting hit. There over the threshold stood his wife, jet lagged with dark circles around her eyes. She held two suitcases and a fashionable leather backpack hanging by one strap on her shoulder. She looked a bit lost, like she had accidentally ended up in America.
"Chikako!" he exclaimed, shocked. "I-I told you to stay—"
She furrowed her brow with a hard frown. "You do not tell me to do anything. You and I are married, not sired. I am not your pawn and you are not mine. We are partners, not debtors. I owe you nothing and yet everything, but I am the only one who can order me around, understood?" Her voice never grew louder than her soft, controlled speech, which she had obviously been practicing.
Kyoya nodded and reached for her bags. "Understood." There was a pause as she handed him a suitcase. "Come in."
She walked through the doorway, tossed the rest of her luggage onto the floor and let out the deepest sigh Kyoya had ever heard from her, like she had just done the bravest and scariest thing of her life and survived. She looked up at him, curiously. "So, you're…on your way to a meeting?"
He blinked. "Oh, right, well, it actually was … rain-checked."
She smirked. "Good colloquialism."
Scrutinizing her presence, Kyoya asked, "Why are you here?"
She took an anxious breath, but decided to tell him the truth. They were already married—what else could blow up in her face? What else did she have to lose? Her dignity was taken from her long ago. She felt naked around him. "I…I missed you," she murmured, barely coherent, but Kyoya grasped every syllable.
"You-You did?"
She nodded then shook her head. "I don't know what's wrong with me, maybe it's the PTSD, but I can't sleep right…at least…not without you. I'm terrified to sleep, it seems, and I hate that about myself, but I…I came here for medical reasons, you see. Insomnia is not becoming and it can cause heart conditions and brain conditions and all kinds of things, and your absence is making it worse, so…"
Kyoya stopped her by stroking her hair and ushered her forward, resting his other hand on the small of her back. She gripped his suit jacket to steady her balance and found herself studying his tie as he said to her, "I suppose medical reasons is a sufficient explanation for leaving Japan." He leaned down and kissed her, and her grip on his suit tightened. She kissed him back, and he held her tighter.
In between kisses, Chikako murmured, "What wrong's with your tie?"
The words vibrated on Kyoya's lips and a shiver ran down his spine. Without an answer, he rested his head against his wife's forehead. "Nothing," he murmured. She started to straighten it out for him, but he pushed her hand away. He plucked out the knot and yanked the tie off his neck. Tossing it onto the couch, he kissed her again, surprised by how good it felt. He had kissed her before, but after not seeing her for a month, it felt like a drug, too good to refuse and too addictive to stop.
He felt his wife chuckle against his mouth. He opened his eyes, curiously. She looked down at her fingers entangled in fabric, a surprised little smile on her face. "Did I ever tell you that I really really hate you?"
Kyoya narrowed his eyes, mouth open, breathing roughly, like she had been his oxygen. He leaned down, tilted his head, and kissed her. Again and again, before finally answering, "I hate you too." But that meant nothing at this point. Holding each other like they were trying to secure the other from floating up to the ceiling, they managed to make their way out of the front and into Kyoya's room. No matter what they ever said or did, they always found themselves drowning in their own contradiction; but for once, Chikako liked that, and so she let it consume her.