She sat in the BMW, staring out at the fulgid street lights that whizzed across the bruised canvas of sky, feeling light-headed. Ruto glanced at her from the driver's seat, and she figured they were only ten minutes away from her penthouse.

No, not hers, but Kuon's. He'd bought the penthouse for the both of them to live in. He wanted her to live comfortably, he'd said, after how she'd slaved away at countless low-paying jobs to support the both of them since Kuu's death.

Kuu… Dear Kuu…

She missed him. She hadn't loved him the way a woman loved a man, but she missed him all the same. He'd been a kind, comforting and benign presence in her life; he'd never once said a cruel word to her.

Her mind wandered back to the following morning after their wedding. There had been no honeymoon. Why would there be one? Their wedding was a ruse—nothing more than a formality to celebrate that they would never be lonely again.

She had also decided against taking his last name.

In fact, Kuu had rushed off that morning after being called for a work emergency at the restaurant. As a result, Kuon, who was usually driven to school by his father, had to take the bus. Kyoko remembered standing in the kitchen after Kuu had left, taking out croissants from the toast oven for breakfast. She'd already laid out glasses of orange juice on the kitchen table, along with the marmalade and toast.

"Why didn't you do it?"

Kyoko jumped. She hadn't heard Kuon come in at all. Turning around, she came face-to-face with the twelve-year-old, his mouth pinched and his face cold. He was always so poised, so elegant, his body language conducted with refinement. He had his school bag slung over his shoulder, and was dressed in his immaculate school uniform—his tie neatly in place, the spotless white linen of his Oxford under his black blazer as smooth as the beautiful planes of his face, and his slacks well-pressed. If there was one thing Kuon took pride in, it was neatness.

Quite a contradiction to most boys his age, Kyoko noted detachedly, with their crumpled attire and messy hair.

But Kuon was not like most children.

"Why didn't I do what?" she said, even though she knew the answer.

"Why didn't you tell my father about what happened to your pathetic brooch?" he said flatly.

"And what would the point of that be?" Kyoko asked quietly.

He laughed mirthlessly. "Point? If it's… —what's the word?—pointless, you're not going to tell him anything I do?"

"Yes."

"Really? And what defines 'pointless' to you, Kyoko?" Kuon asked sarcastically. "Pray enlighten me."

"Telling your father isn't going to make you hate me less."

"How profound," he said, and Kyoko could see the contempt and frustration brewing behind his controlled demeanour. "So I can do whatever I want to you, and you won't tell him? Is that what you mean?"

"Something like that."

"Oh. So…" The boy picked up the glass of orange juice from the table, and flung its contents all over her face. She gasped, taking a step back as the cold, sticky liquid pelted her skin and trickled down to her shirt, saturating the fabric so that it clung uncomfortably to her.

"I guess you won't tell him this either," Kuon said softly, cat-green eyes glowing in triumph. "Am I right… Kyoko?"

It had been vicious, but at the same time all she could see was a helpless, angry child lashing out like a wounded animal in an attempt to drive her away.

"Miss Kyoko."

Kyoko blinked her eyes open blearily.

"We're here." Ruto spoke again.

She sat up straighter on the car seat as the chauffeur opened the door. Thanking him, she got out of the BMW, which had stopped in front of the portico. The icy breeze lifted her hair, sending it fluttering in fair waves around her heart-shaped face.

"I don't understand," she said. "Isn't he on the last leg of his tour? The last time I checked, he had a show in Seoul."

"I believed it was cancelled, Miss," Ruto told her. "Perhaps you can ask him yourself when you go back up. Forgive me, I have to park the car…"

"Of course," Kyoko said at once. She smiled at him, tugging her cream Burberry coat tighter over herself. "Thank you."

She walked into the lobby, her platform heels clicking audibly on the marble floor. The concierge greeted her, to which she reciprocated warmly.

Her heart was pounding as she stood in the elevator. Kuon had been away for four dreary months. Sure, he often called and texted, but it just wasn't the same. He had returned home for three weeks during breaks in between shows (like between his European and Asian legs), but that had felt too brief and it had only made her miss him more. He'd asked her to go on the road with him, but she'd refused, as she always did.

She'd had her reasons, of course. It would be weird for a twenty-two-year-old singer to have his stepmom follow him around on the tour bus. He was young, and he had his entourage of friends his age—his bandmates, his fellow songwriters, his dancers—and he deserved to enjoy his youth hanging with a similar crowd. To dance, to sing, to party, to fool around with some pretty girl as he travelled the world—Kyoko didn't care about the details, so long as there was nothing illegal and that he wasn't hurting anyone, including himself.

Kuon had been deprived of so much fun—that was the best way to describe it—in his adolescence that she firmly believed now was the best time to compensate for it.

As she entered the penthouse, the mingled sounds of deep male laughter greeted her ears. She was accosted by the sight of several boys sitting around the living room, talking and laughing, some holding cans of beer. Kyoko recognised them all; there were Kuon's drummer, guitarist, pianist, and Murasame, Kuon's songwriter best friend and his backup dancer slash choreographer. The pair had penned many of Kuon's hits together, and Kyoko had seen them dancing together before as well, back when Murasame had been a student at Hizuri Juliena's dance studio. It had been a mesmerising sight.

It was easy to identify the ringleader of the pack—the centrepiece of the little group. He was seated nearest to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out of them. While he participated the least in the discussion, it was hard to miss how the other boys' gazes strayed to him even while addressing someone else. Now and then the ringleader would tilt his head and laugh as someone cracked a funny joke, and that, Kyoko knew, was what primarily made 'Tsuruga Ren' so popular without needing to be loquacious.

He laughed.

Simple as that.

It was the cleverest strategy, but not everyone could pull it off. Kyoko wished she could conjure laughter at will, and make it sound as genuine and convincing as Kuon could, but she physically couldn't unless she was sincere about it.

Laughter made people feel good, made them feel on top of the world, knowing they'd said something witty to please. Laughter was contagious too, and it was intoxicating to laugh along.

Soon enough, everyone began to crave a constant hit.

And that was where Kuon obliged—he provided what they sought, over and over again.

She studied him: black-haired and lean, lounging like a cat on the armchair, long legs crossed elegantly, feet bare. He was dangling his iPhone from ringed fingers—the clever, delicate fingers of a talented musician who played the piano better than his pianist—and swinging the device slowly back and forth, unconcerned about dropping it. He could, she supposed, easily afford a hundred more phones if he damaged it, but she'd taught him to be better than that, hadn't she?

Sighing, Kyoko stepped into the living room, her coffee-hued Louis Vuitton purse resting against her waist. Heads turned in her direction.

"Kyoko!" Murasame hopped to his feet, the other boys mirroring his movements, cans of beer crunching. "You're home!"

"As I should be, but the same can't be said for all of you," she responded with mock sternness. "What happened to your concert in Korea?"

"Ask him." Grinning, the pianist—Rick—jabbed a finger at Kuon. "He cancelled it, as well as the last two shows in Japan and Taiwan."

Before Kyoko could utter a word in reply, Kuon had risen from the chair in a single fluid movement and padded over towards her, the long sleeves of his midnight buttoned shirt swishing. Within a few ground-eating strides, he'd wrapped both his arms around her in a tight embrace.

It was hard, she thought dimly, to associate him with the twelve-year-old munchkin she'd known. He towered over her now by a foot, her face meeting his hard chest. She breathed in as his head bent to nuzzle her cheek, the earthy tone of his cologne tickling her nose.

"Look at Kuon and his mommy," Rick hooted. "And he says he's not a mama's boy."

Kuon ignored them, dipping his head further to nuzzle her neck.

"Kuon, honey," Kyoko said, hugging him back. "I'm glad to see you, too, but loosen up a little—I can't breathe."

He obediently loosened his grasp, and pulled back to peer at her. Her breath caught at the smile that curved the wide, sensuously thin-lipped mouth.

It was wonderful, she thought, seeing him happy.

"You irresponsible little mutt." She batted his cheek. "Why did you cancel your shows?"

"Looks like he has a lot of explaining to do," the drummer grinned, moving to the door. Heavily tattooed with waxed blond hair, he was always striking amidst Kuon's entourage. "I don't think I want to hang around the aftermath."

"I don't know about y'all, but I'm gonna go catch some sleep," Rick yawned, holding his crushed can of beer as he trailed after the drummer. "I'm sick as fuck of sleeping on a damned tour bus."

"Oh, but..." Kyoko said. "Are you sure you don't want to stay the night here? We have enough rooms."

"Nah, I don't think he'd want that," Murasame snorted, nodding to Kuon, who had wandered into the kitchen after letting her go. "But thanks for the offer, Kyoko."

Soon, they had all left the apartment—and taken their beer with them, Kyoko noted with approval. They were not entirely without manners despite how crude they could be.

She put down her purse on the couch, and went into the kitchen after Kuon.

He was leaning against the granite island, drinking a mug of plain water that he had poured himself, his beautiful face unreadable even as he watched her with dark, dark tunnels for eyes.

"Kuon, you still haven't answered me," Kyoko said impatiently. "What happened to your tour?"

There was a brief pause.

"I was homesick," he said plainly. His rich voice was the same as always: velvety-smooth, and a steep contrast against the rough, gravelly tones she associated with his tour-mates.

Damn that manipulative bastard. He knew exactly how to tug at her heartstrings. The idea that he'd gone from losing both his parents to having a home—a family—now with his stepmother that he actually cherished always got to her.

"Kuon," Kyoko said, more softly this time. "I know you get homesick, but you have to also think about all the people who looked forward to your shows. They're your fans. You have a responsibility towards them."

Kuon nodded. He didn't argue—he rarely did.

"You're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry."

Kyoko chewed the inside of her cheek. It was hard to lecture him when he was being so obedient and compliant.

"And what does Yashiro say?" she asked, referring to his manager.

"He's not very happy with me," he said.

She spoke again in an even gentler tone than before. "About your homesickness—"

"If you'd come with me," Kuon said, "I wouldn't feel so homesick on tour."

Kyoko widened her eyes. "Kuon—"

He put his mug down on the island, curling a ringed finger idly around the handle.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. It just came out that way."

"No, no," she said at once, going over to touch his broad shoulder. "Don't ever apologise for expressing your feelings. I'm happy you're telling me how you feel."

He looked at her wordlessly.

"About me coming with you," Kyoko added hesitantly. "It's not that I don't want to. But why would you want your stepmom to come with you? Don't you youngsters want to hang by yourselves?"

"You're young, too." Kuon touched her small hand with his bigger one. Couple years ago, his hand had been the tinier one. "Young and beautiful."

Kyoko smiled. "That glib tongue of yours isn't going to fool me."

The corner of his lips rose. "Where did you go today?"

"Oh." Kyoko's smile wavered slightly. "On a date."

"Really?" Kuon looked mildly interested. "And when do I get to meet him?"

"I haven't told him about you."

He looked amused. "So I'm your dirty secret now?"

"Of course not," Kyoko said exasperatedly. "You know why. He knows where we live. I don't want him to know it's where you live, too. You deserve your privacy."

"He knows where we live?" Kuon echoed. His dark eyes began to narrow, then he blinked. "Oh. I see. The both of you have taken things that far already, haven't you?"

"Jesus, Kuon," Kyoko said, feeling embarrassed. "I don't want to talk about that with you."

She definitely did not want to breach the subject of her sex life with her stepson.

"I'd like to meet him," Kuon said. If he noticed her embarrassment, he didn't comment. "If he's someone important to you, I want to meet him."

"Oh, but…" Kyoko hesitated. She wasn't sure why she was so apprehensive about the idea of Kijima meeting Kuon. "I don't know. He's not anyone that important."

Okay, now she felt like a bitch.

"What I mean is," she added hastily at his lifted eyebrows, "Our relationship isn't that serious yet. We're still getting to know each other. We're taking things easy… There's no rush to define anything right now."

He made no comment.

"Listen," she said. "It's late. Why don't we go to bed and talk tomorrow morning? You must be exhausted. I know I am."

Truth of the matter was, she was feeling a little nervous. It was difficult as usual to tell what Kuon was thinking. Even after knowing him for so many years, it was daunting to try to read his mind.

"What's this?" He picked up a sheet of paper resting on one side of the island.

Oh, shit. Taken off-guard by his impromptu return, Kyoko had left her signed work contract in the kitchen after poring over it this morning with her cup of coffee.

"Oh, right." She kept her voice casual. "I was meaning to tell you. I found a job. An administrative clerk at some office downtown."

Before he could say anything, she ploughed on.

"I really want this job," she said. "It's really important to me to find some sense of purpose in my life again. Not that I don't have one right now—don't ever forget that I'm so grateful for what you do for me financially—but I think that putting myself back in the workforce is what I need at present. Makes me feel more productive, if you know what I mean."

Kuon's face was blank for a brief second, but the pregnant moment passed and he gave her a gentle smile.

"That's wonderful," he said. "If that's what you need, then of course you have my support."

Relief flooded Kyoko's chest. Of course Kuon would be supportive—he loved her like family and would always want what was best for her, as she did him. She suddenly felt stupid for worrying about his reaction.

"Thank you," she said warmly, squeezing his broad shoulder. "That means the world to me."

He smiled back, a faint upturn of his lips. "When do you start?"

"This coming Monday."

"I'll drive you," Kuon said.

Kyoko blinked, startled. "Oh, but there's no need. Ruto will do just fine. I was actually thinking of taking the bus, in fact. It'll draw less attention."

"There's no need," Kuon said matter-of-factly. "I'll drive you there myself. It's your first day, and I want to be there for you."

She beamed, a wonderful warmth steeping her belly at his words. "Well… All right. But don't let anyone see you."

"I won't," he acquiesced.

"Well, if that's all cleared up…" Kyoko yawned, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Let's go to bed. I'm really beat. We'll talk more tomorrow. Your room—" She paused. "Drat. I didn't know you were coming back so early, so it's really dusty. Give me a minute. I'll go change your bed sheets for you."

"It's fine," Kuon said. "I'll sleep on the settee in your room."

Kyoko's eyes widened. "Kuon—"

"We're clearly both tired," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was already guiding her out of the kitchen with his ringed hand gently on her back. "Let's settle for that tonight."

Kyoko rinsed her mouth as she set her toothbrush down. She placed it back into the holder, and examined her reflection—now devoid of makeup—in the mirror. She'd changed in the shower and was wearing her tightly knotted dressing gown.

There was nothing to feel weird about having Kuon in her room, she reasoned. In fact, she was making it weird by feeling weird. He was her stepson. Problem was, he was a grown adult at this point. It had probably slipped his mind that things weren't exactly like when he'd been thirteen and she, his caretaker. Once he'd hit eighteen, she was no longer his legal guardian.

That had been four years ago.

After everything they'd been through together, they'd become so close that some boundaries had blurred, to the point that Kyoko worried it wouldn't be seen as wholly appropriate anymore.

But maybe it wasn't appropriate only because she kept viewing an innocent situation as such.

Sighing, Kyoko opened the door and exited the bathroom.

Kuon was sitting on her queen-sized bed, looking at his iPhone. If not for his distaste towards eBooks in favour of paperbacks, she'd have thought he was reading some novel, and she wondered what he was doing.

He set down his phone, however, as she appeared, and watched her approach the bed.

"I have something for you," he said.

She stilled, surprised. "What is it?"

He rose from the bed with catlike grace—indicative of his background as a contemporary dancer—and stepped noiselessly towards her vanity. It was then that she noticed a small wine-coloured velvet box on the table.

"Kuon—" Kyoko began, but he picked the box up and held it out towards her without a word.

Mutely, she took the box from his hand, and after some hesitation, pried the velvety lid open.

Her breath hitched at the incandescent twinkle catching her eye. Nestled within the box was a pair of bright yellow canary diamond stud earrings.

"Oh my God," Kyoko gasped. "Kuon."

It wasn't hardly the first time he'd gotten something so expensive for her, but she never got used to it. Considering his net worth of over three hundred million, his gifts only became more decadent as his fortune grew.

Instead of responding, Kuon lifted one earring off the box, and then reached over and gently brushed aside strands of her long hair from her unadorned ear. He fitted the diamond stud through her piercing, before cinching the back of it.

Kyoko peered into the mirror, her breathing quickening when she saw that the iridescent glimmer of the yellow canary diamond went perfectly with her gold irises.

"Did you get this because of my eyes?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," he said simply, calloused fingertips lingering on the sensitive spot behind her earlobe and making her shiver. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I do, dummy," Kyoko sighed. "Thank you so much. But you shouldn't be spending your hard-earned money on me, Kuon. Spend it on yourself. Spend it on a pretty girl you want to woo. Not on your stepmother."

She'd worried for a long time that Kuon's unconventional childhood had stunted the part of him that was supposed to want romance. All of his friends had either been in relationships or hooked up with somebody. With the huge number of girls throwing themselves at Kuon, she'd expected him to entertain at least a few of them.

And Kyoko had waited, and waited, for Kuon to come home one day and introduce her to a girlfriend. That was how it worked these days, right? Sleeping around came first, then the gradual realisation of feelings, and then the relationship. Surely after some sleeping around, which she had never seen any hints of but could guess was due to his discretion, he had to develop feelings for one of them?

But no introduction to a girlfriend ever came, and she'd worried. Why didn't Kuon date? All his friends did, so why didn't he? Had his childhood truly ruined him?

Was he incapable of opening himself up and feeling love for a girl? That was what she'd worried, and though she'd never told anyone, she'd consulted someone about it. A professional: a therapist.

She loved Kuon so much, and though he'd changed from the once conniving boy filled with so much hate, she wasn't sure if he was completely happy yet.

She didn't want him to cut himself off from relationships.

Realising that there had been silence for a while, Kyoko glanced at her stepson. "Kuon?"

He met her glance with those unfathomable dark eyes.

"I was just thinking," he said. "Murasame has been saying he wanted to throw a party to celebrate the conclusion of the tour. Shall we throw one tomorrow night? And you can ask your date to come then."

Kyoko's jaw dropped.

"Kuon," she managed. "I'm not sure…"

"I heard from Ruto that I disrupted your time with him tonight," Kuon answered, his eyes boring into hers. "I want to make it up to you."

"Oh, Kuon." Kyoko cupped his smooth pale cheek tenderly, feeling her heart swell. "It's all right. You didn't disrupt anything. I can always see him another day."

To her surprise, he gently cupped her hand with his bigger one, lacing their fingers together. "Regardless, I'd like to welcome him tomorrow night. Just to go through the proper introductions and apologise personally for intruding upon his time with you."

She hesitated, touched despite herself. "Well, I suppose I can ask him…"

He smiled. "I'm sure that'll do for now."

"Okay, okay," Kyoko laughed. "Let's go to bed first, all right? I'll ask him in the morning."

He nodded, and she had to wriggle her hand slightly under his before he slowly released her. She undid the earring from her ear and very carefully returned it into the box, then shut the lid.

When she turned, he was sitting on the side of her bed, looking at her.

"May I lie here tonight?" he asked, ignoring the settee.

Kyoko paused. It wouldn't be appropriate, especially not now, but she couldn't blame him either, because back when he'd been twelve, and he'd had a fever and woken up screaming from a nightmare, she'd lain by his side, stroking his silky golden curls and trying her utmost to comfort him.

And then after that, there had been the time she'd dislocated her arm, and he'd fallen asleep beside her.

All those moments from their past had blurred boundaries between them, and Kuon had grown up throughout his adolescence not knowing any better.

She couldn't bear to corrupt that little rare piece of innocence in him, and she exhaled shakily.

"All right," Kyoko said. "But tomorrow you have to go back to your room, honey."

"Of course," Kuon said, giving her that sweet, disarming smile that made even her heart flip.

She moved to her side of the bed, swinging her legs onto the downy mattress with a sigh before pulling the comforter up over them. His warmth was searing beside her, and she could feel the tip of their toes touching.

And then his long fingers reached for hers under the comforter, and she smiled faintly at the familiar touch of those calloused fingertips.

His pale visage was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes.

"So, Miss Mogami," the psychologist said. She was a young woman, maybe younger than Kyoko, her chestnut-brown hair pinned in a French twist. Dressed in a smart pantsuit, she sat down on the wingback chair and crossed her long legs. "How can I help you today?"

"It's…" Kyoko stared nervously down at her lap. "It's regarding my stepson. I'm sure you know a little from what I told you over the phone."

"Ah, yes," Miss Aki said. "You said over the phone—and I quote—that you feared he was shutting people out?"

Kyoko nodded.

"I know he's only twenty-two," she said, "and it shouldn't be worrisome he's single. He's young. But you must understand his childhood, Miss Aki. It wasn't… wasn't easy for him at all."

"Let's go back a little," Miss Aki prompted. "Tell me about his childhood, if that's all right with you."

Kyoko hesitated.

"It all started," she explained, "when his father died, just days after I married him. It was…" She stalled, struck by the staggering understatement of what she was about to say. "—hard for us both."

"How exactly did you feel when you got the news?"

The world spun as time ground to a resounding halt. Static submerged her ears, screeching on and on until she wanted to drown it out with a scream of her own.

The policeman watched her from the doorway. She wondered how many doors he'd visited in his lifetime, reporting the end of another's.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his brown eyes resigned but sympathetic. "There was a collision. A car sped the red light. It crashed right into Mr. Hizuri's car, and…"

The static noise ramped up as he went on, uttering the dreaded words.

This couldn't be real.

It couldn't. They'd only gotten married four days ago. This was supposed to be a normal evening where she'd returned from work and Kuon from school, and where Kuu was supposed to join them any second for dinner.

First Sho had been taken from her shortly before their wedding, and now four days after hers with Kuu, Kuu had left her too?

He'd abandoned her like Sho had?

It wasn't fair. Kuu had promised. The whole point of their marriage was so that they—the abandoned—had each other.

What kind of cruel irony was this?

She turned around, and froze. Kuon stood behind her, staring at the policeman. His face was unnervingly blank, his green eyes burning, pitless holes.

Kuon, who had lost his mother less than two years ago, also from a car accident.

"Kuon—" Kyoko stepped forward, but his golden head jerked away from the policeman towards her.

The sheer hatred in his eyes as he looked at her was so poisonous she recoiled.

And then he stalked past her towards the policeman.

"Bring me to the morgue, please," he said calmly—and so disarmingly polite even though the news must have destroyed him inside. He didn't cry, didn't plead with the policeman to stop lying, didn't show any sign of shock, agony or disbelief.

The policeman eyed him dumbly. "I'm sorry?"

The morgue," he said. "Where my father's corpse is."

"That," Miss Aki commented, raising her brows, "is a very interesting response to hearing the news."

"He didn't cry," Kyoko said quietly. "He didn't cry for weeks. Not even during his father's funeral. I heard from Kuu, though, that he never cried when his mom died either. I think… I think that for Kuu, he took out his grief on me."

"How so?"

She remembered the day of Kuu's funeral. Twelve-year old Kuon had stood in his black suit—a jarring contrast to the chaste white one he'd worn at the wedding just over a week ago. His marble face had been cold and unchanging even as everyone at the wake stared pityingly at him and whispered all kinds of things when he wasn't looking.

An orphan now. Both father and mother, dead in a car accident.

Maybe it was a curse.

Poor, poor little boy, they crooned, and their condolences had echoed even in the silent car ride home.

She'd left him in his room, sensing he wanted to be alone. Bracing herself, she'd gone to the kitchen and browsed her laptop on the table, looking for higher-paying jobs than her current role as an admin clerk. Now that she was Kuon's legal guardian, she needed to find a way to feed both of them, considering Kuu's life insurance had been meagre and he'd had very little to his name.

He hadn't told Kyoko that the restaurant he'd worked at was on the verge of bankruptcy.

When she'd gone to her bedroom later, the one she shared with Kuu, with a heavy heart, she'd opened the door—and stopped.

Her room was a mess. Her clothes had been torn from her wardrobe and strewn about on the floor. Her jewellery box had been upturned, her pendants and earrings scattered all over the vanity table. Her toiletries—tampons, tissues, and her toothbrush—were dumped all over the toilet floor.

She'd cleaned up her room and her bathroom, saying nothing of it. Even when they had dinner later, she'd said nothing over their Chinese takeout, and he had simply taken his share and walked into his room without looking at her.

That night, as she returned to her room to sleep, she'd noticed that the framed photograph of Kuu on her nightstand was gone.

Smiling sadly at the circle of dust on the varnished wood, she slid into bed, knowing that Kuon needed the photograph more than she did.

And just like that, life as they knew it had changed.

The next day, when she'd returned from work, she found her room in the same trashed state it had been yesterday. Again, she'd said nothing, choosing to clean the horrible mess up before heading out to get dinner for herself and Kuon.

And again, this happened the next day.

And the next.

Seven days later, Kyoko had had enough.

She'd returned from the office late, having begged to work overtime to earn more, her feet covered in blisters because she'd been running on her heels all day running errands for her superior.

She'd been so hungry because she hadn't had dinner, but she'd left some money for Kuon that morning on the kitchen table, telling him that she'd be home late, so he had to buy something for himself after school.

Dressed in his immaculate school uniform, he'd said nothing, just pocketed the money and walked out to catch the bus to school, ignoring her as he always did.

And then she'd walked into her room that night after a long hard day of work, and looked at the trashed room for the eighth time.

Something in her snapped at the sight of her torn dress. She couldn't take it anymore. Did that piece of shit think he was the only one suffering? Didn't he know how hard she was trying for the both of them?

Did he believe that Kuu's death hadn't destroyed her inside too?

She'd loved Kuu too, maybe not romantically, but he'd been so important to her, and he'd left her when he'd promised he'd stay by her side in place of Sho.

Turning on her heel, Kyoko had stormed towards Kuon's room, shaking and trembling with rage. She'd had enough.

Flinging open the door, she was about to lunge forward when every muscle in her body froze.

Kuon lay atop his crumpled blanket on his bed, breathing raggedly. His pale face was flushed pink, golden hair tousled in a fallen halo around his head. He no longer wore his uniform, but had on a plain shirt and shorts.

Immediately, all her rage evaporated, and she'd sprinted towards him.

She pressed her hand to his forehead.

He was burning up.

She made to run out to get a wet towel, but a soft whimper caught her attention.

"F..."

Kyoko stopped.

"Fath—" Kuon gasped out brokenly. "Please…" He expelled a harsh breath, spilling the subsequent words in a stunted jumble. "Don't—go…"

Kyoko went to the bathroom, got a towel and ran it under the faucet. Then she returned to Kuon's bedside and gently dabbed his sweaty face with it.

He was beautiful, she noted. He'd taken after his mother, with those high porcelain cheekbones, the long pale lashes, and the high-bridged nose.

He would grow up to be even more beautiful one day.

She continued dabbing his face, then went back to the bathroom to wring it dry of sweat before running it under the faucet again.

Placing it over his forehead, she went to the kitchen and got some Paracetamol. Then she was by his side once more, urging him to sit up so he could swallow it.

He'd opened his feverish eyes, and she saw recognition sink into those viridian depths. He tried to smack her away, but his vehemence was weakened by his fever and she easily swatted his hand aside as she held out the pill towards him.

"Swallow this," Kyoko coaxed. "Here's some water."

She lifted a cup of water she'd poured out on his nightstand, beside where the framed photograph of Kuu was, and held that out to him after he'd taken the pill, though he refused to look at her.

She cradled the cup towards him so he could drink from it, but he turned his head and swung his fist. She backed up, but it was too late—some of the water splashed onto her shirt, saturating the fabric with searing liquid heat.

"Kuon," Kyoko said. "Listen to me. All right? I know you hate me. Fine. Hate me. I don't care. But do you know what's going to happen if I leave, if I wash my hands of you? Do you know what the alternative is?"

He stilled, and she knew he was listening.

"You're a very clever boy, Kuon," she said. "That's why you're currently studying a year ahead of your grade. So you know. You know you're going to an orphanage or a foster home if I leave. You'll live with other children. You'll eat with them. You'll study with them."

He was motionless, his face blank, but she knew he hated the very idea. He craved solitude, and accepted socialising so long as it was on his terms.

He wanted autonomy, and he would be robbed of that if he was raised with other children like a horde of sheep.

He relished in being special; unique. In an orphanage, he would just be one of many.

Just another orphan in a sea of orphans, all of them regarded with the same condescending pity at Kuu's wake.

"Are you threatening me, Kyoko?" Kuon asked flatly, his voice hoarse.

"No," Kyoko said. "Because I'm not going to leave you, no matter what you do to me. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I care. I won't abandon you and leave you to suffer—because you're Kuu's son. You're not the only one that loved your father." Her voice went quieter. "He broke my heart too when he left."

There was a long silence, and Kuon said nothing.

But this time, as she held the cup to his lips, he drank.

And when she returned again with a bowl of heated-up corn soup, he allowed her to spoon-feed him, though he never once looked at her as she did it.

She'd sat by his bedside that night, watching him sleep for hours before nodding off herself. The next thing she knew, she'd jolted awake to the sound of his screams, his eyes stricken and unseeing from a nightmare.

He'd been screaming for his father, begging him to come back.

Kyoko stopped speaking then, not wanting to tell Miss Aki about how she'd gotten onto the bed and held him, rubbing his thin back in soothing circles until he'd stopped trembling.

And how he'd slowly gone slump in her arms, the front of her shirt dripping all over again as he dissolved into sobs and wept for the first time since his father's death. How he'd looked like the heartbroken, frightened child that he'd been all along.

And that she'd cried too, holding Kuu's son in her arms.

For herself. For Sho. For Kuu.

And for Kuon, too.

She didn't tell Miss Aki any of this, because it had been personal—too personal.

"And the next day?" Miss Aki asked, somehow sending not to push.

"He stopped trashing my room," Kyoko admitted.

"And was that—forgive my assumption—when your relationship changed for the better?"

"Oh, not even close," Kyoko said with a half-smile, remembering the living hell the following years had been.

"But it was a start."

:tbc: