REEbok123: And it only took us twenty-four chapters to get there!
bored411: Thank you so much!
Alnitak8: Aw, thanks!
Lillyannp: I just love the idea of like...the entire future plot being affected just because Tamaki gave Kosuke bugspray. Like the most insane instance of the butterfly effect lol
Wishfulhamadryad: Thank you so much! :)
scars from the sun: Thank you! Unfortunately Kyoya-Minami-Hitsuji interactions aren't quite here yet...but I swear they're coming
Nana: Thank you!
So this was going to be a different chapter, but since I've left you guys waiting for actual KyoKosu content for twenty-four chapters, I figure I'd be merciful and give some more lol. Thanks everyone so much for all the reviews! WE GOT TO 100+! WOOOOOO!
Things feel...
...lighter.
That's the only word Kyoya can think of. Not perfect, not sunshine and daisies and rainbows, but lighter. He'd finally let go of a great weight, and was feeling the near-buoyancy that followed.
Maybe it feels lighter still because he was not expecting this. Once he saw Kosuke on the campgrounds, he'd been cautious. He knew that he needed to mend bridges with her. He knew they needed to do more if they were going to keep this act up. But of how she was going to respond to it, he'd been unsure and unoptimistic.
He was expecting resistance, mostly. If he managed to catch her in private, he was expecting her face to plummet to the floor, for her to sneer and snip at him, answer in monosyllables. If he were to try and talk to her, there was a possibility she'd scoff at him. She didn't seem to interested in fixing anything.
Turns out she was, albeit her idea of fixing was not repairing the legs of an uneven table, more like setting fire to it. Kyoya had to physically will himself not to cringe in the face of her painfully obvious, painfully pathetic attempts to sweep things under the carpet. He'd only stirred awake in his room when she set the jacket on the hook of the door. After, he had watched as she fussed over his papers, his glasses, his shoes, and had only stayed still for so long because he had no idea how to respond to it.
It had gotten under his skin, moreso than he cared to admit. Instead of feeling relieved that she was trying to improve things, he was almost offended. He was expecting a conversation. Tense, maybe. Awkward, for sure. Still, they had things to talk about—he needed to explain things, she needed to explain things. Yet she'd unilaterally decided that no, they weren't going to do that, and he was going to have to deal with it, lest he be the villain.
What had gotten under his skin even more—right down into the marrow of his bones—was everything else she'd said. Insufferable, she'd called him. Looking down on everyone. Doing what he told her not to, a pompous hypocrite. Kyoya had a thick skin—so thick the others often voiced surprised at how much be brushed off. Yet he couldn't deny the shock he'd felt at how venomous she'd sounded. She meant every single word of it.
Was that what bothered him the most? Or was it that...he thought she was right?
Looking back on every interaction they'd had, he'd shown her no kindness for a moment. Every time he spoke to her, it was about what she had done wrong, what she needed to do—even when he was apologizing, he just got it out of the way to focus on what he thought she should be sorry for. "I'm sorry, but..." And it was just factual that he was being a hypocrite, telling her to be honest, then refusing to do the same. "Because he's Kyoya, and he can't do anything wrong."
Had he admitted to any of that? No. He spun blame around again, and felt righteous for doing so, thinking she'd done just the same thing. She started it. She was forcing him to go along with what she wanted with no thought to his own desires, and just because she was right about him did not mean she was right about herself.
Now, looking back, he thinks that's the same Dr. Hyde-esque version of him that had attended their first dinner. He wants to throttle himself for doubling down and digging deeper. One of them was going to have to break the circle, he knew, but he also needed it to be her.
So he'd swung as low as he could, resigned himself to a dreadful marital life of resentment and bickering and going at each other's throats...
...and then he'd turned around and saw her crying.
And instantly stopped being angry.
Kyoya knows he isn't what anyone would call cuddly. He keeps up his social appearances, yes. He's polite and welcoming because he has to be. But he didn't get the moniker of "Shadow King" for nothing. It was only around the Hosts that Kyoya allowed a hint of his true colors to peek through. He could be a bit cold, a bit callous. He would admit to that.
Still, in all his years, he's never driven someone to tears with his cruelty. If he recalls correctly, the only people that cried because of him were girls whose affections he'd rebuffed as gentlemanly as he could. (He's made Tamaki cry, too, but Tamaki doesn't count.) Even then, it was not because he was smarter than to be heartless, it was that he really wasn't. Not wanting to hug everyone he meets does not mean that he'd ever take delight in making someone suffer.
Despite everything that had happened, it had never once crossed his mind that Kosuke was only faking it. She'd made it known she was proud enough that she wouldn't resort to bawling to get her way. So, when Kyoya turned around and saw tears running down her face as she desperately swiped them away, he'd felt nothing but the cold grip of guilt.
She was human. He keeps forgetting that she's human. No, it was worse than that: he made himself forget. Every time he'd let it cross his mind that Kosuke, too, was confused and angry and frustrated, he'd let it go just as soon because it was inconvenient for himself.
He was quite relieved (though...very confused) to find out her tears were wrought by bugspray, and as water dribbled from her face into the bathroom sink, it gave him time to reflect.
Kyoya was embarrassed, plain and simple. If he was in Kosuke's shoes a few minutes prior, he would've thrown in a good "spoiled brat" for good measure.
He was pompous, and condescending, and smug about it. Now he even wonders if he was doing it on purpose, just to get on her nerves. He reminded himself of a boy he'd known in primary school. He'd since moved far from Kyoya's life, but he still remembered how he pulled on the hair of the girls, over and over—like their pigtails were strings on talking dolls, and he wanted to hear all the recorded squawks of "Ow!" "Quit it!" "That hurts!"
Kyoya got his conversation in the end, and awkward it was, but tense it was not. Their fury had exhausted them, and humiliation was sapping what little energy was left.
Kosuke had shocked him. Because he hadn't really met her before then. There were little details. He'd been so used to hearing her snap at him, or shower him with sugary affection—her real voice was soft and clear. He'd heard it before and forgotten it so soon. The way she twirled her toe on the floor was a tic, apparently, as was tucking away hair that wasn't there.
What really surprised him, though, was how honest she was. He feels strange still for ever thinking her as immature, because he's almost certain he's never heard someone apologize so honestly before. Even as she hung her head, she didn't rush through just to get it out of the way. There was almost an eagerness to her words.
"I don't hate you," she'd said. "and I don't want to, and I don't want to act like I do."
Those were the words that really dug deep into his skin. That she would tell him that, and that he needed to be told that.
Because that's how badly he had botched things. After telling himself over and over how important it was to make this work, after being unable to sleep the night of the dinner out of the crushing shame of his behavior, his fiancée was now having to clarify that she didn't hate him. And he had to tell her the same.
What also struck him was her sudden heaviness as she told him she didn't want to go on like this. Kyoya hadn't really thought about their future as anything out of hypotheticals—blurry possibilities with no color or shape. He'd never truly thought about their situation long enough to imagine it going on until their hair was white. Kyoya didn't even consider himself a philosophical kind of person, but he surely didn't want to spend his last days knowing he'd subjected himself to such useless pain for so long.
This is why they have to start over. White, untouched. He doesn't know how this will go. He may know her better now, but she is still a stranger to him. It could very well be that cool civility isn't even something they can accomplish.
The difference now, though, is that he wants it to work. Not just for Ootori Medical, but for himself. For Kosuke, too, because now that he's accepted her as a real person who has been and can be hurt, he has to make up for everything he's done.
When Yoshio had told him that he and Kosuke were to go out at least twice a week, Kyoya had been simmering. He felt like he'd just gotten some kind of prison sentence.
Now he just wishes he'd come up with it himself. There was no way to gently tell her, "We have to go out on dates because my father is getting suspicious of us," but he wanted to be honest with her.
Kyoya had prepared himself more for this date than he had for their first meeting. He tried to do so at the camping trip, but it was impossible. He and Kosuke were both pulled every which way during the competition. The tension got thicker and thicker, Blue and Red's need to win turning them all near-feral, until everyone was retreating to their tents only so the next day of battle would come sooner. Then it was all a tie. A war for nothing. Even after that Kyoya didn't get time to concentrate, because he had to listen to Tamaki and the twins squabble with each other about who "truly" won.
He picks out a restaurant that he thinks Kosuke might like, and doesn't make "high-class" the only qualifier. He compromises with her on the schedule, because her siblings are equally real people, children who have to be cared for and watched over. He hadn't met them at the camping trip—he wonders if Kosuke picked up as much as he did that they didn't really want to. "Not tonight," she'd told him when he'd asked. "Minami is tired. Hitsuji's with the other kids." Only once did her younger sister lock eyes with him across the way, and she scurried away just as quickly. Are he and her brother afraid of him? He does not know.
Kyoya deliberates if he should give some kind of gift. He thinks of the jewelry his mother had given him, but remembers that they're less-than-accurate spellings of her name. Then he thinks of more traditional things like flowers, but decides against it for two reasons: such a thing would be uncomfortably romantic for a situation that is anything but, and he hadn't realized Fuyumi was looking over his shoulder at a flower catalogue until she trilled in his ear how cute it was that he was buying flowers for his "lady love."
He almost makes himself laugh. Usually, when people are nervous about a date, this is not what it means. He fears that he's going to lose control of himself, the same way Jekyll feared when Hyde would take over. He worries that he's going to say something patronizing or condescending, and only realize it when Kosuke bristles.
More than anything, though, he worries that he's going to see Haruhi or Tamaki behind his eyelids at some point, and he will once again use Kosuke as an outlet for his...Whatever he's feeling. He's done it before.
Which is why they are here now.
And it is...fine.
Awfully quiet.
The lighting of the restaurant is dim. Most of it comes from the art piece above their heads, a vortex of glass stained blue, yellow, and green. It casts prisms down on them. If she's not looking at her forks, Kosuke is looking up at it, almost entranced.
Mirage—the food of which was described as a "new-age European cuisine," a phrase which Kyoya admits he hasn't an inkling to the meaning of-has an ambience that is not quite somber, but seems to discourage volume. The patrons speak in muted voices, so much so that Kyoya can just barely hear the ghost of their breaths out of their mouths. Even the clinking of the silverware is hushed.
Would the two of you be talking more, if you were eating somewhere else? He wonders.
Kosuke repeats the pattern she has established since she sat down. She looks down at the napkin spread across her lap, inspects her dessert fork, then raises her eyes up to the spinning glass again. If she thought automats were 'fun,' then this must be quite the curveball.
Kyoya speaks. "That was commissioned by Florian Stasiowski."
At once Kosuke's head snaps back down, making her pearl earrings bounce about. Kyoya can almost physically see how she rewinds what she's just heard. Then all she says is, "Oh. Interesting."
She looks up again, but with a sort of forced fascination that wasn't there before—as if she can't just admire it, she has to appreciate it.
"Interesting?" asks Kyoya, and regrets it at once. Is that condescending?
Kosuke lowers her chin once more, and smooths out her napkin. She must have straightened out more wrinkles than any iron could. "I don't really...know who that...is..."
To that, Kyoya says nothing. He's had conversations much like this with Haruhi before, the artists behind paintings, the architects behind buildings. At a party at Tamaki's estate, Haruhi had stopped in her tracks to gape up at a cherubic sculpture made by Francesca Deguirre. Kyoya had droned the name to Haruhi as she peered up at it, and finally she snapped, "Why would I know who that is? I live in an apartment so small my dad and I have to share a bedroom. I'm not going to study up on all the world's most glorious artists if I can't even afford tickets to look at their work, let alone buy it for my house."
Stop thinking about Haruhi.
Kyoya taps his index finger on the table, and wishes their food would come sooner so then he'd at least have a reason to be so quiet. Art is off the table for conversation topics, he supposes. Add that to the list, alongside "family businesses" and "important figureheads."
Though he tries to stifle Haruhi away, he thinks of her again, and how them being worlds apart never really got in the way of talking. Bafflement and annoyance aside, Haruhi hardly ever let herself be overwhelmed by the world of the elite.
Compare this to Kosuke, who seems like she's drowning. She doesn't even look comfortable in her own skin. She raises her finger to tuck a hair a way, but then seems to recall how meticulously styled it is, and stops. At one point her eyes water and the muscles in her neck tighten to snapping-trying to stifle a yawn, because just opening her lips a fraction of a millimeter was not allowed. He thinks he knows the designer of her dress thanks to Fuyumi's experience—Bellefont, Bellemonte, something like that. It's a beautiful piece, just slightly longer than her knee, white with a lavish blue design like painted China. Kosuke tucks and tugs at it like it's made of cardboard.
She is uncomfortable, and whether it's because of himself or everything else, Kyoya cannot tell. Like him, she may be nervous of anything going awry—and that would surely not help her calm down.
"So. You..." Kosuke clears her throat with a dainty cough that sounds like it doesn't do much of anything. "You like art?"
"I'm knowledgeable in major artists and their work, but no, I wouldn't call art an interest of mine."
Immediately Kyoya wonders if he should have just gone along with it, because Kosuke nods, and that's it. Finally their entrees arrive. Kyoya swears that the tiny sound from Kosuke's throat is, "Thank you, God."
Kyoya tries not to stare, but as they eat, he watches her movements and is almost...amused. The way she cuts the food, takes bites, pulls the dumpling through the streaks of sauce, it all seems so passionately coordinated—like she thinks she's doing the food a disservice if she doesn't eat it exactly right.
The amusement goes away as Kyoya realizes that everything he's learning about her is nonverbal. They just cannot talk to each other. Every time they try, it's like trying to start a dead engine. They still have a dessert course, but it's not as though they'll linger after. So unless something changes, they will have exchanged just as many syllables to each other to form a haiku.
Is it everything that's happened so far? Kyoya wonders. Are we so afraid of making another mistake that we don't want to try at all? Or are we just so different we have no idea of where to begin?
Kosuke tries again, simple and safe. "The food is delicious."
"It is." Kyoya slices another dumpling in half with his fork. "It's pierogi."
"Puh-row-gee."
Kyoya stops. "I'm sorry?"
Kosuke stops, too, first looking at nothing in particular, then at him. She hadn't meant to say anything at all. She shrivels right in front of him.
"I, um...It's puh-row-gee, not peh-row-jee. The 'g' is hard. I'm..." Kosuke shakes her head, stabs into a dumpling with more fervor. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude."
"No, no, you're sparing me embarrassment." It doesn't happen often that his pronunciations are corrected, albeit mostly that's because Kyoya's language skills are limited to Japanese, some English, and not much French. As always, though, he wonders if he'd ever said 'pierogi' before and was silently chuckled at. He thinks that's part of the human experience. "So you've had it before."
"No, this is my first time. I just read a book about it."
"I see." Kyoya pauses. How to keep talking about this without being insulting... "So you enjoy reading books about pierogi."
He tries. He really tries to be casual and interested, but no matter his tone, Kyoya knows there are painfully awkward ways to ask. He's just that desperate.
Kosuke tucks back a piece of hair that doesn't exist. She twirls her fork once in her hand. "I like books about food. History, cuisine, chefs. Genetic engineering. That kind of stuff."
Kyoya nods. Though 'genetic engineering' throws him, it makes more sense than Pierogi: The Novelization. "I must admit, I'm not well-versed in food history."
"I know it sounds kind of dumb," Kosuke says, and before Kyoya can protest, she goes on, "but it's interesting just to find out where dishes came from, and how they've changed over time. How some foods came from other countries, and how some fruits and vegetables changed color over time, why saffron is so expensi—Anyway! This is good pierogi."
Then she shoves a dumpling into her mouth to gag herself.
Kyoya had already suspected as much, but it's more proof: she really has a deep-burning passion for food. All things about it. It's curious, but the others also thinks it's curious that he chooses to spend his time looking at invoices and studying the history of other business' incomes.
Intrigued, and eager for some progress, he asks, "Why is saffron so expensive?"
She twirls her fork again. "So...Saffron comes from saffron flowers, but only from the stigmata of the pistils, and each saffron flower only has three stigmata. It's such a tiny, tiny amount for each flower that it takes 75,000 of them just to make a pound of saffron. It's expensive because it's so labor- and time-intensive. It's actually a key ingredient in a lot of foods, like the Golden Ham, which is one of the rarest and most coveted foods in Italy. The saffron is grown in San Gimignano, which is also where they make Vernaccia di San Gimignano, which was the first wine to be given the status of Denominazione di Origine Controllata, but later it was upgraded to Denominazione di origine controllata de garantita. Another Denominazione di origine controllata de garantita is Barolo, which is made in Piedmont, and they use older Barolo wine to make Barolo Chinato, a digestif that usually has cinnamon, mint, vanilla and other ingredients. A lot of people think Barolo Chinato was first made by Giulio Cocchi, but local history says it was actually made by Giuseppe Cappalleno, who was a pharmacist, which I think is interesting because there's actually a huge number of foods and drinks made by pharmacists, like sodas. They said they would help with mood and mental exertion. Ramune was invented by a pharmacist, too! It was made by a man named Alexander Cameron Sim, who introduced it to the Kobe foreign settlement as preventative medicine for cholera—"
Kosuke stops.
She twirls her fork a third time, squeaks, "I think it's interesting."
"It is," Kyoya assures her, and he surprises himself with his sincerity—he really didn't know any of that. "Is that what you learn in your classes?"
"Well, class. And no, that's just what I read when I have the time. My class at Ouran is just for cooking."
"You seem to enjoy it."
"Oh, I do!" At least two heads turn to the sudden outburst of sound. Kosuke shrinks, whispers, "I really do. It's my favorite class."
"Apparently it's the favorite of students that aren't even enrolled in it." Kosuke blinks at him. "Tamaki says you have crowds waiting outside the classroom just in case you cook something."
She blushes, but her lips twitch at a smile. "Yeah...I kind of wish they wouldn't do that. It's starting to annoy Chef Matsuhisa."
The waiter comes to take their plates away, and replaces them with two bowls of what seems to be rice pudding. He's unsure of the name of it, but the light in Kosuke's eyes tell him she does, and she breaks the caramelized brown surface with gusto.
Before she takes a bite, though, she asks him, "What's your favorite class?"
"It's hard to say. I think I've enjoyed Economics the most."
As expected, she nods, but does not pursue it at once. Money. Math. Not the most intriguing of passions.
"Do you take any electives?"
"I'm taking French, at the moment. I must admit my skills are lacking."
"Oh, Tamaki's taught me some French! Salut. Je m'appelle Kosuke. Comment vas-tu aujourd'hui?"
"Je vais bien, merci. Appréciez-vous votre dessert? Je ne suis pas sûr du nom de ce plat. Est-ce que tu?"
Her smile freezes on her face. "Je ne parle pas francais." For the first time in the night, Kyoya huffs a laugh, but Kosuke pouts at him. "'My skills are lacking,' my foot. Tamaki's playing teacher's pet."
Just like that. The balloon pops. The music goes quiet.
Kyoya scrambles to keep a hold on it, but it falls through his fingers. The spark was lit, the kindle was smoldering, but now the memories of sitting in the study room of his home, listening to Tamaki slooooowly go through his French phonetics as though Kyoya were a child...it all goes cold again.
"I suppose."
Kosuke does not try to rekindle it, either. She scoops at the last of her rice pudding in silence. She finds a newfound fascination with the spinning glass.
All too soon they are rising from their seats. The hall back to the doors is so dark, Kyoya can't see Kosuke's face, can't tell if she's quietly disappointed or stewing with annoyance. Every icebreaker that Kyoya can think of won't work here, not when they have such fundamentally different ideas of what makes a good conversation.
Once they're out in the night air, Kosuke joins her hands behind her back, rocks on her heels as much as she dares to. Again her toe starts to twist on the ground.
"That was nice," she says.
"It was," Kyoya agrees.
Now he thinks back to all those years at the Host Club, not even being a Host yet still managing to make girls swoon and blush. What happened to him?
"Thanks for taking me out tonight," Kosuke goes on, in an unsteady beat, clearly unsure of what she's even saying. "I had a good…time?"
Kosuke exclaims the last word with wide eyes, and Kyoya follows them. Across the street, high up into the air, a massive silver clockface is gleaming on the side of a building. It reflects the neon lights of nighttime Tokyo on its glassy surface, but even so Kyoya can see that it's 8:11. It brings him some relief, that he knows has more time to work on the Project than he thought would tonight, and then he immediately scolds himself for it.
"I hadn't realized it was so early still." Kosuke reaches into the tiny blue purse hung across her shoulder for her phone, just to verify. "That was so fast!"
"I suppose it was rather quick, for a five-course meal."
He only says this because he isn't sure what else to add. And because he's now wondering how long their last five-course meal took, because it felt like forever. Kosuke opens and closes her mouth for a moment, continuing to not-quite rock in her shoes.
"Do you..." She looks around the street. Even so early in the night, the sidewalks are plenty busy. Taxi cabs glide by. Electric signs continue to flash and beam advertisements, as they will all twenty-four hours of the day. "Do you want to do something else?"
Kyoya waits for her to explain, because he has no idea what they could possibly do at such a short notice. Any kind of show would almost definitely be out of tickets. Museums and galleries would be closed by now. He supposes they could do some simple sight-seeing, and even then, ferries and towers may not be open for visitation this late.
"Like what?"
"We could just walk." Kosuke takes a few steps away, and becomes framed in the electric orange and pink lights of screens advertising sodas and candy and children's toys. The white of her dress turns sherbet orange. "That's what we used to do in Karuizawa, and Tokyo is ten times the size."
"You mean just wander around?" Kosuke nods, and Kyoya looks down at her feet. "Won't your shoes bother you?"
"No, I'll be fine. One time in Karuizawa I went on a hiking trip and only found out right when we were starting that my shoes didn't fit, so I had to limp...through..." Kosuke shakes her head. The smile that was just starting to come through hides again. "Anyway. I'm fine."
Kyoya looks between her and the street. Their valets have to be somewhere near, waiting for their calls. If Kyoya does so now, then he should be home in less than twenty minutes. That will give him a bit below four hours to work on the Project. That is a plan, whereas wandering Tokyo at night is...not.
"Um—" Kosuke twirls her toe again. "This isn't what we agreed to do. And I should probably get home anyway, so if you don't want to, that's fine."
What is your favorite food? Do you have any allergies or other medical conditions that should be noted? What is your favorite color? In the space below, please provide a brief summary of all major events that have happened in your life thus far.
Tamaki telling him that he has to give every detail of the night when it's over, Haruhi's sincere "Good!" over the phone, all the way across the world, when he told her of their plans.
And then, of course, Yoshio. Yoshio staring down at him in disbelief, Yoshio telling him that it's not his job to tell him how to "live."
"No. That should be fine."
Thus, Kyoya falls into step with Kosuke, and they begin their trek into nighttime Tokyo without the slightest clue of where they're going. Just a few minutes in, Kyoya is surprised to find that it is not entirely unpleasant. It's a cool, clear night, and though the stars cannot be seen through the haze of the city, the lights make up for it. If he doesn't pay mind to how they scream at him to buy junk food or watch television shows, then Kyoya can instead focus on how all the technicolor lights up the sidewalk like sunshine. Even the gildings on the buildings, neon strips going up the corners and stars blinking in and out, aren't as offensive as he thought they were.
Still, when he isn't looking up, then Kyoya is looking down at a sidewalk he doesn't recognize. Painfully silent though it was, the restaurant is looking rather cozy in hindsight. The two of them have to sidestep over a massive puddle shining a toxic purple. A plastic bag tumbleweeds across the road. The further they walk, the tighter the buildings squeeze, until doors seem to be just feet apart, each restaurant and store fighting for space. Looking into one, Kyoya finds a hair salon scarcely wider than an alleyway.
Kosuke doesn't seem to mind at all, and in fact looks at even that tiny hair salon with intrigue. He supposes, with Karuizawa being as far away as it is, she may not have been here many times before. Even then, Kyoya's lived here all his life, and he's still never seen these streets before.
It's calmer, and less constricting, but it's quiet nonetheless. Kyoya should be thanking his stars to not be sitting across from her in a silence that makes heartbeats sound like drums, but did she really intend for them to walk for what could be hours without a word?
"Is there a place you have in mind?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "I was just going to wait for something interesting. If you see anything you want to get a closer look at, just say so."
Kyoya sweeps his eyes around. There is a bar with an ungodly amount of posters plastered to the outside walls. A trashcan with a soda cup on top, because apparently someone could not have been bothered to move those extra three inches. Across a four-way, a twenty-foot-tall woman blows him a kiss, then holds up a tube of her scarlet lipstick. A man on the other side of the road leans up against an almanac, pulling at a cigarette. He is also definitely staring at Kosuke, but they turn a corner before Kyoya can move over to block her from view.
"If you did this in Karuizawa, didn't you have some idea of your options?"
"Yeah, but..." Kosuke shrugs. "It was just for the heck of it. It wasn't like, 'Hey, let's go to this store, and then to this restaurant.' It was, 'Let's just go down the street and do whatever we feel like.' And sometimes we'd find new stuff, like—Oh, hey, look!"
Kosuke trots up ahead, and glows an aqua green. On the other side of a huge glass window, someone has set up an aquarium probably bigger than Kyoya himself. He isn't sure if there's some kind of hidden light or if the fish themselves are so vivid. Angelfish drift by in fiery orange petals. Magenta streaks across their vision as a school of basslets pass. Following the path of a gaudy little dragonet, Kyoya feels catches the face of an eel peering out from the shadows.
"Wow," Kosuke exclaims. A clownfish pulls to a stop in front of her, and she lifts a finger, never touching or tapping. It seems to regard her for a moment before carrying on its way. "Pretty cool, right?"
Kyoya doesn't answer her, too focused on the algae creating an emerald screen. A tiki head knocked over on its side and not bothered to be set upright again. And what really looks to be some skeletons ghosting across the purple rocks. He's thankful for the glass, because his nose is assaulted by an odor that isn't there.
He realizes too late that he is sneering, lip curling up in disgust. He stops, but surely Kosuke has seen him turn his nose at something she liked, and that is not going to do him any favors.
"Kyoya!" It's a wonder with her clicking heels how she managed to walk away without him noticing. Kosuke waves for him not too far down. "Come here."
This storefront is thankfully rid of algae and decaying fish carcasses, albeit Kyoya is not quite sure what he's looking at at first. A man is standing alone, back lit with fluorescent and front lit with fire. He's holding a rod inside a glowing maw, and when he withdraws it, out comes a glowing orb, burning so brightly Kyoya feels heat on his fingertips just by looking at it. The man rolls the orb against a flat steel surface, and so easily does it pull together, like children's putty. The man does not see them even as he turns their way to hoist the rod into a rack, and then—making Kyoya's eyebrows raise—pressing his mouth to the other end. A miniature sun expands on the other end. A balloon made of lava.
"Look at all the stuff he makes," Kosuke says, and only then does Kyoya see the wall of creations up for sale. Some are just shapes, pyramids and spheres, giant teardrops. Others are nothing short of astounding: dragons curled in sleep, a horse rearing back, a mermaid clutching a pearl. At random the crystalline glass streaks with color. They're all so delicate and elegant—far from the blazing sun the man is holding. "Isn't that amazing?"
"It is," Kyoya agrees. Suddenly he realizes that for all his knowledge in what makes a good craft, so rarely does he get to see an artist at work. He's curious: why would art as impressive as this be trapped in a hole-in-the-wall store on a random Tokyo street like any other? "I think the store is closed for the night, though."
"It was cool to see, though, right?" Kosuke gestures around them. Kyoya hadn't even realized how greatly the street had expanded. Now there are more people, more signs, more storefronts. "Do you see anything else you want to look at?"
Kyoya looks again. A taxi cab blazes right through a stoplight. Someone pulls out a garbage bag and tosses it atop a mountain so large it consumes the sidewalk. A giant pink bear waddles on a corner, beckoning people to enter a bright bubblegum-colored store that could be selling anything from toys to...adult toys.
"Why don't you keep leading?"
Again. Again. What's wrong with him? The hope blinks out of Kosuke's face, and she drops her arms back to her sides. She turns on her heel and continues on, and Kyoya doesn't think it any better to call out to her and stop her.
When another front catches her eye, Kosuke does not call to him, instead darting to the window with an audible gasp. When Kyoya pulls up beside her, he finds two great green eyes staring up at him. The cat doesn't even blink at him, just returns to licking daintily at its paw, its striped tail swinging lazily behind him.
Behind this cat there are others—just standing where he is, Kyoya spots a jet black one perched atop a tower, a smoky gray one prickling its claws on a post, and a snowy one fast asleep in a round bed. There are only three people inside: a cashier (or, catshier as the nameplate describes) behind a counter and two women, perhaps only teenagers, sitting in the middle of a round green carpet. One of them tugs a little toy mouse across the floor. A Calico cat watches it closely, its hind wriggling side-to-side, before at last pouncing for it. The women giggle in delight.
"A cat cafe."
Finally Kosuke turns to him with an affronted look. Over this, though, Kyoya cannot begin to imagine why.
"A cat café, he says!" She goes on before he can reply. "You get to sit down and pet adorable cats, don't say it like it's dumb!"
"My apologies," he says, too surprised to be offended. Kosuke keeps her glare on him for a moment longer, but then bends down, eyes locked with the cat in the window. It doesn't look nearly so interested in her as she is in it. "I...take it you like cats?"
"I love cats," she declares. "I always wanted one."
The cat finally turns and bounds away. Kosuke lets out a disappointed "Aw." Then another cat takes its place and she lets out a happy, "Aw!" Looking at its white fluff, Kyoya supposes it is cute. The shedding and the claws and hairballs, not so much, but in appearance...
"Why haven't you had one?" he asks, in what he thinks is a genuinely good conversation starter.
Only for Kosuke to pull herself straight, give the cat one last look, and say, "Mom was allergic."
He follows, but Kyoya doesn't know what to say.
He knew that he'd forgotten something. That even after finally calming down and realizing that Kosuke was just as much a person as he was, that he was still ignoring one piece of damning proof.
Kyoya thinks of his own mother, who it still at home and still pretending as though everything is fine. Who has taken up her daughter's habit of coming without announcement, sitting down with Kyoya in the middle of his studies to tell him about her adventures. He cannot stand to be around her when she prickles at the slightest mention of Yoshio, still refusing to even hint at what went wrong.
Even so, Kyoya wonders, for just a moment, at what might happen if Jin...died.
He doesn't know what would happen. Kyoya's never thought about it, even though he knows for a fact that...Well, she will die someday. But Kyoya's made a quiet peace with that. He accepts that but never thinks about it, the same way that he knows that he himself will die one day. It's not the kind of thought the human mind is supposed to linger on.
If Jin died suddenly, though—no warning, no goodbye—Kyoya won't fool himself and say that he'll be okay. Because, despite everything, he does still love his mother, and wants her to stay around until he is a little closer to ready to lose her. When she's lived a long life and her hair has gone white. Even if it wasn't his mother, but Fuyumi, or God forbid one of the Hosts...He doesn't linger on the thought long, doesn't let himself procure any images.
He's unsure if he would be able to swallow such a thing. Not only has Kosuke endured that, but she's done so twice.
It brings many questions to the surface. What has she been doing since then? How were they living, if it was just her and her siblings? And, most atrociously, What happened?
Kyoya doesn't ask any of these, because even the most socially inept person on the planet would know that you do not ask those questions. Even so, as Kosuke keeps walking, he knows that she's no longer in her adventurous mood. She's staring down at her feet more than the shops, steps meandering to communicate loud and clear that she's waiting for him to say "Okay, that's enough."
She suddenly looks quite tired, and Kyoya can't help but feel pity.
He looks back around them. A spilled coffee, a flickering streetlight—no, no, filter. He spots a closed bookstore, a clothing store selling all things animal print...Finally his eyes land on a little cartoon cat on a chalkboard.
"There's another one," he tells Kosuke, pointing. "If you...want to go look at that one."
She neither agrees nor disagrees, just falls into step with him as they cross the road. Kyoya does think it a bit strange that two cat cafes would be so close to each other—wasn't it Running a Business 101 to know that you don't open shop so close to someone offering the same services? Regardless. Kyoya says nothing as they come closer, just carefully watching to see if maybe looking at another fluffy cat will lift the spirits he'd crushed.
They make it to the window. The first thing Kyoya sees is a long striped tail...attached to a frilly skirt, with a matching pair of ears and a bell collar.
"Okay!" Kosuke marches forward, folding her arms and ducking her head. Her shoes click-click-click-click. "Not the kind of cat cafe I was hoping for."
Kyoya turns away the instant the waitress lifts her eyes to him, utterly terrified that she will see him standing alone and beckon him inside. Probably if he were younger he'd be affronted, unable to comprehend why anyone would do or take part in something so...he can't think of a word. He's older now, though, and tells himself not only that he shouldn't judge too harshly—they aren't hurting anyone, after all—and also that, well, is that really any different from anything the Host Club ever did?
Kosuke has trotted just a bit too far for his liking. Does she think I was staring? Oh, no...Then he sees that she's stopped short, leaning over a counter lit with fluorescent bars. Street stands are popping up more frequently now. Just here there are at least three, and another turn away, they multiply by the block.
As Kyoya approaches, Kosuke shakes her head, chirps, "No, no, I'm just looking, thank you!" The woman behind the counter nods, but looks rather hopeful as she takes in Kosuke's dress. Still, she turns for another girl at the other end, launching unprompted into a sales pitch.
There's just a layer of glass keeping the jewelry safe. Instead of velvet cases or silk pillows, they're all spread out over simple cloth. Not tidily, either. The strands of the necklaces snake lazily about, rings are clustered together. Half of a pair of pearl earrings has come undone from its plastic sheath. A banner above them bears the Bellaroux logo.
"I've never seen actual Bellaroux jewelry before," Kosuke tells him. "Once I had a classmate who lost a bracelet during the school day. They practically locked the school down and interrogated all of us before she found it in her locker."
Kyoya listens, but he peers down at one of the "Bellaroux" watches.
The seller is not too far away, still talking to the newer woman but glancing at Kosuke. Kyoya leans closer to Kosuke to whisper, "I'm not trying to be rude, but you still haven't seen actual Bellaroux jewelry."
Kosuke blinks at him owlishly, and looks back down at the sign. "But it says..."
"Look at the hand on that watch." Kyoya points down at it, but the seller does not come nearer. She preens, even, probably thinking they are interested. "See how it's jolting? Bellaroux watches move smoothly."
Again Kosuke blinks. A line appears between her brows as she scrutinizes the pretty silver thing with the diamond-studded face. "They do?"
Next he nods her towards two bracelets near the corner. Each is a simple gold band with a charm of two intwined hearts. Kosuke's purse bumps against the glass as she leans forward.
"Each Bellaroux piece has a hallmark," he tells her. "Those are so thin, there would be nowhere for it. Not to mention, none of the earrings are in boxes."
She sweeps her eyes over them all, the chandeliers and the studs and the hoops. She frowns at him once more. "So what? I've bought earrings that were just on little cards like that."
"Bellaroux earrings always come in a box with a card that tells the meaning of what you've purchased. 'Sapphire is the gemstone of wisdom and temperament,' things like that." Kyoya looks up again, and almost grimaces. "Also..."
Kosuke follows his gaze. Posted on one of the stand's poles in a written sign declaring, 'No refunds!'
"Oh." Kosuke straightens her spine as she looks down at it all again. Her lip is starting to curl. "Well. Shucks."
The seller begins to pull away from her new customer ever-so-slightly, so Kyoya and Kosuke make their escape before she can swoop down on them. Head ducked, Kosuke twists at the ring on her finger. It's a Lady Bug piece, Kyoya is certain—a very popular source for family rings. Though why she would buy something from Lady Bug and then bother with knockoffs on street corners, Kyoya is unsure.
"Is that common?" Kyoya risks a look at some other stands nearby. One is shutting down for the evening, and looks to specialize in handbags and purses. There's another jewelry seller, but its displays are filled with obvious plastic and glass, loud colors, polka-dots and stars. It reminds Kyoya of those machines he and the others stumble across in their trips to amusement parks or just normal commoner stores, the ones that spit out a bauble in a plastic pod when you turn a coin in the wheel. Tamaki and the twins drool over them. "Why would anyone buy 'name-brand' jewelry from a random vendor on the street? Surely people can see the risk."
He expects an explanation to a genuine response, but when he looks to Kosuke, she's stopped twisting her ring and is glowering at nothing in particular.
"Point taken," she mumbles.
"I didn't mean to imply that commoners are foolish," Kyoya explains, just a bit miffed. Surely she can understand that's not what he meant. "But if such vendors exist, that must mean they have at least some success—"
"'Commoners'?" Kosuke looks up at him with nothing but disappointment. "You say that, too? I thought that was just Tamaki and the twins."
Kyoya purses his lips. "I don't see the harm in the word."
"Don't you think it's a little condescending? It's just barely a step above 'peasant.'"
Kyoya pauses to calculate his response. This very much sounds like a brewing fight. "How should I refer to them? You and Haruhi call us 'rich people.' Would 'poor people' suffice?"
"Wh—No. Not-rich does not equal poor. Just call us not-ri...Okay, no, that's...You can say 'lower-cla—' No, that's worse. Just." Kosuke stops cold as she looks at him again, but Kyoya knows he's not making an expression of any sort. Still, she ducks her head again, repeats, "Point taken."
She storms ahead...and stops. Dead in her tracks, fists at her side.
Kyoya just stands still for a minute, unsure of what to say or do. She really, truly seems like she doesn't want to be spoken to at the moment, but he also thinks an apology would help...even if he's not entirely certain what he'd be apologizing for. For as lukewarm as the night had been, he'd forgotten to be grateful that it could have been worse. It could've been...Well, this.
He steps forward despite not knowing his plans. Is it unreasonable to ask for an apology where no offense was intended, or does unintended offense also warrant an apology? Either way, Kyoya is detecting a pattern that he immensely does not like.
So, he takes a breath, and—
"Hey, look over there!" Kosuke suddenly flings a finger outward. Kyoya looks, but can't find what she's looking at. Another one of the million neon signs? Another one of the million skyscrapers? "Let's go check it out."
Then she loops an arm through his and tugs him forward, and that's not what surprises Kyoya. Well...It does. Because touch is a very foreign thing to him, a rarity outside of Tamaki and Fuyumi, and he doesn't think he's quite comfortable at such a close proximity to someone still so new. Moreso, though, there's a sudden perkiness to her voice, a bounce in her step.
She's doing it again, Kyoya realizes, and something in him falls. Putting on a smile.
Are these patterns, he wonders, or is he perhaps being too analytical? Is Kosuke really the type to over and over ignore all conflict in favor of pretending it never happens, or does she just not know what to do in a situation that's just as foreign to him as it is to her?
Kyoya falls in line with her, closer than he's ever been to her before, and it occurs to him that even if he can no longer say that he hates his fiancee—did he, ever?—he still hesitates to confirm if he even likes her. Kyoya is human, and he thinks all humans have at least one person whom they do not hate, but also do not like to be around.
It looks like for Kyoya, one of those people will be the one person in his life whom he is bound to for the rest of his days.
From the corner of his eye Kyoya looks down at Kosuke. He finds neither warmth nor coolness in her presence. She does not stir anything in him, fondness nor disdain. Kyoya just tries to find something as she bounces along the sidewalk...
...a bit...too much?
Kyoya unknowingly slows for a moment. She was literally bouncing. Up-down, up-down, with each step. But it doesn't look right. It is unnatural. From the opposite side of the sidewalk come two teenage boys, laughing and pushing at each other, and even they give her curious looks as they pass.
"Kosuke?" Kyoya asks.
"Yes?" she answers at once. Kyoya has forgotten to even ask her where they're going.
"Is everything alright?"
"Of course. Everything is just fine."
It's clearly not, Kyoya thinks, but he keeps it to himself.
For a minute. For maybe thirty more feet they carry on, and suddenly, in her up-down, up-down rhythm, Kosuke does not go back up. In fact, the sudden jolt of her body has Kyoya moving on instinct—discomfit with touch be damned, he pulls her looped arm closer while his other hand suddenly surges forward.
Thankfully, she does not collapse to the cement. She is still awake, wide awake, for a moment standing with her free hand pin-straight, frozen. Then she deflates. Her arm falls limply from Kyoya's.
"I broke a heel."
She pushes her skirt back, and Kyoya looks down to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the heel of her left shoe has peeled away from her sole, bouncing pathetically with Kosuke's tiniest movements. Kosuke braces a hand on the brick wall beside her to reach down and pull it free.
Inspecting it closer, it never occurs to Kyoya for a second that she's about to start crying, but she does look distressed.
"It's..." Kyoya clears his throat. "It's only a pair of shoes, I'm sure it's nothing to be upset over."
"It's a pair of shoes that probably cost thousands upon thousands of yen." Kosuke sighs and fiddles with the heel. The inside of the shoe is a disturbing off-yellow. "All the girls back home in Karuizawa would give anything just to look at a pair of shoes like these, let alone wear them, and I just broke them. Seriously, why would something so expensive break like cheap plastic?"
"Shoes like those generally aren't designed for walking." Kosuke squints at him, and he realizes what he's just said. "What I mean is—"
"I know what you mean. I just..." Kosuke sighs again, and after a moment's consideration, removes her other shoe as well. Kyoya figures she might as well, though he can't help but curl a lip at how her bare feet are now touching the dirty city cement. Would it be gentlemanly to offer his own? "I'm not trying to whine over a pair of shoes. It just bothers me that that's basically a whole month's salary flushed down the drain."
Now, Kyoya could explain to her that if he has the creator of these shoes right, then the reason for their price comes from them being made of a highly-coveted silk only made in the Alps, and that each pair is dyed in its own singular batch. Not to mention others like it come with gold and silver and gemstones of all colors and shapes. But Kyoya doesn't say that, because he's not an idiot. And also, yes. They did just break like any other shoe.
While Kosuke pushes her heel back into the sole, as if it will stick together like glue, Kyoya looks ahead of them. The sidewalk ahead is...trecherous. Another oil puddle. Another plastic tumbleweed. Off to the side, cigarette butts. Kyoya doesn't know how he's going to explain himself if the night ends with his fiancée in a hospital for tetanus.
"Why don't I call our chauffers?" he offers. "You can't walk around without shoes for the rest of the—"
"No!" Kosuke's hand reaches out as if to grab the arm retreating into his pocket, but she keeps her distance, pulls it back just as quickly. "No, uh. Let's just...Let's just..."
She looks left and right, looking for...something. Kyoya waits, unsure. He will be calm, and respectful, and not in the slightest bit patronizing, but he's going to stand his ground if she insists on walking around barefoot. That's not going to happen.
"Kosuke, really, we can do this another night. Let me—"
"Oh, look!" Kosuke points ahead again, but actually at something this time. Across the way, squeezed in the row of storefronts, is a glass door offering a sliver of a view inside. Kyoya sees shelves upon shelves of boxes, and in the front window, boots of all shapes and sizes standing on display. "How convenient, right?"
"Very convenient," Kyoya agrees, genuinely.
"Come on," Kosuke insists. She pushes off the brick wall, her feet making quiet pats on the cement, then the asphalt. Kyoya can only pray that she's mapping each step with care. "It won't take long, I promise."
Kyoya hesitates, but follows. It is a solution, he supposes.