bored411: Thanks so much! FINALLY we can get into the actual relationship development.

Nana: Thank you! We're still a little ways away from proper family interactions, but we're absolutely going to get there.

Nina9802: I obviously can't say anything for spoiler reasons, but the Blue Tower is absolutely going to come up later. That's all I'll say on that...Thank you!

Alex: Thanks! I thought it'd be funny to see how Kosuke's passion isn't just "Oh I like to cook :)" but more "I read food safety regulations like they're my Biblical text." I think it makes her as eccentric as the other characters, haha

Alex250496: I couldn't help but include that little hint of angst, sorry not sorry, lol. I can promise that Kohta is not gone from this fic just yet, and that there will definitely be conversations had.

Nana-san14: The closer Kyoya and Kosuke get, the more their families will get involved in their lives. Promise we won't have to wait forever, though, lol

Wishfulhamadryad: Thanks so much!

Lillyannp: If this was ch1 Kosuke, not only would Kyoya be absolutely apalled by her table manners, but they'd never go on this walk to begin with. She'd want to go home and crash the second it was over. And yes, finally, progress! Communication! We're finally getting somewhere, haha. Thanks so much for the review!

Kyoya has kept a planner every year of his life ever since he first got one for his tenth birthday. He's kept the past two or three only for reference, but sometimes he wishes he kept that first one just to see his progress. He remembers when he would pack the pages with the tiniest things, BRUSH YOUR TEETH and GO TO BED. And even then there was so much untouched white space.

The pages of Kyoya's current planner would probably look like chaos to anyone else. When he runs out of lines, he squeezes between the margins, and between those squeezes. He has to use code for more space, and perhaps it is a bit juvenile to write a little plus-shaped symbol for doctor appointments, but he needs all the paper he can get. Already he's starting to see how his writing is getting a little more fluid now that he's using the calligraphy set. Spare time doesn't infuriate him anymore. Gliding the niblet across paper distracts him from the near-carnal drive to spend every waking second being productive.

Usually, the only blank pages in the planner are those far into the future. Now there's an exception. This week's Wednesday block is a pure white space in the midst of the chaotic notes and reminders of the other days. As if Kyoya is planning to just not exist between Tuesday and Thursday.

With his jaw clenched, Kyoya clicks his pen and mars the whiteness at last. All he writes is Mother & Father.

The day they'll finally make their divorce public.

Kyoya has practiced his lines so many times that he might as well have written a script. When people tell him they are sorry to hear, he will say, "Thank you, but I assure you, our family is just as strong as it has always been." When they say that they're sure Jin and Yoshio will continue to be superb business partners, he will say, "Thank you. They will."

No one will ask why. They won't break that line between concern and gossip. Kyoya remembers, back when he was perhaps nine, when Naruhito Hamamoto came to school crying because his beloved aunt and uncle were divorcing. Kyoya almost asked why, but he caught himself. Good thing, too, because he found out a few years later that it was because his uncle had not one, not two, but three secret lovers. His wife had four.

It's good that no one will ask, because Kyoya won't have an answer for them.

He has scarcely caught a passing glimpse at his father for the past few weeks. That talk before the camping trip was the longest Kyoya had spoken to him in perhaps a month, and he didn't dare bring it up in the middle of the hallway. He tries to tell himself that it's because Yoshio simply doesn't have the time, but is this not something that time should be made for? He must know that his children know—he's wiser than to surprise them alongside the Japanese population. It seems that his silence on the matter is his way of saying he will not be discussing it.

As he's leaving work one evening, Kyoya manages to catch the same elevator down as Yuuichi. At any other time, the ride down would have been silent. Kyoya could count on his fingertips how many conversations they'd had together for the past year.

This time, however, Kyoya couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Has father said anything to you?"

Yuuichi flicks his eyes over to him, like his brother is far less interesting than the numbers counting down above the door. "About?"

"Him and Mother."

The doors opened.

"No," said Yuuichi, "and I'm not going to ask him."

There was a bite to his words that, at first, Kyoya took to be directed at him. As though Yuuichi meant to add, "And you shouldn't, either." Now he thinks perhaps the bite was for their father.

As for Jin…

"Kyoya!"

Kyoya closes his eyes and sighs. The door is locked—a habit made very recently—but his mother's voice carries crisp and clear as if she's right in his bedroom with him.

"Yes, Mother?"

"I'm going to our theater. Do you want to come watch something with me? Fuyumi found a romcom that she says we'll really enjoy!"

Kyoya shuts his planner but makes no move to open the door. "I'm still working, Mother. I think I'll just go to bed once I'm finished."

"Really? Won't that be so early for you? I thought you were a night owl!"

"I'm going to be working for some time."

"Kyoya, dear, you're starting to sound like a robot. Work this, work that. Why don't you just take a break and come watch a movie?"

"These are time-sensitive matters, Mother. I need to finish them as soon as I can."

"Oh, alright. Well, why not tomorrow?"

"Possibly."

"Oh, and we should all try to get together for lunch! Fuyumi won't stop raving about that little café that just opened in town."

"Yes, Mother."

"Also, Akito's birthday isn't too far away now. We should all celebrate! Have a proper party this time."

"Yes, Mother."

"Alright. Well. I'm going to be in the theater if you need me. Or maybe I'll take a walk through the garden. Don't push yourself too hard!"

"Yes, Mother."

When silence follows, Kyoya thinks she has left. But then he hears the slight clink of the doorknob turning and the lock keeping it shut. Only then does he hear footsteps fading away. He was waiting for her to leave the whole conversation, but now Kyoya feels nothing but guilty.

It's the same guilt whenever Fuyumi makes her surprise visits and he greets her with anything but enthusiasm. He doesn't like to push her away, to make her face fall. He doesn't want her to feel like he doesn't want her around, that she's just a nuisance. Kyoya is starting to feel like a spoiled child, being so disrespectful to his mother.

At the same time, he just doesn't see how it's fair.

She knows that they have questions, and she pretends she doesn't hear them. It's not her fault that things have changed, but Kyoya will lay blame on her for acting as though they haven't. No, more than that, she's returned with a full-force energy, like everything is even better now that her and Yoshio's marriage is over. And they're just supposed to go along with it?

He'd tried one last time at the end of last week. She'd been drinking tea in the parlor and had invited him to join her with a gusto that almost made her spill her oolong. After the preliminary chitchat, Kyoya finally asked again to please have more details of what was happening.

And again, she stuck up her nose, told him to ask his father.

He told her his father wasn't answering him, either.

Jin had taken another sip of tea, and answered, "It's on him, not me."

"Why?" he'd asked.

"Kyoya, I don't want to discuss this any further. Here, put some honey in yours. It's fresh. Makes it taste divine."

He has no idea what has happened to his parents. He's starting to fear for the reason behind their separation, if it's making them act like this, without logic or reason.

More than fear, though, Kyoya is frustrated. Perhaps it isn't fair, to have more anger for his mother than his father, but it's only because Jin is the only one who has not only been asked, but been told how much her children need to know. Yet she still raises her chin and refuses, out of…principal? Kyoya feels the same way he did before he was allowed in the board meetings: overwhelming frustration at being denied something he feels he has a right to, but also overwhelming self-loathing for how whiny he sounds.

Finally he walks over and opens the door. The hall is void. He could go to the theater, or join her in the garden. He could try to let her know that he doesn't loathe her, and that her coming home at last is not a bother to him.

He wants to say that they could talk, but they won't. What Jin will want to do instead is talk about her travels and birthday plans and the absolutely rotten behavior of Miss Ogasawara's youngest child, how she spits up broccoli at the dinner table even when they have guests. Kyoya just doesn't think he can do that.

So he closes the door, and doesn't see his mother for the rest of the evening.

In the future days of his planner, notes become fewer and far between. On Tuesdays, though, Kyoya has filled in, Tamaki—French at three.

It was more or less a demand from Yoshio, as part of his instruction to not let Ootori Medical be his life. Kyoya resisted at first. He grimaced at the idea of explaining to anyone, "I have to go now, I have a French study session with my friend." So juvenile. Now he's accepted it, largely for three reasons: he is still a college student studying the language, he won't disobey his father, and now he can set regular time aside with Tamaki.

He could perhaps use Tamaki's overwhelming energy to distract him from what is to come tomorrow. Not only that, it will allow him to practice how to leave his feelings for the Prince behind. Even the slightest stirrings in his chest for him or Haruhi have made Kyoya queasy as of late, because no matter who they are to each other now, it feels unfair to Kosuke. Moreso, he cannot let it fester and grow into a real, tangible problem.

So he was looking forward to this session today, albeit debating if he should tell Tamaki of what's coming. And fearing that learning more French vocabulary won't let him forget it. And worrying that he's going to get distracted by the way Tamaki's lips move when he's enunciating to him.

Thus, why Kyoya is silently disappointed when Tamaki calls to tell him, "I'm sorry, Kyoya, but I'm not going to be able to do our French lesson today!"

Kyoya turns away from his desk, towards the window consuming the far wall of his office. It's overcast today, but he can still see his reflection in the glass. He fixes the crestfallen expression from his face.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Mother's not feeling well today, and…Well, she swears up and down that she doesn't mind, but I don't think she likes being in the mansion with only the staff around to help her, you know? I don't think I can just leave her like this. I'm sorry."

Understanding floods over his disappointment. He doesn't think Tamaki will ever stop worrying over his mother, and he can hardly blame him, being separated from her for so long. Her health has always been a problem, and finally being home with Tamaki and his father hasn't magically fixed it. Treatment has helped her immeasurably, but there are times like this, when her symptoms flare up and confine her to bedrest for days on end. This will be far from the first time that Tamaki cancels a plan to care for her in his father's absence.

"I understand; there's no need to apologize. Tell Anne-Sophie I send my best wishes."

"Absolutely. We'll still on for next week, though, I promise! Je te verrai plus tard."

"Passe une bonne matinée."

"Passe une bonne soirée."

"'Soirée.'"

"Remember, matinées happen in the morning, soirées happen in the evening. Bye, Kyoya!"

Once Tamaki hangs up, Kyoya opens his planner once more, and draws a thick line through Tamaki—French. Now he's at a crossroads. He could stay here and continue working, at the expense of annoying Yoshio. Or he could return home and see how long calligraphy will keep him still.

His phone buzzes again. Thinking it's another unnecessary apology from Tamaki, he looks at the message, only to find something else entirely.

From: Mother
I know you'll be home soon for your lesson with Tamaki. Since you'll be home sooner, we should do something together! How does afternoon tea sound?

Kyoya's mouth goes dry. Why did he ever tell her about the sessions? Why on earth would he tell her when he is regularly scheduled to be home?

He'd been grateful not to catch a glimpse of his mother when he left this morning, because he doesn't think he'd be able to bear it today. Less than twenty-four hours until the world knows she and Yoshio are divorcing, and she just wants to drink tea and make chitchat. He can't stomach it.

Then, he realizes he's been blessed with an easy way out.

To: Mother
Tamaki's mother is sick today. I thought I would visit to see if they need any assistance. I'm sorry.

From: Mother
Oh no! Send Anne-Sophie my best wishes!

Kyoya shuts his phone off, and finishes up his work before leaving. He wonders if his mother took the message with immediate understanding, or if she's as miserably quiet as she was the night before.

"Kyoya! What are you doing here?"

Kyoya holds up the bouquet he'd bought on the way over. He feels lucky that yellow pansies are in season, and thus didn't have to buy the red tulips the florist offered. Tamaki is more knowledgeable of flower language than he is, but he knows he's supposed to say Good wishes and not I am deeply in love with you.

"I came to send my good wishes in person."

"Kyooooyaaaa!" Tamaki sweeps up the bouquet, eyes gleaming. "That's so kind of you! Mother will love them."

"I see I'm not the first," Kyoya says as Tamaki brings the flowers over to a table already overflowing with them. Maybe the red tulips would've been harmless. Enough people have already sent them to the very-much-married woman. "She's becoming quite popular."

"Oh, she's been getting nonstop calls from her friends all day. She wants to see your mother, too, Kyoya! It's been so long. She wants to see her as soon as possible."

"I'll tell her." Kyoya looks around at the foyer, filled with flowers and get-well notes, as if those will give him an idea of how to move away from his mother. "How has she been today?"

"Mostly tired. When she isn't sleeping, I've just been trying to find ways to entertain her. I found her a movie to watch, I got out a chessboard so we could play a few rounds. We even played cricket."

"…Tamaki, I don't think it's wise to make your sick mother play cricket."

"It was her idea, and she beat me." Tamaki pouts. "I miss being eight. She always let me win."

"To be fair, you can be quite the sore loser. That's why I stopped playing chess with you."

"You cheat and you know it!"

"I do not, you just tell yourself that." Tamaki pouts more, but Kyoya goes on, "Is there anything that I could help with?"

"No, the staff is taking care of everything just fine. She's warmed up to them a lot! Though I can tell she still feels a bit strange, having so many strangers in the house." Kyoya can practically see the lightbulb that sparks over his head. "Oh! I'm sure seeing you would cheer her up, Kyoya! A familiar face!"

"Tamaki, I wouldn't want company when I'm sick—"

"Oh, you don't want company when you feel right as rain." Before Kyoya can defend himself, Tamaki grabs a hold of his hand and starts to drag him towards the staircase. "Mother always likes having people around, I promise."

Kyoya stops protesting halfway up the stairs, unsure of why he'd bothered to begin with. Tamaki can never be stopped once he has his mind set on something, after all. Though, to give him some credit, he would know Anne-Sophie better than anyone.

Tamaki first raps his knuckles softly on the door, then pokes his head in, and smiles from ear-to-ear. "You have another visitor, Mother!"

"Is that Kyoya? Come in here. Let me see you!"

Anne-Sophie sits reclined on a mound of pillows against her headboard. She's wrapped in a soft robe and has her hair pulled away from her face. She looks better than Kyoya thought she would, though her cheeks are red with a butterfly rash. She's always had the type of resting face that makes Kyoya wonder when she's tired and when she's simply at peace.

Kyoya steps into the room behind Tamaki, and only then realizes there's a third person in the room, and the absolute last person he would have expected.

"Kyoya!" Kosuke had been leaning over Anne-Sophie when he entered, and now stands up straight. She's holding a tray with an empty bowl and a spoon. "Hey! I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't know you were already here," he counters, though not unkindly.

"Sorry I didn't say anything," Tamaki says. "I thought you would."

Seeing Kosuke in the same room as Tamaki is still just a bit strange, but it doesn't overwhelm him anymore. He's slowly but surely coming to terms with it. Seeing her in the same room as Anne-Sophie is simply surprising. "I didn't know the two of you had already met, either."

"We did just an hour ago," explains Kosuke. "As soon as Tamaki texted she was sick, I came running."

"Why's that?"

"To make soup!" she exclaims, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. She thrusts up the tray in her hands. "I can't sit at home knowing someone is sick and not make them a good bowl of soup. It goes against my moral code."

Tamaki leans over to Kyoya, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "Sometimes I pretend I'm sick so she'll make some for me."

"I'm glad she finally came over," Anne-Sophie says. "Tamaki's been raving about her so much, it was finally time. But I'm happy you're here, too, Kyoya. It's been too long."

Kosuke rounds to the foot of the bed, and Kyoya steps out of her way. "Do you want me to get you more while you two catch up?"

"You know, usually when I'm sick, I can't stomach much. So take it as a glowing compliment that I'm saying 'yes.'"

"Coming right up," Kosuke chirps, and shuts the door behind her with a smile.

Kyoya is left staring after the door for a moment, feeling…impressed, he supposes. He'd had the inkling before that she could have a motherly sort of kindness, and this just proved it. He's understanding more and more why she and Tamaki and Haruhi became friends so easily.

When he turns back, Tamaki is giving him a coy yet sugary smile—no doubt mistaking his contemplation as the longing stare of a man in love. Kyoya ignores him and goes to sit in the chair pulled up to Anne-Sophie's bedside.

"So, do tell me," Anne-Sophie says as he sits. "How has life been treating you?"

"I've been well, thank you."

"Better now that Kosuke's around?"

Kyoya puts on a smile, which is easier than usual as he knows Anne-Sophie is as sincere as her son. "I won't lie and say 'no.'"

"I'm telling you, Mother, it was an act of fate." Tamaki closes his eyes and sighs, smiling dreamily. "It almost brings tears to my eyes, how perfect they are for each other."

"I have no doubt you've told her as much many times already," says Kyoya.

"I keep saying it because it's true! You practically glow when she's around. All those times I tried to have you two meet, it never occurred to me that maybe that was a reason I was so eager! I should've known long ago she was meant for you."

"Tamaki?" Anne-Sophie asks.

Tamaki snaps out of his daydream in an instant. "Yes, Mother?"

"Can you do me a favor, sweet?" She reaches under the covers and withdraws a thick woolen blanket. "This is warm, but it's also very scratchy. Could you get me the red one from the linen closet instead?"

"Absolutely!" Tamaki sweeps up the blanket into his hands and bolts for the door. "I'll be right back!"

As soon as the door is closed, Anne-Sophie says, "You're welcome."

Kyoya turns to her, surprised. She has a coy smile playing on her lips. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't doubt a word Tamaki said. But you just don't strike me as the type who enjoys being teased."

He huffs a laugh. If only Tamaki had inherited his mother's awareness. "Well, I thank you for your efforts, but he'll continue once he's returned, I assure you."

"That's why I told him to get the red blanket," she says. "There's no such thing, but he won't return until he has it."

He can't the smile that comes up to his face. "Very clever."

"Now, catch me up on everything I've missed." Anne-Sophie's face falls as she shifts on her pillows. "Tamaki told me everything that happened with DomenMed. Did everything work out?"

"It was a surprise to all of us, but we managed it well," he lies. "The Domens were valuable partners, but not irreplaceable. We're just as strong without them as we were with them."

"Did the Domen girl have anything to do with it? What was her name…Amelia? Amy?"

"Amaya, and no, she had nothing to do with it." Kyoya has to stop his lips from sneering. The one saving grace of DomenMed leaving was that it gave him a better chance of never having to see the spoiled daughter again. "I believe it was a matter of dominance, nothing more."

"I see. That's good, I suppose. Tamaki's told me she's quite…annoying."

"That's a strong word, but a fitting one."

Anne-Sophie laughs without making sound. "Now, tell me about your family. Are they doing well?"

"Yes. Itsumi is still in Prague, and Tetsu will soon be travelling to Wakkanai to visit relatives, meaning Fuyumi will be very despondent these next few days." She laughs again, and as much as Kyoya delights in this easy conversation, he knows he can't just gloss over his parents as well. "Mother will be home for some time."

"Wonderful. Then we can see each other for sure. I have to ask, though…What kept her for so long? Why didn't she return when the trouble with DomenMed began?"

"Forgive me, but it was a private matter." Anne-Sophie's lips form a small O, and she nods. "Urgent, but that's all I can say. She wasn't happy to be away at the time."

He says that, but the more that Jin raves about her impromptu vacation, the more Kyoya imagines her lounging on the beach and dancing at midnight parties. All while her family is falling apart back at home.

How truly miserable was she with Yoshio, to celebrate their ending marriage in such a way?

"Kyoya."

"Yes?"

Anne-Sophie's head tips to the side as she regards him. She already looks so much like her son, but it is times like these where they seem to be the same person. She's picking him apart piece-by-piece just by looking at him.

"I can tell something is upsetting you. What's wrong?"

Kyoya shakes his head. He hasn't even decided whether he should warn Tamaki or Kosuke of tomorrow, let alone her. "It's nothing to be concerned about. A private matter, that's all."

"I see. Does it have to do with your parents?"

"It does."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. If it's privacy that's keeping you from talking, then I won't speak another word of it. But if it's only hesitation, you should know I'm all ears."

Kyoya considers it more than he thought he would.

True, he would not consider himself to be close with Tamaki's mother. He believes they are on "friendly terms," but he can't call the two of them "friends." She accepted him with open arms the very instant she learned he was her son's best friend—and Kyoya knows that that means more to her than she can ever say, knowing how lonely Tamaki had been in his childhood.

He knows her well enough—and she knows her son well enough—not to fear her telling Tamaki about it as soon as he leaves. Perhaps what he needs most right now is not the comfort of a friend, but the perspective of a parent. If he can't figure out why a mother and father would keep something so important from their children, perhaps she can.

"If I may?" She nods. "Have you ever done something in regards to Tamaki that you that was justified, or maybe even good at the time, but came to regret later?"

She considers this, twisting her fingers in the sheets.

"I think so," she says at last. "What Tamaki's doing right now, he did when he was younger. While all the other children were playing and having fun, he was at home, keeping me company. At the time, I let him. I thought that he'd be more upset if I stopped him, and anyway, he was making the choice himself. But now I realize how lonely he must have been, and I regret not putting my foot down."

Kyoya only nods. Guilt pangs in his chest. Why would he ask something like that, when he knows for a fact that Anne-Sophie's sickness has caused her no shortage of guilt in her life?

"What if the situation was more that you weren't telling him something he was supposed to know? That he had a right to?"

Anne-Sophie pauses. Regret bubbles under his skin. It's such a transparent question, there was no way she didn't know it was to do with his own family.

"That's a difficult question," she says at last. "What kind of thing would keep me from telling him?"

Exactly, Kyoya thinks. He's starting to think more and more than the answer is merely, Pride.

"Nevermind," he says. "It was hypothetical."

Of course, she does not believe him. It's obvious.

It seems fate is on his side, for once, because the door opens once again.

"Bon appetite." Kosuke sets the tray back onto Anne-Sophie's lap with a speed that makes Kyoya startle but an elegance that keeps him in his seat. "It's still hot, be careful."

"Thank you, sweet." Anne-Sophie lifts up her spoon and stirs the broth around. "Am I the first person to tell you this is the best chicken soup I've ever had?"

"Well, I don't want to brag, but sometimes Tamaki pretends that he's sick just so I'll make this. Speaking of Tamaki, is there a reason why the hallway looks like the aftermath of a blanket war right now?"

"Oh, just him being his usual doting self. I should really tell him to stop now—"

"I found it!" Tamaki bursts into the room with the red blanket brandished high and victorious. The glimpse Kyoya can see of the hallway is covered in linen, wool, and silk. The marble statue at the corner looks like a Halloween ghost. "It was in a different linen closet."

Anne-Sophie blinks. "Oh! Thank you, dear."

Tamaki throws the blanket around her, and Kosuke pours more tea into her cup from a China pot. After, she starts circling the room, fluffing up a pillow in the loveseat, tying back the open curtains.

"Is there anything you need at all?" she asks. Somehow Kyoya neglected to notice before, but she's wearing a frilly white apron. He wonders if she brought it herself. "More pillows? Are you warm enough? Do you want me to put this up for you?"

Anne-Sophie hums around a spoonful of soup. "What's that?"

"This book." Kosuke turns from the chair in the corner, turning pages. Then she blinks, and snaps it shut. "Oh, a photo album."

"Oh, bring it here, bring it here!" Anne-Sophie sets down her spoon and reaches out for it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop."

"Nonsense. Now you get to see Tamaki's old baby photos!"

Kyoya does not blame Kosuke for shaking her head and insisting, "Oh, that's—fine." Most people would be mortified if their parent procured photographs from their diaper-days.

Tamaki Suoh is not most people. "Oh, come on, Kosuke! I was so adorable! I am now, granted, but look!"

"I…Alright. Sure. As long as you're oka—Awwwww!"

The three of them cluster into a glowing knot around the album. Kyoya sees the opportunity, but alas, too late—Tamaki reaches over and hauls him up from his seat to look as well. He's squished between Tamaki and Anne-Sophie as they fawn over a photo of Tamaki wrestling with a toy truck.

"You were so tiny," squeals Kosuke.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" Anne-Sophie rolls her eyes, turning the page. "I have no idea when he just shot up to the sky like that."

"Kosuke," Tamaki exclaims, eyes bright. "I just realized. You could be the first of all of us to see Kyoya's baby photos now."

"Really?" Kosuke tears her eyes off of Tamaki sleeping in his crib to look at Kyoya. "You think so?"

"Absolutely not," he says, and before he can scold himself for snapping, Kosuke laughs. Good.

"Oh, first trip to the beach." Anne-Sophie turns the book so the photograph stands upright. Tamaki's tiny bare feet are just barely brushing against the saltwater. Eyes wide and mouth agape, his hands are holding his mother's, bent over to balance him. The photo has a slight graininess brought on by twenty years of age. "I thought he was going to be scared, but he ran right into the water."

Kyoya wonders if he can even remember his first trip to the beach. Perhaps not. When they were all children, Jin would take them to their private one often. If he concentrates, he thinks he can remember how Akito and Fuyumi would build sandcastles on the shore, and Yuuichi walking farther and farther into the waves until Jin called him back. He thinks he remembers a time when a wave knocked him right off his feet, and his mother fussing and fawning over him no matter how many times he swore he was fine.

"Oh, his fourth Christmas."

Kosuke stifles a squeal behind her hand at the next picture. Tamaki is, sitting at the foot of a tree glittering with tinsel and ornaments. Tamaki's holding onto one of several presents, but only loosely: his sleeping face is mushed into the bow on top.

"He wakes up at five in the morning, jumping off the walls," says Anne-Sophie, "but I leave for two seconds to get the camera and he's out."

"That's the year we started making gingerbread men, wasn't it?" Tamaki flips the page this time, and finds his proof. It's less of a gingerbread man and more of a gingerbread bipedal creature. The limbs are lopsided, the gumdrop buttons askew. What's supposed to be an iced smile looks instead like The Scream. "It's our Christmas tradition."

"Aw," croons Kosuke. "That's not bad for a four-year-old."

"No, this was last year."

"I—oh."

"Do you have any Christmas traditions?" asks Anne-Sophie, as they browse through the other Christmas memories: Tamaki tearing open presents like an animal, Tamaki smeared with icing, Tamaki wearing a bow so proudly on his head. "You and your siblings?"

Kosuke is still rosy-cheeked and distracted, but she answers, "We make paper snowflakes and hang them up around the house. I roast some chestnuts and brew some cocoa and we tear into our gifts apart like wolves."

What did the Ootoris do for Christmas this past year? Nothing as a whole family. The closest they had to a family celebration was attending the Eguchi family's Christmas gala. Christmas morning, Kyoya awoke alone, but Fuyumi and Tetsu all but demanded him to come to their house for lunch, along with Nanako and Akito. Yuuichi and Itsumi were with Itsumi's family. What had Yoshio done? Kyoya doesn't remember, but he remembers that the weather had kept Jin in New Zealand for the holiday, and when at last she returned, it was not her family she went to first. It was her friends with their families and their children. Kyoya contacted her friend's friend's cousin's boyfriend's brother-in-law's sister, who was a renowned jeweler, for a one-of-a-kind net necklace made from silver and sapphire. She in turn gifted him with a mulberry silk tie. The same as the year before. And the year before that.

"What about you, Kyoya?" While Kyoya stumbles back to reality, Tamaki obliviously goes on, "What does your family do for Christmas?"

Kyoya searches for a warm enough answer. "Usually we aren't all together for the morning, but we take turns meeting at one another's estates for lunch. Fuyumi and I usually meet together to wrap gifts."

The others nod and, thankfully, return to swooning over baby photos. Anne-Sophie is not in many of the photos, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Nor does she or Tamaki seem to mind that Yuzuru is nowhere to be found, and Kyoya wonders at that. From what Kyoya can tell, there is no ill will between them, now that they can finally all be together. Even so, Tamaki and Anne-Sophie have every right to remember their lives before now. It's endearing, to know that they can look back at these photos with nothing but smiles.

He takes a glance at Kosuke as she coos over six-year-old Tamaki marking his height on a doorframe. In Tamaki and Anne-Sophie's photos, their family has an empty space. But the empty space in Kosuke's family is not in the photos. Is she able to flip through her old albums and smile?

They pick up speed for the next pages, all good-naturedly, laughing at how Anne-Sophie loved her little boy so much she had to capture his every living moment. Tamaki grows and grows—"And grows," huffs Anne-Sophie. Everyone notices when Tamaki leaves. Notices how he's fourteen in one picture and eighteen in the next. No one says a thing.

Towards the end of the album, Anne-Sophie turns the book again. If Kyoya's right, the portrait is only a few months old. Tamaki sits between his parents with a smile that's blinding even on film. Anne-Sophie has a hand on his shoulder, and beside her Yuzuru has a hand on her waist. It's a bit comical, seeing his professional smile compared to his son's. It's tiny, but Kyoya can see how he's just slightly leaning into Anne-Sophie's side, like she's pulling him towards her just by standing there.

The others go into a conversation about portraits, as Kosuke says her family has perhaps only had three, one for each child that joined it. Tamaki and Anne-Sophie protest in some way that they should absolutely do another one, and Kyoya thinks that also discuss an Ootori-Amida portrait.

He loses focus, and lapses back into his memories. The last time the Ootoris had a portrait was three years ago. It hangs in the foyer now. Fuyumi and Jin are sitting in front of Kyoya, his brothers, and his father. Kyoya remembers several things about that portrait. He remembers that one of Yuuichi's cufflinks had fallen off at some point, and he was so upset that it made it into the seven-foot frame. He remembers that even when she truly tried to tone it down, his mother was bedazzled with five-inch chandelier earrings and a flowing crimson dress wrapped in black mink—the centerpiece of the show even when she didn't mean to be.

He remembers that that was the first time in six months that they had all been together in the same room. He remembers how Yoshio wouldn't stop looking at his watch, how Yuuichi sighed every time the camera repositioned. He remembers how the instant, the instant, that it ended, Jin bolted from her seat to make it to her friend's cousin's husband's something's something's something's whatever's anniversary party.

When Kyoya snaps back to reality once more, it's by Anne-Sophie snapping the album shut and trilling, "Anyway! We'd be sitting here all day if we went through more." Kosuke takes the album and tucks it into the bookshelf. Tamaki excuses himself to clean up the aftermath of his blanket hunt. No one notices that he was ever gone.

"Well, what shall we do now?" Anne-Sopphie reaches into the drawer of her nightstand. "Here, we can play cards. You can pick which game we play. I'll beat you regardless."

"Actually, I'm afraid I need to be going."

"But you just got here?"

"I'm sorry, but my mother and I are supposed to be meeting for tea soon. I just wanted to see if you were well."

"Oh, I see. Don't let me keep you, then. Thank you for visiting."

"I hope you get well soon. Goodbye."

Kosuke takes a seat beside Anne-Sophie and tells him, "Bye." It makes Kyoya hesitate, because with her just right there, now would be a good time to tell her of what's coming tomorrow, no? At least he won't be utterly blindsided. It would let her prepare herself for what she's going to say when she's asked if she knew anything of it.

Yet, even if that would only be fair, Kyoya only tells her, "Goodbye," and then he leaves.

In the hallway, the floor alternates between marble and fabric. His footsteps are either hard taps or quiet pitter-patter. Tamaki is dutifully plucking up blankets one-by-one, folding them with expert speed, and setting them atop a mountain that looks like it's going to topple over and put him back to square one.

"Kyoya." Tamaki stops with a great quilt that almost consumes his face. "Are you leaving already?"

"I'm afraid so. I have to meet with my mother soon."

"Oh, go, go, go! Don't keep her waiting. Sorry again for cancelling. Next week for sure."

"It's fine, Tamaki. Goodbye."

Kyoya makes his way to the staircase, but just as his hand touches the gold railing, Tamaki speaks up again. "Kyoya?"

He tries not to sigh. "Yes?"

Tamaki tries to adjust the quilt to see him better. It's a fruitless effort, but either way Kyoya can very clearly see the concern in his violet eyes. As overwhelming as usual. "Is everything alright? You seem upset about something."

Not for one second does Kyoya consider telling him the deeper truth: that he's upset about his family as a whole. That he's just now realized where Fuyumi has been coming from, all this time. They don't feel like a family. They haven't for years now. So what's worse, that he feels an obligation to his parents' honesty? Or that his mother is trying to deny reality?

Unlike Anne-Sophie, and unlike Kosuke, Kyoya feels a sort of fear at the idea of not telling Tamaki of tomorrow. Anne-Sophie isn't nearly close to him enough to chide him for keeping secrets. Kosuke will be upset, but not furious, he thinks. Tamaki, though, he's going to be almost betrayed, and he will bombard Kyoya with questions and condolences. He should be grateful to have a friend who cares so much, Kyoya knows. But he also knows that when tomorrow comes, he's going to want to be alone.

So he goes to Tamaki, and tells him, across the quilted barrier, "Something is going to happen tomorrow. It's not catastrophic. It's nothing to panic over. But when it happens, I want to be left alone. I'm not going to want to talk, I'm not going to want to answer your calls. Do you understand?"

"I…" Tamaki blinks furiously. "What's going to happen tomorrow?"

"You'll know it when you hear it. Just tell me, do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I understand."

That's that. Kyoya turns to go. He hears Tamaki say something, but it's never a word, not even a syllable. Wanting to respect Kyoya's wishes, but fighting against himself to protest and protest and protest.

Kyoya leaves, but tells his chauffeur to take the long way home, to kill any spare time that Jin may have used. He doesn't see her as he enters the estate, when he passes by the seven-foot-portrait, when he makes it into the sanctuary of his room. His planner rests on his desk. He still has things lined up for the day. Work, work, and more work.

For once, Kyoya just shuts it and casts it aside, and pulls out the calligraphy set. He knows he won't be able to concentrate on anything else until tomorrow. Maybe days after.