bored411: I'm also a sucker for the "dream that reveals character's true feelings they are as of yet unaware of" trope.

bbymojo: I'm sorry that Amaya is so annoying but also that's the point so thanks for the compliment I guess? lol

Akari Wolf Princess: It's not canon but I love the idea of Kyoya being like "what's wrong you look like you have one foot in the grave" and Kosuke doesn't know how to explain she hasn't been able to sleep for like a week because she's scared of having another dream like that. Thanks for the review haha!

scars from the sun: SOUND THE ALARM!

Ale250496: Spoilers but Minami is officially adopted into Morinozuka family at the end of the fic. Thanks for the review!

Nana-san14: That's the most ominous description of falling in love I've ever heard and I love it

Gilmore: As much as I would love writing a scene (or a thousand) or Amaya screwing up and humiliating herself, she's a little too smart for that. She likely figured it'd cause her too much trouble as soon as she left the cafe. But perhaps there will be justice one day!

Nina9802: Don't I know it. Honestly the holidays are always melancholy to me no matter what. Side effect of getting older. Thanks for the review!

Mili San Luis: I considered the idea of Kosuke asking them to personally train Minami but Kosuke HATES asking others for anything, especially a long-term commitment like that. Not to say that Mori will be completely uninvolved going forward ;)

Obligatory "sorry for the wait" message. Lost control of my schedule for a bit :|

When he was younger, Kyoya loved the end of the year. He loved seeing Japan light up like a frozen firework. He loved helping Fuyumi wrap presents with his small and clumsy hands. He loved being allowed to stay up until midnight to watch the New Year be born. He was more of a dreamer than a six-year-old should be; a six-year old Kyoya, at that. A new year felt like a new adventure. The moment that the clock struck midnight, even just sitting in the dark and wrapped up in a blanket, he'd wondered what he was going to and who he was going to meet in the next 365 days.

Some things have changed but stayed the same. He and the others have their annual Christmas party where they all wear tacky sweaters and eat gingerbread until they're sick. He and Fuyumi still wrap presents together, but now she gets annoyed with him for being better than her at it. He still stays up until midnight on New Year's, but he always stays up to midnight anyway. This year, Kosuke texts him "Happy New Year!" at exactly 12.

Now Kyoya is older and he loathes the end of the year. Because the end of the year means that Ootori Medical becomes a warzone.

At times it seems the work to be done is more than that of all the rest of the year combined. Even as early as his first year of high school, Kyoya was conscripted. He filed papers and delivered mail and stamped documents, which, compared to what he does now, is like comparing construction work to a toddler playing with building blocks.

It swells and swells after Christmas, until at last, January 1st, Kyoya's schedule is waking up at four in the morning and going to bed at midnight. If he is lucky. There are days when he never stops moving, and days when he can never leave his desk. Either his feet or his back are in a constant ache—though the cushion Kosuke gotten him does help. Her Christmas gift of a "zen waterfall," not so much, but it was a nice idea.

Complaining about hard, demanding work is pointless, because this is just to be expected if he ever gets a position at Ootori Medical. He can't go out into the rain without an umbrella and ask not to get wet. What he's doing is probably a mere fraction of the work Yoshio is doing; he wonders if his father is sleeping at all.

Complaining about hard, demanding work that's simply unnecessary, and keeping it to himself, is fine. Kyoya has a million ideas of how this could be easier on everyone. They could put a little more towards their quarterly work to lighten the load at the end of the year. They could assign a team to do the work, rather than asking everyone to contribute and continue with their regular duties. Just the way the paper files go into the filing cabinets seems so disorganized, Kyoya thinks he must be missing something.

Kyoya would never dream of making such suggestions in the midst of it all. No one wants to hear "Well, in hindsight..." when they're up to their neck in paperwork. Additionally, it is always at this time that Yoshio goes from watching his work to never taking his eyes off of him.

For the other three-hundred-plus days of the year, there are some days where Kyoya never sees so much as a glimpse of his father. Now, he sees him almost every hour. Part of Yoshio's duty is to prowl the hospital and make sure everyone is pushing themselves to their absolute limit. If Kyoya is anything less than swamped, he is weak.

Probably it's getting easier every day, but Kyoya cannot tell. Especially when classes begin again. Because he knows that, even if he could just teleport to his office the second the clock strikes the end of the period, he'd still be behind. Meaning more work and less sleep, more headaches and backaches and a fuse already shorter than the millimeter it is.

To say that Kyoya is in a foul mood the first day of classes is like saying lava is "a little hot." He is running on four hours of sleep, three cups of espresso, one granola bar, and raw will at this point. Though hardly anyone seems to notice—he keeps to himself even more than usual on days like these, wary that he'll snap at a poor innocent soul who just wanted to say hello—Kyoya feels that he sticks out like a sore thumb. Everyone else is sharing stories of their holiday parties and family get-togethers. The snow is still falling and everyone still oohs and ahhs at it.

Then there's Kyoya, wondering why the minutes of class time are crawling slower and slower.

The worst thing, though, the worst thing, is that this semester, Mondays have him booked from nine in the morning to two in the afternoon. That's five precious hours wasted.

Throughout the morning Kyoya practices deep breathing exercises and mantras like Almost there, almost there...Once the two o'clock bell chimes, he could sprint down the hall. He puts his books into his workbag, joins the flow out the door, and, of course, sees two familiar faces waiting for him.

Tamaki is watching the snowfall as Haruhi waves him over. Even just standing there, they seem so full of life. Kyoya feels withered. A husk.

"Hey, Kyoya," Haruhi greets. He's looking at her and she's looking at him, and there's no way to pretend he didn't notice her. "Want to join us for a late lunch?"

Kyoya wants to say yes. Haruhi will be returning to the States shortly, and this will be the last time that he'll be able to see her for a while. He hasn't been able to have an actual conversation with Tamaki for at least a week. Still, Kyoya wouldn't be able to sit down and eat without looking at his watch every three ticks.

"I'm going to have to decline," he replies at once. "I have to get to work as soon as I can."

"Thought you might say that. Just wanted to offer. Here, let's walk out together."

Of course, Tamaki and Haruhi are in no rush, and by the time Kyoya would usually be buckled into his seat, they are still strolling through the halls. He'd bolted out of the mansion so quickly that morning, he'd only grabbed a coat to keep him warm-so atop of the espresso-induced headache and the posture-induced backache, he's shivering all the way down to his toes.

There's something else off, too. Kyoya can't put his finger on it immediately (though he doesn't really want to anyway, he doesn't need a distraction).

Wait. Tamaki hasn't spoken a word to him. No enthusiastic greeting, or eager chitchat about the first day of classes.

Kyoya looks to him, and the sight would make him pause if he could afford it. The prince looks very heavy—like the tree limbs weighted down by the snow. It's not a Tamaki-like heaviness, either, it's not right on his sleeve. It's as though someone has sapped away his Tamaki-ness. He has his eyes open but is not seeing, and the toes of his shoes skid the floor with each step. He drags a hand along walls and windows, just to feel something. Anything.

Now, even if Kyoya were not worn threadbare, he's had one blonde friend have an out-of-character episode during the winter and he can't live through that again. Thankfully, when he looks to Haruhi for an answer, she, too, is watching her fiancé with worry.

She and Kyoya speed up just a bit to put more distance between them and Tamaki (had they slowed down to do the same, they'd just come to a complete stop). Then Haruhi shields her mouth behind a gloved hand and whispers, "I think his philosophy class really messed with his head."

Kyoya knows, not from memory but from experience, that Tamaki must have told him he was taking a philosophy class this semester. Yet he's coming up blank. "Why would he take a philosophy class in the first place, and why would it upset him?"

"It was just an elective. He wanted to try something new. Apparently he thought it was going to be more about being nice to others and living life to the fullest. Instead all the students got an existential crisis the first day of class. Tamaki, how are you doing?"

Tamaki's glazed eyes blink once, very slowly. "I don't understand the question."

"I mean are you okay?"

Tamaki stares into the void. "Who gets to define what it means to be good and what it means to be bad?"

Kyoya shakes his head. He can't fix him right now; he doesn't have time. "He'll be fine. Just let him get it out of his system."

Haruhi doesn't disagree, but she watches Not-Tamaki from the corner of her eye.

With Not-Tamaki, and the icy blast that hits them all when they leave the building, Kyoya sees the final stretch to the limousine as the light at the end of the tunnel. One minute, maybe two.

He opens his mouth to bid Haruhi and Tamaki goodbye, but then Haruhi grabs him by his coat sleeve, and brings their crunching footsteps to a halt. Even as she keeps her hand on his elbow, Haruhi doesn't look at Kyoya. She's looking everywhere but him, lips in a pursed frown.

Kyoya does the same, and finds nothing—which, he realizes, is exactly the problem.

Haruhi voices it. "Where is everyone?"

Even on a day as cold as this, the campus grounds should be filled with students, shuffling and shivering, racing to the warm safety of their classrooms. Today, only the falling snow is moving. There are footprints but no people.

Kyoya is sure there's an explanation, however unexpected, but he can't deny how eerie it feels. There's so much white that when his eyes fall on something red, it seems to be blazing.

Their steps are loud, upsettingly so, as Kyoya walks to that spot of red. When he lifts it up, half-buried in fallen snow, he sees that his fingers are only a few hues away from matching it. 'It' being a scarf.

In and of itself, nothing unusual. However, this most certainly belongs to an Ouran student, meaning that this scarf is likely made of a priceless yarn and imported from a far-off land. That is, not something that would be left behind, however absentminded the owner.

"OW!"

Haruhi's cry is so startling, the sound before it—a soft, powdery thud—almost goes forgotten. When Kyoya looks back, her shoulder is covered in a spray of snow.

As far in his downward spiral as he is, Tamaki snaps awake, as though Haruhi has been hurt triggers a feral instinct. He doesn't get to act on it: just a second later, he too cries out, and this time Kyoya and Haruhi can both see the frozen shrapnel that flies off his back.

Kyoya's realization—I'm next—is proven just a second later. He, too, is struck in the shoulder. The debris hit his face, even worse. The ice on the skin of his cheek feels like needles. Some hits the left lens of his glasses, so he hears but can't see Haruhi being hit again.

Then...all hell breaks loose.

The tundra that had become of the campus, lifeless just a moment ago, fills with too many people to count. They aren't just running around, no. They're hiding, crouching behind cover, some so well they seem to pop in and out of the snow. Some are in the trees. They're shouting—no, they're giving war cries. They are spitting and hissing like wild animals; those that don't are screaming.

And the snowballs...There has to be more of them in the air than there are snowflakes! They're so fast they're just streaks; they whistle through the air. For every one that bursts on impact, three more follow, as deadly and precise as torpedoes.

Tamaki, Haruhi, and Kyoya have all been caught in the crossfire. They try to defend themselves, but what can they do? Kyoya is hit on the legs, his arms, his back...once he's struck square in the chest, so hard the breath is knocked out of his lungs. His glasses are becoming opaquer by the second, but through tiny slivers he sees that Tamaki has thrown himself over Haruhi, sacrificing himself to the frozen hellfire.

It is confusing, and humiliating, and infuriating. Kyoya can't believe he's still being hit; he thinks the snowballs should be melting within ten feet of him.

He's in pain, he's freezing cold, and now he's covered in snow, a mess, and how is he supposed to explain his state when he makes it to the office?

Just when his anger hits its peak, a snowball explodes right against his ear.

Damn, does it hurt. The entire right side of his face flames; a headache blooms throughout his skull. Worst of all, when Kyoya cracks open the one eye that hasn't been lost, he sees only blurs. Not because his glasses had been covered, but blown off his face completely.

As if he couldn't be more confused and humiliated than he already was, now he's a sitting duck. Completely at the mercy of whatever idiots are doing all of this.

When someone grabs his arm, he almost pulls back—intent to land the first punch. Before he can, someone says, "I've got you!" Then there's another thud, but not of snow hitting cloth-this one is harder, almost a bounce.

With one eye still too painful to open and the other fatally nearsighted, Kyoya experiences the next couple of minutes in a haze. The snowballs are still flying, but they aren't hitting him anymore. Voices shout, grim and commanding, "More ammo!" and "I need backup!" The person leading him can't manage more than a quick shuffle, but Kyoya doesn't complain about that.

It seems like both an eternity and an instant before Kyoya hears voices calling, "Open the door! Open the door!" His footsteps go from crunching to tapping; snow becomes tile.

A click of a lock silences the battlefield outside. The shouts lower to murmurs, morose.

A warm, damp cloth is pressed into Kyoya's hands. "Here, use this."

Kyoya wipes away the bits of ice still clinging to his eye, cheek, and ear. Finally he can see something. He is, of course, inside a building. There are other people, many of them, but the further they are, the blurrier. The person who had handed him the warm towel still stands before him, clear enough.

Reiko doesn't offer any explanation as she takes the towel from him and hands it off to another person hurrying by. She's dressed far better than he is, and of course everything on her, from her boots to her coat to her hat, is black. It makes the bits of snow still clinging to her body stand out even more.

Kyoya blinks at her a few times, and tries to look around as best as he can. There are students everywhere, all of them doing one of three things: hurrying around, talking in low voices, or sitting on the floor with their heads between their knees. Some are holding shields of serving platters and blank canvases, and a few have actual shields, probably from prop storage for the theater. These people are dressed the heaviest, in hulking boots and thick jackets. Soldiers.

He is standing in the middle of an army base.

"You've got to be joking."

"Afraid not," Reiko tuts. She looks past him and asks, "Are you two okay?"

He recognizes Tamaki and Haruhi only by the colors of their clothes. They're being tended to, one person brushing the snow off Tamaki's back and the other taking another warm towel from Haruhi.

"I guess," Haruhi groans. "Can someone please explain what's going on?!"

"War. War is what's going on."

It's a voice Kyoya hasn't heard in some time, but he knows its owner before he turns to look at him. On the far wall is a map of the campus, blown up in size and tacked to a bulletin board. Some spots are covered in X's, others arrows, and most in symbols too small to make out.

It is in front of this map that Kasanoda stands, hands behind his back and face even grimmer than usual. He has a knit green cap on his head like a combat helmet, and a ruler in hand as a baton.

"Have you been under a rock?" he grumbles, back still turned to the newcomers. "This battle's been waging for hours now."

"Okay, but why?"

"Snow fell from a tree branch—it was mistaken for fire. Then there was retaliation, and soon, we were split into two factions." Kasanoda looks their way, and his General's voice drops. "Oh, hey, you guys are probably cold. You need anything?"

Someone calls out, "We've got fresh meat!" In come two women, both holding trays with steaming cups. By sheer coincidence, both are wearing white coat. Nurses. Especially when they glide from one person to the next, cooing softly to them, promising they'll be fine.

One of these women is Kosuke—known only to Kyoya when he hears her exclaim his name, and then hurry to him, all without spilling a drop.

"Are you okay?" she frets. "What happened to your glasses?"

"A casualty," he clips out. And though his ear is still stinging with pain, and he can hardly see, and he thinks he's going to flip a table over soon, he asks, "Are you okay?"

He can still only see a mirage of her, and in it the two blue spots of her eyes close. Her whispered response is that of a soul losing the strength to go on. "I miss my kids."

"You're going to see your family again, Kosuke." Kasanoda finally comes over to them, and the shapes of the other students give way to his path. It seems that for once, his notorious "thug face" is getting respect instead of fear. "I'm sorry the three of you were caught in the crossfire. Not even the civilians are safe, I'm afraid."

Haruhi takes a mug from Kosuke's tray, and, while giving the weathered blonde a comforting shoulder-rub, says, "Can't you guys just...stop?"

"We're doing our best. We've been trying to parlay with the enemy, but every time we set so much as a foot out of the door, we're shot down. Literally." Kasanoda starts to say something else, but stops. "What did they do to Tamaki?"

Kyoya can't make out his face, but he can make out his body, propped up against the wall. This is just defying logic; Haruhi getting hurt should have snapped him out of it as well as a bucket of ice over his head.

Haruhi sighs. "Nothing. He got hit with an existential crisis, not a snowball."

"Um...Okay. Does he want to go sit down in the medical wing?"

"Yes, yes he does. Come on, Tamaki. Follow Kosuke."

Kosuke has to take Tamaki's hand and drag him along like one of her siblings about to fall asleep. She pauses in front of Kyoya and says, "Why don't you come, too?"

He's certainly not in need of medical attention, but if it will get him away from this nonsense? Kyoya follows.

The "medical wing" is actually the ballet studio with foam mats laid out as makeshift beds. Victims lay upon nearly all of them, looking near to death but probably just dealing with a few bruises. The ones hit in the chest and belly are groaning. One has his leg elevated atop his bookbag like a sling. Everyone else is either sleeping or staring up at the ceiling. The nurses—the students handing out hot drinks and towels and all coincidentally dressed in white coats—drift between them all.

They pass through the aisle, and Kyoya sees two people at one mat, one lying down and the other kneeling over them. They are holding each others' hands in a death grip, and combined with the vague strawberry blonde of their hair, Kyoya knows who they are before Kosuke asks, "How's he doing?"

"I'm—" Kaoru gives a pitiful cough. "I'm hanging in there."

"You're going to be okay," Hikaru promises in a voice as fragile as glass.

Kosuke shakes her head, and readjusts the bookbag cushioning Kaoru's head. "Poor thing. Hit right in the chest."

"And?"

Hikaru's glare stabs into him like a knife. "What do you mean, 'and'?!"

"He was only hit by a snowball."

Kaoru gives another cough. "It really hurt." At the same time, Hikaru spits, "So what are you here for, wise guy?!"

"Hey, hey! Enough of that. You're upsetting your brother." That shuts Hikaru up right away. Kosuke gestures behind her to two spare mats two sleeping bodies away. "You two go and lie down."

Kyoya props his back against the mirror-paneled wall, while Tamaki collapses face first and somehow doesn't break his nose. Beyond the coos of the nurses and the groans of the wounded, there are shouts and declarations as the troops plan their next attack. Someone is calling for a full siege, someone else calls for a parlay, and someone else calls for something so drastic a chorus of calm down follows.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and it makes his stomach plummet all the more. It's his father, so it might as well be an emergency PSA that a meteor is shooting straight for Japan, because the only time Yoshio Ootori sends text messages is when he is too busy to even speak.

Where are you?

You should have been here by now.

This is not acceptable.

His fingers tighten on it so strongly the screen seems like to crack—which, if Kyoya doesn't restrain himself from chucking it at the far wall, will be the worst of his problems.

Wait, that might be an idea. Kyoya activates every app, sets the brightness to maximum, anything to get the battery draining. He can come up with the excuse that he forgot to charge his phone last night. Granted, that could make things even worse—probably it'll do as much good as throwing some gasoline to a fire—but it might give him time to come up with a lie.

I could say that my professor wanted to speak to me after class, but depending on how long this goes on, that won't do any good. An emergency would be a reasonable excuse, but how would I explain that I didn't use someone else's phone to let him know?

"What are you doing?"

Tamaki asks, but it halfway to a coma. He isn't even looking at Kyoya.

"I'm trying to think of how to explain to my father why I'm not at work yet."

Tamaki flops over onto his back, a fish on dry land. "Tell him someone got hurt."

Outside of his "Operations" (Operation Haruhi and Hikaru's First Date, especially…) Tamaki does not encourage lying often, and not as bluntly as this. That inspires Kyoya even more than the actual words.

As much of a risk as it is, Kyoya texts back to his father, Tamaki was injured after class. I'm watching over him to make sure he is okay. I will explain later. He should throw in a few hundred apologies, but leaving them makes it seem more urgent. He sets his phone aside so he doesn't stare at it waiting for a reply.

"Kyoya?"

"Yes, Tamaki?"

"What's the meaning of life?"

I can't do this right now. "I don't know, Tamaki."

"You don't even have an opinion?"

Kyoya sighs. "I think we should live as we want to."

"So if you don't do the things you want, does that mean life is meaningless?"

"If that's the way someone chooses to see it, I suppose."

"What about animals? Do animals live to be happy? All they do is eat and sleep and care for their young. It's just survival."

"Are you equating humans with animals?"

"Are we not animals? What makes us better than the trout that swim the river, or the birds that drift the clouds? Is it because we are the only creatures capable of defining happiness? Or do all creatures know what gratification is, and humans see it on a grander scale than others? Are humans different because we crave knowledge even of the things we have no control over? Why do we bother studying the stars if we know we will never reach them? Some say humans are different because only we can produce art, images with meanings that we assign to them, but does the meaning of the creator matter more than the meaning interpreted by the viewer? If I say my life is meaningless, and you disagree, who is right and who is wrong? Do the trout think the birds are foolish for bothering with the clouds, and do the birds think the trout strange for not reaching higher?"

"This was your first day of philosophy?"

"Kyoya, I've been thinking about something."

"You need to stop."

"I am terrified that my life will be meaningless."

Split between annoyance and a fear that this is Tamaki in his death throes, Kyoya only asks, "Why?"

"I think I agree. I don't know if it's the meaning of life, but I think it's best to live a life that makes you happiest. The trout and the birds—"

"Yes, Tamaki, the trout and the birds."

"But what if you doubt that something will make you happy, but you go into it on a chance, and by the time you do it's too late? You realize that it isn't going to make you happy at all, but the door is closed. You can't leave. You have too many responsibilities. Then the years pass, and before you know it, you're old and gray and realizing you threw the one life you had to the wind?"

When Kyoya doesn't answer, Tamaki drags his gaze up to him.

"Say something."

"I'm not sure respond to that."

Tamaki folds his fingers over his chest. "Now that I'm my father's heir, I've been preparing to take over Suoh Enterprises. I thought that was what I wanted. It was a birthright I was denied for years; it's what I'm supposed to give my child, and my child's child."

"Now you're having doubts?"

Tamaki's head twitches—a nod. It stumps Kyoya. He would have noticed Tamaki's unhappiness sooner, surely he would have. His emotions are as easy to read as a children's book; Kyoya doesn't think he's ever managed to hide anything from him. Even when they just met, when Tamaki was just the new infuriating French student that Kyoya had to play nice with, he knew when Tamaki so casually explained he wasn't interested in his father's business that there was sadness tucked away behind his smile.

"Since when?" Kyoya asks. It's a bit of a selfish question.

"I think I always did, but I didn't know it. When I found out I could take over, I was happy, but not perfectly happy. I just thought I was still shocked, like it was too good to be true. But now...I'm thinking of what the rest of my life is going to be like. Sitting behind a desk. Signing papers. Attending meetings. It just doesn't feel right. So droll. It doesn't feel like me."

Ignoring a bit of offense, because Tamaki had just described Kyoya's job exactly, he asks, "What does?"

"I don't know." It clearly hurts his soul for him to say it. "I have to answer this humongous question of what will make my life happy and I don't have the answer. And even if I did, what am I supposed to do? Tell my father I changed my mind, and everything he did for me was for nothing? Ah, forget it. I forgot who I was talking to."

"What does that mean?"

"You're Kyoya. You've known what you've wanted your entire life."

Has he? That doesn't sound right.

When he was younger, he thought Ootori Medical was just something that would be his by default, by logic. He was sure he would be just as important as his father, just as he was sure he would eat breakfast the next morning.

He can't pinpoint the exact moment he learned otherwise; maybe it wasn't a moment at all, but a culmination. One day he noticed that the respect people gave his father and brothers was like a hors d'oeuvre platter, Yoshio taking the best, then his brothers, until there was nothing left for Kyoya but the scraps. Used to, when he was called the thirdborn son, he thought that was just a fact. He had black hair and he wore glasses and he was the thirdborn son. Then, when he woke up to the real world, he realized it was not just a descriptor—it was a condemnation.

So it could be that he didn't always want Ootori Medical, and only did when he was told he couldn't have it.

But, that doesn't matter. What matters is that he knows what he wants now.

"You know, Suoh Enterprises isn't going to be the one and only thing you're going to do for the rest of your life."

"It seems like it."

"Didn't you say you wanted to do something with animals? A sanctuary, or a vet?"

"Well, how am I supposed to do that when I'm running an entire corporation?"

"Tamaki, you and I both know at least a dozen people who do more than their family business." Tamaki tilts his head up to look at him upside-down. "They split ownership with a business partner, or they pick a day out of the week to dedicate to their other work. Do you think Renge is going to stop writing otome games when she inherits her father's company?"

This time, when Tamaki stares off into the distance, he's looking at something.

"Getting an animal sanctuary open will take some time, though," he says, but it's not with hopelessness.

"Then work something out with your father. It'll be a few years before you take over, anyway. That should give you enough time."

He doesn't jump up to his feet, but he does sit up, which is victory enough. He sits with his hands in his lap and his legs spread out, so long they go off the mat, looking pleasantly perplexed.

"Maybe so. I think I could do that." Tamaki pinches his chin between his fingers, mumbling his thoughts aloud. "I could work at the animal sanctuary on Fridays and Suoh Enterprises on the other days. I would need a business partner for when I'm not there, but I'm sure I could find one..."

While he mumbles on, Kyoya glances at his phone. It could have buzzed already without him noticing.

"Kyoya." Tamaki shuffles on the mat to face him, crossing legs and resting his wrists on his knees. "Do you have anything besides Ootori Medical you want to do?"

"No."

Tamaki frowns. "But you just said—"

"I said you could do something else if it would make you happy. I don't need anything else."

"Hm." A lightbulb pops over Tamaki's head, and he grins from ear to ear. He's back. "Hey, you could be the business partner for my animal sanctuary!"

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Fine." He folds his arms and pouts. "Guess you'll just have to miss out..."

He says nothing, but inside, Kyoya's pleased. He just hopes that this won't happen every time Tamaki goes to his existential crisis class.

Tamaki suddenly springs up to his feet, and bolts to the familiar blur approaching them. "Haruhi, are you okay? I'm so sorry for not asking sooner! You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. Sounds like you're doing a lot better, huh?"

"Kyoya helped me figure some things out."

"Speaking of..." Haruhi comes to him, her image sharpening until her outstretched hands seems to reach out from a fog. "Here, someone found them outside. But they're...kinda busted."

His glasses look fine—when he's not wearing them. He slides them on easily, the temples intact at least. Then he looks up at Haruhi Tamaki, crisp and clear and horribly fragmented. The right lens, the one that had been struck, has cracked into a spiderweb.

Getting them replaced isn't an issue. In fact, he has spares both at home and the office. But there is an issue. "Damn it..."

Tamaki and Haruhi's eyebrows go up. He hadn't just said it, he'd growled it, and Haruhi extends her hands like he's about to start swinging. "It's okay. You have spares, right?"

"Yes, I do." He takes deep breaths to calm himself down. He has to be in top condition until this hurricane passes; he can't collapse at something so trivial. "But I can't show up to work looking like this, can I?"

"Oh, that's right. You're supposed to be at the office now, aren't you? I'm sorry, Kyoya. I wish everyone would just calm down and realize how childish this is."

"I fail to see what's so childish about this," Tamaki sniffs. "What we saw firsthand was only a taste of the unforgiving war at hand. Personally, I'm eager to see those rapscallions on the other side of the battlefield fall! It would teach them a lesson."

"It's a snowball fight."

"It's a very dire snowball fight."

The doors fly open, cracking against the walls, and in rush four students in white coats carrying a wounded soldier on a gurney (which looks suspiciously like the curtains hanging from the windows). The poor soul is clutching his shoulder like a gunshot wound, and as the nurses ease him down onto a mat, Kosuke's voice calls out, "I need a cocoa, extra hot!"

Tamaki puts a hand over his heart, but Kyoya just bemoans that most of the people standing in this room are over twenty years old.

This time he does hear his phone buzz, but all he does is tuck it back into his pocket and stand to his feet. "Maybe everyone else is happy playing a children's game, but some of us are adults with responsibilities. I need to get out of here."

"But how?" asks Tamaki. "You step out there and you're done for!"

Kyoya looks over himself. There are wet patches on his coat and pants where the snow-shrapnel melted. Maybe he has spare glasses at the office, but not a spare closet.

Also, he'd rather go without another snowball headshot. "Where's Kasanoda?"

Haruhi points her thumb over her shoulder. "I think he went upstairs."

Kyoya finds him right off the third-floor landing, surrounded by his righthand men and women. He stands before a window overlooking the battlefield with a pair of binoculars pressed between his eyes and the glass. Where the binoculars came from, Kyoya doesn't know or care.

"Kasunoda. I'm not participating in this. How do I get out of here?"

"You're not the first to ask." Kasunoda clicks his tongue and adjusts the focus. "I don't know how they managed to get past our men—"

"And women," someone interjects.

"—and women, but they did, and they piled up so much snow against the only back doors of the building, you might as well try to open a brick wall."

Kyoya keeps one hand in his pocket so he can clench it without being noticed. His nails dig in so hard in his palm they could draw blood. "A window, then."

"All locked. Unless you want to break one and damage school property."

"So when does this end, exactly?" Kyoya comes forward, and like bodyguards, two students step between him and Kasunoda. And then they immediately step out of the way when Kyoya gives them a look. Kasunoda still doesn't take his eyes away from the binoculars. "Are the rest of us just trapped here until you and whoever started this grow up?"

"Hey, I didn't start this. I was just the same as you until I was democratically elected to be the general."

"He carried ten wounded on his back like it was nothing!" One of his cadets wipes away tears forming in her eyes. "You'll never meet a man so brave!"

"Just tell me how I can leave."

"We're trying, alright? I get that there are people who just want to go home already. We've got to make sure it's safe for you guys."

"And you're going to do that by staring out the window?"

"Our scouts have received intel that the enemy has acquired a new weapon."

"Let me guess. Snowballs slightly bigger than the ones you've been throwing."

"Possibly. They haven't responded to any of our attempts at contact yet. I'm not letting any innocents out there until we know...know..." Kasunoda finally looks up, and his eyes are brimming with terror. "Have mercy...!"

At the enemy's camp, a troop is pushing the moon itself across the ground. It stands wider and taller than any man, maybe even bigger than the whole troop combined. Just looking at it, everyone in the room feels their bones creak under its weight. They can imagine the flash of white, the all-consuming cold, that would precede the end. The farther it's pushed, the larger, the deadlier, it grows. It is nothing short of a colossus, and it looks hungry.

One of Kasunoda's soldiers lets out a shuddering breath. "What...What is that thing?"

Kasunoda swallows thickly. "Doomsday."

A phone rings—Kasunoda's. The cheery little sound sucks all the air out of the room, and in the silence between its end and Kasunoda's answer, the drop of a pin would sound explosive.

"Hello."

"Hey there, General. I guess you've already seen our magnum opus, haven't you?"

Kasunoda never takes his eyes off the titan snowball. It now stands still and seems to stare right back at him. "Some of these troops...They're only children."

"Oh, I never wanted it to come this far. You've left me no choice. Now, if you could only hand over the one who started all of this, maybe you can sway me."

"For the last time, it was snow that fell off a tree branch. Everyone saw it."

"Everyone on your side. Everyone over here knows the truth. AH-TEN-TION! Soldiers! Was it a tree branch?"

On the other side of the line there's a grumbled chorus of "no, General, sir."

"I SAID WAS IT A TREE BRANCH."

A very loud, very terrified chorus of "NO, GENERAL, SIR."

"See? Now, it's come to my attention that you've been trying to get some civilians out of here. I'm not a monster; I'd be happy to let them go. But it'll be for a price."

Kyoya knows that voice.

He snatches the phone out of Kasunoda's hand.

"Renge, let us out of here."

"Oh, Kyoya!" The deep, gravelly voice Renge had put on disappears in an instant, back to her usual chipper sing-song. "I didn't know you were over there. How are you doing?"

"Not well. I'm late for work. Just let me leave without pelting me. One of you already broke my glasses."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Collateral damage isn't my goal. Unfortunately, since you decided to join the enemy, I can't trust you to not try something once you're out."

"Then have some of your men escort me."

"I'm willing to do that. For the price."

"Renge, if you don't even know who threw the snowball at you, how do you know they aren't over there?"

She pauses.

"Please give the phone back to Kasunoda."

Kasunoda snatches it back, giving Kyoya a dirty look and answering, "Me again."

"Good. Wait, hang on." She clears her throat for her gravelly voice. "Now. Here's how this is going to work. You're going to give me the person who ruined my hair that I spent two hours styling this morning, and in return, we're going to let your innocents go. Any funny business, and Armaggedon comes rolling. Thirty minutes."

She hangs up. A soldier comes forward, wringing her hands. "What are we going to do, General?"

Kasanoda does not answer. He puts his phone back into his pocket and walks away, head hanging as though heavy on his neck but back held straight.

In his wake, the soldiers whisper and fret. Kyoya heads back downstairs before he bashes his head through the window.

The "civilians," about ten in total, are instructed to gather in the foyer of the building. They shuffle on their feet and bite their lips. One calls her parents to send her love. Kosuke keeps reaching into her collar to pull out a heart-shaped locket containing photos of Minami and Hitsuji—which Kyoya had no idea she owned—and stare at their frozen smiles with a longing heart. Kaoru leans against his brother, still clutching his wound and breathing heavily.

Haruhi shakes her head at them both. "Don't you think you're being dramatic?"

"Look what they did to me!" Kaoru pulls down his sweater just enough to show his battle scar: about the size of a quarter, and a very, very faint pink. "I was lucky to survive the first time!"

Tamaki stands closest to the doors, as though his courage will calm the others. Kyoya steps a bit closer to him to get away from the twins bickering with Haruhi about how Kaoru "could have died," and Tamaki says, "This is so harrowing. It almost makes me want to stay behind and help."

"That makes one of us."

"Wasn't Ootori Medical like this last year, too?" Tamaki taps a finger on his chin. "It was so chaotic and stressful. Did you bring up your concerns like you said you would?"

Kyoya looks at him sharply through the broken lens of his glasses. "When did I say I would?"

"Well...Maybe you didn't. But you had so many ideas of how it could be done better, I thought you were going to bring them up to your father eventually."

"If I said I knew how to do things 'better,' then I shouldn't have. My father wouldn't be half as successful as he is if his ideas could be 'better.'"

"Hm. Maybe I'm misremembering. But is it chaotic?"

Kyoya prays for the doors to open, but they don't. "We have to prepare for this year's work while finishing up last year's. More work does not make an emergency."

"You've always handled stress really well. I don't think I could keep up at half your pace if I was working at Ootori Medical. You're lucky. You've known what you've wanted for so long and you thrive at it."

Kyoya doesn't say anything—he doesn't want to give Tamaki any new ideas like the ones that he'd just dismissed. He wouldn't say that he's thriving, but he's not supposed to be. This is supposed to be grueling. He's supposed to be exhausted. Proving that he can pull through it means proving that he is worthy enough to work right alongside his brothers one day.

Like always, this thought is followed by another: But what if Father never lets me? Like always, he ignores it.

"Thank you for your help, Kyoya." Two of the soldiers are shuffling around the door, so Tamaki keeps his face ahead, but he's smiling with gratitude. "You always have the answers."

It's disappointing, to feel the spark in his chest again. It's a relief it isn't a fire anymore, but still. It's there. And Kyoya thought he was over it.

Now the doors open.

Almost single-file, they are led back into the cold. The wind has picked up—Kyoya keeps his bare hands stuffed into his pockets. The snow crunches underneath their boots, but otherwise there's a deathly silence. One could almost hear the hearts beating in their chests.

Armageddon still stands. Some gasp at the sight. Kyoya thinks someone is crying.

There are eight soldiers escorting them outside. Kasanoda leads the way; no one had even noticed him join. Other soldiers stand along the battlements, snowballs locked and loaded but carefully out of sight. Across the battlefield, the enemy forces stare right back at them. Everyone watches everyone else with such hatred and distrust—Haruhi says just what Kyoya is thinking: "Tomorrow's going to be an awkward day of school..."

Flanked by two guards, Renge appears at the top of the battlement, face like a General but body like a...winter fairy, near as Kyoya can tell. Frilly white coat, flowing sleeves, blue and white sparkles everywhere. Her hair has been oh so very meticulously styles into thousands of ringlets studded with little diamonds.

Oh, so that's why she was so angry about being hit. Cosplay.

"So glad you all could join us!" Renge's voices is crisp in the silence. "Though it's so disappointing to see so many of my friends working against me. And you, Reiko. Working against your darling dearest. I would have never expected."

"Hi, Reiko!" At the end of the battlement, Hani's arm waves overhead. Some of Kasunoda's men brace, but stop when they catch sight of Mori, standing at Hani's side. "I didn't know you were over there!"

"Nor was I!" It's very strange, hearing Reiko's voice above a whisper. "Please forgive me!"

"It's okay!"

"Enough!" Reiko's bark makes even Haruhi jump. "I'll keep my word if you keep yours, Kasanoda. Give us the one who started all of this!"

They all look at one another, but no one steps forward. Even the soldiers are glancing around, wondering who it will be.

Kasanoda steps forward.

"It was me!"

Gasps. Exclamations. One "Really?!" and a crushed "He's sacrificing himself!" Tamaki clutches an invisible pearl necklace.

Renge is unsatisfied, however. Even so far away, Kyoya can see her raise a brow. "I find that hard to believe. You may have the face of a thug, but you'd never strike someone for no reason."

"It was an accident," Kasanoda calls back. "One of my friends threw a snowball at me first. I threw one back, but missed and hit you instead."

This is not true. More than one person mumbles and sighs that it really was a tree branch.

"So why didn't you say so sooner instead of dragging this out?"

"I was embarrassed. And, if I'm being honest, this has been kind of fun."

"It has. I guess I can believe that. Now, can I get an apology for ruining my hair?"

Hikaru grumbles that her hair looks perfectly fine, but Kasanoda answers dutifully: "I'm very sorry I ruined your hair, Renge. You worked very hard on it."

"Two hours, a can of hairspray, fifty diamond studs, and a burn to the neck from my curling iron. I dress like this because it makes me happy, and you ruined it for me. Which is why I will have retribution. Come forward."

Kasanoda obeys. One of his soldiers starts to run after him, but he's held back. People hold their breaths and each other's hands as Kasanoda walks further and further away, veering to the left at Range's demand.

Kyoya realizes what's going to happen just as Tamaki gasps, "Oh, no...!"

"Paying this price for your friends is very noble." Renge glides away from Armageddon as her men and women come to it, preparing it for the descent. "But it's still a price to pay, and I don't envy you."

"Renge, please!" Tamaki cups her hands around her mouth and calls. "Your hair still looks fantastic!"

"Two hours! A can of hairspray! Fifty diamond studs! Burned!"

Kosuke hides her eyes behind her mittens. "I can't watch!"

She's not the only one who turns away. Even Kyoya feels tempted, but he keeps watching with a morbid curiosity as Kasanoda stands his ground, only moving to take his cap off his head and hold it in front of his heart. Several are crying now. Kasanoda's troops salute in solidarity. Kyoya is grateful to Kasanoda for his sacrifice. He also wishes it would hurry up already.

When Armageddon begins to move, someone sobs. It is slow at first, creeping forward, crawling up the swell of the battlement, as if to savor its kill. Finally, when it crests, it descends and picks up speed. It gallops for Kasanoda, descending on its prey, rumbling like a train and moving faster. Kasanoda is merely a bug, and like many bugs will soon be reduced to a smear on the ground. It is a noble end, but an end nonetheless. And he's still so young. Such a long life ahead of him, snuffed out by snow.

But here's the thing about snowballs:

You can make them big. You can pack them tight. At the end of the day, it is just a snowball.

So, when Armegeddon hits something—maybe nothing more than a bump or a tree root—it falls apart.

The giant orb of death rolling to end Kasanoda's life crumbles to powder ten feet away from him. The worst Kasanoda gets is a bit of snow on his boots. Doomsday is reduced to a pile of fluff.

For a minute, it's quiet.

Someone coughs.

Now what?

Renge answers. "Alright, we're just going to have to make a new one."

Kasanoda puts his cap back on. "How long will it take?"

"An hour? Maybe more."

"Absolutely not." Kyoya pushes back the guards. "I've been here long enough."

A snowball lands at his feet—a warning. Renge's troops have their ammo raised now, and so do Kasanoda's. There is so much tension in the air it's a physical pressure on everyone's chests.

Haruhi waves her arm. "Renge, can we please go now?"

"Fine. Get out of here."

The group moves as one to leave, but another snowball lands—this time right on Tamaki's toe. It's someone from Renge's side, but no one can tell who—all they hear is his voice calling, "No way! You don't get to just walk away!"

Haruhi barks back at him, "We were just trying to leave. You guys attacked us!"

"Not you, him!" Probably he points. Kyoya still can't see him. "He threw a snowball at my throat!"

Hikaru spits, "Only because you knocked the wind out of my brother!"

"I hit your brother because he hit my girlfriend!"

"I wasn't aiming for your girlfriend. I was aiming for whoever it was in the red hat."

"What?!" A red hat pops up on the battlement. "Why?"

"You were going to hit Kosuke when her back was turned!"

"No, I wasn't! I was aiming for Reiko! She hit me in the stomach!"

Silence. Everyone turns to Reiko. She tilts her head, confused. "Isn't the point of a snowball fight that you throw snowballs at other people?"

Someone shouts, and someone shouts back, and everyone is shouting at everyone else, you-did-this and you-did-that. Fingers are pointed and arms are waved, but no snowballs are flying yet—and the path outside, to freedom, are so close but so far away from Kyoya. If he moves, he knows that will be it. It will pull the pin on the grenade.

A hand shoves into his shoulder.

"It's anarchy, Kyoya. Run! Run while you still can!"

Kyoya runs, and hell breaks loose a second time.

Miraculously, he makes it to the gate with only one hit to the leg. The second he's on the other side, he's completely forgotten about. He can watch the scene from afar. It's a painting in motion. Snowballs flying, people racing, bodies hitting the ground. Renge cries mutiny, almost gets struck to the face, and runs for her life. Someone closes in on Kaoru, and Hikaru tackles them from behind. Kosuke tries to tell them all to calm down—until she's hit in the shoulder; then she fires back so hard her assailant almost flips in the air.

Kyoya only goes back to grab a hold of Haruhi, stumbling her way over. He just narrowly comes out unharmed; Haruhi's coat is dusted in snow.

They look back to Tamaki. He's dragging a fallen soldier back by his underarms, and once safe behind the battlement he starts firing with both hands.

It's all quite horrifying, but it is still just a snowball fight.

"Wow," Haruhi says. "They're really losing it."

Kyoya had taken his hands out of his pockets while he ran. Now, putting them back, he feels his phone against his palm. What Yoshio has sent him doesn't even matter anymore. He needs to go and he needs to go now.

"I'll see you later."

"Okay. Hey, thanks for helping Tamaki. He really needed it."

"You're welcome."

The chauffer explains that he'd waited for Kyoya, but after ten minutes with no sign of him, he'd thought maybe he'd gotten the day wrong. Kyoya just gives his apologies—turned away to hide his broken glasses.

Finally, he's free. Free from an anarchy that only kept going because no one wants to listen...

...and free to go into an anarchy that only keeps going because no one wants to listen.

More than thirty years he's been doing this. If it's not broken, don't fix it.

This might be the root of all Kyoya's troubles. He got it into his head that once his 'apprenticeship' was over, he was going to be a whirlwind of change to Ootori Medical. He would finally go from watching on the sidelines to leaving an impact.

More likely, this is it. This may be no different in ten years, twenty years, thirty. Kyoya will dread the new year and the needless disorder and want to change things but never will. All this time it seemed that his brothers were far, far above him. Now Kyoya thinks the only difference is where they sit at the conference tables.

It's illogical, but he'd hoped for and dismissed the same idea. He'd wanted there to be applause and confetti when his apprenticeship was complete, but he'd known there would only be a few finalizing signatures.

Kyoya wants this. Years and years Kyoya has wanted this, has revolved his life around this, has built the future on this. Even if it there was an iota of a chance that this was not true, well, he wanted to know he hadn't wasted his time a lot more.

He finally looks at his phone. He doesn't read the words, but he gets the idea. He's in trouble. Yoshio is going to tear him to pieces. If Kyoya doesn't convince him otherwise—and probably he won't—this will be the worst thing Kyoya has done since starting. Yoshio might have even suspended him, if he didn't need all hands on deck.

It doesn't upset him. He's been upset for the past few hours and now he just doesn't care.

On the drive to the office, he falls asleep. He forgets to call someone to get his glasses for him, and so he walks half-blind into the building, wandering for his office.

Chapter Summary:

Kyoya is being worn thin at Ootori Medical as the company tries to catch up on their end-of-year work. While leaving class to go to work one morning, he, Haruhi, and Tamaki are caught in a snowball war. They are rescued by one side of the conflict, led by Kasanoda acting as the general. After the first philosophy class of the semester, Tamaki is questioning what he wants to do with his life, and has a talk with Kyoya about it. Kyoya's advice helps, but Tamaki pointing out that joining Ootori Medical has been Kyoya's life goal shakes him. After negotiating with the enemy (Renge) Kyoya and the other "civilians" are led outside to escape, but another battle breaks out. Kyoya manages to escape and heads back to work, feeling more reluctant about it than usual.