Chapter 10
She had to admit the night was going well. Almost too well. People were responding quite positively. Art critics had come around to say hello, acknowledging the curated collection with a nod of approval. Nami had informed her of the bids that were being made. A great start with promising results. Kiyoko had been swept into conversations with varying guests every few minutes. She could hardly keep track of the time.
The burly man approached her during one of the few seconds after she had finished a conversation with someone. He must have been a security guard – having dressed in the same manner as them all. It was barely a moment that she had to herself before he whispered in her ear. She caught a whiff of the cigarette smoke that lingered in the fabric of his jacket.
"There's a package for you," he informed.
"From who?" Kiyoko asked, her eyes narrowed. What an odd thing to occur. A package? At this hour? It couldn't have been from the regular parcel service.
"They said you would know," the security guard replied cryptically.
"Where is it?" Kiyoko looked around, not seeing anything by the entrance of the gallery. A creeping feeling of suspicion began bubbling in her chest. Of course, it was naive of her to expect things to go so well on a night like this. Something was wrong.
"Outside," the man responded. He provided her with only what he seemed to know. Just the bare minimum. Kiyoko eyed the man, wondering if he was lying. Her gut told her that he wasn't but he certainly was not telling her all of what was happening. Kiyoko quietly slipped into the shadows and grabbed her coat to follow the man through the emergency exit, down the staircase to an alley beside the parking garage for the building.
"What did they look like?" her voice was sharp, now that they were far from the crowds. She demanded to know.
"Like us. Like they had been hired to do the job," the man answered curtly, leading her to the package of interest. The pair stood over a box that had been left outside in the cold, at the corner away from the entrance of the gallery.
"And they just left me a box?" Kiyoko kicked the object with her black leather Dior boots, letting it teeter over to its side. She wondered if it was fragile. All that was heard was a thump. Apparently it wasn't fragile, after all. It seemed heavy given how loud the thump had been against the pavement.
"They called it a gift," the security guard corrected.
Kiyoko scoffed. "Pfft, some gift," she rolled her eyes. Kiyoko knew better than to let curiosity get the best of her. "Get rid of it," she ordered. Throw it in the dumpster. Better yet, burn it, she wanted to add. But starting a fire in the middle of the city didn't seem like the brightest idea.
The man grabbed her arm forcefully. "You should open it," he warned with a low growl.
She looked up at the security guard and put the pieces together in a fraction of a second. He wasn't part of her security team. Shit, she fell for the oldest trick in the book. His hand wrapped around her arm with an extra squeeze, readying himself to twist her bones apart.
"How much did they pay you to work for them? And how dare you think you could threaten me? Let go," Kiyoko demanded with piercing eyes. His grip loosened immediately with a growl. He glared at her, mirroring the same expression on her face.
"I don't want to hurt you, Hibayashi-san," he spoke slowly, trying to reason with her. "Open the box," he urged again.
The gallerist made her movements unhurried and calculated as she crouched down to the box that she had kicked over. She donned her pair of gloves to which the man raised an eyebrow at. It must have seemed like an odd thing to do before opening the present.
"I'm cold," she casually explained, brushing off the action like it was a natural thing to do. Kiyoko knew better than to leave fingerprints on a suspicious package. Her fingers gripped the lid of the bowed box – the sort of giftwrapping you would get at a high-end store, familiar to any of the rich and elite. Kiyoko slowly lifted up the lid to reveal a black leather bag covered in tissue paper – a designer bag that must have costed thousands.
"Why?" she asked him plainly, unimpressed. She could buy any kind of designer bag she wanted. And quite frankly, the security guard did not make enough to grovel out that kind of money on such frivolous things. The bag wasn't from him.
"There's more," he insisted her to continue.
"I don't want it," Kiyoko stood from the ground, swiftly. "Tell them I don't want it," she repeated with her voice firm. Whoever they were, Kiyoko wanted no part of it.
"Look inside," the man demanded. He stood a solid foot taller than her, his shoulders and frame were enough to crush her. He stepped closer to intimidate the woman. Kiyoko kept her posture tall and unafraid. There was no way that she could physically beat the man, but at the very least she could hold up a mental fight against him.
"What is so important that I have to look inside it?" Kiyoko questioned calmly.
"Just look inside," he was growing impatient, closing the gap between them. The woman didn't flinch. What the fuck was wrong with her? Didn't she see that he could break her neck with a quick snap of his arm?
"Tell me what is inside," she commanded without breaking eye contact.
"You'll like it," he smiled sinisterly. "More so than what I could do with this," he held out a switchblade. It shined beneath the artificial yellow twinge of the industrial light fixture. Kiyoko could tell that it was dull. She knew sharp blades when she saw it. "Like I said, I don't want to hurt you." It was a pretty poor attempt at negotiating, at least by Kiyoko's standards.
"Then don't," Kiyoko retorted. The man dangled the blade between his fingers, swinging it casually. She stared blankly, still unflinching. He'd have to really stab her to make a dent, she thought to herself. And even then, he'd have to go through a couple layers of her clothes – Kiyoko was suddenly thankful that it was cold. She raised her eyebrow at the thought of being stabbed in a dark alleyway. What a way to go. Truly, the end of her life was after throwing a successful exhibition with millions of dollars in her bank account. A shame to have the government inherit most of her riches. But then again, it wouldn't be so easy to kill her. Kiyoko knew that much.
"I hope I don't have to," he answered with a tilt in his head. "You're pretty."
"You think I'm pretty," she repeated monotonously, unimpressed.
"You might not be so pretty after I cut your face," he held the knife closer to her, only inches away from her chin. "Open the bag," the man slowly repeated. "I won't ask again."
He held the blade to graze against her skin to show her that he wasn't kidding. The ice-cold metal nearly made her flinch at the touch. But as she suspected, it was a blunt knife, her skin stretched at the tip but didn't break. Kiyoko looked down to the box without moving her head. Moving her head against the knife was probably not the best idea. She made sure that he saw her eyes move, intending to get to the box that had been so nicely wrapped.
"You're in my way," she gritted out.
"Ah, my apologies," he politely said as he stepped a few inches back, understanding that he was indeed the obstacle. He crouched down with her, ensuring that the knife was no more than few inches away from her face at all times. Kiyoko eyed the blade cautiously before her fingers gripped the edges of the leather bag to open the flap.
She tilted the inside of the bag toward the dim light. Literal stacks of 20 dollar bills wrapped neatly with a band. She counted at least 10 wads of them. They were crisp American dollars. She hadn't seen stacks of cash like this since—
"Hey!" a voice interrupted.
"Looks like your knight in shining armor is here," the man chuckled lowly. He took out a card from his jacket pocket and threw it in the leather bag before jumping up. "Bye, pretty lady." He winked at her and he jogged off into the darkness, leaving through a door that led to an adjacent building. The waft of cigarette smoke was the only trace of him left.
Kiyoko's gloved fingers fished out the card to examine it. An address. A date. No phone number. Handwritten. She squinted and held it against the light – was there anything else? Anything that might have bled through? Kiyoko listened to the steps grow closer coupled with the panting of the man who had run over to her. He filled in the silent emptiness by accompanying the buzz of light in the alleyway. She looked up from the leather bag and glared with the same piercing eyes she gave the man who ran off.
"You're supposed to be inside," Kiyoko scolded when she recognized who had come to interrupt. He was in the midst of catching his breath, still in shock to find her so calm and collected.
"I just saved you from an assailant," the man raised his voice. Not even a thank you from the woman could be uttered? How rude.
"I didn't need saving," Kiyoko snapped. She shook her head, clearly annoyed by his presence instead of being grateful. As if saving anyone was as simple as yelling one word and running over. He wasn't a hero – he did the bare minimum. Kyouya carefully observed Kiyoko as she eyed the card with furrowed brows between her gloved fingers before tossing it back in the bag. What did that card say? He squinted but wasn't able to make out anything important.
Kiyoko packed the bag away with the tissue paper that had been delicately wrapped around the handbag in the first place, fast enough for the Ootori not to register what it was. He was too focused in trying to read her expression – wondering if she was alright. The shadows of the alley cloaked her expression from him while her hands quickly placed the bow back onto the thick cardboard box like it had never been opened. Kiyoko had watched it done many times when she bought high-end clothing herself. She rose from the ground without a word. Her eyes were blank, lips pursed tightly.
Kyouya stood there speechless. She recovered from the whole ordeal like it were a simple errand. Like ordering a coffee or cashing a cheque at the bank. She glossed over him as if he didn't exist. Recovering from being threatened at knife point was apparently as simple as any of those tasks.
"What happened?" the Ootori pressed. He tried to look at her face for anything – any kind of indication. A raise in the eyebrow. A twitch in her lips. Narrowed eyes. But all he saw was a blank stare. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she answered, brushing him off immediately. She looked down at the non-descript box and tucked it under her arm coolly. Kiyoko began walking towards the parking garage, leaving the man behind without another word. It was time to go home. What a night it had been. She needed to be alone. She needed to think.
"What the hell, Kiyoko? What enemies do you have that they're threatening you with a knife?" he yelled. The words echoed through the concrete of the underground lot. Her steps did not relent as her heels answered his echoes. There was nothing to explain. She couldn't, even if she tried.
"Crazy attracts crazy," she muttered to herself. She didn't have to project her voice too far when the walls did it for her. She didn't care if he heard her. Kiyoko gave a small wave without turning around. One arm held the box against her hip while the other gloved hand held the keys of her car. She hoped he would leave her alone – maybe he was spooked by it all, as any regular person should be. Kyouya ran up to her before she was able to drive off. Kyouya Ootori was not a regular person.
"I've had a long night," Kiyoko told him evenly. He should have taken the hint to leave her alone but Kyouya stood in front of her car at the passenger side, unrelenting. She walked over to the trunk, dumping the box into the compartment. What the fuck was she going to do with that? She cursed at it inwardly, shutting the back of her car with an angry slam.
"What's in there?" Kyouya wanted to know. The man just wanted to know everything. Why was he so nosy? Kiyoko wanted to call him a gossiping aunt to annoy the hell out of him. Maybe it would shut him up.
"A gift," she answered nonchalantly instead. A gift that would probably keep on giving, she thought.
"What the fuck is in there that someone would hold you at knifepoint to open it?" He tried again, his voice growing angrier by the second. Kyouya was getting frustrated. He was trying to help. Why couldn't she see that?
"If I told you, you'd probably end up getting killed," Kiyoko replied. It was the hill she was determined to die on. Literally die – if tonight's events had unfolded differently. She refused to say a word about what had happened, burying it under the guise of indifference.
"You don't have the capacity to kill," the Ootori called her bluff.
"Says who?" She raised an eyebrow at him daringly. Kiyoko held a blank stare and refused to show any trace of emotion on her face. She was even better than him at keeping up a façade.
He couldn't answer her question but his hesitation was long enough for Kiyoko to unlock her car. She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Kyouya followed in suit on the passenger side right before Kiyoko could lay her fingers on the lock button on the side of her door. He won the race with triumph.
"Get out of my car," Kiyoko growled. She coldly demanded it with her eyes and pointed towards the door.
"Tell me what's going on," Kyouya pressed, turning his body towards her instead of the door, doing the complete opposite of what she wanted.
The woman sighed. "Go home," she evaded his question again.
"I'm trying to help!" the Ootori raised his voice at her, exasperated at the fact that she kept refusing.
"So am I," Kiyoko responded calmly. Couldn't he see she was trying to help him too? There was no need to get anyone else involved. Nothing good would come out of this. At the very least, she could keep the Ootori blissfully unaware – living in his bubble of privilege forever. He was losing his marbles trying to understand her but there was no need for such a thing. Especially not after tonight.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the Ootori shouted, as if trying to scream some sense into her. The car gave them privacy. No one was able to hear him lose his cool at her. She wasn't even the least bit shaken up, not even by him raising his voice at her. She blinked as if it were a regular occurrence. Raising one's voice did not make Kiyoko flinch – if anything, it just made her more likely to roll her eyes.
The Hibayashi shrugged. "I come from a long line of mentally deranged people," she reminded him. A childhood of people raising their voices, using violence, and a plethora of other instances that were certainly not typical of a regular domestic lifestyle. "Go home, Ootori-san. I'm fine," Kiyoko reverted back to her formal speech.
"That's fucking impossible," he refused to believe it. How could anyone be fine after that?
"It's possible," Kiyoko assured. "It's not the first time I've been held at knifepoint."
"What?" Kyouya massaged his temple, trying to process the information. He ran a hand through his hair before pinching his nose. A headache began forming at the back of his head. He sighed while listing through the facts. There had to be a logical explanation to this.
She was held at knifepoint over something in a box. The contents of it are unknown, except for a card with some writing on it. She recovered from the knife against her bare neck without blinking an eye. It wasn't her first time being held at knifepoint. Who was she?
"Are you a criminal?" the Ootori concluded.
"No, I pay my taxes," Kiyoko responded without missing a beat, almost amused by the accusation. Tax evasion was the first thing that came to her mind. The most common crime amongst the rich and elite, next to probably soliciting prostitutes. Was she really that terrifying that she seemed like a criminal? She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that thought.
He stared at her, still trying to read her. Kiyoko leaned against the driver's seat and took a deep breath.
"I've had a long night," she repeated again. Her voice bordered on the line of begging him. "Please let me go home. Let me take a long shower. Let me sleep."
"As if you're getting any sleep tonight," Kyouya muttered. The woman carried burdens on her shoulders that did not let her sleep – he knew that much. He recognized fatigue in her eyes – he looked the same when he looked in the mirror.
"Touché," Kiyoko's lips twisted upwards. She never really got a lot of sleep to begin with – with or without being assaulted. "Then at least let me process what happened tonight," she confessed quietly. She needed to think. She needed to think long and hard about that box in the back of her car. What the hell was she going to do with it? Why was it given to her?
"What happened?" Kyouya asked again. Maybe now she would crack. Her voice seemed softer. Maybe if he just tried again…
"You saw what happened." She didn't crack. He should have known better.
"You have no idea what's happening either," he realized. "If you need time to process…" he finally figured out at least one part of the puzzle. "Kiyoko, just let me try to help."
"No," she refused, not even confirming the fact that he was correct. Kiyoko herself had no idea what was happening. But at the very least, it wasn't good. "Don't you have work tomorrow?" she changed the topic, trying to get him to leave her car.
"It's Sunday," Kyouya deadpanned.
"So?" Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. As if weekends stopped him from working. It certainly didn't stop her from working.
"Whatever," he mumbled. "Let me at least make sure you get home alright," he offered.
"I can drive home." They were in her car after all. It made sense for her to drive home already. She was a true test of patience for him.
"What if they know where you live?" Kyouya shot back.
Kiyoko pursed her lips. The man really had a knack for getting on her nerves and getting her paranoid. She had multiple properties around the city but she only stayed in one. Moving because of this one incident seemed like an overreaction. And besides, they would have been able to find her eventually. She gulped at the thought, hoping that the Ootori didn't see her split second of weariness.
"I think I'm more valuable alive than dead," Kiyoko responded confidently. It was mostly said to comfort herself. It made sense after replaying the events through her mind over a few moments. If he wanted to stab her – he could've and he really should've. But he didn't. He continuously egged her on instead.
"What…" Kyouya shook his head in disbelief, staring wide-eyed at the woman who showed zero fear. Was she just stupid? "Do you hear yourself, Kiyoko? You could have nearly died if it wasn't for me."
"But I didn't," she pointed out. "I had it handled without you," Kiyoko added with an eye roll, dismissing his heroic feat as more of a nuisance than anything.
"As if," Kyouya scoffed. Couldn't the woman just thank him for saving her? Was it so hard to utter a thank you? "I came right on time."
"Actually," Kiyoko shook her head and sighed. "You didn't." If he hadn't interrupted – at the very least, she would have known what to do with that card. What did it all mean? She could have asked more questions. Gotten more information. Who was behind all of this? But instead, the attacker ran off before she could even get to the bottom of it. Kyouya came at the worst possible time.
"You could have died," Kyouya reminded.
"Once again, I would like to point out that I am still alive," she stared back. She was alive and breathing. Kiyoko wasn't sure if it was a good thing anymore.
"Does death not scare you?" the Ootori narrowed his eyes. What was wrong with her? He couldn't quite decide whether to be afraid or impressed.
"Does it scare you?" she smiled at him, taunting the Ootori.
"Shut up," Kyouya muttered, hating the fact that she reveled in a weakness she had spotted. "It's a human instinct." It was everyone's weakness – how could you not feel at least a bit of fear when your life was being threatened?
"I'm a monster, remember?" A sly smile made its way on her lips. As if to tell him that she was a different species. Untamed. Beastly beneath all the money that she wore. She was not one to be reckoned with.
"You're not," he denied.
"Then what am I?" Kiyoko raised an eyebrow in mockery at him.
He stayed silent. As what she expected from him. The woman pressed onto the brake pedal and started the car with a push of a button. The ignition started, lighting up the entire car. She unlocked the door with the clicking as an indication that it was time for him to leave. He knew it too – Kiyoko was never going to be someone who he could have under his thumb, no matter what he tried.
"Go home, Kyouya," Kiyoko urged.
"How do I know you've made it home safe?" the concern in his voice was more apparent than he wanted it to be.
"I'll be alright," she reassured. "I'm more valuable alive than dead, remember?" It felt better when she said it out loud. She could believe it – at least she could pretend to. He should too. It was a logical assumption. Right?
"This is not funny," he muttered, not finding her last statement to be amusing.
Kiyoko relented by taking off her Chanel gloves and reached for her phone in her pocket. She needed him to get out of her car somehow. Her fingers unlocked the device and handed it over to him with an empty contact screen. "I'll text you," she promised.
"And then you'll change your number," Kyouya scoffed. He knew her well enough that she preferred being untraceable to anyone, not even him who had a knack of finding even the smallest details of anyone he wanted to.
Kiyoko smiled. He was getting better at this. She had to give him credit for catching on. "I hope you don't change yours then," she softly said. He snatched the phone off her thin fingers and quickly typed in his contact information without complaint.
"I won't," he promised her while handing back the black phone in one swift motion. Her fingers grazed against his for a brief moment, her dark red nails barely hovered over the skin of his palm. She tried not to linger, letting him go with a nod of reassurance. He pried his eyes away from hers reluctantly, taking what he could get and stepped out of the vehicle.
"Wait," she called out for him before he shut the door. In a flick of a switch, her expression softening into a fearful glance. "Stay safe," Kiyoko murmured while her eyes begged of him to do what she asked. How could she even ask him to stay safe when she was the one in danger?
All he could do was nod back before shutting the door.
His phone buzzed half an hour later as he pulled up to the doors of the Ootori mansion. He exhaled in relief when he saw the preview on his lock screen. It was nearly midnight by now but his brain had been wired to stay awake for at least a good portion of the night. He settled into his empty wing of the mansion, immediately loosening his tie and taking off his jacket. Kyouya looked at his phone again.
Home – K
His fingers didn't want to swipe the notification away from the screen. He looked at the number closely. The area code was not Tokyo. Where the fuck was she? Didn't she live in Tokyo? She must have – she did business in Tokyo, didn't she?
He took off his tie and rolled up his sleeves. His fingers instinctively tapped the call button – as if needing to confirm it for himself. It took a couple rings before she answered.
"What? A text wasn't enough?" Kiyoko picked up without a greeting.
"Just confirming," he smoothly answered. "The area code of your number isn't Tokyo."
"Hm," she hummed. He could hear water splashing in the background. She must have been in the bathroom. "How observant," he could hear the sarcasm dripping in her voice. All he had to do was look at her number to figure it out. It wasn't entirely impressive.
"Don't change your number," he murmured. It wasn't an ask, or a command. It was a polite request. Now he didn't have to keep going to events to have to try to see her, to meet her, to even talk to her for a handful of minutes. "Please," he added, as if the word would magically convince her.
"I'm home safe," she told him, reminding him that the purpose of having her number had now been completed. There was no point in holding onto it.
"Did you take the long shower you wanted?" Kyouya asked casually. The swoosh of the water trickled over to the other line.
There was a pause. The Ootori immediately wanted to hit his head against the wall – already knowing that the woman was probably amused on the other side, dissecting the question he asked into something that he would have regretted asking. She had a knack for that – getting under his skin. She was the only person who dared to.
"I'm taking a bath," she said casually. She let the words settle between them, quietly allowing the calming sounds of the water travel through the line – proof that she was indeed, taking a bath. She exhaled, wanting to sink down into the warmth of the water. He heard the thud of the phone against something as the sound of the water swished against the tub.
"Did you just set me down?" he asked.
"I honestly should have hung up," Kiyoko admitted. The snark in her voice was almost insufferable. The tiles of her white marbled washroom let her voice resonate around the room. Kyouya could hear a bit of the echo on the other side.
"Then why didn't you?" Kyouya shot back, irritated.
He listened to the water fill her tub, wondering if his question had been drowned out with the turbulent stream on the other side. He imagined her with her hair up, no longer perfectly pinned. It was tousled, messy, and imperfect – held together by the bare bones of a hair tie or one of those pins she adorned so frequently. Small strands would fall onto the nape of her neck, some long enough that they would stick to her bare collarbones. He could imagine the way she smelled, with the milky waters that went up to the middle of her shoulders, her toned legs perched at the other edge of the tub. He pictured her staring against the ceiling with her head resting against the white ceramic. Her face barren with no makeup as she closed her eyes to rest after an especially long night. A part of his mind trailed over to the rest of her body covered by the water before she interrupted him.
"I don't know." He pictured her shrugging, not caring for the annoyance in his voice. "I thought you would do it first. Are you imagining me naked?" She posed the question as if knowing the answer already. It was spoken so coolly, as if asking the time of day. It drove him wild at how easy she made it seem.
Kyouya coughed uncomfortably. Was that a trap he willingly walked into? Fuck, he knew it as soon as she paused at his question earlier. He could hear her chuckle at the pause. How was she able to embarrass him from just the phone? His only solace was the fact that no one was around to witness such a thing.
"It's okay," Kiyoko reassured, almost welcoming him to continue on with his imagination. "I promise you it's probably not as exciting as what you're picturing," she tried to dampen his expectations with a side of heavy embarrassment, of course. The tub was large enough for two. She drowned in it, and it was exactly how she wanted it when she designed her home.
"You don't know what I'm picturing," Kyouya huffed. "And who says I'm thinking about you?"
Kiyoko laughed. "Forgive me, maybe it was a bold assumption," she easily dropped the topic for the sake of saving his pride. It was enough that she knew he was already annoyed. And yet, he still stayed on the line. How odd of him.
He was silent, unwilling to confirm or deny if the assumption was true. Instead, he tried to shift the conversation to something else. Something safe. He reverted back to the previous topic.
"You live in Tokyo."
"Yes," Kiyoko confirmed. "As do you," she keenly pointed out.
"But your area code is Kōfu."
"Yes," she repeated, not giving much else. These one-worded answers were laced with amusement. He could hear it. She relished in it. She let him get riled up as she relaxed in the scorching hot water with wisps of steam coming off the top. Her skin was growing red at the heat. Her muscles finally began relaxing.
"God damn it," Kyouya grumbled. "Why are you so difficult?"
She laughed. He could hear the echo through the phone. He hated how much he didn't mind that sound. He wished he made her laugh more – preferably not at the expense of embarrassing himself. "Well, I am a stubborn fucking bitch," she quoted. "But not a whore," she added jokingly.
"If you were, you'd be sleeping with me," Kyouya responded smugly, not letting her take the win this time. It wasn't the first time that the thought had crossed his mind. But he certainly wouldn't let her know of it.
"Oh, hm," she mulled over it for a second before agreeing. "That's about right."
"What?" the Ootori blinked. Did he hear right? Did she just say she would sleep with him? His brain short circuited, remembering that she was currently naked in the bathtub speaking to him past midnight. He was still dressed from the day as he stared at himself in the mirror of his own bathroom. God, he looked awful – he was shaken up while she was on the other line taking a bath like it was another regular night. Kiyoko was another breed of strength that he clearly didn't seem to have.
"You heard me," Kiyoko wasn't planning on repeating herself. "I'd probably be more prepared with the condoms though," she chuckled lightly. Kiyoko wondered if it was enough to get him angry enough to hang up. He seemed uncomfortable with anything that bordered on the line of sex. It wasn't always something she weaponized but while she could, she figured why not? She snickered at the image of him squirming in discomfort. A gentleman, as one would say.
"I was trying to be nice," he exhaled. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. She was something else, really. Maybe it was something she would hold against him forever – in which case, the only option was to probably never speak to her again and threaten to blackmail her if she ever brought it up to anyone else. The problem was that there was nothing to blackmail her with. And what was the worst she could say? The Ootori doesn't get laid but he'll have band-aids at your disposal. Either way, it sounded pathetic.
"And you were," Kiyoko assured. "Too nice," she softly added. Did he regret being nice to her? She wondered silently. Maybe he should have. Maybe she'll make him regret it soon enough.
"So were you," Kyouya responded without missing a beat.
"I was?" He could hear the confusion in her voice. She certainly wasn't nice to him that night.
"Your generous donation to the student," Kyouya reminded. He turned on the water tap to splash his face before brushing his teeth.
"Ah," she remembered. "Right."
"Do you usually forget about your charitable donations?" Kyouya raised an eyebrow. She heard the disapproval from him, as if chiding her about how she spent her money. That was very Ootori-like, she thought. He seemed like the kind of guy who would nickel and dime anybody.
"No, I'm pretty good," Kiyoko disagreed. "Just a casual lapse in memory. It's been a long night… as you know," she tried to stifle a yawn.
A long night, he rolled his eyes. What a way of describing it. She spoke of it like it was just a night out, yawning blissfully. "Aren't you afraid?" He was curious. Surely, the woman must have come to terms to what occurred.
"Hm," Kiyoko made a pensive noise. She avoided the question as she thought about her response. Water swished around. He couldn't tell what she was doing – he only had his imagination, and he was afraid to use it wondering if she would have the uncanny ability to call him out on it again. He tried not to think about her rising from the tub as she evaded his question.
"You must be," Kyouya assumed.
"You seem more afraid than I am," Kiyoko teased, her tone inexplicably light for someone who looked in the eyes of danger without blinking.
"Well considering the fact that you aren't worried for your wellbeing, someone has to be…" he grumbled.
"You really shouldn't be concerned," it was Kiyoko's turn to lecture him. "Why do you care so much?"
"I don't know," he answered truthfully. If he hesitated, she would have continued with the spiel of why he was being silly. A part of him knew she had a point. This was a waste of his time – he really shouldn't have been this invested. The other part of him wanted to think less. He had enough on his plate with the corporation taking up most of his time. He didn't want to have to do an evaluation of what emotions were running through his mind, especially the ones that were involved with her.
"Do you like me or something?" she joked. He could hear the way she smiled at the phrase. He imagined that her eyes had crinkled while saying it too. She said the word like as though they were school kids. An innocent, shallow sort of love. She did it to egg him on. To annoy him. To provoke his vulnerability. It took him a long while to understand that.
"So what if I do?" he tossed the phrase back at her. Both of them knew this was far from a confession. Just a hypothetical. They spoke in hypotheticals because reality was just far too much to deal with right about now.
"There's not much to like," Kiyoko shrugged. "I'm just a washed-up poker player with a knack of swindling the rich and famous."
"You're also a fucking fearless maniac," he added.
"What? Being crazy turns you on?" Kiyoko quipped. "My goodness, no wonder why my grandmother thought you were a perfect fit," she joked. How could she be joking at this point?
Kyouya rolled his eyes. He was both shocked and equally impressed with how the woman conducted herself against what most people would consider traumatic. He worried for her. But tonight she earned his respect, even if he would never admit it. It made him wonder what she had to go through to not blink at a knife like that.
"What are you afraid of?" he probed.
"Not death, apparently," she answered without hesitation, expertly avoiding the question. "How about you?"
"I don't know," Kyouya answered truthfully. Nothing really scared him.
"Failure," Kiyoko reminded him. "You're afraid of failure." She already had that pinpointed months ago. She wouldn't let him forget.
"Oh," the realization fell off his lips. He hated even hearing that word. He forgot that she knew. Fuck, what else did she know about him? It wasn't like he could read her in the same way she did. It never felt fair.
"Failure is good, you know," she spoke of it like it was a natural way of life. "Failure helps you grow stronger. Smarter. More resilient," Kiyoko listed. "You should embrace it more. Anyone who has reached success has failed hundreds of times before they make it."
"Whatever," he rolled his eyes, not caring for her advice. "What are you afraid of?" he didn't let her off the hook, trying again.
She mulled over it for a few seconds. "If I tell you—"
"—You aren't going to kill me," Kyouya rolled his eyes. That line wasn't going to work on him twice in a night. If I tell you, you'd probably end up getting killed, her voice repeated in the back of his head.
"I was going to say that you'd think I was silly," Kiyoko chuckled, not minding the fact that the phrase had been ingrained in his mind.
"Oh," he was wrong. It wasn't often that he was wrong – but with her, he always felt like he was wrong. Maybe that's why he was invested – she made him feel like a failure. He constantly felt like he had to prove himself otherwise. Maybe she had a point: success has always been built upon countless attempts of failure.
"I'm afraid of losing those that I love," Kiyoko told him softly, catching him off-guard. She whispered it so quietly he would have missed it had it not been absolutely silent otherwise.
"Who do you love?" he pried.
My brother. "No one," Kiyoko lied swiftly.
"Then you're not afraid of anything, are you?" Kyouya huffed, annoyed by the answer she gave. He never got anywhere with her.
"I guess not," she quietly murmured with a chuckle. Her laughter was a cover for the forlorn response she gave.
She was good at it. Good at letting him catch a glimpse of her in a state of vulnerability before hiding immediately. It was a tiring game of emotional hide and seek but a game that he unwittingly grew addicted to.
"You're lying," Kyouya accused.
"About what?" she smiled.
"About not being afraid of anything," he explained.
"Of course," Kiyoko shrugged. "I'd really have to kill you if you knew what scared me."
"What? You'd think I'd hold it against you?" his voice turned amused.
Her gut said no, but what came out of her mouth was, "Yes."
"But you aren't scared of me," he knew that. She embraced fear, used it to her advantage on a daily basis – she had to learn to be fearless to do such a thing.
"Well, I have no reason to be," Kiyoko mused. "Unless you wanted me to be afraid of you."
"Most people are, you know," Kyouya rolled his eyes. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
He heard her shuffle around. Opening and closing of some sort of jar or container. "Kyouya, are you asking because you want me to be afraid of you?"
"It's just a question," he grumbled. "Why does everything have to come in riddles with you?"
"You aren't taking the hint to leave me alone – which by the way, is the answer to all the riddles."
"Yes, thank you – your attempt at matchmaking was ill-received by all parties tonight," he remembered. A part was him was still taken back by the audacity of her to send other women his way.
"Oh, but I thought Mei was quite nice," Kiyoko's voice became disappointed. She had high hopes for her. Kiyoko easily welcomed the change in topic. "She was docile and very well-spoken. I thought you would have taken a liking to her."
"And Yui?" Kyouya narrowed his eyes at the encounter he had with that one. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. That woman was certainly not of the same calibre as Mei. But neither of the two were on the same calibre as Kiyoko. Whatever the calibre was – he didn't want to analyze it.
"Hm," Kiyoko hummed, trying to find the right word to describe that woman. "She was bolder."
"Not as bold as you," Kyouya scoffed. "I don't think she would have kept herself collected at knifepoint."
"I'm—"
"—More valuable alive than dead, yes, I know," he growled. He had to admit that he was relieved that she was alive.
"Well, I'm glad you're aware," Kiyoko smiled at that. "Now will you let me sleep?"
"You're going to sleep?" Kyouya breathed. "What the fuck – you can sleep after all that?" He thought she would have stayed up all night. She admitted that she didn't get much sleep anyway.
"And you can't?" she retorted. "As if you were the one that had a knife dangled in front of your face tonight," Kiyoko muttered with an eye roll. He felt belittled immediately, having been reminded that she was the braver one tonight.
"How are you going to sleep?" he asked. Kyouya heard the shuffling of some fabric against the microphone. Maybe she was settling underneath the covers, as one usually does when they settled into bed. She sighed softly. He heard the fatigue just by the tone of her exhale. She wasn't tired from the night; she was tired from everything.
"Well," she began. "I'm going to close my eyes and… pretend my life is normal."
"Normal?" he repeated. What was even normal?
"I'm just a normal person," she told him as though it were a mantra to herself.
Kyouya scoffed at that.
"With a normal life," Kiyoko continued.
He listened intently, wondering what she was picturing.
"With a regular family and… I'll forget about reality."
"Forget," he repeated. Was that even possible?
"Yeah," her voice was wishful. "Forget."
"Do you lie to yourself in the same way you lie to the world?" he pondered.
She laughed at the comment. "No," she admitted. "I'm a terrible liar, actually."
"That sounds like a lie."
"Is it though?" He could hear the way she grinned. Her head fell against the pile of her down pillows. She was playing fucking mind games with him past midnight. He wondered how she had the mental capacity to be playing games like this – she should have been exhausted.
"I'll just take a sleeping pill," she confessed. Pretending did no good. Forgetting was too difficult. She let the chemicals do their job, as what they were made to do. She buried herself underneath layers of down that enveloped her and let head rest in the mountain of pillows behind her.
"Thank you," she murmured when he kept silent. She felt like she was thanking him more often than she liked. He was probably winding his head around what she had meant with the lying. Was she a good liar? Yes. Was she good at lying to herself? No, but she tried to be.
"For what?" he found his voice again.
"For your concern," Kiyoko answered. "For calling," she clarified with a small smile.
His lips twitched upwards. He glanced at himself at the mirror. He wondered how long he had been standing in the bathroom just talking to her. Stop that, he told himself. Stop grinning like an idiot.
"And for taking a bath with me," she added, amusedly.
He blinked. Right. Taking a bath. He had been trying hard not to think about that. He needed a shower and he needed it quick.
"If you can't sleep," he cleared his throat. "You should call," Kyouya offered, trying to turn the conversation in another direction.
"I don't think you'd pick up," Kiyoko guessed. "You're exhausted too. Get some sleep, Kyouya," his name fell off her lips like it was a song. Ky-ou-ya. Three syllables that sounded so sweet when she spoke. Her voice was deep but her intonations were soft, like a low purr.
"You too," he responded when his voice stopped being stuck in his throat.
"Good night," she whispered as though he was in on a secret. He really felt like he was.
He didn't hang up. She didn't either. They stayed on the line with each other, both unwilling to say goodbye just yet. He didn't want to let go. Not yet. Not right now. Maybe… not ever, if he could. He wanted to kick himself inwardly for even thinking that. What was wrong with him?
"Don't call again," she pleaded with a sadness that made his stomach churn and his heart skip a beat.
She hung up.