Chapter 16

Kiyoko was not one to sit idly around her phone like an idiot.

Or so she thought.

She had things to do. Meetings to attend. People to see. Her days were usually scheduled from 8 to 5 during these periods of planning. And yet, at the end of the day, she wondered about him as she sat mindlessly against the office chair after a day. This exhibition was slowly wrapping up. It was onto the next thing sooner rather than later.

But her brain still wandered. Drifted over the thought of maybe the man was too busy to text. To say hello. Of course, the Ootori had the usual corporate job, the kind that took his free time away. Hers were relatively more flexible, not bound to the confines of a set 40-hour week. Kiyoko gathered her things and stood in front of the Monet before leaving the office.

It was a small little thing worth a stupid amount of money. A whole team had been hired to transport the painting a few days ago. She had unwrapped it and placed it beneath the light, hanging on the wall like it had always been made to be admired. There were evaluations to be performed on the authenticity of it, a provenance to be confirmed and audited. There was a long way to go before she could even present it to Eugene.

Isn't she your family?

Kiyoko stared at the painting with a blank look, letting the words of Eugene echo. What was family, anyway? She felt nothing. The hues. The imagery. It did not speak to her. Instead, she felt dirty.

Power looks good on you.

Was this power? In the same way her aunt had a hold over her own family, Kiyoko forcibly began constructing her own hand. She wondered to herself: maybe this was all she was meant to achieve. She made petty sums of cash, floating across the social sphere. Letting the shadow of her family legacy lauded by mental illness eclipse all she was ever made to be.

She shook herself out of the downward spiral. Kiyoko had other priorities. She picked up her phone and dialled the only number on speed dial, leaving the premises of her office while pushing the thoughts aside.

"Kiki," they answered after the 6th ring. Something shuffled on the other side, some cutlery. It was dinnertime, probably. Kiyoko's stomach also grumbled at the thought of having a warm meal.
"Hi Haru," she murmured with the phone against her cheek. "How was your day?"

"Good," he responded. Nothing more needed to be said.
"What did you do?" Kiyoko asked. She walked leisurely through the underground garage and unlocked her car. She stuffed her handbag onto the passenger seat and started the vehicle with a push of a button.

"Math," her brother responded.
"Oh okay," the sister nodded to herself. Typical. Haru could take hours and hours of deriving theorems from textbooks. It was his version of relaxation. It was Kiyoko's version of a headache. "That's fun. No more woodworking?"

"Tomorrow, maybe," he considered it. "Why did you call?"
"I can't call my big brother?" the sibling pouted. "I just wanted to know you were okay."

"Is there anything wrong?"
Kiyoko sighed. "No," she exhaled. "No, there's nothing wrong," she assured, mostly herself at this point.
"Why do you sound like that?"
"Like what?" the sister shot back.
"Afraid."

Her brother had an uncanny ability to always understand her but did not care for anyone else. He had a hard time communicating, verbally at least, with strangers and anyone alike. The early years of his childhood had mostly been a lot of screaming, tantrums with seemingly no root cause. It was years of speech therapy before Haru was able to utter sentences to communicate on a daily basis.

"I regret not fighting harder for you," Kiyoko murmured. It had been over a decade now. There was always a pang of guilt, thinking about the time she left him to study abroad while he was whisked away to the middle of the forest, for fear of Asami creating another PR scandal, as if the family could take any more of those. Haruma was deemed untraceable and non-existent, never a part of the family.

"What is there to fight?" he wondered. "I like where I am."

"Yeah but," she paused and looked out into the road. She had driven these roads over and over again, her brain on autopilot on getting home by now. Kiyoko leaned back in her seat and exhaled. "You know, I never wanted to hide you, right? You're my family."

"I'm not hidden," Haru responded, unbothered by the thought of it. "No one is looking for me. I'm different. I don't mind."
"I mind," Kiyoko snapped "I mind that you're… you're not… celebrated. You're loved. You deserve so much love, you know? You're not forgotten."

"I know," he told her, nonchalant. "I know," he repeated. He always repeated things. "I know," he said again. "You too," he responded after a pause. There wasn't much else to say, not in words at least.

They only had each other in the world. Haru seemed to have no qualms about it. He was comfortable in his own company and no one else. His sister was the only person he let into his world. He casted everyone else aside. Kiyoko on the other hand, felt differently. A resentment against the world who excluded him. A society who had forgotten him, who refused to understand him for his differences. A society that refused to bend, to become more accessible to those who could not quite conform.

"What's wrong?" he asked again. There was an incessant tapping noise on the other side. He did that when his mind had begun to wander elsewhere. His patience was waning thin and Kiyoko could feel it on the other line. Haru was not one to enjoy small talk or calls.

"I'm hungry, that's all," she explained half-heartedly – it wasn't exactly a lie.
"Go eat then," he hung up.

And there she was, alone again for the rest of her ride home. She parked under the building of her home, locking the vehicle and entered through the metal gate. She sighed into the halls of darkness. The empty echoes were louder than usual as her keys clinked against themselves. There was always one pair of slippers, just for herself. No guests, never any need for them. Not even Haru wanted to come into the city to visit.

Kiyoko settled into her usual routine settling down from work: sorting out her handbag, changing out of her work clothes, and peering into her stocked fridge for what to make for dinner. The boring days were the good days with less to worry about on her mind and more about what to feed herself.

Her phone vibrated against the counter and she squinted at the name that popped up. She could make out the first letter and it was enough for her to scramble over to the other side where her phone sat. Kiyoko stumbled over her own legs, leaving her fridge door open and inwardly cursed. Why was she like this? She was supposed to be calm, cool, and collected. The woman took a breath and wondered how to answer. How many times did she let it ring?

Why was she even nervous? It wasn't like she was afraid of the man. Kiyoko hated who she had become. She was supposed to be in control and Kiyoko felt like she was losing it the more he came around. The woman huffed and half-considered just declining the call.

Her fingers had a mind of their own and pressed the accept button before he would hang up on his own. Kiyoko's mouth had no words to say. Her eyes only stared at the timer that went up by the second and he was silent for just five of them.

"Kiyoko?" He sounded confused. Of course she was, she wasn't saying anything. Was there anything to say? I've been thinking about what you said a lot. And what you did to me. What we both did. What took you so long? It's been three days – not that I was counting.

"What?" she snapped. It was an accident, really. Somehow being a bitch was something she couldn't quite turn off. A defense mechanism of sorts.
"Not even a hello, huh?" he sounded amused. Luckily, it seemed like the Ootori had expected the snappish tone. Was it too much to wonder if he actually found it endearing?

"I thought I told you to text," she said evenly after she found her voice again.
"I prefer to call," Kyouya deflected.
"Because you're a bad texter," Kiyoko deduced.

There was a pause. "I didn't say that." But they both knew it was true.

Kiyoko went over to her fridge, the door still ajar. She pried it open with the metal handle and stared into the dimly lit shelves, taking inventory and figuring what to make for a quick weeknight dinner. She had ordered her groceries at the start of the week with plenty left to spare as the sole mouth to feed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Isn't the question usually what are you wearing?" she quipped while taking out some vegetables to wash and prep. Dinner had been decided. She had the ingredients for a few side dishes and a simple soup.

The Ootori coughed or maybe he had been choking on something. Either way, it brought a smile to her face, perhaps the first and only smile of the day. Kiyoko laid out the ingredients on her counter and began moving along, her fingers deft at putting together a meal.

"What are you wearing?" the Ootori asked after taking a second to recover.
"Nothing exciting," Kiyoko answered mindlessly. She changed out of her work skirt and into comfortable cotton leggings, her feet barren from the stockings she wore and grateful to be on the tiled floor instead of heels. Kiyoko kept her silk camisole on, draping a merino wool cardigan over her shoulders and her hair was still up in a bun.

"Nothing would be exciting." It was his turn to shoot back a witty comment.

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. Oh, he thought he was being funny, wasn't he? "Sorry to disappoint," she responded without sparing a second. "What are you doing?" Kiyoko shifted the topic away from her.

"You aren't curious to hear what I'm wearing?"
"Armani?" Kiyoko guessed. "Slim-fit suit. Maybe navy, if it isn't pitch black. Dark tie against a pressed dress shirt and Italian leather soles. Your Omega watch on your left wrist, the Trésor line with a black leather strap, yes?"

There was silence. Kiyoko took it as a confirmation. Was he impressed? He hadn't spoken in the past few seconds.

"And your stupid glasses, of course," Kiyoko added, taking a small bit of pride in being able to deduce what he was wearing without needing much thought. She didn't want to tell him about the way she already mapped the grooves of his knuckles when he held her hand. How she missed the way he would grip and roam around her curves – she could feel the way his fingers had a feather-light touch against her body. Or his warm lips that smirked against her skin. And certainly not the cologne that she was determined to track down the next time she had enough time on her hands at the high-end department store.

"You think of me that much?" The Ootori was basking in the idea. How often did she think of him to be nearly on point? Especially down to his watch.
"I appreciate a well-dressed man," she admitted. The chopping against the bamboo board reverberated across the entire kitchen. He was put on speaker as her phone laid nearby on the marble counter.

"What is that sound?" She could imagine his eyebrows furrowing.
"Dinner being made," Kiyoko answered. "Have you eaten?" A natural question to follow. She assumed that the man was probably still at the office.

"Are you inviting me over?" She could practically hear his smirk – how annoying. It was certainly not an invitation.

"That's presumptuous," Kiyoko reminded. "My house is not made for guests." She thought of the only literal pair of slippers she had that were currently on her feet. No one had been in this home in the years that she had lived here for.

"What if your houseguest brought wine?" he tried.
Kiyoko paused, considering it for a split second. "What kind of wine?"

"A vintage Bordeaux," Kyouya offered.
"No, thank you," Kiyoko brushed off. Her own wine cellar was well-stocked downstairs in the basement cellar. They were mostly gifts from her clients, a show of appreciation on the occasion for procuring on their behalf. "You seem like an annoying houseguest, anyway."

"Excuse me?" He couldn't have hidden the annoyance in his voice even if he tried.
"Like I said, it is not made for guests," she continued. "I'm not a Michelin star chef either, so I doubt you would be impressed with my cooking."

"So you want to impress me?" He liked where this conversation was going, plucking the hidden truths straight out of her mouth.
"Haven't I already?" Kiyoko was quick not to let him win.

It was his turn to pause. She heard him huff out of annoyance and then cut to the chase. "Why did you run away?" he blurted out, almost angry. Kiyoko nearly flinched at the accusatory tone of his voice, a wave of guilt washing over her. Her mind replayed memories to that night, her back against the wall, his eyes devouring her along with his lips. He had every right to feel angry, especially in the way that she strung him along and then leaving him in the dust.

She didn't owe him a thing, Kiyoko told herself. And yet, he still came back like an annoying fly. In time, he had grown more into a lost puppy that Kiyoko had grown fond of. How many more times would it take for him to give up on her? It would have been so much easier if the Ootori just got tired of her and moved on. Her heart clung onto the idea of his eyes, begging her to stay. Her brain shut it all down and reminded her that he was better off without her.

"I…" she stuttered. "I'm sorry," she offered weakly. Kiyoko quickly realized she shouldn't have said that.
"Then make it up to me," the Ootori demanded, weaselling his way into another opportunity. "I have wine. Let's talk."

Kiyoko blinked. The man truly knew how to work his way around any situation to his advantage, didn't he?

"Stop thinking," he growled. "What is it that you're afraid of but yourself? What could you possibly become that would make me think any differently of you?"
"I could be a monster," Kiyoko reminded. "Need I remind you that I'm quite skilled with a knife, Ootori-san?"

"You know that doesn't work on me," Kyouya rolled his eyes. "Invite me over already."
"For a quick fuck?" she shot back, accusatory.

"If that's what you want," the man answered, nonchalantly. She was out of cards to play.
She pursed her lips and continued chopping. "No," she stubbornly refused.

"I'm already outside."
"You're what?"

Kiyoko put her knife down and peered out the window. Her street was empty, lit by the streetlights. One could park on the edge of the sidewalk, but it was uncommon. The neighbourhood was quiet and modest, the kind with upper middle-class families who minded their own business and hardly ever questioned Kiyoko's presence or even noticed her. She lived in the suburbs of the city, far from the bustling financial district of Tokyo.

"Outside in my car, what did you think?" the Ootori mused. "I can find out where you live or you can just tell me."

She refused to say another word.

"It's excellent wine," Kyouya gently coaxed. "And I'm excellent company," he added.
"I'll be the judge of that," Kiyoko snapped and hung up. She shared her location with a tap of a button and huffed.

The buzzer went off for the first time and Kiyoko stood at the intercom with a bit of confusion, unsure of how it all worked. Packages were often left at her door or she had gone to pick them up when she had a free moment. No one had come to visit her, ever. The buzzer went off again and the image of the Ootori tilting his head at the camera outside her gate flashed onto her security system. It was amusing. He scowled at the device, impatiently waiting outdoors for a minute too long.

She left him outside for a little longer for her own amusement. Kiyoko sauntered over to her balcony and looked down at him. The man glared up at the sound of the door shuffling open and the woman who appeared lazily in his view. She leaned against the railing, her lips twitching upwards at the sight of him. Even in the dim lighting, he could see that her lips were painted a dark hue of red.

"Hello," her deep voice greeted the irritated man calmly.
"Are you just going to keep me waiting?" he snapped. Kyouya held up the wine that he promised, eliciting a raise of her eyebrow in curiosity.

"Have you eaten?" Kiyoko asked again.
"No," he grumbled. She thought as much; it certainly explained his crankiness. Kiyoko waved him in before turning back into her home.

He watched as she disappeared back into her property before opening her front door to him and letting him through the metal gates. Kyouya stepped into her home cautiously, peering into the new environment. The waft of something delicious immediately filled the air. It was… a home. How odd. It was comforting against the stark contrast of the empty mansion he usually went home to.

"What were you expecting?" Kiyoko rolled her eyes when the man stood at her foyer, his eyes darting from left to right and then floor to ceiling. He was taking in the entire sight, not that there was much to take in. The home was spacious for one person and one person only.

"I thought it would be… bigger," Kyouya admitted.
"I'm the only one who lives here," she reminded, taking the wine off his hands without any other explanation.

Kyouya followed her into her humble abode, fascinated by how simplistic she lived. Her furniture was minimal but functional, no doubt made of the most expensive material one could find. Her appliances were top of the line, from her stovetop to the TV that sat in the living room. Her counters reflected the bright lighting with Italian marble. The décor of her place was a contrast to the dark colours that she always wore. It only drew more attention to the homeowner and he did not complain at that.

The table was set for two. Two bowls of rice, soup, side dishes of spinach, bean sprouts, and steamed squash. He stared at the dishes with interest, taken off guard by how modest the courses were. They brought so much colour against the black plates, aesthetically pleasing against the white table that she had set them on.

"Well?" she settled down before him. "You're hungry, no?"

Kyouya sat down across from her, stiff as stone as he watched her eat first. She was so poised with her pair of chopsticks, her lips engulfed each bite as though it were a calculated move. Kiyoko was, of course, someone who had been brought up in the upper-class – her mannerisms were only second nature to her. But the image of her engulfing the salmon tartare in one mouthful had him grinning, knowing that she wasn't always this poised. Kiyoko had no issue in taking what was hers, that was for sure.

"What?" she snapped at him and narrowed her eyes. "I told you I'm not a Michelin star chef but you can at least eat to show some respect," Kiyoko growled.

Kyouya picked up his chopsticks and started with the side dishes. They were so simple that the Ootori expected them to be bland. He was pleasantly surprised by how well the flavours balanced each other from the sweetness of the squash, the tang from the marinade of the blanched spinach, and the refreshing spice of the bean sprouts. The soup was packed with umami, pairing beautifully with the plain rice.

"Where did you learn to cook?" he prodded.
"The housekeepers," Kiyoko answered simply after swallowing a mouthful of rice from her spoon.

"The what?" Kyouya narrowed his eyes. Did he hear right? His housekeepers certainly did not teach him or any of his family how to cook. They did their jobs as they were hired to do.

Kiyoko shrugged. "My grandmother's form of punishment was having us work like peasants. Her words, not mine," the woman added. "But I suppose it backfired since I grew up knowing how to cook and clean as well as any peasant, right?"
"Peasants don't cook like this," the Ootori pointed out.

"Oh, our private chef held a Michelin star," Kiyoko explained.
"What?" the man was flabbergasted.

"Did you forget we're rich too?" Kiyoko raised an eyebrow at the man who only stared back dumbly.
"You must have gotten in trouble a lot then," Kyouya deduced. "To have learned to be a commoner." Even though the home she lived in was certainly not a commoner's home, nothing about this neighbourhood was like what he expected of a commoner. Old habits die hard.

"It only happened a handful of times," she reminisced. Haru too, was usually a part of these punishments. She preferred the manual labour over a slap on the cheek or a thrown plate. Maybe a cup. All of which, she grew very apt at avoiding as the years went on. "I recall mopping the foyer and the grand hall by hand. I also remember doing dishes after a gala held at the estate at another time. Oh, and raking the leaves outside for a whole afternoon. But at some point, I started doing it all by choice."

"By choice?" the Ootori narrowed his eyes at her. "How silly of you."

Kiyoko plucked off a stem from the small bowl of blanched spinach she prepared and chewed. It could have used a little more salt but the Ootori did not seem to care. His palette was probably not as picky as hers. He ate for sustenance. Kiyoko ate for enjoyment. A stark difference.

"The housekeepers were my friends," Kiyoko continued. How else would you spend time with your friends if it weren't for doing the same thing as them? It was a rather lonely childhood, minus the days with Haru where they would explore the gardens and climb trees as children. They often were found chasing each other through the own maze on the estate. They were like any other pair of siblings – always up to no good. Eventually, they both grew out of that phase, taking a liking to their own hobbies. Nonetheless, they enjoyed each other's presence more than the adults of the household. Kiyoko was careful not to explain any further than the housekeepers that were a part of her childhood.

"So you hung out with the people who dusted your home and cooked your food instead?" Kyouya found the idea so strange.

"Well, not all of us have a group of shenanigans to hang out with," the woman answered with a clipped tone. "Show some respect to the people who raised me. Our family chauffeur was the one who taught me how to drive when I was just a mere teenager."

"What?"

"Is that the only word you know how to say?" Kiyoko teased. "What was your childhood like?" she turned the question back to him.
"Lonely," he summarized. It was a proper description.

Kiyoko nodded in sympathy. She let the man eat, watching as he inhaled the rest of the meal without a spare crumb in his bowl. The meal was not Michelin star worthy but at the very least, she was glad that the Ootori enjoyed it even if he did not explicitly state that he did. An empty bowl was about as much of a thank you that Kiyoko could strangle out of him.

"When was the last time you had a homecooked meal?" she asked softly.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't keep track of such things."

"No, of course not," Kiyoko understood. He was too focused on his career to care for what to eat. The man looked tired but at least he was satiated. When he found her staring at him, he shyly ducked his head back down to the bowl, as if hoping to take another bite of food to avoid the awkwardness.

"It was good," he lamely added when his bowl and plates were empty. "Truly."
"I know," she beamed proudly at him. Kyouya was glad he looked up when she answered. It made him smile back. "I cooked it."
"And you didn't poison me?" he cocked an eyebrow at her, his smile turning into a grin.
"I should've," Kiyoko replied without missing a beat, mirroring his gaze. It softened for a split second before she caught herself.

She stood up and took his bowl and utensils like she did for herself. Kyouya sat in his seat as she glided over her kitchen counter and opened a door with racks under the cabinet beside the sink. He followed her closely, drawn to her as he always had when she was farther than he liked.

"What is that?" Kyouya wondered out loud.
"What do you mean?" Kiyoko lined up the bowls and plates on the rack neatly. Most of the dishwasher had been loaded with the cookware she used during the preparation of the meal.

The man pointed to the shelf that she was loading with chopsticks and spoons.

"This?" Kiyoko pointed to the appliance. "It's a dishwasher, you dimwit," she rolled her eyes at him.
"What does it do?" He ignored the insult.

The woman paused and gave him an incredulous look. "It is literally called a dishwasher."
"How does it—"
"—Can you just make yourself useful and open the wine?" Kiyoko cut him off, impatient and unwilling to explain the device that recirculated water over and over again to clean her dirty dishes. "Corkscrew is in the drawer behind you. Aerator is in there too. Wine glasses are on the top shelf on the same side," she listed.

Kyouya huffed and did as told. When Kiyoko turned, he had been standing much closer to her than anticipated with two wine stems at hand. He gestured for her to take the bottle while he held onto the glasses as they settled in her living room. The Ootori quickly made himself at home on one end of her white couch.

"Don't you dare spill anything," Kiyoko warned. She spent the better half of her weekends making sure her entire house was spotless if she wasn't up in the mountains with Haru. She set the bottle down on the coffee table made purely of glass.

"Or what?" Kyouya rolled his eyes before handing off her cup of wine.
"Or I'll make you clean it," she threatened, settling onto the other side of the couch. She sat cross legged, her back against the armrest as she faced him. She was cautiously distancing herself from the man.

"Don't you have people for that?" the Ootori huffed, turning towards her.
Kiyoko scowled at him. "I do not."

"Why?" the man stared.
"I know how to live like a commoner, remember?" Kiyoko grumbled and took a sip of the wine. It went down smooth and left an aftertaste of vanilla and oak. Oh, it was good. She could sip on this for hours. But he didn't need to know that.

"Doesn't mean you need to waste time like one," Kyouya pointed out. "Your house is nice."
"Thank you," Kiyoko nodded in acknowledgement of his compliment.

"When do I get to see your bedroom?" he smirked.

The question came so bluntly that Kiyoko choked. Kiyoko muffled a string of coughs by clearing her throat and shot daggers at the man who chuckled quietly at her reaction. For fuck's sake, he was on her turf, he wasn't allowed to make such comments in riling her up like that.

"And why would you need to see my bedroom?" she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged, taking another gulp of the wine before answering her with a smirk. He let the silence settle, almost welcoming the tension. He was having fun knowing that she was growing more and more annoyed.

"You're right," he surrendered. "No need to see your bedroom, whatever done there can be done here, no?" Kyouya patted the white fabric of her sectional and leaned against his arm, settling into the pillows with more ease and comfort while she sat stiffly on the other end.

Kiyoko stared him down, narrowing her eyes at him and not breaking eye contact while she swirled the glass in her hand before taking a long sip. He welcomed her long hard stare, enjoying the way she gritted her teeth at him with no response. Kyouya was no longer afraid by such looks. He had come a long way.

"Tread carefully, Ootori-san," Kiyoko growled. "You're a guest in this house."
"And you aren't being a very accommodating host, Kiyoko," he answered facetiously, ignoring the way she reverted back to formalities when she got annoyed with him. It was oddly endearing.

Kiyoko huffed at the man's audacity. She cooked him a whole meal and she wasn't being accommodating?

"Alright, get the fuck out." She put her glass down with a sharp clang and shuffled closer to the edge of the couch. His reflexes were quicker, grabbing her arm to pull her back onto the seat closest to him with an urgent tug. She fell straight back down, losing her balance as her back settled against the cushioning, softly breaking her fall. A few strands had fallen out of her bun, framing her face while being buried in her pillows. She blew away the hair from her eyes to see him grinning down at her.

"Stop running away – this is your own home for heaven's sake," he shook his head at her as she began sitting up against the sofa, now close enough to him to have their limbs barely graze each other. So much for trying to keep a safe distance, she sighed inwardly. He smoothly glided over her legs to reach for the wine glass on the coffee table and handed it over to her. When she refused to take the glass, he put his own glass down and gently brought her hand up to hold the wine. He lingered for a moment, waiting for her to grip the fragile glass before letting go.

Kiyoko instantly missed the warmth of his touch when he let go of her hand to settle back into his previous comfortable position. If it weren't for the glass in her hand, her instinct would have been to chase his fingers. Instead, she took a small sip from her glass and looked away towards the TV.

"So why did you run away?" Kyouya asked again, this time softer. He placed his hand on her knee, as if pleading with her to not move further or to run again. She eventually relaxed under his grip, tucking her legs away from him and leaned her back against the couch. Kiyoko looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze.

Why did she run away?

"I don't know," she admitted, cradling the glass in her hand. It felt as fragile as her heart that threatened to jump out of her chest. "A habit, I guess," Kiyoko suggested lamely. It was a blatant lie. She was very much afraid of the feelings that had begun to brew inside of her, unable to accept the fact that she was far too invested in this.

"Are you no longer stupidly fond of me?" Kyouya should have known the answer by now. She let him into her home. She cooked him dinner. It was ridiculously domestic. But maybe he just enjoyed hearing it. She cocked her head to look at him with a raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if she really had to say it aloud. "Well?" he murmured.

"What about you?" She turned the question back at him, not wanting to answer him. "Are you stupidly fond of me?" she quoted back with a small chuckle. Kiyoko couldn't even look at him while saying the phrase. She really did say that the other night, didn't she? The night was vivid in her memory but the emotions she felt had been seared into her soul and chest.

"I'm not stupid," Kyouya rolled his eyes. No, of course not, Kiyoko smiled to herself. The Ootori would never willingly admit such a thing out loud.
"But I know what I want," he continued lowly. "And I want you."

Time had stopped for a fraction of a second as those words echoed in her ears. I want you. He spoke with such decisiveness, such confidence – was he foolish or was he brave? It wasn't the first time he said so. Kiyoko did not want to turn to look at him, unable to process his affection for her. She took a long gulp of her wine instead, averting her eyes from him. His watchful gaze never left her, not since she had let him in. Her glass was now empty.

"I…" she stuttered, unsure of what to say. Kyouya waited patiently for the woman to gather her wits, her eyes darting between him and the ground. "Fuck," Kiyoko sighed. She put her glass down and turned to him and bit her lip at him.

Are you stupidly fond of me?

Just the way that he looked at her with that face, his expression of awe and adoration even if she was flailing over her words. Kiyoko settled down and took a deep breath. She was not drunk, not even tipsy. She had one glass and she was not imagining that look on his face.

"What are you thinking?" he murmured, reaching out to her. "What's wrong?" He asked as if it had to be a simple answer. Her heart was bursting at the seams, of just wanting to tell him. Tell him everything. She wanted to tell him more about her childhood, about her dysfunctional family, about how much she wanted to be so much more than just an art curator. She wanted to tell him how she became the twisted and deranged psycho that she was painted to be. Kiyoko had so much to say.

And nothing could come out of her mouth because she had never spoken such words out loud to anybody.

"I'm not who you think I am," was all Kiyoko could choke out.

"You're not who anyone thinks you are," he shrugged off the fact. He dismissed her ominous statement as another one of her humble grumblings. Kyouya took a slow sip of his own wine. "What does it matter? I know you," he was so casual about it, it made her wonder how he could have gotten this far in life with such brazen confidence. He reached over to her hand like it was a natural thing to do, giving it a reassuring squeeze when he spoke the word you.

"How are you so sure that you know who I am?" Kiyoko laughed. The man seemed to care little about where she came from and how she became the way she was poised to be. She let him hold her hand and even boldly tugged it into her lap, eventually letting him rest against her waist. He was so warm. Or maybe her skin was just on fire.

"Because I know what matters," the Ootori responded with that confidence she never could seem to shake off from him. "You have the potential to do something great."
"You don't?" she shot back.
"I always had the potential to be great," Kyouya asserted. "But you are the underdog. The unseen. You could knock everyone out without anyone noticing."

Kiyoko blinked, letting the words settle into her head. How did he see that in her?

"You knew this," Kyouya saw the way she accepted the fact as if it were just another statement about the weather. Her eyes did not widen at the statement, she only stared blankly back at him, unsurprised. "You just never thought to direct it into taking your family's business."

"No," she shook her head. "I never have."
"So," he paused, trying to get her to put the pieces together without having to say so outloud. "Maybe you can stop dealing with those who hold you at knifepoint and pivot to healthcare instead."

Kiyoko pouted. "Well, what's the fun in that?" She rolled her eyes.

He frowned at her. It worried him even though he was continually impressed by how she would look danger in the eye and stay unfazed. "Seriously, Kiyoko, who are you dealing with that would—"
"—Relax," she cut him off. She didn't need a lecture from him on who she associated herself with. "It's sorted."

"Sorted?" he repeated.
Kiyoko shrugged and did not divulge in any more details. "Thank you for your concern," she softened. "Truly, it was just a stupid prank from a friend."

"Prank?" he repeated again, now bewildered. "What kind of friends do you have, Kiyoko?"

The woman only smiled at the incredulous expression on the Ootori's face. So prim and proper and sheltered. How cute. Kiyoko hoped that her laugher would put him at more ease, her fingers tracing up and down his arm for reassurance that it was quite alright.

"We'll just say he's in the business of military defense," Kiyoko explained.
"What… other friends do you have?" he asked with curiosity, an eyebrow piqued.
"Hm," the woman hummed. "Politics. Chemicals. Mining. Real estate." Rich people spoke in industries, not by names.

The Ootori could not string any of these together. Kiyoko sensed his confusion when he furrowed his brows at her. She shook her head, silently telling him that it wasn't worth mulling over. He let it go with a tired sigh. There was no use in trying to dig information out of Kiyoko if she was not going to willingly share it to begin with. It was a futile attempt.

"We all met in university. They all live abroad but they are rich and powerful – the best combination, no?"
"That could be you," Kyouya reminded. He shouldn't have been surprised that the woman had powerful connections, she would not have made them otherwise. The Ootori had nearly forgotten that Kiyoko was a splitting image of him in many ways.

"I'm neither," Kiyoko denied. "I'm just a middleman in a lucrative industry having settled back in Asia," she humbly admitted.
"Why did you come back, then?" Kyouya wondered. It was a logical question, after all. Surely, the art scene could have been lucrative in Europe.

Kiyoko turned away from him and reached over to the bottle of wine on the coffee table instead. Kiyoko came back for her brother knowing that there would have been no one else left for him. But otherwise, she had no reason to be in the country. The bottle gurgled through the aerator to fill in the silence as she poured a heavy glass.

"Was it your grandmother?" the Ootori took an educated guess.

The woman blinked. That was a good of a reason as any – believable and logical, was it not? "I was summoned," Kiyoko confirmed, a half-lie as usual. "More wine?" she tried to change the topic with her newly filled glass of wine on the left hand and the opened bottle of wine in her right. Kyouya smirked at the offer, swiftly grabbing her half-full glass and replacing the glass in her hand with his quarter-filled one. It was a smooth maneuver, leaving her helpless as her hands were full.

"Oi, that has my lipstick on it," Kiyoko tried to deter him from drinking the glass. Her warning came too late as his lips enveloped the opposite side of the glass with her lip print on it. Kyouya did not break eye contact with her, silently daring her to stop him and risking a spill on her pristine white couch.

"Your lips could be elsewhere," he suggested with a smirk when he finished taking a long sip. Kyouya wanted to know how much he could push her before she grew more irritated.
"Hm," Kiyoko brushed off his playful banter and put down the bottle, now only a quarter full. "Where would you suggest?" she asked innocently before taking a sip from his original glass.

"Come here," he growled impatiently. He set his glass down on a table at a safer spot before tugging on her arm. For once, she listened and gently put down her glass of wine but not before taking the last gulp out of her hand. She drank it quickly, hoping the liquid courage would help in her next maneuver. Kiyoko crawled over to him, trapping his legs between her own and straddled his waist. His eyes widened at the sudden change in position, the muscles of his legs suddenly stiffening at the weight.

"Now what?" she murmured, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. Her red lips had now faded into a paler shade of red. His mind flashed to that night, the image of her lips were implanted in his mind. They were darker and swollen from the way he had kissed her against the wall – desperate. His hands naturally planted her against his body, a firm grip welcoming her weight against him. She found her arms around his neck, draping comfortably over his shoulders as she waited for him to answer.

"Stop running," Kyouya whispered up at her.
"I can't even if I tried," she laughed, relaxing under his grip. "You've trapped me."
"So have you," he shot back.

Her laughter subsided as she realized the gravity of his own confession. When her eyes met his, Kiyoko could not detect a hint of uncertainty in his statement. Her legs braced themselves, as if preparing to jump off of him. Kyouya held her down, determined to keep her. His eyes darkened as if he had just caught his prey. He slowly leaned up towards her lips, and within the first second of contact with her wine-stained lips, he returned hungry and desperate just as he was only 72 hours ago.

It came so naturally to her to respond with the same desperation, her hands cupping his jaw while his hands ran over her curves, nails digging into the skin-tight fabric of her leggings. Eventually, he began clawing away at the silk camisole tucked into her pants, desperate to feel her bare skin after peeling away the cardigan from her shoulders. Her hips grinded against him as she kissed him back, swallowing his groan with an open-mouthed kiss. The weight of her body against him had them growing in temperature, her fingers clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. They broke apart for only a second for a gasp of air, her arms ridding the merino wool sweater so the man wouldn't rip a hole in her expensive cardigan.

"Don't run," he pleaded during the break, his breath heavy. His hair mussed in a way that was no longer as prim as it were when he first arrived, his shirt half-unbuttoned and wrinkled beneath her grip. She did that to him, didn't she? "Stay. Please. Just stay."

She wondered if she must have looked equally dishevelled. So much for being calm, cool, or collected under the fervor of his touch. How could something so wrong feel so good? How could he make her feel so wanted? As if she were worth it all.

"Stop thinking," he whispered at her. "You want this."

And she did.