Chapter 17

What was this?

Kiyoko stared up at the ceiling, now illuminated by the early morning hours of dawn through her curtains. Was it a mistake? She laid wide awake in her king sized bed, buried in her comforter as she listened to the birds chirping outside the window and the soft snores of the body next to her. She turned over and tried to make out the silhouette of his face.

Kiyoko gave his bare chest a cautious poke. She inwardly groaned at the hard muscles that resisted against her dagger of a nail – how was it fair that he looked like that? What she thought was just a scrawny man happened to be a lump of lean muscle all along with defined shoulders and abs. She was surprised when he did not wake even with the shift of her weight on the mattress. How blissful it must have been to be able to sleep through anything and everything. The Ootori did not even stir in the slightest.

Kiyoko's eyes shot wide open when she jerked awake in the dead of the night. She realized there was a living being beside her when she rolled over and her arm had touched something that was not the familiar cold firmness of the mattress. It was someone. Kiyoko immediately shifted away, letting the memories of the night flood through her mind while she stared into the abysss. The memories swallowed her whole with the dark inviting her into the spiral.

She had hoped that the alcohol would have allowed her to forget. He was too good to forget. Kiyoko hadn't decided if that was a blessing or a curse.

"How do you want this?" he asked in the midst of their frenzy. His deft hands were already finding their way beneath her shirt and inched closer to the clasp of her bra while he asked. Kiyoko was still comfortably straddled above his legs, trapping him beneath her. Power looks good on you. Fuck, it felt good too.

"What?" Kiyoko was still catching her breath, her nails clawing the shirt off of him. "What do you mean?" she grumbled, pretending not to eye the defined muscles of his abdomen when she finally pried open his shirt.

His lips found her neck, distracting her from pulling his belt apart. She muffled a moan at the way he somehow always managed to find the part of her skin that made her shiver under his touch, melting into his lap like a puddle. He held her in place with his strong arms, keeping her upright. Thank goodness for that, she thought to herself. Otherwise, she would have liquefied against his body – limp and weak.

"Off," he ordered with his fingers in the waistband of her leggings. She glared back at him, refusing to bow down.
"You too," Kiyoko demanded.

"You need to get off me," he reminded with a smirk, reveling in the fact that she had grown comfortable in this position. The way she clung onto him, kissing him senseless until they needed to breathe, desperate to feel him in every way possible.

The woman groaned in defeat knowing that he was right. She stripped down first, peeling off the skin-tight fabric in one fell swoop and landed on her knees against the floor. Her eyes darkened as she peered up at him, waiting for him to do the same. Kyouya only stared back at her, lips half-parted in fascination by the way she gazed at him.

"Need help?" Kiyoko batted her lashes innocently, indulging in the power that she held over the man. She tugged on his leather belt, unfastening the clasp slowly while grazing over the bulge with the slightest feather touch. She could feel his legs tensing, his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the seat for purchase. Kiyoko smirked at the way his jaw clenched with restraint.

"I thought you wanted this," she whispered, pulling the strap out with one quick tug. "We can stop, if you'd like."

"Don't you fucking dare," he growled. He unzipped his own pants and bucked his hips upwards to shove them down to pool at his ankles. Kyouya forcefully tugged her back into his lap, letting her crawl back onto him as she seated herself back against his thighs as though she had belonged on her throne the whole time. She smiled at him in triumph.

"How do you want it?" he asked again, ignoring how the look on her face would have usually made him annoyed. He quite enjoyed the way she smiled at him.
"For fuck's sake," she grumbled with an eye roll. "Just touch me," Kiyoko nearly begged before meeting his mouth again. He could have sworn he felt her nails scratch his back as she pulled him closer to her. How the fuck could that have felt so good?

"How?" he murmured, his hands wandering down from her back to her waist, settling on her ass. His lips were busy peppering kisses on her shoulder, moving down towards the v shape of her silk camisole. She grew frustrated at the way he felt so close yet so far. She instantly craved that skin to skin contact. Kiyoko fumbled with the hem of her shirt and took off the garment over her head, letting the man ogle her body in the way that he had always wanted to.

He blinked. "Fuck," was all he could mutter. Beyond that, he was speechless. He amazed in the fact that she was in his arms, nearly naked. He would have been lying if he hadn't imagined her like this – wearing next to nothing but black lace. Black was a good colour on her. Anything was good on her. Nothing was good on her too. His brain was incapable of forming any complex thought at this rate – it was embarrassing.

"I was hoping you would," Kiyoko chuckled quietly at the muttering of the curse word from him. She let him look at her. See her. Her eyes softened as she murmured into his ear a confession. "I've never done this."

"Good," he threw his head back on the pillows of the couch in relief. "Me neither," he flashed a small smile. Not a stupid smirk. Not one of those shitfaced grins that drove her up the wall. The kind that mirrored hers.

Shy. Relieved. Eager. Willing.

Somehow, she was now staring at him on her king-sized bed, cocooned with her side of the duvet careful not to cross the boundary over to his side. He slept so peacefully. She was never able to sleep for long. She always woke from something or for something. Instead, she marinated in her thoughts before dawn.

Was this it? Maybe this was all that the Ootori had wanted out of her. A quick fuck. Although nothing about the previous night was anything remotely considered quick. Her heart sank at that thought of perhaps, this was all too good to be true after all. Maybe he would wake up and just leave – not a word, not a second to spare at what they had.

We're not friends, Kiyoko.

What were they then? She wondered. Business partners? As if. What good did it do to define what they had when she knew that the Ootori was not made for someone like her?

She nudged his arm. It was nearly 5:30 AM. Maybe he could get home in time and change into a new set of clothes and still make it into the office at an acceptable hour – maybe even eat breakfast. Did a man like him ever eat breakfast?

It did her no good to lay awake in bed like this. Kiyoko quietly shuffled out of the covers, throwing on a comfortable cashmere sweater over her bare body before stepping into her bathroom. The marble tiles beneath her feet were a cold awakening, jolting the rest of her body awake with a shiver before climbing into a steaming hot shower.

Kyouya still slept soundly under her covers, unflinching at the noises she made in the bathroom. He snored soundly as she stepped in and out of her closet with nothing but a towel. Kiyoko wondered what would take to wake the man but rolled her eyes instead, strolling down to her kitchen and turning on her coffee machine. The grinding of the coffee beans must have caused him to wake by now, she thought. She brewed her own cup of Java coffee with beans that were imported and roasted across oceans to arrive at her doorstep within a week.

She sipped the brew at the brink of dawn, letting the depth of bitterness intermingle on tongue. Kiyoko sighed to herself, wondering why she felt so torn as she gazed out the window of her balcony to watch the sun rise through the sky. The hues of blue warmed to an eventual orange, wisps of cotton candied clouds danced across the sky, mocking her with delight. She pulled her cardigan closer to her, feeling the shiver of loneliness that not even her coffee could subside if only temporarily.

Her brain told her to forget him, her heart begged for her to just ponder the possibility of keeping him. Kiyoko's stomach grumbled for something other than caffeine – something sweet. It half-crossed her mind to make him breakfast, as if they had reached that point in domesticity after spending a night of tangled limbs and quick-witted banter. Kiyoko scoffed to herself and shook her head. No, there was no time for that. She turned back into her kitchen and settled back at her breakfast nook.

Kiyoko stretched her arm up for another coffee mug that sat on her shelf, unused for most of its tenure in her home as she had no guests. She ground another portion of coffee beans in hopes that the aggressive whirring of the machine would wake him. Another perfect serving was brewed within minutes. He did not deserve breakfast, but she figured he could at least drink a cup of coffee so he could get up and leave her to the rest of the day.

Kiyoko carried both the mugs up the stairs and into her dark bedroom. She set his coffee on a coaster by the nightstand, right beside his glasses. She settled hers on the other side of the bed before marching over to the curtains to let in the sunlight. Kiyoko turned to the dead body covered beneath her sheets. After all the ruckus, nothing seemed to get the man to open his eyes.

"You can't be serious," she huffed out loud. "It's 6:15 AM, get up, you oaf." She shoved his shoulder, grunting with each pause of the phrase. He rolled over to the other side, refusing to lift his body from the mattress. The man's hair was disheveled and yet somehow, his face and jawline was still accented this disgruntled look to make her heart skip a beat. Kiyoko was almost thankful the man hadn't witnessed her do a double take at the way he looked.

"Oaf?" he growled, his eyes still closed. "Fuck off."
"I made coffee," she tried again. "And you have to get to work," Kiyoko reminded. "I'm not your mother."

"What are you then?" Kyouya shot back with a smirk, eyes closed and an eyebrow raised. Kiyoko could tell that he was amused at all of this, getting her riled up was one of his favourite things to do apparently – even with his eyes closed.

"Not your mother," Kiyoko repeated with a sharp tone. "Come on," she shook his shoulder. He caught her wrist, pulling her down onto the mattress with one swift motion with his forearm. He slowly opened his eyes, bracing himself for an angry glare. But all he got were tired eyes and a perplexed furrow of the brows on her face. She was searching for something in him. And she still looked beautiful as she gazed at him so softly at the crack of dawn.

"What am I?" she asked, quiet and afraid. It felt odd to ask that question out loud after her inner turmoil only an hour before.
"What do you mean?" Kyouya did not follow. His brain wasn't exactly at the right state to decipher these cryptic questions from her.

"What am I to you?" she murmured, wanting to bury her face with the sheets because of how intently he captured her face with his eyes. He was studying her, memorizing every inch of her face, from her eyelashes to every groove of her soft plush lips. It made her feel so embarrassingly seen; she instinctively grasped the comforter against her and tried to shy away from him.

"My wife?" he tried with a teasing smile, reaching for her waist to bring her closer to him. Kyouya caught the way she had jerked away from him after staring at far too long. Was it really his fault? The rays of light illuminated her sharp cheekbones, to the soft curls of her eyelashes, and the cute tip of her nose even during her initial scowl at him. She was beautiful and she did not seem to notice it.

"Am I what you imagined your wife to be?" she murmured, brushing off his light tone.
"I never thought that far," the Ootori admitted.

"There's still time," Kiyoko softly responded as she sat up against the headboard. He eventually followed, wanting to look at her better. It did him no good when his vision was still blurry without his glasses.

"I don't see a need for it," he assured. "Am I what you expected your husband to be?" Kyouya asked.

Kiyoko cocked her head at him and studied his face. He was still tired but strangely chipper despite the rude awakening. Was he usually this easy going? It seemed unlike him. She shook her head. "I never thought that far, either. I just assumed I would never get married."

"Not a bad start, hm?" he smirked.
"We aren't married," Kiyoko deadpanned. "And besides, that doesn't answer the question."

Kyouya reached over to the nightstand to the coffee that still had wisps of steam coming off of the grey mug. He took in the aroma before cautiously going in for a sip of the hot beverage. There was something inexplicably smooth about it.

"This is good," he commented with surprise, still not bothering to answer the question.
"Of course it's good," Kiyoko rolled her eyes. "There is low acidity in the coffee. Almost sweet because of the citrus notes. It was imported from Bali," she explained.

How could he have expected anything less from someone raised in their class? She had expensive taste, to the point where even her coffee was top tier. She brewed the perfect cup and had it conveniently placed right beside him in the morning.

Kiyoko wondered if she had lost him in the rambling. Of course, no one else cared about where their food came from. It inadvertently changed the topic and she crossed her arms in disappointment. What good did it do to define what they had anyway? Whatever. Maybe she would let the Ootori enjoy his coffee in peace before she kicked him out. Back to reality. A hard day of work ahead of them. Back to their regular lives.

"Fiancée?" he tried again after taking another gulp of coffee.
"What?" Kiyoko was still stuck in her own daze of thoughts, still hung up on when he would put on his clothes to jet out the door.

"What you are to me," Kyouya returned to the topic at hand. "You could be my fiancée." He spoke of it so simply that it seemed already true, after a handful of months of trying to dance around each other. After a night spent together and a morning that Kiyoko expected to be awkward but felt more natural and comfortable than anything.

Kiyoko hesitated, waiting for the man to chuckle to indicate that it was just a joke. When it didn't come, she shot back a half-hearted joke of her own. She was good at that – pretending not to care, always under the assumption that the universe would never tilt in her favour, prepared for the worst in every scenario and in every human.

"Was the sex that good?" Kiyoko scoffed. She refused to take him seriously, knowing better than that.
"I'm going to have to gather more data," he slyly answered with a shrug. Kyouya continued working through his coffee. He would have asked for another if her snappish tone clearly told him not to. He mulled over her words a little longer after the caffeine had jolted his mind awake at the sudden realization.

"Was it not?" He asked in follow-up to her previous question.

Kiyoko answered with a raised eyebrow, amused by the flicker of panic on his face. "I'm going to have to gather more data," she quoted with the same nonchalant shrug she mirrored of him.

And just like that, the mug was placed back on the coaster beside the bed with a resonating clang. Data had to be gathered, after all.

"So what's the deal?" It was always one of the Twins sniffing about for new gossip.

Kyouya's eyes did not leave the screen of his phone as he typed away another email. His friends had gathered for their monthly brunch, and in the off-chance there were the occasional dinners shared with the rest of the group. The Ootori often counted down the minutes of these events so he could finally leave to his mansion and settle into some peace.

"What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?" His brother pointed out.
"What's obvious?" Tamaki chimed in curiously.
"He's finally getting laid," Kaoru rolled his eyes. "He hasn't snapped at us during the entire afternoon." The whole crowd stifled a chuckle.

Kyouya glared at the red heads and returned to his phone with a huff. He had no time for these shenanigans. He decided not to engage. Generally, they would back off within a few minutes after there was nothing else left to be said.

"How is she?" Hikaru wondered. "Hibayashi-san, yes? The rumours are true. You're getting cozy with her. People see you two together at events."
"Is it true what they say?" Kaoru asked.

"What's true?" Haruhi inquired as she placed down her drink.
"That the crazy ones are the best in bed," they answered in unison.

Tamaki spat out his mimosa. Honey took a large bite of his pancake and pretended not to hear what had been said. Mori looked down at his plate and cut off another slice of his French toast. Only the Twins cackled at the reaction of the whole group.

The Ootori looked up from his phone and shot them another glare. "That's enough," he announced.
"Oi, you didn't deny it though!" Kaoru snickered. "Look at you go," Hikaru teased. "And how far you have come to even sway the craziest—"

"I said that's enough," the Ootori snapped, his voice bellowing over the room. The Twins sat back in their seat and relented, letting the silence loom over the crowd with only the cluttering of the cutlery ring in the air.

"Can we meet her?" Haruhi shifted the topic. "I am sure she is lovely."
"You've already met," Kyouya snarled. "Weren't you all in the same class?"

"I never had the chance to get to know her," the Suoh-to-be admitted. "Bring her to the wedding," Haruhi suggested. The Suohs had been married on paper for quite some time but never gotten around to have a wedding. With Haruhi finishing up her schooling overseas and establishing herself back in Japan, the couple had finally come around to planning a real wedding. "It would be nice to formally introduce ourselves."

Tamaki agreed joyously at the idea. "Yes, that would be wonderful! We would love that. Who has captured the heart of our Shadow King? Tell us more! How did you meet?" The Suoh ushered. Perhaps his best friend had finally taken his advice to get to know the woman beyond just her business potential. He was brimming with hope and excitement.

"At a bar," Kyouya muttered.
"Since when do you go to bars?" Twin 1 narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Or leave anywhere beyond your mansion and office?" Twin 2 rolled his eyes.

"What does she do?" Haruhi ignored the Twins.
"She's an art curator," the Ootori explained. "She runs one of the most exclusive galleries across the Asian Pacific."

"Speaking of," Kaoru turned to their beloved Shadow King with a Cheshire grin. "Could you please talk to your girlfriend about her upcoming exhibit?"
"There are a couple pieces that would work really well in some of our summer collections – it would be nice to have it in some of our shoots," Hikaru explained. What were these brunches for if not for business?

Something about that term did not sit well with the Ootori. The Twins uttered the word so casually, like it had been established. Girlfriend. Her question from weeks ago suddenly made much more sense. What am I to you?

"Hello?" Kaoru threw a crumb near the Ootori to get his attention. "Was that a yes?"
"No," Kyouya growled, not appreciating the crumb that had barely missed his face. "She will decide if you are worthy to be on the list."

"Art! How interesting," Tamaki smiled at his friend approvingly.
"Nah," Hikaru shook his head. "What's more interesting is that she was a professional poker player."

"Was," Kyouya emphasized. He had to admit that that part of her life was still a mystery to him. So much of her was unknown. So much to learn about her.
"Sometimes she'll come out of retirement," Kaoru raised an eyebrow. "If you provoke her."

"How about we don't do that?" Haruhi cautiously advised. "Didn't you two lose a ridiculous amount of money?" That had been the talk of the Hitachiins a few months ago.

"Is she scary?" Honey chimed in.
"Definitely," the Twins answered in unison. "We would not fuck with her," Hikaru explained with a shake of his head. "Figuratively-speaking, anyway," Kaoru snickered.

"She must be pretty then," Honey deduced, quickly understanding what the Twins had implied.
"She was always quite pretty," Haruhi recalled. "A shame that she was treated so poorly in our formative years. It's nice to know she found her own success," the lawyer commented in relief. "I hope she makes you happy."

"We'll see," the Ootori murmured.

She yawned and fell against a shoulder. The blanket was pulled over their legs, their bodies bundled in cashmere sweaters. The warmth from his body felt familiar comfortable as the TV played in the background. It was a documentary on whales.

"You're tired. Sleep," Haru ordered.
"No," Kiyoko insisted. "I want to watch this with you. We haven't been able to hang out lately."
"You haven't visited," her brother pointed out. No vitriol in his voice. It was a simple statement.

"I'm sorry." She felt guilty for it. Sometimes there were weeks where she was unable to visit, usually due to work. Travelling was a part of it, other times it was purely out of running across the city sorting out logistics between event planners and contractors. But lately, it hadn't been any of those reasons.

"You don't need to be," Haru answered plainly.
"I am," Kiyoko insisted.
"For what?"
"…for being busy," the sister sheepishly responded.

"That's it?" His tone monotonous and unimpressed. Kiyoko could never lie to her brother; he always had an uncanny ability of knowing her all too well. They had grown up together. They had spent their childhood stuck at the hip until they had to leave to their own respective schools. They knew each other inside and out, more than anybody else in the world.

"Yeah," Kiyoko tiptoed around it. She wasn't ready to talk about it. To talk about him. She hadn't decided what she felt about him, she had been avoiding the thought for as long as she could.

"You're worried." He could read it all over her face.
"Hm?" Kiyoko was confused. "What am I worried about?"
"I don't know," her brother shrugged. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," he repeated. This was normal behaviour for Haru, repeating phrases until he felt like it was enough. "Stop it."

Kiyoko wished she could stop the gnawing feeling in her chest. The flutters of her heart. The fear that lurked in the back of her mind. The worry that this was all just temporary. He would eventually leave when he realized that she was not all what she pretended to be – abandoned when she was no longer useful to him.

"It's a boy," she softly confessed as she stared at the TV screen. It was all ocean. A part of her wanted to just drown in it. Forget about what she had been feeling. Float in the hues of blue just like all the sea creatures that hadn't cared for any of the insanity that humans dealt with.

"What about the boy?"
"I like him," Kiyoko's tone was cautious.

"Okay," her brother accepted. "And is he good to you?"
"Too good," the sister answered. "It's strange. No one is ever nice to us, you know?"
"That is true," Haru agreed. "No one is ever nice to us."

"It's odd. It doesn't feel right. It has always been you and me. Nobody else, you know?" They had grown up abandoned by the adults. They had basked in loneliness. Haru was more accustomed to it. He always had been. Kiyoko was not, even though she tried her best to be comfortable with it.

Her brother was enraptured by the TV screen. There were a few minutes of silence with only the narration of the documentary that played. Maybe Haru was far too invested in the documentary to bother speaking more about the topic at hand. Kiyoko sighed and let it go. What was she to do? It wasn't like Haru could give her romantic advice.

"He likes you?" Haru finally broke the silence at a lull of a scene where the whales swam through the ocean with orchestral music in the background.
"I…" Kiyoko was at a loss. "I don't know. I hope so? I'm not sure." It wasn't like her to be spluttering left and right like this. "I just… I feel guilty."

"Why?" her brother asked. It didn't make sense to him. "Why feel guilty for being liked?"
"I don't want you to feel like I'm abandoning you," the sister murmured. "I would never."

"I know," Haru shrugged. "You're my sister. We are family. Just like the whales," he pointed.
"Yeah," Kiyoko nodded. "Just like… the whales. You come first, okay? You always come first."

"I know," her brother nodded. "I know. I know. I know."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Everything I do – I do for you." Because no one else in the world would.
"I know," he repeated again. "I know."

She hated how well he had grown to know her. Kiyoko noticed the way he would put back the things in her kitchen in their rightful place, slowly but surely. How he knew the kind of coffee she drank or the type of music she listened to while cooking. He made himself at home at her own place – even with nothing to show. No clothing left behind, no pair of slippers at the doorstep, no mug that he claimed as his. But he did, however, have his own toothbrush.

Kyouya somehow picked up on the way she even got her nails done – the same almond shaped nails she always asked for in the same oxblood shade of red. He commented on it when she asked for a shade just a twinge lighter into a more maroon colour when the spring came.

Granted, he only noticed when her fingers traced down his arm and down his chest as her lips were making their way down the base of his throat. She was quick to tug the shirt tails from his pants, fingers moving deftly as they always had.

It usually went like this: a text of some sort about a minor inconvenience on either of their ends while at work, a drink to be shared on their couch while speaking of said inconvenience, and suddenly the two were back in their same usual routine of clawing off each other's clothes as they always had since the first time.

This was easy. Simple. Stress-relieving. There was absolutely no need for talking. No need for any kind of emotions to be spoken about. And god, it felt so good. It felt so right. It had been going on for the past month. Maybe two? Neither of them were counting.

Kyouya's hand caught onto hers, his eyes darkening while he observed the claws on her hand. "They're lighter than usual," he commented before planting a kiss on her palm.

"For spring," she answered before enclosing her mouth over his. It was a season of growth after hibernation. Perhaps it was fitting to have her nails reflect something similar. Even though Kiyoko had always been one ask for a style she had always been comfortable in: dark red almond nails.

"They're nice," he responded in approval before groaning at the rolling of her hips. She was in a skirt today, hiked up much further than what would have been deemed acceptable in public. It was a good thing they were in the comfort of her own home, once again defacing her couch for the umpteenth time.

"Thank you," she managed to answer before gasping at the way his fingers had violently tugged her underwear down her legs. And just like that, his actions slowed to a pace that had her begging for more. His fingers slowly tracing up and down at her inner thigh, featherlight strokes that had her grumbling at him for being a tease.

"What do you want?" he smirked.
"You know what I want," Kiyoko growled. He just liked hearing it. She grew impatient at the way his fingers traveled everywhere around her legs except for where she wanted them. She shoved his belt out of the loops of his trousers, unzipping his pants with ease, and tugged at him with force that made him grunt.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his eyes focused on the way her eloquently shaped nails gripped his cock, her thumb circling the head with expertise. It should have been illegal at how fucking good it felt and how beautiful it looked – the image seared into his brain for future reference, probably showing up at a time that was wildly inappropriate.

She liked this. This power of making him fall apart. But so did he, he loved seeing the way she bit her lip in trying to stay quiet as his fingers entered her. Kyouya loved the noises she made: the shallow breaths she took, the small moans she refused to let grow. He was fascinated by how she tried her best to stay quiet, even in the comfort of her own home.

She came apart within minutes on his fingers, limp and out of breath for a few minutes. He was getting too good at that, she thought. Kiyoko's eyes met his for a moment and then flickered at him with a dark glare before she grunted and impaled herself onto him out of spite. It wasn't fair, she thought to herself. How he was able to do this to her and she couldn't do this to him.

The low rumble in his throat was enough for her force herself to move, taking it as encouragement.

"You—" he grunted. "Don't have to—" he tried to continue. "It's okay—" Kyouya tried again even though he could not deny the pleasure he felt with her bouncing atop of him. She was fucking relentless, pushing herself further to make sure he fell apart in the same way she did.

"Shut up," Kiyoko demanded as her hips moved with more vigor. "Just shut up," she ordered before finding his lips again.

It was always a fervor of limbs, a whole mess of needs that they could not express in words. Neither of them complained at the pleasure they both grew to experience with one another – both equally observant to what made the other sigh, gasp, or groan. Every touch felt like fire and every kiss felt unsatiable to their thirst of desire. Neither of them stopped to wonder why they felt so good and neither of them wanted to think of the dangerous growing attachment that began to sprawl like a weed in the garden of their barren hearts.

His head was against her chest covered in delicate silk lace, panting against her shoulder after he had come beneath her. She held him in her arms, soothed by how close he was against her body with his strong arms around her waist. They stayed like this for a few moments before he quietly broke the silence.

"My friends want to meet you," his voice was still hoarse. Kyouya tried to clear his throat to get his voice back.

"Huh?" She too, was trying to recover from their intense session of fucking. Her brain had been elsewhere, wondering about how many more times would this keep happening before they both called it quits. She wondered if her heart could take it – if it would have devastated her and if he would feel even an ounce of what she had felt with him. Did he feel the same? She might not ever know.

"My friends," Kyouya reiterated, his deep voice rumbled against her body.

"I thought I met your friends, no?" she murmured, tilting her head so she could meet his eyes. Sweat had rolled down the side of his face but goodness, his chiseled jaw, his beautifully disheveled hair, and his dark orbs had made her heart skip a beat. She had seen it countless times before and even so, she took a second to recover. "The Twins?" she reminded.

"Not those ones," he grumbled. "The classier ones," Kyouya clarified.

Kiyoko laughed. Did she know how sweet her laughter sounded? Was the rest of the world ever able to hear the way she genuinely laughed? Did they have the privilege to see her in the way he did? How lucky he was to have her in his arms, where no one would ever be able to know her in the way that he knew her.

But did he really know her?

"And why would they want to meet me?" she wondered. "I'm of no use to them. Do they like art?" She mused.
"They want to meet you," he shrugged, not mentioning the proposition from the Twins. "You're a part of my life. They're a part of my life. It makes sense, no?"

Kiyoko nodded in understanding. How nice it must have been to have such close-knit friends, she thought. And to also be a part of his life. She tried not to dwell on that part of his sentence for too long. "When?" she softly asked, still trying to see if he meant it.

"At the Suoh wedding," Kyouya answered. "It will be in June."
"June," Kiyoko repeated. Not a joke then. He seemed genuine in his invitation. "A summer wedding. How lovely," she thought aloud. "I suppose I would have to find something suitable to wear."

"You have plenty of gowns," he reminded. He had peeked into her closet numerous times, fascinated by her style. It was beautiful and sophisticated. Elegant and timeless. She looked beautiful in everything and anything imaginable. He worshipped her quietly in his own regard, a well-kept secret from the rest of the world.

"Not fit for a summer wedding," she sighed. "And these dark red nails won't do."
"I like them," the Ootori murmured. "They're a signature of yours." He intertwined his fingers with her own, a comfortable gesture she had grown to appreciate. She held onto his hands with a small smile.

"Signature, hm?" Kiyoko liked the sound of it. She looked back down at her maroon nails. Perhaps it was time for a change. Something more fitting to the summer – a season of light and warmth. And a dress that was not a dark hue of black, blue, or green.

"So is that a yes?" he quietly asked. She did not explicitly say no but she most certainly did not agree to meeting his friends. Not yet, anyway.

"You want me to meet your friends?" Kiyoko blinked, still in disbelief. "Aren't they afraid of me? Of who I am?" It surely did no good when the black cloud of the Hibayashi family still followed her around like the plague. People knew of her, they must have known the rumours.

He smiled with that devilish grin of his. "If they are afraid of you, then they are unworthy of knowing you."

And with that, she sealed her answer with a kiss to his lips.