Chapter 26

This place must have been a joke, right? Kyouya looked at the wooden door that looked like it led into a shack. There was no way she worked here. Kiyoko invested in some of the most exclusive restaurants in Tokyo. This was a dump in comparison to what the woman was capable of. Did he drive all the way here for nothing?

His stomach grumbled in retaliation to his brain. Fine, he thought to himself. At best, he'd find her. At worst, he'll have a shitty meal. When the bell rang to signal his entrance, her quiet irasshaimase had nearly knocked him off his feet. He could recognize the timbre of that deep voice anywhere, even in his sleep.

He stood there for what felt like ages before his legs finally carried him across the small entryway to the very middle of the bar across from her. She wore her hair down, an unusual sight as she always had it up in some kind of updo for work. Now her hair had flowed down in voluminous waves, hair held back with a headband of a silk Dior scarf that she had worn once while in France. She dressed down in jeans, her arms stretching to put a cup on a shelf.

"What can I get you?" she asked, still preoccupied with shelving the wall.
"The most expensive drink you have to offer," Kyouya answered.

He watched her lithe body gracefully reach across the shelves before she let out a small chuckle. He hated the thought of others hearing her laugh. For so long, her laughter was reserved only for him. Now it was just given away to anybody who didn't deserve it.

Kyouya could easily tower over her to help. He resisted the urge to jump over the counter to hold her in his arms so she wouldn't leave again. He knew how well she fit underneath his chin, how her hair would smell, and how soft her skin was. It all came back to him in a tsunami wave of all the things he had tried to forget about her.

"A sake that is 60,000 yen a bottle?" she asked. Maybe she was in disbelief. After all, he was in a fucking shack. No one asks for the most expensive shit, do they?
"Sure," he responded, watching as she had climbed into another section of the bar with her back still turned to him. She carefully grabbed the bottle off the shelf and informed him that it was best served chilled. "Let me put this in an ice bath. I hope you don't mind the wait."

"Not a problem," Kyouya responded as smoothly as he could. He watched as she worked, moving across the bar like it was second nature in the same way she used to move in her kitchen. It was perfectly choreographed in a manner that made the most efficient sense. He wondered how long it would be until she recognized him. Kiyoko disappeared into the kitchen without even a second glance at him.

"Food?" she asked, still blissfully unaware of his presence.

"Whatever you think would pair well," Kyouya knew he wouldn't have been disappointed. Tonight was a feast for his eyes and his stomach. He missed those nights where he had that nearly every night with her.

She came out with three plates balanced on her forearms, plated beautifully in the same way that she would prepare dinners for him after he had come home from work. Kiyoko was too preoccupied by the task of delivering the food to him that she hadn't even looked at him still. She came close enough across the bar that he had a whiff of her perfume.

Kiyoko still smelled the same. But she was different… now she was clearly exhausted, more subdued without the fire in her eyes that he distinctly remembered.

"I'll be right back with your chilled sake," she politely told him. When Kiyoko returned with the chilled sake and the ceramic cup to serve, she poured with the grace of the upper class and quietly asked if he was expecting company.

"No," he responded, longing for her company more than anything.

"Well then, please enjoy." Her eyes finally flickered up and she met his eyes and nearly jolted in shock. Kyouya caught the way her fingers tightened around the neck of the sake bottle while she tried to revert back to her usual neutral expression. Kiyoko studied him, noting the tired look on his face. She faltered a little in her brows, just enough for the Ootori to note that she still very much cared for him. She could not lie, not even if she tried. He would refuse anything but the truth from her tonight.

"I'd like it if you could join me," he began. The bar was empty anyway. It was a good opportunity to finally talk, to catch up. Kyouya was careful not to push the boundaries that had been set.

"I don't fraternize with customers," Kiyoko refused, not even contemplating the idea for a moment. She put the bottle of sake down gently and looked like she was about to bolt out the door before the bell saved her.

Kiyoko immediately turned her attention away from him. "Irasshaimase," she greeted the new customers.

Kyouya watched her closely, mostly in curiosity in how she handled the customers with her aloofness. She treated the upper class in the same manner – smiles were earned from her and nobody earned a laugh or a chuckle from her as easily as he did. The locals didn't seem to mind, paying little attention to the way she swept away empty bottles and quickly fulfilled orders that were asked. People began trickling in and filled out the entire space. The entire bar roared in cheers, in laughter and in joy as the night progressed. There was only capacity for about 20 people at most. She was always on her feet, wildly observant, and harboured zero complaints except for the fact that she looks scary.

Kiyoko avoided him and pretended not to see his gaze on her the entire time, disappearing into the kitchen every so often. She made herself busy, wiping down tables and hurrying from end to end between the bar to the tables to the kitchen. After all, how could she kick out the highest paying customer of the establishment? It would have been stupid and an awful business move.

"I know what you're thinking," said a man who sat beside the Ootori, slumping in his seat as he watched Kiyoko move across the restaurant. Kyouya had taken off his suit jacket by now, comfortably in his dress shirt that was rolled up to his forearms. The stranger had been nursing his bottle of sake for an hour. "She's off limits, bro."

Kyouya raised an eyebrow. "Who?" He hadn't thought that anyone was paying attention to him. There were others like him, solo drinkers who came and went after a long day of work and said nothing to nobody, leaving whenever they pleased after settling their tab.

"That woman? The bartender," the man tilted his chin towards the kitchen. He could see how captivated the Ootori was by the woman. Who wouldn't? She was pretty to look at. "No one knows her name. But people say she's part of the yakuza."

The Ootori sipped on his own drink, muffling a laugh. "Oh?" he goaded on the stranger.

"Yeah, she threw a knife last month when a guy tried something funny on a young woman. Barely grazed his cheek. Everyone knows not to fuck with her. And she always makes eerie references to murder. I think I overheard her say she loved the colour of blood. She's hot though, I'll give you that. But I don't think I want the crazy that comes with it, you know?"

Kyouya's lips twisted into amusement. Oh yes, that was Kiyoko.

"But people come back 'cause the sake is so damn good and the food… something in the food, I swear it's gotta be drugs but it's so damn delicious. Have you tried the karaage? You gotta do it."

Kiyoko was in the midst of fixing her scarf that had loosened after hours of work when she stepped out of the curtain. It was past midnight by now but the bar was still almost at full capacity. Didn't people have to work the next day?

"One order of karaage, please!" the stranger beside the Ootori near shouted. He was drunk but Kiyoko nodded politely, not blinking an eye to the yelling. It was clear she was accustomed to drunkards now, in a little run-down place that was the furthest from being classy.

"It'll be right out," she informed him. "Kitchen is closing in fifteen!" Kiyoko announced. Some other patrons put in some orders at the last minute. She nodded in acknowledgement without needing to take any notes.

The piping hot chicken reached their counter within the next half hour. Kiyoko had made her rounds across the rest of the bar, bowing politely when the people thanked her for her service.

Kyouya ended up sharing a plate of hot chicken with a stranger, amused by the monologues that he ventured into without any prompt. He was like Tamaki, except dialled back on the physical dramatic flair. The Ootori had learned of the man's entire life story within the half hour of him shoving chicken down his mouth. And just like that, the stranger patted him on the back and called him a friend for life before leaving him.

The bar began clearing out after 1 in the morning. He had been here for 4 hours, watching her work without a break. Kiyoko diligently wiped down each table and cleared out the dishes as if she had done this all her life. It was so odd to see the woman who had been raised in a 14 bedroom mansion cleaning up after commoners without complaint.

"When do you finish?" he asked, now that the bar had been mostly cleared minus a few people at the booths. The groups minded themselves as they came together and were deep in the throes of their own conversation.

"When the bar closes," Kiyoko answered curtly.

Kyouya looked at the door where the hours were posted. 5 AM.

"What?" he nearly gasped.
"You have work, don't you?" she reminded. "It's best to get going."

"I'm not done my drink yet," Kyouya was pacing himself through the sake. He was halfway through and refused to get drunk. He was at best, a little buzzed. His surroundings were a little dimmer but she was all he could see. Kiyoko was all he wanted to see.

Kiyoko shrugged and let him be, cleaning out the kitchen and putting the dishes to wash. After an hour, the rest of the patrons had left with the exception of the Ootori. Even the cook had left a half hour ago when she insisted that she would be fine.

Kiyoko wasn't surprised to see him hang in until the end – the man had always gotten his way with his stubbornness. She silently leaned against the counter, polishing the glassware that had been polished once already. Her hands just itched for something to do, something to keep her busy.

"What are you doing here?" he sighed at the sight of her. She looked bored and in a daze, refusing to lock eyes with him or to even make conversation. "Why are you here?"

"Working," she answered curtly. "This establishment only takes cash, by the way." Kiyoko pressed a few buttons on the point of sale system and printed out the bill, even though he didn't ask for it. It was getting late. He was the last customer and it would do him well to hurry home.

Kyouya narrowed his eyes in offense. "You don't think I carry cash—"

She pursed her lips. "Your bill is comes up to 64 800 yen," she told him. Kiyoko crossed her arms and tried her best from keeping herself from smiling, silently knowing that the man certainly did not carry that much cash on him.

He pulled out his wallet and fell short of one ¥10 000 bill. She watched him frown and then scowl at the numbers she set before him.

"How does this place not take card?" he huffed in annoyance. She let him rack up a whole bill like this just to watch him squirm? That woman was something else.
"Everyone else paid just fine," the bartender raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I'm going to have to call the authorities if you aren't able to pay."
"You damn well know I can pay, Kiyoko."

She paused at the sound of her name on his lips, heart skipping involuntarily at the way he spoke her name out loud. No one called her by name here. No one knew her name. Her heart wouldn't stop hammering against her ribs that were now healed over the course of time. The ache in her chest grew bigger when she stared at him looking forlorn.

"Kiyoko," he repeated again, now with more force. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you," she shot back, avoiding his question. "I'm working."

"Not like this," the Ootori shook his head. "You… you have a gallery to run, don't you? Nami is drowning without you."
Kiyoko shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Sir, if you can't pa—"
"You know my name," he cut in. "Say my name, Kiyoko."

She stayed silent for a couple beats, putting the ceramic away and then boiled a kettle of water. She brewed a whole pot of sencha and pulled up a stool to sit across from the man she could not avoid. He looked exhausted. Did he spend all these months combing through the city to find her? Why? That seemed so silly of him.

"How did you find me, Ootori-san?" she finally asked. She wasn't quite ready to say his name yet, crossing over a threshold that was not meant to be forher. Kiyoko looked into his eyes, wondering why he wasn't as angry with her as he should have been.

"Toshio-san," Kyouya responded. He answered her question. Now it was her turn. "What happened?"

Kiyoko quietly poured herself a cup of tea. She looked at him and figured he could have used something to sober him up too. Her red nails were replaced with working hands, dry and brittle to the bone as she scooted over the cup over to him. Kiyoko decided to confiscate Toshio-san's cigarettes the next time she saw him.

"It sounds like you already know what happened."
"You were in a car accident," Kyouya confirmed. "Are you alright?"
"I'm alive." Even if she were just barely breathing – she was still living.

Kyouya took a sip from the cup. The warm tea trickled down the back of his throat with a burn that did not tingle like the sake. This was a sobering kind of burn.

"Who else was in the car?" Kyouya went for the jugular. It was the only thing that kept him up at night beyond wondering if she was alright. Who was she with? Why was she with them?

"Why does it matter?" she coldly answered. "They're dead now."

"Was it someone else? Were you seeing someone else?" He couldn't help but to wonder. The tea did not sober him up fast enough. A part of him wondered if that was why she ended things – if she was just stringing him along until she moved onto someone else.

She looked up from the table and looked at him with surprise parted over her lips. "No," she shook her head. "No," she confirmed more sternly. There was nobody else. "How could you think that?" Kiyoko wished she took the time to mask the hurt in her voice. All it did was echo in the empty walls of the bar.

"You weren't giving me any answers. I had to make up my own. But you're still not answering the question," he pointed out, pretending to ignore the way her voice losing its grace while she answered his last question. She was hurt too.

"Drop it, Kyouya," she pleaded, looking up to the ceiling to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. She used his name out of desperation, knowing he would listen to her. "It hurts to talk about. It consumes me. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I don't want to talk about it."

"But it wasn't your fault," he insisted. "Kiyoko, listen to me: it wasn't your fault," he repeated. "Insurance got a hold of the CCTV tapes and someone literally left you out to die after ramming into your vehicle. Why aren't you angry about this? Why are you wallowing?"

She looked back at him in confusion. Why was he so angry? What did it matter to him? "You found tapes? Kyouya, what the fuck? How much of this do you know?" Leave it to the Ootori to have gone into a deep-dive of information to try to track her down.

"I don't know who was in the car with you," he scowled. "I just know someone nearly killed you and I will find that person and make sure they pay for what they've done."

Kiyoko blinked. "I know insurance put me at no fault but… I don't know, I can't remember anything of that moment. It's just a complete blank. I have no way of confirming what happened."

He pulled out his phone to scroll through what felt like a mountain of files. She hunched over the counter to watch what the Ootori had dug out. It was a blurry video at the intersection of where she was on that night. The traffic light turned green and her car, she recognized by the license plate and make, had rolled forward before being T-boned by an oncoming truck. Conveniently, there was no license plate to identify the truck and the footage was too dark to make out any of the drivers. Her car was sent spinning into a telephone pole, right against the passenger side where Haru must have been.

The ringing in her ears grew over her heavy breathing. Her heart raced like she had been running and the dizziness began to overtake her balance. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Her chest began to hurt like it did in the hospital when she just woke, like her ribs had suddenly cracked in half again.

She couldn't hear anything. She couldn't see anything through the tears in her eyes. Why did it hurt to breathe? Why was it so hard to breathe?

"Oh my god," she cried, gasping for air. "It wasn't me." Kiyoko buried her face in her hands and keeled over the counter on her elbows. "It wasn't me," she repeated to herself. "It wasn't me," she said it again until she could believe it.

"No, it wasn't," his voice finally registered over the haze of the ringing in her ears "Kiyoko, it was not your fault."

Kyouya watched the woman keel over the counter, breathing like she had run a marathon, broken and unable to register anything but her own words. He couldn't help himself but to reach over to her head, pushing away the strands of hair that had cloaked her face. Kiyoko immediately flinched, realizing where she was and pulled away from him. He brought her back before she spiralled any further down the tidepool of emotions.

Kiyoko would have to deal with the aftermath of this revelation tomorrow. But for now, she wiped away her tears and sniffled. The relief she felt was enough of a temporary distraction before she dissected the event further. When she finally got a hold of her breathing, she looked at the black tears that stained her hand. There goes her makeup for the night. "Fuck," Kiyoko gritted out. "I must look terrible." Snot-faced and all. How embarrassing for him to see her like this. It shouldn't have mattered anyway, right? It wasn't like… like she had to impress him. "This is so embarrassing," she grumbled to no one in particular.

"You look beautiful," he told her. He always found her to be beautiful, with or without that signature red lip of hers. Kyouya would have been lying if he hadn't enjoyed watching her glide through the bar all night, he ached to hold her again – even just the brush of her hand against his fingers would have been enough.

"Liar," she shot back without being able to look him in the eye. "You're supposed to be mad at me," Kiyoko scowled. "I hurt you. It's been months. Kyouya, why are you here?" She turned the question back to him.

When she was met with silence, she looked up to finally face him. The Ootori couldn't decide between being pained or confused. He was supposed to be mad at her, yes. And in many ways, he was.

He hated how she had him wrapped around her finger past midnight on a weeknight like this. How he couldn't think straight without the thought of her creeping in the back of his mind. Kyouya had felt happiness for the first time in his life only for it to be stripped away from his grip as fast as he could blink. He couldn't fucking live without her and he hated that she was a drug he grew dependent on.

"Are you sober enough to go home? Did you drive here?" she asked, distracting herself from her own mess. Kiyoko grew concerned about the fact that the Ootori was definitely not making it to work tomorrow with a brain at full capacity. She pulled herself together despite how much of a wreck she was tonight. It was worrisome knowing that that he came all the way here. She really did not think he had it in him to stay this long. He was her favourite distraction and she needed him more than ever.

"You have work in a few hours," Kiyoko lectured.

Kyouya frowned at how she changed the topic so quickly, as if she couldn't shoo him away fast enough. "You've ruined me," he confessed with a hoarseness in his voice. She told him she was going to ruin him early on but not in this way, not in a deeply unsettling emotional stab to his chest. It was painful for him as it was for her. But Kyouya didn't want to leave her, not like this. She was so close to him and he had to be separated away from her by the bar.

The concern from her eyes turned into guilt. "I'm sorry. You came all the way here… and for what?"
"For you, of course," he sighed, exasperated. Was it not obvious enough? "What else would I come here for?"
The tears ended up flooding her cheeks again as she let out a sob. "Why didn't you forget about me?"

"I… I tried," Kyouya mumbled. "I tried so hard to forget you." His fist gripped the edge of the counter. Would it be so wrong to jump over the edge to hold her as she cried? Yes, he told himself. Yes, it would. He was supposed to be mad at her. She flinched at his touch just a mere few minutes ago, how would she react otherwise?

"Did you… were you with anyone else?" she asked, almost afraid of his answer.
"No." His response came faster than he had intended. So much for keeping his cool.

"Well," she sniffed, ignoring the knot that unravelled in her chest. Was that a feeling of relief? "There's your problem. Should've… should've tried someone new," she gave a small smile, coming out on top of always being the one who cared less.

"Is that what you would have wanted?"

She averted her gaze and wiped more of her mascara-tinged tears away from her cheeks. She didn't remember putting on so much of it to stain so many of her tears. "No," her voice meek as a mouse. "But I… I wouldn't have blamed you."

"You said you want me and then you left me." He was hurt and had been hurting for months. It was unfair that he had to suffer through the confusion and agony without any explanation. "You disappeared without a trace and nearly died. What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't you know you've put me through hell?"

"I… yes," she choked out. Kiyoko couldn't deny the hurt that emanated from the man over the counter. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why you haven't given up on me. You should've a long time ago."

"You've ruined me," he repeated. "You've ruined me just as you said you would. Kiyoko, there's nobody else for me but you. When I said I would give you anything, I meant it."
"I never said I wanted anything," she answered.
"Except me," Kyouya frowned. "Kiyoko, why won't you let yourself have me? I spent months trying to figure you out."

"Because I don't deserve you," she bit her lip. "Look at me, Kyouya. I was never meant for someone like you. I'm working at this small bar with a whole lifetime of grief to process. How could you want me after all of this?"

"I watched you work a menial job the entire night without complaint," Kyouya pointed out. "How could I not want a woman who has the work ethic of an absolute maniac? No one else sees the potential that I can see. I have landed a gold mine of absolute wealth I could tap into from you. Your resilience in survival is only something I can mirror in trying to win you over."

"You can't win me over," Kiyoko muttered.
"Why not?" he challenged.

"I'm already in love with you," she laughed quietly through the tears. How ridiculous was this? She must have looked psychotic, mascara-ridden tears down her face as she laughed at how dense the man could be. "You've won. You won a long time ago." Of course the Ootori would take it as a dare – the man lived to win, to rise to the very top of everyone else with immense pride. How could he not know that he had her heart? He acted like he paraded around with it, like he owned it without having to pay a single cent for it.

"What?" Was he dreaming? Did he hear right?

"Don't look at me like that," she sighed, wiping away the remnants of drops over her cheek. They wouldn't stop flowing for some reason. "How could you have not known?"

"You never told me!" Kyouya raised his voice in frustration, both at her and at himself for making her cry like this. He just wanted to hold her through the heartbreak that he caused. He wanted to fix this but he felt so incredibly stupid and she was the Queen of Mixed Signals. "How could I have ever known? You pull away from me like I'm poison every time I think we're better than ever."

"I sent you away with my poems, didn't I?" she whispered. Kiyoko replayed their last moment in her head over and over again, memorizing the way his eyes flared in anger and the way he left her in such rage. She deserved every second of it. But he still took that ragged old notebook with him. "Did you read them? I thought you would have understood."

The Ootori thought to the leather bound journal at the bottom of his glove compartment that he stashed away in anger but couldn't quite bring himself to get rid of. It was still sitting there, forgotten and unread. And even if he had read it, Kyouya wondered if he would have understood or if he would have gotten more confused by it all.

"I was too angry to read it," Kyouya confessed.
"That's fair," Kiyoko grimaced. "It's okay," she assured. "You don't have to read them, honestly. I just thought you would have liked them since you were so curious about my writing. I wanted to let you into my world, even if it's just a little bit."

He was supposed to be mad at her but found himself relenting with a long exhale. "Kiyoko, you fucking drive me mad."
She shrugged. "I told you to run while you could." Kiyoko tried her best to turn back into the lighthearted banter they were used to.
"You ran instead," he accused, refusing to acknowledge her nonchalant tone.

Kiyoko bit her lip, unable to argue against the truth against that. "I did."
"Stop it," Kyouya demanded. "Stop pushing me away. You aren't saving me by not being with me. I don't need saving, Kiyoko. Stop acting like a saint and—"

The woman stood up straighter and crossed her arms. "I don't need saving, either."
"I never said you did," he growled. "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if you needed so."

She wasn't used to that word. Love. "Why are you still in love with someone who hurt you time and time again?"
"Because I'm stupid?" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. She hated to admit that she missed being able to do that. It looked as soft as she had remembered it.

Her lip twitched. She fought the urge to smile at his statement. "It would seem so, Ootori-san. But you know I'm no saint."

"I know you're in love with me," he answered, defiant.
Kiyoko paused and surrendered to the fact. "I am helplessly and endlessly in love with you but," she sighed. "You deserve better. You know that."

"There is nothing better than you," he insisted. "And I deserve the best."
"You wouldn't know," she pointed out. "You've never been with anyone else."

"I don't have to be," he shook his head. "I don't want to be," Kyouya corrected himself. "What do you deserve, then?"
"Not you," she settled. A part of her never felt right with him – she was made to be abandoned like she always was, throughout childhood and even now, without Haru. She was left alone in this world.

"But you do," Kyouya nearly begged her to see it through.
Kiyoko looked up to the ceiling to keep her tears at bay, unable to look at him again. "You made me so happy," she whispered. "I just couldn't keep you."

"And why not?"
"Because all good things come to an end and I wanted to choose my ending with you."