#kyoyaxreader

“Yeah, which means she has some catching up to do!” Kaoru offers the red solo cup currently in his hand, full of whatever godawful concoction the Thetas have thrown together this time.

You shake your head, and he pouts at you. “You know my rule.”

“Never drink the jungle juice,” the three of you say in tandem.

Kaoru rolls his eyes, but takes the cup back, at least, knocking back most of its contents in one gulp. You can’t help but wince. Kaoru’s always had the strongest capacity for liquor of anyone you know, which makes you incredibly concerned for his health past graduation. “Spoken like someone who’s never really lived,” he says.

“Spoken like someone who wants to have a working liver when I’m thirty.”

“There’s some canned drinks in the kitchen, I think.” Hikaru says. “Want us to show you?”

“Nah, you can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You push through the dark and sweaty room and are relieved to make it to the kitchen, which isn’t quite empty but is at least marginally less crowded. You pop open a watermelon seltzer and try to breathe.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

You almost jump at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Kyoya says. He’s leaning against the counter, looking relatively casual in a sweater and slacks. Not exactly frat-party attire, but at least it’s a departure from the suit. “You know overconsumption of alcohol can lead to fainting.”

You roll your eyes, and take a sip of your drink for good measure. A few sips. If Kyoya Ootori is going to try and engage you in some section-asshole-pedantry in the middle of a Theta party, you’d like to be as drunk as humanly possible. “I appreciate the concern, but I doubt one White Claw every three months is going to make me blackout.”

“You don’t drink a lot, then.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Maybe.” If it was anyone else, you would think he was teasing you. But he sounds so serious. Everything he says sounds so serious, and its seriously starting to get on your nerves.

“What, you had me pegged as an alcoholic?”

“Never mind.” He moves to take a sip of own drink, and you raise a brow, looking from the (mostly full) cup to his face. “Vodka and Sprite,” he says by way of explanation. You can tell by the wince on his face after he sips that he’s telling the truth. “Terrible.”

You can’t help but laugh. “What were you expecting, scotch? Or apple juice?”

“Right now I’d take either,” he says. “Gladly. It’d be leagues better than this.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Vodka and Sprite?”

“What you’re doing here,” you correct him. “I’ve never seen someone who looks like they’ve been to less parties in my life.”

“Unlike you, a true connoisseur,” he says, eyeing your can. “How you can make it through one of these with nothing but a White Claw every three months is beyond me.”

“Oh. No, I was dragged here by some friends. I’m not really a party person, either.” You angle your head in the direction of the living room/dance floor. “I wish I was. I mean, they’re good if I’m in the mood, which usually involves being drunk off more than a seltzer.”

“How do you feel about shots?”

“What happened to overconsumption of alcohol can lead to fainting? ” He shrugs. You blink up at him. “I’m not opposed.”

He reaches over your shoulder, and you flinch before realizing that he’s just trying to get at the drinks on the kitchen island. Only at fancy-ass Ouran would the Greek life kids be able to afford a house like this, you can’t help but think. You step aside to allow him better access, and take the opportunity to get a better look at him. He’s not bad-looking. He doesn’t have the type of vitality that Tamaki has, nor is he intimidatingly buff; but he’s tall, and well-dressed, and his shoulders press against the fabric of his shirt in a way that implies a bit of lean muscle. His face looks as though it should be committed to paint (knowing the type of wealth he comes from, it probably has, several times); the smooth, pale-velvet skin; the slim, curved nose, arriving at an offensively delicate point at the end; the dark eyes; the bow-drawn lips; and all of this framed by a defined jaw and well-shaped cheekbones and that strikingly dark hair.

If only he weren’t such an ass.

“Tequila alright?”

You clear your throat, looking away before he can catch you staring at him. “They have salt and lime?”

“They must.”

“Then yeah. Yeah, that’s great.”

He hands you an empty cup and goes about cutting a few lime slices. You take the opportunity to pour your own shot, and wait for him to finish. Ass or not, you have to admit that this particular interaction is going well. Even if it started out with him questioning your drinking choices. “To becoming party people,” he says once you’re set up with the salt and the lime.

“To becoming party people.” You touch your cup to his, lick the back of your hand, down the shot, and find your eyes meeting his as you suck on the slice of lime. For some reason, it brings a smile to your face. You certainly didn’t expect at any point tonight to find yourself in a frat kitchen, taking tequila shots with Kyoya Ootori, of all people. “Does this mean we’re not enemies anymore?”

Now he raises a brow. “Were we ever?”

You snort. “I mean. We didn’t exactly get off on the best foot in class.”

“I hardly think a difference in opinion makes us enemies. It made for interesting conversation, at the least.”

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

You point at him. “You’re one of those devil’s advocate guys. Is that it?”

A little crease appears between his eyebrows. “What?”

“You just like to argue for fun? You get off on it? Is that how you think normal people communicate, just pointlessly debating all the time?”

“We were having a discussion. In a discussion seminar. What’s pointless about that?”

You roll your eyes. “Can we take another shot? Whatever looks like it’ll taste the worst.” You know by now that if you want to get really fucked up, you have to go for the cheap stuff.

Once that shot’s been downed, you clear your throat. “Okay. I just…you really didn’t feel like there was any bad blood between us? I mean, okay, what about the hospital the other day?”

He pauses. “What about it?”

“We…well. I sort of jumped down your throat.” You take a breath, then a sip of your seltzer, then another breath. “So I guess that was my fault. Sorry about that.”

“Forgiven. Though, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t holding it against you.”

“Nice of you.”

“You didn’t seem to be having a great day.”

“Well. Mondays, you know?” You tip your head back, enjoying the buzz that is rapidly taking hold. “Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays…Saturdays. Sundays. Hard to pick a least favorite.”

“Sounds miserable.”

You shake your head. “I’m exaggerating. It’s not actually that bad. But the first week of the semester is always the hardest.”

“And the second week. And the third, the fourth, the fifth.” When you focus your unsteady gaze on him, you’re delighted to realize there’s something like a glint in his eye. He really is teasing you. “And so on, and so on.”

“Sounds miserable,” you parrot back at him, and he almost cracks a smile. “Well. At least Tamaki and Haruhi—”

“Kyoya? What are you doing hiding out—oh.” Olivia stops in the kitchen doorway, and takes in the sight of the two of you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You respond to her closed-mouth smile with an uneasy one of your own. Olivia seems nice enough, from your little exposure to her, but sorority omegas always make you nervous.

“I thought you were grabbing us drinks,” she says to Kyoya, winding an arm through his. If you weren’t already tipsy-on-the-way-to-shitfaced, you’d swear you see him tense slightly. “But I see you found Little Miss Joan-of-Arc here.”

Your smile freezes on your face as she turns back to you. “(Y/N),” you offer.

“Yeah, I know. Crusading against the big bad alpha-omega industrial complex, or whatever it is, right?”

She laughs. You join in, if only because you don’t know how the fuck else to respond, and those two back-to-back shots were definitely a bad idea. Kyoya doesn’t laugh. She notices.

“What? I’m just joking. It’s funny. (Y/N) doesn’t care, right (Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

“See?” She cocks her head. “Y’know, it’s so crazy, I feel like I know everyone at Ouran. But I, like, didn’t have any idea of who you were until Monday. Are you a transfer?”

“No, I actually went here for undergrad before—”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you, like, out. At any benefits or anything.”

And there it is.

There’s no denying—Ouran is a nice school. A private university, an elite and expensive private university, where scholarship students are few and far in between. And the elite tend to flock together. So it’s no wonder that Olivia (Freidmonte, a Google search after that first class revealed, and a literal fucking diamond heiress) would know all of the other rich kids (aka ninety percent of the student body) from benefits and balls and whatever else rich people did to pass the time.

Olivia’s not stupid. She’s probably put two and two together and figured out that you’re just too poor for her to have taken notice of before. But it seems, from the way she’s clinging to Kyoya with a grip that would put an anaconda to shame, that she’s probably just annoyed that a lowly beta on a scholarship would have the audacity to talk to her boyfriend. Drunk or not, you know when you’re not wanted in a room.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just…I have to meet some friends out there. Sorry.” The room is starting to spin around you—in a drunk way, not a fainting way, you’re pretty sure—as you make your way out of the kitchen. “See you in class,” you mumble. Neither one of them responds.

Being in the louder, crowded room almost immediately makes you want to throw up, so you push through to the nearest door, which leads to the backyard. It’s not far enough into the season to be cold; a leftover summer evening, a gift in these early September days.

You stumble down the creaky wooden stairs and collapse with your back against the house, and absentmindedly take another sip of your White Claw, before realizing with a groan how that’s definitely not going to make you any less drunk.

Oh, well. You’re too thirsty to really care.

“Having that good of a night, hm?”

Not Kyoya this time; someone you don’t recognize. Or rather, someone you do, but not by name. “Oh. Hi…”

“Reese.”

“(Y/N).” They offer a very ring-heavy hand, which you shake. If you were more sober, you’d try to get a better look. Heavy jewelry bothers you to wear, but you always like seeing it on other people. And the sight of one particular ring rings some bell in your memory as to where you know Reese from. “Oh. You run the beta frat, right?”

If you were drunk, you wouldn’t have said that at all; especially not that bluntly. You’d spent years dodging Epsilon Phi’s recruitment efforts. They seemed nice enough, but you couldn’t justify carving out the time or the money (or the interest) to take part in Greek life. But it seemed like a nice space, as far as frats went. Friendly. Full of people (of all presentations) who didn’t think that betas ought to fade into the background.

One only had to look at Reese to demonstrate that. They were probably the best-looking person you’d seen in your life, right up there with Tamaki Suoh; they even had similar tanned skin and beaming eyes, though their hair was bright copper and closer-cropped than Tamaki’s. Wearing a bright, tastefully low-cut purple shirt and high-waisted jeans, with the aforementioned jewelry (in addition to the rings, you blearily clocked several necklaces, bracelets, and at least one cartilage piercing). “We don’t really call ourselves that, but yeah.”

“Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” To your horror, you’re getting a little choked up. Something about the slog of the week; the reality of Haruhi going on a date with a guy who is, by all appearances, perfect; Olivia; Kyoya; those two-and-a-half drinks—it’s too much.

“Hey! It’s not a big deal, really. You’re fine.” They peer at you with what you dimly register as concern. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”

“M’fine.”

“Yeah. Water. C’mon, the kitchen’s this way.”

“No, no, no,” you say, clinging to some vague idea that Kyoya and Olivia might still be there. After some coaxing, you do allow them to get you to the (blissfully empty) kitchen, find you an unopened bottle of water, and get you to divulge the names of the friends you came here with.

They disappear, but you only have all of thirty seconds to feel abandoned before they return with the twins, who fuss over you and determine immediately that you should probably go home. Even though it’s, like, ten in the evening.

This part of the night is the fuzziest, even as you’re living through it. Stumbling down empty streets. Crashing through your front door. Crouching in front of the toilet with one twin holding your hair back. Being tucked into bed on your side. The door; Haruhi’s voice; the door again, and quiet. Someone leaving pills and water and a big blue bottle on your nightstand. Sleep, curling around you.

late bloomer, ch 11

“Olivia!” Reese goes over to her with a hug. “Perfect timing.” 

“Now that?” Lou whispers. “That I will definitely not miss.”

"Does she—" You look from her to Olivia, back and forth. "I mean, do they come here a lot?"

"Oh, yeah. Look I'm all for uniting forces or whatever. And most of the Triple O folks are super sweet—"

"Plus, they can organize the shit out of a fundraiser," Regan adds.

"—True. But I went to high school with Livvy Freidmonte, and unless she's changed since then…" Lou shakes her head. "I know a first-class bitch when I see one. I wouldn't trust that girl as far as I could throw her."

"Really?" you ask. "What exactly—"

"Alright, everybody!" Reese claps their hands together, and the room settles down. "Let's get started. Re-started. For the new folks, this is Olivia Freidmonte; she's one of our siblings over at Triple O, and our head coordinator for collabs! Olivia?"

"Hey there!" Olivia is all smiles and pep as she waves at the crowd. "So stoked to be here. Now, as most of you probably know, the Winter Wonderland end-of-term music festival last semester was a huge success. Between ticket sales, merch profits, and voluntary donations, we raised twenty thousand over the span of two days, all of which went directly to fund arts education programs at high schools in the surrounding areas."

A round of applause, which you find yourself joining in on. Whatever your personal feelings on Olivia may be, twenty thousand dollars in two days? You can't help but respect it.

"Looking into the future…the good news is, we're less than two weeks out from our spring fundraiser! Bad news: thanks to a little fire snafu, Grand's is closed for repairs all month. So we're on crunch time to find another venue. It's a smaller event, very lowkey; ideally we want to find somewhere closer to campus, with a kitchen or at least a fridge we can use to store food, mix drinks, stuff like that." She scribbles a phone number on the board. "Just shoot me a text if you know of a place. This is a great opportunity to…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Regan whispers. "She seems super nice."

"You just think that because you're super nice, Ri," Lou whispers back.

"I'm just saying! High school was a long time ago."

"Yeah. I don't know. (Y/N), you're in the same year as her, right? You must have crossed paths. What do you think?"

As you open your mouth to say something, Olivia's gaze falls on you. You freeze. It feels as though time slows to a halt: she pauses in her presentation for a moment. Her smile falters. Her eyes narrow slightly.

Then, as though nothing happened, the smile is back on her face, and she continues on, just as peppy as before. You let out a breath, before remembering that Lou and Regan are still both looking at you, waiting for an answer. You give them a tiny smile. "No comment."

*************

As the evening winds down, you have to admit: you had a pretty good time. Olivia ignores you, to the point that you begin to wonder if you imagined her noticing you during her presentation entirely. You trade numbers with Lou and Regan, offering to answer any questions they might have about surviving senior year, and promising them you'll consider coming to the next Cozy Quorum. Overall, as you exit into the cool early-spring air, you're feeling pretty good.

"(Y/N)!"

"Hey!" You turn to Reese with a smile. "Thanks for inviting me. This was actually really cool."

"Not so bad, right?" You nod. "Now, listen, I swear I didn't have any ulterior motives when I ran into you this morning, but…"

You try to pay attention. Really, you do, but your head is too scrambled. If Haruhi isn't home (it's a Sunday, so probably she is) (on the other hand, she doesn't have any classes on Mondays…) (does Tamaki?) then you only have to worry about dinner for yourself, which means eggs. Or, no, you were supposed to pick up eggs today. Chips and dip, then. And then the paper proposal. Technically you have until the end of class, but you really should email it by morning—were you assigned an early morning shift at the cafe tomorrow? No, an afternoon one.

Your phone buzzes, and you can't help but glance down and see it's from an unfamiliar number, and you're suddenly too distracted to—

"—think?"

"Hm?" Reese is looking at you. Shit. Your cheeks heat up immediately, mortified as you are to be caught so blatantly zoning out. They don't seem to have noticed, though, so you take a crapshoot and give them your most enthused nod. "Right! I mean, yes, absolutely."

"You are a lifesaver." Reese claps. "This is perfect. Let me just put you in touch with—there she is."

Before you can stop them to ask whose life you're saving, and how, and what exactly you just agreed to, they tap someone on the shoulder. That person whirls around and—oh, wouldn't you know, it's—

"Olivia, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), Olivia. You're both first-year grad students, I think?"

"We've met," the two of you say simultaneously. She sticks a hand out, which you accept. "(Y/N) and I have a class together, actually. Some gender-studies thing."

"The Radical Dynamics of Jane Austen," you supply. This handshake is going on for way longer than is comfortable.

Reese nods, possibly sensing the tension, but eventually deciding to bowl through it anyway. "So. (Y/N) works at that incredible coffee shop on the corner of Oak and Whitley, and apparently it's free two Fridays from now, which means…"

Olivia's look of disdain explodes into an overenthusiastic smile. "Oh, my gosh! Seriously?"

Before you can say anything, Reese nods. "I'll leave you two to work out the details—but, (Y/N), seriously? Thank you. I owe you one." With a wink—to you? To Olivia? Who knows!—they're gone.

"Well." Olivia looks you up and down. Between the necklace and the blowout and the perfectly coordinated pink outfit, it’s like looking at Evil Elle Woods. “You’re just popping up everywhere, aren’t you?”

You meet her fake smile with one of your own. “Could say the same about you.”

“Oh, the Trips all love EpPhi. We throw mixers all the time. It was so awesome to have you join us last night!” The smile she gives you practically shows each and every one of her perfectly square, perfectly white teeth, making you feel even more like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. "I didn't realize Reese was finally able to get that due waiver program rolled out."

"Hm?"

"Oh, you know. Greek life can be so…you know. Old money. Reese is super dedicated to trying to diversify—" (somehow, she manages to make that sound like a bad thing) "—and I guess it's working."

"Oh, no. I'm not joining. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with joining." Why are you trying to explain yourself? If Olivia's decided to dislike you, nothing you say is going to win her over. "I just came to check it out. It was cool, though—your presentation was great."

She scrunches her nose at you. "Thanks. Well. Even if you're not pledging, that just makes it even nicer of you to get so involved."

"Oh, no, I'm not—"

"No modesty, please. You're a total lifesaver. Anytime we have insider contact for a venue, it's always, like, an executive whatever, and half the time they don't have any idea what actually goes into putting together an event like this. It'll be so helpful to have the perspective of, you know. A lower-level employee."

You are so, so tempted to just say it was all a big mistake.

But the cafe calendar is empty two Fridays from now. And Reese, who has been nothing but nice to you since you met, seems kind of desperate for you to say yes.

Not to mention, all special events at Ground Up get logged as overtime hours—meaning, double pay.

Double pay plus tips.

So, with no small amount of reluctance, you nod. "Mm-hm. Right." This fake smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks. You clear your throat. "So! We should, um, set up a time to talk through specifics, right? I have a shift at the cafe tomorrow afternoon after class, if that's a good time. That way you can get an idea of what the space looks like?"

"Perf." The gap between her words and the way she looks at you while saying them is starting to make your head hurt. She passes you a card. "Here's my number."

"Great." She's already halfway down the street, clearly just as eager to get away from you as you are from her. "See you in class!" you call after her. Your phone buzzes again—a two-minute reminder of the text from earlier. You swipe it open.

unknown: Shockingly, I did not get 'sexiled' tonight.

unknown: Hopefully this doesn’t mean you’re sleeping on the front porch.

A smile rises to your mouth unbidden. You create a new contact with the number, and then type:

Y/N: I have a bed of my own, you know.

*************

You're shutting the front door of your apartment behind you and kicking off your shoes by the time you get a reply.

Kyoya Ootori: I’m aware. 

Kyoya Ootori: It’s a good one. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.

"You're home late."

You look up. "And you're…home." You toss your bag under a chair and tuck your phone into your pocket as you sit down across from Haruhi, who's typing away furiously at her laptop. "Rewrite?"

"Prewrite." She takes a sip of coffee, then goes back to typing. I'm trying to get ahead on work for the next two weeks, so that I'm not behind when I get back."

It's not unusual for Haruhi to be on top of things—but missing class? "Get back from what?"

"Tamaki's heat is coming up this week. Thursday, probably. Kiera's heats were always pretty long." Kiera…ah, yes, that was two ex's ago. "Tamaki says his usually only last a couple of days, but I want to be ahead. Just in case."

You feel like you're moving underwater. Even blinking seems to take twice as long as usual. "Can't hurt to be prepared," you manage.

"Mm-hm." She takes another swig of coffee, finishing the mug. You grab it and go to brew her some more, if only to get away from the table. Seemingly oblivious to your general state, she asks, "What about you? Good weekend?"

"Weird weekend."

"Weird? Huh." She chuckles, but doesn't press further.

The coffee starts to drip. "That's big," you say. "The heat stuff."

"Oh, this is nothing. I should have it all done by tomorrow."

"A big step in the relationship, I mean. Like, spending a heat together." You lean against the counter, chewing on your bottom lip and shooting another text to Kyoya.

Y/N: My halfprice preowned fb marketplace boxspring is honored

Kyoya Ootori: Hang on, checking my clothes for bedbugs.

Y/N: >:(

Kyoya Ootori: Just a joke. I promise.

Y/N: I know

Kyoya Ootori: Okay, good.

Y/N: That was just the face i made when i realized there isn’t a bedbug emoji

"I mean." You shake your head, bringing your attention back to the present. "Are you nervous at all?"

She stops to think about it, head tilted slightly. "No," she finally says, turning to look at you for the first time since you walked in. "Actually, this is the first time I haven't been nervous to spend a heat with someone new. Is that weird?"

"No." The way she says it, so matter of fact, sends an odd pang of sadness through you. You think of how Tamaki looks at her. The way she looks talking about him. Kyoya's certainty when he talked about what a good match they were. "It's not weird at all."

"Really?"

You pour the coffee, and try to smile as you bring it over. "You know I don't know anything about how all of this heat stuff works. But I do know this guy makes you happy, so. As long as he's treating you well, I'm happy." At least that much is true.

"Mh-hm." She gives a little smile, but you can tell her attention is firmly back on her work.

Which reminds you, you should be getting to your own work. You give her a pat on the shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the hay."

She nods. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime. Don't stay up too late."

"I will."

You share a chuckle at that. "I know," you say softly.

As you reach your doorway, she calls out, "Oh, hey—did Kyoya end up dropping off the vitamins the other night?"

You freeze. "Uh, yeah, actually. He did." She doesn't look up, and you decide to test whether or not she's actually listening. "I invited him in to hide from the rain, we split the bottle of vitamins over candlelight and smooth jazz, he ended up staying the night. Super romantic. We're madly in love now. Instead of fighting during class we just make out on the seminar table."

"Cool."

Yeah, she absolutely isn't listening to you. "Yeah. Cool." Probably this is some sort of karma, for how you did the exact same thing to Reese earlier today—mm-hm-ing and yeah, sure-ing your way through a conversation. But it still stings. "Night."

"Night."

Kyoya Ootori: You’re…sad that there’s no bedbug emoji?

Y/N: Thatss a lie, actually

Y/N: Id pay the emoji people every cent in my bank account to never ever create a bedbug emoji

Kyoya Ootori: Noted.

Kyoya Ootori: I hope you had a good day.

You smile.

Y/N: You too. 

Y/N: Enjoy not being sexiled. I'll see you in class tomorrow?

Kyoya Ootori: Likewise. See you then.

Kyoya Ootori: I actually have something I want to talk to you about in person, if you’re free after.

But by the time that last text rolls in, you’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth and started typing away at your own laptop, phone face down on your nightstand.

*************

Come morning, you've written a paper proposal that you're pretty proud of, actually. Abe was right—you are capable of more than that first effort.

Unfortunately, writing it did take you most of the night. Meaning you only got a few hours of sleep before your alarm went off. You skim your new notifications, only half processing them—until you see an email from TA Abe asking if you can swing by his office hours after class.

Shit.

Did he already read your proposal? Is it really that bad?

Whatever the verdict is, you’re not going to improve anything by skipping class. You drag yourself in and out of the shower, chug some decaf coffee—a placebo for dire situations like these—and run. When you get there, the seminar table is about halfway full. You slide into an empty seat by the windows. When Kyoya comes in, you give him a wave and a smile, which he returns. You're about to gesture that he should take the empty seat next to you—

When Olivia slides into it.

“Morning.” She pulls a lipgloss and tiny mirror out of her bag, touching up her already perfect makeup. God, you wish you were that put together. Even at nine in the morning, she doesn't have a single hair out of place. "Are you still free after class?"

"Yeah—I just have to pop by Abe's office hours super quickly, if that's alright?"

She gives you a thin smile as she snaps the compact shut. "Sure." Before you can respond, she's turned away from you. "Kyoya! Where did you disappear to this weekend? I was…"

You tune her out. It's too early in the morning to eavesdrop, you decide, especially on two-point-five hours of sleep. You'd estimate you have maybe five hours of awake time left in you before you crash, if you're lucky. And that's not even taking into consideration the sheer amount of energy you're going to have to expend trying to get through this meeting with Abe, and this meeting with Olivia, and your actual job.

Class feels ungodly slow. It's not boring, of course—how could it be? But your exhaustion makes you sloppy, combined with how on edge you are about your meeting with Abe. You try your best to keep a low profile. Kyoya must be able to sense you're a bit out of it, because he goes a little easier on you than usual. Or maybe that's just because he remembers your conversation from this weekend, and because Olivia is literally sitting smack in between the two of you.

In any case, you're relieved to make it through class more or less in one piece. When it's done, you stand up, ready to follow Abe and a few other students to his office elsewhere in the building. As you make it to the door, a wave of dizziness overtakes you, and you stumble.

"Woah." Kyoya is there, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." You blink. "Sorry, I just had to pull an all-nighter last night."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing." You wave a hand. "I've been taking my multivitamin, so. Iron for days, over here."

He chuckles. "Glad to hear it." He sticks his hands in his pockets.

As he opens his mouth to say something, you glance a ways down the hall, where Olivia is giving you the death glare to end all death glares.

"—work?"

You blink again, and look up at Kyoya. You get the sense that he's expecting you to say something, though you have no idea what. You're about to ask what, but then, there, behind Olivia, Abe disappears into his office. "Work. Yes, office hours and then work. I have to run—sorry—but I'm all good, I promise!"

He says something else, you think, but you're too far down the hall to hear him. Oh, well. It probably wasn't anything important.

*************

You walk into Abe's office just as another student is leaving. Abe looks up and waves you over. 

“(Y/N), hey! Great timing. Have a seat—this’ll only take a second.”

You drop your bag and coat and sit. He’s busy pulling up something on his tablet. You feel more and more like you’re about to throw up with each passing second.

“So,” he finally says. Your stomach clenches. “Got your email. I only had a chance to give it a cursory lookover this morning, but…” He turns off his tablet, puts it onto the table, and gives you a smile. “It’s really good work, (Y/N).”

Your heart leaps into your chest. “Really?”

“Really. Look, I’ve read all the JLT essays for years now, and you’ve always been solid. But this is a step up.” He gives you a thumbs up. “Good job pushing yourself, kid.”

There’s still a lot to do, of course—the deadline for the assignment, and the contest, is less than a month away. But it’s a step in the right direction. It’s amazing what the tiniest bit of academic validation can do—you feel like nothing could possibly bring your mood down.

Not even Olivia, who's in the hall when you come out of Abe's office, still chatting with Kyoya. When she sees you, she waves to you, then leans in closer to Kyoya to say one more thing, her hand resting on his chest. You do your best to look disinterested. The last thing you need to do is give her any more reason to think the two of you are fighting over Kyoya.

After a few more giggles and another long touch to Kyoya's arm, she bounds over to you.

"Sorry about that," she says. "Let's walk?"

You give her a nod, and a tight smile of your own. As she grabs her phone to shoot off a quick text, you can't help but take one glance back at Kyoya. Kyoya, at the other end of the hall. Kyoya, who you still can't quite figure out.

Kyoya, who's looking at you, too.

*************

The planning part goes relatively painlessly. Olivia might be the most organized person you've ever met, with an event binder perfectly sectioned and highlighted in a rainbow of sunset tones. She has all of the forms needed—some for you to sign, others for you to pass along to your upper manager—and knows all of the right questions to ask about time, spacing, cleanup, fees.

"You're really good at this," you tell her, and you mean it. With her help, you've accomplished in five minutes what would take most people hours—weeks, even—to get done. She shrugs. "No, seriously. It's really impressive."

"Oh, this is nothing. My mom is involved in, like, a billion different charities, and I'm the oldest, so I got roped into helping out when I was, like, eight. And all of the planning for this was done already. All there really is to do is transplant all of the catering and things to the new venue. Reese was right about using this place. It's cute."

Was that…a compliment? Not to you directly, but still. "You think?"

"Yeah! Tiny, but cute."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. She turns a page, seemingly very interested in the binder as she asks, "So, like. How do you know Reese?"

"Huh?" You were expecting her to ask you about Kyoya. But in the twenty minutes you've spent walking to the cafe, and now sitting here, she has yet to bring up his name once.

"I mean, I'm by EpPhi a lot, and I've never seen you around there. And you said you're not pledging or anything."

"Right." This is still a territorial thing, then—just after actual territory, this time, not romantic territory. "No, yeah, I just—we ran into each other at a party, and I guess they were looking to recruit people for the open-night meetings?"

Before she can answer, you hear: "Livvy!"

Both of you look up and are immediately crashed into by a couple of red-headed whirlwinds.

"Hey guys," you say, once Kaoru has released you from his iron grip. "Oh, shit, am I late?"

"What? No way. You have, like, five whole minutes before our shift even starts." Kaoru says, ruffling your hair before turning to address Olivia. "Miss Freidmonte. Never thought we'd catch you on this side of campus."

You look back and forth between them as they start chatting. Before you can ask any questions, a new voice says, "I came here expecting to see one friend, and here's four!" Brighter than the twins, even. "What are the odds?"

Tamaki, radiantly cheerful as always. When he finishes hugging Olivia and each of the twins, he sweeps you up into a bone-crushing hug of your own. "(Y/N)! Long time no see."

"Oh!" You do your best to smile as he pulls away. "Hi!"

"I hope these three aren't giving you a hard time, are they?" He playfully bats one of the twins on the shoulder. You let out a confused laugh.

"No, we just—Hikaru and Kaoru and I work here, and Olivia and I were just going over a project—what brings you here?"

"Oh, Haruhi wanted some coffee, and I thought it would be nice to come say hello! Since I'll be stealing her from you for the next week," he laughs.

"Hi." Peeking out from behind him—Haruhi. She gives you a little wave, which you return. "I'll be out of the house tonight."

"Oh, yeah," you say, your brain almost entirely blank trying to process all of your different worlds colliding at once. "Totally. No worries."

"I picked up eggs, though. And some more tea."

"Thanks. That's—"

"Haruhi," Tamaki interrupts, "have you ever met Olivia?" As the two shake hands, he claps his own together. "So many of my favorite people, all in one place! And (Y/N), you said you two were working on some kind of project, right? Sounds fun."

"Yeah," Olivia says, flipping back a few pages in her binder. "The EpPhi-Triple O joint fundraiser next Friday? We're having it here—you guys should totally come!"

"Next Friday? I might be out—heat leave."

You're shocked once again at how casually he says it. Even more than that, how casually everyone else responds. "Oh, totally," Olivia says, with a sympathetic nod.

"First heat together, huh?" Hikaru says. "That's exciting!"

You are going to be ill if you have to sit through another second of this conversation. You glance at your phone, desperate for some excuse. "Two minutes! I should start getting ready for work." You grab the stack of papers to be signed. "Liv—Olivia—thank you for…" You wave the papers. "I'll email these to you?"

She nods, only half paying attention as she continues explaining the fundraiser. Good enough. You get up to go. Haruhi gives you another muted smile as you leave, and Tamaki another blinding one.

As you walk away, you turn your attention back to your phone, scrolling, scrolling…and see another text from Kyoya. One you'd missed, last night.

Kyoya Ootori: I actually have something I want to talk to you about in person, if you're free after.

Huh.

It was sent a while after his last text to you, too. You start typing.

Y/N: Sorry I missed this. I'll be at Ground Up until 5

Y/N: Is everything ok?

You backspace that last text, but send the first. Almost immediately, three dots pop up as Kyoya starts typing out his response…

Then the three dots disappear.

You stare at your phone.

*************

It can't be anything bad he wants to talk about, right? That's what you tell yourself as you go through the motions of manning the register, checking mobile orders, rinsing shakers. If it was something urgent, he could have told you as much. But you can't imagine anything he'd need to talk to you about that couldn't be discussed over text.

Olivia's still at her table, which isn't exactly helping your nerves. Not that she's looked your way since you went to go clock in. She's still pouring over her binder, cross-checking a page with something on her laptop, occasionally marking something in highlighter or Wite-Out. More fundraiser stuff, probably. Or homework. Tamaki and Haruhi are still here, too, on the other end, sitting at a table pressed up against the windowed wall. It's probably a bit creepy, you know, the way you can't stop sneaking looks at the three of them, but it's either that or keep thinking in circles about Kyoya.

Which you're still doing.

Maybe…maybe it's the breaking heat news?

That's the only thing you can think of. Yeah, surely that's it—you've set yourself up as someone he can complain to about Tamaki and Haruhi, after all. Maybe he just wants to have a vent session. God knows you could probably use one, too.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?"

"Hm?" You look over to see Hikaru putting order stickers on cups and sliding them over to his brother.

"You've been washing out that one shaker for, like, two minutes straight."

"Oh." You shake your head, grabbing a towel to dry it off. "Sorry."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nickel?" Kaoru immediately tries to one-up him.

"Dime?" Hikaru counters without missing a beat.

"Quarter?"

You roll your eyes. "Livvy, huh?" They both just shrug. "So you guys just know everybody, now, is what I'm gathering."

Kaoru snorts. "We don't know everybody. You just happen to know nobody, which is why it seems like we know a lot of people by comparison."

"That's true," Hikaru says. "Although, she said you're helping her with this fundraiser thing?"

"Yep."

"(Y/N)!" He slaps you on the back so hard you almost drop the cup you're holding. "Look at you, going out and socializing! Trying new things! Can you believe it, Kaoru?"

"It's not a big de—"

Kaoru places a hand over his heart and sniffs. "They grow up so fast."

"You guys—"

"I'm just so honored we get to see it happen." They both step away from you, wearing identical expressions of mischief. "Although…"

You cross your arms. "What?"

"You still won't tell us who your mystery date was on Saturday."

"Oh, my God."

"You know, I just…" Hikaru lets out a huge, exaggerated sigh. "I thought we were friends, (Y/N)."

"No." You shake your head, turning away from them both, even as an unwelcome smile plays at the corners of your mouth. "None of that."

"I thought the countless hours we spent toiling away here meant something."

"I guess not."

"Kaoru, not you, too," you groan. "Guys. Seriously. We had this conversation. You thought it was Reese Barlow, right? So, sure. It was Reese Barlow."

"Nice try," says Hikaru.

"Yeah. No way we actually fall for that."

You press your lips more tightly together. They look at each other and sigh in unison.

"Such a shame," Hikaru says, shaking his head. "I guess we'll just have to ask Haruhi."

Your head snaps up. "Sorry?"

They both nod towards the far corner of the cafe, where Haruhi and Tamaki are still seated. Or no, sorry, just Tamaki is seated.

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Summary: At first sight, you and Kyoya Ootori couldn’t be more different. He was raised in wealth; you work triple shifts at the local coffee shop. He’s a born-and-bred alpha; you’ve spent years fending off societal scorn at your status as a beta. He’s a pompous ass; you…well, you’ve never claimed to be the nicest person alive, but at least you have some concept of manners. However, you do have two very important things in common: first, you’re both grad students at Ouran University.

Second, you’re both desperately in love with your roommates.

(Or: the slice-of-life a/b/o fic in which you and Kyoya agree to fake date in order to make your respective crushes jealous. Everything goes according to plan and nobody falls in love with the wrong person…right?)

late bloomer, ch 10

You wake up in your own bed, which is good.

You’re also surrounded by empty wine bottles and cups, which is…less good. 

Doesn’t matter. You can clean those later. Right now, you let your eyes flutter back shut, planning to get whatever additional sleep you can before your alarm goes off. You smooth your cheek against the pillow, which seems almost to be rising and falling beneath you.

Oh, shit.

Not a pillow; a chest. A person. And all you have to do is let your gaze wander ever-so-slightly upwards to confirm that wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, that person is none other than Kyoya Ootori. He stirs. Slightly. He must have felt you move your head. 

“Kyoya,” you whisper. He doesn’t respond. You try again. “ Kyoya.”

His arm tightens around your waist, and you feel his chin against the top of your head. Before you can even consider what you’re doing, your eyes close again; your leg curls over his hips, your face tipping up to rest against his neck. 

The panic and embarrassment you should be feeling? Nowhere to be found. It’s buried beneath half a dozen layers of a deep, heavy calm, too powerful to fight. You let out an involuntary hum of contentment, pressing your hips more firmly into his, and—

He jerks awake. 

The sudden movement shakes you out of your fog, and simultaneously the two of you leap to opposite ends of your creaky twin bed. He hits the wall; you fall off, You scramble ungracefully to your feet. “I didn’t—um.” You grab his glasses from your nightstand, and toss them at him. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

And with that, you bolt from the room.

“What did you do?” you whisper to your reflection.

In your early college days, when you went out more, you took a specific pleasure in going to the bathroom, mid-party, and looking at your face in the mirror. Examining it. That is me, you would think. That is me and I am drunk, wheeeee--

Now, you find yourself doing the same thing—regrettably sober.

You look down at your clothes. Pajamas. You do remember putting on your pajamas. You remember opening the door; opening the wine; passing out after Kyoya left for water. You don’t remember him coming back.

So you didn’t sleep together, then, you just…slept.

That calms you down a bit. You set about actually brushing your teeth, washing your face, combing your hair. 

When you get out of the bathroom, you half expect him to be gone, but he’s still here. Leaning against the doorframe to your closet-sized-bedroom, holding two steaming mugs. He is also dressed in yesterday’s clothes, rumpled but still obviously expensive.

“Coffee?” he asks. You take the mug to be polite. “I called a car.”

“Oh. Good.” He sips his coffee. You put yours down on a little shelf built into the wall. “I’m sorry about…all of that.”

“All of what?”

“You know. We don’t have a proper guest room, or anything,” you improvise, trying to convey your intended meaning without flat out saying sorry for snuggling up to you in the middle of the night like some kind of drunk koala. “I mean, we don’t have a couch. Or, like, any floor space whatsoever. So I appreciate you being cool with sharing the bed.”

“I’m the one who showed up unannounced.”

“At Haruhi’s request. And besides, I invited you in,” you say, and how has this become an argument over whose responsibility it was that you woke up cuddling? “And then proceeded to foist alcohol upon you.”

“I think you foisted more alcohol upon yourself than on me,” he says, his voice wry. 

That’s true—you drank more than him, and you’re a lightweight to begin with. Oddly enough, though, your head feels entirely fine. “I’ve had much worse nights out. Out and in.”

“I’d agree. This was one of my better nights in, as of late.” He checks his phone. “And it seems H and T are still occupying my apartment, so. As much as I regret imposing on you, I can’t say I’m not grateful.”

“Right.” You lean against the wall, and slide down until you’re sitting more comfortably on the floor. “What a shitshow.”

“You know, coffee might not fix a broken heart, but it’ll at least do something about the hangover.”

You shake your head. “I don’t drink it. Sorry. Not that I don’t appreciate it. It was nice of you.”

“A grad school student who doesn’t drink coffee? I didn’t have you pegged as that much of a masochist.”

“Guess you had me pegged wrong. But I do drink tea.”

“Noted.” His phone buzzes again. “Car’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Monday. In class. Right, it’s Sunday already. Christ, all the unfinished work you have to get done…

You nod, giving him a small smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thank you again for the hospitality, (Y/N). Especially the wine.”

“Wait!” You stand up, reach out a hand. Without having to be asked, he hands his phone over, still unlocked. You text yourself his name, then pass it back to him as the two of you walk to the front door. “There. Now you have my number. Feel free to shoot me a text if you ever get sexiled again.”

“Thank you.”

“Not going to return the offer?”

He shrugs. “I strongly doubt Tamaki would elect to stay here in the face of…” He peers back over your shoulder at the world’s tiniest living room. “Literally any other option.”

“Fuck off.” You can’t help but grin as you say it.

He smiles as the car pulls up. “Have a good afternoon, (Y/N).” And with that, he’s down the stairs, down the sidewalk, and gone.

Afternoon? You look at the time. Sure enough, it’s a quarter to one, which means… shit. Shit!

It takes you ten seconds to yank on shoes and a coat and take off running.

*************

“Sorry, sorry!” You get around the counter and scribble your name on the clock-in sheet just as the hour turns. At least the rain washed away the last of the snow and ice, which made your sprint slightly easier than it would have been otherwise. Kaoru regards you with amusement. 

“Careful there, (Y/N),” he says, “You’re only exactly on time .”

“Ha, ha.” You’re trying to slip your apron over your head while simultaneously tying your hair back. It is not going well. “You look like hell.”

“Why, thank you.” He pretends to flip hair back over his shoulder. “And in last night’s clothes, no less.”

“Worth it?”

“Never. It was that Zeta guy. The one from last semester.”

You freeze. “No.”

“Yeah.” 

“White Boy Dreads?” He nods, and you groan, tipping your head back. “Kaoru. Even you have better taste than that.”

“I missed the first half of this, but no, he doesn’t have better taste than whatever it is he did. Especially not after ten shots of Fireball,” Hikaru says. He yanks on one of the ties of your apron as he passes by, freeing you from the tangled mess you’d gotten yourself into. “You don’t look much better yourself. Are those pajamas?”

You look down. Silky white sleep set with little pink and purple hearts all over it, check. Bra, uncheck. Heat rushing to your cheeks as soon as you realize—check, check, check. “Shit! Is it that obvious?”

“Apron covers most of it. Stay behind the counter, you should be fine.”

“Right. Perfect.” You rub your eyes and shake your head, trying to wake yourself up. Trying to focus. “Remind me to never keep alcohol in the house ever again.”

“Hungover? On a Sunday? ”

“More importantly,” Kaoru says, “what I’m hearing is that you’d rather drink alone, in your shoebox of an apartment, than with us.”

“I wasn’t alone,” you say, “and besides, I wasn’t planning to get drunk, I just—”

“You weren’t alone?”

You freeze. “What?”

“Well. It’s just interesting, because…” Hikaru pauses to open his phone, and gives it a few taps before turning the screen to you. “I have it on very good authority that Haruhi was out of the house last night.”

You look at the picture — a beautiful candlelit dinner — then back at him with an unamused expression. “So by very good authority , you actually just mean Tamaki Suoh’s Instagram story ?”

He locks his phone, and slips it back into his pocket. “Fess up, (Y/N). Who were you with?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? You get laid for the first time in ages , and it doesn’t matter?”

“Nobody got laid last night!” Your gaze slides sideways. “Except for White Boy Dreads.”

Hikaru wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, Kaoru. Really?”

“Not the point. (Y/N) —”

“I should check on the register,” you say, and escape before he can get any further. You’re not exactly in the best mood to be receiving customers right now, but at least a perfect stranger won’t ask you anything more personal than whether or not you’re out of croissants. "Hey there, welcome to Ground Up."

"(Y/N)?"

"That's what it says on the tag—oh." It so happens that the person on the other side of the counter isn't a stranger. Or not a perfect stranger, at least. Bronze hair, bright smile— "Hi. You're—"

"Reese."

You nod. "Yes! I know. Sorry, I'm just—” such a mess this morning “—I, uh, what can I get started for you?"

"Flat white with oat milk, if you have it?” You try to keep your face neutral, though you catch Kaoru snickering in your periphery. “And…” Reese scans the pastry display. “I don't know. I'm stuck between the pumpkin bread and the Danish. Which would you recommend?"

"Hm. I’d usually say pumpkin bread, but…” You shift to a stage whisper. "This is the end of last week's batch, so it's not as fresh."

They chuckle. "Danish it is, then."

You pass off the marked up cup to Kaoru, and wave off Reese when they offer their debit card. "Don't worry about it."

"What?” They try offering it again. “No way."

“Please.” You shake your head, keying in the code to cancel the transaction. "It's the least I can do to pay you back after you rescued me the other week."

"And after you forgot my name this morning."

"I didn't—" They tilt their head, and you realize you're being teased. "Well. I knew it started with an R, at least."

"Honestly? Grateful for even that." You share a small laugh. They tuck their hands into their pockets. "Hey, I'm actually glad I ran into you here. I don't want to overstep, but..." 

“Oh?”

They hand over a different card—a business card, almost, but instead of their name and number, it's the name of the beta frat.

“Oh.” You hold it like you would a live slug. Then you remember yourself, and try to school your expression into that of someone who doesn’t feel as though they’re holding a live slug.

“We’re having a meeting tonight. Not a meeting-meeting, just this thing we do every other Sunday—I mean, usually we burn through a couple of agenda items for the first fifteen minutes, but after that it's just, like, a study hall. But more social.” When you don’t respond for a few seconds, they add (with a chuckle), “You don’t have to be a card-carrying member, I swear. Zero pressure. But it’s a good time, and I think you’d really fit the vibe.”

You’ve spent so much time avoiding Greek life at Ouran. And while half of it has to do with an actual distaste for frats themselves…you’d be lying if you said that was the only reason. 

There’s no shame in being a beta. You know that. You’re the first to proclaim that. Why, then, does it feel like that proclamation applies to everyone but you? 

For all your determination to not feel shame in your status, you’ve never felt comfortable taking up space in all-beta rooms. You don’t apply for beta-only scholarships. You at least have attended some rallies and donated to some fundraisers over the years, but for the most part school and work kept you so busy that anything else had to fall by the wayside. But it makes you feel like a sham. Like you’re all talk and no walk. 

You’ve tried to comfort yourself sometimes with the thought that academia isn’t nothing—this degree is the start of an entire career, an entire life, dedicated to the examination of dynamics. The work that Professor Suzuki and Abe and all the researchers like them are doing—the kind of work you want to do—is the type of thing that informs policies for decades to come. 

So no, academia isn’t nothing. It is, however, incredibly slow. Any progress you make will be subtle. It won’t come to fruition for years down the line. 

And…does it make you a bit of a hypocrite, this not-so-subtle avoidance of all beta spaces? 

You know your answer to that—yes. It’s just hard to shake this…this fear. The feeling that you’re not a good example of what a beta should be. The feeling that you should be happier. More content. More at peace with who you are. In truth, the idea of sharing a space with people who are so entirely secure in their—your identity—made you feel deeply inadequate.

Better late than never, right? 

You finish bagging their Danish, and move to hand it over the pastry counter to them. “Sounds cool.”

“Great! Hope to see you there.” They toss a few bucks in the tip jar, ignoring your protests. “Cool outfit, by the way,” they say over their shoulder on their way out.

You look back down at your pajamas, and immediately bury your burning face in your hands.

“Reese Barlow was your mystery date?" Kaoru lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Now I'm really embarrassed about settling for White Boy Dreads."

“The fact that you weren’t embarrassed before is embarrassing," Hikaru says from your other side.

“There was no mystery date, we just—hey!” That last bit is in response to Hikaru plucking the card out of your hands, and Kaoru grabbing your wrists to keep you from stealing it back. You hate it when they team up on you. "Cut it out!"

“ Epsilon Phi Cozy Quorums ,” Hikaru reads. “Oh. So they were just…recruiting you?”

You get your wrists back from Kaoru, and Hikaru hands you back the card. “I guess.” 

“You gonna go?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” You shake your head, and put the card on the counter, next to the register, which you open to re-sort the bills. It’s rare to have a lull in the cafe during the afternoon on a weekend—part of the reason why you always make a point of arriving ten minutes early, to get ahead of the work rush—and God knows the twins aren’t the best at keeping things organized. “I have all this work I meant to finish last night—”

“Before you got distracted by your mystery date, right.”

You shoot Kaoru a glare. “And part of it is a paper that I’m also going to be submitting for this scholarship contest thing?”

“I thought you’d already won every single contest in the school.”

“Yeah, but this one—it’s the Jennifer T. Goodwin scholarship? It’s, like, the biggest one in the department. So it’s not just the money, it’s the prestige—although the money would help, obviously.” You sigh, flipping through a stack of ones as you think of all the free time an extra ten thousand dollars could afford you. “I could travel to other universities for document research, I could replace my laptop, I could cut back on my shifts at the cafe…”

“Less shifts at the cafe? You absolutely cannot win this scholarship,” Kaoru says. 

“Absolutely not.”

“We won’t let it happen.” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t waste your energy on sabotage. I’ve lost it every year I’ve been here. Don’t know why I’d expect this year to be different.”

“Jennifer T…oh! I have heard of that, actually,” Hikaru says. “That’s the one Ootori wins every year, right?”

You freeze while shutting the cash drawer. “Who?”

“Kyoya Ootori. You know him, right?”

“Why would she? The only people she even talks to are us and Haruhi.” Kaoru hip-checks you as he carries a tray of replacements to the pastry display. “And apparently Reese Barlow, now.”

“Yeah, but Kyoya and Tamaki live together. And if he keeps beating her in this humanities scholarship thing, they must have had a class together at some point.” Hikaru turns to face you. “You ever run into him, (Y/N)?”

*************

According to the card Reese gave you, EpPhi’s monthly shindigs take place in the old church on the end of campus, which is A) a bit creepy, location-wise, and B) doesn't exactly ease your concerns that you're about to be indoctrinated into some kind of cult. 

But when you walk into the basement, you're met with an airy, well-lit space. Paper lanterns are stacked atop every open surface, in soft golds and blues; against the back wall, a line of foldout tables have been set up and laden with food. The rest of the space is filled with overstuffed chairs, couches, beanbags; plush-looking rugs where a few people are sitting crosslegged with plates of food in front of them. 

"(Y/N)!" Reese waves at you over from the main table. "Glad you could make it!" 

You walk over to them. "Yes! Sorry I'm late, I just—" 

"No worries. You came at a good time; we're pretty much done with all the boring administrative stuff, so now people are just mingling while we wait for the Trips to show up. Go on, get some food." 

The who? you want to ask, but they're already gone to greet someone else. You grab a plate of snacks and make your way over to the nearest empty beanbag. 

You weren’t going to come. It’s like you told the twins—you have work to do. As soon as you got home from your overlong shift at the cafe, you sat down with your laptop and forced yourself to read every single winning entry Kyoya had ever submitted to the JTG.

They were all brilliant, dammit.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You know he’s smart, obviously. And he wouldn’t have gotten first prize if the essays weren’t any good. But…God, it’s just so unfair. Not only does he clearly not need the money, but you’ll never forget what he said the first time he walked into your Austen seminar. Where does he get off, submitting to prestigious awards in departments he clearly doesn’t give a shit about?

And all of this is complicated, of course, by the fact that you have hung out with him in depth, and are finding it increasingly difficult to dislike him.

He hasn’t texted you since this morning. Not that you’d expected him to. But you did maybe want him to, loathe as you are to admit it. You spend all day at the cafe with the twins, and Haruhi’s text chain with you has mostly been reduced to her letting you know that she’s going to be out of the house again. You’re lonely.

And so—after many failed attempts to rewrite your own essay submission, after scrambling together a discussion post response for your class tomorrow, and after checking your empty message inbox an embarrassing number of times, you dug the little card out of your pocket and headed across campus. To make some new friends, maybe.

Of course, you didn’t exactly get to where you are now by being a social wunderkind. 

So you resign yourself to people watching. The room isn’t overly crowded, but there are a good number of people here. Reese, of course, talking to a group of newcomers by the window; people standing and chatting at the food table, people with laptops in one corner, people coloring in posters in another.

“First time?”

“Hm?” You turn. A girl—shorter than you, with long, honey-colored hair and a well-tailored red pantsuit. “Oh. Yeah. That obvious, huh?”

She laughs nervously. “No! I mean, I’m new, too. New-ish. This is my second one. It’s really fun, though, everyone’s really nice. Sorry, I am off to the worst start—Reagan.” She sticks her hand out for a firm, if fluttery, handshake; her hand feels so light, almost delicate, in yours.

“(Y/N).”

“Yeah—I think I saw you present at SecGen last year? Sorry, not that—I mean—God, I sound like such a creep—”

“Chill, Ri.” Another girl, tall and dark-skinned with close-cropped curls and the prettiest eyeshadow you’ve ever seen. “But yeah, we were both definitely at the panel. You fucking nailed it.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm. Your advisor last year had submitted your thesis project—which combined your interests in medicine and the humanities—to a university conference hosted at Ouran, one of the biggest academic events of the year for people studying secondary gender dynamics across fields. Being selected as an undergrad was a huge honor. Probably the biggest honor of your academic career. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry, I have the worst memory for faces—”

“Shut up, you were the one up on the stage. Don’t expect you to remember a couple of faces in the crowd. But you’ve met Reagan now—forgive her the fangirling. I’m Lou.”

The conversation flows more easily than you would have expected. They’re both undergrads, you find out—seniors, so one year below you—and waiting to hear back from engineering job interviews (Lou) and med school applications (Reagan). You don’t envy them. You remember the anxiety of being a senior and not yet having any concrete plans for the next year.

“I’m going to miss Ouran, though,” Reagan sighs. 

Lou snorts. “I’m not.”

“Oh, come on. When else are you going to get the chance to live somewhere this beautiful?”

“Beautifully racist, sexist, classist…” Lou ticks off on her fingers. “Look, will I miss waking up every morning and looking out my window to see buildings that look like literal castles? Yes. Am I going to miss being micro- and macro-aggressed at every quarter hour on the hour?” She shakes her head. 

A wave of relief washes over you. “Yes!” 

She looks at you. “Aren’t you literally going to school here? For several more years?”

You nod fervently. You love the twins, but sometimes it seems as though they occupy a different reality than you, in terms of struggling through Ouran. It’s nice to meet someone who gets it. “I thought it would be better in grad school, but if anything it’s so much worse. I mean, I love the work, but it’s just…”

Lou shakes her head. “And that’s where we differ. God help me, I wouldn’t go into academia if I had a gun to my head.”

“As opposed to engineering, that famously easy field,” quips Reagan.

Lou holds up her hands. “As long as they pay me and they don’t assign me any five to eight page papers with one inch margins on some niche topic I don’t give a flying fuck about, I’ll be happy.”

As you all share a laugh over that, you’re struck by the warmth in your chest. Yes, you’re dirt poor and overworked and losing your best friend to a man who knows the difference between sauvignon blanc and chardonnay, and also losing this one fucking scholarship contest over and over again to a man who also knows the difference between sauvignon blanc and chardonnay. Yes, you are going to have to pull an all-nighter trying to rework your paper proposal into something salvageable to show T.A. Abe tomorrow. And somehow, in this moment, you are bothered by none of it.

“Hope you guys didn’t start the party without us!”

You shake your head. ”Nothing to talk about.”

“I think we both know that’s not true. Anyone in the same room as you two for more than five minutes would be able to—”

“Okay, okay!” Your cheeks are warm and the room feels somehow even smaller than before, and he won’t stop looking at you with those damn eyes. “Enough about me—how about you and Tamaki? What’s the story there? You meet at Ouran, or what?”

He purses his lips, clearly weighing whether or not to give up his line of questioning. You bite the inside of your cheek. “Junior high,” he finally says, and you sigh, relieved. “He was a new student. My father wanted to get to know his father, and asked me to show Tamaki around.”

“Similar circumstances to Olivia?”

“Only this time, it stuck.” He chuckles. “I got stuck. With him. Every class, every lunch period; every day after school.”

The idea of it brings a smile to your face: tiny, stoic Kyoya being trailed around all day by tiny, histrionic Tamaki. “Talk about opposites attracting.”

“That’s magnets. Tamara’s more like superglue.” That gets a full snort out of you. “You’ve met him. He’s…bubbly. And persistent. Once he’s decided he’s fond of someone, he clings to them for life.”

“So I’ve heard,” you murmur, remembering what the twins said the other day.

“Well.” He shrugs. “I just happened to be exceptionally lucky that he decided he was fond of me.”

Something changes with this last sentence; something about his voice, his expression, is overall demeanor. A softness that you haven’t yet seen in him.

But a softness you recognize nonetheless.

“Oh.” You clap a hand over your mouth, and fully stand up. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

“You. You’ve got it bad.”

“I—”

“I’ve seen that look. I invented that look. You love him, don’t you?”

He scoffs, not quite convincingly. “Everyone loves Tamaki.”

“Not romantically. But you do. Oh my God! No wonder why you looked like you couldn’t wait to get away from Olivia at that party.”

No mistaking it now; he is one hundred percent, unmistakably blushing. “I think you were too drunk that night to remember much of anything.”

You shake your head, delighted. “Not this. I remember this, crystal clear. What is she, like, a beard? But Tamara’s an omega, so that shouldn’t matter—”

“Olivia isn’t my beard,” he says sharply. You shut up immediately. Clearly you’ve struck a sore spot. He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I have nothing to hide, thank you. Yes. Yes, Tamaki and I have had a long friendship, and there were points where I maybe wanted something more, but…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. “But?” you prompt him.

A long moment passes. “I waited too long.” He smiles. Fully this time. It’s the saddest smile you’ve ever seen. “Just like you.”

That hangs heavy in the air. Mostly because you don’t want to agree with him, but you also can’t protest.

Although— “I mean. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s been a couple of weeks; they’re hardly getting married.”

“You don’t hear the way he talks about her,” he says glumly. “I mean, I’ve seen Tamaki through dozens of relationships, long and short. He always falls head over heels. But there’s something different about this. She…grounds him. They’re incredibly balanced.”

“I know what you mean.” And you do. You’ve seen Haruhi off on every date she’s gone on since middle school; you can’t recall ever seeing her smile the way she does now.

Except in pictures, maybe.

From before her mom died.

“It’s just…fuck.” You shake your head. “Fuck.”

“Pretty much.”

You purse your lips. “Do you drink?”

He gives you an odd look. “You really don’t remember anything about that night? Friday, a few weeks back?”

“I remember exactly as much as I’d like to, which is pretty much nothing.”

“Except that you thought I was…dating Olivia to conceal some hypothetical feelings for Tamaki.”

“I never claimed to be right one hundred percent of the time.” You pull out some wine from the cabinet. “Fair warning, this is probably going to wreck your rich-boy tastebuds. But it’s great for taking the edge off of heartbreak.”

“Heartbreak feels a touch overdramatic.” You turn to him with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, your expression a question. He signs. “I’ll take an extra heavy pour.”

“Greedy.” You give him his extra heavy pour, and a slightly less heavy pour for yourself. You clink glasses.

*********************

“M’dad.” All of the earlier decorum is gone; Kyoya is all but sprawled across the bed. “He doesn’t approve of Tamaki’s pearntige. Parentage. Pa-ren-tage.”

“What?” You sit up, knocking the second empty wine bottle onto the floor. When did you move to your bedroom, again? “You’re both fancy-schmancy prep school kids. What’s to disapprove of?”

“Tamaki’s mom wasn’t married to his dad. “Probably they’d’ve gotten rid of the baby, but his wife-wife couldn’t have kids of their own, so they figured might as well…” He waves his hand. “Might as well…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. And my dad doesn’t want those genes in his grandchildren.”

“Aren’t you the second kid, though? Doesn’t that matter?” He looks at you quizzically. “Sorry. I hate-Googled you yesterday. After I finished hate-Googling Tamaki. There’s nothing bad about that asshole anywhere.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he agrees. “He’s ridiculous. Yes, I’m the spare, not the heir. But I’m still part of the family. It’s part of, um…part of being born into the dynasty.”

“So you find someone you like, they’re in the right social circles, they follow arbi…arbital…arbitrary presentation-based mating traditions from, like, the fifth century or whatever, and he decides it’s a no-go just because Tamaki’s dad decided to cheat?” He nods. You let out a long breath, slumping back down on the bed. “What the fuck.”

“I mean, we could’ve dated. Probably. But it would’ve ended when I had to get engaged.”

You shake your head. “Backwards.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it be worth it? Still? Better to have loved and lost, something something…”

”Maybe. But I doubt he was ever even interested.”

”You never tried, though.”

He shrugs. “Too late now.”

“So. Okay. Do you just…not date, then?”

“I date.” He shrugs. “Not seriously. Not too casually, either—you have to be careful who you fuck at Ouran, because everyone’s hungry for money and everyone’s eager to kiss and tell. But I have friends.”

You laugh. “Friends.”

“Friends help each other out with cycles, sometimes,” he insists. “It’s normal. And better than most alternatives.”

“Well.” You let your head loll back. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Obviously.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something?”

“Yeah.” It slips out before you can think twice.

“Really?

He sounds…almost surprised.

“I mean, not always.” You’re not sure why you’re being so honest. You’ve never even told Haruhi this before. “Not even most of the time. But I’ve wondered.” You look at him. That piercing gaze, back on you again. Even drunk, you’re bewildered by how deep his eyes seem to cut you, and you turn away, suddenly embarrassed. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Such a shame. Olivia would have a field day with that one.”

You giggle. He joins in, and you realize that, whether you want to or not…you like Kyoya Ootori. You like being around him.

You want to be his friend, even.

“You’ve got to stop leading her on,” you tell him between fits of laughter. “At the very least, for fuck’s sake, argue with me a little less in class? Every time you acknowledge my existence, she gives me this look like…I don’t know. Like she wants to burn a hole in my skull.”

“She does not.”

“She does! I swear. I don’t care if you use a fake girlfriend to make Tamaki jealous.”

“It’s not—”

“I know, I know,” you cut him off with a hand on his arm. At least, you aim for his arm, but somehow miss and hit his face instead. You pull your hand away like he’s a hot stovetop. “Sorry.”

“I was going to say, I’m not trying to lead her on. Jus’ got to tolerate her for business’ sake.” He sighs. “At this point, I could use a fake girlfriend to get her off my back.”

“And make Tamaki jealous.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t protest immediately. Instead, he shrugs. “It wouldn’t hurt. Has that ever worked for you and Haruhi?”

“As if. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since…god, since undergrad at least. So who knows?”

“Well. You give it a try, and if it works you let me know.”

You settle into a comfortable silence. You know he’s joking, but some gear has been set off deep in the drunken recesses of your brain. “We should date.”

He stiffens next to you. “What?”

"To make ‘em jealous." You roll over on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Two birds, one stone. I’m a genius.”

You weren't prepared to have your face this close to his. He isn't wearing his glasses. Pale skin; dark brows, finely arched. The wrought-iron line of his lips. Your pulse quickens. His eyes flicker down and up, taking stock of your expression, and he opens his mouth. For a second, you think he might be considering it.

But then he laughs. “You’re wasted.”

“Yes, and I’m a genius.”

He shakes his head, pressing his hands to his eyes. “I’m going to get you some water.” He stands up, and heads for the kitchen. You fall back on the bed, giggling uncontrollably at your own stupid idea. Thank God he didn’t take it seriously.

You roll over, burying your face in the pillow and inhaling deeply. Fuck, you can’t remember the last time something smelled this good. Maybe Haruhi bought a different detergent. You’ll have to ask her in the morning. Whatever it is, you feel warmer and fuzzier and sleepier than ever. You’re dimly aware of Kyoya moving around in the kitchen. It’s a comforting soundscape. Footsteps. Cabinets opening and shutting. Water running from the tap.

late bloomer, ch 5

“God, another flat white?” You grit your teeth together as you tack the order sticker to the cup and pass it off to Hikaru. “Fucking grad school hipsters.”

“Says Miss matcha latte, please, with oat milk and a pump of vanilla? ”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“One, yes you do,” Kaoru chimes in from your left, grabbing the cup from his twin. (He’s right. You absolutely do.) “And two, you’re just pissy because Haruhi’s missing your super-special, super-roomies slumber party thing.”

You snatch the cup back from him, and push past to the steamer. “It’s a movie night. And it’s tradition. We’ve done it every year since we were eight.”

“So? It’s not like you’ll never see her again.”

Hikaru nods. “You literally live together.”

“Every year,” you repeat stubbornly. “For almost two decades.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do it every other year for centuries to come.”

“Kaoru’s right, (Y/N). Look at it from her perspective.”

“I am .”

“You sure? Because last I checked, it’s not every day you get asked out by an incredibly rich, incredibly good-looking omega.”

“He wasn’t that good looking.”

“But he is rich,” he counters. You open your mouth, and he raises his hands. “I know, I know. Saint Haruhi would never care about something so superficial as looks or money.”

“Probably she just likes that he’s assertive enough to ask her out to her face.” Kaoru leans against the counter next to you, crossing his arms, and leans in, staring at you almost as hard as you’re trying to avoid making eye contact with him. “Instead of, I don’t know, pining after her for years …”

“Shut up.” You look at the clock, and shove the finished drink at him. “And start closing out the register, while you’re at it.”

You escape to wipe down the empty tables, stacking chairs on them once they’re clean. The last customer takes her drink and, mercifully, immediately leaves. You lock the door behind her.

“Someone’s in a rush to get out of here,” one of the twins calls over the counter. You roll your eyes, though it’s more out of affection than annoyance. Or at least equal parts affection and annoyance. When they first started working at Ground Up (one of the busier coffee shops on campus) two summers ago, you were primed to dislike them—the class clown energy, the endless quips and banter.  And you, as the most senior barista on shift, had the joyful task of trying to wrangle them into model service workers. In hindsight, maybe you were a touch too strict. You can’t imagine they liked you all that much back then, either. Those first few weeks in particular were so isolating—the way they talk to each other is almost like a secret language. You suppose that’s one of the perils of sharing a womb for nine months.

But at some point—somewhere between arguing about an espresso machine malfunction, and Hikaru walking in on you crying in the supply closet after a particularly stressful shift—they must have decided to adopt you, or something.

Of course, that doesn’t mean they tease you any less.

But it’s never mean spirited. And it’s nice to have that camaraderie. To be included in their secret language. And besides—no matter how much they may annoy you sometimes, there’s a special tie that forms between a couple of poor kids having to deal with the same stuck-up trust-fund babies coming into the cafe, day in and day out. You guys are trauma bonded, in a way.

“Remind us again why you haven’t asked her out?”

“I—”

“Ohhh, shit, that’s right—you don’t have a reason!” Kaoru cuts you off. “You’re just a wimp.”

Then again, being trauma bonded with them means they know all of your deepest, darkest secrets. Which gives them tons of material with which to be annoying as hell.

“I’m not—” You stop, and sigh. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Mm hm.”

“And besides, it’s not like I haven’t told you before.”

“Right.”

“Fine! Fine.” You pause your chair-arranging to face them, ticking off reasons on your fingers. “I don’t want to ruin two decades of friendship. The last thing Haruhi or I need is a relationship when we’re already swamped with school and loans and all of that crap. I’d rather ask her out after school, when we’re employed and financially stable. Odds of college sweethearts lasting are zero to none already, and I don’t want to sour a perfectly good relationship with pointless arguments.” All that endless bickering. For some reason, your mind flickers back to your arguments with Kyoya—in class, at the hospital. The memories alone are enough to set that familiar fire of rage alight in your chest, send the blood rushing through your ears.

“But don’t you think—”

You put a chair up onto a table with such vigor that it ends up slipping right back off, crashing to the ground so loudly that you actually jump. They both rush to your side.

“You okay?” Hikaru asks, as his brother puts the chair up properly.

“I…I have to go.”

“...Okay.”

“I told Haruhi I’d be back in time to help her pick out an outfit,” you say. They both groan. You turn away from them, wiping down another table that you may or may not have already wiped down two minutes ago.

“(Y/N).”

“This is starting to get sad.”

“I mean, it was sad already.”

“Really sad.”

“But c’mon.”

“Guys!” You whirl around with your hands in the air. “Really. It’s not a big deal. She’ll go out on one date with him, and then she’ll get bored, and then…” You notice them exchange a look. “What?”

“Tamaki Suoh can be…a lot,” Hikaru starts. You snort.

“Yeah, I noticed. That’s what I mean, they’re nothing alike at all—”

Kaoru shakes his head. “What we mean is, he can be persistent.”

“Single-mindedly persistent. And charming.”

“ Really charming. When he sets his sights on a goal—”

“And right now it sounds like his goal is to romance Haruhi—”

“He won’t stop at anything.”

You roll your eyes. “So? Haruhi’s not going to get fooled by some…some insincere rich guy who’s just trying to smash.”

“I said romance ,” Hikaru repeat. “If he asked her out, it’s because he wants to date her. As in, a real relationship.”

You think back to the way he looked at her in the hospital. Sure. You suppose that makes sense. “Okay.” You cross your arms. “But, I mean, that isn’t only his call to make. She has to like him enough to want to date him.”

“Yeah. And clearly, she already does,” he points out.

You open your mouth, then close it. Uncross your arms, then cross them again. “How do you know so much about this guy, anyway? I’ve never even heard you mention him before.”

They exchange another look. An infuriatingly unreadable look. It's the kind of look that reminds you—no matter how good friends you may be, you didn't share a womb with them, and you'll never be able to read their secret language completely.

“We’ve had a lot of classes with him,” Kaoru finally volunteers.

“Yeah. That.”

You give them an odd look of your own, before returning to cleaning. “Whatever.”

They sigh in unison. “It’s really not healthy for you to be fixating so much on one person, (Y/N),” says Hikaru.

“You think I don’t know that? Trust me, I’d love to just be able to go on dates with people.”

“I don’t think you do, though, is the thing.” Hikaru hops up to sit on the table you’re wiping. You stop, but avoid making eye contact. “It’s starting to feel like an excuse, at this point.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Like, as long as you’re so focused on not-dating Haruhi, you don’t have to go through the stress of actually dating anyone.”

“And then you don’t have to open up to anyone, which means you don’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

You plop down in one of the remaining chairs, and raise your eyebrows at them. “What is this, one of your psych projects?”

“I mean it! And hey, look—if you want to be single, then stay single. But don’t do it because you’re stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever.”

“And if you do have to be stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever, why not switch it up? Pick someone else for a change. You don’t have to automatically be in love with the person you’ve known the longest.”

“Yeah. If that was the case, Hikaru and I would be screwed.”

You let yourself crack a smile at that. “Fine. I hear you, okay? I don’t necessarily agree with you…but I hear you.” You glance at your watch. “Shit. I have to run—you guys can put this last chair up, right?" You grab your bookbag off the floor and take off. "And don’t forget to take out the trash!” you call over your shoulder.

“Mmph.” You take a tiny bite of toast, relieved to feel your stomach immediately settle. Nothing to soak up a hangover like good ol’ fashioned carbs. “Speaking of big nights, how was your date?” You try to imbue the words with some girly, friendly teasing. Between the headache and your tongue getting all mucked up with peanut butter and dry bread, you’d estimate you’re maybe half successful.

“Well. I’m seeing him again tonight.”

You choke. The tea sort of helps, but you can’t help but sound just slightly hysterical when you ask, “Oh? That’s—that’s good! I mean, the date must have been really good. Or really bad, ha ha.”

“Yeah. We had to cut the night short, and I…” She closes the newspaper. “Is everything okay?”

Panic. Cold and immediate, blooming in your veins. “What do you mean?”

“Hikaru.” She goes an uncomfortable amount of time without blinking. You know that’s just a normal Haruhi-ism, and it’s one of the things you love about her…but it’s also just as unsettling now as it was when you were six. “When they brought you home last night, I was surprised you’d gotten so drunk and he said I should ask you about it in the morning.”

“Right.” You are going to murder Hikaru. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just…”

You are going to murder him, and yet…for better or worse, Hikaru has presented you with an opportunity. A chance to be brave. For some reason, you are struck with the conviction that you will never have a better or clearer or more reasonable time to explain everything you feel for Haruhi than right now, right here, at this table.

This is it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You look up at Haruhi. Meet her gaze. Steady, solid, and stoic as always.

And you say, “It’s just been a while since I’ve had anything to drink.”

She stares.

You shrug. “Forgot what my limits were, I guess.”

Silence. Not a comfortable silence at all.

“I’m sorry you you had to come home early,” you say. Anything to fill this deadly space. “To look after me. I was really okay, I just—the twins were being overdramatic. You know how they can get.”

“I know.” She worries her bottom lip. “You seemed really fucked up, though. I don’t think they were wrong to be concerned, especially after the fainting on Monday.”

That tugs at your memory…something from last night. A comment. You can’t remember exactly what.

In the present, Haruhi is still looking at you. You muster up an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I should have been more careful. I will be more careful. Although,” you add, raising the tea and the toast, “for what it’s worth, I think I drank enough last night to get me through the rest of the semester, so. No more big nights in my near future.”

She nods, rewarding you with a tiny, perfect smile of her own. “Good.” She goes to pick up the paper again, then pauses. “(Y/N).”

“What?”

The tiny, perfect smile deepens. “He’s so easy to talk to.”

*****************

The next week or so feels like you’re sleepwalking.

Monday: Wake up. Drink your tea. Wave goodbye to Haruhi. Sprint to class. Try to avoid eye contact with Kyoya and Olivia; succeed around forty percent of the time. Ignore the embarrassment-induced dizziness that washes over you when you pass by Kyoya on your way out. Go to your shift at Ground Up. Put up with your daily quota of roasting from the twins. Go home. Eat dinner with Haruhi. Go to sleep.

Tuesday: Wake up. Drink your tea. Wave goodbye to Haruhi. Go to class. Go to your shift. Try to avoid thinking about Haruhi and Tamaki; succeed around thirty percent of the time. Wish the twins were at work with you to distract you from all of the Haruhi-and-Tamaki related thoughts. Go home. Listen to Haruhi shyly gush about Tamaki. Go to sleep.

Wednesday: Wake up. Drink the tea Haruhi left for you. Catch up on all the work you didn’t do Monday and Tuesday. Try to avoid thinking about Haruhi and/or Tamaki and/or Olivia and/or Kyoya. Succeed around five percent of the time. Watch too many episodes of some trashy reality tv show without actually processing any of it. Try to ignore the fact that Haruhi doesn’t come home. Go to sleep.

Thursday: Wake up. Brew your own tea. Pour it out when it turns out awful. Drag yourself to class. Have a meeting with Seminar Leader Abe where he gently and thoroughly tears your midterm paper proposal to shreds. Run to work and spend the five minutes before your shift crying in the supply closet. Endure pokes from the twins and think about all of the things you don’t want to think about on loop until you can go home and eat dinner (alone) and take a Benadryl and try, try, try to sleep.

And so on and so forth.

The week after that passes more or less the same. Bringing you to yet another Friday night waving goodbye to Haruhi and Tamaki as they ride off into the sunset. Another Friday night ignoring texts from the twins begging you to get out of the house.

Thing 1: y/n, i’m starting to seriously worry about you.

Thing 1: we both are.

Thing 2: fr nobody has THAT MUCH HW get your ass out here

Thing 2: dont make us come drag you out

An empty threat; they’ve said as much before, but they’ve never actually followed through.

Thing 1: y/n.

Thing 1: you cant just wallow like this forever.

As if to prove (to them, to yourself, to everyone) that you’re not wallowing (even though you totally are) you force yourself to do a little self care night. A long shower, your comfiest pajamas. A face mask.

And, of course, your laptop. You weren’t lying about having a lot of work to do. Especially since Abe eviscerated your paper proposal; you basically have to start from scratch. “Don’t get me wrong,” he’d said at your meeting. “I’d accept this from a worse student. But I’m going to be picky because I think you’re capable of more.”

Which, as far as roasts go, is about as nice as you could have asked for.

But it still stings. Especially seeing as how you want so badly to win this scholarship. It’s a matter of pride…and of finance. Which means you’re going to have to rise to the bar Abe has set for you.

You head to the scholarship website. In the past, you’ve always avoided looking at the entries of the person who beat you. Skimmed them, sure, but you couldn’t bear to do a deep reading. You don’t even remember their name. But that’s held you back; not properly analyzing their work has kept you from properly eviscerating your own work, which has kept you from getting better . You don’t have that luxury anymore.

Your mouse is hovering over the Past Winners! tab when—

The doorbell rings.

More accurately, it makes a sound like a hornet getting electrocuted; in any case, you frown. Not at the hornet sound. That’s normal. The doorbell’s been broken for as long as you’ve lived here. But you can’t imagine who would be at your door at this hour. Haruhi left not twenty minutes ago, and besides, she’s never lost a key in her life. Maybe the twins, finally making good on their promise to drag you kicking and screaming to another frat?

You peer through the peephole more out of curiosity than any real intention to answer. Immediately your stomach turns. You yank open the door on angry instinct alone. “What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Kyoya holds out a bottle.

You don’t take it, but squint at the label. “One-A-Day multivitamins.”

“Haruhi had found this in her bag and was worried about you.”

He’s still holding out the bottle. You take it. “I…don’t follow.”

He sighs. “The fainting.”

“Fainting?”

“She said you’re forgetful, about taking an iron supplement. Worried that might be why you fainted, and then that made her worry about you being home on your own, and so…”

“And so she and Tamaki used that as an excuse to get you out of the house,” you finish the sentence for him.

He nods. “Presumably.”

“What, they don’t have some kind of fancy dinner or something planned?”

“Eating in. He cooked.”

“He cooks?”

“Beautifully.”

Of course he does, that motherfucker. “And… you guys didn’t communicate this ahead of time?”

“Tamaki’s allergic to calendars,” he says. “Or any other form of advance notice.”

“Right.” You could have guessed that. It seems they have a similar dynamic to you and Haruhi (though you’d like to think you’re not quite as scatterbrained as Mr. Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous).

Its pouring outside; he’s crammed himself as close to the wall as he can get without actually touching it. It’s too dark now to tell if there’s a car behind him. He doesn’t even seem to have an umbrella.

You aren’t quite sure what to make of Kyoya Ootori. In seminars you do your best to debate him more politely than you did that first day, but he comes at you with a fire that makes restraint increasingly difficult (which, in turn, elicits stronger death glares and snarkier comments from Olivia). You don’t remember much of that party a few weeks ago, but you do vaguely recall somehow making a fool of yourself, and pretty sure he was involved. And, of course, you can’t see him without being reminded of Tamaki and Haruhi.

In short, he is the very, very, very last person you want to see.

On the other hand…you do some mental math. Tempting as it is to shut the door in his face, doing so would place you squarely above him on the Assholery scale. And however much he remembers of that party, he doesn’t look like he’s here to make fun of you. If anything, he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

Though that might be more due to the rain and cold of it all.

You sigh. “Are you just going to stand there, or…”

A crease appears between those slim, dark brows. “Are you inviting me in?”

“What are you, a vampire?” He doesn’t say anything. “Yes, okay, come in.” You hear him shut the door behind him as he follows you in. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Coffee?”

“…It’s eight p.m.”

“Just trying to be polite,” you mutter.

“Thirty seconds ago you accused me of being a vampire.”

“And?”

“And then immediately invited me in anyway.”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well. I’m not exactly a prime target for blood-sucking, since apparently my iron levels are so fucked up that I can’t be left alone for one night without a babysitter.”

“Or a multivitamin.”

“Right.” You don’t stop opening and shutting cabinets. If nothing else, it gives you an excuse to avoid eye contact while you try to figure out what exactly you said to him that night . “Do you want water?”

“You’re very persistent.”

“I wasn’t raised to welcome a guest empty-handed. Expected or otherwise.” You shoot him a look that you hope doesn’t come across as unkind, but he’s not really looking at you. He’s too busy taking stock of your tiny living-dining-cooking-etc room. You put down a glass of water on the table in front of him anyway, before turning back to finish up your tea. “You sure your girlfriend will appreciate you being at another girl’s house this late at night?”

“What?”

To his credit, he looks genuinely confused. You grab your own mug and sit down at a safe distance away (which, given the size of your place, is the same distance no matter where you sit). “Olivia.”

“Oh. No, she’s not my girlfriend.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Does she know that?”

He smiles. Subtly, but still—it’s there. “Her father wants to make some sort of business deal with my father, I think.”

“Oh, okay. I get it.” You blow on your tea, and take a sip. It’s weak. Tastes like plain hot tap water. You put it down. “The follies of being super mega rich. You’re forced to be besties with all the other super mega rich kids, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Mm.” Based on how long he’s been standing, he must have appraised your apartment ten times over. “You can sit, you know.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He gingerly perches on the edge of one of the couches. “This is…nice.”

You shrug. “It’s an overpriced broom cupboard. But it’s home.”

“It’s just the two of you here? You and Haruhi?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been just the two of us since kindergarten, basically.”

His brows lift. “Really?” You nod. He’s finally picked up the water. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

late bloomer, ch 4

You wake up to a bright light and a high-pitched beeping and what feels like a bag of sand under your head. 

A few shifts later, you realize it’s actually a pillow. A stiff-to-the-point-of-uselessness pillow, but a pillow nonetheless, because you’re lying on some kind of cot. The ceiling above you is a painful shade of white; the walls, too, and as you blink the leftover sleep from your eyes, you realize that the beeping is coming from a machine to your left—a heart monitor, attached to you with various wires connected to your finger, arm, chest.

“Hey, you.” In your dizzy, drowsy state, the sound of Haruhi’s voice feels like a balm to the ache in your head. You turn to see her sitting to your right, looking uncharacteristically concerned. That has you nervous—it takes a lot to rattle Haruhi. “My advisor meeting ran late, so I only just got here, but the nurse said they brought you in twenty minutes ago. All you alright? What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” you say—half out of habit, half because you actually aren’t quite sure. What did happen? How did you get from the classroom to the student hospital? “Nothing serious. Really.”

“You’re hooked up to, like, ten different machines. It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“She fainted,” interrupts a new voice—this one familiar, too, but in a way that makes you tense up automatically. “You’re the emergency contact, I imagine?”

“Roommate.” She stands, and sticks out her hand. “Haruhi.”

“Kyoya.” Your eyes are already fluttering back shut from exhaustion, so you can’t see whether he accepts the handshake or not. “She fainted on her way out of class. Is this a common occurrence for her?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I can hear you talking about me,” you say. They both ignore you.

“Any history of stroke, seizure, anything like that?”

“I’m ba-aack,” sings a new voice. The door swings shut behind him with an audible thump that has your eyes opening, ever so slightly, to see the blonde boy from the hallway. “It took me ages to find the vending machines, and everything there looked so sad and tasteless, Kyoya, it really was tragic—Oh, you’re alive!”

“Awake. She wasn’t dead before.”

“No thanks to you.” He kneels before you and holds up a bottle of electrolyte drink, offering it as though it were a freshly-plucked rose. “On Kyoya’s behalf, as a token of apology.”

“It isn’t my fault she fainted,” Kyoya says, clearly trying very hard to keep his patience. “I wasn’t standing anywhere near her.”

“Exactly. You didn’t even make a move to catch her, and then maybe she would have hit her head and then maybe she would have died, and then where would we be?” The blond boy turns back to you, and flashes you a dizzying smile. “You must forgive my friend. You’d think someone of his pedigree would have better manners, and yet…”

In your most lucid moments, you’re not sure you’d have a good response to a sight like this: the most audaciously good-looking man you’ve ever met in your life, kneeling at your bedside like some knight-errant out of a book. As it is, this is not one of your most lucid moments. So instead of saying anything at all, you just blink at him a few times. He smiles more widely still, and presses the bottle into your hand. 

“Drink up, then,” he says brightly, popping to his feet. “You’ll need it. I used to have fainting spells before my heats, too.”

You almost do a spittake. “What? No, I—this is—”

“People faint for reasons other than heats, Tamaki.” There’s an edge to Kyoya’s voice—not unkind, but stern—before he turns back to Haruhi. If you had a better opinion of him, you might think he was shutting down the conversation to avoid outing your presentation. “So, you said she doesn’t faint often. No strokes, seizures—any history of anemia, maybe?”

Haruhi purses her lips. “She used to have low iron count, but not anemic levels—but she isn’t great at remembering to take her multivitamin. Maybe that could be it.”

You’re still looking at Tamaki over the rim of the energy drink bottle—so you see his face when he hears her speak for the first time. The head turn; the flushed cheeks; the look in his eyes. 

You know that look. You’ve been wearing one like it for the better part of two decades.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He even sounds breathless, somehow. As though he weren’t just standing in place. “Miss…”

“Haruhi. We’re roommates.” She says it in the way only Haruhi can—as though she’s completely immune to his looks and charm (which, knowing Haruhi, she probably is)—before turning back to you. “Okay. You look fine enough to me, so I’m going to go see if we can get you discharged. Did they leave any paperwork here to fill out?”

Behind her, Kyoya lifts up a clipboard—but before he can so much as open his mouth, Tamaki leaps and grabs it from him. “Here! I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t thi—”

“I’ll read out the questions, and write down your answers—that way you can keep an eye out for a nurse or doctor.”

She glances back at you. “I don’t know if I should leave (Y/N) alone.”

“Kyoya can stay with her.” He looks over at him, his eyes pleading.

Kyoya sighs. “Happy to.” 

Before you can protest, Tamaki claps his hands, practically glowing. “Perfect!” He offers an elbow to Haruhi. “Shall we?”

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d swear you almost see the hint of a smile rise to her lips. She ignores his elbow, but walks with him through the door. You can hear his chattering fade as they disappear down the hall, leaving you here. Alone. With Kyoya.

He clears his throat, clearly about to say something. You interrupt. “You really don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “But your friend’s right. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone until they’ve figured out what’s wrong.”

“What’s there to figure out? I fainted. I’m here. I’m fine.” You hold up the electrolyte drink. “I’ll hydrate, go home, and sleep it off.”

“You’ve never fainted before?”

“No. So?”

“It can be a sign of a deeper underlying condition. Blood pressure, heart function, things like that. Normally I’d wave it off as a sign of an approaching cycle, but…”

He trails off, and you raise an eyebrow. “But?” He shrugs, and you laugh, sitting up straighter in your bed. “But we’ve already established that I’m a ‘defunct omega,’ so you know I don’t have a heat or rut coming up. Is that what you were going to say?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sure you didn’t mean anything. From how disinterested you seemed in the class as a whole, I’d be surprised to find out you put any thought into your comments at all.” 

“What makes you think I was disinterested?”

You give him a look. “Your little speech about how you were only taking it to fulfill a requirement, for starters.”

“Would you have preferred I lied?”

“I would have preferred you not announce to the world your disdain for the humanities, and for betas in particular.”

He scoffs. “Now you’re just projecting. Just because you clearly have some sort of beta persecution complex, that doesn’t give you the right to assume—”

“Assume what?” You feel fire rising in your throat. You push the blankets off of you, and stand, slowly walking towards him. “Maybe I do have a persecution complex; maybe I am making assumptions. Because I’ll tell you this: when I look at you, what I see is a spoiled little rich boy, probably a pedigreed alpha, raised from birth with the assurance that your opinion matters more than that of anyone else in any room you walk into; and because of that, somewhere along the road you decided that it didn’t matter if you learned manners or friendliness or basic human empathy, because all of that silly sentimental nonsense was below someone of your intellectual prowess.” You tilt your head, eyes locked on his. “Tell me, Mr. Ootori, is that an unfair assumption?”

“I—” You see a flush creeping up his neck, and you stop where you stand, half-pleased to have gotten a rise out of him. He takes a step in your direction, then, and you realize how close you really are. Behind you, the machine picks up in tempo. He’s breathing more heavily, and you’re half aware that his chest is rising and falling at the same rate as yours. He swallows. “You—”

“Looks like you’re good to go!” 

The two of you stumble away from each other as Tamaki all but bursts through the door, Haruhi and one of the nurses trailing behind him. The nurse and Haruhi both rush to your side. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

As they help you back to the bed, you say, dizzily, “Tamaki said I’m good to go.”

“Pending a check of your blood pressure and other vitals.” The nurse takes a glance at the heart monitor, which, as you lay back down, is starting to return to normal. You think she’s going to require you stay for another few hours, maybe even overnight, but as she surveys the room, something changes in her expression. “Ah. That’s nothing to worry about, then.”

“What?” Haruhi asks.

“No standing up too quickly, and reduce stress as much as you can, for the next day at least. But other than that, I don’t see anything of concern.” She bends down to pick something up, and places it in your hand. The sports drink. “Finish that before you head out, alright sweetheart?” You nod, and she smiles. “Alright, then. You all have a good one.”

She heads out. You sip the sports drink, trying to blink away the dizziness. When you’re back in focus, you see Tamaki step towards you.

“Good to meet you, (Y/N). Feel better soon.” He flashes a small smile at you, and then a brighter one at Haruhi, waving as he walks out the door, Kyoya close behind. The latter doesn’t turn back to look at you. You aren’t sure why that leaves you feeling disappointed.

Haruhi clears her throat. “How are you feeling?” You nod. “Good.” She comes over to you to help you sit up slowly. It brings your heart rate even closer to normal. Haruhi always does, somehow. You suppose it makes sense, given how long you’ve known each other. Crush aside, you’ve known each other practically since infancy. Since the death of your parents, she’s the closest thing to family you have left.

“You know,” you say, playfully as you can, “I think the blond one might have taken a liking to you. You should have seen the way he looked at you.”