#xaan

Kyoya Ootori had always felt different.

Sort of…displaced from the rest of his family.

How petty. He shouldn’t waste so much time to fretting over what must be a common fixture of adolescence. But in quiet moments, when his mind was unoccupied, he could think of little else.

His family was by means homogenous, in either looks or personality. His parents and three older siblings were as different from each other as they were from him. To any outsider, Kyoya wouldn’t seem particularly out-of-place. Even he couldn’t put into words what set him apart from the others. It was an invisible, unspoken rift, and one that had no discernable cause.

Maybe it was the age difference. His eldest brother was almost twenty years Kyoya’s senior; his sister—closest to him in age—was nine years older, and his other brother Akito was in between them. He was the baby of the family, by a wide margin, which might account for some of the gap. His big brothers and sister had shared many experiences that he had no knowledge of. By the time his long-term memory was fully developed, Kyoya’s siblings had moved out and begun lives of their own. His brothers were in training to take over a multi-million company from their father and Fuyumi was happily married with two children.

Even though his siblings involved themselves in his life, the Ootori family was rarely all together. It was simply impractical for them to all gather in one place, at one time. But Kyoya had spent one-on-one time with his siblings and parents over the years—trips to the main hospital where his father worked, outings to the park or the ice cream parlor, day excursions to the sea or the mountains. Each moment carried unique flavor, connected to the person he’d shared it with. But there was one memory—one he’d dreamed of since childhood—that was different than all the others.

He was on a train. It smelt of old newspapers and vaguely of peppermint. The car was rocked back and forth by a whistling wind outside, and large flurries of snow whipped by the speeding windows. The memory was faded and blurred like an old photo, but those few details stayed fixed. And what Kyoya remembered most—the reason he’d clung to this fragment for so long—was the pair of strong, warm arms holding him close. The owner of the arms remained a mystery. Any facial features had been long lost from the recollection. The person was too affectionate to be Father; too short to Mother. They didn’t have his eldest brother’s scent, weren’t wearing one of Akito’s scratchy winter sweaters, and lacked Fuyumi’s lilting laugh.

No one Kyoya mentioned this train ride to had any idea what he was talking about. Multiple times he’d been told it must be a dream, and he might have believed that. The details of the train and the weather—he could have fabricated those. What he couldn’t have dreamed up was the stranger. The person whose face he couldn’t remember had held him so tightly, so protectively. For a moment, it had just been them two alone in the world. It was a fierceness of love and devotion that Kyoya had never experienced again.

Not that his family didn’t care about him. He knew they did, in their way. But none of them had the time to channel their full attention into any one thing. He didn’t blame them. They all had a dynasty to uphold. His elder siblings had each found their place in the Ootori empire, while Kyoya was struggling to find his. Being a late bloomer was frustrating—it made Kyoya feel even more like he didn’t belong.

“What do you mean you don’t know where it is?”

“Exactly that, obviously.”

“Can’t you ask your parents?”

“Father would have my head if I disturbed him at work, and Mother is at a charity auction; her cell phone won’t be turned on.”

Tamaki shuffled around in the dark, stumbling over another pile of clutter. “I can’t believe you waited until the last moment to renew your passport, Kyoya! This is our class trip! It’s a huge deal!”

“If you say so,” Kyoya mumbled, pulling open a large carboard box. The class trip for Ouran Academy’s first-year high school students was fast approaching, and Kyoya had just realized that his passport was expired. If he didn’t get his application in the mail today, there would be problems. Unfortunately, his parents, who had always renewed his papers before, weren’t around to help him find the needed documents. After a significant amount of digging and rummaging around in his parents’ studies, the two boys had found everything except Kyoya’s birth certificate. The attic was the last place they could think to look.

“Bah!” Tamaki exclaimed loudly. “Nothing but moldy old business papers in this one too!” He tossed the disappointing contents up in the air. Most of them fluttered back down into the box, but a few drifted off-course and were lost in the dark attic corners.

“Please pick those up,” Kyoya sighed. “Must you always make such a mess?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” his best friend pouted. “It looks like no one’s touched this stuff since dinosaurs roamed the earth.”

Kyoya rolled his eyes, but Tamaki had a point. The deeper they delved into the mountains of boxes, the thicker the cobwebs became. The container he’d just torn into was filled of contracts and bank statements that were older than half his family. “Ten more minutes, then I’m admitting defeat.”

“Kyoya! You can’t just not go on our class trip!”

“Well I could.” The next box was badly weathered, and a mushroom cloud of dust shot out when he opened it, tickling his nose. “But if it means so much to you, then I’ll have my brother call the Bureau of Citizens and Cultural Affairs and pull some strings.” The Ootori’s first son, with his charming, dimpled smile, could sweet-talk anybody.

“I guess…but isn’t Hiro-san in São Paulo right now? Will you get a hold of him in time?

…Kyoya?”

Trembling hands fumbled with yellowing and faded documents, and Kyoya’s mouth opened and closed noiselessly. He couldn’t focus on anything but the papers in his hand, couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond repeating the words written there in his mind over and over and over and over and over…

“Kyoya, what’s wrong?” he barely heard his friend ask. His ears were buzzing, and his sight was vacillating between clear and blurred. In focus…then out of focus again.

“I…I…Tamaki, I need you to leave.”

“What? Kyoya—”

              “Please,” Kyoya croaked. His head bowed, a fringe of black hair hiding his spectacled eyes. “I really…I really need to be alone right now…”

              Yuka was exhausted when she arrived home early that evening. But it was the good kind of fatigue—the kind that came with a job well-done. Today’s auction had raised a lot of money for local women’s shelters. The long hours spent planning and organizing were all worth it, to know she’d done something to improve the world. Yuka had so much in the way of material things; giving back was what really fulfilled her.

              The house was quiet, which she’d sadly gotten used to. Three of her dear children were gone from the family home now. Despite her best efforts, one day she and Yoshio would be alone in that large house. But she’d hold onto her youngest a little longer. And perhaps someday soon, her husband would hand the Ootori Group over to their children and come away on a vacation with her. They deserved a vacation together.

              Yuka took off her earrings as she walked upstairs to her bedroom. She rubbed her tired earlobes, and then her neck. A hot bath was in order, then a good night’s sleep. She opened the bedroom door and flicked on the light.

              She almost jumped out of her skin, startled to see a figure that had been sitting in the darkness. Just in time she recognized the form and was able to stifle a shriek with her hand. Yuka closed her eyes, composing herself and taking deep breaths as her elevated heart rate returned to normal. “You gave me such a fright, Kyoya…”

              “When were you planning on telling me?”

              Yuka’s dark eyes opened again. Her youngest child was sitting on the floor, back towards her. His voice trembled with an emotion she couldn’t place. “Pardon?”

              “When. Were you planning on telling me the truth? Or was I meant to go through the rest of my life without knowing?”

              “Kyoya—” Yuka took a few steps forward, then stopped, jarred by the sound of crunching beneath her feet. She bent down to pick up the items she’d trampled on, and when she realized what she was holding, her face grew pale and her pulse began to race again. “Sweetheart…” It was difficult to speak; her mouth felt full of cotton.

              “Everybody knew. They must have. You lied to me, all of you.”

              Her stomach turned, guilt welling up at her son’s accusation. “We were thinking of you.”

              “Were you really, Mother?” his back remained turned, but the biting anger was unmistakable in Kyoya’s words now. “Or did you not want to admit that I was one of your charity cases? That Father never accepted me as his?”

              “Kyoya! You know that isn’t true!”

              “But I don’t!” The sixteen-year-old jumped to his feet, whirling around to face her. Past the glare of light against his glasses, Kyoya’s gray eyes were brimming with tears. “My whole life I’ve felt like I didn’t belong, and now I know why! I don’t know if it was something you all did, or just a part of me that always knew…knew that I wasn’t part of—”

              Yuka cut off the words she’d never wanted to hear by pulling Kyoya into a crushing embrace. The damning documents fell out of her hands as she held her son close, trying to convey the depths of her feelings. “You are our son. And we love you.”

She’d loved him since the first day—thirteen years ago when she’d gone to the orphanage to deliver items from the Christmas donation drive she’d put together. She still remembered a chubby-cheeked, crying toddler sitting in the corner, and how his eyes had lit up when she’d handed him a stuffed dog. He’d given her a small, sweet smile that had melted her heart. Fuyumi, her young daughter, was twelve at the time. Both her sons had graduated high school and moved out of the house, and Yuka anxiously dreaded the day when she became an “empty nester”. She had given up her hopes for another child, but this little boy seemed the answer to her prayers. The idea of letting him spend Christmas in the shabby orphanage was unbearable.

It was the first and last family decision she ever made without consulting Yoshio.

He’d been cold and standoffish to the boy at first. Yuka had feared, as Kyoya, that her husband was rejecting the boy because he hadn’t been born to them. Only after a year of tension between the three of them had Yuka realized that Yoshio was afraid of not doing right by the boy. Raising their three natural children had been a struggle itself, filled with the natural mishaps and misunderstandings of parenthood. Even their third time with Fuyumi hadn’t been the proverbial “charm”. It was still difficult, working and volunteering and making time for three children who mustn’t become the victims of favoritism.

Despite their different approaches, Yuka and Yoshio had harbored the same worries with regards to Kyoya.

“We didn’t want you to think we loved you less. And your father…he was afraid that if you learned the truth, we wouldn’t be enough for you anymore. Any distance between you two…it’s his way of protecting himself. Losing you would be so, so painful. Because we love you dearly, your father and I. You couldn’t be more our son if we had given birth to you. And your brothers and sister have never seen you as different. You were a part of them, from the instant I brought you home.”

Tears choked Yuka’s voice. “I’m sorry, Kyoya. I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I really was…trying to think of you. Of your happiness. I’m sorry…that I hurt you. I just…I love you so much, Kyoya…”

Two arms wrapped themselves around her back, returning her hug. “You are the only mother I have. That hasn’t changed. I don’t know why you think it would.”

They both held each other and cried after that.

The Ootoris were still his family. Kyoya still cared about them. Yoshio and Yuka were still his parents. Hiro, Akito, and Fuyumi were still his siblings. If they knew he knew the truth, they didn’t say anything or treat him differently. The only smothering came from Fuyumi, and that was nothing new or unique to him.

Kyoya was grateful that nothing had changed. Any special treatment would have fueled his complicated emotions. At the same time, it was clear he couldn’t discuss his troubles with the family. The slightest hint of dissatisfaction would cause his parents pain—the parents who had taken him in when he had no one. And if he’d thought his siblings wouldn’t understand his feelings of estrangement before, he knew they wouldn’t now. They’d listen and nod along kindly, but sympathy was all they could give him.

None of them understood what it was like to be adopted. To have had a different life, without any memories of it. They didn’t know what it was like to ache for something…someone who must be out there.

Kyoya was desperate for someone to talk to; someone who would understand the conflict pulling him apart. So he began to search for his birth family.

He was surprised when his mother had agreed to take him back to the orphanage. He could tell by the tension in her body that it was difficult for her. But she’d supported him all the same. “I want you to be happy,” she’d repeated.

The trip had been in vain. The orphanage had no information about Kyoya beyond what was already on his adoption decree.

His family name had been Aisaka. He’d born on November 17th in the Nagano Prefecture. He was three years old when he’d been abandoned and subsequently adopted. The records on who had left him at the orphanage were legally sealed shut.

Kyoya had tried to hide his disappointment, and must have failed, as his mother spent the rest of that day trying to console him. He couldn’t tell if the heartache in her dark eyes was for him or herself, but he couldn’t involve her again after that.

He took up the search alone. The little free time he had became dedicated to finding and combing through piles of records: censuses, koseki registries, newspapers…

He hit wall after wall, dead end after dead end. It was like his birth family had never existed; like someone had taken an eraser and scrubbed them from the annuls of history.

At last, Kyoya had to consider that they didn’t want to be found.

Maybe they hadn’t wanted him at all. What if he was wasting his time, looking for a family that didn’t exist?

No. Somewhere, at some time, someone had cared about him. The person on the train. It had occurred to him, early in the search, that his cherished memory might be the last remnant of his previous life. And the person he’d half-forgotten…they might be the key to solving this mystery. If only he could remember them! A face, a name—anything.

Someone was out there. And maybe they were thinking about him. Maybe when he looked up at the night sky, pondering the answers to his endless questions, someone else was looking at the same stars and wondering where he was, how he was. It was possible that someone was missing him too.

And so he kept looking.

              “You gave him way too much, Akito.”

              “Well, we wanted him to sleep through the ride.”

              “But no one expected you to knock him out cold!”

              “I’m just a medical student, Fuyumi! Next time, you can calculate the dosage, okay?”

              “All right you two,” Hiro murmured placatingly. “Let’s keep it down, all right? We’re conspicuous enough as it is.” He shook Kyoya’s shoulder again, harder this time. “Kyoya? Kyoya, it’s time to wake up.”

              His youngest sibling began sluggishly to wake, blinking slowly as the sleeping pills wore off and he returned to consciousness. “Hiro…” he groaned, reaching up under his glasses to rub his eyes. “What…where are we?”

              “Matsumoto.”

              “In Nagano?” Kyoya was suddenly much more alert. “Why?”

              “You’ll see.” Hiro smiled and extended a hand to help his brother up. Kyoya looked at him a moment, lips pursed warily, before he accepted it and pulled himself up.

              They parked away from the main bustle of town now—which was good, because their expensive car been drawing a lot of unwanted attention.

              But this was a quiet place. They wouldn’t be disturbed here.

              The four siblings started up the hill. Hiro slung an arm around Kyoya’s shoulders and Akito and Fuyumi walked close on the other side. The bare sakura trees had a quiet, solemn beauty to them, and the call of autumn birds sang through the cool air. Eventually, they left the path and weaved their way between rows of white, polished stone. Finally, they reached a great, slumbering tree. It wasn’t dead; just sleeping until spring, when it would bloom with life again.

              Kyoya knelt at the stone under the tree and reached out to trace the names written there. Nobuo Aisaka and Tsubaki Aisaka. He was silent for a long while. A few times, Hiro had to signal Akito and Fuyumi to remain quiet while their brother was taking everything in. This was a sacred, solemn moment, and one they had no right to intrude on.

              Finally, Kyoya let out a long breath that painted the air and turned to face them. “These are my birth parents.” There was a sad acceptance in the words.

              Hiro nodded. “We knew how much it meant to you, to find them.” It was Akito who’d found out that Kyoya knew the truth. Before telling Hiro and Fuyumi about their brother’s quest, he’d confronted their parents. Father was still in denial, unwilling to face Kyoya over the secrets he’d kept, and Mother had advised Akito to keep his nose out of it.

Fuyumi, infinitely kind and tender-hearted, insisted that they help Kyoya find his other family. They’d kept the truth from him for thirteen years; this was the least they could do, to prove how much they really cared about him. Hiro and Akito had agreed. And so they’d worked tirelessly, picking up every loose thread that Kyoya had abandoned and following them to the end, using their connections to fill in the pieces their younger sibling could not. It had been a long, tedious, frustrating process, but Hiro had finally found a local newspaper article that cracked their investigation wide open. A little more research had confirmed that the young couple in the article were indeed Kyoya’s parents.

              The teenager swallowed, trying to sound resolute. “What happened to them?”

              That was the hardest part to tell. “They were teachers at a local high school. One afternoon, as they were driving home, another car hit a patch of ice and ran them off the road.”

              There was another stretch of silence. Not even the birds were chirping now, as if paying their respects. “Did…did they suffer?” Kyoya whispered.

              Hiro shook his head. “No. They went instantly.”

              “That’s…good, I guess…”

              It wasn’t, really.

              “And…did I have any other family?”

              Hiro bit his lip. That was the one question they hadn’t been able to answer. Though not for lack of trying. “There was a fire at the prefectural office ten years ago. All of the records were destroyed, including the koseki.” And the fire wasn’t the only obstructive force at play here. Whoever had put Kyoya up for adoption had done a gone job of covering their tracks. Every inquiry the Ootori siblings made into a possible extended family for Kyoya had come up empty.

              “Oh.” Kyoya’s shoulders dropped. He turned back to the gravestone, as if it could provide the answers he lacked.

              “Are you mad at us?” Fuyumi asked gently. “For going behind your back?”

              “No,” he answered simply.

              “Maybe you don’t think it’s any of our business,” Akito’s hands were shoved in his pockets, and he scuffed at the ground with his shoes. “But it is. You’re our brother. We’ll always be there to put our oars in, whether you like it or not.”

              Fuyumi knelt beside Kyoya and handed him a bouquet of fresh chrysanthemums, cut from her own garden. “I’m sure they’re proud of you. Just like we are.”

              Trembling hands accepted the flowers from Fuyumi and placed them on the grave. Then Kyoya’s shoulders started to shake and his sister enfolded him in a tender embrace. Hiro and Akito dropped to the ground as well, and held each other. A current of warm love spread through them.

              “Thank you…” Kyoya finally gasped past his tears. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

              “We love you, Kyoya.” Hiro pet his baby brother’s hair. “We always will.”

              They’d go on; all four of them, together. And in time, maybe the wounds of the past would heal. They’d never be able to replace what Kyoya had lost, but they could be the family he needed now.

              Yes, they’d go on.

              For thirteen years, the grave had only had one visitor.

              So it was a shock, to see a bouquet of chrysanthemums resting against the white headstone. Yuuichi couldn’t imagine who would leave flowers for his parents after all this time.

              Yuuichi Sato, whose name had once been Yuuichi Aisaka, crouched down and brushed his fingers against one of the blossoms. They were still fresh. The giver must have been there recently. He turned his head about, as if he might catch sight of them. But the cemetery was empty, as far as he could see.

              With a sigh, he withdrew a packet of matches from his pocket and lit a stick of incense for each of his parents. He didn’t believe in the superstitions surrounding such rituals, but it was the respectful thing to do.

              He’d failed his parents in every other way.

              Thirteen years ago, just after his brother’s third birthday, a policeman had come to their doorstep. Their parents were dead, killed in a car crash. Yuuichi had been so numbly disbelieving. It seemed impossible for his mother and father to be alive and going about their daily routine one moment, and gone in the next.

              But reality struck like a bolt of lightning when his father’s cousin Kohaku and wife Rui arrived. Yuuichi’s mother had no living relatives, and his father had only distant family, whom he’d been estranged from for years. Before Yuuichi could catch his breath, Kohaku and Rui had put together a rushed burial and sold off his parents’ house and belongings.

              Yuuichi, they decided, was old enough to be put to work, but his brother was still a little boy, and Kohaku and Rui had no patience for children. They’d take Yuuichi back to Aichi with them and put Kyoya in an orphanage. The matter wasn’t up for discussion.

              Now, Yuuichi, still shaken with grief, had allowed these people to toss his parents into the ground without care or compassion. He’d sat, tongue-tied, as two callous strangers insulted his mother and father before their bodies were even cold. He’d stood by as the world he’d known for almost seventeen years disappeared around him. But Kyoya was the one thing he wouldn’t give up without a fight.

He’d petitioned the local magistrate for custody of his brother. If he got a job, he was sure he could support them. There were a lot of things he’d have to give up, but Kyoya…Kyoya was his entire world. He couldn’t let them be separated.

              But no amount of rational pleading or emotional begging would change the magistrate’s mind. Yuuichi was too young, he said. Kohaku and Rui Sato were doing what was best for both children. The case was closed.

              Yuuichi didn’t accept that.

              The night after the last hearing, a week before Christmas, he’d waited until Kohaku and Rui were asleep. This was their final night in the Aisaka family house; the new owners would be arriving tomorrow. He’d slipped Kyoya out of his bedroll, placing a finger on his brother’s lips when he woke in fright. Kyoya seemed to understand what was happening, as he clamped his mouth tightly shut. Yuuichi pulled their coats and boots on, tiptoed around the creaky boards, and slipped out of the house.

              With his brother on his back, Yuuichi had run through the cold dark night to the local station and jumped on the first train he saw. He didn’t care where they were going, so long as it was far away from Matsumoto. Far away from the people who wanted to take Kyoya from him.

              He’d make this work. He’d calculated the expenses in his head a million times. The 30,000 yen he’d saved would last them until he found a job. He and Kyoya could stay together. They had to. They were all each other had.

              Yuuichi didn’t remember much about the train ride. But he remembered holding Kyoya on his lap, daring anyone to take his brother away. Every time Kyoya looked up at him with those big gray eyes, Yuuichi had managed a small smile. The bright grins the boy gave him in return gave him courage and hope. It was the first glimmer of happiness he’d felt since his parents died.

              They’d got off the train in Tokyo. That was as far as Yuuichi’s budget would take them. The brothers took shelter in a run-down little hotel, and there they stayed for two days. Yuuichi found a job unpacking boxes, and he was confident that he’d find something better soon.

              On the third day, he’d taken Kyoya to a little café for dinner. The radio behind the counter was broken, making all the songs play sluggishly and in a minor key. The food wasn’t great, but Kyoya seemed to like it. And after skimping on portions for himself, Yuuichi wasn’t complaining about the small sandwich he ordered, even if the bread was stale and the cheese cut from the rind. Every few minutes, he bounced his brother up and down on his lip, which made Kyoya laugh.

              The bell on the shop door rang, and suddenly a gruff voice spoke Yuuichi’s name. He turned his head, mindful not to knock Kyoya, and came face-to-face with the police. His heart sunk, and he knew his plan had failed.

              Suddenly a female officer took the toddler from his arms. Kyoya—frightened and not understanding—squirmed and reached out helplessly.

              “Yuu-chan! Yuu-chan!”

              “It’s okay,” Yuuichi shushed him, trying to keep calm himself, though his voice was far too frantic. “It’s okay. Go with the nice lady. It’ll only be for a little while. I’ll see you soon; I promise.”

Yuuichi hadn’t intended to break that promise.

He’d get Kohaku and Rui to change their minds. Or, he’d wait until he turned eighteen and then go back to court and get custody. Either way, he’d be with Kyoya again. He’d keep fighting until their family was back together.

But by the time Yuuichi arrived at adulthood, things had changed. Kyoya, he found out, had been adopted by one of the wealthiest families in Japan. He had a father, a mother, a sister, and two older brothers. He had a house—a mansion!—money, security… Yuuichi could never dream of giving Kyoya half the things the Ootori family could.

He could barely take care of himself. For two years, Kohaku and Rui had beaten him down. Every word they spoke to him was cruel and degrading. Nothing he ever did was good enough. He was a disgrace, a waste of space. If it wasn’t for them, he would be in jail, or dead. Everything he had, he owed to them. And they expected his gratitude to be full and unconditional.

They had control of everything—the money he made, the jobs he took, the places he went, even the people he spoke to. Any deviation, any toe out of line, resulted in harsh consequences. They said he deserved to be punished. And maybe they were right. All Yuuichi knew was that he no longer had the strength to fight them. He was too tired.

Except…when it came to Kyoya. He couldn’t get his brother back; he knew that. It would be the height of selfishness to drag his innocent brother into his troubles, away from the privileged life he was leading with his new, perfect family. Kyoya no longer needed him. Wasn’t that a bitter pill to swallow. But it was better than the alternative.

Yuuichi rubbed his wrists. They were ringed with scars, from being chained to a desk for hours, sometimes days, at a time. He couldn’t reach Kyoya, but he wouldn’t let the Satos get him either.

Kohaku and Rui were greedy, grasping, power-hungry social climbers. If they ever found out that Kyoya had been adopted into the Ootori Group…it made Yuuichi’s stomach turn to think about. Kyoya would be manipulated, used and hurt for his money and his social standing. He could never allow that.

Over the years, he’d worked to scatter the thin paper trail that connected Kyoya with the Satos—and by extension, Yuuichi himself. It hurt, knowing that he was destroying their chances for ever being reunited, but he had to protect his brother. At any costs.

“Forgive me…” he pleaded brokenly at the grave of his parents. “Forgive me, for abandoning Kyoya. Forgive me, for letting them take him away. I never wanted to…I never wanted any of this to happen.

If only…if only I could tell him that—”

“Why did you drag me to Nihonbashi, exactly?”

“It’s Ootori Brothers Bonding Time! Trademark pending.”

Akito rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me. It was all his idea.”

Hiro pouted. “What’s so wrong about bringing my favorite brothers along on a business trip? It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, so fun,” Kyoya slurred sarcastically. Mock exasperation aside, he was actually in good spirits.

He’d felt…better after visiting his parents’ grave. It wasn’t the resolution he’d wanted, but it was still closure. He had some idea of who he was, where he came from. And he knew that his parents hadn’t chosen to leave him. That made a world of difference.

And he had the Ootoris, who had chosen—chosen to take him into their lives and make him part of their family. And even if he’d never have a tie of blood to his parents and siblings, the bond that held them together was still strong. Nigh unbreakable, considering what they’d been through lately.

So even if he didn’t really appreciate being hauled off by his brothers to some boring meeting on his day off, Kyoya was glad to be with them. Ootori Brothers… It meant he was part of something.

“You’re taking us out to lunch after this,” Akito huffed under his breath. “Somewhere expensive. We’re not slumming it in some dive family restaurant again.”

“You’re no fun at all, Akito,” Hiro countered.

“Will you two please behave?” Kyoya groaned. “You’re supposed to be the adults here.”

“I’m just second fiddle. Talk to the heir over there.”

“I agree with Kyoya. You ought to be more mature, Akito.”

“Why you—”

Hiro grinned cheekily and put a finger to his lips. “We’re going in now. Save your threats for later.”

He swung open the heavy glass door and strutted confidently into the office, where he was greeted enthusiastically by an older, distinguished-looking gentleman. He was a financial advisor for the national Board of Audit.

“Fujimori-san,” Hiro shook the man’s hand with a smile. “It’s been too long.”

“It has indeed, Ootori-san,” Fujimori replied warmly. “You ought to come see me at the club more often.”

“Maybe I should, since you’re inviting me. But you know how terrible I am at golf.”

“Ah, but that’s the fun of it! Someday I’ll be old and feeble and I won’t be able to even hold a club. I have to trounce you youngsters while I’ve still got a chance.” The man’s gaze left Hiro and swept over Akito and Kyoya. “Are these your brothers, Ootori-san?”

“The pride and joy of the Ootori Group,” Hiro crowed. “My brothers Akito and Kyoya Ootori.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Fujimori shook their hands in turn. “And quite a glowing recommendation. Your big brother has been a gift to our little department.”

Hiro laughed. “As if your ‘little department’ needs me quite that much…”

The older man waved his hand dismissively. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s sit down and discuss things over a pot of tea. Ah, Sato-san! Excellent; you’re just in time.”

Kyoya turned to see the person who’d just entered the office behind them. The person Fujimoto had called out to. ‘Sato-san’…

That’s when the universe froze. The room…Fujimoto…Hiro and Akito… Everything was lost to wild falling snow and the sound of grinding wheels against a metal track. Suddenly Kyoya had been transferred to that moment in time, on the train. And this time, the memory sharpened, and he could see the face he’d longed to know. A thin nose, dark eyes, and a shock of black hair like his. Behind a set of glasses were serious but kind eyes. The boy was smiling a sad smile, just for Kyoya.

He’d called the other boy ‘Yuu-chan’. And he was Kyoya’s…

“This is my trusted assistant:” Fujimoto’s voice sounded so far away, like he was standing at the end of a long tunnel. “Allow me to introduce Yuuichi S—”

“Aniki.” The word left his mouth before Kyoya could stop it.

Yuuichi’s eyes—still dark and serious, but dull and dead in a way that was horribly wrong to Kyoya—slowly came alive. Light returned to the orbs, and they widened as Yuuichi stared at Kyoya like he was seeing another human for the first time.

“Kyoya,” Yuuichi replied.

His name. Yuuichi had said his name in that way. Kyoya’s eyes stung and he squeezed them tightly shut, not daring to open them until he felt a hand on his cheek, brushing the errant tears away.

“Don’t cry. That’s the one thing I could never stand.”

He wanted to obey, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. “I waited…I waited so long for you,” he croaked. “Did you…did you not…”

“I thought of you every day,” Yuuichi answered shakily. Kyoya’s gaze shot up to meet his. Yuuichi had known exactly what he’d been trying to ask. “I never forgot. Never.”

He couldn’t help himself. His years of impulse control and manners training and cultivating a tatemae suitable for someone of his social standing flew out the window. The brother he’d yearned for all these years was here. Kyoya threw himself at Yuuichi, burying his face in the other man’s chest.

He felt Yuuichi stiffen, and for a moment Kyoya feared that he’d be pushed away. But then, a pair of strong arms encircled him and held him close. He inhaled a shuddering breath, then exhaled, releasing all the worry and loneliness and frustration and pain he’d felt for months and years. He relaxed, giving himself completely to the embrace. It was just as warm as he remembered. Once more, it was just the two of them in the world.

“Don’t ever leave me again…” Kyoya whispered pleadingly.

There was a pause, and then a tender, “I love you, Kyoya.”

It wasn’t really an answer to his request, but it was the only thing Kyoya had wanted and needed to hear. He’d been found again. He was wanted and loved.

He was home.

Today is @parkersanders birthday. I met Xaan earlier this year and they never cease to amaze me! They are so talented, kind, creative and all around wonderful. Thank you so much for existing. I'm glad you were born and that I met you. You brighten my days, and cheer me up when you don't even know I'm feeling blue.

Happy birthday, Xaan! I hope it's been wonderful. You deserve it! If you don't follow Xaan, please do! You will not regret it.

Love,

The terrible twins and the troublesome trio.

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For forever: what is a fond memory of yours?