Fic: Of Bubble Baths and Babies
Title: Of Bubble Baths And Babies
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU
Pairings or Characters: KyouTama and MoriHaru
Warnings: Yaoi
Summary: He had a wonderful life, an amazing family and...he couldn't remember it. Luckily enough, there seemed to be a beautiful brunette willing to help him pick up the pieces.
Author's Notes: Enjoy. Done for prompt #041 - cleaning the child on 100_fairytales
He didn’t know where he was - he didn’t know the people rushing overhead and he didn’t know who belonged to the strange sounds that came through the walls: screams, demands, crying...he didn’t even know how he knew those words or emotions, or how he knew that the lumps and the end of the bed were his feet, or that the strange appendages that clawed at the hem of his blankets were his hands.
The funny smells were making him feel sick, but he didn’t know how to call that pretty woman who’d given him the blanket and had asked his name. She’d smile at him, and kept smiling, even when he said ‘I don’t know’ and started bawling.
Now, he was curled up as his eyes flitted everywhere in the semi-darkness of the room, scared, rocking a bit and trying not to listen to the cries of the other people - people like him. Should he be screaming, too? He felt so...so alone...Shouldn’t...shouldn’t someone be with him? Oh, how his head hurt. He could practically feel the needle in his arm from the bag of clear stuff, and the pull of the sticky tape that held that needle against his skin. He was hot and cold at the same time, and he wanted...he didn’t know. So he just sat on the hardened cot, rocking a little bit and whimpering.
And then the door opened and a sliver of very bright light danced across the floor, dappled by the shadow of a person - a woman? - standing in the doorway. She seemed to falter, froze and stared at him as he, in turn, blinked rapidly. “Oh...my god,” she whispered then, and in a matter of seconds she was next to him, pulling his hand away from the blanket and clutching at it. “Oh my god, Senpai, are you alright? Oh my god, oh my god!! Uh, oh god - they said...” She swallowed. “I mean, how do you feel?”
She....was talking to him. And he didn’t really understand it; there was an uncomfortable level of familiarity. “I...It’s...I....” What’s the word? He couldn’t think, only focus on the sticky hotness of tears on the back of the hand the woman was clutching to her cheek. “...Hurts...” And he looked at her, into her very big, brown eyes that seemed sad, and expression that somehow looked...wrong on her. Her...her...He cannot think of what to call her...
She seemed to both understand that and not at the same time. “It’s Haruhi,” she supplied, albite sadly, and reached up to brush the gauze bandage encasing his forehead. “It’s...I’m Haruhi. You’re Tamaki-senpai. And Kyouya-senpai’s coming.” She added as an after thought, “The twins are fine - they’re at my house.”
Haruhi? Kyouya-senpai...? The names (Tamaki?) sounded weird, even in his throbbing brain, and he couldn’t wrap his brain around why. Should he...know these people? Who was this Kyouya-senpai who was coming and these twins who were fine and at Haruhi’s house? He wanted to ask, but the pain and the worry and the hurt in the Haruhi girl’s eyes made him want to hold her and make her smile; she seemed more scared than he had been.
So, cautiously, Tamaki patted the top of her head when she buried her tear-streaked face in the hospital bedsheets and bawled profusely until the sobs transformed into dry-heaves and eventual hiccups. She was still for a moment, and for a second, Tamaki thought that Haruhi was asleep. But then she sat up and looked more...calm, composed - still scared - but calm all the same.
“Do you...need anything, Tamaki-senpai?” she asked, only sniffling slightly. “I can get - oh, wait!” And here she reached into her pocket, pulling out her wallet before she extracted a pocket-sized photograph of four people. She stuck it under his nose, and Tamaki took it, peering at the people with interest.
Two full grown men, one with way blond hair and one with jet black hair and silver rimmed glasses. They stood behind two small red headed children, and one of which was pulling the other’s hair while the other one tried to push his brother off of the large wooden block they were seated on. The blond man in turn had his mouth open and seemed to be silently scolding the boys, and the black hired man, looking annoyed and put upon, had his hands on the red headed children’s shoulders and was making to push them apart.
Tamaki smiled. “They look...” Word, word, word... “Nice...happy...Who are they?”
He made to give the picture back to Haruhi, still smiling slightly, only to see her looking at him, mouth open and eyes devastated. “You...Tamaki -”
The door opened again, and even before he looked over to see the elongated shadow, there was the swift tap-tap of polished shoes on the tiled floor and then - suddenly - there was another figure above his bed, tentative and it seemed (uncharacteristically?) scared. Why was everyone so scared and sad?
It took a second for Tamaki’s eyes to adjust back to the dark after the splash of bright hallway light momentarily blinded him. But then he could see, looking first at Haruhi and then at the newcomer, the man who - who was the same man from the photograph, the black haired one! Only, he looked more tired, red-eyed and mouth pulled down in a semi-scowl that somehow looked affectionate.
Tamaki opened his mouth again. “Who -?”
And then there was a hand running around to the back of his neck, pulling lightly at the hair that clung to the back of Tamaki’s neck before gently squeezing in a comforting, massaging gesture. The black haired man was face to face with him, noses touching ever so slightly. For a moment, it seemed like their lips would touch in an intimate-yet-chaste gesture, but then they are forehead to forehead, and the black haired man’s breath his hot and minty and washing all over his mouth in a relieve (shaky?) exhalation.
“You...You made me worry, baka...” he whispered and Tamaki instinctively froze to listen. He liked this man’s voice, even when he was calling him an idiot and scolding. “You....You’re lucky...”
“Kyouya-senpai?” Haruhi asked, and the two broke apart, and the man - Kyouya, he guessed it was - turned to look at the brunette woman, his hand not leaving the back of Tamaki’s neck. Her voice was shaky, but Haruhi stood anyway and tried sound as composed as possible. “Kyouya-senpai, he...he doesn’t remember.” She was holding something and Tamaki realized it was the photo he must have dropped on the bedsheets.
“I know,” was all Kyouya said in return.
And then it was quiet. Only for a second or two, in actuality, but it seemed like longer... Haruhi broke the silence, finally.
“I...” she moved backward, steadily toward the door. “I’m going to go...Check...Bring the twins...back home... And she was gone, but not without a glittering shimmer of a tear in her eye. Thus the two were alone.
Tamaki was buzzing with questions now, and he to both ask them and leave the topics untouched, slightly scared of the unknown answers he might receive. What could have happened to make people who obviously cared about him to become erased from his memory? He almost didn’t want to Kyouya that he doesn’t know who he is - he doesn’t want him to stop holding the back of his neck in a comforting, cradling, protective and soothing way - which in itself is a little scary.
“Kyouya?” He started anyway, not quite knowing where to go from there.
But he doesn’t have to. There’s another hand holding his face; his tender, bruised and slightly throbbing cheek, and a finger brushing his swollen, busted and bloodied lip to quiet him. “Quiet...” he whispered, and Tamaki’s breath catches. “I’m going to talk to the doctors. If they say you’re generally alright, we’re going to take you home tonight.”
Again, he doesn’t understand. “Home?”
Kyouya gives him a funny look and his hands withdraw. Tamaki wants to make him stop, make him freeze, not liking how cold his face suddenly feels while the rest of him is hot and clammy, but at the same time he wants to demand ‘don’t go’, he somehow knows that the brunette’s going to come back. Still, he doesn’t like the look that Kyouya is giving him, feeling that it was demeaning intellectually and that Kyouya knew something he didn’t. Tamaki flushes and looks down at the shadowed, rumpled blankets - abashed - but glances back up at the soft words that seem so secure and calm and calculated and still...sweet.
“I’m going to help you, Tamaki.” And then, Kyouya followed Haruhi’s steps, walking toward the door and whispers almost too quietly for Tamaki to hear. “I promise.”
-
He feels weak, his fingers fumbling, but he manages to unhook the seatbelt - that’s what Kyouya had called it - and stumbled out of the car. There was hard yet smooth stone under his feet that pinched off into a stone pathway through a grass lawn that, in turn, twisted up to a stone stoop covered in childish chalk drawings and a painted red door of a large, homey-looking house. Kyouya closed Tamaki’s door for him, and then took hold of the blond’s shoulder, guiding him easily along the path.
Tamaki’s wearing a dark green shirt was darker, redder, heavier and crusty splotches and very faded blue jeans, also painted with blood. Hospital policy to bring his own cloths out of the unit, and as no fresh ones were provided, the blond had been forced to ride home in his. He shivered against the biting breeze and wrapped his hands around his arms when Kyouya slid the key in the lock and opened the door. The inside of the house was dark, too, but warm and smelled faintly of laundry, spices and an indescribable scent that made a home a home.
They took steps forward together, and on their left there was a large staircase leading up to a second level of the house. With subtle prodding and that hand on his shoulder again, Tamaki lifted his heavy feet and began to climb the stairs. There was a thin carpet covering the wooden steps and he dragged his feet through the fibers as if he had done this a thousand times before, feeling the static electricity running through his limbs.
When - together - he and Kyouya reached the upper landing, they happened upon Haruhi, sitting with her back to the wall next to a slightly open, bright door. She looked up, losing the book in her lap and stood to greet them. Smiling brightly, Tamaki gave her a small wave. “Hi, Haru -!!”
“Shhh!” Both Haruhi and Kyouya hissed rather loudly, holding their fingers to their lips and both looking semi frantic. Tamaki capped a hand to his mouth, surprised and scared, and then there was a hand on his waist and the brunette woman looked sad again. So, instead of explaining her actions to him, she turned instead to Kyouya.
“They just fell asleep again,” she whispered. “I think that they know something’s wrong, though. Hikaru threw a tempter tantrum and Kaoru cried for almost an hour straight when I said you two weren’t going to be back before they went to bed.”
Kyouya nodded with sense of understanding in his eyes and Tamaki were baffled. Who were Hikaru and Kaoru? Who were they being so quiet? Again there was that overwhelming sense that everyone in the room understood something you didn’t.
“Thank you, Haruhi. I think they’re going to stay asleep tonight, but would you be interested in coming back over tomorrow? Perhaps bring Mitsukuni and Takashi...And our old high school albums?”
She nodded, tucking her book under her arm and swept past them, sparing Tamaki another glance before descending the stairs. They stood there for second, hearing the occasional creak of the floorboards and then the opening and closing of the front door. By that time, Tamaki was completely curious and looked at Kyouya questioningly.
“Who are -” And he was cut off yet again, this time with a finger to his lips before Kyouya moved away from him.
He pushed open the blue door quietly and (curious still) Tamaki followed him. It was a large room, painted in light blue, with toys strewn across a traffic pattern rug. Two, bright red sports car beds were situated against one of the walls with two painted strips of winding grey roads running along the walls. A large bay window with dark blue curtains illuminated the bookshelves, the plastic cars, the cloths, the blocks, the action figures and two small bodies (with obviously reddish brown hair) entangled under the blankets in one of the sports car beds. Their covers were pushed down haphazardly, revealing casually rising and falling chests clad in matching, reciprocating colored pajama tops.
Tamaki...gaped. The same children from that picture Haruhi and showed him, just as Kyouya had been that brunette which only lead to believe that...Well, he WAS a blond...And..
“Yeah,” was the calm whisper behind him. “They’re our kids.”
A lightbulb flickered inside Tamaki’s mind and he blurted out (still in whisper-form), “Boys can’t have children.”
Kyouya seemed ready for this. “Haruhi carried them. They’re seven; Hikaru is six minutes older than Kaoru - Hikaru’s in the green and Kaoru’s in the blue - and they are currently enrolled at Ouran Elementary, which is the same school system on which we met, and the one the Suoh family - your family - owns.” Something unrecognizable stirred within Tamaki, and he stiffened. Kyouya kept talking. “Strictly speaking, I suppose, they are Haruhi’s children as well - she carried them for you and I, but they still call me...Mother, just as you did throughout high school, although I did not appreciate your term of endearment.”
Another lightbulb. “Kyouya...Are we...” And here he flushed and waved his hands.
Kyouya rose a slender eyebrow. “Lovers?” He pursed his lips and then nodded slowly. “Yes...yes...Since our last year of high school...For....eleven years, now.”
Amethyst eyes widened. “Oh...Oh, okay.” He felt almost like...smiling. Was...that why he felt so drawn to this man, and didn’t mind being touched by him? But before Tamaki could ponder anymore on this newest development, he was being lightly pushed out of his sons’ (the word sounded odd) room and back into the hallway. He did not protest, but when he turned to the dark face of his lover, his eyes bore a thousand questions.
Again, Kyouya pushed him lightly between the shoulder blades to guide him down the hallway, past various framed pictures...:
The twins in matching bathing suits at the beach, burying the blond man Tamaki associated with himself in the golden sand.
Haruhi, leaning against a tall man with a slightly scary face devoid of any recognizable emotion while cradling a small and happy, smiling blond child to her chest.
The same picture from Haruhi’s wallet.
Kyouya, looking forlorn but happy and standing next to pretty woman who looked a lot like him and was wearing a wedding dress.
An older picture of Kyouya, himself, the black haired man from the picture with Haruhi, and the chocolate eyed woman herself - only as a girl - and all dressed in their matching school uniforms, laughing while they were casually draped around those who would become their future significant other.
Tamaki wanted to slow down and stare at these pictures longer (there were more, too!), but feeling a sort of heat forming in his heart an stinging wetness behind his eyes, he decided it was too emotional of a thing to do at the moment. These things seemed...so familiar...but so foreign. Kyouya’s hand was still on his back, directing him through touch down the hall.
There was another bedroom door, this one closed, and an open bathroom door to the direct left. For a second, Tamaki thought that Kyouya was going to literally put him to bed or...more (LOVERS!!?!??!) But the other man turned him and pushed open the bathroom door before pulling him inside.
It was a large bathroom, mostly white tiled with olive green accents. There was a toilet, bad-ay, a long counter with two porcelain sinks and last, a deep bath that seemed large enough for four people to lie comfortably in. It was grand, and very classy; the earthy tones giving the bathroom a close, intimate feel. Tamaki liked it, and was content to stare at the positive walls until he felt hands tugging his shirt up his torso fem behind.
He shifted and tensed, but lifted his arms without complaint. As soon as the bloodied shirt was off his head, there was a mouth directly behind his ear, speaking barely louder than a whisper.
“We - you and I - met in high school. You moved here from France halfway through the second middle school year. Our best friends are Fujioka Haruhi and her husband, Morinozuka Takashi. They have a son two years older than the twins, Mitsukuni....Remember?” Somehow, his tone displayed that Kyouya did not really expect Tamaki to remember at all, even as his hands slunk down lower to tug at the front of his pants.
Still, he tried. “I...Uh...Yes,” he lied.
“Don’t lie to me, Tamaki,” Kyouya said monotonously. “I could always tell - still can.” He sounded harsh, almost mad, as he he pulled down the pants and assisted the blond in stepping out of his pants and underwear and straightened up, tuning the blond around to scan the amethyst eyes, as if searching for something he as not going to find, and that made Tamaki feel guilting.
He didn’t feel shy being naked in front of the Kyouya guy, but he felt that he should, and when the brunette moved to turn on the bath and pour in the contents of a violently pink bottle into the jet, he shifted uncomfortably and turned away slightly. Soon enough, the entire tub was full of bubbles and Tamaki could take the hint. Gradually, he stopped forward to step into the tub, only to trip, be caught by Kyouya and lowered in the rest of the way. It was hot, but not too much so, and it felt good on his bruised, sore and scrapped legs and torso. When the blond was fully submerged, another question formed in his mind.
“What -” Tamaki twisted to look past prescription glasses lenses into Kyouya’s grey eyes. He liked grey. “What happened...to me?”
“Car crash,” he answered simply.
“Am I...So...I have this...wonderful family, best friends who carry around my picture in their pockets and a history that I cannot remember?” He had tried to remember, but everything was so...dark and closed off. Tamaki looked away then, but not before he saw the concerned look in Kyouya’s eyes.
“The doctors said it was selective amnesia, meaning there are some sort of sensory trigger got each memory. Think of it as a lock and key sort of deal.” There was pressure against his shoulder, pulling Tamaki back against the slanted back of the bathtub. And then he felt the water ripple on either side of him as Kyouya, still fully dressed save for his shoes, slipped in his legs, brining the other’s head into his lap so that they were looking at each other again. He had such a look of concentration and evaluation on his face that it set off another flickering lightbulb.
“Doctor?”
“No - my family does own the hospitals, though,” Kyouya corrected, reaching off to the side and producing a bottle of shampoo which he squirted into the palm of his hand. He then massaged the cool liquid into Tamaki’s hair, lathering it and taking great care to be gentle around the tender back of his skull and the long, shallow cut across his forehead.
It felt good, and for a second, the blond allowed his eyes to flutter closed and he relaxed completely. It felt very...very good...But once again, curiosity plagued him.
“Are we...er...Are we...happy?”
Kyouya’s fingers did not stop moving. “We fight regularly. You’re an idiot most of the time. We’ve broken up twice, actually, but it’s never lasted more than a few weeks. You cry a lot.” That earned a mirrored smile from both parties. “Rinse.”
He did so, re-emerging from under the filmy surface with clumps of bubbles clinging to his fair face and shoulders. Tamaki wiped the mess off, held the remaining bubbles in his wet hands, inspecting them before bringing the hand to his mouth and taking a bite. It tasted...horrible.
“Eww...”
“Idiot.” It was a light, affectionate scolding and Tamaki smiled up at Kyouya, returning his head to the brunette’s already soaked lap. Kyouya plucked up the conditioner next, and applied it swiftly and easily into blond tresses with practiced hands. “You aren’t supposed to eat the bubbles.”
“What are they for then,” Tamaki found himself whining, allowing his floating legs to sway back and forth to create ripples in the water.
“Relaxation - you insist on each of us take a bubble bath at least once a week. The twins insist on one every other night.”
This made him smile. Although he could not particularly remember anything concrete, Tamaki found himself imagining a family bath time, two voices calling him ‘Daddy’ while he washed Kaoru’s hair and Kyouya washed Hikaru’s. His smile widened.
“What else do you want to know?” Kyouya asked.
Thoughts seemed...to escape him. And he shook his head.
“Rinse.”
Again, he dipped beneath the surface of the water, and burst back up just in time to yawn - something that did not escape Kyouya’s notice.
“Bed.”
Weighed down, even in water, Tamaki was too tired to protest. He allowed Kyouya to help him out, towel dry him and then, much to his surprise, embrace him in a slightly sympathetic yet possessive hold, chin on shoulders and arms around neck. It was a ‘don’t-ever-leave-me’ type of hug, as well as four very comforting words whispered in his ear. “You’ll remember in time.” Followed by two more. “I promise.” And four more. “And I’ll help you.”
Tamaki leaned into the hug, allowed his eyes to close, but Kyouya then pulled away and produced clean pajamas, a larger version of what the twins were wearing, which he helped the blond step into. With supporting arms around his waist, Tamaki a fourth staggered, was half carried, a fourth dragged by the other man into the hallway and then into their bedroom; a large room with white walls and dark blue accents and trim, a large bed and impressively matching windowsills and furniture. It was comfortable.
As was the bed itself. Together (for Tamaki helped a small bit) they pulled the blankets back and the blond was slid under the covers - warm and soft - and he felt sleep encroaching on him immediately. It was a big bed, and empty for a moment until he felt (felt more than heard) the rustling of the covers on the other side of the bed, and Kyouya’s warm body was pressed to his, cradling him in...was this a snuggle? For some reason, the thought made the blond smile humorously.
It was comfortable. it was warm. It was home.
Just before sleep fully took him, Tamaki felt his lips moving, whispering into the quiet calm of...their room... “Thank you...mon ami...”
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU
Pairings or Characters: KyouTama and MoriHaru
Warnings: Yaoi
Summary: He had a wonderful life, an amazing family and...he couldn't remember it. Luckily enough, there seemed to be a beautiful brunette willing to help him pick up the pieces.
Author's Notes: Enjoy. Done for prompt #041 - cleaning the child on 100_fairytales
He didn’t know where he was - he didn’t know the people rushing overhead and he didn’t know who belonged to the strange sounds that came through the walls: screams, demands, crying...he didn’t even know how he knew those words or emotions, or how he knew that the lumps and the end of the bed were his feet, or that the strange appendages that clawed at the hem of his blankets were his hands.
The funny smells were making him feel sick, but he didn’t know how to call that pretty woman who’d given him the blanket and had asked his name. She’d smile at him, and kept smiling, even when he said ‘I don’t know’ and started bawling.
Now, he was curled up as his eyes flitted everywhere in the semi-darkness of the room, scared, rocking a bit and trying not to listen to the cries of the other people - people like him. Should he be screaming, too? He felt so...so alone...Shouldn’t...shouldn’t someone be with him? Oh, how his head hurt. He could practically feel the needle in his arm from the bag of clear stuff, and the pull of the sticky tape that held that needle against his skin. He was hot and cold at the same time, and he wanted...he didn’t know. So he just sat on the hardened cot, rocking a little bit and whimpering.
And then the door opened and a sliver of very bright light danced across the floor, dappled by the shadow of a person - a woman? - standing in the doorway. She seemed to falter, froze and stared at him as he, in turn, blinked rapidly. “Oh...my god,” she whispered then, and in a matter of seconds she was next to him, pulling his hand away from the blanket and clutching at it. “Oh my god, Senpai, are you alright? Oh my god, oh my god!! Uh, oh god - they said...” She swallowed. “I mean, how do you feel?”
She....was talking to him. And he didn’t really understand it; there was an uncomfortable level of familiarity. “I...It’s...I....” What’s the word? He couldn’t think, only focus on the sticky hotness of tears on the back of the hand the woman was clutching to her cheek. “...Hurts...” And he looked at her, into her very big, brown eyes that seemed sad, and expression that somehow looked...wrong on her. Her...her...He cannot think of what to call her...
She seemed to both understand that and not at the same time. “It’s Haruhi,” she supplied, albite sadly, and reached up to brush the gauze bandage encasing his forehead. “It’s...I’m Haruhi. You’re Tamaki-senpai. And Kyouya-senpai’s coming.” She added as an after thought, “The twins are fine - they’re at my house.”
Haruhi? Kyouya-senpai...? The names (Tamaki?) sounded weird, even in his throbbing brain, and he couldn’t wrap his brain around why. Should he...know these people? Who was this Kyouya-senpai who was coming and these twins who were fine and at Haruhi’s house? He wanted to ask, but the pain and the worry and the hurt in the Haruhi girl’s eyes made him want to hold her and make her smile; she seemed more scared than he had been.
So, cautiously, Tamaki patted the top of her head when she buried her tear-streaked face in the hospital bedsheets and bawled profusely until the sobs transformed into dry-heaves and eventual hiccups. She was still for a moment, and for a second, Tamaki thought that Haruhi was asleep. But then she sat up and looked more...calm, composed - still scared - but calm all the same.
“Do you...need anything, Tamaki-senpai?” she asked, only sniffling slightly. “I can get - oh, wait!” And here she reached into her pocket, pulling out her wallet before she extracted a pocket-sized photograph of four people. She stuck it under his nose, and Tamaki took it, peering at the people with interest.
Two full grown men, one with way blond hair and one with jet black hair and silver rimmed glasses. They stood behind two small red headed children, and one of which was pulling the other’s hair while the other one tried to push his brother off of the large wooden block they were seated on. The blond man in turn had his mouth open and seemed to be silently scolding the boys, and the black hired man, looking annoyed and put upon, had his hands on the red headed children’s shoulders and was making to push them apart.
Tamaki smiled. “They look...” Word, word, word... “Nice...happy...Who are they?”
He made to give the picture back to Haruhi, still smiling slightly, only to see her looking at him, mouth open and eyes devastated. “You...Tamaki -”
The door opened again, and even before he looked over to see the elongated shadow, there was the swift tap-tap of polished shoes on the tiled floor and then - suddenly - there was another figure above his bed, tentative and it seemed (uncharacteristically?) scared. Why was everyone so scared and sad?
It took a second for Tamaki’s eyes to adjust back to the dark after the splash of bright hallway light momentarily blinded him. But then he could see, looking first at Haruhi and then at the newcomer, the man who - who was the same man from the photograph, the black haired one! Only, he looked more tired, red-eyed and mouth pulled down in a semi-scowl that somehow looked affectionate.
Tamaki opened his mouth again. “Who -?”
And then there was a hand running around to the back of his neck, pulling lightly at the hair that clung to the back of Tamaki’s neck before gently squeezing in a comforting, massaging gesture. The black haired man was face to face with him, noses touching ever so slightly. For a moment, it seemed like their lips would touch in an intimate-yet-chaste gesture, but then they are forehead to forehead, and the black haired man’s breath his hot and minty and washing all over his mouth in a relieve (shaky?) exhalation.
“You...You made me worry, baka...” he whispered and Tamaki instinctively froze to listen. He liked this man’s voice, even when he was calling him an idiot and scolding. “You....You’re lucky...”
“Kyouya-senpai?” Haruhi asked, and the two broke apart, and the man - Kyouya, he guessed it was - turned to look at the brunette woman, his hand not leaving the back of Tamaki’s neck. Her voice was shaky, but Haruhi stood anyway and tried sound as composed as possible. “Kyouya-senpai, he...he doesn’t remember.” She was holding something and Tamaki realized it was the photo he must have dropped on the bedsheets.
“I know,” was all Kyouya said in return.
And then it was quiet. Only for a second or two, in actuality, but it seemed like longer... Haruhi broke the silence, finally.
“I...” she moved backward, steadily toward the door. “I’m going to go...Check...Bring the twins...back home... And she was gone, but not without a glittering shimmer of a tear in her eye. Thus the two were alone.
Tamaki was buzzing with questions now, and he to both ask them and leave the topics untouched, slightly scared of the unknown answers he might receive. What could have happened to make people who obviously cared about him to become erased from his memory? He almost didn’t want to Kyouya that he doesn’t know who he is - he doesn’t want him to stop holding the back of his neck in a comforting, cradling, protective and soothing way - which in itself is a little scary.
“Kyouya?” He started anyway, not quite knowing where to go from there.
But he doesn’t have to. There’s another hand holding his face; his tender, bruised and slightly throbbing cheek, and a finger brushing his swollen, busted and bloodied lip to quiet him. “Quiet...” he whispered, and Tamaki’s breath catches. “I’m going to talk to the doctors. If they say you’re generally alright, we’re going to take you home tonight.”
Again, he doesn’t understand. “Home?”
Kyouya gives him a funny look and his hands withdraw. Tamaki wants to make him stop, make him freeze, not liking how cold his face suddenly feels while the rest of him is hot and clammy, but at the same time he wants to demand ‘don’t go’, he somehow knows that the brunette’s going to come back. Still, he doesn’t like the look that Kyouya is giving him, feeling that it was demeaning intellectually and that Kyouya knew something he didn’t. Tamaki flushes and looks down at the shadowed, rumpled blankets - abashed - but glances back up at the soft words that seem so secure and calm and calculated and still...sweet.
“I’m going to help you, Tamaki.” And then, Kyouya followed Haruhi’s steps, walking toward the door and whispers almost too quietly for Tamaki to hear. “I promise.”
-
He feels weak, his fingers fumbling, but he manages to unhook the seatbelt - that’s what Kyouya had called it - and stumbled out of the car. There was hard yet smooth stone under his feet that pinched off into a stone pathway through a grass lawn that, in turn, twisted up to a stone stoop covered in childish chalk drawings and a painted red door of a large, homey-looking house. Kyouya closed Tamaki’s door for him, and then took hold of the blond’s shoulder, guiding him easily along the path.
Tamaki’s wearing a dark green shirt was darker, redder, heavier and crusty splotches and very faded blue jeans, also painted with blood. Hospital policy to bring his own cloths out of the unit, and as no fresh ones were provided, the blond had been forced to ride home in his. He shivered against the biting breeze and wrapped his hands around his arms when Kyouya slid the key in the lock and opened the door. The inside of the house was dark, too, but warm and smelled faintly of laundry, spices and an indescribable scent that made a home a home.
They took steps forward together, and on their left there was a large staircase leading up to a second level of the house. With subtle prodding and that hand on his shoulder again, Tamaki lifted his heavy feet and began to climb the stairs. There was a thin carpet covering the wooden steps and he dragged his feet through the fibers as if he had done this a thousand times before, feeling the static electricity running through his limbs.
When - together - he and Kyouya reached the upper landing, they happened upon Haruhi, sitting with her back to the wall next to a slightly open, bright door. She looked up, losing the book in her lap and stood to greet them. Smiling brightly, Tamaki gave her a small wave. “Hi, Haru -!!”
“Shhh!” Both Haruhi and Kyouya hissed rather loudly, holding their fingers to their lips and both looking semi frantic. Tamaki capped a hand to his mouth, surprised and scared, and then there was a hand on his waist and the brunette woman looked sad again. So, instead of explaining her actions to him, she turned instead to Kyouya.
“They just fell asleep again,” she whispered. “I think that they know something’s wrong, though. Hikaru threw a tempter tantrum and Kaoru cried for almost an hour straight when I said you two weren’t going to be back before they went to bed.”
Kyouya nodded with sense of understanding in his eyes and Tamaki were baffled. Who were Hikaru and Kaoru? Who were they being so quiet? Again there was that overwhelming sense that everyone in the room understood something you didn’t.
“Thank you, Haruhi. I think they’re going to stay asleep tonight, but would you be interested in coming back over tomorrow? Perhaps bring Mitsukuni and Takashi...And our old high school albums?”
She nodded, tucking her book under her arm and swept past them, sparing Tamaki another glance before descending the stairs. They stood there for second, hearing the occasional creak of the floorboards and then the opening and closing of the front door. By that time, Tamaki was completely curious and looked at Kyouya questioningly.
“Who are -” And he was cut off yet again, this time with a finger to his lips before Kyouya moved away from him.
He pushed open the blue door quietly and (curious still) Tamaki followed him. It was a large room, painted in light blue, with toys strewn across a traffic pattern rug. Two, bright red sports car beds were situated against one of the walls with two painted strips of winding grey roads running along the walls. A large bay window with dark blue curtains illuminated the bookshelves, the plastic cars, the cloths, the blocks, the action figures and two small bodies (with obviously reddish brown hair) entangled under the blankets in one of the sports car beds. Their covers were pushed down haphazardly, revealing casually rising and falling chests clad in matching, reciprocating colored pajama tops.
Tamaki...gaped. The same children from that picture Haruhi and showed him, just as Kyouya had been that brunette which only lead to believe that...Well, he WAS a blond...And..
“Yeah,” was the calm whisper behind him. “They’re our kids.”
A lightbulb flickered inside Tamaki’s mind and he blurted out (still in whisper-form), “Boys can’t have children.”
Kyouya seemed ready for this. “Haruhi carried them. They’re seven; Hikaru is six minutes older than Kaoru - Hikaru’s in the green and Kaoru’s in the blue - and they are currently enrolled at Ouran Elementary, which is the same school system on which we met, and the one the Suoh family - your family - owns.” Something unrecognizable stirred within Tamaki, and he stiffened. Kyouya kept talking. “Strictly speaking, I suppose, they are Haruhi’s children as well - she carried them for you and I, but they still call me...Mother, just as you did throughout high school, although I did not appreciate your term of endearment.”
Another lightbulb. “Kyouya...Are we...” And here he flushed and waved his hands.
Kyouya rose a slender eyebrow. “Lovers?” He pursed his lips and then nodded slowly. “Yes...yes...Since our last year of high school...For....eleven years, now.”
Amethyst eyes widened. “Oh...Oh, okay.” He felt almost like...smiling. Was...that why he felt so drawn to this man, and didn’t mind being touched by him? But before Tamaki could ponder anymore on this newest development, he was being lightly pushed out of his sons’ (the word sounded odd) room and back into the hallway. He did not protest, but when he turned to the dark face of his lover, his eyes bore a thousand questions.
Again, Kyouya pushed him lightly between the shoulder blades to guide him down the hallway, past various framed pictures...:
The twins in matching bathing suits at the beach, burying the blond man Tamaki associated with himself in the golden sand.
Haruhi, leaning against a tall man with a slightly scary face devoid of any recognizable emotion while cradling a small and happy, smiling blond child to her chest.
The same picture from Haruhi’s wallet.
Kyouya, looking forlorn but happy and standing next to pretty woman who looked a lot like him and was wearing a wedding dress.
An older picture of Kyouya, himself, the black haired man from the picture with Haruhi, and the chocolate eyed woman herself - only as a girl - and all dressed in their matching school uniforms, laughing while they were casually draped around those who would become their future significant other.
Tamaki wanted to slow down and stare at these pictures longer (there were more, too!), but feeling a sort of heat forming in his heart an stinging wetness behind his eyes, he decided it was too emotional of a thing to do at the moment. These things seemed...so familiar...but so foreign. Kyouya’s hand was still on his back, directing him through touch down the hall.
There was another bedroom door, this one closed, and an open bathroom door to the direct left. For a second, Tamaki thought that Kyouya was going to literally put him to bed or...more (LOVERS!!?!??!) But the other man turned him and pushed open the bathroom door before pulling him inside.
It was a large bathroom, mostly white tiled with olive green accents. There was a toilet, bad-ay, a long counter with two porcelain sinks and last, a deep bath that seemed large enough for four people to lie comfortably in. It was grand, and very classy; the earthy tones giving the bathroom a close, intimate feel. Tamaki liked it, and was content to stare at the positive walls until he felt hands tugging his shirt up his torso fem behind.
He shifted and tensed, but lifted his arms without complaint. As soon as the bloodied shirt was off his head, there was a mouth directly behind his ear, speaking barely louder than a whisper.
“We - you and I - met in high school. You moved here from France halfway through the second middle school year. Our best friends are Fujioka Haruhi and her husband, Morinozuka Takashi. They have a son two years older than the twins, Mitsukuni....Remember?” Somehow, his tone displayed that Kyouya did not really expect Tamaki to remember at all, even as his hands slunk down lower to tug at the front of his pants.
Still, he tried. “I...Uh...Yes,” he lied.
“Don’t lie to me, Tamaki,” Kyouya said monotonously. “I could always tell - still can.” He sounded harsh, almost mad, as he he pulled down the pants and assisted the blond in stepping out of his pants and underwear and straightened up, tuning the blond around to scan the amethyst eyes, as if searching for something he as not going to find, and that made Tamaki feel guilting.
He didn’t feel shy being naked in front of the Kyouya guy, but he felt that he should, and when the brunette moved to turn on the bath and pour in the contents of a violently pink bottle into the jet, he shifted uncomfortably and turned away slightly. Soon enough, the entire tub was full of bubbles and Tamaki could take the hint. Gradually, he stopped forward to step into the tub, only to trip, be caught by Kyouya and lowered in the rest of the way. It was hot, but not too much so, and it felt good on his bruised, sore and scrapped legs and torso. When the blond was fully submerged, another question formed in his mind.
“What -” Tamaki twisted to look past prescription glasses lenses into Kyouya’s grey eyes. He liked grey. “What happened...to me?”
“Car crash,” he answered simply.
“Am I...So...I have this...wonderful family, best friends who carry around my picture in their pockets and a history that I cannot remember?” He had tried to remember, but everything was so...dark and closed off. Tamaki looked away then, but not before he saw the concerned look in Kyouya’s eyes.
“The doctors said it was selective amnesia, meaning there are some sort of sensory trigger got each memory. Think of it as a lock and key sort of deal.” There was pressure against his shoulder, pulling Tamaki back against the slanted back of the bathtub. And then he felt the water ripple on either side of him as Kyouya, still fully dressed save for his shoes, slipped in his legs, brining the other’s head into his lap so that they were looking at each other again. He had such a look of concentration and evaluation on his face that it set off another flickering lightbulb.
“Doctor?”
“No - my family does own the hospitals, though,” Kyouya corrected, reaching off to the side and producing a bottle of shampoo which he squirted into the palm of his hand. He then massaged the cool liquid into Tamaki’s hair, lathering it and taking great care to be gentle around the tender back of his skull and the long, shallow cut across his forehead.
It felt good, and for a second, the blond allowed his eyes to flutter closed and he relaxed completely. It felt very...very good...But once again, curiosity plagued him.
“Are we...er...Are we...happy?”
Kyouya’s fingers did not stop moving. “We fight regularly. You’re an idiot most of the time. We’ve broken up twice, actually, but it’s never lasted more than a few weeks. You cry a lot.” That earned a mirrored smile from both parties. “Rinse.”
He did so, re-emerging from under the filmy surface with clumps of bubbles clinging to his fair face and shoulders. Tamaki wiped the mess off, held the remaining bubbles in his wet hands, inspecting them before bringing the hand to his mouth and taking a bite. It tasted...horrible.
“Eww...”
“Idiot.” It was a light, affectionate scolding and Tamaki smiled up at Kyouya, returning his head to the brunette’s already soaked lap. Kyouya plucked up the conditioner next, and applied it swiftly and easily into blond tresses with practiced hands. “You aren’t supposed to eat the bubbles.”
“What are they for then,” Tamaki found himself whining, allowing his floating legs to sway back and forth to create ripples in the water.
“Relaxation - you insist on each of us take a bubble bath at least once a week. The twins insist on one every other night.”
This made him smile. Although he could not particularly remember anything concrete, Tamaki found himself imagining a family bath time, two voices calling him ‘Daddy’ while he washed Kaoru’s hair and Kyouya washed Hikaru’s. His smile widened.
“What else do you want to know?” Kyouya asked.
Thoughts seemed...to escape him. And he shook his head.
“Rinse.”
Again, he dipped beneath the surface of the water, and burst back up just in time to yawn - something that did not escape Kyouya’s notice.
“Bed.”
Weighed down, even in water, Tamaki was too tired to protest. He allowed Kyouya to help him out, towel dry him and then, much to his surprise, embrace him in a slightly sympathetic yet possessive hold, chin on shoulders and arms around neck. It was a ‘don’t-ever-leave-me’ type of hug, as well as four very comforting words whispered in his ear. “You’ll remember in time.” Followed by two more. “I promise.” And four more. “And I’ll help you.”
Tamaki leaned into the hug, allowed his eyes to close, but Kyouya then pulled away and produced clean pajamas, a larger version of what the twins were wearing, which he helped the blond step into. With supporting arms around his waist, Tamaki a fourth staggered, was half carried, a fourth dragged by the other man into the hallway and then into their bedroom; a large room with white walls and dark blue accents and trim, a large bed and impressively matching windowsills and furniture. It was comfortable.
As was the bed itself. Together (for Tamaki helped a small bit) they pulled the blankets back and the blond was slid under the covers - warm and soft - and he felt sleep encroaching on him immediately. It was a big bed, and empty for a moment until he felt (felt more than heard) the rustling of the covers on the other side of the bed, and Kyouya’s warm body was pressed to his, cradling him in...was this a snuggle? For some reason, the thought made the blond smile humorously.
It was comfortable. it was warm. It was home.
Just before sleep fully took him, Tamaki felt his lips moving, whispering into the quiet calm of...their room... “Thank you...mon ami...”