(no subject)
This isn't in order with my ff.net account, but who cares?
Number 80: Emerge
“Are you planning on introducing your friend to the family any time soon, Kyouya?” his father asked one cold morning in February, and Kyouya paused in bringing a piece of toast to his mouth.
He glanced at the older Ootori, took a bite of the toast, and chewed thoughtfully. Then turned his attention to the centerpiece with unusual interest.
“Eventually,” he said, and ignored the stare his father was leveling on him.
“If you’re too ashamed to bring her before me…,” his father began, and let his son fill in the implication.
Kyouya was riled, even as he knew the real reason he hadn’t introduced Haruhi to his father.
It had been hard enough to convince the woman to begin seeing him as something more than a friend, but considering how she regarded the lifestyle and habits of the wealthy, he was not eager to reveal his own dirty laundry (washed by the help), so to speak.
She would probably take one look around and head right back out the door, he thought, wondering why he had even tried in the first place.
It was either keep his father upset, or lose the one woman he couldn’t intimidate.
“You have a week,” Yoshio stated, and left the table.
In the silence, Kyouya sighed, and leaned his head back against the chair.
Damn.
-
Haruhi was immersed in the menu when he arrived.
He lifted her left hand from the table and kissed it before settling across from her.
She blinked at him, and glanced at the hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and he flinched in the middle of lifting a glass of wine.
Didn’t spill any, he noted in detached approval.
“What are you talk-,” he began, but met her eyes and saw how pointless trying to evade her would be. Instead, he cleared his throat. “How would you like to come to dinner?” he asked, and when her brows rose in question, he added softly, “At my home.”
-
Every hair was in place, and he was about as casual as his wardrobe could bend: gray slacks and a light-weight sweater. Some new ploy the twins were trying out for their clothing line - ‘Color Your Emotions’ - had pushed him to blue, supposedly a calming color.
He would have to tell the twins their theory was shot and dead.
Kyouya almost would have preferred if Fuyumi was still around, bugging him and even teasing him. Anything but the silent wait with his father.
-
“Hello,” she said, greeting them both and smiling easily as Yoshio took her hand in a firm handshake.
“Fujioka-san, how are you?” he asked, and she responded with everything that was right and proper.
At least, Kyouya assumed this was the case, as his father was still smiling amiably, and Haruhi looked at ease… there was a loud roaring filling his ears, for some reason.
“How is Ootori-san’s project doing?” she asked, snapping Kyouya back to the present.
He stared incredulously as his father laughed, and patted her hand.
“Oh, flourishing, of course. Anything my wife sets her mind to she’ll succeed at,” he said, and, in Kyouya’s hearing, continued, “I think he gets it from her, don’t you agree?”
Training and practice was all that kept Kyouya upright.
His father had just complimented him. In his hearing. To Haruhi.
And then he frowned. How did Haruhi know about Mother’s pet project?
“I’m sure dinner is ready by now,” his father was saying, looking for all the world ready to lead Haruhi in to the meal, rather than putting them through the usual tedium of digging into his sons’ lives.
Kyouya cast about for something to separate them.
“Could you point me to the washroom, first?” Haruhi asked. “I need to clean up a bit.”
He leapt at the chance.
“I’ll show you. We’ll meet you in the dining room, Father,” he said, hustling the small woman out the door.
She gave him a strange look when he closed the washroom’s door behind them, but lathered her hands with soap anyways.
“You still look upset,” she observed, and Kyouya held in a hysterical laugh.
“When and where did you ever meet my mother?” he asked, and she looked surprised.
“A few years ago, I guess,” she answered, pulling a fluffy towel from the basket to wipe her hands dry. “Fuyumi-san was trying to get her help in that clothing venture she was starting up, but then your mother suggested that a food drive might be more beneficial, and they needed help setting up the legal side of things.”
Kyouya sighed, trying not to be as exasperated with her as he felt.
“You know my parents,” he concluded, and covered his eyes with one hand.
“Yes,” she said, regarding him with concern mixed with confusion.
“And you never mentioned it, why?” he asked, wondering how his father had managed to win this round so soundly.
“You never asked,” she said logically, and tugged him from the room. “Come on, we’re going to hold everyone up.” She looked up at him, a small smile beginning at her mouth. “So… what’s for dinner?”
Number 80: Emerge
“Are you planning on introducing your friend to the family any time soon, Kyouya?” his father asked one cold morning in February, and Kyouya paused in bringing a piece of toast to his mouth.
He glanced at the older Ootori, took a bite of the toast, and chewed thoughtfully. Then turned his attention to the centerpiece with unusual interest.
“Eventually,” he said, and ignored the stare his father was leveling on him.
“If you’re too ashamed to bring her before me…,” his father began, and let his son fill in the implication.
Kyouya was riled, even as he knew the real reason he hadn’t introduced Haruhi to his father.
It had been hard enough to convince the woman to begin seeing him as something more than a friend, but considering how she regarded the lifestyle and habits of the wealthy, he was not eager to reveal his own dirty laundry (washed by the help), so to speak.
She would probably take one look around and head right back out the door, he thought, wondering why he had even tried in the first place.
It was either keep his father upset, or lose the one woman he couldn’t intimidate.
“You have a week,” Yoshio stated, and left the table.
In the silence, Kyouya sighed, and leaned his head back against the chair.
Damn.
-
Haruhi was immersed in the menu when he arrived.
He lifted her left hand from the table and kissed it before settling across from her.
She blinked at him, and glanced at the hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and he flinched in the middle of lifting a glass of wine.
Didn’t spill any, he noted in detached approval.
“What are you talk-,” he began, but met her eyes and saw how pointless trying to evade her would be. Instead, he cleared his throat. “How would you like to come to dinner?” he asked, and when her brows rose in question, he added softly, “At my home.”
-
Every hair was in place, and he was about as casual as his wardrobe could bend: gray slacks and a light-weight sweater. Some new ploy the twins were trying out for their clothing line - ‘Color Your Emotions’ - had pushed him to blue, supposedly a calming color.
He would have to tell the twins their theory was shot and dead.
Kyouya almost would have preferred if Fuyumi was still around, bugging him and even teasing him. Anything but the silent wait with his father.
-
“Hello,” she said, greeting them both and smiling easily as Yoshio took her hand in a firm handshake.
“Fujioka-san, how are you?” he asked, and she responded with everything that was right and proper.
At least, Kyouya assumed this was the case, as his father was still smiling amiably, and Haruhi looked at ease… there was a loud roaring filling his ears, for some reason.
“How is Ootori-san’s project doing?” she asked, snapping Kyouya back to the present.
He stared incredulously as his father laughed, and patted her hand.
“Oh, flourishing, of course. Anything my wife sets her mind to she’ll succeed at,” he said, and, in Kyouya’s hearing, continued, “I think he gets it from her, don’t you agree?”
Training and practice was all that kept Kyouya upright.
His father had just complimented him. In his hearing. To Haruhi.
And then he frowned. How did Haruhi know about Mother’s pet project?
“I’m sure dinner is ready by now,” his father was saying, looking for all the world ready to lead Haruhi in to the meal, rather than putting them through the usual tedium of digging into his sons’ lives.
Kyouya cast about for something to separate them.
“Could you point me to the washroom, first?” Haruhi asked. “I need to clean up a bit.”
He leapt at the chance.
“I’ll show you. We’ll meet you in the dining room, Father,” he said, hustling the small woman out the door.
She gave him a strange look when he closed the washroom’s door behind them, but lathered her hands with soap anyways.
“You still look upset,” she observed, and Kyouya held in a hysterical laugh.
“When and where did you ever meet my mother?” he asked, and she looked surprised.
“A few years ago, I guess,” she answered, pulling a fluffy towel from the basket to wipe her hands dry. “Fuyumi-san was trying to get her help in that clothing venture she was starting up, but then your mother suggested that a food drive might be more beneficial, and they needed help setting up the legal side of things.”
Kyouya sighed, trying not to be as exasperated with her as he felt.
“You know my parents,” he concluded, and covered his eyes with one hand.
“Yes,” she said, regarding him with concern mixed with confusion.
“And you never mentioned it, why?” he asked, wondering how his father had managed to win this round so soundly.
“You never asked,” she said logically, and tugged him from the room. “Come on, we’re going to hold everyone up.” She looked up at him, a small smile beginning at her mouth. “So… what’s for dinner?”