BLOOM [OHSHC]

Chapter 29 - Pinky Swear

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 "Sir, your... Miss... ahem, Michiyo has arrived."

Kyoya had been busy pacing his bedroom when the butler called, knocking on his bedroom door and bowing before announcing my presence. Wearing an oversized burgundy hoodie that went down to my knees, I peeked out from behind the butler with a wide grin and a scrunch of my nose. "I forgot how fancy your house is, Kyo-Kyo," I teased, dancing into the room and immediately collapsing on one of the plush-ass couches, throwing my backpack into an empty bean bag chair that probably cost more than... Well, how much do classy bean bags go for these days? A lot, is my guess. And knowing Kyoya's extra fancy family, his beanbag was probably made out of genuine yeti pelt or shed basilisk skin or something equally exotic and weird.

Kyoya dismissed the butler with a wave of his hand, and rounded on me with a sigh. "You're so uncouth," he said, sneering down at me sprawled on the couch. "And don't call me whatever that—"

"Oh, you mean Kyo-Kyo? It's your new uncouth nickname. Mei helped me come up with it," I explained. "We've taken it upon ourselves as your PR team to help you out, and we've decided the nickname 'Kyo-Kyo' helps you seem more relatable, less holier-than-thou... you know, because you definitely give off a snooty silver-spoon asshole sorta vibe to the layperson."

"Snooty, huh?" Kyoya mused, walking away with a little smirk on his lips.

I piped up, raising a finger in the air and wagging it like I'd seen our Psych teacher do. "Don't forget holier-than-thou silver-spoon asshole."

"Of course, of course... how could I forget?"

Starting to set my study materials on his coffee table, I hummed tunelessly and annoyingly, feeling more like myself than I had in a while. The rest of the week had gone well. Mei was in good spirits. Classes were manageable. Life was surprisingly... good.

"Are we going to talk about what happened in the hedge maze?"

Figures Kyoya would want to ruin my good mood. I scrunched up my face with a pout and frowned at him, pulling my legs up onto the couch. "I'd rather we didn't."

"I'd rather we did," he pressed, dropping onto the couch beside me. He crossed his legs, angling himself toward me like I imagined a therapist would. Maybe Kyoya used his spare time to get a degree in psychology without my knowledge. It honestly wouldn't surprise me, and it would explain a lot.

I opened my mouth to protest—because why should I have to relive all of it after I just did that a few days earlier—when Kyoya put his hand on mine, stilling my anxious unpacking and half-baked excuses. "It's just us, Michiyo," he said softly, his voice surprisingly warm and soothing. "No one is here to judge or make assumptions."

Raising a brow at him, I made an unimpressed face.

"I won't," he said. "I... I promise."

"You promise?" I echoed, honestly a bit incredulous.

Kyoya didn't often say things like that. But he nodded. "I promise."

"Pinky swear?"

He rolled his eyes as I held out my pinky for him. "Well... alright."

We intertwined our pinkies, and I bit my lip. "This isn't a weak-ass pinky promise. It's heavy stuff, you know."

"You wouldn't have been having a trauma response if it wasn't, Michiyo," he said steadily. Our pinkies still held tight, now resting on the couch between us. After a long moment of silence during which I tried to gather my thoughts, Kyoya said, "Take your time. Whenever you're ready."