Why You Gotta Be So Mean?

Guessing

When Kyoya got home from school, he was experiencing some mixed feelings.  They had to be mixed feelings; he could describe them no other way.

        He was conflicted on what had happened that day, and he was conflicted on what he was about to do.

        Kyoya stared at the table where he so often had done his homework in the past.  Where he would sit in his room as his sister Fuyumi would so often try to reorganize his clothes.  It was the same table where he'd planned out his and Tamaki's trip to Hokkaido—the trip they never went on.

        That was a day that Kyoya would now look back on with regret.  Tamaki kept planning out trips for them and dragging Kyoya along when he didn't even want to go.  In order to finally please Tamaki—the first-born Suoh with his future already mapped out for him—Kyoya finally planned them a trip himself.  Then, when Tamaki brushed him off, it made Kyoya so angry that he took it out on [y/n].  It was because of that day that beating her became a regular occurrence.  If he could have taken it back, he would have.  But he couldn't.

        Only now, there was none of that there.  There was no research for a trip, no paperwork on Hokkaido, no homework on the table.

        He sat in his room alone, staring at a nearly empty table.  Only, he didn't even notice the table was there.  His gaze was far too focused on the lone object.

        A phone.

        But not just any phone...

        "This is [y/n]'s phone..."

        Excitement.  Regret.  Guilt.  Curiosity.  Dread.  There were many words to describe the goings-on of the debate in his head.  Even with all those possibilities of how to explain it, Kyoya couldn't settle on one word.

        "If I go through her phone, there will be no going back."

        He weighed the pros and cons.

        "But this will be my only chance..."

        Was the opportunity worth the guilt?

        "It's now or never."

        Of course it was!

        Kyoya grabbed the phone and smashed the on button.  His eyes darted across the screen and its screensaver, scrounging to pick up all the information they could.  The bit of information he acquired, which did not make it in to his debate:  the phone had a passcode.

        Of course...

        Of course it was locked!