Pretty

Night Worries and Coffee Stains

Hikaru was confused.

Kaoru might make some jab as to how that wasn't an unusual state of affairs, but in all seriousness... All he really knew about this situation was that it was bad. Kaoru looked tired, and more than a little fed up, as he rubbed a hand over his face, finally breaking eye-contact with the computer screen. There was a tense tightness to his face, something pinched and pained, and Hikaru desperately wanted to just snatch his brother up into a hug at the sight of it.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that," He stated, manner-of-factly, trying to push some sort of reaction out of Kaoru. He didn't care if it was just a dismissive snort, he just needed to ease the odd, out of place tension in the room.

"Please, I'll still be getting ID'd when I'm forty," Kaoru waved away, and Hikaru was pleased to see an ever so slight loosening of his shoulders, "I've just... got to do this, okay? I need some peace and then -"

"Just tell me what's going on, man," Hikaru sighed, throwing himself onto the coach next to his brother, head on his shoulders and nosily trying to look at what Kaoru had been staring so intently at. However, when he saw what it was, something in his chest dropped down to the bottom of his stomach with an almost painful twang. It was one of those online symptom checkers, "Kaoru... Are you sick?"

He started flitting around his brother, hands pressed against his forehead, his cheek, trying to feel for any sign of fever - as if that'd be a definitive answer. Kaoru was trying to swat him away, nose wrinkled and mouth in a tense line, but stopped when the laptop almost crashed to the floor with how the two of them had been squirming around.

"Get off," Kaoru groused, pushing him away with one final, hard shove, "It's not for me, okay? Just leave it alone. Go bother the maids if you're bored, they'd probably get away with murdering you."

"Bullshit!" He squawked, sounding a little too much like an offended parrot for his tastes, and he quickly cleared his throat. He tried to catch a glimpse of the screen once more, morbidly curious, "They'd get caught before breakfast, let's be honest here. Mum and dad love to make absolute sure we're both safe, after all."

A sly smirk emerged on Kaoru's face, eyes pinched and expression somewhat rat-like, especially for someone with their looks. Hikaru took that half-moment to catch another glimpse of the laptop screen, a few more puzzle pieces fitting into place when he saw "weight loss" and "fatigue" typed into the search bar.

"You think they don't look like two girls with experience?" Kaoru teased, angling the laptop screen so that it was almost closed, hidden from Hikaru's view, "They've definitely killed a man before, just look in their eyes."

The room went quiet, nothing more really coming to Hikaru's mind. Weight loss and fatigue could only really mean one thing, and he just needed to turn it over in his head for a moment.

He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't so self-absorbed that he didn't see what was going on with Kyoya. You'd have to be blind not to, really. He'd always been skinnier than a rail, acting more like a clothes hanger for his uniform than actually wearing it, but lately it'd just gotten absurd. His mother's industry was fashion, he'd hung around models, yet their senpai was thin even by their standards. He was an agency's wet dream, really; fine features, tiny frame.

All the girls in the club seemed to both be jealous and in awe, such is the way beauty standards are. They don't see bowed legs and concave stomachs, they see goals. They don't notice the aching legs, the fainting, the smell of the bathrooms before a photoshoot, because they aren't meant to. Stick thin is pretty, the methods of achieving it aren't.

Kyoya's teeth were coffee stained, yet still holding a somewhat grey tone to the enamel that really didn't look healthy. His pallor was whiter than a sheet of paper, and his skin was blotchy and uneven. He was getting spots, patches of skin discoloured with green and yellow hues. He wasn't like a pretty, porcelain doll; he was closer to that image before, honestly, and Hikaru had no clue as to why that had been abandoned. Even if Kaoru was in denial, and Tamaki was fumbling with his words, Hikaru could see the expressions he knew too well.

The lies spilled over Kyoya's lips, caustic and sour as puke, not that anything would come up. An excuse always lay on the tip of his tongue, like those stupid sugar free mints, and he'd spin his truths and lies together almost seamlessly. Nausea, forgetfulness, lack of time, lack of appetite.

But it wasn't like Hikaru thought he was superior for noticing, of course not. They'd all noticed, fully accepting this as what it was or otherwise. He was seeing things clearly, he was sure, but... He didn't say a word. It wasn't his place, wasn't his concern; even if that was a lie because Kaoru was steadily growing more and more stressed from all this. Part of him hated Kyoya for that, but something more rational corrected him; it wasn't Kyoya's fault.

Kyoya was sick, and no one chose that. He was just angry at the situation they'd all been put in.

"Kaoru..." He began, intending to at least break the delusion - the misplaced trust and hope - that pulled the veil over his brother's eyes, but the words wouldn't come. It was like his jaw had been wired shut, stiff and unmoving, words stuck behind his molars like a cyanide pill in a spy flick.

His brother hummed in response, eyes locked on the laptop screen once more, keys clacking as if it were Kyoya typing, not Kaoru. He didn't look up, too intent on trying to find a more palatable alternative to what was happening.

He didn't have the heart to say anything, to either of them. He always says the wrong thing, anyway...