51Chapter 12: Your Love has Always Been Enough for Me (Kai)
Song: Home by Chris Daughtry
To buy
condoms
underwear
ointment for scratches on back (x3 it's probably going to keep happening)
Songs i relate to:
All these masks we wore we never knew what we had in store breathe in breathe out
I'm going to a place where love and feeling good don't ever cost a thing
I've not always been the best man or friend for you but your love remains true, and I don't know why, you always seem to give me another try
I'm going home, back to a place where I belong, where your love has always been enough for me.
Tonight, turn the leaf over. I'll try my best to keep it simple.
I would never ever try to hurt you, I guess I just lost track of time. After all that we have been through, you're worth me losing my mind.
Well, I ain't no trouble maker and I never meant her harm, but it doesn't mean I didn't make it hard to carry on.
Then all at once, it gets hard to take, it gets hard to fake what I won't be. Cuz one of these days I'd be born and raised and it's such a waste to grow up lonely.
.
To: wickedwitch
From: mistersourpuss
Subject: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
Go back to wearing skimpy clothes. It's been a week.
To: mistersourpuss
From: wickedwitch
Subject: Re: Your Clothes. I'm Offended
Your reminders are still there.
To: wickedwitch
From: mistersourpuss
Subject: Re: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
And?
To: mistersourpuss
From: wickedwitch
Subject: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
I don't want anyone to see. It's embarrassing to answer.
To: wickedwitch
From: mistersourpuss
Subject: Re: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
Everyone already knows. Let me have this.
To: mistersourpuss
From: wickedwitch
Subject: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
Let you act like a stalking pervert? No. Stop eye-fucking me.
To: wickedwitch
From: mistersourpuss
Subject: Your Clothes. I'm Offended.
Fine. Whatever you wear is going to end up on the floor anyway.
.
things breaking my icy cold heart and make me hate myself for leaving- how to fix them
She's physically protective of herself around me - let her initiate the kissing and the touches.
It hurts her to be around me so she pushes me away - be there when she comes back.
She's unsure if I'll stay - show her I have nowhere else to go but to her.
ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. . ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou. ItHurtsToBeAroundYouAndIStillLoveYou.
YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave. YouAreHereToStayEvenIfSheWantsYouToLeave
25th September. Beach House. Dressing up for Ian's Wedding.
I am gathering the heap of clothes at the edge of my bed, trying to find the source of the constant buzzing, when Hilary walks into the room, giggling for some reason. When I finally locate my phone, I press ignore because it is hashtag the Ice Queen, and turn around to start a verbal war with her (it's almost an instinct now). But whatever words I had thought of freeze in my throat instantly as my gaze lands on her.
She's leaning against the doorway, in a sleek, maroon strapless dress that I have never seen (probably new), and those high heels that she rarely wears, and her lips coated in her (my) favorite shade of red, and her hair parted to one side – she looks absolutely, breathtakingly delici- I mean stunning.
"Did you plan on stealing the bride's thunder on her own wedding?" I finally say, snapping out of my trance at Hilary's slightly questioning albeit amused gaze.
Immediately, her eyes widen and she starts to rub the creases off her dress that are not even there. It looks as if she's self-conscious, mumbling something about how she knew she had overdressed, and if I really thought she had taken it too far. I can only shake my head, and it genuinely takes nothing out of me to say what I say next, "You look perfect."
Because she does and she deserves to feel that way and more.
"Thanks." She smiles cheekily, "You look sort of nice too." Sort of nice? Hello? I am never complimenting this girl again. "Your bowtie taste is deplorable, though." She adds, rolling her eyes.
I'm offended! It's a perfectly fine, perfectly nice (and expensive) bowtie. I tell her so, and she snorts but says nothing else.
Somewhere in between bickering about reporting her to the police for stealing the fucking key to my house and then walking in all the time as if it is her own house, she picks a shirt off the bean bag, and throws it in my direction, "We should have been there thirty minutes ago." She motions towards my still-buzzing goddamned phone , "I had to turn mine off. Ice Queen is one persistent bitch."
Finally deciding that I truly do not give a motherfucker about the cleaning and the organizing right now and that I can do it when I get back, I join her at the doorway and teasingly say, "I can tell him my chauffeur was late. What's your excuse?"
Her voice is sickeningly sweet when she retorts with, "That I had to drop a passenger off at the airport for a flight to Moscow?"
I can only raise my palms in defeat in response. Touche.
We are an hour late to Ian's wedding.
25th September. Ian's Wedding. At Wedding Hall.
Hils: How're Ice King and Queen holding up? ;)
Me: Don't drink so much. I hate driving your car.
Hils: So demanding. You don't even pay me to be your chauffeur. .
Me: I pay. It's just not in cash :)
Hils: ...
Kai: You're blushing.
Hils: You're pimping yourself out for car rides?
Kai: A man's gotta survive somehow.
Hils: ...
Kai: Willing to pay more if you think this is not enough :)
Hils: ...
.
Hils: Stop staring, people are starting to notice
.
While I wasn't surprised to see McGregor at Ian's wedding – I did help with the invitations after all – I was slightly annoyed that his eyes kept following Hillary's figure all evening. He awkwardly waved at Hilary when she and I entered the hall, he took a seat two rows behind Hilary and kept glancing over, he kept trying to meet her eye when she was having a chat with her girl friends – McGregor very clearly had something to say to say to her.
And by the end of the night, when enough music had started playing and people were drunk enough to let go, I guess he gathered the guts to do so. I was just across the room when I saw him extend his hand towards Hillary in a gesture inviting her to dance. From where I stood, she looked a bit taken aback, but for some reason or the other, gave him her hand.
"Careful there buddy," Tala took the glass of wine from my continuously tight grasp, visibly amused, "Your feelings are starting to show."
"Hn." I huffed angrily, eyes fixed on McGregor as he leads Hilary to the corner of the room. And what gives? He has her number, throw her an email. Give her a call. Shoot her a text. Does he have to ogle at her like a fucking stalker? "Is being fucking punched on national TV not enough of a rejection?"
"Her punches never stopped you." Tala mumbled, fully enjoying whatever it was that he saw on my face when McGregor put an arm around Hillary's waist, his hand way too her lower back, his body way too comfortable pushing against hers.
A million thoughts sprung to mind – my hand on her lower back, her body on top of mine, her skin against my lips, her fingers in my back, her legs tangled between my own, her soft hair against my cheeks, her rosy scent overwhelming my senses, wooden kitchen floors against my back, old and scratchy walls against my hand –
"He's absolutely no one to her." I snapped at Tala, but it sounded more like I was trying to reassure myself, and I guess he picked up on that because it made him chuckle.
Over the next few painful minutes, I watched as Hillary's demeanor changed from annoyed, to angry – she rolled her eyes, she pushed him enough to stare at him incredulously, she had the glint in her eyes she has when she is calling Tyson a pig.
McGregor, on the other hand, remained surprisingly calm, and it seemed that he cracked a joke because soon enough, Hillary was fighting a smile and calmed down enough that they circled the dance floor just chatting for quite a while after.
"Whatever you say, Kai."
8th October. Beach House. 8PM.
I'm slightly surprised when Hillary turns up at my house one evening, with a bag of takeaway in one hand and her shoulder bag in the other. I look up from a bundle of lease forms and sale deeds to find her entering the living room rather hurriedly. She gives me a coy smile, and holds up two brown bags, "I brought you dinner."
I don't miss the momentary relief in her eyes when they meet mine.
"Hillary." I greet her. It's Wednesday, she had Contract at 5 PM. "Class got cancelled?" I ask as she sets down the bags on the dining table behind the couch. She mumbles a small 'Yeah' to my question, leaning over to plant a small kiss on the top of my head.
"Tyson said you had work." I can hear her pout when she speaks next to my ear, circling her arms around my shoulders from behind. Before I could respond, "Oh my God, Kai, you won't believe what Tyson did –".
I groan in annoyance when she pulls her arms away, and starts pacing around the room, ranting about a balloon fight with Tyson for some reason, and then about her loud-mouthed classmates at the Bakuten College, then about how she's 'totally absolutely in love with the my Jurisprudence teacher', then questions her sexuality for a few seconds, and goes back to the water balloon fight –
"You know what I think?" She rants, now setting the table for dinner, "This is latent resentment. He's in love with you–" Not this again. I roll my eyes, amused. "And he blames me for stealing you from him –"
"Alright." I say, motioning for the conversation to end. I stand up, smiling despite myself, gathering the bundle papers from my lap. When I reach her, I put my hand on her lower back, and motion towards the chair, "Sit. Let's eat."
She huffs in anger and I try my best to keep a poker face; I will not deny that I absolutely love this side of her. Because she looks so fucking gorgeous to me when she gets livid; with her crossed arms, that oh-so-Hillary-esque defiant stare, her soft lips in an angry pout, her skin visibly flushed.
I peck her lightly on her frowning lips, and gently rest my head on top of her angry little head, inhaling her cherry scent. The touch is enough to calm her down, or distract her – either way, I can feel her body relax next to mine.
Over dinner, she sits to my left and is quieter, probably because she has exhausted all her stories for the day.
She asks me about my day and I tell her about the paper work I had open when she had arrived. I'd decided to go with Kenny's idea of expanding to Japan instead of selling Hiwatari Corps entirely, and having officially gotten the 'permission' to do so, the past few weeks I've spent looking for the right place to build it from ground up.
I'd be lying if I said I hadn't factored in Hilary's house, her college or the Dojo into the equation – I was also here to build a back my life from the ground up.
"Grandfather's Stooges are letting me take over for once, thank fuck." I tell her, passing her the takeaway box she has reached her hand out for. "Though, I need to get it in black and white, so it's official."
"Are you leasing or buying?" She asks, and as if instinctively, she places a hand over my knee. While I don't need the encouraging gesture, I appreciate it and I know with certain topics, it's become second nature for her to reach out and offer comfort.
"Depends on what's available in the vicinity to this place." And yours. And Tyson's. I place my free hand on top of hers on my knee and gently squeeze it.
The rest of the dinner is quiet, with the occasional clattering of dishes, both of us asking the other to pass something, the gentle brushing of our feet against each other, the occasional smiles.
When we're both cleaning up, Hillary's humming that song she always hums when she's happy and content.
And all I can feel in that moment is pure, intense elation. From being where I belong. Where the selfless, never-ending love of the brunette next to me is more than enough to last a life-time. Where everyone I care for keeps finding their faith in me again and again and again. Where there's hole-burning-warmth when I think of Dranzer's loyalty. Where feeling this good is coming without sacrifices, hurt, heart ache, pain.
It costs not a fucking single thing.
If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be here, I'd probably have punched you for fucking with me. A place where because this was a memory of the past, a life I never felt worthy of – barely do even now, but am too selfish to refuse it.
22nd October. Beach House. 5PM.
Most days she is happy with me.
Most days she laughs with me, pokes fun at everything from my anger to my music taste, to the deplorable tie collection. Some times when she looks at me, it is with so much endearment and fondness that I feel guilt and remorse and fucking unworthy.
Every time I touch her, I can sense the fire burning inside of her and things get too heated too quick and it takes every ounce of will power I have to pull back (I know she doesn't want this so soon)
Most days, she lets me pick her up from college, lets me take her to dinner, let's me pepper her with small kisses, gentle touches, lets me take her for walks by the beach, for ice-cream from that place she loves so much, to the zoo she enjoys.
She lets me hold her hand, lets me be the one she rambles to at the end of the day about her life and what she is eating, her study schedule, her opinion on everyday events at the Dojo…she lets me court her, the way she deserved from the very start.
And I'm grateful for it. I never take them for granted.
But I'd be lying if I said some days do not get incredibly fucking hard.
Some days she gets super difficult to understand. Some days, it feels like she's miles away, impossible to touch and reach out to despite being seated 5 feet from me. Some days she pulls away too soon, sometimes before I'd even neared her. Some days she leaves too early, and I don't see her for days.
Today is one of those days.
"I didn't matter enough for you to stay, Kai." She whispers from underneath me on a breezy Saturday night when we are both breathless and on my hastily-bought-and-thrown-in yellow couch.
She is pinned under me, her legs entangled between mine, her fingers knotted in my hair, her neck arched as I trail my lips down her collar bone – I don't know where she starts and where I end but I hear the pain in her voice clear as the sky when she continues.
"I wasn't even worth a goodbye."
Jesus fucking Christ, Hillary. Slowly, I pull away enough to look at her face, narrowing my eyes because this is not a conversation I want to have right now, but my resolve halts when I do. Her eyes meet mine and they're cold, and oh-so-far away that my heart clenches in my chest.
"You did." I mumble. I bring my lips to her neck, trail them up her chin, then softly touch her lips with mine. There was no stopping it when Hillary became like this (and lately, there have been a lot of these moments). I do not want to dismiss her simply because all I can think of is how good her skin feels against mine – I meet her gaze when I say, "You were. I'm sorry."
"Don't fuck with me, Kai." She snaps, but it comes out less threatening because of how breathless she is. How breathless I've made her. It's easier to hide my proud smile when she's not meeting my gaze.
I am not stupid, especially not when it comes to Hillary. I have long-stored in my memory all of her quirks, her subtle flaws, little things that make herHillary Tachibana – the furrow in her forehead when she's unsettled, the way she purses her lips when she is angry, the song she hums when she's happy and content...the feeling of every inch of her skin.
She has shared way too many a secrets with me for me not know how she feels or what she is thinking at any given moment. And she's certainly snapped at me enough times – for asking too much, for getting too close to touch –for me to not know what this is about.
And this ...this is pure and unfiltered insecurity.
And I know exactly where this is coming from.
"Seeing you would have made it impossible for me to leave." I say, and then when I hesitatingly add, "And I needed to leave."
I can feel her stiffen, and I knew I was hurting her every time I said those words because she disagreed, but I can never lie to her. Especially not right now. Especially not after promising her honesty, and time, and consistency.
But while I never do not intend on breaking that promise, I seriously underestimated just how hard it would be to keep it.
"I'm here." I say it every time and I say it now. She's still stiff under me, and her fingers loosen in my hair and she is no longer arching her neck and is staring dead straight at me. I read the expression in her ruby orbs; they're hazy with lust, but there's a glimmer of pain in them and it makes my heart clench tightly in my chest to realize that I am the source of it. "I'm sorry."
.
We have had conversations akin to these before.
She tells me I'm scared of coming to your house, one day you won't be here. So, instead, I pick her up from the Dojo or drop her off to her house, or her college.
She asks me Where is this going? What are we doing? And all I feel is anger; at her for asking such a stupid question and at myself for ever making her feel like she constantly needed this reassurance. Wherever you want, I tell her, and I assure her that I will be there for us to figure it out together if she can't.
You abandoned me, she says accusingly, You'll do it again. And there is nothing either of us can do about this but wait for me to prove her wrong.
Over the past few months, the more time she spends with me, the more heightened her insecurities are, and the more...distant she becomes. And I fucking despise every minute of it.
I try to tell myself this is a natural response; the anger, the distrust, the insecurities, the fear of abandonment. And it's natural for her to pinpoint the source of the discomfort on me, and then try to put some distance between us when things get too much.
It is natural and expected and I'm almost always prepared. But it fucking hurts and feels so fucking wrong and I despise every single second of it.
I know that I can beg for her forgiveness day in and day out. I can change my schedule so she never has to come to an empty house. I can offer to take her to Moscow so she understands and knows where to find me if she thinks I'll run away again.
I can offer apologies for every single breathe I took without her. I can lend an ear when she needs a friend and my arms when she needs more, I can accept being on the receiving end of abuses because she remembers something that makes her so fucking angry at me –
I can mould and wrap and pull and tug and roll myself so that I can fit the broken pieces of her better – the pieces I'd shattered. I can handle her rage, her insecurities. I can give her the distance she needs and still have my palms stretched towards her when she wants to return – the same way she always had with me.
But nothing will change the fact that I'd left her without a word three fucking times, one time being permanent, all for my selfish gains. As if she was disposable. As if she never mattered. As if she was just another pawn in the chess game that I was constantly playing.
.
Most conversations with her are apologies now.
So is every touch.
So when she sits up straight, I cling to her desperately, and trail a hand down her back. I'm sorry. I run a finger across her cheeks, her lips, down her chin, her neck, I thought of you every single day. I kiss her lips again, and again, and again...and again, You deserved an explanation, and I'm sorry I was too selfish to give you one.
Till she's melting into the touch, her body relaxing, less stiff, less protected. Abandoning you nearly killed me. She finally responds to the kiss, as her hands grip the back of my head again, And I won't survive abandoning you again. My palms seize her short-covered thighs as they wrap themselves around my waist –
I know the amount of pain she is putting herself through to allow this chance to me
It becomes more and more evident when we are alone like this, or in the days I don't see her because she doesn't want to be found. No matter how many dates I take her too, how passionately I kiss her, how many laughs she shares with me; at the end of the day she is ... insecure, constantly questioning her worth – a scar I know I was the one to give her.
She's coming undone. Slowly. Every single fucking day.
I have not missed the deflections when I ask her about the past year, I sense bitterness in the jokes she makes about airports and Moscow and dropping me off, and there is fear when she pulls away because things are getting too heated between us.
I promised her honesty, and time, and consistency but I seriously underestimated just how hard it would be to keep it. I am not a fool. Especially not when it comes to Hillary Tatibana. This is bringing up way too many emotions too fast for her tiny body to handle.
But for some reason, she is doing it, despite me asking her to slow down. All I can do is be there when she battles them off, make it easier for her by not letting her see an empty house, by being there when she runs off and comes back. All I can do is repeat her worth to me over and over and over and over – and be grateful that she lets me.
Nothing will be enough to erase the insecurities and doubt and instability that my actions had fostered in her beautiful, loyal, gorgeous brown head. I knew that.
Nothing but time.
So I take these moments in stride.
I learn to predict when they arrive – she will start pulling away, she will call less, her lips will pucker sometimes when she glances my ways, she will suddenly be too tired to see me, to sleepy, too busy.
And when they arrive, I try to be patient. I try to tell myself she's just hurt, and its taking everything she has out of her, trying to make this work, and that this is natural and expected and I'm prepared and she's here and that's enough –
And I truly mean it every single time I say "Thank you, Hillary."
11th November. Beach House. Living Room. 9:30 PM.
It takes several months of back and forth with Hillary, trying to make whatever this is work, that I finally end up losing my patience and snap.
I don't know how we end up in the middle of my stupid living room again, yelling at each other from the opposite sides of the coffee table again and I don't know who started this spar.
All I know is that I hadn't seen her in five fucking days because it's one of those days when she is too flighty and keeps changing her mind too often and has bit half her lip off because she's been over-thinking, and has become so goddamn unpredictable that she's yelling at me one moment and kissing me breathlessly the next –
I don't know how the conversation steers towards McGregor, of all the things, and me being a 'jealous, manic, control freak' but it's enough to make me abandon all thoughts of a civil discussion with her, and scowl at her accusingly, "What the fuck is your problem, Hillary? Why are you bringing McGregor up now –"
" –You accused me of sleeping with him on our first date!" She yells from across the room, placing her foot down the way she always does when she's super pissed. Briefly, as I look down at her, I wonder why it took her an entire month after Ian's wedding to bring him up in conversation with me – surely, if she's this angry at me over him – "You asked me when I'm giving birth to his child."
It was an exaggerated tease. I wanted to say.
But as she glares indignantly at me, and as her words start to settle in, I feel a flicker of ... anger run through me. Memories come to me, as if switching between channels on a TV screen: Hillary flirting with McGregor in Tyson's kitchen...Hillary coming in late at night reeking of him... McGregor's hand going up her thighs on the bleachers...her glaring at me a few seconds after smiling so fondly at him...her sharing ice-cream and cake with him on Tyson's couch the day of Max's birthday.
"He meant nothing to you." I deadpan, shaking my head to rid myself of the flashbacks and looking at her straight in the eye. "A distraction, at best. I know that."
I sounded deader than I intended – this topic wasn't a favorite, and Hillary knows it. But I'd long since realized that when it comes to conversations like this and particularly when Hillary starts acting like the way she is right now, it's best to ride out the storm and try not to be too dismissive.
Hillary rolls her eyes disbelievingly. "And yet, you hated him."
I scoff defiantly, still somewhat angrier than I'd like to admit as I cross my arms across my chest. McGregor is not worth my hate. I will accept that his presence made me angry – no, infuriated. I will also accept that I did not like his hand snaking up on her body, or her laughing with him, or her smelling of him, or her having moments with him that she used to have with me.
But, the fact remains: I'd have hated it just as much had it been anyone else in place of McGregor.
"Hillary." I step closer to where she stands, still half-way facing her, "What I hated was you trying to replace me. McGregor...Michael –" I shoot a small smirk, if only to hide the anger in my voice, when I look up at her again, "— or Claude. They are just names. I do not care for them. "
She is obviously not amused.
In fact, I think she looks angrier than ever. She turns her back on me, runs her fingers through her hair in frustration, stomps a foot on the wooden floor (I swear I heard a crack ) her voice almost a snarl when she speaks next.
"I don't like how fucking entitled you act towards me." Despite her being across the room, her gaze burns into mine, and it's enough to make me turn myself to fully face her. "It's very selfish of you. I deserved a chance to move on from you. And you did your best to take it away."
Ah. That's what this is about.
I very distinctively remember having this conversation with her that one night a couple of months back in this very house, on the kitchen floor. And I remember how my reaction had infuriated her enough to nearly give up on me and walk right out. Her words from that night play in my head like an old memory, over and over and over; "All you ever had to give was leaving. How dare you ask so much of me so fucking shamelessly –"
"You already knew that, Hillary." I keep my voice an octave lower to hers when I reply, already feeling a headache forming. Jesus, this goddamn woman. "You know I'm selfish with you. You know I act entitled towards you. I've apologized for it and I won't do it anymore. I don't know what else I should do."
She's seething, and puts the edge of her palm across her forehead in exasperation. I sigh, pocketing my hands because of the sudden unease I feel.
Her face is flushed and I look at it carefully, trying to gather my thoughts. It's challenging because of the increasing rage at the subject of the conversation, but also because I feel so at loss every time we have these exchanges.
"I do not regret fighting for you, Hillary." I end up saying after a while of rummaging through my head, trying to find the right words to say.
I know that when she gets like this, one wrong word could hurt her, one gesture and she is seething, one wrong touch and she feels miles away. I can't predict her reactions, and it is not the kind of dynamic I imagined both of us ever having, and it's senseless and unfamiliar and so fucking exhausting.
"Fighting with me, you mean." She's quick to snap, letting out a defiant snort. And in a moment, she's strode across the room, placed her hands on the coffee-table in front of me, looking up so she meets my eye. I stare back, unmoving, unbothered, arms crossed. I've seen enough of her anger and attempts at intimidation, especially of lately, for them to faze me anymore.
And while I've grown accustomed to her random, seemingly-unprovoked bouts of rage, nearly apathetic, this …this is different.
Because it's about another fucking man and replacing me in the entirety and just the thought –
"This was about your own goddamn ego, Kai! You wanted to take away my chances at happiness without you." There is a sudden coldness, an unfamiliar venom in her words and I try to tell myself it's just the rage talking, "Have the fucking balls to admit it."
My eyes narrow in irritation at the accusation but I manage to keep the anger at bay enough and my voice lower because I'm confused and angry and fucking exhausted.
I lean on the table so I'm eye to eye with her, unfazed, and my voice is nearly indifferent when I say, "You know I don't want us to argue, Hils." I tilt my chin towards the sofa, "Come here. Sit. Talk."
"No!" She snaps, childishly stomping her feet on the ground. "I am fucking talking. Right now. Right here." She rolls her eyes again, leaning away from me and I mimic her, sighing inwardly.
This is so utterly ridiculous. I pinch the tip of my nose, taking a few breaths, and finally decide to give up.
"Fine." I say calmly, not breaking eye contact with her, but gathering some papers from the table, "I'll be in the study. Come over when you've calmed down so we can deal with this like the adults that I hope we are."
"Don't you dare walk away from me!" She yells at me when I turn my back towards her, and I roll my eyes in annoyance but don't respond.
I mumble profanities at McGregor when I enter the study and slam the papers angrily down on the desk. I leave the door wide open so I can peek occasional glances at the angrily-pacing, occasionally-stomping-on-the-creaking-floor Hillary – just to make sure she doesn't leave at 10 fucking PM.
Dramatic little bitch.
.
Its twelve thirty when I hear the TV volume lower, followed by footsteps down the hall and towards the study. Before I can react, her hands are pulling my arm away from my head and tentatively, she wraps her arms around my shoulders from the back, nestling her face into my neck.
"I'm sorry." I would never have heard her if she wasn't so close. Her breath brushes my neck, sending shivers down my spine and I place my hand on top of hers, to keep myself steady. "I shouldn't be yelling at you. It's very childish."
"You were hurt." I reply, turning around just enough to meet her eye and rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand in a comforting, encouraging gesture, "I understand that. I'm grateful that you bring things up with me when they're bothering you."
With a small smile, I add, "I promise I'm listening even when you spend … less energy into it."
She scoffs, and pulls herself away just enough to allow her to round the chair, and come rest on my lap instead. While there's a small smile on her, and the muscles in her shoulders are relaxed, there's a glimmer of guilt on her face, "I don't know what came over me. I saw Johnny last week for the first time since Ian's wedding and ever since I've just been…"
She lets out a sigh.
Ah.
"Hn." Did he give you any trouble? Did he say something to you that is making you reconsider this, and us – "Did he spike your lemon water?"
"Thanked me for punching him on international television."
I try not to laugh at the memory (I may have the video downloaded and on replay several times a day), and tell her instead, "It was a nice punch."
She hits me playfully on the shoulder, and inches closer, getting more comfortable on my lap. Inadvertently, my eyes drift to her lipstick-smudged lips, and I have to shake away the thoughts in my head. This is not the time.
Thankfully, her voice makes me refocus, "I guess seeing him reminded me of… a different time. From when you first showed up." I rub her back lightly when she gets stiff from nervousness again, telling her silently that I'm listening and I don't mind and she can say what she needs to say.
And that's exactly what she does.
"I just felt so angry at that side of you, Kai. You acted so…childish. And venomous. And cruel. And petty –" Her brows furrow in sadness, and somehow her next words hurt more than anything she's ever said to me in the past few months combined, "I felt like I didn't know you anymore. I don't recall you ever raising your voice at me before, and suddenly, you're saying all these outrageous things…"
She trails off at the end, pausing to look at my face. I'm not sure what she sees, but it makes her tighten her grip around me, "It was an unwelcome memory. I got irrationally upset. I was – am – scared of a repeat."
"I'm not going to do that to you, Hils."
But she's looking at me unsure and questioning, and I can't help the sigh that escapes me, "Hillary, I know I was disrespectful trying to keep you from moving on. I realize it was wrong of me to be that…coercive. I wish I had chosen less hostile methods of fighting. And for that I'm sorry."
I think back over my words, thrown angrily at her, filled with rage and pain, and I really mean it.
My voice is firmer at the end, "But I won't apologize for standing in the way of you and McGregor. I do not regret fighting for us, for this." I point wave my hand at the decreasing distance between us.
It takes everything out of me to say the next few words but they're the truth and she deserved them, "I won't stand in your way again if you decide to quit now, after we have given this a try. But, back then, both of us deserved a chance with each other first. And I do not regret whatever I did to give us that."
I manage to keep the annoyance out of my voice, trying to be as kind and honest with her as I can possibly be. My hands tighten around her waist, as if my sincerity will make her run for the door when it's one of the few things that I know she absolutely positively adores (her words not mine) about me.
Her eyes soften and I smirk when she ends the conversation with, "Shut up and fucking kiss me, Kai Hiwatari."
Conversation between Hillary Tatibana and Kai Hiwatari
"I was so jealous of Queen. You guys looked so good together. Would have made pretty babies."
Yes. We would have. "Hn. Too bad I ended up with you."
"..."
"What."
"...you ended up with me…we're ….together? Since when?"
Tch. He hadn't meant it like that. "I'd like for us to be."
"Be…..together? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Exclusive?"
Shrug. "Whatever you want to call it." It's been enough time.
"What does …..togetherness look like to you?"
He doesnt know. "Tch. I won't be having kids with Queen." With a smirk, "I don't see myself tolerating anyone but you."
She's blushing. After all this time, she's blushing, "Alright then."
To buy for Hillary (she went to sleep in the study again)
Get spare toothbrushes
Get spare sets of clothes
Set up the guest bedroom
Get Hillary's shampoo
Toileteries for women? (Google)
Towels
One Friday night when I come home late from a meeting with Hiwatari Corps Team, Japan Edition, I find Hillary curled up in my bed instead of her own, fast asleep. When I open my closet for a change of clothes, I find a once-empty corner of it filled with colors that are distinctly Hillary - orange, red, yellow, brown. When I'm showering, I find her toiletries lined up next to my own, the nearly empty cabinet now filled with feminine products.
When I climb into bed, she's already half-awake, looking at me with half-open eyes, a fond smile, she mumbles, "Come closer." Her hands are already at my waist, pulling me in from the edge of the bed where I've sat deliberately to maintain distance. "You don't have to stay away from me. I don't want to sleep without you."
It's enough for me to melt into her touch, wrap myself around her limbs, enough for her to rest her head on my shoulder and pepper me with soft, gentle kisses, before dozing off slowly. It's hours before I go to sleep, willing myself to be awake and take this in - her limbs entangled in mine, her face buried in my neck, her soft breathes, her occasional mumbles, the smell of her hair. her clothes in my closet.
When I wake up the next morning, she's still in my arms but she's already awake, and she smiles at me before kissing me full on the lips, and I think, I must be dead. I kiss her back just as passionately, pulling her closer, This is heaven and I am dead. And I thank every god in the world for whatever good I did that could ever justify being rewarded like this.
Perhaps it is in the absolute bliss of the moment that I mumble against her lips words I didn't plan but words I mean with every beat of my stone-cold heart, "I should have told you how much I fucking love you years ago."
It doesn't feel belittling, insecurity-inducing, and I don't give her a chance to respond before she's under me and all over me and I can't tell her skin apart from mine anymore.
I don't care for reciprocation, she's said her iloveyous in her words, her forgiveness, her company, her colors in my closet, her lips on my lips, in the way she's teared her heart open for me to take. I don't care for reciprocation, but it feels good to hear her say when we finally detangle, "Charming confession, Kai. But I said it first."
A/N:
Some things to note:
Kai's Friendships: This entire story was Kai's redemption arc post-leaving - and he's been making ammends here and there all over the story and I know I should have added something in the last chapter related to Kai's friendships with Kenny (he helped him branch out Hiwatari Corps) and Tyson (who is in love with him for this story) and Max and Ray (who he's started to treat like equals thank fuck) but - I've had this entire chapter written for more than a month - a month and I've been trying to work in the friendship dynamics into this chapter but in the end i just gave up - so byeeeeee i could'nt do it.
Horny Kai: Oh my god I struggled so much with horny physical touchy feely Kai oh my God i thought i would fuck him up and i was so confused about incorporating the sexual feelings into his character? But then I thought about it and I think he's ...the kind who displays physical attraction easily because he's actions-over-words so ...touch would be more natural to him. But! he's also really competitive I think. And would probably make a joke or a challenge out of sex too. And he's cocky so I thought he'd enjoy flustering Hillary. In my head. Horny Kai eventually became, openly sexual and casual, competitive, kinda domineering, casual , still-kinda-deadpan Kai.
KaiHil: I didn't want the entire oh-he's-back-i've-fucked-with-him-enough-now-we-are-together dynamic thing with kaihil? I didn't want Kai's two apologies to be enough for everything that he'd done - because they're not enough. And being abandoned by people you love is a wound that really really stays with you.
And I wanted to explore for a conclusion of this story (1) changed behavior and not just rushed words - his , let me take you out and i'm so sorry but i love u too aren't enough. (2) the evolution of an actual relationship - from friendship, to physical, to dependency, to partnership (3) most important of all, the sustainability - they're not just getting together, they're STAYING together - they can work out their problems, and they're not ignoring the damage caused, and there is a lot of hurt that is there which is being addressed . I didn't want them to just ? say sorry, fuck, get together - i wanted to show it's all real and long-term.
i hope I was able to convey that. and that's all i wanted for the conclusion of this story - changed behavior and not just apologies and empty words.
Songs in the Chapter
Something More - Secondhand Serenade
Home - Chris Daughtry
Pins and Needles - Lifehouse
Shadow Days - John Mayer
Born and Raised - John Mayer
Celebration of a Story Finally Ended: This concludes the most fun I've had with (1) writing a kaihil (2) writing a fanfic (3) writing period.
And it took 7 (? Holy fuck?) years to do it but its done. Oh my god, this is the first fanfic I've completed in the 10 some years I've been here - shocked and surprised. I was going to drag this out and add another chapter but enough, this has to end - its reached its natural end. It's time.
It started off as mimicing a Princess Diaries/Confessions of Shopoholic writing format and it evolved into more and more over the years. I've had so much fun, I've spent so much time obsessing over it, so many fanfics read to draw inspiration for the scenes - the gazillion formats to toy with, the infinite character dynamics, the mix of genres -comedy, angst, drama, romance, friendships.
Honestly, this has been a rollercoaster and i've loved every minute of it.
Special thanks to KaiHilLover who , after a decade of writing kaihils together and having seperate lives and jobs and personal problems, still BETA-ed and went through this chapter for me (even though some scenes in the story have been very hard on her) - i love you most i love u forever
