Nothing Else

The incessant ringing of the phone woke me with a start. With every assault on my still-drowsy ears, my morning temper grew.

“Tamaki,” I growled, thumping a pillow onto my head to block out the noise. “Tamaki, answer the damn phone!” To punctuate the sentence, as well as my anger, I decided to beat Tamaki with my pillow. Incessantly. Just like the ringing.

“Kyouya! You’re being mean!” he whined back but obediently rolled over to grab the satanic noise maker. Glancing at the clock, I read that it was only 4:36 in the morning–before the ass crack of dawn. This phone call had better have the fate of the stock market attached to it or whoever was on the other end would have my hands around his throat before–

“Moshi moshi?” Tamaki said, interrupting my murderous thoughts. I closed my eyes, with every intention of going back to sleep. That was, until, Tamaki gasped and his entire body went rigid.

No, I thought. Not bad news.

I turned over in alarm to see Tamaki sitting straight and alert, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Maman?” he said softly. A pause for the other speaker and then– “MAMAN! Ah! Je suis très heureux!...” It took me a moment of groggy analyzation to realize he had leaped into rapid French. His mother had called, forgetting about the drastic time difference.

“Oui, c’est le dix-huit juin, à quinze heures. Le décor est blanc, violet, et un peu noir, mais… "

Another moment of tired translation and I found myself staring at my left hand. The wedding. She had called about our wedding.

“Vraiment?” His expression had changed into one of acute surprise. He turned his violet eyes on me.

“She wants to speak with you,” he said in the Japanese that paled in comparison to his sweet French. He had both hands wrapped around the receiver, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Do you know enough French?” he said, revealing the cause of his nervousness. His worry made me smile.

“Oui, je parle français bien,” I reassured. Though maybe not at quarter to five in the morning, I thought, gently taking the telephone from his hands and pressing it to my ear.

“Âllo?”

“Âllo, Monsieur Ohtori?” Her voice was sweet and musical, making my French sound unnatural and awkward, just as Tamaki’s often did.

“Oui, Mademoiselle Grantaine? Kyouya, s’il vous plait. Comment-allez vous?" Tamaki was watching me intently, looking for any signs of distress.

“Très bien, merci beaucoup. Et vous?"

"Bien aussi."

Pleasantries aside, she got to the point. She spoke in accented, yet clear English, probably noting my less-than-perfect pronunciation and wanting to avoid all misunderstandings.

“Take care of René. He is my dearest and only child. He also needs someone to keep him steady. I will ask no more of you if you do this.” The way she spoke reminded me of Tamaki when he had his rare serious moment. Tamaki had inherited his immense love for the world from this woman and her words showed that she had even more love reserved for him.

“I will, Mademoiselle,” I smiled, thinking of the woman who gave Tamaki to me. I took his hand in mine and kissed it gently. “I can’t imagine myself doing anything else, really.”