Kyoya rode in the company car without speaking a word to his father or siblings. Though he yearned to risk a glimpse out the window and lose himself in the fleeting images of the flourishing landscape, his gaze remained trained to the beige, carpeted flooring so as to observe the conversation buzzing throughout the vehicle without distraction. As it stood, he did hear the unimportant words flitting from each mouth, but he did not listen. Their chat, from what he understood, focused on family matters — primarily, the potential engagement of his second eldest brother at the event hosted by the Hakuba family, the very event to which they traveled now. Yes, the Ootori’s attended to gain new business partners and assure their high social standing, of course, but their true purpose lay in finding a proper wife for Akito.
The idle chat continued for the remainder of the travel, and he held silent until the end. Honestly, Kyoya believed he did not belong at such an event, and his notions were only proved correct upon their arrival. Older men and women wandered around the soiree talking excitedly with one another as if they had not been in company for years, which was very unlikely. Out of the crowd, few individual faces appeared familiar — a tailor here, a manufacturer of medical supplies there. The other Ootori’s could have handled the event on their own easily, and Kyoya could have bode his time at home working figures for the Host Club. Oh, well.
With a gentle tug on the hem of his suit’s jacket, the brunet separated from his family and wound his way through the crowd drifting about the building’s foyer, greeting strangers with kind smiles and short complimentary phrases. He spent a surprisingly large amount of time shifting in and out of the group; it seemed despite his knowledge of their identities, a majority of the guests knew of the Ootori family, and each wished to babble to him about how wonderful his father’s last advancement turned out or how mature he looked for his age. Kyoya accepted every conversation sent in his direction, as was appropriate, but that meant little to whether he enjoyed speaking with them. Once reaching the brink of the gathering, a weight seemed to lift off his chest, now allowing him to breathe clear, uncrowded air.
Where to now? The teen glanced about, weighing his options. The next room over seemed…well, not as packed as the one he exited from moments before. And so, he marched onward, entering what he expected to be the ballroom. Besides the size of the party, the only difference between this area and the last were the waiters which floated from visitor to visitor. Ah, excellent. Kyoya retrieved a small glass of champagne — the only drink available — from one of the workers, granting a smile of thanks before traveling to the edge of the accommodation to simply observe and relax. Releasing a deep breath from his nose, he sipped at the bubbly drink. As he moved to remove the chalice from his lips, a bump against his back caused the liquid to spill, thus staining his suit. A quiet groan escaped his lips as he observed the spot quickly absorbing his refreshment. The perpetrator only continued on, paying no mind to the mess made; Kyoya assumed it a drunkard’s doing. His outward appearance remained calm despite the lit fuse within him. “What a predicament,” He uttered, more to himself than anyone around him. Alert grey orbs searched the expanse for a waiter, or simply help, who could retrieve a change of clothing or a cloth for him to clean off with.
A predicament, yes, but not one without solution.
The young detective had witnessed the occurrence as he’d watched that particular guest with disguised disdain. What man of any sort of standing made a spectacle of himself like that? Any good man knew their limit and this one was verging far too over the edge for his liking. Hakuba took note, and had stepped in to take care of the issue.
The guest was one Ootori Kyoya; he’d seen him before in passing, but had never had the pleasure of having an actual conversation with him. A shame, really; he was the right age, certainly handsome, and his reputation and success spoke volumes. True, not the oldest son, nor the second oldest, but brilliant in his own right. Not thrilled with the idea of Nepotism to start, the half-British Hakuba didn’t pay it much mind further than keeping that detail in mind to discuss with the natives, anyway.
“Ah- I’m terribly sorry, Ootori-san. That shouldn’t have happened.” Hakuba’s expression was one of cautious empathy; he knew well how a stain could ruin more than an evening, but didn’t want to appear pitying. He pulled a clean, white handkerchief from his suit jacket and offered it to the other boy, stepping to the appropriate distance to engage in conversation. “That’s rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”
He surveyed the stain with a critical gaze, allowing a small bite to his lip, concerned. “Would you like to accompany me to the staff room? I know they keep club soda on hand for just this sort of thing.”
