"Kyouya," Mori said. The two were alone now; after the meeting everyone had seen Tamaki home, and Kyouya had lingered behind in the Suoh den. Kimika, Kyouya's wife, was seated in a corner of the room, now outfitted in the female uniform for Ouran. The yellow contrasted against her dark skin, and although he said nothing about Mori thought it looked horrible.
"Yes, Mori?" Kyouya answered. They were seated in the den of the center wing of the home, in chairs before a fireplace. A portrait above the fireplace held an image of Tamaki's mother.
"I will tell you," Mori said quietly, the flames crackling in a serene support to his words. He did not speak often, but these words were very important. "Remained late after school that day, driving home—a—" he paused trying to fight through emotion so that he would make sense. "Collision. Head on. Tamaki…gone earlier for an emergency." He took a deep breath to settle himself. Most often, Mori spoke fewer words because—with words, more were meaningless. But this time…he was speaking fewer because it hurt. Almost physically, it hurt to speak about this. Kyouya waited patiently for him to resume. "We were called to the hospital. We—we watched her…but she did not…recover."
Kyouya, as always, held his mask; he did not seem the least bit emotional. Kimika, in a corner, was hunched over, wiping her eyes. Mori pretended not to see—had Kimika even seen her husband cry? "I have a question," Kyouya said slowly, voice careful—too careful for someone who seemed unaffected by Mori's story. But the taller man knew better. "What emergency…?" The question was left open, because it wasn't necessary to finish it.
Mori sighed. "For her. She was ill and Tamaki was…to leave early to nurse her."
Kyouya nodded. "If there had been any other reason, Mori—I would blame Tamaki for this, forever."
"I would never forgive him."
Mori nodded his approval. "…neither would we."