Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I avoided his eye contact, trying to think of how to explain the situation without making it worse or over-dramatizing it. I guess the best place to start was the beginning. 
"My parents forced me into acting after a few well-received modeling campaigns I did as a baby and a kid; I got a few bit parts in random shows and one run on Broadway for Annie where I played one of the orphans, and I guess people liked me. From there, it was easy finding parts. But, things started to go downhill just after Short Stuff premiered, partially because it did better than any of my parents' films ever had," I said slowly, picking through my memories and thoughts. "Mei got diagnosed with autism officially while I was filming, so my parents were still deciding 'how to deal with her'. They kept threatening to send her away if I didn't shape up. Things were weird. Mei was four. I was eight... I think." 
	Kyoya said nothing as I explained, his calculating gaze sweeping over me in obvious tracks... probably to see if I was going to have another meltdown. Most likely, he just didn't want to see me cry. His hand was warm in mine. 
	"We had a break-in at my parents' other house in LA like two weeks after the premiere. The robbers didn't take much, which concerned the police, considering how much expensive rich-people shit my parents own," I continued, "But the break-in happened while everyone was gone, so my parents didn't think it was anything serious. They had Hugo, but decided that one bodyguard for four people wasn't enough. Within the week, they hired Ellis as a precaution. He was, like, eighteen-ish. Young." I took a deep breath and said, "They took a few weeks to train him and get him acclimated to our schedules. But then, just as things seemed back to normal, the thieves broke in again. And this time, only Mei and I were home."
	Kyoya's pinky twitched. He knew where this was going. 
	My heart was racing, and I wasn't sure why. "I heard the glass shatter in the other room and did what any sensible eight year old would do. I picked up Mei and ran toward our pantry, which I knew had a lock, and grabbed a landline phone on the way. Inside, I called 911 and tried to tell—" I sniffled, my throat tight. "Ugh, sorry. I'll try to keep the crying to a minimum." 
	"You don't have to." 
	I glanced up at Kyoya, who held a tissue out toward me. He spoke softly, his eyes on our hands as he said, "It's alright. Cry if you feel the need to. I asked to hear the details of a difficult memory, Michiyo, and I am fully willing to deal with whatever else may come up because of my curiosity. In addition, I'd like to believe that I'm not one to get disturbed by tears, especially when they're a natural response to what you went through. So please, continue when you feel ready." 
	A warmth expanded in my chest, like my heart suddenly decided to pump hot chocolate through my veins. "O-oh, okay," I sniffled, a little laugh falling out. I blew my nose and wiped my tears with the tissue he gave me, crumpling it into my palm. 
	"Give," he said bluntly, holding his hand out. 
	Raising an eyebrow at him, I held up the tissue in question. "It's my germs. I can take care of it later, Kyo-Kyo." 
	"Or you could give it to me now, and I'll take care of it for you," he said calmly. 
	I looked him up and down, sure that Kyoya had been replaced with some bizarre body double, but he merely plucked the tissue from my hand and stood, waltzing out of my reach before I could scoff or try to drag him back. "You're the worst," I said, crossing my arms and pouting a bit for effect. 
	"I'm sorry that I've ruined your life with my politeness," Kyoya said from his adjoined bathroom, his voice all echoey. But in seconds, he was back on the couch, smirking in that irritatingly modelesque way he always did. "Ready to continue? Or are you too upset with me?"