Ouran and Come On, Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners are not mine. D:

In the end, it was the distance that tore them apart. The façade that was imagined early on ("We'll always be together!" he had said) was long since abandoned and Tamaki wondered if he was the only one now who remembered what he had said in the past. One should always remember their words, he decided, but others words were just as important Perhaps it was a bit of rare selfishness shining through, but just maybe, it was necessary.

Since inheriting the company, Tamaki had followed what his father said in his second year: "You must remember that it's a sad world where feelings don't matter."

In the business world, he was a force to be reckoned with, having connections with numerous families worldwide. He held double the amount of hotel chains his late father did and explored many other outlets that the older Suoh had never dabbled in.

In his office, when it was empty of clients, he was a more mature version of his high school self. He waltzed with the blushing secretaries down the halls and dipped the shy clerks in tangos down corridors; in his actual office, there was revolving TV built into his wall that played his favorite animes in the highest possible definition and highest quality surround sound; He played J-Pop loudly and sang it terribly late into the night when the day called for such hours. He enjoyed himself there, but once another businessman walked through the door…the music stopped, the smiles dropped, and the steps became regular. And to this day, Tamaki swore that when someone profit-orientated in a Leonard Logsdail suit walks in, the building drops in temperature.

Currently, he was the richest businessman in Japan — which meant absolutely nothing to him.

He was, also most likely, in possession of the most abandoned feelings. Of course, that was his melodramatic attitude showing its face, but he certainly felt as if it were true.

He and the Hitachiins, in charge of the hotel's interior design, rarely exchanged phone calls that were centered on anything but business. Tamaki, of course, persistently tried to start chitchat with them to no avail — "Sorry, Suoh, we're busy at the moment. We'll try to call tonight," was the usual reply. He didn't care that they never called back. He didn't care that they never called him. He didn't care about how much of a lie their excuse was this time. The greatest shock related to the ex-troublesome doppelgangers was the dropping of his nickname and given name. He assumed they grew out of "Milord," which he understood, but after a few calls of "Tamaki," he was suddenly just "Suoh."

Mori-senpai and Hunny-senpai simply became silent — well...Hunny-senpai did, at least. Phone lines quieted and finally stopped all together, letters were only half-written and never sent, and the emails were never replied to. Both families, and his as well, upon second thought, were much too busy with work to even consider returning in the least to an age where nothing but Haruhi's affection and their observations on the war of love mattered.

Kyoya…he'd rather not speak of Kyoya. The high school Kyoya he knew, he would not mind speaking fondly of, but the Kyoya from a decade or so later…he'd prefer not to say such complimentary things about that man. The Ohtori heir had matured in some space of time (that the blond had obviously missed) and began to have second thoughts about the "useless, time-consuming games" they used to play — as if Tamaki would ever talk of their friendship in such an insulting manner.

Yes, Tamaki did barge into his office but he did it as soundly as possible and then took him out for lunch or dinner or breakfast or brunch or a midday snack or whatever Kyoya felt like having then. There was a change in his best friend's attitude, he noticed, but it always seemed if it were simply due to a bad day. Tamaki could only assume that perhaps, his annoying tendencies accumulated over the years on the mind of the Ohtori, but thought nothing more of it and restrained himself when he was near Kyoya.

However, on a weekend vacation in Venice that was meant to give a boost to their friendship, Tamaki was told that he was "just too much of a nuisance to have prancing around in a respectable company's building" and that Kyoya wished to never see him in his office again unless he wished to speak of only business. Then with parting word of goodbye, Kyoya picked up the check and the tinkling of a hanging doorbell signaled his leaving.

Since that conversation in an Italian coffeehouse, everything concerning them had ceased and only the members in the Ohtori family that Tamaki spoke to were Fuyumi and on occasion, his brothers. Fuyumi had, over time, become one of his best friends while the Ohtori brothers were simply business partners but once or twice, they had all — one more than the others — mentioned how Kyoya really felt on the matter of their lost friendship.

"He refuses to acknowledge how much he is affected by it all, Tamaki. He misses you, yes, but he's far too proud to admit it. It would be splendid if he could abandon his pride and go back to being his old self, but I don't see that happening until he's on his deathbed. …And perhaps, even then… " Fuyumi would then give an empty, strained chuckle and then place her hand over his in an action that she think of as only comfort and Tamaki…as the only close, borderline romantic contact with a female he'd had in months. He'd smile back with sad, understanding, comforting eyes that would match hers, as she'd continue. "I think that we should overlook such negative things in life and look on the brighter side, no matter how dim it's become over time." Once she'd finish she'd want to keep offering pretty, hypocritical words, but seeing the path where it was headed, Fuyumi would stop talking, smile, remove her hand, and take a sip of her coffee. "How's business, Tamaki?"

And he'd reply with an automatic statement that he'd said hundreds of times.

Later, sitting alone in his office long after everyone had left and long after he had started blaring Come On, Eileen, he wondered just where the hell "the bright side" had gone to. Though, what perplexed him most was that it was always present before so what made these years so much more different, so much more difficult? He hoped, rather immaturely, that maybe the bulb had just gone out and he needed to replace it in order to see again.

Perhaps "the bright side" was in an almost run-down apartment building miles away, his conscious interrupted and in response, Tamaki only turned the volume higher. The strength of "At this moment, you mean everything" did not increase but Tamaki felt enough non-existent self-satisfaction to think that it did.

Haruhi often wondered if the bills — any of the bills — would be too much that month. Her father's hospital bills from a year ago were overwhelming, both to her and her small paycheck, and despite the help she was offered, she refused to accept it. Or…most of it, at least. Sometimes, it was just too much and she was forced to grudgingly give in— her pride taking a severe blow.

No matter how frightening and devastating it was, it was purely reality as the water bills, the heating, the phone, the gas, and the electricity bills all accumulated to substantial amounts before she even began paying off the first three issued. They were starting to change colors as well and that was self-explanatory. It wasn't a pleasant rainbow of hues, no. It was a nuclear power plant of sorts. White, yellow, red, red, red.

Perhaps it was the quality of the education she received that was at fault. Having gone to such an elite high school and college (on a scholarship, no less) must have changed her morals and concept of everyday life. Surely other people dealt with such circumstances in their everyday life as well — she wasn't alone and that was a comfort. The cold facts were, however, than she did not know such people personally but…still, they existed, so…!

…So she minds wells have saved herself the useless, loop of a thought.

Yet, despite her numerous degrees, no job that fit with her hours would hire her. Haruhi understood it was due to her overly exceeding qualifications, but still, shouldn't any Kinkos be grateful for someone who could actually work the fax machine without resorting to the manager's help? She had odd, varying jobs occasionally but nothing ever held which resulted in her paychecks being broken and small.

…Sighing to herself in an empty house, she wondered…just when had she become so bitter?

Somewhere between graduation and the doctor's last phone call most likely.

Tamaki, behind his desk on the top floor in an upscale office building, sang his heart out with a passion he hadn't shown in years — providing the back up voices as well, causing his own voice to become jumbled, tripping over lyrics. But he didn't mind. He was practically screaming in heavily accented English to a song that had been on repeat for an hour, doodling on a stray notepad hidden in his desk somewhere. No one else would mind. No one else was around.

The night janitors on the lower floors were probably scared out of the minds though and Tamaki couldn't care less.

"These people round heree! They've been down with sunken! Smoke-dried! Faces! So resentful what their fate isss! But not ussss! No never! No, not usss! No never! We are far too young and clever… Remember! Toora, loora, toora, looye, ayeeee! I'll hum this tune foreveeerrr!" As soon as he kicked off the ground and began spinning in his towering, intimidating office chair, Tamaki felt like laughing until his throat was raw enough that he couldn't swallow for a week. …To make up for lost time, he'd like to think. "Come on, Eileen! Ohh I swear — well he means! Ah come on let's! Take off everything! That pretty red dress—!"

The phone had begun ringing at "toora, loora" and it wasn't until the answering machine started that he had heard anything but Dexy's Midnight Runners. He had frantically grabbed for the remote, muting his music, thus stopping his moment, and ran towards the receiver.

"Tamaki Suoh speaking." He answered with grace and sophistication and a raw voice that cracked which he merely coughed away, wincing at the pain.

"Ah, Tamaki. I'm surprised I got a hold of you."

Dr. Aldridge's voice was similar to Tamaki's in a way. Tired. It was obvious despite the distance between the two different countries that he was trying to smile.

In was in Tamaki's nature to find happiness when contacted by old friends, so when he heard the doctor's voice, he was happy. After a moment, however, having taken into consideration the doctor's own struggling efforts for a small bit happiness, he couldn't think straight and his stomach felt like it was the unbuckled, sole passenger in a highway rollover accident at rush hour.

He replied shortly because he was sure that was all he could muster.

"…Yes."

"See, Tamaki, things have gotten a bit out of hand. Your mother's illness…"

When Dr. Aldridge began apologizing, Tamaki's dull grip loosened more so, however impossible it may have seemed at the time, and the phone clattered to the floor, echoing in the marble-floored room.

The static screams responded to the silence that followed. "Tamaki! Tamaki, are you okay?!"

"…I'm afraid I'll have to call you back." Tamaki replied before he stiffly bent down and hung up the receiver. His empty tone, for lack of a better word, shouldn't have seemed like such a surprise to the doctor, who had to deal with such situations more often than he'd prefer, but to know such a happy, exuberant child…and to hear such a cold, grown-up voice…even in such a situation…

Maybe, just maybe, he'd lost himself in the times.

Fin. Until part 2. :D