The call came at 2:43 AM.
"He's dead." Haruhi's voice was flat, emotions stripped back until there was nothing but facts remaining. "Tamaki just -" her voice chokes with a sob, quickly repressed. "Tamaki died."
Kyoya swallows once, twice. The lump in his throat is still there. He swallows again, pushing down his grief. Later, that's for later, when his best friend's wife isn't on the other end of the phone, telling him her husband, his friend, is dead. Now is for Haruhi. When he speaks, his tone rivals hers for emotionlessness. "Are you-" alright, no, she'll never be alright, how could she be? "-hurt?"
"I'm not injured."
He notices her phrasing, but does not comment. "Where are you?"
