The clock turned to nine thirty, and Kyouya Ootori clicked the light on his phone for the twentieth time. Why hasn't she called? Running his tongue across his thin lips, he glanced at the door to Aya's room before padding back down the dim hallway.
Twenty whole hours since she'd left. She always forgot to charge her phone, he remembered in irritation; he'd even had to pack her charger himself to make sure she didn't leave it behind. Even if her phone had died during the flight somehow, she should have used a payphone by now, in that charmingly stubborn manner of hers. Thousands of times he'd told her.
They don't have many payphones in America, Haruhi, he'd said, looking at her impassively from behind his glasses as she packed.
But they must have them in some places, she'd smiled and replied. And if I don't call, don't worry. I'll get to you somehow. He'd given up the argument then in favor of pulling her onto the bed and kissing her.
But now he regretted it. She should have called by now; he'd told the jet pilot to fly express to Los Angeles. Maybe she fell asleep in the taxi. Or forgot to call when she got to the hotel.
Arriving in the kitchen, he leaned his bare elbows on the wooden counter top. He hadn't gained much weight since high school, and although he was slightly irritated by his svelte figure in comparison with the heftier ones of his associates, Haruhi always told him that she thought he looked fine the way he was. Even his hair, although shorter than it once was, never failed to please her.
From behind the convex surface of his spectacles, he watched his phone screen for any flicker of change and let his mind drift away. In the dusty citadel of memories, he found himself at his own graduation, eight years prior. The lights of the grand hall of Ouran High School were blinding, sticking to his pale skin and bouncing between the bright eyes of the other graduating third-years and the tearful audience. The sounds of the ceremony itself were muted, and he watched himself wear a smile and look happy. But somewhere in his mind, he remembered feeling as if it were all pointless.
However, the sound of the memory slowly faded in as he watched his younger self walk away from the crowd, behind the curtain of the stage, away from the jubilance of that day. After switching back into his ordinary clothes, the younger Kyouya prepared to depart out the back door when he spotted the bouncing blonde head of Suou Tamaki, ever in his element, and the small, vulnerable face of Haruhi enveloped by the crowd. His heart pattered, and he stopped.
"Kyouya-senpai!" The brown head bobbed toward him, and he saw Haruhi forcing her way through the celebrating crowd with some difficulty. When she reached a line where she could not find a hole, he slowly approached and made a way for her to get through. With a smile, she emerged on the other side.
Because of the difficulty that came with his and Tamaki's graduation, Haruhi, Kaoru, and Hikaru had together decided, not without tears, to disband the Host Club. However, that meant that there was no constriction for Haruhi's gender any longer. Thus, she had let her hair grow to softly brush her white neck, and she wore a summer dress selected for her by Kaoru. Altogether, she finally looked like the attractive girl Kyouya had always known she was. And her smile was still enchanting,
The noise made it difficult to hear a full conversation, so he took her arm and led her to an adjoining preparation room, closing the door. Surprisingly, the noise died almost instantly, and they found themselves in a room remarkably similar to the home room of the host club. Memories swirled around the two as they chatted about the graduation and the cultural festival. Kyouya felt himself smiling more than he thought he should, but he couldn't control his face. Finally, they fell into a pause.
"Are you going to miss it, Haruhi?" He turned his grey gaze to her, searching the deep brown pools of her eyes.
"The host club?" In typical Haruhi fashion, she placed a finger against her cheek and looked thoughtful. "I think so. I'll have more time to study now, though, and to spend with friends... and to read... and to apply to universities..."
"So you won't miss it too much." He looked away again, gazing out the window. The light streamed in, illuminating the milling circles of people on the ground below. Today looked and felt like any other day at Ouran- it didn't feel like his last.
"I didn't say that." She lowered her hand and looked in the same direction with a sigh. "I think I will miss it. Being with you and all the others."
His eyes snapped back to her face- her beautiful face. "Are you going to miss the host club," he repeated quietly, "or are you going to miss Tamaki and me?"
She looked back at him then, the question lying in her eyes. Instead of waiting for her answer, he lowered his face to hers, resting his slender hands on her shoulders. "Haruhi... are you going to miss me?"
"Senpai-" He didn't let her finish before he pressed his lips softly against hers, feeling her breath enter his mouth in a gasp. She wasn't the first girl he'd kissed, but oh, how long he'd waited to kiss this girl. He let his mouth rest on hers for a few more seconds, and then pulled away, but only a few centimeters. He let his forehead rest against hers, looking over the rims of his glasses at her.
She breathed out, looking up at him. "Kyouya-senpai," she sighed like music. "Kyouya."
"Haruhi," he said in a whisper before taking her lips again, this time opening her mouth gently, teaching her with his tongue. She was shy and understandably modest, but that only made her more endearing and enrapturing. Sliding his hands under her arms, he lifted her into the air, and she gasped for a moment before relaxing in his arms, sliding her own around his neck.
He'd never been happier before that moment.
The dust motes fell from the memory as he relived it, rubbing his forehead with one hand. The phone still hadn't lit, and he still waited for her call. "Call me, Haruhi. Pick up your phone."