The clubroom was silent as Kyoya reclined on one of the sofas, a cold cloth on his forehead and looking at his fellow, ex-hosts with distain. Tamaki seemed to have dragged him here out of some sense of nostalgia, hoping to evoke some sense of want in him, for a time long gone. That was certainly futile, as all he felt in that moment was a sense of annoyance and nausea.
His oldest friend only returned the gesture, a black notebook thrown onto the table with a sneer of disgust and pity. Well, Kyoya couldn't give a fuck. Not now. That was all in the past, completely disregarded. What this place meant to him now was more sinister, the stage that showed his tragedy play only for it to be panned by the critics; ignored. This was the venue of his downfall, and if Tamaki thought it would give him warm fuzzies, he was frightfully mistaken.
They all looked worn now, weight on their shoulders. Successes. Tamaki even had the beginnings of crow's feet framing his eyes, an odd silver thread in his hair. Still beautiful, of course, but tired and stressed. He hadn't faired much better, but the sweat on his brow, his pallor and the gaunt frame was due to something else, not just age.
"There's more than enough to convict you, you know…" Haruhi began, a solemn, regretful look on her face. She was pretty too, with that distinguished, mature air her husband had still. It was hard to recall when they were all teenagers playing pretend now, so many years having passed.
"That book is decades old," He waved away, a dry laugh in his voice, "It's rather sad, if you ask me. The only evidence they've collected is a few prescription slips and an old notebook of a dewy eyed, bushy tailed student. I'm not denying they can convict, I'm just saying that it's been going on for quite a while, and that's the best you can do –"
"Shut up for once," Tamaki huffed, hand coming up to rub at his forehead. The light glinting off the gold band made him turn away; or that's what he would swear in court. Honestly, this was unnecessary at best, "Withdrawal is a bitch, Kyoya. Jesus… I at least thought you were smart enough not to do this sort of thing. You always seemed… almost pure. You did everything perfectly. I just don't understand… Why? Why risk it all?"
Kyoya merely barked a laugh, turning fever glazed eyes over the people who used to be his friends. In all honesty, if they really were, wouldn't they have noticed sooner? Still, a good question. Why had he? It wasn't as if self-sabotage was new to him, but his decision had been, quite frankly, stupid.
"Desperation?" He ventured, not caring whether Tamaki wanted a concrete answer, or if the question was rhetorical for that matter, "Trying to decipher the mind of a desperate addict, one in withdrawal for that matter, is a rather pointless venture."
"Well, according to you, I've always been fond of those," Tamaki retorted, opening the notebook and pushing it towards him, "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"