Haruhi was cooking like she had never cooked before, putting evey amount of effort and concentration that she had into her preparations, her hands moving swiftly over the counter top. She chopped and sliced, stirred and tasted her concoction until she was satisfied with it and set it to cool. She'd put blood sweat and tears into this dish – not litterally of course – but the teen had been standing in front of the stove for the last few hours that Sunday, her pile of homework lay half finished in her room. The concerned father poked is head around into the kitchen for the seventh time that day, a sombre look on his face.
Cancer.
It was a word that made the two members of the Fujioka Family shiver and cringe. It was a thing Ranka had hoped his daughter would never have to experience again. It was the sadness, the pain and the heartbreak, that had torn her life to ribbons, leaving only her and her father to pick up the peices. The memories had barely stopped stinging, and now it seemed as if it would be endless.
And now, the girl's world was being theatened again by it. It was happeneing to a person she never would have thought could get hurt or sick, a person who exuded strength and confidence. A person who had been there all throughout her awkward coming to the Host Club. A person she had comforted and helped and who had done the same to her. It was now, now that she knew what might happen, that she felt so bitter inside. It couldn't have happen to a least deserving person.
And that was why she was cooking for Mori-senpai.
