When he closed his eyes, he still saw her.

There had been years between them, so much time since he had last held her, had last felt the feel of her skin against his own, had last seen her with his true eyes, and not with the ones only available to his memories, and yet Tamaki could still remember every moment of the night they had shared.

It had started with a thunderstorm, and an equally terrifying argument. Haruhi was shaking, so scared from the sounds that echoed through the walls of the mansion, but also shivering with the last remnants of spoken blows. Tamaki held her on his bed, smoothly running his hand up and down her back, looking down at her. She was clinging, one hand gripping tightly at his shirt, coiled some in the fabric as though clinging to a lifeboat, but she couldn't look up at him. She was still too mad. He watched in silence as her light brown lashes fluttered every so often, those moments when they flashed down, pressing against her cheek with each clap of thunder overheard. Those moments, Tamaki would hug her just a bit tighter, pause his tender touches to her back, and leave a kiss against her forehead. Then the moment of noisy weather would still for another few minutes, and he resumed his gentle caress.

"…You're really going to leave."

Her voice surprised him. The storm was still going, and she hadn't spoken since the first boom had so abruptly stopped the argument. After all, Tamaki didn't have the heart to argue with her when she was so scared, only to hold her, and Haruhi felt like her energy had been sapped away. First she had a fight with her boyfriend, with the man she had first felt a taste of love for, and then the weather had rudely jumped in… She hadn't been exactly in the mood to talk. But the statement had come from her lips nonetheless, after several minutes. A statement was exactly what it was; Haruhi hadn't phrased it as a question. Why should she? They both knew it was the truth this time.

"You know I have to," he finally answered, hating the way his voice sounded, so firm and yet so withered, all at once.

"No. No, you don't have to," Haruhi argued, then paused, flinching and clinging a little more tightly to him as another thunderbolt made its noisy entrance into the setting.

"Haruhi—"

"No! Tamaki! Just tell her no! We've been through this all before! You can't! You…You just can't."

Her voice had so many qualities to it that Tamaki normally loved: a seeming monotone that concealed so much expressive, open grace that he couldn't quite put to words. But those words… Those words were different, and they showed him such different things than usual. Anger. Desperation. A sort of stubborn half-sob at the end that made the blond feel like his heart was literally ripping in two.

There was a moment of quiet. A blessing, that no sounds were from the environment but the steady fall of rain, but a curse that the world between the couple was so eerily silent.

"I'm sorry," the Host Club King finally said, the words hanging in the air. Heavy, they felt, and his throat was still a little scratchy, just a little raw from crying before… and he knew he'd cry again and again, before the night was through.

The brunette in his arms made a sound that was somewhere between a groan of annoyance and a whimper, this time not because of any sort of weather phenomena. At least, no weather outside; the atmosphere raging between them was a different thing altogether. The hand that had wound its way into such a tight burrow on Tamaki's shirt loosened, finally wiggled loose, and slowly traced shaking fingertips up his chest, resting against the bare skin just above the wrinkled collar. Silk, that shirt, but Haruhi felt like Tamaki's skin was smoother, softer, and he felt the same of even the slight touch of her small, strong, but so delicate hands.

When she raised her gaze to his, and brown eyes met violet, Tamaki felt like his heart would stop for the rest of all time, and that would've been fine with him. Better for it to stop now, like this, than to ever beat again without her.

Her eyes shifted just a little, back and forth, as though reading something in his. What more could be said? There weren't enough words in any language. Still, somehow, the female Host managed to find three.

"I love you."

It was Tamaki's turn to make an indescribable sound. His was something between a laugh and a cry… so much crying today. Too much.

"I love you, too. You know I always have."

Haruhi sighed, and Tamaki could feel her breath in that exhale, sending tendrils of heat over his throat and chin, and then he could feel her lips as she was leaning up to press her lips to his.

The kiss was saying even more than their eyes had. Haruhi was still shaking, and when thunder picked up again, she only kissed him harder, as though trying to bury her fear against him. He was glad to kiss back, the hands that had been rubbing her back soon moving to hold her close. He had to break for air, and words escaped them both in that short cessation.

"…I'm sorry…"

"Shh… Just… kissing…"

"Oh. Yes. …Haruhi."

And lips met again.

Haruhi was the one making most of the initiations in this kiss, something that Tamaki wasn't used to but wasn't objecting to, either. She pressed her smaller body against his, as though hoping to meld with him, and he opened his mouth when an eager tongue found a dance partner. If they broke for words now, it was only for one another's names, otherwise, simply sounds like gasps or little moans or whimpers.

The storm picked up pace, and Haruhi's ministrations had their own plans for velocity. She crept those hands—such wonderful, sweet hands—up that silk shirt, and Tamaki was certain his skin was on fire. He broke the kiss and stared at her, but she didn't look away from her own fingers as she found those expensive little buttons, undoing each one.

Tamaki removed one of his own hands from her back, resting it atop hers. He didn't push her away, merely stopped her for a moment. That caught her attention, and brown eyes looked upwards again. Again, unspoken questions. Both of them had planned on saving this moment for a wedding night… but they had never planned on the other things that were surrounding them now. Violet eyes asked so much, all those conversations about gentlemen and politeness and "we're still in school and there's a lot of risk and I would never want to do anything to challenge the situation and that's okay to want to wait and I still love you and—"

Instead, Tamaki only said one thing. "Will you regret this?"

"No." Her answer came without hesitation, her voice still shaking from so much, but those chocolate eyes determined as ever.

Tamaki could still remember those eyes. They had shifted down again, and fingers finished with buttons and soon there was so much skin and kissing and repetitive "I love you"s and a wonderful, soft heat and more kisses and passion and maybe they finally could melt together into one and Haruhi didn't even fear that storm for one moment more. She was safe and his and though morning would tear them apart, they had each other and it was so, so perfect, even if it was bittersweet.

When he closed his eyes, he still saw her.

It was the only time he could see her now. He had been pulled away by his new wife to America, and he hadn't been allowed to keep contact with Ouran or any of its students. Especially not Haruhi, not another woman—Mrs. Mayumi Suoh was a jealous person.

It wasn't that Mayumi was cruel, or that she wasn't pretty. She was sweet, and well-kept, a petite but still curvy redhead with hazel eyes, a fondness for boating, and a well-respected family. And Tamaki could find reasons to love her; she did love him, even if the marriage had been arranged. But he couldn't be in love with her. Haruhi Fujioka, simple, common, sweet, beautiful Haruhi Fujioka would always hold the prince-like man's heart. Tamaki gave Mayumi smiles and his affection and time, and she deserved happiness, but he couldn't give away what was already given.

And try as he might to block the image out, every time he closed his eyes, he still saw Haruhi. It was enough to drive him mad. Christian though never very devout, he prayed more and more, silently, every day. Please. Just let me forget her and move on. I can't keep missing her like this. And please… Please let her be happy without me.

How long had it been now? Tamaki barely noticed the changes in his own appearance over the years. His features were still quite good-looking, he knew—Mayumi was always telling him, and pouting when every girl they saw in public was pointing it out, too—though they had matured. …Six years. That wasn't that long, not really. And the image in his mind, that brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, never changed a bit.

"…Tamaki?"

The blond hadn't realized he had been staring in the mirror. What a peculiar thing to do. He looked over to his wife. "Yes, Mayumi, my sweet?" he answered, broken from his reverie and giving her a smile.

He blinked. Haruhi's face. And then open eyes again, and back to reality.

"…Would you mind going out to market?" the red-head asked, smiling sweetly back and tilting her head to the side. "I know we can have runs from servants, but they never manage to find those little cakes you pick up for me," she went on, pouting some.

Tamaki laughed at that, reaching to comb his fingers through her bangs. "Only because they seem to think more expensive means better~. You have to pick out the commoner's ones, from the farmer's market," he explained for perhaps the millionth time, though not annoyed.

"Sure. I'll be back later on. I can pick up some other treats, too."