Hello there, Ouran Fanfictioners! If anyone follows my account from my Digimon Fanfiction, they will be very upset with me for not updating the story I'm supposed to be working, but I just finished the manga, and I had to write this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

I don't own Ouran Highschool Host Club.

Forty-Two Pages

Kyoya Ootori had forty-two pages of notes regarding Haruhi Fujioka: school transcripts, standardized test scores, brief medical records, summaries of prior friendships, lists of interests and hobbies, outlines of her future plans… Not a word would have so much as adumbrated this. His fingers were still frozen on his keyboard, his shoulders tensed and his pulse elevated as his mind rushed through the past few days – no… could it have been longer than that… weeks? The club's resident female host had been more subdued lately – a bit quieter and a bit less likely to indulge the other hosts' whims when unnecessary, but that was understandable. Testing was rough at this time of year; he himself was feeling a bit fatigued from lack of sleep, but something like this… He closed his eyes and pushed his glasses up his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"KYYOOYA!" Tamaki called out boisterously as he bounded up to the desk the third son occupied, and Kyoya nearly jumped at the sudden noise, his hands dropping into his lap and curling into fists. Did her father know? Of course not, he would know if Ranka did. "Guess what? I'm taking our daughter to the park this afternoon!" When was the last time he had seen her without- "Can you believe that she's never-" The pitch of the blonde boy's gushing grated against his thoughts.

"Would you shut up for a half a second, Tamaki Suoh?" Kyoya snapped angrily, practically shouting, and the music room went silent. Tamaki's eyes met his and widened in shock, and Kyoya tensed again, focusing on his laptop's keyboard. Idiot. It was a risk in refusing Tamaki at all, let alone allowing any of his stress show; the King wasn't exactly good at taking hints to drop a subject. Not to mention everyone else; he could feel the other hosts' eyes on them already. "That won't be possible," Kyoya finished quietly to stifle the sound of residual anger, letting his glasses catch the glare from the windows to hide his eyes. He took a silent breath in and out his nose. "Haruhi is staying late today to set up for tomorrow's events." Kyoya regained his cool, detached tone and shot his best friend a glance that sent him pouting in the far corner of the music room. The other boys returned to gathering their things, a bit more rapidly than before, fleeing the presence of the apparently ill-tempered Dark Lord.

"I'm what?" Haruhi asked, frowning from where she was gathering dirty teacups off a table. His heart pounded unnaturally at the confrontation with the girl he'd always seen as so confident, so independent – Maybe that's the problem, he thought, silently searching her chestnut brown eyes for some sign he could've noticed sooner. Nothing but a slight, sleep-deprived pallor. Slight but definite. He realized he couldn't recall the last time he had seen her eat, either.

"It will only take an hour or so, and the time will come off your debt," Kyoya informed her with a fake calm, returning his eyes to his computer and pretending to work.

Haruhi closed her eyes as she finished constructing the first archway. Her temples pounded with exhaustion, and she'd thought she'd at least have had that evening to catch up on her work; now it would only get worse. An ache sounded in her chest; tears burned her eyes, and just as quickly, there was anger: What do you think you're doing, Haruhi? Focus. But the ache only grew, engulfing her fragile nerves in a senseless wave of despair. A single drop rolled down her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut until it passed. Still, the other four boxes, full of pieces waiting to be assembled, seemed overwhelming, and she wished she could just take a nap for a few hours… or days. No amount of sleep was enough lately. The back and forth of her emotions made it worse: another pang in her chest and another round of frustration. Stop wasting time, Haruhi; you have too much to do.

Everyone else was gone now. Kyoya sat at the same desk he'd been in all afternoon, typing away at who-knows-what, not helping her, but he usually did all this himself, she supposed. Why on earth did they need archways, anyway? Rich bastards. Another tear rolled inexplicably down her cheek. She glanced over at the wrench on the floor and didn't want to pick it up; her arms hurt, her left much too much; she was supposed to have re-bandaged them right after school. It's your own fault, she reminded herself and felt stupid. She had gone too deep the night before.

As though reading her mind, Kyoya began the torture conversationally.

"Please tell me you've been sterilizing everything, at least. Using some ancient kitchen knife you found in a drawer is a wonderful way to contract tetanus." Haruhi stiffened sharply, forgetting the wrench, the archways, the pain in her arms. No. She felt her fingers begin to tremble as her mind panicked. Not Kyoya. Out of everyone, why'd it have to be him? She stayed facing the unopened boxes.

"Wh-What're you talking about, Kyoya sempai?" she stalled lamely. It wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening. There was a shocked distance between her mind and her body. She felt herself there, but she couldn't be there. Tears burned her eyes when she registered the waver in her voice. Pull yourself together, Haruhi.

"Your left arm, Haruhi," he answered her coolly. "Is it infected?" Mild interest affected the question, but he didn't look up from his laptop. Why him? Her heart hammered painfully in her chest; she decided it was best not to lie.

"I-I don't know… I-I mean, it's a little red," she admitted very softly, much more softly than she'd meant the words to come out. You sound ridiculous, Haruhi. Why can't you talk normally? Kyoya stood and silently crossed the room; she used the twenty feet to wipe her eyes hurriedly, humiliation flooding in rapidly as her confession sunk in. The Dark Lord knelt beside her, and the tears rushed back.

"Let me see." Haruhi flinched back from him when he reached for her wrist, but Kyoya's hands captured her left palm easily before sliding up her forearm, pushing back the baby blue sleeve of her Ouran Academy uniform. His thumb ran over the exposed skin briefly, the crisscrosses of ivory and crimson, and she glanced up at him for a half a second, trying to brace herself for his reaction, but a glare had already caught his glasses, blocking his eyes. A cool finger slid below the sloppily-applied bandage and quickly tore it away. She bit her tongue and tried not to wince at the sting of the adhesive. At the sight of the wound, an embarrassed heat pooled instantly in her cheeks.

It was worse than she remembered it. His skin felt almost icy against the feverish warmth surrounding the cut, and the whole area was an angry red, a bit of puss mixed with half-dried blood gathered in one corner. A thin black eyebrow raised above the glare of his eyeglasses.

"Well, it doesn't look good, does it?" Kyoya murmured ponderingly, as though considering an ill weather report. His thumb moved a bit too close, and a soft cry escaped her lips involuntarily. He turned towards her for a second in response, but she squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her jaw as the heat in her face strengthened, avoiding his gaze and wishing she could sink into the floor with the shame. Kyoya. Out of everyone, Kyoya. "Let me see your other arm?" She hesitated, and he sighed impatiently before snatching up her other hand. His fingers slid up her wrist, and she could feel the dark eyes she couldn't see studying the thin red marks. He let out a breath out his nose, and Haruhi trembled a little. "There's a first aid kit in the kitchen; I should at least clean it out now. I can get a script for antibiotics tonight and have them tomorrow morning."

She started crying when he turned the water on in the sink. The reality of him, of all people, quietly and carefully washing out the wound was too much; she lowered her head to the countertop and sobbed silently into her free arm, guilt and shame sinking deeper and deeper into her being with every tear. Still, he was silent. She wished he would just get his reaction out of the way, say what he was thinking. That he was disappointed and annoyed, that he'd thought she of all people would've had the common sense not to do something like this.

"This will sting," the boy warned quietly before applying the antiseptic. The burning made her gasp and then choke on her tears, and his fingers tightened on her arm, holding her still. "Okay, just some gauze now." She was surprised how gently he had done everything; kindness was not high on the list of words she associated with Kyoya sempai when someone was wasting his time. "There." He released her arm, and she took a step away, wiping at her face with her relatively uninjured wrist. "I believe there's a bottle of ginger ale left over from yesterday's activities in the fridge. Have a seat?" He said it like a question, but it wasn't really; Kyoya was the master of disguising his commands as polite requests.

Haruhi's fingers were shaking. She gazed into the pale amber liquid in the glass he had set in front of her, trying to pretend she wasn't there. Not that she should really be surprised. If anything, she should be surprised that it took so long; Kyoya would never be so careless as to miss a threat to the club's profit, and that's what this would be, she supposed, if it kept going.

"I assume you know you're not leaving until you explain all this." The condescension in his voice stung, and she had to rub the tears from the corners or her eyes to keep from breaking down into sobs again. She swallowed hard and hated that she couldn't form the words she wanted. "Of course," he began again after a few seconds, tone clipped and business-like, "there's no reason you should have to talk to me over anyone else. I'll call Tamaki or the twins, if you like." Panic flooded her lungs.

"N-No," she whispered, tears tearing at her voice. "N-No, please don't call them, Kyoya sempai. Please." He raised an eyebrow at her in a silent question, and she flushed at the pathetic tone of her request. "Th-They'll j-just make a big deal out e-everything. I-I d-don't want anyone who doesn't have to t-to know." She searched his emotionless face frantically. His glasses still hid his eyes, but she explained herself desperately to the empty frames. "Please, I-I know th-this is stupid, all right? I know how awful I am for doing it, a-and I j-just d-don't want any more attention for that than I possibly have to."

"How did it start, Haruhi?" he asked her calmly. She swallowed again and spoke to the windows behind the dark-haired teenager.

"M-My mom's birthday is about a month b-before the anniversary. R-Right now i-is j-just a bad time of the year; it always is, but this year i-it's been worse. I-I've got all these things going on in school a-and the Host Club, a-and my dad's hours have been cut back s-so things are kind of tight. I-I can't sleep, a-and I haven't been hungry, a-and I keep getting sick, a-and if I can't handle this stupid stuff, h-how do I think I'm going to handle law school?" Her voice broke, and Haruhi closed her eyes as frustration took over. "I-I j-just keep crying all the time, a-and I hate it! I-I don't cry like this, Kyoya sempai; I-I don't. Sh-She didn't ever cry l-like this." It came out like a flood, and then she dissolved into the tears she despised so ardently. She could feel Kyoya's eyes on her, even if she couldn't see them, and embarrassment colored her cheeks again. "I-It j-just happened, one night, a-and it h-helped, a-a little. I know that it-"

"You haven't been eating, either," he cut her off. It was more an observation than a question.

"H-How w-would you know that?" The glare of his glasses met her eyes briefly, and then he disregarded the inquiry.

"And I assume you haven't told anyone else." Haruhi gripped her glass and watched a few tears fall into her soda. The chill of Kyoya's detachment made the loneliness in her chest even more unbearable. "When did all this start?" She shrugged.

"A-A c-couple of months ago."

"Months?" Kyoya repeated, as though he were surprised. As though anything surprised him.

"L-Like you haven't known about it for weeks, Kyoya," she realized and was suddenly upset with him, with everyone, mostly with herself. "All charted out in your notebook: date, mood, severity," she mocked him in a falsely studious tone, touching the bridge of her nose as though adjusting eyeglasses. "I-It's just gotten bad enough that it's affected m-my Host Club numbers or something." She meant for it to sound callous, but her continued, inexplicable lack of volume made it come out more lonely and pathetic than anything else. The lump in her throat ached when she swallowed.

"I assure you, Miss Fujioka," Kyoya snapped with unusual intensity, his voice hard, "if I had known weeks ago, I wouldn't have tolerated your doing it again. I found out this afternoon." He was angry, then. It took a lot to make Kyoya snap like that. The memory of him yelling at Tamaki that afternoon resurfaced; had that been because of her? Because he had realized that he would have to waste his afternoon sorting through the mess she'd made?

"Of course you wouldn't, Mr. Ootori," she retorted bitterly. "I-It might be bad for business if one of the hosts decided to off herself. W-Well don't worry, I-I'm not going to make my dad bury another family member; I-I h-have enough control for that." The end of her sentence turned into a sob, and his jaw tightened.

"You think it's that simple? Do you have any idea how close you were to hitting a vein, Haruhi? Do you have any idea how bad an infection like this could get without treatment? You have no clue what you're doing." It was rare anyone did anything so stupid that it made Kyoya sound this angry. She choked on tears and bent her head down to hide her eyes as she cried. Shame pounded in her chest again, and she couldn't bring herself to speak. She wanted to crawl under the table. A long silence fell between them. "Why wouldn't you tell Ranka?" There was a harsh edge to his words, and she winced again. "Why?" he repeated impatiently.

"Because I-I d-didn't w-want him t-to have to pay for copays on the insurance right now, all right?" Her voice rose heatedly, and she felt color in her face again. "N-Not for something that was all my fault. W-We're not all rich bastards like you." The insult didn't faze him.

"So why not someone in the club? Someone who could pay for it? Tamaki-sempai?" The stinging edge was still there.

"B-Because I-I should have been able to fix it. B-Because sh-she's been gone for eleven years, Kyoya!" Haruhi choked, paused for a moment, and swallowed. "I-I should be able to handle that," she whispered. "I know that. I-I d-don't need T-Tamaki sempai a-and e-everyone else making a big deal o-out of it, a-and…" She looked up at the empty frames shielding his eyes, and her vision blurred with fresh tears.

"And what? You didn't think they would want to know? That they would want to help? That it would hurt them a thousand times worse to find out when you made a mistake?" Kyoya's voice moved strangely close to impassioned for a moment, and her own suddenly found its strength.

"A-And y-you would've found out! B-Because you always do, a-and been…" She swallowed, and she could see the line form between his eyebrows.

"And been what?"

"Like this," she managed as her voice broke again. Stop it, Haruhi. You're pathetic. "Honest a-about what the whole thing is, that it's an embarrassment. A-Annoyed a-and frustrated that I couldn't hold myself together on my own. Disappointed that I would be s-so weak as to… W-Well you don't have to bother telling me how awful I am, because I already know, believe me." Kyoya was quiet for a second, and Haruhi could practically hear him judging her. Even when her voice gained volume, it shook worse than ever. She closed her eyes, and the guilt and the mortification became too much; she gave in. "I'm s-sorry, all right? I am. I-I know y-you didn't want t-to waste your afternoon l-like this. I-I know this doesn't make any sense, okay? I-I kn-know this doesn't gain me anything a-and that it certainly doesn't gain you guys anything, a-and I know th-that y-you think I'm an idiot f-for… Y-You're right, okay? I know all those things. This is stupid, and it doesn't help anyone, and I'm a selfish idiot for doing it. I-I j-just…" Her small voice shrank to silence, and his face remained blank. She closed her eyes tight and swallowed hard. "I'm just being stupid, selfish commoner trash, a-and I know that. I don't expect you to think any differently." You're such an idiot, such a disappointment.

Haruhi stood sharply when her thoughts became too much and turned to go, but Kyoya's chair scraped loudly across the floor, and he had a hand clamped around her elbow before she could reach the doorknob. She turned slightly, but he took another step towards her, forcing her to slam back into the thick oak door and pinning her arm roughly to the heavy wood.

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU EVEN CARE WHAT I THOUGHT?" The fury in Kyoya's voice shook her to the core; she felt her arm trembling under his uncompromising grip. Her heart pounded in her ears; her body didn't want to witness this: cool, calm, collected Kyoya, screaming at her, his whole body shaking with the rage in his voice. "You've never cared what anyone thinks about you, least of all me!" She half-stammered an answer through the tears in her throat and the pounding in her ears.

"I-I don't care what people think about how I look, Kyoya. I c-care i-if I'm a self-centered, ungrateful bitch, a-and y-you-" Kyoya's hand tightened roughly on her elbow and an ache echoed through the joint.

"Don't you dare put those words in my mouth, Haruhi Fujioka!" His fingertips dug into her, and she could feel bruises forming from his grip. "Y-You could always see through me before; wh-why the hell would you think…" She looked up when his voice shook, and his eyes met hers for a half a second, at an angle that eliminated the glare from his glasses. Haruhi's breath caught in her throat. A single tear had rolled halfway down his face, and his dark eyes were softer and pinker and more watery than she'd ever seen them before. "I-I could've fixed it! You know damn well I could have! I could've had the best doctor in the country on the phone in two minutes, and I could've kept it from the other hosts; you know that!" Her voice came out in a scratchy, trembling wisper.

"Wh-Why w-would I think you would do that, sempai? Y-You couldn't care less about me."

"You think I don't care?" he asked, and then he was shouting again, dark eyes blazing dangerously: "You think I would put up with anything I wasn't utterly passionate about for an instant?" A long moment passed before the ache in her arm grew enough to make her wince. The dark haired teen seemed to register the hostility of his position, and his hand loosened abruptly to drop back to his side. Blood rushed into Haruhi's numb fingertips as they fell against the door behind her, but she didn't move.

"Believe it or not," Kyoya snapped sarcastically, another tear rolling down his cheek and sending a jolt of fear through her chest, "my family is made up of doctors. I have heard of mental illness before." All of a sudden she recognized the foreign gentleness she'd felt in his hands as he re-bandaged her wrist: not caustic pity, but compassion – the physician in the Dark Lord's blood.

"B-But I-I… I-I'm doing it to myself, Kyoya. It's st-stupid, I… Th-There's n-no merit in-" Kyoya's arm flew up angrily, like he was going to hit her, and she shrunk back from his hand, back pressing into the door. His voice was bitter and angry when he answered, but two more tears rolled down from his eyes.

"Please, Haruhi," his biting sarcasm burned her ears, "you're doing a fine job hurting yourself on your own; you certainly don't need my help." The tears suddenly rushed in with renewed strength, and she found herself sinking to the floor, forehead falling into her knees as she cried. Her wrists ached for the touch of a knife, and she sobbed harder at the strength of the feeling, frustration boiling in her chest. Why would you do that, Haruhi? Why can't you keep yourself together? Why on earth would you be so stupid as to feel that way? There was a long silence, and then she heard Kyoya settle onto the floor beside her.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Kyoya sempai, all right?" she whispered into her knees. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything; I-I h-haven't been real rational lately; I-I…" She took her face out of her legs to look over at him, but his dark eyes met hers for only an instant before he shifted forward and pressed forcefully into her lips. Shock radiated through her bones, prickling every nerve in her body. Her brain couldn't seem to process the fact, even when the boy's fingers slipped up the back of her neck to knot up roughly with her hair. "Kyo-" she managed half his name when his lips broke from hers for a moment.

"Damn it, Haruhi," he growled against her mouth. His body felt aggressive looming over hers, and as her cluttered mind raced she was uncontrollably reminded of that night at his beach house so long ago. Now was different, though; now there was real emotion in his voice. "Please shut up."

Kyoya didn't know when they stopped. It wasn't when their lungs felt as though they would explode from lack of oxygen; he ignored that. It wasn't when Haruhi started crying again; her tears ran in thin streams down his face and his neck, mixing with his own. It wasn't when his free hand found the small of her back and clutched her body to his; her slender fingers only tightened on the collar of his uniform then, pulling him closer. It just happened; one second they were breathing in each other and the next they were breathing in air: his nose in her cheek, her breath on his skin.

Haruhi's big brown eyes blinked up at his, still pink and watery from crying; he guessed his own were similar. Quietly, he disentangled himself from the small girl below him and moved to sit beside her, casually straightening his uniform and clearing his throat. "You'll eat at the Ootori estate tonight so that your diet can be monitored properly; you look a little anemic. And if we leave," he paused to glance at his watch, "in the next twenty-five minutes, I should be able to have those antibiotics called in." He unobtrusively moved his hand over hers as he spoke. "I believe-"

"Kyoya." Small, soft fingers wove with his, and he looked down at the brunette beside him, adjusting his glasses. "Thank you." Her voice was still hoarse, and for some reason it made him want to kiss her again. Instead, he sighed.

"Well I had to get something out of this mess," he answered with composure and an adequate level of dispassion for what felt like the first time that afternoon. She laughed softly in response, and he raised his eyebrows at the now too rare sound, but she leaned into his shoulder and let her eyes fall shut. He thought briefly about mentioning the dry-cleaning bill for his suit – tearstains and wrinkles added up quickly.

But not now.

There would be plenty of time to tease her after the existence of plenty of time was assured – after physical cuts had healed and mental scars had faded. He tilted his head so the glare caught his glasses again, and he closed his eyes, exhausted by the thought. He had been too harsh to her already, and her small fingers still bore a slight tremor. Still… He tightened his hold on her hand, and she returned the gesture. …it could conceivably have gone worse.

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first foray into writing for another fandom, but I love the anime so much, and Kyoya's episodes are by far my favorites, so I hope I did okay! I've read so many amazing stories over here. This was actually supposed to be a really fluffy cute oneshot, but I read Contrast by LeahLongnote, and my torture-the-characters instinct took over, so this happened instead. :P Sorry Kyoya.