Why, she thought to herself as she curled up into the teensiest ball possible, why why why why why? It was a Tuesday evening, after 7 pm, there was an angry early-summer thunderstorm just beginning to pound its watery fists on the windows outside, and Haruhi was cowering in the corner of a couch in the Third Music Room. Why did the storm have to start now? Why do I still have to be at school even though club ended two hours ago? And why are there so damn many windows in this room? Thunder growled low outside. Haruhi sucked in air. Geeze, this is like something out of a shoujo manga. If Tamaki shows up, I'm going to beat him with a pillow. Thunder cracked so loud the windows shook. Haruhi squeaked, and her monologue came to an abrupt end.
It was a pointless piece of happenstance that she was still at school. Club had ended right on time, and Haruhi had dashed to the library as soon as it did. She had to write a paper for Japanese class and she simply couldn't do all her research online; she needed a few books out of the library. (The Ouran High School Library, contrary to the opinion one might form based on the studying habits of a fair majority of the students, was an extraordinarily well rounded resource. Haruhi had found herself more than once quite surprised at the quality of the volumes that were just sitting on the shelves, waiting for one of the over-allowenced, under-motivated students to pick it up and use it.) But alas, the books Haruhi needed couldn't actually be checked out. If she wanted to use them, she'd either have to make photocopies (10 cents a copy? Highway robbery.), or she'd just have to stay at school until she took all the notes she needed. She had sighed, No helping it, I guess, and settled into a chair in the quietest corner of the library she could find. When Haruhi was about halfway finished taking notes from the first of the books, one of the librarians tapped her politely on the shoulder to inform her that the library would be closing for the evening, but that they would open again an hour before class the following morning, if she wished to make use of the school's resources then. Haruhi had stared at the pleasantly submissive face for a full five seconds before the words registered. She then scrambled to get all her things in her bag.
"Can I leave this book at the circulation desk? I'd like to use it tomorrow, as well…"
"Certainly, Fujioka-sama."
"Is it okay if I leave my bookmark in there, then? I'd really rather not have to search through it again…"
"Certainly, Fujioka-sama."
"Sorry to be taking so long, I just… I'll be out of here in a moment."
"Please take your time, Fujioka-sama."
And in the middle of hastily shuffling papers into folders and folders into binders and binders into her bag, Haruhi realized she had left her math book in the Third Music Room. That day's theme had been mid-19th century Paris, and Tamaki had tried to persuade Haruhi to dress up as a cancan girl. She had smacked him on the head with her math book, because it was the heaviest one she had. She must have forgotten to put it back in her bag.
"Shoot, I'll have to run back there, too."
"Fujioka-sama?"
"Ah, nothing, sorry to trouble you by staying so late. Thank you very much." She bowed slightly as she hurried out of the library and back to the Third Music Room.
The first crack of thunder had sounded while she was sliding the math book into its place, halfway to the door again… She dropped her things instantly and jumped onto the couch, clutching a throw pillow.
With the first crack of thunder Kyouya looked up from his graph paper and realized what time it was.
He had gotten stuck doing a pair-work project for chemistry, but since he and his partner had completely incompatible schedules, they had decided to split up the tasks, work on them separately, and reconvene a few days before the report was due to compile their findings. Kyouya hated doing pair work. The only person in class 1-A who was smart enough to even try to keep up with him was Tamaki, and it was virtually impossible to get Tamaki to concentrate on a project. At any rate, Kyouya was not paired with Tamaki. He was paired with some poor slob who was only in class 1-A because his father was the hopelessly rich CEO of a media conglomerate. The boy himself was forgettable, except for his rather exceptional stupidity. Kyouya was therefore doing all of his partner's work in addition to his own. As long as he could convince the sap to let him print out the final version of the report at home, Kyouya would never have to tell him that his results were too painfully unsubstantiated and sloppy to be included in anything Ohtori Kyouya put his name on. Which would be favorable, because the boy's father was not stupid, and it was his much more adept younger son who was being groomed to take over the hopelessly rich media empire his father had founded, and Kyouya would much rather not alienate his most obvious access point to a such a powerful player in such a powerful industry.
All of which reasoning did little to quell his irritation when he realized that it was 7 pm and he was still at school, working on a tedious chemistry project.
He sighed and closed his notebook. They would probably start locking up soon. He had noticed the janitorial crew peek into this room at least twice, each time scurrying courteously on as soon as they realized he was still occupying it. He tucked his various books neatly into his bag, leaving the chemistry utensils for the janitors to take care of. He turned off the light as he left the room, to let the janitors know he was gone. He was almost to the bottom of the stairs when he remembered that Tamaki had been raving earlier that day about doing a Greco-Roman theme at the Host Club, and that he had been waving some children's encyclopedia of mythology around while doing it. Kyouya was positive Tamaki had left the book in the Third Music Room. If Kyouya brought it home tonight, he could use it as a tool to build preemptive strategies for dealing with whatever unreasonable scheme Tamaki was hatching. He spun and started up the stairs, two at a time, fairly jogging to the Third Music Room. The faster he got out of here, the better. There was no one around to see him hurrying, anyway. He opened the door to the Third Music Room as another peal of thunder sounded, and in the flash from the lightning he saw a small silhouette huddled into one of the couches.
Kyouya had known about Haruhi's fear of thunder even before Tamaki. Ranka had told him about it when Kyouya had asked if Haruhi had any allergies or medical conditions the club should know about. It was a phobia, and he understood that as such it was an irrational fear that could not be reasoned away. Still, as far as phobias went, Kyouya considered brontophobia one of the more ridiculous ones, and he couldn't understand how a 16-year-old girl, especially one as intelligent as Haruhi, still held onto it. Yet there she was, curled up in a terrified ball, her hands glued over her ears, shaking visibly. She didn't even know that he had entered the room. The corner of his mouth turned down and he walked over to her.
A lull in the thunderstorm evidently allowed Haruhi to hear the sound of Kyouya's footsteps and her head snapped up as he approached.
"Kyouya-senpai… what are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question. If you've got to be somewhere during a thunderstorm, wouldn't you rather be at home?"
"Well, I…" another clap of thunder cut off Haruhi's words. Kyouya glanced out the window. It was a particularly vicious storm. The corner of his mouth turned down again. Should he try to get her home? She clearly wasn't about to go anywhere by herself. It would be awkward if he had to carry her out to the car and then up the stairs to her apartment. It would create a spectacle that would be very difficult to explain away. He supposed he could call her father to come and get her, but the storm might be over by the time he got here…
He was surprised to her Haruhi's voice, muted as it came to him from inside her little ball. "Don't worry about me, senpai. Do whatever you came to do and go home. I've never died of a thunderstorm before, so you can go ahead and leave me alone. It's okay." He stared at her, and for a moment he considered doing what she suggested. He wasn't like Tamaki; he didn't exist to bring girls fortune. He had never made any claims to being the sort of character that was likely to comfort women in distress. He had never made any promises or overtures to Haruhi that entitled her to expect any action from him in this sort of situation. She was a member of his club; a face he saw at school, perhaps slightly more often than other faces, but still nothing more; she was of virtually no value to him.
He looked down at her diminutive figure and was suddenly accosted by two entirely new sensations. The first he assumed was pity – she was scared, and it didn't matter why, fear was an uncomfortable emotion, and he didn't want her to feel it. The second was rather different – it was as though he understood with his whole body just exactly how small she was. Of course, he knew her measurements. He was the one who ordered the costumes. He knew intellectually that, while she was not tiny for a Japanese woman, she was still very small. A solid foot shorter than Mori-senpai. But it had never occurred to him that a person her size could very easily be shielded completely by a person his size. There was an ache in his chest and he knew there was no way he could be so cold as to leave a friend in fear and darkness when there was something very simple he could do to help. He sat down on the couch next to her and gathered her into his arms. He felt her shoulders stiffen, he presumed in surprise. He lifted her slightly and slid her onto his lap, wrapping one arm around her waist (She was this small? Truly? This small? Knowing her waist size in centimeters held no comparison with knowing that he could wrap her entire torso in one arm.). He placed a hand on her head and pulled her gently against him, as if she were a child.
"Senpai…?"
"Hush. The storm will end eventually, and you'll be fine. I'll hold you until it's over." She remained stiff in his arms and he was worried that she would ask him to let her go. That would be embarrassing. Then the thunder sounded again and her whole body tensed up like a coil. She curled further into herself, like she was trying to get away from him and the thunder at the same time. He wondered if she was embarrassed to be held like this. He was not Tamaki, and he knew he did not ever make her feel at ease or comfortable or safe. He had never tried to make her feel any of those things. He minded not in the least that she was always on guard whenever he was around. He figured it would keep her sharp. Usually. Right now, it pained him in a most distressing fashion that he had created a relationship where she couldn't accept his comfort even when she was at her most unreasonable, her most frightened. He tightened his arms around her and scratched her head softly, almost tenderly.
"Hush, hush. It's not going to hurt you. Nothing's going to hurt you." Not even me. I'm not going to hurt you, so trust me and relax a little bit. Her muscles moved like melting and she was no longer a knot in his arms. She was a warm and frightened person, and she fit him, and if he held her long enough perhaps she would stop shaking.
The storm lasted another half hour. Neither of them spoke, except for Haruhi's occasional whimper and Kyouya's occasional hush. Neither of them moved, except for Haruhi's clutching at his blazer and Kyouya's fingers soothing through her hair. When the rain slowed to a quiet patter against the window, and the thunder diminished to a soft drumming in the distance, Haruhi pulled away from him. He relaxed his hold, and she stood up, stepping away from him. She kept her face down. Kyouya wasn't at all comfortable with the wad of emotions that ricocheted around his chest when he realized she wouldn't look at him. He wanted to touch her, as if just by holding her again he could take away her shame and everything he'd ever done to make her think he'd look down on her after such a display of weakness. But of course that wouldn't work.
"Thank you, senpai. I'm sorry to have troubled you." She began gathering her things. Kyouya stood.
"No trouble at all. Don't worry about it."
"I'm sure I made you uncomfortable. I would never have asked you to deal with my stupid fears that way. I'm sure you had…"
"Haruhi. I told you not to worry about it." She looked up at him. This time it was he who refused to make eye contact.
"I can't…"
"I didn't mind." He glanced at her. She was in mid-bend, holding her school bag in one hand and a text book in the other. Staring at him. "To be completely honest with you, to spend half an hour holding somebody who wanted nothing at all from you but to be touched… I found it… relaxing." Her wide eyes got wider and Kyouya was terrified he would blush. Another thought passed through his mind and his mouth opened and he prayed silently to God, to Buddha, to Wall Street that he was not about to voice that thought. "Besides. It's a small favor to do for a friend." Kyouya had never blushed before, so he couldn't be totally sure, but given the heat in his neck and cheeks, he was fairly certain he was blushing now. He walked toward the table where Tamaki had left the mythology encyclopedia, collected it, and headed for the door. Haruhi trotted to catch up to him as he opened it. She stayed behind him, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
"Well then, I really appreciate it. I know it's foolish, but I can't help being that way during thunderstorms. And… if there's ever any small favor I can do for you, you know you can always ask me. As a friend."
Kyouya flipped open his cell phone, called his driver, and snapped it shut again. "It's dark out already. I'll drive you home."