Warning: Angst. I think that's pretty obvious at this point. Eventual Boy love.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never will.

Authoress Note: I changed this back into the original chapter two and three respectively. The format annoyed me so I changed it, sorry for the inconvenience.

-o0o-

Nekozawa's cerulean eyes flew open searching for something, anything, to focus on. His skin was soaked in a cold sweat, his breathing still ragged and heavy. He felt sick. Panic struck him almost immediately and a swarm of thoughts buzzed through his head. Where was he? Where was Bereznoff? Where was Kirimi?

A horrible, sickening feeling crept through his chest. What happened to her? Did she...did she die? He felt fear sear his stomach and pound at his head. Kirimi couldn't be dead, could she?

"Nekozawa-sama."

He jumped at the unexpected sound of a voice cutting through silence. He hadn't noticed there was someone else in his room, sitting in the darkness next to his bed. He vaguely recognized her as one of his favorite maids, Naomi-chan. She turned on the oil lamp next to his bed. It was dim enough that it didn't hurt the male, but bright enough that she could see his face. He was obviously anxious to what she was about to say.

She smiled at him, gently, in a mother-like way in an attempt to calm him down. Her blue-grey eyes twinkled, just like with every smile, but the pools of darkness underneath them told a different story. She had sat by him the whole time, possibly awake through most of it.

Nekozawa looked down at his hands, cheeks burning in shame. Finally, he remembered that he should probably speak. His mouth tasted like cotton and his throat burned as though scraped with metal wire, but he found his voice. It was scratchy at first, dry and rough through the smoothness of silence.

"Is Kirimi...okay?"

The maid seemed to notice how the word "okay" dripped with fear and uncertainty and that the male was using it as a substitute for "dead." Fear of such a word was a far cry from the president of the Black Magic Club.

"She's okay," but before Nekozawa could fully form a relieved face, she interrupted, "but she's in the hospital. I'm afraid you can't see her right now."

It took a few seconds for the words to fully digest and Nekozawa stared at her, mouth open in shock.

"Why?" He couldn't see his baby sister? Why? Why? Why? That word seemed to echo in his mind.

"She isn't in a completely stable condition, sir. The virus that they believed caused the fever that caused her seizures-" Seizures? There was more than one? "-hasn't left her system. They fear there might be more that could cause brain damage." More?

"I'm sorry, sir."

Nekozawa felt like he was drowning, everything was so bleary, grey, and cold. He didn't understand why this was happening. Kirimi couldn't be in the hospital, she was too young for that. She shouldn't be there, she was the strong one. If anything he should be there. It didn't make sense. He stared at his now shaking hands again through tear blurred eyes.

"I thought she was dead," he admitted, barely above a whisper.

It shouldn't have been like this. He shouldn't have had this incredible pounding pain in his chest and head. Nekozawa couldn't tell if it were his hands or him shaking. I thought she was dead. He was panicking again. He didn't notice that his cheeks were now dampened with the salty liquid of his tears.

"Here Nekozawa-sama, drink this. It should calm you down."

He numbly took the drink and mumbled a small, "Thank you."

His hands were warmed slightly by the cup, but that was the only effect he felt as he brought it to his lips and drank as numbly as he took the cup. The whole process seemed numb. He repeated the action until the tea was gone and he handed it back to the maid. Nekozawa began to feel heavy after drinking the liquid. So heavy, that his eyes began to flutter close and that his erratic breathing slowed to an even pace. He felt so tired.

He felt like he was sinking through the mattress, like it'd only be a matter of time before he hit the floor. His body was flooded with warmth and all the thoughts in his mind began to slowly whisk away. Even so, he realized that he had probably been drugged, but he didn't care. He was so warm, why care? He could forget and everything would be okay. Finally, he drifted into a dreamless heavy sleep.

-(Next day)-

Kyouya marveled at the nearly empty corridor of Ouran as he walked briskly to his next class. He had managed to avoid Tamaki for a good portion of the day, and therefore was in a relatively good mood. The click-clacking of his heels on the tile floor was suddenly interrupted with a soft "squish." He stopped and looked down at what he had stepped on. It was Bereznoff.

The dark haired teen looked around for any figures lurking in the hallway that might have dropped him. Nekozawa-senpai and his followers were nowhere near the area.

Strange.

Kyouya sighed and picked up the cat puppet, wondering what could have distracted Nekozawa enough to drop and forget about his beloved Bereznoff. Deep down, and perhaps against his better judgment, Kyouya knew he should take it back to the older teen. Sighing again, he put the doll in his pocket and took a detour to the Black magic club room.

When he got there, Kyouya looked up at the Black Magic club room door and couldn't help but to roll his eyes. The display of gothic architecture and purple fog rolling out from underneath the door was, at the very least, over-dramatic. He brought up his hand to knock on the dark oak and almost expected an ominous voice to whisper, "You may enter" as the doors slid open majestically.

He had no such luck though, because there wasn't even an answer when he knocked. Frowning, he slowly opened the door to reveal an almost pitch black room.

There was a lone dark blue candle in the center of the room where Nekozawa was sitting. His head was down on the ornate table and his black wig was disheveled around his face. Kyouya watched him for a moment out of curiosity. He had always marveled at the similarities between his upperclassman and Tamaki. He stepped closer, in time to see a lone tear fall down a pallid cheek. Shocked by this, Kyouya put his hand on the older boy's shoulder and shook gently. He waited until his senpai seemed aware of his surroundings to speak.

"Nekozawa-senpai."

The blonde snapped his head around, managing to shake off part of his wig. His blue eyes were wide with question.

"Ohtori-kun? What can I do for you?" He failed to notice as another tear slid down his face.

"I believe you dropped this," Kyouya held out the cat puppet.

Nekozawa immediately took Bereznoff into his arms. His face split into a wide smile, despite dampness on his cheeks.

"Thank you, Ohtori-kun."

Kyouya nodded, internally fighting a conflict. He could always ask Nekozawa why he was crying to be polite, but quite honestly, Kyouya didn't care. He looked at the blonde again who had noticed his wig was in disarray and was trying to fix it. His expression had turned into a somber one, happiness of the returned Bereznoff slipping away. Kyouya almost rolled his eyes at the display and at how similar it was to a certain other blonde. Even though Nekozawa's troubled look appeared to be sincere, unlike Tamaki's, Kyouya could tell that the blonde was waiting for him to ask what was wrong.

"Is something the matter, Nekozawa-senpai?"

He looked at up the younger teen again, eyes wide. "Why do you ask?"

Kyouya raised an eyebrow. "You're crying."

Nekozawa brought a hand up to his face and gingerly felt the aftermath of tears. He lowered his head as a scarlet blush threatened to take over his face. He was thankful for the darkness of the room.

"Here."

Nekozawa blinked as a piece of blue cloth that had the Ohtori symbol engraved on it in gold thread was shoved in front of his face. Despite himself, Nekozawa couldn't stop a cynical smile that slowly played its way to his lips.

"So what do I owe you? Ohtori-kun is never this kind to me."

He was rewarded with a smirk. "Maybe I'm in a good mood. So take it, before I change my mind."

Nekozawa took the handkerchief with a small 'thank you' deciding not to test his underclassman's patience.

"And besides..." he looked up in time to Kyouya's expression twist into the one of the true Shadow King.

"If I truly wanted you to be in my dept, you would already be there."

The last of the sentence was said in such a tone, a shiver crept up Nekozawa's spine. And true to the role of the Shadow King, Kyouya flashed his upperclassman one of his infamous smiles and headed for the opened double doors of the room. Without another word, he shut the doors behind him on the way out.

Nekozawa sighed as he heard the audible 'click' of the doors shutting and stared back at his candle.

"Protection," he whispered and scribbled words down on a small piece of paper. He then lit the paper on fire with the candle and allowed it to burn out on a ceramic dish.

"Please give me strength to protect her."

-o0o-

Later that day, Kyouya leaned into the cushion of the limo and allowed himself a split second of relaxation from the usual stressful routine of the day before sitting in his normal proper way.

"Ohtori-sama." He snapped his attention upwards towards the driver up front.

"I have orders from your father to drop you off at his office building. He wishes to speak with you."

Kyouya didn't bother to hide his slightly confused expression. It was no secret that he and his father rarely talked in person (Their lives were too busy to have any "man-to-man" talks; Kyouya had given up on that notion many years ago) and it was even rarer that he was taken to the Ohtori headquarters to speak with him.

"Did he say what for?"

The driver shook his head, "No, sir. He said that you should have an idea."

He should have an idea? That wasn't at all like his father; he wasn't the type of person to beat around the bush. Did it have something to do with his succession? For a second, Kyouya paled. It had to be something important like that. It also obviously had to be important for his father to want to see him in person.

The dark haired teen sighed, realizing what his father was playing into. He somehow knew that his father had predicted that sort of reaction. Ohtori Yoshio was an even more sadistic man than his sons. Kyouya had a feeling that his father wanted him stressed, wanted him to feel cornered. It was a good technique against proposing business men. Make them feel uncomfortable to the point they that agree with whatever you say. But why use it against him?

Kyouya adjusted his glasses and leaned back into the leather cushion once more. If it involved his succession then he would appear calm and cool as always. After all, despite who it was there was no way in hell Ohtori Kyouya would allow someone to get the upper hand on him.