A/N: Heh, chapter two. There can be no promises on how close these chapters will be published, between my other stories that I have plot ideas to, school, and my other obligations. I'm doing the best I can! But thanks to those who reviewed! I'm accepting ideas for picture frames and plots for each of the characters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club

Tamaki Suou

First Year

-x-

The frame was a lacework of silver strands, elegant, frilly, and looking rather like something one would see at a Hallmark store.

The picture inside was blurry, bad quality, a freeze-frame from a security camera printed out and sent to Haruhi with the words 'To remember' scrawled by some unknown hands, years after she graduated.

A brunette boy hunched over a sink, hand to his mouth, his eyes closed, half of a blond boy just barely in the side of the picture, his face contorted in worry and fear.

-x-

The only thing that made Tamaki different from the rest of the Host Club in their pursuit of Haruhi was that he didn't have any obstructions.

If anything, it was all easier for him. His father supported his chasing her, he had no angst-filled twin still half in love with her, he had no calculating mind telling him that she was merely an obstruction. All he had was his heart and the fortune he would someday own.

But for some reason this made it even harder. He had nothing to yell at her when she was naïve and blithe and so, awfully, unable to understand how much he'd sacrificed—he had not given up a perfect union between equals, he had no business-oriented mind that had been ruined because of her. All he had was Hosting talents, and the fact that they didn't work on a certain Fujioka Haruhi.

The twins were always able to play it off as sibling affection, drawing Haruhi into their close bond, but for Tamaki, it had always been different. He couldn't even act like a friend. He had to go straight to boyfriend or bust. There was no middle ground for Suou Tamaki. He noticed, the familiar layout of Host Members in group photos and welcoming scenes—it was the twins sitting next to her, draped over her—and he standing behind, distant, protective, a father.

It was driving him absolutely mad.

Haruhi fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable to a painful extent. She had been like that the entire club period, restless, standing up, walking around, plopping back into a seat and pressing her hands to her back, lying on a couch for a minute, standing up, wandering off. Kyoya had canceled all her Hosting appointments, but she seemed odd, day dreamy, like she was preoccupied with something.

Tamaki was taking a break in between client groups, standing next to Kyoya where he was looking after Haruhi with irritation creasing the black haired boys' eyes as she stood from her chair and wandered off into the kitchens, a pained expression on her face.

"Tamaki," he said, his voice brimful with annoyance. "Go ask Haruhi what's wrong. We're losing business and she looks like she's sick."

"Right," he said, having been waiting for just this order for about ten minutes now, not wanting to go off on a jaunt after Haruhi and then be mocked by everyone when she sent him away. He walked over towards the kitchen door, fidgeting with the samauri costume he'd donned for the day's cosplay. It was cumbersome and irritating.

He pushed open to the door to the kitchen, peering around for Haruhi. He didn't see her.

"Haruhi?" he called apprehensively.

"Tamaki?" came the confused reply. She leaned out from her place at a sink on the other side of a pillar. "Is everything okay?"

"Kyoya was worried about you," he informed, squinting over at her. She had water cupped in her hands and—what seemed to be a bottle of pills on the counter. It all clicked in his head, and he saw what she was going to do. "No! Haruhi, don't take the pills! Don't do it!"

"What?" she asked, bewildered, her face turning red.

"Don't, Haruhi! Whatever troubles you're going through are not worth your life! The Host Club loves you!"

"What?" she asked incredulously. "What, do you think I'm taking all of them, senpai?"

"But . . ." he dwindled back to regular size. "Wasn't that what you were going to do? Overdose on pills?"

"Why would I do that?" Her voice was irritated, and she was glaring at him.

"Well . . . you were looking a little sad and . . ." He trailed off and quickly changed the subject. "Are you okay? You're acting strangely and we're all worried."

"It's nothing, senpai," she said, turning, gulping down the water and popping one of the pills into her mouth.

Her obvious dodging of the question made him even more concerned.

"What is it, Haruhi?" he asked, inching towards her. "You can tell Papa."

She rolled her eyes. "No, really, Tamaki, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Haruhi, just tell me whats wrong! Are you sick? Are you infected with smallpox? Depression? Will you die? Don't die, Haruhi!"

"Let go of me," she said, sweat dropping. "It's nothing serious. It will be gone by tomorrow."

"How do you know?" he demanded. "It could be fatal!"

"It's not fatal!" she said, and her face turned bright red. "It's no big problem. It'll be gone tomorrow, and I'll be okay then. Now let go of me!"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong with you!"

"Fine!" she said, and her voice dropped to nearly inaudible tones. "It's menstrual cramps, okay?"

He released her like she was some kind of leper, and she fell to the ground, hard tile hitting her back.

"Owhhhh," she said, and she rubbed her stomach. "Thanks, Tamaki. Go back to Hosting."

"I'm so sorry, my daughter!" he said, but he surveyed her from a safe three feet away. "But I've heard that women in your . . . er . . . condition are extremely irritable."

"Only when we're dropped on floors," she said, wincing. "The muscle relaxant should be kicking in soon. You can leave, Tamaki."

"Are . . . are you in . . . pain, Haruhi?" he asked haltingly, and the brunette laughed.

"Of course I'm in pain, Tamaki, but it's not bad. I'll be fine by tomorrow, you—"

He swept her up in his arms and despite her protesting, carried her over towards a supply closet.

"We have blankets in here," he said. "I'll make you a little bed and bring you some soup! Or . . . Haruhi, how do you make soup?"

Haruhi's scoff couldn't dampen the lovely mental image he conjured—Haruhi snuggled into blankets, looking up at him with her wide, adoring eyes, eating soup from a spoon he offered to her. His eyes immediately took on a dreamy quality, and none of her other protests were heeded, as he placed her on the top shelf, where she sat, her eyes crossed in irritation, and he buzzed around, making a nest on the cobbled floor.

"Tamaki, this isn't necessary," she objected as he lifted her down and showed her, all excited smiles, how they had some extra seat warmer parts in the closet that he'd plugged to make makeshift heating pads, and they could snuggled in the blankets there, see?

"Wait, what do you mean by we?" she asked suspiciously before being yanked down into the nest and snuggled in forcibly by the blond, who excitedly tapped a panel, which made heat exude from three spots, one on the small of her back.

"Look, Haruhi, isn't this comfortable?"

"Well . . . yes," she said grudgingly, shying away from his enthusiasm. "It would be better . . . if you would leave, though."

His face fell.

"Leave? Fine. Maybe I'll just . . . maybe I'll just go then."

He hadn't moved a muscle, and Haruhi could tell that he would going to stay snuggled in the warm space until she shouted him out. And all she wanted to do was sleep—the pain had kept her up the night previously, and the warm space was extremely welcoming in the cold mid-June.

"Haruhi, the blankets are coming undone. Scoot back a little."

"I would, senpai . . ."

"What?" He frowned deeply.

". . . but your sword is pointing at me."

"Oh!" Tamaki exhaled, fumbling with the many buckles and catches that affixed his sheathed samauri sword to his silk uniform. "I can't get it off!"

"Here, Tamaki," the barest trace of laughter in her voice as she reached over his shoulder and deftly removed the sword belt from him.

"Oh . . . thank you, Haruhi," he said, blushing.

"Sure, senpai. Now let me relax, you're only being a bother."

She obligingly didn't move away again, not wanting Tamaki to go into another fit over the blankets and heating pads being disturbed. The solidness of his stomach was just barely brushed by the tips of her fingers. He felt no blush rise on his face, just tenderness as he looked at Haruhi, falling asleep so easily, nearly unruffled by their proximity, so beautiful . . .

Her breath came in and out of her mouth, settling into the tempo of sleep. She must have been very tired, to succumb to sleep so easily. He felt a pang. What kept her up at nights? Was it anything compared to what bothered him? Who was he to think he had troubles, when Haruhi had gone through so much? Or had he just been watching too much Oshin lately?

"Oi, Tono, what're you doing with Haruhi?"

Haruhi didn't wake; but Tamaki started, looking up at the assembled Host Club, who were staring down at him with vague disgust.

"He was cuddling," Kaoru sneered. "Nasty pervert."

"No!" he objected. "No, it wasn't like that!"

Haruhi was jarred into wakefulness, barely groggy from her two minutes of sleep.

"My God," she said, her voice full of irritation. "Between Tamaki and you people I can't sleep at all."

Silence.

"Tono . . . what exactly were you doing with Haruhi . . . before she fell asleep?"

"Augh! You perverts, it wasn't like that!"