6

The fifth time Kyoya's phone went off, the look his father gave him was less exasperated and a lot more like annoyance borderline indignation.

Reluctantly, Kyoya switched it off and slipped it into his pocket, hand itching to pull it back out. With a great effort he managed to school his face out of the bitter annoyance it had adopted, and pulled it back to the cool indifference that was so trademark in his family.

He rested his head on the padded framework of a car that was probably worth more than any one normal person made in a lifetime. Outside was perfect funeral weather, faded grey and shot through with bleak rain.

Yasutora just didn't make any sense, and it buzzed at the back of his mind throughout the car-ride. At first, Ichigo's friend had been short, making brief answers to questions that just raised more and more questions. He answered in the shortest, least sensible answers possible.

It was infuriating, like drawing blood out of a stone. Kyoya had always been spoilt by an excess of information; birth records, medical records, student files, newspaper articles, speculation and facts; he was used to having to sort through massive piles of information, recognising and evaluating importance in a quick, logical method.

The car pulled up the mausoleum's drive, gravel crunching and grinding under the tires.

It was a bleak place. Rain-washed trees bent like mourners, sprawling their branches over half-broken gravestones the colour of misery. The rain had let up, the air was fresh, but terribly cold. The horizon blurred reds and browns like welling tears.

Kyoya pushed open the door, shaking his hair to hide his eyes. As hard as he'd tried, he was never able to fake sadness.

His family followed him, straightening their skirts and suits, brushing invisible dust to hide their faces from the party of mourners. They didn't look at the Ootori family as they approached, backs bent and entirely silent. It was like they were already ghosts.

Kyoya settled on the edge of the crowd—close enough to hear the ceremony, but not too close—and watched. He didn't want to be included in whatever networking people thought was acceptable during a funeral. He was mainly ignored, but people seemed to like to try their luck even if he didn't have anything to offer them.

He was cold, it seemed through his shoes and settling inside his bones. He took a breath. He couldn't stamp his feet.

Kyoya's eyes flew open.

It couldn't be—

He took a step forward, staring. It couldn't, it couldn't—

The dead man drifted through the crowd, slipping through the guests, glaring sullenly. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo—instead the floating hospital gown he'd died in. He floated closer.

"—look at all of you, being sad! You arrogant bastards! I never liked you, don't look like that, there's no way you're getting anything in my will! Don't cry! I never wanted anyone… to..." The man's gaze landed on Kyoya's locking eyes with him.

The man floated closer. His legs were gone, floating mist like a dream. His glare softened a little, in surprise. "Can you see me? You're one of the Ootori boys, aren't you?"

Kyoya nodded, on instinct.

"Fancy that! A son of that stuffy old man, an empath!" The ghost rumbled a laugh.

Kyoya fainted.

Haruhi was in trouble.

It was really weird how things turned out, wasn't it? Didn't have so much as a scuffle in school in all her years, and now, this was the second time she'd been in a life-or-death situation in the same week! No wonder her old teachers always referred to teenagers as "the most troublesome years".

She skidded around the edge of the building, grass slipping under her useless plimsolls.

The horrible beast followed her.

It looked like someone had taken a photograph of a deformed chicken, and merged it with some kind of black squid monster. Its tentacles crashed against the stone of the building's side, roaring that horrible, bone-crushing roar. Its howls of anger grated like sandpaper against her ears.

The tingle returned to her palms like pins and needles, irritating and distracting. It was a raw, instinctive feeling, like words on the tip of her tongue.

She bolted, leaping over a park bench.

Haruhi was no sprinter—the most exercise she'd regularly done was about a year in the swim team three years ago. It'd barely been half a mile and she was ready to collapse.

The beast rumbled after her like a freight train, tentacles thrashing wildly.

The itch in her palms was like a burning trapped under her skin.

Instinctively, she reached her arms up—

There was a burst of colour and sound, intensely bright like a firework.

The beast stopped, tentacles trembling. Its head pulled down, eyes shining white stars, beaming like headlights in the night. Its howl had stopped, and the silence was even more terrible.

Haruhi shifted her head, and felt more hair than she was used to fall around her shoulders. She grabbed it, and held it up to the light. It was burnt orange, like copper wire, curling around her fingers. Her face sat differently too. It tingled slightly, like a too-tight mask, forming strange against her skin.

The beast whined, and crackled. "Manami…?" Its jaws shook.

Haruhi took a step back. "No I—!"

"Take that!"

The beast turned, too late. Its mask was cleaved cleanly in two.

As the beast fell, a figure landed in its wake, glancing at her. He was short and gangly, with a sword he held awkwardly. His hair was a sort of murky green, like pond weed. He grinned at her, awkwardly. "Are you okay miss? Can you see me?"

Haruhi spluttered, stumbling away.

"Hey wait!" He cried.

But Haruhi was already running. The way he'd cut that beast up—she couldn't stop and think. Her chest was already heaving, but she pushed herself forward, stumbling out of the park's gates and darting down the mostly empty street.

The stranger gave chase, yelling after her.

She skidded into an alley, pulling her skirt sharply after her, hunching up. A hot-dog vendor gave her a strange look and she tried to look as casual as possible. Eventually, he looked away, shrugging.

Haruhi sighed, and straightened her skirts. It was kind of dirty in the alley, but it was better than being chased by a such a weird and sword-proficient stranger. Honestly she'd had quite enough of magic weirdos for a while. Perhaps forever. It was only the other day when some freak had put her in a giant bubble and forced Kon to fight a dragon.

"Hey! Human!" The stranger materialised.

She squeaked, slapping both hands on his chest.

There was flash of light, and her hair whipped around.

The stranger's eyes widened, and he stumbled back. All the colour drained from his face. He mumbled a name, too quiet to hear.

Haruhi ducked under his shaking arm, slipping into the evening.

Kon's arms ached. His whole body ached. He was pretty sure his eternal soul would ache pretty bad too, if he actually had one. Everything ached. It all ached. He was made of aches, all tied together with pains and twinges.

He groaned.

He'd missed a lot of school too, going missing for a couple days. It was nothing new though. He tossed the homework one of the rich kids had so helpfully dropped off onto the pile of other homework and revision that he'd have to do at some point. He would do it eventually of course. Just not right now.

Right now was television time, and nobody would do anything to interrupt television time, not on his watch. Not hollows, not quincies, not Shinigami, not Ichigo freaking Kurosaki could stop him now. He settled down into the familiar heap of garbage, and reached for the remote.

His fingers barely brushed the glossy plastic before the doorbell rang.

"So you believe me?" Kyoya asked, still shaken up. He had refrained from touching the lukewarm tea he'd been given, instead cradled it to his chest for warmth.

"What, that ghost crap? Happens all the time." Kon said, bitterly. It was bad manners to watch television while he had guests, god-dammit. Whoever came up with this shit was a damn masochist. "It's not even a Hollow."

"What is a Hollow?" Kyoya asked.

"Oh. Okay, so when you die, right? You become a classic, floaty ghost, they're called Wholes. And you've gotta wait for a Shinigami—that's Ichigo, basically—to send you off to Soul Society. If you get too mad, or you're resentful, as a ghosty, you become this big evil monster called a Hollow. They eat souls, and the more they eat the more powerful they get." Kon briefed, gazing longingly at the television set.

"Oh." Kyoya shifted his grip on the tea, pushing his glasses up with its steaming rim. He didn't quite know how to feel. He'd seen a ghost, and yet… he could pass it off as a hallucination, if he strained. He scrubbed the steam from his glasses and squinted at Kon's blank face. Was he joking?

Kon scrubbed at his chin and sniffed. He was missing a Cazh Soul double bill.

Kyoya sighed, and shuffled in his seat. "You're—"

The door burst in, and Haruhi stumbled through. "Hey! Kon!" She gasped, stumbling forward. "Kon!"

Kon blinked. Haruhi was a guy, right? Why was he wearing such girly clothing?

"Kon! What—I—What's, what's going on with this place? What's with all the weird things, a-and the ghosts!" She was panting heavily, arms and knees shaking. "Hey?"

Kon looked up at her.

"W-what?" She huffed.

He sighed, and got up, slowly. "Look, just call your friends and come with me."

"So that's basically it." Kon finished up.

The school was as good a place as any. The big whiteboards it had were easy to use, and the place was relatively easy to break into from the second floor. The golden gilded bookcases cast long shadows on the bright orange evening sun that spread across the smooth floor.

"Buh-wuh…?" Tamaki squinted at the weird squiggle on the whiteboard. It had a big, helpful label, which didn't make any more sense. "Is this a commoner's attempt at humour? I don't understand..."

"It's true," Kyoya spoke up, voice sharp and cold.

Tamaki stared at him. "That's just cra—"

"And me, senpai," Haruhi blinked up at him.

Tamaki stared at her, too. "You two..." He looked between them, surprise painting his features. "...Are trying to play a joke on me! Haha, you guys! Nice try."

Nobody else laughed. Kon rolled his eyes, capping the whiteboard pen. Haruhi coughed.

"...no, you're being genuine. It's—wow." Tamaki looked at the whiteboard again, trying to see it in real life. He'd never really considered where you went when you died, not seriously anyway. He'd always played it off more as a joke, and had never really thought about… It was weird.

"I've—" Hikaru said, suddenly, voice thick like he was struggling to speak, "I've seen a ghost before."

Kaoru stared at his brother. "The movie theatre?"

Hikaru stared at him, "You saw it too?"

Kaoru shrugged. "A blur. It's only because you reacted so strangely that I remember it. I didn't want to ask you about it, in case it was something bad."

"Oh, brother of mine..." Hikaru's eyes filled with tears. He gripped his twin's hands, "You can ask me about anything. I'd rather you tore open my heart that let worry fill yours."

Kaoru flushed, and his fingers caught his brother's chin, holding it tenderly.

Kyoya turned his attention back to Kon. "So what does that mean now?"

Kon's frown deepened. He sat up straighter, and in that instant he looked so much like Ichigo he commanded the attention of everyone in the room. He cleared his throat. "You need to stay away from me, Ichigo, and Ichigo's friends."

A chorous of "What?!" and "Hey now—"s rippled through the group, but Kon raised a steady hand.

"I mean it. It's bad enough if I get kidnapped and die, I can't stop attracting Hollows. But if you train your powers, you'll increase your reiatsu. And if you do that, you'll increase the amount of Hollows that attack you, and your friends. You can't protect them all," Kon's gaze was so earnest, so intense, it was hard to look away.

"Well—… We can't just..." Haruhi dropped her gaze, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Tears brimmed on her beautiful eyes.

"W-what about the debt you owe!" Kyoya said suddenly.

"Yeah!" Tamaki cried, "You, er, your brother broke my nose."

Kon shook his head. "Tell the director, then. I can't put you guys in danger."

"We won't let you escape, Kon!" Hikaru announced, "You're stuck with us!"

Kon straightened up, and rose to his feet. A deep haze of something unnameable clouded his eyes. "I'm sorry, guys."

Kyoya looked up at him, face unsure. "That's okay," He said, finally.

"I can't let you die..."

"Wha—"

There was a puff of smoke, and the Kikanshinki activated.

Kon slipped from the school window.

It was raining now, spitting and hissing over the concrete of the building he leapt onto, slicking the building like molten silver. It glinted orange as it reflected the dusk, spinning into the thick water. He sighed, from deep within his chest.

It almost made him laugh, if his chest didn't ache quite so badly, he might just have. It was a deep pain in his ribs, like his heart was mourning. What a wuss he was.

The sun twinkled through the rain. He cradled a hand against his soaking shirt, trying hard not to glance back at the school's windows, where the gaggle was waking.

A group of friends, who knew who he was, who laughed with him, liked him for him, and not Ichigo's shadow. He huffed out a painful breath. It was a clichéd dream, and it was as easy to reach as the evening sun. But he couldn't. Not with the way Orihime had died, stretching her arms to the distant stars, blood running through her beautiful hair…

The ouran kids didn't look outside, didn't notice the figure retreating through the rain like a ghost.

A/n: there we have it.

Did you know this was my longest fanfiction I've ever written?

I didn't make Orihime's death A Big Thing because of a lot of reasons. Firstly, most of the time people don't pour out big secrets to people they've just met, and also it happened at least a year ago, and Ichigo's the kind of guy to never really mention his tragic backstory. And Kon, well, he didn't really think it was his story to tell.

Also: you weren't supposed to be able to recognise the shingami, he's an OC, the Shinigami of Ouran, so he's not in Bleach canon.

Don't forget to Review!

THE END.