Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club (manga, anime, characters, pets places, etc.) It's all Bisco Hatori and her accomplices. Author's Note: Spelling, punctuation, sentence structure and wordings in this story are horrible and the plot-line is luke-warm, for that I apologize. I must say though, I have never written anything other than poetry and essays so... I'm okay with it.
Please, feel free to read and review! I would love your thoughts!
(constructive criticism, nothing blatantly rude, please.)

"But know that I don't deserve someone as beautiful and bright as you."

Nekozawa's sibilating twittered prickles of fervor through her body. This would be one of the only instances where she believed in the word 'beautiful' when it was directed at her. Though distressing was his expression of inadequacy.

"You can't be more wrong, Nekozawa-Senpai."

-Knock- -Knock- -Knock-

Unexpected, the sound sent the duo in a quick part. In response, the flames of the surrounding candles writhed violently, threatening to extinguish. They exchanged glances both of consternation and moderate amusement before Haruhi's features adopted a wash of dread. She had an inkling something was wrong. Imminent conflict in the coming future. It made the hair at her nape stand and her stomach clench. He watched her and absorbed every change unfolding before him. His concern won out and before he was aware he found himself kneeling in front of her with his hand pegged delicately on her shoulder.

"I'll answer it, Haruhi." His reassuring smile and answer to her worry came airily and smooth. She puffed out acquiescent to his actions, completely mollified of the apprehension that lurked behind the entrance of her apartment. The previous encounter had been a devastating one, and the despondency that come with the rapping didn't do anything to help her predicament.

Returning his hood to his head and flicking the lights back on, he made way to the door. What stood behind the hinges greeted him with a foreboding glint of glass and a mouth set in a hard thin line.

"Greetings Ohtori-san." He snuck a peek back a the girl who was coming to stand behind him noticing a nod, he turned back to the man at the door leaning into a very slight bow and slid aside to allow him to enter. Mirroring his movements, Haruhi discreetly clutched the arm of his cloak. The slight tug informed him immediately of her unease and his mind went to work puzzling out possible ways to alleviate her concerns.

Kyoya took the invitation in stride to settle next to the curiously spread table. Teacups, Bereznoff, a very old-looking book, annotations hastily scribbled on a pad of paper and a pile of notes authored by none other than the late Fujioka Ryoji. He cleared his throat dismissing the display and zeroed in on an uncharacteristically demure Haruhi hovering conspicuously close to a black mass with hands.

"Haruhi. I am assuming that you received some distressing news this afternoon, am I correct?" He watched as her eyes slowly made contact with his own, detecting that they were glassy and a bit unfocused. Okay, well at least I don't have to tell her about that. He reasoned with his mind decidedly though not making his task any easier.

"Yes." Haruhi's voice barely crackled out the word. Her hands came together in front of her twisting within themselves and she focused on those. The task of holding eye-contact too arduous.

"I've been informed."

On the inside he was both relieved and burdened. It weighed heavy on his chest that he had to be the one to add to her obvious torment. Though, this venture would prove conducive as the object of his curiosity was standing right next to the dejected female. The cloaked boy's proximity on the other hand, stirred and prodded animosity inside of him. On the outside he remained collected and expressionless as ever. Only jilted by his eyes switching between the two in front of him hidden behind the glare of his glasses.

"My sympathies, Haruhi. Apologies in advance, but I come bearing some more troubling news." The girl lifted her gazed to her Senpai, eyes widened with disbelief and a trembling hand over a gasping maw. He paused to give her time to absorb his words before continuing.

"It seems that both of our friends, Haninozuka and Morinozuka, have met a premature necrosis this earlier this morning." His voice came out unintentionally deflated and he pushed his frames back up the bridge of his nose. Haruhi fell to her knees, sitting back on her heels with her head down as the tears streaked her face with her arms sagged at her sides. Nekozawa's immediate response did not go unnoticed rather, it nearly inspired distraught blows from the bespectacled teen. Had he been less controlled the actions would have transpired. In place, he let out a small covered cough.

"Nekozawa-Senpai, I am actually quite pleased to have run into you. I have been waiting to discuss with you the event from earlier in the week." Kyoya set his pointed gaze upon the shadowed figured consolingly rubbing the back of the object of his, unfounded, affection. His eyes met darkness and blue as the figure came to stand before him with a dismal line gracing his face.

"Certainly, Ohtori-san. What is it you would like to know?" The question was drawn out slow and admonitory as his face contracted deep into the shadows of his hood. Haruhi's reticent sobs surrounded the two males face to face in a mysterious duel of the unknown. Nekozawa wasn't sure what Kyoya was trying to get at, but he descried the spite emanating from the boy's otherwise composed persona whenever he touched Haruhi. Not to be forgotten his coldness when relaying the information of their friends. He was not going to let him do anything more to crush the poor girl sitting already broken at his feet.

Kyoya eyed the strange sight and dismissed the menacing chill he felt surrounding him before letting slip a feral growl.

"What are you doing to the Host Club?"

~O~O~

A sharp stinging that pulsed through his hand led the blonde to rouse with a start. Eyes precariously unfocused, he stumbled about the cold dark room. His head was swimming, groggy and pounding. His thoughts were completely muddled. Fear set in as the familiar innervation swept through his stomach, clenching and twisting his innards in a painful assault.

"SHIMA!" Tamaki croaked out between bouts of retching. "SHIMA, HELP ME!" The loud croaks were both pitiful and haunting, but completed their mission. Shima quickened her pace and opened the door in panicked carelessness from her young master's cries. There she saw the huddled figure pallid on his knees, one hand braced against the floor, the other agonizingly gripping at his abdomen as if that would cease the vexation befalling him. His retching was loud and terrifying as she approached. Stabilizing the tormented soul with her body, she laboriously hauled the boy with every bit of esoteric strength in her elderly body. His skin scorched her own flesh sending new waves of fright to settle in her chest. She screamed for maids to assist her as she pushed his convulsing body on his bed. Her creaky legs and back protested vehemently as she ran to collect a pitcher of water for her severely dehydrated young master. Racing back to his room, her legs nearly gave out but continued on down the echoing halls.

When she reached his room, the other household staff had surrounded the blonde with towels and ice and were dipping rags in tubs of water, washing down his ashen skin to cool his dangerously high internal temperature. One of the staff was attending to his injured hand with iodine and tweezers. Shima's steps were limped but determined. She lifted the boy's head in her hand and lifted the cold pitcher to his lips.

"Drink."

~O~O~

"Why, Ohtori-san, I can assure you that I mean no ill-will to any members of your club at this time nor have I seriously previous to this week." Nekozawa answered the secretively fuming boy in front of him with complete honesty in the form of a silken drawl. He was taken back by the question, however reluctant to offer up the entirety of an honest answer. He wouldn't be the one to paint a target on the grieving back of Haruhi, filled with dark spirits or otherwise. She was suffering just as well and if a solution wasn't found, would suffer a similar outcome. No, he wasn't going to let a blame-game impede his research.

Haruhi's frail detached voice snapped him of all his determined thoughts.

"It was me, Senpai. The things inside of me." Her brown mop lifted displaying empty defeated eyes. Kyoya faltered in composure and stumbled back a step. The shock in his eyes conspicuous to all in that room.

He didn't know how to process that information. The anger that bubbled up within him was almost completely squelched by these unnamed feelings he had for her. The commiserative look in her eyes invoked guilt and despair. She was a victim too. All these thoughts squabbled in his mind, his head ached as the thoughts kept racing. Confusion won out above all. He needed to know how all of this could be true, how it all came to be. He hated not being informed.

"Nekozawa-senpai, would you please explain this to better my understanding. I just can not quite comprehend how this is." He was being honest. In Kyoya Ohtori's world of calculation, measurements, logic, science and merits, unseen spiritual forces were none other than myth until this point. One fist clenched hanging to his side he leaned against the wall and he pushed his glasses back into place. Haruhi's gaze was clouded and her face blank, she stayed kneeling awaiting her fate as Nekozawa summarized their findings in a slow detailed enunciation.

When the cloaked boy concluded, Kyoya turned a skeptical eye on the fragile haunted girl before him.

"I... see."