I don't own Ouran High School Host Club.

Dabbing his lips in genteel fashion, Ouran's headmaster put zero effort into concealing his laughter. The gentle spasms of amusement allowed the restaurant's Tiffany-filtered sunlight to play against silver-touched blond hair, some of which fell playfully onto his still youthful face.

"Kyoya Ootori. Closet bleeding-heart." Playfully wagging a finger at his best friend, he nodded in agreement to the proposed plan. "I can see Haruhi's altruistic nature has been rubbing off on you."

"Go ahead and tease, Tamaki. But it's a good idea and you know it. Maybe even provide a scholarship to a new student each year. Of course, I can always sponsor him, if you wish. Though there'll be no need to divulge as much."

"Whatever you prefer. We can work out the details, later. I'm more interested in hearing about how this boy managed to strike such a chord with you."

Smiling discreetly, he offered only a modest shrug. "Naoki-chan's an exceptionally smart kid. His living in an orphanage is no reason for him not to capitalize on his intelligence."

Tamaki nodded whilst frowning as the concept of Japan's nearly non-existent adoption policy ran around inside his head. "I'll never understand it. I love this country, but mon dieu! The idea that parents can leave their child to spend their lives at some government-run facility, and still retain legal custody of that child is beyond me."

"Indeed. The social workers do a pretty decent job of keeping the atmosphere warm, as do the teachers. Still, that doesn't exactly replace the feeling of being nobody's children."

"No. It doesn't." Having reached the conclusion of their dinner, Tamaki stood up, directing his gaze to insinuate he would see his best friend to the door.

"It's that same fact that's kept me from getting Naoki into Ouran Academy." Kyoya continued to explain. "I've been treating his heart condition for three years now. His mother still has custody over him, but she seems to be off the radar. Even for me. Without her permission, there hasn't been an opportunity for Naoki—or other kids in his position with potential—to attend such schools of choice. Soon he'll be filtered out of the system, though. Why not offer him a full scholarship to Ouran University, along with room and board?"

"I like it, Kyoya."

"Of course you do," he mused, sliding into a cashmere pea coat handed to him by the coat check. "You've always liked my ideas. Even thought some of them were your own."

"Still embracing your talent as Shadow King…"

Raising an amused eyebrow, he smiled. "Now there's a phrase I haven't heard in quite some time." Catching sight of the town car waiting curbside to the evening traffic, Kyoya found himself more than ready to make the cross-city trek in what was certain to be a pleasant silence.

"Make sure to drop by after you get back from France. There's more to talk about, but I'd prefer to do it at home."

Kyoya's acknowledgement of the telltale sparkle in Tamaki's eye was enough information to keep the blond momentarily satisfied. "Of course! Hug Haruhi for me. I'm sorry she wasn't here tonight, but I'm sure she's got plenty going on at the moment."

"Haruhi is busy? That might be the understatement of the century! And you'll be sure to give Renge our greetings when the two of you do business, no doubt…"

"Whoever said anything about Renge?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Tamaki. Not only am I able to see right through you, but what do you think I've got Tachibana doing in his golden years?"

A slight blush touched across Tamaki's cheeks as he glanced up from the spot he had suddenly found interest in on the floor. "Fair enough. Our former lady manager is the headmistress of an elite girls' academy in Marseille. Believe it or not, their sister school is Lobelia."

"Interesting. So it seems that Renge's somewhat pursuing her dream."

"Amongst other things."

Had he looked away, Kyoya would have missed the flash of excitement that had taken over Tamaki's features. It was his turn to throw his head back in laughter, which he did while making his exit through the Roi Grande's revolving door.

.

Eyeing the monochromatic rainbow laid out in front of her, the blonde adamantly shook her head in dismay.

"Not even close. I won't be modeling any of it for you, and Haruhi shouldn't be wearing it, either!"

"Come on, Mei! The mannequin isn't going to cut it." Hikaru defended, while grabbing his tape measure away from the girl, who was still glaring at the materials with disgust, "We're going to need your petite frame and range of movement once we start sizing different belly panels."

She gave one final sigh of resignation while running a hand over top of the expensive silks and wools.

"Fine. But you could have at least thrown in some navy!"

Turning his back away from an already draped mannequin, Kaoru grinned triumphantly in Mei's direction.

"Shame on you for thinking there won't be any navy involved. Haruhi is definitely more navy than grey, but this is supposed to be courtroom couture. A grey palette with pops of color will keep her feminine, but straight-and-narrow at the same time. I'm saving navy for the fun and casual stuff."

"It should be the other way around. But fine," she conceded, "It's your collection. I'll just have to make her up some outfits of my own."

Silently scolding the constantly hardworking and private Haruhi, Mei considered her friend's ever-diminutive frame. "So when did Haruhi tell you that she's pregnant, anyway? The two of us just had lunch the other day, and she never said a word."

Without missing a beat, both Hikaru and Kaoru threw her a knowing and mischievous smile. "We didn't find out. We figured it out."

Mei raised a questioning eyebrow whilst catching the swatch of navy and lace that had been tossed her way.

.

Eyes closed, forehead pressed against the glass, the chosen task at hand was an attempt at temporarily shutting out the rest of the world. Enclosed in an office whose dimensions could rival the apartment she had grown up in, Haruhi found herself thankful for the silence granted by the thick walls. There was comfort to be had in realizing the thickness and girth of the overbearingly ornate, mahogany door. Brash swatches of gold and red painted the inside of her eyelids, indicating that this rare moment of tranquility belonged only to her, while the city pulsed alive and well below.

Suddenly, the quiet was gone as quickly as it had come. Her body experienced an appreciative rush of heat upon hearing the familiar cadence of his opening the door.

"Good evening, Haruhi." His smile held a certain warmth that only a select few individuals counted themselves privy to. "Today was a good day, I hope."

"Good enough. I only spoke to a handful of clients; all of it over the phone. I'm not entirely moved in, yet. What am I supposed to do with this much space?!"

Taking inventory of their surroundings, Kyoya couldn't help but smile at the sizeable, yet barebones office. In the center of the room sat the overbearing desk from which his father used to conduct the majority of his business.

"What do you mean she doesn't want anything new? The last desk she worked at wasn't even hers. It belonged to the firm! Afraid of receiving something ostentatious, no doubt…"

Taking advantage of the slightly laxed, personal atmosphere in which they now spoke, Kyoya merely crossed his arms and shrugged in response to Yoshio's inquiries.

Not one to sit on a question for long, the elder Ootori had already chosen his own answer. He wore a satisfied grin whilst making use of speed dial, his eyes never breaking contact with Kyoya's.

"Miyumi? Yes. Please have my study's desk delivered to my daughter-in-law's new office immediately. Replace it with something Italian before the close of the work week."

The typically rigid man crossed his arms in like fashion to his son, beaming in his own way. "There. Perhaps now she can find her sense of humility as an executive partner of Morinozuka & Ootori while sitting behind a second hand Nella Vetrina."

Closing the expanse between them, Kyoya accepted the affection of his wife leaving a sweet, if not tired peck on his cheek. Turning back toward the dusking cityscape before them, Haruhi allowed herself to nestle into the comfort of the one man from whom she hid nothing. He brought his hands forward, clasping his fingers around her to encompass the still small bump that now brought a certain definition to the professional white blouse that would soon find itself tucked away in a drawer.

"In case you haven't noticed, Haruhi, this isn't the East Coast, anymore. Downtown Tokyo is a far cry from that musty, albeit charming, Victorian restoration that your grad school internship resided in."

"Yeah, I know. It's surprising to think that Harvard was nearly ten years ago. Practicing in Tokyo for so long has certainly made the time pass by." Glancing downward, she tried to memorize exactly what twenty stories high looked like. "As exciting a change as this all is, there's no denying that the heights can be a bit dizzying at times."

Burying his nose into her hair, there was an endearing reminder of yesteryear within her recently cut tresses. From the inception of their stay in Boston, Haruhi had taken advantage of showing off what she secretly felt to be the singular physical mark of her femininity—at least the parts she was willing to share with the world. Upon her return to Ouran she had decided to partake in the best of both worlds by maintaining both her lengthened hair and the male uniform. Citing a lack of clarification within the student handbook as to which uniform students were required keep, she saw little point in messing with comfort and familiarity.

Now, standing on the cusp of grander horizons, she once again sought the simplicity and weightlessness that came standard with short hair. It had pleased her to notice the gleam in Kyoya's eye upon his first encountering her wearing that new old look; where the mingled sense of surprise and attraction he was seemingly unable to contain. Having always been insistent that she give and take according to her own merit, the fact remained that his intellectual and emotional approval of her remained something beyond a mere esteem booster.

"It's just different, is all." he soothed, "And if anyone can handle various degrees of change in a single season of her life—clearly Haruhi, it's you."

Placing her own hands over top of his, she gave him a confident squeeze. "It's decided. I'm going to partition it into both office and nursery."

"How smart of you. And interesting."

"If Licia Ronzulli can bring her daughter to parliament for her first two years of life, I'm pretty sure this shouldn't be a problem. Anyway, we've got time to sort out the details."

Through the wall of windows, Kyoya gazed at their transparent figures watermarking the expanse of the city; a place he at one point in life believed that by virtue of name he might one day own. Having devoted himself to what had indeed proved to be his craft, Kyoya had worked tirelessly to ascertain for himself an identity beyond that of his moniker. Now, regarded as one of Asia's most promising young specialists, he felt certain that he had benefitted the name, as opposed to the other way around.

The side of his mouth curved into a quiet smile as he was struck by the fact that he had indeed built something invaluable, and that it was inconceivably better than the goals he had initially laid out for himself. And yet, he realized, there was so much more.

At some point, a man looks in the mirror and sees his father. Regardless of whether that image fills him with pride or horror, it seems he'll inevitably note his progress through life by the man who helped give him life… It's my charge to make certain that things go better this time around.

Hugging Haruhi closer to his chest, he inhaled the scent of her while considering the adage telling of how one's love grows exponentially in the case of children.

I won't pretend to think that any of this is going to be easy… But who better to tread unchartered territory with than her?

"You know." Interrupted his thoughts, the small and effectual woman raised onto her toes while bringing her arms around his shoulders. "I appreciate you coming all the way over here."

"No worries."

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, the sentiment within her muffled words rang perfectly clear. "Seriously, though. I was always going to be a lawyer. But none of this could have ever happened without you. Thank you."

Inhaling happily, the scent of cherry blossoms invaded his senses as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Mm. Thank you."

.

.

And, it's done! So sorry to make you all wait for so long, but here it is! Thanks so much for keeping on this with me, and a big Thank You to the friends I've made via correspondences on this story. Life got incredibly busy this past year (and I thought it was busy before, hah!), and it caused both my time and my muse to become incredibly tied up.

I hope you enjoy the end to The Funeral Party, and that life is finding you well. Thanks again!