Now

"Polaroids, huh? Don't you think that's a little too campy?"

Kyoya sat stock-still as he observed the balding, middle-aged man before him. Fujita Masen was one of the most elusive figures he had run into in the last 5 years, and for good reason; it wouldn't quite make sense for the detective to be particularly well noticed, would it? His eyes were sunken in, the tracings of five o'clock shadow tinging the hard set of his jaw. The man was beginning to become irritated, and Kyoya almost reveled in the detectives irritation.

"You're paying to criticize my work, are you?" Fujita nearly hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I just don't know why you couldn't have emailed these to me yourself. Would have been a bit easier than slamming them down on my desk, while I, mind you-" A glance at his Rolex, glinting in the low-lighting of the Ootori office, "am 15 minutes away from being on my lunch break". A soft exhale was all the indication Kyoya needed to know the man's iron willed patience was being tested, though he knew better than to shoot a snap response to his employer. "Do you really want a digital footprint to show that you are stalking this poor girl?" He gave a soft chuckle, "Well, paying me to stalk her." But the detective didn't pry further into Kyoya's motives. It wasn't his place, and he was simply being paid for the job he was tasked with. "She already seemed spooked by me just being in the same room as her. Watched the door the whole time. Must have been waiting for someone".

Kyoya knew this wasn't true, or at least had a strong feeling it wasn't. Haruhi's anxious demeanor and need to leave the reunion was enough for him to gather that she wasn't watching that door for someone. No, he remembered that same level of fear when he was a child, positioning himself at restaurants, always fearing that his own father would walk through the doors to publicly berate him. It wouldn't be the first time. "No ring," He knew that. It didn't take an expensive detective to look at her hand, "Though based on what I've dug up, she doesn't seem to have any dating...at all. No partner, no exes, hell, the girl doesn't even have friends". Fujita didn't ask before lighting his cigarette, and Kyoya's nose wrinkled in disgust at the fumes, though he let him continue.

"Only interesting thing about this girl is the McMansion she's living in. Nice little condo downtown, pricey from the looks of it." Noting the look from his employer, Fujita elaborated "I'll make sure I find out who exactly is funding it." There wasn't any need. Income records were easy to obtain, though the spike in her revenue from 2012 to 2014 was interesting to say the least. He expected it to decline, given her father's trial and eventual incarceration. Even the best lawyers in the country couldn't get Ranka off without 10 years in federal prison. Knowing Haruhi, or what he thought he knew of her, she would have exhausted every resource to ensure her father stood a chance. However, despite the trial, her income nearly doubled for seemingly no reason. Very few promotions were that grand. On second thought…"Find out where this money came from. I need to know who exactly was in the position to give her this raise."

Fujita nodded, standing to his full height and dipping his chin to his employer. Despite the mundaneness of his appearance in comparison to the heir of the Ootori business, Fujita was built; lean muscle climbed up his forearms, and he easily towered over Kyoya by a solid 4 inches. It didn't take a rocket scientist to recognize the danger this man had once held in his days on the force. Rumors had it that he was in charge of their sting operations, shutting down one of the biggest Yakuza drug rings in the city. His name wasn't on any sort of headline, though word traveled fast and based on the detective's elusive nature and appearance, Kyoya got the feeling that he would have never taken the credit for it. "Report back to me on Wednesday. You said she meets with Dr. Naomi Ito on those days; find out her routine." And with that final command, Fujita was gone, his steps nearly soundless.

The moments that followed felt hollow. Empty, almost cloying at the smell of cheap cigarette smoke lingered, no doubt sinking into the leather of his cushions. Kyoya took one breath, two, then allowed his head to sink into the soft palms of his hands. What was he doing? Tamaki was the one who should have been doing all of this, the Party Prince who continued to pine after "his girl". But Haruhi hadn't been "his girl" in nearly a decade and even saying her name seemed to choke the man up. Nobody really should have been doing this. While it may not have been illegal, it certainly wasn't ethical. No, this was something his father could and probably has done in the past. The last thing he ever wanted to be was his father.

The reunion had lit something in him though, an obsession beginning to flourish. Where had she been all these years? Surely in Japan, but why exactly would she have not reached out? Was she better than us, he once had thought. Those first few years were the hardest, a blur of expensive whisky and hostility. She had called him one time before the number was disconnected, her frantic voice only appearing to him a short few weeks ago, full of venom and disdain. Maybe he shouldn't have needled her that day, had pulled her aside for a drink or even to ask where the hell she had been. The only emotion he could feel at the time was pain, pain that she came without telling them, pain that she acted disgusted seeing all of them. I'm the reason for it. I am the reason she was in the club all those years ago, the reason she hates me. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn't.

Kyoya let his face become slack as his watch chimed 3pm, and he went back to paperwork he didn't really care about in the first place. The photo of Haruhi holding that obese cat lingered on his desk, and he didn't put it away the entire time that he worked, even when the sun had set and the world around him seemed to sleep.

o-o-o-o

Then

The beige cubicle Haruhi sat in was beginning to feel like a prison every time she clocked in. Maybe not even a prison; she knew from those cheesy True Crime shows her father loved that this place paled in comparison to the maximum security prisons that Japan had to offer. A zoo was a more appropriate response. Every eye in the office seemed to be on her, though one set of eyes seemed to follow her more closely than the other coworkers did. It seemed an everyday affair that Muraoka "visited" her desk, talking about nothing and everything, always unsolicited. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure that she had ever willingly approached the man. It seemed as if he gravitated towards her no matter what, and it was becoming increasingly unnerving.

"Well good morning, beautiful!" He chirped, and she felt a chill run down her spine as she caught that god awful comb over in the corner of her eye. At first, she didn't respond. It wasn't worth the hassle. He typically left her alone after a few moments and she could endure whatever the next minute brought her. "Oh Haru, you wound me so!" He clutched his chest in mock pain, and her heart pulled at the nickname she had loved long ago. From the club, it sounded like a song, reminding her of home. From Muraoka...it was putrid, so grating that she could feel her blood pressure raise at just the words. It was always like this though.

"Please don't call me that." She said softly, though it wasn't a demand; no, he had been here much longer, almost at the position of department manager. Haruhi never knew whether one snap could land her in Aragon's CEO's office for creating a "hostile work environment". It seemed as though every day she was being tugged one way or the other between juggling responsibilities and unwanted attention. She certainly didn't feel secure enough in her position to complain about the constant harassment from Muraoka, so instead she gritted her teeth when he responded. "C'mon Haru, don't be such a stick in the mud". The sing-songy voice caused her stomach to lurch. Why did he have this effect on her? The club had seemingly prepared her for every kind of creep there was, but this particular one always left her with uneasiness and a pit in her stomach. She ignored him the second time, furiously typing as she edited the company's webpage to fix the minute coding issues presented. Realistically, they could have waited, but at this point she just needed something to calm her nerves.

Muraoka didn't seem to notice that she hadn't responded to anything he said, shoving his hands into his khakis and rolling his neck. It cracked and the noise made her jump, earning a goading laugh from the man hovering above her. "Fine, fine, I'll leave you alone. I just have a question, that's all!" It took Haruhi almost a full 30 seconds to peel her eyes from the black screen, the neon code so much more interesting than whatever this tool had to ask. "Will you leave me alone if I answer it?." she responded in a clipped tone, cringing at the harshness in her own voice. It didn't make a difference; she was close to her breaking point anyway.

"So...the company Christmas party is coming up, only a few days away! I was wondering, do you want to maybe go with me?" The hope in his voice would have made her smile had it been anyone else, but with the hair raising on the back of her neck, Haruhi felt nothing but pity and revolusion towards the older man. Balding at 30, nearly a decade older than her, nothing about this man screamed comfort. Simply unwanted authority, imposing. Dangerous. She fought for a response, cringing at the hope that filled his face at her pause. Just breath, Haruhi told herself, spinning her chair to look at him directly. She was decent enough to just do that.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mura, because I think you deserve that. I think it would be...inappropriate in this context for me to accept this invitation, given our positions without Aragon. I hope you understand". Her chair snapped back to its original position as she went back to her engrossed expression on the coding, and he hovered for a few seconds before simply saying, "Fine. Have it your way" before his shoes indicated his departure.

This may have been it though. The nail in the coffin. Haruhi took one breath, another, before she pulled up Aragon's corporate website, her employee ID, and eventually the HR webpage as she began to fill out her complaint form. Was there a stomp in his step? Was the bite in his tone real, or imaginary? Maybe the menace she was experiencing was all in her head, maybe she hadn't heard any sort of bite with his response, he may have just been graceful in the rejection. She certainly didn't hear him as he walked away, the hushed words: "Fucking bitch. You'll learn soon".