Days passed, some crawling, some flying by.
It was with a creeping sense of unease that she woke one morning, which didn't lessen until Kyoya had arrived.
He still looked a little pale, but his colour was miles better than it had been. Exhaustion clearly still weighed heavily on him, if the bruising around his eyes had anything to say, poking out through a bad attempt to cover it with concealer.
Wait.
Squinting, Haruhi looked again.
Kyoya, dropping his bag down and pulling out his supplies, was utterly oblivious to the scrutiny.
Was his waist always that slim?
His shirt, an aesthetic maroon and undeniably expensive, was the most form-fitting piece of attire he'd worn in weeks, tailored to his every measurement.
Or, it should have been at least.
The sleeves looked a little tighter than usual around his biceps, the material sitting snug and almost a little taunt over his chest.
Weird.
Maybe it shrunk in the wash?
They settled down, Kyoya colonising the table with a multitude of documents and papers, Haruhi lying flat on her back, messing with her phone. Hikaru had stolen the device three days ago to download a few pointless games (and to take a shit ton of photos, most of which featured the other members of the host club. She may or may not have set a very disgruntled one of Kyoya as his contact picture, for the sheer purpose of embarrassing him).
In that time, she may or may not have become slightly addicted to a platform game.
Sue her.
"You're going to get a headache lying like that." Kyoya warned. "Prop your head up on a pillow."
Haruhi considered his words for approximately three seconds, before making a terribly ungraceful slithering, seal-like flopping motion, until her head rested comfortably on his thigh.
"I'll have you know, my lap is not free real estate. I'll charge you by the minute."
"Add it to my tab." She replied, teasingly. An aggravated groan followed, as her little pixelated character died. She restarted the game with vigor, redoubling her attention on beating her high score. Kyoya returned to his work with an amused huff, occasionally shifting underneath her purely for the purpose of being an annoying little shit, something which he succeeded at immensely.
"Don't forget, Mori-senpai is picking you up tomorrow."
"I know, I know. Stop fussing, you're going to get wrinkles." Haruhi poked his cheek.
"You won't be saying that when you follow me back to my car again." Kyoya grumbled to himself, removing the invading appendage with ease.
She mocked him quietly under her breath, and then squealed when slender fingers dug into her side. She alternated between weak flops of resistance and wheezy pleads for the tickle-tortue to stop. The revenge only ended when she had begged for her life and he mercifully granted her wish.
After that, they were left at peace. Haruhi playing her game, Kyoya penning out whatever it was that he was working on.
"Oh!" Haruhi said, suddenly. "I forgot to tell you, Mei got her results back yesterday. Apparently she barely passed, but she's still taking it as a victory. She asked me to thank you for her."
"Did she now?"
"Well, no. But I inferred it. She is grateful, you know, no matter how standoffish she can be. She knows she wouldn't have passed without your help." Her eyes flashed up to meet his, shooting him a proud smile. Unbeknownst to her, her sprite died once again. "You did good."
His expression morphed from displeasure, to flat out disdain. Him, The Kyoya Ootori being nice? The mere idea was utterly preposterous. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. "I only helped because you—" He stopped. "—Because I didn't have a choice. You would've press-ganged me into assisting her, regardless of my opinion on the matter."
"You make it sound like I held you at gunpoint." She reached up and flicked his forehead for good measure. Or, at least, attempted to. His hand closed around her wrist, and carefully redirected the offending weapon away from his face. "Admit it, you wanted to help. You're a nice guy, Kyoya-senpai, despite how you like to act."
His half-assed protest was interrupted by a buzz in his pocket, which reverberated through her back and elicited a noise of surprise.
Kyoya checked the device with a forced air of calm.
Forced because the muscles in his face reflexively tensed. Haruhi felt the unease rise again, twisting somewhere deep in her stomach and making her feel vaguely sick. "Who's that?"
It took a moment before Kyoya could drag his gaze away, and even then he seemed distracted.
"Just Tamaki being a moron." He said.
His tone was dismissive, yet Haruhi felt herself squinting between the lines. Kyoya turned his phone over in his palm a couple of times, thoughtful and restless both at once. Flashing him purely innocent eyes, she pushed further. "Is everything okay? You seem a little... tense."
"I'm fine." He insisted, much sharper than he intended, for she noticed how he visibly softened. "I'm fine," He repeated, far more gentle this time, as he raised his pen once more and bent over to continue his work.
Instead of feeling relieved, a surge of anger took over her.
Did he really think she was that stupid?
Did he really, honestly believe that she wouldn't notice?
"You're lying to me." She said, slowly. Kyoya froze, pen poised above the paper, and that was all the confirmation she needed. "I can see it, you're lying to me. You've been lying for a while, actually."
"I'm not." He denied lightly, and maybe if this was some other time, she would have believed him. But not today. Not now.
"You've been acting weird lately. Staying up late, getting snappy with everyone, and always leaving to take those phone calls. What are you hiding from me, Senpai? And don't lie to me again, please."
"Why are you so convinced I'm deceiving you?"
"No, not deceiving me. I just think you're not being entirely truthful. In fact, I know you're not." She corrected. "You're always holding back, and I want to know why. Say… why did you snatch your phone off me the other day?"
In all honesty, she'd barely glanced at the device since then, too worried about the situation repeating itself. She'd been tempted, of course. So, so tempted to just see for herself what he was hiding from her. Kyoya had been stupid enough to leave it in his jacket pocket, right in plain view of her. But her morals won the ensuing struggle, and she left it there, wondering whether or not she made the right choice.
"Am I not entitled to my privacy?"
"You are." Haruhi allowed, just as evenly, but there was hurt edging into her tone that she couldn't curb. "But you've also previously told me that I'm free to use it when I like. If that wasn't the case, it would've been nice to let me know beforehand, don't you think?"
"That was a mistake on my part." He conceded, and silence fell upon them.
That was it? That was all he was going to say?
After everything, that was all she was worth?
Frustration welled up in her chest, teeth biting down hard on her lip. Finger tugging and worrying at her sleeve, she fought against the crushing urge to shrink away. "Do you not trust me anymore?"
There was an audible hitch in his breath.
"What?"
"Do you not—"
"No." He said, almost shakily, stopping her with a raised hand. "No, I heard you the first time. I meant, what would possess you to make you think that I don't trust you? Haruhi, you are one of the few people in my life that I would trust without question."
Haruhi lost her internal battle and turned away, throat tight and thick and too full to speak, head a jumble of emotions she couldn't even process, let alone articulate coherently. "If you really mean that, then you have a funny way of showing it, Senpai. How can you claim to trust me when you refuse to communicate with me?"
Kyoya flexed his fingers, steady gaze wavering into something entirely less confident, and more tentative. He had the evasive look of a child judging how much trouble they were in.
And then his phone began to ring.
Haruhi glared at the device, bitterly. "I suppose you have to take that?"
"It's... complicated."
"More complicated than what's already happening?"
Kyoya's eyes darted to the still-ringing phone. "I need to take this." Reluctance edged into his expression. "Look, I do admit I may have been withholding certain details, but you're stressed enough as it is. I didn't want to worsen your burden."
Vindication, sweet and bliss, was quickly smothered by outrage.
"That's not for you to decide, Kyoya-senpai." Her voice was low, edging on dangerous.
Apparently Kyoya lacked any and all survival instincts, for he ignored her warning tone and took a swan dive straight through what was remarkably thin ice. "I'm responsible for what happens to you. I made a promise to your father and I intend to keep it."
"That doesn't change anything!" Haruhi argued, furiously. "What I can and cannot handle is up to me. I'm the one that decides my own limits, not you."
"Do you think I liked lying to you? Because I didn't. But you can't sleep at night, you're tired all the time, and don't think for a second that I haven't noticed how you've become more anxious. Keeping secrets, as you call it, was for your own good."
"If that's your criteria, then you're no better suited than me! You think I haven't noticed the concealer under your eyes? If you're going to try to hide those bags, at least do it well."
"That hasn't got anything to do with it." Kyoya said, cold as ice.
Haruhi knew she shouldn't yell— that she shouldn't get so frustrated with him. Because Kyoya would raise his safety net— would become cold and hard and unflinching to protect himself, to block out the barbs of the outside world and retreat somewhere where he was safe, where nothing could touch him. But there was a point where she couldn't lock away her feelings anymore, where she had to find a release, because scared people did horrible things and Haruhi had never felt so terrified in her life.
"It has everything to do with it." Haruhi insisted. "You're not taking good care of yourself. You must hardly be getting any rest from how you're constantly falling asleep. And you're such a moron that I just know you're burning yourself out!"
Kyoya scowled. "I can handle a little bit of extra work. The way you're talking, it's as though you expect me to drop dead. I made that decision with your best interests in mind, and I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I would do it again without hesitation."
"You had no right to do that. If you're trying to keep me safe, then you should start by honestly telling me how much danger I'm in, not by hiding it."
"That would only scare you more."
She felt tears of frustration sting at her eyes, and angrily forced them back down.
"You are so unbelievably stupid! Being left in the dark is so much worse, which you would know if you actually asked me! All I can think about is him. Think about where he is. Think about if he's watching, waiting for me. I can't focus. I can't sleep, because all I think about is; what if he breaks in the minute I close my eyes?"
Kyoya stared at her, taken aback. There was a prolonged moment where he considered her words, and then stumbled over whatever argument he had been mustering for a counter-attack.
And then came the sentence that almost broke her completely.
"I was only trying to protect you."
Haruhi clenched her teeth, and turned away. The phone was still blaring in the background, vibrations causing it to teeter on the edge of the table. "Just take the damn phone call, senpai. Tachibana is probably wondering whether you're still breathing."
Kyoya, meanwhile, was staring very deliberately at the table, delicately tracing every notch and groove that coated the surface. His head was bowed, likely an attempt to hide the embarrassed flush burning at the tips of his ears. He had that face he wore when he simply couldn't understand why someone would do something, the one that made her think that maybe he was the most innocent of them all.
"Will you be okay?"
"You'll be just outside the door, I think I'll survive."
He snatched up his phone, and hesitated. "I'll explain everything once I'm finished. Give me ten minutes."
While he was gone, Haruhi whittled away the time by aggressively fluffing a pillow into shape, and re-organising her bookshelf. He returned sheepishly, hovering in the doorway until she was well away from any potential projectiles.
It was almost fascinating, really, the parallels between them.
Kyoya was taller than her, dominating the space on the other side of the table with an impressive ease that she couldn't ever hope to imitate, yet he still managed to look so small and young. She was laughably tiny, considerably more delicate in appearance, and yet her entire demeanour would be enough to bring even a god to their knees, let alone a mortal like Kyoya.
An insurmountable distance now stood between them, as if the very floor had opened up into one great chasm. Stiff, all awkward angles and fake smiles, Kyoya carefully began detailing all that had been concealed.
The increased sightings around the train station, and Takeda's wanderings near the school's perimeter— never too close, but always just enough to set Tachibana on edge. The way Takeda was getting consistently closer to her apartment each day. How a restraining order would likely only make him more unstable, just as Kyoya's threat had done, that's if they were even able to obtain one in the first place.
Her world shifted into sudden, disorientating clarity, snapping into focus so sharply her head span.
"Mori-senpai contacted me earlier this week. Remember that couple I spoke to you about? Well, they did indeed do some digging for us."
"Was it any good?" She asked, tentatively.
"That depends on your definition of good," Kyoya ventured, evenly, with forced steadiness. "It enabled a better understanding of his character, I suppose?"
The pen in his hand groaned under his death grip.
Haruhi pried it from his fingers and placed it on the table. His hand was red raw from the indent it left behind.
"The neighbours pity him, mostly. He and his wife used to be quite close to a few families living nearby but after the loss of both their son, and Naomi-san herself, he retreated into his grief. Became reclusive, unapproachable."
And now came the frustration, bright and burning from deep within. "I found evidence of complaints at work, but they were useless— merely other employees raising concerns about his welfare, some of which detail classic dissociation symptoms. Made worse by the fact that the funeral costs forced Takeda back to work without adequate time to process the loss. It's a wonder how he can still function."
She nodded, gnawing down thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Is that everything?"
"I believe so." Even then, his head cocked to the side, taking a moment to scour his brain for anything else that might've slipped his notice. "If I remember anything later, I'll be sure to let you know."
"Okay."
A pause, and then his finger gingerly reached forward and poked her hand, causing her to finally lift her gaze to meet his. "I'm sorry. I really did think I was doing the best thing for you, but I can see now that I was doing the exact opposite."
She accepted the apology.
But she couldn't quite forgive him.
Not yet.
For Mori, hosting hours usually were something to look forward to.
But today, with Haruhi tense and anxious, and Kyoya determinedly avoiding eye contact with just about everyone, a cold sense of dread had settled heavy in his stomach.
The door slammed.
Haruhi startled, her knee colliding with the table with an audible thump.
Her teacup teetered dangerously, almost flirtatious in the way it teased the edge of the table. And then, predictably, Haruhi fumbled as she hurried to save it, tipping hot tea into her lap.
Mori all but leapt out of his seat, crossing over to her side of the room as her cry of surprise trailed off into a moan of agony. She'd kicked away from the table, hot tea spilling onto the floor. Her guests twittered anxiously, snatching up handkerchiefs to offer to the girl. Mori hoisted her up underneath the arms, and Haruhi aborted her attempt to stand part way. Her arms flew around his neck without hesitation, body curling up small and manageable against him.
The split-second glimpse of her teary eyes felt like a knife in his heart. Each laboured, shaky breath only twisted that knife deeper and deeper and deeper into the muscle, leaving it shredded and mangled beneath her pain.
God, she's so tiny. Protectiveness flared, the warmth spreading from the tips of his toes upwards.
Tamaki and the twins hovered, their concern tangible, tasting heavy and desperate on his tongue.
Mori ignored them.
He shouldered past, hurrying into the corridor.
His priority was Haruhi. Until she was out of her destroyed clothes and icing her burns, the concern of the other members could wait.
A swift kick had the shower room door flying open. This time, Haruhi didn't flinch.
The moment her feet touched the ground, her hands were on her waistband. Modesty held no value here, where pain trailed smouldering hands over her skin. Still, her privacy deserved to be respected, and Mori hurried to spin around. He heard the sound of her kicking out of her trousers, quiet curses spilling from her lips.
Mori shrugged off his uniform jacket and held it like a shield, fumbling to turn the faucet on. Their fingers brushed. Her hand was warm, and faintly trembling. They both retracted with a snap as the water cascaded down, Mori stepping away to avoid getting splashed.
Haruhi's quiet yelp of surprise twisted the knife deeper yet, her frantic heartbeat almost audible, carried through her shaking breaths.
Tamaki tumbled through the door a moment later. The twins followed, slamming into his back.
All three of them had their hands over their eyes.
Kyoya shouldered his way past, a wary hand also raised. In the commotion, he took an elbow to the face. A sharp splodge of red bloomed across his cheek, glasses knocked askew. He looked wild, so different from the usual meticulous Kyoya that Mori was accustomed to seeing. "You took off the pants, correct?"
Mori nodded, which was an obsolete response considering how Kyoya couldn't see, and he noted how Haruhi tensed at the sound of Kyoya's voice.
"Is she okay?"
"She is right here, and is perfectly capable of talking to you herself." Haruhi snapped. "And she would also appreciate it if you all could get the hell out."
"Of course." Tamaki said, immediately. "I'll go find a spare uniform. Hikaru, Kaoru, can you go find the first aid kit?"
"But—"
"Now, please."
Tamaki's voice provided no argument. Grumbling, the twins filed out, Tamaki shepherding them from behind. Kyoya, however, hadn't moved.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Haruhi's glare could rival even the most frigid of Antarctic winters. "That means you, too, Kyoya-senpai."
Surprise morphed into resignation, which festered into something akin to sadness. Mori watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, watched him struggle to keep his face artfully blank. "As you wish."
He flashed Mori a strained smile and closed the door behind him. The retreating slope of his shoulders had never looked so defeated. So pitiable. He looked like a kicked puppy, and behind Haruhi's forced anger, she didn't seem much better. Her sharpness was soft around the edges, hard eyes smoothed over with hurt totally unrelated to the burn on her thigh.
"Ah, Mori-senpai, can you pull down the showerhead for me?"
He fumbled with the jacket, bunching it in one hand. Haruhi had a soft, indulgent smile on her face as she watched him. The smile persisted even as she perched on a stool Mori had grabbed and directed the spray over her burn, fingers fiddling with the intensity setting.
"It doesn't look too bad." She said, optimistically. "It's pretty red, but there's no blistering. That's good, isn't it?"
It sounded good.
A year ago, Mori had spilt a pan of boiling water. It splashed over his fingers, leaving a horrible blister that lasted well over a week. Allowing himself to become distracted while cooking had been a mistake, one he paid for with pain. Haruhi, on the other hand, hadn't made a mistake. Unlike him, she wasn't negligent with her surroundings.
She'd simply been unfortunate, and the unfairness of it licked like fire in the far corner of his mind.
"Kyoya would know better." Mori said, instead.
Haruhi's smile wilted into a frown. "Yeah," she admitted, after an age.
Had it been anyone else here with her, they would have pressed.
Since Mori was Mori, he stayed silent. Haruhi would talk in her own time, that was if she even felt comfortable to do so in the first place. Mori had no right to force himself onto her. To demand she pick apart the tangle of her own emotions to give him some moral high ground. Instead, he would wait, with patience and respect. And if she asked, he would offer up his hands to hold the weight of her world until she felt strong enough to lessen her load.
"Does it still hurt?"
Haruhi hummed, considering. "A little, but not much. The water's helping." She glanced over at him, grateful. "Thank you for staying with me, senpai."
Mori nodded.
Of course he'd stay with her.
He collected her discarded socks and placed them neatly in each shoe, making sure they were well aware from the spray of the shower head.
His impromptu jacket-shield remained firmly in place.
Slowly, steadily, her face dropped. She swirled the water spinning down the drain with a lazy finger. Evidently, the weight of her sky was beginning to take a toll on her delicate shoulders.
"I had a fight with Kyoya-senpai." Haruhi said, after an age. And then she looked up at him, with eyes that were sad and desperate and confused.
Eyes that asked not to fix, but to listen. Maybe not to agree, but to understand.
So Mori crossed his legs underneath him and kept his gaze light, without judgement. And he listened. He listened to her frustration, to her anger. To her fear, and her complete incapability of processing her emotions, and just how useless that made her feel. He understood. Not wholly; he knew he could never fully understand the pain she was carrying, the intricacies in her reaction that even she couldn't decipher. But he understood enough.
He listened, and bit by bit, piece by stubborn piece, helped her untangle the knots in her mind. To ease the painful tension sitting in her taut heart.
Haruhi wasn't an angry person by any means, maybe that's why it was so easy to settle her. To guide her away from the raging waves and into calmer waters, where she could think, could assess every corner and sharp edge of her feelings.
"I still feel angry." She sighed, wearily. "I don't want to be angry anymore."
"You can't control how you feel. Only how you act on those feelings."
Haruhi idly trailed a wet hand through her hair. Mori smiled as the tufts stuck out, wild and untamed. In the time they'd been talking, the water had long since passed cold and edged into something far less manageable. Despite her best efforts to hide it, she was clearly shivering.
Mori stood. "Wait here. Think about what I've said."
On his search for fluffy towels, Mori stumbled across the host club's impromptu congregation. They were sprawled in the corridor leading to the shower room, in varying states of calm. The twin's heads shot up as they tweaked his approaching footsteps.
"How is she?" One twin demanded.
"Is she okay?" The other asked, brimming with concern.
"She's fine. I'm getting her some towels."
Without a word, Kyoya held up a bundle of fluffy towels. He still had a vague red splotch on his cheek from the elbow-to-face impact. Tamaki outstretched a bag containing a fresh uniform. Mitsukuni beamed at him, the first aid kit clasped in his hands.
He bounced at Mori's side, one hand covering his eyes as he followed him into the shower room. "Hi, Haru-chan! I brought the first aid kit!"
Haruhi smiled weakly. "Thanks, Honey-senpai." Her expression lit up when she spied the towels, free hand making eager grabbing motions.
Mori handed them over immediately, averting his eyes as she wrapped herself up. She was far too adorable for it to possibly be legal. She looked like a baby panda, all swaddled and cosy.
"Do you feel better now?" He asked, quietly.
Her expression fell into something so thoughtful and private, Mori almost felt as though he were intruding. "Yeah." She said, eventually. "I do."
A/N: You done fucked up, A-Aron. Honestly this boy is so canonically extra that even this feels like an understatement
The idea that forgiveness is not an obligation is important, I think. I don't think many people realise that there is a difference between accepting an apology, and forgiving someone that has wronged you, and that choosing not to do so does not make you an asshole. There are some things that just can't be forgiven, and that's okay
On a lighter note, imagine my surprise as I wander back home from college, only to think my house is on fire. I have never in my life sprinted so hard- I deserve a gold medal for the speed I was going- probably left afterimages in my wake. It turns out the abandoned, empty lot behind my house was actually what went up in flames, and thankfully for my sanity and the health of my crappy lungs, the firefighters on the scene put it out pretty quickly. One would say that day was... pretty lit
Anyway, thank you for everyone who supported the last chapter, every review, favourite and follow really makes my day. The next chapter may be a little late mainly due to it being a pain in the ass- there is a certain moment that needs to be included, except it's just not fitting in and has caused me to shift the chapter order, and basically lose my mind. (What little was left, that is)
Hope you enjoyed this chapter!