The day began with Kyoya all but using her as a human shield.
Evidently the blond's patience had run thin. Tamaki "Utterly Done With Life" Suoh had officially snapped, abandoning his sunshine persona for something entirely serious and almost frighteningly intimidating, frog marching Kyoya into a disused classroom with single-minded determination.
Haruhi, who had been minding her own business and absolutely did not deserve whatever fresh Hell this was, had been accosted by a passing Kyoya and swept up in the wake of Hurricane-Tamaki, Kyoya clinging to her lapel like a man adrift at sea clinging to his only lifeline.
Haruhi thought she was mentally prepared for whatever this could throw at her, but twenty seconds in she'd realised that she'd made a fatal error in her calculations.
"Kyoya, please. If something's going on, you know you can tell me, right?"
Tamaki was begging now, outright begging.
It hurt to watch.
And Kyoya, as usual, wasn't making it any easier for him. "Everything is fine."
Tamaki eyed the band aids adorning his hands with comical disbelief, the explosion of colour almost offensively damning against Kyoya's paler skin tone. Kyoya stared resolutely back at him, like he was the one in the wrong, sliding his hands into his pockets as though the slow speed of his movements would somehow change the fact that he was deliberately hiding them.
Tamaki looked caught between crying and screaming.
Haruhi wasn't really sure which option would unnerve her more.
Kyoya, meanwhile, had his hackles raised right into the heavens, as though this entire situation wasn't caused entirely by him and his pride.
The normally pristine boy was rocking up with a new band aid each day. An unusual occurrence, as Kyoya very rarely tended to get hurt, because he simply refused to. Kyoya was powerful enough that he could simply say "No, thank you." and escape a situation completely unharmed.
So it was no wonder Tamaki was worried.
In fact, she was honestly surprised that it had taken this long for Tamaki to flip his shit. The straw that finally broke the camel's back was a too-hard tug on Kyoya's sleeve unearthing the white gauze over his wrist.
Of course, she knew perfectly well that Noel was the root of the problem. (That prior knowledge didn't necessarily stop her suffering a mini-heart attack after finding him dripping blood all over the kitchen. But actively seeing the devil spawn nip playfully at Kyoya's fingers squashed any fears she may have had about the matter).
However, being a total and utter dumbass, Kyoya had just electively decided not to mention the fact that he adopted a stray kitten. Or that he was frankly terrible at reading his new kitten's body language, and often invited injuries unto himself that could have quite easily been avoided. Hence Tamaki's not entirely outlandish fears that Kyoya was doing it to himself.
Given the rather unfortunate placement of his newest injury and the sheer size of it, Haruhi could see why he would be concerned.
"This doesn't look fine, Kyoya. This looks anything but fine."
Kyoya aborted an attempt to cross his arms and instead he let them hang close to his sides, his stance still so closed-off and guarded, oozing with discomfort. "Don't be an idiot, Tamaki. I know what you're thinking and the answer is no."
With a small sigh, slender fingers teased the edge of the gauze. The two of them were partaking in the kind of intense eye contact that was agonising for a third party to bear witness to. "What's this, then?"
Haruhi's stomach dropped.
It was a primordial warning, a sense of creeping foreboding that she would trust in a heartbeat, without even the slightest hesitation. Her eyes immediately snapped to Kyoya, who was tense, teeth gritted and uncomfortable, and she just knew.
Haruhi shook her head, glaring, trying to convey how bad this will be and how little she personally deserved it.
"A cut." Kyoya lectured, deadpan, and in that exact moment a part of her shrivelled up and died.
Tamaki, as expected, winced into the fourth dimension, face crumpling with fear and concern.
"It's not like that." Kyoya tried to explain, far more softly. "Do you honestly think I would— that I'd— Really, Tamaki. Me?"
And Haruhi could tell he was moments away from throwing himself out of the nearest window, just to escape this conversation.
Well he could get in line.
Haruhi had truly never been closer to death than she was right then.
"I don't know." Tamaki said, almost brokenly. "I really don't know anymore. I'm worried about you, Kyoya. First you're not sleeping well, then on top of that you're not eating well, and now these cuts? You won't even talk to me, so what else am I supposed to think?"
"Maybe not that. Have some faith in me, would you?"
"What do you think I've been doing these past couple of weeks, idiot? I've been giving you the benefit of the doubt because it's you, but you've really been making it hard to ignore."
Haruhi, pinching the bridge of her nose, shot Kyoya with a very deliberate side-eye. He noticed, and scowled back, shaking his head. Hell no.
She replied with a little jerk of her head in Tamaki's direction, and a pointed expression. Tell him. He'll only keep pestering you.
Tamaki became increasingly bewildered with this interaction as Kyoya very clearly looked up for some merciful being to strike him down right there and then. When no smiting occured, he sighed, and waved a lazy hand towards his best friend. "Fine. Go ahead."
"So now I'm the one that has to deal with your problems?"
"I'm glad you noticed."
Haruhi considered flipping him off, but decided she would rather like to keep all her fingers attached.
Besides, he was in no condition to explain himself. Pale and strung up tighter than a wind-up toy, he looked so fragile. He was sitting back on a desk in an attempt at serenity, but his pinched features and hunched shoulders made him much smaller than was strictly legal.
Deciding that it would be beneficial to end both of their suffering as quickly as possible, she wasted no time in throwing Kyoya under the metaphorical and (quite possibly a literal bus), spilling all to the concerned blond.
(All being the bespectacled boy's unexpected soft side, not her resident stalker problem). She even flashed him a cute picture of Kyoya cuddling Noel— for added credibility, she claimed— which Tamaki thought was too cute for words.
It was a betrayal, she knew. The image had dented what little pride Kyoya had left, and Haruhi was well aware that he would extract his revenge on her. One way or another, she would pay. On the other hand, her intervention rescued him from an extremely awkward situation, so she figured that made them even.
Situation (mostly) resolved, she shot off to class, and didn't see the two until much later, when passing them in the corridors. Tamaki was prattling away next to Kyoya, as usual, but Kyoya appeared to be in another plane of existence entirely, eyes glazed and narrowly avoiding collisions on instinct alone.
Lunch had been better.
Not good by any definition, but better.
He spent half the time glued to his phone and the rest was split between providing the barest minimum of interest in the current conversation, and picking at his food. Tamaki frowned at him every now and again, unnoticed by everyone except her.
By the time they'd retreated to Music Room #3 for their weekly meeting, Kyoya had perked up immensely, his phone pocketed and attention fully focused on the impromptu fashion show the twins had initiated, with Tamaki eagerly acting as their model.
The lengths those two were willing to go to avoid club meetings were reaching astonishing levels.
In the last instance, Hikaru had claimed the two had both died in a freak accident involving a stray banana peel and falling bookcases.
It took ten whole minutes for Kyoya to track them down and have Mori haul them up to Music Room #3, both complaining wildly the whole way.
Said boy was currently seated a safe distance away from the three resident disasters, taking pictures on the phone Kaoru had shoved into his hands.
At some point, Honey decided he wanted in on the action, and Mori dutifully followed. Given the vast height difference, there weren't really any designs able to fit either of them, so they ended up rummaging through old cosplay costumes in the back room, emerging as a pirate and a fireman respectively. And then, of course, Tamaki insisted Haruhi join in, and she very quickly found herself decked in an artfully baggy sweater and skinny jeans combo that the twins must have had on standby just in case.
Like the little shit he was, Kyoya found her plight absolutely hilarious and was documenting her declining will to live with vigor. Seated atop a nearby table, he was fighting back a shit-eating smirk as he snapped photo after photo.
She glared at him, slinking off to go sit down.
Her phone pinged not a second later, a message from Kyoya that consisted of a zoomed in mug of her face. Bristling, Haruhi spun around, only to find Kyoya valiantly attempting to smother his laughter into the crook of his elbow.
Dork.
With legendary timing, Tamaki chose then to commandeer the attention of everyone in the room with an absolutely ridiculous striped sweats, leather jacket and lime green fucking crocs combo that had both Hikaru and Kaoru wheezing for breath, crying literal tears.
And okay, yeah.
Haruhi would like to say that she handled that sight maturely.
But that would be a fatass lie.
The reality lay in her prone form sprawled across the ground, having laughed so hard she spilled out of her chair, shoving her face against the floor in the hopes that maybe suffocation would end her once and for all. She remained mostly concealed by the table she'd knocked over during her hasty descent, but one glance upwards sent her in another flurry of giggles.
Kyoya, fist pressed against his mouth, looked on the brink of combusting. He was physically shaking from the effort not to corpse. Evidently he deemed the endeavour useless, and retreated quickly into the kitchen, where she could hear the solid thump and hastily suppressed giggles emanating from the room.
Not subtle at all.
Haruhi, still floor-bound, began formulating a plan on how to subtly advise a somehow totally oblivious Tamaki to change without him taking a sledgehammer to his pride.
(Two seconds later the twins had Tamaki barricading himself in his Corner of Woe).
(He was still wearing the crocs).
Haruhi considered trying to cheer him up.
Tamaki released a positively ear-splitting wail.
Haruhi retreated to the kitchen.
Almost completely hidden in the far corner of the room, Kyoya had apparently recovered and was scrolling on his phone once more. He stowed the device in his pocket as she approached, his smile not completely faded yet.
She used her leg to push him away from the cabinet, and slapped the first aid kit on the counter, hopping up on it for good measure. "Get up here. You need a new dressing for your arm."
"That was a perfectly clean counter you just decided to plant yourself on."
Haruhi levelled him with a gaze that showed just how little she cared about that fact and wriggled a little bit more, just to piss him off. "Not anymore."
Kyoya rolled his eyes.
He remained silent and delightfully complacent while she set up, until she brought out the disinfectant.
"Is it really necessary to disinfect it again?" He asked, eyeing the wad of cotton wool with distaste.
"You of all people know it is. Stop being a baby and hold still." For the most part, his only reaction was the subtle jump in his jaw. And hey, she tried to be as gentle as possible, but it was pretty hard when the cut spanned almost half the distance from his wrist to his elbow. "Do you think it'll scar?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Hopefully it won't, I don't usually scar very easily."
Acknowledging that with a little hum, Haruhi dabbed the damp wool over the far edge of his wound. "There. You can relax now, the worst part is over."
He did, leaning more heavily into the counter, tapping the very tip of his shoe-clad foot to a tuneless rhythm. All in all, it took the better part of two minutes before Haruhi was quietly packing away the materials, having Kyoya store the kit back under the sink. "You need to be more careful."
"It's not like I want to be scratched."
"I know," Haruhi amended, shoving her hands in his face. "But look at my three tiny cuts compared to all of yours."
Lips curling upwards in that damned impossible smirk of his, he leaned both arms into her lap, head tilted up to look at her properly. And okay, with him sitting on his hip like that, and the light streaming in through the window, she couldn't help but be shocked by how different he looked, eyes dark and swimming with galaxies of their own.
That was a dangerous thought.
"While that's truly fascinating, need I remind you that—" He broke off sharply at the sound of another voice.
"What are you two doing in here?" Kaoru asked, eyeing them both suspiciously.
"Nothing." They both immediately replied, Kyoya yanking his sleeve down to hide the tell-tale whiteness as he straightened back up.
Kaoru's eyebrows receded into his hairline, but he didn't say anything. Haruhi helped him grab some soda cans for the others, a resigned Kyoya trailing after her as he finally succumbed to the realisation that they really weren't getting anything done in this damn meeting.
The next day was Haruhi's turn to look like utter shit.
She woke somewhere between the hour of fuck-off-o'clock and the ass-crack of dawn, cursing her traitorous subconscious to Mars and back. Instead of torturing herself with more nightmares (sorry, try again), she buckled down at her desk and taught herself the majority of the content that would be covered during the day.
Walking over a mile of lego sounded more appealing than sleeping.
(Barefoot. In the dead of winter.)
To make herself look hopefully less murderous than she felt, Haruhi had an absolutely ingenious idea to down two cups of black— black coffee before Kyoya arrived, and then a third during breakfast. She was left vaguely twitching and Kyoya couldn't have looked more alarmed if he'd tried.
By some divine intervention, by the grace of the gods, by the tears of a motherfucking angel, Haruhi somehow managed to make it through the day. And then, miraculously, through Hosting hours (which was an untold horror in itself) collapsing into her favourite chair and apparent final resting place. Mori had dumped a blanket over her several minutes earlier. She mentally thanked him for making her imminent passing vaguely more comfortable.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kaoru watching her plight with a growing mix of amusement and concern.
He dropped down next to her and wordlessly began kneading her shoulders.
Haruhi instinctively stiffened (hands touching no no no), but as he worked careful ministrations over her tense muscles, she felt herself relaxing, molding eagerly into his touch.
"Your back is a mess." He said. His necklace jangled as he shook his head. "So many knots. You really need to learn how to take a break."
"I know how to take a break." She argued.
The redhead didn't bother to dignify her with a response, which was probably what she deserved.
Kaoru hummed as he worked, adjusting his pressure at every subtle shift of her body language. He was better than she would have expected, waves of relief rolling in with his every movement. After a couple of minutes, Haruhi felt him lean forward, his breath hot against her ear as he stage-whispered. "You know, you look a little pale. Don't tell me the boss actually crushed your lungs this time."
Huffing out a laugh, she easily ignored Tamaki's loud protests of "What!? Me, hurt my precious daughter? That is a completely unfounded accusation! Mummy, tell them it's not true!"
"I'm fine, Kaoru. It's probably just the lighting."
And that.
That was the last moment anything made sense.
Becauses there, from the corner, a small mumble, "Yeah, sure you are."
There was a beat of silence.
On pure lizard-brain instinct, their eyes all snapped to the owner of the voice. Kyoya had his head propped on his hand and was writing diligently in his notebook, clearly unaware of the chaos he'd just instigated. In fact, Haruhi was almost certain that Kyoya wasn't even aware that he'd spoken.
"What?" Kaoru's voice was low, dangerous. (Warning: Handle with Care).
Kyoya obviously hadn't heard him.
A second ticked by; a lifetime, a heartbeat, both too slow and sickeningly fast— Kyoya looked up. A confused gaze tracked across each face, having sensed the sudden, icy plummet in room temperature. "What."
"What did you just say?"
Kyoya blinked, barely even bothering to hide his bewilderment.
And then his face drained of colour— and that, that was the colour of skin after three days in the morgue— a sickly grey of the utmost horror. His eyes bounced off Kaoru's face, the wall and the floor, and then he caught her gaze and she really, really did not like that gleam.
Haruhi shook her head. Slowly. Desperately. (God no. No.)
Please.
"She's not okay. She's being stalked."
It would have been less painful if he'd stabbed her.
(I promise, Haruhi.)
She felt all the air rush from her body in one big woosh, eyes going big, big, because Kyoya had just betrayed her, had just ripped apart the promise he made, stomped on it, set it alight and danced on the ashes.
Kaoru's hands stiffened against her shoulders, the pressure approaching painful.
She yanked herself away from him, inescapable panic rising in her chest as she realised every eye was now facing her, expressions crumpling into a mixture of horror, terror, pity and guilt— no no nonononono.
I promise.
Liar.
All Hell broke loose. Voices raised, swirling with confusion, thick and heavy with demand. Breath catching in her throat, her hands reflexively clamped over her ears, body curling into a tight ball. Because this? This wasn't something she could handle. This was what she'd been actively avoiding for months, and now here it was, dumped on her with all the warning of a steaming pile of shit.
A muffled yell sounded above the din and then—
Silence.
Blessed, tumultuous silence.
Tentatively, Haruhi lowered her hands.
"What," Hikaru hissed, shakily. "What do you mean she's being stalked."
"Exactly what it sounds like." Kyoya snapped back, back ramrod straight and stiff with agitation. He'd abandoned his chair and was leaning against his table, clenched knuckles bone-white against the dark wood.
"So you're telling me— You're telling me you knew. You knew she was being stalked all this damn time— that she was in danger— and you never told any of us?" Hikaru said— no, spat— as he advanced on Kyoya, swelling with fury. She hadn't seen anger like that since Kyoya had shielded her against Takeda (no no stop), cold dread curling in her stomach as Hikaru yelled.
Nobody intervened.
Hikaru reached to snatch the collar of his shirt.
Pause.
Stop.
Stop.
Kyoya's eyes went big, big, and the slap! reverberated in the near-silent room, along with the resounding thump of the overturned table, with Kyoya's entire body following not a second later, tripping in his haste to get away.
Hand fisted just below his throat, breath quick and shallow, Kyoya looked a second from passing out.
(Delete delete).
Hikaru hadn't dared move from where he'd been knocked aside. In the wake of Kyoya's pure undeniable fear, the red had dissipated from his gaze, replaced with shame and crushing guilt. "I— I didn't mean to—" He stuttered, helplessly. "Are you okay?"
A shudder wracked through the bespectacled boy's entire body, and no, no he wasn't, he wasn't okay at all. He dragged in a shaky breath, and then slowly nodded. Liar liar liar. Kyoya didn't attempt to get to his feet. Haruhi didn't think he'd be able to even if he tried. Tamaki silently walked over and offered his hand, clapping a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as he guided him into a nearby chair.
"I suggest that we all calm down and hear what Kyoya has to say. Throwing fists and acting childish will get us nowhere." Under the blond's withering gaze, Hikaru quickly retreated to his twin, face burning.
Kaoru was pacing somewhere over to her left, but Haruhi blocked him out.
"Don't I get a say in this?" She found herself asking, the words spilling out before she could even think about stopping them, thick with hurt. (Shut up shut up shut up.) "You promised me you wouldn't tell them. You promised me. I didn't want them involved, Senpai. I didn't want to worry about anyone else getting hurt!"
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice!"
(You're making it worse just don't speak god just stop Haruhi stop.)
"Not this time. I've let you have your way for far too long, it's too dangerous Haruhi. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you or Ranka because of— because of my foolishness."
"And I couldn't live with myself if any of you got hurt because of me!"
(Red rings around Kyoya's throat. And oh god that's not normal— not normal at all— she should have said something why didn't she say anything? Why didn't she—)
Stop. Delete.
"We need them." Kyoya said, quietly. "I need them."
I promise, Haruhi.
Liar liar liar—
Liar.
He was talking. Still talking. Talking to her? Talking to the other hosts? Talking talking talking talkingtalkingtalkingtalkingtalking—
Plush material underneath her twisting hands. Usa-chan's cotton soft smile stared up at her, the stuffed bunny having been carefully slipped into her arms. She stared. Her shoulders relaxed. With gentle reverence, she cradled the precious toy against her chest, catching the scent of vanilla and strawberries and comfort.
Comfort— serving as an anchor amidst the raging storm she found herself trapped in, lost, alone and out-of-control. The churning waves threatened to consume her entirely— beckoning her with sweet lullabies and promises of nothingness. Tempting, oh so tempting, oh so easy to just let herself be swept away.
To give up.
No.
Fight.
Don't stop.
"He approached me not long ago."
A pen nib tore through the paper, a loud, drawn out noise that tasted like nails on a chalkboard.
Kaoru's eyes were blown wide, hands frozen, Kyoya's precious notebook defaced in his shock. Still, the Shadow King stubbornly refused to meet their gazes. And Haruhi—
Haruhi had never felt so scared in her life.
"You didn't tell me." Haruhi said.
(You didn't tell me.)
His shoulders stiffened. His back was to her. To all of them. He typed on his laptop, pulled up a document— pushed it to the side, where Mori was already silently waiting for it.
"Tell them what happened." Mori prompted, stern, commanding— gentle.
He took a seat nearby and settled down to absorb all the secrets Kyoya's laptop contained.
He didn't tell me.
Reluctantly, Kyoya met her eyes. Contained, in a sense almost detached, his voice was flat and deliberately emotionless— not to mock, never to mock. But to protect. Her. Himself. Himself. "I should have said something, I acknowledge that. I didn't want to cause more harm, not when you were finally looking happy again with Noel. Tachibana disagreed completely and I suppose he was right."
"What did he want?" Honey's voice was even, non-judgemental.
"Haruhi. He wanted Haruhi. And he was prepared to—" Kyoya swallowed. Hard. "—To do anything to get her. He's unbalanced— has to be. No sane person would ever act like that. It was unnatural—" It was terrifying. "And he insisted on calling you Naomi."
She expected questions.
She expected the stab-in-the-gut feeling as Kyoya was forced to explain.
It didn't come.
They knew— oh, they knew.
Kyoya had already told them about Naomi, likely when she wasn't concentrating, and the hand that was squeezing her heart loosened slightly.
"He thinks Haruhi is his wife?"
"Not exactly. He knows his wife is dead. Or... was dead, I suppose. I don't really understand it. He was talking about the Gods heeding his prayers. Giving him a sign. I think that maybe he's deluded himself into believing Haruhi is the reincarnation of his wife. Which, in practise, doesn't work at all. Aside from reincarnation not being real, the ages don't even match— Haruhi was already born when Naomi-san passed."
"Then why?" Hikaru asked,
Kyoya's expression morphed into something akin to pity. "Takeda is a severely depressed man with nothing left to live for. He doesn't care. If something doesn't fit into this fantasy world he's created for himself, then it is erased, or distorted in such a way that it works. Reason, logic— those don't matter to him any more. What's important is Haruhi, and only her. He doesn't care who he has to hurt to get to her."
Haruhi felt dread curl in her stomach.
Rewind rewind.
("She must have scratched me.")
Tamaki, who had been quiet up until now, wet his lips. "He hurt you. Didn't he, Kyoya?" It was the voice of someone who'd already made up their mind. Utterly confident, because Tamaki knew he was right, he knew, and that one realisation was so close to breaking him.
Behind shielded lenses, Kyoya closed his eyes.
An age, an eternity, a second.
"Yes."
"When?" Her now. Shaky. Scared.
(oh god. oh god)
It wasn't a cat scratch at all.
"The day it rained, I took a shortcut through the underground car park. I wanted to keep the groceries dry, and Bana was waiting near the entrance with the car for me. He was there, completely by coincidence. He recognised me and we argued, and he got physical. I didn't react fast enough. He shoved me up against a wall."
A moment passed, where they processed.
And Haruhi imagined Kyoya— calm, collected Kyoya— pinned against the wall, pale and strained and desperate— so, so desperate.
"The day you found Noel, you had a graze on your cheek." Unwilling eyes snapped to her, as she pointed to her own face. Her hand was trembling. (Stop. Stop.) "Right here. You claimed Noel had scratched you, like she had with your hands, but that was a lie. Wasn't it? You got hurt from that."
A nod, jerky and stiff and all too awkward. "He acted like… Like I was keeping you prisoner. He vowed to rescue you for me, to take you home. I tried to get free, but he had his hands on my throat— I couldn't breathe and I thought— I honestly thought he was going to—"
Going to kill me.
Delete.
Delete delete delete.
Haruhi thought back to the bruising ringing his neck. Thought back to the flinch— to the panic in his eyes when Hikaru had reached near his neck, and if it was possible, if there was anything left inside her that was still whole, she felt that last piece of herself crumble into dust.
To her left, Hikaru looked sick and pale, hands fisted bone-knuckled against the table.
(Stop stop stop— Please)
"He's strong." Kyoya said, hoping to cover the awkward pause. "A lot stronger than he seems. He took my elbow to his face and didn't even flinch. Hotta even had a bit of a struggle pulling him off of me."
"Well, Kyoya-senpai, you don't exactly work out like Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai do." Kaoru reasoned, cautiously. "Maybe you just didn't hit him very hard."
Kyoya smiled tight-lipped, but Tamaki interrupted before he could even so much as nod. "That's not true." He said, in a flat tone. And Haruhi realised that he was the most concerned of them all. "Tachibana-san has been teaching Kyoya self defence for a while now."
"Which I believe I asked you to keep to yourself." Kyoya interrupted, sharply, throwing a poisonous glare at his friend.
Tamaki held his hands up in defence. "You did indeed, I apologise, Kyoya."
He sighed, deeply, before addressing Haruhi directly. "My father has been dropping hints for a while now. I won't be able to continue skipping events, and leaving you alone isn't an option. Takeda knows more than I expected about you. It's only a matter of time before he learns your address. I need their help."
She didn't say anything.
She couldn't say anything.
She nodded, because that was all she could do.
It made her head spin. Her eyes blurred over. She stared at her hands twisting in her lap and blinked back the dampness.
So they talked some more, until Haruhi could feel herself growing numb.
Kyoya, too, was ready to drop. He hid it well, but underneath it all, Haruhi could see the exhaustion. Finally, he called an end to their meeting.
He was waiting for her by the doors, silently, head hanging low. Haruhi walked straight past him, jogging to catch up with the tall form of Mori, Honey at his side. She grabbed a handful of his shirt, and tugged to get his attention. "Can you take me home, please?"
Footsteps ground to a halt somewhere behind her.
She didn't need to turn around to know they belonged to Kyoya.
After a long moment of staring over her head, Mori eventually nodded, and broke out in a gentle smile. His hand was gentle as he ruffled her hair. "Of course. Let's go."
Haruhi only dared to glance back once they were almost around the corner.
Kyoya hadn't moved from his spot. He watched them disappear from sight, expression crumpled into one of hurt and utter regret.
Rewind.
Delete delete.
Honey interlocked his fingers with hers, and swung their hands between the two of them, a rhythmic, comforting gesture.
She didn't talk for the entire car ride, but it didn't matter, because Honey kept up enough chatter for the both of them.
"We thought you two were dating, you know. We thought that was the big secret you guys were hiding from us, so we didn't push. Though I guess Takashi was deliberately telling us not to, since he already knew, huh?"
Mori grunted in affirmation.
"I thought it was cute! Kyo-chan is really protective of you, you know. He always lights up whenever you two talk, even brighter than he does with Tama-chan. We thought it was weird that he kept blowing off events and started driving you around, but then we saw how close you guys suddenly were and it all made sense. Or we thought it did, at least. Kao-chan insisted he caught you two kissing in the kitchen. And Tama-chan said you two had cute pictures of each other on your phones, so we were sure— we were so sure that you guys were a couple."
"Mitsukuni, enough."
Honey immediately stopped talking, big brown eyes drifting over to her. "Sorry, Haru-chan."
A gentle, fleeting squeeze of his hand was all it took to reassure him.
After an age— or was it the blink of an eye?— Haruhi found herself inside her own apartment with only a hazy recollection of how she'd gotten there. She'd dumped her bag on the floor and sat down at the table, staring into thin air. A while passed, before Mori set a steaming mug of tea down in front of her, expression soft and incredibly fond.
Discarded on the table, her phone began vibrating.
Kyoya.
His contact name flashed urgently.
Haruhi stared, unmoving. The sound carried as though she were standing in the middle of a tunnel, vague and distorted, and then, suddenly, gone.
Mori rejected the call.
Wordlessly, he switched the device to silent and placed it back down on the table.
Haruhi had never loved him more than she did right there and then. "Take some time." He advised, with the wiseness of a great sage. "Think. Breathe. Reflect. Right now you're hurt, angry. If you answer now, you will lash out and say something you will regret. You may not think that now, but you will. Reply only when you are ready, and not a moment sooner."
She nodded.
Mostly because Mori spoke with such certainty that she didn't dare argue otherwise.
He was wrong though.
She didn't feel angry. Not right now, anyway. Instead, what filled her to the brim, from her toes upwards, was emptiness. Exhaustion. She felt too tired, too drained, too lost to feel anything at all, like all her systems had shut down save the bare essentials.
A breathing corpse, for all the life she contained.
Honey was playing music from his phone, the sound distantly registering.
Her broom clasped in one hand, Mori gestured for her to stand. "Come here, I'll teach you some Kendo."
His hands ghosted around hers, adjusting her grip with careful practice. A foot hooked around her ankle, slowly dragging her leg into position, a steadying grip around her waist keeping her from falling. He moved with lethal precision, serious face carved from marble as he demonstrated for her.
Distantly, Haruhi had always registered that the cousins were strong. But seeing Mori's power up-close and personal was an entirely different matter.
Flanked on either side by the cousins, Haruhi imitated Mori with her fake shinai until they were all sweaty and panting with exertion.
Until she felt exhausted, but in an entirely different way than before. It was the kind of warm, rosy exhaustion that let her know she was still here. She was still whole and breathing.
That she was alive and safe and all was not as dark as it seemed.
A/N: Why are you like this, Kyoya. You're such a tol, awkward bean. He literally can't go one goddamn chapters without being an utter disaster
And Haruhi is just 99.9 percent done with absolutely everything right about now, which is really the biggest mood
Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who supported the last chapter, every review/ favourite/ follow really brightened my day
Important Note: We're getting to that point in the year (and the story) where I literally have no idea what I'm doing and am just winging the whole thing, so bear with me through a mighty load of BS as I inevitably try and fail at getting my life together