The impact against his knuckles was sudden and hard, jolting up his entire arm. Swinging with single-minded determination, he struck the bag over and over as it swayed to and fro. And if he imagined his fist punching a lovely neat hole through a certain someone's head, well, what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

Still, even with sweat running stabbing paths down his back and his skin faintly throbbing, it wasn't enough.

The quiet place in his mind was getting louder and louder; a twisting, pulling, scraping kind of force, crushing any lingering positivity between an iron fist.

"I'm sorry. Your apartment— there was a break in. I think it was Takeda."

All he could see was her face— the dread, the horror, the overwhelming undercurrent of fear. How she gripped his arm to keep herself upright, lost and so terribly unsure, the power of speech abandoning her completely. He held her steadfast, unwavering, registering the fact that they were both trembling, and faintly hoping she wouldn't notice.

She didn't— of course she didn't. Tossed down the well of fear, she could barely hear them talking to her.

Tamaki, however, did. Worrying his bottom lip to the point of bleeding, he hovered, hands outstretched and hesitating, like he didn't quite know what to do with them. Had this been any other moment, the sight would've been amusing. Right then, Kyoya wasn't sure he'd ever laugh again.

Antoinette whined lowly in her throat, and stuck fast to his side, a protective kind of gesture that continued out of the front door and all the way to Tamaki's awaiting car. She had to be wrangled by a maid to stop from hopping in after the three teens. Despite his usual exasperation regarding the dog, Kyoya could admit that he appreciated her presence.

Before, she'd curled up against him throughout the entire phone call, nudging her head underneath his hand, encouraging him to loosen up. And when his chest constricted and his mouth dried out, he latched onto the feeling of warm fur beneath his fingers, and rode the waves up to the surface.

Clenching his jaw tighter, Kyoya ignored the ache at his cheeks and the throbbing of his hands, and pounded the bag, gaining a sick sense of satisfaction with each heavy thump.

The lump at his throat only grew when he remembered how Ranka had pulled both him and Haruhi into a hug, a hand feather light against a cheek each, soft and reassuring, and so, so relieved that they were there and whole and safe.

Then there was talking— and his eyes couldn't stop darting around.

The air was hot and heavy and pressing down on him, and he couldn't seem to breathe— his father was saying something, and Kyoya hadn't even realised he was there, and everything was too bright and too loud and too much—

Kyoya found himself in the gym before he knew it, shirt tossed on the floor, going to town on the punching bag.

At least then he could blame his gasping breaths on overexertion.

"That's enough, son."

Shoulders heaving, Kyoya stilled obediently. But when he reflexively drew away from the approaching footsteps, they halted, and Tachibana released a small, achingly fond sigh. "What did the punching bag ever do to you?"

Kyoya's arms slowly dropped from where they had been wrapped around him. "It's sole function is to be struck." His voice sounded shaky, even to his own ears. "Would you rather I use it as a paperweight instead?"

With a frown and a strong fold of his arms, Tachibana observed him. As a child, that specific stance was typically paired with a scolding, which the boy braced himself for. "I thought I taught you not to sass your elders, young man." Kyoya valiantly fought against rolling his eyes, and it must have shown. "Come over, I want to check your hands."

As if summoned, his knuckles gave a particularly painful twinge.

Kyoya closed the distance, and sheepishly presented them, avoiding the disapproving sharpness of Tachibana's gaze. His touch was gentle, inspecting the skin that was vaguely red and throbbing— already tinting towards bruising. He prayed to god they didn't look too bad. Everyone and their mother would be shooting him concerned looks in the following days, and Kyoya really didn't have the patience for that kind of bullshit.

Another sigh graced his ears, but that was it. Tachibana never raised his voice, which he supposed was a good thing. He never had been fond of yelling, even when it wasn't directed at him. Instead, the man would always settle for disappointment. To Kyoya, that always struck deeper than any harsh word ever could.

"I'm sorry." Kyoya mumbled, mostly out of some strange feeling of obligation. There was some guilt there, too, but both melted away with one warm smile.

"You really did a number there, kiddo." Tachibana was probably the only person alive who could get away with calling him that. "I'm a little impressed, actually. They do look like they're going to be sore later, though so I'd suggest some ice, to reduce the swelling. But, right now, you can settle for a hug."

The motion was deliberately slow and large, giving him a chance to step away if he needed to.

Hell would freeze over before he ever even considered such a thing, and so Kyoya was gathered up in a warm, firm hug that was all reassurance and the spicy scent of deodorant— and if his glasses were crushed against the bridge of his nose, then so be it. Registering the steady pump of Tachibana's heart, he allowed the rhythmic beat to anchor him to reality.

"Why do shitty things always have to happen to good people?"

Tachibana shifted to consider him, but Kyoya stubbornly kept his head buried against the man's shoulder.

Why would you say that what kind of goddamn idiot—

"Are you talking about Haruhi-chan?" Unwilling to commit to a verbal response, Kyoya merely shrugged. Tachibana exhaled, the sound heavy and discontent. "I don't know, kiddo. I guess the reality is that shitty things happen to everyone, some are just worse than others. The main point to remember is that neither of you are alone. You have a support system right here, and we are going to fix this. I promise."

Kyoya's mumble was lost in Tachibana's smart suit jacket.

The man responded by simply patting his head. Hand still firmly lost in his hair, Kyoya finally looked up and glared, receiving an extra vigorous hair-ruffling for his trouble.

"You'll get through this. You and Haruhi-chan both." He squeezed him fondly, before finally pulling away. "You're a good kid, Kyoya."

Kyoya's smile thinned, wobbling at the edges, before disappearing entirely. "I'm not a good person."

Tachibana cocked a brow, already a clear invitation to expand. Kyoya felt sick just thinking about it. "Really now. What makes you say that?"

He scoffed in reply, fingernails gouging crescent shaped marks in his skin. Tachibana carefully prised his hands away, thumb smoothing over the deep grooves left behind. "Because… good people don't want other people dead." The words lodged painfully in his throat. With a frustrated huff, Kyoya forced them out, and met expectant eyes. "I can't stand it anymore, Bana. Everything he's doing— how much he's hurting her. I want it to stop— I wanted him dead."

"Ah. You said wanted that time. You wanted him dead. Past tense."

The whites of his knuckles were showing against his skin. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters a lot." He said, stance open and loose and utterly non-threatening, because he knew the lack of confrontation was just what he needed. God, the world didn't deserve Tachibana. "You're drawing a correlation between safety and his lack of presence, which is valid. If Takeda isn't around, you and Haruhi-chan would be safe. She wouldn't have to stay here anymore, and you both can start falling back into normal routines."

Tachibana smiled, the warm kind that loosened the knots that were building in his stomach. "When you say you want him dead, what you really mean is that you want to be safe. You want guaranteed protection. That's not something you should have to fight for. You're young and you're angry, and you're scared. And that's okay, Kyoya."

It doesn't feel okay.

In fact, it felt the exact opposite of okay.

Kyoya Ootori was supposed to be controlled and calm and composed. Nothing could shake him. Great roots kept him grounded, secure, he stood tall as a mighty Redwood, and was just as imposing.

Being scared— that wasn't something he was prepared to handle.

"Don't think that about yourself, alright? Look, I've actually killed people before. Does that make me a bad person?"

Outrage sparked, bright and sharp, burning with the ferocity of a wildfire. Over his head body was Tachibana going to insult himself. "That was different. You were in the military— you had to do that. You were saving lives—"

"Do you have to end lives to save others?"

Kyoya frowned, feeling deep furrows form between his brows. After a prolonged pause, Tachibana dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. Kyoya exhaled, and cradled his head with his hand, knocking his glasses askew in the process. "I just want it to stop. Is that honestly too much to ask?"

"I know, kid." He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Will you please just let us handle it? Give your father what you've been working on. Or Yuuichi, or Fuyumi, even Akito, or me, I don't care. Just let an adult take care of it. I shouldn't have even let you do this in the first place"

"No." The response was immediate, and sharper than he intended. "I need this. I can deal with it, Bana."

He couldn't bring himself to be mad, not when Tachibana was looking at him with such worried eyes. Kyoya stepped away, unconsciously, the line of his jaw hard and jutting out.

"Absolutely not." Tachibana spoke with absolute certainty. "Have you even looked in a mirror recently, Kyoya? You're so pale, and you've lost weight. Hell, you have bags on your bags. You're a kid. You have school and your friends and your life to focus on. Let us handle it— we have more time, experience and resources than you do. Listen, you're on the very fine line of potentially making a mistake, or accidentally doing something illegal— both of which would mess up your case. You've worked so hard, endured too much, for this to fall through in the last hour."

"I know what I'm doing—"

A simple raised hand silenced him.

"If you can't trust anyone else, then at least trust me."

The cogs in his mind were reeling. On the one hand, he could absolutely trust Tachibana with his life, and would do so without hesitation. On the other hand, the flip-flop of his stomach and the ice in his veins screamed not to trust anyone.

Both made equally convincing arguments.

That was until Tachibana continued, and there was a hitch in his voice that utterly broke him. "I'm worried about you, Kyoya. I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to you."

It was entirely unfair, the way his emotions betrayed him.

Fighting to keep the guilt from his face, he distracted himself by stooping down, and collecting his forgotten shirt. He slipped it on, dragging the silence out longer than necessary to collect himself. "I'm sorry." He said, finally. It was barely above a whisper, but the man heard him all the same. "You're right, and I was being a stubborn brat. I trust you to take care of it from now on. I'm handing the proverbial reins over to you, so to say."

Kyoya leaned into the hand Tachibana clapped on his shoulder. That one touch spoke so much. "Don't look so down, I promise I'll keep you in the loop." There was a sour taste in his mouth, but he tried to look grateful. "Now, we should get moving. Your friends arrived not long ago, they're all waiting in the North Wing Lounge to hear the details over the break in."

Well aware that refusing wasn't an option, a resigned Kyoya traipsed down the hallway, Tachibana following closely behind.

Before Kyoya had even fully entered the room, Tamaki had vacated the seat next to Haruhi. Kyoya dropped down beside her without complaint, shooting her a small smile, which she returned, albeit far more strained.

A subtle pan of the room showed that Hikaru and Kaoru were seated on one end of a nearby chaise, huddled closely together. Kaoru was picking at the hem of his shirt, Hikaru at his cuticles. Both wore dark expressions and were uncharacteristically silent. Mori and Honey took up the remaining space. Honey was swinging his legs, a nervous kind of action. Mori was so still he could almost be mistaken for a statue. They were both frowning, and Honey was holding his Usa-chan a little tighter than normal.

Evidently they had been informed of the basics of what caused this impromptu meeting, and the subsequent abandonment of them at Tamaki's house. Speaking of Tamaki, the boy was slouched in a large armchair, his foot bouncing erratically. He was a stark contrast to Kyoya's ramrod posture and forced stillness as Tachibana began to talk.

Still, Kyoya was only human, and certain things were bound to evoke a reaction. Like the tiny ninja she was, Haruhi took advantage of the distraction to slip her hand into his without looking his way or betraying any obvious movement. Keeping his expression perfectly neutral, he gave her palm a little squeeze, which she returned in two short bursts.

Through the contact, the subtle tremor was undeniable.

He didn't say a word. She didn't want to bring attention to herself, so he respected that.

Using his thumb to rub soothing circles over her skin, Kyoya re-focused on Tachibana.

From what they could surmise, Haruhi and Ranka's apartment had been invaded from the kitchen window. The glass had been smashed and cleared from the frame, allowing the intruder to climb through and enter the apartment. Most of the mess was centred in Haruhi's room, which in normal circumstances wouldn't make sense considering she was a poor as shit student. She owned approximately zero items valuable enough to warrant this kind of frenzied search. From just the picture alone, it was hard to tell whether anything was missing, but Kyoya certainly wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

The girl's lips were downturned as they flicked through picture after picture of the carnage, and the pressure on his hand suddenly increased as an image of her mother's upturned shrine flickered into life. Kyoya was squeezing back just as hard, and Ranka inhaled sharply on her other side, eyes glassy with tears.

Without a doubt, the front door had been the exit point, the wood earning some new scruffs from the force of being slammed open and shut.

Both their prefecture's police department and the Black Onion Squad were working side-by-side on the case, and, according to Tachibana, would likely be detaining Takeda in the next couple of days for questioning.

Evidently it was a common consensus that Takeda was responsible for the break in. There was a relief in knowing that he wasn't alone in his suspicions. But the nagging annoyance remained that a shared belief wasn't nearly enough evidence to convict the bastard. How Kyoya would love to throw him in a cell and let him rot there. A life, no matter how meagre, was more than he deserved.

Tachibana clapping his hands together pulled Kyoya back to reality. With the situation debriefed and the following steps outlined as best as they could be, they were all dismissed, the mood far more sober than before.

Haruhi released his hand to stretch, and both of them acted as though their previous exchange had never occurred. She was promptly wrapped up in a bear hug courtesy of Ranka, who then slipped away to take a much-needed nap.

Stifling a yawn, Kyoya mentally prepared himself for a very, very long day.

Tamaki had already gathered everyone in a huddle, and was dictating activities to raise their spirits in the following hours. Kyoya wanted nothing more to introduce his head to the nearest wall, but somebody had to act as damage control for this group of idiots. Without a single doubt in his mind, he was certain he'd be bullied into hosting a sleepover for them all.

Kyoya couldn't blame them for their concern, and after all was said and done, his father had been the one to suggest that they spend the night.

As if he had a choice.

Kyoya found himself standing in the kitchen of a familiar apartment, sparsely furnished, but undeniably the same. Low light spilled in through the windows, casting haunting shadows and illuminating the oddly enchanting dance of dust through the air. Cocking his head, he made his way into the hallway, scanning the mantelpiece for any familiar pictures.

Loud crunching underfoot drew his attention. Glass littered the floor, winking as they caught the light. A trail of red unfolded behind him and a tangy, metallic scent laced the air.

Hesitantly, he glanced down.

Blood pooled around his feet.

Picking his way through the path of glass, he steadied himself against the nearest wall. Shards of glass lay embedded in his skin. He dug his fingers into the deepest gouge, the blood-slicked appendages struggling to keep a firm grip on the glass. Distantly, he felt the way the glass sliced through every sinew of flesh as he yanked it free. Fresh blood dribbled from the wound, dripping onto the floor below him.

He tossed the glass aside.

There was no impact. No bounce, no crash. Just pure, suffocating silence.

Kyoya whirled around.

The glass was gone.

Bloody footprints still soaked the floor, but the glass had disappeared entirely.

Muffled thumping sounded.

Kyoya's heartbeat spiked, and the thumping raced in tandem. Underneath his hand, the wall pulsated. A firm, distinct rhythm. He pressed his ear against it, listening to the repetitive Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

A heartbeat.

His heartbeat.

The door slammed open.

The wind hit him like a slap. It whistled through the apartment, shrill and deafening, a desperate scream for help. Above, the ceiling groaned. Kyoya stumbled to the side, darting to safety as the plaster cracked and collapsed inwards. Dust billowed, choking him as he was forced towards the door.

Near blind with panic, Kyoya pushed it open. Pure darkness unfolded below him.

Where a staircase should have stood, there was nothing.

Behind him, the room exploded, debris shooting through the doorway, tumbling down into nothingness.

And then,

a two-handed shove sent him falling,

Falling,

Falling,

Into the abyss.

He twisted around mid air, and caught the tail end of outstretched hands retracting, before both they and the apartment dissipated into wisps of smoke.

The ground caught him in a hard embrace. Head spinning, Kyoya tried to right himself. And then all of a sudden he was on his feet and the sun was shining. It was a nice clear day, only everyone around him had pale faces and soulless pits for eyes, and the smoke was thick and heavy enough to wrap around his throat and choke him.

A familiar laugh graced his ears.

Turning instinctively, Kyoya was met with bright ochre orbs and a blinding smile. Haruhi caught his gaze and smiled. She called out to him, but her words were teased away from him, just out of reach.

Heat.

Flames roared nearby, hungrily swallowing the treeline whole.

Bodies pressed all around him, shoving and racing past, knocking him off balance. Haruhi was hidden from view, swept out of sight, even as he tried to crane his head up to see her. A sheep to the masses, he followed along mindlessly.

Something grabbed his ankle.

He crashed to his knees, outstretched hands just barely saving him from ground-to-face impact. A heavy manacle was wrapped around it. As he tugged at it, three more appeared, immobilising his other leg, and both his wrists. Struggling was fruitless, the chains merely rattled, almost mockingly, unmoved by his pathetic attempts to break free. And there was laughter, and it was her laughter but not hers at the same time.

An imperfect imitation. Something that was just correct enough that, had he not been so worked up, he might have fallen for. Like a twisted siren's lure, it made his skin crawl.

Pressure. Against his throat.

Nails, as sharp as knives, pressed against the skin. He froze, vision tunnelling. He didn't dare move, didn't dare speak—

Through the haze, he caught sight of her. The smile had slipped from her pretty face. Haruhi's eyes were wide and scared. She stared just over his shoulder, clearly too terrified to move.

Movement. In the corner of his eye, a figure marched forward.

Kyoya turned his head. Felt his heart constrict.

It was Takeda, oh god it was him, and she was right there and she wasn't even moving, why wasn't she moving, he was coming oh god he couldn't get free the chains were too tight and he was walking right up to her and she wasn't even moving—

He tried to scream, to urge her to run, to escape.

The nails against his skin tightened, dripping into his throat. He gagged at the pressure, bucking desperately in an attempt to shake them off. They reached further and further, pressing through flesh, through muscle, teasing the edge of his voicebox. And then, his voice was yanked from his throat.

His vision blurred.

Tears, hot and heavy, turned acrid from the smoke.

Takeda reached out a hand, slowly, painfully slowly, almost seeming to tease Kyoya.

The second Takeda made contact with her arm, Haruhi threw her head back and screamed, and even from where he was chained Kyoya could see the red indents burning into her skin. His stomach twisted at the scent, threatening to eject itself right out Kyoya's mouth. Gasping and retching, Kyoya fought against the force keeping him chained in place.

Dirt clogged his nails as he dragged himself across the floor. His eyes stung from a mixture of sweat and smoke and tears. Blood oozed down his neck, beading up across the red marks criss-crossing his skin.

She was sobbing now, and the sound twisted like a knife in his gut.

The earth beneath him dropped, shattering like glass. A soundless scream erupted from his mouth. He clung to the edge, fingers dug deep into the ground, feet kicking desperately for purchase.

Ahead of him Haruhi was screaming once again. Hand tangled in her hair, Takeda dragged the girl behind him, and she was kicking and fighting the whole way, eyes glassy with tears and staring straight through him. One hand was reached out towards him, pleading for help.

Clawing manically against the pull of gravity, he pulled himself upwards by sheer force of will alone.

Mud tumbled into his mouth as he panted.

He scrambled wildly, determinedly inching his way out of the ravine. Loose earth gave way under his weight, flirtatious in the way it threatened to drop him to his death.

Chest heaving, Kyoya risked a glance down.

Eyes gleamed below him.

Against his will, Kyoya stopped. Helpless, he clung on as a wave of paralysis swept over him. With a mounting sense of horror, he watched as a mangled hand emerged from the pit and closed around his ankle.

No.

No!

Haruhi!

If he could, Kyoya would have screamed.

He kicked out, but he couldn't dislodge the hand.

Clutching a clump of grass in his hand, Kyoya was dragged down. Maniacal laughter echoed in his ears and with the flickering image of soulless eyes and splattered blood, a cold accusation rung in his ears— IT'S YOUR FAULT—

And then steel eyes bolted open, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling of his room, heart thumping an erratic tango in his chest.

Each laboured breath rattled in his chest. A fisted hand in his shirt followed each rise and fall, trembling far too hard to ignore. He scrambled upright, vision blurred and eyes stinging, frantically probing his throat for any wounds. He found none. Face pressed into his knees, he finally broke.

A particularly loud boom tossed him bodily back into reality.

Snatching his glasses off the table, Kyoya fumbled for the can of pepper spray in his drawer. With a sickening mix of dread and anticipation, Kyoya waited. It only occurred to him a good ten seconds or so later that he wasn't actually in any danger.

It was just a storm.

Rain lashed against his window. A sharp flash as lightning split the sky in two and Kyoya allowed himself to relax.

For about 0.25 seconds.

Kicking the sweaty covers off his legs, he dived from the bed and made his way into the corridor in record time. Another fork of lightning briefly illuminated the hallway, as well as the figure standing at the end of it, silhouetted in a flash of gold.

Heart lodged in his throat, Kyoya froze.

The intruder, on the other hand, did not.

"Kyo-chan?" Blinking in recognition, Kyoya ventured forward. Honey was standing outside of the room allocated to Haruhi, dressed in bunny-print pyjamas. His young face was haggard, weary with age that was entirely foreign. "Did the storm wake you up?"

Seeing as though Kyoya would rather down cyanide than willingly admit to the nightmare, the boy settled for a simple nod.

"It woke me and Haru-chan up, too." Honey continued, as Kyoya double checked that he had removed all traces of tears from underneath his eyes. The small boy either didn't notice the action, or pretended not to. Either way, Kyoya was glad. "She was really scared, but she's okay now. I calmed her down and gave her Usa-chan, she fell asleep wearing Hika-chan's headphones a couple of minutes ago, so you don't have to worry."

Like Hell he wasn't going to.

But Kyoya trusted the boy, and if he said Haruhi was fine, then he wouldn't go bursting in to check for himself.

"Right. Thank you, Honey-senpai." He rubbed his hand across his neck, awkwardly. "I guess I'll head off. I'll see you in the morning."

He heard a soft parting from the older boy, before Kyoya disappeared down the corridor, shivering from the cold. Sweat still dampened his skin, and the night air was cool and crisp, not entirely unpleasant, but enough to raise goosebumps up and down his arms.

Glancing out a passing window, he felt his breath catch at the darkness that greeted him. In the glass, his dead eyes stared back. Damn, he really did look awful. Quite frankly, his state was more than a little depressing. Lips twitching upwards, the motion felt foreign, and the result was both pathetic and terrifying, like the smirk of an axe-murderer on a killing spree.

Cringing, he shook his head and moved on.

Bare-footed, his steps made no sound across carpeted floors. By now, he knew the location of every creaky step, navigating his way down the staircase with years of practise. The house was silent. He relished the fleeting moments of peace in the midst of such chaos.

Even then, he couldn't have felt more isolated. The early hours were always a bitter pill to swallow, reminding him of just how alone he was.

But, after having spent many a day in his childhood walking hand-in-hand with loneliness, he greeted it much like one would an old friend; with open arms and acceptance.

God, he needed coffee. He needed a cold hard slap to the face to keep him awake. He needed life to stop kicking him down a well. Recently, all he seemed to be doing was clawing his way out, only for all his efforts to go to waste as he ended up right back where he started. Really, he just needed this all to be over.

And not only for his sake.

The others were suffering just as much as him.

And he couldn't even begin to compare his suffering to that of Haruhi's, who had lost her home, her freedom, her confidence. Left to rely on others, to sacrifice who she was in order to live another day.

He hated it all.

Haruhi had been dealt a loaded pistol by society, yet even refusing to fire it rebounded on her.

Flicking the lights on, he shielded his eyes against the bright glare, waiting a moment for them to adjust. In that time, he registered the sound of someone moving towards him, steps purposely loud as if they knew he was there and were making certain he heard them over the storm. Honey skipped in through the door, brighter than he should be at this ungodly hour.

"I felt like having some warm milk." He explained, with a smile. "Do you want me to make you some, too?"

Honestly somewhat bewildered, Kyoya merely nodded. "Sure. That would be nice."

Chatting away, Honey poured milk into two glasses and shoved them in the microwave to warm them. Kyoya didn't question how he seemed to know where everything was. Instead, he settled himself atop one of the counters in the Island, and tried to rub the heat back into his arms. Smile turning sympathetic, Honey tilted his head towards the boy. "Did you have a nightmare, Kyo-chan?"

The instant, overwhelming instinct to deny it almost consumed him. But Honey was observing him so knowingly, Kyoya knew it wouldn't do him any good. "I suppose." He admitted, and held his head high, because if he was anything, a coward wasn't it.

"Relax." Honey advised, handing over the beverage.

There was always so much subtext with Honey. That one word conveyed so much. Relax— because you're safe now, because you're not alone, because it can't hurt you, it was all left unsaid, because they both knew Kyoya was excellent at reading between the lines.

The blond hopped up onto the opposite counter, and the two of them quietly sipped their drinks. Honey was swinging his feet lazily. Kyoya's were up, resting on the smooth surface, allowing him to rest the bottom of his mug against his knees. And, quite gradually, the other boy started humming. It was an unconscious thing, noise to fill the space between them. Shockingly, Kyoya… Didn't mind. He welcomed the comfort, the normality of the action. The tune was familiar, like an old lullaby from years ago.

Honey trailed off far too soon. It was a wistful kind of ending, full of unspoken promises and hope. His legs still swung back and forth, the motion far from childish.

"How's she holding up?"

Honey's gaze was calm, dissecting every inch of his face. Of course he was worried, Haruhi was distant, seemingly lost inside herself. Kyoya thought back to how she'd squeezed his hand, and the strain in her smile. "Better than I thought she would, but naturally she's still hurting."

Honey hummed an acknowledgement. "And how are you doing?"

Kyoya blinked. A crash of thunder sounded overhead.

The older boy filled the silence with an innocent sip of his drink, perfectly casual. After a moment, Kyoya shrugged. "I'm as good as can be expected."

Fighting the feeling of being judged, Kyoya distracted himself with his own drink, content for this conversation to be over and done with. Honey, however, seemed to have other ideas. "Your eyes are red."

Dammit.

He tucked his legs in a little tighter, unwilling to commit at any verbal response. Outside, the rain grew more intense, pounding violently against the windows. Clearly recognising that this line of questioning wouldn't get him anywhere, Honey pretended as though Kyoya hadn't just blatantly ignored him. "You're not going to go back to sleep, are you?"

Of course he wasn't.

And that wasn't entirely by choice, either.

He couldn't handle seeing that again. Not now, not ever.

"No, I'm not." There was no use lying. The way he was now, Honey would spot it from a mile away. Normally Kyoya would call himself quite adept at spinning half-truths and little white lies. But that was then, and this was now. And right now, if he even dared, Honey would shoot him that pitying I-Know-You-Just-Lied-To-Me-And-I'm-Going-To-Pretend-To-Believe-It look. "I'll probably stay up and read until morning."

Dropping his empty mug into the sink, Honey bluntly said, "Is that code for working?"

Kyoya fought back his amusement, and settled for a weary smile. "Usually, yes. But under duress, I gave everything to Tachibana earlier today. If he were to discover that I was still investigating, I'd probably lose more than my research."

Evidently appeased, the blond softened, patting the only accessible feature, that being Kyoya's knee. "Don't let it get to you. And at least try to get some sleep tonight. Kay?"

Kyoya didn't say a word, preferring to not make promises he couldn't keep. Even after Kyoya had drained his own mug, he stayed where he was, just staring through the kitchen window, watching the world pass by. The storm raged on outside, lightning flashing occasionally. He only moved once the cold became too much to bear, traipsing back in the direction of the rooms, readying himself for another sleepless night.

He was still awake when dawn rolled in, and with that sick sense of crushing realisation that only students could have, he remembered that it was Monday.

Fuck.

A/N: Whoop, whoop, it's the sound of the police

This chapter is basically just a self-indulgent parental Tachibana and reluctant son Kyoya interaction, because those two are just too precious for words. (And Kyoya finally gets his much-needed hug!)

There aren't many more chapters left to go, so buckle your seatbelts and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, we're in for a bumpy ride

Thank you for everyone that reviewed, favourited and followed, they really make my day!