One of the most simple pleasures in life, Kyoya found, was sharing a space with someone and not being required to talk. The silence was refreshing, intermittent with the soft scratching of pen against paper, or the quiet turning of pages. There were no expectations. No judgement. Just... companionship. Being with each other for the sheer sake of it.

The concept was mind-boggling at first, alien even.

Now? Not so much.

Somewhere far behind them, the windows were thrown wide open; with the subtle sound of birdsong and whispering wind.

At his side, Tamaki shifted. Kyoya's feet slipped from their position against his thigh as the boy stretched, before easily reasserting themselves. Lips pursed in concentration, Tamaki tapped his pen against his chin, lost in his own world.

A breeze gently meandered past, hair swaying in a pleasant array of blond, soft gold and honey, the pages of Kyoya's book rustling from its perch on his knees. Muted piano music drifted in lazy eddy's from Tamaki's phone, which at some point had slipped between the cracks of the many textbooks adorning the table in an entirely unsatisfying reenactment of 127 hours.

Eyes sliding shut, Kyoya allowed his head to roll back, lolling to the side to rest against the plush couch.

His peace was shattered by the pricking sensation of eyes on him, and that damned smile he knew Tamaki was wearing.

"What?" He asked, lightly.

It was the first audible word he'd uttered in almost an hour.

Tamaki's smile brightened, the sound of a soft piano melody. Kyoya had yet to even look. He just knew.

"Nothing." Was the reply he received, delivered in the boy's typical sing-song lilt and bursting with life. When Kyoya cracked an eye open, Tamaki's features had softened into a kind of private joy. "I'm just happy to see you so relaxed. It's nice."

Kyoya dug his foot into Tamaki's leg, and closed his eyes once more. There was a chuckle, and the crack of his back as Tamaki slouched back over his textbook, undeterred by the lack of a reply.

"You look younger." Tamaki said, and Kyoya's hope of this conversation passing vanished faster than his will to live. "Like the age you are. It suits you a lot more, you know."

Like the age you are.

Instead of the adult you're always trying to be.

Ignoring the twist in his stomach, Kyoya felt his lip twitch upwards. "Are you implying I usually look old?"

Tamaki pondered for a moment, almost certainly with his thumb tucked under his chin. "Well, your grumpy old man demeanour certainly doesn't help." A squeal followed as Kyoya's foot jabbed at his ribs, Tamaki almost upended his textbook as he squirmed away.

"My apologies, I didn't manage to catch that. Would you mind repeating it for me?"

Another jab landed solidly, Tamaki proceeded to use his elbow to protect himself from further attacks, which was somewhat obstructed by his maniacal laughter. "I'm sorry! Have mercy, have mercy! I didn't mean it, I swear." And then came the Bambi eyes, liquefied oceans of blue.

If Tamaki were to try, he could dominate the world with just one bat of those baby blues.

The threatening appendage was lowered, returned back to the position of comfort. Tamaki eyed it warily, sticking out his tongue when Kyoya wriggled his toes in warning.

"Be quiet and get back to work." He huffed, finally.

"Why don't you?" Tamaki returned, with every ounce of childishness he could muster.

A roll of his eyes followed, all too fond. "I've already completed my assignments, unlike a certain moron who always leaves them to the last minute."

"A week into the deadline isn't last minute, Kyoya!" The complaint trailed off into a whine which Kyoya tuned out, his smile tugging harder at the corners of his mouth. Tamaki's movements were becoming more animated, and the blond narrowly avoided nailing himself in the face a grand total of three times within the space of a minute."— how can you even do so much at once, it's not fair. You must share your wisdom with your best friend, mon ami! It's the law!"

Humming a short cadence, Kyoya observed him seriously. "No, I don't believe it is."

"How can you be so cruel?" With a pout and an over-dramatic cross of his arms, Tamaki flounced over to the door with the full intention of visiting the bathroom, bemoaning their dying friendship the whole way. He paused when Kyoya's phone erupted into a frenzy of vibrations, head tilted in that quizzical way that reminded Kyoya of a confused puppy.

"It's Honey-senpai." His voice held a note of surprise. Tamaki shrugged, before walking face-first into the door.

Kyoya answered the call still fighting mirth, and Tamaki disappeared, throwing him a mortally wounded expression as he retreated. "Hello?"

By some pure divine intervention, Tamaki managed to not hear the way Honey practically screeched down the line. Eardrums almost certainly shattered, Kyoya mentally apologised for the psychic damage nearby innocents would have taken. May they rest in peace.

"Haru-chan is missing!"

The muscles in his jaw were lax, leaving it hanging open.

In the space of that one second, he could hear everything; the swaying limbs of the trees, used as a launchpad for flight, the blood rushing through his ears and the sound of each steady breath rattling in his chest.

"What."

"Haru-chan is missing." Honey repeated, flat and choked and all too contained. "I've looked everywhere, I can't find her, Kyo-chan. She's gone!"

The door clicked shut behind him, he hissed as it caught his heels. Tamaki was nowhere to be seen, and no blond head came bounding at the call of his name. Abandoning the boy certainly wasn't high on his list of priorities, and considering Tamaki was about 90% of his impulse control, he'd really much prefer his annoying, grounding presence right now. But preventing Haruhi from being murdered and mounted on a wall took precedence.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Kyoya managed to mumble out a strangled, "Where are you?"

And if the Earth hadn't already been knocked off its axis, Honey's reply certainly T-boned it right off course. Because why the everliving fuck would Honey decide to choose the singular goddamn high class cafe that was in Takeda's district.

Of course, there was the simple fact that Honey simply hadn't been aware of this, because Kyoya was dumb as bricks and never bothered to share this information. And now Haruhi was likely with some psychopath because Kyoya fucked up and thought that Honey could actually—

He shook his head out, hard, and finally stopped buffering.

"Look. Stay exactly where you are and don't move. I'll track her phone and pick you up en route."

Honey's affirmation was cut short when Kyoya hung up, dialling for Tachibana as he jogged down the hallway, dodging a couple of surprised maids on his way.

The man picked up on the second ring, sounding almost lethargic. "Mhm? Kyoya?"

"He's got Haruhi."

On the other end of the line, Tachibana dropped his mug.

Sweaty palms gripped his thighs tightly. The whites of his knuckles were prominent, muscles tense and aching from the prolonged clenching. In the corner of his eye, he caught Honey shooting him concerned glances, knee bouncing erratically—

A flash of lifeless eyes and too-pale skin.

—Kyoya forced down a snarl and unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning forward into the front of the car, where Tachibana was watching the house with narrowed eyes. "How long until they arrive?"

"Three minutes or so."

The involuntarily twitch at his face elicited a sympathetic smile from the man.

"Be patient, Kyoya. As frustrating as it is, there's nothing more we can do." The hand that clapped on his shoulder did little to ground him, and when Kyoya rocked backwards into his seat, his navel jerked unpleasantly. As though someone had gripped it with both hands and yanked. Banishing his discomfort, Kyoya folded his hands primly into his lap and focused his attention ahead.

He ended up staring into the middle distance, as though Haruhi would magically be teleported into the empty seat by the sheer force of his gaze alone.

Time slipped by, a confusing waltz of meaningless numbers—

And suddenly, Kyoya found himself with a lapful of compact senior as Honey scrambled across the seat for a better view.

With the backdrop of triumphant trumpets, the Black Onion Squad arrived in all their glory, bursting into the house like an army of wrathful valkyries.

At this point, the small blond had achieved a rather impressive imitation of a suckerfish, face suctioned against the window. Kyoya wasn't quite sure what it accomplished, though he didn't feel qualified enough to complain. Pride was what prevented him from imitating the boy, the itch under his skin morphing from manageable to flat out fire.

Less than five minutes later, a cuffed Takeda was marched out of the house and delivered into the arms of a waiting police officer, who promptly blanched at the sight of the man.

Which was about the time that Kyoya bailed from the car, and only Honey's lightning fast reflexes prevented a nice hug with the ground as he was upended from the lap he had claimed. Rather much like a disgruntled cat, he clawed his way to safety, while Kyoya merely marched onward, a man on a mission.

No one dared to stop him, he ducked through the door with purpose, steel orbs searching—

There was blood on the floor.

—For any sign of Haruhi.

His world tilted, knocked askew and faded at the edges. Sagging into the nearby wall, Kyoya stared.

Breathed.

An acrid taste at the back of his throat, and his stomach performed several feats of aerial acrobatics, Tachibana hissed a short curse from somewhere just out of sight.

"Kyoya, I think you should—"

His words petered out, fading into the abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. Already bounding up the stairs, Kyoya didn't bother asserting whether or not Tachibana was following him.

Kyoya knew he was.

Along with Honey, grim-faced, wide eyes cataloguing the scene with a wiseness that betrayed his youthful features—

Hair astray, a red halo surrounding her head.

—Swallowing hard, Kyoya pushed his way forward, ignoring the double-takes and hesitation, because he needed to see, he needed to know— until he was met with a locked door and silence so saturated with sympathy he could taste it. Words were traded, distant, unimportant; Kyoya forced himself still, tall, the perfect picture of peace.

Eyes flitting, searching. No brown locks and honey-sweet smile appeared—

Battered and bruised, limbs twisted at awkward angles. Mouth open, spread in one last scream.

Squeezed them shut. Breathed.

Breathed.

A presence at his side, shifting.

Anxious.

Anxious, but strong. Honey, fists balled at his side. No sweet smiles and Sakura blossoms to be seen, this was a boy who meant business. Chin squared and wholly defiant, just daring anyone to challenge him. Honey, ordering with the kind of sharpness to his sugary voice that could give whiplash.

And Tachibana, in the midst of it all, organising, delegating.

Kyoya breathed.

Set his jaw and lifted his head, because if becoming the Shadow King was what was necessary to get her back, then Kyoya would play the role magnificently.

Which is what he did until a trembling but thankfully still whole Haruhi was extracted from behind her makeshift barricade and stumbled into his arms. Voice barely a whisper, ever so delicate. "Is it over?" Her grip was desperate, legs bowing out and straining under the pressure of standing.

"It will be." Kyoya held her steadfast, unwavering, even as she thrust her face against his shirt and remained there, looking smaller than ever.

Honey's lips quirked up in a small, relieved smile.

Kyoya's jaw clenched, he unconsciously pulled her a little closer.

She was breathing more steadily, but had yet to release him, her shirt slipping off at one shoulder, exposing a swath of pale, clammy skin. His fingers deftly caught the material, raised it—

Set in a blush of faint pink, the mark of teeth stood out like a sore thumb. Mottled blemishes, purple-red in colour, danced up her throat.

—to gently slide the sleeve back into place.

A rock of her body, and then she raised her head, taking a slow step back. Her lips were bruised, red. Beaded with little pinpricks of blood. Quivering slightly, but otherwise maintaining a hard line. And her eyes. Those doe eyes held no light.

There were questions and official proceedings, and enough bullshit to make his head spin, but eventually they were steered back into the car.

Honey had yet to approach her, he clambered into the front seat without a single word. Kyoya and Haruhi took the back, with her staring indolently out of the window the entire time, hand laced with his.

There was a hospital, white walls and disinfectant, bright and clinical and almost impersonal, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Closed doors between them, Honey's foot tapping, Tachibana texting, co-ordinating, leading, and the bitter silence that remained.

He watched the clock. Tracked the movement of the arms, the distinct, tick, tick, tick ringing in his ears.

And breathed.

His chest felt heavy, clenched. A ton of steel, settled nicely on his ribcage. Each rise and fall carefully timed, strained. Laborious, where it was once simple.

And then the car, again. And she wasn't talking, wouldn't even look at them. His stomach rolled but he left his hand flat on the seat between them, waiting.

Hoping.

They rolled to a stop in the driveway, the mansion unfolding before them.

She didn't move.

Only stared out. Out of the window and into somewhere far beyond.

He caught the tell-tale whiteness of bandages at her ankle. Plasters covered the array of scrapes she'd gained. Blood was meticulously removed. Clothing swapped for something clean. Untainted.

Tachibana cracked the door open, coaxed her attention. He smiled as though nothing was wrong, as though they hadn't found her shivering and terrified, behind a flimsy barricade to protect herself from pure insanity. She blinked, her jaw set, and then stepped out, seatbelt whooshing harshly back into place. Honey flinched, averted his gaze.

Footsteps against polished floors, four sets, each distinct. Honey brought up the rear, Tachibana, the front.

Haruhi had her arms tucked around herself, Kyoya's jacket swamping her frame, zipped up all the way. Hiding the bruises, the red digits around her wrist. Still not speaking, doe eyes hazy and far more helpless than they should ever be.

Kyoya opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

His hands shoved into his pockets.

His lips pursed in a harsh line—

Ranka. Warm and bright and loving, carefully pulling her into a hug, choked breaths that evolved into muffled sobbing. Kyoya's throat tightened at the sound, lip caught between his teeth. Ranka smoothed her hair and soothed her cries, slowly swaying them from side to side.

"Come on. Let's give them some privacy." A hand on his shoulder, Tamaki's sad smile, and they moved out and into the corridor.

He could still hear her crying.

The three of them, him and Tamaki and Honey, ended up in Kyoya's room.

Silent.

Tense.

Tamaki looked between them, opened his mouth, closed it again.

Finally, he whispered. "What happened to her?"

Hands, grabbing her, touching her, hurting her.

And Haruhi, innocent Haruhi trying to fight them, begging, pleading—

"Takeda." Honey said. Face hooded with shadows, mussed hair falling into his eyes. "He got her. Hurt her."

Tamaki was sunshine, he was goodness and love and kind to a fault. His face dropped, twisted. Confused, upset, a whole spectrum of emotions he couldn't quite identify. "But— but how? She was with you, Senpai. How could he have just— just taken her?"

A sigh. Deep. Heavy. His head was in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands. "I left her alone." Kyoya's fingers clenched. "It was only meant to be five minutes, just so she could go to the bookstore. I thought it would be okay, Haru-chan just looked so sad—"

"I imagine she looks miles better now."

Twin eyes snapped to him.

Honey bit his lip, Tamaki frowned.

Eyes downcast, focused on the floor, the small blond continued, voice wobbling slightly. "If I had known— I would have never left her like that. I just wanted to do something to make her happy. I'd never deliberately hurt her!"

His skin burned. Itched and scorched below the surface— raking his nails up his arms did nothing to quell the flames.

"You did. You did hurt her. Regardless of whether you wanted to or not, she's hurt because of you."

"Kyoya." Tamaki intoned, warningly.

His gaze pinned on his friend, on the worried scrunch of his brows. Kyoya's chin jutted out, eyes growing hard. Sharp. Ready to cut— to draw blood— because he wasn't sunshine and kindness like Tamaki, and mercy to whichever unfortunate soul invited his wrath. "She's hurt. And that is on him."

Tamaki protested, because of course he did. And maybe if Kyoya was thinking straight, he would have to. Or if he was even thinking at all, for that matter. "That's not fair. That's not fair and you know it."

"He was supposed to keep her safe, Tamaki. That? That down there doesn't look safe to me. Does that look safe to you, Senpai?"

"Kyoya!" Tamaki stood up, clapped his hands down on his shoulders. "That's enough. We shouldn't be fighting right now. We need to band together, for Haruhi's sake! She's going to need us more than ever. This isn't going to solve anything. Let's all calm down, okay?"

He shrugged the hands away, more forcefully than he intended. The scoff was bitter, dark, entirely involuntary. There was a small voice in the back of his head, pounding, hammering. Screaming at him to just shut up. Just stop talking, god what the hell are you even saying, stopstopstopstop— "I trusted him. And Haruhi paid for that mistake. She won't a second time."

Quiet, but firm, Honey met his sharp eyes. "Kyo-chan, I will make it up to her, I promise."

Small. Sad. The twist of his lips was brimming with rage.

"At this point, your promises mean nothing."

A/N: Let's get this bread

Before the shanks start raining down, lemme give a quick rundown of the previous episode of WhereTheFuckIsMyUpdate:

College. Pouring my blood, sweat and tears into last minute cramming and learning and general fuckery. End of April, I lost a member of my family. Flash forward through the last two weeks of college to Study Leave. It's Hell. Everything is Hell. So what

And then those exams that seemed so far away? Hit me like a goddamn train. As in my big important, Fuck-These-Up-And-There-Goes-Your-Chances-For-Uni exams. Much fun, 12/10 would recommend for a healthy night's rest

All throughout this I remain the one in my friendship group with the most stable home life, and their situations worsen, one of which I am linked to due to action taken on my part. Fun times, loved that completely

Finished my exams mid June. Post-exam depression hits and I contemplate my life decisions and future aspirations (mostly joking here. Only mostly)

The remaining time has been split between being constantly away from home for numerous outings, needing a new laptop (which I still don't have, #StudentProblems), and writing in what little time I have

Tldr: Life was a mess, I was a mess, (I'm still a mess). But, I'm trying

I apologise for the delay, and I can't promise it won't happen again, but I will state that only death will prevent me from finishing this fic

Which is absolutely not an invitation to murder me, (please don't murder me. Not today. Or any day for that matter).