"Honey-senpai will be visiting tomorrow."
At Tamaki's words, light, offhand, almost deliberately casual, Kyoya's chest constricted. Squeezing, like a tight fist around his lungs. A reaction that was so entirely ridiculous that a deep pit of self-loathing settled hard and heavy in his stomach. This was good. This was what he wanted, yet Kyoya's dumbass brain apparently hadn't received that particular memo.
Tamaki, attuned to his friend's ever changing mood to almost frightening degrees, clapped a hand on his shoulder. A gentle, comforting motion. But touch was— too much for him right now.
Kyoya shrugged Tamaki off and moved to another couch, away from where they'd been busy trudging through schoolwork (or in Tamaki's case, browsing memes about dogs) sitting stiff and prim and proper. The feel of the leather against his back had his skin crawling, white noise shrieking inside his mind.
"I know. Kaoru told me." Kyoya said, halted and clipped, the casualness with which he hoped to convey the words a foreign concept to him. He curled up, back facing Tamaki. But no, he couldn't do that. It'd upset Tamaki. Would make him think Kyoya was mad, that he was deliberately ignoring him, which he wasn't— Kyoya flipped over, cringed violently when the leather touched his back, and flipped back.
If the last remaining threads of his dignity would allow it, Kyoya would tuck his knees right up to his chest. Just allow himself to sink into the couch, to disappear entirely.
The distinctive click of joints sounded nearby.
Tamaki, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
He'd placed enough distance between them not to be overwhelming, but was close enough to convey his tender concern. Even that softness felt too much for Kyoya to process.
"Do you not want him here?" Tamaki asked, in the kind of voice that suggested he already knew the answer, he was just waiting for Kyoya to realise it himself.
Kyoya squeezed his eyes shut.
He turned his attention away from his whirling mess of a mind and instead focused on his breathing. Approaching painful, the staccato of his heart thrummed against his ribcage, each rise and fall of his chest short and stilted.
"Of course I do," Kyoya finally managed. "It's just..."
He sighed.
"Hard." Tamaki finished, when it became apparent that Kyoya wouldn't. The sound was heavy and knowing.
Kyoya didn't reply.
Tamaki understood, regardless.
He always did.
A few days after the attack, Kyoya managed to corner Honey. An unusually hard task, given how desperately Honey had been avoiding him, politely excusing himself every time Kyoya so much as entered the same room as him. Had this behaviour not been entirely deserved, Kyoya might have felt a little insulted.
At that moment in time, his little blond senpai had taken refuge in one of the lesser-used lounges in the east wing, which was about as far away from Haruhi's room as he could get. The girl, miraculously, was sleeping peacefully, Mori dutifully watching over her.
Kyoya apologised.
Each word, laced with sincerity, tore up his insides. Not for the fact that he didn't want to apologise, nor for the fact that anger still laced his heart; regret was the only emotion that remained after Kyoya's outburst. Regret and, of course, guilt. Burning, shameful guilt.
No, what hurt wasn't making the apology.
It was Honey's smile, bright and forgiving.
A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
It was his words, lilting with his usual sing-song. "It's okay, Kyo-chan. You don't have to apologise anymore. I understand." But that wasn't true. He didn't understand, and Kyoya could see it— see it in his absent gaze and the crookedness of his smile. "I know you're sorry, so please don't apologise again, kay? You'll make me sad if you do."
Honey forgave him, easily, carelessly, and Kyoya should have felt liberated, but the blond's eyes were hollow, and Kyoya knew how easy it was to forgive when there was nothing left for anyone to take from you.
He didn't deserve forgiveness.
Not when his barbed words had left such visible wounds. Not when they continued to cut away at Honey, stealing his vibrace, his joy, leaving him numb and lost.
"It's hard." Kyoya agreed, finally.
Kyoya didn't want forgiveness. He would live with this guilt, would clutch it close to his chest, a just punishment for the pain he had inflicted on his friend. What he wanted was to help pull Honey out of his own guilt, the guilt Kyoya had allowed the boy to cement himself in, the guilt that Kyoya had drowned him in, a hand on his head holding him underneath the surface.
Both Mori and Tamaki had tried, and failed. Kyoya had tried, desperately, fruitlessly, and in response Honey had only distanced himself further. Hell, even the twins had tried to help, displaying an incredible amount of maturity that most wouldn't expect from them.
"I hate seeing him like that."
Tamaki hummed darkly in agreement.
Kyoya paused, the cogs in his head grounding to a halt. His stomach swooped to the ground. "He's gotten worse, hasn't he?"
For a moment, Tamaki didn't speak. Kyoya craned his head back, caught the flash of sadness on Tamaki's face, before he hid it behind careful neutrality.
"He hasn't gotten any better." Tamaki replied, evenly.
The hot air tasted heavy and sour on his tongue. He wished it was cool and sharp, the kind of freshness of an early winter morning. Maybe then it would be easier on his abused lungs.
Stubbornly, Kyoya imagined the feel of last winter, before all this chaos, when times were lighter, were simpler. The way the cold brought a deep flush to his cheeks and the snowflakes kissed his hair, the way Tamaki grinned rosy-cheeked, and tossed a handful of cold, wet snow down his back.
He envisioned every soft edge, every delicate corner, as though he could manifest the scene from the sheer force of his will alone.
At some point, he must have dozed off.
A cool bottle of water sat nearby. Still slick with condensation, it created a watery ring on the table.
There were two empty couches in the room, and yet Tamaki remained curled up on the floor, still a noticeable distance away. He was wrapped up in Kyoya's favourite blanket, using a pillow as a headrest.
Asleep, or an artful imitation of it.
One that would fool a lesser man.
But Kyoya knew Tamaki, knew him right down to the slight whistle of every third breath when he slept. Tamaki was awake, wide awake, just like him.
Kyoya turned over properly, so he was facing his friend.
Golden-blond hair tumbled over Tamaki's face. He would look peaceful, if not for the deep rivet between his brows. A blue eye edged open. The second followed not long after.
"Tired?" Tamaki asked, voice rough and weary, like a weathered old cliff edge, teetering on collapse.
He attempted a nod. He had no energy to fully complete the motion, it came across as more of a flinch than anything. But Tamaki had always been good at reading him. Kyoya couldn't have been more grateful for it.
Smiling weakly, Tamaki sighed. "Yeah, me too."
Kyoya didn't think any of them would be getting a decent sleep soon.
The next day, as most days do, rolled around far too quickly for Kyoya's liking. He woke, mind clouded and disorientated, with Haruhi curled up in his arms. Her lashes were damp and clumped together. Dappled sunlight peeked through the curtains, curious, inviting, illuminating the peaceful rise and fall of her chest, the tear stains on her cheeks. Settling back down, Kyoya let her sleep on.
The moment was shattered when Noel abruptly decided to launch herself off Kyoya's bookshelf, directly onto the pair.
Haruhi awoke with a startled gasp, Noel's little criminal paws pressed against her face. Kyoya caught her flailing hands before they could clock him in the temple. She froze for a long, agonising second, before the tension simply drained from her body and she slumped, lax and trusting in his hold. Her doe eyes were soft and mellow, melting in the morning light.
"Morning." He murmured, low and groggy with sleep.
"Morning." Her face lit up, smile slow and easy and utterly perfect, and that was a dangerous thought that Kyoya would not be addressing ever, thank you very much. 'Ever', turned out to be two whole seconds later, when a newly released Haruhi burrowed closer to his warmth and tucked her head against the hollow of his throat. "Ugh, it's too early. Five more minutes?" She asked, like Kyoya even had the option to refuse.
Her smile was diabolical and Kyoya absolutely allowed her those extra five minutes.
A small, selfish part of him wished he could just stay tucked up in bed all day. His limbs, dragging and heavy, uncooperative to his attempts to liven up, pinned him against the mattress with their weight.
That beginning to be not-so-small, horrible, awful part of him dreaded the imminent arrival of his friends. Friends that Kyoya should be elated to see, should be grateful that they're even bothering to carve time out of their schedules to visit, but he just… wasn't.
The sunny feeling he started the day with sapped away, swirling like water down the drain as he showered. Comfortable clothes on and hair towel-dried, Kyoya stared dull-eyed as the wall mounted clock ticked away.
It was with a mix of heavy reluctance and burning, shameful guilt that Kyoya welcomed the arrival of the hosts, his throat far too tight to possibly be healthy.
Honey lingered near the back of the pack, cheeks hollowed and eyes sunken. Haruhi's face dropped when she saw him— and Kyoya, he simply stopped breathing. He couldn't quite reconcile the two images of Honey he had in his mind. One, the strong, solid, carefree senpai that he knew and loved, and the other, the broken husk of a boy that Kyoya had created.
His first instinct was to turn heel and walk away.
To find an untouched corner of the manor and waste away there until the hosts finally left.
Kyoya planted his feet solidly and forced himself to remain where he was. It would be so easy to allow himself to drift back into that dangerous void, to force himself to be numb, unthinking and unfeeling, only functioning for Haruhi's sake. It would be so easy. Too easy.
But at the same time, he knew he couldn't.
Numbness wasn't healing. It was a trick, a cage in the form of shelter, a mirage to cover the prison. Numbness was cold, aching, weighing down on heavy minds and stealing vibrant souls. Numbness was exhausting, and it was, always, simply a temporary escape.
Tamaki, utterly incapable of allowing an awkward atmosphere to fester, all but slammed a deck of cards down on the table.
Kyoya's resting heart rate skipped several ticks higher at the sound.
Very quickly, the curious card game he'd discovered had brightened the room.
Predictably, Haruhi won every single game. Considering she was the only one with any actual experience with Uno, there wasn't much competition. Still she revelled in each victory, cheeks flushed and beaming, and Kyoya decided that happiness was a good look on her, that he didn't mind losing miserably if he could keep that smile on her face just a moment longer.
Because this game and life in general was absolutely out to get Kyoya specifically, he always seemed to be on the receiving end of every card stack, and consequently found himself battling to avoid last place more often than he'd prefer.
Like an excited puppy, Tamaki badgered for round after round. Each time, Kyoya entertained the thought of saying no for all of three seconds before relenting.
And so they played again and again, imposing a slew of new rules and penalties on Haruhi, who somehow still ended up winning regardless of all their attempts to stop her, until the game dissolved into chaos as the Hosts made a flurry of incredibly illegal moves that ended with them throwing the playing cards at one another like paper shuriken.
The twins then made the elective decision that they were showing Haruhi a new video game they'd bought. At no point was there ever any implication that anyone else was welcome to join, but Tamaki and Mori gatecrashed their showboating regardless.
Honey excused himself to the bathroom. At least, that was what Kyoya had told the other hosts, a bold-faced lie that Kyoya expected at least Tamaki to call out.
To put it more appropriately, Honey slipped from the room without a word, disappearing much like a ghost would, as though he hadn't been there at all.
Kyoya found him exactly where he'd expected, tucked away in that east-wing lounge.
He startled as Kyoya announced himself, loudly, by dropping a stack of boxes on top of the table.
Which was probably not the best way to start things, but Kyoya was already knee-deep in disaster at this point, what harm was a little more fuel to the fire?
The lid had shifted during the box's sudden descent, displaying the contents of scrap books and loose photos. "They're Haruhi's," Kyoya explained, when Honey only stared in wordless confusion. "I had them collected from her apartment. I was thinking of recovering the undamaged ones to make a new scrapbook."
Honey sealed the lid properly. His gaze lingered, almost wondrously, like he couldn't quite bear to part with it.
"I think she'd like that." Honey said quietly, hoarsely, like he hadn't spoken in a year.
"Would you do me the honor of helping me? I could use your creative insight." It was a bullshit excuse and Honey would definitely see through it in an instant.
Honey's brows furrowed together.
He looked from Kyoya, to the boxes, and back again.
Eventually, he nodded. "Okay."
"Perfect." Kyoya said, before Honey had the chance to change his mind.
They sat cross-legged on opposite sides of the table, beginning the arduous task of organising the photos in silence. A silence that, by all means, should have been oppressive, awkward, crushing in its heaviness, but instead was none of those things.
When Kyoya doodled some stray ideas on scrap paper, colour began to creep back into Honey's cheeks. He sucked on the end of his pen, making edits and proposing counter ideas, organising the pages with confidence.
Kyoya had borrowed (stolen) an entire box of stationary from the hoard his sister had amassed over her teenage years. Which is what they used to decorate the new photo album, gaining confidence from their clumsy start, filling more and more pages as the time ticked languidly by.
The others didn't come searching for them, which Kyoya knew must be down to Tamaki's interference. Golden hour soon encroached upon them, tip-toeing into the room like a silent prayer.
Honey tipped his head back and propped his weight up through his hands. The evening sun caressed every slope and plane of his softened face, and he looked at peace. As the golden light dipped and faded into the sunset, Honey opened his eyes again.
The dim light mellowed what had been Honey's dull brown iris', smoothing them with the hesitant sprouts of new life.
The tightness binding Kyoya's chest released itself. Slowly, and then all at once.
Honey fixed the last photo in place.
There were more photos, of course, organised neatly in a single box that Kyoya would return to Ranka at some point. But their photobook was complete and the two allowed themselves a moment to breathe, basking in the glow of their accomplishment.
Flipping the book closed, Kyoya handed it to Honey. He wondered, briefly, whether he was making a mistake. Whether he was overstepping his boundaries and shoving his problems onto somebody else. But Kyoya had a strange, simple feeling that Honey didn't need his apologies. That they wouldn't fix this issue, no matter how many times he could try. Sincere or not, they were hollow words to someone lost in the clutches of guilt and self-hate.
Honey didn't need him.
"Take this to Haruhi. Talk to her, it might help."
Fear.
It creeped across Honey's face, sinking venom into his mind.
He stayed frozen in place, staring down in vague distress at the book clutched in his hands. He didn't want to take the book to Haruhi. Certainly, if he'd known Kyoya would spring this on him, he likely wouldn't have offered to help in the first place.
"Trust me." Kyoya assured, which was a huge gamble considering Kyoya knew he didn't deserve Honey's trust ever again. Far from wanting to make Honey feel cornered, trapped, small in the worst of ways, this was Kyoya's attempt to help the boy in one of the only ways he could.
Honey nodded, slowly.
He took a deep, shaking breath, squared his shoulders, and marched from the room.
Honey, Kyoya knew, needed Haruhi.
At this point, the guilt that consumed him could only be lessened by her. But in the future, when the shadows would inevitably creep up on the boy, whispering poison in his ears, Kyoya would help him stave off his demons, if Honey would let him.
From behind, the door creaked open.
Tamaki leaned against the doorframe. "How'd it go?"
Kyoya smiled and flicked a discarded wad of paper at Tamaki. It hit him square on the cheek and ushered a flurry of indignant squawking from the blond.
"Nosiness is an incredibly unattractive quality. Why don't you just wait and see."
Tamaki pulled a face at him. "I'll have you know I'm always attractive. Nosy or not."
"Yes, I'm sure that abnormally large head of yours is your most favourable feature. Women will just swoon over it."
In lieu of replying, Tamaki simply launched the paper ball back at him. It smacked Kyoya between the eyes with startling accuracy.
Only time would tell, really, if his efforts had been a success.
But as the two of them meandered back to the other hosts, carelessly jostling and bumping each other, Kyoya knew somewhere deep inside that they were turning to a brighter page.
Maybe it was the way Honey's eyes were damp and reddened, but alight with life. Maybe it was the way Haruhi's gait was lighter, more free than it had been in weeks, the photobook cradled in her arms. Or maybe it was simply the way that Kyoya himself had released the last of the negativity clutching at his heart.
Things would be okay, not because someone had told them so, but because they would make it so.
Everyone had their own definition of okay. Maybe they would never return to what used to be their own definition of okay, and that was okay.
To start reaching his own normal, Kyoya needed to go back to school.
The thought, once a daunting monster looming over him, had resolved itself into a much more manageable hurdle.
A hurdle was a hurdle all the same, but Kyoya finally felt ready to tackle it. He was still running yes, but instead of running away from his problems, he was running towards them, ready to face them head on.
And if he stumbled, he had people he trusted to steady him and guide him back on course.
A/N: It's finally here! This chapter was super hard for me to write, but I'm quite happy with the way it turned out. Hopefully you guys like it, too. There's one more chapter to go until then end, hopefully it won't take too long for me to get down, but I want it to be perfect
Thank you for everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed, your feedback really does a lot to brighten my days