He hated how short his school days seemed to be now, basically begging Tachibana to allow him to return home. His notes were sloppy at best, and he couldn't focus enough to complete his tests. Everything was shorthand, not explained, and his grades suffered. Luckily, these weren't actual exams, but their teachers made sure to keep up to date.

Are you feeling alright, Ootori-san? Have you been to the doctors'? Has your father taken you to get checked out? Question after question and no real answer given. The finances were shared with Haruhi and Kaoru, Tamaki letting something slip. What, he wasn't sure, but they were more than happy to help their "sick" senpai.

The thing was… he knew this. He knew what it was. It never affected his academic ability before, but he wasn't really sleeping or eating. He spent most of his nights staring up at the ceiling, contemplating the point of it all, and food turned to dirt and ashes in his mouth. Nothing appetized him. Nothing really mattered to him. When you spend hours thinking about the insignificance of your existence as a whole, homework doesn't appeal. He was too tired for that, despite being dragged into a void of existential contemplation and crisis.

His friends were worried, of course. Despite never verbally bringing up each other's issues, Mori and he had a friendship based on silent support. He didn't feel completely alone on the days where he felt too weighed down and his tongue felt to heavy to talk. Still, there were times when the silence was too thick and noxious, slowly suffocating him as they sat there. Like he needed to say something, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. On those days, he scratches at his arms and Mori gave him a sad look of both understanding and comradery.

But Mori couldn't say anything, just like Kyoya couldn't say anything when Honey was pushed into throwing him down. Firstly, that wasn't their sort of friendship; silence was deeply rooted in their compatibility. Secondly… It was hypocritical. For any human flaws they might've had, neither of them wished to be a hypocrite. They built their support on silence, and that was how it'd stay.

Hikaru couldn't give less of a shit about him… usually. Now, he was asking questions. He was asking how his day went, if he'd like to lie down in the back room; you look like you're about to faint and you can't concentrate, go sleep it off. It was, in a word, disturbing. He much preferred the Hikaru who almost acted like a possessive cat, raising his back whenever he and Kaoru would go off on their own. It was downtime, and he and Kaoru were becoming close. Until this thing came back, at least; he found himself preferring the comfort of his room over anything they could do together.

Kaoru… He barely knew. Sometimes he didn't really see the other boy, other times he flitted around him as if Kyoya was made of glass. While he knew that no one knew what was wrong, no one knew how to make it better, it still irritated him. Not Kaoru, really – he was trying his best – but himself. He shouldn't be irritated when he was the one to blame, allowing this thing to infect him once more. Logically, he knew it wasn't really his fault, but he couldn't help but feel sick with himself over it.

Then, there was Haruhi and Tamaki. Both had lost their mothers to illness, in some way. Tamaki's mother was still alive, yes, but circumstances and sacrifices came between them. For those two, it set off something of a fear in both of them. He was pale, slow, dark circles laying beneath caked makeup in some vain attempt to look at least a little healthier. But, at the end of the day, he felt like he was in freefall. Soon, he'd hit the ground, bloody and broken. Dead.

Free from all of this.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of that thought. It was happening… not frequently, but not rarely either. It was disquieting, quite frankly scary, but he was still fine. Not functioning perfectly, he couldn't lie to himself that much, but fine. He was still alive… in a sense. He still breathed, still had a heartbeat. He wasn't physically ill, so all he had to do was pull his mind together. Despite acting like one, he wasn't some sort of useless NEET or hikikomori. He was intelligent, witty, and he was going to succeed… Right? Honestly, he wasn't even that sure anymore…

"Ootori-kun, are you paying attention?"

The drama teacher's voice snapped him back into reality, and it was startling, in a very temporary and minor way, just how normal this had become for him when those around him still seemed concerned. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't. It was just too familiar…

"Well, as I was saying," He teacher began, a hint heavily in her voice for him to start paying attention, "Tamaki and Kyoya, you'll be performing a song from the first act; There's A World. I want you both to show how to react, rather than just staring blankly when you don't have lines."

Tamaki was the one who took him to the stage, hand gripping his wrist tightly – but not tight enough. The music began, and there they were. A usually amazing double act, turned an amazing actor and a stone weighing him down. The support was gone, and Tamaki was left with a subpar performance. How unfair.

"I'll be Gabe, don't worry," Tamaki cut in, and he had to start wondering when Tamaki started giving him that almost pitying look. He had to wonder when he'd stopped finding it insulting, "You can be Diana. You won't have lines, but you're good at reacting."

He merely nodded. Honestly, he was just tired and numb right now. He just wanted to go home and sleep, but he just needed to muddle through until lunch. Then, he could go home. At least they were doing Next To Normal, which was a little too easy to act to at times. Who was he kidding? In general. He didn't want to think, he was too exhausted to just pretend these days. The song wasn't too long either, which was a Godsend.

The music began, and Tamaki started singing. The song was a melancholy, although beautiful one, a son singing to his mother about a place where she could be happy. As Tamaki sang it, it was his best friend just… talking about the host club. While he'd still been exhausted there recently, it was a place of happiness. That, and Tamaki's singing voice really was lovely.

However, despite the pretty promises made, in the context of the play it was a lot more sinister. It was someone's own delusion pushing them to suicide, which cut a little too close to his situation in that moment. He didn't really want to kill himself, but his thoughts strayed in that direction fairly often. Really, he just wanted to die somehow; that was all. Worrying, but less likely to actually happen; he couldn't shame his family like that. He couldn't bring himself to, even if everything felt strained.

He just wanted to stop going around in a circle, like his mother did; circling the drain until he went under, drowning in his own, illogical feelings of melancholy. He'd done this all before, but there was no saviour in the wings, waiting to ride in on a white stallion and rescue him. It was all a huge mess of metaphors, really; he was either a princess in the tower, or some disgusting piece of dirt or lint. It depended on his mood; he was either garbage, or plain pathetic.

At any other time, the thoughts might've triggered a self-deprecating smile, but all it seemed to do was drag his mood down further.

"Tamaki-kun! That was amazing!" The cheer cut through his thoughts, the sound coming back to the forefront of his mind, and he turned to see that their audience had certainly enjoyed the performance. A standing ovation. Of course, even with a lead weight, Tamaki was able to cast a spell over all who watched him. He always had that captivating magic.

"Kyoya?" Tamaki cut in, and he blinked. It was then he realised how wet his face was, tears running down his cheeks, "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"I… Nothing," He dismissed, pushing himself to stand and wiping away the tears with the back of his hand, "You said to react, right?"

No one argued. No one ever did.