Tamaki slammed the phone down with a little more force than necessary. Ha had made the mistake of getting excited. He couldn't help but remember the tiny print he'd read on the calendar earlier that very day: confession. His heart sunk.

Haruhi would definitely reject him, because she obviously already had someone else in mind. The man she was going to confess to was probably much better than him. He was probably a commoner, like Haruhi, and so he would already understand all of her customs and strange ways of life. He'd probably never asked questions like, "How do you open the dishwasher?" or, "We have to change our own light bulbs?!" He probably knew how to vacuum and he'd probably been making instant coffee since before Tamaki was born.

The two of them probably discussed how fancy tuna was the best thing in the whole world, and how much they hated selfish, rich bastards like Tamaki. What did Haruhi like in boys, anyway?

Violet eyes shifted, studying the picture frame on the bedside table. It was a picture that had been taken on the last day of school, one of the entire Host Club. Even Renge was there. Everyone was smiling, and surprisingly, Haruhi was dressed in Ouran's female uniform.

She'd decided to wear it on the on the last day of school, to finally reveal the truth. Suddenly an alarm went of in Tamaki's head.

"It is a boy that she's going to confess to...right?" He swallowed.

Was his Haruhi also like that? Like Kaoru and Kyouya and Honey and Mori? How? A homosexual main character?! How could so many of them lean in the same direction? It was beginning to seem more and more like perhaps he and Hikaru were merely the heterosexual side characters, instead of the other way around!

"It can't be!" Tamaki shouted.

For how long had Haruhi been this way? Why hadn't she ever told him? Was she afraid, did she think he was too judgmental? What if it had been something she'd really been struggling with, and this entire time Tamaki hadn't even been given the chance to be there for her! What if she'd never given him the chance because she was creeped out because she could tell that he felt about her! She couldn't tell, could she? Could everyone tell? For how long had everyone known?

Why was he always the last one to know?

Suddenly, he was struck with the very best idea. He would just go ahead and find out, right?

Mind reeling, he jumped up and scrambled for the necessary items. A few minutes and a notepad later Tamaki had mapped out his entire plan. It consisted of a series of questions, goals, and demonstrations, all of which, in the end, would tell him whether or not it was a boy or a girl that Haruhi was going to confess to. He intelligently dubbed it: Operation Find Out Haruhi's Sexuality.

He wasn't sure exactly why it was so important that he find out the gender of the person Haruhi he liked, but for some inexplicable reason, it really was. The idea that Haruhi liked a girl was really gnawing at his insides. If it was a boy Haruhi he liked—if Haruhi at least like boys—then he had a chance, as small as it may be. With a girl, well, Tamaki couldn't compete with that!

First things first.

The first person he decided to call was Hikaru, for several reasons, but most importantly because Hikaru and Haruhi seemed to have formed a strange, quasi-friendship over the years. Not to mention Hikaru wasn't in school. He phoned him with excited fingers.

He began talking before Hikaru could even manage a bored, "Moshi, moshi."

"Hikaru, do you know anything about Haruhi involving a..." his thumbs twitched. How could he word this without giving everything about the situation away? "Confession?" he finally managed.

There was a cough on the other line. A very suspicious cough. Hikaru definitely knew something.

"Uh, no-not particularly..." More coughing. Even more suspicious. "Why do you ask? Maybe you'd be better off asking Kaoru anyway, he's much better at—"

Tamaki knew exactly what Hikaru was trying to do. He was attempting to defend Haruhi's honor, and keep his loyalty to her as a friend! While they were both very respectable traits—especially for someone like Hikaru—they really weren't going to help Tamaki at all. For the first time ever, he wished that Hikaru wasn't such a good guy. Why couldn't Haruhi have normal, secret-spilling, backstabbing friends? Weren't those the sort of friends girls were supposed to have anyway?

Unless it was different with Haruhi since Haruhi didn't want girls as just friends, she wanted to date girls—confess to girls! He began to tap his foot anxiously. Haruhi did have a lot of male friends, didn't she? All those years at Ouran, coming to school everyday dressed as a boy; it had obviously done had an effect on her fragile psyche.

Tamaki chewed on his lip.

The only female friend Haruhi ever had was Renge, and everyone knew how Renge was with Haruhi! All those years of Haruhi pretending to be a boy, flirting and chatting with girls all the while she was a girl! Why had he let such a thing go on for so long?

Now he was paying for it. Now Haruhi didn't like boys at all! What if it was his fault? Could something like that even be someone else's fault? Tamaki wasn't exactly sure quite how things liked that worked. He didn't know what made a person lean in one direction or the other. Maybe it was pre-determined. Maybe it wasn't.

But with Haruhi he didn't know one way or the other! He just didn't know!

"Please, Hikaru! It'll just be between you and me, I promise! I really have to know! I can't have my daughter running of with the Yakuza."

His cool-guy detective demeanor was quickly crumpling, revealing the same old Tamaki, hysterical and afraid.

"It isn't a girl is it? Is Haruhi like Mori and Honey?" The blond sobbed openly into the phone.

Hikaru would understand, right?

"Look Hikaru, me and you, we're the same! We can see eye-to-eye! I just need to know—"

Click. Hikaru had hung up. Just like that.

Most of the conversations with the other former-host club members fared about just the same. No one, not even Kyouya, seemed to have a scrap of useful information regarding Haruhi and whether or not she liked girls or boys. If anything, they seemed to be hiding something. Maybe something far worse and far more sinister than he'd originally imagined.

She wasn't that tight on cash, right? Right?

If things continued at this rate, Christmas Eve was going to arrive before Tamaki found out anything—and then it would be too late. Haruhi would confess and the person—boy, girl, whatever—would obviously return her feelings. They had too. How could anyone not like Haruhi?

Resisting the urge to lapse into hysterics, Tamaki considered his options. The easiest way to get information on anyone or anything was just the same: gossip. With a renewed burst of energy, he scrambled into the bathroom to shower and change. Immediacy aside, he always wanted to look his best. Nearly tripping over his fit on his way out the door, he grabbed his bag and bolted down the street.

The parking lot was bigger than he'd expected. Tamaki had been to Haruhi's University once before, but he'd never really looked at the finer details: the architecture or the colors, and hardly the size of the parking lot. The building structure itself was impressive. High cement walls and rows of tiny rectangular windows; little decorative carvings ingrained around the perimeter of the doorways. It was rather, beautiful, Tamaki thought. Almost as good as Ouran.

Despite the school's beauty, things weren't going so well. He'd been standing outside of the main entryway for six and a half hours, and still, not a soul seemed to have any useful information about a Haruhi Fujioka. No one.

"Excuse me, fair lady, but I was wondering..."

The fair lady in question was an average looking college student with long, black hair tied into a high ponytail. She gave him a hardly-concealed suspicious look.

"Shove off, creep, or I'm going to report you to the school security," she said, turning heel, her scarf fluttering in the heavy wind.

That was another problem. Even worse than the lack of information was the fact that most of students wouldn't even speak to him kindly. After just a few words they always looked at him like he'd buttoned up his shirt incorrectly. Perhaps commoners were suspicious of everyone?

"Excuse me, sir, but I wanted to know if—" The words had barely fallen from his lips when his eyes widened.

"Tamaki, why are you outside of my school?" a low voice asked flatly.

"Haruhi! You're not wearing—I mean-you're dressed like just back in Ouran!"

Tamaki had been pleased with Haruhi's recent interest in barrettes and cute clothing, but this was like Ouran all over again! She was wearing a vest over a long-sleeved shirt, and plain, black pants. He'd thought she was a boy! Again.

Haruhi refused to comment.

"Why are you outside of my school? I told you I wouldn't be home until five today. I have English, remember?"

English? Haruhi really did like foreigners, didn't she?

"I was merely checking up on my daughter! Can't a father worry about her daughter? Is that such a crime?" Tamaki shouted.

"Well it very well may be. It looks like you're trespassing, and you're going to get yourself into trouble."

The whole investigation had been a waste of time. He'd wasted hours trying to find even the smallest scrap about who Haruhi liked. Nothing. Even worse, time was not waiting for him. Christmas Eve was quickly approaching, and if he didn't find out what was going on by tomorrow, all hope would be lost.

Without another word, he began the long, treacherous three-block walk back toward the house, leaving Haruhi confused and frozen far behind him. For once, he managed to unlock the door without much trouble, and he let himself in to the empty house feeling worse than he'd felt when he left.

Even if he didn't know how Haruhi he felt about girls or boys, it was precisely clear how she felt about him. He hadn't even received a warm greeting or a smile. Instead he'd gotten bored brown eyes and an annoyed voice informing him that trespassing was a misdemeanor.

There was no hope. It didn't really matter if was a girl or a guy. What was the difference to Haruhi anyway? Either way, she was going to confess to someone tomorrow. The calendar said so. Haruhi had always been a very organized person, and if there was one thing she was good at, it was following through with plans.

Maybe if he'd of realized it sooner, asked her out way back in high school—god, he was such an idiot!—there would have been time. Why hadn't anyone told him? No one ever told him anything! Why did everyone force him to waste so much time trying to figure things out on his own?

He sighed in defeat, crawling under the bed in hopes that no one would ever find him again, that he could be left alone by himself to die and rot away until his body had completely decomposed. Besides, if died under the bed next to the dust-bunnies and dirt, at least then he'd never have to know who Haruhi was going to confess to. Who could possibly be so precious to her?

The next morning was a Saturday, and Haruhi went about her daily routine the same way she always had: methodically. It didn't matter that it was Christmas Eve—she still needed a shower, her teeth still needed to be brushed, and someone still had to put the tea kettle on—certain things just couldn't be avoided.

Thirty minutes into reading the newspaper she realized that something was being avoided. Tamaki was obviously avoiding her. After she'd returned home Tamaki had been nowhere to be found. She'd checked all the rooms, and called out his name several times, but the only answers she'd received had been that of her wet shoes squeaking against the linoleum tiles in the kitchen.

At first, it hadn't been anything to worry over. Tamaki couldn't always be home, and despite his best efforts, he didn't have much of a knack for cooking anyway. Haruhi was fine on her own. She'd been by herself for a long time before Tamaki and the rest of the Host Club had come along. Certainly she could do it for one night while Tamaki was over a friend's house or out doing whatever it was rich people did with their free time.

Still, there was the part that left her feeling like she was missing something.

Where could Tamaki have gone on the day before Christmas Eve? Last night she'd been tired, but now, eight hours of sleep later with Tamaki still missing, worry was beginning to seep into her skin. Tamaki wouldn't possibly spend the holidays with someone else, would he? Not one to jump to conclusions, she resigned to calling Kyouya when she was finished with the newspaper.

She couldn't wait that long. Thirteen seconds later she was dialing the Ootori residence with shaking fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

"Kyouya, I'm sorry to bother you, but—"

"It's fine, it's fine," he said easily.

Laughter. Haruhi was relieved to realize that Kyouya wasn't laughing, but that it was merely Hikaru who had answered his phone. She let out a nervous laugh herself.

"Hi Hikaru, I was calling for Kyouya. Is he around?"

"He's actually out at the moment. I could tell him you called if you'd like?"

Kyouya wasn't home? He was probably out with Tamaki—obviously—who else would Tamaki have gone out with?

"Tamaki's not with him, is he?"

"Not that I know of, why?"

How could Tamaki not be with Kyouya? Her heart rate was steadily accelerating.

"It's nothing. Thanks for the help, I'll talk to you later!"

She hung up the phone. Her palms were sweating. Almost immediately, the phone began to ring, and when she glanced down at the caller ID it read "Kyouya." She'd obviously worried Kaoru, but she wasn't sure exactly how to explain to him that she'd lost Tamaki. That she didn't know where he was.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," she said out loud, trying to steer herself toward reason.

It had quite the opposite effect when she realized she was speaking out loud to herself in an empty house. She wiped her hands against her pants and headed towards her bedroom. Perhaps a bit of relaxing was in order.

When her head hit the pillow, Haruhi thought maybe she really did need a break. Between attending school and working part-time, she really had been overexerting herself. Perfectionism never seemed to help matters. Her mind drifted at first, consciousness fading, but only a few moments later she was wide awake, hazel eyes trained on the ceiling.

The sound of the toilet flushing was what woke her up. She nearly had a heart attack. In her sleep hazy mind, her first thought was that someone had broken in. They were being robbed. She had to get out. Of course, after only a few seconds of hysteria she realized that the noise was probably just Tamaki. Tamaki was home.

More excited than she liked to admit, Haruhi was running down the hallway, white socks padding across the apartment floor.

Strange.

The bathroom was completely empty. The water from the toilet was still running, and the sink was still wet, but other than that there wasn't a single sign that anyone had entered the house at all. The shower curtain was blue with yellow ducks, and it hung listlessly; the entire room strangely silent. The white tiling and stack of towels remained untouched.

Yet, someone had obviously been in there. She was sure of it.

The journey to Tamaki's bedroom was a short one, and as she glanced around at the poster lined walls and cluttered dresser, she realized suddenly how very different she and Tamaki were from one another. Haruhi liked to keep her own room neat and organized—knowing where everything was and having a proper place for everything was essential.

Tamaki's room was cluttered with personal items and hair products, and silly, sentimental things too, like movie stubs and old holiday cards that people had sent him. His walls were lined with posters of idols, pinned with colorful thumbtacks.

If Tamaki wasn't back in time, her holiday plans would be shot to hell. Her eyes flickered to the right suddenly; a soft rustling noise was coming from somewhere inside the room. She stilled. Feeling more a little apprehensive, she began to check through the rest of the apartment—which really wasn't much—until she was once again standing in the bathroom doorway.

She'd come full circle. The sink was dry and the toilet was silent. Had there ever been any water in the sink at all?

Haruhi felt like she was going crazy. She decided to calm herself with some tea and an attempt to go back to the paper she'd been reading this morning when she realized with a surge that it was already mid evening. It was the windows and not the kitchen clock that had alerted her of the fact. The sky was already dark and bottomless. How could it already be seven? Just how long had she slept, exactly?

Dark hair hung in her eyes as she took a seat at the table, hunched her shoulders, and quietly began to cry. It was sudden and strange and frustrating—and foreign too—Haruhi wasn't used to crying.

Here it was, Christmas Eve, and not only had Haruhi not even managed to ask Tamaki out, but now Tamaki wasn't even around to be asked out in the first place. So much for a confession. Tamaki saw her as a daughter, and that was that. She could get used to it.

She definitely couldn't get used to living without him. Without his endless enthusiasm and scatter-brained attitude to curve her cynicism and logic, things just didn't feel right. It felt like a precarious balance on a scale had just slipped, sending her heavy heart plummeting. Feeling stupid, she stood up, dried her eyes, and headed back towards Tamaki's room.

Once inside, she threw herself onto green sheets and stifled a sob. She wasn't going to cry again. The bed smelled like Tamaki, like lavender shampoo and fancy bath salts. Crying really wouldn't solve anything, and even if there wasn't anyone around to hear it, that didn't mean—

There was that noise again. Haruhi quieted her breathing, and listened. Slowly, she removed herself from the bed; eyes alert.

There was somebody in the house.

She tried not to choke on her own fear. It couldn't be Tamaki. Tamaki wasn't the type of person to go sneaking around the house, suspicious and quiet and calculating. Whoever was in the house did not want to be heard. What could she do? Call the police was the most obvious choice, but not a particularly quiet one.

Hide. That was what she ought to do, hide. He instincts screamed at her to run. She couldn't just stand there. Flight overcoming fight, she dropped slowly to the floor and began to move her body beneath the bed.

Haruhi screamed.