Virgin Heartache

A/N: Yeah I'm alive. To make it short, works been tying me down and my will to write has suffered greatly. Current songs I'm listening to in order to stimulate my creativity are 'Return to innocence' by Enigma, 'Love in this club' by Usher and 'What would you do' by City High. Any song recommendations from you, the people, to further revitalize me would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer- Beatlejuice! Beatlejuice! Beatlejuice! (Waits a few seconds) Dammit! My last hope has failed me. Oh well- neither OHSHC nor BV belong to me. Oh- and the same goes for Beatlejuice.

(Special Quote: "Art is not the possession of the few who are recognized writers, painters, musicians; it is the authentic expression of any and all individuality. Those who have the gift of creative expression in unusually large measure disclose the meaning of the individuality of others to those others. In participating in the work of art, they become artists in their activity. They learn to know and honor individuality in whatever form it appears. The fountains of creative activity are discovered and released. The free individuality which is the source of art is also the final source of creative development in time."

-Dewey, John, Time and Individuality)

Chapter 4- To celebrate a memory

(Ouran High School, Classroom 2-A)

Like a gentle breeze the morning sunlight flowed softly through the open windows into the classroom. As the light fell upon their bodies the students nearest to the windows were in some way changed. The yellow fabric of the dresses the girls wore absorbed the pure radiance so that they appeared to glow even more vibrantly while a striking shadow was cast over the blue vests and black dress pants of the boys. Complimented by the light of the day their natural attractiveness was brought out in startling relief. And it was not only the people who made up the class, for in the wash of warm light that spread throughout it the rooms own resplendence was illuminated.

The tiled floor, arranged into a modest flower mosaic, was immaculately free of any scuff marks that would have otherwise marred it. From the cream colored walls hung ornately gold leafed portraits of high- ranking officials next to brilliantly detailed maps and charts. Lined up in orderly row alongside the wall opposing the windows the latest models of computers hummed noiselessly, waiting to be used. Against the wall in the back of the room a 19th century walnut bookcase boasted an impressive collection of first edition texts and volumes by celebrated authors from numerous eras all around the world that would leave a dedicated bibliophile drooling in unabated delight. Protruding from the white ceiling high overhead a pricey projector flashed a series of images down onto the interactive whiteboard at the front of the class.

A wizened elder gentleman with wispy white hair stood at a podium that was situated before the whiteboard. Dressed in the schools traditional three piece suit and wearing an old fashioned pair of exquisite gold framed pince-nez that sat delicately on his small nose he was at once the formulaic vision of a dedicated educator. The stern expression adorning his face as he read from the heavy tomb in front of him completed the look, warning all that by nature he was not the forgiving type.

Peering up from his book the lines around his clouding eyes practically snapped together as he seethed upon the realization that the majority of his class was caught up in chatting away with their friends or on their cell phones. In short, they were completely ignoring him. What was truly infuriating to the little man was that they weren't even making an effort to hide the fact that they weren't paying attention. His thin fingers itched fiercely with an overpowering urge to draw up the wooden walking stick next to him while on the inside he battled against conflicting desires.

'Gods!' he screeched mentally in his head. 'I would give anything- anything in the world! - To strike these ingrates down right where they sit! To bring my cane down on them like I would with a shinai-! It would be a suitable punishment for this blatant lack of respect! How can these ingrates just sit there and ignore me like this?! Don't they realize that teachers have feelings too?!'

Biting down hard on his tongue he pulled back his outstretched hand while pushing aside the pleasant image of swinging a blade down onto every single one of their flighty little heads. Cogently he reminded himself that these impertinent little bastards were heirs to some of the most respectable families residing in Japan, many of whom were the owners of large conglomerates. Make one wrong move to harm a single one and the dire consequences he could face would be of unimaginable proportions. He'd lived far too long to screw everything up for a brief moment of justice.

Landing yet another killing blow to his withering soul, longing for the good days when a man could be struck down for showing even the slightest disrespect, he breathed a heavy sigh before shutting the book he was reading from with a loud snap that brought everyone's attention back to him- where it should have been from the very start.

"Now that we've all finished reading this section of the chapter-"he said vehemently, unable to stop himself from glaring daggers at all of them, causing a collective sweat drop to sweep over the room. "-I want a detailed report on the entire chapter from all of you by next class. I expect no less than a two, no-"he paused as an idea came to him, a cruel smirk flashing onto his face, "-four pages in my hand by tomorrow morning. You may use the rest of class getting started on this. Oh, and one other thing- this report will be worth 10% of your overall grade for this quarter." The teacher allowed himself an evil chuckle at the sudden flurry of noise as everyone scrambled to flip open their books and hastily write down as much as they could with what little time they had.

'Let that be a lesson to pay attention next time you little snots!' With a small feeling of satisfaction to nurse his wounded soul, he left the classroom with walking stick in hand to go hack at some poor defenseless tree somewhere on the school grounds to do away with any lingering frustration.

Unconcerned with the teachers assignment, what with being too preoccupied with another more pressing problem at hand to listen, Tamaki managed to sink down into his desk, disappearing out of sight before somehow popping back up again a seat back in the next row over. Spinning around with eyes on the verge of tears, he faced Kyoya who was now sitting behind him.

"Motherrrrr-", Tamaki whined miserably, attempting to gain the attention of his unofficial domestic partner.

"Yes, Dad?" Kyoya replied without looking up from his laptop, putting up no resistance to their little 'family' game. After playing along for so long, it seemed pointless to try and end it, or rather more troublesome for Kyoya to make an effort now. If he'd just nipped it in the bud earlier on when he'd had the chance then maybe… ah well, a tactical error on his part not foreseeing this continuing annoyance- not that he'd ever admit to such an act.

"I'm anxious about our daughter's wellbeing…" Tamaki moaned, inconsolable. "She hasn't called to let me know that she made it home all right, and she knows that she's supposed to call otherwise it worries daddy… Especially so since she's hurt! Mom, what if something's happened and I wasn't there to save her! What if Mori didn't do anything to help her or worse-! - He contributed to her misfortune!" Tamaki's eyes shot wide open as his mounting hysteria planted an absurd possibility in his mind. "What if Haruhi's been sold into slavery! Oh I can see all too clearly! Held captive in somebody's basement, being forced to make straw sandals for a mean master, doomed to cry her eyes out every night because her captors mock her for the poor quality of her work! And what if-"

Frankly, it was one 'what if' too many for Kyoya. "What if you're only babbling utter nonsense, interrupting me when I'm in the middle of business while you go on about your baseless idiotic fears?" Kyoya said in a tone that meant he clearly did not expect an answer. "Now if you don't mind, the accountant of the family has some very important work to do. Be a good little breadwinner and go irritate somebody else who has nothing to do. Prat."

"Kyoya! How can any work be more important to you than our daughter?!" Tamaki wailed loudly, causing just about everyone in the room to turn in their seats and stare at him.

Aware of all the attention being directed at him, Tamaki dropped down into his seat until only his eyes were barely peeping over the edge, trying to conceal the blaze of embarrassment burning across his face. He heard Kyoya mutter 'idiot' under his breath and looked up to see him still busily typing away on his laptop.

"What are you doing anyways?" Tamaki asked curiously, quickly getting over his embarrassment.

"I'm going over the clubs' current resources." Kyoya answered calmly, not taking his eyes away from the screen.

Tamaki went stiff as stone and his breathing came to a halt. In another instant he was sitting up straight, a serious look coming onto his face, his whole body tense as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Has there been a change?"

Kyoya stopped typing, his hands hovering over the keyboard. In a blink his eyes swept around the room, pinpointing the location of every other person present and analyzing their actions. Their classmates had scattered around the room, clustering into individual groups to work together on the teacher's tedious assignment. Despite Tamaki's loud mouth nobody seemed to be paying attention to them anymore, and all of them were far enough away that no one would overhear anything that might be said, with the utmost discretion in mind, between the two hosts. A preferential circumstance, considering the topic at hand; the club did have an image to maintain.

The Host club, an unusual business venture run by an elite group of good looking students, was a trade recently introduced within the exalted halls of Ouran. It was founded by Tamaki Suoh, the chairman's son and its current president, when he entered high school. Consisting of members solely from the A-class willing to offer their time, attention and even love to interested clientele, the club gained immediate success among the female populace. Hosting numerous flamboyant events, investing large sums into remodeling parts of the school and ordering all manner of products from the world around, the club gained a spendthrift reputation. Of course, being an institute catered quite exclusively for the extremely wealthy (with only one exception), this detail is often accepted in stride with all the students, and the club is usually never reproached for it. The publically unknown fact of the matter though is that, despite its elaborate appearances, even the host club had to operate within certain limitations.

Limitations, unfortunately enough, that were proving to be exceedingly inconvenient.

After a moments' consideration Kyoya spoke, keeping his voice low. "A merchant's happiness hangs upon chance, wind, and waves. That being, I wish it not that the morning sky were so deeply red."

Kyoya proceeded typing as Tamaki deflated, despair reigning over him, and let his head fall with a thump onto Kyoya's desk.

"What are we going to do?" Tamaki muttered into the desk, staring into the surface as though the answer were hidden within the wood patterns. A thought occurred to him that maybe it was but he just wasn't concentrating hard enough. With that ludicrous notion in mind his eyes bored into the desk, searching every grainy detail, his imagination flowing wild as he concluded that each whimsical shape had a secret meaning that had yet to be deciphered. The desk withheld the truth, but he would crack the code and its revelation would be their salvation. In his heart, he believed he would succeed.

But alas, the wood code was too complex for his simple mind, filling it with mixed images having no connection, and Tamaki's frustration steadily grew until finally it exploded.

"Surrender your secret, damn you!" Tamaki yelled into the desk, gripping its sides as he pushed his face into it, as though that would accomplish something.

Kyoya swore silently as several ladies in the room gasped in shock and saw with another quick glance that everyone's eyes were once more locked on them. Suppressed anger towards the blond welled up instantly in a blistering rage and as it peaked he shot an explosively menacing glare brimming with killer intent at Tamaki. Tamaki yelped in fear and imaginary pain, envisioning a horrific death by unspeakable means, before he cowered quietly in his seat in an attempt to make himself as small as possible before the demon lord's wrath.

"Tamaki calm down!" Kyoya hissed sharply, sparks of fury glinting dangerously in his eyes. He lifted his head and contorted his face to the best of his ability into the resemblance of an apologetic smile which he showed to the others in the class. Seeing this, the others once more went back to concentrating on their own work. With an angry huff, Kyoya let the expression fall from his face as he returned to his laptop.

After a time, once he'd overcome the aftereffects of seeing his own grisly demise, Tamaki eventually managed to ease himself out of the fetal position. He soon went back to fretting privately over his previous worries involving Haruhi's fate, finding no point in attempting to divine answers from the furniture or to continue with the early discussion involving the host club.

"Mori's probably gloating over all the money he's made selling off Haruhi." Tamaki whispered, falling back into the darkest pit of his anguishing thoughts.

"Mori's probably already dropped Haruhi off at her house and is on his way back." Kyoya interjected, his tone hinting at residual anger though his face remained impassive. "Anyways, he's too decent to ever consider selling Haruhi off to slave traders. Although, assuming the unlikely possibility that he has, we'll simply confiscate the revenue and redirect it into the clubs account."

(Somewhere in Tokyo)

The only source of light in the room came from a covered bulb hanging stiffly from a cord in the ceiling. The harsh white light it was making was directed downward, illuminating only a square table and the group of people surrounding it. There were three people seated around it and a fourth who chose to stand. Outside the circle of light most of the room was swathed in darkness, invisible shadows dancing unseen on the walls.

Mori and Haruhi were among those four, seated side by side, their bodies still with their eyes locked onto the other two sitting across from them. Mori's face was impassive, his hands resting lightly on the table while next to him Haruhi started to fidget as the silence dragged on, her eyes darting from Mori's emotionless face to the men in front of her.

One of the men, a stocky middle aged fellow, closed his eyes and pursed his lips, his brows furrowed in concentration, a contemplative expression on his face. The light shining down created shadows on his face which gave him a particularly unfriendly appearance. The younger thinner man next to him, the only one standing in the room, was wearing a hat which concealed the upper part of his face in the shadow it created. Although they couldn't see it all the others could sense his eyes traversing around the table, calculating as he observed all of them, scrutinizing the expressions on their faces for a hint at what was to come.

The air in the room was tense with anticipation. Hardly anyone was breathing as they all waited for the older man to speak. Finally, after what seemed a long time of deliberation, the man opened his eyes and stared hard into Mori's before, with only a moments' hesitation, giving his answer.

"1,608" He said with bold confidence.

Mori shook his head before giving them the proper value. "4,936."

Both men's mouths dropped as their eyebrows shot up into the hairlines. Even Haruhi who'd expected the estimate would be nowhere cheap was blown over by the sum.

"Your joking!" the stocky man sputtered in disbelief. "That's- that's more than three times the average price! To pay that much for a 'comfort'…!"

Mori shrugged, the impassive expression disappearing as a faint grin graced his lips, crossing his arms as he leaned back a little in his seat. "It can be higher."

"I just don't believe it…" The man's eyes turned to Haruhi, doubt reflecting strongly from them as he looked her up and down as if he might suddenly find a plausible reason for the extraordinary cost. "I mean seriously, for a 'dish' to be that expensive… its' crazy."

"I agree sempai" the younger man murmured as he scratched the back of his head. "Really though, just what the heck do you put in to make a single plate of curry rice cost so much?"

"Probably a bunch of top grade products imported from overseas just because they can afford it." Haruhi replied with a weighty sigh, thinking that for all intents and purposes it was likely true. "You have to understand that these are the kind of people who have no shame treating a Yami-Nabe party like a treasure hunt and try to guess what expensive food they just put in their mouth."

Mori's jaw dropped as he stared at her in shock. 'Did she actually just say that?'

The tension in the air dissolved, instantly replaced by a friendly warmth as the other two chuckled with amusement before another light in the room was turned on. The shadows dispersed at once revealing the black tunics and matching pants worn by the two men, the metal insignia emblazoned on the standing man's hat strikingly noticeable in the sudden light- the uniform designating them as Tokyo metropolitan police officers. Putting his own hat on which had been lying on the table off to the side the older officer got up from his seat before escorting both of them back outside the station.

"You remember to take care of yourself now lad" one of the officers called out after Haruhi, waving cheerfully after them as they departed down a bustling street. "I like our chats and all, but I'd rather the next time we meet not be because you're heading home hurt or sick- again." The two officers let out a hearty laugh as Haruhi's cheeks flushed a light pink before she called back, letting them know she'd try.

"Well now" Haruhi breathed," that was- embarrassing. Sorry you had to sit through that, Mori-sempai."

Mori shook his head, letting her know that it was fine. Truthfully, Mori had found it quite entertaining seeing the looks of shock that flew across all their faces as he revealed the prices for different meals that ordinarily they themselves would usually only spend a fraction of the cost for.

They'd found themselves in that curious situation when not long after getting off the train they were stopped by a patrolling officer who, finding it suspicious for a couple of students to be wandering around while schools were in session, brought them to the station for an interrogation. It was by a twist of luck that another officer who'd been at the station had recognized Haruhi from a previous encounter when she'd attempted to stumble home with a fever.

The interrogation turned into a friendly (and to Mori completely mystifying) conversation detailing the food that was served in the cafeteria at Ouran. After that they'd started a little guessing game where they tried to figure out how much individual plates of food cost. As Mori was the only one with the most experience on the matter (since Haruhi usually dined on a homemade bento) almost all of the questions were aimed at him.

Overall, the entire conversation lasted only about half an hour.

Along the way they made one more stop at the Marutomi, the supermarket bordering the residential area, where Mori followed her around pushing a silver shopping cart as she pulled stuff off the shelf. He couldn't stop his lips from curving into a subtle smile as he watched her march up and down the aisles with a hawks' eye, going over prices and inspecting the quality of the food, her eyes lighting up every now and then when she managed to find a good bargain. The small cart was filled with rice, eggs, nori, a few veggies, and one fresh salmon before she was satisfied.

"I'm thinking about making zosui and salmon rolls for tonight" she told him while they passed through the checkout. When they walked out the store he offered to carry the bags and she readily obliged.

The noisy shops and crowds were soon replaced by silent houses as they walked side by side down a narrow lane. A strong wind began to blow as they walked, kicking up dust and sending a wave of dry leaves that had fallen skidding across the road, filling the air with a crackling noise. The chill in the wind and the leaves a rolling mass of red and orange sweeping towards them were a clear reminder that autumn was not far away.

"Just one more block to go. Hopefully we won't get stopped again before we get there." Haruhi commented casually, downplaying the embarrassment from the earlier scene.

They turned another corner and there, on the other side of a two-lane road, was the apartment complex Haruhi called home. They crossed the street quickly and made for the rickety stairs that led up to her apartment. They had just begun to climb them when a door near the landing opened and a woman walked out.

"Haruhi?" the woman called out as she caught sight of them, closing the door behind her as she moved closer. Mori remembered meeting her once before, recalling that she was the landlord of the complex. She was almost standing next to them when he noted that she was holding something, a blanket it appeared, bundled up in her arms.

"Landlady." Haruhi greeted the woman, stepping back down the stairs.

"What are you doing back so soon?" the woman asked while adjusting her hold so she was carrying the bundle in one arm. Her eyes flickered over Mori suspiciously, before going back to Haruhi. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"There was- a fight at school. Somewhere in the process I kind of got caught up in it." Haruhi answered carefully, omitting the finer details of the circumstance.

"Oh my goodness!" the woman exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth as she looked Haruhi over in concern. "Are you all right dear?"

"Sort of", Haruhi replied. "I got kicked in the stomach and it was bothering me so it was- decided- that I should go home. One of my friends from school chose to come with, to make sure I made it." Haruhi finished, gesturing over to Mori.

Mori nodded his head as she glanced over at him again. At that moment a loud wail suddenly split the air startling all three. The woman quickly bent her head over the bundle and shifted one of the folds aside. Mori heard Haruhi draw in a soft gasp as a tiny hand suddenly shot out and started waving underneath the woman's face.

"Oh what's the matter little one?" she cooed at the tiny face that blinked back with sleepy eyes. The infant had liquid dark eyes, a little nose and small tufts of black hair on its head. It opened its tiny mouth to yawn widely and Mori could see four little teeth in its mouth, two on the bottom and two on top.

"A- baby-"Mori turned his head when he heard Haruhi murmur. He saw her staring intently at the baby, her lips pressed tight into a thin line.

'Is she thinking that this is what her child might be like?' His blood chilled as the thought brushed across his mind. He closed his eyes shaking his head and when he opened them again a smile graced her face.

"So who is this little guy?" Haruhi asked brightly, though Mori thought he heard a quiver in her voice.

The woman looked up from tending the baby, a smile donned on her face as well.

"This is my grandson. My daughter came up from Osaka to visit for the week. She went earlier to go catch up with some of her old school friends so I get to watch over him while she goes and plays around. Of course, being as absentminded as she ever was, she forgot to bring a stroller with her. I was just on my way out to go meet up with one of my old friends to borrow the one she has, that way I'm not left carrying the little dear everywhere. I don't think my back would hold up that long!" she chuckled softly to herself. "'The fortunes of aging'- Well, I suppose I should get going."

The woman was turning to go when her eyes fell on Mori again. A hint of suspicion tugged at the back of her mind and she quickly turned back to Haruhi. "I imagine you must still be in quite a bit of pain. After I get the stroller I'll stop by later and see if you're doing any better, alright?" 'And I'll make sure that he still isn't here.' The landlady thought to herself. With a quick nod she turned and walked away.

Mori and Haruhi watched the woman with her grandchild climb the short rise leading up the street before they started up the stairs. Pulling a key out of her pocket Haruhi unlocked the door and they slipped in moving into the kitchen area.

"Dad, I'm home" Haruhi called out as Mori set the groceries on the counter and started riffling through the bags and putting things away in their proper places. Mori had been to her house with the other club members on a couple of past occasions but unlike the others was familiar with where things went. With Mori at least Haruhi didn't have to worry about going through everything again.

"Dad?" Haruhi called out again, pausing with the salmon in hand as she waited for an answer. The house remained defiantly silent.

Mori had finished putting away the last thing from the store when he saw something lying by the coffee maker.

"Haruhi." She turned at her name and saw Mori holding a folded sheet of paper in his hand with her name written on it. Haruhi took the note from him, pulling it open and scanning over the few lines scrawled onto the small piece of stationary.

"It says my dad had to leave early for work cause' the boss is ill again." She read out loud. "He must have thought he'd be stuck working overtime, even after I got back from school and the Host club. I guess I can give him a call in a little bit to let him know-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off as a chill shot up her spine when a realization hit her. She shot a glance towards the living room door before her eyes snapped back to Mori. When she saw that he was watching her she hastily lowered them so that her gaze was locked with the floor. She felt her arms begin to tremble but she resisted the urge to cross them.

'What am I suppose to do now?' She thought demurely to herself.

"-Excuse me a sec while I go… change my clothes." She said quietly.

Haruhi turned and stepped briskly over to the sliding door that led into the living room while Mori, puzzled by her subtle shift in behavior, followed behind to sit at the table in the next room. When she was in front of the door Haruhi suddenly stopped and stood there with her hand on the handle. Mori was about to ask what was wrong when she spoke.

"Do you have your cell phone on you?"

Confused by her question he felt around in his back pocket and fished it out. Holding it in his hand he noticed that the time wasn't being displayed in the little square panel. He flipped the phone open and instead of seeing the snapshot of his pets the screen was black. It was then that he remembered that he'd forgotten to recharge it last night.

"Yes, but the batteries dead." He replied.

Haruhi twitched as he told her. "No helping it I guess" she mumbled to herself.

"You can use the phone in the living room to call for a ride. Just to warn you though my dad and I kind of threw a personal party with a few close friends that got a little wild near the end. I fell asleep sometime last night and woke up late this morning so I haven't really had a chance to seriously clean up or anything so everything is kind of just...well, I apologize for the mess. "

'A party…?' Mori wondered before the door slid open. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared over her head into the room on the other side.

The room looked like it had been ransacked by a small tornado.

From floor to furniture litter lay scattered all about the room. Strewn all across the floor (what little was left of it to be seen) were numerous empty soda cans, beer bottles, as well as a few random articles of clothing. On the table, no longer in the same place where it usually stood, an accumulated variety of cosmetics and beauty magazines dominated much of the surface while a multitude of dirty plates, bowls and cups stacked up into several unsteady towers had apparently been shoved to the side and now either leaned dangerously over the edge or lay fallen on the floor. Brightly colored confetti and streamers covered everything, with dozens of the discarded little party poppers responsible seen everywhere. A couple of open trash bags that had been meant to contain the mess had somehow tipped over, thus spilling their contents everywhere and further adding to the mess on the floor.

The place was a pigsty.

As Haruhi maneuvered her way to the bedroom Mori hovered at the doorway gazing uncertainly into the room.

"The phone is by the door there," she said drawing his attention. Her head was still bowed, her hair hiding her eyes. "After you're done you can wait in the kitchen- if you want. Once again, I'm sorry for the mess." With that she spun around and darted into the bedroom, sliding the door shut with a sharp snap.

Looking at the room again Mori ignored the phone, deciding on a different course of action.

Kicking off his shoes and removing his jacket he stole another glance around the room before stepping in to tackle the chaos. He went straight for the table first and removed the precariously balanced dishes from danger and restacked them on an empty spot on the floor to dump into the sink later. After that he moved quickly throughout the room, holding one of the trash bags in one hand while the other jutted out to pick up the bottles and cans. He worked swiftly and meticulously, focused solely on the task at hand. It didn't bother him in the least that his current actions were in the midst of destroying an almost fundamental concept placed upon higher society.

Amongst many of the long held general beliefs associated with the noble class there was an absolute certainty that the rich were incapable of cleaning up after themselves since they allegedly had servants to do it for them. Born within the lap of luxury by having virtually every need attended to without lifting a finger, it was determined that the rich weren't taught any of the necessary common knowledge to take care of themselves. Sadly, just as the common folk suspected, this was for the most part largely true.

While from birth a child of high standing might be groomed by their parents and instructors to take over their families companies, learning to coordinate several business ventures at once and direct the actions of their underlings towards their own benefit, many of the worlds future leaders proved quite regrettably that when it came to taking care of menial tasks for maintaining the upkeep of their homes and businesses they were wholly reliant on their staff. While they could order something broken to be replaced or an unsightly mess be cleaned up a vast majority of the high class, if put to the task of attending to it themselves, wouldn't even know where to start.

Those who were aware of Mori's lineage would speculate that, coming from a family that were once dedicated servants to the Haninozuka family, his actions were habitual, much like his desire to oversee the needs of his cousin, which stemmed naturally from the blood. A systematic instinct programmed into his very DNA. But that was not the case.

Even though he grew up in a similar environment to his peers Mori was raised to be self reliant. Within the Morinozuka clan it was a steadfast belief that the incapability to take care of your own self was nothing short of folly. Sure, they had servants just like anybody else did, but that didn't mean they let themselves act like total slobs. Witnessing how other families of the same standing lived, the inability to do even the most mundane chores by themselves blatantly transparent, the Morinozuka could only shake their heads in quiet disappointment.

To put it differently, one could say the Morinozuka adhered to another though rather controversial belief circulated by the common folk- to be poor was to be smart while to be rich was to be dumb. Decidedly, their clan had gone through great pains proving, to themselves at least, that wealth had not made them ignorant.

Mori paused briefly in his endeavor for cleanliness when his eyes fell upon a wooden cabinet that came about waist high set against the wall near the rooms exit: a Butsudan. The twin doors had been left open and inside Mori could see two shelves. The lower shelf held a bronze vase filled with fresh white flowers, a tiny black round pot with an incense stick stuck in the center and next to that a spirit tablet, the gold lettering shining brightly against the red paint that coated the rest of it. On the top shelf between two empty candle holders was an IEI with a woman in her mid twenties who smiled warmly back at Mori. The woman in the picture looked like an older version of Haruhi, her face having the same oval shape and small straightly thin nose but with longer brown hair kept tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were closed as she smiled but he imagined that they were the same soft golden brown that her own daughter possessed. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the woman was Kotoko Fujioka, Haruhi's mother.

His eyes linger on the woman's face for a few moments longer, drinking in the similarities between the woman in the photo and the daughter who so closely resembled her, before he let them travel to the right of the picture-

-and felt every muscle in his body tighten as his heart twisted violently inside his chest, the imaginary wire pricking painfully around it, causing him to gasp.

On the other side of the picture lying on top of what appeared to be a red bib was a miniscule white plate with a simple pattern of golden vines trailing around the rim. On the plate sat a perfectly small cake laced in a soft pink frosting. On top of the cake a single red strawberry had been sliced and artfully arranged into the shape of an opened flower. Rising from the center of the design was a single white candle.

Being with Hunny who craved the sweet stuff on a daily bases Mori had seen thousands of cakes during his lifetime. Besides the many special events he'd attended over the years, he'd accompanied his cousin on factory tours and seen cakes of so many shapes and sizes that he'd honestly forgotten more than he could remember. Of the numerous varieties he had seen them range from simple one layered affairs flatter than a slice of bread to monstrosities so big that they took up an entire table, from the square and circular to edible sculptures molded after people or landmarks. He'd witnessed cakes so extravagant and skillfully crafted that to consume them seemed an unthinkable act.

He'd become an unintentional expert when it came to cakes and compared to others this tiny thing could barely be considered a delicacy. It wasn't a masterpiece that had been crafted by a world renowned baker. The ingredients that had gone into it were cheap, passable for consumption but certainly nothing high quality. It had neither flare nor distinction. It was just a simple pastry.

So why did his heart feel so heavy?

Because the cake was an offering.

For the infant child Haruhi had given up.

Mori's eyes left the cake and traveled slowly around the room. The clutter that marred its otherwise pristine condition- what appeared to be the remains of a drunken get together- was it something more?

What must it have been like, having a birthday for someone you had never wanted? Someone whose conception was the living evidence of a betrayal from someone you had trusted as a friend? Someone you unwillingly carried and whose existence was an ever constant reminder of your own desecration? Someone whom you had rejected the very day they were born?

Mori's eyes drifted back to the woman in the photo, her smile still warm and inviting.

What was it like celebrating the life of someone who wasn't even there?

A/N- Okay let me be honest here- I sporadically mulled over this damn chapter for months (I repeat, months!) and it still didn't come out the way I wanted. Every single time I look at it I see errors riddled throughout it, changes that should or I want to make. I might still be working on it if I hadn't said to hell with it so I could start working on the next chapter. And so, I give my solemn vow to try and make the next chapter not quite so crappy and maybe one day come back and straighten this one out. It might be a while until you hear from me again though, what with me and my job and also trying to improve my artistic capabilities. I can almost draw a perfect circle for the heads on my stickmen.

: A few brief explanations on things in this chapter for those who might ask or are confused:

-At the scene with the two officers, one of them used the words 'Dish' and 'Comfort'. Dish can be used as slang term to identify a good looking person. 'Comfort' short for 'Comfort women' is a euphemism applied to women working in military brothels; an example would be of the women who were forced by the Japanese army to perform sexual services during WWII. The word can also be applied to identify a type of food that can settle the stomach.

-When Mori see's the cake it's on top of a red bib. Red bibs are usually tied around statues of Jizo, the god of children. He is a god mothers pray to when they have lost their children. Normally this applies to children who are deceased but I figured I could get away with using the symbolism.

Yami-Nabi Party: basically a get together around a pot of stew.

Zosui: A Japanese rice soup

Butsudan: a family shine kept within the home

IEI: The portrait of a dead person