I don't own them, if I did you'll see Haruhi walking down the aisle with the devil.

Bottle Three

Part one: Heat and cold

Fujioka Haruhi stood with her arms crossed tightly against her chest and bowed her head low as to hide the contempt from each passerby her eyes set upon. The jarring wind of the wintry snow was slowly changing the rectangular spine of buildings to dead leaden. The sound of car drones as it drove and stop. The soft footsteps of the people in the walking street and the mobile large television showing how the world move for another day. She had such observant eyes and distant perspective that was always outside the box. She felt peace as though her presence was so small; she could just stand there and let the wandering secrets of the people gossiping reveal to her in no mean feat. It was such an advantage in more ways than one.

Black hair.

She let out an irritated grunt and quickly turned her look away to the other side.

Eyeglasses.

Haruhi shifted in her position against the wall of the still closed supermarket.

Their likeness and difference were wrestling the scale of who will win in the end.

She was unlike any other girl.

And he was unlike any young man.

She was too preserved in her own life and achievements.

He had shown her and she understood his only commitment don't have exceptions.

She was uninterested.

He was an outsider who overlooked the matter as though it was a laptop that could give him bountiful of data. But just that.

They were both unprepared and too unwilling lots. Their fairness was questionable enough. She was too reckless to herself when others was the matter at hand. He didn't like to care, or showing it was.

She can't read him, but sometimes she can. And the satisfying feeling of it was exhilarating down to her bones. When he turns the game around, acting the egoist, she kept reminding herself his name 'Kyouya Ootori' and the concrete luxury of the power it represent, but not the shielded part behind the mask. Knowing this, he attempted to escape from her talented eyes for too long. It had been only three weeks since she took his foolish excuse and fled to her dumbfounded father who was not-so-dying (but almost) to see her. But she felt much older and sick with worry when she entered his house to find him unconscious in the bathroom.

The feeling of panic surged through her body as though a rope was ripping her neck; she couldn't breathe and for once: couldn't think.

The supermarket will open in just a few more minutes- so much for dashing here too early. Haruhi rolled her sleeve to look at her watch; it said six-fifty eight and she have two minutes of tortured thoughts running in her mind.

Wet skin excessively warm from the bath...

Hot breath against her neck...

Haruhi's face turned red as his bare body jumped in her mind. It was a shameful thing, she thought. The memory was a living torment for her. The facts that were too bashful and embarrassing to admit: she remembered it well and responded, actually, it was the alien voice saying she liked it. But truthfully she trust the ounce of sensibility in her, its cold clutch at her emotions. It was her stability to discharge the call of those dark eyes and his unfathomable understanding of her wordless fear of....him. Calling Hotta, or his hospital would be much effective. Her panic was too immense at the time to even think what was best to do at the moment.

The double-paneled doors slid and the transparent partition opened as she entered, skirting quickly without much of a frisk to the familiar rounds and corners in anima. She slowed her steps and eventually came into a stop in front of a stall. Smiling at the familiar watermelon and rice corn flakes, she wondered how such a wealthy man's appetite has some taste for something of mere five hundred yen price value.

It was something that was not uncommon in every people, although perhaps the abbreviation must be different to sit with him properly. He might express in a propagated sums of maddening theories how such 'in common' was there with him and 'that idiotic' Tamaki.

Perhaps it was something they had in common as well.

She doesn't know for real why he thrive to get past the better judgment of his father. The life of such a man in a cloak of heavy gold and silver. How frustrated he can be. On his side, he doesn't really know how a commoner find richness in dainty life of simplicity, being that he had treatment of the fullest, tasted the life of abundance, he swore he can't be contented even if the world turn up side down. Although, he might be searching...

His life would have been rolling on the same road, when he found it-

It changed, reverted to a different road he deliberated for five years now.

"Haruhi."

Hope you all like it! There's plenty of Kyoharu next, much more than this one. It's rather short, I know. But I'll try to add a little sugar and spice for the next chapter.