A/N: Booyah. Twice a month. I'll try to keep it that way, I promise! As always, thanks a million to my magnificent readers and reviewers. You guys totally rock my world!
Do you see now, why I was so excited to write this chapter? Hee.
I do not own Ouran High School Host Club, it belongs to Bisco Hatori.
Accidents and Answers
"Right. Accidents."
Haruhi's face was already in flames, and she hadn't even started speaking yet. Bringing back memories that recalled warm fuzzies was one thing; spilling secrets that caused potentially terminal embarrassment was something else entirely.
But. Kyoya's eyes were still on her, so dark and indignant and aware, for pretty much the first time since he'd gotten here. And Hikaru was actually trying to speak to her, silently and via his eyebrows. Granted, what he was trying to say was Oh my God, why are you doing this to me, but communication was communication.
Okay. So. If this is what it took to keep their attention, Haruhi would spill every embarrassing secret that they all liked to pretend hadn't happened during their high school careers.
"You can't get mad," Haruhi said, like a command, but really it was more of a plea. "You can't. Because you all did it once."
"Did what?" Tamaki asked, and his voice was uncharacteristically low and dangerous.
Haruhi swallowed hard, and stole one last glance at the crowd around her. She had solid plans to tell these stories to the bedcovers; if any of the boys were expecting eye contact during this embarrassment, they were desperately mistaken.
She could be practical about just about everything, but when it came to anything personal, she was either perpetually clueless or completely in denial.
Mori was still doing his best to disappear into his chair via extreme non-movement. Kaoru seemed resigned to his fate, already flushed and floppy in his seat. Hikaru was actually cringing away, as if he expected Tamaki's self-righteous, romantically-charged fist in his face at any moment. Kyoya had recovered his ever-present cool, and was studiously not looking at anyone once again. Hunni was still the only one snickering in his chair, although he aimed it at the ceiling in a sad attempt to hide it.
Anne-Sophie herself was sporting a smile a mile wide. But Haruhi noticed that her fingers were knotted in the comforter, as if she were struggling to hold something back. Pain, maybe, or perhaps more of those dry and devastating coughs.
"Besides," Haruhi said, turning her attention to Tamaki with great determination. Anything to keep his eyes off those twisted fingers. "You did it too."
Tamaki's expression flipped from outrage to over-the-top offense.
"I did not!" he protested.
"Oh, Tamaki. Want to bet?"
….
It was rare for Haruhi to find one of the Hitaachin's alone. They were so constantly by each other's side, projecting their identical thoughts in stereo, that entering Music Room Three and spotting just a single red-orange head, tripped Haruhi up for the barest second. She took that moment to tilt her head, and study the Hitaachin standing on his own, staring out the window.
He looked…softer, somehow. Not quite whole, or strong.
But that wasn't something she worried about, because she didn't see Hikaru ever really leaving his side. Straying from it, maybe. But always coming back in the end.
"Where is everybody?" Haruhi asked, shutting the door softly behind her as she strolled into the room.
Kaoru glanced over. His eyes were still soft with whatever world he'd been inhabiting while he'd been staring out the window panes.
"Haruhi," he greeted. His voice was still thick with dreams. "They're in the back. Arguing over some costume, I think."
Haruhi winced.
"Oh, perfect. What is it this time?"
Kaoru shrugged.
"Tamaki wants to cosplay harem boys."
"We do that every day," Haruhi muttered, and Kaoru choked on a laugh before continuing.
"Yeah, well, the outfits he ordered, without Kyoya-sempai's permission by the way, are a bit…revealing."
The color drained out of Haruhi's face faster than water from cupped hands. More often than not, Tamaki's French side only made him interesting. But sometimes it skewed his sense of what was proper as well.
"How revealing?"
Kaoru scratched his forehead, brushing aside his bangs.
"Well, I didn't really see them, but Mori-sempai almost had an expression, so I guess they're pretty bad. Kyoya-sempai started doing his 'you are so stupid that I must speak slowly and in complete sentences so that I don't smother you in your sleep' thing, and then the Boss started wailing, and then Hikaru and Hunni started laughing, so Kyoya-sempai marched everyone to the back room so that our clients didn't overhear through the door." Kaoru laughed again. "And now I guess they're arguing about how to alter them, or if we're going to wear them at all. Last I checked, the Boss is trying to convince everyone to wear them as is, and Kyoya is very politely ripping him to pieces."
"I see," Haruhi said faintly, and offered up a quick and silent prayer that Tamaki would lose. "So, why aren't you in there, backing up your brother?"
Kaoru rolled his shoulders
"Won't change the outcome," he explained comfortably. "The Boss will flail, and Mori will say no without actually saying anything, and Hunni will bounce around and talk about how pretty the fabric is or something, and Hikaru will side with the Boss, because we're the only ones who don't care how much skin we show, and in the end, Kyoya-sempai will say no, and make it seem like it was Tamaki-sempai's idea."
Haruhi laughed, because it was a perfectly accurate description, and rubbed at the back of her neck.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "It's weird, though. Kyoya-sempai's always said that showing skin is popular with the ladies. Why would he change his mind now? How revealing could those costumes really be?"
Kaoru tilted his head curiously at Haruhi's form.
"Well, from the tiny peek I had," he crouched, startling Haruhi into stillness and a scowl. "I'd say that the costume shorts would end about here on you."
And he stuck his hand right under her rear, flat out, like he was karate chopping the back of her legs.
"You're slender, Haruhi, but you're not short," Kaoru continued, staring clinically at her legs. "So the shorts would definitely hike up on you, especially since your legs are so skinny."
"Um."
Haruhi's hesitant, half stuttering response forced Kaoru out of his job-related perusal of Haruhi's posterior.
He looked up into her red-stained face.
And then down at his hand, still pressed against the back of her thighs.
And then back up into at her unhinged jaw.
And then back down at his fingers, resting so gently right under the curve of her butt.
Kaoru jumped up with a horrified scream that suggested that Haruhi's skin had set his hands on fire. Indeed, he began to wave them around like they were lit by the very flames hell, soaked in guilt and painted with the damning signs of girl skin.
"I didn't mean to!" he almost shrieked. "It's a fashion thing! Hikaru and I do it all the time when we're measuring the models! I promise! OH MY GOD PLEASE DON'T TELL THE BOSS THAT I FELT YOU UP BY ACCIDENT!"
Haruhi couldn't help it. His face was as red as his hair, and he was all but leaping around the room, executing some sort of hand-shaking dance of shame. She let out a helpless shout of laughter and crumpled to the floor, clutching at her trembling stomach. She laughed until tears rolled down her face, and her cheeks were as red as the boy in front of her.
Kaoru stopped dancing, and stared down at her, golden eyes wide and bewildered. Eventually, as she continued to laugh (almost as hard as that time they'd dressed in drag to one-up the Zuka Club), his shoulders relaxed and he dropped down next to her on the floor.
"You're not going to hit me, right?" he asked with a sheepish smile.
"No," Haruhi hiccupped, wiping at her reddened cheeks. "I mean. Other than Hunni-sempai, you're probably the only boy in the club that could touch me like that and not remember right from the get-go that I'm a girl." She gave him a bright smile. "I guess I'm kind of grateful for it."
Kaoru smiled back, and tucked his knees up against his chest, resting his chin on the upraised knobs.
"You're just…you're Haruhi," he said. "I guess I don't think of you that way." Most of the time, anyway.
And then his face completely drained of color as he realized that there was someone very close to him that did.
"Oh. Um. Crap."
"What?" Haruhi asked, bracing her weight comfortably behind her on her palms. "What's wrong?"
"Don't tell Hikaru that I got to grope you first."
"Okay. Wait. First?"
…...
The weather outside was cold and wet, ribbons of ice dripping down the dojo windows, promising a frigid walk back to the apartment building. Haruhi had a mountain of homework and a yet to be made hot dinner waiting for her at home.
Why she was still allowing Mori-sempai and Hunni-sempai to keep her caged at the dojo, drilling self defense, was something she had yet to puzzle out.
"You guys," she grunted as Mori-sempai hit her stick again, and grimaced as she realized that her sweat-soaked shirt was going to cling uncomfortably once it hit the cold weather "I really should get home."
Her arms were aching, anyway. And she was going to have a veritable rainbow of new bruises from where Mori's stick had swung against her stomach.
"Once more," Mori insisted, twirling his stick easily against his side. His face was as stoic as ever, and he hadn't even broken a sweat.
"Yeah!" Hunni cheered from where he was perched on a stack of tumbling mats, swinging his little feet off the ground. "You can do it, Haru-chan!"
"No, I really think I should-"
"You let your guard down," Mori pointed out, completely monotone, and lunged.
In the confusion of a sudden mountain of man lugging a giant stick diving in her direction, Haruhi reacted on instinct. She brought her stick up, not to counter-attack, but to block Mori's stick from hitting her face. Instead, Mori's stick hit the wood resting crossways over her chest.
Haruhi's yelp of pain and embarrassment froze the occupants of the room in place. Mori's stick stopped where it was; Hunni's swinging feet paused mid-kick.
Haruhi shoved Mori's stick away, and pressed a subtle hand against her stinging chest.
A long, long silence permeated the room. Haruhi looked down, her face flushed red and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Mori stood with his arm hanging limply by his side, his jaw unhinged and the look on his face expressing his strong desire to die. Or cry. Possibly both.
Hunni tried. He really did. He stuffed a fist in his mouth and everything.
But, really. He'd never seen Takashi blush so bad before.
Hunni snorted, snickered, and then gave it up completely and collapsed back on the mats, squirming with laughter.
Haruhi shot a swift, self-conscious glance in Hunni's direction, and then lowered her face back to the floor.
"I'll, uh…I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the lesson, Mori-sempai."
Mori-sempai didn't even nod in acknowledgement; his face was still frozen in an expression of mortified horror. Haruhi sprinted out the door, forgetting all about her aching arms and uncomfortably clinging shirt.
Hunni continued to howl with laughter, even after the door slapped at Haruhi's back.
"Poor Haru-chan!" he giggled. "But, oh. Takashi, your FACE!"
Mori, being Mori, couldn't find it in his heart to glare at his friend.
But he thought about it.
…...
It was raining.
The rain was warm; nothing more than a summer shower, really. But Haruhi still ran through it like it was burning her bared shoulders. The clouds above her were black and swollen, and the noises they made were soft still, but obviously unhappy.
The thunder would start any second, and Haruhi was still blocks away from home.
"Should've checked the weather," Haruhi gritted out between teeth that had already begun to chatter; one of the first of her many fear reactions. "Stupid."
Her grocery bags swung from her arms like pendulums as she ran, the plastic straps digging grooves into her arms. The first crack of thunder split the air, and Haruhi's instinctive jump and tiny gasp of fear caused more than one passerby to glance her way, concern written in their eyes. Haruhi's lungs began to twist and legs began to shake, slowing her progress into a panicked, wobbling run. The tears that she hated, but was helpless to control, flooded her eyes and rolled down her already wet cheeks as the second roar of thunder filled the air. Hyperventilating now, Haruhi barely registered the iron handlebar beneath her fingers as she threw herself up the stairs of her apartment building.
There was a terrifying moment when a third thunderclap shook the air around her, and she couldn't remember which pocket she'd tucked her key into. She scrabbled at her jeans with fingers that felt fat and useless. By the time her hand closed around the tiny piece of metal, warmed by her skin and dampened by the rain, she was sobbing quietly. It took her three tries to twist the key properly, and then the door was swinging open, and she was collapsing on the little shoe carpet just inside. Her shopping bags hit the floor around her with consecutive dull thuds, and Haruhi managed to kick the door shut at her back.
Breathing hard, she curled up into a tight, defensive ball as the first slice of lightning split the sky, followed by another crack of thunder that seemed to rock the walls around her.
The closet. It was so close. The groceries would keep for awhile; no way was she crawling into the kitchen to put them away, not when the room boasted so many windows.
Still quietly crying, Haruhi lurched to her feet, using the wall on her left as support. She'd only taken three steps when the doorbell rang.
She seriously considered not answering. The thunderstorm was outside, after all, so why should she open the door and welcome it in? But then the solid sound of a fist hitting the door filled the room, followed by someone shouting her name.
The only reason Haruhi was able to answer was because she recognized the voice.
"Hikaru," she whispered, as the wild-eyed Hitaachin barreled through the tiny sliver she forced herself to open.
The older twin reached out and wrapped strong fingers around her upper arms.
"Haruhi," he said, his voice urgent. "I was out shopping, when I heard the thunder. I had my driver bring me here. Are you all right?"
As far as reactions went, it was a bit over the top; he'd never really forgiven himself for Karuizawa. Haruhi was still shaking; she couldn't help it. But her tears were drying up.
"I'm…okay," she whispered, only to cringe when another bolt of lightning illuminated the room.
Hikaru's expression turned fierce.
"We're going to draw the blinds, and watch a movie," he firmly decided. "A really loud movie, with lots of explosions, and possibly an alien attack. Okay, Haruhi? You just go get dry, and…"
His voice trailed off into tiny-voiced oblivion. Confused, Haruhi furrowed her brow.
"H-hikaru?"
The boy's eyes snapped down, and then back up. He then proceeded to stare blindly over her shoulder, fixating on the wall behind her with great determination. His cheeks were bright pink.
"You might want to…go change," he said, his voice barely above a squeak.
Haruhi glanced down.
She'd chosen the white bra because it was practical.
It was also now completely visible under her shirt, which had apparently decided to turn transparent upon exposure to rain water.
"Um…," she offered.
"Yeah."
She all but sprinted to her room.
By the time she returned, wrapped in a super soft, super thick sweatshirt, Hikaru had put the groceries away and started the movie. He didn't mention what he'd seen, and indeed, never spoke of it again.
However, his cheeks stayed pink until the ending credits rolled. Especially when the continuous thunder forced Haruhi to burrow up at his side.
….
It was always better, in Haruhi's opinion, to study in a quiet environment. Sound of any sort could easily divert someone from their goals, and Haruhi had far too much riding on her schoolwork to risk her assignments with distraction.
That being said, she really didn't have a problem with Tamaki's piano playing during her designated study time.
She'd taken to bringing her lunch up to Music Room Three during her open hour three times a week to cram in some extra time to read. The other days she ate with Hikaru and Kaoru down in the cafeteria, but these days were for books and half-bitten sandwiches as she bent over musty pages.
Tamaki, being an upperclassman, had an open hour at the same time, and would often wander his way to Music Room Three to entice soft melodies from the piano keys. While Haruhi found most sounds distracting when she tried to study, Tamaki's music acted as a slow and sweet backdrop instead. It loosened her tense shoulders, and brought a tiny smile to her face as she perused the books in front of her.
And Tamaki, typically unable to sit for more than thirty seconds without exploding into some sort of energy bomb, seemed to understand that Haruhi's study time was sacred, in a way. And, since the music was his own escape, and something he got lost in so easily, he hardly ever spoke during their time together.
But today, Haruhi actually finished her work early. She gently closed her textbook, and rubbed at her bleary eyes with her fists. The soft swell of music still filled the room, indicating that Tamaki hadn't noticed her shift from studious to satisfied. He wasn't even looking at her; his violet eyes were fixed on the keys in front of him like nothing else could ever matter, or even exist.
Curious, Haruhi eased off of the padded sofa seat and wandered his way. It was rare to see him so silent, and so serene. The music notes wrapped around her like silk, turning the air a gentle, shimmering gold. She watched him stoop so gracefully over glossy piano, his fingers moving effortlessly across the keys, his violet eyes half-lidded with pleasure When he finally coaxed the song to a stop, his palms sliding gently back, she smiled a little, and brought her hands together in soft applause.
He jerked as if he'd forgotten her very existence, and half-turned on the bench to face her.
"Haruhi?" He squinted a little, absorbed her tiny smile. "You're sad?"
The semi-glazed look in his eyes was a familiar one; she'd seen it in herself, every time someone forced her from her books, and in Kaoru, whenever he had a pen in his hand.
"It's so beautiful, Sempai," she said quietly. "It reminds me of my Mom. I used to lie on the rug in the living room and listen while she played." She bent down, and brushed her fingers across the keys. "I think, if she would have lived, she would have put me in lessons. But after she died, Dad couldn't stand the sound of the piano, and it hurt too much to ask." Haruhi forced her smile a little wider, after noticing the troubled expression in his violet eyes. "That's why I'm so glad that you can play, Sempai. It's like listening to her all over again."
For a moment, Tamaki could only stare down at his elegant fingers, still spread in a lazy sprawl across the keys, and absorb the ache in his heart.
Then, he reached out, and tugged a startled Haruhi down onto the bench, her hip pressed against his.
"It's never too late to learn," he said softly. "Here, put your hands like this."
For the next fifteen minutes, Tamaki patiently guided his new pupil through the basic scales, repositioning her hands when needed, and demonstrating the correct way to move her fingers. When Haruhi plunked out the first scale, albeit very clumsily, on her own, Tamaki bounced to his feet and beamed.
"Wonderful! You're such a fast learner, Haruhi!"
Haruhi huffed out a laugh, and tried not to picture warm brown eyes, so much like hers, as she tapped the ivory keys.
"If you say so," she said. "But my arms still feel awkward. Are they supposed to just stick out like this?"
"Well, no. Here, hold them this way."
Tamaki bent over, and placed his hands over hers, effectively demonstrating where her arms were supposed to lie.
"Keep them close to your sides," he instructed. "As much as you can."
"Okay, Sempai."
He nodded, and leaned back. As he was pulling away, his fingers accidently brushed against Haruhi's ribs, right under her chest.
They both stiffened like someone had shot them from behind. Silence reigned the room once again, but unlike before, there was absolutely nothing comfortable about it.
And then, Tamaki began to wail. And flail
"SWEET MAIDEN, I DID NOT MEAN TO TOUCH YOU IN SUCH A FAMILIAR WAY!"
And Haruhi had to punch him over the head to shut him up. He didn't give her any other choice, really.
When Hikaru and Kaoru burst in at the end of the hour, trying to locate Haruhi to accompany her to their next class, they found Tamaki face-down on the floor, muttering thickly about accidental molestation.
And a tomato-faced Haruhi, rigidly perched on the piano bench, determinedly plunking out a basic scale.
….
It wasn't that Haruhi was afraid of being alone with Kyoya-sempai. As long as he had a decent amount of sleep in him, and his eyebrow wasn't doing that dangerous dance, she considered him actually quite amusing to be around.
But, really. Being told by the Shadow Lord to stay after Host club activities ended, because they had to have a chat, didn't exactly hint at happy things. And Hikaru and Kaoru's sympathetic winces as they'd walked out the door and left her behind hadn't helped.
Neither had Tamaki's pathetic whines and whimpers about 'Mommy' dealing with the darling daughter without 'Daddy' present. Kyoya had had to ice-glare him out the door.
And now, they were just standing there. Kyoya seemed perfectly content to peruse his black book, leaving Haruhi bouncing on her heels and saturating in her discomfort.
"Um," she offered, when she absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. "Kyoya-sempai? Was there something you needed? Because I really should be getting home."
Kyoya glanced up in mild surprise, almost as if he'd forgotten her presence completely. Except Kyoya-sempai was always aware of everything.
Bastard.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Haruhi. I thought you might like an update on your debt."
Her debt? Oh, right. That thing. The reason she was currently cooling her heels in Music Room Three instead of working on homework in the comfort of her own house.
"Sure, Kyoya-sempai," she said, and struggled up a smile from somewhere. "I appreciate it."
"Follow me, then."
He led her over to the table his computer rested on. Haruhi followed dutifully on his heels, and later regretted the fact that she kept his eyes on his back instead of the floor. The computer power cord snaked around her ankles and tugged, tripping up her feet.
"Gah!"
Kyoya turned a tiny bit, just enough, at the sound of her surprise. If he'd kept moving, Haruhi might have missed him, but because he'd hesitated, she collapsed against him in some sort of impromptu tackle, taking them both to the floor. He'd pivoted enough to hit the ground with his back instead of his front, and Haruhi felt his arms fly up around her in surprise. At impact, her teeth clicked against something hard and her lips mashed against something painful, and the taste of blood tingled against her tongue.
Haruhi took a moment to absorb the pain, and then became very still as she became aware of two very important things.
One: she was currently straddling Kyoya-sempai's hips, her palms braced against the ground above his shoulders and stinging from the sudden contact with the floor.
Two: she was sort of, accidently, attacking him. With her face. Their lips were smashed together in something too painful to be called a kiss, and yet to intimate to write off as just another byproduct of the fall.
Haruhi jumped like someone had pressed a hot wire to her spine, and scuttled off of him like some sort of drunken crab. Kyoya scooted back carefully, and slowly regained his feet.
Crap, Haruhi's brain whispered. Oh, crap, I hope he doesn't kill me. At least I didn't break his glasses-
Oh my God.
I just kissed Kyoya-sempai.
Haruhi stared up at the ominously silent older student and felt her cheeks fill with mortified color.
He's going to kill me, her mind gibbered desperately, as Kyoya nudged up his glasses with what appeared to be near-homicidal calm. And it's Kyoya-sempai. They'll never find my body.
Kyoya opened his mouth, and Haruhi cringed, expecting to hear her death sentence.
"We'll never speak of this."
And all of her breath heaved out in a relieved rush.
"Deal."
….
"So, see?" Haruhi finished, still glaring at her stupid boyfriend. "You're just as guilty."
Of course, she was glaring at the floor. He'd gotten so annoying during the story telling, howling and squirming like an idiot, that she'd been forced to drop-kick him off the bed. Very carefully, of course, so as not to jostle Anne-Sophie.
The others were wallowing in various shades of red. Only Kyoya retained any semblance of self-control. But the vein in his temple was twitching dangerously. Haruhi thought that it might be the most beautiful response she'd ever seen.
"Gah," Tamaki's voice drifted up from the floorboards. "All of you…traitors…"
"Hey, you did it too, Boss!" Hikaru snapped, almost instinctively, and then froze. As Haruhi looked at him with a slowly spreading smile, he heaved an uncomfortable shrug, and turned his flushing face back to the wall.
He'll be all right, Haruhi realized, with great relief. She turned to Kyoya with a scowl. Eventually. But this idiot is still impersonating a brick wall. Moron. I'm going to have to sit on him to get him to stay still long enough for me to explain.
Once again, Kyoya demonstrated his amazing mind-reading capabilities, and turned a dark look that screamed 'I dare you' in Haruhi's direction. Haruhi met it head on with a challenging glare of her own.
On the bed, Anne-Sophie muffled a series of short, rattling coughs into her cupped hands.
Tamaki was off the floor and by her side in two seconds flat.
"Mother?" he whispered, reaching for the palms she had pressed over her mouth.
The other boys tensed, their embarrassment pushed immediately to the back burner. Haruhi pistoned her body in Anne-Sophie's direction, reached out with tremulous fingers for the older woman's shaking shoulder.
"Anne-Sophie," she murmured. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Anne-Sophie managed in between coughs. They stopped after a moment, and the woman settled back against her pillows with a sigh. Her face was noticeably paler than it had been before, and her smile was stretched and strained. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired, is all."
Tamaki shot to his feet.
"Then you should sleep!" he insisted. "We'll leave you be."
Anne-Sophie smiled and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Thank you, Darling," she whispered. She turned soft violet eyes, eyes that were already drooping, to the other occupants of the room. "But please bring your stories back tomorrow. I so enjoyed listening to them."
She sighed again, soft as a butterfly's wing brushing against a window pane, and then her lashes fluttered down to rest against her cheeks.
Tamaki clung to her hand for a moment longer, his eyes swimming with some great, unnamed pain, and then he released it, and arranged it carefully at her side. He moved out of the room like someone suffering from a debilitating wound, and the others followed cautiously, forming an uneasy circle around their leader as he collapsed against the wall right outside the door.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered, and he sounded so lost, and like he was bleeding out onto the floor, and all anyone could do was watch.
And the silence that followed his softly spoken words stretched on and on, because everyone around him didn't have an answer.
...
A/N: In a situation this difficult, are there even any answers to find? And how can you hope to save your ties when everything else around you is falling apart? Stay tuned to find out. Happy Reading!