"I don't suppose you'd like to explain to me what you're doing here if you're sick?" mumbled a still-sleepy Kyouya who had been rudely awoken by wide familiar violet eyes and a mop of messy blond hair. Clothed in no more than a pair of black pants, he picked up his glasses from his bedside table and fixed them on the bridge of his nose, rubbing his temples with annoyance.

"Um… yes, well, I'm feeling better today!" announced Tamaki with a nervous grin. "And… and…"

"You honestly expect me to believe such a shoddily fabricated story? Do not insult me Tamaki, and do not presume to test me," he said calmly, standing and meandering over to his bathroom. Tamaki watched as the light flicked on and the door closed till light spilled out of only two inches of space. "Especially when you have woken me at such an ungodly hour. It's one thing when you some here before school and I actually have obligations. It is quite another when you disturb those very few hours when I am actually able to rest. If you've come here to waste my time I will not hesitate to make sure it is the last time you ever do so."

Tamaki gulped, a shiver running through his body involuntarily. "Sh… shoddily crafted? What story?"

The water ran in the bathroom as Kyouya washed up and came out, the hair around his face dripping a bit from washing his face. He withdrew a black tank out of a drawer somewhere and pulled it on, then turned to face his blond friend with a raised eyebrow.

"You have yet to have been sick in all your days at Ouran. And even if you were really sick, then explain to me why you continue to be in classes? Of course, your customers would be willing to believe anything you sprout. But I am not a customer, and frankly I'm insulted that you think I would fall for such idiocy," drawled Kyouya, leaning against his armoire. "So, tono. Would you like to tell me the real reason you've been neglecting you own club?"

Tamaki sighed and leaned back in the chair he had placed himself in, rubbing the back of his neck. He stared at some spot behind Kyouya on the wall, as if watching a television screen. All pretending aside, Tamaki was not as dense as everyone thought he was. His insight on life was far deeper and meaningful than anything than any idiot could sprout; all the host club members knew that. And it was not pure dumb luck that got him ranked second every single time the results came in for the school terms. No, Tamaki was rather intelligent…

He just lacked anything resembling common sense.

But life had a way of knocking sense into people, and that was exactly what it seemed to have attempted to do to the blond king. But all life had succeeded in doing was confusing the poor boy. Tamaki was smart; he knew that fathers didn't dream about marrying their daughters. All that time he'd imagined Haruhi in a wedding dress he thought he was just looking forward to that point at which she'd find someone who could love her as much as he did. Someone to keep her safe just like he did, and hold her when the storms came, real or metaphorical. But carrying her out of the water, he'd finally seen the face of the groom waiting for her at the altar, the man carrying her across the threshold of her wedding suite. And it was him. He was the one giving her that first dance, he was the one sharing the cake. He was the one kissing her as the world faded around them. And fathers… fathers didn't do that to their children. So if he didn't think of Haruhi as a daughter… if that was really… but, he must be wrong. It was like his world had been shattered, like someone had ripped this belief from somewhere inside his chest. And now all that was there was a gaping hole, letting him breathe properly for the first time in his life. It was like a bird in a cage being freed and realizing it had never learned to fly. And Tamaki… Tamaki was lost, stuck on the ground fluttering helplessly.

"I'm not… I'm not sick, Kyouya. Or at least, the doctors tell me so. But… it hurts…" he said quietly, his voice almost inaudible in the darkness of Kyouya's bedroom.

"What hurts?" said Kyouya, unfeelingly blunt. "You're being absurd."

Tamaki's head snapped up, his eyes pleading with this desperation that Kyouya had never seen in them before. And even Kyouya, with his supposed stone heart, started at the depth of anguish that he saw in his best friend's violet eyes. "I don't know!" he cried, shaking with the fervor of his confusion. His blond hair tembled with every shuddering breath he took. He put a revert hand to his chest. "Here! There's… there's something… it's been ripped out. And it's good, I know it is, because it's like I can breathe for the first time. But it's painful, so painful… Kyouya, please. What's wrong with me? Why does it hurt? Why when I look at Haruhi is she not my daughter? You're her mother! You, who's so smart! You who knows everything about everyone! So please Kyouya, look into that file of mine and tell me what's wrong. Because I don't know. I don't know what hurts."

The room was silent; nothing but Tamaki's labored breathing sounding in the room. Slate grey eyes with onyx spikes stared into endless violet pools, questing for something in Tamaki that he could use. Something to convince himself to do this, to purposely get between something that was so obviously destined even to someone who's goal in life was to alter fate. Kyouya was never sentimental… or so he would like everyone to believe. But when it came to the people he cared about somewhere deep down inside where he tried to hide it, especially when it came to Tamaki, something inside of him couldn't hold up. Something inside of him cracked. And that was the last thing he wanted to happen. This was the last place he wanted to give in, the last place where he wanted to admit he could never possibly win. But it was too late for that. Because then Tamaki pulled out his huge amethyst ax and sliced Kyouya's stone-heart's shell right in two as his eyes began to glisten with what might be mistaken for tears.

Oh, what do I care for the girl? he thought with resignation. I don't care for anyone…

No, that's not true. You do-

Stop it. This arguing with yourself is foolish. But a game is not really a fair game if one of the players is at as much of a disadvantage as he is right now. And I refuse to win this game any other way than fair.

"Tamaki, that's because Haruhi is not her daughter and you are not her father," Kyouya growled finally. Tamaki looked up at him.

"Yes, but I am like-"

"You're missing my point, Tamaki. And I refuse to repeat myself. So until you figure it out, I want you to get out of my room, and preferably out of my house, and maybe I might get to bed early."

"But-"

"Get… out," said Kyouya, and his voice dripped with such malice that Tamaki, shivereing, all but ran from the room, slamming the door closed behind him. Kyouya didn't bother to move his eyes from the seat where his best friend had previously sat, but instead chose to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. It was eight thirty, and already Tamaki had succeeded in giving him a migraine.


A/N: Awww… Kyouya, you're still my favorite character!! R and R pls! Suggestions? What do you think should happen? What do you think will happen?

I think I actually like this story…