The birds were still singing their morning songs when Takashi exited his building and began to walk toward Sumiko's dorm (Ikeda's dorm. Why couldn't he stop calling her Sumiko?), his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He winced as a lawnmower roared past. He had woken up with a splitting headache, and the early-morning bustle around campus was not helping at all. A weedwacker whined from somewhere nearby, and he put a hand to his head, desperately trying to block out some of the noise that seemed so terribly, horribly loud.

Sumiko's building was just around this corner, if he remembered properly. He hoped that she had remembered properly. He had had immense trouble getting to sleep last night, as his mind had been filled with strange, frightning scenarios: Sumiko (Ikeda, what was wrong with him?) mis-remembering where her building was, Sumiko (Ikeda) not being able to find her room, Sumiko (Ike- oh, never mind) falling down and breaking something; an arm, a leg, her neck. As soon as he had woken up, he had thrown on some clothes and started off towards her building, determined to see if she was all right.

He turned the corner, and found that his memory had served him well, despite its inebriated state. He hurried up the steps to the small porch that shielded the door, and then stopped. He hadn't really thought what to do next. Should he push the buzzer and ask for her, no doubt waking her from her sleep? Should he wait on the steps, possibly for several hours, for Sumiko to come outside? Or should he just give up on the whole idea and see if she came to the Cracked Pot for tea?

Worry overcame politeness, and he pushed the buzzer forcefully. A female voice came through the speaker, crackling with static: "Hel-bz-o, you've re-bz-ched the fr-chh-nt desk of th-chz Shoufuu dor-bzz-itory. Ho-chh can I he -phh-p you?"

It took him a moment to decipher what the woman had said, but he managed to get the general gist of it relatively quickly. "Please see if Sumiko Ikeda returned to her room, please."

There was a moment of silence, then the voice emerged from the speaker again. "Su-chk-iko Iked-hhk-?"

"Yes."

"We'-bzz-l chhz-all up. Who's c-hh-lling?"

"Takashi Morinozuka."

"One mi-ghhk-ute."

"Thank you." He leaned his forehead against the cool granite of the wall next to the speaker and sighed. His headache wasn't getting any better. In fact, he'd say it was a little worse.

The speaker came one again suddenly. "We-chk called her, a-tch-d she'll b-bzz right dow-chnn."

"Good. Thanks."

"No pro-bzz-lm."

He sighed again, and moistened his dry lips. He was beginning to wish he'd drunk something before leaving the dorm. He was terribly thirsty.

The door opened. He looked up and saw that Sumiko had just come out onto the porch and was standing in front of him. She was quiet, subdued. She was wearing the clothes she had had on yesterday. He thought that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Hey," she said, "How're you feeling?"

"Bad. You?"

She shook her head, which was obviously a mistake, as she clutched it immediately and her face screwed up in pain. "Like crap. I've thrown up twice."

He winced in sympathy. The first time he had ever gotten a hangover ( the aftermath of a very good party celebrating one of his out-of-school friend's birthday), he had thrown up three times. It had not been a pleasant experience, and it was very obvious that Sumiko was not finding it pleasant either. Her face was pale and drawn, and she looked terribly unhappy.

An idea of how to both cheer her up and help clear up both of their hangovers began to wiggle into his mind. Wiggling very persuasively…

"Um," he said, a tad nervously, "Would you come with me?"

Sumiko looked at him increduously. "You want us to go somewhere while both of us have hangovers?"

He nodded.

"Okay," she said, "Let me put on some clean clothes."

He nodded, and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed as she went back into the dorm.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Sumiko emerged again about twenty minutes later, scrubbed and wearing another yukata. She was definitely the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as they walked towards the train station.

"High school," he said, and when she looked at him with a question in her eyes, "My friends."

She nodded, and fell silent. They stayed quiet all during their trek to the train station, and only broke the hush to ask for their passes at the booth. The ticket-seller handed over the pass with a cheery smile that faded slightly when she saw the circles under their eyes, and the way that they winced when a train passed through the station. "Have a good trip," she said, her tone a little uncertain, and they managed wan smiles.

The train trip seemed much, much longer than the hour-and-a-half it took. The only good thing that came out of it was the bottle of iced green tea that Takashi bought for them to share. Every rattle of wheels on the tracks, every thump of luggage being placed on a rack, almost every damn sound made them wince. And the clear, bright light of the sun wasn't helping either.

"I wish it was cloudy," Sumiko groaned.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

After what seemed like an eternity on the train, they finally arrived at the correct station, and Takashi took Sumiko by the arm and guided her through the winding streets until they stood before the ornate gates of Ouran Academy.

"This was your high school?" Sumiko said.

" Ah."

"Wow." She sounded stunned

He ducked his head, to hide the slight amused smile that was now on his face.

"Through here," he said, led her towards the gardner's gate, which was situated a few hundred feet away. He pushed it open (the gardners never locked their gates), and began to walk towards the music building, Sumiko following close behind.

Takashi knew the way to the Third Music Room like the back of his hand, but it took him a little longer than usual because of all the times he had to go back and find Sumiko. She was forever being distracted by something in a the many branching hallways; a vase of rare flowers, a display case with antique instruments in it, a painting by an obscure artist. Then he would have to retrace his steps and hunt through the rooms until he saw her, usually with her back to him, staring at the object that had caught her attention.

When they arrived at the Third Music Room (at last), he sat her down in one of the chairs, retrieved two tea cups from a cupboard, and poured them the last of the iced tea he had purchased. He closed his eyes, and prayed that the schedule hadn't been changed. If he was correct, than lunch would be in about an hour, and either Kyoya or Tamaki would come up to make sure the flowers were all cor-

"Morinozuka-san!"

He looked up to see that Sumiko was standing, her face white, her hand clutching her teacup.

"What?" he asked, springing to his feet, looking around the room in an attempt to see what had frightened her so much.

"Can I borrow your phone? I need to tell my roomate I won't be in class today!"

He nearly slapped himself. How could he have forgotten that Sumiko had classes on Monday mornings? Quickly, he dug in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He handed it to Sumiko, who snatched it from his hands and immediately began to frantically dial several numbers. He pushed Sumiko back down onto the couch before sitting down as well and taking another sip of tea, still cursing his stupidity.

Several calls later, Sumiko had calmed down a great deal, and was reading a book entitled Love in the Feudal Era that she had found on the top shelf of a dusty bookshelf in the corner. From her expression as she read, Takashi could tell that she thought it wasn't very good, but she continued to read it. Perhap she was bored. He couldn't blame her. Sitting in a room for an hour without much conversation wasn't the pinnacle of entertainment.

He was just wondering if this was a really, really stupid idea when he heard the door open and someone step inside.

"Mori?" someone asked, and he looked up to see a very startled Kyoya.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

At last, the Host Club! More next week