Disclaimer: don't own this.
Kyouya collapsed on his bed with a grunt of frustration. He was so tired, but he had so much work left to do. There was checking his father's business expenses, making a presentation for tomorrow's business meeting, contacting the English prime minister for an important interview, and of course cramming for his big Calculus test so that he could stay on top of his class. (he had noticed that his grade point average had dropped about 0.15 points, and that bugged him) Kyouya knew very well that his father was just pushing all of these tasks on him so that he could see if his son could handle the pressure, which Kyouya was fully capable of. Of course Kyouya was capable. He didn't fail. He just wouldn't get any sleep that night, was all.
To make it all worse, Haruhi had not showed up at the club meeting today. Actually she hadn't showed up at school at all. And why did that make things worse? Well, it certainly wasn't because Kyouya was worrying about her or anything (although he did realize that he missed the presence of the only other sane person besides himself in the club). No, on the contrary. It was because a certain idiot king kept harassing Kyouya on the phone, nearly insane with his overwhelming concern for his "daughter." Tamaki kept stealing Kyouya's precious little time to be working.
With a sigh, the boy ran a hand through his hair and reluctantly pulled out his laptop. There was no use thinking about his major tasks ahead of him. He might as well just get started. But then Kyouya's cell phone rang. He braced himself but then relaxed when he realized it wasn't Tamaki's ringtone this time. Actually, he didn't really recognize this ringtone. Curiously, as his laptop was waking up, he glanced at the caller ID.
Kyouya blinked in confusion. What? Since when did she ever call him?
Adjusting his glasses, he picked up the phone and answered it coolly. "Yes, Haruhi?"
There was a slight pause. He could picture the girl fidgeting uncomfortably. "Uh . . . hi, Kyouya," she replied slowly, but stopped again.
In the short silence that ensued, Kyouya glanced back to his laptop, where all his work was waiting for him. His fingers itched to return to his keyboard. Trying to mask his slight irritation, he asked, "Is there an emergency?"
"Well . . . no. There's no emergency."
"Is there a thunderstorm at your apartment?"
". . . no." Haruhi's voice was becoming smaller and quieter with each answer.
"Then, are you calling to give me an excuse for your absence today—which, by the way, resulted in a great number of clients becoming heavily disappointed and a significant reduction of our daily profits?"
She didn't reply.
Kyouya felt a vein popping out in his temple.
"Haruhi," he said, struggling to stay cool. "If you have nothing important to say, then please don't waste my time by calling me. I'm very busy right now."
And Kyouya almost hung up, but then Haruhi said, so soft that he could barely hear, "It's not that I wanted to call you, it's just . . . there was no one else to call."
That tiny little remark made Kyouya stop. Though he didn't feel like wasting his time like this, he did feel a little hurt that Haruhi treated him like a last resort. But then, why shouldn't she? Kyouya thought to himself. Why would any sane person actually want to call you if this was the way you were going to treat them? For all she knows, she probably assumes that I'm going to increase her debt based on the cell phone minutes wasted. Instead of hanging up, his finger pressed the speaker phone button. Then he placed his cell phone by the laptop and continued to type. "Oh? That's strange. I was your only option? What about everyone else in the host club? What about Tamaki? I'm sure he would have loved to spend time chatting idly with you."
"There's no way in hell that I would have called that idiot," Haruhi muttered, and Kyouya couldn't help but let out a short laugh.
"I tried calling the twins," she continued, "but they aren't answering. I think I remember them saying that they were flying to Paris this weekend to help their mom with a fashion show, so they might be in the middle of a show."
"Mmm-hmm," Kyouya grunted, barely paying attention. His focus was too absorbed in the numbers filing out on the screen.
"Calling Mori would be pointless. I might as well just talk to myself. And I didn't want to call Honey because . . . wait, what's that noise?"
Kyouya's fingers hesitated over the keyboard, but then he shrugged and continued. "It's just me typing. I told you I'm busy, remember?"
Kyouya noticed with surprise that her voice quavered the slightest bit. Interest caught, the Ootori asked, "Are you sure nothing's wrong? Why don't you talk to your father? Your real one, I mean."
"He's gone. He's been gone all day, and I know he's not coming back anytime soon. He's probably going to wind up drinking all night. That's what usually happens when . . ." Haruhi trailed off. "So I'm all alone right now."
Something seemed wrong about that. Kyouya's curiosity made it hard for him to concentrate. His fingers began to pound on the keys a little harder.
As if sensing his frustration through the phone, Haruhi squeaked, "I'm sorry for bothering you. I can keep quiet if you like."
"But then what would be the point of calling me in the first place?" Kyouya responded gruffly. "Was there really no reason for calling me at all?"
"I'm sorry," Haruhi repeated, even quieter.
Kyouya frowned. What was wrong with this girl? Her voice sounded so off. And why on earth did she call him tonight?
Both sides were quiet for a while, so Kyouya used it as an advantage and typed twice as fast as before.
"The sound of your typing is so soothing."
Kyouya stopped, startled by her sudden remark. "What?"
"Your typing. It's soothing. Almost like a lullaby."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Kyouya could almost picture the girl shrugging. "I can't explain it, but I just like it. I almost feel like I could fall asleep right now, listening to it."
He made no remark, but continued typing. Several minutes passed, and Haruhi didn't speak again. When Kyouya finally finished calculating all of his father's business expenses, he glanced at his digital clock. 11:11.
"Haruhi?" he said, but she didn't answer. Sensing that maybe she had hung up with him noticing, he flipped the cell phone shut.
His eyes traveled back to the clock. The date caught his eye. May 1st. There was something familiar about that date. Kyouya felt as though someone had mentioned it in passing quite recently. What was so special about May 1st?
Even though he still had a presentation to prepare for tomorrow's meeting, Kyouya put it aside for the moment and pulled up his secret database of everyone he knew and kept tabs on. He typed the date in the search engine. It came up with two results. He didn't pull up either of the two profiles. He only needed to look at the names for it to suddenly occur to him.
He quickly whipped out his cell phone again. "Tachibana. Start the limo."
The apartment was quiet and dark. In the kitchen, the washing machine hummed softly. A silent stereo blinked the time in bold, neon-green letters. Occasionally, a car would drive past with a noisy engine, briefly filling the room with the brilliance of its headlights. The TV was on, but it was only a few levels above mute. Each salesperson in every commercial talked in whispers as the latest new product flashed on the screen. The light of the television screen illuminated a girl's face with a range of colors as she sprawled out on the couch. But to the girl, it was too dark and quiet. All because the cell phone in her hands was turned off.
Haruhi frowned at it. Kyouya had hung up on her. Maybe he had gotten tired of her after all. She didn't know what had gotten into her mind when she called him. It was obvious that she would just annoy him.
With a sigh, Haruhi dropped the cell phone on the ground and pulled the blanket over her head. Now it was even darker. She hugged an object against her chest. Haruhi must have been like this all day. She had to admit that she felt incredibly lazy, and she hated that she had skipped a day of school. But she couldn't blame herself, and neither would her father. After all, this happened every year.
Haruhi jerked into a sitting position, and the object she had been holding flopped to the floor. She thought she had heard something. Suddenly a creaking noise and a thin crack of light invaded her dark, quiet world. Someone was walking through the front door.
"Dad?" she called softly, but there was no answer. The newcomer stepped inside so that the light of the television illuminated his face.
Haruhi's jaw dropped.
"If you don't stop looking at me with that dazed, idiotic expression, I'm going to increase your debt."
"KYOUYA-SEMPAI!?!?!" Haruhi shouted in horror. "How the heck did you get in my apartment?"
Kyouya adjusted his glasses so that they created a glare . . . not that he needed to bother. It wasn't like there was enough light for Haruhi to see his eyes anyway. He gently set his black book bag on the ground. "Through the door obviously. I thought you were an honor-student, Haruhi."
Haruhi bristled in anger. She wasn't in the mood for this right now. "Don't mock me, Kyouya. That door was locked."
Kyouya sat down on the couch, immediately making himself at home, much to Haruhi's resentment. "If you really want to know, your father gave me keys to your apartment ages ago, in order to check up on you whenever he's away. It's proven to be quite useful. And by the way, how much does this couch cost? It feels like I'm sitting on a rock."
Haruhi blanched in the light of the cheap television. "You're lying."
Kyouya simply looked at her, and then he dangled the particular key in question in front of her face.
Haruhi turned her head, her eyes widening. "I think I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of my life," she muttered to herself.
"Well then," Kyouya declared, not hearing her remark. "It's inspection time."
Catching her by surprise, Kyouya gently held her chin and turned her face back towards him. Haruhi blushed despite herself.
"Just as I thought," he remarked emotionlessly. Almost boredly, actually. "Your eyes are red and puffy." He released her and started to feint looking around. "I wonder what would have made you skip school, forget the host club meeting, and then spend who knows how long crying all alone. Ah, here it is." Kyouya picked up the thing Haruhi had dropped. He held it up in front of her face. Kyouya flashed her one of his fake, Shadow King smiles. "This couldn't possibly be the cause of all this nonsense, could it?"
Haruhi snatched it away from him and then stared at it. It was a small rectangular frame, painted with cheap, fake gold paint. There was a single crack in the glass, something that had happened so long ago that Haruhi couldn't even remember what had caused it. And then, inside the frame was a picture of a little Haruhi holding the hand of her smiling mother, clad in a business suit.
"How did you know?" Haruhi asked in a whisper, hoping that since her voice was quiet enough he wouldn't hear its tremor. "About her anniver—?" The word stuck in Haruhi's throat. Her vision started to blur, but she forced herself to hold back the tears. It wouldn't do any good to break down in front of Kyouya, of all people.
"Nothing gets passed me, Haruhi. You should know that by now," Kyouya said.
Usually, such a remark would have infuriated Haruhi or at the very least creeped her out. But at the moment, she just felt so exhausted and hollow. She couldn't summon any more emotions.
"Why are you here?" the girl murmured.
Once again, Kyouya adjusted his glasses. "You shouldn't have to cry alone like this."
"I could never cry in front of you," Haruhi deadpanned. "You would probably use it for black mail later or increase my debt because I got the front of your expensive shirt wet."
"I assure you, I made sure to change into a cheaper shirt."
Haruhi couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.
Hands alighted down on the small of Haruhi's back, and the next thing she knew, her face was buried against Kyouya's chest, leaving her to inhale his ridiculously good-smelling cologne (which probably cost just about as much as the TV in front of her, she thought to herself in annoyance).
"It's alright. It's perfectly acceptable to cry over loved ones that have passed. You don't have to hide it from all of your friends," Kyouya reassured, sounding uncharacteristically gentle.
Haruhi couldn't take it anymore. Feeling the heavy weight of her mother's picture frame in her lap, the tears started to roll down her cheeks. "Where's the merit in this, Kyouya?" she sobbed into his shirt.
Kyouya twirled a strand of her hair around his finger before wrapping his arms around her. Not tightly or passionately. That wasn't Kyouya's way of doing things. Just a simple hug, although his did let his hands travel up and down her back. "There's plenty of merit," he replied simply, not caring to actually explain.
"I didn't want to be seen like this," Haruhi cried. "Why did you have to bother me the one day when I feel so depressed?"
"You're the one who bothered me first, Haruhi. Remember that."
Haruhi only cried harder.
Kyouya sighed, trying again, only a little softer. "I think that you didn't actually want to be alone today. You actually wanted someone to come over, but you were too proud to admit it. That's why you called me, wasn't it?"
No answer, but Kyouya felt the girl grip the front of his shirt even tighter, almost as if she was clinging to it for dear life.
"Crying in front of others doesn't mean you're weak, Haruhi. You don't have to keep your problems locked up inside of you all the time."
As the minutes ticked by, Haruhi's sobs slowly grew quieter. After Haruhi had gotten most of the crying out of her system, Kyouya reached over for his back pack and unzipped it. Haruhi lifted her tear-stained face a few inches to see what he was grabbing.
"Your laptop?" she inquired.
"I told you I was busy, didn't I?"
"And yet you had enough time to come visit me?"
Kyouya decided not to comment on that one.
Haruhi pushed away from Kyouya so that he could set up his laptop. When it was resting comfortably in his lap and the screen was lighting up, he cast Haruhi a glance. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked curiously.
Haruhi shook her head. "No. The sound of your typing is soothing to me."
And as Kyouya began preparing for his meeting, something soft touched his shoulder. Stiffening in shock, Kyouya glanced to his right to find Haruhi leaning against him, her eyes closed in contentment and her head on his shoulder. The smell of strawberry shampoo wafted into his nostrils. Kyouya smiled a soft smile that Haruhi didn't see before returning to his work.
And in the morning, when Ranka came back home after a night of clubbing, he discovered the two teenagers sprawled out on the couch together, fast asleep and with clothes fully intact. Kyouya, with his glasses askew and his arm hanging off the couch, as if his hand was still trying to reach the laptop lying on the ground. Haruhi, with her mouth hanging open slightly and a soft snore ripping through her, as if she hadn't a care in the world.
And what popped into Ranka's mind when he beheld the sight before him was . . .
"So not sexy."
A/N: aha! I'm back! How long has it been . . . a few months? But now that school has started, I pretty much have zero free time. The only reason I was able to write this was because I had a half day yesterday and a day off today. But I digress . . .
And, surprise, surprise! I actually wrote a non-Gakuen Alice fic. Aren't you proud? KyouyaxHaruhi is one of my favorite pairings for Ouran Host Club (next to HikaruxHaruhi of course), but some of their oneshots annoy me. Most of the time, they either engage in a heavy make-out session, Kyouya walks in on Haruhi, or they both wind up sleeping together. Which, don't get me wrong. I've seen the episode where Kyouya almost "raped" Harhi at the beach, but that doesn't mean this pairing can't have gentler, more innocent moments too, right? That's what I think anyway.
As always, review! This was my first Ouran Host Club fic. I hope I did Kyouya and Haruhi justice!