Ouran Highschool Host Club and all its grandeur is owned by one Bisco Haturi. From time to time, I use her world as my muse, and own nothing.
His vision blurred from the lack of glasses, Kyouya sighed and leaned back into his pillows.
Words spoken earlier in the afternoon flowed through his head.
"It'll be fun!" Tamaki said.
"We'll have a great time!" Tamaki said…
"You know, there's something kind of charming about freeze tag."
Sure. About as charming as the sight of a horrified Hitachin, running too fast to prevent the inevitable collision from which Kyouya now found himself laid up in a hospital bed; his knee twisted to hell and in need of surgical remedy.
He sighed. It had been nearly an hour since visiting hours had ended, and with it went the remainder of the host club. While a single word from Kyouya could easily usurp the hospital rule, he was thankful for the time alone. So far he had spent his time as an in-patient trying to convince Hikaru that there was no ill will to be had between them. Had the situation not been as serious, there certainly would have been room to toy with his friend's psyche; but not over something like this. He did, however, find the effort to ensure Haruhi that the games of her people had landed her further into debt. She managed to throw him a smirk before deciding to rearrange the pillows behind his head.
No one questioned his surprisingly calm demeanor. Whereas Ootori staff, family members, or even Ouran acquaintances might perceive Kyouya as base and self-interested, his friends knew better. Scheming and calculations may have been his forte; and he may not have been much for overly hyper antics or sugary delicacies, but he did not have to be. Just as Kyoya was in tune with the host club's personalities, so they were with his. While their exterior selves were just as much a part of them, the emotions and intentions living beneath the surface were also never denied within their friendships.
And so, bedding down in the hours before his surgery, Kyouya found himself thinking of their quietly upset King. Skipping past the tears and dramatics, visiting hours found Tamaki keeping mainly to himself in one of the hospital suite's luxurious chairs. Between engaging Kyouya and calming Hikaru, the rest of the host clubbers made an effort to keep the conversation constant, yet light. Meanwhile, Tamaki would merely look up at them from time-to-time.
It was not lost on Kyouya that as they made their exit for the night, Haruhi had provided their usually-fearless leader with a comforting hand. It may have simply been the pain in his leg, but Kyouya grimaced.
He closed his eyes. There was nothing to be done, now. Beginning to notice the dull and painful roar combing through his body, Kyouya decided to partake in the morphine drip embedded in his arm. With a vain attempt he tried to clear his mind as he drifted off to sleep.
Tamaki sat huddled in the velvet chair, pianos running through his head. It was all he could do to keep his mind straight, and Kyouya's heart monitor seemed the perfect metronome for his favorite concerto music.
When he really thought about it, the current situation actually provided an odd tinge of normalcy. Nearing six in the morning, it was not unusual for the exuberant Tamaki to sit aside and wait for the awakening of his late-slumbering best friend. They lived in a world where leisure was often cut short, and family businesses would soon be the puppet masters of their time. Tamaki had no plans to idle along in the meantime. Nor did he plan on allowing Kyouya to miss out, either.
Taking her home the night before, he had asked Haruhi to come along this morning. He was slightly horrified when she gave him a resounding no. He had planned on questioning her loyalty toward her family, only to be cut short.
"Of course I 'm concerned, Sempai. Just not quite the same way you are."
Between those final goodnight words and her knowing smile, Tamaki decided to go to the hospital alone.
Leaving the chair, Tamaki made his way toward Kyouya's bed, where he laid bandaged and sleeping. His surgery had been a success, as is usually the case with a torn knee. Tamaki knew this. It did not, however, sooth his frazzled nerves. For Tamaki, it was not an issue of responsibility. Even an emotionally erratic fellow such as himself could understand that accidents happen.
No, it was the simple fact that the life of the person he upheld the most had been called into question. That Kyouya should experience pain and need to be physically manipulated in order to heal caused Tamaki his own sort of ill sensation. Coupled with the many important things he had yet to tell Kyouya, the situation seemed to bring the idea of mortality to the forefront of Tamaki's mind.
Unable to know if he could ever inform Kyouya of the advanced affection he held for him, Tamaki settled for running his fingers through familiar, black hair. If nothing else, he would be an unconscious comfort to his friend.
Kyouya stirred before long, his eyes fluttering open as he gently nudged the hand caught in his hair. Experiencing a new and sudden feeling of uncertainty, Tamaki was unsure of what to do next.
Smiling, he whispered, "Hi."
A tired grin crossed Kyouya's face. Still muddled by the presence of anesthesia throughout his body, he managed only to slur a simple, "Thanks."
"Thank you? What on earth for?"
Taken aback, Tamaki reminded himself that Kyouya's sentiment could pertain to several things. Or to absolutely nothing. Sighing, he continued to pass his fingers through the fine, black hair.
"Oh, Kyouya. Just rest, okay?"
Overanalyzing Kyouya's words, he could feel his frustration rising.
"You say 'thank you,' mon ami, but do you know who is here? Will you even remember?"
After waiting several minutes and receiving no response, it now seemed to be time to go. Turning around, he finally allowed tears to fall. Reaching for the doorknob, a voice caused him to turn around.
"You're Tamaki. I know that. Idiot."
Wiping his tears away, Tamaki walked back to the bed, wringing his hands, despite the smile on his face.
Kyouya smiled upon having his friend's form back within sight. He did not need all of his mental clarity or clear vision to understand this most difficult of feelings. Using what minimal strength he had, Kyouya raised his hand subtly to Tamaki, who reached out to take it.
Having accrued as much comfort as was possible for the moment, Kyouya allowed himself to once again be lulled back into his drug-induced sleep.
"Thank you, Tamaki…"
Caving in to what was now a happy cry, the blonde quietly responded.
"No. Thank you, mon amour."
Whether the moment stayed in memory or not, Tamaki no longer cared. He was certain that he had been gifted all the insight necessary to guide him toward becoming the man he so desperately wanted to be.