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Karuizawa. The resort area made famous for its mountain air and picturesque landscape. The epitome of relaxation.

Despite the countless interesting attractions the town was home to, it was the last place I planned to be whisked off to in the middle of summer break. Certainly not after awaking to the Host Club huddled around my bed like they were viewing an open casket. If I needed anymore indication that this was a friendship I could no longer hold one foot out of, that was definitely it.

I had welcomed Tamaki's instant fit of theatrics with a pillow to the face. Then went about getting up, ignoring Izumi's apologetic bows as per usual. Just a day in the life, they say.

And now, Captain Idiot is dangling out the side of the helicopter, bullhorn in hand and shouting down at a horrified Haruhi. A few of the sheets on her clothesline scatter in the gusts, probably along with her hopes of a Host Club-less summer.

—

From up top, the view of the pensione had been quite grand. The brick exterior gleamed white and was accented with teal roofing. With a chimney off to the side and a forward-facing analog clock to add, the inn immersed itself in an old-timey, romantic charm. Now inside, the atmosphere only increases ten-fold. A large portion of the dining area is brightened by floor-to-ceiling windows. All the fixtures are highlighted with gold, curly trim. Upstairs, the banisters and room doors continue the white trend of the outside walls. It's like basking in the magic of a fairytale, honestly.

Misuzu is not just the name of the pensione, but the owner's too. And for good reason: he's the walking, talking, and singing version of the pensione's extravagance. Bold lashes, glossy lips, and dolled up in frills—there's no way anyone could ever ignore or forget someone like Misuzu.

Introductions are made swiftly, eagerly, on his behalf. "My, what a handsome batch of boys~!" he sings, heart-eyed. "Haruhi, how fortunate we are for them to have paid us a visit!"

Haruhi slinks over to me and leans her weary head against my right shoulder. "Kill me," she groans.

"I'll do you one better." I gently peel her off and hold my hand out for her to shake. "Suicide pact."

Tamaki shrieks and intervenes the handshake with a karate chop. "Suzume! Stop corrupting my sweet daughter!"

"Buzz off, senpai." She shoots him a death glare.

"You're just jealous I was about to hold Haruhi's hand," I gloat.

He's startled into a pause. Fluttering his eyelashes, he holds out his hand with a silent plea. Haruhi, mind made up in a matter of milliseconds, slaps it away and stomps back over to Misuzu's side. He nurses the hand like an injured paw. He stares me down after with a puppy-dog look and a quivering pout.

"Sorry." My tone is apathetic at best. I shrug and say, "Only good boys get treats."

We make it back to the main conversation right as Misuzu divulges a bit more about the pensione and exactly how Haruhi got to be 'enslaved' here, as Tamaki had put it: "Though I've been here two summers already, I don't make enough to hire an employee. Luckily, Ranka and I go far back. He suggested his little one could lend me a hand while he was away on business!"

"He left Haruhi to fend for herself?" the twins gripe. "Some father."

"I'm grateful he did. Haruhi's made my life so much easier since she's arrived~!" Misuzu beams as he flaunts the canary-yellow aprons he and Haruhi share. The first-year relents, her limp body giving into the inevitable. "I even got her to model these cute aprons I made!"

"You've done a great job, Misuzu!" The boys send him a line of thumbs-ups. "Ranka would be proud!"

"Anyway," the Hitachiins say as they kick back onto one of the couches, "we never expected you to take up a summer job, Haruhi."

Hikaru folds his arms, attempting to put an aloof twist on his obvious disappointment. "No wonder you refused to go to Bali with us."

Honey whines, "And declined my invitation to come to Switzerland~!"

Kyoya, of all people, surprises me when he reveals, "I even offered you a discounted price on tickets to my family's domestic resort."

Why would he offer her...? I can't help the pang of bitterness striking my heart in that moment.

Why would he bother inviting you? You have the Ootori name. You can go whenever you want and get in for free, my logic tries to swat the feeling away. He was still charging her for it... Stop overreacting.

Even so, neither Kyoya nor any of the other Ootoris had extended such an invitation to my family since we've been back—not one that I knew of, at least. There was no way I wouldn't have known if there had been. Mother would have mentioned it to me, surely. She would have insisted we go together and treat ourselves to a spa day. Maybe even forced Father to take a day off and tag along. Lord knows he needed the downtime.

Stop overreacting.

It was the sentiment of the thought, or lack thereof, that stung. Kyoya thought of Haruhi before he thought of someone related to him by blood. Otherwise translated as, I meant less to him than someone outside the family. Someone who he could gain very little from.

What hurts more is realizing I care about a thing as trifling as who Kyoya values. Perhaps I have even less self-respect than I'd thought.

Would I have gone even if he asked? Who knows.

He never asked me.

Stop overreacting!

That one little remark of his was proof enough for what I already knew. Things had changed from before, and they changed for the worse. And why would it be any way else? My family is back in Japan now, instead of where we were supposed to be: still in the States. I would be an optimist to think that those extra years in New York helped to buffer out the main branch's feelings regarding what happened.

But as I've stated before, I'm a realist at best and a pessimist at worst.

STOP OVERREACTING!

My lips twist shut, fighting the urge to voice anything about the matter. I divert my attention to admiring the soft linen tablecloths as Tamaki's battle against the group over their personal vacation invitations to Haruhi snowballs into something else entirely.

"We're all free to spend our summer breaks however we want!" The Princely Host jabs a finger in Haruhi's ghost-stricken face. "This summer, we will stay at this pensione as VIP guests!"

—

I finish tying the frilly apron around my waist. In the mirror, I readjust my high bun, rewrapping the purple-and-tan leopard print scarf around its base for decoration. With a pleased hum, I take my leave from the breakroom and step back out onto the café floor.

"I'm ready to help with whatever you need, Misuzu-san," I tell him after weaving through the sea of tables to the host's stand.

Ripping his gaze from the rebel twins escorting guests up the stairs, Misuzu snaps his folder closed and takes a moment to fully absorb my presence. I send a questioning glance to Haruhi standing by his side, but she just stands there, deer-eyes blinking dumb. Misuzu reopens his folder and scribbles some notes down.

"I'll give you ten refreshing points just on principle! A girl should be rewarded for her adorability~!"

"Is adorability a word?" Haruhi mumbles. "Sounds fake..."

"Oh dear, but I'm afraid this won't do!" Misuzu pats a palm to his cheek, as if to smooth out the worried expression. "Despite your darling appearance, it seems you have quite a standoffish aura."

Hikaru and Kaoru guffaw from the second-floor banister, earning them the spotlight for my own hostility. They straighten momentarily, then collapse onto the floor with all the animation of those inflatable, flailing tube men.

"My, it's even worse than I thought!" Misuzu tsks, head shaking. "I'm afraid I'll have to deduct you five refreshing points for that, Suzume-chan."

I ignore the devil twins' snickers and whip back to Misuzu. I can't help leaning in or my hand pressing into my heart. "There must be something I can do? Please?"

He blinks, stunned. His face relaxes after, brown eyes softer than a father's embrace. "I never painted you as a plucky one, Suzume-chan." With delight, he continues, "Since Hikaru and Kaoru are already acting as waiters, why don't you help bus the tables and wash dishes? How does that sound?"

I nod, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet. "I'll do my best."

"Wow, Suzu-senpai, I didn't know you cared so much about this refreshing contest thingy," comments Haruhi.

"I don't." My forehead eases the crease caused by the question. "I just want to be helpful."

Haruhi chuckles and grins. "Alright. If that's the case, I can teach you how to make the beds and we can clean the empty rooms together later on, okay?"

I agree with a smile. "Okay."

"Oi, Haruhi, what's this?" The Hitachiins rush in, cutting me off from their precious classmate. They wrap their arms around her shoulders and ask, "Trying to slack off~?"

The interaction causes me to stumble backward, my platform sandals only worsening the matter. Abruptly, I fall against a wall much closer than I remember being next to. There's a warmth around my middle that's drawn my own hand over it. Protective.

And in a snap, it's gone. My head turns around, only for my gaze to catch on Mori at my side. When did he...? I look behind me still. There's no wall, just an array of tables. Was it...him?

"Takashi~?" Misuzu carols. He points to the table beside the third-year. "That table's wobbly. Would you mind fixing it in the yard?"

"Of course," he responds.

I watch as he hoists it over his shoulder with a single hand. I look at my own palm then, feeling the remaining whispers of his hand's warmth tingle along its lines. On his way out, Mori sends a languid smile in my direction.

I swat the nonsensical butterflies in my stomach away and get to work.

—

He was always around, Mori.

When I take the garbage out and, whether it be by my height or severe lack of upper-arm strength (probably both), I can't quite heave it up into the dumpster. There he is, arriving without a sound but making sure to be in my line of sight. I can hardly see with the hefty bag resting in my arms, but I know the short, spiky haircut from the rest of the Host Club well enough.

"Here," he simply says.

The bag levitates out of my grasp and I almost feel off-balance without it, already used to its added weight. With one hand gripping the tassels, Mori lets the bag fall into the dumpster. Without meaning to, my gaze focuses on his hand floating still. Follows it as it lowers to rest by his thigh.

Catching myself in the daze, I hurriedly thank him and run back inside.

When I drop the overloaded bin of dishes on the floor (yeah, definitely my scrawny arms this time), the shards of glass scatter—no thanks to the demon twins, who "sweep them up." Really, they just spread them further about the floor and make them harder to find.

In a panic, I stupidly get on my knees and try to brush them up with my hands before Misuzu can see. A yelp escapes my mouth as I scrape against a particularly sharp piece. He appears out of thin air again, ushering me up from the floor. Together, we examine the cut. Though it's in one of the folds of my palm, the cut's hardly deep enough to need more than a wide band-aid.

Misuzu catches on soon enough and procures the first-aid box from the back office, but not without disqualifying me from the contest and a promise that I'd pay for any damage I'd caused. I could have bandaged myself up on my own just fine, but Mori takes charge. To be honest, I don't really mind. My focus is elsewhere—on the sinew working its way between hardened knuckle, on the peekaboo veins trickling from his wrists and up through his forearm.

I keep my head bowed even after Mori wraps my hand in a couple layers of gauze for safety's precaution. I pull it back into my lap and finally meet his questioning eye.

"You'd be good at the piano," I blurt out, the only explanation I can find to my own odd behavior. "Or the french horn. Or the accordion...if you're feeling adventurous."

His stare crinkles with amusement, lips lift on both sides. "Not as good as you are at the cello."

"You... you would just have to practice. That's how you get good at things."

"I have heard that's true, as well."

There's a blip in the conversation, both of us too comfortable in our respective silences. I give him a curt nod, a murmured thank you, then slide off the stool. Running off to who knows where.

It doesn't matter, so long as it puts more distance between us.

—

It may sound strange, but I had never really cleaned before. The house staff works round the clock; no matter how messy I left my room in the morning, it was guaranteed that it'd be spick-and-span when I got home from school. Cleaning wasn't ever something I dreamed of doing, I doubt anyone has. But I must admit, it's more fulfilling than I would have thought. The sharp scent of citrus clears the muddiness of my brain. The tangible results of constant elbow-grease speak to my own value of hard-work. And maybe most of all, I feel in control for once.

For once I feel dependable, responsible, autonomous. Not just a girl vying for her piece of the world. Not like a shaken-up soda can, my metal skin barely containing all the pressure inside.

Misuzu may have disqualified me from the contest, but this was never about that. This was about me.

I load the last remaining dishes into the washer and set it to the short cycle. Yank the big rubber gloves off each of my hands, then go back out onto the café floor with my handy, dandy dishbin. Finding dirty tables to wipe off takes half a second, but I'm stopped along the way by the trail of eyes I notice looking at something near the windows. It's Tamaki they watch, no surprise. However, it's baffling how much he looks like a different person. Seated on the bench, hands flowing up and down the keys, and peace wafting off him.

I flick on my hearing aid—turned off to ignore the bustle of the main floor and the Host Club—and blend in with the rest of his audience. I can't place the piece he's playing. It's colorful and lively, fluid in tempo. Names of Impressionist composers come to mind. I'm thinking someone French?

Regardless, the music casts a pleasant atmosphere in the room. The air itself waltzes around us, easing the weary bones of fellow tourists and customers. He may just be playing the piano to win the contest, and if that's so, it's working exactly as he wants it. I have to applaud him for that in itself. Tamaki wasn't usually one for well-planned tactics.

"Wow," I say when he's finished, "I didn't know we had a modern-day Debussy in our midst."

Tamaki chuckles, "I wouldn't go that far, though it's quite the compliment coming from someone of your skill set, Suzume."

I roll my eyes at the flattery. "When did you learn?"

"When I was little." He eyes the keys then, traces his fingertips over them almost lovingly. "My mother taught me when I still lived in France. It seemed only fitting, since I was always at her side."

We had never talked about this before—his life before Ouran. I suppose I never had reason or mind to. Something like that would be reserved for Kyoya or anyone closer to him, assuming he even talks about it. I wouldn't blame him if not. Nostalgia was only ever good for heartache.

"I guess we have that in common." I pat the lip of the piano. "Noisy mothers and lots of good memories about this thing."

"I guess so," he says with a grin. "It's a shame you didn't bring your cello. We could've found a duet to play and tie for first place!"

"And share a room with you? Hardest of passes."

Tamaki flies straight to the floor with a yelp. A little steamroller appears from thin air and flattens him into the floorboards, stamping the word DENIED into his back before poofing out of sight. I hum. How strange.

I try to lighten him up by saying, "Even if I had, I've already been disqualified." I smirk and hold up my bandaged hand. "Besides, you've worked this hard, might as well have the glory all to yourself."

Pivoting to get back to my own work, I wave him goodbye.

"Suzume!" Spooked, I glance back over my shoulder. Tamaki's standing now, inflated back to life. The afterglow of the setting sun streams in behind him. It alters him again, blots out his usual obnoxious flair. Instead, his earnest and honesty shine through. Tamaki holds out his pinkie. "Promise me that when we're back at school, we'll play something together for the Host Club!"

I look between the fierce boy and his outstretched hand, then sigh. As I latch my pinkie around his, I remark, "Sheesh, you really are a kid sometimes."

A loud crash separates us a moment later. Over to our left, Haruhi and Kaoru sit huddled together on the ground with broken glass littered around them.

—

It was on a day like this, I think. Some sunny, cool August day in New York City years ago. I know I mentioned it before, the trainride with that perverted businessman and my crossed, barely-pubescent legs. Well, I won't rehash it. It's just that I realized something...

I realized I lied.

When the man stared at me, I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Hey," Dash called.

He must have seen how scared I was, because he smiled at me. The softest, sweetest smile he could give. He held out his hand, freshly freckled from the summer sun, and I reached for it.

Like it was my lifeline.

Like the fool I was.

The hand tugs me back into reality and right out of the taxi's backseat. Kaoru's honeyed eyes greet me, brimming with judgement.

"You're such a space cadet sometimes, Suzu-senpai," he carps.

I say nothing in return, just avert my eyes to the side and rub the hand he grabbed. Coincidentally, it's the bandaged one.

The Hitachiin shows some of his true colors when he asks, "Is your hand okay? Maybe I grabbed it too—"

I swerve away from his worried touch this time, mumbling, "Don't worry about it." To the rest of the group, I share, "I'll meet you all back here when the mall closes."

"Don't have too much fun without your loving cousins, okay?" Tamaki flashes his pearly whites and a thumbs-up. And then it's back to business: "Oh, Haruhi~?"

For a while I don't go into any shops, just follow the curved, open walkway as if it's my own yellow-brick road. I come around to the idea of looking at clothes finally when I'm reminded that I don't have enough for the rest of our stay. That was the whole reason we came to Prince Plaza. Kyoya was the only one with enough foresight to pack for a multiple-day excursion while the rest of us had brought nothing more than backpacks. I had some emergency toiletries, but no extra underwear or outfits to change into. And I guess I would rather face my arch-nemesis—trying on clothes—than be stuck in the same ones all week.

I find a few cute things easily as I orbit the store, mostly tops and a romper. I usually gravitate toward skirts, but the kookiness of some of them kind of scares me away from the section. Yet there's this one pair of jeans that I keep coming back to; they're a nice lightwash blue with pink and red flowers crawling up one of the legs, down one of the back pockets. I try to resist the urge, alarm bells warning of a hugged-figure and restricted movement. But on the fifth time sneaking by them, I give into temptation.

And they have my size! Thank my lucky stars~!

"Oh."

I stare at the fitting room mirror despondently, likely boring a hole into the spot where the fabric refused to come over my thighs. No matter how much I jump or wiggle or inch the fabric up my legs, it was not happening. I double-check the tag. It's my size, alright.

Unless... Have I gained weight?

That is the only logical explanation. Now that I think about it, I did a lot of stress-eating between midterms and finals alone. But I don't look or feel any different, so it couldn't be a lot, right? Everything else fit okay, so maybe it's just the sizing and material of the jeans. Keeping the pair with me, I take a leap of faith into the skirts and dresses area long enough to come out with a couple winners. I make my way up to the cashier just as the 15-minute warning for the mall's closing sounds overhead.

"By the way, I was wondering if you had one size up for these in the back?"

The woman checks the tag and her indifference suddenly borders on passive-aggression. With a pucker of her lips, she informs, "Another size up would be a queen size. We don't sell those."

"...In-store?"

"Um, at all. Sorry."

She very obviously isn't.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "I'll just take everything else then."

—

Throwing the blanket from over my head and slamming my arms down on it, I huff. Check the clock on my phone. 1:24 AM. After all that work today, you'd think I would have gone to dreamland as soon as my body hit the mattress. What a cruel prank I was playing on myself.

I sit up in bed. Though it's not my own, there's nothing terribly uncomfortable about it. Resigned, I plant my feet on the floor and leave the room with my cellphone in hand. With it being so late, I don't want to risk waking others up by turning on all the lights. I make it out into open air by the light of my lockscreen and stand at the engawa's edge. Let the night air consume me.

It was nice of Honey to let us use his family's summer home to stay in. The space feels somewhat familiar, as it shares the same architecture of the minka both Mori and I live in. Although, the décor could be toned down. A lot. Whoever was in charge of that department filled the home as if they were stashing collectibles from a worldwide tour and had the vaguest clue what color theory was. If the twins hadn't won Misuzu's one free room, I just know they'd be tearing this place to shreds.

Something in my peripheral alights. Down the hallway is a lit room, the dining room if I remember right. I head toward it. It's probably Honey sneaking some cake as a midnight snack.

I expect to see the long table lined with cakes when I push back the shoji door. All that's here in the dim lamplight is my cousin. He's surrounded by portfolios and clicking away at his laptop with the ardor of a movie hacker. Kyoya spares me half a glance and zero greeting. Despite my better judgement to leave him be, I close the door behind me. Leaving a chair between us, I park myself at the table and peruse one of the opened portfolios. The words, numbers, and graphs might as well be hieroglyphics but I can tell enough to surmise the document is a compilation of stock notes on a Japanese conglomerate—Konno Manufacturing. There's anywhere from thirty to fifty of the files scattered across the table, all presumably containing the same breakdown for some of Japan's most lucrative businesses.

Tucking a hand under my chin, I finally address him head-on. "Engaging in some light reading?"

Nothing about him signals that he's paid me any attention except his moving lips. "I'm surprised you decided to grace me with your exhausting wit, Suzume."

My eyebrows raise briefly, challenging him. "Mm, I'm betting you were hoping I wouldn't."

"Well, as you can see," his steely gaze finally juts in my direction, "I am in the middle of something." Something indeed, I think. "Not to mention you've been in a pissy mood ever since we returned from the shopping mall."

The reminder alone readjusts my posture. My arms fold cross my chest and I lean further from him in my chair. My tongue hugs my top, front teeth—a sad attempt at repressing the snide remark about to spurt out. "Maybe I need to take a trip to one of our family's domestic resorts..."

His typing slows to a halt. With a long, pressing blink, he asks, "Is there supposed to be some insinuation there that I'm not understanding?"

"I'm just...astonished you were kind enough to invite Haruhi somewhere is all."

I've got his full attention now, but I'm wishing I hadn't provoked the big cat in his work den. I brace the look of calculation in his eyes only because I won't know if something's been said otherwise. The temptation to look away is almost irresistible. I can't shake the sneaking suspicion there might be a pack of cackling hyenas lurking in the shadows behind me, waiting for Kyoya's signal to pounce.

"Astonished?" His lips hang on every character of the word. His fingers intertwine and his chin props atop them. A smile breaks the menace of his poker face, slightly. "You know, my vision is rather terrible, but I'd say that spark in your eye is more jealous than anything."

Everything that comes is unwitting: my slack jaw, headlight eyes, and lifted brow.

"Ah," Kyoya comments, "now there's astonished. Perhaps you should have unpacked those pesky emotions better before you came knocking at my door."

I bite back, "If memory serves correct, it was you who came knocking on my door."

"Yes, yes. Out of courtesy to our Club President, as I remember it." Kyoya rests back in the dining chair, looking more so bored with the discussion than pleased. "Out of courtesy and nothing more."

Instead of feeling the hurt I felt earlier or so-called jealousy, a wave of amusement falls over me. I have to give it to him, Kyoya is just that good of an actor. He even had me believing that our relationship had bloomed into friendship along with the others. Obviously, I hadn't been paying enough attention. After all, the true version of the saying, "Blood is thicker than water," means the exact opposite—"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

And Kyoya, he's no friend of mine. Only time will tell if he's truly an enemy or playing devil's advocate.

I should probably feel stupid, but honestly, I just have to laugh. The fact that I have more faith in the rest of the Host Club rather than my own cousin says bounds more about him than me.

The third son of the main branch quirks a brow, somehow still managing an air of indifference. "Have I missed something?"

"No." I calm myself down, let the oxygen snuggle back into my lungs. Throw him a jab of my own. "I'm just thinking about what it'll be like when people realize you're a fraud."

Kyoya has one tell, the only giveaway to when something actually irks him—a teeny, pounding nerve on the right side of his neck. "Oh no! Not my precious, pristine reputation," it shrieks.

"As if they'll trust your word over mine."

My tongue clucks and it saddens my ego to be deprived of the noise. "Your ears must be as shitty as your eyes because I never said it would be me who exposes you. No, people will just wake up one day and realize it. Then it'll be just you and your files to keep you warm."

With two fingers, I slide the portfolio on the manufacturing company back his way, for effect.

"I see my own confusion." Kyoya props his glasses up his nose, smirking. "It's just that you speak as if you've earned a seat at this table and with enough familiarity to fool me into thinking you already know me."

"Rest assured, Kyoya." I rise from my seat, tired at last. "I don't. And I'm starting to think I'd rather not."

I push in the chair, readied to go. When I catch what might be the last syllable of my name, I stop in my tracks. I can spare him that much respect at least.

"We all have our faults. We would not be human without them. I want you to know, cousin, that I can live with being a fraud."

There's nothing sinister in his face. Nothing except genuine curiosity.

"Can you live with being a failure?"

My lips press together, hardening my jaw. I turn on my heels, most likely stomping out the room. The noise I might be making is of no concern to me now. I rush back under the sheets once in my room. Even without my hearing aid, his words are still too loud. The world itself is just too loud.

Blocking my ears doesn't stop the sound of the subway chugging along the tracks of my memories.

"CaN yOu LiVe WiTh BeInG a FaIlUrE?" I grumble to myself. Once the last bedsheet is stripped from the bed, it's shoved right in the basket with the rest of them. "Fucking megane dickhead."

Of course, I can live with it! What else could I do? Kyoya's own father had given me no other option. He had decided not to let me have any other options, not after the first one had gone so pitifully.

I scoff at my own absurdity.

As if going to America was even a choice. No, that was just how my parents framed it. Like we were off on an adventure, finding our dreams in the Land of Opportunity! Father, with his promotion to Chief Physician at the new hospital. Mother, to her new collaboration on the musical scores for that blockbuster film. And me, to...

"Suzume, this is Dashiell."

Everyone got their dreams, but me? I got a waking nightmare.

I throw myself down on the naked bed. Stare down at the swirling marks of the hardwood floors.

Maybe it was a mistake trying to make an honest man out of Ootori Kyoya. I have to admit, I originally held a level of sympathy for my cousin. It had to be annoying to constantly hold up that polite and cucumber-cool façade. I assumed it was something he developed for the family's sake. But perhaps no one was forcing him to. Perhaps it was of his own volition. Perhaps, in his eyes, that was the only way people like Tamaki could stand him. Hell, maybe that was the only way he could stand himself. Either way, it was beginning to seem that Kyoya's honest self was one I disliked more than the mask. His core was starting to rear its ugly, rotten, and worm-filled head.

I try my best to fight off the thoughts and just focus on the task at hand: perfecting my hospital corners. Haruhi made them look so easy, but I guess she's had more practice in her time here. Satisfied with my work, I heft the laundry basket onto a hip and make for the door. Immediately, the basket falls to the ground on impact once in the hall.

"Mori-senpai," I note, then lower into a short bow. "Sorry."

He dismisses it with a shake of his head and sinks to the ground. I follow and we put the sheets back into the basket. I reach for the handles when finished, but Mori beats me to them and carries the basket as he stands.

He was always around, Mori.

"I can do that myself."

"I know."

And it couldn't be more annoying.

"Then why aren't you letting me?"

My tone surprises the both of us. The agitation that comes about is startling and, though it's not the first time something like this has happened, this is the first time I feel...shameful about it. The two feelings only cause conflict within, which outwardly results in balled fists and a scrunched mouth. I can't even face him, my narrowed eyes glare at my feet.

The words come out strangled, huffed: "I'm not some porcelain doll that's gonna break as soon as I hit the floor. So just leave me alone, I don't want your help!"

There's a standstill between us. Then, the basket moseys back into my line of sight. Embarrassed, I snatch it from Mori's grip. Bolt for it, no thank yous. I find myself in the laundry room, arms positioned on the basket's rim, and my head in my hands.

Why? My conscience goes. Why are you like this? When you can easily just...not?

But that's the thing, it's not easy. It takes so much effort for me, so much. To do anything other than be angry or shout. To just talk and say how I feel, it's so difficult.

Why?

I don't know.

Maybe you should find out.

I prep the washing machine just like Haruhi showed me, dump the contents of the basket inside, and head back upstairs. Maybe if I clean some more, I could have a clear enough head to think my dilemma through. I find Misuzu behind the host's stand.

"Should I bus tables again?"

A thinly plucked brow arches inquisitively. "There's no need for you to lend a hand anymore, darling." The pensione's owner utters the rest behind a fluttering fan, "Especially since I can't pay you for it."

"You don't have to pay me." I negotiate, "Call it community service."

Misuzu snaps the fan close and shakes it at me, eyes twinkling with consideration. "I do like the sound of that. Are you one-hundred percent sure?"

"Just tell where to start."

It's back on dish-duty, initially. But I guess, in my own desperation for work, I scare a few customers off. Apparently, it's rude to stand at customers' tables and wait for them to finish the last morsel or sip of whatever they're having. I thought I was providing efficient customer service, Misuzu disagreed. My aura doesn't make matters any better; according to Misuzu, it has upgraded from standoffish to abysmal. In effect, he instructs me to be on the café floor as little as possible and hands table-bussing off to Haruhi. I can either be in the back dishwashing or have to stay in a remote corner of the café wiping counters and windows.

So, I do just that. Finish up with all the dishes from the morning rush and come out to refresh the tables and windows, starting with the dessert bar.

"Oi." A waving hand is shoved in my face. "Your thingy on?"

I scowl just on principle and aim it at Kaoru, who chokes up in the limelight. "Yes?"

His eyes slide in the other direction, his expression suddenly sapped of its typical jovial quality. Weakly, he taunts, "So you were just ignoring me, huh?"

"I just wasn't paying attention. What do you want?"

"I was just saying," he clarifies, "that you don't usually wear stuff like that."

My eyes follow his pointed index finger to my romper.

"True. I don't usually like clothes this light in color, but draw attention to my upper body," I point at the puffy sleeves, then the black cropped leggings layered underneath the shorts, "and pair it with a muted bottom. That's what you said, right? At the beach?"

He's a bit surprised I remembered that, but it doesn't stay for long. Kaoru laughs it off, his head angling with feigned conceit. "Well, you can't refute genius."

I roll my eyes, if anything, to balance out the rising smirk. My sights land on the older twin, who's been quiet the entire time. Uncharacteristically quiet. Matter of fact, he looks a bit...constipated? His eyebrows low and ramming together, flushed face, fingers round his empty glass in a vice-grip. No, more like infuriated.

Hesitation urges the concern down in my throat. Our history isn't exactly the prettiest, and so we certainly aren't close by any means. But it's not like we could be any worse than the situation with Kyoya. Not to mention, Kaoru and I managed to patch things up pretty well, so why couldn't the same be said for Hikaru?

"Are you okay?"

"I would be," he practically growls, "if I could get another refill around here! Yo, Haruhi, care to do your job?"

I look over to the other end of the café. The rest of the Host Club sit at a table and surround someone new. The guy's around our age, with acorn-brown hair and eyes to match. He has a friendly look to him, or maybe that's just because he seems familiar. He looks like any kid on the block, someone we've all known at least once in our lives. If I'm to guess, he's that kinda someone to Haruhi.

Said girl's eyes narrow. "Misuzu gave me a break."

"Come on." Kaoru's voice draws my sight back to him and his brother. "Why don't we go over, Hikaru? They're having fun."

Hikaru sulks some more. "Hard pass."

"Hikaru and Kaoru! Suzume!" Tamaki waves, ecstatic as can be. "Come over here! It's a precious opportunity to learn about Haruhi in middle school!"

For some reason, that seems to be the last straw for Hikaru. He slams the glass on the countertop and lifts his nose like something in the air reeks. If anything, it's his own shitty attitude.

"As if I'd want to hear about some dumb, old stories!"

Kaoru watches him, concern blanketing his face. I watch Haruhi jolt out of her chair. She's usually so blasé about things, or at most annoyed. But this is full-on anger I'm witnessing, and it's marching right this way.

Hikaru just keeps it up: "Besides, can't that guy get a clue? It's obvious we don't care about him! Haruhi's heart has no room for—"

The smack echoes across the room. We're all stunned to silence, as if she'd done it to each of us.

"Hikaru, that's not something for you to decide!" Haruhi gets in his face. "I won't let you insult my friend any further."

With tears welling up in his eyes, Hikaru only retaliates. Their height difference is more noticeable than ever once he looms over her. "Who cares about other people?! Can't you see that we're the ones who're your friends?!"

Though, he has all the intimidation of a fussy child. Kaoru chases after him as his brother runs up to their room.

In the wake of the explosion, Tamaki's murmured words beat loud. "What a shame." He sighs. "It seems their world is still so small, even after all this time."

He slides on a pair of work gloves. Unrolls the starter kit of carving knives out on the desk. Picks a wood block from the pile Misuzu allowed him to take yesterday. The Morinozuka set to work, then. The comfort of the routine eases into his bones.

He hadn't been practicing whittling for long. Figurine assembly was his usual pick of poison in any of his free moments. While that was his long-loved pasttime, his father had encouraged his sons to take up whittling as a form of bonding between all three of them. "One of the many Arts of Manliness," his father proclaimed it. "Included with the other woodworking specialties and a cousin of automobile repair."

The patriarch was a proficient carpenter himself and his eldest son found it likely that teaching them to whittle was his way of passing on his own, personal legacy. A bitty piece of his heart. Martial arts may be the pride of the Morinozuka bloodline, but what was a man without his own sense of self?

"Then why aren't you letting me?"

He pauses his working hand, careful of the pressure the statement incited on the blade's grip.

He thought his sense of self was quite simple: gentle, steady, supportive.

But he's wondering now if there's something he'd got wrong.

"I'm not some porcelain doll that's gonna break as soon as I hit the floor. So just leave me alone, I don't want your help!"

Had he really made her feel that way? Could he possibly be someone...stifling? Someone patronizing?

He understands he overstepped her boundaries, that much was clear. She was goal-oriented and took pride in even the smallest accomplishments. No, not just that—Suzume enjoyed helping others. Maybe she didn't have as much opportunity as she would like, so whenever the chance arose she leaped at it. And he had stood in the way of that. Though well-intentioned, he did it again and again.

The Morinozuka lays the unfinished craft and the knife flat on the desk.

No. He could not accept this. He will apologize, of course; intention does not always translate to outcome, Suzume had said so herself some time ago. But he cannot allow her to regard him in such a way. The thought of it—of Suzume thinking he is someone he's not, someone vile...

It hurts.

He just has to find the words. It might take a little while, but in the meantime, he'll give her space to breathe.

I yawn and stretch the sleep from my bones. Check the time after rolling over. I bolt upright. 12:41PM? What the hell? I look for the Host Club around the house. They're nowhere to be seen. Finally, I run into the housekeeper, resting her legs in the kitchen.

"Ah, you're finally awake!" She gives a light bow and a refreshing smile.

"Where is everyone?"

"I believe Haninozuka-san said they'd be helping someone named Hika-chan and a Haru-chan fall in love today," she recalls, tapping her chin.

"Oh." Well, I'm not especially upset they left to do that without me.

"I would've woken you earlier, but Morinozuka-san insisted I let you sleep in."

I blink. "...He did?"

"Care for brunch?"

After a few too many nutella & banana crepes, I finally have my wits about me and make a plan for the day. When Tamaki mentioned we'd be travelling to Karuizawa, I had made up my mind that if there was one thing I wanted to do during our stay, it was to go adventuring just like in the old days. Well, not just like. There'd be no imaginary Darwin at my side and no human subjects. Only me, nature, and my camera.

I decide to leave my hearing aid behind; I would be just fine without it. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I make for the nearest rent-a-bike service. The housekeeper chases me down before I get very far, though. Pressing a spare raincoat into my arms, she sends me off with a warning not to be out too long. Today's forecast predicted storms in the late afternoon.

I'll be satisfied just to get a couple hours of sightseeing in. The tree leaves this time of year are so green, but I'd love to be here in the fall when they paint the town red, orange, and yellow. Making a pit stop on the cycling path, I pay close attention to the treetops in hopes of the legendary flying squirrels or the green woodpeckers. Zoom in, scan the area.

A gasp escapes me. There's a sparrow propped on a high branch. It would pass for any other, if not for the purple ribbon tied round its neck.

It turns its head. Stares right at me. Like it knows me.

I snap the picture. It's flown from the branch in the blink of an eye. Even stranger, there's nothing but bark and foliage when I examine the photo on the display.

I rub my eyes, pass the whole thing off as a side effect of too much sleep, and continue spinning on down the path. With all the lakes and falls nearby, the air smells different, feels different as it rushes along my skin.

I smell the oncoming storm not long after and decide to head back. Just for precaution, I pack away my camera and don the raincoat. Good thing, too, because the rain starts quicker than I would have thought. With it pouring down and the wind whipping about, there's no way I'll be able to ride all the way back, not without risking my own safety. Luckily, when I spot a familiar marker—a bus shelter by a bike service sign pointing into town—I know I can't be too far from the summer house.

Nearing the hut, I recognize the lone person sitting inside. We stare at one another, mystified.

"Mori-senpai?"

His mouth parts to speak, but his gaze turns worried and lowers to his shirt. Something small squirms beneath and a little head pokes out over his shirt collar. It's covered in mud, but I know a puppy when I see one. I park my bike on the side and immediately start emptying my backpack. The camera would have to stay inside, but the case should protect it fine from the dirt. I stash the leftover snacks in my coat pockets.

"Here." I present the backpack to him. "I don't have an umbrella for you, unfortunately, but you can put the puppy inside."

Delicately, he pulls the dog from his clothing and the poor thing shivers on the way down. Mori zips the bag mostly shut, leaves it open enough for the dog to get air. Then, he straps it to his shoulders with the bag facing forward.

He verifies my initial thought, "We're not far from the house."

I nod. "Let's be quick."

Mori's tree-long legs have me regretting the statement, but at least the pain is only temporary. Walking (jogging for me) as fast as we can, we make it back to the house in roughly a half-hour. The housekeeper flocks to us with an armful of towels, which we accept gratefully. Since there's no way we could get dogfood in a storm like this, I recommend she prepare a cup of plain, cooked chicken and white rice for the stray in the meantime.

Mori and I part ways to clean up, but I find I'm the first one done. Though I want to check up on him and the dog, I can't help but pace my room ransacking my brain for things to say. Our last interaction was so bad! What can I even say? If I blame it on my period, would he believe me?

"No, no." My head shakes at my own foolishness. My fingers move, loosely signing the soliloquy too. "What are you saying right now? Just be honest with him, that's the only card you have to play."

I pop my hearing aid back in and force myself out the room. I catch the housekeeper just as she's bringing the tray of food to Mori's door. I interject and offer to bring it myself. I take in a big bubble breath and knock on his door, despite feeling under-prepared. The feeling isn't for naught—when he answers, I'm met with a face full of abs.

"Um," my voice squeaks.

It's just like at the bus stop, both of us staring like it's the first time seeing each other's colors. Only this time, there's more red on the palette: my cheeks, his ears. He slams the door closed so fast, my hair lifts in the resultant breeze.

"O...kay." I lower to the floor, resigned to give up and leave the food outside his room.

At least you tried.

He opens the door again not a moment later, clad in a sports tee now. Mori's eyes shift off to the side and he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

"Sorry about that. I wasn't thinking."

"I-It's fine."

It's not like I haven't seen him at the beach before. Although, this feels different. This feels like intruding. I blame the pervert trio. I've spent too much time around them and their devious plans for Haruhi.

"Will you please come in?" he asks.

Upon entering his room, I'm greeted with high-pitched yips. Now that it's been all cleaned up, it's obvious the puppy's a Shiba Inu, with its ears pointed and curly tail bouncing. It hops out of the fluffy towel it had been bullying and toward me.

"Where's all this energy coming from?" I chuckle when the stray barks again, as if demanding the food. "Alright, alright. I know what you want."

I watch the puppy go at it, then glance Mori's way. The smile on his face is wide and mellow. He catches me looking, so I try to match it but the smile comes off forced. My eyes stray from the path and, coincidentally, to his deskpace. A short stack of wood sits at an edge. In the center, there's a folded package of some kind and next to it is a carved, wooden fish. Eyeing it a bit closer unveils the details of the gills, bony fins and random spots of scales.

"Did you make this?"

"It's unfinished. I'll paint it when I get home."

I marvel at the idea, "How amazing."

And it's silent once again. Until he says, "May we talk about what happened yesterday?"

I nod my head eagerly. Mori gestures to his bed and takes a seat at the desk.

The gentle start of the conversation I expect doesn't come. Mori gets right to the point, his browline straightening seriously. "Do you think I look down on you?"

I have to catch my footing somehow. "I mean, you're extremely tall so..."

My awkward chuckle fills the space between us. Mori frowns, deep. Seeing that makes my insides ache. I don't mean to give him the impression that this isn't serious to me, but this conversation is bound to be mushy. Imagining myself so vulnerable...

What if I get hurt?

Why would he hurt you?

It wouldn't be the first time.

It would be with Mori. And this isn't what happened in the past.

Even so, I don't know how to express my feelings.

Do what you're good at: just be honest, dummy.

"No." I stare down at my hands gripping the fabric of my leggings. "I don't. It's just that...I hear all the things people have said to me in the past, voices constantly haunting me. They make me angry and speak from a place that shouldn't be spoken from."

What happened yesterday was something that's happened many, many times before. With Isamu, when he confessed to writing the love haiku, I talked down to him and picked away at his character. With the twins, who deserved a good chunk of grief for the way they handled breaking my cello. But I was no better and sank lower to hurt them more than I already was. And now with Mori, all because I hated being void of any real responsibility. I was sick of feeling babied and coddled, but none of that was Mori's fault.

Maybe Kyoya was right. I am jealous, just not of him.

And I don't want to keep living like this, biting off the heads of people who are supposed to be my friends. That's not who I want to be.

Shouldn't we be able to just talk to each other? Isn't that what being friends is about?

Then you have to try. Even if it doesn't work or it isn't perfect, you have to try.

I raise my head and look Mori dead in the eye. "To put your voice with all the others is not fair to you, not when you're my friend. For that, I'm sorry."

Mori's expression uplifts. He accepts my apology with a nod.

"I'm sorry, too. I won't overstep your boundaries again. And I have my own feelings to express." He presses a hand flat against the left side of his chest, leans in with an unusual conviction. "I want you to know me, Suzume. I want you to know my heart, my truest self."

I sit there, stunned. A nauseous feeling gurgles to life in my stomach, most likely from the rising embarrassment. "O-okay, I appreciate that."

Just when I think the moment can't get any worse, he stands and bends into a saikeirei. "Please treat it kindly."

I shield my face from looking at him, cheeks enflamed. "M-Mori-senpai, please! You can't be doing stuff like this. You're my senior..."

The puppy seems to sense my flustered mood and tries hopping up into my lap. It's comforting to harbor its warmth in my arms once I pick the little guy up—oh, the little girl, actually. She feels the same, apparently, and burrows herself in between my thighs as I stroke down her back. In just a few minutes, I can already feel her breathing slow.

I'm glad someone likes these thunder thighs of mine.

"You should take care of her," Mori says, seated again.

"Are you sure? You're the one who found her."

"You will train her well. And she'll have siblings to keep from getting lonely."

"If you say so," I yield, "but you can always come visit her, okay?"

He gives his signature smile. "I will."

"Alright," I say to the sleeping pup. "What should we name you? Any ideas, Mori-senpai?"

My neighbor gives a shake of his short hair. I tap my chin, hoping it'll trigger a thought or two. Magically, it does. I'm reminded of another gift Mori had given me, one that was unfortunately short-lived.

"Hey, what was the name of those flowers you gave me? Your favorites?'

There's a mix of emotion on his face, but it all seems positive. There's a twinge of pink on his ears, as well. "Calla lilies."

"That's it then." I scratch behind her baby ears. "Welcome to the family, Calla."

Misuzu takes a step back and admires his handiwork. With some spare fabric, he'd fashioned a little orange cape for Calla in a matter of minutes. She flies around in a circle, either trying to nip at it or her tail. Probably both. All of us watch her go.

"She's Calla the Superpup now~!" Honey giggles.

Haruhi coos, "Aw, I didn't think she could get any cuter!"

The bell over the entrance dings. Arai greets everyone with a big smile and an even bigger watermelon. "A gift for you all. My uncle's got the best in town!"

Everyone crowds around him in awe, myself included. Hikaru approaches, hesitant. Arai breaches the tension by holding the melon out for him to hold. Hikaru takes it and warms up some, thanks to Arai's natural charm. It must be a non-rich-person thing to be so good with people.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I acted."

Arai laughs and pats him on the shoulder. "It's no biggie. Water under the bridge."

I position myself behind the older twin, puppy in hand, and call, "Hikaru?"

The first-year turns right into an onslaught of slobbery kisses. Just like I'd planned, he's laughing and grinning like a clown.

I pull Calla away after she's had her fill. "That's your reward for a good apology."

For some reason, his reaction isn't what I'd imagine it would be. He blows out a breath, downhearted all of a sudden.

"I need to apologize to you, too, Suzu-senpai." Hikaru eyes me with newfound sincerity. "I'm sorry about breaking your cello and for treating you like a cheap prostitute."

I can't deny the smile that sneaks onto my face. Shrugging a lone should, I quip, "All I ask is to be treated like the courtesan I am."

He snorts, "You're so weird."

"Apology accepted."

An unlikely pair they were, he and Hitachiin Kaoru. Albeit, Kyoya can admit to preferring the younger of the two if he was to choose; Kaoru could be perceptive and level-headed when not so distracted by the everyday antics of this and that. Nor did they have many moments alone together, not when the twins were perpetually chained at each other's hip. Yet, even that dynamic appeared to be loosening hold.

Together, the two watch over the happy ending of this chapter's chaos. A thought springs to Kyoya's mind.

"By the way Kaoru, you meant for Hikaru to learn some compassion on that date. Did you ever think about the possibility that he might fall in love?"

"Oh." Kaoru's gaze lifts to the ceiling in thought. "That won't happen yet. After all, Hikaru is still an idiot."

Kyoya chuckles. "We do have an abnormal number of idiots here in the Host Club. That much is true."

"Hey, Kyoya-senpai? What do you make of that?" Kaoru nudges his chin at a certain corner down below. "Suzu-senpai and Mori-senpai?"

Kyoya's eyes swim over to his cousin, the lowest of underdogs to have ever lived. He watches as she raises her new pet for the Morinozuka heir to take. The look on her face, although foreign to her features, is one he's familiar with. Being the club's Vice President, he capitalized on that look. The face of a girl, infatuated.

So, he wasn't the only one who'd noticed, then. Kyoya glances at Kaoru, just to ascertain the nature of the question. There's nothing telling outside of blind intrigue. Perhaps it's too early to tell.

"I'm not sure yet." The mastermind adjusts his glasses further up his nose, gives his trademarked smirk. "However, I suspect this next term at Ouran will be the most fascinating yet."

Minka: traditional Japanese home

Engawa: the outdoor, wrap-around veranda on some Japanese homes

Saikeirei: the most grateful and respectful bow; can be done when standing at a 45-70 degree angle or kneeling with their forehead nearly touching the floor

This chapter's theme is ~ INSECURITY ~! If it wasn't obvious lol. I'm not gonna say too much, because sometimes I think I color your opinions when I do and I want to hear your pure, unadultered feedback y'know? But I will say, this chapter sets the stage for how most of the relationship dynamics will progress in the second term. And like I said at the start of the chapter, I read and reread everyone's reviews (thank you again!). Many of you have wondered about where Suzu and Kyoya stand or why we don't see much of the rest of the Ootoris. While I answered these questions on the side—at the top of Ch. 17, in case you wanna see—this is the first time we're seeing Suzume explicitly say/realize how bad things are based on evidence outside of her own personal feelings toward them. Hopefully no one feels blindsided by this, because they have been hinted at or implied before. These developments might upset some of you, but I hope you can at least enjoy the drama that's about to ensue lol

So yeah, that's all I can say for the time being. I know that sparse updates make keeping track of everything hard, so feel free to ask me stuff and I'll do my best to connect the dots without giving things away.

Also, the chapter title is a lyric from a song called Shot Fox by Alpine. If you like indie-pop, you might wanna check them out!

Stay safe, stay healthy! TTFN!