Haruhi blinks lazily up at the fluorescent lights above her. She glances around to find herself in a white room that, at first glance, reminds her of the white room she was just in. However, the sleep eventually fades from her mind and she can see that it is, in fact, a hospital room. She tries to sit up, but the pounding ache in her head stops her. She finds herself imprisoned in that white hospital bed, with the buzzing of the lights overhead as her only company, and the only proof that she is still conscious, and still alive. She can't help but smile, though: She really is alive, thanks to the Host Club's timely reaction. She promises herself, with thoughts like cotton, that she will find them once she is well enough to go back to the school. In the meantime, sleep pulls at her again. She finds herself slipping back into the world of dreams.

Tamaki sits at a wide desk before Haruhi, in a high-backed swivel chair. He wears the white uniform that she has become so well-acquainted with, and his hands are folded on the desktop. He smiles pleasantly at Haruhi, who stands, frozen, before him.

"I see you're doing well."

She takes a tentative step towards the desk. "Why are you here? I thought I was done with the go-between."

"And so you are, and we are done with you. The Five Souls are safely imprisoned once again, and everything is as it was before you came."

"Well, I gathered that much… but how do you know who I am? If we really did go back, then shouldn't I be a stranger to you?"

"You are… at least, to the Tamaki from the go-between, and the one from the world of the living."

She furrows her brow, trying to make sense of that fact. "Are you saying there are three of you?"

"Oh, not at all. I'm saying that this isn't nearly as real as you think it is, Haruhi."

"So this is just a dream… and I'm making you up?"

He nods. "That just about sums it up. You are fairly concussed, after all."

"Well, I guess that explanation is as good as any. I wish you'd go away, though."

Tamaki seems hurt. "Why would you wish something like that?"

She sighed, turning away. "I would have loved to meet you, if the circumstances were different. But as it is now, I really just want to forget. Is that alright?"

"I think I understand. As you wish, Haruhi… just try not to forget too much. You'll need some of those memories down the road."

"I…" She takes a step back, eager to leave. "I'll try, Tamaki." With these words, the desk disappears, as does the ethereal Tamaki. With any luck, he is gone for good.

"Haruhi."

Once again, she is blinded by the light of the hospital room, but it is assuaged by the shadow cast over her by Ryoji.

"Dad…" Her throat felt like sandpaper. "What happened…?" Of course she already knows the answer.

He chuckles. Haruhi has missed that sound. "You were hit in the face with a door, and apparently it concussed you, somehow."

"How long have I been out?"

"Oh, a day or two."

She nods. Two days is a long time, but it certainly beats the alternative. She tries not to think about it.

She is released from the hospital a day later, but is warned to take the time to rest rather than study. On her way out of the building, though, runs into a phantom: Renge Houshakuji. They make brief conversation about Ouran, and Haruhi learns that Renge is a transfer student. It is strange to pretend that she is a stranger, though. She considers giving Renge the ribbon here and now, but decides to wait for a more convenient time.

The days of rest drag by, but eventually Haruhi is deemed well enough to return to Ouran. When she arrives, however, Hikaru invites her to come to the third music room after school.

Although the first day passes slowly, she eventually makes her way back to the doors that had started it all. She pulls them open, and they give way easily.

She is surprised to see that there are no patrons today. Rather, the six members of the club stand waiting, with Renge standing somewhat off to the side.

Nobody says anything for a few moments. Haruhi blinks, and eventually she finds the articulation to say, "Thank you… for everything." She knows that they are not the same people who made this second chance possible, for they do not have the same memories, but they are the ones who helped her when she fell.

Mitsukuni's emotions overflow, as they are known to do, and he takes a running leap into Haruhi's arms. She catches him, struggling to stay upright.

The host club is closed this evening, according to Tamaki. He says that the club had wanted to give Haruhi a warm welcome, and that it had all been Nekozawa's idea.

"You might not have met him. He runs the Black Magic club, and he's… well…"

"Actually, I have met…" Tamaki's eyebrows shoot up. "Nevermind, the name's not as familiar as I thought it was."

What ensues, for Haruhi, is half an hour of listening to the Host Club's discussions. It is difficult to pretend as though they are strangers, though, and it is even more difficult to feel comfortable in this room. She remains quiet and stares at the floor while the discussions turn into petty arguments and jokes. She has never seen this side of the club before, she realizes. She has only ever seen him when her fate has been at stake.

One by one, the members take their leave, until only Kyoya and Renge are left. The room goes silent as they alternate between staring at Haruhi and glancing at each other, daring one another to speak first. Renge glares at him, and he sighs, turning to Haruhi.

"A few days ago, Nekozawa said that you'd have something to give Renge and I… that is, once you came back. I'm not sure why you'd have anything for her," he nodded in Renge's direction, "seeing as you wouldn't have met her before today, but who am I to question Nekozawa?"

Haruhi opens her bag and pulls out the ribbon and the two notebooks. "Well, he wasn't wrong… Renge, this one's for you." She holds the ribbon by its end and offers it to Renge, as though offering a cat a string to play with. The girl hesitantly reaches for it, but stops just short of it. "I already have this ribbon. How did you get it?"

Haruhi freezes, panicking for a moment, before she remembers what Nekozawa said would happen. "Just take it."

Renge snatches it out of her hand and gasps. She nearly collapses, but Kyoya catches her. "You were… I was… no…"

"Maybe we ought to sit down," suggests Kyoya. He helps the inarticulate Renge over to one of the couches and sits between her and Haruhi. "What else was there?"

Haruhi hands him the two journals. It is Kyoya's turn to hesitate this time. "How did you come by these?"

"Once you read them, it'll all make sense. Trust me."

"If you say so…"

He opens the first one, written by the demon from the go-between. He reads every word aloud, although the text only makes sense to Haruhi. He describes everything, from the arrival of Haruhi to the appearance of Nekozawa to the delivery of Haruhi's verdict. Once that journal is finished, he opens the other one.

The first entry is the one recorded shortly before Haruhi arrived at the third music room, describing finances and complaining about Tamaki's obnoxious attitude. It is all familiar to Kyoya, until he reads the account of Haruhi's unconsciousness. It is identical to the events he experienced, except for one small, very important detail: In the journal's events, Haruhi had not been breathing. Kyoya begins to sweat as the story unfolds in front of him: the hospital. The funeral. The reanimation and death. Haruhi bows her head as he reads about Ryoji's attempted suicide, and stifles a sob when he describes his finding out that Ryoji had, indeed, killed himself. He reads all the way through to the description of Nekozawa's plan to get Haruhi to stay, thus creating a world where none of this would have happened.

He closes the journal, and nobody says anything for a long time. They do not need to. Slowly, the black curtain is moved aside to reveal a boy in a cloak. He has heard everything, and underneath his hood, he is smiling.

The Go-Between is now a secret that belongs to everybody still remaining in that room. After all, everybody present has cheated death in some way or another. Death will come for them eventually, but it is better that they leave it alone for now.

Fin.

My English teacher tells me that I should never apologize or make excuses for my writing, but I can't help it: This is not the best piece I've ever written. I'll go back and fix it someday, maybe, but for now I'll just leave it here.

Special thanks to the famously insomnious Dapper Dumpling, to whom I lost a bet, as well as all my awesome reviewers. It means a lot.

Sincerely,

Lagoon. (I'm changing my name soon, so I'll have to go back and change all my author's notes, too)