AN: Oof, another update! I'm actually considering either (a) rewriting this, or (b) doing a side piece involving the other characters and focusing more substantially on the business/corporate aspect of things. To my mind, this story has kind of outlived its original plot, so I'm wondering how I can make it tighter... eh well. Anyway, I'm sure I'll be able to fit the same subplot I wanted here.

Keelan1210: YES exactly! I've always thought that - even if Hani may just be a quirky character, he's also a senior that the others rely on. Haha, I don't think Hana is as terrifying - she's a lot more idealistic and dreamy, that she'd lose sight of the smaller details for the bigger picture at times. I like to describe her vision as a bokeh effect.

Momochan77: Thank you!

Harajuku103: Mm, I do agree. I think that the twins are at the very core of it - honestly, still trying to figure out the ~family~ dynamic that Kaoru painted in the anime. I think Yuuka's interference here is shaping things in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the fact that they are opening up their world, and that their world doesn't have to be artificially constructed in a way that mandates one magical solution. Still, I think Haruhi is a more defining character because she told them apart because she saw them as distinct. Yuuka is still thinking of them as a unit (using her memory), but slowly parsing them apart (identifying that they're cautious because of different reasons).

no shirt, no blouse

I would be lying if I didn't say that some part of me stirred – heavy and reckless – after the tournament; especially with the summer sun beating down on us all, warm tremors rising along bobbing legs and wrinkled dress-shirts, cuffed sleeves rolling up to the elbows. In a tense room fitted with a miserable air conditioner, it was without surprise that Kaoru pulled me aside to discuss the possibility of a beach outing.

"Haruhi doesn't have a passport," Kaoru says, eyes flitting back to where Haruhi is cautiously guarding her possessions this time around. "That's why, we're planning on going to a private beach in Okinawa."

"I see," I nod. "Are you planning on having the other ladies test out your mother's new line?"

Kaoru grins. "Nothing escapes you, Yuuka-senpai."

"Alright, but why tell me this?"

Hikaru appears beside him, hand scratching Kaoru's ear thoughtlessly. "You're part of the design team."

I blink. Behind them, Mori's tall figure is bending over, warm hands wiping cream off Hani's cheeks as the girls squeal and titter. He blinks, a cool black gaze – interrupted as Haruhi is dragged past by a very enthused Tamaki. Someone hems, and another coughs politely into their fist with restrained joy. Kyoya tuts, and then turns his attention to us. Indiscreet; impatient.

"Ah. The recycled accessories."

"Bingo!" Hikaru cheers lazily.

"…how about a trade?" I ask. "Besides the marketing, which I'm sure the both of you are more than capable of, I think it'd be a good opportunity to raise something – for the next collection, or in general. How many are you inviting to this beach?"

"A hundred and fifty," Kaoru's brow raises, as does Hikaru's.

"So you're able to supply those accessories by this weekend?"

"Ten," I say, lowering my voice. "If you're only bringing a sixth of your patrons, I think exclusivity is something we can all agree on for the time being."

Kaoru whistles. "Wow, Yuuka-senpai. You drive a hard bargain. Thirty."

"Pot, kettle," I laugh. "What would happen if I didn't agree to this plan?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Hikaru challenges, jutting his chin out.

I shrug. "You want free-trade, recycled, quality products by the end of this week. You want exclusivity. You also want a soft launch."

"It won't just benefit us," Hikaru says.

"Yeah, you'd also be getting more materials for free," Kaoru drawls, tilting his head.

"You're right; we want exclusivity and quality products – in time," I say. "So why thirty? Why make this something one in every five girls is able to wear?"

"Ten is too little to garner any attention."

"We'll pay more."

I hold my hand up. "Money isn't our concern here."

"Twenty," Kaoru says.

"Ten."

"Yuuka-senpai, that's already really low."

I shake my head at Hikaru. "That's already a lot on our hands."

"What would it take for you to get to twenty?"

"What do you have to offer?"

Hikaru and Kaoru exchange looks.

"How about this: a partnership with the Host Club?" Kyoya suggests, finally bearing his fangs. "A commitment to reduce waste, and an ally to propose any sustainable changes to the school management."

That is quite a lot to capitalise on. I turn to him. "What's in it for you?"

"An investment," Kyoya says simply.

"I hope you're not looking at it as a trend."

"No, hardly." He smiles. "A trend is accidental."

"…fifteen," I say.

Kyoya's book snaps shut, satisfied.

"You're really enamoured by that Ootori guy, aren't you?" Mom sighs, a twinkle in her eye.

I shrug. "I couldn't resist."

Mom nods, and then smiles. "Well, in any case, that drive you secured will also go a long way in the years ahead."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I know you're busy with the fair-"

"Don't say that," Mom hastens, leaning forward. "I'm proud of you."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. The floor swirls under me yet again. Mom puts on her reading glasses, and continues to go through some files. A wave of nostalgia or something equally bitter hits, and bile is accusing against the back of my throat. Mom looks up at the gagging sound, brows furrowed in familiar concern. I bite my cheek, and swallow as hard as I can.

"Yuu, are you okay?"

I nod, and the sudden lurch in my stomach jolts me back. I clamber out and rush into my bathroom. The sink is cool under my grip. Hard. Fragile. The rest of my throat and tongue is hot, singed. I heave again, breath too hot and angry.

It's not pretty. The guck is everywhere, webbed across my shake fingers. The rotting, repulsed shame of dinner washes past me in waves. The odour. The prickly burn. And now, Mom's cautious footsteps.

"Yuu?" And then. "Yuu, are you okay?"

I swallow again, dry and unfortunate. And reach over for the tap. The cold relief of water does nothing to soothe the chills in my hands. But it did feel better to be cleaner. I scrub at my chin with one hand, the other perched on the side of the sink. Mush clings between my fingers. I jab at them jerkily, scraping them off and away.

"Yuu. Yuu!"

"Mom," I struggle to say, watching the mirror blur in front of me. "'m okay."

"Yuu, you were throwing up – we need to get you to a –"

"No," I say, pushing air out with great effort – the hollow of my chest is burning. "Not tonight."

"Yuuka!" Mom shrieks, a piercing decibel, pulling my elbow.

"I just- my head hurts, it's all," I say, fumbling with my worthless hands. "Please."

"Yuuka. We're going to the hospital now." Mom, shaking, pulls me out of the bathroom. "We need to check if you're okay."

"It- dinner was bad, that's all."

"Don't lie," Mom's voice is harsh, gripping – her nails dig into my arm.

I shake my head, and feel the same acrid pain lurch – blurs green and yellow and blares red behind my ears. "I'm not. Please."

"Don't be difficult, Yuuka," Mom says.

The heat surges. Up. "Difficult?"

"Yuuka, we're," Mom's grabbing her keys off the table, sandwiching it under her armpit and pulling a phone to her ear. "We're going now."

"I know difficult." The fury bleeds a sudden burst of strength up my arm, and I tear it away from her. "I've been – I deal with this. I hurt. I shake. I know my body."

"Yuu-"

"I know my body," I stress, voice raised to fit this shallow shell of a house. "It's mine. Not yours. You will never know its pain. You will never know how it feels to wait."

"I'm your mother!" And, then, softer, into the phone, "Hello, yes. It's an emergency-"

"This is nothing."

"-please get here. We need to send Yuuka to the hospital."

"…You're afraid."

"What?"

"You've always been afraid."

Her hand, a claw, reaches over to my arm again. "Now - is not the time."

"That's why you never visited me in the hospital," I realise. "You were scared."

"I did," she desists. "I went when I could –"

"When I was getting discharged. Always – when I was. And now you're going to send me back." A cold shudder runs down my already sweating back.

The claw closes around my hand again, unroots me from the shade of the doorway.

"I was busy," she tries again desperately. "You've never complained."

Virtue is a blessing and a curse; an excess of something can never do any good. My patience simmered into exhaustion before I knew it; her easygoing charms wilted into apathy. I let her drag me down to the foyer, feet heavy and heart even more so. I'm tired.

"I saw a girl die," I say, breaking the suffocating silence. "Code pink."

"What are you talking about?"

"Heart issues."

"Yuuka, what are you talking about?"

My eyes meet hers – wavering, and then resolute. "I don't know."

(I'm so tired.)

It's not Akito this time. She's far kinder and more direct. Questions about my nausea and headaches remain simple and perfunctory under Mom's worrying stare – only when I'm carted off for a scan do they evolve. How long has this been going for? What's the colour of your vomit? How many times a day do you throw up? Do you eat? How much? How long do the headaches last? Did you fall anywhere? Where does the hurt come from – the front of the head? The back?

I answer all of them. She purses her lips, and then asks:

"The number listed in your file, that's yours?"

The rest of the week sweeps by; I spend more time with Kazuha, ironing out the details of our accessories. From time to time Hikaru would drop by with a folder, or a leaflet, and a very professional critique. But other than that, I was almost always cooped up in the basement, Sana handing me tea or a cold compress at times. Chauffer Yin returns me two bento boxes – both finished to the very last grain – so there's that, at least.

The Host Club is entirely transformed on Friday evening; the room is entirely populated with mannequins, frills and too many shimmery elastics. I dodge out of the way as someone carries one of the dolls out, and bump into another tall, wooden model –

"You're here," Mori says.

I pull away from his warm grasp. "Hello, Mori-senpai."

He nods, eyes blinking lazily. I snap out of it, my gaze trailing down past his hooded lids and bobbing adam's apple – in his hands, juxtaposed against his stoic fingers, a red lacy bra. A bikini top. I cough, arms awkwardly gangly against my sides.

"Yuu-chan!" Hani squeals, hanging off a mannequin with a green sequined bikini. "Yuu-chan, you're here!"

I smile. "Are you choosing a bikini for the customers?"

Hani tilts his head, and grins. "No~pe! It's for Haru-chan of course!"

"Let me take that," Mori offers, and I let him take over the carton of accessories we managed to gather in time.

"Isn't Haruhi going to be hosting?" I ask. "Be careful; there are some glass pieces in there."

"Yes I am," Haruhi, long-suffering and nonchalant, says. "Yuuka-senpai, don't mind them. Mori-senpai, Hikaru and Kaoru are by the counter there."

As Mori leaves, Hani slides down the mannequin and hops over. He presses a sly piece of fabric into my hands. The material is incredibly light, as though it might just drift out of my hands and into the stream of time. It takes a while for me to figure out that the periwrinkle shape in my hands is a swimsuit, halter-neck and cut-outs and all.

"Won't this be good for you, Yuu-chan?" Hani chimes.

I hold it out in front of me. "There are holes in this."

"Yeah, did something get to it?" Haruhi asks, and for a moment I can't tell if she's playing along or simply being pragmatic. "Won't it be uncomfortable?"

Hani huffs. "They're cut-outs! Hika-chan said that they're suuuuuuper fashionable!"

I laugh. "I know what they are, I was just teasing. But thank you, Hani-senpai."

"So you'll wear it?"

"I don't think so; I still have to help oversee the fitting process since none of the Hosts can."

"Eh, we could ask one of the maids for help though?"

I shake my head. "We're already depending on Sana-san from the Hitachiin household. Besides, it would be more sincere to have a designer on the scene in case anything goes wrong."

Hani frowns, bowing his head and fidgeting. "But…"

I smile, and turn to Haruhi instead, knowing full well that Hani is up to something with his usual tricks. It would be best to not oblige him this once; the image of Mori's callused hands tracing the pad of the saucy red bikini top is seared unfortunately into my head. I don't really want to consider exactly what it means when my chest seems to sizzle and shake.

"Haruhi, can you bring me to Kaoru-kun?"

The sun beats down, merciless in its cheer; rays flitting past the shade of a multi-coloured umbrella. Haruhi straightens the corner of the mat, gesturing for me to take a seat. I heed her instruction, and settle down onto the uneven, scratchy surface. A couple of girls teeter cautiously around us, but are charmed away by Haruhi's words. It's hard to keep up with this flirtatious atmosphere, made more blatant by the calculated baring of skin and sun-kissed lotions.

"Are you good with the sun, senpai?" Haruhi asks, arms hanging around her knees.

"I've always wanted to come to the beach," I say. "Why do you ask?"

Haruhi shrugs. "Just checking."

I push my hair out of my face, and then heave it all up into a ponytail. There. "I guess I do look quite pale."

"It'll be cooler near the water," Haruhi muses. "Did you bring a swimsuit?"

I let my eyes follow the span of the beach, past the line of girls and Tamaki perched on a rock. The unmistakeable duo appear to be running in slow motion, hands splayed out for the other in an awful mimicry of longing. Mori, on the other hand, and Hani, are following some radio's exercise routine. Hana is keeping up with their childish and absurd movements without missing a beat. I hide a smile.

"No," I say, tugging at the collar of my shirt. "I don't have one; we won't look out of place if we're together."

Haruhi grimaces. "Yeah... it'll just be a hassle trying to convince everyone I'm not getting into the water."

We sit in silence for a moment longer, tasting the salt in the air, toes curled up against the warm sand. It's so easy to rest and watch from afar, listen to the well-chimed giggles and the lapping of the waves. Bleached white, the entire thing seems like a memory, or some film on loop, grainy and predictable.

Kyoya turns around the corner… the look on his face cold, wondering,(that's his notebook, covered in glitter, Haruhi said they got her pen back) says – "…are you -"

- a wretched face, furrowed brows, Aoi looks like… not breathing, until the Lobelia girls strut away…he sighs, shirt buttoned all the way up, shares a Look with

Hana, without Sora, at the table with Tanaka, eggs on her plate, chirping about – fork scraping against porcelain. She's careless, laughing without laughing, "your ears are red, Hajime!"

eggs on the plate, cold. Mom left early again.

Hirose-sensei makes an offhanded comment. He's serious though. No one's smiles have been reaching their eyes. Did I sit next to… Umehito? I must have. He told me about the Black Magic Club again. I don't think I agreed to visit again. I need to check. Hirose-sensei called me out twice in class, "Nakahara-

"-senpai?"

I look up. "Ah, sorry, I was caught up thinking."

Haruhi frowns. "What was it? You looked troubled."

I shrug, the shallow cusp of my palm reaching out and grazing over sand. Dry. Soft. Grounding. A breath in, then out, and then the rest of the world is trickling back in. The waves in gentle relapse, salty and shimmering.

"I haven't seen Sora-senpai for a while," Haruhi says finally, tearing her eyes from me. "She was always with Hana-senpai."

"Mm," I say.

But Hana looks the same, unfrazzled and full of cheer. They're now moving onto a more complicated routine involving several in-air splits and unfortunate fist-bumping. Haruhi is giving me a look again.

"Hey, senpai, I'll get you a drink," Haruhi says.

"Oh, thanks," I say, mustering up a smile.

Haruhi dips her head, and then gets up. Without much thought, I shut my eyes and burrow my chin against the top of my knees. For some reason, I'm feeling even more tired today. Sometimes I feel like running away from the rest of the world and hiding in a closet; it's not as though I'd rather be stuck in a hospital again – I know what it's like to be isolated, but that's a whole different matter. Even though I was isolated, there were regular checks and inspections. And it was clear that I wasn't free to move about. Restricted.

I should enjoy the beach. I blink my eyes open. Was the sun always this dark?

"Nakahara." Kitagawa's eclipsing the sun.

Right, she was one of the fifteen who managed to get the special edition of the slow-launch. In short, jerky motions, she pulls something out and shoves it towards me.

"It broke."

I lean in, as she pulls away, and steps back into a disinterested pose. I pull myself up, blinking away the sun-blindness. Kitagawa's fist is wrapped around a beautiful glass bead. She's got a sweet pink halter-neck on and a white cover-up with fringes. A string of glass beads. Figure twelve – the bracelet.

"What happened?" I ask, holding my hand out.

Kitagawa doesn't answer, dropping a cord and two beads into my grainy palm. There should have been a charm in this bracelet too; I spent a night stringing these together with Mai.

"Where did this break?"

"I don't know," she snaps. "You tell me."

"Kitagawa-san," I begin to say, but she stops me.

"I expect this fully fixed before the day ends," she says coolly, plucking off the straw-hat Sato had stitched painstakingly too. "Or if you'd rather, this could just be a regular Hitachiin collection."

The straw-hat ends up in my arms too as Kitagawa struts away towards the sea. A scatter of squeals pulls me out of my reverie; to the left, Haruhi is picking something up gently from the sand. I shake my head and begin examining the broken bracelet in my hand. Two beads. If it's from the twelfth design, there should be eight more beads and a leaf-shaped charm. The cord looks about the right length, too.

"It would help to know where this broke," I murmur to myself.

Well, that's a mystery to solve. If Kitagawa had come to look for me immediately after breaking this (and I do think she did; the beads and cord were still with her) then she couldn't have been too far away from here. Plus, the fact that she still had some parts of it means that some of the beads must have scattered into places she couldn't reach. Still, if she had wandered far out, then none of this would really matter. I'd still have to account for her attitude – of which I didn't really have a clue about – as well as the possibility that she was in the ocean when the beads fell apart.

Or not – the cord's dry and stiff.

"Are you alright?" Mori asks, without any warning.

I jump. "Mori-senpai. Yes."

"…One of them broke this," he surmises, shifting to shield me from the sun.

"If I could find the rest of the beads, I could fix this," I say.

He nods. "Where do we start?"

"I couldn't ask you to," I rush to say. "You've got your–"

"I'm here," Mori says, voice low and sincere. Earnest eyes trailing down to the wilting collar of my blouse. "Where do we start?"

"Well…" I turn, stepping back and looking along the coastline. "Kyoya-san. He'll know where everyone was."

Kyoya, as it turns out, is not omniscient. Mori tells me softly, lightly, that Kyoya is partially there – he has photographs of Haruhi from her younger days. We wind up heading for the rockier areas of the beach, following the glittering trail of sand and amused rocks. There's a small slope leading up to a cliff, and we decide to search around the area before moving up. Mori picks up a shard, sets it down, and bends over to inspect another. Satisfied, he shows a particularly round pebble to me.

"Mori-senpai?"

"It's smooth," he says, running a finger over its surface.

"That's a good rock," I say.

Mori grunts, spares the pebble another glance, and then skips it out into the ocean. I blink, straightening up immediately.

"Why did you throw it out?" I pause. "I thought you liked it."

He shakes his head. "It was good for skipping."

I look at where the good rock had once traversed. A quick plop in the vastness of the open sea. Free. Or, as a nagging feeling of regret would have it, wasted.

"It's gone now," I say.

"It is."

I bite down on my lip. "It- I thought you were going to keep it."

"Pick a rock," he says.

"What?"

He squats, solemnly examining each of the grey little mounds by the sand. And looks at me, an invitation. I mirror him, moving over to inspect the same little rocks as he is. Mori picks one up, sets it down, and takes another up.

"Pick a rock," he urges, though his concentration never quite deviates.

"Um," I say, complying anyway.

They're all different, close-up. All freckled and speckled, marred in stunningly complex ways. If I squint or tilt my head, they wind up all glittery, like some fairy tale aftermath. I settle for a purplish-grey one with white vein-like stripes. Mori nods in acknowledgment or some affirmation of my pebble.

"It's a good rock," I say, instinctively protective.

"Okay," Mori nods, and shows his hand. He's got another round, smooth pebble. This one has three white dots in a triangle.

"Don't throw it," I blurt. "Skip it."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I say, too quick and too irate. "I know there's a lot of nice rocks here, but."

Mori blinks, slow, and then, "Let's exchange rocks."

I frown, "Promise me you won't skip it?"

"I promise," he says, trying not to smile. "Really."

He places his pebble in my hand, carefully folding my fingers over its grainy surface. Shallowly, I slip away, turning the gift over. His hand lingers, and I trade my gem into his steady hold.

His gaze doesn't leave my hand, flickers up once to meet mine. And then pockets it.

I blink, and reassign myself to the sparkling tides in the distance. The sea gasps, salty and cool, glimmering against my cheeks. Like diamonds. I struggle to name the shallow, jittering thing in my chest, coming up with nothing. It's almost as though the horizon is just within reach, and to chase after this gentle bliss is a well-endeavoured misfortune.

Mori stays silent, and we continue searching after the impossible. It doesn't take long before Hana is recruited on our journey, Kitagawa's straw hat wrangled in her hands as she rambles about the logistical impossibility of a twin-cinematic production. Finally, she relents, succumbing perhaps to the quiet, patient query from Mori and me.

"Yuuka, is this it?" she suggests, dropping to a squat and picking out a gleaming, pinkish bead. "Oh. There're more of them up here."

I nod. "That's them."

She bites her lip. "Nice."

Hana stands awkwardly, glancing at Mori.

"Hana, let's head up." I turn back to Mori, whose shadow is casting a long, misshapen line in the sand, parting us. "Thank you for your help, we can take it from here."

He nods. Before I can catch myself, Hana is tugging me up the cliff, grip urgent and worried. Her eyes flit across the foreseeable landscape, and shudders against the colder gust.

So I ask the first question on my mind, "Where's Sora-san?"

"She wou-couldn't make it."

"Hana."

Hana pouts, her face delicately scrunched into something like annoyance, and then – crumples into poorly-shaded despair. She presses a hand against the hard, tense fit of her jaw, breathing too evenly. Swallowing, Hana pulls away, trailing over to the harsher edges of the cliff.

"She's been –" Hana rephrases. "I don't see her much now."

"Why not?" I say, walking over. "Hana, whatever it is, it's clearly bothering you."

She squirms, arms folding over each other quickly. "You didn't notice it, did you. You notice everything."

"I don't notice everything," I say.

Hana sighs. "Never mind. Look, aren't these all your beads –"

"Did you have a fight with Sora-san?"

"No."

I open my mouth to speak, but Hana's got a finger up, as she examines the information she can divulge. I let her take her time, squatting over to pick up another culpable, shiny bead.

"Have you heard of a Mizuha Financial Group?"

"You mean Sora-san's family?" I backpedal. "No, wait, that's Mitsuha."

"It's the same. It's all the same – ughh."

Hana pinches her lips together, exhaling lightly. And then she's huffing, plopping down ungracefully on the sand. She squeals, evidently having sat on something, and clumsily shuffling over. It's another bead.

"I guess this can't be used anymore," Hana bemoans, cupping the glass bead in her hands, scrutinising. "Kitagawa's such a bitch."

"Hana," I warn, kneeling beside her cautiously.

"She was laughing, saying you were searching here like a fool," Hana pouts, tucking her knees towards her chest. "I bet you she lost this on purpose."

"Kitagawa-san?" I repeat. "Laughing."

Hana's sharp as always. "No one else was around, don't worry. There's no way she'd risk dragging the Hitachiins in with you – not yet."

I sigh at her little show of pettiness; well-earned, but Hana can be a spendthrift at times. "Hana, tell me you didn't do anything to her."

"No more than necessary," she grins generously, faltering slightly when she glances down at the shoreline. "Ah."

"Hm?"

Hana pops up, reverting to her cheerful persona as she waves. "Haruhi!"

I blink, lazily leaning over to see Haruhi trudging down the path, bucket in hand. She waves back, a broad smile of contentment. Easy, loosely, she's calling out a warning of some kind. Hana hollers back that she can't quite hear, with equal fervour, flashing a thumbs up.

"She's coming up," Hana says, stilted.

There's something about the tenseness of her shoulders, like she's about to bolt, that makes me reach out. I clasp a hand over her wrist. Bony; strength and weakness in a taut line.

"Hana, you have me."

Her face is shaded – backlit against the waning sun. A golden halo teeters capriciously around her head, elbows tinted bronze in the warning glow. Hana pauses, stuck in her indecision.

"Oh, look, what do we have here?"

"It's a couple of chicks!"

Leery, muscled men pace up the slope, hunched over and hands-in-pockets. The graphic-shirts-turned-singlets spritely distressed in appropriate intervals hanging stiffly off them. They don't look like they belong. I place myself in front of Hana, drawing myself to my full height. It's not much, but it will gather us some time before Haruhi comes.

"Oh? Wouldn't you like some company?" one of them slurs, deliberately drawling as he strides forward.

Hopefully Mori hasn't gone too far off either. Maybe he's with Haruhi. "No, please leave us alone."

Hana's fists find their way into the back of my shirt.

"That won't do," the one behind him jeers, sneaking around the side to flank us.

I reach behind me, feeling for Hana. Her hands are clammy. I focus, willing the blurriness to vanish. If I distract the one in front, we could make a run for it. We could, if I could just see –

"This is a private beach," Hana musters up – more to herself than anything. "The Ootori police were here –"

Something lunges for us. Hana shrieks. Drags me down, burrows in the square of my chest. It's hard to breathe. Squashed. Sand gathers around my knees. The two loom over us, shadows distorted by cracks in the landscape. My hands are weak. I fumble around in the - that's it - sand.

"Hana, we have to run," I whisper into her hair, dropping the beads and gathering as much sand as I can. "Hana, I'm here."

She's frozen. Shit. My aim won't be good now, I don't think I can even lift my arm too much.

"Y'all look real cute too," hands-in-pockets echoes haltingly.

The other, cued in, leans over – I swing, as hard as I can afford –

"AH! DAMMIT!"

He's bent over, clutching his eye in pain. I think I got some in his mouth too. Heaving, I haul Hana up. She's a petite girl, but with my disused body and her holding her breath in, there's not much we can do. The other, shocked but unaffected by the blast of sand, catches up too quickly.

Argh! My head, yanked cruelly, spins. Hana falls to her knees, a mass of tanned skin indistinguishable from the ground. The world flickers black, stinging back into focus unequally.

"Get the Kobayashi girl, you idiot!" he yells, nails digging into my scalp. "This one's fainting."

"Shit, my eye," the other grumbles, but recovers quickly.

He strides across, all pretence fading – with practiced efficiency, he knocks her out. The discrepancy between his clean movements and the previous episode of delinquency is much too jarring. I gasp.

Kobayashi. They know Hana's name.

There's a clatter, and then

"Get away from them!" Haruhi yells, bucket overturned in her hands.

Clean-moves guy snaps back into character, sneering arrogantly. He swats away the shells, stepping over Hana's body and grabbing Haruhi by her sweatshirt. She struggles, kicking at his shins uselessly. Clean-moves considers the situation for a moment, as the one grabbing onto my hair yells frantic commands –

Hana. Hana's name.

"Mori-" I croak, and then, louder, "Mori-senpai! Here!"

Recognition, and fear colours his voice. He slaps a hand over my face – tight. "Dude, we need to get out of here."

Something must stir in clean-moves; he drags Haruhi to the cliff's edge. "Ocean. They're coming this way."

"Shit." He jerks me forward. "What about this one?"

"Down."

The last I remember is a frazzle of shouts, the ragdoll limpness of my body, soles and ankles dragged against harsh, hot rubble. And then, lightness so unbearable

plunging

into bruising cold.

AN: Reviews are greatly appreciated!