Premise: Working at Yuuko's shop was like walking down a winding road. Sometimes the ground was straight, sometimes, uneven. Every once in a while, he would stumble across a crossroad, each path leading him to a different encounter.

Series: xxxHOLiC/Ouran

Prompt: 34 – Not enough. (Wanted to also use 21 – friends… Can't I use both? D: )

Rating: PG13 – for some language, implied violence, and… stuff.

Genre: Yuuko. That has got to be its own category. (And maybe its own rating, too.)

Notes: I am ridiculously behind on Ouran. I'm still stuck on volume 8 of the manga, if you can believe that. Also, Yuuko makes some otherwise impossible things happen, but most of the focus is on the Ouran cast. Also, also. Verb tenses are (intentionally? – that's debatable) incredibly wonky in this piece. No spoilers, at least to my knowledge.

Chapter Summary: Tamaki goes back to see his friends one last time.

Crossroads

"One More Day"

By Hikagi

He watches, because that's the only thing he can do at this point; watches them as they come into the room with smiles on their faces and laughter resonating in their throats. Watches and waits and suffers as they set the room straight and bring out the tea sets because he knows that they're going to die anyway and they're just so young and if only I'd known before, I could have...

"Could have"…? Could have… what – done something? Like what he is doing now?

But every time he opens his mouth to warn his friends, every time he feels a lull in the conversation or meets any one of their eyes or sees an opportunity that presents itself, he finds that he can't. Can't bring himself to grab their shoulders and get their attention and tell them to wake up and look around you! Can't you see that it's not going to end well at all?

Even if he does – if he ever does – he doesn't know if they'll take him seriously or if they will brush him off without hesitation and attribute his fantastical tales as just that. He knows – though he hopes and wishes otherwise – that it might not even make a difference in the end, even though he has given up so much for them, even though he feels like he has lost it all and that once had been bad enough, but twice would probably kill him, and they don't know and they probably will never know and I don't know if I can…

It's a miracle he can even see them in the first place. But coming back here has also been a relentless torture. He has so many memories of this room, these people – enough to last a long time – but it is never enough. Can never be enough.

Because memories don't last forever, and there's no point in reminiscing if all the people involved are long gone. It's not enough that he has memories if there is no one to make them with.

So he wants to warn them, but he doesn't even know how to begin. Would it even matter in the long run? Can he even affect anything as he is right now? He is rich, yes, but all the money in the world can't stop time, can't keep people safe when it really matters, can't keep people alive. But that is for later… or does it start now? If he had handled things differently, would things have turned out for the better? If he had not come up with a ridiculous idea to gather such a club, would they have gravitated to each other anyway?

He does not know; he cannot be certain.

Because of this uncertainty, he is hesitant to change things right away. Would they drift apart? Stay together? Become strong enough as individuals that though others fall, they would be able to keep going?

(Look how well that has turned out.)

But for now, he has a script he has to follow – a series of motions or words or gestures that "define him" in most people's eyes. To stray from it would alert the others that all is not right, which couldn't be closer to the truth. But in doing so, nothing would be accomplished; would, instead, only cause unnecessary concern and anxiety, and for all the wrong reasons.

Despite this second chance, despite this incredible opportunity to right all wrongs and fix the future, he does not want to worry his friends. And so, he cannot deviate from what others expect of him.

More laughter. The sound of shoes scuffing against the tiled floors and water being brought to a boil, the sound of their voices in the spacious room echoing against the walls and ceiling, the faint sound of wind stirring through the trees outside and leaves rustling on their branches.

He turns from the window and sees the twins mercilessly teasing their little "pauper" with confetti and birthday hats, and one of them (even now, twenty years later – [or is it now "twenty years before"? or does that even count at this point since he is technically, more or less, sixteen again?] – he still can't tell them apart) manages to get the bits of colored paper stuck in her hair so that she looks more like a sprinkled cupcake than a person. But Haruhi doesn't seem to mind so much even though she is scowling and futilely admonishing them for making a mess and chastising them for their behavior. He sees Kyouya jotting something or another down in his ledger and knows without a doubt that even though Kyouya threatens Haruhi with fees, he's only looking out for her well-being and everyone else's general happiness. He also knows that in a few seconds the twins are going to…

Ah yes, there they go again. Running across freshly-waxed floors with nary a second thought (nor shoes, for that matter). If they keep up this sort of reckless behavior, it wouldn't be very long before an accident-

-happened when they had least expected. Granted, their security should have been able to handle the matter, but even the most experienced bodyguards could not have hoped to contain a bad situation gone worse. With civilians crowding the streets and most motor vehicles left useless by the large rents in the asphalt, the Hiitachins had been forced to relocate their latest show to a country that was less susceptible to natural disasters. Five hours after the first tremors had hit Japan, Hikaru and Kaoru had packed and loaded their entire entourage to a hastily-prepared venue in France, determined not to postpone their event for any longer than necessary.

In the end, Hikaru and Kaoru had been the first to go. There had been a gathering a few blocks away about some sort of protest or another, which had broken out into a riot when the police tried to disband the demonstration. The fighting had extended down to the Hiitachins' venue, and their staff of bodyguards had looked too much like police force for the rioters to leave them alone. In the confusion, they were pulled into the mess which ended up with more than half the staff injured and the twins dead.

Tamaki hadn't talked to anyone that entire day, locking himself in his office and refusing all contact with other people. But despite this, Haruhi had managed to barrel her way through his doors, bringing along the rest of the (former) members of the Host Club.

Tamaki was grateful that no one tried to say anything. He took comfort in their presence and silent support. They were alive, and they were together even though two of their members had passed on.

The same could not be said a few weeks later.

Chika had been grievously injured as a result of a freak accident when one of the Haninozuka's private jets had hit an air pocket and a series of unfortunate events had the plane losing too much altitude too fast. There had been a number of casualties, but Chika hadn't actually died until his organs failed a few days into his stay at one of the best medical facilities money could buy.

(Sometimes even money isn't enough.)

Hunny-sempai (and by proxy, Mori-sempai as well) had canceled all previous engagements and had locked himself up somewhere. Tamaki hadn't known this then, because he had still been juggling responsibilities between preparing funeral arrangements for the twins and managing the office.

The next time Tamaki had seen his sempai, they had both been wearing casts: Mori-sempai, for his broken leg; Hunny-sempai for a sprained wrist and broken knuckles. Both refused to talk of the matter, though Tamaki noted that they seemed to avoid eye contact with each other.

Hunny-sempai pretended nothing was wrong.

("It's nothing," he had said, brushing aside Tamaki's worry. "I was careless. Hit something harder than I meant to.")

Mori-sempai didn't say much else either.

("Don't worry. I fell."

"And that bruise on your face?"

Mori-sempai looked away briefly before shrugging. Tamaki didn't have to turn to see that Mori-sempai's eyes had flickered in Hunny-sempai's direction.

"Accident.")

But despite their strained relationship, Mori-sempai didn't hesitate to save Hunny-sempai from being shot the next day.

A flash of lightning followed by rumbling thunder.

"Ne, ne, Tama-chan."

Raindrops falling gently against the window, a steady background of soft patters and white noise. Reflections and shadows and silhouettes cast from a dim light. Tears on a dry face.

"Is it a bad thing if I don't know how to cry anymore? Is it a bad thing if the only way is to pretend that the rain outside is..."

Speechless. Nothing can really compare. Sometimes words aren't enough.

Tears on a dry face, running sideways, diagonally, down until they hit the carpet, and kept going until they encountered the shadows of the windowsill. Probably would have kept going on forever and ever if they could.

Forever and ever and ever.

He should have done something then. But it had already been too late, because everyone had been hurting, Hunny-sempai most of all. And no one really knew what they could have done, because they had been brought up and raised to be businessmen, leaders, innovators, presidents, CEOs, competitors, allies, heads of families… just… not as friends.

Too late, and by the next time, impossible.

"Suoh-san, thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

They shook hands, smiles plastered onto their faces, shoulders stiff in business suits and ties, feelings and familiarity hidden by distance and walls and layers even though they stood only an arm's length apart.

"Not at all... Haninozuka-san." He flashed his teeth in what an outsider might have considered to be a smile; his friends would have known that something was wrong. But Haninozuka didn't seem to notice.

That was not their Hunny-sempai from the Host Club. That was not their friend.

"On to business, then. I've been thinking about this recent proposal that my men have in plan for the future of our merging companies..."

Hunny-sempai was now long gone.

('We should have made two graves for Mori-sempai.')

Could have; would have; should have.

But didn't. And that is the problem he wants to fix.

Wants, but can't bring himself to do, because everyone looks so damn happy in comparison to his last memories. He doesn't want to stain that happiness right now because there is time enough for life to do that job for him.

But is it enough time?

("Again? Too many regrets. Too many wishes."

A long, meaningful glance from oddly-colored eyes.

"You'd be a fool to think so.")

The sound of china being set. A soft sigh of melancholy and exasperation and... contentment?

He finds it somewhat amusing that he notices all these sounds – that it is his sense of hearing that is hardest at work here. Because amidst all the people and colors and conversation and shapes and events and feelings and words, words, words, his mind latches on to the creaks of furniture, the tinkling of china, the squeaking of soles. From this time, sounds are the clearest things in his memory, because he can't bring himself to recall the other things – things that, looking back, have been filled with premonitions of pain and…

He doesn't remember what her laughter sounds like, though.

"Sempai."

He sees her walk towards him, holding an empty serving tray (even though the clients have yet to arrive), brushing her hair with her free hand.

Haruhi hasn't had an easy time towards the end either.

"Sempai," she said, voice unsure. "What did...?"

He choked to keep his voice steady and took (too long, much too long) a second to swallow. "Fine." His words didn't quaver, even when the statements were as straight as a boomerang. "They said you'll be alright. Might have to come back a few more times for extra tests just to make sure."

"Oh." She breathed, and softly exhaled. "I'm glad."

(She had died twenty, thirty, a hundred years too early from the same damnable disease that had stolen away her mother. He had tried everything – after all, what "friend" (not just a friend, but he was a bit of a coward sometimes, especially for things that lay so close to his heart) wouldn't? – but all the money in the world hadn't been enough to buy her a cure, because not even money could make the world stand still.)

("Not enough time, my dear."

A sharp, predatory grin.

"Never enough time.")

He feels a light tug on his sleeves. "Tamaki-sempai."

He blinks, contemplating for an eternity if he should just whisk her away to the nearest doctor, consequences and reputation be damned. But then he blinks again and...

("I wonder how much you'd be willing to give up... for your wish."

A shift in patterns as she rose from her seat, her clothes forming a graceful display, revealing what was almost an indecent amount of cleavage. She was standing much too close for comfort, but that didn't really matter since he loved… or had ever loved only one woman.)

Haruhi looks healthy enough, though.

"Tamaki-sempai. Are you feeling ill?"

Of course. The world is falling apart, he doesn't have much time to live - they don't have much time to live, and-

He offers her his reassurances until she is satisfied and walks away.

Stupid. Say something! Warn her! She's going to go away, and you'll keep putting it off. Again and again and again until it'll happen for real!

He takes a step forward-

"Tamaki."

Kyouya is looking at him with a peculiar expression, and it is strange because the last time (or is it, the next time? But that is not correct either, because there are [or "had been"; or is that "will be"?] many other instances since then. But the it is the "last time" in accordance to… what ever had landed him here) he has had that particular look on his face, the man had been-

-was sitting tiredly in a chair, slowly swirling some sort of drink in his hand. The fireplace was burning brightly, but without much cheer; it was much too cold and desolate in the room. They stayed like that for a while until...

"You know, you're going to have to stop that."

He looked at him questioningly because he didn't quite understand.

Kyouya gestured. "You know. Whatever it is you're doing. Stop it. It's driving me up a wall."

He almost answered back, "Just about everything I do drives you up a wall," but refrained, because there was something in his friend's eyes that made him pause. Instead, he said, "Ah. Then I shall have to join you soon to keep you company."

Kyouya snorted into his drink. It wasn't wine or champagne because those were considered to be somewhat celebratory, and he knew that Kyouya was in a gloomy mood… so it had to be just grape juice or the melon-flavored kind that Kyouya had once commented to Haru-… to her once about – the kind that you can get at any commoner's supermar-

"I think you need to go home, Tamaki," Kyouya says, frowning. Tamaki knows that Kyouya is beyond just simple worry if he is suggesting such a thing. And the frown really doesn't suit his friend's face.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "No. I'm fine. Besides, the lovely ladies-"

"Can wait," his friend interrupts. "You need to-"

"-take care of yourself," Kyouya finished, lacing his fingers together while propping his elbows on top of his mahogany desk. That piece of furniture had been a gift from one of his father's oldest clients and had been made from specially treated wood grown in one of the client's personal gardens.

He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "I've been eating and sleeping properly. There's nothing to worry about."

His friend sighed, resigned. Worried. Tired. "You're still thinking about them. About her."

"And what if I am?"

They glanced at the fireplace, even though it was in the middle of summer, and the weather outside was in the forties. Briefly, he contemplated getting a thermometer that told the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit, just to change things a bit.

"Don't leave me here by myself, Tamaki. It's bad enough that the others are gone."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going anywhere." He shrugged, almost helplessly. "Where would I go to?"

Kyouya grit his teeth in annoyance. "That's not what I mean. Don't leave me like the others did. You're the last one left."

"Hunny's still here," he replied evasively, turning to face away.

"That's not Hunny," the other countered. "Not anymore."

"I'm not going anywhere, Kyouya."

"Liar," his friend shot back. "You're already half-gone, and slipping away more each day. There isn't anything that's keeping you here, and I don't know if one day I'll turn around and see that you've disappeared even though you're standing right there in front of me."

It wasn't the first time he had seen him almost angry, but he could hardly find the words to fix anything.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, softer this time. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

He looks at Kyouya, and wonders if he can spare his friend from all the pain that's going to happen – if he can save them all. But there isn't enough time…

("Never enough time," she repeated, blowing out smoke from her pipe.

An exhale of smoke and the smell of something sweet lingering in the air.

"But that's why you are here, no?"

She shuffled in her seat again, showing more exposed skin than he had even thought possible. That woman was all leg – well-proportioned and exotic ones – and she knew it too.

"So. What is it that you want, Suoh Tamaki.")

"You can't change the past. You can't turn back time."

"I wish I could."

"But what would that accomplish, Tamaki?"

"I…" He still couldn't find the right words. "I don't know." He swallowed. "But I have to at least try."

"Try? Try what?" Mirthless laughter. "And how would you do that anyhow?"

He didn't know what to say; didn't know what his friend wanted to hear that would make him stop asking questions; didn't know if he wanted to find out the answers to those questions in the first place.

"Do you remember," he said instead, "our old classmate, Nekozawa-sempai?"

"Why?"

("I want... I wish…")

"He told me…" No, that would sound absurd. Even the most open-minded of people are skeptical after a certain point. "There's a rumor… about a witch."

"I don't believe in magic."

"I'll do anything, Kyouya. Anything."

"I know." A pause. "That's the problem."

He knew what Kyouya was thinking: that he was so desperate as to chase rumors left and right, all across the world on a fool's errand for just the slightest of chances that there was a possibility to make an impossible thing come true. Tamaki knew, and he could not deny it.

("I need…")

"Is it even worth it?"

The sound of dejection in his otherwise unshakable friend's voice almost made him pause. Almost, because now there was no turning back, and Haruhi was worth so much more. Haruhi, Kaoru, Hikaru, Mori-sempai, Hunny-sempai, and even Kyouya himself. Their lives were worth too much not to do anything, even if half of their group was still living right now.

Living, but not alive.

"Of course."

Their lives were worth too much not to chase a rumor halfway across the world.

("I wonder what you'd be willing to pay for just one more day with them.")

Fin.

Author's Notes:

This was one BIG experimentation. I am very sorry if I had been over-ambitious, and as a result confused you beyond belief. If I didn't, that means I'm not the only one out there with a brain that does odd twists and turns. It got so confusing and intertwined that at one point, I color-coded all the different timelines to keep them straight. I wish I had that luxury here.

I am not at all comfortable with writing Tamaki. (Also, this was way more introspective than I had intended.) A lot of his actions here might not make much sense until I explain what's actually going on – which even Tamaki doesn't know about. Will get to that next time.

I haven't written anything in what feels like forever. And like my usual M.O., I decided to write when I should have been focusing on other things instead. Whoops. (And I wanted to keep it short, too. Didn't work out so well when it ended up being a little more than three thousand words… XD)

This chapter was the result of thinking how tragic Ouran could be – so much potential for angst! And then I got to thinking, "You know, it would really suck if Tamaki is the last one of the Host Club to stay alive." (Mori would have been a good candidate too because he suffers so quietly. The other option for last survivor might be explored if I get to the sequel.) Actually, any of them dying before each other would really suck, unless it's from old age. Aaaaaand that didn't even really end up happening – someone is still around! If I get started on this shot's sequel, you'll (kinda) see what happened in the future(?) or whatever. Agh! This is so confusing!

Yatsuka Hikagi

July 09, 2013