Notes: The title is from the song of the same name by the Postal Service. This fic is incredibly fluffy.

Love is— Tamaki would begin - about once every twenty minutes, on particularly trying days - and then go on to theorise at great length, in a way that made the Host Club guests squeal and giggle.

Love is: being at shoulder height, thought Haruhi. At least, that seemed to be how Mori saw it.

Being carried around on his shoulders was strange, but not as strange as most things about the Host Club. Haruhi rather liked it (and wondered vaguely if the mindset of these crazy rich people were rubbing off on her). Honey beamed approval at them, and was fed cake by his customers each time he shed crocodile tears of loneliness. Tamaki and the twins found it difficult to reach her. Kyouya reluctantly admitted that her fixing a chandelier while she was up there took care of a fair chunk of her debt to the Host Club.

"Can I get down now, sempai?" Haruhi said as the doors to the third music room closed behind the last patron.

The steadying hands on her calves tightened a bit. "Mm," said Mori, reluctant.

It was silly how it warmed her, Haruhi thought. She still let him carry her all the way outside the school building. The doorways at Ouran were all impressively tall and allowed them both through, and most people had gone home already so she wouldn't feel conspicuous.

"Okay, now," she said, moving to climb down, and he helped her off. To a point.

Cradled against Mori's chest, her cheek pressed into her lapel, Haruhi blushed, but didn't say anything about being in public. That was proof that these extravagant rich people really were affecting her too much.

And so was the freshly laundered smell of Mori's blazer. Why was it so appealing? It was detergent, for crying out loud, she used the same kind of thing every other day.

Nonetheless, Haruhi wrapped her arms around Mori's neck and kissed him. For once, it was not a production of her standing on a chair or straddling him on a couch, but easy, firm and beautiful.

Mori's breath raced, and he smiled. "Ha," he said shakily, surprised and pleased, and only then did Haruhi check their surroundings. They were on the lawns near the gate, mostly shielded by shrubbery, and there was no sight or sound of anyone nearby.

"Well, you did pick a good place, anyway," Haruhi mumbled, but she didn't need to defend her enthusiasm. Mori kissed her red cheeks and then her mouth again, pressing her closer, and she leaned into it.

It had occurred to Haruhi recently that all of the Host Club seemed to have things that they wanted badly to hold on to. Quiet, impassive-seeming Mori might be the one who held on most of all, to his friends and his duties, to Honey, to her.

At moments she thought he might prefer never to let her feet touch the ground again. Right now, this moment, with his heat and solidity against her and leaves brushing her cheek, Haruhi liked it that way and didn't even want to feel silly about it.