Do not own Ouran High School Host Club. Nope.

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Tamaki was in a panic. Now, putting him in such a state was not very difficult. In fact, it was incredibly easy. This time, however, it was not for his "daughter," Haruhi. It was for his first friend since coming to Japan as well as vice president of the Host Club: Kyoya Ootori.

"Ah, where is he?!" Tamaki screamed, pacing frantically with a cell-phone to his ear. "He's been gone for three days and no one is picking up the phone at his house!" No one paid him any heed. They just figured he was blowing it out of proportion. That was only proven when he started rambling on about kidnapping plots and ransom money.

Haruhi sighed. "Tamaki-senpai, it's Kyoya-senpai we're talking about. I'm sure he's fine."

No one was worried.

But they should have been.

While Kyoya was not in any severe danger, his circumstances were less than favorable. The night before Kyoya went "missing," he had arrived home late and slept straight through dinner. When the maid tried to wake him, he scared her so badly that she nearly quit. He finally got up a few hours later, although less than well-rested. His father and older brothers were still crowded around the table.

"Kyoya," his father reprimanded, "growling at the maid is not the proper behavior from a future business leader. Nor is your lack of ability to schedule yourself properly."

"Shouldn't you worry more about the two heirs to your company and less about the third son?" Kyoya retorted, still grumpy. His father stood up, drawing closer, and smacked him. The older brothers tried hard not to wince. It did wake Kyoya up, though.

"A gentleman should show more respect."

The teen took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He wasn't ready in time for the next onslaught.

"If this club of yours is taking away from your manners and duties, I will find a way to remove you from it. Care to prove it a worthy usage of your time and efforts? Or should I contact the school chairman immediately?"

The sound of Kyoya's gritting teeth must have been heard from miles away. "Yes, sir." With that, the boy stormed out and up the stairs that led to his room. Without thinking, he tugged out a small emergency backpack and pulled a few things from his drawers (without everything else pouring out, mind you). Looking in the mirror, he could still see the shape of the hand. It was imprinted in red onto his pale skin. There also seemed to be a small scratch traced with blood, which must have been due to a fingernail. Rolling up his sleeve, he noticed the bruises from two days ago had taken on a nasty coloring. He waited until a little after ten o'clock before sneaking out of the mansion, an escapade he had planned many times as a small child and modified as the years passed until it was absolutely flawless.

That said, he was out on the street by 10:21.

It may seem like he was running away, but he knew he'd return home after a week or so. For now, he just wanted to get away from the physical harm and the stress that was beginning to negatively affect his health. Besides, he did not want to attend school looking like this. He cared not to hear the rumors that would spawn off of it, most involving how his father had beaten him again.

Outside of the Host Club, Kyoya didn't really have any friends. He had people whose businesses would be crucial to his own developing career, but no real friends. He could not stay at any of the host's houses, though. It was too predictable and they would be the first places searched. Plus, the parents would report him right away. Yet, there was one person his father did not know he was still acquainted with, as that family's area of business held no importance to the Ootori company and therefore his father had told him he would not need to befriend the heir.

They met back in elementary school. Kyoya always stayed in and studied and the other did not care to go outside. They made quiet companions. Neither really cared to get to know the other very well, but they had come to a mutual understanding. That stood up until today. They met in school, but neither directly bothered the other.

Kyoya wondered if he would even receive help from the other. There was no debt to be repaid and no reason to receive him. Yet, Kyoya had a suspicion that the other would take him in. Back in elementary, during those monotonous recess times, the one he shared the room with would occasionally look up at him. Once, Kyoya had noticed the odd way his bruises were examined by the hidden eyes. By now, the person behind those eyes had probably found out why the bruises were there. He just hoped the person would understand now like he seemed to have back then.

As Kyoya drew closer, he vaguely wondered where the rain was. Usually, when things like this happened, wasn't it supposed to rain? He knew it was illogical, but it seemed to happen to the rest of the Host Club often enough. It was probably a good thing, though. He must have already looked pretty pitiful, there was no need for being drenched to add to that.

The large, dark building loomed up ahead. He took one last deep breath to steel himself before approaching it. The path to the front door was long, but seemed to go by quickly with his anticipation. He took the heavy knocker in his hand and was about to bang on the ornate door when it swung open.

"Kyoya Ootori?" a familiar voice asked. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

The figure leaned nonchalantly in the doorframe, examining his visitor with a curious air.

"Nekozawa-senpai, I am sorry to have come so unexpectedly, but…"

"Could it be that the all-might Kyoya is asking for my help?" Nekozawa teased.

"Yes," Kyoya replied, "I am."

Nekozawa leaned over a bit to catch a better glimpse of the underclassman's face, now seeing the marks that marred it. The older boy stood straight, leaving the doorway clear. "Come in, but wash the blood off your face first."

Kyoya reached a hand up to his face, feeling the red liquid that he hadn't noticed leaking. "Thank you, Nekozawa-senpai."

Nekozawa led his visitor through the dark halls with a candelabra, coming to a stop outside a dimly lit bathroom. Kyoya thankfully moved to the sink to wash his face off.

"It was your father, right?" Nekozawa questioned in what may have been sympathy, but could have easily been curiosity.

"Yes." The response was brisk.

"How long do you think you will need to stay for?"

"Maybe a week."

"Is staying with the hosts too risky?"

Kyoya paused for a second, his hands hovering half-way to his face, and spoke the truth.

"You're the only one who won't turn me over."

Nekozawa chuckled darkly. "Kyoya Ootori, we may not be friends, but I'm glad that you can find refuge with me."

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The End.