Disclaimer: I do not, and have never, owned Ouran High School Host Club. All I own is my creativity and plot.

Hello my lovelies. This is my first work in a long, long time and I'm fairly proud of it. It's not anything I'm used to writing. I usually like very angsty romance stories but I decided to try something a little more realistic and natural. Please leave me a review with any suggestions, comment and/or concerns! Thanks and enjoy!

The scent wafted through the air, scorching his nostrils, the night sky covered in a thick cloud of smoke that shielded the stars and full moon. Kyoya Ootori, standing a near 5'9" with choppy jet black locks and chocolate brown eyes, had an uneasy feeling settle over him. The unmistakable smell of fire filled the air, cascading over him as he turned onto the corner of his street.

His condo—the first official home that he and his wife, Haruhi Fujioka, had bought together—was surrounded by people staring in awe. The fire trucks were parked not too far. He watched anxiously as firemen dashed to and fro, shouting orders at each other. Time seemed to move slower as the scene before him became a horrifying and undeniably tragic reality:

Their home was burning to the ground. Kyoya parked the car, abandoning his Armani suitcase in the backseat as he dashed towards the rest of his neighbors. They whispered amongst themselves, some gasping in absolute horror at the sight.

A fire in such a gated and respected community was certainly unheard of. It would be the talk of the morning. The crowds' murmurs fell upon deaf ears. A feeling indescribable filled his chest but in true Ootori-style, his face remained a blank canvas. The thought of his lost documents, papers linking him directly to being the head of the Ootori Medical Centers across many nations, being burned to mere dust made his insides turn. The ratifications of the fire were going to push him back extremely.

And how was he going to explain this to Haruhi? The young, beautiful doe-eyed woman wasn't currently staying in the home, however. She had been staying with her father fifty minutes away ever since their separation.

Kyoya reached for the phone in his pocket, planning on giving her a call anyway; she had lost quite a bit in the fire, too. Her law firm's financial records had been kept within their small study, which was now scorched away by the flames rapidly consuming the building. She would be upset (making him probably the most hated person in the world) but he hoped as he put the phone to his ear that they could talk it out.

Their marriage had started off fine—they had started dating shortly after Haruhi accompanying Kyoya to study abroad at Harvard University, where they both received their degrees. He loved her dearly.

Haruhi had somehow woven her way into his heart, opening him up to the world and all that it really had to offer. She had taught him to love without merit, to live a life without constantly worrying about the benefits of anything. Kyoya had learned to feel again; he'd learned to love himself.

Their wedding was held by the sea side, on the beach with all their closest friends and family members. They'd danced under the moonlight, toasted to their good fortune and gave their lives to each other. They promised each other forever.

Their honeymoon phase ended after the first year as Kyoya's portion of the Ootori fortune took off. He spent less time at home, constantly traveling the world giving seminars and instructing master classes for several distinguished institutions. Through this, Haruhi was forced to live at home for long periods of time by herself. At first, she showed no obvious signs of distress so he hadn't considered that she could be unhappy.

But six months of constantly being away from him, Haruhi exploded.

She was sitting in the living room when he got home, curled up against a body sized pillow with a quilted throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Kyoya crept behind her, careful not to make a sound when he closed the door, and suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder.

Haruhi jumped from her seat, twisting around to show off her glistening mocha eyes and pink lips. He smiled at her, flashing his perfectly straight teeth, "I'm home." He expected her to leap towards him, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him like she'd never been kissed before.

However, the woman simply crossed her arms across her tiny chest, eyebrows tugging down into an angry furrow. "And where the fuck have you been?" Kyoya took a couple shocked steps back. He'd never seen her so angry before in his life and had never heard a single curse word fly from her mouth either. Haruhi shook her head, shielding her eyes with her straight-cut bangs.

Kyoya attempted to speak. "I was out of town on business…"

"Exactly!" she retorted, a snarl in the back her throat. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes watering as she balled her small hands into tight fists. Haruhi paced back and forth as he watched in silence, still unsure how to react to his wife's outburst. She turned to him, then, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again as the words died in her throat.

He took a step towards her, placing a hand on her stiffened shoulder, "Haruhi—"She smacked his hand away, lips curling into a snarl.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

A burst of anger shot through him then, the frustration that he had been attempting to keep shoved down finally reaching its limit. "What is your problem?"

Haruhi pushed him further back, "What's my problem? What's my problem? You haven't been home! Ever! When's the last time you slept in bed with me, hm? When's the last time we talked without texting or having to skype each other, Kyoya?"

Her words smacked him hard, a wounded expression flashing in his eyes before shaking them away to analyze later. "The business is very demanding of me," he tried to explain through a clenched jaw.

"And it's obviously more important to you, too." Haruhi let out a small sniffle. He looked up into her doe eyes, heart breaking as he watched her silent tears trail down pale cheeks. He softened his approach this time, moving slower and with more caution.

"I'm sorry, Haruhi. I had no idea." The woman only shook her head silently, crying her tiny heart out before turning her back to him. Her hair now tickled her shoulder blades. A slight smile crossed his features. She was always so beautiful to him—her round face, large eyes, slender body, sleek hair, witty comments, undeniable intelligence; all of it was what was made him love everything about her. He spoke again, this time more softly, "Please, Haruhi. Don't cry. I'm so sorry. I love you."

To this, Haruhi muttered only one thing that made his blood run cold; that made his heart skip a beat, "I'm sure your father once said the same exact thing."

Before he was thinking, he was moving, his hands taking hold of her hair, gripping it tightly in his palms. Kyoya reacted blindly, pulling it until she was close to him, until a shriek so heartbreaking echoed throughout the empty room.

He said nothing, yanking her around so that she was forced to look him in the eyes, a hand still gripping her hair so her head was pulled back. Her eyes plead with him, begging him to stop before things got out of hand. But the man she loved—the man that slipped the wedding band unto her slim fingers and promised her nothing but security and love—was gone in that moment.

"Are you trying to make me mad?" His voice bellowed hollow in sound. His cold eyes watched her shudder. Haruhi tried to pull away from him but his simply pulled her hair harder until she was trying to arch up to escape the pain. "Do you like seeing me like this?! Do you?!"

"L-Let me go," she cried, her voice small. "You're hurting me!"

"Does it look like I give a fuck? Do you really think I care?" He released her, shoving her to the ground with little effort. His mind screamed for him to stop. Every sensible part of him had turned itself off. The monster that hid beneath the surface of his usually cool, calm demeanor was poking through.

And it thirsted for blood.

The night seemed to drag on: the screaming, the resounding smacks that filled the room. He poured his pain into her flesh, painting it different shades of blue and purple, until the man within him finally returned. Kyoya awoke to a sight so heart shattering, he felt numb tears fall from his eyes:

His Haruhi, clothes ripped and tattered, hair tangled, eyes raw from crying, laid on the floor in a tight ball sobbing for the Heavens to hear. "Why… why, Kyoya, w-why?" He had never seen her like this before. Weak. Broken. Her lips were split open, a bruise forming on the side of her jaw. Blood poured from a cut over her eyebrow. The worst was the one around her neck. He could make out the distinct fingerprints around her throat.

The sight disgusted him. Made him sick throughout his whole being until he was quivering in shock. Kyoya was not one to lose control, ever. He had no idea when he had snapped. He didn't remember much. But that was a blessing in disguise. The reality of his blind actions glared back up at him.

He barely noticed when Haruhi moved. They didn't speak for the rest of the night. Kyoya barely moved from the spot and had opted for sleeping on the couch. When he woke, the house was empty. Haruhi's belongings had disappeared, spare a few documents here and there. He didn't try to call for several days.

A week after the incident, Kyoya had still not fully rebooted. He held his meetings closer to home, waiting patiently for her name to appear on his phone. At night, he liked to imagine how their conversation would go in different ways, each time worse than the last.

One morning, the Ootori was awoken by the chirp of his Blackberry. He snatched it from his bedside table, "Hello?"

"Hi, Kyoya… it's Haruhi."

For once, the man was left wordless, unsure of what to say next. She did the talking for him.

"Look—what happened the other night… was… was…"

"A mistake," he interjected, a slight confidence filling him, "A huge fucking mistake, Haruhi. You know I would never… What I mean is… I'm sorry."

There was silence on the other line. "…I know. I know that what happened was a mistake, Kyoya. I get it. You're under a lot of pressures and you lost control. I know you're sorry."

"Thank you… I don't deserve your forgiveness—"

"I'm not forgiving you, Kyoya."

"…" He couldn't feel his body anymore. His mind detached itself from his body as she spoke again, conviction in her voice.

"What happened the other night reaffirmed everything that I was thinking. You're losing control of your life again for the sake of trying to please everyone but yourself. You… hit me, Kyoya. You beat me so badly that I still shake every time someone comes near me. And I hate it. I love you, more than you could possibly imagine, but this marriage isn't working. I'm sorry… but I can't be with someone who's a loose cannon."

The phone line went dead. A few days later, the divorce papers arrived without mention of their confrontation. He tried to beg for her to reconsider, tried to prove that he could change. But Haruhi was set on her decision and would brush his attempts away as calmly as she could.

Kyoya found comfort in the strong, thick liquor stored away in the top cabinets in their once loving home. Every night, as the demons of his decisions crept up at him, he'd drown his sorrows in his drinks. Never enough to lose control; just enough to fog his mind.

Haruhi's phone went straight voicemail. His eyebrows furrowed. She never turned her phone off, especially since it was the only way clients could contact her directly. He tried again with no luck. Luckily, he still had Ranka's number on speed dial in case of an emergency.

The phone only rang twice before the high-pitched masculine voice answered, "You have a lot of nerve thinking you can call me after what you did."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to reach Haruhi…"

"Don't understand why. I tried to stop her, you know. Told her it would be a bad idea going back to you, but you know how Haruhi is. So stubborn."

Confusion was evident in his voice again, "What do you mean you tried to stop her from coming back to me?"

"Well, today when she got home from the office, she started packing up her things talking about how she missed you and how she loved you and how she wanted to try again. And of course I tried to stop after you beat her up so bad. I've never seen my little Haruhi like that before in my life. You really screwed her head up."

"I know. I know," he mumbled under his breath. "So you mean Haruhi's not there? When did she leave?"

"Almost two hours ago. Said she wanted to surprise you when you got home so you two could talk things out."

Kyoya didn't care to hang up the phone after that, letting it slip from his hands as he body grew rigged. His mind was clouded, the scream in his throat stuck deep within him. Before he could process what was happening, Kyoya was running towards the nearest fireman, throat dry and raspy as he spoke, "h-help, my w-w-wife…"

"I can't understand you—" He was interrupted as Kyoya took hold of his jacket, looking him straight in the eye as he spoke.

"My wife is in there, you fucking twit!"

The man's eyes opened in surprised. "This is your condo?"

"Yes!" he growled, "Now get my wife out of there!" He didn't see the guy leave, his vision blurring with tears. Kyoya felt his whole body grow cold. His head was spinning, mind a blur of pictures and words. Someone took hold of him as he began to collapse. He was lead to a folding chair; they tried talking to him, calling his name and filling him in on details that he'd forgotten. Nothing fully stuck with him until he saw the leader of the firemen carrying a limp woman in his arms.

The moment he saw her body, all the emotions that he'd kept pushed down erupted, a scream breaking from his throat. He was restrained as he tried to grab her, struggling against their holds. Their holds on him hurt his skin but he could feel nothing. There was nothing that could stop him: he had to have her.

She was carried away and into an awaiting ambulance. Kyoya broke free then, dashing towards them, begging them to wait for his arrival. "I'm her husband!" he screamed, voice filling the eerie night sky, "Please! Wait!"

A door flung open, "Quickly get in. We're losing her."

Kyoya sat beside her, never taking an eye off her burnt flesh and charred hair. She looked as if she was sleeping, her lips slightly parted as if she was still ready to speak at any moment. He took hold of one of her hands tightly and, for the first time in a long time, the Ootori man let the sobs flow freely, praying to God for mercy and for a second chance to hear her beautiful voice.

Clouds, thick and grey, veiled the morning sunshine. Flocks of birds cried out as they traveled south to escape the coming of the chilly wind that was nearing. A group of five men traveled in silence, their feet crunching as they walked over the frozen ground.

The leader, a blonde with violet eyes and illuminating skin, tucked his hands in the pockets of his grey peacoat as he stopped at the sign marked Lot 79. "I don't remember exactly where to turn from here."

"You idiot. How could you forget? We do this every month," growled a fiery redhead with glaring eyes. "Honestly, Tamaki, you're one of the stupidest people I know."

"Hikaru, enough," piped up a boy identical to the one beside him, taking hold of his brother's hand to calm him. Kaoru knew Hikaru hadn't meant to be so harsh; it was hard for all of them. Hikaru ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his brother's hand to calm himself.

"Whatever," he mumbled, "Go left."

The group resumed its silence. Moving in sync, the maneuvered their ways around the various gravesites, making a point to avert their eyes from the people that had gathered to either bury or mourn their loved ones. The tiniest one swallowed a sob that threatened to escape from his throat, shielding his eyes with his honey bangs, "Takashi… do you think there really is a Heaven?"

Takashi, or Mori, glanced down at his younger cousin, Hunny, nodding his head to comfort his cousin. However, truthfully, he could not answer the question for himself. Could there really be a Heaven or even a God for that matter? Could He had been so cruel to take away the life of someone so sweet in demeanor and kind in her intentions?

Tamaki stopped suddenly near the end of the row, head spinning as he looked over the familiar tombstone of his beloved friend. "I can't believe it's only been three months…" His voice cracking, the tears fell freely from his pale eyes, falling to the ground in silent explosions. The group circled the grave, placing their flowers near the tombstone, bowing their heads as silence fell over them.

Kaoru buried his face in his brother's chest, weeping openly as he body was racked with sobs. Hikaru held him tight, careful to keep his composure in front of Kaoru; he knew it would only make it harder for him if he cried then, too. Instead he would wait until they were at their parent's home and make some excuse to wander off into an empty room where he'd let out his frustrations in the form of angry curses.

Hunny held Mori's hand, Usa-chan hanging from his free hand in a tight grip. His lips trembled. "Haruhi…" The sentence died then, choking cries leaving him then. Mori could feel his eyes water as he carefully read of the engraved words of the tombstone:

Haruhi Fujioka

Beloved by many. Strong until the end.

"I can't believe Kyoya's late again." Hikaru shook his head, glancing down at his watch.

Tamaki sighed deeply, "He doesn't…cope well."

"Yeah? And you think we do?"

The blonde didn't reply, brushing off Hikaru's angry remarks as normal considering the circumstances. Truthfully, he was frustrated with Kyoya's behavior as well. He never met them at the gravesite on time. He canceled major meetings. Ignored their calls. It was all very strange, even for the grumpy, collected Ootori.

"I-I'm here," came a slurred voice. When they turned, there stood a wobbling Kyoya with a water bottle clenched in his fist. He wore no glasses, dressed in a black dress shirt halfway tucked into his trousers. His cheeks were lightly shaded pink, lips chapped and cracking in the corners. The man stumbled towards the rest, making it only a few feet before falling on his face.

Tamaki, being the loyal friend he was, rushed to his side but was pushed away. "I-I got this. Don't need no help from you." The blonde stared in shock at the sight of his friend. The stench of alcohol plagued his senses, nearly making him gag.

"Kyoya," he whispered, "are you drunk?"

"Drunk?!" Kyoya stammered. "What the hell…. Is that?" He pulled himself to his feet, managing to make it to the grave before collapsing again, this time earning a small grunt from the man. The twins eyed him in disgust. Mori turned his face away, staring up into the dreary sky as means of distracting himself. Hunny pulled his rabbit closer to his chest to stifle the shocked sobs. They all watched as the Ootori lifted his head, cursing before getting onto his knees.

They had never seen Kyoya in that state before. It was rare to see him so disheveled and unprepared. Tamaki could only imagine the damage Haruhi's death must have had on his mental health. It was written all over the pained expression clouding Kyoya's hazy eyes.

"Haruhi… Haruhi… Haruhi…" Kyoya's words were slow and nearly incoherent. "B-baby, I hope you know I-I-I always loved…you." The hysterical sobs came next, breaking the awkward silence until they were all forced to watch their friend—drunk, sloppy and confused—cry his eyes out. They all took turns saying their goodbyes, abandoning the man to his sorrows.

All except Tamaki who remained beside his friend, stroking his hair until the crying ceased. Kyoya turned his face a little to look at him with puffy eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, gagging before turning his head to empty his stomach in the sparse grass.

Wordlessly, the Suoh man pulled his friend from the ground, helping him towards his limo. Tamaki gave the instructions to Kyoya's apartment to his driver after laying him down on one of the leather seats. He ran a hand through his golden locks, letting a sigh out. His eyes wandered to his passed out friend.

He'd known Kyoya for many years (since middle school, to be exact) and he had never once seen him in such a state. The dark circles, sunken cheeks, pale skin, tousled hair and wrinkled clothing were appalling. The Kyoya he'd known would never have allowed his appearance to fall into such a state of neglect.

Alcoholism wasn't uncommon in the competitive world of business in Japan, especially when looking at the heirs to such influential corporations. But when looking at the Ootori reputation, such behaviors would be considered extremely irresponsible. Tamaki knew how critically Yoshio, Kyoya's father, would look at his youngest son since he had decided to trust him even when traditions would normally ever allow it.

Now, as the blue-eyed man worriedly looked upon his closest friend, he felt all his hope disintegrate in his chest. Tamaki let out a sigh, opening the mini fridge located to his left and poured himself a glass of sparkling champagne. Drinking wasn't normally his outlet, but the day had already proved to be stressful.

He sipped from the glass casually. The anxiety had still not cleared his body, however, so the blonde opted for turning on his mixtape of piano recordings he had done while performing for his mother when he had finally managed to see her during his senior year of university. The visit had been brief as word traveled to his grandmother fast, but Tamaki managed to give his mother enough of his personal savings to relocate herself to a small studio apartment in the city of Paris, disguised under a fake name so she was able to start a new life completely covered by her adoring son.

A smile crossed his cheeks. It was experience indescribable by mere words or emotions. Seeing the sparkling tears in his mother's surprised eyes as she opened the large white doors to see her son was a moment too beautiful to be described. It had changed his whole perspective on life. The little grudge he held towards his family was forgiven finally.

He had hoped that Kyoya could have a breakthrough with his family just as he had. However, the Ootori son outright refused to fix the distance within his family structure. It was heartbreaking to watch.

They hadn't even been there the night Haruhi was taken into the Intensive Care Unit at their very own Ootori Medical Center near Kyoto. But Tamaki, who had been miles away, was the first person to be there after Kyoya himself.

The sobs of teary-eyed groups of family came into Tamaki's vision as he pushed open the heavy doors of the Intensive Care Unit. He looked quickly around, searching for someone to ask directions for when a tiny greeting area came into his line of vision. The blonde dashed to the counter, "I'm looking for an Ootori, Haruhi!" Out of breath, he sucked in shallow breaths to regain a sense of feeling in his feet and hands.

The nurse looked up at him flustered. "O-One moment please." He drummed his spindly fingers in an impatient rhythm as she typed about on her keyboard. She spun around, grabbing a post-it note where she wrote the numbers: A16—Critical Care. Turning back to him, she tried to flash a comforting smile. "Here you go. Take the corridor to your right and remember to always keep your visitors pass on your persons in case of emergency. Thank you, and I hope the best for you and your loved one."

Tamaki gave a curt nod, snatching the pink note out of her chubby hands. He dashed at a steady pace down the hall, reading every sign he passed, heart pounding like a metronome against his ribs. Finally finding the room, he took a second to catch his breath before knocking gently on the door.

Letting himself in, Tamaki bowed his head respectfully when he made eye contact with his friend. Kyoya was stretched out in a chair, hair messy and face pale in grief. Without thinking twice, he slipped his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, and walked to his friend's side. "Oh, Kyoya…"

"Tamaki. You came." Kyoya stood, wrapping his arms around his best friend's body. Tamaki pat his dear friend on the pack, whispering reassuring words into his ear.

They parted, both falling into a comfortable silence. Tamaki took the moment to look over to the girl laying beneath the thick white blanket, tubes going down both her throat and nostrils, skin wrapped in bandage. The sight made his stomach flop, nausea settling over him. "Jesus Christ… look at her." He took in a sharp breath. Somewhere inside him he wanted to move closer to her, maybe touch her hands and somehow repair her; somehow take away the pain and burns so she wouldn't have to deal with it. Tamaki spoke quietly, "How is she doing?"

Kyoya slumped back into his chair, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands, "They don't know yet. They've tried to get her to breathe on her own, but they say there's too much damage." There was a pause as the reality sunk in. Without saying anything to each other, they both were forced to realize the seriousness of the situation: Haruhi had suffered extreme degrees of burning and had inhaled large quantities of smoke to the point of damaging her lungs permanently. The chances of her surviving were slim to none.

Tamaki wordlessly slipped into the other empty chair beside his friend, his eyes never leaving Haruhi's fragile body. There was nothing he could conjure up in his mind to say to comfort Kyoya, he realized. It was tragic and unexpected. It was an accident. It was awful.

A nurse came in then, holding a clipboard in his calloused hands. He cleared his throat, a grim look in his eyes as he addressed them, "The doctor will be in shortly to give his final prognosis. Is there anything I can get either of you?"

Both men shook their heads. They didn't notice when the nurse crept back out of the room, making sure to quietly shut the door behind him. Kyoya gave a huff of air, springing out of his seat. Tamaki lowered his gaze as his friend began to rant, "I've dedicated so much time into this hospital; into these establishments. Now they're basically telling me that medical technology is failing me."

"They didn't say anything bad was going to—"

"Tamaki." The serious tone in Kyoya's voice stopped him immediately. He grew quiet once more, shifting his chair uncomfortably as Kyoya began again. "She's not going to make it, Tamaki. Her lungs will never support themselves without machine help."

"Then keep her on machines!"

"Haruhi would never have wanted that…"

"Well how do you know that?!"

"Because I asked!" Kyoya snapped, glaring at the blonde, poison in his voice as he spoke, "Because she was my wife! I made sure to take the precautionary action of planning for these circumstances which required a conversation."

Tamaki rolled his eyes, "But still! There must be something."

"There is nothing," he finished simply, shaking his head. The blonde could see the internal conflict knitted tightly into Kyoya's grief-stricken expression. He softened his face. There was no point arguing. His lovely, sweet angel—his gentle little daughter whom he had watched over until the end—was dying.

"This is my fault." Tamaki snapped his head in Kyoya's direction in disbelief. He couldn't mean that, could he? "I never told any of you this… but Haruhi and I's relationship… was failing. We were separated, seeking a divorce for the last few weeks." Shocked, all Tamaki could do was stare at his friend. "We had a falling out of some sort…"

The guilt was written in the darkened eyes. The blonde was almost too scared to ask for further detail. "What… what do you mean, Kyoya? What happened?"

Kyoya's hands tightened into fists. He bowed his head, hiding his eyes behind his locks. "We got into a fight. Because I worked too much. And… And I just got so, so mad." His voice tightened as he continued, "I-I did something I shouldn't have. Out of pure rage."

Series of questions spun in Tamaki's head by that point, some that would remained unanswered as a man dressed in a long white coat entered the room. Kyoya looked up at him. It wasn't hard to see the man was on the brink of tears. "Sorry to interrupt you men in the middle of such a serious conversation, but I'm Dr. Hishui. I've been the doctor in charge of your wife's wellbeing."

"It's nice to meet you, yet regrettably under such a grave circumstances." His neutral Ootori expression wiped away the last traces of sadness on his face. "What is the news?"

Hishui glanced over the chart in his hands, focusing hard on the test results before clearing his throat. "It seems there's been a significant amount of damage done to your wife's respiratory system, Mr. Ootori. I'm afraid the damage is too much for any surgeries. I'm sorry, but Mrs. Ootori will not survive off the support of machines."

Tamaki couldn't mask the horror on his face. His lips trembled as tears accumulated in the corners of his eyes. "And you're sure there's nothing you can do?"

A very slow shake of the head was only answer he received. The blonde sank into the chair, hiding his face with his hands. He began to shudder, horrified as the sobs built themselves up until they filled the silence in the room. All those days chasing her around the Host club, playfully arguing over the dresses she refused to wear. The look in her eyes when she finally graduated with honors from both high school and university. The tears that sprinkled her cheeks as she kissed her newlywed husband as they danced underneath the stars on the beach. All of it gone in an instant, ripped away from him in a mere few hours, leaving him with only memories. His heart clenched within his chest.

Kyoya finally spoke, "She would not request that. A copy of her living will is in the hospital's database."

"I see. I will have to check and confirm this, but considering your position in the hospital, I'm sure the preparations will not take long to come through. I will leave you both to say your goodbyes. Again, I extend my condolences to the both of you and wish you both the best of luck." He excused himself from the room, leaving the pair to their final moments.

Tamaki wiped the tears from his eyes, sucking in deep breaths as the last of his sobs passed. "And Ranka…"

"I've already prepared him for this diagnosis. He couldn't bring himself to come to the hospital. I will pay him a visit soon to make the necessary preparations." Kyoya stood then, dragging himself out the bed to stand beside his wife's frail body. Tamaki closed his eyes and pushed himself to stand beside his best friend. When he opened eyes, all he could see was the tiny smile she used to give him in their happier times. His eyes welled with tears.

Kyoya leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead, nose, cheeks and then lips. "I… never got a chance to say all the things I wanted to say. Haruhi, I love you. I love you… I…" Tamaki heard his best friend struggling to breathe then. His hand brushed against his, the two quietly intertwining, never speaking further.

They stayed like this until the doctors came back in, ready to take the life away.

Tamaki looked up, Kyoya's apartment coming into view. Thankfully, the area was clear of bystanders who would recognize either of them. He turned to his best friend, gently giving the body a nudge, "Eh, Kyoya, you're home."

Kyoya simply mumbled under his breath and shifted away from his hands. Frowning, the blonde tried again with little success to wake the man and opted for dragging him into the apartment, careful not to bump into anything. He maneuvered his hands through Kyoya's pockets until he found keys to open the door.

The lights were off, but the stench smacked him hard in the face, a mixture of waste and stale beer. He crinkled his nose in disgust but said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself as he carried his drunken friend to the couch. To his surprise, the room was in dismay—boxed food and wrappers covered the floor, bags of trash were stashed in various corners (maybe an attempt to clean up?). Easing Kyoya to the couch, Tamaki laid him down and turned his head to the side, just in case he had to throw up.

Tamaki looked around, eyebrows knitted, nibbling worriedly on his bottom lip. The condition was far worse than he could have imagined. He noticed in that second the bottles of empty liquor surrounding his feet, kicking some out of his way as he crossed the room to the kitchen.

It looked like it hadn't been touched in weeks, the counters filled with dirty dishes. The floor was sticky beneath his shoes. The trash was filled to the brim and smelled of mold and rotten milk. He didn't even want to look and check the refrigerator.

He stood there in awe for a moment, soaking in the details of the room before turning around to glance at his friend. Kyoya's mouth was open, but he was breathing, knocked out with his arms resting on his chest. Turning back around, he wondered where the maids had gone and if anyone had even been here at all. The mess was too much to be only a few days.

It was clear someone needed to step in and intervene. They had all assumed Kyoya would be able to handle the situation as he would in the past, back in the days were much more simple.

Sighing, he rolled up his sleeves. It would be a long day, but Kyoya would be thanking him later for it.

The pain in his head hit him first, smacking him in throbbing waves. A groan snaked past his lips, hand moving to stroke his face. His body was punishing him harshly this time. Kyoya rubbed his face and shifted up into a sitting position, eyes clenched in pain.

The light hurt his eyes so he squinted as he waddled into the bathroom. He undressed in silence, flipping the shower on to a slightly warm temperature and hopped in. The water ran over his water, wetting his hair and wiping away the sweat and smell of alcohol on him. He scrubbed himself with a rag cloaked in soap and then washed his hair.

He took a second to let his mind clear a little, breathing in deeply through his nose. After a second, he reluctantly shut the water off. At least the headache had numbed itself slightly. He wrapped himself in a towel, walking over to stare at his reflection in the mirror. His face looked tired, a sluggishness in his eyes and permanent frown on his lips.

Kyoya stared hard at the man he'd become. The days had been rough. It started immediately after she was buried. He'd found himself in dive bars where he couldn't be recognized, throwing his cash into drinks. No companions. No friends. He often turned his phone off. But at least then he could at least pull himself together for work.

But the nightmares soon came and he could barely function. Kyoya withdrew from everything, ditching work for weeks at a time until he was forced to take temporary leave due to "medical need", leaving him to lie in the filth that had accumulated. He had no urge to clean anything or even cook. The only time he left the house to visit the liquor store to buy cigarettes and a bottle of scotch. It was a sad life, but he lived it without a care. He knew it wasn't normal, that he probably needed to seriously seek mental help but what was the point?

All Kyoya wanted was to be dead.

The first time he put the gun to his head, it was only to see if he could. He'd acquired it shortly after firing the rest of the help, when he decided to see if he could. The rush he got from it was indescribable. It was the only time he cried. Other times he was too intoxicated to even feel anything.

Lately, suicide had crossed his mind a lot lately. A reserve within him still remained somewhere that stopped him each time he touched his gun, but he did it a lot. Sometimes three or four times a night. He'd hold it there, clad only in boxers. The darkness cloaked him, the moonlight his only means of luminance.

Tears would usually be pouring from his face, jaw clenched and hands trembling in confusion. His mind would wander to Haruhi then. He missed her so much. Her death was really rough on him. The nightmares of her screaming out to him, begging him for help from the fire slowly moving to swallow. And he'd run, but he wouldn't move and she only got farther away. Kyoya never permitted himself to think of her any other time. Not unless it was a rough day when he'd punch the walls or scream at nothing but himself.

Because it was all his fault.

Kyoya opened the cabinet above the sink, grey eyes searching for the aspirin. Finding it, he acquired four and closed the mirror once more. He turned on the sink and put a cupped hand beneath the water, quickly popping the pills into his throat and swallowing the tiny water in second.

Satisfied that he'd done his best, Kyoya walked back out in the living room and paused for a second. Things looked different. He looked around, taking in the room completely and was shocked to find that it had been cleaned from head to toe. There were no traces of trash or dirty laundry anywhere.

He stopped to think for a moment. His memories were returning to him slowly. The visit to the gravesite… his heart sunk in realization. He'd shown up drunk and then passed out. Someone must have brought him home. Someone must have seen.

Sucking in breath through his teeth, Kyoya walked into the kitchen to find it also cleaned and smelled of bleach. He looked out at the setting sun in the sky, the brilliant orange watering down to a shy yellow. The sky was beautiful. He heard movement from the door directly across from him. A soft voice was talking to someone and he couldn't recognize the voice.

Kyoya tip-toed to the door, readjusted his towel and opened the door.

Tamaki was laying on his head, phone pressed to his ear and had jumped up in panic when he'd heard the door open. Grey met blue, both men staring at the other in absolute silence. Tamaki's jaw dropped and he quickly said something into the phone, tossing it to the side. "…Hey," he said calmly, regaining his composure, "how are you feeling?"

"Like shit, but I'm good." The black-haired man paused for a second, not sure where to begin or what to say next. Luckily, Tamaki saved him with a worried sigh.

His voice was calm, slightly strained, "You should have told me you needed help."

Taken back, the Ootori furrowed his eyebrows, "Who said I needed help?"

"Are you being serious right or are you just trying to be funny?"

"I wasn't under the impression I was trying to be anything but honest."

They stared at each other in frustration for a moment before the blonde shook his head and began again. "You need to get help. Seriously. This situation you're trying to make work isn't working."

Kyoya was dumbstruck by how bold Tamaki was being. He was usually quite passive when it came to serious conversations. He crossed his arms, "I don't need a lecture from you. Or from anyone for that matter. Thanks for the help, but I'm really okay."

"Really? Your house was filthy! I had to scrub everything, carry bags upon bags up and down to the outside to get rid of all the junk you've let build! I had to carry your drunk ass up the fucking stairs into your apartment!" Tamaki was standing up now, shaking slightly, voice building as he carried on. "And you know what? I'm really disappointed in you. I thought you of all people would be able to figure out when they've developed an alcohol dependency! You're being a coward—"

"I am no coward," he growled, balling his hands into fists, "And you don't have the right to talk shit when I had to escort you home from many, many nights of too much fun."

"That's completely different and you fucking know it. You're a drunk!"

"And you're an idiot but if we're stating the obvious, this will get ugly."

Tamaki stepped towards him, but Kyoya reacted faster, recoiling his fist and threw his arm until it collided with the blonde's jaw, stopping him in his tracks. He barely had time to dodge an elbow to the chin and tackled the man unto his bed and attempted to pin him. However, Tamaki hooked a leg onto him and quickly regained control, flipping Kyoya onto his back before hitting him squarely in the face. Avoiding the oncoming arms, the blonde pinned them down and looked into the angry, glaring eyes of his dearest friend.

Kyoya struggled for a few moments before tiring out. They looked each other in the eyes for a moment. He felt himself calming, sinking into the bed a little, eyes never leaving Tamaki's.

"You know I love you dearly," Tamaki said as he veiled his eyes with some of his blonde locks, "and I only want the best for you. I'm not trying to hurt you, Kyoya. I'm trying to wake you up so you can see that something is seriously fucking wrong here."

Silence followed, a pregnant pause between them both as Kyoya let his words sink in. He felt his eyes slip closed, swallowing in a deep breath before speaking again, "I… know. I know."

He indicated gently he wanted to move, waiting patiently for Tamaki to move before sitting up, throwing his legs off the edge of his bed. Face buried in his hands, there was a moment where he felt totally unprepared for anything that could come from Tamaki's lips.

The response he got was calming, "I'm sorry. I should have tried to ease into this a little more gently. I'm just… really freaked out seeing you like this. You're not this person. You don't act like this."

"I'm not sure when things got out of hand…" Kyoya cleared his throat, and turned to look at Tamaki with a frown stretching his lips down. The blonde was staring off into space, probably deep in thought, maybe replaying memories in his mind.

"Tell me, what brought you here? Is it her death?"

He shook his head, "Not just that."

"Then what?" Kyoya shifted on the bed uncomfortably. It wasn't every day that he shared his feelings; not even to his closest friend. He was always taught to shove his feelings into the back his mind; to swallow his emotions for the sake of his fragile pride built up by reputation and expectations. If he never would have been a part of the Host Club, he'd never known how to appreciate his natural feelings.

"The guilt." His lips moved before his brain attached itself to it's to his mouth. He must have been speaking from a deeper level that he'd never explored. "I… I blame myself every day for what happened. She was such a rare beauty and I was so blind of it until she was yanked from me. And it never would have happened if we hadn't separated. She'd be alive if I hadn't hurt her the way I did. I tried to tell you before—I fucked up really bad."

"You've never quite explained what you meant by that. What did you do, Kyoya?"

"I abandoned her selfishly, focusing on work and trying to make a name for myself so much that I forgot to focus on her, too. One night I came home and she blew up at me, screaming and I… fucking exploded."

Tamaki scrunched his face in confusion, "Exploded? Did you say something stupid?"

He shook his head furiously. "Worse. I hit her. I hurt her so bad and then… I choked her. I don't remember much it. I could just remember small details based on bruises. But she was gone by the next morning. I tried to apologize. I gave her space. I did everything to try and win her back, but I didn't have much will power to change her mind. What I did was inexcusable. I hate myself every day, avoid my reflection even, because all I see is the disgusting man I was in that moment. The night of the fire… she was coming home to surprise me because she decided to give me a second chance. She's gone because I was an idiot. And I live with this guilt every single fucking day."

Kyoya inhaled sharply, eyes burning as they grew moist. He blinked a few times before decidedly closing them. But he was being forced to talk about something he had ignored for months, pushed to the side to be forgotten, and was overcome with an intense sensation of anxiety building in his chest;

Because things would never be the same. The image he had tried to uphold was destroyed in a single instance, by a simple moment of truth, abandoning the masks and standing exposed for the world to see. He felt the hot tears on his cheeks but cried in silence.

He felt the bed sink beside him and a shy arm crept around him, pulling him in close. Kyoya opened his eyes and looked over into Tamaki's. A serious look was on his face. For a moment, the Ootori feared what his friend was going to say. What was next? This is the part where everyone blows up, smacking him down to the ground and letting Hell break loose. And yet—here Tamaki was, holding him and staring with an almost blank face.

"It's still not your fault," he whispered, squeezing Kyoya's shoulder a little and laying is cheek on his shoulder. "You did something really stupid, but who hasn't? Yes, you made a huge, maybe terrifying mistake but you are not that man, Kyoya. You are not your father."

Chills erupted through him, shudders passing in quick waves. Memories flooded him, of his parents arguing for hours and watching his mother be smacked to the ground, wordless. Tamaki felt him tense up and gave a reassuring squeeze, "You've beaten yourself up long enough. It's okay. It's time to heal. I'm here for you."

Their conversation ended there, their breathing synchronizing into a tranquil, almost meditative hum with Kyoya's cheek resting on Tamaki's chest with an arm wrapped around him. He let himself be comforted, kicking down the rest of the walls, sobbing openly to end the silence.

But Tamaki never moved an inch, quiet and still, warming his friend. They both could feel themselves nodding off, their eyes drooping with yawns escaping their lips. Realizing how tired they were, Tamaki pulled off his shirt and dress pants, tucking himself beneath the blankets as Kyoya sneakily slipped on briefs and pajama pants.

It would be their secret. The two slept in the same bed that night, something they hadn't done since middle school. The blonde kept his arm wrapped loosely around his friend. Kyoya inched away a little but still felt comforted by his presence. He let himself fall into a deep sleep, unaffected by the traumatic experiences of the last few months; far away from his nightmares.