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Chapter Text

Unlike her relationship with the other members of the host club, who wormed their way into Haruhi’s life and heart with dizzying speed (in spite of the way they also drove her mad), Haruhi’s friendship with Kyoya was slow-forming. 

At first, the third Ootori son had lived up to his reputation as cold and calculating. The teen was aloof at the best of times and condescending or downright terrifying at the worst of times. Between his frosty exterior and his habit of adding on to Haruhi’s debt, doubling or tripling it seemingly on a whim, it had taken some time for Haruhi to see past the Shadow King’s exterior and recognize that Kyoya was more human than he let on. 

The first time she had seen something unexpected in Kyoya was when he began throwing exasperated looks at her over Tamaki’s shoulder one day. Tamaki had been trying to convince Kyoya to give his latest over-the-top scheme a chance (which involved several thousand pounds of Belgian chocolate and a live ostrich), and the blonde was following Kyoya through the room and shouting wildly. (Something about creative liberties and the ‘glory of exotic creatures’ that she had been too annoyed to pay proper attention to.) Since their club activities had ended a while ago, Haruhi had been doing classwork at one of the tables. She looked up from her work, intending to scold the blonde for being so loud while she was studying, when Kyoya caught Haruhi’s attention and rolled his eyes at her. She returned the gesture automatically, but was startled once she absorbed the interaction.

Usually, every move Kyoya made was a calculated one, including his facial expressions, so to see Kyoya making casual faces at her over the blonde’s head was strange at first. Even more surprising was how natural the gesture had felt, as if they were really just friends complaining together, instead of the strange partnership Haruhi’s debt had forced her into. 

For a moment, Haruhi had been genuinely afraid that he was plotting something against her, or trying to catch her off-guard. However, as days passed and nothing terrible happened to her, Haruhi began to consider that Kyoya was actually being genuine for once. Eventually, she relaxed, and soon it became a habit for them to look at each other first whenever the other hosts did something outrageous, (which meant that they were looking at each other constantly on most days.) Haruhi didn’t take this for granted, she knew that these casual interactions meant that she had joined the very small circle of people privy to the dark-haired boy’s true moods, and as much as the Shadow King irritated her sometimes, in a way she was kind of touched. 

It wasn’t long before the looks became part of a bigger routine for both of them, dry humor accompanying the action as the pair bonded over their more sensible nature in the face of the rest of the host club’s dramatics. They were unspoken allies against the crazier antics of the twins, Tamaki, and occasionally Honey (though Mori could usually handle him without assistance); and Haruhi began to look to Kyoya for solace amidst the chaos of hosting. (Which in her mind just showed how absolutely bonkers the rest of the club members were. Only in a place like this would anyone go to Kyoya for comfort.)

Haruhi never expected to have something in common with the dark-haired host, but as she began to spend more time around him, and their relationship progressed from looks to casual conversation, she recognized another familiar trait. It wasn’t often that Kyoya talked about his ambition to surpass his brothers, but Haruhi had seen the glint in his eye enough times to recognize it as the same one she had when she talked about becoming a lawyer. It was a look that spoke of steel and conviction. Of the drive to succeed at all costs. She respected him for it, and this became another thing the two shared. 

Then had come the beach trip, and if she hadn’t already realized all of the other hosts' protectiveness over her before then, well their reactions to her confrontation with the men and her fall off the cliff had certainty been an eye opening experience. Between the twins' anger and Tamaki’s hovering she hadn’t known whether to be grateful, or to drown them in the ocean for being overbearing.

Most surprising however, had been Kyoya’s reaction. Haruhi recalled the way he had tried to make her uncomfortable, the dim lighting as he hovered over her on the bed. His proposition ‘Pay me back with your body.’

He had done his best to offend her, but Haruhi felt no fear when she looked at him. Despite the circumstances, a part of her knew that he would not touch her, would not hurt her in any way. The feeling ran deep, deeper than she could explain. She had told him as much, and after a moment, he had let her go. She had been right of course, but afterwards she brushed it off as good instinct and nothing more. 

She had always had a talent for reading people, hence why she could tell Hikaru and Karou apart when no one else could, but this felt different somehow. More basic, like a fact she had always known but forgotten. The conviction ran strong even after the incident, but as time passed she did her best to put it out of her mind. 

Her trip to the mall with the grumpy teen over vacation had proved both her theories about him right. Kyoya was shrewd, but he was also capable of kindness. It seemed obvious now, that there was more to him than the cold front he first displayed. How could she have once only thought of him as cold? Try as he might to hide it, Kyoya had a good heart. 

In spite of the trust the pair had built, Haruhi had never dreamt that their relationship could extend beyond grudging friendship, which is why the Ouran School Fair took her by surprise. 

Chapter Text

After a few months at Ouran, Haruhi felt it was safe to say that she’d expected the School Fair to be a grand event, (and by grand she meant lavish and over-the-top, at least as far as the Host Club would be concerned.) True to form, Tamaki had instructed Kyoya to spare no expense in planning the event, and though Haruhi was relieved that they seemed to have taken a more subtle approach (as opposed to full cosplay or something equally elaborate), today’s festivities still reflected the desire to impress. 

Music room number three was even more crowded than usual, and the faint smell of roses seemed to hang in the air as the other hosts refilled glasses and greeted new guests with enchanting smiles, melting the hearts of female patrons with practiced ease. Trays of sweets and beautifully crafted tea sets adorned every table and the chatter of guests filled the room. A few gambling games had even been set up by Kyoya to score some extra cash, and to win over some of the fathers whose attention may otherwise have expired too soon, and so far everything was going according to plan.

Judging by the excited squealing that broke out from the gossiping women every few minutes and the swell of noise coming from the gambling table, the event was going to go off without a hitch. Haruhi allowed herself a smile at the thought before returning her gaze to the school’s chairman —Tamaki’s father— who sat beside her on one of the red couches that bordered the club’s fountain. Haruhi made polite small talk with the older man, who offered her a rose and grabbed her hand as his son grew more and more frantic in the background. 

From behind the couch, Haruhi heard a sudden splash, and she turned to see Tamaki dripping wet with an expression of utter indignation on his face. She tuned out his words of protest in favor of looking the teen up and down in surprise.

Haruhi was about to interrupt Tamaki’s sudden tirade to ask how the blonde had managed to fall in the fountain when the sound of a slap echoed from across the music room and Haruhi felt pain bloom hot and sharp across her cheek. Startled, she did her best to stifle a gasp as her skin stung. Haruhi turned to the sound of the noise, only just stopping herself from lifting a hand to her face to inspect for injury. 

If the pain had alarmed her, the scene in the middle of the room was much worse. An older man stood over Kyoya with his arm outstretched while the dark-haired teen bent to retrieve his glasses from the floor. It took only a glance to realize what had happened. 

The man had hit him.

“Kyoya-senpai,” Haruhi spoke without thinking, all thoughts of herself temporarily forgotten. A few women let out muffled gasps, and the chatter in the room halted as the guests absorbed the spectacle. Haruhi and the other hosts rose from their seats, gravitating towards each other on instinct at the sight.

“That’s kyo-chan’s father isn’t it?” Honey asked.

“Yes,” Mori replied from beside the shorter boy. 

His father? Haruhi thought with surprise. She looked at the older man and sure enough, the resemblance was easy to see. The man, Mr. Ootori, had the same dark hair and glasses, though his face was more wrinkled and somehow seemed crueler than his son’s even from a distance. 

“Is this how my son has been wasting his time?” the older Ootori spoke coldly, heedless of the attention his actions had attracted from the crowd. “You are an embarrassment to the Ootori name.”

Faced with the eyes of the entire club on him, Kyoya remained silent as he put his glasses back on and rose to his feet. His expression was carefully composed as he adjusted the frames on his face, one cheek glaringly red from the impact of the blow. Haruhi raised a hand to her own cheek, where the sudden wave of pain was ebbing quickly away as soon as it had appeared. Her eyes widened as she absorbed what that meant. 

The pain wasn’t hers. It was his.

Shock washed over her at the revelation as she watched Mr. Ootori walk away from his son without so much as a second glance, stopping in front of Tamaki’s father. The pair seemed to discuss something, but the exchange was too quiet for Haruhi to hear as she and the other hosts walked past them to join Kyoya in the center of the room.

Tamaki was the first to break the silence, concern plain on his face. He was their leader even in this, and he knew Kyoya best. The blonde spoke softly and with care.

“Kyoya, are you alright?” 

“Your dad is so mean,” Hikaru said, clutching his twins hands for reassurance.

“You should never ever hit someone who’s wearing glasses,” Honey chimed in. 

“I don’t think it’s really about that,” Kaoru said. 

Meanwhile, Haruhi struggled to take in Kyoya’s unreadable expression. What was he thinking? Was there any way he could know what had just happened? She let her hand drop quickly from her cheek to her side, hoping that no one had noticed the action. 

“Senpai he wasn’t upset with you cause of the host club, was he?” Haruhi asked, then winced, wishing she hadn’t spoken. The last thing she needed was for him to look at her and see the conflict on her face. Kyoya was too perceptive, he would know that something was wrong. She heard Tamaki gasp beside her at her words before Kyoya brushed past both of them.

Without looking back the teen replied “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I haven’t been expecting this.”

She vaguely registered the dark-haired boy waving off the other host’s concerns before walking to another area of the music room. Meanwhile, Haruhi was reeling.

I felt Kyoya’s pain, she thought, stunned.

Haruhi tried desperately to remember what she could about pain-related soul bonds. Though her dad had gushed about soulmates all the time growing up, the girl was hard-pressed to remember the details. It had never felt like it would matter before. Most kids at least had some sign of their soulmate by high school, and her lack of symptoms had all but convinced the girl that she didn’t have a soulmate at all. It had never bothered her before, so this sudden revelation blindsided her.

I have a soulmate. And not just any soulmate, Kyoya Ootori. The shadow king of Ouran Highschool. 

How is this possible? she thought to herself. There was no chance Kyoya-senpai was her soulmate. 

And yet, there was no denying it. No mistaking the earlier stinging of her cheek, the way it matched the timing of Kyoya’s incident perfectly. Her breath stuttered and she forced herself to relax. Haruhi was supposed to be hosting after all, there was no need to involve any of the guests (or the other hosts for that matter) in her personal crisis.

From the side of the room a girl called Haruhi’s name. “Coming,” she replied as she joined the group. Though the other hosts had never explicitly discussed what to do in the event of drama like what had just happened between Kyoya and his father, Haruhi figured some damage control was in order. She would have to be extra charming, to leave the ladies with a good impression after what they saw. The brunette set her jaw and fixed an easy smile on her face, determined to contain her turbulent thoughts.“Thank you all so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit us today,” she told them. 

For now, sorting out what had happened, and how she felt about it would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Haruhi slumped against her front door, letting her bag drop beside her as she rubbed at her already-forming tension headache. 

For once, the teen was glad that her dad was working late, grateful for the privacy to process the thoughts swirling in her head without his well-meaning hovering. She wasn’t very good at talking about her feelings, and telling her dad that she had found her soulmate was a conversation she simply did not have the energy for. 

Holy crap, I really have a soulmate, she thought. What on Earth do I do now? The girl slid to the floor and placed her head in her hands with a groan.

Absently, she thought to herself that she should get up and start making dinner before her dad returned, but Haruhi knew that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the task at hand. 

Instead, Haruhi traced her cheek with the tips of her fingers, though the pain had long receded. A part of her wondered if she could have imagined the whole thing, but the memory of stinging skin was still too fresh for her to ignore.

Denial won’t get me anywhere. I have to think about this objectively, like a lawyer would, the girl decided.

Like my mom would have if she was here, Haruhi found herself thinking, the familiar ache surfacing like a forgotten wound. Childishly, she longed to ask for her advice, but instead Haruhi settled for gritting her teeth and walking through the details in her head, trying to make sense of the last few hours. 

Kyoya was hurt, and I felt it. 

The case was pretty open and shut, even for Haruhi’s sceptical brain. Even as she tried to think of any other possibilities, deep down she couldn’t deny the tug in her gut when she had seen Kyoya right after her cheek lit up with pain. Like it or not, something had clicked in her chest, a shifting like a puzzle piece had fallen into place. 

Did it feel that way for him too? Haruhi couldn’t help but wonder. Did he have any idea what had happened to her, or had he been too focused on the spectacle his father had made to notice how closed off Haruhi’s expression had been afterwards?

The more she thought about it, the more pieces started to fall into place. How certain she had been that Kyoya would not harm her during the beach trip, even though most girls would’ve been frantic at the threat of violation (the ones who weren’t hopelessly entranced by Kyoya at the club anyway.) How she had known somehow that he was kinder than he let on at the mall. How her blood had boiled when Kyoya’s father had hit him, and at how coldly the man had spoken to his son.

Haruhi clenched her hands at her sides as she thought about the incident again. Never in her life had her own father hit her, and the fact that Mr. Ootori had done it so publicly made something in Haruhi’s chest twist sharply on Kyoya’s behalf. He was trying to humiliate his son on purpose, she knew, and hated that fact. That cold cunningness explained a lot about why Kyoya felt the need to put up a wall of ice between himself and others. If his father was always so critical, always testing him, it was a small wonder that the good in Kyoya had not already been snuffed out. 

She remembered the blank look on his face, and the way he had said “I’ve been expecting this,” and wished, suddenly, for a way to remove the weariness from his shoulders. She wondered, would he ever be willing to let her bear some of the burden? The thought startled her. It was unfamiliar, but she couldn’t deny that the thought felt natural, right even. She wanted Kyoya to be happy, she realized. 

Haruhi wished that she knew whether he was aware of how much her world had shifted as a result of that one slap. How that one touch had sent her spiraling through her memories of him, every touch, every look, until it had cemented what she must have known deep down all along: He was special to her.

Losing him was going to hurt like crazy. (And lose him she would, after tomorrow.) She saw no point in burdening him with the knowledge of their soul bond on the same day that his best friend (not that Kyoya would admit it to Tamaki) would be leaving for France, and after that he would likely drift away from her, and her from him. The club had kept their group together up to this point, but Haruhi and Kyoya’s paths would surely veer sharply away from each other- her to law school and him towards his ambitions to be the Ootori heir, once it was over. 

She wouldn’t be the one to disrupt those plans, not when she barely understood her own emotions and Kyoya’s felt remote and unreachable in turn. 

Her fingers itched, irrationally, to call the other hosts and talk, but she held back, not ready to have to acknowledge that their time together was coming to a close. A few months ago Haruhi never would have dreamed of the hosts’ being anything more than a nuisance to her, but now the thought of music room number three being empty and unused made her throat feel choked with sadness. 

When she slept that night, it was fitfully, and when she awoke the first thing she thought of was Kyoya’s rare smiles, and how much she hadn’t realized she was going to miss them when the club was gone. 

Chapter Text

Kyoya was quietly at his wits end. The teen always prided himself on his efficiency, his cool control over every situation. He was meticulous to a fault, but no amount of planning could make him any less awake as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling.

The teen groaned and turned onto his side to look at the red numbers of his bedside clock, which read 2:30am just large enough for him to be able to make out without his glasses.

I’m going to need so much coffee for the Ouran Fair tomorrow, he thought. It was a suboptimal solution at best, but it was looking to be the only realistic one as the clock's numbers kept winding forward and sleep continued to evade him.

Without me at my best tomorrow, the whole fair is likely to go to pieces, Kyoya mentally eyerolled. With a sigh, the teen sat up in bed and slung his feet over the edge. Maybe a glass of water would settle him. At the very least, it would be better than staring blankly at his ceiling.

Kyoya wrapped himself in his blue house robe and padded quietly to the nearest kitchen, careful not to wake the night staff. Absently, he checked his phone for messages and felt a strange sense of wrongness when there were none. It took him a moment to place why. Usually Tamaki sent him upwards of 40 text messages every day, but today he had been silent, likely pre-occupied by Lady Eclair. Though most of Tamaki’s texts were more of his fanciful nonsense, Kyoya had come to think of them as just another routine part of life, and not having them was a foreign thing.

The baseline of anger that had been building up in him since Tamaki’s announcement at the end of today’s events spiked as he recalled the self-satisfied look on Lady Eclair’s face, and the remote, plastic look on Tamaki’s.

The person Kyoya had been before the host club cared nothing about wrong or right, only about how best he could work the system to get what he wanted. In a way, he had been just like Eclair. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof however, his time with Tamaki and the others had changed him. Now all he could think about was how unfair (childish, useless sentiment, part of him thought) the whole situation was.

Kyoya rubbed his hands furiously against his closed eyes, pressing until star patterns of pressure were all he could see. When his vision cleared (as much as possible without his glasses on), he reprimanded himself.

Emotion won’t help here, only a plan will, he told himself.

But Kyoya was at a loss for what to do.

Fact One: Kyoya laid out for himself, back leaned against the kitchen island counter, water glass forgotten. Tamaki loves the host club like a surrogate family. Leaving them would steal that from him.

Fact Two: Tamaki would do anything, anything for the people he loves. And he loves his mother.

It was a frustrating conundrum. Either way, Tamaki would lose something precious. And really, it was his choice, Kyoya couldn’t deny him his right to choose.

But oh how he wanted to intervene. A bitter feeling coiled itself around his chest like a snake, and Kyoya’s lips curled into a humorless smile at the irony.

How many times had he wished Tamaki would just disappear in the beginning?

Powerlessness was an emotion Kyoya knew well. Before Tamaki, Kyoya had resigned himself to being the third son of the Ootori house, doomed to never be able to surpass his brothers. Tamaki called him out on it, made him act on the ambition that had always laid dormant within him. He woke the Shadow King of Ouran up from his complacency, made him hungry to be more than anyone thought he could be. Now, Kyoya wasn't used to feeling powerless anymore, but in one day his father had hit and humiliated him in his own domain, and his friend was about to be taken away to a loveless marriage of obligation, Tamaki’s worst nightmare.

Confronted with his own powerlessness, frustration rolled over Kyoya’s psyche like a wave. The teen dropped gracelessly into a kitchen chair and stared emptily at the wall, trying to examine the problem from a new angle, to find some way forward.

So much time had passed by the time Kyoya came back to awareness, that the paint on the walls had gotten a few shades lighter as daybreak neared. Exhausted both mentally and physically, Kyoya heaved a sigh and got silently to his feet. Gathering his robe around him, Kyoya crept back to his room and fell into bed, determined to at least get a few hours rest before the day began.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to speak to Tamaki, Kyoya resolved himself.

As he attempted to drift off however, a new feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, tugging at the edge of his awareness.

You’re missing something, something important, a small voice in the back of his head said. Suddenly, a vision of Haruhi’s warm brown eyes flashed across Kyoya’s mind's eye, and his heart lurched with some unnamed unpleasantness, somewhere between guilt and confusion.

Why would I think of her now? Kyoya wondered. Some part of him knew that the thought was important, but trying to hold onto his consciousness was like trying to keep sand from running through an hourglass. The wave of tiredness crested in Kyoya’s head, taking all thoughts away with it, and Kyoya was asleep before he could examine his wandering mind any further.

Chapter Text

Haruhi had barely been able to look Kyoya in the eyes all morning. She was hyper-aware of his every movement, and yet every time his gaze fell upon her she busied herself with another task, another guest. At one point she nearly dropped the teapot she’d been pouring from, and wouldn’t that have been a disaster? The last thing she needed on top of the club disbanding and realizing who her soulmate was at the absolutely worst time was to have her debt added to at the last minute.

As much as she hadn’t wanted to be a part of the host club at first, the knowledge that today was the last day of the fair, the last day before Tamaki left, was a heavy weight in her chest. The pressure of the emotion almost made it hard to breathe. She threw herself into hosting nonetheless, because if today was to be their last the least she could do was her best. The teen fixed a thin smile on her face and set to work.

Maybe her distraction worked too well, because she barely noticed when Kyoya came to stand across from her at the table where she was adjusting the position of a centerpiece. She looked up to see him brush his dark hair out of his face, and her heart throbbed in a totally different way. She pressed her lips into a sharp line, and then did her best to relax her features.

He’s not yours, not really, she reminded herself. Nothing has changed.

“Working hard I see,” Kyoya said, “trying to pay off the last of your debt right up until the clock runs out. Very ambitious of you, considering your fee is still well into the triple digits.”

Despite herself, Haruhi grinned. Kyoya’s words seemed harsh to the outside observer, but she could see the faintest shadow of a smile on his lips. When they first met, she would have been deeply offended by such talk, but by now her debt was almost a running joke between them.

“Yeah, something like that. You know me, always looking for an angle.” Haruhi said as she began to set teacups down at each table setting. Kyoya smirked at that but then suddenly sat down at the table she was arranging, pinning her with a thoughtful look. When he spoke next he sounded serious.

“Thank you for all of your hard work Haruhi,” he said. “After today, we’ll consider your debt paid which means you’re free to quit the host club if you want.”

Haruhi’s eyes widened. All year she’d worked tirelessly to hear those words, and she should feel happy, lighter at finally achieving her goal. But instead, she felt unmoored. The kind gesture from the shadow king was a parting gift, and she dropped her gaze to her hands suddenly gripping the fabric of her slacks. In that moment, Haruhi realized that walking away from all of these boys she now considered friends would hurt. Haruhi pictured her future as a social hermit, someone who spent her days alone in the library studying, and felt preemptive loneliness seize her. She didn’t have time to dwell in this revelation though, because suddenly Mr. Ootori was making his way across the music room with purpose. Haruhi watched as Kyoya’s expression shuttered then morphed into measured disinterest as the older man stopped in front of their table.

“When they’re young many assume that they have all the time in the world but really, that is never the case,” Mr. Ootori said. His voice was cold and a touch condescending as he turned his head to meet his son’s eyes head on. “Don’t waste your time with something that will ultimately have no value.”

Kyoya seemed unperturbed but Haruhi felt her own face twist. Before she could stop herself, she was rising to her full height and glaring at the businessman. The way the man treated Kyoya made her blood boil. She felt a surge of protectiveness for him, a sort of tingling from her fingertips to her chest.

“You don’t know anything about the Host Club,” she said passionately. She watched a startled look flit across both Ootori men’s faces. Clearly, neither had expected her to intervene. “Kyoya-senpai works round the clock to make sure that everyone here is enjoying themselves, and did you ever stop to think that entertaining others might give each of us some fulfillment? How can you possibly say that what we do here is just a waste of our time?” Haruhi asked, pausing to collect herself before finishing. “I don’t care what you say, I think Kyoya-senpai is amazing,” she breathed.

Mr. Ootori blinked at her. She couldn’t read his expression, but she refused to be the first to look away. In the end, the man turned on his heel and walked away without another word. Only then did Haruhi stop glaring at him to inspect Kyoya. The teen’s expression was murky, but when he quickly grabbed one of her hands and squeezed it before letting go, she understood. Thank you, the gesture said. It was a surprise, given his usual distaste for physical contact, but it felt right.

Oh god, she thought to herself, how am I supposed to let him go now?