#man episode 8 screws up haruhi AND kyouyas characterization im just so glad fanfiction exists :)

[wishiwasntstillhere]

and when the world is crashing down on you, will you give me a call?

Kyouya makes a different decision, and does not end up threatening someone he cares about. 

Kyouya-centric for his birthday!! Episode 8 fixit fic, no ships but also im clearly in love with all three of them so :) also on ao3!

Haruhi bursts into his room and goes straight for the bathroom, never even seeing him. Heaving noises ensue from within. He winces. Too much crab, then. He lays the towel down, grabbing his glasses so he can stand, but-

Should he go check on her?

For the hundredth time, the waves crash against that jagged rock and Haruhi plunges silent into dark water. He blinks it away.

Instead, he sits, toweling his hair, and wonders at her. Will she be awkward once she realizes he’s just finished showering? Hmm. Probably not. Oblivious or indifferent, Kyouya can never tell which, but Haruhi never seems flustered by that kind of thing.

That thought should be intriguing, but today there's only a churning in his gut.

“All done?” Kyouya asks, once his bathroom door opens again. He doesn't look up.

“I’m sorry for intruding into the room of a stranger-"

“How rude. It’s me.”

"Kyouya-senpai? Oh. I’m sorry, I seem to have gotten everyone worried about me.”

He refuses to let it play again. Yet in crashes the sea, the fall, the silence of that terror. He just can't shake it.

And so, the Shadow King must act.

Kyouya glances past her to the lightswitch and draws up the words he needs.

“I wasn’t particularly worried.” He stands, then drinks out of his water bottle. Cool, casual. That’s the key to this ruse.

He lays out the bait, recounting Hikaru and Kaoru’s scuffle with her attackers. Pinning his focus on his destination across the room, he spins some nonsense about bouquets and apologies to the girls. Kyouya doesn’t look at her once, even as he positions himself for the catch. In a way, it’s hosting. A careful dance made to look careless, subtly guiding her to the right outcome.

“I’ll pay for those flowers myself,” Haruhi promises, of course.

And his timing is precise. In the exact moment he lays out her six-figure mistake, he flips the lights off, and finally, Kyouya can turn to face her.

Something about the ruffles on her dress sends cold water splashing frantic up his insides. He takes another breath. He reaches down, drawing up the calculated cruelty he needs. He doesn’t like playing the bad guy, but he is best equipped for it. And someone has to.

“Why did you turn the lights off?”

She’s stepped in the snare, the cold teeth of the trap must snap shut around her now. Now, or she’ll never see the danger as it should be.

But his eyes catch on her face, blurry in the dark but watching, open, patient—and the teeth don’t move. He doesn’t move.

“Senpai?”

She fidgets, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Surely she senses the strangeness in the air.

“Senpai, you’re starting to worry me,” she starts cautiously.

Is he? Is he finally? He can hardly breathe, only he knows this isn’t enough. He grasps for his plan, the words that will make things right-

“Senpai, I’m sorry about the expense. Please don’t worry about it, I really will pay it off,” she tries, and he knows that she really means it. She gives him a look, gentler than a smile, something surreal and infuriatingly comforting in her very Haruhi way, and he chokes.

“Why didn’t you call for help, Haruhi?” he asks, relieved that his voice comes out so indifferent.

Haruhi sighs. “So you were worried.”

A Kyouya with the lights on would fill this space with words, flooding it with hurtful meaningless things. As a member of the host club, you are but an asset to me at best, commoner. Don’t presume your own importance. You are obligated to stay out of trouble until your debt is paid, at least.

There are yet other things he could have said in light, things that would have been kinder, truer, and yet just as deceptive. You scared Tamaki. You drove the twins to violence for you. Don't you see how they worry for you?

But they’re in the dark, and Haruhi’s not dumb, and his hand is already shown. Kyouya has an infinite capacity for unkindnesses––but for once, he’s willing to admit that he doesn’t want to go through with this plan.

“Why didn’t you?” he repeats.

She cocks her head, answering frankly. “It didn’t occur to me.”

And the cold inside him wails.  

He clenches his jaw to keep from shouting at her, how completely unhelpful that would be. But still more iron leaches into his tone than intended.

“And just why didn’t it occur to you?”

Haruhi’s chin jerks, eyes sparking. Oh, no.

“Well, those guys weren’t listening, so I didn’t have time to worry about how my gender would impact things. I had to act.”

She’s not listening, and the water is growing more agitated. Careless. Disrespectful. She should be afraid, and he can make her fear him.

Stomach lurching, he holds that thought in place. No. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t want her to fear him.

This isn’t about Kyouya. It’s about Haruhi, and her safety.

How can he make her understand? How can he understand?

“I don’t disagree that something had to be done,” he starts. “Those girls were in real, immediate danger, and your intervention allowed Kurakano-kun to get the rest of the club to help. And Tamaki was being unreasonable by making the issue about your gender.”

Even this much is exhausting, so he sits down on the floor.

When she follows suit, her shoulders have settled a little from their taut hunch. Progress. He searches the dark and blurry bedroom for the next right words. But Haruhi finds them first.

“I know that rushing in to fight those guys was reckless,” she murmurs. “But the girls were scared. If I didn’t act, right away, they were going to be hurt.”

Kyouya pauses. She won’t like his next question. But he holds her gaze, intending to understand.

“Had you considered that you could get hurt, by intervening?”

Haruhi frowns. “After I hit the one, I knew they would focus on me. That was sort of the point, to get him to let go of Momoka-chan. But…” Her tone shifts into something more contemplative now. “I suppose I didn’t guard myself well, but how were my actions any different from Tamaki-senpai’s? He dove straight off the cliff to get to me, wasn’t that just as dangerous?”

She does have a point there. However good a swimmer he is, Tamaki had dived off the cliff without even looking. And yet...

True, Tamaki rushes into many reckless things to help others, but it’s never quite filled Kyouya with the same cold dread as Haruhi’s tumble off the cliff. And Tamaki has taken many a tumble. Kyouya would know, after all.

Ah.

“Haruhi, if you were robbed in a foreign country and you didn’t speak the language and you had nothing on you but your cellphone and 1000 yen, what would you do?”

She startles. “Huh? I would… search for the embassy, I guess?”

“And if you had no idea where the embassy was?”

“I would... try to find a map?”

Hmm.

“And if you got locked out of your home at 3 AM in the morning?”

“Senpai, what is this about?” Her confusion has shifted into mild irritation.

“Humor me,” he says, unsmiling.

She throws her hands up in resignation. “I would… wait until my dad got home.”

“And if he was on a business trip? Or if it was storming?”

“I would break in somehow.”

“And if someone at school was stealing your books and writing slurs on your desk?”

Rolling her eyes, she sighs out, “I would let the teacher know I needed new books, and clean off my desk before school. Senpai, this isn’t very funny.”

There’s a knock at his door. “Kyouya?” And it opens. “Do you have any lotion? This sunburn is worse than I-”

Tamaki freezes in the doorway. Kyouya can’t see the look on his face, but he hardly needs to, with the perfect replica hissing steam in his mind. He has approximately three seconds to derail this explosion. Luckily, he has just the thing to reroute the wildly careening train that is Tamaki’s mind.

“What are you-”

“Tamaki, after you got scammed and you were stranded on your own in Taiwan, what did you do?”

Tamaki blinks, recalibrating.

“Uh, I think I went to the embassy?”

“And how did you get to the embassy?”

“Hmm... Oh! I called you to ask for directions.” Walking over, he drops down to sit with them. His eyebrows are pinched––he wants to ask why, but still he lets Kyouya lead on.

“Yes. In the middle of an investor meeting,” he adds to a perplexed Haruhi. “And what about that time when you tried to climb from your window to the roof and fell out of your bedroom, when you were too embarrassed to call for a maid to come unlock your own house at 3 AM?”

“I… called you and stayed over at your place.”

Haruhi makes a face at that, which is fair. Nonetheless.

This last one is a little more delicate. He softens his voice, and inclines his head toward Haruhi by way of explanation. “And when you were bullied by our xenophobic peers in middle school?”

“Ah,” Tamaki says, realization smoothing his brow. “I told you about it. And you blackmailed them within an inch of their lives, of course.” He grins at the memory, at Kyouya. It’s easy to smirk back, warm and wicked in equal measure. That plan he has no regrets about.

Haruhi looks back and forth between them. He knows she’s still turning it over in her own mind. She is certainly smart enough to get it herself. But Kyouya decides anyway to take a page out of her book and be blunt, lest a mistranslation lead to regret later.

“The difference,” he explains, “is that whenever Tamaki is in trouble, he calls.”

They sit in silence for a while, Haruhi with her face downturned, Kyouya watching, patient. Considering both of them with his own discerning gaze, Tamaki settles, too.

“I’m just not like that, though,” Haruhi concludes, at last. Her voice is a touch wistful.

Tamaki is very, very gentle with his next words, Kyouya notices. “You grew up pretty lonely, didn’t you, Haruhi?  You had to deal with a lot on your own.”

She shrugs, though all three know it’s true. And then all at once, they’re thinking of mothers and childhoods lost, and the melancholy sets in heavily over them.

“You know, Kyouya grew up much the same,” he says.

Haruhi turns to look at a bewildered Kyouya, who pushes up his glasses on reflex. But Tamaki smiles, continuing.

“Yes, he’s someone I can always depend on. But he’s not very good at asking for help, either.”

Kyouya glowers at the sheer audacity, only to startle as they both look at him with eyes far too affectionate. He shifts in place and looks down instead.

“But he has the whole Host Club looking out for him. So that even though sometimes, he doesn’t ask out loud, we can see it. And we’ll help.”

Here’s a pause. Tamaki swallows, leans forward, and bows.

“Haruhi, I’m sorry I yelled. I was angry because I was scared. That was my own fault, and you have every right to be upset.”

She rocks a little in her seat. “I’m sorry, as well. I don’t want to worry you guys.”

An absurd feeling grows in Kyouya’s chest. Half mirth, half despair.

Because he realizes: he doesn’t want her to be sorry at all anymore. She shouldn’t have to be sorry, she did nothing wrong . She acted to help, because it was more important to her than any consequence.

And now it’s clear: Haruhi has somehow become someone he truly cares about. Like Tamaki. Haruhi is something precious. Completely an agent of her own, and so trusting, and so kind. She’s earnest. She’s inherently good. He just wants her to be safe.

And he will never have any control over that.

The hysteria swells, threatening the structural integrity of his ribcage. All of the understanding he’s earned still won’t stop the fear that’s been crashing through him this whole night. He chokes down the laughter bubbling up and in his sheer desperation, looks at Tamaki.

It takes only one moment for Tamaki to read Kyouya’s distress, and in the next, he’s grabbing his hand, squeezing tight. And then he extends one to Haruhi.

“Haruhi, you don’t ever have to face things alone again. Will you let us be there for you?”

Kyouya has no control over how hard he squeezes Tamaki’s hand as they wait. He watches Haruhi’s own hands curl on her lap.

"I won’t be very good at it.”

"We aren’t either,” he says. She huffs. “It’s about the trying. Together .”

When she looks up, he's ready. Her eyes are searching, so he makes sure his own gaze is steadfast. He almost missed ever having this opportunity, he's fully aware. He won't let her down again.

“Okay,” she whispers. And takes Tamaki’s hand.

Relief blooms tangibly in the air. Haruhi’s eyes crinkle at Tamaki's relieved laugh. She opens her mouth to say something else, and-

Thunder shatters the room. Haruhi squeaks, yanking on his hand and hunching.

“Haruhi?” Tamaki leans forward, but-

Lightning strikes again, closer this time, and Kyouya feels the thunder slam into his eardrums. Haruhi yelps, trembling violently. She looks around the room, spots his dresser, and stands.

“Sorry! I- I uh- have to go now!”

“Don’t hide in the dresser,” Kyouya says, then feels foolish. Where had that thought come from? Why would she-?

But then she actually starts climbing into his dresser, and he and Tamaki have to hold the doors open.

“What- why would-? Haruhi, are you afraid of thunder?”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, this is how I always get through it,” she stammers, curling up inside.

“Not anymore,” says Tamaki, fiercely, and pulls her out into a hug.

“We have an American-style basement. It should be soundproof there, and there won’t be any flashing. Let’s head down now,” Kyouya decides. She’s trembling, clutching hard at Tamaki.

“I can’t- I’m not going to make it.”

“Close your eyes and cover your ears. We’ll get you there safe,” promises the Host Club prince, holding her even tighter.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Somehow they make it, the three of them hobbling to the basement. And somehow, the others find them, and they play games and music until they're almost all asleep on the various couches.

Kyouya’s turned off the lights and is just throwing a blanket over the twins when he hears her.

He’d thought she was asleep when he’d passed to drape a blanket over her on her own couch. Maybe she’s sleep talking, or maybe she woke up again. Either way, he stills, hoping she won’t spot him.

“You guys are even nicer than I thought,” she murmurs to the dark room. “Thank you, Kyouya-senpai.”

Despite himself, he smiles.