TITLE: Wake-Up Call
FANDOM: Ouran High School Host Club
SUMMARY: Love becomes a foreign entity when you've lost everyone and cannot even begin to trust the man Fate's left you. (500 words)
NOTES: Apologies for the OOC-ness. And I really don't know why I take to writing such sad stories, when I so crave to see happy endings. Inspired by ouran_contest's theme, "blood".
“Watch your step,” he whispers, taking her hand. And she cannot find the strength to pull it back. Instead, she pads after him, ignoring the stark white walls and curious glances following their every move.
“This is unnecessary.” He stops and turns to her, doesn't even bother to smile. She matches his gaze with her own, eyes narrowed, wary. Before she can even begin to discern, however, she finds him kneeling down, pressing his cheek against her swollen belly.
“What are you doing?” Silence greets her; she draws an arm back, ready to push him away.
“It's moving,” he breathes, “It made me curious.” She looks away, doesn't even know if she's disgusted.
“Leave now,” her voice trembles. She sits in a large bed and glares at him, his back against the door frame. “Haven't you done enough?”
He doesn't try to answer the question. “Are you comfortable? If you need anything, press the button on your right and a nurse will come.”
“Are you done?” It's a terrible game, she thinks. “What I need is for you to leave.”
She believes that she's finally gotten to him, until he pauses before letting the door slide shut.
“You don't have anyone else.”
“Are you frightened?” He has the gall to ask. She shakes her head, angry tears against her cheek.
He studies her, lightly grazing her pale arm with his fingers. It is a sign of affection minus the feeling attached. She nearly cringes.
She hasn't noticed that he's injected a drug and her eyes widen as he puts the needle away. It is momentarily painful until her eyelids droop shut, her breathing evens out. And while her mind floats along with dreams of what could never be, she doesn't hear him tell her that he loves her. Words mean nothing.
Her scream is a heart-wrenching echo through the halls. He's at her side, fists clenched because she hasn't allowed him to hold her hand. She'd firmly told him she didn't need it. And he cannot argue as labor begins.
It is nine hours later, after the doctors are forced to leave and just the two of them remain. She is covered in a thin blanket, legs twisted, lifeless eyes studying the sky outside. He is beside her, waiting, breaking.
“Are you happy now?” Her voice cracks, shoulders pitched forward and shaking. He wants to hold her; but remains still. “Are you happy now, Kyouya?”
He finds a bile taste in his mouth.
“There's not a trace left of him. Tell me, are you happy now?” She continues sobbing, throwing the blanket away to reveal the sheets stained red. Dry... but red, as if they are forever frozen in the moment.
She doesn't stop until he finally works up the courage to touch her and ease her down. He brushes the hair away from her face, watches her, and then kisses her forehead before slamming himself against the wall.
“It's gone, Tamaki,” he whispers, sliding down, “Are you happy now?”