Third Person POV

"It would seem this is a result of nothing more than sleep depravation. As well as slight food poisoning from rotten fish she somehow slipped into her bento." 

Kyouya Ootori had better things to do than examine the petite girl before him. So many things had to be done or attended to. What right did this girl have to devour all of his attention when she was more trouble (and snark) than she was worth?

Kyouya himself couldn't quite comprehend the question, much less answer it.

"So she'll be alright, Kyouya-sempai?" Haruhi was seated gingerly on Micah's bed, sitting still so as not to disturb the young girl's sleep. Micah lay on her side, her fingers curled beneath her pillow, breathing slow and deep. Just as a girl in her position was meant to be.

"Of course," he answered, casting yet another subtle glance at the aforementioned girl. "If she weren't, and failed to perform her duties to the club, I'm sure she'd much rather stay inhibited than confess her faults to me."

Haruhi cringed, her eye twitching unavoidably. Kyouya-sempai is.... really a demon. I feel bad for you Micah....

"In any case," the boy continued, turning on his heel to exit the room, "the others will want to see her. Make sure you tell them to only come in a few at a time, or else she might get restless in her sleep."

"You're not staying?" Haruhi blinked in surprise. 

Halfway out the door, Kyouya paused, considering. After a moment of contemplation, he smirked over his shoulder. "I doubt she'd enjoy having the King of Darkness watching over her while she sleeps." He was gone a moment later, and the frantic calls of the Host Club could be heard from the next room over, clambering for news on Micah's condition.

Haruhi looked back at Micah, her brow furrowed worriedly. She smoothed out the girl's sheets, felt her forehead with the back of her hand. Normal, she thought, letting a tentative smile creep onto her lips. That's good, if her fever's gone down. A nice rest will probably have her back up on her feet in no time. Which means I should probably stall Tamaki-sempai for as long as I can... Determined to let the girl stay peaceful in her slumber, Haruhi rose to her feet and followed the sound of Tamaki's wailing voice into the kitchen, where she found him collapsed in a chair, head buried in his arms.

"How can this be....?" he breathed; Haruhi almost believed his drama, the magnitude of his anguish was so great. "How can my precious daughter have fallen so ill without her daddy even noticing?!"

"It's not your fault, Sempai," Haruhi assured him. She took a seat across from him at Micah's kitchen table, chin propped on in her hands. "You didn't cause her to faint or anything. And Kyouya-sempai said she'll be fine, so it's alright."

Tamaki nodded absently. His mind was too preoccupied with grief. But not too preoccupied as to stop the signal that opened his arms, waiting for a hug his heart thought would never come. So it filled him with utter shock when Haruhi sighed and lightly wrapped her arms around him. Her small hand patted his head, like a mother comforting her distraught child. "She'll be fine, Sempai," she promised him. 

"Oh, that's right." Haruhi spun away just as Tamaki came to his senses. Realizing what he'd unconsciously done, his face turned scarlet and he ducked his head bashfully, uneasy over the troublesome thoughts that came to mind after the contact with Haruhi. "Kyouya-sempai said only a few people can go in at once, so you'll have to take turns. Does anyone want to go first?"

"W-We will!" Honey's hand shot straight for the clouds, fingers waving franctically as though Haruhi couldn't see him well enough already. "Takashi and I wanna go!" He sniveled. Micah, one of his dearest friends, had worried him so much.... Waiting any longer to see her would break his already fragile heart. Mori, beside him, nodded his agreement. 

"We'd like to see her," he added, placing a hand on Honey's quaking shoulder. Haruhi half-smiled, only one corner of her mouth turning up. Micah was closest to these two, no matter how much Tamaki might have protested that simple fact. The girl nodded, shrugged, and taking their cue, the two third-years left the room in morose silence.

Honey was only stopped from leaping at Micah's frail form by Mori's arm, which snagged him around the waist mid-air. A stern look settled the boy down, and he dangled limply in Mori's hold, prompting him to drop Honey to his feet. The tiny third-year took more care as he shuffled over to Micah's bed. He took up Haruhi's old position, a silent, sniveling guard to assure the princess her safety - a comparison Micha would have loathed had someone voiced it to her.

"Mi-chan..." Honey brushed the limp strands of hair from Micah's pale face, tucking them behind her ear. Her lips curled into a faint smile. Honey's mood soared at the sight and he giggled excitedly. "Her hair's longer, Takashi!" he informed his cousin cutely, lifting a lock of hair for the tall boy to see. "She looks really pretty, don't you think?"

Though Mori simply nodded, it was answer enough for Honey, and he giggled to himself from the humor of it all. "Kirei-chan was a really good nickname for her," he added wistfully, recalling his first time meeting the girl. She'd taken to him instantly, as most girls did, though not in the romantic way of the whole. He was just too adorable to avoid, and she'd known that from the moment she set eyes on him. While Honey loved their relationship as it was, a part of him had hoped she'd come to see him as something more. A fruitless cause, he knew now. Her heart, whether she herself was aware of it or not, was already captured.

But I don't mind, Honey thought, content. Mi-chan's my friend. I'll support her no matter what!

A low, hollow whimper caught Honey's attention, and he leaned close to Micah, worried etched deeply onto his young face. Her eyes were squeezed shut more tightly than before, her muscles coiled with tension. The blanket twisted violently as she writhed in her troubled slumber. 

"Takashi...?!" 

"......."

Honey glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening when he realized Mori had taken a seat on Micah's other side. Mori's warm, giant hand engulfed Micah's, his thumb running worriedly across her knuckles. Honey couldn't help his smile; he'd never seen Mori show as much care for anyone besides a member of the Haninozuka family before. And the effect was heart-warming, as Micah's fretful cries quieted, her face slackening as the tension released. 

Honey offered his friend a closed-eye smile. "Like Kyo-chan said, she's gonna be fine, Takashi!"

Mori smiled his gentle smile in response.

Micah's POV

I wondered what was so horrible about home school. Was there something so horrendous about it that could justify my parent's refusal to allow it for their only daughter? Really. Could it have been any worse than the hell I went through in Rock Hill Middle School? 

I highly doubted any such thing was true.

My inevitable sigh passed through thin, wry lips, deadened from the fact that my head was buried securely in my arms. Murmurs scattered throughout the room caught my interest for only a fleeting few seconds before boredom or irritation overcame, and I shifted on to something more suitable. They were talking about me, of course. Not a day passed by where I wasn't gossiped about, or made a fool through the use of rumors so pompous and ridiculous, not a word of them should have been believed.

And yet they were.

Heterochromia iridum. A difference in coloration, usually of the iris, but also of hair or skin. It can be inherited, or caused by disease. Thankfully, for me, it was the former. My grandmother, whom I (apparently) resemble greatly, also possessed these cursed mismatched eyes of mine. One a bloody red, the other a vibrant emerald. My grandfather had crimson eyes, ironic though it was, and my father emerald, inherited from his mother. Why, oh, why, was I the one who obtained these wretched orbs of my grandmother's? They caused me nothing but pain.

In grade school the teasing had never escalated beyond making a "funny" joke at my expense, sometimes at recess, sometimes while passing in the halls. It had stung, in all honesty, but had been bearable. The year I entered sixth grade was a different story - no, a different genre altogether.

Someone had had the grand idea to spread a rumor around that I was, in fact, cursed. My crimson eye was the result, as far as the rumor I heard went. There were variations, too many to count, and I had given up gleaming any sort of truth from them very early on. The eye itself was the pure red of evil to signify my tainted soul, or something else ludicrous.

People either avoided me or played "witch hunt" whenever I was in the vicinity. I'd elaborate on what exactly the game was, but... It makes my blood boil just to think about it.

Of course, there were those who found my appearance funny, nothing more. They thought nothing of the silly rumors and only laughed because I was an oddity, immune to any sort of hurt or childish want. Where they'd gotten that idea, I never knew, nor did I really want to.

And so it was that I became the class outcast. The teacher - bless him - tried to intervene multiple times, even resorted to calling the parents of the children at fault for my torture. But it did nothing, and only troubled him unnecessarily. So I pretended I wasn't bothered, that I was the silent, strong girl they all originally took me for, the type to never shed a tear even while at the brink of death.

Again. These rumors were dreadfully misinformed.

In any case, this continued on all throughout my middle school years, and had even carried over to my freshman year of high school. So many of my former "schoolmates" had decided to attend the same school I had - coincedence, pure and simple. What wasn't coincedence was how readily they all took up their "teasing" the moment their normal gazes met mine.

Presently, I was in the middle of my first marking period of my freshman year. Even more presently, it was homeroom, and I was, of course, alone in the very back corner of the room where no one dared to tread, lest they be cursed by my nonexistent sorcery. 

I turned my head against my arm, peeking out at the classroom scene. Girls and boys alike milled around, chatting, flirting, sharing notes and stealing homework they'd forgotten the night before. Freshman were such busy creatures. So different from eighth graders, who only cared for the occasional party or sport practice. The freshman dance was coming up as well; perhaps that explained why so many pairs were dotted throughout the room.

The breath leaving my nose became a hesitant, amused snort. The dance. What a foreign concept to someone like me. Only a moron would--

"Hey, you got a date for the dance yet?"

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. That voice sounded close... Odd. Wasn't there some rule that no one should stand within ten feet of me during the morning? Something about my powers waning with the dawn....? A quiet chuckle rumbled through my chest. I wondered if one could truly laugh away their pain...

"Hey, I'm being serious! You don't have to laugh at me or anything. Geeze, just say no if you don't wanna go."

Wait. That was... addressed to me? "Have you gone blind, deaf and dumb all of a sudden?" I snapped, slowly pulling myself up straighter. My narrowed eyes fell on the unfamiliar boy who stood next to me, his hand pressed against my desk top for support. He towered over me, at something like five-ten, and the sun glaring behind him forced me to squint to make out his face. 

He was godly, this boy.

His blonde hair, messy to the point of being styled, caught the meager light slanting in through the windows and glowed a heavenly gold, and his eyes, even among the shadows, twinkled a brilliant, mysterious blue. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, flashing bright-white teeth, so prominent against his tan skin. "Like what ya see?" he asked, quirking a brow.

As an answer, I returned my head to my arms and snorted out a laugh. "You look like a model," I said flatly.

"You see it too? Cause I was thinking of--"

"You definitely have the I.Q. points of one," I snapped, ripping his response in half with my verbal claws. "What's with you, anyway? Getting so close to such a freakshow..."

"Freakshow?" His brow wrinkled in thought. "Wouldn't know anything about it. My family just moved here; it's my first day at the high school. But what are you talking about? You wanna see a circus or something?"

How could he....? "No. This," I growled, raising my head enough for him to meet my fiery eyes. He blinked, tilted his head a bit, blinked again. Then he smiled.

"Whoa. You're even prettier than I thought. Those eyes are gorgeous."

What? 

"Gorgeous...?"

"Mmm," the boy hummed, still smiling, still with me. He hadn't run, or insulted me, or laughed degradingly for... what? How many minutes had passed since we'd started talking? However long it was, this was a new record for me. I hadn't had a conversation this long with a student my own age since elementary school.

"So, what d'ya say about the dance?"

"...No."

"Huh?" The boy pouted, then crouched down and peered up into my face with the most adorable puppy-dog eyes I'd seen in my life. "How come? You're a pretty girl, I'm a pretty guy... What's the problem?"

"I don't even know your name, moron," I muttered. A part of me wanted to laugh at him, but the more pessimistic side decided it wouldn't be worth it. He would leave soon enough. Most boys did not withstand the plethora of peer pressure that always seemed to surround me at all times. 

"Ah. Yeah, that would make things kinda awkward, going to a dance without even knowing each other's names...." He stood, one hand shoved loosely into his jeans' pocket, the other held squarely before my face. "Name's Daire Wolfe, and I'd love to take such a pretty tigress to the freshman dance."

"Micah... Viano," I said hesitantly, putting my hand in his. Warmth pulsed against my palm, and I involuntarily blushed. Geeze. He didn't have to be so.... nice to touch. "And what the hell is up with that 'pretty tigress' thing?"

Daire smiled and shrugged, squeezing my hand a bit so that I couldn't let go just yet. "Dunno. You're all snappy, but cute. Kinda like a cute, ferocious tigeress. So... pretty tigress?"

I couldn't help it; I had to laugh at the ridiculousness that poured from his mouth. Heads swiveled in my direction but I paid them no mind, because Daire was laughing now too, doubled over enough that we were almost nose-to-nose. My blush deepened but he said nothing about it, and I couldn't have cared less.

"So, how about that dance?"

Third Person POV

Micah had calmed completely as Mori and Honey watched over her. The occasional smile touched her lips, and the boys could only wonder about what she dreamed of. 

But as she slipped further and further into her dreams, her hold on Mori's hand tightened and another pained expression pinched her face. Perturbed, Mori didn't try to remove his hand from her grip; he willingly offered his steady support, hoping she could ward off whatever nightmare plagued her just then.

Honey cradled Usa-chan, burying his face in the bunny's ears, watching Micah silently. His stomach rumbled, but for once his addiction to sweets went unfulfilled. All his thoughts were of Micah's well-being. Kyouya had mentioned sleep depravation as a reason why she'd suddenly collapsed. Honey could only think of one reason why Micah would be troubled enough for sleep to elude her: Daire Wolfe. 

Mori had come to the same conclusion before, as had all of the Host Club at some point in their stay at Micah's home. Kaoru was engrossed in thought about it, staring blankly ahead of him as he sat with the others in the living room. Realizing his thoughts had wandered dangerously, he tilted his head, looking for something to catch his interest. He found it, in the form of three drooping roses bunched together in a half-filled vase atop Micah's kitchen counter.

Blue. 

Orange.

Lavender.

Three Host Club roses, no doubt. His eyes lingered on the orange rose the longest. So she kept it, he thought, unconsciously smirking. Wonder if she knows who it's from...

His thoughts, however, were interrupted when the sound of pitiful sobbing drifted through the quite room, echoing from down the hall where Micah's bedroom lay. 

Kaoru and Tamaki were on their feet in an instant, but were dragged back down by Haruhi, who'd sat between them on the couch. "Don't go crowding her room," she scolded them, ignoring the raging white-water tears streaming down Tamaki's face. "Let Honey-sempai and Mori-sempai comfort her. I doubt she's woken up yet anyway."

Even as doubt lingered in the back of Kaoru's mind, he obeyed Haruhi's order, curling back up on the couch with her, his arm draped across her slender shoulders. That is, until Tamaki rudely flung his arm off and clutched Haruhi to his own chest.

"Sempai..."

Tamaki released Haruhi with a start, and the room was filled with the twins' mocking laughter, alleviating the thickening tension of the small room, if only for the moment. 

Unfortunately, no such comfort came for Micah in her dreamscape world, where she walked in her memories alone, reliving them with feelings as fresh as the day they dripped down her cheeks. The day, the memory she so despised was drawing ever-closer....

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So I know Micah being bullied is kinda cliche. And the thing about her being a witch. But c'mon. Don't you think she definitely would have been picked on as a kid, with eyes like that? I think it fits, therefore I've used it. Plus, it plays in well to how she and Daire got close. Again, it's cliche, but it's cute! 

....Sort of....

Maybe this'll make people hate Daire a little less.... until the next chapter, anyway.

Thanks for reading, by the way!