Micah's POV

In the past, I'd always follow in my father's footsteps exactly, stepping where he stepped, waddling through puddles his long legs allowed him to step over.

Keeping up, no matter what, despite my stubby legs.

And now, I was following once again, a naive child trickling behind her father, holding onto his pant leg when he went too fast.

It wasn't until recently that I'd begun to doubt whether everything he did was right. Japan had simply been the final straw.

Somehow, our disagreement from before was meaningless.

_________________________________

I couldn't face them. Couldn't open the door, couldn't even fit my hand around the delicately curling handle. My fingers hovered inches from the glimmering gold, paused as though afraid of either a blistering heat or a biting cold that would ravage my sensitive skin.

Everything about me was sensitive at the moment, but that was besides the point.

What was I so afraid of, you ask? 

Saying farewell.

Goodbye to my home away from home.

Goodbye to two of the best friends I'd ever had the excessive pleasure to come across.

Goodbye to a life that had given me a new perspective of the very word itself.

And goodbye... to those who had mended my breakable heart.

I'm aware that last line is beyond cliche, but the truth is the truth, and occasionally, the truth is cliche, so I stand by it without any notable regret.

Some of the torture was over and done with. Neko-kun had been in the theater at the time of my hysterical breakdown and had been one of the many to aid me in my extreme time of need, along with all the hosts (Kyouya included, oddly enough) and both Damian and Riley. This morning - three days after opening night - I had been ambushed by the Black Magic Club just outside the school gates, where tears were shed, goodbyes croaked, and hugs given wildly to any who would accept them.

I'd also gotten a phone call from Satoshi-kun (because Mori for some reason felt the need to detail my misery to his younger brother), who tearfully wished the best for me and dragged a reluctant Chika along with him. I'd had to hang up prematurely for fear of damaging my phone with overflowing tears.

Tamaki and Haruhi were also checked off my list. I had just finished with them, actually. Haruhi had found me in the library early this morning, my body racked with sobs, head buried in my dampened knees, arms thrown over me as though to protect me from the weighty truth of reality. She had scrambled to find Tamaki and the two of them attempted to console me as best they good. Haruhi managed a marginally better job than Tamaki, as she had experience with... my situation.

Now, only the remaining hosts were left. And I dreaded every moment of it.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, contemplating which would break my heart more completely: Anticipating their reactions while hovering just outside the door or busting in and seeing them first hand. But there was an obnoxious ache in my knees when a deeply resonating voice (that wasn't Mori's) slithered beneath the door and found its way to my ears.

Throwing caution to the wind, I flung open the door with dramatic flare, barreling inside like a queen entering her court.

Ha. No. Not at all.

I inched open the door until there was enough space to slip my bony frame inside, then quietly closed it behind me, stiffening as the click broke the quickly encroaching silence and the three bodies seated on the host couches swiveled towards me.

Ah. Awkward.

"Micah." My father was on his feet first, moving towards me with his usual grace, years of dance lessons with Mama lending a special lightness to his footsteps. Dancing was important to Mama. She loved the connection that was threaded between the two dancers, the emotion that charged the air while they twirled around. She had been the one to teach me whenever Daire had been unreachable all those months ago.

Now all her dancing would be done in incoherent dreams. Never again would she feel the blissful breeze threading gentle fingers through her hair as her partner swept her around the dance floor. Never again.

Papa placed a warm hand on my cheek, close enough that his breath washed over my cheeks, warming the skin I'd rubbed raw in an attempt to rid myself of visible tear tracks. He saw, though. Papa never failed to notice when I cried. He ran his thumb lightly across my cheek, brushing away a stray tear that clung to my clumped lashes.

"Those boys are very important to you, no?" he asked in a hushed voice, conscious of how close Honey and Mori were, only a few feet away on their couch. I nodded without a sound. His lips curled in a half-smile. "They're kind. Just the type of boys I'd want protecting my little corvino."

Since childhood, he'd called me that. Corvino. His little raven. Not the most graceful of Italian words, but lovely all the same. 

Another tear traced a glistening path down to my chin, where it dripped soundlessly to the floor, lost in the empty space.

"I approve of this Takashi boy, by the way," he added, a hint of fatherly mischief creeping into his voice. My cheeks burned from the amorous undertone to his reasonably innocent words. "He seems to care a great deal about you, corvino."

"Please stop." This was all a constant reminder of my misfortune. I knew. I knew Mori cared about me, knew Honey cared about me, knew the whole goddamn Host Club held some semblance of sympathy for me. But after today, I would leave.

I might never see them again.

Papa stiffened, hearing the pitiful squeak that was my voice. His other hand cupped my cheek, drew me closer as he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of my nose. "Scusi, scusi corvino. I didn't mean to upset you." The soft, lilting accent I had grown up with soothed my fraying nerves, dried my burgeoning tears before they fell. Papa had been born and raised in Italy, as had my mother. They had met in their late teens, fallen in love with the same passion and vigor as Romeo and Juliet, but managed to avoid the tragedy.

Who knew it was only delayed.

I myself had been born in Italy as well, but as soon as I was old enough to travel, my parents gathered what money they could and shipped us to the States as a means of creating more opportunities for my future. Now, I understand we sound exactly like immigrants who arrived on Ellis Island, and in this day and age that doesn't seem understandable, but in truth my parents both came from relatively poor families, had lived in near-poverty for most of their young lives.

America was as shining a beacon of hope to them as it was to those Italians a hundred years ago.

"Papa" - I managed to steady my voice this time; I didn't want to worry my father any more than I had - "what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Ah, just checking up on you, I suppose. I wanted to make sure you have been in safe hands this past year. And I'm pleased to know I had no reason to worry."

"Oh."

"Mm. Now I'll be going, corvina. I have to finish packing for you. Remember, we leave in two hours."

He was gone in another moment, disappearing out the door without a trace to remember him by.

I don't particularly remember the next few moments. Cotton had been plugged in my ears, a cover thrown over my eyes, a knot in my tongue I couldn't unwind for the life of me. There was shuffling, a bleary-eyed Honey attempting to throw himself at me, a subdued Mori catching him around the waist before he got far; then, like a film suddenly rearing to life, there's color and sound and vivid memory.

Somehow I'd moved to the couch, sitting gingerly between the two hosts, my hands trembling in my lap. The memory of tears stilled burned my cheeks, resistant to my constant drying and the cold water that had always helped in the past. 

A deep pang of something I could only call regret had taken root in my heart, forced it into my throat and stopped any words I wanted to express. 

"Mi-chan..." Honey didn't speak about my mother, didn't wish me luck or offer his condolences. Like the blonde angel I'd always seen him as (scewed though his mind might be) he slunk under my arm and wrapped me in a hug. His heart was beating fast, a rapid machine gun shaking both his chest and mine.

The first time I'd seen such uneasiness in him.

I couldn't help it; tears sprung to my eyes, blurring my surroundings into incoherent nonsense, like something out of a half-remembered dream, and I fell into Honey's embrace without a hint of resistance. There were no thunderous sobs this time; my voice was still trapped in a throat to tight to release a single choked sound. Only tears, an ocean of bitterness and other deplorable feelings.

An eternity seemed to pass before I lifted my head from the crook of Honey's neck. I wasn't given much of a choice, as I'd run out of tears and found no other conceivable reason to seek his comfort. I knew he would have offered it nonetheless but... even in the end, I was too dependent on these hosts. Distance seemed impossible, yet it was inevitable, so I had to start with the small stuff and brace myself for those tortured words I'd speak not too long from now.

"H-Honey, I..." I broke off as his small thumb brushed just beneath my eye, catching the last of my tears, as Papa had done before. I swallowed down the fast-forming lump in my throat. "I... don't want this... any of it....!"

His broken smile tore at my grieved heart. "Us, too, Mi-chan. But! You'll always be our friend, so don't worry!" He fitted his fingers with my mine, quelling the obvious shaking that plagued my hands with his invariable warmth. "You're our Mi-chan. Right, Takashi?"

No matter how negligent I'd been, I hadn't once forgotten Mori's presence on my other side. So when he replied with his quiet, "Right" it wasn't surprise that pinched the muscles in my shoulders, that quirked my lips into a shattered line. It was the sudden realization that after my words to Honey, I'd be forced to give my farewell to the giant third-year.

I was startled from my murky reverie when I felt a tender kiss on my cheek, my hooded eyes flying open to see Honey's brave, grinning face. "I'm gonna go make sure Usa-chan's been ok without me, Mi-chan. You stay here for a little longer, alright?"

I nodded, too wrapped up in the blooming warmth flooding away from cheek to do anything more meaningful. He tried for another smile. "See you later, Wendy."

And, seemingly ignoring the astonished look that slackened my features, he slipped down from the couch, shot a suspicious look towards Mori, then calmly skipped from the room, shutting the door ominously behind him.

I swallowed back another lump, though this one did not go without a fight.

I knew there'd be an unending silence if I didn't speak up, didn't force out the words I'd been meaning to say for God knew how long. But, no, I wasn't happening. Of course it wouldn't. What was there to say when in two hours I'd be on a flight to Philadelphia? It was no small distance between Japan and America; I couldn't just visit as I liked. And with Mama's condition only worsening with every day, I wasn't about to leave her side once I'd gotten there, no matter how much I wished to return to past days.

So I was frightened of the inevitable soundless barrier that would spring up, although I had no reason to fear. Before I could work up the courage to even turn around to face him, Mori had slipped an arm around my waist and tugged me onto his lap, both arms now settled securely around me, my back against his chest, frantic heartbeat drowning out my own (spastic) squeaking.

"Wha...?! M-Mori?! I--"

"Sorry. It's only for a minute."

My breath hitched in my throat, hearing - for the first time - the emotion in his voice with crystalline quality. There wasn't a debate in any sense of the word; Mori felt as despairing as I did over the cruelty of the universe.

"It's, um, it's fine," I managed to mumble, unconsciously pressing myself into his warmth, forcibly ignoring how comically small I appeared in this situation. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable (far from it, I'm shamed to admit); I was only startled. "Ah, Mori - can I ask you a question?"

I didn't have to bother to sneak a look over my shoulder to know he'd nodded his agreement.

"Can I... just before I go, at least... call you Takashi?"

"...."

"I know only Honey calls you that but I, well I just thought it'd be a shame if I didn't call you by your first name at least once. I mean, we've known each other for a while and you know I was never into the Japanese tradition of using last names or honorifics or whatever, so I just thought..."

"...I'd be happy to hear you say it," he cut in. Usually I'd comment on how chatty Mori had become but there was no point to it now. A bubble of pleasure broke free of my inner hell, tugging a soft smile from my lips as I tipped my head back to meet Mori's eyes.

"I'm... really gonna miss you, Takashi."

The burning pricking the back of my eyes had returned but before it could escalate, releasing molten tears to cascade down my cheeks, the flood of dreary emotions was halted by Mori pressing his lips to my forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

Somehow, the word goodbye wasn't part of my admittedly extensive vocabulary anymore.

__________________________

I rubbed futilely at my eyes with both balled up hands, choking back a hiccuping sob that threatened to erupt. 

Papa had called. I was left with only another hour with which to say my goodbyes. Admittedly, my last pair of farewells had gotten off track, seeing as how Honey and I had basically agreed to meet again no matter the circumstances and I hadn't said a thing that even resembled ciao to Mori - Takashi, I mean. 

But I was on my way to the King of Darkness himself now, and I felt confident the words would come while in his presence. Though I would miss even his piercing reprimands, I suspected, anyway. All the hosts had made a lasting imprint on my heart, faint and insignificant thought they may have seemed at the time. It was only simple facts that some had made more of an impact than others.

And that case was solidified when I rounded the corner and came across the Hitachiin twins and I found myself unable to break my gaze away from Kaoru, despite the fact that his brother was staring at me with equal fervor.

"Kaoru, Hikaru, I... I was looking for you two." I made a last depressing swipe at my eyes. "Well, I was actually looking for Kyouya, but you were next on my list. So, um, can we--"

"We don't do goodbyes," Hikaru said, effectively shutting me up. 

"They're really tedious," Kaoru added, raking nimble fingers through his hair as he watched me for a reaction. "And annoying."

My hands clenched into involuntary fists. I... I was trying to make a proper break with these hosts and these two only enjoyed riling me up? How..... expected. 

I opened my mouth for a sharp (broken, really, as it hurt to hear them speak like this, loathe as I am to admit it) retort, but was silenced when Kaoru bent down to eye-level, his hand caressing my cheek, his vibrant, self-satisfied smirk lighting up amber eyes. 

"It's stupid to say goodbye when it's just for a little while, anyway. What the hell's the point in it? I don't wanna have to look like an idiot when we say hello again and we have to remember something cheesy like this. Got it?"

"...Got it." There was nothing else to say to that. He'd dismissed all arguments before I could present them. And he sounded so certain of it all, I didn't have the heart to taint his viewpoint. 

He kissed my cheek (which would have felt infinitely more awkward had his brother not joined in on my other side), ruffled my hair a bit, and went off down the hall, continuing on like he had been before I'd interrupted their stroll through the Academy. 

I stood there, aimlessly fiddling with my skirt, wondering if, after all these encounters, my heart would burst from all this excessive thumping.

I curled stiff fingers into my bangs, my eyes wandering across the floor. Oh God. I really had an issue if this erratic heartbeat felt identically agonizing as it had during my moment with Mori.

___________________________

I rapped lightly on the ajar door, peering curiously into the near-empty room. Sunlight - ironically bright to my melancholy self - slanted in through the wall of windows, casting thick shadows across the floor, trailing behind desks, chairs and one stoic Ootori who busied himself with a spread of papers that carefully littered one desktop.

He looked up as I stepped inside - just a glance before returning to his work. I settled myself just in front of his desk, nervously wringing out my hands. The habit had cropped up much more frequently in the last few weeks than it had in years, a fact I found slightly disheartening.

I'd experienced more worry and tension in practically the most euphoric year of my life than I had at any other time.

"I presume this is about your debt to the Host Club," he intoned as he lifted a paper (filled with the obnoxious scrawling of a doctor, no doubt) to the light in order to see it more clearly.

"Ah, yeah, it is, actually." I consciously held myself from biting my lip. It was a gesture that betrayed my unease far better than the wringing of my hands, and I preferred if I kept some dignity intact during this final chat with Kyouya, so I kept it bay as best I could. "I've known for a long time that there was no debt, not really. And if there was, it wasn't a debt to the Host Club, but to Mori."

"Are you sure?" Kyouya cocked an inquiring brow without raising his head to direct the gesture at me. "You've caused this club more than your fair share of trouble during your stay with us; I'd say it was only fair that you worked to repay us."

I found myself crossing my arms in indignation, reminiscent of many former talks with Kyouya. I could never keep myself from reveling in an argument with him, and this time appeared no different. "All that trouble was after I joined, though! Mori was the only one bothered that first day I met you."

"Are you sure?" he repeated. 

"I--" Was I? Was I really sure it had only troubled Mori that day, when I burst through the doors, bringing the raging athlete Akio with me? 

Did it even matter?

I didn't regret a moment of my time with the hosts. What did it matter if I was there voluntarily or to repay an imaginary debt those first few weeks? The outcome was the same no matter the beginning. 

I was leaving my family.

"In any case," Kyouya went on, causing me to stumble from my thoughts and blink at him in confusion, "consider the debt waved. I found this" - I blinked again as he tapped a small book seated among his many documents - "sitting on my desk this morning. Your personal recipes will turn a nice profit."

The giggle that escaped me then was unavoidable, and I didn't have the faintest idea why. But from the disarming smirk crawling across Kyouya lips, the meaning behind it wasn't so lost on him. "I actually intended to leave that with Honey," I admitted, clasping my hands together, "but I decided you might appreciate it more. Those aren't family recipes, mind you; just the ones I've come up on my own. Mama would never forgive me if I..."

And just like, the moment shattered like tempered glass, riddling me with stinging cuts that rendered me incapable of movement or speech.

"Your mother is currently receiving care at Pennsylvania Hospital, correct?"

He didn't bother waiting for my impractical response.

"She'll be comfortable, at least. Though I must admit, Huntington's isn't an enjoyable way to go."

As expected of the politician, he knew about Mama's illness, knew how far it had progressed, how little time she had left. He had no need to say anything; it was clear he was well versed in the circumstances of my homecoming. A part of me wondered if he'd known all along, considering he made it a point to know absolutely everything about absolutely everyone. 

I didn't even care anymore if he had or not. What was done was done and nothing would change that.

I passively watched Kyouya turn over his wrist, checking the time on what was probably a ridiculously expensive watch. "Your father will be anxious if you don't leave soon," he said, apparently privy to my plane's schedule. "I'll assume you've said your goodbyes already?"

"...Mostly," I conceded, shrugging listlessly. "It's just you left, Mr. Bastard Politician."

A wry smirk curled his lips. "Yes, I suppose that's fitting. Well then, I'll say this: The Host Club will only ever have one pastry chef, Micah. I'd keep that in mind for future reference."

Nothing much was said after that. Kyouya returned to his papers, I picked my way back to the doorway. But just as I was leaving, my hand trailing behind me, ready to slide closed the door, he called me back. I froze, my back to him, my feet still poised to step over the threshold and back into the hallway:

"Those tears really don't suit you, Micah."

So of course I broke down right then and there and didn't give a damn about how it looked in that politico bastardo's eyes.

_____________________________

Dear Mama,

I'm writing this while waiting for takeoff. Papa is next to me, staring out the window as though the men outside, diligently working on clearing the airways, are the most interesting things in the known universe. 

He hasn't let go of my hand since boarding the plane, and I don't plan on letting go until we touch down on American soil.

You would have laughed at how incapable Papa was in buying our tickets; I had to do most of the talking for him! He was so flustered, Mama, worse than the time that man in the supermarket tried to hit on you and shoved him into the "Women's Health" section when he tried to intervene. Oh, I couldn't stop laughing at it - the image of my dad drowning in a sea of lotions and creams and so many other things not meant for mortal men's eyes.

Ah, speaking of, do you remember Damian Wells and Riley Parker, those boys who would always come over with Daire? Well I finally reconciled with them - Daire, as well, to some extent. And, even though they couldn't see me off in person, they succeeded in making me cry in the middle of the airport from a phone call. I'm honestly laughing as I write this, because I never would have imagined that I could be on such good terms with those two again in this lifetime.

Oh, Papa's looking at me oddly. Seems he doesn't understand the reason for my sudden humor. 

But anyway, Mama, I know we haven't spoken as much as the both of us would have liked since you and Papa sent me to Japan. Most of that is my own fault. I blatantly ignored your calls in the beginning, fed up as I was with you. You have know idea how much I regret my stupid teenage stubbornness. I wish every day I could have gone back and slapped some much-needed sense into my past self. And because of that stupidity, you don't know much about the hosts I ended up with, do you?

I'm sure Papa's told you some things - like how Mori and Honey began teaching me in martial arts, or the fact that I nearly drowned while on vacation with them. Ah, that wasn't as bad as it might seem, I promise. The hosts are all capable swimmers and I'm sure if Tamaki hadn't rescued me all would have ended well regardless. 

But that's not my point. Forgive me for getting offtrack; it's been happening a lot lately when I'm with these boys.

I'll tell you a little about each of them, I guess.

Tamaki Suoh is - quite honestly - the most flamboyant and ridiculous boy I have ever met in my life. He's eccentric, full of an unyielding charm and a childishness unmatched in any boy his age. But he's a beautiful person, Mama, trust me. Not just in his looks either (he's French as well as Japanese, which is quite the combination); his heart is so vividly pure even you would blush at the extent of his earnestness.

Next is Haruhi Fujioka. I don't think I've ever met a girl quite like her. And yes, she is in fact a girl, even though she's dressed as a boy in that photo I sent over months ago. She isn't one to put up with the hosts' insanity if it crosses the line, but she fits in with them perfectly just the same. She's especially fond of "fancy tuna" for some inexplicable reason, though I've never asked why.

Ah, now we have the Hitachiin twins, Hikaru and Kaoru. They're mischievous little devils very fitting of their Host Type (you don't really need to understand that bit, so I'll just leave it out). They put out such an air of danger I've always wondered how they've become so popular with the general female population. But even I overlooked that at some point, I suppose, enough that I... well, enough that I legitimately came to like them. Probably a bit more than I should have, regarding Kaoru, but that's for another time.

I think you, oddly enough, would have liked Kyouya Ootori, the bastard politician, as I've felt fit to dub him. He's a very serious, focused person, though his excessive love of money is more than a little troubling at times. He also has an uncanny knack for manipulating people to do his bidding, something I've fallen prey to on several occasions. And yet, in the end, he isn't the horrible guy I first made him out to be. He has his good points, if you're persistent enough to search for them.

Honey. His real name is Mitsukuni Haninozuka, but he resembles "Honey" much better in practically everyone's opinion. I love him, Mama. I really, truly do. I see him as the brother you and Papa thought was too troublesome to have. He was the first person in Ouran to really make me smile, the first boy who raised my spirits after the disaster with Daire, and I will always be grateful to him for that. He's this adorable blonde cherub that you can't help but fall for. I... really wish you could meet him, Mama. His smile would certainly light up these dreary days of ours.

Takashi Morinozuka, more commonly known as Mori, is, in reality Honey's cousin, though he acts more like his faithful bodyguard. He's just as wonderful as all the hosts, but decidedly less talkative, a trait you know I rather appreciate. And you wouldn't believe how tall this boy is! He simply towers over me! And while that used to bother me with most boys (and girls) there's something about Mori that just... makes all your animosity dissipate. He and Honey are going to be the two hosts I miss the most, I think, just because of the special relationship the three of us had.

Unless I'm being completely narcissitic and neither of them feel the same way, in which case I'll just continue to live in my blissful ignorance and forget all about this thought.

There were a good deal of others I met at Ouran that made the stay much more enjoyable that I would ever have imagined, but my hand's begun to shake and these words are becoming less and less legible so I suppose I'll have to end the letter here, Mama.

I love you, Mama, and I hope to God you're able to read this when I see you again.