Micah's POV

My crisp, clear reflection shared my tight-lipped smile, my glowing eyes, the dusting of color on my cheeks. What it didn't share was the faint shaking that plagued my knees, the jumbled thoughts fighting for dominance in my head, trying to lock away all the lines I'd taken such care to memorize. 

Tonight was it.

The play.

And the hosts were in the audience.

"Ten minutes till your on, Micah!"

Izuki squeezed my shoulder as he passed, his smile brimming with encouragement and confidence that tonight would go over well. I nodded mutely, too worried I'd babble nonsense if I opened my mouth. 

Ten minutes. 

I started running through lines under my breath, imagining our dress rehearsal yesterday, countless other practices before that, the hosts scrutinizing every minute detail of my performance, the light cues I'd need to pay atttention to, Hikaru and Kaoru struggling not to let out peels of laughter while watching Honey flounce around suspended on cables, my job of narrating the prologue of the play, the hosts, the hosts, the hosts.

I tangled my fingers within my hair, banging my head down on my dresser. Oh God. Oh dear God. The hosts would be watching from the moment the curtain rose. Haruhi, Mori and Honey (obviously) had already borne witness to myself in this flimsy nightgown, but Tamaki, Kyouya and the twins? Absolutely not, even after suffering through Kaoru and his brother's whining of me playing favoritism.

I was playing favorites, so I hadn't had the strongest comeback to their accusation.

When mentally going over lines became entwined with the expectant image of the hosts, I rummaged around in my messenger bag (seated on the chair beside me along with pre-show roses from Honey) for my long-forgotten script. I hadn't used it since a week into play practice.

The corners were dog-eared from when I'd deemed a page important or possibly difficult to memorize; the ink had smeared in several areas, the result of my dutiful (excessive) finger-reading. And the wrinkles. It looked like someone had slept in a silk suit and endured a frantic bought of restless leg syndrome.

Well... on more than one occasion I fell asleep with the script cuddled to my chest, so perhaps that was warranted.

I skimmed the first few pages, reassuring myself that I did indeed have it down pat, then moved on to the final scene. Memories of my first session with Honey bubbled up, turning my lips up in a nostalgic smile. I truly had never met a boy who personified adorableness more in my life. My eyes traveled down the page, sweeping over lines I could now recite by heart.

Then, I settled on what amounted to one of the final lines before curtain-call. 

"Never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting."

Watching Honey say it, I'd been absorbed in the sincerely sweet passion with which he spoke. It was a Honey I'd never seen before; determinedly serious and unequivocally focused. I'd been so enthralled nothing else had sprung to mind at the words.

Now only one face occupied my thoughts.

And every part of me screamed the wish that it could have been a host.

I'd had an epiphany, my first in a long while, my first since Japan. And if I didn't act on it now, I had the horrible premonition that I wouldn't get the chance to again. So, with that in mind, I gathered my courage (little there was), leaped down from my chair and rushed from back stage.

Until Izuki grabbed my wrist and nearly caused me to fall onto my rear from the kick-back.

"Where are you going?" His voice was firm, demanding an answer.

"I'm sorry," I rushed, spinning around to grip him by the shoulders, leaning towards him to express my desperation, "but I need to do something. Now. It really, really cannot wait. I'll only be five minutes. I promise you. Five minutes!"

There must have been a wild, pleading look in my eyes, because soon Izuki was nodding, gently lifting my hands from his shoulders and lowering them to my sides. "Four minutes," he countered, nodding his head back at the large wall clock above the dressing room door.

"Four minutes," I agreed, smiling gratefully, before hurrying off again.

He'd left a voice mail earlier (because I now vehemently refused to answer a single call) saying that, because I'd denied him the pleasure of seeing me onstage before, he'd be in the audience tonight. He most likely felt it was as close to atonement as he could manage without groveling at my feet in a hysteric mess.

I slipped out into the shadows of the far aisle, my feet light and soundless as I went, my eyes scanning the seats. He always did like the comfort of an aisle seat, as it made it easier to come and go if need be. It didn't take long at all to pick out his golden hair amongst the dim lighting towards the back.

Without offering so much as a "We need to talk" I latched onto his arm and guided him into the hall directly outside of the theater. A hint of red adorned his cheeks, his eyes traveling up and down the length of my suddenly-too-short costume - something which took a vast amount of generosity to ignore. At the sight of my dangerously twitching eye, however, Daire pulled his eyes from my exposed legs and moved them to a more appropriate place.

"What's up, Mikes? Coming to get a good-luck kiss?"

His cheek wasn't going to bother me this close to show time. I drew in a slow breath, exhaling with equal moderation. This needed to be said as calmly as possible. "Daire, I'm here to tell you goodbye."

The look of complete misunderstanding he pulled only strengthened my resolve, and I moved on to my explanation. "Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting. I knew there was a reason I could never fully leave you behind Daire. It wasn't unresolved feelings plaguing my heart or regret for my actions or even yours. It was that we lacked closure."

"Closure," he repeated slowly.

"Closure." I nodded, tacking on a pained smile. This was like explaining calculus to a pre-schooler. "After the incident - wait, actually, I need to stop calling it that. Let me try again: After you left me in favor of Veronica, I refused all contact with you, thinking it would be for the better. It really wasn't. It couldn't have been, if I still feel so bitter when I'm around you and you pop up in my thoughts more than even--"

I stopped. He didn't need to know who invaded even my daydreams.

"We need closure," I finally said, "if we're ever going to forget about each other. I went away without saying goodbye, therefore I couldn't forget. So Daire, once again, goodbye. A proper goodbye this time. A goodbye that should free us both from our unpleasant shackles. Goodbye, Daire."

Silence reigned in our hallway, absent of the buzzing chatter that should have still been audible from the slightly ajar door that fed into the theater. It was as though my words had bleached the world of sound for the both of us. My nervous ticks - wringing my hands, biting my lip - were held at bay, someway or another. 

Daire stared at me with unwavering confusion. He mouthed my last words over and over again, as though committing them to memory. Slowly, his eyes widened, the black pupils dilating with his shock. The ocean had become choppy and unsafe, heavy waves barreling through without warning - his emotions looked to be in turmoil. Then his jaw clenched, snapping shut his gaping mouth, only to drop it again as he said, "I won't accept it."

"...What?"

"I won't accept it," he said again, grabbing for my hand. "Your goodbye, I won't accept it. You can't forget about me if I don't accept it."

"It doesn't work like that, Daire," I soothed, uncurling his fingers from mine. "I've moved on - I walked away from our relationship a very long time ago. Nothing you say now would change my mind. I'm only doing this because I am tired of constantly berating myself for past mistakes, both yours and mine. I want to be happy, Daire. If you care about me at all, then you should just respect that and do the same."

"Micah, I... I can't. I still love you, Mikes, I do, I swear to God I do." He took hold of my arms, bending down to meet my eyes, forcing me to look at him. I swallowed uncomfortably. "You're all I think about. You're my Mikes, Mikes. I can't forget about you, I can't stop loving you, I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want you to go away and let go of everything we had. Can't you just... can't you..."

I sighed softly. This was going only a bit more disastrously than I'd been expecting. "Daire, I won't. I won't take you back. I don't have a reason to."

He studied me more closely, searching for a sign of deceit, of the broken girl he'd created a little more than a year ago. But she was gone. It took months to vacate her from my mind, but now, she no longer existed. That girl, like the rose petals I used to think I should have slammed the door on, had withered and died as new life blossomed to fill the void. A different flower stood in her place, one much more suited to a life of hope and future wishes.

He seemed to realize that, begrudging as it must have been for him. His hands fell from my arms, disappearing inside his jean pockets. His chest swelled with his next breath, deflating as he released it. "You really have fallen for someone else, haven't you?"

Cheeks blistering, I tried to deny him, but he waved me off, smiling a small, reluctant smile. "You're still an open book, Mikes. I can see it, plain as day. You're in love. And I'm standing in your way."

A lengthy, loaded sigh left his lips. "But I'm not moving from this spot. I hope you know that. One day, I'll get you to see just how much you mean to me, and I'll win you back. For now, though, I'll leave it be. Nevermore's leaving for the rest of our world tour anyway."

My breath hitched in my throat. This was news to me.

"We're leaving in two weeks, going to Australia, I think." His bitter smile flickered. "Don't expect a goodbye Mikes, cause you're sure as hell not getting one." In one swift, gentle motion, he leaned forwards and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek. Pulling back, he added, "But I do want you to be happy. So I'll go. I won't ruin the night or anything for you. I'll just go home and wallow in some self-pity. It'll be a real fun night, so you better have an even better one, got it?"

And he left. Just like that, he left, and the intangible weight that had been sinking my heart for a year vanished with him.

One molten tear traced a line down my cheek. 

Nostalgic, indeed.

___________________________________

Third Person POV

"You think this'll be any good?"

"Probably. Honey-sempai seemed pretty excited about it when we saw him during the party yesterday."

"Honey-sempai's always excited though."

"True, but you could tell it was special for today."

"Huh."

"Yeah. Huh."

"You! This isn't the time for talking, you shady twins! You can't ruin our precious Micah's opening night!"

"Did you hear something, Hikaru?"

"Like a perverted fly or something?"

"Yeah, and it seems like it's really excited to see Micah in her dress for the play."

"...You...!"

Tamaki fumed silently, having been cut off by Kyouya's warm hand clapping over his mouth. His violet eyes were alight with fiery anger - both for yet again being presumed a pervert and for the twins' lack of decorum.

It was opening night, and they still chose to blatantly ignore the social graces graciously displayed by their fellow hosts in favor of bored mischief. Nothing infuriated Tamaki more, the feeling only growing as they smirked simultaneously at him, mirror images with the same mocking glint in their amber eyes. 

"Keep quiet, all of you," Kyouya broke in, removing his hand from Tamaki to push his glasses up coolly. "We're here to indulge in one of our member's performance, not to fraternize like schoolchildren. If you can't even remain silent for a play running an hour and a half, I'll have the three of you personally repay each and every member of the audience the money they spent on their tickets for having wasted their valuable time."

"Sempai is right, you guys." Haruhi, on the twins' other side, frowned reproachfully at their raised brows. "This is Micah's big night; she wouldn't be happy to hear you guys mumbling down here while she's on stage."

"So what?" Kaoru grumbled. He slumped in his seat, eyes lazily fixed on the stage a mere three rows away. "It's just a..." He trailed off, recalling how angry Micah had gotten during their last drive together after he'd carelessly insulted this play. Her play. He swallowed down his derisive comment in favor of, "Whatever."

Mori, silent throughout the whole ordeal, released a minuscule smile. Quiet now dominated the group of fidgeting hosts. The play would be enjoyed in peace.

And then, the lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the aimlessly chattering crowd.

Up went the heavy somber curtains, revealing a petite ravenette, her faint smile illuminated by the lone spotlight shining down on her. She stepped forward, her spotlight tailing her.

"Welcome, one and all, to our tale of grandeur, adventure, of childhood lost and forever gained."

Her voice resonated throughout the theater, bouncing off the walls and washing over the expectant crowd, who stared, enraptured, as she continued.

"Neverland - second star to the right and straight on to morning. It's not far away, no, not at all." Here, Micah smiled, though softer, full of a sadness unknown to her audience. "Just a bit of pixie dust will do, you know. But Neverland's tragedy resides not in its sometimes unbelievable location, but in its farewell. Well" - she clasped her hands together, twisting on her heel to nod up at the night sky slowly blooming behind her - "I won't say much more. Peter would be upset if I ruined his story for you all." She held a slim finger to her lips, closing her eyes in a playful smile. "Don't tell him I've spoken to all of you already!"

The spotlight winked out, plunging the theater into a breathless darkness.

Hikaru nudged his brother with an elbow, earning a half-hearted glare as Kaoru tore his gaze from the stage and picked his twin out from the black. "Pretty cute, ain't she?" he whispered, the perfect picture of innocence.

Kaoru's brow furrowed - in anger or as an attempt to hide his embarrassment, Hikaru couldn't tell. "Shut up and watch the play."

He did as bid, as did the rest of the hosts, who watched as a soft light spilled over the stage. Micah sat demurely in a chair close to a window sitting obnoxiously in the middle of the stage, a heavy volume spread out in her lap, eyes roaming the pages with undisguised glee (clearly, this wasn't acting). Izuki - whom Mori, Kyouya and Kaoru recognized - mock-quarreled with another boy - presumably another of Wendy's brothers - rolling across the stage so that even the audience fretted over their close proximity to the edge. 

"Read us a bed-time story, Wendy!" Izuki suddenly called, whining in a believably high-pitched voice, as re rolled away from his "brother", propping himself up on his elbows. Micah arched a brow.

"Aren't you a bit old for that?"

"No way!" Izuki - playing his role as John decidedly well - countered.

A playful smile flickered across Micah's lips, only to smothered a moment later by her thoughtful frown as she set aside her book, searching instead for something more suited to a child's taste. 

"Hey! Tell us another story about Peter!"

"What? Why? No good will come from thinking about that lunatic...."

"He's not crazy! And I feel bad too," "Michael" jumped in, twiddling his thumbs nervously in his lap; he's pulled himself into a sitting position after it was clear his quarrel with "John" was finished for the night. "Nana tore off his... shadow or whatever..."

"He scared her; he deserved it," Micah muttered bitingly.

"But Weeeennnnndyyyyyy....!"

"This is so her," Hikaru breathed into Kaoru's ear, showing a glimmer of consideration for the quiet-stricken crowd gathered around him. "She's hardly acting."

"Yeah... but" - Kaoru's brow creased in worry as he inched towards the edge of his seat, his gaze fixed - "her eyes are... pretty red, huh?"

___________________________

"Peter!" 

Micah's gasp rang out among the silent theater, washing over the audience, curling their fingers in eager anticipation as they stared, awe-struck, at the scared-stiff girl held tightly to Honey's chest, suspended some feet above the stage by nearly invisible wires.

"Put me down this instant!" she gasped. Her words were punctuated by sharp intakes of breath every time Honey dipped and swayed in his harness. 

"Aw, but whyyyy Wendy? You don't like flying? Is it cause of Tink? You think she'll be jealous?" Honey's beaming face molded into a careful frown as Micah's head whipped around, her eyes brimming with fear and agitation.

"No, I'm not worried about Tinker Bell!" A squeak escaped her - her reaction to having her gaze stray to the merciless ground below. She twisted in Honey's arms, her face buried in his chest, fingers thrown haphazardly around his neck. "You've already sent my brothers down - why can't you do the same with me?!"

Honey's laugh - a far cry from his signature childish giggle - caught the Host Club off-guard. "I think... it's cause I like holding you, Wendy, ya know? I really like it!"

____________________________

"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?"

Haruhi glanced away from where Wendy was lingering by the curtains, huddled with Izuki and their brother, while Peter gallantly teased Hook, swooping in and out of range of the sword he so brashly waved around. 

Accent...? And he's speaking in English... Haruhi shook her head, inviting the stranger to fold himself into the seat beside her. He sighed as he sat down - Haruhi's careful eyes didn't fail to notice how stiffly he sat, how pin-straight his spine remained even as the nervous tension fell away from his shoulders. I wonder... if he's alright... And he has an accent too. I've never heard it before... Is he someone's father?

The lines around his eyes betrayed his age, difficult though it was to calculate in the first place. He seemed to have a timeless face, akin to the perpetually young Greek gods that had dominated her history class the latter part of grade nine. But there was something familiar, something gentle in his emerald gaze, his mane of black hair that curled at the nape of his neck, brushed at his chin with every fidgety toss of his head. He wrung his hands in front of him, a habit that tickled Haruhi's memory, calling forth images a girl who did the same whenever she was particularly stressed over the hosts' requests or an upcoming exam.

The very same girl who let out a unexpected cheer when Peter maneuvered Hook into falling into the shallow pool where a ticking crocodile slithered forward in hopes of catching another taste of his former meal.

A weak, fragile smile tugged at the man's lips, softened his brooding stare - stilled the incessant motions of his hands, which looked as though they'd already borne the abuse for too long, rubbed red and raw.

Haruhi thought to speak up, to banish the inkling of doubt in her mind by stating her questions plainly; and yet she couldn't do it. Something in his eyes, in the way he refused to slouch or relax his shoulders, uncoil the taught muscles in his arms revealed by his rolled up white sleeves, warned her interrupting now would be meaningless. Answers would come later. 

She had a premonition this man would make himself clear in due time.

She returned to viewing the play, only to do a double-take when she realized Micah's eyes had veered away from Honey, who tipped his head to the side, watching her. 

The man beside her stiffened.

A word - a simple, powerful word - formed on Micah's lips, one that had absolutely nothing to do with her memorized lines.

Papa.

____________________________

"I suppose I owe you some thanks..." 

"Nah, you don't have to thank me. After all, it was just a favor for giving me back my shadow."

"Is that so...?" The bitter-sweet smile on Micah's lips seemed as watery as her glittering eyes. She looked away from Honey, hugging herself. "Well, in any case, I'll give you something for your trouble... A kiss, I think."

"Huh?" Honey crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight to the opposite foot somewhat uncomfortably. "A kiss? What do you mean?"

"You're just so dense, Peter." 

The audience drew in a collective breath the moment Micah strained forward on her tiptoes, hesitant for but a heartbeat, to press her lips to Honey's cheek.

His cheeks colored a fierce scarlet. "W-What...?"

"I'm staying here, Peter."

Her words sobered Honey, the blush fleeing from his cheeks as quickly as it had come. He readjusted his position on the (revived) windowsill, puzzling for a moment over the sincere regret scrawled across Micah's face. He swallowed. "I know." The words came out breathless, forced from dry, unwilling lips. "I was just hoping I could give you a reason to stay..."

Her shoulders trembled, lips quivered - tears gathered in traitorous pools at the corners of her wavering eyes. She held her hands in front of her, clasped, as though she thought them capable of moving independent of her will and snatching Peter back before he could escape. "I... I suppose this means goodbye..."

Honey's lips curved into a reluctant smile, his hands reaching out to capture Micah's between them. "You shouldn't say that," he advised her. "Never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting." Her breathing grew shallow and quick as his smile turned broken, radiating a fragile warmth that melted even the most glacial hearts residing in the seats below. "I don't want you to forget me, Wendy."

"Alright.... Then what shall I say instead? I've hardly had anyone tell me not say goodbye before..." Something shadowed Micah's face, an emotion uninterpreted by those who were even quick enough to glimpse it before it vanished, swept away like clouds blown back from the sun's rays.

"How about... see you later? That sounds better, like you're planning to come back." Another cracked smile.

"Whoever said I wasn't?" Crystalline tears streamed down her fair cheeks, hiccuping sobs seemed moments away from shaking her tight chest. "Well, alright. See you later, Peter."

"See you later, Wendy."

And the curtain fell.

______________________

The twins were impatient. And irritable, a fact only made worse by the absence of a certain little chef who'd disappeared after curtain call.

Haruhi stood with them, her focus disjointedly divided between the grumbling hosts, Micah's location, and the man she'd dubbed as Papa. She'd lost sight of him when the crowd dispersed, trickling from the theater after showering the cast with their thunderous applause - well-deserved, in the brunette's opinion.

Tamaki fretted in his own way, fluttering this way and that, ocassionally grasping Kyouya by the shoulders, shaking him more than a milkshake would have found comfortable, before the irked Ootori carelessly brushed him off, and he went on his way, tearing at his hear, crying rivers of liquid mercury.

And just when the wait was becoming unbearable, just when Mori suddenly perked up, his attentive eyes locking on something over the twins' heads, two semi-familiar faces popped up from the shadows, catching the frantic Tamaki between them. He squealed (quite pitifully) before realizing that, no, it was not Nekozawa but a pair of musicians who'd entrapped him so precariously.

"Damian, Riley," he breathed, fixing them with a half-hearted glare. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Here to see Mikes," Riley explained, jutting his chin over his shoulder. The hosts' eyes followed the movement, catching sight of where Micah was daintily hopping down the steps angling down from the stage. Hikaru and Kaoru were about to call out to her - and demand how she had the nerve to keep them waiting - but paused.

She wasn't scurrying over to them; she was stumbling to a stop just before a raven-haired stranger who lingered among the theater's shadows.

"Who's that?" 

"That's... uh... Oh damn." All eyes turned to Damian. Uncharacteristically flustered, he leaned forward, poised on the tips of his toes, as though straining to make out what he was seeing. But from the worry creasing his brow, it was obvious he needed no confirmation.

"It's... Micah's dad," Riley finished. His arm slipped from around Tamaki's shoulders, fell lifelessly to his side. A tension had built in his shoulders, pinching nerves and tweaking his smile into something less ecstatic. He looked as though his world had drained of color. "Guiseppe Viano."

"And he... well, as much as he loves Micah, I doubt he'd come here just to say hello."

"He doesn't speak Japanese either, cause it's not like he had to learn it like Micah and us, so for him to come here anyway..."

"Whatever." Hikaru brushed off this disturbance, sliding his hands into his pockets, beginning to stride towards Micah. "Maybe he can tell us what the hell is up with her weird obsession with books."

But, even as the hosts began to follow after him, watching Micah's mildly humorous conversation with her father (in which wild Italian-esque gesticulations were heavily involved) an invisible force dragged them to a standstill, breathless, anxious and helpless.

Micah had crashed onto her knees, hands curled worryingly into her skirt. Her skin had taken on a hollow sheen, ghostly pale, beaded with sweat. The bright, vibrant light gradually seeped from her mismatched eyes, replaced with broken shadows lurking in pools of unbridled fear. Her lips moved, made no sound.

Her father fell down beside her, drawing her into a tentative hug - his fingers trembled with the fear of shattering a glass doll.

Still, she was mute, her lips merely forming quavering words that held no meaning even to Mori's observant gaze.

Then, admist a strangled, croaking whisper that settled weighted stones among the chests of all those present, the hosts made out the epicenter of her apparent torture:

"Mama's.... dying?"

_______________________

This chapter's quality wasn't exactly what I'd been hoping for, but... well, I hope I you enjoyed it regardless! I'll try to make the next (and final) chapter better!