Tamaki's traitorous heart had been fluttering in his chest ever since he'd caught a glimpse of black hair and glasses from across the room. He politely extracted himself from a conversation with a woman whose name he couldn't remember, the most recent in a stream of faces that had swarmed him this evening. Everyone remembered the Host Club fondly, it seemed, and wanted to return back to the days of tea and roses and shameless, empty flirting. 

Tamaki remembered those days fondly, too, but he hadn't come to the reunion to dust off his hosting abilities. He hadn't even really come to see the other hosts; they had all kept in touch after the club disbanded, meeting for holidays and dinners whenever they were all in the same place at the same time. It wasn't the same as spending every day together, but it was enough. He still got to see them and keep them close. At first, it had been perfect.

It hadn't lasted. Kyoya had started pulling away after the first summer. 

It hadn't been obvious at first, just the occasional apologetic text backing out of plans or an empty chair when they all got together. Then, he stopped replying in group texts and his individual replies came few and far between. He missed Tamaki's birthday, a Christmas party, and a housewarming party for Haruhi's new apartment. Eventually, they had all been sitting in Tamaki's living room and realized no one had seen him in months. Tamaki's heart had clenched painfully in his chest and had never released.

He had no way of knowing if Kyoya was going to come to this, either. It was a small five-year reunion, nothing like the elaborate parties that were thrown for ten or twenty-year reunions. He didn't even know if Kyoya was still around; for all he knew, Kyoya was halfway across the world. 

But then he had seen him. 

Across the room, tucked into a quiet corner, chatting amiably with someone Tamaki only vaguely recognized, looking as polished as ever. Same glasses, same haircut, same half-smile. 

His heart had nearly stopped. Now, here he was, weaving through the room trying to brush off anyone's attempt at a conversation, determined to catch him before he could slip away again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyoya slip out of the room into the hallway. He went after him. 

The door closed behind him, muffling the sounds of conversation and laughter and leaving only a five-year silence and the sound of his shoes on the smooth floors. 

"Kyoya," he said. 

Kyoya stopped and turned. There was a strange expression on his face, guarded and carefully neutral with something soft in his eyes. It made the odd clench in Tamaki's heart relax, like a weight he had been carrying for years melted off his shoulders and onto the floor. 

"Hello," said Kyoya, his voice as quiet and measured as ever. "It's good to see you."

"Is it?" Tamaki asked before he could stop himself. "Kind of felt like you were avoiding me from my end."

Kyoya sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. The gesture was so familiar that Tamaki had to look away for a moment, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

"Let's take a walk," Kyoya suggested. "I... think I owe you an explanation. And an apology."

Tamaki nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak until he got himself under control again. They walked in silence for a few minutes, setting on a familiar path with an unspoken agreement. 

They stopped in front of the old music room that had been the backdrop of so much of their lives. Kyoya stepped forward and pulled the door open, gesturing for Tamaki to step inside. He crossed the threshold, unable to stop the smile that crept up at the familiar sight of the room. The tables with their white tablecloths and tea sets still dotted the room, potted plants by the windows and low couches along the walls. If Tamaki tried, he could pretend it was just another day and he and Kyoya had rushed here from a class to set up for the afternoon, pretend that his best friend behind him wasn't a stranger.

"It looks almost exactly the same," Kyoya remarked. 

"Some things never change," Tamaki said. "I just wish we could say the same about us."

Kyoya sighed. 

"Tamaki, I'm... I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never meant for this to happen."

"Why did you leave?" Tamaki demanded, turning around to face him. "Even if you didn't want to talk to everyone, why did you stop replying to me? You were my best friend in the world, Kyoya, and I thought... at the beginning of that summer, I thought things were... different." Heat rose in his cheeks at the memory.

It had been an unusually humid day, the heat making them lazy and sluggish. They had been lying side by side on the floor of Kyoya's bedroom with the fan on, talking about nothing and enjoying each other's company. Tamaki had made some terrible pun that made Kyoya laugh, barely more than a quiet huff of breath and a flash of a smile. He had turned his head toward him, grinning widely, and had been struck by a sudden realization as though by lightning. 

His best friend was beautiful. 

Looking back, Tamaki couldn't say what had possessed him at that moment, but he had moved and closed that little gap between them, catching the end of Kyoya's rare laugh in a kiss. Kyoya had made a soft, surprised noise against his mouth, pulling away.

Tamaki scrambled away, mortified. "Kyo, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I-"

"Did you mean that?" Kyoya had asked quietly.

"What?"

"I know you, Tamaki." Kyoya's voice had been so fond and familiar in his exasperation that it calmed Tamaki's racing heart. "You flirt your way through everything because that's just who you are. You have a big heart and you love easily but I can't... I won't be one of your meaningless flirts. I can't have this for just a kiss. I've wanted to kiss you for years so you... have to mean it."

"I mean it," Tamaki had said, helpless to do anything but tell him the truth. There was something about the intensity of Kyoya's stare that seemed to coax the truth straight from your heart, even if it surprised you. 

Kyoya seemed to light up from within. "Oh, thank god," he said, closing the gap between them once again and pulling Tamaki into a kiss. The heat running through him suddenly had nothing to do with the sweltering heat again as the sparks from Kyoya's light touch on his jaw burrowed under his skin and came alive.

Tamaki shook himself back to the present moment. 

"You said you couldn't be just a kiss," Tamaki said, giving up on keeping the tremor out of his voice. "Five months later you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm sorry," Kyoya whispered. He couldn't seem to meet Tamaki's eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"What happened?"

"It wasn't your fault," Kyoya said. He was looking firmly at his shoes. "But my father saw us one day. He was walking up from the driveway and I hadn't closed my bedroom curtains. He... saw you kiss me."

Tamaki's blood ran cold. Flashes of Kyoya coming to school with a terrible, haunted look in his eyes and refusing to show so much as an exposed wrist came into his mind. He was suddenly immensely grateful that Kyoya's voice was calm; he didn't think that he could handle Kyoya falling apart at the seams again. 

"As you might have guessed, he did not react well. I lost any way to communicate with you or the rest of our friends. I was on house arrest, so to speak. After a couple of months, I couldn't take living with him anymore, so I left."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Tamaki said, almost begging. "You could've stayed with me, with any of us. We all love you, Kyoya, any of us would've taken care of you."

"He could still reach me here," he said. "I had to get far away. I've been... drifting ever since."

The room was silent for a moment. He almost couldn't believe it; his Kyoya, the brightest and most driven person he knew, reduced to an aimless sort of wandering. It didn't seem real. 

"I'm sorry," Tamaki whispered, staring at the ground. Guilt sat heavy and hot in his chest, torturing him with thoughts of what might have been happening to Kyoya while the rest of them sat around, accusing him of being cold-hearted. "If I hadn't been there-"

A hand appeared on his wrist. He looked up.

"It was not your fault," Kyoya said. "I knew what my father was like. I knew exactly what would happen if he found out about me. I should have been more careful. You had no way of knowing he would... react so poorly."

"I should have known," Tamaki said. "Kyo, I'd seen him hit you in public over practically nothing, I should have guessed..."

"You didn't know because I didn't tell you," Kyoya insisted. "This is not your fault, Tamaki."

"I'm the one who kissed you!"

Kyoya's mouth quirked into a half-smile. "I seem to recall participating as well."

Tamaki flushed again. "You know what I mean. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Kyoya had finally settled his gaze on Tamaki's face. "I'm not sorry I kissed you or for a single second of that summer before he found out. I'm not even sorry that he found out. I'm only sorry that you got hurt."

Tamaki was struck with a wild momentary desire to kiss him again, to see if it would be different, awkward with the weight of the years between them, or if it would still be perfect, racing down his spine like lightning out of a summer storm, as fierce and quick and electrifying as the man standing beside him.

Kyoya's hand still encircled Tamaki's wrist. His skin was cool to the touch.

"Why are you back now?" Tamaki heard himself ask. His heart was racing.

The hand retreated from Tamaki's wrist back to Kyoya's pocket. Tamaki briefly mourned the loss of contact, worried that Kyoya would evaporate like a ghost if he wasn't holding him here. 

"My father died last week," Kyoya said calmly. "Heart attack. I came home at my sister's request for the memorial service and decided to come since I was in town. I was... hoping to see you. To make amends."

"Are you alright?" Tamaki did not know what to say. Apologies for his loss hardly seemed appropriate; frankly, he didn't even know if Kyoya was sad about it at all. Then again, it was his father. His family. Even with their complicated relationship, it couldn't have been a comfortable feeling. 

"I feel sorry for my sister more than anything," Kyoya said, pushing up his glasses. "They always had a decent relationship. For myself, there is... no love lost between my father and me. There never has been. Perhaps that makes me an awful son, for being the only one of his children not mourning."

"It doesn't," Tamaki said quietly. "It means you get to be free now."

Kyoya looked at him for a long moment. "Yes," he said finally, "I suppose it does. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Tamaki blinked in confusion at the rapid change of subject. "Not currently, no. Why do you ask?"

Kyoya stepped closer to him, taking both of his hands. "Because," he said, his voice soft and fond, "I have been replaying every memory of your kiss for five years, driving myself to madness, but I don't want to intrude where I am not welcome. I know I wronged you, and I have no right to walk back into your life and expect you to have kept my place, but-"

"I have," Tamaki interrupted. "I have kept a place for you. It could only ever belong to you."

Kyoya's expression softened, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Tamaki squeezed his hands a little tighter. 

"May I-"

"Yes," Tamaki said, pulling Kyoya into a kiss. 

It felt like coming home, like opening the door to the old music room and turning on a light for the first time. Kyoya's hands were cool in his, a comforting, grounding counterpart to the exhilaration running through his veins like lightning. He was here. Not just a dream or a memory or an photograph; here, in person, kissing Tamaki like that lazy summer's day had only been a heartbeat ago. 

He was smiling when they pulled apart. Kyoya's cheeks were faintly pink. 

"I really am sorry," he said quietly.

"I know," Tamaki said. "I just don't understand why you ran. We could've helped you. I could've helped you, Kyo. You don't always have to do things by yourself."

Kyoya sighed and ran a hand through his hair. For a long moment, he was quiet, looking over Tamaki's shoulder. "I didn't want you to blame yourself," he said finally. "My father's relationship with me was never your fault, and I didn't want you to try to shoulder that burden for me. Easier if you could blame me for my distance and wash your hands of the whole thing. I see now that was..."

"Stupid?"

He laughed, looking back at Tamaki. "Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, it was pretty stupid." 

"Are you staying in your old house while you're in town?"

Kyoya grimaced slightly. "No. I'd rather not set foot in there again if I can help it."

"Come stay with me," Tamaki said. It was so easy to talk to him, even after all this time. "We can catch up. You can see the gang. It'll be just like old times."

"Haruhi is going to kill me, isn't she," he said, sighing.

Tamaki laughed. "Only a little," he said. "I think they'll mostly be glad to see you. We missed you."

"I missed you all too," he said. "I'm... I wasn't myself, without you around. I forgot how much better you made me. I always thought I would be fine on my own, but life was... better with you."

"Come home with me," Tamaki said again, pulling Kyoya into a tight embrace. "And stay this time. You still owe me a summer."

"Think I owe you about five, at this point," Kyoya said, his voice muffled by Tamaki's shoulder. "Maybe a couple of other seasons as well."

"No time like the present to get started, then, hmm?" Tamaki said, drawing back and taking Kyoya's hand to guide him out of the music room. As he shut the door behind them, he felt a surge of gratitude for the old room, for bringing them together all over again. "C'mon, Kyo. Let's go home."

They walked side by side, leaving the familiar halls of Ouran High School gradually behind them. Tamaki talked about anything that came to mind, his heart fluttering happily at Kyoya's familiar witty interjections or deadpan jokes. Even just the sound of Kyoya's voice made him smile after going so long without hearing it. They walked back to Tamaki's house, never letting go of each other. They stopped on the porch for a moment, staring up at the stars.

"I'd like to kiss you again," Kyoya said quietly. "If you don't mind."

Tamaki smiled, turning towards him and letting himself be pulled into another long, slow kiss. 

"I love you," Kyoya whispered into the quiet between them. "I love you so much. I have since we were kids."

"I love you too," Tamaki said, holding his face and pressing kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. "And I'm never letting you go again. You're stuck with me."

Kyoya smiled. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." 

"Good," he said, feeling like his heart was going to burst. "Now come on, let's go inside. There's so much I want to tell you. So much has happened in the last five years."

Kyoya nodded. "I know the feeling. So much has changed."

"Not everything," he said. "You haven't."

"Neither have you," he said. "I still felt like all the air had gone out of the room when I saw you walk in tonight. You still made my heart race."

"I thought I was going to pass out when I saw you," Tamaki admitted. "I saw your glasses from across the room and almost fainted."

Kyoya laughed. "You recognized my glasses?"

"They caught the light when you pushed them up," he explained. "I've seen them do it a hundred times. I saw it tonight out of the corner of my eye and suddenly it was like I was just waiting for you in the hallway after class again."

"I kept you waiting an awfully long time," he said. 

"You're worth the wait."

Kyoya smiled, open and honest and beautiful. He sat down on the porch, gently tugging Tamaki down with him, and settled in comfortably, his head coming to rest on Tamaki's shoulder. Together, they sat and looked at the stars, talking quietly and trading kisses as they slowly found their way back to where it had all started on a warm evening just like this one that suddenly seemed a lifetime away. 

A shooting star passed overhead.

"Look," Tamaki said, nudging Kyoya's side. "Make a wish."

Kyoya smiled. "Don't need to," he said, his voice gentle and quiet. "Mine already came true."