Miyuki Kobayashi did not even glance up as the door opened for, easily, her most frustrating case. "Good morning, Ootori-san. You're a little late today."

"A minor detour," Kyouya explained briefly as he sat in the plush chair across from the woman. He took a moment to cast a critical eye over the plaques announcing her name and credentials as though he still doubted her qualification.

She sighed at this and put aside her last patient's file. "Before we begin today, I'd like to remind you, once again, that cooperation will make this go all the more quickly for the both of us," she said in a brisk, businesslike tone, "Also, I'll need your cell phone, agenda, and any other electronic leashes you may have on your person today."

He emptied his pockets reluctantly and settled back into the chair. Miyuki shook her head and swept everything into the left-hand drawer of her desk. "All right," she began, "Just to start, how are you doing today?"

Kyouya closed his eyes, giving the question more consideration than he usually bothered with. "Fairly well, actually," he admitted, sounding somewhat surprised.

Miyuki looked incredulous as well. "My, that's an improvement," she noted, "Did anything different happen this morning to cause your uncharacteristic cheer?"

He raised an eyebrow at this comment but sighed in resignation. Despite his stubborn efforts toward privacy, the combination of client confidentiality and Miyuki's unconventional idea of counseling usually got him talking anyway. "I came across someone I hadn't seen in a while on the way here."

"Who?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I knew her in high school."

"A girl, then."

"I wouldn't have used the feminine pronoun otherwise."

She gave him a bland look. "You hardly ever bring up the people you know. A little detail wouldn't hurt either of us."

Kyouya looked rather convinced it might. "If you insist," he relented anyway.

The meeting was a genuine surprise for both parties.

Kyouya, though dimly aware of her recent rise in the legal world, was fairly certain that the firm she worked for was several hours from here, and he did not know what business had brought her so close to his own home.

Haruhi, of course, had never bothered to keep track of her classmates after graduation. She never saw the point.

His primary thought as he sat down across from her and the extremely cheap coffee he had no intention of drinking was, therefore, 'I'm losing my touch,' because a few years ago he would have made it a point to know the exact location of every member of the former Host Club at any given time.

Their conversation was uneventful up until the moment Haruhi pointed out that she had a meeting to get to and Kyouya noted that he was running late as well.

Looking mildly astounded at the idea of him running late for anything, she bluntly asked, "What are you trying to avoid?" (Her eyes widened slightly as if she had not intended to say it aloud.)

With the barest hint of hesitation, he replied, "I have an appointment with my therapist."

"…You have a therapist, Kyouya-sempai?"

"My physician recommended it rather heartily," he explained dryly, "As did my sister, my personal secretary, and the gentleman who makes my coffee every morning."

"Ah." She did not sound at all surprised, and Kyouya found that both amusing and a little annoying.

"On a personal note, I probably wouldn't have told her that," Miyuki commented.

"She seemed indifferent either way."

She shook her head and shifted subjects. "But that's good. She made you happy. That's obviously hard to do."

"She amused me," Kyouya corrected.

Miyuki gave up on that point. "You mentioned the, uh, 'Host Club' again. Was she a client?"

"No, she was a member."

"A female member of a host club?"

"It's a long story and not a very interesting one."

"Trust me, Ootori-san," Miyuki remarked wryly, "Everything you say is interesting."

.

"Could we possibly make this an abbreviated appointment? I'm extremely busy today."

Miyuki looked distinctly unimpressed. "You could have just skipped. I can't make you come here."

Kyouya shook his head. "I made a promise that I would do this."

"So you won't break a promise, but you're willing to cheat it?"

"It's not cheating," he clarified with a smirk, "It's finding the most efficient way to accomplish everything without error."

Miyuki pointed with her pen. "You have a bit of a perfection complex, there, you know? People make mistakes; it makes them people."

"Ootori's don't."

She sighed. "You're right. Let's make today a short meeting."

.

Kyouya Ootori was occasionally subject to moods. They were subtle things, as expected with him, but they gave his usual silence an oppressive, strangling quality that quickly enveloped the room.

Mentally sorting through her options for prompting conversation, Miyuki decided to try a direct tactic to suit his solemnity and thought aloud, "You've never really mentioned your mother." He never really mentioned any of his family, to be honest, but a mother was conspicuously absent from the few references he did make.

Kyouya stared at the window behind her head. "There's nothing to say," he explained dully, "I don't remember her."

Miyuki said nothing.

He shook his head and, somewhat unwillingly, elaborated. "She was beautiful," he began. There was no admiration or awe; it was merely a fact. "There was a photograph of her in the small drawing room. She had unusual features and very piercing eyes. That's why my father married her, I think. Something had to be noteworthy, absolutely striking to catch his attention and keep it…" He trailed off for a moment and took a deep breath. "Other than her family's economic connections, of course."

"She was an heiress?"

"Yes, of an electronics company." He added, "My sister recalls her being quite intelligent but rather distant toward all of us." He paused here and closed his eyes for a few seconds before making a dismissive movement with his hand. "It doesn't matter. She died in an automobile accident just before I turned four, so I honestly don't remember her."

He did remember, vaguely, a chauffer who lost his job, a funeral, a feeling of devastation and the most horrible birthday of his life, but he did not bother to bring it up.

.

"You have numbers written on your hand," Miyuki observed as Kyouya sat down.

"She didn't have any paper," he explained without glancing at the hand in question.

"Your high school friend?"

He nodded. "She just moved, apparently, so her phone number changed."

"Surely you have an electronic address book or something for that."

"I wasn't sure what she was doing," he admitted.

"…You've never had a girl write her number on your hand before?"

"I don't make a habit of it, no."

Miyuki leaned back in her chair. "Are you going to call her?"

"Possibly," he mused, lifting his arm to examine the pen marks, "She was somewhat reluctant to give it, so it could be amusing."

Wearily, Miyuki interjected, "I'd like to take a moment to emphasize the importance of healthy interpersonal relationships."

"I thought you said it was a good thing that she amuses me."

"Makes you happy," she corrected half-heartedly.

"Yes, that was it."

.

"I talk about you in therapy."

Haruhi, engrossed in her shopping list and vaguely wondering why she was being followed, mustered no greater response than "Mhm."

Slightly miffed at being ignored for the sake of the bread aisle, Kyouya prodded, "You're not the least bit curious what I might have said about you in relation to my mental health?"

"Not really," she replied, tucking the list in her pocket and looking up at him, "The Host Club was a big part of your life, whether you like to believe it or not, and I was a part of that. It's not surprising that I'd come up in conversation sometimes."

He let himself smirk. "That's a rather interesting view," he said, earning an exasperated look from the girl.

He chose not to correct her on exactly how frequently she was mentioned.

"I'm not sure why you insist on bringing that up every time you talk to her," Miyuki remarked.

"Habit, mostly," he supplied, "Most of us are still trying to get reactions out of her, at least on some level."

"'Us' being the Host Club? They keep in contact with her as well?"

"Yes, more than I do."

She gave him a pointed look.

"Than I did, I suppose," he conceded.

.

"I think I hate my father."

Miyuki looked up in surprise at his unexpectedly serious tone. Kyouya had been unusually dour and uncooperative today, using her couch only as a convenient place to brood. She had given up on him ten minutes ago. "That's awfully sudden for you," she said softly.

He sat up and swung his legs around to meet the floor. "It's not; I've hated him for a long time," he continued, "I've just now come to realize it."

Miyuki stayed silent. She inclined her head and waited for him to go on.

With a long-suffering sigh, he did so. "When you wanted me to 'track the roots of my problems'," he began, and his disdain for the activity was not lost on her, "it turned out that he seemed to be at the base of all the issues you say I have."

Miyuki waited again, but he was not giving out any more details. "Why do you think it took so long to accept this?" she prompted.

Kyouya shrugged. "It's a strong emotion," he said easily, "I'm not quite used to those."

"Indeed," she sighed.

Still, when she closed the door behind him at the end of the hour, Miyuki felt rather hopeful. That was, by far, the most productive session yet.

.

"I'm getting married," he announced with a rather smug look as he sat down.

Miyuki blinked. "Congratulations," she said, "When's the wedding?"

"I haven't proposed yet."

Miyuki sighed heavily and shook her head, deciding not to touch that one. "Haven't you been married before?" she asked instead.

He nodded warily. "We divorced after three months," he added, "I was also engaged twice after that, but I broke them off."

"Have you ever considered the possibility of commitment issues?"

"It's not commitment; it's the idiots my father chose."

"Of course," she sighed, clicking her pen open.

As she jotted down something in his (rather large) file, Kyouya vaguely wondered if this was what everyone else felt like when he took notes in front of them.

.

"You know, at first I strongly considered recommending you for group therapy."

"Did you?" Kyouya murmured. He was currently examining the contents of her bookshelf and occasionally pulling down a volume to inspect its cover. Apparently her collections of incredibly dull scholarly articles were more interesting than anything Miyuki had to say.

She ignored this implied insult and nodded. "It's a common approach for more minor cases, and I have a friend who specializes in it," she replied, "But I decided against it rather quickly."

"Oh?" He truly had a talent for sounding interested even when he was obviously paying very little attention.

"Yes, I decided your presence would be detrimental to the healing process of the other patients."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Ah."

.

Miyuki looked over the documents, double-checked them, checked them once more, and finally signed her name in a looping scrawl at the bottom of each one. Then she looked up. "Well, Ootori-san, it has certainly been an interesting experience," she said with a smile.

Kyouya smirked. "It has been intriguing," he allowed, "However, I've no desire to repeat it."

Miyuki hummed her agreement as she arranged the papers on her desk into a neat pile and tucked them into a folder. She handed this to the man across from her. "Here's your copy of everything for your records."

"Thank you," he replied, taking the folder and flipping it open to skim the first page.

She drummed her fingernails once on her desk and glanced around the office. "Well, I believe that's all," she said eventually, rising out of her chair. She stepped around her desk and extended her hand. "Goodbye, Ootori-san. And good luck with everything."

Kyouya nodded and returned the handshake. "And you as well," he added and turned to leave.

"Ootori-san."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder.

Miyuki chuckled at herself. "On a personal note, did you ever wind up proposing to that girl?"

Kyouya looked decidedly smug. "You have an invitation in the mail," he replied and pulled the door closed behind him.

.

The bride was fairly easy to locate at the reception. She was the one sitting at a table far away from the dance floor and being pestered alternately by either the exuberant blond best man or the red-headed twins who had sniggered all the way through the toasts. Whenever she had a moment free from her well-meaning hecklers, she took to tugging at her fancy clothing and looking at the more comfortably dressed guests with something akin to envy.

Miyuki took one of these moments to approach her. "Haruhi, yes?" she inquired.

The small woman looked up and, somewhat bemusedly, replied, "Yes, that's right."

"Congratulations."

"Oh. Thank you." She blinked up at her for a few more seconds and then, giving up on recognition, ventured, "Are you a friend of Kyouya's?"

Miyuki made a face. "Professional acquaintance, maybe," she corrected, "Although I haven't seen him since the ceremony, come to think of it."

"Ah. He's around," Haruhi said vaguely, glancing across the room and looking wholly unconcerned when she failed to locate her new husband. "…I think he's on the phone with his father," she added, mumbling, and that managed to bring a slight frown to her face.

Miyuki's eyes widened. She honestly had not expected Kyouya to be dealing with that so quickly. It almost made her proud. She smiled, shook her head, and turned her attention back to the woman in front of her. "Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you," she continued, "and tell you you're an extremely strong woman."

"Huh?"

She laughed and clarified. "Anyone who can deal with that man for any length of time must be."

Haruhi blinked up at her new acquaintance; then she slowly smiled. "Ah. That's true."