(ANY AND ALL ITALIAN WORDS USED BY MICAH ARE FROM GOOGLE TRANSLATE. I APOLOGIZE AHEAD OF TIME IF SHE'S COMPLETELY WRONG)

Third Person POV

Another day in the Host Club. Another day of flirting, high-pitched giggles, unintelligent dribble, and carefully-made, highly-prized sweets from a young Italian-American, who loathed watching the courting her friends performed on a daily basis.

At the moment, she stood, hands on hips, eyes slanted into a heated glare, in front of two very guilty red-heads. "Is there something you'd like to apologize for?" she asked tersely, forcing her words to come out as civil as she could manage.

Kaoru, cheeky twin he was, grinned. "Not really."

"We haven't done anything today," his twin added, shrugging a careless shoulder.

Micah let out an inaudible sigh. She was at her limits. The twins had made no effort to conceal the aftermath of their exploits: They'd stolen her latest batch of cookies and left the ground around them littered with crumbs. And they're supposed to be gentlemen. As if I'm going to believe that shit.

"You know - and yes, I'm positive of this - that those cookies were for Honey's table." She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a low, calculated whisper. "Do you understand how much Honey needs his daily sugar fix?" She'd been unlucky enough to witness Honey's impromptu wrath once before, and she vowed nothing like it would ever happen again while she was employed with the Host Club.

"You can handle it, right?" Kaoru smirked, reaching up to trace a finger along her jaw. "Honey-sempai loves you, you know."

She slapped his hand away, bluntly ignoring the blistering heat invading her pallid cheeks and refocusing her anger on the other twin. He was less likely to sexually assualt her, in her experience. "The least you could do is apologize," she hissed.

He shrugged again. "Wouldn't the least we could do be nothing?"

Eye twitch. Hands curling into fists. Abrupt turnaround.

Micah exasperatedly threw hers hands high, then curled them into her short raven hair, tugging with enough force to curse her with baldness at the tender age of fifteen (nearly sixteen). "Merda, merda merda!" She spun around and jabbed an accusatory finger at the grinning twins. "Bastardo!" (Shit, shit, shit!... Bastard!)

Which twin she was speaking to, she wasn't sure. Both were equally infuriating at this point.

"Ti ammazzo la prossima volta!" (I'll kill you next time!)

Of course, the twins failed to understand her threat, as she unknowingly shouted it in Italian. Nonetheless, they caught the ferocity of her tone and wisely left her to cool down far, far, far away from them.

The club was bursting at the seams today; an unusual amount of pompous teens had made reservations with various Hosts, and Micah couldn't breathe without assaulting her senses with overpowering perfume that stank of wealth and idled thoughts. She pushed through the crowds until, like escaping from an entangled treeline, she broke through and stumbled on the sudden open space.

Cursing under her breath, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her apron (a gift from the politician) and looked up, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Mori lounging on the windowsill. He hadn't moved since the club began, even when a few girls came over to offer him tea. Micah hadn't heard his response (if there even was one) but it sent the girls blushing and squealing back to their seats within heartbeats.

She approached him with a new, unruffled air about her. Dealing with Mori was infinitely easier than with the twins. Or Tamaki. Or Kyouya. Only he and Honey failed to unnerve her the ways the others did, only doing so when they surprised her with an unexpected gesture. Such as when she was presented with a rose by Mori. That had caught her off guard, especially surrounded by girls who'd have killed for an opportunity like that.

"Mori," she called cheerily, poking her head into his line of a sight, a pretty closed-eye smile lighting up her face. "What's up with you today? You seem quieter than usual..."

To her disbelief, he smiled. Not his usual soft smile that quickened her pulse, but a smile much like that of Tamaki's, actually meant to charm a girl witless. "You're concerned about me?" he asked, startling her further. He'd never sounded so.... Tamaki-like. "You're so sweet, Micah."

"E-Eh?!" She couldn't help the stammering, nor the rush of bright, crimson blood to her cheeks. Just what the hell was going on here? "M-Mori, what's up with you? You're being so..."

"So...?" His head cocked to the side. "Is something wrong, Micah? I'm not acting any differently, am I?"

YES. YES YOU ARE. Micah forcibly swallowed her immediate response, her lips pulling into an awkward smile. "N-No, of course not, Mori!" she corrected herself. "My mistake. Now, if you'll excuse me, I... have stuff in the oven!" And with that, she turned tail and fled.

What's wrong with Mori? The question bounced around in her head, occupying all of her thoughts. Had something happened? Had he suddenly switched bodies with Tamaki....? No. No he hadn't. Tamaki was still shamelessly flirting with his quartet of airheads, so that explanation was groundless (as though it wasn't in the first place).

Preoccupied as she was with her troubling, swirling thoughts, she failed to notice the blockage in front of her, and smacked face-first into someone's chest.

"Ow, dammit!" she hissed, backing up a few steps. Rubbing at her now-bruised forehead, she turned her slit-eyed gaze on who she perceieved to be the wrong-doer in this situation. "Watch where you're going, you pea-brained knuckle-walker!"

"Pea-brained knuckle-walker? How original, Micah. Still incredibly imbecilic, but original nonetheless."

"Ah, damn." She'd run into Kyouya. "Sorry, sorry, politician. Completely my fault. Would you like a curtsey for your troubles?" What made the sarcasm coating her sharp tongue so much worse was the invariably blank look on her face as she spoke, the likes of which even the twins could not hope to pull off.

"I'm more interested in inquiring about your reason for being so inept today." He pushed his glasses into place; to Micah, a needless gesture that irked her. "You're wasting club time. Oh, and it appears you've killed a batch of croissants."

Her head whipped around, and sure enough, inky black smoke was coiling out from the cracks of the oven. Another curse. Her luck today had bene marginally bad, even for her; this was pouring gasoline on an already raging fire. Shooting Kyouya a final, irritated scowl (to which he smirked accordingly) she hurried over to her kitchenette, tripping over her own sneakers in her haste. 

The croissants were dead: Turned to wretched little black coals after having flames lick at their crisp sides for far too long. There was nothing worth salvaging. And Tamaki had specifically asked for a French theme today. He didn't often make impudent requests, so Micah had been happy to comply. Now her efforts were wasted.

I blame those idiot twins, she grimaced. Tamaki's lost-puppy look invaded her thoughts, and she dropped to her knees in despair. He was going to be devastated, all because she'd been distracted from her work by the greedy adventures of two very irksome gingers. Mori may have played a part in her absentmindedness, but that was easily overlooked. He didn't constantly annoy her to the extent that she wanted to shave off all his precious hair.

"Sorry, Tamaki," she sighed, leaning her palms on the floor behind her, her head tossed back in acceptance. The French theme wasn't a total bust; she'd already created a few treats for the guests. Eclairs, creme brulee, tart tatin, a few batches of crepes... She'd even gone as far as to whip up a serving of sorbet in assorted flavors. Logically speaking, she'd already done enough. Tamaki would be pleased.

But she felt as though she'd let him down without the full French experience.

"You're still depressed," a voice noted from above her; Kyouya was leaning against her counter, his eyes glued to the expense report in is hand but his attention equally divided. "Have the twins managed to find out about your odd habit of reading in the shower?"

Her face colored, red as the last flash of sunlight before dusk. "H-How the hell do you know about that?"

His signature smirk played on his lips as he cut his eyes to her mockingly. "You're aware you talk in your sleep, are you not?"

"That better be it, you greedy politician! Because if I find out you've been stalking me there will be hell to pay! And I assure you, you do not want to be scapegoat for an Italian's wrath. Think 1930s mafia, won't you?"

The smirk didn't dampen nor disappear. "If you've any connections to the mafia, I'd be surprised. Meaning, your threat is as vague and lacking as usual, without a shred of credibility." He snapped his book shut, his smirk curling his lips further. "I'm not one to miss out on such obvious information."

"I'm. Well. Aware." Micah's words were ground out through clenched teeth. Her fisted hands trembled at her sides. Kyouya. Kyouya. Oh, how she wanted nothing more than to tear his enigmatic black book in half. 

"Good." Kyouya brushed a nonexistent speck of dust from the collar of his uniform, studied his nails a moment, fixed his glasses once more. Then he turned to Micah with a thin smile. "I expect this mess to be cleaned up within the next five minutes and a batch to replace the croissants we lost within the next twenty. I'll of course be adding the cost of scrubbing out the oven to your debt. Another month of servitude, perhaps?" 

"Politico bastardo!" she shouted after his retreating figure. (Bastard politician)

The moment the words left her mouth, Micah felt a presence behind her; the hairs lining the back of her neck stood on end. She swallowed uncomfortably, feeling her stomach churn with anxiety. What now?

She glanced over her shoulder and a puff of breath escaped her lips. Mori. Even acting like a taller (and less psychotic) version of Tamaki, she still preferred him over the chilled black hole that was Kyouya. "Hey, Mori." She tried for casual; she failed miserably. "Did you need me for something?"

"Nothing in particular," he replied, giving her the soft smile she so adored. Micah nearly jumped as his hands fell onto the counter on either side, trapping her in between. She couldn't swallow this time, her throat too tight, skin too clammy, eyes too wide. "I just..." He practically doubled over so that he could look into her mismatched eyes, still smiling, still ridiculously out of character. "...wanted to tell you how cute I think you are."

Micah felt her heart skitter, missing a few necessary beats in the process. Her breathing stilled until only the barest kiss of air left her lips, her chest rising only every few heartbeats, falling after another two. "M-Mori...?" she stammered; even her speech seemed to be contricted by this inexplicable turn of events.

"You're so silly, Micah," he told her playfully. "Completely oblivious to everyone here. But it makes you even cuter," he added, seeing her reddening cheeks burning a fiercer scarlet. 

By now, they'd captured the entire club's attention, as well as that of their guests. Tamaki and the twins were frozen, too shocked to make a move to intervene. Haruhi was near hysterics, unable to comprehend Mori's sudden change in character. Kyouya merely raised a brow and continued with his work.

"I... uh, I..." It was useless; no words came, and none would be coming for the next few millennia if Mori didn't revert to normal soon. Lack of oxygen made her light-heated and, inevitably, tongue-tied. If one didn't look closely, they would have assumed she were a mere painting, living, breathing only through the eyes upon her. 

But it was as if an angry artist had viciously scrawled his crimson-tipped brush across her cheeks when she felt Mori's face nearing her own, only inches, inches away. Close, close. Too close? Not close enough? Why was her heart fluttering like a spasmodic hummingbird?

Then, just as she regained her senses and prepared to (possibly) duck out of range of his lips, someone tackled him from the side, sending him skidding back a defiant ten feet.

Micah promptly sank to her knees, prepared for the possibility that her gelatin legs would never support her petite weight again.

"Takashi!" Honey's voice piped up. He stood, small in stature but large in presence, just in front of Micah, his oddly flinty eyes zeroed in on his giant of a cousin. "Don't scare Mi-chan like that! Just because you're sleepy doesn't mean you should lose your head like that!" He paused a moment, cocking his blonde head to the side. "You are sleepy, right?"

Mori, sitting carefully on the ground, a hand pressed to his forehead, narrowed his eyes. "...I think so."

"Then you better take a nap!" Honey magically handed the third-year a nightcap and blanket, before tugging him over to an unoccupied couch, where he was instructed to lie down, cover himself with the aforementioned comforter and sleep away his anomalies. 

"Then... just for a little while. One hour..." He rolled over, his back to the Host Club, and fell asleep without further prompting.

"Mi-chan?"

Micah raised her head slightly, meeting Honey's glittering gaze. She hadn't move from her spot slouched against the cabinets. Her t-shirt shook with each thundering beat of her heart. Just what had she been thinking, allowing him to get so close to do... that?

"Sorry about that, Mi-chan," Honey sighed. His arms wrapped securely around Usa-chan, hugging the pink rabbit against his chest. But, seeing the absent look on Micah's face, he guided her own arms around the fluffy plaything and gently patted her head, smiling. "Takashi's a completely different person when he's sleepy! He wasn't trying to scare you, honest!"

"I... wasn't scared." Her words were stiff, unnatural, but nonetheless sincere. Her tongue unwound and the numbness retreated from her limbs. "Just surprised," she concluded, bobbing her head, as though trying to convince herself just as much as Honey. "I wasn't... really expecting that, and I..." ...didn't really want to move away, she finished silently, too ashamed to admit this to even Honey. What would he think of her, having such immature thoughts about his cousin? Mori had been a state akin to intoxication; he hadn't meant anything by it.

Plus, a part of her felt immense guilt. Like she'd been betraying someone's trust with Mori, just then. Maybe even two someones'.

Honey's smile softened. "I get it, Mi-chan," he promised tenderly. 

An hour later, Mori woke, returned to his robot-esque self and free of any memories pertaining to his pre-nap world.

Micah, surprisingly enough, didn't even attempt to avoid him for the rest of the day. She couldn't bear it, seeing as how much of a liking she'd taken to Honey and Mori. The club day always went faster when time was spent with those two.

So not a word was spoken about the incident, and all quickly pushed it from their minds. Except for Micah. It lingered in her thoughts, a tentative question always teasing her, the answer just beyond her grasp.

What if he had meant it?