Turtles
title: Turtles
giftee/prompt: for 3kame ; Mori/Haruhi, turtles (obvious like woah) :)
rating/warning: K
characters/pairings: Mori/Haruhi, mentions of Tamaki/Haruhi
word count: 1,669
summary: Haruhi and Mori recover a bond over Christmas break. Haruhi muses on turtles.
notes: Er, this is my first time writing Mori/Haruhi, but I hope you enjoy it! I might edit it a little in the next couple of days, since some bits are still kinda meh.
Haruhi slips the drapes away to stare outside. Once again, the utter darkness amazes her.
Careful not to smudge the window (she notices the wavy quality of the glass; an antique?) she lays the back of her hand against the pane. It feels like ice, even colder than the room she’s supposed to be sleeping in. Sighing, she pulls it away, drawing her hands back into her sweater sleeves. Two layers of sweaters, one pair of thick socks - she still can’t ward off the winter chill.
She sits on the pallet to think. She would be a fool to slip back between those sheets. The Morinozukas had the good sense to set out thick blankets for her, blankets that whetted Haruhi’s appetite for comfort as soon as she touched them. But they, too, are cold and uninviting.
She draws her arms around her. She realizes that the ‘uninviting’ part of that description probably has more to do with her than with the Morinozukas who have, in their own way, been the epitome of hospitality. Mori’s mother is only slightly more talkative than her son, but she smiles kindly. His father is similar. She thinks of Mori’s younger brother and smiles to herself, wondering how he could possibly have grown up so different from his family. Too bad he’s away at college, abroad in China with Yasuchika. Now she only has Hunny to warm her holiday.
A sliver of light suddenly flashes against the paper-thin wall of Haruhi’s sliding door, then dims just as quickly. Curious, she stands. Someone is out out there.
She steps out into the hallway, careful to open the door gently and keep her steps suitably soft. She feels strange treading through another family’s house.
The light is gone. Haruhi hesitates, deliberating whether to continue or not. It’s warmer out in the hallway, if only minimally, and she lingers against her better judgment.
There.
The light.
Now, with the moonlight to aid her, she can see that the figure is tall, dark-haired. She smiles a little and creeps into the main room.
“Mori-senpai,” she says, a greeting in her voice.
Did he just start? she wonders, as he turns to greet her. “Haruhi.”
She rubs at her arms as if for warmth. She’s no longer particularly cold, but she feels suddenly... what? Out of place? “Thanks again for letting my stay here.”
He smiles at her, his silent smile, and she feels her worry evaporate. At least she isn’t staying with someone who relishes small talk, someone who would ask her studies were going, how Boston was. How Tamaki was doing.
She settles next to Mori and stares out the window. “There’s really no light pollution here, is there?” she says, almost a joke. She realizes how weak it is.
“Ah,” he says, a syllable of agreement. But not dismissive. Never dismissive.
Haruhi plays with a fray in her sleeve. Not to ignore Mori, but because she’s fallen into thoughts of her father. He said he’d be back for New Year’s. She’d forgotten he was off in Italy still, vacationing. A stab of guilt tells her she’s too wrapped up in her own life. She realizes that it’s silly to worry about her father - a grown man, and ever better at dealing with money - but she still misses him, at least. Selfish.
It’s not that a solitary apartment would have bothered her - it wouldn’t have bothered her at all. But Mori offered his home, and her father had misplaced her spare key.
She thinks about what might have happened if she’d spent the holiday alone. Maybe she could have checked in with Kyouya. He was in the country, the last time she checked. Maybe even Hikaru (Kaoru was spending the holiday with his fiancee in America).
When she ticks off the names of her fellow once-hosts, she inevitably gets to Tamaki and her stomach curls with sadness. Not now, she thinks. She hasn’t been able to check her messages in weeks for fear of heartache.
She catches Mori giving her a look of sympathy. No. Empathy. She smiles to show him that everything’s all right, but it must not suffice because he looks away.
“So what are you doing down here with your flashlight?”
After a moment of deliberation he shines the light on the things before him. Haruhi reaches out to touch the glossy wrapping paper. She laughs a little.
“One of the things I missed most,” he explains, and she remembers the jubilant Christmases they spent in Boston, getting drunk on the sugar in sparkling grape juice and then on expensive champagne.
“Hunny could never wrap properly,” she remembers, smiling to herself. She remembers her poorly wrapped, obviously bulging presents. His enthusiasm: Bet you can’t guess what it is Haru-chan! Bet you can’t guess!
Mori clears his throat a bit, which she translates as That’s true but I’m not going to say it.
“Did you get a tree?”
He moves his light to shine it on a pathetic baby pine in the corner. For a fanciful moment, Haruhi feels bad for this baby tree, cut down in its prime. But she can’t help but delight in the red ornaments on its fragile boughs. Just like Boston.
She tries not to think about it too much.
“Hunny will love it.”
“Mmm,” he agrees, although she finds something less-than-content in his tone. Has she misunderstood him?
She turns back to Mori only to find him rustling to hide something. Mori has never been terribly subtle at this kind of thing.
“Is that one for me?”
She was joking, but his features go still at the prospect.
“Oh,” she says. She feels terrible for inadvertently revealing his surprise; surprised and pleased that he would think of her.
“You can have it now.”
“No! No, I couldn’t! I mean - save -” She catches a glimpse of what he’s hiding. Her eyebrows furrow. “Is that a turtle?”
He smiles brilliantly and hands her the cardboard box.
Haruhi peers in. It is a turtle, and not a particularly spectacular one, either. Just a normal garden turtle. She stares, captivated by its normality. Its bed - a thin carpet of twigs and leaves - lies neatly, a porcelain water bowl and some lettuce in the corner.
“Where did you get this?”
His smile strengthens. “In the woods. When I cut the tree.”
The turtle moves slowly, as though just woken up. “Was it...?”
“She was brumating.” Haruhi doesn’t want to ask how he knows it’s a girl, but she doesn’t put it past Mori, who seems to have constant woodland companions, to know. “Not deep enough, though.”
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Brumating. Like hibernation... for reptiles, right?” She’s pleased she can remember that much from her high school biology classes. If the turtle wasn’t deep enough, that meant it might have died from the cold. She looks quickly down at the turtle. She seems fine. In a brief moment of whimsy, Haruhi thinks it’s funny that her hard shell couldn’t protect her from the cold. It seems like it would do a good job against anything else.
Mori nods solemnly. They sit together in silence, Haruhi thinking about breakups and turtles and if she’ll ever feel warm again.
She feels warm enough now.
“Here,” she says, picking up the wrapping paper, “I can help you with this.”
When they both reach for the scissors, his hand brushes hers.
ooo
Living with her father is more difficult than most roommates, but that’s okay, because she loves him more than she loves any roommate.
“Yes,” she says, more often than she intends. Yes, law school is fine. Yes, she’s eating enough.
Thankfully he doesn’t ask about Tamaki. He’s her father, after all. He’s sensitive enough not to touch a bleeding wound.
There’s a knock at the door while she prepares tea. It interrupts her father amidst his chatter - will Haruhi wear her new red kimono to New Year’s, because it would look so cute on her.
She’s glad for the moment of relative quiet, although she feels a wry sort of bemusement when she hears her father flirting with the young man on the doorstep. The delivery boy says something that makes her father go quiet. She tunes it out and focuses on the satisfying curl of steam in her mug.
“What was it?” she asks, when her father sits back down.
Her father puts the box on the table. Haruhi looks at it. Chocolates.
Now she knows why he’s so silent.
She doesn’t want to open it, but she can’t show her father exactly how wounded she is, no matter that he already knows. She reaches out and undoes the red ribbon. If her hands tremble, it can’t be helped.
Just be something practical, she thinks, please, please. She doesn’t want declarations of love, a diamond hidden in a truffle. She doesn’t want a plea spelt out in chocolate letters. She doesn’t want to have to face his wounds, doesn’t want to know that she was the one who wounded him, because she still loves him, just not...
Not...
She lifts the lid of the box. She blinks.
Nuts covered in chocolate. Shaped like...
“Turtles,” she says, smiling. Her hands are still shaking.
Her father looks up at her, unsure of how to react. He settles on a weak smile.
“They had these in America,” she explains to her father. “They’re good. Pecans.”
In a flash, Ranka remembers the turtle Haruhi brought home. He steals a quick but careful glance of his daughter as he gets up to fix the tea.
For the first time since he’s seen her this winter she looks... content.
giftee/prompt: for 3kame ; Mori/Haruhi, turtles (obvious like woah) :)
rating/warning: K
characters/pairings: Mori/Haruhi, mentions of Tamaki/Haruhi
word count: 1,669
summary: Haruhi and Mori recover a bond over Christmas break. Haruhi muses on turtles.
notes: Er, this is my first time writing Mori/Haruhi, but I hope you enjoy it! I might edit it a little in the next couple of days, since some bits are still kinda meh.
Haruhi slips the drapes away to stare outside. Once again, the utter darkness amazes her.
Careful not to smudge the window (she notices the wavy quality of the glass; an antique?) she lays the back of her hand against the pane. It feels like ice, even colder than the room she’s supposed to be sleeping in. Sighing, she pulls it away, drawing her hands back into her sweater sleeves. Two layers of sweaters, one pair of thick socks - she still can’t ward off the winter chill.
She sits on the pallet to think. She would be a fool to slip back between those sheets. The Morinozukas had the good sense to set out thick blankets for her, blankets that whetted Haruhi’s appetite for comfort as soon as she touched them. But they, too, are cold and uninviting.
She draws her arms around her. She realizes that the ‘uninviting’ part of that description probably has more to do with her than with the Morinozukas who have, in their own way, been the epitome of hospitality. Mori’s mother is only slightly more talkative than her son, but she smiles kindly. His father is similar. She thinks of Mori’s younger brother and smiles to herself, wondering how he could possibly have grown up so different from his family. Too bad he’s away at college, abroad in China with Yasuchika. Now she only has Hunny to warm her holiday.
A sliver of light suddenly flashes against the paper-thin wall of Haruhi’s sliding door, then dims just as quickly. Curious, she stands. Someone is out out there.
She steps out into the hallway, careful to open the door gently and keep her steps suitably soft. She feels strange treading through another family’s house.
The light is gone. Haruhi hesitates, deliberating whether to continue or not. It’s warmer out in the hallway, if only minimally, and she lingers against her better judgment.
There.
The light.
Now, with the moonlight to aid her, she can see that the figure is tall, dark-haired. She smiles a little and creeps into the main room.
“Mori-senpai,” she says, a greeting in her voice.
Did he just start? she wonders, as he turns to greet her. “Haruhi.”
She rubs at her arms as if for warmth. She’s no longer particularly cold, but she feels suddenly... what? Out of place? “Thanks again for letting my stay here.”
He smiles at her, his silent smile, and she feels her worry evaporate. At least she isn’t staying with someone who relishes small talk, someone who would ask her studies were going, how Boston was. How Tamaki was doing.
She settles next to Mori and stares out the window. “There’s really no light pollution here, is there?” she says, almost a joke. She realizes how weak it is.
“Ah,” he says, a syllable of agreement. But not dismissive. Never dismissive.
Haruhi plays with a fray in her sleeve. Not to ignore Mori, but because she’s fallen into thoughts of her father. He said he’d be back for New Year’s. She’d forgotten he was off in Italy still, vacationing. A stab of guilt tells her she’s too wrapped up in her own life. She realizes that it’s silly to worry about her father - a grown man, and ever better at dealing with money - but she still misses him, at least. Selfish.
It’s not that a solitary apartment would have bothered her - it wouldn’t have bothered her at all. But Mori offered his home, and her father had misplaced her spare key.
She thinks about what might have happened if she’d spent the holiday alone. Maybe she could have checked in with Kyouya. He was in the country, the last time she checked. Maybe even Hikaru (Kaoru was spending the holiday with his fiancee in America).
When she ticks off the names of her fellow once-hosts, she inevitably gets to Tamaki and her stomach curls with sadness. Not now, she thinks. She hasn’t been able to check her messages in weeks for fear of heartache.
She catches Mori giving her a look of sympathy. No. Empathy. She smiles to show him that everything’s all right, but it must not suffice because he looks away.
“So what are you doing down here with your flashlight?”
After a moment of deliberation he shines the light on the things before him. Haruhi reaches out to touch the glossy wrapping paper. She laughs a little.
“One of the things I missed most,” he explains, and she remembers the jubilant Christmases they spent in Boston, getting drunk on the sugar in sparkling grape juice and then on expensive champagne.
“Hunny could never wrap properly,” she remembers, smiling to herself. She remembers her poorly wrapped, obviously bulging presents. His enthusiasm: Bet you can’t guess what it is Haru-chan! Bet you can’t guess!
Mori clears his throat a bit, which she translates as That’s true but I’m not going to say it.
“Did you get a tree?”
He moves his light to shine it on a pathetic baby pine in the corner. For a fanciful moment, Haruhi feels bad for this baby tree, cut down in its prime. But she can’t help but delight in the red ornaments on its fragile boughs. Just like Boston.
She tries not to think about it too much.
“Hunny will love it.”
“Mmm,” he agrees, although she finds something less-than-content in his tone. Has she misunderstood him?
She turns back to Mori only to find him rustling to hide something. Mori has never been terribly subtle at this kind of thing.
“Is that one for me?”
She was joking, but his features go still at the prospect.
“Oh,” she says. She feels terrible for inadvertently revealing his surprise; surprised and pleased that he would think of her.
“You can have it now.”
“No! No, I couldn’t! I mean - save -” She catches a glimpse of what he’s hiding. Her eyebrows furrow. “Is that a turtle?”
He smiles brilliantly and hands her the cardboard box.
Haruhi peers in. It is a turtle, and not a particularly spectacular one, either. Just a normal garden turtle. She stares, captivated by its normality. Its bed - a thin carpet of twigs and leaves - lies neatly, a porcelain water bowl and some lettuce in the corner.
“Where did you get this?”
His smile strengthens. “In the woods. When I cut the tree.”
The turtle moves slowly, as though just woken up. “Was it...?”
“She was brumating.” Haruhi doesn’t want to ask how he knows it’s a girl, but she doesn’t put it past Mori, who seems to have constant woodland companions, to know. “Not deep enough, though.”
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Brumating. Like hibernation... for reptiles, right?” She’s pleased she can remember that much from her high school biology classes. If the turtle wasn’t deep enough, that meant it might have died from the cold. She looks quickly down at the turtle. She seems fine. In a brief moment of whimsy, Haruhi thinks it’s funny that her hard shell couldn’t protect her from the cold. It seems like it would do a good job against anything else.
Mori nods solemnly. They sit together in silence, Haruhi thinking about breakups and turtles and if she’ll ever feel warm again.
She feels warm enough now.
“Here,” she says, picking up the wrapping paper, “I can help you with this.”
When they both reach for the scissors, his hand brushes hers.
ooo
Living with her father is more difficult than most roommates, but that’s okay, because she loves him more than she loves any roommate.
“Yes,” she says, more often than she intends. Yes, law school is fine. Yes, she’s eating enough.
Thankfully he doesn’t ask about Tamaki. He’s her father, after all. He’s sensitive enough not to touch a bleeding wound.
There’s a knock at the door while she prepares tea. It interrupts her father amidst his chatter - will Haruhi wear her new red kimono to New Year’s, because it would look so cute on her.
She’s glad for the moment of relative quiet, although she feels a wry sort of bemusement when she hears her father flirting with the young man on the doorstep. The delivery boy says something that makes her father go quiet. She tunes it out and focuses on the satisfying curl of steam in her mug.
“What was it?” she asks, when her father sits back down.
Her father puts the box on the table. Haruhi looks at it. Chocolates.
Now she knows why he’s so silent.
She doesn’t want to open it, but she can’t show her father exactly how wounded she is, no matter that he already knows. She reaches out and undoes the red ribbon. If her hands tremble, it can’t be helped.
Just be something practical, she thinks, please, please. She doesn’t want declarations of love, a diamond hidden in a truffle. She doesn’t want a plea spelt out in chocolate letters. She doesn’t want to have to face his wounds, doesn’t want to know that she was the one who wounded him, because she still loves him, just not...
Not...
She lifts the lid of the box. She blinks.
Nuts covered in chocolate. Shaped like...
“Turtles,” she says, smiling. Her hands are still shaking.
Her father looks up at her, unsure of how to react. He settles on a weak smile.
“They had these in America,” she explains to her father. “They’re good. Pecans.”
In a flash, Ranka remembers the turtle Haruhi brought home. He steals a quick but careful glance of his daughter as he gets up to fix the tea.
For the first time since he’s seen her this winter she looks... content.