Kyoya Ootori's Guide to Self-Deception for Fun and Profit

Chapter 1: The bunny rabbit blues

Cambridge, Massachusetts: Monday, 5.30am EDT

"FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" Kyoya shouts at his bedroom door. Except he's Kyoya Ootori, so he shouts it on the inside, and instead puts all his effort into the herculean task of reaching across to the desk by his bed and picking up his glasses.

When he manages to shove them on his face without blinding himself, he picks up his phone to prove to himself that it's much too early to be alive, let alone awake. The backlight prints 05:30 into his eyes, along with dozens of missed-call and LINE notifications, leaving an impression that stays behind when he blinks. The room is pitch black.

Because it's half-past fucking five.

Kyoya scrambles out of bed and is unlocking the door before the sick feeling can settle in his stomach properly. It's a good thing, he realises with groggy annoyance, that he's not in the habit of sleeping naked. In the hallway is an equally underdressed man who looks even more asleep than he is. Kyoya rifles in his mental filing cabinet: a fellow freshman called Michael Lawson, second son of a real-estate billionaire. Potentially very useful. He forces himself to be polite. Friendly is more than he can manage right now. "Yes?" he says, and by some miracle it comes out in English rather than Japanese.

Michael simultaneously yawns and talks. "So, your dad called me? Said it was urgent and I should wake you up, as you're not picking up your cell. Parents, huh?" He gives a shoulder shrug which indicates a fellow-feeling Kyoya definitely doesn't feel. Perhaps this Michael's father is in the habit of calling in the middle of the night for no reason, but Kyoya's father only summons him when it's of the utmost importance.

The sick feeling intensifies for a fraction of a second, before common sense overwrites it. His father doesn't have this American stranger's phone number – and even if he did, involving strangers in family problems is not the Ootori way. "My father called you?" he tries dubiously, his brain still creaky with sleep.

Michael scrubs at his eyes. "Yeah. Well, he sounded a little young, but he said he was your dad. I guess the resident dean shared my number or something? Shit, it's too early."

There's only one person who'd have the nerve to investigate his new roommates, find their – undoubtedly unlisted – phone numbers and then call them up when Kyoya didn't answer his phone.

Kyoya's going to kill him.

"I'm very sorry. I promise this won't happen again," Kyoya says politely, and hopes bribery will help smooth the way out of this sticky situation. It also provides the perfect excuse to avoid the freshman dining hall; whatever morning delights the Berg offers, he's not sure his stomach is up to it today. "Let me treat you to breakfast before class?"

Michael gives him a half grin. "Sure. I'll swing by again at half past seven?"

Half past seven. Kyoya hates his life. "Perfect," he says, and then goes to make the necessary arrangements for Tamaki's death.

Tokyo: Monday, 8.15pm JST

The phone conversation is quiet enough that Haruhi can't make out individual words, but it picks holes in her concentration, leaving her staring blankly at her textbook. Her father laughs, and there's a ghost of an echoing laugh, warm and dry, and—

Haruhi shakes her head hard, as if she has water in her ears, and stares back down at the English comprehension question she's been non-comprehending for over ten minutes. She's only been back in Japan for a matter of months, and already her scholarship year in Boston is slipping away like a distant dream, threatening to take all her hard-earned English with it.