Jargon
buttercupbella
Sometimes he can be so damn stupid- and so damn happy-
when it comes to these little things.
Usually Kyoya Ootori was a calculating man. He was often seen poring over paper works and bills which were stacked neatly on his mahogany table, his glasses sliding down his nose bridge and his lip curling in annoyance. At first sight, Kyoya would accept each opportunity while weighing assets and liabilities, but more often than not, he turned out to have the upper hand.
He would grow dark circles in his eyes after pulling up what teenagers called an "all-nighter" (but the term was very inappropriate because he stayed up until six in the morning trying to organize business reports from their monopoly of hospitals). Kyoya would scoff at the whole host club's naivety with piercing gray eyes as if he was cold and heartless—but a certain girl knew that he never was.
His clipboard seemed tired from all the fastened balance sheets and receipts of purchase—and yet some unintelligible scribbles were written on the sides of the papers, which seemed like numbers in a completely random arithmetic progression.
That's when Kyoya realized—for heaven's sake, he penned "1 4 3".
He could have killed himself right there and then, but when the door creaked open and a familiar brunette waved at him, equations started circling in his rational mind and he couldn't help but stammer a little bit.
"H-hello, Haruhi."
Haruhi responded by smiling with her pearly whites and proceeding to sit on the armchair opposite Kyoya's table. "I see that you're busy as ever."
Kyoya could only assume that his blood pressure shot up dangerously, so he began massaging his temples and looked at the reports, his eye swerving to take a glimpse at Haruhi. She was clad in the same male uniform, but nonetheless she was beautiful—
A forced cough. "Yes. I'm arranging for the club's vacation in Maldives, and I thought that it would be better if we took lodging in a world-renowned hotel."
This time, Haruhi leaned in by propping her face on her knuckles. She looked up with her innocent yet knowing stare and flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign, but immediately patted Kyoya's head without thinking about the consequences. "Don't stress yourself out that much, because you deserve to have a life too."
Kyoya's cheeks inflamed involuntarily yet he managed to retain his cold stare under his glasses. At the moment, Haruhi's hand was approximately four inches away from his, and she was partially crouching. Kyoya could easily grab her wrist and pull her forward, and perhaps two seconds later they would look at each other fully, taking in the fact that they were alone in a single room and that the club business would start thirty two minutes later—
"You'd better get going," Kyoya sternly remarked, tasting a bit of blood when he bit his tongue. It was certainly difficult regaining his composure when not even a diagnosis could determine what was happening to him right now. He withdrew his hand from the table and resumed writing on the transaction book, crossing out the unnecessary marks and wincing at the small caricature on the corner.
Still smiling, Haruhi turned her back and said, "You know, if things get complicated, I'm always here."
You're the one who makes it all complicated, Kyoya thought, but regretted ever having such an idea.
.
After the humongous door shut close, Kyoya tore his necktie off and exhaled sharply. He hit his face with his book and sighed, remembering the kiss on the cheek that Haruhi had given him swiftly before leaving. His fingers caressed the skin on which the touch of her lips lingered, and for a minute, he grinned unconsciously.
Kyoya's phone jerked him back to reality and made him mutter profanities while fumbling for his bag. He pressed the 'receive call' button while putting his tie back on, his throat constricting from the short-lived fantasy and the abrupt call. "Ootori Kyoya, how may I help you?"
.
.
Behind the red velvet curtains on the other side of the club room, the Hitachiin twins silently giggled, their scheming faces basked in the dim light of a cellular phone and a camera.
.
End
|Author's Note| This is a 'short' gift for The Devils Song. I hope that Kyoya and Haruhi stayed in character, because I don't normally write for Ouran. Merry Christmas, everybody. :) Concrits are deeply appreciated.