KyoTama/TamaKyo semi-songfic written hurriedly for a contest on wattpad. All it took was Episode 24 and five minutes on tumblr to ship Tamaki and Kyoya oops.

The song is Almost Is Never Enoughby Ariana Grande and Nathan Sykes. Expect more (and hopefully better) OHSHC fics from me because I'm such trash and also I ship everyone.

Crossposted on Wattpad with media.

Anyone who has met Ootori Kyoya would describe him in one word: cold.
The Hitachiin twins proclaim it in jest; the Host Club guests sigh it fondly - their cool, collected, calculating Kyoya-kun.

It never ceases to surprise Kyoya that a similar class of endearment is not reserved for his other half.

Suoh Tamaki, the boy who could get away with murder by flashing his charming smile and fluttering lashes over soulful violet eyes.

The ladies wax over his angelic looks and poetic flirting. Funny how a rosy compliment never fails to incite a blush no matter how superficial or recycled.
Usually, Kyoya does not mind. Their satisfaction is business and business is profit.

Today, however, it does give him the oddest of twinges to see them fawn over The King of the club and more so, when the blond lavishly returns their attention.

He allows his disgruntlement to spill into a slight curl of his lip as he notes the superficiality of the girls' idle gossip.
The words they use to describe the infuriator so concerned remain restricted to 'handsome', 'dreamy', even 'perfect'. Never once does he hear the discussion acknowledge what matters; his kindness, his generosity and his perennial glow of cheerfulness.

Or perhaps Kyoya feels less charitable than usual as the - now saccharine-seeming - words of the letter he wrote swim at the back of his mind.
He had slipped it into Tamaki's hand with a level look in the morning. Tamaki was sure to have opened it by now.

Kyoya nurses these thoughts as he observes the club activities.
He keeps a watchful eye on the twins, who are never shy of a scandal to entertain their guests, and makes notes about the rose-tinted ambiance and the behaviour of hosts and guests alike, entrepreneurial candour still intact even as nervousness bubbles untended behind the façade.

None are as actively aware of the warmth of the 'Princely Type' host's presence. He is brilliant and warm, his presence reaching every corner of the room like the sun.

***
Tamaki,

I will not grant you a 'dear' as it it is sure to add to your already enlarged head. However, 'idiot' may not suffice considering the nature of this letter.

Seems that while according to you it took us a mere twenty-fours to become best friends, it seems to me, we have taken far too much time to progress beyond.

There have been moments that left us both breathing in the 'almost', but almost is never enough, as I am sure you will agree.

I would also remind you, Cher ami, that I rarely take risks that are uncalculated and most certainly not if I don't like my chances . A thought to consider.
The ball remains in your court.

Sincerely
Mommy

Kyoya is worn by the end of the day, by the pretense of it all, or by the waiting, he is unsure.

It's a relief, accompanied by a tickle of foreign emotion in his chest as he hears the piano.

The music is unrecognisably his: The boy whose eyes he's coolly avoided meeting since morning; the boy whose face he involuntarily seeks out anyway.

Tamaki plays the piano like he was sent from the heavens to bring peace with every stroke of his nimble fingers.

It was, is, has been and will be the most beautiful thing Kyoya has ever allowed himself to enjoy.
Sometimes, if he allows himself to think so, that compliment extends to Tamaki himself.

The notes that resound through Music Room 3 are familiar. The music washes over Kyoya and the words spring to his mind.

And we can deny it as much as we want
But in time our feelings will show

It is a wordless reply. They both know this song.

So close to being in love
If I would have known that you wanted me
The way I wanted you

Kyoya does not speak and Tamaki does not sing.
They can both agree that would ruin the romance; and while Kyoya may not be a romantic, he does know when to appreciate its beauty.

He waits for the last of the notes to fade softly into a silence that is resonant with the incessant joy awoken by the melodies.

Tamaki's music is of two types: one is grand and flirtatious and utterly immodest; the other is soft and reaches somewhere deep in one's chest and just maybe to a lonely woman in France.

Then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart
But right here in each others' arms

Kyoya permits himself a satisfied smile as he acknowledges the love letter written in music. One that holds no exaggerated declarations or presumptions but clear notes of sincerity and the warmth that Kyoya realises now is reserved solely for him.

'Cause sooner or later
We'll wonder why we gave up
Truth is everyone knows...

As Tamaki's elegant fingers still on the black and white keys, Kyoya laces them with his own.

~finis~