On romantic love
Disclaimer: Don't own them, promise to put them back after this. Also do not own any rights concerning the book.
Haruhi tiredly leant back in the comfortable backseat of the black limousine now weaving through Tokyo's administration district. Upon leaving the courtroom, she had found herself surrounded by reporters and cameramen, and had thus been forced to turn her natural rookie charm on and answer all their questions gracefully and ladylike. In truth, she just wanted to get home after a particular hard case and stressful deliberation to enjoy the success in privacy.
Her driver had been listening to some news on the radio, and had tuned the volume down a bit once she entered. Haruhi found herself listening to the interview nonetheless. A philosopher was presenting his newest book, and he was in a friendly conversation with the moderator – quite a charmer himself.
„You see, the concept of romantic love we strive for today is actually an invention of the last 300 years. It started as a theme in novels of the 18th century, and it was something that would have been considered something like science fiction at that time" the author started his explanations „ Our concept of love expects to find passion and reliability in one person, and that for a very long time. In reality, we can only experience those two feelings together for the rather short time of falling in love, because the hormones responsible for creating them except each other. Would we experience them any longer, our body couldn't function."
The conversation between the moderator and the author went on to explain how the two concepts of reliable love and passionate love had always been separated, and how improved living conditions had made the concept of romantic love such a given in our society today.
Haruhi smiled to herself and found herself strangely interested. She knew what the author was talking about – how every time she thought she found exactly what she wanted, she had to accept that there was something missing afterall. How exciting past relationships had been in the beginning, only to become dull and an everyday routine, something to come home to without expectations. Or how the dream guy, the perfect one and only, had turned out to be an empty shell that didn't come with a manual on how to use it as an armour against her insecurities and who had left her wanting and unprotected. How much it had pained her everytime she had to accept that she was alone, after all, and that the relationship she was in was not the two-become-one that everyone wanted.
She briefly wondered whether she should call the station and tell them about her personal solution.
She had reliable love – the featherlight kisses in the morning before she left for her office, the mugs of coffee when she needed them most, the concerned sideway glances that always found out what was wrong. There were also the hand on her back during official parties that she did not want to go to, her favourite lavender oil massaged into her aching neck and a bit of belgian chocolate hidden in her desk. There was the voice that asked all the right questions and gave all the right answers. There were the shared plates of food that sometimes ended in a sweet kiss for dessert. She found security, belonging in the way he held her. She had the conversations in the evenings, over books or theater or friends or politics, and she had someone to give her opinions fairly and justly. There was caring and concern and innocent love , and it made her feel warm and protected and secure. There was someone who gave comfort and found it in her. There always was a warmth that drew her back home.
And she had passionate love – the rough lips on her own, eyes darkening when wandering over her figure, the little gifts of french dessous hidden in her drawer, the knowing smirk when he discovered her wearing them, the text messages during a court session that would remind her of the night before and make her blush. There were the hands on her body always finding exactly the right spots, and always leaving her wanting more, the butterflies in her stomach and the goosebumps on her skin when his breath touched it. There were the shared plates of food that sometimes ended in a kiss that left her even hungrier. There was his voice, which only changed for her and got darker, raspier, sexier. There were the gasps and shudders that were hers only. There was someone who knew her so well that the dresses he made her wear to official parties she did not want to go to were always as made only for her. The was the sometimes childish, sometimes not so childish jealousy that made her roll her eyes at him and smile. There was desire and wanting and needful love, and it made her feel beautiful and feminine and wanted. There was someone who gave confidence and found it in her. There always was a need that drove her back home.
The driver drove through a iron gate and stopped the car in front of her home, while the moderator thanked the author for his insights, wondering how the audience felt about this new view on love, and what implications it might have in a world governed by the strive for perfection and beauty and perfect, beautiful love.
Haruhi exited the car and entered her home, their home. She had reliable love, she had passionate love, and so she had romantic love. It wasn't exactly a two-become-one type of relationship, but who ever said that lawyers were able to do the math? She had accountants for that.
And she had Kaoru and Hikaru Hiitachin.
FIN
AN: This is my first Ouran fic, and I'm not actually a particular fan of the twins, and had never thought I'd write about them, so I'm really not sure about it and opinions and constructive criticism are definitely very much appreciated. This is unbetaed, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes. This is loosely based on an actual interview I saw last night on TV on a book by philosopher Richard David Precht on love (haven't read it, though, so I no idea whether the above is accurate). Somehow, a plot bunny hopped in right after and made me do this.