Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or the Characters.

Summary: Gangverse AU. Kyouya, living in the shadows of his family, comes across the opportunity to change his life forever. He is soon taken deeper into the whirlwind that is the underworld of the country.

Author's notes: Hello everyone! This is my first Ouran fic, and I am very keen on doing it right, so please provide me with constructive criticism, thank you very much. Also, I wanted to try out this idea, and I apologise for the shortness of this first chapter, because I just want to know what you all think of the general gist of it. I know that there's nothing much up yet, but the whole gangverse thing? Yea, just let me know what you think on that. Personally, I think that they all fit the role rather well. :D

Pairings: Heheh, not decided yet, but definitely slash, and maybe some het too…not too sure about that yet.

Masquerade:

Prologue: Well Met by Moonlight

Ootori Kyouya's house by the harbour was a pristine, neat affair, a reflection of the man that lived in it. The city lights were bright, mirrored on his window on the second floor. It was the house of an evidently wealthy person, albeit the fact that it was decorated rather spartanly.

The owner, a young gentleman in his mid twenties, was the darling of the neighbourhood. Such a sweet young man, the old ladies would say, and they would shake their heads as they wondered why he hadn't gotten a wife yet. In their opinions, Ootori Kyouya lived a successful life; he had, from a young age, achieved the fine balance between work and relaxation.

It was hard to believe that this nice young man was actually the third son of the leader of one of the country's most feared criminal organisations.

The Ootori Corporation; on the surface, it seemed like a thriving business empire. In the underworld, the name would instil fear, or grudging respect. You didn't cross Ootori Yoshio, not if you wanted to live.

That would, perhaps, be a good reason why Kyouya moved away at the first given opportunity. He did not put it pass himself to struggle for his family's title, and he knew that his father wasn't dumb enough to assume that his ambitious youngest son would ever pass up a chance to take over the Corporation.

There were, of course, rivals, but that is a different story.

It was midnight, and the third son of Yoshio Ootori stood at his window and frowned. The lights of the city were bright as ever, but his garden was shrouded in shadows. Faintly, he could note a figure stumbling through the bushes. Kyouya wasn't stupid; he knew the risks that came with his family's…less than savoury reputation. He sighed, and undid his tie. The key, he reminded himself, was not to panic. It had been far too long since he had last dealt with his family's politics, far too long since he had needed to kill anyone.

The gun remained in his bedside drawer, safety lock securely in place. It was time to take it out then. He followed the instincts that his father's teachings had built in him, and glided down the stairs. No point in rushing; whoever it was, was already hurt somehow. If he were lucky, he would be able to get a clear shot when the figure was in the garden. It would make clearing out the evidence so much easier, and the little old ladies wouldn't be questioning him on the loud banging sound.

He'd never really bothered with a gun muffler. It just didn't seem necessary at that point, when he realised that he was never going to head the Corporation. Of course, he had been sixteen then, and young, and reckless.

The front door opened without a sound. The figure was still there, slowly attempting to manoeuvre out of the grass, and moaning softly in what was evidently pain. A passing car's headlights provided enough light to identify the person.

Kyouya caught a flash of golden hair, a passing glimpse of milky, creamy skin. Sapphire eyes held both pain and hope intermingled undiscernibly.

The ugliest shade of crimson red marred the whole portrait of what would otherwise be a creature akin to a fallen angel.

The beautiful man had seen him as well, had definitely not left out the barrel of the gun pointed straight at his heart. Kyouya wasn't one to miss; he had enough practice, thank you very much. The hope faded away instantly, replaced with a terrible fear. Kyouya knew that he must have looked the very devil, standing in a suit with his impeccably calm gaze bearing down upon this stranger. The gun wasn't adding any plus points on his side.

It would be easy, he mused, too easy to end this man's life. He didn't even know who this stranger was; supposing, he was a spy or hitman sent by one of his brothers to remove a potential threat? More than likely, he was just a helpless young man, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, was it worth sparing his life at the risk of Kyouya's own? The curiosity got the better of him.

Ootori Kyouya, youngest son of the Corporation, was never one to be romantic, so it was for no fathomable reason that he should chose to spare this man's life.

The gun was slowly lowered. It would be difficult to shoot him; the neighbours, Kyouya insisted, they would suspect something. But he could come up with a million different excuses, and they would not explain the fact that he just compromised his own safety for a total complete nobody.

Let's just say, the Ootoris weren't brought up like that. Fuyumi-neesan herself had shot a man when she was twelve. His mistake, she always insisted; no one told him to break into their Yoshio's office. They, the children of this tyrannical, despotic leader, knew their place in life; to protect the ideals that they were brought up to acknowledge and adopt.

He should really just raise the gun and pull the trigger. It would be simple.

Instead, he walked over and helped the man in.

If there was anything like divine repayment, it would have been the intense gratitude and hope and swelled up in the stranger's startlingly breathtaking eyes.

Kyouya knew then, that things were about to be very different from before.